#so i wrote this for the drifter

[fairyberries]

The mission was... barely a success. It took every ounce of your energy to hop on your atomicycle and bike hand, your muscle memory quickly pulling the controls of your vehicle until you reach home. A numbness was starting to take over your mind and you knew you only had a short time before it overtook it. You nearly crash your bike, so long in nothingness that you didn't comprehend the end of the tunnel drawing closer until your fingers wrap around the brake lever and your foot leans back to settle you and your machine somewhat safely.

There's noises behind you, you can tell from the shadows that trail you inside. Right, your mission companions. You can't remember at the moment who was with you, just that the sinking feeling is starting to settle and your vision starting to blur as you drearily make your way up the steps to the backroom. Pushing past the both door and fuck- another set of stairs. You almost have half a mind left to just collapse on the couch beneath the balcony but the desire, the siren's call of the nest in your bed is too alluring. And so again, step after step, you drag your body up and up until you're slamming your door open and narrowly colliding with your navigation console to climb into the bed next to the warframe display in the back.

Your body meets another, in that moment, your chosen lover as they grumble and pull back the blanket, enticing you to join them. With a kiss on your forehead and a cuddle held tight, you are able to calm the buzzing filling up to your ears. A hand tenderly rubbing on your back you share your woes within a gentle transference link, words much too hard to use and they understand completely in their tired state. Sleep still clinging to their form, they make sure your breathing calms and mind turns to a more acceptable mush of drowsy instead of detachment. A small effort that you react well to, and soon you are able to drift off, the complexities and traumas of the day wafting off to the other as slumber takes hold.

[vaszametili]

definitely a bear man

[doodlesdreaming]

“This concert was definitely worth sneaking into!”

Dance with the Dead AU- @zoanluen

[pyersiki]

realised I never posted these! my oc Tracy; phantom who seems to be stuck in purgatory unable move on & bears a grudge against most of the living

[sincerely-sofie]

Character Opinion Piece. I didn't see one for Hyper Light Drifer, so how about the first playable drifter?

All of my opinions for this character are based on the headcanons I formed when I was a teenager. Heck, back in my day, we didn’t even have confirmed genders for any characters! I got the game at launch back in 2016, and it has remained a part of me ever since, and the Drifter along with it. I love the Drifter so much. This character is more of an OC to me nowadays than a character in a piece of media I adore, thanks to all my headcanons, and I adore her.

All of that is to say, my headcanon-based interpretation of the Drifter is that she is a feral cat and the Guardian is standing on his back porch with a can of tuna going “pspspspspspspsps—”

[feneku]

Rescue Operation

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, a few f bombs

Tags: Slight F!Drifter/Ordis(Ordan), Pan!Ordis, Pan!Drifter, Post-Jade Shadows

~1.2k words

Ordis gets rescued after being kidnapped by Granum. He’s a bit of a damsel in distress here, but he gets to say fuck.

I do take constructive criticism (I will cry, but I’ll take the advice) just NOT if it’s about shipping. I’m not a skilled writer but I tried.

Alarms blared throughout the Corpus ship. Explosions and gunfire could be heard in the distance. The cephalon blinked slowly as he came to consciousness. He looked around what appeared to be a medical bay. A very advanced medical bay by the looks of it. He scowled as the memory of the Corpus assault on their camp came back to him. How they managed to distract his Operator while a lone Sister had infiltrated the Orbiter and… Damn Granum, he just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Motherfucker never could take no for an answer.” He growled to himself and wondered how long he’d been unconscious. Another explosion went off somewhere far away. Long enough for the Operator to locate him it seemed. Odd that the Corpus apparently left him alone. Were they too trusting or was the situation outside just that bad?

He pushed himself up from the bed with some effort. His body felt so stiff and awkward. He looked around again taking in the room. Eventually, his eyes settled on a glass cube, cracked, damaged. Dim. He stared. He looked at his hands. Realization hit him like a Grineer Thumper. That had been him. A multitude of emotions and nausea washed over him and he fell back onto the bed. It was all a little too much for him. He laid there for a while head spinning.

Another alarm sounded, shocking him out of his panic. An automated announcement warned that a section of the ship had just been exposed to vacuum. He couldn’t stay here, he needed to move. Move, find her, and get the fuck out of… where-ever this ship was.

He took a deep breath. He could do this, he swung his legs over the side and went to stand. Legs. Right. He’s had those before, he knows how to use them. Surely, it’s like riding a kaithe. Ordis slowly put his weight onto his feet and tried to take a step.

He stumbled and fell to the ground. Fuck.

The door suddenly snapped open and a woman shoved a corpus MedTech, hand covering his mouth and impaled on her sword, through it. She kicked the body off her blade, looked down at him and raised her sword-

He stared at her in amazement and an emotion he couldn’t quite identify, “O-operator?” By stars she looked good splattered with blood. He froze. Something wasn’t right here… he narrowed his eyes at her. “Where is your Warframe?”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in shock, “Ordis! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” She finished off the tech that had been trying to use the momentary distraction to reach for his comm. “Granum’s forces deployed some sort of field that disables them. Modified Sentient tech, I think.” She sheathed her nikana and held out a hand, “Are you hurt? Can you stand?”

He blanched and wondered how much of that blood was hers as opposed to Corpus. He took her hand and let her help him up. “I… I’m uninjured but… I’m not used to having a body again, yet.” He frowned, concerned. She shouldn’t have come for him, the risk of her dying… was an unpleasant thought. Fuck. It made him dizzy thinking about it.

Oblivious to his internal distress, she seemed relieved at hearing he wasn’t injured, “Good. Sorry, but we don’t have much time.” She kept hold of his hand and helped him towards the door. They could address the other aspects of his physical state when they weren’t at risk of getting shot at. She hadn’t missed the jade green glow to his eyes. What has Granum done to you? She wondered if he’d noticed it yet. He stumbled again and she wrapped an arm around him.

“I set off some explosions on the far side of the ship, but they’ll figure out it’s a distraction soon.” The Operator looked at her map display. Thankfully, there was an airlock nearby. She keyed for the liset to dock and checked the hall before exiting. Good. It was empty. She squeezed his hand, whether it was to reassure him or her, she couldn’t tell. He wasn’t exactly steady on his feet, but she could support him.

All those long months she had spent sabotaging and freeing prisoners from Narmer camps paid off. Sneaking through the ship to extraction was almost uneventful in comparison with most of the crew occupied. Dodging cameras and patrols was easy enough even with a recently re-bodied cephalon stumbling along with her. They only had a few incidents where she had had to stealthily dispatch a patrol that had been in their way.

Well, almost uneventful. As they approached their destination the Operator heard a voice barking orders that made her blood run cold. Vala Glarios, she must’ve come down from the bridge to personally handle things. The Operator shoved Ordis into one of the maintenance hallways and motioned for him to be quiet. She could handle a few Corpus troops, but a Sister too? Now wasn’t the time to find out if she could take one on without a frame. She took out a datapad and with a few taps… more explosions rang out through the ship.

