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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 42)*

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+, this is smut folks. Plus, the usual warnings, and a focus on Ivar’s past experiences/trauma regarding sex, and related issues. Also, idk if I still need to let you know, but I write Ivar as a sub/bottom, always will.

A/N: Hi, thank you so much for being patient with me for taking an extra week to post this update after my return from the hiatus, I think I can get back to a more regular writing/uploading schedule from now on. Hope you like this chapter!

Alongside this chapter I posted an Ivar’s PoV. I very much encourage you to read it. You can find it here :)

Your fingers are quick making the knot, and you find yourself chuckling.

“What is it?” Ivar prompts, but the trail of kisses he leaves down your neck distracts you for a few breaths.

“I married you in red. It means nothing to your people, but does to mine,” You explain, before lifting the wrist that now bears your pendant like a bracelet between you, and tracing the inside of his wrist right under the leather knot. “And now our fates are tied as one, just as they would have in my homeland.”

“What do you mean?”

“When two people get married, amongst the things we do is tie their hands together. Like this,” You demonstrate, putting your palm against Ivar’s, fingers still greedily tracing the inside of his wrist that now bears the mark of your promise. “And a Hiereia would tie a knot to symbolize the union,” Your smile is a little dazed, more than a little lovesick, but you can’t find it in you to care. “Similar to how I did just now.”

“So we are married now?” He teases, and you chuckle, rolling your eyes. Ivar persists, though, a tad more serious, “Before your Gods, are we…are we husband and wife?”

“Of course we are,” You reply, almost affronted. Your brow presses against his, and you turn your hand to intertwine your fingers. “I swore before your Gods and mine to become your wife, did I not?”

He searches your gaze, or is lost in it, for a few breaths before he gives any answer.

The answer, it seems, is a soft smile and a slow blink of his eyes.

“I love you.” He tells you, an answer as well.

He lays his body over yours, and your senses are overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. His hands settle comfortably on your waist as he explores your mouth, tongue seeking entrance you willingly give, but he doesn’t waste a moment to grip surely on the curve of your ass when you bend one leg to bring him closer.

“I want you, I want…” He doesn’t finish his train of thought, choosing instead to trail open mouthed kisses down your throat, nuzzling at the dip between your collarbones, before his kisses grow more heated, gentle sucks and scattered bites over the tops of your breasts.

He is stopped by the nightdress you still wear, and resting his chin in the valley between you breasts, Ivar looks up at you, big eyes dark and plump lips bearing the reddish mark of your kiss. The sight shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, but you still lose yourself in it, and you think he speaks but you cannot hear it, too focused on reaching with one hand and trailing your fingers in through his loose hair.

Ivar says your name, a question, and all you can reply with is an inquisitive, hm?

“Can I…?” His hands bunch up the sides of your nightdress, the intent obvious.

It makes warmth and something else, something darker and made of iron more than silk, blossom in your chest, to hear him ask, to have him await your permission, to have him…surrender.

You nod your head, barely having to put any strength in lifting your body off the mattress to get the dress of since Ivar lifts most of your weight. That will never cease to surprise you, and you don’t think it will ever cease to make you want him even more either.

Laid bare before him, as you have been many a time before, you look up into his eyes. He doesn’t bother hiding anything right now, maybe if he tried he couldn’t, and you are witness to everything that swims in those pale blue eyes. The desire, the awe, the lingering frenzy from when you first told him of your choice, that frenzy of not wanting to waste a moment, a breath.

You had never felt want like this, not until him. You hadn’t felt wanted like this, not until him.

Not until the wide blue eyes that gaze at you like something out of a dream, not until the voice roughened by desire breathing out your name, not until the reverent and frenzied hands exploring whatever part of you that they can reach.

Ivar continues his previous trail, sealing lightning against your skin with every press of his lips over your body, with every caress of rough hands on delicate skin.

Nestled between your legs, he looks up at you with a smile that speaks of arrogance but something sweeter too, something softer.

Hooking one of your legs over his shoulder with practiced ease, Ivar licks a stripe up your center, making you shiver.

One of your hands tangles in his hair as it always does, and as Ivar starts working his tongue against you, your fingers tighten and pull at his hair, only succeeding in making him redouble his efforts, drawing the occasional moan from him that reverberates through you.

He takes his time slowly making pleasure build inside you, tightening like knot in your lower stomach, to the point where your body is begging for release.

In between tight circles of his tongue against the bundle of nerves in your core, Ivar puts his fingers inside you, skillful curling of them making your legs tremble and your breaths stutter.

Praise is falling from your lips, you aren’t sure if in any language he knows but certain he understands regardless, judging by the bite followed by a reverent kiss that he presses to the inside of your thigh.

And you climb higher and higher, lost in him, lost in the pleasure he so willingly seeks to draw out of you as if it your moans were the most exquisite form of praise.

With one last cry of his name that sounds high and breathless, you reach your peak, feeling as if the waves of pleasure rolling over you are never to end.

As you come down, you blink past the daze of pleasure and draw him back up to you, bringing his lips to yours.

You never hesitate in kissing him, even when the evidence of what he has done to you is still on his tongue. If you are honest, tasting yourself on his mouth sends a pang of heat through you each and every time.

And you are hungry and desperate, hungry for pleasure that isn’t yours, desperate for giving him the pleasure you know you can.

Your hand trails down his chest as your mouth demands entrance into his, tongue exploring his mouth leisurely. Your free hand tightens on his hair, and you pull him closer, while you reach exactly where you wanted.

You barely are able to cup your hand around him when Ivar pulls back, breaths ragged.

His hand grips at your wrist, stopping you. You expected that, though.

Ivar takes a deep breath, and states, “It won’t work, you know that.”

Your free hand reaches for the side of his face, trailing down the side of his neck, and you search his eyes as you promise fervently,

“Even if it doesn’t work normally, you can feel pleasure, Ivar. I know you can, I h-…”

“I can’t,” He interrupts you, eyes wide. You remain silent after his words, and a shaking breath leaves his parted lips. Voice low and rough, he explains, “It feels…painful, and…do you think I didn’t try, after that first night with Margrethe? I-I couldn’t go to her again, o-or anyone else, but…I believed she had done something to me, I believed-…she had to be the reason why, it had to be her fault.

You think of how long it has taken him to feel comfortable around you, how much he still struggles with the soft intimacy of just the two of you, how aware he is of his own body and where and when you touch him; and you cannot help but think he most likely wasn’t ready at all to be with that girl. You know him well enough to assume it was probably something having to do with his pride, with that public image that seems to seep into how he sees himself all too often.

Ivar continues, “I tried using my hand to-…I tried, and it…and it was useless. It is of no use,” His expression tightens, a furrow in his nose of old anger, of resentment at the world and Fate itself. “Being touched…it-…I can’t bear it.”

“Have you felt that way with me?” You ask quietly, suddenly sickened by all those times you felt him lean into your touch or almost surrender to the press of your body or your hand against him and believed you were offering pleasure. “Is it painful when I touch you?”

More than anything you wish you could be in his head right now, you wish you could know which are those thoughts that make for a few moments his breaths slightly more panicked, that make something like anguish cross his features before he can offer any words.

“No,” He tells you, letting you breathe easier, “I-It always felt…good with you. But I can’t, you know I can’t.”

Something in you steels at the way his eyes fall from yours. There is no reason he should ever feel he cannot hold your gaze, least of all for something like this.

Your hand on the side of his face is gentle, and he obeys the silent command and returns his eyes to yours. The sight of tears -this time not overwhelmed, happy, disbelieving tears at hearing you are to stay, but defeated, humiliated, helpless- makes you strengthen, offer certainty when he has none.

“It will feel good with me, Ivar,” You say, unwavering. You know it is true. Still, even if you ache to show him, you offer your words and your sincerity and nothing more. “It will feel good, because you are mine and I am yours. There’s no room for pain, for anything else, not when it’s us.

He starts shaking his head, words stuck in his throat but trembling lips trying to form them anyways. You lean closer, the hand on his cheek moving to grasp at the back of his neck.

“You can feel pleasure, my love,” You promise. His eyes -wide, uncertain eyes- jump in between yours, frantically searching your gaze as if truths can be found in you, as if he’s desperately hoping he can believe what you tell him. “Let me show you.”

“I…I’m-…”

You press your lips gently to the corner of his mouth, and even that simple and intimate touch makes him jump, makes the faint tremble of his body slightly worse.

“Shh,” You soothe, daring to put a hand on the center of his chest, the caress firm but soft as you try luring him to a normal breathing. “It is alright. I will stop if you want me to. Is that what you want?”

You lean back just enough to meet his gaze, your heart suddenly picking up speed at the sight of him. Ivar’s eyes are wide and his breathing hasn’t slowed down, and it is after a few shaky breaths that he manages to give you an answer.

The barest movement as he shakes his head, and promises, “I want you.”

Simple words, but they make pure and raw hunger run through your veins like wildfire. A wilder part of you, a part of you that lingers in all the ways he has proved he is yours, wants nothing more than to satiate this hunger with starved touches, demanding kisses and hurried and desperate proof that you want him, however you can have him.

But more than anything you want to erase any memory of any hands on his body that aren’t yours, even if they are his own, when those memories bring forth pain. You want to show him there’s no pain to be felt when it comes pleasure, you want to show him there’s no humiliation to be dreaded when it comes to intimacy.

Pleased with the answer and unable to help yourself, you capture his lips on yours, a leisurely exploration of his mouth as you press as close as you can. Ivar moans against your lips at the first of presses of your mouth on his, leaning into your touch with barely any hesitation.

When you pull back his brow is furrowed and his breaths are fast, and a pang of heat goes through you at the way he licks his lips, already missing the taste of you.

“Then trust in me,” You ask softly, your mouth moving slowly through the curve of his jaw to reach his ear. Voice low, you demand, “Give in to me, Ivar.”

The effect of your words is immediate, and Ivar doesn’t bother containing the overwhelmed little sound, somewhere in between a whimper and a moan, that leaves his parted lips. Your hand on the back of his neck is the one thing that keeps his head from falling back, and the only thought that runs through your head at the sight of him is that he is yours, yours, yours.

Past the daze of hunger and desire, you remind yourself that there will be time for hurried, there will be time for desperate and hungry. There will be time for you to leave your mark on him, there will be time for his skin to bear the reminder that he is yours and yours alone.

But now, now you want to explore every part of him, with hands, with tongue and lips. You want him to feel safe with you, you want to get him drunk on nothing but you.

And so you do.

With aimless but gentle touches of your hands over his body, with presses of your mouth that linger between hungry and soothing, with whispered praises of how much you want him, of how no one compares to him in your eyes, of how good he is for you; you make the lingering tension in his body give way to something else, you make him give in to the lull of touch and the high of being just the two of you and the intimacy between you.

And this time when you reach down and palm him over the thin barrier of his pants he doesn’t even try to stop you, instead offering a haggard breath of your name and nothing else, surrendering to your touch.

He tenses underneath you when you move your hand to reach for him under his clothes, but you press quick and soothing kisses to the exposed skin of his neck and remind him quietly,

“It is just me, Ivar. All I want is to give you pleasure, nothing will change that.”

“Y-You know I-…”

“I know,” You tell him softly, “Just focus on me, focus on how it feels.

After lifting your hand back up to your face to spit on the palm of it and make things easier, you whisper your instructions as you circle your fingers around his cock.

“It feels good when I touch you, doesn’t it, love?” You ask, not expecting an answer, but you do get one, a choked hum of affirmation. You smile against his neck, “It feels so good to finally be able to touch you, to be able to make you feel good.”

Slowly but surely, you feel him hardening slightly under your touch. You still keep the pace of your hand steady, as well as the flow of praise that falls from your lips, certain that if you draw attention to it he will close up or revert to the defeated certainty of before.

When you get him hard enough that even he cannot ignore it anymore, Ivar gasps your name, a call to stop even if you don’t obey it.

“H-How-…? I don’t-…”

“Focus on how it feels, Ivar,” You reiterate, not wanting him to overthink things, not wanting the past to have any reach in this moment. “Focus on me.”

You make sure to keep talking. He has told you many times, and proven even more, that there’s something soothing to him about you talking, either because of the sound of your voice or what you have to say, you truly don’t know.

So with your fingers toying at the waist of his loose pants, you look up and ask,

“Can I see you, my love? All of you?”

Ivar licks his lips, but they still part helplessly as he looks down at you, barely daring make a sound past the gasping breaths that leave him.

And he nods his head. His eyes remain intently on you as you take off his pants, remain on you searching for something in your gaze as you take in all of him.

Bare before you, his skin baring the faintest shine of sweat and a few marks that may be the result of less-than-gentle exploring on your part, you feel your throat tighten, your mouth dry. You want him, you want to make him moan, you want to make him surrender, you want to make him yours.

But, teasing both him and yourself it seems, you take your time, slowly crawling up his body until you are face to face with him, straddling his hips but not close enough for you to be pressed together.

Ivar looks up at you, wide eyes asking -pleading- for something that he doesn’t yet dare voice, chest rising and falling rapidly with each expectant breath.

Your mouth slowly curves into a smile, and keeping your eyes on him in a silent command that he keep looking at you, you reach for his hardening cock.

At the first of your touches Ivar lets out a haggard moan, head craning back and leaving his throat exposed, tempting you to place a few more marks here and there. But you want to see him, you want to see the effect of your touch on him.

“Look at me,” You order, a pang of heat running through you at how quickly, how pliantly, he obeys the command, forcing heavy eyelids to remain open and dark eyes to remain on you. “I want your eyes on me, love.”

His cheeks are tinted red and his eyes are slightly moist as he looks up at you, his hair roughened my movement and the passing of your fingers, he looks like every desire you’ve ever had made man.

The strong body, open gaze, the moans and whimpers he tries and fails at keeping hidden. Perfect. Yours.

You run your thumb over the tip of his cock to gather the moisture that slowly starts forming there, turning your wrist slightly when you stroke upwards. Ivar gasps, almost sitting up, but you put your hand on his chest to stop him.

And…Gods, how easily he complies, leaning back and letting you continue to touch him, surrendering his pleasure to you. And still, in the daze that makes moans and whimpers fall from his lips so easily, he still remembers to keep his gaze on you, to keep endless blue eyes focused on you. The sight of his surrender is enough to make a woman mad.

His lips form helplessly around the words before he even utters them, but eventually Ivar gasps, “It…ah, it feels…”

“Good?” You ask, and he nods his head frantically.

“Y-Yes,” He promises, eyes wide, “Don’t…don’t stop.”

You don’t stop the movements of your hand, but you move down his body, and settle between his legs. Ivar’s eyes are wide, and he looks tortured when he looks down at you.

Licking a trail from the base of his cock to the tip, you delight yourself in the tremble you make take over his whole body, and after a few tentative licks that are there just to see if you can make him beg without having to tell him to, you take him in your mouth.

He moves as if to sit up again, unconscious movement of his body against the new feeling, but you still put one hand against his stomach, keeping him down even if it is not through brute strength that you do so.

Ivar cries out your name as you start moving your mouth over him, while your hand strokes the base of him. And you try keeping your eyes on him as much as you can, not wishing to lose a moment.

You don’t keep track of time, couldn’t even if you wanted to, but you do notice him climbing closer and closer to that edge. It is written in the tension of his arms and shoulders, in the red that starts spreading over his chest, in the way the sounds he makes are broken by whimpers, in the breaths that stutter over one another.

But he stops you again.

“S-Stop, pl-…ah, please stop,” He pleads, taking a few shallow breaths when you pull back. His hands grip tightly at the sheets underneath him, and breath by breath he starts to let go. Once his hold on them is almost loose, he speaks again. “Stop, or I will…I…don’t want this to end yet.”

Your heart does a strange thing in your chest, and you move back up to be face to face with him. Your eyes linger on the few details that make him look so utterly wretched, from the faint shine of sweat on his forehead to the bite marks on his lip.

You want to kiss him, but hesitate, wondering if he will be disgusted by his own taste. Ivar doesn’t even think about that, it seems, for when you are close enough he lifts a trembling hand and tangles it in your hair, bringing your lips to his, kissing you slowly and deeply.

You pull back, a hand on his chest, and promise, “It isn’t the end, love.”

“I want to be inside you.” He argues.

“And you will be,” Is the answer you give, before kissing a quick path down his chest. Grasping him in your hand once again, you look up at him. Unable to resist the temptation, you grant the faintest of licks to his tip, making a ragged groan leave his lips. “But before that, I want to make you come undone, using just my mouth.”

He doesn’t offer any resistance after that, but judging by the way his breaths get quicker and his eyes flutter shut before you even get to put your mouth around him again, your words had a deeper effect on him than you had anticipated.

Bracing yourself on his thighs, you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, ignoring the discomfort of your jaw as you move your mouth over him.

The litany of sounds that leaves his lips becomes more ragged and broken the longer you pleasure him, even if it isn’t that long until you notice the clear tells of him being close to the edge again.

This time you redouble your efforts, daring to moan slightly around him, making a string of curses leave Ivar’s lips. And when you reach with one of your hands to play with his balls, his hands grip desperately at the sheets underneath him once again.

As Ivar’s voice begins to give out, head turned to the side and nothing but broken moans leaving his lips as you get him closer and closer to the edge, you try your hardest to commit this moment to memory. This moment, of his voice sounding so beautifully wretched by the pleasure you give him, of his body pliant under your every touch and desperate in equal measure.

Ivar reaches his peak with a hoarse shout, his back arching off the bed, wide eyes looking at the nothingness above him. You are lost in the sight of him lost in the throes of pleasure, and you can almost ignore the bitter taste of his seed as you swallow.

He loses all strength and collapses against the bed, gasping breaths as he comes down from his high. You move back up against him, pressing a kiss against his chest and resting there, soaking up his warmth.

His hand settles on your waist, but it does so with such effort that pride surges through you. His chest still heaves under you, and as you lay your cheek against his heart, you hear it beating wildly under your ear.

“That was…” He lets out an incredulous laugh, a breath past parted lips. His eyes meet yours, “Thank you.”

“Hm, so polite,” You tease, pecking his smiling lips. “I’m still going to insist that I told you so.”

And for now you remain in this moment you wouldn’t change for anything, this moment of leisurely traces of hands on each other’s bodies, this moment of kisses exchanged like secrets, this moment of a beginning in more ways than one.

____ ____ ____

So that happened! Hope it was okay! Thank you for reading!

You can find Gǫfga, the Ivar PoV that continues from this chapter, here.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside@aprilivar @msrawog

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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bookishofalder · 3 years

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Moonlight

Poe Dameron X Fem!Reader

Summary: In which losing a fellow pilot has you falling apart, until your best friend can’t take it anymore and feelings come flooding out.

Warnings: SMUT, this is smut. Soft, fluffy emotions and comforting, brief talk of loss, death, battle, grief, healing. Language, and again, smut. WC-4,951

A/N: Wrote this to make myself feel better after my province announced another emergency lockdown. Big Star Wars fan but I kept things vague as I am no expert. Feedback appreciated ❤️

The nightmare surrounded you, inescapable, your body rigid despite your intense desire to run, flee. The healers had said these would fade over time, but it had been months since you had nearly died in battle against the First Order, and the nightmares still came.

Every damn night you relived the worst day of your life. The day you hadn’t been fast enough.

And then she was gone.

Your oldest friend, taken out by a tie-fighter right in front of you, as you desperately tried to outmaneuver the fucker and save her, your mind screaming at you that you were one of the best pilots in the Resistance, you had to stop them. You just had to.

But you didn’t make it in time.

It didn’t matter that the squadron had blindsided your unit. You were supposed to just be on surveillance, expecting at most a transport ship or the likes to ID and verify passage. When they appeared, it wasn’t even many of them yet they had come out of hyperspace right on top of you, and everything that happened only took minutes.

Six other pilots were out there with you. Four made it back.

“Fuck!” You gasped, shooting up in your bunk as you finally pulled yourself from the nightmare, your body shivering from the cool sweat coating your skin. You leaned over, glancing down at the bunk below-but he wasn’t there.

Poe.

Your best friend, commander and fellow survivor. He would comfort you if you just asked him, you knew that. You never could seem to find the words though. And you weren’t sure of his current whereabouts because he should have been sleeping...which led you to believe he might have ended up in another room tonight. Good for him, you thought.

It was just, something about watching your friend die, then almost joining them in whatever was beyond this life, it had woken you up that day. Slapped you right out of everything you knew and laid your cards on the table for you to face. You had to laugh at yourself, at how ridiculous you were, lying day after day that your feelings were platonic. When at night you’d wait until you were alone in the room, Poe off showering or at the Cantina, and you’d slip your fingers into your heat and think only of him, of your Poe. Always cumming within minutes, hard.

Poe and you had grown together in the Resistance. Though he was a few years older, therefore always technically your superior, he never treated you like anything other than his equal. He taught you to fly, to fight, to survive. And maybe if you hadn’t been so entirely focused on impressing him, on making him proud...maybe you’d have seen the way he looked at you. The way he paid complete attention to you. Or the ardent affection behind every friendly touch. Even the way he would bite his lower lip when, in professional settings, you referred to him by title.

You didn’t notice those things, however. And you’d never be convinced by a friend that he felt anything other than friendly toward you, no, he loved you only as a friend. A man like him, you reasoned, had no business settling down with you when he could have any person he wanted.

And he did, really. You would play wingman for each other all the time, during nights at the cantina. You'd wink at each other from across the room when one of you was making your way out with whoever you deemed worthy. If you both weren’t so stupid, maybe you’d have realized that it was each other you wanted to end the night with, that you each just went along with the other these nights, not wanting to risk such an important friendship and wanting to support one another in getting laid, in having fun.

When you had landed back at base after the surprise attack, two pilots short, you had stumbled out of your x-wing, your eyes leaking thick tears as you desperately searched for his face in the crowd. You’d barely made it down the ladder before he was rushing toward you, sweeping you into his arms and peppering you with sweet kisses and saying everything you needed to hear in those moments. When all you could feel was agony and grief-he knew exactly what to say to keep you off the edge.

That was when you realized how in love with him you were, and it was also when you decided you could never tell him your feelings. Because the idea of losing Poe? It was unbearable; you wouldn’t survive that.

So you locked them back.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you climbed down from your bunk and put on your slippers. It was warm enough on base to not bother with adding layers to your t-shirt and sleep shorts, thankfully. You exited the room, running your fingers through your hair to rid yourself of your bedhead, and pausing to decide where you planned to go.

Turning left, you mindlessly wandered away from your room in search of something to distract yourself.

Poe turned off the shower, steam swirling around him as he stepped out into the change room, grabbing his towel and shaking it through his locks before wrapping it around his body. He enjoyed late night showers, the quiet of the communal fresher helped relax him and clear his mind. It was also the ideal place to masturbate, alone in the tinted glass stall, one hand on the wall as the other twisted over his length, urging out the release he needed to help shake the thoughts of you away, to relax.

He had inadvertently gotten into a routine these last few months, showering late most nights and then making his way back to the bunk he shared with you, ready to comfort you when the nightmares took over. He had shifted his entire schedule just to ensure he was always there to roll you over gently in your bunk, a tactic he discovered early on helped to soothe you. He didn’t think you’d even realized what he had been doing, you never woke up, or if you did you had never said anything to Poe about it.

He hated seeing how the surprise attack changed you, your usually bubbly personality dimmed somewhat, your smile always a little slow. Slight shadows under your eyes gave away your restless nights, and he’d even realized recently that you’d lost some weight-it wasn’t much, but he loved your curves, the healthy glow you carried. He’d had to ask Finn and a few other pilots you were close with to keep an eye on you at meals. Try to get you eating without raising your suspicions.

When the First Order appeared in the middle of a routine patrol, Poe had immediately reacted; shouting instructions to the other five pilots and pulling his ship around to avoid oncoming fire.

His mind had briefly wondered if this would be the end. And then he had seen you, chasing after Sira’s ship and trying to stop the tie fighter. His heart had dropped and he sprang into action, not entirely losing his focus on his entire unit, but honing in on you to make sure nothing happened to you.

He took out the tie-fighter too late, had to watch as your friend died, hear your cries for her in the com. You had spun around and fired ceaselessly onto the onslaught, only pulling back when Poe had switched the coms between you to a private channel and using his hardest voice to order you fall back.

Back on base, you had climbed out of your ship with unsteady legs, eyes searching, and he had run toward you and crashed you into his arms. His thoughts consumed by the reality that he’d almost lost you, and he wouldn’t have ever...fuck, he’d have never told you.

He wanted to tell you after that, every day. To admit his feelings, but it never seemed like the right time. After the funerals and debriefings, your nightmares had started and time blurred together into several months. Months of watching you trying to navigate your grief, your pain. He put his needs aside to care for you, to give you whatever you needed.

Telling you he loved you felt too selfish; you were struggling so much already. He couldn’t add another burden.

He padded softly to the room he had shared with you for several years now, the only real place that felt like home anymore. Stepping inside, he quickly pulled on his pyjama bottoms before glancing at your bed to see if you were dreaming yet, or if he could lay down for a while and wait for the telltale whimpers that preceded the worst of them.

Only, your bed was empty.

He stared for a beat at the tangle of sheets, then cast his eyes around the small room. Flicking on a light, he found no note or indication of why you were gone. Your nightmares must have come early tonight, and you’d gotten out of bed. He knew you weren’t in the fresher as he’d just come from there and would have heard another person.

Dropping his towel, he left the room and turned left, knowing exactly where you would have wandered off to so late at night.

He had always been able to predict you, a skill that you despised in him-it brought out your competitive side in training and simulations. And while you were an excellent pilot, you had yet to truly beat him at his own game. While other pilots aspired to be just like you, you were constantly training to be like Poe. It made him proud to watch you work so hard, so stubbornly, never taking a loss too hard before you jumped back in.

Before the surprise attack, you enjoyed competing against one another in everything, always for fun. Some nights at the Cantina, it would be who could go home for the night with the highest-ranking official in attendance. And while Poe felt like he had to work so hard to push his feelings for you back and focus on whoever he was hitting on, he’d always look over at you and feel like you barely had to try. You were just so beautiful, so bright. Any man lucky enough to be charmed by you was a goner-which was why this was often a bet you would win. It seemed to make you laugh when he would hand over the agreed credits the next day, so he never asked to stop.

Now though, you stayed close to Poe if you ventured out, which was rare. Never leaving with anyone and always leaving first. As if you thought he needed you away from him to find someone-but he hadn’t gone home with anyone for a long time now. He didn’t think you knew that, so he’d always leave not long after you, make a point of making a little noise when he entered your shared room, just so you’d know he was there.

Stepping outside, Poe was happy to feel the warmth of the salty air on his bare skin, the moon high in the sky casting a pink glow over the planet, muting the bright stars. He swiftly made his way down a short path around the residential part of the base, a path that led to a small sandy beach where he knew you’d be. You never could resist the ocean, not on any planet that you ventured to that had them.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he was stepping from the trees and spotted you, standing in your sleep clothes, slippers set on a washed-up log and your feet in the water. He watched you silently, not wanting to disturb your quiet moment. You had your arms crossed around your middle, almost as if you were holding yourself together. His heart thrummed in his chest.

When a small sob escaped you and met his ears, Poe moved forward and cleared his throat. “You sleepwalking, kid?” He kept his voice low, tone playfully affectionate as it wrapped around his teasing nickname for you.

You started, “Maker, Poe!” Hissing as you spun around, eyes wide, a hand shooting up to rest over your heart.

Poe grinned, holding his hands up in defence, “Sorry, there’s not really a good way to announce myself in the middle of the night.”

You frowned, though it didn’t meet your eyes. You took careful steps out of the water to move toward him, “Stars, though, you could have made some noise on the pa-oh!”

You gasped when your foot sunk into the sand awkwardly and you fell forward. Immediately, Poe reached out and caught you, lifting you out of the water with ease and stepping back. Setting you on the dry sand in front of him, he gestured at the water, “Were you planning on a midnight swim?”

A brow quirked up as you looked up at him, “I was going to ask you that since you’re the one who's half-naked.” A small smile on your lips had relief sweeping through Poe. He could see the tears on your cheeks still, but he’d managed to make you smile.

He wanted to give a smart reply, only it was late and he had been worried about you, more worried than he’d admit out loud. He glanced down briefly, his arms now at his sides as you stood a few steps apart on the warm beach, “I got back to the room and you were gone, kid.”

You paused, wiping your face after a moment to rub away the tears. You turned away from Poe to gaze out at the water. “I’m still having nightmares.” You admitted, your frown returning.

“I know, honey.”

You glanced back up at him, brows raised in surprise, “That’s not why you’re always up so late, is it? I haven’t been ruining your sleep?” Of course, he thought, of course, you would worry about him. It was so like you. Always putting everything on your shoulders, blaming yourself.

Poe shook his head, “I stay up so I-“ He looked everywhere but at you, trying to find the words, “So I can try and stop the nightmares for you.”

Your mouth opened and closed wordlessly as you stared at him, absorbing his words. Poe shrugged after a moment as if to say it was no big deal. But saying it out loud had Poe realizing that he had gone to great lengths to care for you, which, from the expression on your face, you had realized as well.

