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mattzerella-sticks · 2 years

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john’s song (ao3 link)

A discovery of treasures from the Winchesters' past might disrupt Dean and Cas's celebrations... well, only if Dean lets it.

Destiel Anniversary (3.9k words) + a splash of The Winchesters goodness

Dean set the yellowed letter aside and next to the growing pile of other papers, all facedown, hiding his father’s faded script. He straightened in his seat, dragging his hand up over his face. He started at the chin, then slowly rode the planes of his stubbled cheeks forward until Dean’s fingers slipped under his glasses and pushed them into his chestnut hair. The wire frames plinked back into place after Dean’s palm finished its journey. They slid off his forehead to land on the table, again. Dean sighed as he closed his eyes. He assessed the twinges of pain rippling across his body like fireworks; intense in certain areas such as his neck and shoulders, his lower back and knees, with smaller bursts of pain cascading outwards. Dean pushed his feet harder against the pale tilework below, its coolness bleeding faster into him through his soles. It wasn’t enough to dull it.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Cas said from elsewhere. Dean craned his neck behind him, cracking an eye open. His husband stood by the stove, swaddled in his blue terrycloth robe and his flannel pants pooling around his ankles. The kettle sat beside him on the stove, steam still leaking out its nose while Cas held two mugs in his hands. He shuffled towards Dean, handing him one of the mugs. “You’ve been at this for hours.”

Dean sipped at his tea. The ginger, lemon, and turmeric competed for his attention as the cannabis slipped by unnoticed. “It hasn’t been that long,” he groused.

Cas took the seat next to him at their dining table, plucking a stray artifact off the table and examining it. He chose an old receipt from a probably long-gone diner in Kansas. The print on its front faded to the point of illegibility, however that didn’t matter. What Dean thought important were the runes etched on the back alongside doodled flowers. “Did your father draw this?”

“No,” Dean said, “circle’s’re too skinny. Dad drew’em plumper than that. And he always managed to overdraw, his circles looked like they had combovers. These are too… perfect.” He snatched the receipt from Cas and laid it back where it was. “And flowers definitely weren’t part of his portfolio.”

Cas huffed in agreement, a tiny sunbeam of a smile breaking through his clouded expression. “I’ll trust you on that.” He reached for Dean, his hand brushing past the hairs curling at Dean’s neck and kneading the skin hidden by his t-shirt. “If he didn’t, then who?”

“That’s… what I’m trying to figure out.”

Dean believed he knew of all John’s hunts. Even the ones his dad hid, at first. Dean learned them all later on in barrooms and motels, listening as John explained every horrid detail while his posture stooped further and further, his speech slurred into a conversational car crash of words and the bottles piled up around them.

Except now a collection of his dad’s past was in front of him. Of his dad’s and mom’s, it seemed.

“But dad didn’t know about any of this crap before the fire,” Dean told Sam a few days ago, “Hell, we watched his mind get wiped by the angels that one time he did come face to face with the truth.”

Sam hissed a sharp breath through thin lips, his nostrils flaring as his heavy stare broke the screen barrier separating them. “Be that as it may,” he said, “All this stuff was crammed under the floorboards of some old Bunker hideout Eileen and I stumbled on… so it’s either real, or someone went to a lot of trouble playing a joke on us. And I doubt anyone cares enough about us to plant false evidence.” He paused, mulling his next thought around like sour wine on his tongue. “Anyone with powers left to do something like it, that is.”

“Maybe it is Chuck,” Dean guessed, “Maybe he… scrounged up some mojo and decided to do a retcon?” Sam’s nonplussed look spoke volumes. “It could be!”

“If it is,” he said, “then you’ll be able to tell. I’ve sent everything we’ve found here by express, should be arriving in your neck of the woods in the next day or so.”

It waited for Dean at his PO Box a week before he strung together enough nerve to collect their dad’s stuff. It took another week of moving the box around their home, pacing, and staring at the duct taped cardboard while chewing the end of a lit joint for Dean to open it.

Now an assortment from his family’s past was strewn across their table. Dean catalogued everything – all the scribbles, seventies memorabilia, and the hefty journal that must’ve doubled the total shipping cost into a coherent timeline. A story of how John and Mary met, and the hell that was their honeymoon phase.

Though even with what Sam and Eileen found, Dean noticed there were more than a few blanks that needed to be filled. “How can this be possible?”

“What?”

“This…” Dean gestured at the mess between them, then slammed his hand atop the pile of letters. “My parents, hunting together? Dad was never supposed to know… he was my mom’s escape hatch out of the life. It doesn’t make any damned sense, Cas.”

“So these are John’s things…” Dean watched Cas’s fingers skim a few more pieces, brushing against the fraying cord of a talisman and tapping the edge of a grainy photograph – of a younger Mary, laughing, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of a darker-skinned girl near her in age. “Our lives are anything but ordinary,” Cas surmised with a quirk of his lips, snapping his hand back to his tea and holding it near his mouth, “and so were your parents. Daughter of a hunter… son of Letterman… two lines with destinies tied to duty, to protection. It shouldn’t be so shocking that they were called earlier than they were supposed to.”