Ordis looked at her in surprise. He leaned in and whispered, “Just how many bombs did you plant on this ship?”

She flashed, what some might call, an unhinged grin at him and whispered back, “A few.”

But that had gotten the leader of the Sister’s attention. She was rounding up the crew under her command and running in the direction of the newest explosion intent on catching their intruder. The Operator was once again gripping his hand, like she’d lose him if she didn’t. They made it to the airlock where a countdown had started, the lights were still red, locked. The Operator squeezed Ordis’ hand again in worry and looked back, praying Vala wouldn’t return. Those sixty seconds felt like an eternity. The locks on the door made a deep clack as the lights turned green. They were almost free.

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to get real close…” She looked at him with a little bit of embarrassment as she moved them into the airlock proper.

“What do you mean-“ Oh. Oh. He looked down at the smaller woman. “That… That’s not meant to fit two people.”

“I know but we don’t exactly have another option right now.” She desperately avoided eye contact with him as she pushed him towards the liset. They’d have to be quick because the sensors would trigger as soon as he was in.

As he pressed himself into place she mirrored his movements immediately. Hand over hand, face pressed into his chest, she stood on tiptoes to fit. He tried to not think about how fucking close she was to him, closed his eyes, and did his best to make room for her. As soon as he put his head back he felt the sensors click and the capsule began to rotate. It was a tight fit, but it worked.

The Operator shoved open the hatch and they climbed into the cockpit of the liset. She collapsed in front of the navigation console and punched in a destination - Lua. The small ship shuddered as the mag locks disengaged and the liset tipped away from the Corpus Obelisk. There was a small rumble as the main engines engaged… and they were home free.

[famewolf]

if im being honest and allowing myself to vent a bit about it ... another red flag was when the DM went 'wow i love the detail of your backstory but idk what i can do with it tho ):'

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

the fic from yesterday is many things and one of those is just me going "hee hoo North autistic :)"

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[something-in-red]

Random Warframe 1999 thought:

Imagine for a hot second that for some reason, The Drifter runs into On-Lyne.

Imagine if during a techrot mission it somehow spills over to one of the safe zones and On-Lyne happens to be there.

The Dirfter and their chosen warframe fighting to kill the techrot but only notice too late that it somehow got to a civilian area where On-Lyne where performing and the techrot almost gets them but the Drifter kills it and saves them.

Harddrive stands before the others, ready to at least buy the others time to escape.

To them, the warframe looks like techrot in human form. It stands there for a good minute and it doesn't do anything. It tilts its head in a peculiar fashion, is it...curious?

The techrot person slowly steps towards them, raises its in surrender, trying to convey it doesn't mean harm.

Zeke says its time to run, Drillbit says to wait, it's trying to communicate with them, DJ Rom looks in disbelief and Packet is looking from behind Hardrive in mobid curiosity.

The humanoid techrot halts it's movement, a hand slowly reaches to its back, On-Lyne tenses, only for it to bring up their Album. It points to the Album, then to them as if asking if it was theirs.

It's Packet that speaks first, he tells the techrot that's their album indeed, and asks it if it wants an autograph or something.

The techrot nods enthusiastically.

DJ Rom loses it, starts laughing his ass off, who would've guessed the techrot is a fan of theirs. Zeke tells him to knock it off, Drillbit is bemused, and Harddrive took a second to process before joining DJ Rom.

Packet steps up to the humanoid techrot and Zeke yells at him to get back but Packet ignores him. As soon as he got to it he realized how scary it looks up close, its face has no features. No eyes, no mouth.

He wonders if the techrot takes your mouth first so you don't scream.

Packet takes the album from the techrot hands and brings out a pen, he waves the others to come closer so they could sign it and after some hesitation, they do.

Zeke steps up and takes the album and pen, and he looks at the techrot with unsure look.

"So, uh, you got a name we address this to?"

The techrot freezes, as if it didn't expect the question.

Zeke wonders if he messed up royally before the techrot looked around for a bit, grabbed a piece of rubble before it carved a name on it with its hands and showed it to him and the rest.

It was barely illegible but it spelled A-O-I

"Aoi? Is that your name?" Drillbit asks but the techrot shakes its head, so Zeke asks if its for a friend and the techrot nods.

"Oookay, then!"

Zeke signs it, then passes it to the others to sign it as well. They wrote down a thank you to Aoi for being fan and a thank you to her friend for saving them.

Zeke gives it back and the techrot carefully put it back from whatever pocket they pulled it out of. The bands comes together to thank the techrot again and the techrot waves them goodbye before turning away and jumping on an atomicycle that appeared out of thin air and speeding away.

Harddrive puts his hands on his hips, and looks at fading silhouette of their newly made techrot friend.

"So we are never telling anyone about this are we?"

"Yea, no"

"No way"

"Hell no!"

"Absolutely not!"

[bonesxbows]

Infection (Arthur Nightingale X Reader)

My Masterlist

You can't get sick...right? You're a child of the void, immune to simple bacterial viruses. But yet when you pull into the Mall's garage one day, head throbbing and body aching, you can't help but wonder if that's actually true. To make matters even worse you've been so busy running errands and missions for the Hex that you haven't been keeping an eye on the calendar; it's closer to the end of the time loop than you thought. Arthur's the first to remind you, and the first to notice your change in health.

(WARNINGS) - Graphic Descriptions of Flu like symptoms - Female Drifter (she/her pronouns used)

Guess who got sick right before new years eve and wrote this as a way to make themselves feel better because they're missing out on all the fun parties

I'm still getting a grasp on Arthur's character and I also wrote this while extremely sick so sorry for any mistakes/out-of-character moments

Banners by @strangergraphics

The mission had gone as usual, no kinks or hiccups, smooth sailing as you and your squad mowed down techrot hoard after hoard, the smell of burnt acid and chitin-filled technological carapaces burying the under levels of the old mall. But at some point, your trigger finger began to lag, your steps became staggered and you could feel phantom sweat coat your forehead from within the safety of your warframe. You were falling behind. They wouldn’t leave you, but they wouldn't wait for you either. So you forced your feet to keep moving, willing the energy to keep flowing through your warframe to fend off the techrot surrounding you. By the time you made it back to the garage, you wanted to collapse.

You left your frame next to your atomicycle, not having the energy to pilot the suit even another step. The bundle of supplies you had brought back for the Hex felt like a bag of concrete on your shoulder, threatening to topple you over as your knees screamed in protest, your muscles aching right down to your bones. You were so ready to just trudge up to the backroom and fall into the nearest couch you could find. Luckily, by some small grace, help had arrived. You heard the sliding doors that separated the garage from the rest of the mall glide open, metallic footsteps clicking against the tile floor.

“You’re not usually gone this long. Everything go alright?” You heard him ask, his accent coating over the forming headache in the back of your mind like warm drizzled honey.