“Poe, you already do so much for me, always have,” You stepped closer to him, head back slightly to meet his eyes, “Don’t let me take your sleep-“

“I can’t sleep knowing you’re suffering,” He interrupted, his voice low but firm. He reached out and wrapped his hand around your shoulder, squeezing gently and you froze under his touch. “You’ve been suffering so much since Sira...and I know it’s hard, it’s awful-but watching you be so hard on yourself and closing yourself off from me-I just, I can’t sleep anyway.” It felt kind of good to confess. You needed to know how much he cared.

Tears had leaked out at his words, falling down your soft cheeks as you attempted to blink them away. A small gasp escaped your lips, and then you launched yourself into his arms, pressing yourself against him and trembling as the heavy sobs broke through. Poe held you, one hand moving slowly over your back as the other slide to your hair, gently holding the back of your head. He let you cry, murmuring soft, sweet nothings as you let out the pain and grief, your hands pressed against his bare chest. He pressed his mouth to the top of your head, his own eyes closing as emotions rippled through him. It hurt him to hear your raw, aching sadness. He wished he could do more, take away the pain, go back in time and change everything that happened.

“Sweet girl, I’m here, sweet girl, pretty girl,” He cooed softly as your sobs began to fade, slowly turning to little hiccups. “Right here, never going anywhere, I promise.”

You pulled back slightly in a sudden movement that caught Poe off guard, his arms tightening around you rather than releasing. Just your head moved back, and you met his eyes with the fiercest gaze he’d ever seen, “I can’t ever lose you, Poe, so you better mean that promise!” Your voice was thick with emotion. You slide your hands up to grab the tops of his shoulders, “Please don’t ever leave me.” It came out as a plea, a soft, desperate plea. His heart was beating wildly in his chest now, as he watched the emotions on your face.

Something had changed. It was different out here in the warm night air, alone and emotional, the walls were slipping away, emboldening Poe.

Poe lowered his head toward you, holding your gaze steady, channelling as much into that look as he could. Your name fell from his lips, “Never. Do you know why?”

It was so intense now, his body pressed to yours, he could feel every curve. You were gripping him as tightly as he held you, suspended momentarily in time as you looked at each other.

Your voice was barely a whisper now, “W-why?” He could see that you already understood. He just needed to say it aloud.

The hand on the back of your head tightened, Poe’s lips coming to yours and stopping just short, where he turned his head only ever so slightly to whisper back, “Because I’m yours, sweet girl-always have been. And you’re mine.” You shivered at his words, and then he moved his head back and pressed his lips to yours.

It was the softest he’d ever kissed anyone, but Poe put everything into it. He wanted you to know everything he struggled to say aloud, to know how long he’d wanted to kiss you just like this, how much he cared for you. Your body had stiffened at first, but then you were melting into him. Hands that had been gripping him now sliding up into his hair and forcing his mouth harder against your own.

Poe groaned, keeping one hand in your hair and bringing the other to hold your face, his tongue swiping across your lips eagerly. When you parted them for him, he took his time licking into your mouth, tasting you completely, teasing.

You whimpered in delight, still trembling as he held you.

You were the first to break the kiss, pressing your forehead to his, both of you panting.“Poe, you mean ev-everything to me,” You gasped out, “I love you, always loved you, so, so in love with yo-“

Your sweet words cut off when they overwhelmed Poe with joy and he kissed you again. After a moment, he slid both of his hands down, stopping at your hips, “Let me show you how much I love you, sweet girl.” His voice was deeper now, and he enjoyed the way your eyes seemed to go round as he accentuated his words by leaning slightly and bringing his hands behind your legs, lifting.

Your arms instinctively hooked around his neck as Poe lifted you, legs circling his back. He kissed you again, but pushed at your shirt, his thumb brushing the soft flesh of your stomach as he held you up with one arm. He wanted you, but he needed to make sure you were ready, that you could handle making this leap with him. He let you lead, for the time. You took the hint and removed your shirt, tossing it to the sand. Poe gasped as he gazed at your chest, bringing his lips to your breasts, licking at them before taking a peak gently into his mouth and swirling his hot tongue over it.

“Poe, stars-fuck,” You moaned, arching your chest just slightly toward his eager mouth, trying not to set your precarious position off centre.

Poe grunted, “Hold on to me, going-gonna take these off.” He held your body against his with one arm and used the other to swipe at your shorts, pushing them down. You complied, holding on to him as he adjusted your legs and ripped the shorts off.

His eyes snapped open-you were on a beach. A fucking beach-there was nowhere to safely lay you down. “Fuck, I want to taste you.” He groaned.

A soft whimper slipped out at his delicious words, “Too far, I need you now, wait-waited so long for this...”

Poe’s decision came easily at your words. He pushed his pyjamas down and stepped out of them, before twisting toward the water and walking into it. His feet came to the bath-like water before you noticed what he was doing, and then another needy little moan escaped at the realization of what you were about to do.

Before he lowered you both into the water, he slipped one hand between your bodies and gently trailed his fingers down, dipping into you slowly. Your entire body jerked in response as Poe groaned in delight at how wet you were, “Sweet girl, fuck, so ready for me already.”

“Always,” You replied, kissing under his jaw as your hips rolled a little, clinging to him, “Always thinking about y-you, Poe. Fuck, every guy was just-was nothing, I closed my eyes and thought of you, and w-wished...”

“Fuck, sweet girl,” He carefully moved his fingers, teasing at your pussy while you whimpered out your filthy confession, driving him wild. He slid two inside of you, eyes nearly rolling back at how hot you were, “F-fuck, you’re mine. You know that, sweet girl? Mine.”

“Yes, yours, always yours!”

He pulled his fingers out and adjusted you in his arms, the water lapping at his lower thighs below. His cock pressed up against your slick heat; however, he wanted to taste you first. He brought those fingers to his mouth and you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he closed his lips around them, immediately groaning at your perfect, sweet taste.

“You taste fucking amazing,” He growled.

And then he was dropping his hands to your hips and lining your bodies up properly, lifting you slightly to allow you to wiggle against him and help wet his cock with your juices. You threw your head back when he began to push the head in, “No, sweet girl look at me, I wanna see your face-only face I ever pictured.” He demanded, his hands tightening their grip.

He watched you work to tilt your head forward, to meet his eyes as he pushed into you, splitting you open, another growl ripping from his chest at how tight you were. It took a few moments to bottom out as he moved slowly, not wanting to hurt you. When your bodies pressed together the sweetest little whimper escaped your lips, your eyes rolling, “Poe, fuckfuckfuck!”

“I know,” He pulled out slightly and quickly rutted back in, earning another whine, “So tight for me, l-like you were fucking made for me, sweet girl. Perfect little cunt.”

“Stars, I’m yours, Poe, only ever yours.”

He grunted, thrusting a few more times before sitting down in the water and pulling you down on him hard. You cried out as he used his hands to lift and drop you repeatedly, almost effortlessly thanks to the water now surrounding you to your lower chests. Your breasts hit the water each time he sunk you onto him and the sensation seemed to only add to your pleasure, your hands carding into his curls and gripping to keep yourself steady. Because he was lifting you, he felt you take control of rolling your hips as he slammed you down, earning grunts and curses, your name on his tongue as the pleasure built between you both.

Poe had never had sex like this, where he felt so entirely connected to the other person. He’d never cared so much for another’s pleasure. Because any other person was always a placebo for you, and no matter how beautiful that person was, he would always close his eyes and picture you when he came. He would have to bite his lip to prevent himself from accidentally moaning your name. Now he could moan your name over and over, and he did.

“P-Poe, uh,” You broke off, trying to keep looking at him as he slammed you down particularly hard and a scream ripped from your lips, the pleasure burning. “You’re gonna make, gonna cum, Poe, Poe, Poe!”

He could feel it, the way your walls tightened around him in soft flutters as your pleasure neared its peak, your entire body trembling in his arms. He brought his mouth to yours, licking inside it sloppily before kissing your jaw, his lips near your ear, “Sweet girl, cum for me, cum for me and put my imagination to fucking shame.”

“F-fuck!” You cried out, your hands squeezing, your head falling slightly back as your mouth popped open and a cry reverberated through your entire body, the wave inside you crashing. Poe didn’t stop moving you, watching your beautiful face as you came, hard, on his cock. Your walls fluttering deliciously around him as he lifted you and slammed you down, one hand bracing your mid-back so that you didn’t fall, so that he could keep watching your face twist in ecstasy.

You quickly became a whimpering mess even as you came down from your high, now entirely unable to form a word of basic. Poe felt himself nearing his release, his thrusts only becoming harder the more you whined for him, “Fuck, so beautiful cumming on my cock,” He grunted, and your eyes met his, tears leaking from the corners and he knew, just knew you were already close again. “Gonna fill you up, sweet girl, fuck. Fill you up and make you mine!”

“Oh, ohohohohoh,” You were fully quivering still as his cock swelled and he thrust as hard as he could, his hands slamming you down and absolutely ripping another orgasm from you as he spilled himself inside of you, filling you with his cum. The pleasure coursed through Poe as he watched you come entirely undone, the reality was a million times better than he ever dreamed. You were fucking perfect. Your pussy milked every last bit of his cum and Poe couldn’t stop shouting your name as spurt after spurt burst from him, his arms forcing you down onto him to take him completely.

Many moments later he came down, his cock still twitching slightly inside of you. You had collapsed into him, all energy spent as you crashed from the second orgasm, from the brutal way he’d fucked you full. Poe held you and carefully dropped his legs, grateful there was no heavy current causing waves. The water was fairly still tonight, and therefore he could brace one hand behind him and the other pressed into your back without worrying he’d fall over.

As you both worked to catch your breath, Poe felt you shift. Sensing your needs, he moved his hips back and slipped from inside you, breathing out at the sensation. He already missed you.

“Poe,” You whispered into his neck, your head resting on his shoulder, “So perfect, that was so perfect.” The genuine happiness in your voice made him smile.

He sat forward, settling you into his lap and bringing your lips to his again, this time taking all the time in the world to lazily kiss you, his hands running across every curve and dip and swell of your body. It was more than sexual, now he was exploring you and memorizing every part, memorizing the spots that made your breath pick up and your mouth become more eager. He enjoyed it when you fought to taste him, your tongue eager to pull small groans from him as you slid over his.

After a short while, he pulled back and met your gaze, catching his breath at your blissful, fucked out expression. Your pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed.

“I love you, sweet girl,” Poe brushed his thumb across your lips. You melted into the touch, sighing in content.

When he swiped again and then began to push his thumb into your mouth, your eyes snapped open in surprise. You instantly closed your lips around him, “Sweet, perfect little girl, you were so good for me.” His gaze was darker now, he knew, as he watched your lips wrap around his thumb. He pulled it back out, his cock twitching. “Such an obedient, perfect little slut, aren’t you?”

Your heavy eyes were knowing, “Only for you. Take me back to our room, Poe.” You purred, and Poe was lifting you out of the water before you finished, a giggle escaping your lips.

Once ashore, he quickly helped you throw on your clothes, nearly tripping as he pulled his pyjama bottoms on in his haste. He saw then that you were shaky on your legs, so he swept you up bridal style and started back inside, grinning down at you as you continued to giggle excitedly.

“Walls are soundproof in there,” He murmured, and you abruptly stopped laughing, your eyes widening in a mix of anticipation and trepidation. “I’m going to spend the rest of the night tasting you.” His grin increasing at the way you gulped, eyes bright, and nodded your head.

“Not getting any sleep tonight, are we, Commander?”

“No, sweet girl, we aren’t.”

Did you enjoy this story? Consider leaving a comment or reblogging to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Thank you 🤍

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nona-piccolo · 3 years

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Princes of Hell AU

Warnings: none, unless the mention of “hell” and demons bothers you

This is my own little AU where Obey Me brothers are genuinely princes of hell, and each of them occupy a Circle of Hell where the damned come to be eternally punished; there is no school, there is no RAD, and there is no funny banter 😈 When I had first played Obey Me, I always imagined a more darker story to the brothers, ones that involve fighting and action, and less of the romance aspect, especially since they are in fact demons, and each of them possess the burden of a sin. I always just thought it would be interesting to view them in a reign of power for a territory of their own. I also really really wanted to speak about the boys’ abilities and powers, so their strengths and combat is also talked about.

Please enjoy my little indulgence!

Okay so hear me out, there are seven rings of hell that occupy the space of the underworld. The worse of a person you had been on earth, the further into the ring you get placed in--- this also deals with the punishment that is endured. To put it simply, the rings are formed from 1 to 7: 1 being the least terrifying, while being placed in ring 7 is reserved for the worst and scummiest human beings. Taking off from there then, that leads us to the very first prince and owner of the 1st circle of hell:

Leviathan - 1st Circle of Hell:

They call this place Sheol. One thing that greatly differs Leviathan’s circle compared to the others is that fact that his circle is not a physical layer. There is no land. In fact, Leviathan's layer is almost sea-like, with spirits floating through the sky and composed of a sea of high whines of envy. The misty green layer is also the largest part of hell, considering it is the outer-most layer of the circle and takes up the most surface area. Leviathan is comfortable in his true form here (a giant beastly Leviathan) with eyes filled with envy to roam his territory. Leviathan is a powerful being, able to summon and control hideous demonic ocean creatures to do his bidding. His brothers are cautious if ever caught in a fight with him; Leviathan’s control can absolutely crush and overflood the other circles of hell. Many are terrified of him, and rumors had gone around saying he has the potential to become 2nd, maybe even 1st strongest of the Devildom, but his downfall and probably biggest weakness, is the time he spends moping about the things he doesn't have. The feeling of envy has crippled him to a pathetic and whiny ruler. Still, he appears to be one of the best of his brothers, as he doesn’t need to do much to care for the crying souls that wander around lifeless.

Asmodeus - 2nd Circle of Hell:

They call the 2nd Circle of Hell Dis--- the most laid back circle of all of them. Yes, even more so than Leviathan’s. Now you may think it would be odd, especially for Asmodeus’s circle to be placed where it is. But the people bound here for all eternity have the guilty pleasure of what Asmodeus finds entertaining. All demons and humans there are not tortured, with no laws, and given the ability to do whatever it is they desire. He likes to be surrounded by succubi and incubbi almost constantly. Asmo hates humans the least, and feels no need to want revenge. Being in hell and stripped of everything is punishment enough for him. Talking about abilities, Asmodeus himself would say that he isn’t fit for physical combat. Instead, he was given the ability to charm any creature or non creature he sees fit. With just a look in his eyes, he commands every bone in their bodies. Very few people are immune to this charm, but every once in a millennia he will meet someone who doesn't fall to his charm. This bothers him immensely.

Belphegor - 3rd Circle of Hell:

Gehhena. That is the name of his circle. Opposite to his twin brother Beelzebub, Belphegor has a barren land of almost nothingness... Everything is shrouded with sloth, to the point where not even the air moves. Too lazy to make changes to his kingdom, there is a constant stagnation within his circle. His followers are left sitting there with nothing except constant loneliness and nothing to ease their boredom. Belphegor, the ruler that he is, sleeps on his throne any moment he can, and the crazed state he left his followers in have caused them to struggle with each other on who will get the throne. They feel they will go crazy if no one takes up Belphegor’s place. And so they plan to take his throne. Acting like he doesn't know about the plan to overthrow him, Belphie is pleased to spend all of eternity with the entertainment of watching his underlings argue to no end on who should sit on his throne. Belph doesn't seem like the brightest, especially due to his dozing and sleeping, but perhaps that's where he and Mammon are able to catch opponents off guard. Being underestimated is what Belph depends on, and frankly he seems to enjoy it just as much. He is the youngest of his brothers, and therefore the weakest physically, but his ability can be powerful in controlling what happens in other's dreams. This demon does his dirty work in the dream realm, having full and complete capabilities to cause disaster in his enemies through during their most vulnerable moments--- sleep. His constant state of sleep can ease others into a sleeping death, where the dream realm becomes Belphegor's greatest strength. He feels no need to try and climb the ranks higher. He is content where he is.

Mammon - 4th Circle of Hell:

Pandaemonium is the name of Mammon’s circle. Perhaps the greatest designed circle of hell, Mammon's image of what he wanted hell to look like is what came true on his land. He has complete control of what he wishes his kingdom will look like. As a great architect, he believes that hell could be just as great as heaven, and tried to prove it to Lucifer by designing Lucifer's very castle. Mammon’s land is filled with enormous landmarks and sky scrapers that appear to touch the stars. His circle of hell has the most impressive buildings and works of art, truly impressive to look at, but... as a ruler, Mammon isn't too good. There are still so many unfinished buildings and projects that he has abandoned in order for his subjects to mine and work in labor for eternity, finding the greatest diamonds and jewels within the ground to bring back to Mammon's castle. They needed to keep their master rich somehow. The work loads for his followers keeps increasing with every little thing Mammon craves for. More and more buildings, more and more diamonds, he can never get enough of it. Although rarely any violence ensures, his underlings constantly screw each other over in order to survive. And like his followers, Mammon is not particularly violent. In fact he shows more of a masochistic side, letting other people take out their frustration on him. This is ironic, due to Mammon's main ability being his luck. Among other demons and humans, his sheer luck and ability to gamble come in handy for him; getting him out of situation after situation. In the battlefield, he is often used as a decoy, his luck coming in handy to miss fatal wounds and strikes. It is also said Mammon's speed can rival Beelzebub's, yet he seems to run even faster if it's to get away from trouble.

Beelzebub - 5th Circle of Hell:

Beelzebub’s circle was named Tantarus, or better yet the Tantarus Pit. It is a massive swamp, and with basically an "eat or be eaten" policy. His people are desperate in getting whatever they can in their search for sustainability. Although not particularly strict, Beel's attitude of eating whatever he wants can become a scary factor. He has many good cooks enslaved, whom make meals for him almost constantly. Much like Mammon, the people in the 4th circle of hell are forced into an everlasting workload. Yet unlike Mammon, Beelzebub has been known to get impatient, sometimes swallowing up the nearest thing he can find--- whether it’s a person, or the dinner table. He does not purposefully seek out trouble though, and prefers to keep to himself--- or with Belphegor. His circle is too far from Belphie, much to Beelzebub’s dismay, but Lucifer had simply brushed it off and told him he needed to deal with it. With super strength and speed, Beel is by far the physically strongest of his brothers. His frightening stature, height, and gluttony puts him at the very top of the list for being intimidating. Along with the constant intake of food, he makes sure to exercise and keep the bounds of muscles he has solidified on his body.

Satan - 6th Circle of Hell:

Satan owns the circle of Malebolge. There are two sides in Malebolge, and both sides are at constant war with each other. The pain and horror of war is everlasting and perpetual. Satan trains his people for the day they get a chance to attack the Celestial Realm. It is by far the most violent and frightening circle of hell. Satan is a monster fuming with hatred and insults. His control over his wrath had been let go a long time ago; he had let it overwhelm him and take control. To the point where Satan’s very presence on the battle field freezes opponents up in their tracks. Continuing to fight Satan for more than a few minutes will trigger his ability. He had all of eternity to practice thinking clearly through his anger and wrath--- it is no longer a roadblock to him. But he uses this as his greatest weapon. Fighting Satan for longer than a few minutes will provoke a growing rage inside of you; like the pressure of a dam against the heavy weight of water. His opponent will begin to think unclearly--- they will feel frustration and rage, giving Satan a chance to strike them down. Skilled and precise, he taught himself to suppress anything other than the rage he feels in order to kill more efficiently. Unlike his brothers, Satan prefers to use a sword in battle, and he can do so both methodically and elegantly (particularly Archangel Michael's sword that had fallen into Heaven with his other brothers).

Lucifer - 7th Circle of Hell:

Of course, the last and most dreadful circle of hell is reserved for Lucifer himself. Cocytus is what he had called it. This circle occupies the smallest space, taking the very center of the ring he and his brothers had formed. In the very middle lies Lucifer’s giant castle he had built just for himself. Lucifer's castle Helviti is where he stays, and where his most valuable followers and favorites live. The castle is all Lucifer really needs to be content. There are dreadful winds here, the cold and winter storms are drastically below freezing temperatures, keeping and reminding him that he could never ascend to the warmth of the Celestial Realm. So he is glad to have a warm place to stay in order to keep out the numbing weather. His people however... are left in a biting state of paralysis from the freezing cold; left out of the castle to rot. The most powerful of his brothers, Lucifer's cunning behavior and strict attitude are just added weapons alongside his ability of energy manipulation. Two of his six wings were disintegrated from his fall from Heaven to hell, and turned from a pure white to a rich black. He is also the only one who can control Cerberus, an enormous three-headed dog he keeps right by his side.

#obey me #obey me AU #obey me headcanons

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diavolodigitale · 3 years

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Dream Sequence. Lucio

It’s been a while since I had so much fun writing something. No plot, really, it’s a pretty light read and I am proud of it.

All parts of the trilogy: Lucio - Asra - Julian - All stories in PDF

A part of the "trilogy" about dream encounters dedicated to Lucio (because I love him, apparently). Nothing special, just You (or the Apprentice, or the Reader, however you view it) and Lucio spending some time together (if you know what I mean, which you probably don't, so go ahead and read it, it's pretty short, I promise). My character was male, but you are free to imagine whoever you want since there are no references to it in the text.

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Humor, Dreams, POV First Person, One-shot, Light-hearted

Pairing: Lucio/Apprentice(or Reader or You or Whatever)

Characters: Lucio, Reader/Apprentice/You

Rating: G for Geez that’s a good story

Size: around 2500 words

I open my eyes and look around. The room I am in is quite spacious. Despite barely containing any decorations or even furniture, somehow it still feels inviting and cosy. It is dimly lit, the only light sources that I can spot are a few candles standing here and there.

Suddenly, I hear a loud thud, as if something heavy fell on the floor, and I hastily turn around to investigate. I immediately spot an empty decanter lying on the ground at the leg of an old wooden table and a figure crouching beside it. The figure looks like it’s glowing in the darkness of the room because everything about it is so brightly white.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” says Lucio awkwardly and stands up, cradling the decanter in his arms. “Or did I?” he immediately proceeds to ask, roguish smile plastered on his face.

I smile in return and shake my head. This is probably another dream we’re sharing. It happened a few times before. There is no logical end to it, no specific purpose, nothing. We just seem to linger in an accidental place, surrounded by whimsical decorations or nothing at all, until one of us wakes up and cuts the ties to this place rendering it forever lost in time and space. I suppose it has something to do with our connection as the spirit of Lucio seems to be drawn to me whenever I slip out from the deep slumber and see dreams.

“And why would you want to do that?” I ask and cross my arms, raising my eyebrow inquiringly.

“Isn’t it obvious? If you’re scared, you will seek my protection and want to hold hands. Maybe, even more than that,” he responds without even a hint of embarrassment and casually puts the decanter back on the table.

“Oh, you would need to do more than that to scare me, don’t you know?” I say playfully. This encounter doesn’t seem to differ much those we usually have, so I decide to behave as I always do around him.

“What a shame…” he says and pouts, hardly being able to supress his impish smile. “I was hoping I could find a reason to hold you.”

“Since when do you need a reason to do that?” I ask as he slowly approaches, his walk as gracious as ever.

“Huh, true,” he says and grins, now standing much closer to me. There is not enough light in the room for me to see the features of his face clearly, but I am nevertheless able to spot the playful glim in his eyes.

“What do you feel like doing this time?” I ask more seriously. We’ve been on quite a few thrilling trips in my dreams as they are often filled with peculiar apparitions and location, but right now I cannot find anything that could interest Lucio with his insatiable appetite for adventures.

“Hm…” He puts an index finger to his lips and musingly looks around. As I expected, nothing in the room is able to pique his curiosity so his gaze wanders back to me.

“I have an idea,” he says mischievously and immediately covers my eyes with his hand for a second. When his hand is removed, the only thing I can see is complete darkness.

Intrigued, I summon a small glowing orb to light up the place. To my surprise, we are in a completely different room that resembles a closet more than anything else. The place is a tight squeeze, with Lucio standing right before me and the orb hovering above us. Though we’re not actually close enough to be touching, there is hardly enough room to move around at all.

The room quickly fills with heat and I feel my head spinning. The feeling of almost tangible warmth around me reminds me of the time I first met Lucio. His presence had the same effect on his surroundings, which seems to be the sign of him being agitated or excited about something. My gaze is wandering from his jawline to collarbone and back since I don’t want to stare him directly in the eyes. Lucio might be shameless, but I immediately feel flustered in such a situation.

“You are quite a fast learner,” I say nonchalantly, looking up for a split second. He grins even more, flattered by my words.

In spite of his utter incapability when it came to using magic in the real world, he somehow was able to learn to manipulate matter in my dreams quite easily. There was rarely a need for him to resort to this skill, but his still tried to use every opportunity he had to give it a try.

“I can do many more things,” he says and moves closer to me, resting his heavy gilded hand against the wall right above my head and leaning a bit closer. “You know, I am very talented.”

I nod and look down. The orb illuminates every little detail of his face, and I am afraid he is provided with the same sight of mine, so I do my best to hide my flustered expression. I find the position we are in uncomfortable, but I am also curios to see what he has on his mind.

Lucio leans even closer, propped up on his arm, and starts whispering into my ear.

“Have any plans for tonight?” he asks, his eyes narrowed in a cunning smile.

“No, not that I am aware of at least,” I reply. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I was thinking we might find a monstrous beast for me to slay…” he whispers, tickling my ear with his warm breath, “I would look exceptionally good swinging its ugly head left and right, with a few light wounds here and there and covered in its blood. Or we might show up to an extravagant ball and have the time of our lives there. We could demonstrate the public our best, most elaborate dance, and they would cheer and applaud, flabbergasted at our awesomeness and grace.”

I chuckle a bit at how unsurprisingly flashy his suggestions are. But it is usually my job to tease him, so I can’t let him beat me so easily, even if I seem to be much less at ease in such… circumstances.

“Your idea certainly sounds entertaining,” I mutter and slide my hand down his side and onto his waist.

“Wh– which one exactly?” he asks, visibly taken aback by my display of interest.

“Both of them, actually,” I say, as my hand wraps around him and pulls him a tad closer.

Lucio’s face blossoms with light-pink and he lets out his breath with a loud sigh. The air of confidence he always has around him disperses in a matter of seconds every time I unexpectedly agree to play by his rules. He just cannot get used to it for some reason.

“And… which one would you chose?” he asks carefully, moving away from my red ear to steal a glance at my face. He is a bit taller than me and stands so close that it’s hard for me to look at anything else except for his squinted eyes and blond locks of hair framing his face.

I pull him even closer, pressing him to me and squeezing his side, and rest my other hand on his cheek. His face is growing redder every second and he starts to squirm a little, trying to avoid my gaze and the intimacy he seems to still secretly enjoy.

“I believe, I have an even better idea,” I say, smiling, and raise my hand to cover his eyes for a split second.

Before he has the time to protest, we are back in the room we first appeared and it is hardly different from the way we left it. I release him from my grip and give him a light push on the chest. With nothing to grab on his way down, he helplessly falls onto the bed behind him, a startled “Ah!” escaping his lips.

I smile, savouring the look of surprise on his face, and approach the bed.

Lucio is flushed but doesn’t seem to mind losing control over the situation. Invitingly, he reaches out with his hand to me, but I shake my head and climb on the bead on top of him without his help.

The bed is incredibly soft so I doubt he felt any discomfort landing on it. It reminds me of the one I saw in Lucio’s old chambers, only in its pre-catastrophic state. The cover is pleasant to the touch and seems to be crimson, but it’s difficult to discern the colour in almost complete absence of light in the room.

“You’ve got something red on your cheeks,” I say playfully and run my hand over the side of his face. It’s warm, hot even, and I feel the muscles twitch on his face as he smiles at me.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says casually, “when I felt you were here, I ran with all my might to get to you as fast as I could (and had to cover infinitesimal distances, of course) so now I might feel a little too warm.”

I quickly land a kiss on each of his cheeks, pressing him more with the weight of my body, and he laughs merrily, trying to catch my hands in the process.

“There’s something here as well,” I say and kiss Lucio on the tip of his nose.

He tries to escape my touch and turns away, giggling, so I kiss his ear shell which is even redder than his face now.

He struggles playfully a bit, but it doesn’t feel like he really wants to win this fight. I stop to look at him, and he returns my glance without a second thought. His hands are resting on my thighs and he moves them up and down carefully.

“You’re as light as a feather,” he notes, tilting his head, “we need to start feeding you properly. What is your favourite food?”

I take a second to consider my answer.

“Bread. With spices,” I reply, remembering fondly the times Asra and I would go to the bakery near our shop and enjoy the heavenly taste of freshly baked bread.

“Then it’s decided!” says Lucio excitedly and lands his hands on my thighs with a clap. “When I’m officially reinstated as the Count, I’m going to buy you all of the bread I can find! No, the whole stall! No, wait, the whole street! I will buy you a whole street worth of shops with all the bakeries you want!”

I cannot help but laugh at how foolishly he behaves. He pouts and turns away, trying to pretend that he lost interest in me.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, still laughing. “I am truly sorry, Your Highness. How could I ever make up to what I have done?” I ask inquisitively, observing his face.

Lucio’s eyes spark with mischief again and he pretends to be thoughtful before proceeding to say what has been on his mind, perhaps, this whole time.

“I might forgive you if you lend me a hand for something. There seems to be something wrong with me…” he says worriedly, but I am not buying into his act. “Something wrong…” he repeats, slyness becoming visible through his cracked façade of seriousness. “It’s become so hard to breathe, I am almost suffocating… Could you please help me with this problem? Pretty please?” he says and dramatically rests his hand on his neck. I look into his eyes full of fake innocence and nod with understanding.