“But I would’ve known if they were,” Dean growled, his body shaking. He placed the mug on the table and pressed down harshly on its wooden surface. “I’ve heard the story of how they first met more than probably any kid’s ever of their own parents. From dad, from mom… not a detail out of place – same as when I was four and when I was forty.” He leaned into Cas’s touch, the warmth at his neck, the steady grip on his wrist, and the nuzzle along his neck. “It’s…” his voice cracked, raw and splintered after going from not talking for hours to talking too much in the span of seconds. “Just… why?” He bowed his head into Cas’s hair, the soft tufts of it tickling Dean’s nose. “We got out. I don’t think I can make it if we have to get back in the game.”

Cas’s thumb rubbed soothing circles into Dean’s wrist as they sat together, Dean quietly snuffling every few seconds. Despite his best efforts, however, a few tears escaped. They caressed his face until disappearing under Cas’s dark waves.

“You know,” Cas said, fighting the repressive silence crushing him, “this doesn’t have to mean that.”

Dean whimpered. “What?”

“These pages and trinkets, they… they don’t have to mean anything bad,” Cas forged ahead slowly, moving, head rising so that their gazes met and Dean was almost blinded by the brilliance of his conviction shining within. “They don’t have to mean we’re piling into Baby and jetting off from one town to the next on some never-ending connect-the-dots hunting caper that’ll ultimately save the world somehow. They…,” Cas paused as he captured Dean’s lips in a kiss that stole his breath, Dean unconsciously chasing after that missing gasp once Cas broke them apart. “…Don’t have to be the omens you think they are.”

Dean swallowed past a familiar lump in his throat, too scared to move it forward and the lump too big to be shoved away. “What do they mean, then?”

“It’s…” Cas hummed, very obviously parsing his thoughts, searching for a golden needle hidden amongst the haystacks. Dean appreciated Cas’s care. “It’s an opportunity,” he finally said, “a chance to know your family better than you believed you did.” His touch moved from Dean’s wrist to his hand, entwining their fingers. “A chance to learn the truth… a truth long hidden for tens of years.”

Dean snorted at his theatrics, rubbing a limp fist under his eyes. “We could use one of those ancestry websites and save us all the trouble.”

“Some of those require DNA,” Cas reminded him, “we’d get a squad of cops outside our door before we learned anything important like what Eileen and Sam found.”

He sighed, bumping his forehead against Cas’s. “What if, in doing all this – we end up undoing whatever catastrophe they averted?”

“Why are you so insistent this is bad?”

It’s not an accusation. He didn’t reel backwards like he’d been slap, like Dean might have done in a time not that long ago, before he and Cas became heandCas. Instead he responded to Cas’s genuine curiosity with honesty. He’d changed, dammit. “Shoe’s bound to drop any day now, isn’t it?” he chuckled. Dean had changed, but not completely. “Sometimes I can’t believe we get to wake up next to each other and just… have this. Have us. And most days I can go about not thinking of expiration dates and bad luck. Then I wake up one morning and it’s like I’m ten seconds from scratching at the walls because there has to be another apocalypse on the horizon, and if I’m not ready it’s gonna burn everything we’ve built to the ground.”

Cas, like he always did, shouldered Dean’s worries alongside him and offered a gentle, uplifting smile. “At least this explains why you’ve been on edge the last few weeks…” Cas started with a joke, neither forcing a hollow laugh in the beats between their breaths. “I can’t promise that will never happen,” he told Dean, his voice slow and smooth, blazing down Dean’s ears like good whiskey. “Your concerns are valid… and definitely shared.” The hand on his neck travelled forward, Cas’s fingers lovingly carding through Dean’s mane. “You know, there are nights where I lay there in bed with my eyes closed, but I… I can’t fall asleep, because I’m afraid I might never wake up?”

“Really?” Dean asked, “Like… in a human ‘pass-in-your-sleep’ kind of way or the… the place-we-don’t-talk-about way.”

“The… latter,” Cas admit, “It’s completely irrational for me to think like that – someone who’s escaped there twice, but I… I still feel it. The scars are still there. And when the sun rises, and I realize the night’s passed me by, I’m in an even worse mood –“

“I just thought you weren’t a morning person –“

“The point is, Dean,” Cas brought their joined hands to his mouth, his lips running over Dean’s knuckles as he talked. “I don’t want you missing out on something that – something you never realized you were missing, all because you were afraid to try. We both know how miserable life was when we did give in to fear, and how… how amazing it felt once we overcame it.”

“There was a lot more that we had to get through before it was amazing, Cas.”

“We’re together now,” he said, “that’s what matters.”

“What if this tears it all apart?” Dean asked, stubbornness forcing him to keep picking at the most horrid scab, “What if… whatever we find hurts more than it helps?”