You sighed. You didn’t want to snap at him, but you were in so. Much. Pain. Standing on your feet physically hurt. “Everything went fine, Arthur. Can you take these and distribute them, please? I need to...lie down. For a moment.” You kept your voice sweet and plastered a soft smile on your face as you handed the bag of supplies in his direction. He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he studied you. He knew you; ever since you had first arrived you never stopped, never slowed down, always bouncing to the next mission or next bounty, so why now, of all times, were you stopping to take a rest? There was something off, but it was so hard to tell with you. You weren’t built like him, or like he used to be anyway, you weren’t exactly human. He couldn’t read you like he could other people.

“Are you…feeling alright, love?” He took the bag from you, lessening the weight on your body, and immediately you sighed in relief. Your eyes flickered to the door, eager to book it towards the backroom now that you were free from your last responsibility and could finally crash, but Arthur stood in your way, and it was clear he had no intention of moving until you answered his question.

“I’m fine, really. I’m immune to everything, remember? Child of the void and all that. I’m just tired. After some sleep I’ll be right back to normal, promise. You worry too much.” You spoke quickly and then kissed him on the cheek, getting a satisfactory answer out as fast as possible and leaving him no room to argue as you dashed off towards the door. Hopefully, he wouldn’t chase you down so you could actually take that nap you so desperately wanted.

You made it to the backroom in record time, flopping face-first onto the nearest soft surface you could find and passing out as soon as your head made contact.

It wasn’t long though before you woke up retching, a wet cough rattling your chest and scratching your throat on the way out. You groaned, sitting up and leaning back against the back of the couch. You blinked against the lights above you, pulling the blanket that covered your arms up over your head…which definitely hadn’t been there when you had fallen asleep. You poked an eye out, looking around the room, but no one else was there with you. Well, no other people. Your eyes landed on your kubrow who had snuggled up next to the foot of the couch nearest you, curled into a ball, a note laid next to their feet. You reached down to pick it up, scritching their fur as a reward for safeguarding the note for you when you did so. They sighed contently in response.

The white of the paper was blinding to your straining eyes, your headache having only increased from earlier, and his fancy scrawled handwriting didn’t help -you figured it had to be a Britannic thing, Eleanor wrote the same way-, but you managed to decode the note.

You looked cold. Text me when you wake up, team’s taken off the rest of today. I’m all yours. -A

You couldn’t help but smile underneath your little blanket cocoon. It took an extraordinary amount of effort but you stood up, your knees wobbled and your back ached but you willed yourself to stay upright, stumbling your way over to your POM-2 PC. You pushed the on button, the screen flickering to life, making you outwardly hiss as the blue light assaulted your eyes and shot to the very back of your skull like a laser. But you pushed forward, ignoring the pain, and clicked on Arthur’s chatbox.

Hey, A <3

Broadsword is typing…

You’re awake. I take it you got my note then?

I did. Something special going on I don’t know about? You never let the team take days off. 

Broadsword is typing…

Check your calendar, love. 

Broadsword has gone offline.

You squinted in confusion, a small flash of panic grabbing hold of your heart. Had you forgotten something important? You clicked off of the chat page and onto the built-in calendar with the PC, the boxes flashing onto the screen. They were all greyed out, you had reached the end of another month, nothing special there. But then you saw it. December on the top of the screen. December 31st. Today was the end of the time loop. New Year’s Eve.

Metallic footsteps sounded off of the wooden floorboards behind you. You were still facing the PC, dumbstruck by your discovery, nothing but a mass of blanket from his point of view. He came up behind you and snaked his hands around your waist, slotting his head into the crook of your neck, though he was met with a mess of fluffy blanket instead of your warm skin. His eyes flicked between your face and the PC’s screen still brought up on the greyed-out calendar. “Figure out what today is, then?” He whispered.

You leaned back into Arthur’s chest, the heat radiating off of his warframe a welcoming comfort through your blanket.“I didn’t realize.” You spoke, answering his question, but yet you didn’t recognize your own voice. Your eyes widened at the unexpected sound, a hoarse croaking noise as the words scratched out of your throat. Arthur pulled his head away from your shoulder and spun you around as soon as he heard it too, forcing you to face him, his hands now on your shoulders and a concerned look on his face as his brow furrowed. A chill ran over your body at the abrupt removal of his warmth from your back, causing you to shiver, a motion that didn’t go unnoticed by Arthur. He was looking over you, studying you. You pulled the blanket closer around you, becoming sheepish under his gaze. He took in everything he hadn’t noticed before in addition to your recent shiver and scratchy voice; the way your eyes seemed to sink into your face surrounded by dark circles, the unusual dullness in your complexion, and the way both your shoulders and your spine seemed to slump towards the floor as if the weight of a million bricks rested upon you.

A small smirk crawled over his face, his assumptions from earlier now being undeniably confirmed. “So, ‘child of the void that’s immune to everything’ huh?”

You sniffled, sticking your nose into the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice scratched out like a destroyed record, the words catching in your throat and making you hack and cough, breaking whatever semblance of composure you were trying to feign. You brought your elbow up to your face to catch the cough, the fuzzy blanket encompassing everything as you moved. Arthur carefully dug his fingers into the muscles of your shoulders and neck as you coughed and retched up the fluid in your lungs, the gentle pressure a soothing distraction from the pain coating your throat with every new breath you took. Eventually, you stopped, now looking exhausted from the effort, and you couldn’t help but collapse against his chest, your head finding the crook of his neck. Your breathing became ragged against the metal platings and exo-flesh of his neck, though he couldn’t feel it the sound of it alone made concern worm its way to his heart. He didn’t think about it often, he didn’t want to unless he had to, honestly; but moments like this were blatant reminders of just how fragile you were compared to him. He sighed and curled his arms around you, holding you against him and running his hands up and down your back comfortingly. “Hm. Sounds to me like you’re sick, if I had to guess.”

“Ugh.” Was all you could muster for a response, the sound reverberated through your chest instead of your already painful throat. He reached down and hooked his hands under your thighs, pulling you up and bundling you into his arms so he could carry you. You made no protest to his actions, immediately wrapping your legs and arms around his torso, albeit weakly. He carried you back over to the couch, settling down with you in his lap, the blanket not forgotten about and cocooned around your shoulders. You huddled into the warmth radiating off of his mechanical body as another shiver crawled over your spine, causing you to shake. He let his hands roam your back absentmindedly, working his fingers against your muscles gently and every so often letting one of them wander upwards towards your hair, carding his fingers through the strands soothingly.

Though the quiet moment didn’t last for long as his ears twitched, picking up the sound of footsteps coming up the metal staircase that separated your living space from your workshop. He instinctively tensed, his eyes whipping to the doorway as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, ready to protect you at a second's notice. The mall was a safe zone, he knew that in the back of his mind, but he always prepared for the worst. The need to protect you, especially now given how weak you were in your current state, greatly outweighed any rationality to his thoughts. You were oblivious to everything happening, your eyes long since being closed ever since he had sat down with you.