Lucio moves his hand away and starts watching me with unhidden curiosity and excitement. I carefully touch his chest which is rising and falling steadily and, to my surprise, notice, that his coat is buttoned up more than usually. It even makes me think that it really might be hard for him to breathe as he is definitely not used to walking around like this.

I go ahead and start untangling the lace that holds his cloak. I feel soft fur brushing against my hand as I purposefully tinker with the clasp much longer than is really needed. Lucio is growing visibly impatient but seems to do his best not to hurry me. I, in turn, try to hold back my laughter.

Having delt with the cloak, I proceed to unbutton his jacket. The fabric is very delicate, and I again take my time to tease him instead of just dealing with it quickly.

Lucio loses what was left of his patience and opens his mouth with a frown of unsatisfaction.

“What’s taking you so long?”

I look up at him as if he was a child with which I had to reason.

“We wouldn’t want to damage your magnificent attire, would we?” I ask and airily brush my finger against his bare chest that is now partly exposed. “Better proceed carefully.”

He flushes again because of my touch and appears to be at a loss for words. In the end, he just swallows loudly and pretends he did not want to say anything in the first place.

I occupy myself with the buttons again, and this time he waits almost patiently until I finish torturing him. Every time I “accidentally” land my hand on his skin instead of the soft fabric, I feel his pulse quickening, and every time I am forced to bite on my lip to hold back my treacherous smile.

Once I am done, Lucio exhales with relief. I don’t know what he expects me to do next, but suddenly an idea flashes in my mind and I already know I just have to do it.

With his eyes half shut and mouth a little agape, he watches as I delicately lay my hands on his sides and stroke him. It looks like he wants to say something, but I don’t give him a chance as I begin to tickle him violently, running my fingers along the skin between his ribs.

Lucio struggles and kicks below me but cannot do anything to escape my attack. He breathes erratically and I hear his muffled giggling when he jerks up from the bed and presses his body against mine to give me no room for movements. I decide to spare him and hug him instead, wrapping my hands around his neck.

“Well, that didn’t help me at all!” he exclaims jokingly, hugging me back and burying his face near my collarbone. His gilded hand is stroking my back and it feels a bit ticklish because of how sharp the tips of his fingers are, but I decide not to complain as it is more pleasant than anything.

I nestle closer and start twirling a strand of his hair around my finger. He has calmed down and I can hear him breathing steadily against my chest.

“I wish we could sit like this forever,” he says quietly.

“And who told you we can’t?” I ask, and he looks up at me, astonished and puzzled. “Show me who said that and I’ll give them a nice thrashing!” I say and it makes him laugh again.

“Not if I do that first!” he exclaims and plops back onto the bed with me startled but still securely held in his arms.

“I’ll be there to watch then,” I say, resting my chin on my arms crossed on top of his chest.

“Of course, you will! Why else would I do that?” he asks with indignation. “You just watch me. Don’t watch anybody else, just me, okay?”

“Oh, I would never…”

#The Arcana #Arcana #Fanfiction #Fiction #Lucio #lucio x reader #lucio romance #romance #Fluff #Humor #pov first person #Dream Sequence Trilogy

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mandalorewhore · 3 years

Text

Two Steps Ahead

PART THREE OF HUNTER (formerly hunter and prey)

gif by @princessxkenobi

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Fighting as Foreplay, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex(PIV), Unprotected Sex, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Top Mando, Sub/Dom elements, Very slight Pain Kink, possible CNC elements although I didn’t write that I also want to warn anyone who doesn’t want to read about rough sex with physical fighting as foreplay Words: 6.9k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando start tracking their first bounty together

A/N: i believe things are happening...interesting

***

“I feel like you have a distinct advantage here.” A bead of sweat drips over your brow as you mop at your sweltering forehead in irritation. Your temple throbs as you press on it, pain shooting down your neck at the pressure.

It’s so fucking humid here. You’re tracking one of Mando’s bail jumpers in the middle of a boggy swamp planet that you never caught the name of and you’ve been walking through the forest for at least 24 hours, only stopping for water and ration breaks. Based on the holo-map you’re currently staring at, this entire planet is one big swamp, with no escape from the damp, sticky environment.

The thing barely makes sense, a jumble of colors and shapes that worsens your headache the longer you try to figure it out. You had borrowed a thin shirt from Mando before setting out, but it does little to protect you from the buzzing swarms of insects, while at the same time it reflects just enough heat to have you sweltering.

Mando acts unbothered under all that padding and armor, trekking through the trees without any visible sign of struggle. You don’t understand how he can stay awake for so long without caf, yourself being covered in caf-patches to keep from passing out. It’s probably somewhat dangerous to have so much of the stimulant coursing through your veins, but oh well. If my heart gives out then at least I’ll escape the bugs.

“Footprints aren’t the only way to track a quarry.” He returns mildly, moving swiftly over tangled tree-roots to avoid the pools of murky water that litter the forest floor. You move with less grace behind him, trying to climb slippery wood and juggle the holo at the same time. The twisted trees of this planet seem to reach inward to point at the forest floor, giving you the impression of being trapped within their clutches. The eerie feeling isn’t helped by the distinct lack of light, odd lichen tendrils drape between branches to create a blanket that absorbs most natural light from the sky. A faint glow emanates from the tendrils, basking the forest with ghostly illumination. You scramble to the top of the particularly tall root he’s perched on then plop down to catch your breath.

“No, it’s not the only way,” you pause to take a swig from your water skin, dabbing off the spilled drops from your chin with your sleeve, “but the footprints you track are apparently all glowy and red. I get to look with my naked eyes for shit like depressions in the ground, which is so fun considering the only paths here are solid wood.”

Mando rolls his helmet on his shoulders, the effect similar to someone rolling their eyes. When he speaks it’s short and gruff, annoyed by your attitude. Which is… appropriate. The hours you’ve spent walking in this heat together is starting to snap both of your tempers. “Stop complaining.”

He’s not wrong about the footprints. You’re mostly annoyed because of how useless you feel, more like you’re tagging along than assisting him on the hunt. Drawing your eyebrows together you try to come up with a plan. Most of those mercenary skills you talked up for Karga don’t apply here, this naturalistic setting is too messy and... wild. Unpredictable. You’re used to the structure that comes with starships and cities, places engineered and civilized.

Tracking people isn’t very hard, you’ve done it plenty of times before. The only issue is that all of your practice came from environments where they left clear signs of direction, displaced gravel indicating a shoe-print, broken branches, a trail in sand. It also helps that your targets didn’t know they were being stalked. The only path here is over hard wooden tree roots, with nothing to indicate direction, not even moss grows over the foot trail for traveling feet to mark. You take in a deep breath and hold it for several seconds before letting out all your air in one huge swoop.

“I’m sorry, “ you tell him sincerely, “I want to help you -and not just for a bigger cut. Is there anything I can do?” You truly do feel bad for snapping at him even if you know you’re right about his advantage. Just because you don’t have fancy thermal settings and footprint tracking doesn’t mean you’re useless. The Mandalorian settles his hands on his hips and surveys the area, looking for a task to assign you. His helmet tilts up and lingers on the trees, and you’re already two steps ahead before he can voice his idea.

“I can climb,” you interject, standing up swiftly and moving. “Trees can’t be more slippery than a spacecraft.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “Find something and your cut goes up by five percent.”

“Ten percent.” You grin at him cheekily, wanting to tease him even if he won’t give it to you.

“Eight, if you find somewhere to camp.”

“Deal.” You return, already halfway to the widest tree you can reach without getting your feet wet. The trunk is covered in knots and twisted vines, ugly but providing fantastic handholds for your hands and feet. Grabbing hold of a sturdy looking ledge you begin your ascent.

The climb is fairly easy even with the woods damp surface, and you reach the forest canopy with minimal effort. Carefully squirreling around the thin top-most branches you attempt to find a break-through point, the wood beneath you bowing a little from your weight.

When you finally poke your head through and see the sky you gasp, taken aback by the sight. You hadn’t hung around in the cockpit during landing, instead choosing to pack the bags while Mando skillfully piloted his ship. The forest floor is all you’ve seen of the planet and apparently you’ve missed a lot.

The sky here is beautiful, a color palette that is completely opposite from the dark, damp underbelly of the forest ground. Swirling aquamarine clouds float lazily in the sky, speckling the orange hued atmosphere above you. There are at least 6 pale moons lined up on the horizon from edge to edge, stars twinkling around each orb as if drawn to their orbit. You drink in the sight greedily, the ache in your head lessening in the natural light. This is so much better than the cold stark metal of space stations that you’re used to living on.

It’s hard to tell the time based on the sky alone, the moons must be constantly present in the sky no matter the time of day and you can’t find a single sun. Maybe this planet lives off the light and heat from each moon, reflected from a distant star? The thought is lovely but you don’t think it’s possible. You file the image away for your daydreams then divert your eyes back to the thick forest, searching for anything useful to tell Mando.

The line of trees is unbroken, a sea of dark green leaves and glowing lichen. An orange sky helps to warm up the pale glow from the lichen but it’s eeriness still sends a shiver through you. Everything on the horizon is of even height, betraying nothing within its depths. It isn’t ideal. You gnaw your lip anxiously, dreading to return to Mando without any information especially on your first hunt together. Eyes flitting around desperately, you try to analyze any possible breaks in the natural pattern of trees.

Could that be a settlement there? You think, looking at a slightly thinner section of forest that might roughly be three miles away. You aren’t sure about the planet’s curvature and how flat the terrain is so you double check the holo, looking for the information.

Something catches your eye as you’re pulling up the data, just substantial enough in your peripheral version that you stop what you’re doing. There is a mist rising from that thinned area, far enough away that you mistook it as some sort of lighting effect from the overwhelming color palette here. That has to be steam right? It’s too thick to be naturally occurring from the bog. There must be machinery over there. A settlement hopefully.

You’re about to climb down when you pause, looking at the still lit holo with renewed curiosity. Something about the map visually paired with your clear view of the forest allows the pieces to fall in place. When you compare the shape of the map to the trees you’re finally able to make sense of what you previously thought was a topographical mess. A built pathway lies here, a body of water there. And clearings. Several clearings not too far from where you are now, the perfect size to settle down in. Hopefully they’re dry.

Either the caf-patches are finally sending you into cardiac arrest or you’re manically happy to finally be of help to your hunting partner, but either way, you’re grinning so widely that your teeth clatter together.

“Hey Mando! Guess what you owe me?” You shout down at the ground, beginning to descend. You’re so excited that you practically slide down the vines, jumping to the ground when you’re several feet high in the air, sore muscles creaking at the impact. The Mandalorian is sitting now, resting with his elbow propped on his knee while he waited for you to come back. There’s a soft pang in your chest and you wonder if he’s tired. You brush it off, feeling as though you’re just projecting, and instead grin widely at him in triumph. “7 percent increase for me!”

He lifts his helmet and looks you up and down. “What did you find?”

You reply chirpily, hands grasped behind your back and shit-eating grin still plastered on your face. “There is a settlement of some kind roughly three miles that way,” you point in the direction where you saw the steam, “and several clearings nearby suitable to camp in, if we don’t want to head in right away. Oh, also we aren’t on the actual path used by locals here, the asset must be making an effort to hide.”

“That isn’t very smart of them,” Din observes, shaking his head at the concept. “Busy path hides more prints.”

“Hm…” You take that in, wondering what other techniques a quarry may use to shake its hunter.

It occurs to you that there is a lot you could learn from the Mandalorian, since so far hunting someone has been notably different from your mercenary missions. You’ll find a moment to ask questions later once you’re settled down for the night, wherever that’ll be. “Do you want to camp or find the maybe-settlement?”

“We should camp,” he responds immediately, rising from his seated position and walking closer to you, “we don’t know what we’ll face there. You can choose the area, since you climbed the tree.”

You pull up the holo-map again and zoom in on the different options, feeling far more energized now that you actually know what you’re doing. There are two spots that seem encouraging, both a short hike away from where you are now but removed enough to grant you some privacy. You’ll still need to set up a watch to prevent ambush or stray travelers from finding you but it’ll be easier if you make an effort to hide. One of the clearings seems to have a running water source, you hope it’s cleaner than the still-water you’re currently surrounded by. Maybe you can bathe there too.

“Lets go here,” you pull up the coordinates for Mando, “that looks like a stream, right?”

He leans into your body for a closer look, broad chest just brushing against you in a way that sends flutters through your tummy. You know he can zoom in with his visor, there is no reason he needs to be so close to you except for your benefit. He seems to enjoy messing with you like this, throwing you off with unexpected touches, looks, and gestures. It’s like a game he plays and you’d be far more annoyed by his teases if it wasn’t so exciting.

“Looks good,” he rumbles low in his chest. “Fresh water would be nice.”

Your heart quickens, but you tried to hide your reaction by teasing him back, tapping your fingers on his helm and stepping away. “I was hoping to clean myself up, actually…”

Mando straightens up at this, visor locked on your face.

“Lead the way.” He returns quietly, giving away nothing. Trying not to smile, you start off in the direction of the clearing, for once moving faster than your armored companion.

Your goal isn’t very far, only about 3 miles north of your previous position and a mile adjacent to the settlement you’ll pay a visit to tomorrow. Large, fuzzy fronds of an alien fern droop down the sides of the hollow clearing, providing a barrier between the forest and empty space in between. The trees still tangle above the open area, blocking out part of the beautiful sky, save a few of the large moons, and old pieces of charcoal are ground into the sandy earth here, a sight that makes you a little anxious. This spot must be used by others, you’ll have to be more careful with setting up the watch than expected.

The water source turns out to be a small spring set on the edge of a cliff at the far end of the clearing, a sizable waterfall cascading down the side and gathering in a crystalline pool. Skipping ahead of Mando to the edge of the pool you crouch and dip your fingers in the cool water, sighing in relief as it relieves some of the warmth in your overheated body.

You’re unable to hear Mando’s approach - how he is so stealthy under 50 pounds of metal escapes you, but you feel him behind you. You smirk. Arching your back as you rise, you turn around slowly and begin to make eyes in his direction however, when you actually see what he's doing, you cringe at yourself in embarrassment. He’s not looking like you assumed, instead he is surveying the clearing skeptically, body-language imbued with disapproval. Your heart simultaneously sinks to your stomach and contracts in frustration. You thought you had finally done something right.

“What? Is something wrong?” You ask him tightly, subtly shrinking in on yourself in disappointment. You try to hide this by fiddling idly with a stray thread on your tunic, stubbornly keeping your head lifted high despite wishing you could disappear. He doesn’t respond right away, instead turning and walking the length of the clearing then back, stopping just in front of you sharply. You meet his visor with your eyes, holding the look until you feel like you’re burning up in shame from the pressure of it.

“It’s too… open,” he finally says, voice halting as he tries to find the correct words. “Anyone could walk into our camp.”

“I figured we’d set up a watch. There’s only one entrance-”

He interrupts you. “One ground entrance. Anyone can climb down from the trees.”

“Maybe, but this planet isn’t supposed to be dangerous, is it? Practically abandoned,” You huff out, fists clenching at your sides as you argue with him. “Besides. It’s… pretty here.”

The Mandalorian sighs, pinching the helmet just below the visor where his nose bridge would be. “Fine. I’ll take the first watch. No fire.”

Nodding in response, you cross the clearing and set your bag down on a log, letting out a sigh in relief. That’s fine by you, you don’t need the extra warmth and the glowing lichen provides enough light to get by. You really did not want to hike again after moving for 24 hours straight. Mando mirrors your movements, leaning his rifle next to your pack before settling on the sandy earth. A loaded pause passes between you, earlier implications at the forefront of your minds.

Letting out a shuddering breath you crouch down and pull your old tunic from your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way back to the small pond. The water is completely clear, an inviting sight after the marshy puddles that made up the forest ground on your way here. You’re facing the water now but you’re still well aware of the man behind you, the intensity of his gaze burning even through the impassive visor. The invitation is clear. Take it off.

But you aren’t sure if you want to give him that yet. The exhaustion from today has wrung you dry, small bickerings between you and your work partner dampening the sweet mood leftover from Nevarro. Apologizing with sex isn’t really your thing. You’d rather stoke the mutual respect between you as allies instead of start up a pattern of fighting then making up.

You crouch at the water's edge, peering into the depths for a moment before splashing your face with cold water, fresh scar throbbing as blood rushes to the surface of your face. The spare tunic you grabbed just brushes the surface of the water, sending ripples throughout your reflection. Curious, you lean over and observe the way the mirror-like pond breaks off into fragments, bits of you here and there mixing in with the moons that lay on russet sky.

Like a painting. You think in awe, having only seen a couple of the artifacts in person. The richest target you were assigned to owned two pieces of art, real paintings on real paper, encased in transparisteel viewing cases before you smashed open the backing to wonder at them. You close your eyes and try to recall the texture of the paint before the rest of your memory catches up and sours the whole thing. The man's home had to be burned in order to erase evidence, his paintings too large to smuggle out of the city.

When you open your eyes the pond has settled with your reflection only- you’re not alone.

“Maker!” You jump at the sight of the Mandalorians gleaming helmet appearing in the reflection. “What the fuck, you sneak.”

He just chuckles in response and offers you a hand, which you take firmly while rolling your eyes and standing. He leads you back to sit with him on the sandy earth, taking ration bars out of his pack- not yours, and breaking them evenly between you. The gesture is surprisingly tender and none too appreciated what with your stomach growling audibly at the bland meal. All at once, you are reminded by the spattering of caf-patches on your limbs, the jitteriness becoming more apparent now that you’re finally still. You’re shaking. Mando notices as well.

“You may explode.” He remarks, prompting you to start pulling off the stimulant, crumpling each piece and setting them neatly in a pile at your knee.

“Good, let me explode. You’re too bossy to work with.” You return with a smirk, hoping your sarcasm lands. He hums in response, pulling one of the patches off of your forearm and flicking it in your direction for you to catch.

Tutting, you roll the patch into a ball and set it at the top of your pile. “Don’t leave a mess, this forest is ugly but at least it’s untouched,” you tell him firmly. Mando just nods.

The ration bars are hardly a delicacy but you shove them in your mouth all the same, appreciating the engineering behind them. They are so calorie rich that a piece the size of your palm can keep you going for hours. However, your body can’t seem to relax despite the food lining your belly- perhaps you actually overdid the caf. You should be tired right now. Staying awake for more than a day isn’t exactly the average schedule but your knee bounces uncontrollably in a frantic pattern, stirring up puffs of sand between you and the warrior.

“You need to tire.” Mando mutters, firmly placing a glove on your thigh and holding the limb down. “Stop that.”

“Sorry,” you reply, trying to freeze yourself and sit as still as he does. Mando always exists so sagely, like a monk. Completely calm when he wants to be before exploding into action, no warm-up necessary. You wonder if he had some sort of meditation training to achieve that. Is that why he sits like that in the cockpit, his back rod straight like a statue? Weirdo.

“Hey…” The palm at your thigh presses again and you suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t even realize you were twitching again. “Do I have to hold you down?” He growls.

You gulp. “Tempting. But no.” Your words come out steadier than you feel. The caf becomes all too much in that moment so you lurch to your feet, his gleaming helmet following your body as it rises jerkily. You feel far too energetic, needing to get the energy out somehow so you can finally pass out. Your idea leaves your mouth before you can truly think it over.

“Wanna fight?”

“...What?” Mando sounds truly surprised even if his body betrays nothing.

“You heard me,” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, swaying back and forth like a green sailor on the oceans of Mon Cala. “Let's practice our combat, I rarely get to do that.”

He’s standing before you can blink causing you to jerk back, startled by his speed. The Mandalorian poses right in front of you, too close to not be a challenge with his weight settled on one leg breezily.

“Okay. Hit me.”

What a taunting mother fu- You swing your left hand out as if aiming for the unarmored spot on his ribs, which he blocks with ease… leaving his throat open for your right fist to sharply jab.

The bounty hunter doubles over, coughing and clutching his neck with one hand.

“O-Oh shit! I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean, let me-” You scramble with lost movements, trying and failing to help him straighten upright. It leaves you awkwardly placing your palms on his back while the crown of his helmet presses into your belly. “I, um… Mando?”

His arms wrap around your middle in a flash, pulling you tightly against his chest and throwing both your bodies to the ground. It happens so fast that you can’t even shriek before the air is knocked out of you, hitting the sand hard enough to throw it into the air around you. Gasping, you smack full force at the Mandalorian on top of you, his arms still crushing you against him while your legs lock straight together with his knees on either side. It’s sexy, but you’d really like to breathe. He lets up just barely.

“Nice punch,” he rasps, throat clearly affected by the hit. “Don’t think I’ll hold back after that though.”

“Don’t… want… you to…” You shoot back at him, sharp as you can manage while wheezing. Mandos visor raises ever so slowly and pins you, hidden eyes holding you down more effectively than his body. After a drawn out moment of this, your head spinning as you calculate your escape strategy, he crawls up your body to prop himself above you, locking your wrists in one large hand with the other presses against your chest, shoving your back into the earth. It is just enough pressure to squeeze some air out of your lungs and it is then when you know he isn’t kidding about not holding back.

You’re so fucking happy that he isn’t letting you win.

In other instances, you’d panic at the hopeless feeling of being trapped like this, by someone twice your size and clad in the galaxy’s most powerful steel. But the way he spars with you now, full force and not playing easy... it has implied respect for your skill. He knows you can fight and doesn’t spare you the opportunity to prove it.

Only a second or two has passed since he fully immobilized you and you’re still locked in your flattened position. When he motions to stand, pulling your wrists as if to drag you, you know you must make your move now or it will be too late. The only spot he has open on his body right now is… well, right between his legs. The first thing a smaller fighter learns about combating larger foes is to fight dirty and there is no reason you should hold back if Mando isn’t. Your legs had been pinned tightly together before he moved to drag you but now there is just enough room to swing a knee up and hit him between the legs.

Mando doesn’t wear a full codpiece but luckily for you, the padding on his groin isn’t enough to block your kick. A choked sound rips out of his throat and he falls to one knee, the fingers encircling your wrists loosening slightly while he struggles to fight his body’s natural pain response. You wrench one hand free and use it to grip his cowled neckline, planting your feet against his cuirass and swinging yourself into a hanging position before his grip tightens again. He's steady but you try to dig your feet in to throw him forward, hoping to twist around and land on his back with his face down. He totters for one frozen second, both your bodies on the precipice of falling but unfortunately, he manages to wrench himself backwards and land heavily on his back with you on top.

You’re both gasping and groaning at the shock of hitting the ground so hard, and for one breathless moment all you do is stare heatedly at each other on the forest floor, eyes locking through his visor and somehow you know he is grinning.

His smile mirrors on your face when you feel his hands rip at your clothes, wrenching the thin pants off of you down to your thighs forcefully enough to knock your legs together with a dull thud.

“Did I not just kick you in the dick, Mando?” You laugh, working at his belt at the same time. He palms your ass through your underwear greedily, squeezing so hard that you know finger shaped bruises will blossom there.

“You missed.”

“Must’ve hurt either way…” You mutter, finally managing to reach under his thick layers and wrap your hand around his length, producing a low growl from the man beneath you. “Maybe, it's good I missed.”

The only response you get is his hands pulling both your hands to lay on his chest plate then traveling back down your body to tug aside your underwear and grind you down onto his hips, rubbing your now bare slit against his bulge. You vaguely remember deciding against coming onto him as a form of apology, but for some reason, since he started first that all ceases to matter. It feels like a game you’ve begun to play with each other, playing with the tension between you and the Mandalorian until you find out what breaks your resolve. Maybe it started even before you entered this forest, perhaps back on Nevarro or even on the station.

You can’t tell but you don’t want to question it either.

A moan falls from your throat, your hands moving on their own volition to try and remove his belt entirely, or at least enough to pull his cock out. Mando’s glove flashes up again to circle your wrists, immobilizing them and harshly pinning you down with his vambrace lain across your back.

“You yield?” He asks, voice dripping with a sickly triumph. A chill runs down your back and you feel as if he just dunked you into the pond.

“W-What?”

“You yield… I win?”

“Wha- No!” You cry out indignantly, struggling against his iron grip. “I didn’t realize we were still sparring!”

He laughs, fully bodied and dark with some emotion that swirls deep within your core, and you can’t put your finger on it exactly but you know you’ll have to do something before you’re swept up entirely. “Oh, but we are. What shall the winner gain?” He asks, so quietly that it is almost lost in the warped modulator, barely a question and more so a crackling of static.

Fuck, you’re so wet.

You lick your lips and shakily respond. “I am not one to give up, however-”

“Then don’t. Keep fighting.”

Oh, and you love what he implies. There is no reason to argue further and less time to act, so you immediately struggle hard with the upper half of your body, wrenching your wrists to try and distract him from the way your legs are free to swing into his ribs. But Mando doesn’t fall for your feint a second time. In fact, he seems to have expected it, his leg is more than prepared to hook around the back of your knees and hold you against his body, rolling to the side to throw you underneath him.

You’re pinned on your back with nearly his full weight, unable to do more than weakly punch at what you can reach- unfortunately for you all you can reach is armor. Your cry of anger is cut short when Mando flips onto your front, your chest pressed roughly to the floor of the forest.

The helmet appears over your shoulder, his ragged breathing right by your ear. “T-This okay? You want this?” You can’t find your words to respond with the way you're held so tightly against the earth, so you nod as best you can with one cheek pressed into the ground. Mando snarls something furiously, one hand leaving your back to fumble with his pants and pull his cock out, lining himself up at your soaking entrance and running the head through your folds.

His helmet drops back down to your shoulder, the visor turning and burying itself into the line of your neck and you know that if he weren’t bound by his creed then he would be kissing dark bruises there.

“You know this means I win,” he hisses, pressing his cock to breach your tight opening ever so slightly.

“I-I know.” You whimper weakly.

With that, he fully pushes himself into you and if you weren’t so wet you know his size would be unbearably painful. Instead, the stretch is pure bliss, a slow burning sensation that has a hint of sting to it, his dominance lending to complete submission and all you can do is lay there and take it. There is still the strain you grew to know from when he allowed you to use his body on Nevarro, but something about Mando topping you encourages you to open yourself for him with more ease.

He quickly bottoms out then holds himself till, allowing you to adjust to his size. You’re writhing as much as possible under the way he crushes you to the floor, knees carving grooves in the soft sandy earth.

“Fuck,” Mando grits, teeth clenched together so hard that you swear you can hear the grinding in his jaw. “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.”

The position is hard to maintain on the soft ground, his hands keep sliding ever so slightly on either side of you forcing him to adjust every few seconds. His patience breaks after the third time this happens, a growl crackling through the helmet as he settles his hands on your lower back and hoists his body up, knees planted on either side of your thighs, crushing them together with intense pressure on your clit. Your body is locked tight, pussy clenching harder around his cock when he rises into an upright position.

You let out a genuine scream when he draws back then thrusts sharply into you, pain mixing with pleasure in a manner far more biting than on his ship, when he had let you take control entirely, never even doing so much as to thrust into you. It is almost too much for you but even while you struggle to take his cock, you don’t dare tell him to stop, nor do you want him to stop. You’re so blinded by the stretch that you don’t realize he is speaking until you miss several, distorted words.

“Fuck, why did I wait, why did I wait? I should’ve fuck-fucked you back on the station, approached you in that hangar and made myself fucking clear-” Each gritted word is accentuated by a mean thrust, his dick is so big that he has to shove himself inside of you rather than glide, breaking you open in a way that burns so sweetly. Your legs are held together, knees locked and straight, which doesn’t help how tight you are but you can’t budge at all to open yourself to Mando, his hands pressing down at your lower back so heavily that you’re short of breath.

A garbled moan is forced out of you when Mando grinds his length into your pussy as deep as he can possibly reach, hips smashing against your ass while he pulses inside of you and for a second you think he's cumming. But no- he draws himself from your depths and starts to rut his cock between your cheeks, head resting on your upper back and hands by your head.

A powerful hand wraps under your side and settles at your sternum, pulling you back against his cuirass and lifting so that you end up seated together, fitting against him without even an inch of space between your bodies. His hand lifts your hips, other appendage snaking around to position his cock back at your entrance before allowing gravity to do the work, your legs spreading to rest on either side of his thighs as you sink down on him to the hilt.

Once settled, Mando starts to work you on his cock, lifting you like you weigh no more than a pebble then letting go. The head of his cock slams full force into your pussy with the weight of your entire body, each brutal pounding sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Lungs free and no longer crushed to the floor, you’re unable to stay quiet, broken sobs and moans puffing from gritted teeth as he takes what he denied himself on his ship, the memory a thousand miles away as your processing center is fucked stupid.

You can’t say how long this goes on for, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but the next thing you know is that your cheek is back on the sand, burning from the way it chaffs against the floor with each rhythmic thrust that claps against your thighs. You’re don’t even know if you’ve cum yet but it doesn’t matter, not with the way he is fucking the life out of you here in the wilderness. Mando is still talking, still uttering filth and praise through the helmet and all you can think about is how badly you want to hear his real voice speaking that way to you, you’re so close to asking him to take it off but you can’t find the words, you can’t think, you can’t-

Abruptly, he grinds to a halt at the deepest point in your body then pulls himself free, pushing your shirt up lighting fast before cumming across your back with a choked exclamation. You’re both still for a second before your knees collapse, landing flat on your belly and gasping desperately. There is a shuffling noise behind you, accompanied with heavy breaths from the bounty hunter. It sounds like he’s rummaging through something then, yeah- your train of thought is confirmed when a wet cloth wipes his pleasure from your skin, gently trailing along your spine and ass.