“Then it’s a good thing you won’t be alone during it.” Cas leaned away, giving Dean space, connected only by their hands. “Me, your brother and sister-in-law… the girls, Jody, Donna. Miracle. This might even give Jack a good enough excuse to visit.” Cas’s focus trailed off, shifting towards something on the table. He reached for a dusty cassette box, cover lazily written on in dark, slanted ink where all the letters blended into one block. Definitely not his dad’s handwriting. “Whatever your choice, however, I’ll stand by it.”

“Really?” Dean raised a wry brow. “Then why go through all this trouble with the speeches?”

“I’d rather you be confident you made the right decision, and not look back years from now wondering what might have been.” Cas squeezed his hand. “It’s your family.”

It was. Dean scanned the collection in a new light. This stuff belonged to John, and it belonged to him, too. These were part of the Winchester history. Its legacy. For many years, the burden of living under it, of being a Winchester – the expectations and the responsibilities, the sacrifices and consequences – cooled any affection Dean held for his origins. The blood in his veins didn’t matter because of where it came from, but because of what he did while it still pumped. However, maybe there might be something worth looking back on in pride. It’s a slim chance, but they’ve been motivated by less.

There was one matter he needed to deal with, though. “It’s your family, too,” Dean said, tugging Cas’s hand closer and kissing the silver band on his ring finger. “Mr. Winchester.”

“Mr. Winchester?” Cas parroted, tapping his chin with the cassette box, “It’s been a while since you’ve called me that… and out of the bedroom, too.”

“Castiel Winchester,” Dean purred, annunciating each syllable, every letter dripping with love. “You married into this family; only fair you have a vote.” He cleared his throat. “So? What do you say?”

Cas didn’t hesitate. “I do,” he said, “And you?”

“I do, too,” he sighed, “I just hope we don’t regret it.”

“We probably will,” Cas said. Dean’s lighthearted mood plummeted like a falling star. He struck Cas with an exasperated glare. “Not everything, I mean…” Cas amended, “but there’s bound to be a few pieces you’ll wish you never learned. The truth isn’t all that pleasant… and there are things we might discover that could prove to be ‘too much information’.”

Cas’s deadpan explanation and him struggling with one-handed finger quotes while still holding the tape box broke Dean free of the fleeting irritation that overtook him. He stole the relic from his husband and examined it himself. He hadn’t gotten to it yet during his work. “Why’re you so attached to this?”

“I was trying to place the artist,” Cas told him, “Though I couldn’t recognize the name with any of the bands in your collection.”

“That’s because I don’t own anything by a…” Dean re-read the box, “a Carlos Cervantez.” He shook it, hearing the tape hit all sides. “It looks homemade. You wanna get the stereo?”

“We’re listening to it?” Cas rose, heading towards their bedroom. “Now?”

“Why not?”

Cas returned with their stereo, a portable, silver device they discovered in town during a garage sale. He removed the current cassette inside, Cas’s well-listened to ‘Traxx’ mixtape pocketed. Cas waited for Dean to hand him the box.

Dean opened it, expecting only a standard mixtape. As he revealed the tape, a brittle, folded note of yellow paper fell out. Dean handed Cas what he needed, then bent down to retrieve the extra surprise. Cas asked what it was. “It looks like…” he opened it up, “it’s a list of titles.”

“Titles?”

“Song titles,” he continued, “I’m guessing for songs on the tape?” Dean read a few aloud, following the numbered order, “Moving On… Little Soldier Boy… Bullets for Flowers…” Dean kept going until he reached the last track. His heart stuttered, his body seizing slightly. “And, uh…” he coughed, folding the note over, “John’s Song.”

Cas sucked at hiding his reaction, too, slamming the cassette closed a bit harsher than intended. “John’s Song?” His gaze darted from Dean to the stereo. “Is this… should we still listen?”

His sudden skittishness went unappreciated. “The truth is the truth, Cas,” Dean shrugged, fiddling with the creases of Carlos’s note, “The seal’s been broken… not much we can do about it now except face it.”

Cas didn’t object. He pressed play, the opening notes of an acoustic guitar filtering through the speakers. Cas reclaimed his seat, sliding it closer to Dean until they touched from shoulder to toe. Dean handed Cas his now-cold tea, like Dean’s. They drank as the guitarist – Carlos – finished playing his haunting intro and finally began singing.

It was beautiful. A bit folksy, for Dean’s tastes, but it suited the narrative structure of Carlos’s lyrics. If he closed his eyes, Dean could imagine himself in a crowded, smoky bar. He and Carlos hunkered at a table, their heads brushing as Carlos whispered his story in time with the music that pumped into the room – the music he, in fact, created with his guitar.

The first track, ‘Moving On’, slowly faded as the next song started. ‘Little Soldier Boy’ flipped the tempo, launching into a frenetic pace. Dean laughed halfway through the first chorus, watching Cas’s knee bounce to the rhythm of Carlos’s music. “I take it you’re liking this?”