“You two are adorable.” He heard in his head, his guard dropping as he saw both his sister and Aoi poke around the corner. She had been listening when his instincts had kicked in.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you two knock?”

“Don’t you two answer your comms?” He heard in his head again, a teasing smile on Eleanor’s face.

“Didn’t hear them go off. Sorry.” He explained.

“You, not paying attention to your comms? What’s got you so sidetracked?” Aoi retorted, though her face showed she was teasing as well. Eleanor, however, had already found the answer to Aoi’s question. Her face fell when she saw you clinging onto Arthur’s chest, your breathing harsh and unnatural and your hair plastered to your forehead by sweat. She knelt down in front of him, studying you for signs of something she had long since forgotten even existed.

“Is she sick?” She asked him telepathically.

Aoi had also heard the question, catching up on the details laid out before her. She sat down on the other side of the couch, her brow furrowing and a small frown adorning her lips. “Can she even get sick?”

“Apparently,” Eleanor answered in their minds, half sarcastically. “Is there anything we can do?”

“What could we do? We don’t have a cure, she’s in no condition to go back to her time and retrieve one, that’s even if they’ve discovered one.” He ran through options in his head, none of them seeming feasible.

“So…what? We just let it run its course? She seems…miserable.” Aoi’s voice was laced with sympathy. You had done so much for them, it felt awful not being able to help you in return.

“I don’t think we have any other choice, unfortunately.” They could hear the pang of guilt in Eleanor’s words as they echoed in their heads, her lips parting in a regretful sigh as she stood up.

“What did you two stop by here for, anyway?” He asked, his eyes flicking to you as you shifted in his arms, but you were still fast asleep.

“We were going to gather in the commons to celebrate the countdown, you know, since we avoided annihilation and all that this year, we figured why not, and we were going to ask if you and Drifter wanted to join us, but…” Aoi explained, her voice trailing off towards the end as her eyes landed on the bundle of blanket that was you in Arthur’s lap.

“I doubt she’d feel up to a party and I’d rather not leave her here alone, so if it’s all the same to you lot I think I’ll stay here with her for the night.” Both women gave him looks of understanding to his reply, but as soon as Arthur had answered your eyes fluttered open and your head shot up, instantly causing you to go dizzy from your sudden movement and you had to place a hand against his chest to stabilize yourself. But that didn’t stop you.

“No, Arthur, you should go.” You looked at him, your words croaking out just the same as they had before, startling the two women who hadn’t heard the severity of your sickness yet.

“I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” He retorted, brown and white eyes burrowing into yours. He knew it was selfish to argue with you when you were less than healthy, you stood no chance at winning, but he didn’t care. Not when it came to looking after you.

Eleanor and Aoi took that as their cue to leave before the conversation got any more heated. “If you do decide to join us, you know where you can find us,” Aoi told the two of you before standing up and making way for the door.

“Take care of her,” Eleanor told her brother inside of his head, a message only he could hear, as she followed Aoi out.

You waited until you heard the familiar click of the backroom door shutting before trying to bicker with the man in front of you. “You deserve to celebrate.” You told him, fighting against the hoarseness in your throat to get your point across.

“And you don’t? We'd still be dead on the floor of that reactor room if you hadn’t intervened. I won’t leave you here to celebrate alone if I have a say about it.” He brushed the sweat-stricken hair off of your forehead as he spoke.

You huffed, the noise sounding more like a wheeze. “You’re stubborn, Nightingale.” You wanted to cross your arms, to pout, to argue back and force him to spend time with his friends instead of wasting his night away in a stuffy old room. But you barely had enough energy to keep your head up as it was.

He couldn’t help but laugh, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “So I’ve been told.”

You didn’t remember falling back asleep, or even when you had laid your head back down onto Arthur’s shoulder, but the next thing you knew he was gently squeezing your hand, trying to wake you. You stirred for a moment, your eyelids fluttering as you came back to reality. “Wake up, love.” You heard him whisper into your ear. But it was then that all of the pain came flooding back, hitting you all at once. You groaned, feeling the stiffness in your bones and the aches throbbing in your muscles. Though you were grateful that your headache had at least subsided, you discovered that your throat still felt like sandpaper every time you swallowed, causing you to wince from the pain. You slowly raised your head up, coming face to face with Arthur. He had a small smile stuck on his face and you were caught off guard when he tilted his head and kissed you, his lips gentle against yours, as if too much pressure would shatter you like glass. You quickly leaned into it though, weakly wrapping an arm around his neck and inwardly smiling as you felt his hair tickle your cheekbones. He pulled away far too soon for your liking. “Happy New Year, love.”

You blinked in confusion for a moment before turning your head towards your POM-2; sure enough, the usual black screen was now flashing big green numbers, “00:00”. The loop had been completed. Soon it would all start again. Whether or not Arthur would still be there with you come morning was now a decision left in your hands.

[detachedminxsfics]

Motel

Masterlist

Characters: Negan (Dead City) x F!Reader

Summary: You've grown particularly close with the Motor Inn's personal walker killer and decide to pay his motel room a visit.

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: NSFW - Oral (m receiving), vaginal sex, hair pulling, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, negan's usual foul mouth, gentle dom negan

A/N: If you're from my tiktok (which spawned the chaos that motivated me to finish most of this bc you guys are crazy), hello! This is my first time managing to actually finish and upload a oneshot in months, so I apologise in advance. I was also extremely tired when I wrote most of this, but I hope it was worth the wait for the handful of you bombarding my comment sections for the past 24 hours. 😂 I knew what I had to do the moment I saw that shower scene...like damn.

You downed your third shot of the day before slamming it back down onto the counter and wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes idly following the neon lights on the sign hung proudly behind the bar. The Easy Stay Motor Inn. It was a shithole. It only served as a way of keeping four walls and a roof over your head, and walkers off your ass. Speaking of, there was only one guy you'd grown particularly fond of during the month you'd spent working for the lady who owns this place and lapping up the amenities of their accompanying motel, Negan. He wasn't from around here, that much you gathered just by taking one good look at him, but then neither were you. You were both drifters. Heading from one place to the next, never staying anywhere long enough to see it through and find out whether it'd go to shit or hold out long enough before eventually falling to pieces. You just kept moving. That mentality had served you well so far and had kept you alive long enough to say that you'd made it well over a decade into the apocalypse now, not that you had much to show for it.

"Want another?" The guy behind the bar asked, half expecting you to agree to it as you had with all the others and making his way over to the bottle of vodka you'd been chipping away at.

"No thanks", you shook your head with a small smile and slid off the bar stool, "I'm gonna go try to entertain myself someplace else, but don't be surprised if I come back and finish that off later." You gestured to the vodka with a tilt of your head, and the certainty in your tone had the bartender smiling.