You reach behind you and hold his wrist, feeling the fluttering pulse there. “I’ll win next time…” You whisper, drawing his hand along the soreness on your bottom, the area he bruised, you suspect. He laughs- or pants you can’t really tell, but either way his touch becomes more gentle on your body, smoothing out the tense muscles and cleaning you up. Today's travels with the man have suddenly caught up to you and you might pass out right here, half clothed and dirty.

“Come on, get up. Don’t sleep here.” Mando firmly states, helping you up and guiding you across the clearing after you pull your leggings up from where they gathered at your ankle. You’re trembling like a leaf, fragile in your spent state but glowing all the same. Mando sets you down on a log and brings you a canteen of water which you gulp down thankfully. He chuckles. “Wait up or I’ll have to drink from the spring.”

That gives you pause, reminding you of something he said while you lay beneath him. You’re slightly nervous to ask but you do it anyway, warm and satisfied on your perch while he cares for you. “You.. When you were, um- fucking me. Well, you said something about how you shouldn’t have waited. Does that mean what I think it means?”

He nods, “I noticed you for other reasons too, burc’ya.”

“Maybe you should’ve fucked me back then.” Taking another gulp then handing the canteen back, you stretch then slide down to sit on the ground with him, back against the log. “You said that word before, ber-borshaw?”

“Burc’ya.”He corrects,“It means friend in Mando’a.”

“Oh.”You cheeks heat, feeling silly and rude for not recognizing the use of his people’s tongue, also noting that he used it to refer to you twice now, endearingly. It is an honor, one that makes you nervous. You feel like you should apologize, somehow. “Y-You speak Mando’a? I’ve never heard you use it before.”

Mando settles against the log, leaning his broad shoulders to rest against the wood near your side. A few moments pass before he responds, “I chose to not use it around the others. Didn’t trust them.”

“Oh, so you trust me?” You giggle, tapping the side of his helmet with your elbow. Questions burn within you and you may as well ask now, in the quiet afterglow of sex where everything is warm and slow. “Why didn’t you trust them if you started the company with Ran? How am I any different?”

“You aren’t ruthless,” he surprises you by answering immediately, and you can’t decide whether you're insulted or not before he continues. “Ruthless and cruel is all that group ended up being, and it didn’t start out that way. We weren’t just mercenaries, we had a code. In the early days, attacking a slave ship would’ve been out of the question. Ran wasn’t always so full of greed.”

Silence falls after he speaks, letting you mull over his explanation for a while while the waterfall rumbles in the background. Really, his perspective confuses you when you think back on your actions as a mercenary. Desperate to climb the ranks, to make a name for yourself, to earn credits and reputation. You suppose you conducted yourself with empathy, avoiding selection for hits that targeted innocent people if you could help it. You never had much choice in the area but it seems your actions spoke louder than realized. So much energy spent to avoid seeming weak and you never considered that your aversion doubled as strength.

“Friend…” You whisper, not of your own accord. The word floats on your tongue, a specter within your vocabulary. In your adulthood you’ve had allies, you’ve had teammates, you’ve had acquaintances, but to have a friend… it terrifies you as much as it warms your heart. You considered yourself partnered professionally with the Mandalorian and didn’t dare to consider yourself lovers, no matter how much you privately hoped. But a friend is a luxury you didn’t hold close, mainly out of fear. You lost too many as a child. For a faceless man he manages to strike areas that are quite intimate.

You decide that you’ll enjoy being his friend, a bit surprised that you aren’t too hurt by what is essentially a romantic rejection of the crush you held for so long. Probably because this is real , solid and built within reality instead of the silly fantasies you built prior.

This is better than lovers, you tell yourself, the slight ache in your heart melting into the background of your desires, behind lock and key for another world.

“I’ll take ‘friend’, Mando.” You grin, extending a hand to him cheekily. He stares for a second before taking it and shaking, helmet tilting in a respectful nod.

His next words send an unexpected pang throughout your chest, taking all the careful walls you worked hard to set up and throwing them into a blazing inferno.

“Let’s see where it goes.”

Fuck.

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

Leather boots prance lightly through thick branches high in the trees, footfalls landing silently with all the grace of an athlete. Through the delicate glasses perched on the pursuers nose, a red glow blooms on the shadowy floor of the swamp, two sets of footprints lighting up to reveal a steady path made by the travelers. A musical giggle bubbles out of the darkly dressed woman as she pulls a small holo-watch from her bag and straps it onto her wrist, pale light mixing with her lavender skin, transforming it into a sickly grey.

Xi’an claps a hand over her mouth to prevent her cackle from ringing through the trees as her plan takes form.

***

TAG LIST (working on it slowly, message if you want)

@velia27 @shrekscoochiehair @tbhitisdbh @sparklingwitches @lazyonasunday @peach-child @leah-halliwell92 @riot-sounds

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ushiwakatrash · 3 years

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On your knees, King!

Bakugou x reader, Todoroki x reader

Fantasy AU

!Warnings!: Swearing, betrayal, lil dash of angst, shitty writing

Synopsis:

Bakugou is the esteemed King of the Kingdom of Barbarians and because he succeeded in ruling the lands that were once governed by the Yuuei Kingdom, an offering must be made for the peace of the people. As the so-called ‘black sheep’ of the royal family, the King of Yuuei a.k.a. your father, offered you--naming you the most precious thing he could give; but you know the truth behind his words.

PART I

Part 2 →

“All hail the Barbarian king!”

Chants roared throughout the fallen kingdom as the last palace on the hunt list fell to the hands of the barbarians. The leader of their army, along with his trusted dragon, stood tall as they basked in their hard-earned victory.

The dragon who could shapeshift into human form kneeled at the foot of his master. “At long last my king, Yuuei is ours. This glory is because of you.”

“There, you are wrong, Kirishima. This victory is ours. TO THE BARBARIANS!” the king cheered. His soldiers followed suit with their own cheers of victory but in the castle of Yuuei, a family shuddered in fear.

Since the king couldn’t govern all of the kingdoms he had conquered all at once, he usually appointed the royal family to do it for him but one wrong move may cost their heads.

That fear was enough for the other kingdoms to pledge loyalty, knowing how the Barbarian king would definitely hang their heads on the palace gates if they ever displeased him.

The same feeling emanated in the walls of Yuuei. They knew of the new King’s ways and now they were the newest set of prisoners of the Barbarians. The king however needs a token, one of the most worth in the former king’s possession.

Other nations brought forth their best quality gold, finest jewels, the smoothest cloths of silk, but only this kingdom had a princess--and that was worth more than any of those other gifts combined.

(Y/n) was called a weight on the family name by her own kin. She was far from what you would call an elegant lady. During the daytime you would see her sparring with the knights. Other times she would go hunting with her commoner friends.

She knew her way with swords and weapons. She is also very skilled with the bow. One of their best knights, Iida Tenya, taught her to wield these things even if it was against his will at first.

She was the princess of the people and all the commoners adored her. Her family on the other hand frowned upon her actions calling it ‘unfit for a lady and a princess’ but she could care less.

Raw strength was not a problem for this princess and accompanied by her smarts, everyone looked up to her. The royal family could careless for their people but the heart of (Y/n) was just like that of a commoner.

She knew of their struggles and accepted criticism they had which earned her the respect of almost all of the people. She sometimes would sneak out of the castle to give food to those who have nothing on their plates or give medicine to the sick.

The only person who knew this was her childhood friend, Prince Shouto. They were introduced to each other when they were young as political marriages often happened between royal families; they were engaged.

And because their kingdom had also fallen in the hands of the great King Bakugou, their engagement had been called of because even if they remained in their respective palaces and continued to govern their own land, they were royals no more.

She lacked finesse and grace but she never lacked in heart and compassion. She was the only princess born in a royal family and because of her attitude and crass behavior, the King found her useless and an embarrassment.

What other way to get rid of her than to give her as an offering? Surely she would refuse the offer so the king had to plan on how to break the news on his only daughter.

The queen refused to give her daughter away but if they did not comply, all three of their heads will be chopped off from their body. It was the only way to survive in their lost kingdom.

The only lucky thing that they could happen to have right now is that their daughter would be at the age to marry. She was.

The sun was out and the weather was nice--the perfect time to catch a wild boar. The town folks will surely enjoy the meals that could be made with it. She reached for the red tooth that was attached to a slim piece of rope wrapped around her neck and touched it for good luck before hunting.

When she was only starting to get into hunting as a young girl, she wandered off to the woods by herself. That’s when she met a blonde with piercing red eyes. At fist he was hostile towards her but after a few more visits, they became friends.

He taught her how to skillfully shoot a pigeon with a bow, and they would have that bird for lunch. He taught her how to climb trees and distinguish poisonous berries from edible ones.

One time, after they had finish catching fishes in the river to roast, he shyly handed her the necklace, telling the princess that it was a price from defeating a beast of the forest. In her state of happiness, she tackled the young boy into the hug and unknown to her, it was the first time he had felt affection.

She had no idea what was going on in the palace. She was busy finding food for the poor families she had recently talked to. A knight from the castle rushed to her, scaring the animals away.

“Why would you make so much racket in the middle of our hunt?! This better new you have better be worthwhile or I’ll have you running laps around the town!” the princess complained.

“I am truly sorry, your highness but his majesty has summoned you in the throne room right this instant so we better get a move on and not let the king wait.” the knight swiftly said.

“My daughter, I have some important news for you. For all of our sakes and for our people’s sake, you are to be given as the token of our loyalty to the Barbarians.” the king stated with no emotions.

You scoffed at this. “Why me? You have tons of gold and brilliant stones! I do not get why it must be me that is given. How about what I want?! How about my say in all of this?!”

“You will obey your father whether you like it or not! For once be useful to this family you ungrateful child! You will be given to King Bakugou and you will be taken as his wife. Resistance is futile because I have already sent the signed papers” the king stated, more aggressively this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Is my freedom and happiness too much to ask from you? A loveless marriage for the sake of who, yourselves?! I doubt this is for the sake of the people. I’d rather die!” her voice started to shake.

“You will do no such thing as to kill yourself. Your wedding to King Bakugou is absolute and I will hear no further complains. Please my loyal men, escort the princess out of here.”

“You fucking old man! Mark my words I will come back for you, not in joy, but to have you punished!” She screeched.

The night was quiet for the sulking princess and no other thing could lift her spirits up other than to visit Prince Shouto. She snuk out of the castle once more and was warmly greeted by the guards in the Endeavor Palace.

The ruler there, Enji, took care of business outside the town so only the princes and princess Fuyumi were in the castle.

She was quickly escorted to Prince Shouto’s headquarters and she flung the door open and hugged the prince, finally letting the tears fall. “Shouto I am getting married to a man I don’t love! My father is the worst I fucking hate him. He is always against me!”

Shouto understood the feeling of resent towards their father. That was the thing they both strongly had in common, dealing with the fathers they wish weren’t theirs.

“It cant be that bad (Y/n)” Shouto said while trying to wipe her tears away. He cupped her face and asked “To whom are you to be wed anyway?”

The prince’s world stopped when he heard her answer.

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deepperplexity · 3 years

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Prompt: 5. Memories

A/N: So, we are on day 5 of SNAPEMAS and I have a little longer fic for you today! Fair warning though, it is very mixed between joy and sorrow because I try to shine some light on tough subjects with my writing. I know it's a jolly time of year but it is also around this time of year many suffer - often in silence. So, with that said, I hope you enjoy this one!

Setting: Your home on a little hill covered in snow, Christmas morning

Pairing: Snape x Wife!Reader

ABBR.: │(y/n) - Your Name │

Word count: 4240

Warnings: Sexual content, Angst, Sorrow, Mentions of miscarriage, Fluffiness & Cute stuff

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

Christmas, it's finally here! It was the first thing you thought as you woke from a soft slumber next to your husband. It was still early, pitch black outside despite the heavy layer of snow you knew was just beyond the frost-covered window. You sighed, completely content as you snuggled up next to Severus. His arms snaked lazily around you as he grumbled a 'good morning' with that raspy voice you adored.

You kissed his chest as you were tucked into him, your head heavy on his pale shoulder. "Good morning hubby," you purred and you saw a little smile tug at his thin lips. Your fingers traced idle circles on his chest, swirling in the black chest hair you always loved to drag your fingers through. He chuckled and moved his free hand to be beneath his head.

"How long do you think we have?" he murmured and it vibrated through your skin where your head rested against him. "'dunno, an hour maybe," you whispered back, he chuckled. "That's more than enough." Before you knew it he was on top of you. He held up his weight with his arms on either side of you as he snuggled in between your warm legs. Fitting perfectly together.

You giggled as your arms snaked around him; your warm hands landed on each of his shoulders before you moved them down his scarred back. You barely noticed all the marks he bore any longer. They were a part of him and nothing with him could be ugly. Not even the near-white marks that covered most of his back. You knew what memories they carried and you had been determined, from the first time you saw them, to take away his pain. As he did yours.

His lips travelled down your temple, cheek and jaw; ventured down your throat as he purred against you. A soft moan escaped you as one of his hands stroked down your ribs and hip; then up again. "Severus," you whispered and he hummed. "I love you," was his answer to your call of his name before his head dipped further down to your breasts as he kissed, licked and nibbled. "I love you too," you panted softly as your hands grabbed on to his back. Your nails slightly dug in and he moaned against your warm skin.

He ventured further down and your opening was slick with want. A feverish need pounded in you as he stirred you awake in every way possible. You loved him dearly. The perfect man that was yours to love and cherish, to care for and support. As he did for you in all ways possible. The way he made you tremble with arousal was just the biggest of bonuses. He was masterful in the art of seduction and just as skilled when it came to the actual deed. He never left you unsatisfied if he could help it.

"Oh, Sev, please," you pleaded as he suckled and licked at your most sensitive spot. As he tenderly stroked and sucked the little bundle of nerves. Your body stiffened ever so slightly as he hummed against you. It was a far better experience than any vibrating toy could ever give you. Could there be a better way to start of Christmas? No, no I don't think so...

"I love-" Just as he was about to say something you both froze. Then in a flurry of movements, he threw himself up and you both snuggled up to each other pretending to be asleep. You tried to calm your body and breathing, he was trying to do the same. You both inhaled and exhaled a long, deep breath and just a second later your door gently squeaked open. Just as you both were able to scold your faces into sleeping masks.

You pretended to be asleep as little feet padded the floor on their journey towards your bed. The mattress bent and the bed groined a bit as a little body climbed onto it. "Mommy," a sing-song voice whispered. You feigned sleep and tried with all your might not to smile. "Mommy," the little voice whispered again, a little louder. But you did not stir. You knew to lay still and be quiet, pretend to sleep as this, this very moment, was your husbands favourite part of Christmas morning.

The bed dipped, someone small crawled over you and snuggled in between yourself and Severus. "Daddy?" the little voice whispered, "daddy wake up." You felt Severus stir as he feigned waking up with a grunt. "What is it my little princess?" he murmured with that raspy voice and you laid still, listened. Tried to still the yearning and pounding Severus had stirred in you a moment earlier. "I can not sleep," your daughter whispered with a sigh. Severus chuckled and you knew it was because she spoke like him. Said each word. She never used 'can't' or 'won't', not even 'I'll'. No, she spoke every word just like her father. Except if she was mad. Then it was a splurge of words of all kinds.

"You can not sleep, you say?" You felt the nod she gave. "Should we go and make breakfast then?" Severus continued in a hushed tone, "so mommy can sleep?" "Mommy is sleeping hard," your daughter said with a sigh and Severus chuckled. "She is indeed," he whispered and your daughter giggled as you presumed he gave her a little tickle or kiss to the top of her head. "Come on then." They both left the bed with muffled steps and you knew Severus was holding her hand and in her other hand his old, nearly worn out, pyjama pants of black silk was most likely clutched and trailed after her.

She had never had a teddy bear to fall asleep with or anything like that. No, your daughter had laid claim to Severus's pyjama pants when she was no more than 7 months old. His favourite pair. But he had given them up freely. You smiled at the memory of his shocked eyes as your daughter had screamed and screamed only to fall asleep instantly when you gave her the pants. They smelled of her father and it soothed her immensely. Since then, the king had lost his garment to the little princess who refused to share.

The door closed and you heard the stairs groan under their weight as you turned over and sighed. Sure, you had not had the satisfaction of sweet release but you had so much more to feel content about. So as you layed there you allowed memories to flash by. Some happy and some sad. Some horrible and some wonderful.

Your mind drifted away to Christmas's passed. The first Christmas you had ever spent with Severus had been a, well, trial. He had said no to music, no to garlands, no to Christmas cookies and star-shaped lamps. No to a tree and no to a party. He had blocked you at every turn as you had tried your darndest to decorate his house at Spinner's End.

Well, he lost that battle and every Christmas battle since, you thought as a chuckle escaped you. You had gone up at two in the morning and decorated the whole damn house in red, green and silver. Everywhere hung decorations, in the oven cookies were being baked and from the radio in the kitchen came soft Christmas music. You had ordered a tree to be delivered at exactly six in the morning as Severus was a bit of a sleepyhead back then and usually didn't get up until after nine in the morning.

You had moved some furniture and placed the tree smack in the middle of the living room and boy oh boy had it been decorated. There were all kinds of decorations and so much glitter you could barely see the tree beneath it all. The house was a Christmas Wonderland by the time Severus shuffled down from the bedroom and his face. HIS FACE! I can still not get over it, you thought and you had to muffle a laugh with your hand not to be too loud.

He had looked utterly outraged and shocked. His exact words were 'What devil has spewed Christmas all over MY house?! (y/n)! What have you done to my house, you wicked woman!' You had stood your ground and the minute he had whipped out his wand to take it all down you had snatched it and ran into the kitchen where the smell of cookies hit him like a wall of sweetness. And you knew, the battle had been won when he saw the gingerbread heart decorate with glace that spelt 'I love you, my sweet Grinch'.

He had choked on a rumbling laugh and he seemed to have lost the anger and outrage as he gingerly looked at the cookie you had made only for him. That saved my arse, you chuckled again as the clear sounds of breakfast in the making reached you from downstairs. "Daddy, I ... ham ... plate..." You could hear some of the words your daughter was uttering but the unmistakable sound of Severus's praise was impossible to miss.

More feet clapped and thudded against creaking floorboards. "Oh boy, you have your hands full now my Grinch," you chuckled and how right you were. Jolly voices rang through the house, chaos broke out as apparently everyone was awake and up - ready for Christmas. You heard the unmistakable sound of begging with words of gifts. Then grumbling about waiting only to be followed by shouting and feet stomping the floor.

Three, two, one- "Go get mommy!" There it is, my queue to save my poor husband, and here comes the cavalry! The door burst open and several little bodies filled the bed. "Mommy! Mommy! It's Christmas!" a boyish voice with a high pitch rang out and you opened your eyes only to grab all of your kids and gave them kisses as they struggled to get away while laughing. "It is my little darlings, it is!" you said with joy as you looked at your daughter and your three sons. Happiness filled your chest and you could barely keep the tears away. You had not always been so fortunate as to have a family, to have children. There was a time when you feared it would never happen.

Jacob, your oldest son of nine years, fortunately broke your train of thought as he pulled on your arm. "Let's go, mommy! Daddy says we can't have our gifts yet!" he hollered with a disgruntled sneer he had learnt from his father long ago. He was adorable with his father's black hair and your eyes paired with his pale skin. "Daddy said so! Daddy's mean!" Ethan and William declared at the same time, their twin behaviour was getting almost spooky. Despite only being seven years old they already acted like one - no matter how hard you tried to make sure they always knew they were their own individual persons.

You sighed and shook your head, "daddy is not mean. Daddy is very nice and loves you very much. Don't hurt his feelings like that." The twins looked a little sad at that but seemed to quickly shake it off with a hasty nod. "Mommy, can you come now?" You looked at your daughter, little Elisa who had slid off the bed and stood next to your head. You smiled and nodded. "Let's go make sure daddy has set the table properly guys," you said and the cavalry filed out of the room in a thunder of hurried steps as the twins raced each other to get to the kitchen first; despite the fact you called after them not to run.

In the kitchen, Severus was preparing tea and coffee while your children messed up the table setting as they moved things around to their liking. You leaned against the door jamb as you watched the chaos that was your family. Your perfect little home with the messy fridge covered in the children's art, the worn floorboards, the creaking cabinets and that one drawer that wouldn't fully close in the little kitchen. There laid toys here and there, books as well. Now during Christmas times, there was even more stuff everywhere as you were crazy for Christmas decorations and your children seemed to have inherent that as well. But it was your mess, your family's things and it made you smile.

"Ah, there you are, about time," Severus smiled as he filled your cup with tea and his own with pitch-black coffee. "Hot chocolate! Hot chocolate!" Elisa hollered as she tugged on her fathers pants before you had had any time to answer him. "Alright, alright. Easy does it," Severus chuckled and gave you a silent look. You nodded and started to prepare the hot chocolate as all the kids swarmed towards you with their favourite mugs in their little hands. they were all twinkling eyes and wide smiles as they were dressed in their Christmas pyjamas and slippers.

You made each cup to their liking. Elisa's with rainbow marshmallows. Jacob's with whipped cream and chocolate powder on top. The twins, Ethan and William, preferred theirs with an extra scoop of chocolate and exactly five blue marshmallows. No more, no less. "Careful now," you chided as they started to walk towards the table with their filled mugs and they all slowed down so as not to spill the warm drink.

Again, it was chaos. Elisa only wanted Severus to make her breakfast, Jacob wanted to have more of everything, the twins wrestled for the same pieces of ham to put on their sandwiches but all were happy. And once everyone had what they wanted a soft silence fell as you all enjoyed a hearty breakfast while the littler radio played soft carols in the background.

You sipped your tea and nibbled on a sandwich as you made sure the kids sat properly and didn't flail their arms about too much. Severus gave you sweet looks and little smiles whenever little Elisa allowed him to not be fully occupied by her talk of reindeer and snowmen.

It didn't take long for the nagging about Christmas gifts began. You simply rolled your eyes, it was the same thing every year. The kids were always so preoccupied with the thought of gifts that they somehow always missed checking their stockings and you never reminded them before breakfast, always after. You had done that mistake only once and would never do it again as the whole breakfast was ruined. The kids only played with the things they had received instead of eating. It had been a mess and a struggle to get a Christmas breakfast that year.

So you smiled and hummed, added little words like 'oh no' and 'really' when needed as the kids babbled about everything they could possibly think of to try and persuade you to give them their gifts. Breakfast was always like that - full of talking that is - but on Christmas, you actually let them babble for as much as they wanted. It was a time for freedom and joy, not reprimands and silencing. And, who wouldn't want their children to feel like they always can speak to their parents? About anything. Well, you wanted them to feel that they could do just that.

When breakfast had been cleared away and you were about to tell the kids to check their stockings Jacob shrieked before you even had a chance to say anything. "Stockings! WE HAVE STOCKINGS!" he hollered loudly and for a moment everything was quiet and still. Then the cavalry literally ran to the fireplace where six stockings hung. You chuckled as both you and Severus followed silently. Holding freshly filled cups of tea and coffee respectively.

The kids played with their morning toys - a tradition your family had had for many generations. As a child you didn't think much of it but now that you yourself had children you understood why the tradition came to be in the first place. To keep the little ones calm, and occupied, for a few hours. Until they get the bulk of the gifts, you thought with a smile and a swift glance around the room.

Around your wrist were a silver bracelet, it had waited in your stocking. The chain was adorned with little letters in between even spaces. All the first letters of your children's names. Your husband had always been a thoughtful and caring gifter so you were not surprised to find something you wanted without even having known you wanted it to begin with in your stocking. He, on the other hand, was enjoying a rather hefty book. A muggle book to be precise; a collection of classics from Charles Dickens, Bram Stroker and Jane Austen.

Your husband would never admit it but he adored classical romance with all it's intricate emotions and linguistics. So you bough collection edition for him; just so he could pretend it was the other stories that fascinated him rather than the once with a lot of romance. Even if those were the ones he read over and over. In this particular collection 'Pride & Prejudice' was the most romantic story and you already saw him skipping to the latter half of the book to read it.

As you sat there -the kids played, your husband read and you enjoyed a fresh cup of peppermint tea - memories flooded in again as the happiness you felt poked at the less happy times that seemed to always linger in the back of your head. No matter what you did to cast those memories out. They were, truly, useless as they held no sway any longer. They were healed wounds. Merely scars now.

However, they pulled you back to the third Christmas you had had with Severus, the first one as a married couple. It wasn't a happy Christmas. The gifts he had given were perfect, the food delicious and the house sparkled with decorations as a hefty smell of gingerbread cookies filled the air. He had done it all. Severus that is. You, you had barely had the energy to get out of bed.

It was the first Christmas you could remember not being jolly, or singing, or dancing. Not baking or cooking or decorating. No, you had been curled up under heavy blankets with one of Severus's sweaters tightly held to your chest as you sobbed and cried for hours.

The memory made you shudder, Severus noticed from the other side of the little living room. "Love?" he asked in that worried tone of his, "are you cold?" You shook your head but grabbed a blanket to put over your folded legs anyway. He arched a brow and you gave him a tight smile before your eyes returned to rest on the children, as they were playing on the rug before you. I'm so happy I have all of you, my little darlings...

But no matter how happy you were the memory kept pressing, as it had done every Christmas. Your children reminded you of it, more often than you cared to admit. But you didn't hold that against them and you never spoke of it. With them, your husband or anyone else.

It was 12 years ago and you preferred not to utter a word about it. After all, why speak of such horrible things as miscarriages with the lovely little humans that were your children. Why torment yourself and your husband with words of what was lost when there has been so much gain afterwards. It was just useless. And, usually, the memories faded away hurriedly after you just let them play out. It was still hard to allow them through.

But you remembered. Always remembered the pain, horror and dread from losing a child before it even arrived in the world. The emptiness, that hollow feeling where something - someone - would always be missing. You had only been three months pregnant when it happened. But the fact it had happened a mere two days before Christmas seemed to make the experience even worse. And now, now those memories were at their peak around the happiest time of the year.

But you never let it take over and you always cherished what you had. Four beautiful children, a loving husband and a warm place to call home. After all, some unlucky souls never got children. No matter how hard they tried or how many times they manage to get pregnant or how badly they wanted it. If it was a choice to not have children; you were happy for that person. But to never have children, or to miscarry, when you desperately wanted to have your own little family was nearly unspeakable.

So, you never spoke of it. You were slowly getting past it even if the memories remained. But they were further away now. Not so demanding and not so vivid any longer. Scars rather than wounds. You were thankful for that. I have more than I could ever have hoped for, you thought and a warm smile spread across your lips as Elisa crawled up on the couch and snuggled into your embrace with her new dragon plushie held tightly.

"Do you like her?" you asked, your daughter smiled. "You think it is a she?" she asked, "I mean, it is green." You gave her a smile as you stroked her hair. She already spoke so clearly. A fast learner it appeared. "It can't be a girl because it is green?" you asked, your daughter pondered the idea. "It has purple spikes," she stated, "and purple eyes," she continued. "Elisa, you decide if it is a he or a she. Listen to the dragon, what is it telling you?"

Your daughter stared at the plushie and seemed extremely focused. "It's not a he or a she," she stated firmly. "Oh, what is it then?" you asked with a smile, she looked at you with her face set in a determined expression. "It's a dragon." You smiled and laughed, good answer my little clever darling. "That sounds very good sweetheart, what is your dragon's name then?" "Dragon," she stated flatly as if it were the most obvious thing in the whole world that the genderless dragon's name was just Dragon. Yeah, how could one not immediately understand that? You nodded with a wide smile - and a damn good try to not laugh at how cute your daughter was - and she returned to hugging the plushie; obviously happy with her own logic.

The memories of the sorrow and heartache, the loss, faded away and you sat with your daughter in your arms and a wide smile covered your lips. Life is good, you thought for yourself and as if faith had little tolerance for your enjoyment all hell broke loose as the twins stole Jacobs toy. They screamed and fought for the toy. All six hands grabbed after it. Severus was quickly over at them and settled the situation though so you continued to cuddle your little daughter.

It didn't take long for Jacob to come over and Elisa swiftly moved over to her dad where she seemed even happier to be curled up. You took Jacob in your arms, quite happy he still wanted to cuddle despite being nine years old and always proclaimed he was 'a big boy now' when you tried to hug him or kiss him. So you enjoyed it. Loved the moment as he talked about all the things his robot toy could do, how his robot had saved the universe and always remembered mother's day. It was quite amusing as Jacob always seemed to forget about that particular day.

You kissed the top of his head and he ran off to his room to play with the toy, the twins followed - always wanting to be close to their big brother - and Elisa was quick not to be left behind. A calm quiet fell over the living room and Severus came over to you. You smiled and he lifted your legs before he sat down next to you and placed your legs over his.

"Happy?" he asked with a glance at the bracelet. You beamed at him. "Very, you? Enjoying your new book?" you asked with a little wicked smile and he chuckled. "I know you know, but I'll be damned if I ever admit it." You laughed loudly at his words and he kissed your temple. "My sweet Grinch," you whispered and stole a quick kiss from his smiling lips before he had leaned too far away again.