“It’s… nice,” he said, “I can, uh – dig this.”

“Dig?”

“It’s slang from that era,” Cas rattled off, his fingers tapping an imaginary drumskin on his lap, “a way for people to say they liked a certain thing, or they understood it. Like… if you were to ask someone what music they liked – if you were talking to them back then – they might respond, ‘well, I can dig El…’.” Dean’s amusement was very evident, and it didn’t surprise him when Cas noticed. Cas’s cheeks burned. He quickly hid them with a swipe of his head. “Hey,” Cas said, “do you feel like dancing? I could really dance right about now.”

“Cas, we don’t have to –“ Dean choked on his response, Cas dragging him out of his chair midsentence. He fought him for another verse, but a mixture of Cas’s come-hither gaze and his nerdy, inoffensive hip wiggling enticed Dean to join the fun.

They bounced around their kitchen, laughing, shaking their asses as ‘Little Soldier Boy’ transitioned to ‘Bullets for Flowers’, and kept going for the next three songs. Dean grabbed Cas’s robe lapels and tugged him nearer, their chests flushed together. His hands dragged downwards, following the slope of his husband’s terrycloth towards the hanging, untied sash and clung tight to them.

The music changed, a much melancholier song starting. Dean and Cas slowed to match it. Their feet brushed every other chord as they shuffled, their eyes met, and both smiles fell once they realized which song played.

It was a short tape. They reached ‘John’s Song’ sooner than expected.

Dean paid close attention to Carlos’s voice, hanging on every lyric of what’s undoubtedly a ballad. ‘John’s Song’ was a ballad. Dean’s head spun at the revelation, though he had ample time to prepare since the suspicion began after reading the song’s title. The kitchen wobbled and faded at the edges; Dean very aware how close to the edge of a panic attack he dangled on. Cas never wavered. He remained steady, so Dean’s gaze stayed on him.

As he watched Cas, and listened to Carlos’s song, his heart swooned in an accustomed manner. Moving past the fact that this song was about his father, Dean connected to the words Carlos sang. He related to the raw emotion kept alive by this recording. What Carlos felt then was what beat inside Dean as Cas’s face eclipsed all else. “You’ve been running a long, long time/and though we didn’t know it then/you were running home to me.” Dean hummed along, gravitating towards Cas. His lips grazed Cas’s cheek, his arm reaching around and hugging his husband. Cas hugged him with the same intensity. They existed in each other’s arms through the remainder of the song and minutes after it ended and the stereo went silent, drifting to a melody nobody heard but them.

That music ended soon, too. The world and their surroundings came into better focus, and somewhere in that shift Dean caught the oven clock mid-change. He cursed under breath. “Dean?” Cas asked, “What is it?”

“It’s two o’seven,” he said, “It’s tomorrow.” Dean murmured another string of expletives, then continued, “It’s our anniversary.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It is when I’ve kept you up half the night dealing with my bullshit.”

“Our bullshit,” Cas laughed, “remember? That’s what the ceremony was for.” His good humor didn’t rub off on Dean, and he clearly realized it. “Dean?”

“I’m sorry,” he told Cas, “Sorry our first anniversary’s starting off crappy.”

Cas laid a hand on Dean’s face, guiding him into a heated embrace. They ended their kiss with a gasp, Dean waiting for whatever it was Cas wanted his attention for.

He smiled, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean believed him, and he loved him for it. He loved Cas. How he loved him. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Cas kissed him again. “Happy anniversary… and Valentine’s Day.”

He and Cas stood in their kitchen for another hour, swaying, peppering each other with kisses every now and then. It’s a sappier Valentine’s Day than Dean thought he’d enjoy but it’s also his anniversary, so Dean decided to indulge in this pleasure. The pleasure Dean never imagined he might have… and for many people, never believed they’d get.

Dean no longer needed to run. He had found his home.

Valentine’s Day – Lawrence, KS 1973

Carlos’s fingers hovered over his guitar strings after he finished, not wanting to break the moment yet. He was too enamored of the atmosphere he created, and too scared to see if those feelings were reciprocated. Instead, he let the final chord echo in the silence of his van.

John took the initiative, his laughter breaking the tension. “That was amazing,” he said, blunt dangling between his fingers, “you wrote all that yourself?”

Carlos nodded. “It helps when you’ve got inspiration.”

“What inspired this?”

He bit his lip, tracing the languid frame of John stretched out in his van – the way his hair swooped, the sliver of skin shown by a hitched shirt him, and the way his toes peeked from behind his raggedy bellbottoms. Carlos shook his head, forcing himself to think of a quick response. His eyes landed on John’s hand. “Grass, man,” he joked, “the best kind of inspiration! Now quit hogging my song-writing mojo…”

John, stoned enough to disregard his clumsy diversion, giddily handed Carlos the joint. He leaned farther than he needed to and collapsed on Carlos’s knee. Giggling, John turned over and stared at the ceiling above them. Carlos ground the end of the blunt flat with his teeth.