You headed towards the backdoor that led to the motel out back, the harsh change of lighting making you squint and shield your eyes to adjust for a moment, the dim vivid hues of the neon-lit windowless bar you'd been sitting in for the past hour or two being snuffed out once you stepped into the natural sunlight. Visual disorientation aside, you made your way down the row of motel rooms lined at your side, your interest only lying with the idea of arriving at one motel room in particular, and you stopped in front of the door when you found it. The door was a stark black to match the wooden panels sitting on either side of the window not too far from the right of the door, vines having wrapped around some of the slats in the wood from the overgrowth of shrubbery on the floor beneath it. It was run down and uncared for like just about anywhere else in this world. You tested the handle to see if the door was unlocked and to your surprise, it was. Twisting it fully you pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind you as you began to observe the interior of the room. It was generically decorated like just about any other room in this place, and he didn't seem to have left anything behind for you to snoop through. The room was so empty that if you didn’t know any better you might have thought that he'd moved on already, packed up all his shit and hit the road. You figured that this was on purpose and probably explained why he didn't care too much when it came to keeping the door locked since he didn't have any shit to steal. Smart.

Negan hadn't been around for too long now, in fact, he'd only arrived about a week after you, but he left a lasting first impression. He was useful. He pulled his weight by taking care of any of the walkers that roamed or wandered into the perimeter of the motor inn, and was never bad company on the occasions that he'd sat on the bar stool next to you and made conversation. As time went on you'd gotten closer and more comfortable with one another, and you quickly found yourself noticing that Negan was the one person you'd opened up to the most in the duration of your entire stay here, better yet felt the most comfortable doing so with. Your vulnerability wasn't one-sided, either. He never went into an awful load of detail, but he had a bad past. He wasn't on the run per se, but there was a group of people that he was hoping to avoid the possibility of encountering for the rest of his days, a community that he had a difficult history with. He alluded to what seemed to mostly amount to horrible shit that most people had done by now just to stay alive, the kind of things you see at night when you close your eyes, haunting you from the backs of your eyelids. You paid it no mind, and you told him that too; he seemed to appreciate your lack of judgement. Gradually, the conversations grew more personal and not so casual, things got flirty. It was subtle, but Negan would make small coy comments on things that you say, or little compliments now and again that toed the line a tad too much for what could be considered harmless flattery or him shooting his shot. You were able to keep yourself humble up until the night when he had jokingly mentioned how good your ass looked in your jeans after more than a few drinks, not that he needed it to let you know just how much he was checking you out. Your thoughts were interrupted by the twist of the doorknob and the sight of it being pushed open afterwards, revealing a rather sluggish and slightly dishevelled-looking Negan. Negan had a silver beard that he seemed to keep well-maintained, the hair decorating his top lip thicker than the rest. His dark hair was always slicked, though it seemed to have transitioned to more of an ashy brown over time with grey tinging at the sides of his hair. He was ruggedly handsome, that was for sure. A grin crept onto his lips when he noticed you standing by one of the beds, closing the door behind him and running his hand through his hair, slicking some of the strands that had fallen out of place in the process.

"Just letting yourself into my place now, huh? We graduating from drinking buddies to whatever the hell this is?" He quipped but was amused by how bold you were to just waltz on into his motel room.

"It's not like you don't want me here." You remarked with a knowing smile as you sat on the end of one of the double beds, to which Negan chuckled and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, a seemingly small mannerism of his that always drove you wild.

"Touché."

He sauntered to the bed next to you until he stood at the foot of it and started to shrug off his leather jacket with a sigh.

"Well whatever it is honey, it's gonna have to wait. I have been out there cracking rotting skulls for who knows how long, and now I need a damn shower."

The checkered flannel shirt he'd been wearing open underneath it was next, him tossing it on the bed in front of him before his fingers brush over the hem of his black tank top. He glanced at you with the material still pinched between his fingertips, a cocky smile creeping onto his lips as he noticed the way you were shamelessly staring at him and didn't seem to plan on stopping anytime soon.

"You gonna watch me strip now too, darlin'?"

You playfully shrugged and let your eyes wander down his torso, an eye movement Negan most certainly followed judging by the way his smile grew, as did his ego.

"I can turn around if you're too shy, Negan."

The throaty chuckle he let loose was almost immediate, his eyebrows raised as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Me, shy? Fuck no. You can stare your little heart out, and you would most definitely be staring."

Well, you certainly hadn't expected him to take it with such pride, so you caved and turned so you were facing the wall next to the bed. You could hear the sounds of clothes falling against the sheets and the clinking of metal as he undid his belt, and then the zipper on his leather pants.

"You still thinking of sticking it out here for a bit longer? I know last time we spoke you weren't so sure." Negan muttered as he got his pants down to his ankles and started to try to shake his ankles out of them.

You thought for a moment, then sighed a little.

"I think so? I don't know, I'm just trying to go day by day. Why, would you miss me?" Your tone picked up towards the end as did the enthusiasm in your voice, the suggestion making Negan's sudden laughter start in the form of a snort.

"Miss you? Shit, course I would. I'd probably move on from here after that."

You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself unable to form the right words. He made it sound like you were the only reason he was still staying here, and that without you there'd just be no point. You didn't ask him to elaborate though, just silently rolled the thought around in your head.

"Well, time to take that shower. I'll be right back, and I don't know maybe we can grab a drink or some shit afterwards?"

"Sure." You mumbled in response.

After that all you heard was the soft tread of his footsteps as he made his way past you and into the bathroom, then the sound of the water being turned on and beginning to crash against the floor of the shower for a few moments before it became more muffled with Negan's body interrupting the stream, and you turned back to face something other than the blank yellow wall you'd be staring at whilst he was stripping. You did your best to focus on the small details of the room to occupy your head, the peculiar framed pictures decorating some of the walls, and the hideous design choices when it came to the taste of the room, but it was no use. All you could think about was what Negan had looked like underneath all those clothes when he was a mere few feet behind you, and what he looked like right now standing in the shower in the very next room, the image of water droplets trailing down his torso and body making it harder to stay seated with every passing second until you just couldn't take it anymore. You stood to your feet and made your way to the bathroom, standing in the doorway for a moment as you stopped in your tracks. The shower had a sliding door that Negan had slid shut, the distortion of the glass still allowing you to be able to make out the sight of him with his head tilted town and one of his palms pressed up against the wall, and the tattoo decorating his shoulder blade. There was no turning back now, you had made up your mind. You approached the glass and gave it a soft knock, the sound startling Negan a little as he turned and slid the glass just enough for him to lean into the gap he'd made.

"Everything okay?" He asked, concern tinging his voice as he used his other hand to sweep some of the hair that had fallen into his face back in place.

Your only response was the sight of your fingertips grasping the hem of your top before you pulled it over your head, holding the top in your hands for a moment as you gazed at him, trying to gauge Negan's reaction to your now exposed breasts. He seemed taken aback for a moment or two, and then his eyes darkened with lust.