"Think they will play for a while?" he asked as his hands stroked your legs atop the blanket. "Half an hour maybe, why?" He smiled wickedly. One of those grins that made your body vibrate with want and lust. The heat from earlier ignited instantly. "Let's finish what we started," he murmured as his hand slithered in under the blanket. Your cheeks flushed and you both knew you were playing a dangerous game out in the open of the living room. You hid under the blanket and in an instant, all thoughts of Christmas, gifts and losses were torn away from you as Severus took over your mind, body and soul yet again with the soft sound of children laughing and Christmas carols in the background.

So, before I write anything else - I know it's Christmas and it's supposed to be light-hearted, jolly fics and stuff but I still feel like holding true to reality as Christmas his a hard time for many people for different reasons. This being only one of them. And I do want to shine some light on tough subjects through my writing - I try at least - but I am trying to keep it as light as possible during Christmas. Considering it's supposed to be a jolly time ^^

So, I hope you enjoyed this little longer fic. I have been trying to keep my writing a bit shorter for Snapemas as I won't otherwise be able to do as many prompts as possible - hopefully all of them. But I will do a few longer ones when I feel it's required or I have the time to do it ^^ After all, you guys are used to my fics being a bit lengthy xD

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Tags: @lizlil @snapefiction Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2020]

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generallynerdy · 3 years

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One life, I thought—a thousand deaths (Jon Antilles & Fay)

Summary: On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude Word Count: 2,191

Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor

Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like...the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.

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Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, and feeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.

Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around him now, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.

As it turns out, lava burns. It burns like shame, like failure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.

And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.

Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.

Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.

“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”

Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force and folds the two points—

Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.

Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.

Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.

Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.

So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Finally, he sees her.

She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.

Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.

“Jon,” she calls out weakly.

He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”

They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.

“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”

Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”

She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”

Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”

A pause.

“But not us.”

The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.

“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”

He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”

“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so...so strong, so pure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”

Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”

Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”

He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.

“I’m not lonely,” he promises.

Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”

“Fay…”

She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”

Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.

“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hope so.”

He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because you did save me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”

She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”

“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.

Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.

But Jon can see that she means something else this time.

“Not too young to do my duty.”

“Too young to die doing it.”

Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.

“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.

Fay’s expression twists. “No.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”

“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except...you’re here. Why are we here?”

“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.

She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”

“What are you—?”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin is healing.

“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.

She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”

She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’t horrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.

“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”

“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”

Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.

Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.

It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.

“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”

She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.

“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”

Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”

Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.

She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.

“Master!” he sobs.

He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds...nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.

“Fay?”

The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.

Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.

“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”

He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.

Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.

It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.

He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.

The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. It aches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

He never gets an answer.

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

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owlespresso · 3 years

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Tremble, Duck & Weave . V

At last. Also on my ao3, which can be found here. If you’re interested in supporting my work or ordering your own, my commission terms can be found here and my ko-fi is here. Before we begin, please make sure all cellular devices are off. Thank you, and enjoy the show.

If Aymeric were to afford his late father one compliment, it would be his impeccable organizational skills. The perfection of each neat, abet packed drawer and cabinet makes it much easier to toss out items and documents he has no use for. He disposes of letters and paperwork and gauche items that only serve to take up space, skimming through texts and wrinkling his nose at every lie he sees. If nothing else, the archbishop kept his story straight, consistently assuring local leaders of his virtue and desires for a simple peace.

Never does he betray his wretched greed, nor does he betray earthly desires, nor does he disclose the truth of his earthly relationships.

“Never would I forsake my sacred oath for the sake of such petty indulgences,” one letter insists. Aymeric, without even processing it, reads it in his fathers voice and hears every lofty intonation, feels the faux passion oozing from every word. “The Scion of the de Borel family is not my flesh and blood.”

Aymeric’s lips curl into a deep frown, cold fingers tensed on the parchment. Another fruitless attempt to deny him of his true heritage, another desperate attempt for the archbishop to preserve his saintly image. Aymeric doesn’t know what’s more pitiful, the ceaselessness of his father’s denial or the fact that he had to interact with this man every day.

A loveless man, Aymeric thinks, crinkling the paper. There’s no reason to linger on a man long dead, not when he’s already resolved to be different, to be better.

His brows pinch into a firm scowl, lips pursed in a deep frown. His tumultuous thoughts near split his head, every letter and possession an unfortunate reminder—

A knock breaks the stifling quiet and forces his spine rigid. As with every spontaneous visit he receives, he schools his demeanor into something friendly and relaxed, something unemotional and civil.

“Come in,” he calls mere moments later.

The tall, dark doors open. Zephirin’s form, adorned in rich blues and gleaming white, stands out stark against the darkened shadows of the hall. He cuts across the tiled floor, greaves clanking with each long step.

“Pardon the interruption, my lord,” Zephirin regards him with trademark impassiveness. “I have information of the utmost importance to share with you.”

The prompts Aymeric to raise a brow. Long has he worked aside the men of the Heavensward, but never has he grown confident in his abilities to read Zephirin. However, he has always been sure that his father kept an array of secrets, any of which could pose a threat to himself or Ishgard. Due to the recency of his ascension, he made the bold choice to not yet question any of the ward. He would attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. Giving them time to adjust, know and trust him would bear richer fruits than pressuring them to spill his father’s precious secrets. Perhaps that patience is finally paying off.

“You may speak,” Aymeric nods, fingers pressing the papers on the desk flat to the polished wood.

“My lord, I assume you are privy to the existence of the Ascians?” Zephirin’s inquiry nearly makes his brows raise, yet he keeps firm hold of his expression, a face of practiced, steady neutrality.

“I am.” Immortal creatures who were a source of strife to every nation and settlement, known for inflaming local beast tribes into summoning deadly primals. “Why, pray tell?” He wouldn’t put it past his father to break bread with some of the world’s most notorious troublemakers, and he knows better than to hope otherwise.

The migraine blossoming behind his forehead thuds into the foreground. The very last thing Ishgard needs is pressure from another faction. Not whilst they’re in the middle of a transitional period. He knows that change must be introduced slowly for the people to accept it. He already has the Dravanians clawing at the wall every chance they get, and the alliance still knocks on the city’s gates semi-regularly. Aymeric is not an easily agitated man, yet there is only so much he can take before his hinges rust and his temper runs out.

“Before the Archbishop’s untimely death, they approached him offering an alliance,” Zephirin is watching him carefully, closely, measured in his words and demeanor. The timbre of his voice is neutral and passive. “He accepted with the intent of ascertaining their true goal and betraying them when his plans reached fruition. It is my full belief that he never intended to truly ally with them.”

Of course, Aymeric says to himself, Thordan would keep such a crucial secret from him. He wonders if the wretch he barely called a father is laughing at him from the hells below, for now he will surely be expected to continue this trite charade with the Ascians. It is likely that they will approach him openly, expect him to break bread with them despite their transgressions against the star as a whole.

He fancies himself a man with a long fuse, but the sudden revelation makes his fingers curl. He leans forward with the weight of sudden news, flattening his hands against the desk.

“It is a pity he did not disclose the details of something so completely crucial to the future of our nation,” Aymeric takes in a deep breath and sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “The Ascians are not to be easily trifled with. Regardless of his ability to to predict and handle them, I should have been informed much, much earlier.”

“My sincerest apologies, my lord,” Zephirin begins, the barest hint of apology seeping into his otherwise blank expression. “The Knights of the Round—”

“No. I am not in the mood to entertain trite excuses,” Aymeric replies, tone clipped as he restrains himself. There’s much he wants to say, but Zephirin needs not to be the target of his misplaced aggression. “Go. There is much that still has to be done before the day’s end. I will see to the Ascians this evening. Go about your normal duties until you are needed.” A newfound tension sweeps over his entire body and mind as he returns to the long road ahead. Perhaps some of his father’s files will shed some light on the situation.

- - -

The morning descends upon you with firm vengeance. Though your wounds have for the most part aided by Ishgard’s finest astrologian, the aches and phantom pains still wrack you. The plush blankets that curl around your body make up a warm nest you never hope to leave. The mattress is soft and gentle on your back. Still, it is a comfort most difficult to enjoy whilst there is so much work to be done.

Thus, you tumble out of your nest and barely catch yourself on your feet. Your morning routine is scarcely different from the one you had before your ejection from Ul’dah, yet the pain slows you. The cold claws settled within your muscles and bones make it difficult to move with your former swiftness. Climbing out of the shower is pure agony. Even though you’re inside, Ishgard’s vicious climate thwarts you at every turn. Only when you’re clothed are you at last at ease.

The Ishgardian garb is made of lush cottons that loosely swaddle you, easy on the body and meant to avoid aggravating your skin. Your hands duck into your sleeves, absentmindedly playing with the fabric as you descend the stairs.

Artoirel awaits you at the bottom, leaning casually against the banister. He sweeps out from his resting position with a smile at the sight of you, expression warm and welcoming.

“Good morning,” he says. His posture is casual, but his gaze is searching as it rolls you up and down. Curious, explorative. “How are you?”

“Good morning.” You withdraw into yourself ever so slightly, doing your best not to wilt underneath his gaze. “I’m well.”

“Haurchefant is tending to his duties today, but I do hope I can measure up to him in the realm of being pleasant company. Would you grace me with your presence for today’s breakfast?”

And to that, you have no objections. Artoirel cuts an intimidating figure, physically, but his gentlemanly attitude softens his sharp features. He’s something you’d expect from a wealthy prospective suitor in a romance novel.

Breakfast is a wide array of Ishgard’s finest dishes—foods hearty and rich in nature. It’s a struggle to not scarf down your portions, but easy conversation with Artoirel helps you space out your bites.

It’s all pleasantries at first. He attempts to dive beneath who you are outside of your status as the Warrior of Light, asks about your skills and your hobbies, what you enjoy doing outside of slaying gods and monsters alike. He’s picture perfect. Even the bites he takes of his foot are petite and polite, not a crumb to be seen on the corners of his lips. His expression flexes, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling. He looks like he’s grasping for words, lips pursing as he stares down his remaining food.

“Have any of the nobility made a bad impression on you?” he asks out of the blue, a piece of bacon perched atop his fork.

“No. Not yet, at least,” you look down at your potatoes, eyeing the way the chandelier light bounces off the silverware. It’s a surprising line of conversation to go down, but his concern touches you.

“Full glad am I to hear that. I would hate for any of my more… judgmental peers to sully your experience,” his voice is soft and delicate, a type of gentility that makes your heart squeeze. “However, I must encourage you to be cautious. Ishgardian high society can be… especially brutal to the few foreign guests we receive. Should you encounter any hostility, do not hesitate to inform me. I cannot guarantee any consequences for those in rival houses, but be assured that we at House Fortemps do not share the same sentiments.”

It’s reassuring to hear him so concerned with your reputation and well-being. You’re a new stranger to Ishgard, and there’s no doubt that everyone from the high borne to the lowly of the Brume can tell. Being thrust into such a foreign environment after what you endured has made you feel lost and overly dependent on your connections here. And… perhaps you are. But Artoirel’s devoted sentiments soothe you against your better judgment.

You don’t think much of it now, nor do you think much of it when you’re called down for lunch. Or dinner. It’s only right for the count to call all the residents and guests in his home for meals.

Emmanellain joins you for dinner that night. His eyes glint cleverly, his very presence incessant in its curiosity.

“To think, the champion of the ixal could be felled so succinctly!” he crows after you recount your deadly battle with Garuda. “Ah, I remember Haurchefant arriving home with stars in his eyes, that night. Word of your grand exploit was all he wished to speak of—well, besides your form… and the lovely curves that adorn said form.”

Ah. Long have you been aware of Haurchefant’s growing… intrigue in you, but never has it been so plainly observed by another. How much had he said about you? Your cheeks warmed as you thought over the possibilities, distracted from the raise of Artoirel’s voice as he reprimands his brother.

Haurchefant doesn’t return. Artoirel helpfully informs you that he’s seeing to his very last post at Camp Dragonhead before he returns to fully join the Heavensward. His absence leaves you feeling emptier than usual.

And when you cannot sleep, you occupy yourself with studying Ishgardian history. Much to your frustration, you can’t lift more than four of the tomes at once without your arms and shoulders screaming in protest, so you begrudgingly settle for three. You read throughout the night and find that the founding of the city state alone is enough to cover two-hundred or so pages.

A few hours before dawn, you dim the light and settle back against the pillows, filtering in and out of consciousness until you need to use the bathroom.

You eat breakfast with Artoirel again that morning, and promptly decide you need to take a walk for your own sanity. Manor Fortemps is a splendous place to live, but you can only stand being cooped up for so long before you lose your mind. You make sure to throw on a scarf and some knitted gloves that had been fetched for you, all bundled up and equipped as diligently as possible against the merciless cold.

Though you still don’t have a handle on the city’s layout, you believe asking for directions will serve you just fine. The manor is practically a landmark. Any local worth their salt should be able to point you in its direction. You assure yourself as you make your way towards the grand double doors.

“Oh, are you taking a walk?” Artoirel’s voice pipes up, the lord’s head peeking out from behind a nearby corner.

“Yes. I just wanted to get some fresh air, is all,” you inform him with a small shrug. He steps fully into view, his gaze soft and his smile sweet as he regards you.

“Ah, I was just about to head to the astrologicum. Would you care to accompany me?” He tilts his head ever so slightly as he inquires, leaving you struggling for an answer. On one hand, you likely should visit. If you weren’t mistaken, the man who treated your wounds is an astrologian. On the other… your entire stay in Ishgard has been a procession of well-meaning individuals constantly fretting about and crowding you. Even a moment outside alone would help combat the ceaseless, crushing sense of helplessness it has left you with.

Before you can even answer, Artoirel glances past you, gaze sparking with recognition as he spots one of the housekeepers.

“Ah! Adrienne, the Warrior of Light and I are about to take a visit to the astrologicum. Should Emmanellain return before us, kindly to tell him that the tarte tatin is to be shared. I will not have a repeat incident of last week.” His voice carries a firm edge to it at the end of his sentence, exasperation barely kept from breaching the surface. He shakes his head the housekeeper says an affirmative and scurries off, turning back to you with a sheepish smile.

“My apologies. The last time our chef prepared tarte tatin, he sneaked in and pillaged the entire share before dinner even started,” Artoirel shook his head with a sigh. “At times, I can’t help but think Honoroit is more suited to his position than he is… but that’s nothing for you to worry about.” He dismisses the matter with a wave of his hand as he throws his coat over his shoulders. A shame. The nosier part of you wishes he had continued. It’s no secret that his younger brother is a divisive subject among the family due to his immaturity and habitual slacking off, but you’ve heard quite little of the boy who follows him around like a lost puppy.

“I have an acquaintance at the astrologicum who was hoping to meet you.” Artoirel, for the most part, seems genuinely oblivious to your internal monologue. He holds the door open like the truest of gentlemen and sticks close to your side as he swans elegantly down the street. Even his walk is refined, long legs sweeping nimbly over the concrete.

You try to keep your crestfallenness hidden as you follow, hoping Artoirel’s insistence is simply him overcompensating in an effort to be a good host. You’re in no shape to deny him at the moment—he’s the count, and he’s so graciously allowing you to stay in his home. Should he decide to shove you out the front gates, you’ll surely have nowhere to go.

You don’t know how you haven’t realized the potential danger in that until now.

- - -

You accompany him to the astrologicum to placate him.

You try to take your leave after dinner, hoping he’ll be too busy finishing off dessert to notice you slinking towards the living room. He does, of course. And he continues to do so. Every attempt you make to leave on your own winds up inevitably thwarted underneath his watchful gaze.

He accompanies you on walks, and you accompany him on small errands whenever he offers, figuring fresh air with him is better than none at all.

“Foot traffic is high this time of day, especially after the archbishop mandated a longer break time for the construction workers down at the lower Ishgard. I dearly hope the noise has not kept you from your sleep.” Artoirel sighs as he accompanies you through the crowd, a palm flat to your lower back.

“Forgive my intrusion, but I cannot help notice that you have been favoring your right leg. Perhaps it would be a better idea to remain inside and rest? I imagine Urianger will be quite cross with Haurchefant and I if your recovery is hampered in any way.” Artoirel says imploringly, his eyes sweet and his lashes long as he bats them.

“We have a gazebo in the gardens if you would like somewhere to enjoy a spot of fresh air,” he informs you passively over the dinner table. “Not much grows out there these days, but it has been swept down and cleaned up for your use.”

It doesn’t reassure you. The next two days are fraught with uncertainty as you await Haurchefant’s return. Conversations with Alphinaud and Tataru are a brief reprieve from the blossoming paranoia, but you deign to not tell them the truth. There’s no doubt that Alphinaud will march straight to wherever Artoirel happens to be and demand answers.

If this is all some massive understanding, you don’t want to risk jeopardizing your relationship with your host. You keep Artoirel’s suspicious insistence on keeping you cooped up a secret, even as the stress it invokes worsens your condition.

However, you are nothing if not resourceful. The balcony door to your room has remained unopened throughout your short stay. Exiting from the second level had been beyond your capabilities given your current status, but desperate times call for desperate measures. (And trapped creatures often make irrational decisions.)

Your muscles strain under the pressure of holding yourself up as you lower onto a conveniently close ledge, and then onto a trash can nestled against the brick wall. The loud rattle of the metal lid against the can makes you flinch, but the side street is blessedly empty.

Just like that, you’re free. The phantom pains grip you tight and dig into your ilms of muscle, causing you to buckle. One of your hands finds purchase against the textured brick wall, gasps rattling in and out of your lungs as you struggle to steady yourself. Spikes of frigid pain lash out at your head, the space above your eyes throbbing as you attempt to reign it all in. Your thick gloves keep your nails from grating along the brick, something you find yourself suddenly grateful for as the pain begins to clear.

You focus simply on pulling the breath in and out of your lungs, the cold air drying your throat. The rest of the world dims as you refuse to focus on it, the agony ebbing away into blissful nothingness. Only then are you able to straighten up, gaze clear as you look down the long alleyway. Ishgard’s steep spires and long roads suddenly seem to curl around you, the prospect of navigating them alone somehow intimidating.

Weeks ago, you would have been fine with exploring without a chaperone.

You’re only going on a short walk, you rationalize. Your body moves accordingly as you urge it forward, heading out of the alleyway and onto the streets proper. Each step forward is another to be proud of, you try and tell yourself, but the words ring feeble and hollow in the void of your consciousness.

- - -

Estinien, for better or for worse, has grown accustomed to traveling near exclusively via rooftop. The streets below are littered with strangers who are able to perceive him. It’s daunting in ways he refuses to admit to. The stench of raw Ishgard rubs foul against his nose when he mingles among the masses, an affront to his sharpened senses. At least the beast inside of him knows it does not belong.

Powdery snow drifts from the grey sky, dotting his hoarfrost lashes, threatening to blur his vision as they nearly melt on impact. Here, legs perched upon the thin ledge of a building’s high spire, he can comfortably separate and spectate the writhing populace. Idle people-watching has become a disturbingly frequent indulgence in between his missions and tasks.

It helps distract him from the red vines that curl around the tall buildings, from the patches of disembodied flesh that decorate the cobblestone ground. Features of Ishgard only he can see—the beast trying its hardest to convince him to leave.

Perhaps it is the human part of him that remains that enjoys this passtime, desperate for a vicarious taste of old normalcy. Of belonging. He despises it. He is no longer soft flesh and natural composition. He is hard edges and scales, branching horns and gnashing teeth all wrapped neatly under the illusion of humanity. If his glamor were to be dispelled, they would surely throw rocks and knives and weapons of every sort in his direction despite all he has done to protect them.

So he broods, and he is willing to admit that he broods. He consumes the crowd beneath him with wide sweeps of his piercing gaze.

An old woman hands over a coin purse in exchange for a pair of mittens. A child in the middle of a game of tag slips on a patch of ice, tumbling onto his knee. He hears the resulting yelp, despite his distance. The beginnings of warm, childhood nostalgia creep up on him. His jaw tightens as he prepares to beat it back—oh.

He notices someone decidedly different from the rest of the crowd. A figure that stands fulms and fulms apart, one he has seen before. The Warrior of Light. You look decidedly healthier than you had the last time he had laid eyes upon you, sheltered in the cloistered bookman’s keep. You had been crumpled by your injuries, a mess of an individual dragged in, hanging onto life by a mere thread.

You’re walking around, at the very least. Still a tad gaunt. The bags underneath your eyes are new, but he supposes you have plenty to lose sleep over after everything you have been through. He is no stranger to loss. He knows how it can rip a person’s core out, make them a shell of their former self. He sympathizes.

He dismounts his perch, climbs across roofs and spires as he follows you along, glued to the shadows. No one regards him, his armor stained deep grey with the intent of better camouflaging him.

There’s a noticeable stagger to your steps as you visit different merchants, not bothering to actually head inside any of the storefronts. Perhaps the cold is harsh on your injuries. Why, then, are you not inside? He imagines Haurchefant would be on you like a mother hen, though he recalls that the youngest Fortemps child has been sent to Camp Dragonhead for the next few days, overseeing the change of leadership.

A pity, then, that he is not able to stop you as you aimlessly float from stand to stand. With each moment your movements become more labored, more encumbered despite you having nothing on your person. It’s easy to follow you from his position so high above. Eventually, you split off from the crowd, your eyes wide and your arms drawn tightly to yourself. You stumble up the stone steps, across the street and into one of the thin alleyways, thoroughly closed off from the rest of the populace.

It is not sympathy or concern that makes him dismount his perch. The frozen air whips through his long locks and lashes at his eyes as he descends, body instinctively contorting to stick a perfect landing.

It is a curiosity that plants him so firmly before her, a need to know the woman so vaunted and pursued for himself. You, who have so immediately commanded the adoration of Ishgard’s most coveted and quiet astrologian.

You startle as he lands, the sound of the impact ricketing up and down the otherwise empty alley.

- - -

Fatigue jolts up and down your anguished limbs as you trudge through the crowd. Initially, it hadn’t been so bad. Sure, you had been a tad tired after your escape, but your condition quickly snowballed down the slope. Ishgard’s cold seeps into your body even though your thick, cushy clothes. Your capricious escape leaves you in a poor state by the time you reach the marketplace.

Hells, you wouldn’t be surprised if you managed to exacerbate your wounds in the process. Still, you flutter from stand to stand, half-heartedly looking over merchants’ wares until the whimsy to move on strikes you. It helps distract from your new, pounding headache.

One of the most appealing booths has little puppets that are hand-sewn. An array of cute, fuzzy characters is lined up atop the wooden table, alongside some plain stuffed animals. Had you actually brought your coin purse, you undoubtedly would have purchased something. One of the aforementioned plushes is a grey-pelted fox wearing a stone-faced expression, something about it reminding you of ser Aymeric.

Unfortunately, the pain grows too great. Its bitter grip ensnares you, making your breath shorten and your body tremble as you continue your trek. You’ve overstayed your welcome. You should return home. To Manor Fortemps.

You split from the crowd, heading in the direction you believe is right. It’s difficult to keep your full mental faculties whilst so distracted, so you stumble down the alley and hope for the best. The dark brick walls make the path thin and constricting.

It’s by pure chance that you manage to see a flash of red above you before it lands. It’s a fluid blur of motion, a figure descending from the heavens that you don’t quite comprehend until it lands.

Brilliant plates of red armor wrap the broad figure’s body tight. The odd pikes that extend from its form and the angular nature of the sculpt let you know this is a dragoon, albeit unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before. The helmet is absent, allowing you to fully view the individual’s face.

He possesses hardened, sharp features. A cut jawline and a nose with a high bridge. His eyes are narrow, irises a shade of icy blue. It’s the whites of his eyes that take you off guard—stained a deep crimson. Long strands of snowy hair frame his face and brush against his jawline. All things that catch your attention for a fraction of the moment, but what draws your alarm are the two, blackened horns that arch from his skull, curling backwards slightly, raised to the sky. His cheekbones are adorned with glimmering, black scales. They gleam red where the light catches off them.

Sickly, red lines akin to veins scatter across either cheek from his eyes. It’s nothing you’ve ever seen before.

You don’t see it as much as you feel it, waves of inky black void that roll off him like fog or flame. He is the picture of everything Ishgard fears all at once, the corruption of their own people by the dragons who have kept them in stalemate for hundreds of years.

Your breath stalls in your lungs, every muscle in your body seeming to tense as you struggle to comprehend his visage. Upon closer inspection, his form is absent of the gauntlets most dragoons wear. Another thick layer of scaling coats his arms from the elbows down, the tips of his fingers curling into sharp claws.

“The Warrior of Light,” he addresses you contemplatively, but his expression belies disappointment. “I had not expected to see you out of your sickbed so soon—though it looks like you’ve flown the nest before you were ready.”

“Who—what are you?” you stammer, coherency returning to you in staggered stages. You hunch against the cold, brick wall, eyes near the size of saucers as you stare him down. You don’t dare shift your gaze away from him.

The droll disappointment that colors his features vanishes, giving way into momentary surprise. One side of his mouth quirks into a crooked, shark-like smile. Even his teeth are refined into sharp points, better for ripping into flesh and chewing bone. He barks a cold, humorless laugh.

“So you can see me,” he remarks idly. The edges of your consciousness begin to burn and fray. The inky splotches that swim at the edges of your vision threaten the view you have of him. “You have truesight yet the first thing you see with it is this wretched form. I almost feel sorry for you. Aymeric was correct in his assumptions about you, though that’s for better or for worse,” he remarks as you feel yourself start to sway. Your hands grow numb. A slow tingle takes your fingertips and strokes down to your palms, sweeping to the rest of your arms.

Any panic that you might feel is swept under the growing void, too exhausted to muster even a drop of emotion.

The last thing you hear before you take the plunge is the clanking of his greaves against the stone ground.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #estinien wyrmblood #artoirel de fortemps #final fantasy 14

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k-llama-llama · 4 years

Text

Change Yourself

Everglow AU: 7th member

Mya/Enya x Everglow

Mya is attempting to become an athletic person....and it isn’t going great.

A/N: ALSO CHECK OUT MY PATREON FOR ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE CONTENT AND EARLY ACCESS (patreon.com/kllamallama)

Requests are OPEN!!!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“I can’t do it.” Mya declared, clinging onto the pull-up bar.

“Yes, you can.” Seungyoun tried lifting her legs again. “You haven’t even done one pull-up.”

“Because I can’t!” Mya struggled. Even with him supporting most of her body weight, she couldn’t do it.

“You’d better do it!”

“Nope.” Mya let go of the bar, and dropped down so she was sitting on his shoulder. She looked down at him, to find him glaring up at her. “See?”

“You let go.” He dropped her to the ground, and she landed on her butt with a thump. “I don’t know why I agreed to workout with you. You’re useless.”

“Yah.” Mya lay back on the floor, stretching out on the cool gym mats. “I asked. And anyways, I thought we were having fun.”

“I’m supposed to be doing my own workout, and instead I’m trying to convince you to do yours.” He nudged her with his foot. “Get back up.”

“Urgh, no.” Mya rolled over. “Do your own thing. I’ll just stick to dieting.”

“No you won’t.” Seungyoun rolled his eyes, before hopping up onto the pull-up bar.

“I know, but I’d rather do that that this.” She rested her chin on the mat, looking up at him as he easily did the pull-ups. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even seem phased. “Why the sudden interest in working out anyways? You’ve never tried to come to the gym without someone forcing you.”

Mya looked down at the floor. The real reason, of course, was that the guy she was currently seeing was incredibly attractive and she wanted to stay in shape. But she didn’t think she could handle the teasing if he knew that that was the reason.

“We’re going to have a comeback soon, and I just want to look my best.” She finally said.

“You’re already tiny.” Seungyoun pointed out.

“Yeah, but I want to be like...toned.” Mya gestured to her stomach. “I have a belly button piercing now and I want to show it off and look hot.”

“You’re twelve, you can’t look hot.” He snorted.

“I can to.” Mya frowned.

“Hey, Mimi!” Onda walked into the gym. “Oh, hello.” She bowed to Seungyoun, who nodded in response.

“What’s up?” Mya asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

“I was going to work on my Sour Candy dance cover.” Onda said. “You said you wanted to do it with me, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” Mya quickly climbed to her feet. “I totally forgot.”

“You’re filming a dance cover now?” Seungyoun stopped doing pull-ups. “What has got into you?”

Onda winced, quickly trying to cover for her. “She’s a really good dancer.”

“She’s average.” Seungyoun crossed his arms. “Dancing, working out....this wouldn’t have anything to do with the new boyfriend, would it?”

“What?” Onda pretended to be shocked, forcing a laugh. “Mimi doesn’t have a boyfriend! She’s-”

“He already knows.” Mya told her. “But thanks for trying.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Onda sighed in relief. “I don’t like lying.”

“You’re not very good at it, either.” Mya smiled. “Come on, let’s go learn the-”

“No no no.” Seungyoun ducked in front of her, keeping her from turning out the door. “You have to answer my question.”

“I am working out because I want my belly button piercing to look hot, and I’m working on my dance because I am dedicated to my profession.”

“Ooh, big words.” Seungyoun rolled his eyes. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that your boyfriend is super fit with lots of piercings, and also happens to be a dancer?”

“Total coincidence.” Mya promised.