“That song,” John continued, finding his voice again, “does it have a name?”

Carlos answered, shrugging, “Not yet,” he said, “I’ve been… struggling with the name.”

“Bummer, man.” John lazily extended his hand again, this time whacking Carlos’s guitar in an off-key strum. “A song that good needs a name, pronto.”

“Don’t worry,” Carlos told him, “It’ll have a name. The perfect name, actually.”

They fell into another bout of silence, passing the blunt between them until it was a nub and with Carlos allowing himself the pleasure of running his finger’s through John’s hair. He figured, in this life, with the war they’re facing and the world they live in, it’s all Carlos could have.

That and his songs. John’s song. John’s… “Huh,” he murmured, brushing a hair off John’s forehead. The other man didn’t twitch, fast asleep. “What a great name…”

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel anniversary #dean winchester #castiel #human castiel #the winchesters #john winchester #carlos cervantez #some light john x carlos #johnlos?#cervantester?#listen i'm in my gay John Winchester truthing era enjoy the ride folks

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braindeacl · 3 years

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Frostbite | Eilidh & Miriam

TIMING: Weeks ago. PARTIES: @meflemming & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh and Miriam find a great feast after a sudden blast of cold. WARNINGS: Lots of corpse eating.

White. It covered the streets. The buildings. The people. Everything was lost to the white. A blanket thrown down by the heavens, suffocating everything under its might. The streets and the buildings had no chance, locked in place by their very nature. They accepted their—stood brave against the frost and waited for the melt to break its hold. The people had hope, and for some this hope was justified. As the first white specks fell to the ground, many scurried away. To safety. But the specks soon turned to a pour soon turned to an onslaught. By then, the few who remained had nowhere to go. Stuck in place. Same as the streets and the buildings. But the melt would not free them, only their corpses. The first of these deaths sent an alluring perfume in the air. Calling to Eilidh. Tugging at that hunger that always gnawed no matter how much she fed, only the intensity could be changed. By the time she came upon the scene, the body’s core had turned a pale blue. But the paleness shifted to darkness along the extremities. Darker and darker and darker still. Until the fingers and the toes were a pitch black. Bubbling and breaking along the utmost tips. Lost to the ever encompassing white.

But Eilidh had no mind for details. Death was all she saw, all she needed to see. Without a thought, her teeth disrupted the scene—broke off more pieces of that brittle body. It cracked and crunched and crumpled against her teeth. Tumbled down her throat like dirt. But filled her all the same. The face and an arm were lost to her insides by the time she returned from the thrall of death. With a new shine to her eyes, she surveyed the area. The truth of the situation becoming apparent. Others shambled through the snow—still clinging to a slipping sense of hope. Others were stilled except for the slow and rhythmic rises of their chests—soon to be like the mangled pile of flesh below her. A source of pain and agony for them. A source of a buffet for her. But confliction tore at her soul. For those who still fought against the creeping death. She rushed over to one. Wishing to grip them back to salvation. But fingers grasped that cold air as the person fell to the ground. Landing as a corpse. And that confliction gave way to the hunger again.

It was so cold that frost was beginning to form on Miriam’s skin. Not what she expected for a midsummer night, but, really, she had grown up in White Crest; she knew just as well as any of the locals that the expected was to never be expected. So, when a freak blizzard came out of nowhere in the dead of night, she took it in stride. She ended up stuck in it, She managed to break free, one leather covered arm pushing its way out of the snow, and Miriam stood, brushed the snow off, and began walking. The effort reminded her of how long it had been since she’d gone out and fed, an increased workload as well as a desire to spend time with her favorite person keeping her from sustaining herself properly. But it didn’t matter. Miriam could practically taste so much misery on her tongue that she wouldn’t have been able to avoid it even if she tried. Heels crunching through the snow, she headed towards the source. She just wasn’t expecting the carnage that greeted her. “I suppose I’m interrupting dinner, aren’t I?” She asked the zombie feasting, an icy eyebrow raised as she moved her hands to her hair and shook crystalline flakes of snow out of it.

Silence was cut off abruptly by that casual tone. Calm like the blanket of snow surrounding—snuffing out any touch of chaos. Eilidh stopped, spit out a tooth. Not hers—the poor sap’s on the ground. She turned to meet the woman’s eyes. They were cold like the air, but untouched by it. Unlike all the others whose lives were sucked out like the previous heat. Clearly the other wasn’t human. And human suffering and slaughter was not a bother. She wasn’t like Eilidh—hunger did not compel the other’s teeth to bite and gnaw like it did to her. Curious. Her teeth bared for a moment, animal protecting its food. But the other made no motions, and teeth were replaced with tongue. It licked at her lips, removing some of the dark crusts of blood and flesh bits. But it hardly made a difference—her face and neck and arms were caked in the stuff. Not that she particularly cared. The other seemed to place more interest in her looks. Genuine leather ensemble paired with impractical heels. Her face the most evident of this interest, and Eilidh took interest in turn looking. She let out an airy chuckle. “Not really. What brings you here? Hungry, too?”