"Can I join you?" You asked, fingers teasingly dancing along the waistband of your jeans as though you could tell by just the look in his eyes that he wasn't going to deny your offer.

He didn't.

"Fuck yeah you can." He rasped with a shit-eating grin, leaning back and pushing the sliding glass all the way open to make room for you to join him.

You stripped until there was nothing left, discarding all of your clothes into a pile on the tiled bathroom floor and stepping into the shower with him. The first thing you noticed was the heat. The steam from the hot water, the heat coming from Negan's body, all of it swarming your body with warmth. Then, him. All of him. From the water droplets falling from the scruff of his beard, the dark hair decorating his chest and trailing down the centre of his torso, and even the skull tattoo inked on the right side of his chest. The man was gorgeous. Your eyes dragged down his body, drinking in every inch of him until you got to the part you'd been anticipating most, but were interrupted. He cupped the underside of your jaw and urged your head back up, his thumb brushing along your chin as the tip of his thumb traced just along the edge of your bottom lip.

"You like what you're seeing, huh?" He seemed to be making more of a statement than genuinely asking, but you entertained him nonetheless.

"A lot." You replied simply, the intense and lustful look your eyes were lit with corrupting your stare as your eyes bore into his.

"Good."

He used the hold on your jaw to guide your lips to his, his lips claiming yours. The hand that had been cupping your chin moved to grasp the nape of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip and drawing your body against his. You could feel him hard against your thigh as he groaned into the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth so you could taste him and his hands keeping you pressed firmly against his body, your own hands beginning to wander from the top of his chest down to his abdomen. The water cascading down his shoulders caressed along your fingertips and down your breasts, the warm water trailing down your body whilst he continued to move his lips against yours until you couldn't breathe, and you were forced to pull back for air. The moment you did Negan dove his head into the crook of your neck and pressed his lips against your pulse point, gently sucking the skin there and occasionally teasing it between his teeth in a way that was sure to leave marks, his beard scratching along your jaw as he did. The attention he paid your neck had your hand rushing up the nape of his neck and into his hair, combing your fingers through the back before taking a fistful of his wet strands. The slight tension on his scalp and the way your breath was shaking right by his ear made him pause for a moment to smile against your skin, a hoarse chuckle following shortly thereafter. The warmth of his breath from the laugh felt hot on your skin, and you used the strands of hair you'd taken in your palm to urge his head back until his face was inches from yours again. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip when you found your voice.

"You've thought about this before haven't you, fucking me?"

His brows raised at your boldness, the corners of his mouth fighting a smile.

"Damn right I have. I'd have to be blind or crazy not to, you are easy on the eyes, darlin'."

"Oh?" You tilted your head as you feigned mock surprise, his eyes looking you over like you were good enough to eat, and you might just let him.

Slowly you leaned in and seductively ran your tongue over his lips, finishing with a small kittenish flick at his top lip before leaning back. You soaked up the wanton look in his gaze when you sank to your knees, your eyes locked with his all the while. Now kneeling on the floor of the shower you reached up and closed your hand around his shaft, the way his breath caught in his throat once he felt your touch giving you the encouragement you needed to lean in and run your tongue over the swollen tip, beads of precum gathering along your tongue as you did. As you licked at it you felt Negan's fingers stroke over your hair before he started to gather it in his hand, all of your hair soon clutched into his fist like a makeshift ponytail.

"Don't be a tease." He warned as he slid his free hand underneath your chin and cupped it, allowing him to use both the grip on your hair and your jaw to urge you forward.

Willingly your lips parted, his cock sliding past your lips and into your mouth.

"Fuuuck, there we go." Negan slurred as he slid further into your mouth, stopping just before he reached your throat.

He grunted once you flattened your tongue on the underside of his shaft and leant forward, bracing one of his hands against the tiled wall of the shower when he lowered his head to look at you.

"Shit, you look so good with a mouthful of cock." He rasped crudely with the dirtiest smile before pushing himself down your throat, and you fought the urge to gag as he did.

He started to move his hips, the motion prompting you to place your hands just above his knees for support whilst he slid in and out of your throat. Soon enough tears began to well in your eyes, the urge to choke too great as you finally gagged on him, the sensation making Negan momentarily screw his eyes shut before sliding out of your mouth. He let you breathe for a moment or two before he was already pushing down your throat again, his groans getting louder and deeper with every thrust.

"Ohh, good girl." He cooed, his sounds of pleasure gradually turning into a blatant string of curses as he repeatedly thrust down your throat, and you shamelessly took every single inch.

Eventually, the movement of his hips got slower, his moans getting louder until finally his hips stuttered and his abdomen began to tense. He tightened his grip on your hair, the harsh grasp burning your scalp, and then you felt the hot wet spurts of warm liquid coating your tongue. You waited until you knew he'd spilt every last drop and then carefully removed him and swallowed his release, your breath a little laboured whilst Negan hovered above you with totally ragged, uneven breath, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to come down from the high of his orgasm. A few tears had escaped your waterline and slid down your cheeks as he fucked your throat, but it had mixed with the occasional stream of water trickling down your face from the shower.

"You did so good, baby. So good." He praised as he finally released your hair from his hand and started gently running his fingers through it instead, his touch soothing some of the pain he'd inflicted upon your scalp.

You stayed like that for a moment just listening to the sound of the water until you felt his hand leave your hair and the sight of him extending it out in front of you for you to take, which you did. He helped you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist the second you straightened your back, his mouth crashing against yours and allowing him to taste himself on your lips, the urgency with which he kissed you making you moan into the kiss a little. Whilst he stole your air Negan guided you backwards until your back came to press against the steamy tiled wall, the condensation pooling on the tiles smearing against your skin, and the faint coolness to it making you gasp. You wrapped your arms around Negan's neck to draw him in closer, your hips subconsciously moving to bring your groin against his and allowing his still proudly hard cock to brush against your inner thigh. You broke the kiss to try to regulate your unsteady breathing, leaning back just enough so that your lips were practically still brushing, the hot heavy pants Negan breathed against your lips making you need him all the more.

"Negan?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you inside me."

He couldn't hold back the dangerous look his eyes filled with when you whispered exactly what you needed, an arrogant look in his eye as he leaned back and cockily smiled.

"Your wish is my command, sweetheart. C'mere."

He slid his hands all the way up the backs of your thighs, towards your outer thigh, and then took hold of your hips. The gesture prompted you to do a small jump that allowed Negan to hoist you up and trap you between the wall and his body, your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands moved to cup your ass. In one calculated movement Negan lined himself up and sank inside you, the way you stretched around him eliciting a filthy moan from your lips almost immediately.

"That feel good, baby?" He purred, his voice full of arrogance.

He knew it did, he just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yes, god yes." Was all you could manage as he set a hard and intense pace, drawing all the way out before slamming back inside you, the feeling of fullness with every thrust making your mouth fall open.