Onda’s face was in a permanent grimace as she glanced between the two of them, and Mya elbowed her. She wasn’t exactly being discreet. In her defence, Mya had literally gone to her the night before and said ‘I’m trying to be a better dancer to impress Yuta. Will you help me?”.

Seungyoun crossed his arms. “That better be the only reason.”

“Of course it is.” Mya tried to look nonchalant. “Do you honestly think I’m the type to try and pick up a new skill just because of who I’m dating?”

“Well, I know you’re the type to get your belly button pierced because a guy said it would look good.” At her shocked look, he shrugged. “I asked Yiren.”

“That’s not....exactly how it happened.” Mya glanced down at her belly button, exposed by her crop top. “Besides, it’s so cute.”

It was adorable, to be fair. Just a little silver bar with a bejeweled butterfly on the end. It did suit her, and she was very happy she’d decided to get it.

“As long as you don’t have any other new piercings.” Seungyoun looked up her up and down. “Do I need to check your boobs? Onda?”

“Nope.” Onda squeaked. “She has no other piercings.”

“You’re scaring my friends.” Mya crossed her arm. “So now we’re leaving.”

She grabbed Onda’s hand, pulling her around Seungyoun and towards the door.

“I’m going to tell Seungwoo!” He called after them.

“Go ahead. He’s not the boss of me!” Mya pulled Onda out into the hallway.

The second they were walking down the hall, she pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing?” Onda asked.

“Calling Seungyoun.” Mya said, waiting for him to pick up after the dial tone. “He’s totally the boss of me.”

#everglow #everglow au #everglow imagines #everglow 7th member #female kpop #female!kpop #female member kpop #requests open #au #kpop #imagines #imagine #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #nct #nct au #x1 #x1 au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

summertime sadness .7.

night moves

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: non con sex (oral, intercourse) WARNING LOKI CHAPTER.

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky and dark!Loki and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Loki takes what he wants.

Note: Well, despite everything I finished this yesterday before the flood of dismay. That being said, this series has an arc and we will follow our course. Next chapter, back to other characters. And a final warning that this chapternis rough. REALLLY rough so please proceed with caution. Thank you!💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

The walk-up was just as refined as its resident. Loki’s arm was around your waist as he led you up the steps of the upscale townhouse. It wasn’t as endearing as Steve’s suburban mansion or as cozy as Bucky’s urban loft. It was as cold and unwelcoming as the man who lived there.

As you entered, he drew away from you and locked the door. He flicked the light on as he turned to you.

“Allow me, dear,” He unhooked the strap of your purse from your shoulder.

He hung it on the rack beside the door. He added his shoes to a row of polished leather and you wobbled out of your heels. You were careful to set them on the mat. As you stood, his hand brushed your ass and he slapped it firmly. He hummed as his hand lingered and kneaded through your dress.

“Upstairs,” He ordered as he shoved you ahead of him.

You stumbled towards the staircase and caught yourself on the bannister. You climbed reluctantly, one step at a time. He was close behind. As you neared the top, his hands were once more on your ass. You let out a pathetic whimpered as his hands crawled up your back.

He braced the top of your dress, his finger slipped under the fabric and he pushed you against the wall. He jolted your body as he broke the zipper and tore the dress down to your waist. You gasped and tried to pull away. He pressed his body against yours and pinned you to the wall.

“I could have you right here, darling,” He slipped the straps down your arms, the dress caught only between your bodies. “Hmmm? Against this wall. Like this.”

You slapped your palms against the wall as you tried to get away. He grabbed your wrists and twisted your arms behind you as he stepped back. The straps hung around your elbows as your dress slipped from your chest. He drew you away from the wall and turned you down the long hallway.

He walked you forward until you were at a black door. He released you and untangled the dress from your body. It slumped to your ankles and you shivered as you stood in only your bra. He gripped the back of it and you squeaked.

“Please--”

He tore it sharply and just as swiftly tossed it to the floor. He dragged his hands down your back and around your sides. He reached past you to turn the handle and nudged the door open. He pressed himself to you as he guided you inside. He flipped the light on with one hand as he continued to force you into the room.

“I must admit, I’ve been distracted from my work, darling.” He parted from you slowly. He rounded you as he spoke. “Trying to decide exactly how I want you.” He stopped in front of you and touched your chin. “You are such an obedient pet.”

You turned your face away defiantly. He chuckled.

“You can snarl, dear, but we both know you won’t flee,” He mused as he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. “You've come this far.”

You swallowed and lowered your eyes in shame. He was right. You both knew it. He brought his other hand up and gripped your head, his long fingers stretched up across your hair. He squeezed until you looked at him.

“Shall I have your mouth again? You are so skilled.” He smirked. “Maybe…”

He started to back you up. He walked forward as you were forced to blindly retreat. The bed loomed behind you and your knees met the edge of the mattress. You trembled and your legs buckled as he forced you to sit.

His hand remained on your head as he straddled you and pushed you flat on your back beneath him. You placed your hands on his, terrified, and stared up at him. “Mr. Laufeyson…” You breathed.

“Shhh,” He turned his hands and forced yours down.

He crawled over you on his knees until they were beside your head and you were trapped. He unbuckled his belt as he sat back on your chest and you felt as if you would suffocate. You batted helpless beneath him, your arms confined under his weight.

“I don’t want to do this,” You wheezed. “Please. I can’t--”

“We both know what happens if you don’t,” He unzipped his pants and ignored your squirming.

“I-I--” Your throat constricted with dread. “I quit. I can’t do this--”

He snickered and his hand hovered along his crotch. “Mmm. Do you think Professor Barnes should like to see his own job so carelessly tossed away?”

“Why are you doing this?” You whined. “Please. He didn’t do anything.”

“So it was you,” He rubbed the front of his pants as he spoke. “You entrapped him?”

“Yes, it was me,” You kicked frantically. “Please, get off. I just wanna go.”

“Do you think the dean will care either way? You’ll both be out on your asses.” He taunted.

You closed your eyes as your head spun. Your heart pounded and you let out a soft sob. You could take the distance between you and Bucky but you couldn’t ruin his whole career; his life. Not for your own.

“You win,” You croaked. “Okay… just--get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” He teased. “Tell me what you want, darling.”

You bared your teeth desperately and huffed. You bit down as you tried to gather the last of your strength. “Don’t make me--”

“Say it,” He urged. “Beg me for it.”

“Please…” Your protest died quickly as his green eyes sparked. This man didn’t care at all. Not about you, only about his power over you. Your eyes burned. “Please… give me your… cock.”

“Oh?” He quirked his head coyly.

“Let me…” You felt airy, dizzy. The wine burned in your stomach. You should’ve had more. “Let me suck it.”

“Suck it?” He repeated as his fingers danced over his crotch.

“Let me suck it, sir,” You bit the inside of your cheeks as you gritted your teeth.

“Mmhmm,” He hummed in approval. “Well, since you’ve asked so nicely.”

You stared at the ceiling as he quickly pushed his fly open. He pulled himself out above his pants and you blinked away the tears. You looked back to him as he raised himself slightly on his knees and pressed the tip of his cock to your mouth. You opened stiffly but your reticence did not slow him.

He forced himself down your throat and you choked. He lifted your head with one hand as he thrust as deep as he could go. You scratched at the blankets as you writhed below him. He pulled back and you nearly gagged, barely able to catch your breath before he plunged into you again.

He was rough, uncaring. You were nothing. A toy for him to play with until he broke you. You could only lay there and let him fuck your face. Your saliva spread around your lips as it gathered around him and mixed with his salty precum. You spasmed and panted, frantic as your vision sparkled.

As you thought you would pass out, he pulled out entirely. Your spit clung to his dick and your throat was raw. You coughed and he sat back on your chest again. His cock bobbed before him and he stroked it as he smirked down at you.

He slowly backed off of you. He dragged you up by your arm and your legs shook beneath you as he pulled you to your feet. You latched onto him without thinking and he caught you. He drew you close and slipped his hand down your ass. He felt around between your legs and rubbed your cunt.

“I think you’re ready for me, dear,” He swayed you against him. “I’d say you were aching for me, even.” You wiped your mouth and try to pull back. He hugged you tight and leaned in to whisper in your ear. “Turn around. Bend over.” He let you go. “Don’t move.”

You winced and turned slowly to obey. As you bent, the cool air tickled your hot cunt. You heard him moving around, the squeaky hinges of a closet opening and shutting. It was better not to look. Just close your eyes and let it be over with.

You sensed his approach. You inhaled deeply as his hand wrapped around your ankles and frightened you. You peeked down and saw the odd metallic bar in his hand. He attached a cuff at its end around your ankle and pushed your legs apart. You quivered and he secured the other cuff, your legs held apart by the contraption.

You caught yourself on your hands before you could fall forward. You held yourself up on fingertips. He slapped your ass and you yelped. He groped you and pinched your thighs sharply. He stepped back as you struggled to find your balance.

His jacket hit the end of the bed, followed by his button up. You shook your head as you tried to convince yourself this wasn’t real. His pants, his briefs, socks balled up on the floor. He was naked and you were weak.

He paced around you. You looked up at him and he stroked himself right in front of your face. His lithe frame was lined with tight muscles beneath his pale skin. You tried not to linger on his body and lowered your head again.

“What shall I do now, dear?” He asked.

“Sir…” You rasped. “Please…”

“Tell me.” He said.

“Fuck me,” You gritted out. “Please, sir… fuck me.”

He traced your spine with his fingers as he rounded you again. He grabbed your hips and jerked you back. Your feet almost slipped out from under you. He pressed his cock to your ass and led it down between your legs. His tips dragged along your folds and he guided it back to your entrance.

He paused. The air grew still as you braced yourself. You let out the breath you’d been holding and tried to look back at him. He slammed inside of you suddenly and you cried out. He held himself at his limit and you whined. He pushed against your cervix painfully and wiggled his hips.

“Darling,” He purred. “You are so… tight.”

You grunted as he pulled back and thrust. His pelvis slapped against your ass roughly. He kept his pace steady, deliberate; lingering in you before continuing. You were quickly out of breath as your wits stirred. Your core began to hum and your nails dug into the floor as your arms shook.

He crashed into you, over and over. Slowly, he sped up and the slapping of flesh grew louder and louder. And so did you. First a groan, then a moan, until you were exclaiming in a storm of pain and delight. You were delirious from the flurry that overwhelmed you.

“Beg me,” He snarled and slapped your ass. “Beg me for my cum.” You shook your head and he smacked your harder. “Beg!”

“Please, I want your cum,” You whined. “Give me your cum.”

He rutted into you harder and bent forward to hook his fingers around your shoulders. He pulled you up against him. His hand wrapped around your neck as he sank into you over and over.

“Again.” He demanded.

“I want your cum…” You breathed. “Please, sir.”

“Say my name,” He growled.

“Mr.--” He squeezed and you mewled. “Loki. Loki, please, I want your cum.”

He crashed into you and quaked. His thrusts grew frantic and uneven. Your thighs buzzed as your walls twitched around him. You let out a surprised squeak as you came. His own orgasm followed quickly but he didn’t stop until his cum leaked out around his dick.

Your heart pulsed in your ears as your core cooled. Your mind cleared as he dropped you and pulled out. You fell forward and barely kept from landing on your face. You slowly let yourself slide down onto your stomach. The static faded and reality crept back to the surface.

You buried your face in your arms to hide. The shame was swept aside by a sudden wave of anger. This man would not ruin you. He could own your body, but he would never own any other part of you. You would not let him.

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pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer · 3 years

Text

Right of Law, Section XXX

(Faced with top operatives from Odina, the Makuta have difficult tasks set before them. Zaekura has it far worse, however, as she finally comes face to face with Ekimu.)

Shadows clung to Bitil, weighing him down as he narrowly threw himself clear of Eliminator’s next bolt. Swinging his arm up, he lobbed a ball of Light at his foe, but the Odinan moved under it to kick Bitil into the pavement.

“I can’t stand it,” Eliminator said. “You Makuta and Toa command the Elements like soldiers, draw them through your body and bend them to your will. With the Keeper’s help, I’ve learned a better way.”

Bitil phased half-way into the ground and backed up a few feet before surfacing. “Please, by all means, continue.”

The darkness of the alleyway twisted as Eliminator slowly moved his arm. “The shadows always liked me. In my...past life, I took their assistance for granted--used the advantage they offered to kill as I pleased. The Great Beings quit tolerating that after I killed General Certavus. But then the Keeper took me to Odina, taught me to listen to the shadows and become true allies with them. Now, we fight together to repay that lesson.”

Essentially, Bitil thought, he’s able to control Shadow without actually channeling it through himself. That’s why my Light attacks don’t bother him all that much. So, now I know why he has such an advantage against me...but I’m not sure I see a way to overcome it.

“And the shadows hate you much more than I do,” Eliminator said, the darkness around him deepening. “You’ve totally rejected them for your precious Light. Thousands and thousands of years might’ve passed...but the shadows will always remember.”

The darkness surged towards Bitil. He turned invulnerable, hoping he could hold on until he spotted an opening. Mid-way through the assault, however, Eliminator struck him with another bolt, and Bitil could feel his strength drop sharply. He couldn’t hold his invulnerability, and the tide of shadows slammed him into the wall. Dazed, Bitil tried to call upon any of his powers to defend himself, but none came.

“Your arrogance ends here,” Eliminator said. “There’s no one left for you to command.”

His talons sparked as he took aim. Bitil pulled on his errant focus, preparing to dodge as best he could, when Eliminator turned his head sharply. A second later, he leaned to one side, and Azin lashed out from the darkness, swiping a dagger through Eliminator’s aura of shadow.

“Azin?!” Bitil exclaimed, now finding the strength to drive himself to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

Azin gave a short hiss as he leapt back, avoiding Eliminator’s talons. Eliminator launched a bolt at him, but it swerved before reaching him, instead striking the street about a yard away. While Azin moved back in, Bitil realized that the alleyway was beginning to brighten--the process was slow, but he could soon see three more Rahkshi on the battlefield.

“What--I said I would handle this! He’s a dangerous foe!”

Azin’s daggers locked against Eliminator’s talons. The Odinan’s whole body could be seen now, a towering, ebon-armored giant with four appendages on his back holding Kanoka disks. Straining, Azin shouted to Bitil.

“Well…” The Makuta paused a moment. Then, remembering he was still in a fight, he sent Eliminator sprawling with a burst of electricity. “...Thank you.”

Eliminator was up immediately, only a few faint shadows wisping around him now. “Hmph...more soldiers at your disposal? Are you going to leave them to fight your battle while you retreat?”

Bitil took a few steps forward, using one of the strips of fabric hanging from his armor to polish his sword. “Odinan, you gravely misunderstand who you are dealing with. Firstly, my children came to aid me of their own free will, not because I ordered them here. And second...I’m offended you would so much as imply that I would ever abandon them.”

Eliminator fired a bolt. Again, it flew wide.

“Oh, you needn’t bother with that.” Bitil motioned to a blue and purple Rahkshi. “Meet Imis. They are a Rahkshi of Accuracy with inverted powers, meaning that they can force all of their target’s attacks to miss.”

Imis twirled their staff with a chuckle.

“You’re already acquainted with Azin. He’s a Rahkshi of Chameleon, so skilled in stealth that it seems even your friends the shadows couldn’t detect him until he was right upon you.”

Azin stayed low, his eyes fixed on Eliminator. The Odinan rushed forward, but Bitil parried him and held him in place as Azin darted to the side to strike at his back.

“Tsk, tsk, I haven’t finished introductions yet. If you’re wondering about the abrupt change in lighting, that would be the handiwork of Daleer.”

Standing at the edge of the alleyway was a black and red Rahkshi. He trembled subtly, but kept a firm grip on his staff as he held it upright.

“He’s a Rahkshi of Darkness...but that’s never been the most accurate term for the power. Put more precisely, he can control how much light is in a given area, usually by reducing it...but also by increasing it.”

Eliminator backed off, projecting another force field to block Bitil’s follow-up attack. Shifting his weight, one of the appendages on his back moved, throwing the disk it carried right at Daleer. The final Rahkshi intercepted the projectile. White-hot sparks crackled over xyr light blue armor as xe reached out, and the disk broke into hundreds of tiny pieces on contact with xyr hand.

“And xe,” Bitil said, “is Kerba. One of the first power inversions I attempted: a Rahkshi of Regeneration turned to a Rahkshi of Molecular Disruption. There’s nothing in this world xe can’t break.”

“I almost pity them all,” Eliminator said. “Mutant freaks, because you had to force your will on them before they were even born.”

Bitil stabbed Eliminator’s shield. His blade may not have pierced it, but his glare easily did. “Gross misinterpretation is one thing. But insulting my children is another altogether. Accuse me of subjugating them if you wish--I know for a fact I have not. Ones such as yourself, leveling baseless disdain at them, are the ones seeking to bind them by your selfish will! Yet you say you ‘pity’ them, you repugnant worm? What makes you think you are worth enough to bestow pity upon them?!”

Eliminator dared not break eye contact, his instincts convinced that it was the only thing stopping that glare from smiting him where he stood. The shadows whispered something, but he couldn’t make out what. He realized Azin was behind him only as the Rahkshi tackled him to the ground. Bitil used his Slow powers to give Kerba enough time to get close, destroying Eliminator’s remaining disks, and Azin locked his limbs around the Odinan in a tight hold. The shadows tried to push him off, but they were far too weak.

“Rrrgh...impossible!” Eliminator said as he struggled. “I’ve never failed the Keeper before, and I won’t start now!”

Bitil crouched down in front of his prone foe. “No one likes a sore loser, Odinan. Accept your failure.”

“No...the Keeper doesn’t accept failure…”

Bitil scoffed. “Listen to you, going on and on about how much you hate us for ‘commanding’ the elements, when you’re a slave to the will of your beloved Keeper.”

Eliminator said nothing.

“I’ve always been curious: what is it about this mysterious Keeper that drives you all to follow him so fervently? What sort of being commands such sheer devotion from those who previously couldn’t devote themselves to anything?”

Still, Eliminator said nothing. Bitil began wondering what to do with him when he noticed the shadows swirling.

“Azin, get--”

The shadows swelled into a fountain of darkness, flinging Azin across the alleyway as they enveloped Eliminator’s body. Bitil thought he could hear a faint shout, but if it was truly there, it didn’t last for long. Daleer grunted. The fountain grew just a bit larger before steadily fading away, leaving not a single trace--neither of it, nor Eliminator.

Bitil tapped a finger against the hilt of his sword. “Azin, are you alright?”

The Rahkshi hissed as he climbed to his feet.

“Good.” Bitil turned to look over him and the others. “Thank you all again--I’m in your debt. While I’m not...entirely sure what’s become of our foe...suffice to say this particular skirmish is over, and we’d best be moving on. Has anyone received word from Zaekura?”

The Rahkshi shook their heads.

“Then we must assume she’s still headed for the stadium--I’ll head there. If any of you need to rest, you should withdraw.”

Bitil made for the end of the alley, the four Rahkshi hissing as they followed him. He sheathed his sword, allowed himself a brief chuckle, and then turned all his focus on his goal.

***

Brutaka kicked Ehlek aside, barely feeling his electric counterattack, and then locked swords with Nocturn and pushed against him. Pridak stood behind them, shaking slightly as he mended a wound in his armor.

“So now you realize you cannot win,” Brutaka said, sending Nocturn sprawling with a jab. “I possess the ability to absorb antidermis to increase my own power. It isn’t permanent, but it lasts long enough for a single fight, at least.”

Pridak growled, clutching his wound.

“It is hopeless. With every injury you sustain, I grow even stronger. Heheh...I see it’s enough to make even a Makuta tremble in fear!”

“You think this is fear?” Pridak mumbled. “You are mistaken, Odinan…”

Pridak looked up. His eyes were ablaze, face twisted into a scowl so hideous his Kanohi became unrecognizable.

“I am simply unable to contain my fury.”

Pridak made a reckless dash towards the object of his ire. Brutaka stabbed his sword out--an easy move to dodge, but one that would allow him to guide Pridak into a deadlier follow-up. But Pridak did not dodge. Allowing himself to be run through, Pridak pressed forward without flinching, leaving Brutaka too shocked to avoid the Makuta’s own swords and earning him a tremendous gash running from his shoulder down over his chest. He could still see Pridak’s hideous scowl burning through the rising plume of antidermis, the blood from his wound painting one side of his mask.

“You…‘born to defeat Makuta’. Your existence alone is defiance of our holy will. How dare you? How dare you exist?”

Brutaka stumbled back. After making it only a few steps, Nocturn grabbed hold of his ankle, making him trip over backward. Ehlek pounced instantly, gouging Brutaka with his talons. Despite the sharp and sudden pain, Brutaka refused to cry out.

“Taking my essence for your own…” Pridak ripped Ehlek off of Brutaka. “What makes you think you could ever be worthy?!”

Brutaka made a gateway just in time, escaping as Pridak plunged one sword into the sand he had laid upon. He re-emerged behind the Makuta, taking in the cloud of antidermis there, and then moved a considerable distance away. “Haven’t you put it together? The Great Beings gave me this ability. They knew a day might come when you Makuta would become a threat, so they set about crafting a countermeasure. If you Makuta are ‘holy’ for the gifts they’ve given you, then am I not as well?”

He retreated into a gateway as a huge stream of plasma came his way. Opening another above Pridak, he fired a beam of his own, only for Pridak to turn invulnerable, spring up through it, and grab Brutaka by the neck. “When did I say the Great Beings bestowed our holiness upon us?”

Brutaka pulled back in an attempt to escape Pridak’s grip. Pridak yanked him out just the same, pressing his mask against Brutaka’s and activating a Power Scream.

“IT IS OURS, AND OURS ALONE!”

The shriek left Brutaka’s ears ringing. He took in more of Pridak’s antidermis, hoping to use its power to break free. This time, however, something else came with the rush of strength. It was a voice. A voice he could hear all too clearly despite his damaged eardrums.

Retribution...retribution...retribution...

He quickly realized it was Pridak’s voice. And it was growing louder.

Retribution...retribution!

Pridak punched Brutaka in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. “You have committed a grave offense against me, Odinan. There will be no mercy for you.”

Brutaka managed to push free, falling into a gateway and trying to clear his thoughts. “What is this...it’s like he’s inside my head!”

Retribution! Retribution! Retribution! Retribution!

It was then Brutaka remembered something he had forgotten a long time ago. Visions of his earliest days came to him, days when the Great Beings watched him experiment with his powers, absorbing vast quantities of antidermis.

“That’s right...if I take in too much at once…”

RETRIBUTION! RETRIBUTION!

He clutched his head. It was too late to do anything about it now, and his wounds needed serious attention to boot. Much as he hated the idea, he knew retreat was his best option, and so he opened up a gateway.

“I’ll come back. This isn’t over…”

As he crawled out of the gateway, something grabbed him. Looking up, he realized with horror that it was Pridak, still burning with rage.

“What?! But I should be--gaah!”

RETRIBUTION!

Pridak hoisted him up. He realized his mistake: forming gateways required a great deal of focus, and that was something he had virtually none of at this point.

RETRIBUTION!

His thoughts were no longer his own, with Pridak’s essence within him now taking reign of them. Given that was where his thoughts lay, it was no wonder he had only been able to deposit himself directly at the Makuta’s feet.

RETRIBUTION!

Pridak stabbed Brutaka once more for good measure before dropping him in a crumpled heap. “You cannot possibly suffer enough for trying to consume me, Odinan.”

RETRIBUTION!

“However...I think I know a punishment that at least seems fitting.”

RETRIBUTION!

Brutaka couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. All he could do was watch as Pridak stepped back and threw his arms apart. Light erupted from his chest, molding into a long, tentacle-like arm that wrapped its fingers around Brutaka and immediately began to pull. In what fraction of his mind was still his own, Brutaka realized what was happening.

RETRIBUTION!

As his last act, he finally screamed.

RETRIBUTION!

Energy filled Pridak as he finished absorbing Brutaka, immediately using it to restore his armor and replenish his lost antidermis. He flexed his claws, then his arms, and then reared back to shout into the sky.

“Are you watching, O Great Beings? This is the fate of any who would try to deny me! I don’t care if the foe was made to kill me, or even if they made me! Stand against me...and perish!”

He exhaled loudly. Holding out his arms, he waited as servants came to take his swords. Then, he gestured to Nocturn and Ehlek, turned towards the city, and marched.

***

Brandishing a fragment of a railing she had found on the side of the road, Zaekura beat her way into what remained of the stadium, fighting with more than she realized she had against the current of Skull Spiders in relentless pursuit of its source. A group of Toa controlled by the creatures came into view. Even as they raised their weapons, Zaekura was too furious to slow down.

“Move!”

She acted without thinking. Elemental powers came flying towards her, but the compromised faculties of their wielders slowed them considerably. Zaekura tumbled through an opening, stayed low as she knocked the Toa’s feet out from under them, and then sprang forward without a second thought, knowing the Rahkshi were already incapacitating them. Soon she reached the room where the spiders’ pen was kept, and finally she stopped. Up ahead, back to her as he surveyed the ruined arena, stood Ekimu.

“You.”

Zaekura stalked forward. Ahkmou, still under the thrall of a Skull Spider, stepped towards her, but she batted him aside without missing a beat. Halfway across the room, she collided with something--an invisible wall keeping Ekimu safe. She began to bash her makeshift weapon against it.

“C’mere you coward! I’m gonna make you pay for this mess!”

Ekimu slowly turned to face her. “You aren’t getting through.”

Zaekura swung harder.

“Look at you. You think emotions are going to win this? Pathetic. Here we thought you were evolving, and you’re still nowhere near us.”

“Shut up! You call giving up your sense of decency ‘evolution’? What idiot would actually think that’s an improvement?!”

With her next swing, the metal rod she was carrying snapped in two. The broken piece smacked into her head, opening a small wound. Adjusting her grip, she continued with the part she still had, jamming the broken end into the barrier.

“You’re bleeding,” Ekimu said.

“I know!”

He shook his head. “See? You’re getting carried away, raging against me instead of trying to solve the problem. How stupid.”

Must as she hated to admit it, he had a point. Reluctantly, Zaekura tore herself away from the barrier, examining the pen as thoroughly as her rage would allow. “...Well? Great Beings love talking about their work, right?”

Ekimu took a few steps closer. “What’s there to tell? You’ve seen what they can do.”

Zaekura crouched next to the pen. “Right, hyper-aggressive mind control bugs. But like, why? Why specifically that?”

“I like masks. Always trying to do something new with them. Heard about masks that could be used to control others, so I wanted to put a spin on it.”

“...Okay, not sure what I expected. The heck kind of stasis field is this--how did they all fit? Does it distort space?”

Ekimu didn’t say anything.

“...There’s got to be a failsafe. A recall signal. How do I trigger it…”

Hearing Ekimu’s tools jangling, she looked over her shoulder to see him drawing a switch from his apron pocket.

“...Right. That makes sense. Cool.” Zaekura ran her hands over her face. “Ugh, so that’s no good. Rahkshi already tried Rahi Control and that didn’t work. How am I gonna do this…”

She flinched as a sudden headache came on. After watching her a moment more, Ekimu said, “How about this. I’ll make a deal with you.”

Zaekura rose to her feet. “What?”

“Do what I tell you, and I’ll recall the Skull Spiders. It’s one thing, something easy.”

“...And that would be?”

Ekimu gestured. Zaekura followed to see Ahkmou, the Toa of Stone still laying where she had sent him flying.

“...I don’t--”

“Kill him.”

Zaekura’s eyes widened. “W...what?”

“Kill the Toa, and I’ll recall the spiders.”

“No way! I’m not a killer, you sicko!”

“It’s the only way to save the people of Civitas Magna. You have to pick one.”

Zaekura clenched her teeth. “Why? What do you get out of this?”

Ekimu shrugged. “Curious, I guess. Want to see if you can make this kind of decision. That should tell me exactly where you are in your evolution.”

Zaekura walked up to the barrier, jamming the broken railing into it once more. She then turned to Ahkmou. After a long, long pause, she walked over to him. Stopping just over the Toa, Zaekura glared down at him and tightened her grip on her weapon. Ekimu craned his neck as she stooped, her back blocking his view.

“...There,” she said after a moment.

Ekimu came closer. Zaekura stood, leaving his view unobstructed--as far as he could tell, Ahkmou was unchanged. He turned back to Zaekura, seeing she held a tablet in her hand. It was the same tablet Ahkmou had used to release the spiders in the first place.

“This has loads of information on the spiders,” Zaekura said as she began typing. “And it’s connected to the pen! There must be a way to…” She shut her eyes tight, putting one hand to her forehead. “Not now...not now…”

Ekimu crossed his arms and watched in silence.

Trying to ignore the pain, Zaekura dug through the tablet’s files in search of something she could use. She could only skim over the vast quantities of information--Skull Spider physiology, dimensional calculations for the holding pen, records of behavioral patterns--but there was no time to waste. She paused once more as her headache grew, but pressed on until she had seen every bit of data stored. Lowering the tablet, she stared ahead blankly, and Ekimu waited to hear her say it.

“...There’s nothing,” she murmured. “Nothing here for recalling them. There’s nothing I can use to stop them…”

Ekimu held up his switch. Zaekura turned and stepped away, dropping the piece of railing so she could clutch her head.

“No, I’m not...that isn’t...I...can’t…”

“Those headaches are terrible, aren’t they?” Ekimu said. “That’s the price of accelerating evolution, though. I’d say it’s worth it.”