The woman was a mess. Miriam had never seen such a messy eater, though, it wasn’t like she was around too many zombies who feasted upon anything more than animal brains cooked or blended into smoothies. And she had to assume that this was a zombie. The lack of heartbeat was, of course, quintessential for one of the undead, but the consumption of flesh, along with the blunt teeth, leaned more towards the walking dead end of the spectrum. “I suppose I was a bit peckish,” Miriam mused. “I was led here because of all the suffering.” It might not make sense, but that was what Miriam craved more than any sort of blood. She felt full, though, empowered in ways that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Mass misery, mass suffering. It sustained her. She looked at her new companion. “My, you’re a messy eater.”

“Ah. Sadist.” Not uncommon in this town, Eilidh had come to realize. Won’t find her complaining—it kept the food ripe. Head tilted at the thought, as she eyed the woman deeper. A waste of a beautiful face, though she’s wasted prettier. But she reminded herself the woman had done nothing. At least, not in front of her. Quick headshake threw that fuzz from her mind. Returning her back to herself. To the easy food surrounding. Motionless, as it seemed the last survivors were gone to the frost or soon approaching. There was a sadness. A wish for a different outcome. But fate decided their time was now. And so graciously decided the two of them would enjoy the spoils. There was nothing to do now but feed and not let their sacrifice go to waste. She broke off a finger; it came off like peanut brittle with a snap. It went into her mouth. That mouth came alive with snaps as her teeth chomped down and down and down. It crumbled on her lips, covered her in more mess. She shrugged at the observation, uncaring. “Food should be enjoyed. Plenty to go ‘round.”

“No, not a sadist,” Miriam said, and she didn’t know why she was so offended by that word. She wasn’t a sadist. The only times she’d ever really, properly enjoyed what she’d done had been killing Theo. But that wasn’t true, was it? She’d cried while she’d killed him, while the overwhelming misery and suffering that he’d felt had sustained her, while she’d turned his skin into a jacket. Miriam allowed her eyes to flash red at the woman in front of her and let her fangs drop. “Just a woman with an incredibly unfortunate set of dietary needs. Tragically, tragedy becomes me.” She looked at the way the woman ate a finger, her face momentarily twisting into something that wasn’t quite but could be very close to disgust. She’d made a mess during her own first large blood meals, but this really was ridiculous. “No, thank you. I think I’ll just take in the misery for now. I don’t enjoy blood slushies.”

Eilidh’s attention snapped back to the woman at her shift in tone. Understanding followed when eyes turned crimson, and teeth turned sharp. There was a shift in her head, a small nod in acknowledgment. “Ah, Dearg-Due.” Arguably tragic, for their name was born from it, as too were they. But Eilidh did not entirely think so—head tilting inquisitively at the revealing display. The woman didn’t share in her curiosity, face squinting in distaste to Eilidh’s own revealing nature. No offense was taken. Instead, Eilidh chomped harder. More gore bits tumbled down, as mischief shined in her eyes. Waiting for the squint to harden on the other’s face. “Don’t think there’s much left. Just the quiet.” As if to purposefully refute her, motion was detected a few meters away. Car door beat and beat and beat against the pile of snow, until it managed to be pushed away. Short, shivered gasps filled the air. Eilidh immediately sat up straighter at the occurrence, gaze locked where she believed the unseen survivor to be. Someone had managed to make it out!

A dearg-due. Miriam looked at this strange woman, not really understanding what she meant and hating that fact. “Right. A dearg-due.” A word that she’d have to look up on her own time, but, perhaps, something of import. Maybe a step closer to not feeling like she was stumbling through this wretched unlife without any sort of instruction manual. She narrowed her eyes at the other woman before rolling them and snorting, a most unladylike sound that she truthfully didn’t care about in present company. “There’s always a little left until it’s absolutely still,” she said, her ears picking up on the sound of a struggling heartbeat before the zombie’s head had even turned. With eyes the color of the blood spilled in the snow, Miriam looked at the man that was struggling, suffering, trying so, so hard to live. His cries were the most dreadful music, a delightful meal. She wanted it to stop. She was lithe on her feet and she made her way towards him, and her hand wrapped around his neck faster than he could blink. “Shh, it’ll be over soon,” she soothed, and she moved her hand, took a bite. It had been some time since she’d had blood straight from the source, and it was still warm, despite the chill in the air. By the time Miriam was done, there wasn’t much left of the man’s neck. She wiped at her face, her chin. She looked back at the zombie. “I suppose I’m a bit of a mess as well.”