One of your hands slid down his chest, his dark chest hair brushing up against your fingers as you did, whilst the other slid up his shoulder and moved to rest on the nape of his neck. His fingers were digging into your skin with the grip he had on you, strands of your hair clinging to the condensation of the tiled walls as you slightly threw your head back, uncontrollable sounds of pleasure spilling from your lips from the way he roughly fucked into you. The overwhelming sensation caused you to idly weave your fingertips in the hair at the top of his neck and run your hands through the back of his hair, occasionally tugging at it when he buried himself especially deep and you could do nothing but squirm in his grip. The water was still running just off to Negan's side, the hot water wasting onto the floor and creating a small pool at his feet. With the way you'd angled your body it allowed him to lean in and lick a stripe up the valley between your breasts, your skin feverishly hot against his tongue as he gathered some of the water droplets and left nothing but a trail of spit before beginning to kiss up your throat. He littered your neck with kisses, moving his affections to the side of your neck before planting a few kisses along your jaw, his stubble scratching along the side of your face all the while. It felt like heaven. You couldn't think about anything other than his touch, the way his mouth shamelessly marked your skin, the sounds of his heavy breath and the guttural groans spilling from his throat like music to your ears. By this point your sweet moans grew to resemble sobs, your legs slightly shaking in his hold as Negan thrust into you over and over, and a feeling started to burn in the pit of your stomach unlike anything you had ever felt before.

"Negan." was all you managed to choke out, practically in the form of a cry.

All you felt was his lips claiming yours, and the occasional parting of your lips just enough for him to whisper into the kisses.

"I got you, I got you, baby." He swore over and over, his gentle reassurance paired with his hard thrusts tipping you completely over the edge, and your whimpers getting lost in his heated kisses.

You feel the knotting in your abdomen just before everything comes crashing over you, waves of pleasure ripping through your body and making you clench around him as Negan continues to fuck you throughout your high, your mind hazed with overstimulation. Eventually his movements began to stutter, his abdomen clenching amidst the deep v-lines framing his hips, and a string of gravelly curses poured from his mouth. Carefully, Negan unwrapped one of your legs from his waist and urged you to set it down on the floor of the shower, the other still wrapped around his hips as he held it there. His free hand moved down to his shaft, wrapping his hand around it and giving it a few quick strokes until he finally came. His hold on your leg became more of a firm squeeze as he threw his head back a little and grunted, liquid splashing over the top of your inner thigh and beginning to gradually trickle down your leg. The bathroom was full of steam now, the air thick with humidity and both of your chests rising and falling rapidly as you both tried to catch your breath. After a few moments you felt Negan place your other leg down, his release still dribbling down your skin as you tried to come down from your incalculable high. His breath evened out a little, his eyes still half-lidded when his hazel eyes locked with yours, his gaze capturing you amidst the knowing grin playing on his lips. You were totally fucked out, and the sight made him chuckle.

"That good, huh?" He teased with raised brows, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip making you playfully roll your eyes and manage a small laugh.

"Shut up."

You'd give credit where credit is due, the man knew what he was doing, but you couldn't allow yourself to stroke his almost nauseating large ego any further. He shook his head with a smile, both of his hands smoothing over your waist and then taking hold of it, using it to lead you towards him. You let him coax you to the space closer to the shower head, the water now splashing directly against the back of his neck and trailing down his body, droplets of water simultaneously forming along Negan's jawline and repeatedly falling from his wet beard. He kept one hand on your waist whilst the other held one side of your face, his eyes boring into yours. His head tipped forward so he could rest his forehead against yours, water sliding down his neck when he started to speak in almost a whisper at first.

"If I hit the road, I want you to come with me."

You thought you may have not heard him right at first and leant back with slightly wide eyes, shock etched into your features.

"Really?" You muttered.

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed, the stare you shared serving as more of an answer than any words you could utter, but you parted your lips to speak and did anyhow.

"You've got yourself a deal."

[a-bright-comet]

Jade Shadows Thoughts

(NOTICE: I have edited this post after a few days and many lovely replies and tags giving me more insight and opinions, overall my view of this quest has gotten a lot more positive, thank you all <3) okaaayyyy I am utterly rattled rn lmao also made the mistake of looking at tumblr after doing the quest and as expected it seems to be a 50/50 of hating or loving it. so here are my personal thoughts, I am a little scared but talk seems to be civil thankfully. I can definitely agree on the sentiment that this quest needed more time, cause let's be honest the people hating this quest wouldn't be jumping to the things they're jumping to if Jade herself got more screen-time before the big drop, warframe's style has always been vague and never 100% straight-forward and I think that unfortunately hurt it a bit this time, as what they didn't show came off wrong to many people and while I sorta see why I disagree on some parts. I also feel like the quest kinda got a bit *too* hyped both by DE and the fanbase's theories, way too short, it deserved and needed to be a bit longer for it's special narrative. Jade kinda got a weird spot, both being the main focus alongside Stalker but also hardly explored. But let's be honest, most of the negativity is caused by this outside-circumstance alone. Now, what I absolutely disagree with is people insisting that DE was trying to say "bodily autonomy bad" or that Stalker didn't care about her and only the child, thing is I thought it was pretty fucking clear that she *wanted* the child in what little was shown and she was going to die no matter the outcome (thanks to the orokin to absolutely no one's surprise) and Stalker in his guilt for all she's done for him wanted to make sure that he at least kept this one promise to Her, cause She wanted it. she still had bodily autonomy in the fact She wanted this, she wanted the child no matter what. and she wanted stalker to protect her and the kid. And he did, like a true loving partner. DE has a long track record of being very autonomy-positive. A point they make time and time again is that ripping it away is *bad* and horrifying, the quest is a bittersweet tragedy, not a horror. Honestly there would be 0 issue if DE had given us a Jade-only quest before this one, I personally would've preferred it as well, she's cool as hell she deserves it. who knows maybe DE will see all of this and make prequel quests? we can only hope. I do not want to assume the worst of anyone or anything cause that's a miserable existence. Look I personally enjoyed the quest and get the feeling whoever wrote it did it out of some personal experience or sorrow, that's at least the vibe I got. It's a tragedy, but her choice was seen till the end, many women choose to still have a child despite knowing they won't make it, many also don't, that's why choice is important. and she did, she chose her child that she was having while likely forcibly infested and turned into a warframe. (also remember there are women on the team who likely looked at this.) there are some other iffy parts of the quest, (really should've been the drifter instead of the operator if they were gonna do that, but that's personal discomfort.) but overall I enjoyed it and open to explore the implications of a born-warframe-child and Stalker healing as they both grow together. These are my thoughts, and I can understand why people like or dislike this quest, but I think it's fine and just ended up in a very unfortunate spot due to outside circumstances beyond it's control. (sorry if any of this comes off as aggressive it is not my intention despite how riled I am by some folk online, I disagree with you but I do not hate you, I don't even know you.)

Her choice, His promise, Their light.