Zaekura faced him. The rage was all but gone from her eyes, replaced with a curiosity. “...That’s really what they are? We thought so, but…”

Ekimu nodded. “Mm-hm. Surprised to see it’s happening to you, though. I thought it was just that ugly creature that made it happen. Guess it’s something a little different after all.”

“Creature? What are you--” She grunted as the pain grew even worse. Looking at the tablet in her hand, she remembered what she was here to do--how had she forgotten? She lamented again the fact that the device was useless to her, full of nothing but page after page of raw data. Zaekura looked up. “...Huh. I only took a glance, but...I...”

Skull Spiders were omnivorous. They could adapt to any climate, though they thrived in temperate conditions. A handful of specimens possessed enhanced senses--the remnants of an abandoned feature Ekimu planned to reimplement in the next generation. They were aggressive even towards their own kind, hence why they had to be stored in stasis, though in the presence of other creatures they would put all in-fighting on hold. And for some reason, despite how quickly she had skimmed over all of this, Zaekura could recall it all perfectly.

“Their mind control ability...it’s a targeted link psionic function, with the framework doubling as a way to coordinate the swarm. Interesting…”

Ekimu raised an eyebrow.

“Hang on. Doesn’t that mean--” The next flash of pain brought her to her knees. Zaekura shouted through her teeth, “No, no! I’ve got it! I just...just need...haah!”

She turned the tablet over. Using the broken end of the railing, she was able to pry off the outer casing, and took a moment to note the placement of all its components. To Ekimu’s horror, she then ripped them out.

“This’ll work...this will work!”

The pain in her head was constant now, but she worked anyway. Leaving only a few wires directly connected to the tablet, she began to arrange the components on the ground and made her way over to the pen, feeling down one of the metal posts at its corners until she found a removable panel.

“Yes, perfect!”

She yanked a small gadget out of the post. The field sparked, wavered, and blinked out, leaving only the skeleton of a box behind. Zaekura tossed the gadget alongside the rest, and then jumped up and grabbed the top of the post with both hands. It bent as gravity pulled her back to the ground, and with the help of a kick at its center, she snapped it in two. She felt like her skull was being ground into dust. Dropping down on all fours, Zaekura disassembled a few of the components she had laid out in a flash before reassembling them in a new configuration. Arranging it alongside the remaining components, she grabbed the wiring and linked them all together, finally picking up the broken post and taking it back to where the tablet lay.

“Almost there...almost there…”

The pain intensified. Zaekura curled up, digging her fingers into her head, and whimpered. Her brain was a boiling puddle, and the fire that had melted it was starting to spread down her spinal cord. She extended one shaking hand, clawing at the floor, dragging herself over to the tablet.

“Al...most...there…!”

Zaekura pushed herself onto her knees, then onto her feet. She thrust the piece of post into the ceiling, waiting a moment to be sure it would stay, and then breathed deeply and reactivated the tablet.

“I see,” Ekimu said. “Those parts will do what you’re aiming for, but you’d need to--”

“Shut up!” Zaekura yelled. “Just...shut up...already!”

The screen lit up. Zaekura adjusted one of the wires. Static briefly covered the screen, and once it stabilized, she opened a window and began typing.

“This...needs to do that...and then...this...to that...and...uh…”

She shuddered violently as the pain continued to spread.

“Th-this...uh...do...that…and...”

She could barely see the screen right in front of her eyes, but she was sure of what she had typed. Zaekura took another deep breath as she fought to stay on her feet. Keeping her finger as steady as possible, she reached for the button to execute her new program.

“Done!”

Power surged through the web of components, ultimately erupting in a bolt that shot from the tablet casing up to the post in the ceiling. With a high-pitched whine, the energy shot outward in a quick-moving pulse, passing through the walls and spreading out over the city. Then, for a moment, all was silent. Ahkmou stirred. The legs of the Skull Spider controlling him snapped open, and the creature peeled itself off of the Toa’s face.

Zaekura grinned. “Yes…”

The spider then scuttled off, leaving the room and heading down the arena wall. Ekimu asked, “Where is it going?”

“The Maze,” Zaekura said. “I changed the...recall coordinates...they’re all headed...for the Maze…”

Ekimu blinked. Turning to look out the balcony, he saw hundreds more Skull Spiders rushing in the same direction, leaving behind any Toa or Matoran they might have held. “...Huh.”

Zaekura fell back to her knees. “Ha...haha...I did it…”

Looking at her, Ekimu said, “That...shouldn’t have been possible. You can’t be that evolved.”

Zaekura said nothing--she was panting too hard to form a single word.

“...Well, you’ve made a more pressing issue for me. Heremus won’t be happy if those things show up at the Maze in force.”

She glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her collapse.

“Too many disloyal Makuta here, and the Odinans are down...alright. You win.” He paused to snap his fingers. “I’m leaving. But on my way, I’m razing Artidax to the ground for sheltering you.”

His words were distant, muffled. Zaekura watched as a winged figure materialized next to Ekimu, and in the next instant, they were both gone. She waited a few more seconds to be sure of it. Then, her consciousness finally succumbed to the pain.

“Zaekura!”

She started awake. A dull throbbing still filled her head, but compared to what she had felt earlier it was nothing. Blinking a few times, she started to process what she was seeing: Bitil and a handful of his Rahkshi were standing over her.

“Lady Zaekura,” Bitil said, “are you alright?”

“Y...yeah,” Zaekura mumbled, gradually sitting up. “Sorry to worry you. I’m alive.”

The group collectively breathed a sigh of relief. Gently grabbing her shoulder, Bitil said, “Are you sure you should move? It may be better if you rest until we can get a doctor here.”

“It’s okay, really. Uh, how long was I out?”

“Can’t have been more than ten minutes.”

“Really? I wouldn’t expect to feel so well-rested after just that.” She let Bitil help her up. “I got rid of the Skull Spiders. What’s our status otherwise?”

Bitil nodded towards the wall. A cracked viewscreen was hung there, the damage minor enough that it still functioned. Displayed on it was Gaaki, the Ga-Matoran standing behind a short desk as she spoke to the camera, doing her best to keep her voice clear despite her audible fatigue.

“I repeat,” she said. “Lord Ekimu unleashed a swarm of some strange creature upon the city, one capable of taking control of the minds of beings who wear Kanohi! At this moment, they seem to be retreating, but exercise caution! From what we’ve seen, control is absolute: you will be unable to protect yourself from danger if one claims you! We will provide updates as they become available. Until then, I implore Lord Ekimu to take control of this situation he has caused! This--”

As she continued, Zaekura turned back to Bitil. “That seems good. Assuming people believe her, I guess…”

“Many already do,” Bitil said. “All resistance has stopped. If the spiders are truly taken care of, then we should be able to leave here unimpeded.”

“Oh. Great! Let’s go, then, we…”

She faced the exit and stopped. Krika and Yarion both stood waiting for her.

“Uh...hi.”

“No need to worry,” Krika said. “Yarion, this is Zaekura. Zaekura, this is Makuta Yarion, Guardian of Civitas Magna.”

Yarion bowed. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Zaekura. I’m afraid I have much to apologize for.”

Krika glanced about. “May I ask what happened to Ekimu?”

Zaekura grinned and gave a thumbs-up. “Kicked him out. He’s running home to the Maze right now.”

“Ah, that must be why Vamprah left in such a hurry.”

“Probably. Anyway, Yarion...we don’t want any trouble.”

They shook their head. “Nor do I. I’ve had quite enough of carrying out the Great Beings’ dreadful orders. If at all possible...I was actually hoping to negotiate terms of surrender.”

Zaekura inclined her head. “...Huh? Really?”

“Yes. It’s quite clear to me--and perhaps most of Civitas Magna now--that the Great Beings do not have our best interests at heart. You, on the other hand, have given us every reason to trust you. As Guardian of this city, I declare Civitas Magna to be yours, if you will have it.”

Zaekura stared at them. After a gentle nudge from Bitil, she said, “Oh, uh...yeah. Sure. Or, um, I accept. We’ll, uh, discuss terms shortly--I want to round everyone up first, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I think I could also use some time to…” Their eyes fell to the blasters attached to their arms. “...ah, compose myself…shall I await you at my office?”

“Sounds great.”

Yarion excused themself then. Zaekura said, “Hey can someone get in touch with Pridak? Immediately?”

“I took the liberty of dispatching a messenger while you were still unconscious,” Bitil said.

“Thanks.” She let out a breath as she sat down on the ground. “I’m gonna take, like...five minutes, if that’s alright?”

“Worry not, Lady Zaekura. I’ll gather everyone together while you recuperate.”

“I appreciate it.”

As Bitil departed, Krika said, “Well. Things took quite a turn, but you indisputably came out on top.”

Zaekura chuckled. “It’s still processing...but, yeah. We control Civitas Magna now. Huh.”

“And we’re allied with those controlling most of Bota Magna, as well as Aqua Magna. Not to mention the powerful claim we’ve staked on Bara Magna.”

Zaekura nodded, then rested her head in one hand. I can’t believe we’ve come this far. I mean, there’s still a lot more to do, but...man. We actually came this far.

#Bionicle #fanfiction #Right of Law #Melding Universe

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book Four: War (Gladiolus x Reader) Chapter Ten

From the ledge with the campsite, the path ahead is a ramp running up the face of the cliffside. It appears to be made of wood that has long-since rotted, but is able to still support their weight. Using the wooden ramps, they ascended the cliffside. While proceeding up the ramps, Gladio questioned the marshal. "How long has it been since you undertook the Trial? Thirty years or so?"

"Give or take. I was a lot younger than you are-and far less experienced. It's a wonder I even made it out alive," Cor said.

"This place look familiar to you?"

"Vaguely. The younger me had little mind for taking in the sights."

Before long, Gladio, (Y/n), and Cor reach additional wooden pathways, which they follow to a stone path along the cliffside. From there, they reach the entrance to another cavern within the cliff wall. However, the path was blocked by a flock of wyverns and a few bulettes. The marshal and War readied their weapons, leaping into battle.

The Horseman noticed the shield had yet to summon his greatsword and went to question him, but she watched in stunned silence as he walked over to a destroyed cement pillar and picked it up. She lowered her blade the moment Gladio swung the cement column at the bulette she was fighting against. She shook her head with a sigh. "Show off..."

"Heard that," Gladio chortled slightly, going after another cement column.

After disposing of the creatures, the trio proceed into the cavern. Not far into the cave, they came across another talisman and a wall similar to the one from earlier. Gladio recognized the layout. "Another trial chamber."

"And another chance for the warriors to impart their wisdom," Cor added. "It won't come easy, though-you'll have to earn it."

(Y/n) shrugged her shoulders. "Eh, I'm sure you can handle whatever's inside. Just make sure you come back in one piece."

"You worried about me, firecracker?" Gladio asked with a smug expression.

She folded her arms across her chest with a glower. "Just get your ass moving..."

Gladio knew it was still difficult for the Horseman to speak her true feelings and opted to drop the subject. He proceeds to the new trial chamber in the same manner as the previous one, leaving Cor and (Y/n) behind. The two watched the shield cross a stone bridge spanning the divide of the Taelpar Crag. Once taking a few steps onto the bridge, they noticed a fiery winged creature target him.

Cor watched closely as the enkidu targeted Gladio. (Y/n) did the same, but her attention was drawn away from the fight when they heard the voices of souls echo around them.

"How many moons has it been?" One soul asked.

"Since our last visitor? Far more than I can count," another soul replied.

"Let us see how our latest challenger will fare."

War's attention was drawn away from the fight when she sensed an all-too-familiar presence nearby. She looked around, trying to locate the only being that reeked of rotting flesh. She remained where she stood, knowing she couldn't enter the trial chamber until Gladio dealt with the enkidu. She didn't want to risk him losing his chance to obtain the power he desperately seeks.

Cor noticed her tense form and grave expression. Unlike her, he couldn't sense the dullahan's presence or smell the foul odor it emitted. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The dullahan..." She looked around the area. "It's nearby." Remaining where she was, she continued to search for the monster while Gladio fought his own battle.

Eventually, Gladio defeats the enkidu and proceeds across the bridge. He climbs through a fissure in the cliff wall to enter a stone chamber housing the next power shrine. Akin in design to the first, Gladio proceeds to acquire the power within the second shrine.

"Venture forth, Young Warrior, bearing our hopes and dreams," a soul said, addressing the brute. The shrine vanishes in the same fashion as the first, and the wall beyond it likewise splits and slides open as before. "Look ahead, for the Shield of the King must safeguard our future."

"Leave it to me," Gladio replied.

Cor and (Y/n) rejoin him and they proceed on ahead, battling more spirits dwelling in Taelpar Crag. During their fight, another soul spoke to the shield. "The skills shared by these souls have been passed down for generations. The Shield of the King would do well to put them to good use."

Moving forward, they reached a dead end. More souls appeared, standing against the trio. They struggled against the barrage of enemies, combining their attacks to take them down.

After defeating all the enemies in the room, an exit back to the cliffside is revealed as part of the wall splits and slides open. Before they continued down the path, Gladio glanced at the Horseman. "You're tenser than usual. What's the problem?"

(Y/n) was silent for a few seconds before answering. "The dullahan's somewhere in the area. I never expected it to be down here since no humans live here."

"Can you think of any other reason why it would be down here?" Cor questioned.

"I can think of a couple. One possibility is this is where it's hidden its head. The other is it wishes to harvest the power dwelling here."

"And how would it do that?" Gladio inquired.

"By consuming Gilgamesh."

"Impossible," the marshal denied.

"It may be, but that won't stop it from trying."

"And what if it succeeds?" The shield wondered.

"It'll be even more of a pain in the ass to defeat," she sighed. "Worst case, it will be my downfall."

"Then we better stop it before it reaches Gilgamesh."

The group makes their way down the path and step out onto a ledge within the gorge. Locating a wooden ramp leading around the cliffside, another soul speaks to Gladio. "Thousands set foot on these grounds, all of them fools unprepared for the dangers lurking within. They all meet with the same fate-as will you."

"I don't think so," Gladio retorts.

"Think what you may, but I know otherwise. The Lucis you call home is nothing like the Lucis I once served. Your age has forgotten the horrors of war, coddled by the king and drunk off the complacency of peace. No Shield worthy of defending the True King could be born from such depravity."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he remarked sarcastically.

"Look at the bright side: everyone loves an underdog," Cor said.

The trio proceed across the wooden path, then down another series of wooden ramps, eventually coming to a second stone bridge spanning the chasm. Several large creatures are on the bridge, one being a bandersnatch.

Gladio summoned his greatsword. "Aww. A warm welcome, just for me."

(Y/n) conjured her sword and set her sights on the bandersnatch. Gladio and Cor dealt with the other enemies before helping the Horseman. With their combined strengths, they were able to handle the immense beast.

With the bridge now clear, they could proceed forth. However, the redhead froze when the rancid odor of the dullahan was much stronger than before. The moment she turned around, she spotted the monster as it rode across the bridge. She quickly summoned her crimson-bladed sword, but she was shocked when it rode past her. It was targeting Gladio.

Acting quickly, she tossed her blade and warped, appearing right next to the shield. Using her entire body, she pushed him out of harm's way just as the dullahan used its whip. She swung her sword, deflecting it before it could wrap around her neck. While the dullahan retracted its whip, (Y/n) addresses her companions. "I'll keep it occupied. Go on ahead without me."

"No way in hell you're facing that thing by yourself," Gladio hissed. "Remember what happened last time?"

"I won't let this thing be the reason you fail the trials," she snapped back. "Get moving, Gladio."

Before the shield could retort, Cor spoke up. "Your fight is elsewhere, Gladio. Remember why you're here."

"I know why I'm here," he snarled.

"Then don't get sidetracked."

Just then, the dullahan charged toward Gladio a second time. It used its whip to try and decapitate him, but (Y/n) jumped in front of him. The whip impaled her in the abdomen, causing her to shriek out in pain. She grabbed the spine whip with gritted teeth and used all her strength to yank the monster off its horse. Unfortunately, her actions not only caused it to fall off its steed but also the bridge.

Because of the whip's sharp tip lodged through her gut, she was dragged off the bridge alongside the dullahan. She heard Gladio shout her name as she plummeted deeper into Taelpar Crag. She removed the whip from her abdomen, kicking the dullahan in the chest at the same time. Using her armiger, she attacked the monster and managed to pin it to the cliffside with numerous of swords and javelins. Using a few more weapons, she made sure it couldn't move a muscle. Knowing she couldn't kill it without its head, she could only keep it trapped for a short time.

Detecting the summoning orb in Gladio's possession, (Y/n) dispelled the armiger and teleported. The dullahan screeched out as her body vanished, its cry echoing throughout Taelpar Crag.

Teleporting to the campsite located at the Steps of Solace, the Horseman pressed a hand against her bleeding abdomen. Gladio rushes to her aid when noticing the blood seeping through her fingers. He offered her one of the potions he found earlier, but she pushed it away. "No, keep it. You might need it later."

"I can spare one," he said. Crushing the bottle, he watched as her body radiated with a pale green light. He looked down at her wound and saw it was healed. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine. Thanks," she stated.

Cor stood up and approached the two. "It seems you were right, War. The dullahan is after power."

"Not surprised. Since Gilgamesh is a more difficult target to deal with, its decided to go after Gladio," (Y/n) explained. "But I've managed to get it off our trail for a short while."

"If that's the case, we should get moving."

Gladio placed a hand on the girl's back. "You ready?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

From the campsite, Gladio, (Y/n), and Cor enter another cavern passageway within the cliff face. Deeper into the cavern, they heard the soul's voice again. "He who protects the king...must boast muscle and mettle, both finely tempered. Should he lack either, the Shield will shatter."

Shortly thereafter, the trio came to a wall upon which a demon-like entity manifests. Known as an inannaduru, it was accompanied by soul of fortitude enemies. Cor and (Y/n) focused their efforts on the smaller enemies while Gladio targeted the inannaduru.

Within minutes, all the adversaries were dead. Once the inannaduru is defeated, its body discorporated and the wall it had been bonded to shatters. "The penultimate trial awaits. Prove to them you're prepared to serve as the Shield of the Chosen King," Cor said.

Soon thereafter, the trio locate the next trial chamber. Gladio unseals the third trial chamber and enters. Like with the previous chambers, (Y/n) and Cor remained behind. The redhead crouched down, feeling slightly weak from the blood loss earlier. The marshal noticed her slightly pale complexion. "So that was the dullahan you mentioned. Never have I've seen such a creature."

"I would be more surprised if you had. Dullahans are only found in the Inner Sanctum. They're a pain in the ass to deal with. Luckily, only one escaped," she said. "Let's just hope Gladio finishes with these trials before it breaks free."

"You think Gladio couldn't handle the dullahan himself?"

"If he survives the encounter with Gilgamesh, I'm sure he could. But for now, I refuse to let any mortal face that monster even with me at their side."

Cor stared into her (e/c) eyes. "Now I understand."

Her brows knitted together. "You understand what?"

"It's not that you don't trust mortals. You don't trust yourself to protect them when in fact you have the power to do so. Why's that?"

She sorrowfully looked away. "I, myself, couldn't protect my own people. Truth be told, my hands are tainted with the blood of the innocent and I no longer trust myself to protect anyone. What right do I have to protect someone with my bloodied past?"

"You learn from the mistakes you made in the past. It's how one grows and changes. From what I can tell, you have changed which means you've learned from some of your mistakes. Keep that up and you'll be able to trust yourself once again."

She lifted her head. "Have you been talking to my sisters?"

"Not recently," Cor answered.

"I see..."

"Why do you ask?"

"Nothing in particular."

Once Gladio completed the third trial, Cor and (Y/n) rejoined him just in time to see the wall located behind the shrine split and slide open. "Nice work," Cor complimented. "Maybe you've got what it takes after all."

"Maybe, but it ain't for you or me to decide," Gladio responded.

"True-and the Blademaster is a more formidable foe than any you've faced thus far."

Venturing through the new opening, the group finds another campsite. (Y/n) held out her hand, igniting the wood that was located in the campfire. While Gladio and Cor rested, she ventured a little ways away from the campsite. Sniffing the air, she could no longer smell the dullahan's presence. She wondered if it had escaped, knowing it wouldn't be able to gain the power it seeks, or if it was waiting to ambush them later on.

After spending some time prowling the area, she returned to the campsite to see Gladio and Cor were ready to move on. They made their way down another series of wooden ramps and heard more souls talking to Gladio. "Come here to die, have you?"

"You looking to die again?" The shield sneered confidently.

"You amuse but do not impress. You lack his conviction," the soul said.

"Whose?"

"He who traversed these caves some thirty years ago. Turning a deaf ear to our wails and wishes, he proceeded unfazed, eyes ever forward. Yet he proved powerless before the general, cast out in defeat. If even he could not succeed, I see no hope for you."

"That guy must've left quite an impression...when he landed flat on his face," Cor said.

"Even the most graceful have small hiccups here and there," (Y/n) stated.

"Indeed, they do."

Making their way down to yet one more ledge, Gladio, War, and Cor soon find themselves at a sealed wall in the cliff face. Unlike previous trial chambers, this one is sealed with rock growth. The marshal stands before the wall and raises his katana. He unsheathes the blade slightly and the rock growth barring the entrance dissipates. Cor sheathes his katana once more and lowers the weapon. He speaks to Gladio without turning to look at him. "Clarus would've tried to stop you, you know-just like he tried to stop me all those years ago."

"How come?" He inquired.

"Because one aspiring to the role of King's Shield can stake his life for none but his liege-not even for himself." The marshal turns to face the brute. ""Do you dare risk all for naught in return?" His words stayed with me. And he was right: I barely made it back with nothing to show for it."

"So, you gonna stop me?"

Cor shook his head. "No, I won't. But I will warn you one last time of the danger you're about to face-just like your father warned me. Once you set foot through that door, there's no turning back-and no one to help you if you fall. One false step, and it may prove your last."

Gladio takes a couple of steps forward. "I'll be fine. Maybe I'll come back with a souvenir." He then turns towards (Y/n). "You're unusually quiet, firecracker. You worried about me?"

"I'm a pretty good actor, you know. Pay me a thousand gil and I'll pretend to be worried about you," she retorts with a grin. It then morphed into a gentle smile, which was a rare sight to behold. She strolled up to him and playfully punched his arm. "In all seriousness, I know you'll be fine. You made it this far. I know you can do this."

Gladio smiled back at her. He placed his hand on top of her head. "Y'know, you should smile more often. It really does make you a hundred more times beautiful."

War was taken aback at the compliment. Although caught off guard, she couldn't help but laugh. "You're seriously flirting at a time like this?"

"I call it "telling the truth," not flirting."

"Uh-huh, sure." The Horseman places her hand on his bare chest, providing him with one last healing incantation. "You've quite the adversary ahead. It'd be rude to keep him waiting."

"Thanks for the healing." Gladio removes his hand from her head. "Wait for me, (Y/n)."

"I'll be right here when you come back."

With one final smile, Gladio enters the chamber to face Gilgamesh. "Just come back alive. Be safe, Gladio," Cor said before the shield was gone.

Even when Gladio was out of sight, War kept her gaze focused in the direction he vanished. "He will, Marshal."

#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader #gladiolus amicitia #gladiolus x reader #gladio x reader

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

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Once bitten, twice stupid prt.42

Dinner was loud. It was chaos. And it felt like a weight off of Lance’s shoulder once they were done. No one had stabbed anyone. Nothing was broken. Matt and Rieva ate like civilised people, with Rieva even offering to help with the dishes. Sending the group off to relax in the living room, Shiro picked up the tea towel and Lance knew he was about to get “the talk”.

Filling the sink with water too hot for a normal human to withstand, Shiro at least let him get through the plates before breaking the silence

“So you and Keith?”

Lance cringed. He understood Keith didn’t want to lie, but with things so new, he’d kind of hoped he would... for a little while

“Yep”

“How did that happen?”

“I’m not really sure...”

“He didn’t see to know either”

Lance felt the dig. Shiro almost asking that question

“I guess it really changed when he drove me to Platt. My mother, well, you know she’s old. I was in... I was pretty upset and he drove me there. That’s when I turned into a bat”

“I remember that. He was freaking out”

“I gathered. I don’t remember what happened, but Coran made him see I hadn’t turned him. He looked after me for three days, then took me to see my Mami again. I know he’s your brother, but did you need to raise him to be so damn stubborn?”

Lance attempt at humour fell flat, much like he wanted to do. Kind of drop to the floor then crawl away from the conversation

“He was like that when I met him. I don’t know if he told you...”

“That he hasn’t had the greatest life because kids are cruel and he never felt wanted? There’s a lot Keith says, and a lot in the things he doesn’t say. He’d frustrating, stubborn, and quick to act before his brain catches up. His people limit is pretty much two, and if he doesn’t have his coffee he can’t human... but he’s got a big heart”

“I thought you’d bring him out his shell... I didn’t think this would happen”

Shiro didn’t have much right to complain. He had left Keith there

“Neither did we. We both thought Coran and Allura were daydreaming. Then Curtis started calling us soulmates... I’ve tried avoiding relationships all my life, then he comes in with his mullet and bad mood..”

“I don’t approve. And I’m not impressed that you didn’t take him to Coran when he started complaining about chest issues. Coran would have said something if he’d noticed anything during the checks he did on him... I haven’t been allowed to help him that much...”

“Yet you took him down an abandoned mine”

“In my defence, he climbed down after me. After I told him not to. He took plenty of photos down there”

“You really bought him a camera?”

Why did Shiro sound so shocked? He not only had a lie to sell, but Keith’s identity to protect and the man had been a lost puppy without his brother.

“Keith’s been stuck out here with nothing to do, and nothing of his own. It wasn’t fair he was left behind, so I wanted to do something nice for him. Coran told me I shouldn’t be training or pushing myself, which doesn’t give him a whole lot to do. He’s been doing plenty of normal human things. We went to movies in Platt. Hunk finally asked Shay out. Pidge roped him into one of her planning afternoons for a hunt that was not fun at all. We went drinking and he actually sang karaoke. He also tried to get into a fight, then threw up everywhere when we got home... but he’s been doing better. He’s not as angry when he first got here”

“No. I can see that... He’s my family...”

Lance cut Shiro off. Yeah. He got it

“I know. That’s why I told him that you two needed to talk. That he didn’t have to return my feelings and he should talk to you before we decided to date. I don’t have a good relationship with my siblings, so I’m not always going to get what goes on between you. But I don’t want to see him hurt. I don’t want him to feel obligated or pity because his blood triggered this change in me. I want him to live a good life and die old and happy. We’re not rushing things. We don’t want to rush things. But I’m serious in supporting him the best I can. He’s a grown man. He has his own job, money, and life. I don’t want him to be some pet kept on a short leash. All I want is for him to know he can be himself when he’s here and that I’m not about to judge him for it”

Shiro sighed, placing back down the plate he’d picked up to dry

“I need to know. Will having Matt and Rieva here endanger him?”

“Vampires have an evolved sense of smell. That’s why we don’t mix much. The same goes for werewolves. We have egos. A vampire who’s out of control is a vampire who’s let his ego go. I’m not in any hurry to start anything with Matt or with Rieva. Pidge is like a sister to me. You’re vouching for them, so I’m taking your word that this won’t become something. For his safety and yours, don’t come around when it’s a full moon, not the day before or the day after. If something happens, I can protect one of you, but I don’t know about both of you. Not from two werewolves, especially in a new environment. Curtis... it’s complicated. We didn’t get off on the best foot, but Coran sent him. I suppose because I’m closest thing to cursed and don’t want to harm anyone if I can help it. As for dating, we already know my teeth get in the way. We’ll treat it like anyone with a contagious blood disease does. If things cool off, then we’ll have an answer to what’s between us”

“And what if you lose control?”

“Even when I do, I seem to know Keith. I don’t remember anything from turning into a bat the first time. But it seems I clung to him. I’m sure Coran would say it’s due to our quintessence. I know when I shouldn’t be around him, and when to distance myself. I don’t know how many other ways I can swear I don’t want to hurt him”

“Accidents happen”

“I know. That’s part of the reason I didn’t want to admit how he makes me feel”

“And how’s that?”

“Almost alive... You should go join the others. Keith’s going to come marching in here expecting the worst. He gets a bit protective”

“He does that”

“One day it’s going to get him hurt”

“That’s why I can’t give you my full blessings”

Shiro wouldn’t be much of a brother or hunter if he simply rolled over on his human brother dating a monster

“I get it. I really do. Still, for Keith’s sake, I don’t want to fight with you. He loves you, and he needs you. No matter what he says”

“Keith’s isn’t like most people. When his heart breaks... he gets hurt ten, twenty, times worse than normal”

“I know. Like I said, there’s a lot in what he doesn’t say”

“I would prefer you waited before your relationship turned physical”

“We are. My body is going through changes and he respects that. Just like I respect him and nothing happened that night he was drunk, no matter how handsy he got”

“Drunk Keith is a bit...”

“Drunk Keith is a slut. Those are his words. That’s why I won’t do anything to break the trust he has in me. I don’t want him to live a life of regrets”

“I keep forgetting you’re older than us”

“Don’t remind me. I don’t enjoy looking barely legal”

“Coran can’t help?”