Eilidh’s feet had barely become reacquainted with the ground when the Dearg-Due made her way. Hand gripped tight, threatening to suck out his life. But teeth worked faster. By the time Eilidh was close enough to make out his features, last drops of that life trickled away. Left a red stain on the snow. Left a space for the sadness to return. But it too trickled away, lost to the fog she carried so well. Reverting to a stillness. A deep silence. Where not even a heartbeat could be found, for the two standing had none to spare. Until a chuckle broke it—brought some semblance of life back to the white expanse of the dead. “Ah. You do like blood slushies.” The other’s mouth dripped in the last of that man’s warmth—red blotches against the once spotless mold. But found herself enjoying the sight, more than before. Always an admirer of those with the touch of the wild. “Looks better. One more meal. Might even be stunning.” Like her, with fragments of bodies littering her face and chest, as it did the ground. Stained by that dark, crimson death.

Wiping at the corners of her mouth as they ticked upwards ever so slightly, Miriam licked the blood off her thumb as she said, “Not quite a blood slushie. He was still lukewarm, at the least.” Amusement and disgust warred within her, both at the bloodbath as well as the woman in front of her. She was no different, now, really, blood on her face, a body in front of her. And she was still thirsty, so thirsty, the kind of thirst that, for once, couldn’t be tamed by misery. It was likely that the bags of blood in her home wouldn’t help much, either. She managed a laugh, though. “I think we have different thoughts on the word stunning, sweetness.” She was still thirsty. She said, “I’m not one to overindulge.”

Tongue clicked in a baby’s attempt of disappointment. One that held no power, with a touch of humor. But the feeling did linger on the surface. Eilidh simply shrugged at the dismissal. “Only the greedy do.” There was a curious quirk of her brow, noting a strange expression on the other’s face. Causation could not be placed, but assumption was the feast had put the woman in a wild state of mind. Eilidh could certainly relate. Such a state told her to keep feeding, despite the all-consuming hunger being placated. To eat until satisfied instead of simply sated. Eyes focused intently on the recently deceased, whose flesh was still soft and tender and untouched by the stiffness of death and cold. Mouth salivated in turn. Hungry teeth had only ripped out a few mouthfuls when a new distraction arose. A sudden sound in the distance. Unknown but clearly approaching. Another predator? An oblivious local? A hunter? She hissed at the third suggestion, not wanting to deal with that ilk. Body lowered, fingers tensed, preparing for that encroaching mystery.

“Well, then, here’s to not being greedy, hm?” But Miriam was still feeling that tell-tale tinge of bloodlust under the surface, ever present but growing now. It had been so long since she’d fed properly. So long. And she wasn’t starving by any means, and she wasn’t going to complain about it, but, damn, when Miriam used to feed like this, she was ravenous. In the 90s, she’d slaughtered multiple people at a time as a result of her thirst for blood and pain. It would last for hours, only satisfied when she was surrounded by bodies. Much as she was now, but these weren’t bodies of her making. One just wasn’t enough. She heard the sound of a car door slam, saw blue sirens just ahead of them, smelled someone as they approached. Miriam didn’t think. The officer was dead before she properly arrived on the scene, and Miriam ripped her throat before she could make so much as a gurgle. This was warm blood, delicious as it soothed the ache inside her that she hadn’t even noticed. How was Miriam supposed to notice when she neglected this side of herself so thoroughly? She didn’t know. She looked up at her new companion and straightened once more, washing the blood from her face and hands with the snow. The entire altercation had been quick, so quick. Miriam wasn’t one for apologies. She rarely apologized. That was how she was raised. However, she did manage to say, “I’m not normally this…” her lips twitched, “emphatic.”

The situation seemed remedied, as the vampire charged at that approaching commotion. Reduced to gurgles and silence, a seeping redness behind abandoned vehicles. Eilidh feasted as well, hardly one to neglect the hunger. Stripping more of that first kill’s recognizability. Turned from man to meat in tattered clothes. Enough to doubt it was ever a man at all. Calming the pestering part of her mind lost to the fog. She sucked on her own fingers, removing viscera clinging between wrinkles and under nails. Nothing gone to waste. She turned in time to meet her carnage companion. Both stained and dripping in fresh blood. The other trying to hide this fact, transferring blame onto the snow. Eilidh made no such motion, almost wearing it with pride. “Should try it some more. Looks like you enjoy it.” Her attention shifted to what lay behind, the cause of interruption. Lone police car illuminated in that swirl of blue and red, still waiting for its passenger. “Well, they never send just one. ‘Bout to be crawling with ‘em now.” Head tilted at a consideration—to lie in wait for the food to come. But enough death had touched these lands in one night. And, of course, she wasn’t greedy. She gripped onto the remains of that mangled corpse—lugged it onto her shoulder. Before taking her leave, she addressed the woman cut of similar clothe. “What should I call you, lady of blood?”