Thank you for reading my first ever text post about something I care about, not sure I'll be doing this again any time soon out of anxiety lol (Edit: and thanks to everyone responding to this post wonderfully, ya'll are great and have lessened my anxiety and have made me appreciate this quest more <3)

[syndicate-of-swing]

How the Drifters would hug you and/or cuddle with you

VENTURA CITY DRIFTERS (Alina, Emily, Sahara, Violet, Rose) X READER

VCD, and this art, was created by sonokido. Go read it at once.

A/N: I wrote this while playing a Cold War submarine simulator.

Alina Scratch

LOVES to be the little spoon.

Feeling your arms wrapped around her soothes all her worries about not meeting her team's expectations.

It's like the world just melts away for her when you hold her like that.

Plus, she ain't that tall, so she fits perfectly into you.

If she's feeling particularly down (i.e. if the Drifters lost a game), she'll lay her head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat.

She falls asleep almost immediately.

Emily Lang

Your head.

Her lap.

NOW.

Picks you up and sets you down on her couch, setting your head on her thighs.

Will run her fingers through your hair while the two of you watch whatever action movie's just been thrown onto Netflix.

In bed, she is always the big spoon.

She wraps her strong arms around you and she does not let go.

Oh, you need to get up and go to work?

Nope. Call in sick.

Sahara Taylor

Back hugs.

LOTS of back hugs.

She adores scooting up behind you, wrapping her arms around you, and resting her head on your shoulder.

Snuggling with her isn't really a matter of who's what spoon.

You two will be facing each other, limbs tangled around each other, bodies pressed against each other.

Due to her injury and the exhaustion it causes her, she doesn't stay up long when you cuddle, usually just conking out a few minutes into your snuggle session.

Violet Naire

Always wants to make you feel safe.

Big spoon, your head on her chest, doesn't matter.

As long as you're secure in her arms, she's content.

Knowing that you feel safe with her makes her really happy.

If she's having a rough day, she'll just walk up to you and hug you.

Neither of you talk, you just stay like that for a while.

Eventually, she'll let go with a muttered "thank you" before going about whatever she was previously doing.

If she's feeling more vulnerable, she might let out a little "I love you" before she lets go.

Please hug her, she needs it. :(

Rose Naire

She is always clinging onto you in some way.

Sitting down and doing homework? She is now sitting in your lap and being extraordinarily distracting.

Trying to lay down? Congratulations, you now have a very hyperactive weighted blanket.

Speaking of which, you will need to buy an actual weighted blanket just to keep her still when you two cuddle.

And when you do, she is a great cuddler.

The positive affirmations will not stop at any point, of course. She loves you too much not to constantly tell you so.

[sparenickel-blog]

About square food

Someone on Reddit asked about whether or not Duviri had square food and I wrote such a long-winded response that I figured I would post it here too.

Enjoy!

I have been wondering the same thing honestly. I'm pretty sure ALL food on the Zariman was square, as they were meant for interstellar travel as "nutritional cubes" to keep longer.

I have pretty much zero idea what they ate in Duviri (only thing I know for certain is they had vineyards for wine for nobility), but my best guess is probably also nutritional cubes for a couple reasons.

One is that the drifter is the one who made Duviri, so whatever they imagined would be made real there, including what they ate.

The second is that the drifter, after arriving in 1999, mentions that square food is comforting, so they had to have eaten it often either before Duviri or during.

Given their non-descript allotted time in Duviri, which was purposefully left vague (but as time may not work the same way in the Void as it does our own reality, it could be anywhere from a couple decades to thousands of years for all we know), if they didn't eat cubes there, then it could make sense because the idea of "comfort" in a place they know as a personal hell would remind them of a time before Duviri. However, the longer the time they could have spent in Duviri, the less sense it makes, because then the memories of a time before would be faded or vague at best. It could still work if they held on to those memories, but given the drifter made a world of their own after being left on the Zariman (aka "not saved" like the operator was) just so they could escape from losing their mind entirely, then that prior comfort might have been entirely cast aside for their own sanity's sake.

The possibility of them having had nutritional cubes for only a couple years leading up to space travel then saying that it is "comforting" doesn't make much sense either, especially if they only had them for such a short time.

So in my opinion, either the drifter ate nutritional cubes all their life up until a couple decades of Duviri, or Duviri had the cubes as well while they spent who-knows-how-long amounts of time there.

Added tidbit: When it comes to people, suppressing memories is something we do very well to cope, so I say "MIGHT have been entirely cast aside for their own sanity's sake" for the very reason that just because the memory is suppressed does not mean it cannot resurface. It's possible, just a matter of whether or not our brains can remember or will keep that memory in favor of something else.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[samhellebore]

shocking

we talked about Amir liking a shock collar in the Amir discord chat and that his warframe would put that extra electricity into pleasure. i wrote about that so enjoy the spoils of those big brains in Discord.

Slight nsfw / Also I just put in Drifter as the name because Idk it feels weird to share this with my Drifters name.

The collar wasn’t designed as a restraint or a tool for discipline; no, it was something far more intimate—a conduit for electricity and sensation. Amir’s warframe body thrived on energy. Every pulse, every spark, every jolt fed directly into his core, filling him with a charge that sent ripples of pleasure coursing through his being. It wasn’t about pain; it had never been about pain.

The first time Drifter pressed the button, his reaction was immediate. A sharp intake of breath, his body tensing for a fleeting moment before the energy settled, spreading like wildfire. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, trembling as a low, involuntary whimper escaped his lips. His warframe’s parts glowed faintly, tracing lines of light across his body as the collar did its work. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, a cascade of impulses his enhanced frame translated into something exquisite.

Drifter hovered over him, thumb poised over the button again. His gaze met theirs, pupils blown wide and expression desperate—not in fear, but in anticipation. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling. The word was almost lost in the sound of his ragged breathing, but it was there, clear as day.

Drifter pressed the button again.

The jolt this time was stronger, longer. His body arched, his hands clawing at the floor as the charge flowed through him. The warframe’s parts hummed in harmony with the energy, amplifying every sensation, every pulse. His moans filled the air, raw and unrestrained. He wasn’t resisting; he was surrendering, giving himself over completely to the sensations Drifter was gifting him. Each spark was a reward, a promise that they understood his needs, his desires.

By the third press, Amir was a trembling mess. His body quivered, his warframe’s glow pulsing in time with his heavy breaths. Drifter knelt beside him, fingers brushing against the collar. He tilted his head slightly, offering his neck, his trust. There was no fear, no hesitation, only the unspoken understanding that this was what he craved. This wasn’t punishment; this was indulgence, ecstasy.

And Drifter obliged him, again and again, until he was utterly undone, a whimpering, radiant tangle of pleasure and light on the floor. They knew, as they watched him tremble beneath their touch, that they weren’t hurting him. Every press of that button was a gift, one he cherished more than words could express.

It felt so good for Amir—so right. And in his electrified haze, his gratitude shone brighter than any spark.