“Even if he could, I’d rather he help Curtis first. He’s struggling with his curse and it’s so cruel that he can’t control the things he says. His life’s been put on because of it. I’m sure he’s happy to have you here because he finally has someone who can reach out their hand to him. More importantly, do you know when Matt intends to reach out to Pidge? I’d like to let Hunk know so he can be there to support her”

“Matt was thinking of waiting a few days”

Great. He didn’t want to keep lying to his friends for that long... Pidge also wanted to go back and explore under the pub...

“Alright. I’ll work things out with him. I’ll finish up here”

Lance nearly didn’t head into the living room when he’d finished the dishes. Keith hadn’t come to check on him, he could hear Shiro attempting to draw his boyfriend into conversation with the others. Keith’s poor people skills must have been at their limit. Being the amazing host he was, Lance made up a batch of Hunk’s hot chocolate, making sure that Keith’d have enough milk for his morning coffees as he did. Feeling a little fancy, he got out his Mami’s favourite serving tray. It’d been a gift from all of them as kids. Well loved and well mended. All their names scrawled across the back. The “L” in Lance’s name drawn backwards. The “I” in his older sister Veronica’s name had a heart instead of a tittle. Rachel had a smiley grave. Marco had always had a flare for the dramatic, his name taking up nearly the whole back. Luis name was the neatest of all. Lance wasn’t so much of a dick as to scratch Luis name off... Not when Mami still loved the serving tray.

Loaded up with the twin jugs, cups, and cookies, Lance carried the lot into the living room. Rieva and Matt were cuddled on the rug. Keith had Blue in his lap, with Curtis and Shiro taking up the rest of his sofa. Hearing his voice, he found the group were watching Pidge’s videos. Lance felt more than a little embarrassed. Strangers watching were one thing, a group of people in his house watching him... was something else. Carrying the tray to the coffee table, Lance set it down carefully

“Thanks, Lance. It looks good”

Lance gave Curtis a thin smile, pained at hearing his voice droning on

“Hot chocolate made with lactose free milk and Hunk’s recipe. Help yourselves”

Nervously pouring a glass, Lance backed away, standing by the arm of the couch so he wasn’t in the way. Matt shot him as thanks as he got two glasses organised for him and Rieva. At least Matt didn’t think he was trying to poison him, not like a certain mulleted hunter the first time he gave him coffee

“Lance, wanna sit?”

Lance turned too look at Keith over his shoulder. Blue had been passed to Shiro, not looking happy about giving up Keith’s lap

“I’m good”

Keith might have told Shiro they were dating but they didn’t need to rub it in his face

“If Shiro moves over there’s enough space”

Now that Keith’s lap wasn’t offer, he felt strangely rejected. Warmth started creeping up from his belly... Now was not the time

“Actually, I’m going to head to bed. Yep. Goodnight all, see you in the morning”

Fleeing the room, the cup of hot chocolate made the trip up stairs with him. Slamming his door a touch too hard, Lance rushed to place his cup down on the bedside table. Downstairs Matt was making a comment about something sweet in the air, Shiro joking about it being the smell of the hot chocolate. Rieva agreed with Matt, adding how the smell made her hungry... Her tone saying what kind of “hungry” she meant. Lance seriously doubted they’d do anything to him, but the idea of two horny werewolves scared the fuck out of him. Striding across to his window, he opened it as wide as it went. He didn’t understand why these heat flushes had to keep happening. He’d made up with Shiro, and he’d made up with the others over dinner. Werewolves and meat was kind of a no brainer. Now he was supposed to be relaxing and getting to know them all better.

Stripping himself down, he was too hot for a pyjama shirt and opted for pants only. Given his naturally cold state, and the cool wind through the window, he should morgue slab corpse cold. He’d spent years witching his body would be warm, now he cursed it. The sun had barely been down the better part of an hour, and here he was going off to bed like a loser. Climbing into bed, didn’t help. Keith’s scent cling to his sheets, but the man himself wasn’t there.... and his stupid body want okay with that. The aching throb between his legs drew a whisper from him as wetness dribbled from his arse. Even with the distance, Matt could smell him. Matt colour smell him and the damn stupid mutt was growling over it. If he dared lay a finger on Keith, Lance was going to snap off the insulting digit, force it up Matt’s urethra then snap his dick off and feed it to him like some kind of “fingdicken”, operating on the same principle as a turducken. Maybe he could use bacon as an outer wrapping... kind of borrowing the spirit of “what’s in the box?”.

Slightly horrified by his own thoughts, he curled up up. He didn’t necessarily hate Matt. He just didn’t want Keith to be hurt. Shiro wouldn’t let Keith be hurt. Meaning his twisted thoughts never needed to form. Keith could take care of himself. An involuntary whimper escaped as the first cramp of need hit. Covering his mouth quickly, he listened for a response downstairs. Rieva was busy scolding Matt, the sound seemed to have escaped their attention. With his body like this, he was going to be forced to have a conversation he really didn’t want to have. They whole “hey, I’m not a werewolf but I kind of go into fits of heat” thing was going to make it complicated. Right now he wanted it to piss right off and never come back. He wanted to be downstairs with everyone else, getting know them and not seeming like a dick. Now he was hiding in bed too scared to jerk off in case he was heard. This vampire thing sucked.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid

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mchalowitz · 4 years

Text

the process by which time passes

REPOST. you guys. @lilydalexf is the true mvp of this saga. she happened to have the story still open and was kind enough to send it to me. i owe her so much gratitude (as well as the other amazing xf bloggers that reached out to me). although i don’t interact much socially around here, it is amazing to be a part of a fandom that is so kind and supportive! writing xf fic is a creative outlet i enjoy so much and i love sharing it. now back to our regularly scheduled reading. (also if you guys wouldn’t mind boosting this new version so i can see the feedback, i would be so grateful.)

this is something i’ve been writing (at this point) for probably almost a year, which is one reason i’ve been pretty quiet on the fic-posting front. i’m so excited for everyone to finally see it but terrified at the idea that it’s not just an idea that only i know about anymore. it was originally the back half of a wip i abandoned but i couldn’t let this part go. enjoy!!

Mulder gives her a tight hug on the side of a desert highway. Scully presses her forehead to his chest, hoping her thoughts might leave her mind, reach his heart, and convince him to stay. He still gets in the SUV and she never sees him again.

In true Fox Mulder fashion, his physical presence isn’t needed to be a constant reminder. Government officials that she once exchanged pleasantries with at the coffee machine bang down her door and rip apart the life he abandoned.

“Have you heard anything?”

Skinner rifles through papers until the door clicks shut. Her badge feels heavy on her lapel. It feels wrong to be here.

“Only the official warrant,” Skinner answers. That was weeks ago. She has to frequently remind herself that he is doing the best he can. He can’t make it too obvious he’s interested in the hunt. She certainly can’t go digging herself.

“They’re closing the X-files,” he informs her. “There is an appeal process…”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully interrupts. “My assignment was to assess the validity of Mulder’s investigations. There is nothing to assess.”

“You believe in the work.”

“I’m a scientist,” she reminds him, offering nothing else.

Her final report is a jumble of words that states, no matter what she believed, the X-Files should never be reopened.

–

Scully spends idle days breathing in wet air on her mother’s porch. She hopes the sea might soothe her.

A week later, as she plans her return to Washington, she decides emphatically that it did not.

She discovers heart medication in her mother’s bathroom cabinet. Maggie attempts to downplay the circumstances, “It was a blip on a screen, Dana. The doctor said it was just precautionary,” but to Scully, it’s a call to action.

It isn’t difficult to resign. It seemed like it should, after giving the FBI almost a decade of herself, and much, much more than that.

She cries silently in her car after handing over the keys to her dream apartment and saying goodbye to her meticulously curated life.

She reminds herself starting over is the only way to move on. But she isn’t sure she believes it.

–

Scully is a seasoned Special Agent of the FBI, an instructor of pathology, but she struggles to call herself a doctor. After an onslaught of rejected resumes, she begins to believe the medical community of Maryland agrees.

A small hospital outside Baltimore is wowed by her determination alone. At the bottom of the ladder, no one knows the reputation of Agent Scully. She showed promise and expertise in her role, even if her partner was a kook. Dr. Scully has never formally practiced medicine and her bedside manner leaves something to be desired.

Scully hopes for an opening in pathology, where she might be more understood. John From Human Resources hums along with her plight. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he promises.

She begins noticing him behind her in the cafeteria line. On a fall day, she is trying to decide on the best fruit cup when he sides up to her. He is whisper-quiet, conspiratorial in tone when he says, “I wanted to give you a heads up that Dr. Harris may be retiring at the end of the year.”

The may sounds more like an is. A weight inside her lifts.

John assures her she is the first choice when the position officially becomes available. When he leads her to her new office in January, he asks her out to drinks to celebrate, and Scully is surprised, because she forgot people could see her that way.

John is completely unlike anyone else she’s been with. He is endlessly dependable. She never has to worry about where he is because he calls when he’ll be late. He thrives on a fastidious routine and makes safe, informed decisions.

Scully finally moves out of her mother’s house and into a modern three-bedroom she purchases with John. She leads an entirely new life. She climbs the ranks in pathology and is still able to go on real dates, and eat home cooked meals while they’re still hot, and sit in the pew every Sunday. She goes on weekend hikes and uninterrupted trips to the coast and has fine, but not life changing, sex. She accepts John’s proposal on the beach with a beautiful ring.

They have a small wedding. She doesn’t take his last name.

John tries so hard, never asks about her time in the FBI, even tries to adopt a child with her. When it falls through at the last minute, they decide on a dog instead. They get divorced after two years.

In her office one late morning, the phone on her desk lights up. “Dr. Scully, there’s a man on line one asking for you.”

“Thank you,” she says into the speaker. She picks up the receiver with the assumption of a request for a consult. “This is Dr. Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

She drops the phone.

–

Scully’s stomach is in knots. She is too nervous to order any food. Mulder sits across from her at a diner, looking older and scruffier, and she wonders if this is all a cruel hallucination.

“Where have you been?”

His fingers tap nervously on the table. “Farrs Corner.”

After exploring little towns in the far reaches of nowhere, she remembers that’s Virginia. When she presses for how long, she discovers he’s been within driving distance almost this entire time. Her fingers clench. She wants to strangle him.

“It’s been six years, Mulder. Why now?”

“The FBI dropped the charges against me. I helped them with a case, they wiped the slate clean. I can start my life again, Scully, come back.”

Forget strangle, Scully wants to kill him. He thinks he can just come back? His ignorance to the domino effect of his actions has to be purposeful.

There was a life they wanted to live together that never had the chance to become a reality. She has spent six years trying to fill her life with meaning. Her marriage failed, her career path faltered. They have a child that is no longer theirs.

Scully stands from the booth. She stares down at him, asserts her power.

“I thought you were dead.”

He just nods. He suggests she give him a call, now that she has his number.

She doesn’t.

–

Scully always forgave Mulder too quickly; it was their fatal flaw. She frequently ignored this piece of common knowledge by justifying his more unsavory behavior as residual childhood trauma, or a severe lack of social skills, or plainly being obtuse.

She never found a way to justify him leaving her when she needed him without looking like an emotionally manipulated moron. How could she possibly forgive the embarrassment and isolation she felt after giving up her own child for ostensibly no reason?

Scully bared her soul to him, her body, and gave him everything she had, and she still took a backseat to his quest. There was a brief time where she thought something finally switched in him and the quest would take a backseat to her. In the earliest days of the millenium, working their way up from something undefined to something real.

A month passes. She speaks to no one about her meeting with Mulder, but when she has idle moments, it fills her mind. She tries to remain hot when she begins wondering what Mulder’s life is like now. She attempts to imagine how he filled six years worth of time, because he was never a picture of duality, never able to separate his life from his work, and what can he do after leaving it behind?

It’s a slow burning curiosity. Weeks long. She begins to think he didn’t push during their last meeting because he knew it would happen like this.

She scrolls through recent calls to find the number he left on her office phone. Scully hears the hello in that familiar voice and doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Mulder, it’s me.”

–

Scully sees a dream realized when she pulls up to a little house with a spacious porch on sprawling land. Mulder never liked the city.

He is clearly thrilled to finally present his vegetable garden and his paintings while giving her the grand tour. He recounts putting in the new water heater himself and his plans to replace the roof next spring.

Mulder makes her pasta and gives her the “good chair.” When her stomach is full, they talk about old times. She hasn’t talked about these things in years because she knew there was no one else that can laugh about what she saw instead of instantly recoiling except for the man sitting across from her.

“I have to get back,” she realizes when she sees the sun beginning to set out the window. They spent almost the whole day together. He nods in understanding.

“You see I’m not living in squalor,” he jokes as he walks her to her car.

“It certainly wasn’t the dilapidated hut I was expecting,” she teases. Her tone shifts from silly to serious. “You know, Mulder, after our last meeting, I really didn’t want to come here. I thought…I think you know what I thought. But I’m glad I came.”

“I appreciate any chance you’ll give me, Scully,” he replies.

–

Farrs Corner becomes a regular destination.

Mulder easily becomes the companion she was lacking, the return of the best friend she lost. Even with the passage of time, he still knows her better than anyone else.

She stops offering up her free Friday nights for on-call autopsies and tox screens to watch movies with take-out picked up just before civilization ends.

Without a Saturday shift to spoil their fun, they indulge in the full six pack of their favorite beer. His feet are propped on the coffee table next to their abandoned pizza box, as she folds her legs underneath her on the cushion beside him. She is full-bellied and warm.

“I can’t believe you were married,” he says in disbelief, taking a swig from his bottle. “Considering how many of my proposals you turned down.”

“Maybe I would’ve accepted if any of them had been serious.”

“So you’re saying there was a chance?”

She laughs and nudges his shoulder with the side of her bottle.

When she catches his eye, she sees a person that, yes, she thought she might marry someday. When she was younger, less hard, and had never seen the face of a child that was half him, half her.

She leans forward and presses her lips to his, jerking back as soon as he begins to respond. She tries to find something to say, a reasoning, but she finds his curious gaze, and can’t think of anything to say.

He closes the distance between them and starts where she left off. His kiss is wonderful. It’s hopeful and sexy as all hell.

He nudges her jaw aside with his chin, his mouth seeking out her neck. Her fingers tangle in his hair. “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggests.

–

Standing at the foot of his bed, Scully realizes she’s never been in Mulder’s bedroom before. He has simple furnishings; dark wood and soft blues. His belt clunks when it hits the floor. His bare chest warms her back.

She remembers his warmth, his proclivity to be so tender and gentle, and to let her lead the way. She turns and guides him onto the bed.

Modest kisses quickly turn unrestrained. He breaths in long pants as he shoves her panties down her thighs, letting her kick them over her ankle before hooking them over his hips.

He slips in so easily. Scully explores his changed body; the shifting muscles in his back, his thinner, sweat dampened hair against her hands, his ass clenching as he rocks into her.

Electricity runs through her when his fingers drift to her clit, taking her right to the edge. “Fuck,” he groans, his lips at her ear. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

She moans in utter bliss, deliriously overtaken. When she comes, she shatters. Mulder thrusts two, three times more, before following behind. He spurts hotly into her with growls of satisfaction.

Breathing heavily, they lay bonelessly on their backs. She feels the sweat cooling at her hairline. Her lips break into a big smile and a laugh leaves her lips. His follows and he raises her hand to his lips, feeling his joyous puffs of air against her skin.

“We are still very good at that,” she decides, turning her head toward him.

“You did always bring out the best in me,” he agrees.

Scully finds his boyish nerves when he mentions spending the night charmingly endearing. She wordlessly moves to press herself into his side, clinging to him in answer.

–

Mulder calls their connection cosmic, though Scully doesn’t believe in cosmicity. An otherworldly connect would trivialize their effort so far in their new era.

She worried how they would assimilate into each other’s worlds without the commonality of what easily linked them before. While their forced separation may never be seen as a positive in her eyes, it did allow for the growth to be content in domesticity.

Scully adores the version of Mulder she met over two decades ago. With his unwavering desire for truth and his absolutely brilliant mind. The hours they can spend talking remind her of that man often. They spar as they always did, laugh like no time has passed.

She delights in the side of him that is at peace with the mundane. He likes filling her drawers with clean scrubs, and working in the yard until he returns smelling like freshly cut grass, and giving her drafts of his paranormal mystery novel.

Uncensored honesty is their biggest challenge. It would be so easy to never discuss what plagued them in the past. They finally get to air their fear, their guilt, and their grief. Scully thinks she and Mulder come out better on the other side.

Mulder leads her to the quiet corners of the world, using his freedom to finally venture off his little property. They luxuriate in the Bahamas shortly after their first night together and they start stopping at all the roadside attractions they used to skip. He plans to finally take her to England and show her all the off beaten paths from his youth. She would go anywhere with him.

A beach house in Maine is this weekend’s activity. Scully accidentally leaves her stack of reading on the desk in her office. “I’ll grab them quick and we’ll go,” she promises him, hanging onto the open passenger side window.

“Don’t leave the coast waiting too long,” he teases. “I’m starting to lose my island glow.” She rolls her eyes at him and pushes up on her toes to kiss him briefly.

Though she promises to be quick, Scully still signs into her computer. She printed out the newest articles hastily before an autopsy and notices now that the first ten pages of the article on top are missing. She finds herself drawn to begin reading when she goes to reprint. She pulls out her chair with blind arms, sitting down absently.

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been gone until she sees Mulder enter. “I was starting to think you’d fallen in,” he jokes.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. He brushes off her apology with a wave of his hand, rounding the desk to brace his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you reading?” he asks.

Case 43-2009. 8-year-old with Brain Scan Abnormalities Presents Potentially Unseen Neurological Disorder.

She breaks her gaze at the screen to bring her eyes up to Mulder.

“We need to find our son.”

#x files #xf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr

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jenovahh · 4 years

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 6 - Little Lady

“You disgust me.”

Your own words ring throughout your head, playing over and over like a bad record.

Your hands still feel warm from the heat you felt of your hands around his neck.

What’s worse is they are shaking; trembling so violently that you realize it’s not just your hands shaking, but your entire body. You clutch yourself tight as you huddle upon your bed, chin tucked to your chest as you try to pull yourself together.

Projection was a funny thing, you muse darkly, thinking of how much you hated how you even attempted to squeeze the life from his lungs. To try and kill a man prone on the floor and defenseless…

The one you were disgusted with was yourself.

When it came down to it, you could not kill.

He said it himself; you had the skill. You had the power, the strength. But when it came to actually getting the deed done, to follow through on such a terrible threat--

You fell short.

Thinking now about those cold looks you’ve seen in his eyes, you see now that Zenos truly was serious about having no qualms of killing those who failed him. When you had held back on him that day in the gym, there would’ve been no beat down and demoting you to being some lackey.

He would’ve killed you.

The thought is harrowing as much as it is infuriating, to see how little he values the life of others. It makes you wonder how he could’ve grown up to be so callous; you knew rich people saw the masses as nothing but metaphorical ants, but to actually be so heartless to follow through on killing someone…

A light knock jolts you from your downward spiral, your eyes darting to the door. Before you can even get your mouth open to ask who stands on the other side it slides open, Zenos standing before you.

He’s changed out of his workout clothes. He wears pants that look too casual to be slacks, yet too expensive to be jeans, paired with a simple printed t-shirt. Paired with his long hair now unbound, he almost looks like he could pass for a band member and not the son of a CEO. “Have you finished sulking?” He asks, his one visible eyebrow arched.

Glaring at him, you can’t help but snarl. “I’m not sulking, you bastard.”

“You keep calling me outside of my name and yet expect differently of me. What is it I always hear those commoners say...do unto others, or something of the like?” He ponders dramatically, bracing his form against the doorframe. He looks completely at ease, as if he wasn’t daring you to kill him but half a bell ago. “Granted what you call me doesn’t matter. Address me however you like.” He grins deviously, eyes smug.

You try to find it in yourself to get angrier, but you’re too mentally exhausted from earlier to deal with his obvious baiting. “Well then, Garlean scum, why don’t you fuck off and leave me to my sulking as you call it?” You bite out, giving him no room to guess exactly how you’re feeling.

“Believe me, little savage, I’ve plenty other things that require my attention, but you are perhaps the biggest investment I’ve made for the foreseeable future.” He chuckles lowly, and you can hear his chest rumble with the baritone of his voice. “You’ve been so busy wallowing in your self-pity that you’ve missed lunch entirely.”

Your eyebrows perk up at that, glancing at the alarm clock on the nearby nightstand. Sure enough, it is well past noon. Fighting to keep the upper hand, you turn back to resume your glare at him. “I’d rather starve.”

“And I’d rather you not. While tedious, I’m not above throwing you over my shoulder or dragging you down the hall like the beast you are.” His tone is teasing, but you can hear the underlying threat. “As I said, you are an investment. You’ve not studied anatomy, so it’s safe to deduce you know nothing of proper nutrition. You will receive proper nourishment...understood?”

There’s an almost crushing weight to his stare, one that even you struggle to stand against. Pursing your lips together, you finally look elsewhere. “If you put me on a diet, then I really will kill you.” You huff, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Excellent. Now get up, so that we may go to the kitchens.” He stands back to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches lazily as you climb out of the bed, tugging on the slippers one foot at a time.

“Taking me there yourself? Isn’t that grunt work?” You sass, coming to stand before him at the door. Backing away, he begins to stride down the hallway but you don’t miss the smirk on his face.

“Doing something so menial would usually be beneath me...but I have my own curiosity to sate.” He admits, long legs carrying him quickly through the halls. You try to keep step without looking too silly, though if anything is laughable, it’s how he towers over the majority of his employees. They all immediately shuffle to the sides as he strolls down the middle of the hall, almost pressing against the walls in some cases.

“Curiosity?” You echo, arching an eyebrow at him as he turns a corner and through a door. If he didn’t stop talking about you as if you were some kind of animal…

Looking up, you’ve already arrived at your destination, hearing the sound of shuffling feet, mild chatter, metal hitting metal. The kitchen is as big as anything else in the house, housing an equally large staff to match. The head chef circles around as best he can due his bulk as a Roegadyn.

“Lyngsath.” Zenos speaks, his voice naturally carrying over the din of soups bubbling and idle chatter. The entire room seems to freeze for a moment as they acknowledge his presence. A chorus of “good afternoon” is muttered before everyone hurriedly returns to their work. The chef bows respectfully before carefully working his way towards the two of you.

“A pleasure to see you this fine day, Lord Zenos. How can I be of assistance?” Lyngsath greets, carefully removing an oven mitt. Though he speaks proper Eorzean like most employees on the estate, he cannot hide the La Noscean accent he carries.

“I see that your staff is currently in the process of preparing dinner, but I require lunch to be made for this new employee.” Zenos drones, his eyes drifting down to you. Lyngsath finally looks at you as well, giving you a quick once over. “She is my bodyguard.”

The Roegadyn’s eyebrows shoot up at that, a burly hand coming to scratch at his beard. “You? Needin’ a bodyguard?” he says in disbelief, so shocked that he slips into his accent in full, eyes taking a closer look at you.

“Indeed.” Zenos smirks, having not looked away from you. “As such, you are to make sure she gets the proper nutrition she needs to maintain her proper bulk and energy.” The orders are clearly for Lyngsath, but he has not looked away from you once. You hold back a growl as you realize he is threatening Lyngsath’s life should you fail to eat.

“Bastard.” You mouth, to which Zenos’ smirk only grows wider.

“She won’t be eating with the family, however I trust I can leave it to you to make sure she shows up to eat. Am I understood?” Zenos asks, finally turning back to face Lyngsath. The Roegadyn in question gives a fierce nod, eyes glancing back to you. “Of course, Lord Zenos.” He responds.

“I will have her height and weight and other such things sent to your inbox. For now, if anything remains from lunch, serve it to her.” Seemingly finished here, Zenos begins to head for the door. “Oh, and savage…”

You don’t bother facing him to acknowledge his insult.

He chuckles lowly behind you. “I expect you to behave when not under my supervision. Enjoy what free time you have left, won’t you?” The sound of the door opening and his retreating footsteps let you know he’s gone, your body relaxing immediately. With him gone, you take glance at where he once was, making a face at nothing but air before turning back to face the kitchen.

Everyone is staring at you.

“H-Hello?” You mumble shyly, which seems to spur everyone back into action.

Lyngsath clears his throat before extending his hand. “Though you already know my name now, I think I should properly introduce myself. The name’s Lyngsath, head chef for the Galvus household.” His grip is firm as you shake it, his hand encompassing yours entirely. “Forgive my bumbling earlier; I find it quite hard to believe that Lord Zenos would require any kind of protection, Miss…”

“Honey.” You supply, giving one last firm squeeze before pulling your hand away. “I also don’t know why he needs me around, but a job’s a job, eh?” You smile, and you can see him visibly relax.

“Certainly true, little lady. Let’s get ya fed, eh?” He chortles, meandering his way back through the kitchen. You follow him as he makes his way over to a nearby industrial refrigerator, opening its doors and peeking inside. “We usually don’t keep much in terms of leftovers; everything for the family is cooked fresh, everyday. Even the staff that stay nearby the grounds don’t get access to the family’s kitchen; the young master must hold you in high esteem.”

You release an unladylike snort at that. “I suppose you could call it that. He just thinks--” You cut yourself off for a moment, remembering Ardbert’s words. “...that I am skilled enough to protect him.” You finish as smoothly as possible, watching as he pulls a tin pan out of the fridge. Uncovering the lid, you can see some sort of pan-seared fish inside, and by the Twelve does it look delicious.

“Lucky for you, its not been coolin’ off for long, so give me a moment to warm it up for ya.” Balancing the pan in one hand, he crosses to grab a skillet and sets it on top of the stove. “Go on and find a seat Miss; I’ll have this warmed up for ya soon enough.”

Nodding, you look around and notice a door on the far wall. Pushing past the busy staff, you slip through and find yourself in an elegant dining room. A lengthy table made of what must be carved mahogany sits in the middle, covered in fine porcelain plates and what must be actual silverware. High backed chairs circle the table which is clearly set for tonight’s dinner, and the visage is so pretty you feel like you’ve stepped into a movie.

Circling the table, you eye each plate, staring unashamed at the intricate hand painted designs, admiring the craftsmanship. A candelabra sits in the middle, clearly for show but no less impressive with its beautiful wrought iron. You wonder if guests are allowed to eat in here, or if this dining room is solely for family use. The silverware is so immaculate you have no trouble spotting your own reflection, your hand reaching out before you can stop yourself.

“You are new.”

A deep voice stops your hand in its tracks.

“Little lady, I’ve prepared your lunch,” Lyngsath sings as he shoulders the door open, plate in hand. He freezes in place, eyes on the source of the voice. “Lord Varis!”

Following his gaze, you meet the cold, hard stare of Varis zos Galvus, head of Galvus industries. He is far more intimidating in person than on the television you note, seeing that he is equally tall as Zenos, if not slightly taller. His platinum blonde hair is gathered in a low ponytail that reaches down his back, ends neatly clipped. Dressed for business, his suit fits him like a glove, sharp and tailored and meant to accentuate his figure. A single eyebrow is arched in question as he quickly glances at Lyngsath.

“Lyngsath. Might you know who this...person is?” Varis begins, eyes drifting back to you. If Zenos’ gaze upon you was analytical, Varis’ was downright scrutinous. You couldn’t help but shift in unease, something about his look making you wish you were anywhere but here.

“Why yes, this is the young master’s bodyguard. He had tasked me with ensuring she had eaten properly.” Lyngsath answers, his accent almost nonexistent.

Both of Varis’ eyebrows raise at the chef’s answer, though it was so slight if you had blinked you would have missed it. “Bodyguard?” He mutters, and you swear there is a slight hint of amusement to it. Slowly, he takes measured steps in your direction. “So. Either my son has found someone with skills that rival his own…” Varis trails off, and one would think he was talking to himself if he were not speaking so clearly. “Or he has found a suitable stand in to please me.” Standing before you, much like his son, he is able to look down on you with ease. You could’ve sworn all Garleans were not so tall. “Which then, are you?”

Pursing your lips, you meet the unwavering gaze of the CEO. Your mind races malms a minute as you choose your words carefully. It stands to reason that Varis has the same intellect as his son, and you cannot afford to blow your cover. “Your son wishes he were my rival.”

Goddamnit.

Amusement mixed with surprise flashes through his golden stare, the corners of his lips twitching just slightly. “Curious…” He murmurs, a hand reaching up for your hair. You frown as you sit there and let him take a lock between his fingers, observing it for what, you did not know. “What a mouthy savage.”

You can’t fix your face fast enough, glaring at the taller man with all the fury you can muster. He remains undeterred, still not having released your hair as he continues his appraisal of you. “Tell me, savage, how did my son come across you then?”

You ignore him, for you know if you open your stupid mouth, whatever comes out will blow your cover entirely. Varis huffs a laugh at your silence, releasing the lock of hair. “I would think you smart enough to answer a question when you are asked.” His voice is low, dangerous, but you feel no fear. “Answer me, savage.” His hand moves to reach higher in your hair but you grip his hand to stop him.

You do not hide your hate as you glare up at Varis, his eyes widening slightly.

Good. At least someone in this family seemed to have some sense of self preservation.

Your next words are a hiss between your bared teeth. “You keep callin’ me savage, I’m not gonna,”

“Father.”

Your eyes dart to the opulent door on the far side of the room, where Zenos stands, door knob clutched in his hand. His expression is emotionless, but the tone of his voice betrays him.

He sounds downright murderous.

“You’ve returned.”

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #THP

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