Having never really eaten with a zombie before, Miriam couldn’t quite contain the look of horrified fascination. Really, she’d never seen anyone eat with such gusto, not even at dinner parties her parents hosted years and years ago. Maybe Miriam just wasn’t used to watching other undead eat. Not entire bodies, at least, and not like that. It was fascinating, certainly, but it was also unnerving. Not scary, just strange. Unusual. Unnatural. But, then again, they were dead. There hadn’t been anything natural about them since their hearts stopped beating. “Darling, if I indulged like this all the time, we wouldn’t have a town left. I prefer to keep my meals light.” Two people in a matter of minutes was quite the loss of life, even if Miriam was certain the one would have died from the cold. The other was just a casualty of every awful thing that had been growing inside of Miriam unchecked for some time now, she’d need to be more careful. She wiped her hands off on her pants, now free of blood and viscera. “My friends call me Mim, though Miri is fine as well. I own the leather shop in town,” Miriam said, a smile on her lips. “What should I call you, oh mighty finder of finger foods?”

Eilidh’s breath rushed out her nose in a near snort. “Only if you’re picky. Find deer to be just as satisfying. Gives a better chase.” And lacked that sense of… She did not want to place a name. To those emotions that tried to surface at times of feeding. A tainting born from James’ pleasantries. It had been easier in the times before. And when she found herself with those like Mim, twins of that primal nature, some of that ease could be found. Of course, judgement had been placed on her, from that kindred companion. But now, with no sense to hide the parts society deemed too dark and twisted, she only saw a fascination from the other woman. She smiled, revealing a bit of discolored skin lodged between incisors. It grew a smidgen wider, at that fun nickname. Made her consider ripping off a dead finger and chomping down in reinforcement. “Dia dhuit, Mim.” She let out a gentle chuckle. “Guess this means we’re friends. Mine call me many things. Call me Ellie.” Sirens tore her attentions. She saw more swirls of blue and red bouncing off distant walls, but creeping ever closer. As did those shrieking sounds—building on each other into a single blasting. Arm securing her haul grew tighter. Squeezing out those last drops of blood it had managed to hold drizzling down her shoulder. “Better scamper. ‘Till the next.” And she disappeared into the trees.

#wickedswriting #frostbite #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. miriam f.

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versegm · 4 years

Note

Holy Grail War where Guda is their summoner's weird back-alley encounter one night, then ghosts them for two days straight without an explanation and then seamlessly sets themselves up in the next-door apartment. They never explain what a holy grail is, and they're human-passing if they take sufficient precautions, and five months in it's just them and one enemy servant left. Guda goes drinking with them every Tuesday.

The first time you meet your new neighbor, you almost have a heart attack.

“Ma’am! Do you need any help with that?”

Face mask, sunglasses, leather gloves. They stand hover above you, and it dawns on you that you’re about to get mugged.

“No, no, it’s fine.” You steel your spine and straighten your back- and immediately wince. Old age has not been kind to you. “I’m fine. Really.”

The youth chuckles- they sound genuinely amused. Since you can barely see their face at all, you can’t read any of their emotions. It’s unnerving. “Don’t be silly, ma’am.” They take hold of the heaviest of your grocery bags. “Where do you live? I’ll walk you there.”

And you can’t really do anything but agree, can you? Ah, it has been a good life, at least. You suppose there are worse ways to go than...

... actually guided home by a yakuza? Who bids you goodbye and just leaves?

... Wait, they were being honest with the offer to help?

The youth, you learn quickly (for there is no better intel than old lady gossip) goes by Ritsuka Fujimaru, is probably not part of any yakuza group, and works part-time at the okonomiyaki place down the street.

Their apartment is also two rooms away from yours, which is why you keep running into them.

“Ma’am!” They wave at you excitedly. Their face is still covered. Apparently, they’re just that allergic to showing any important patch of skin. “You shouldn’t stay around these parts, ma’am. Haven’t you heard? A pipeline exploded yesterday.”

Huh, really? There has been a lot of these kind of accidents lately. You didn’t know another one exploded in the area.

This city really needs to get it together. You remember another serie of accidents like this when you were a kid. You’d think in sixty years infrastructure would get better.

“Ma’am! Ah, it’s good to see you sticking to safe paths.”

“Ma’am! Ah, you really ought to check the news! The next street is closed up! It shouldn’t last long, but better safe than sorry, right?”

“Ma’am! Let’s walk home together! I just finished my shift. Are you coming back from the market?”

“Ma’am! This looks heavy, do you need help? Oh, this is new! How do you cook that?”

One day, you go out, and you don’t see them. You don’t bat an eye.

The next day, they’re still not here. It’s not the first time that happens.

The next day, still no Fujimaru. Now this is a little weird.

The next day, they’re still absent. You’re getting worried.

“They’re on sick leave.” The okonomiyaki place tells you. “They should be back by tomorrow.”

Sick?

You frown. They’re a weird folk, but you’ve grown to like the youngster. Do they even know how to take care of themself? You remember when you were just getting started into adulthood and boy that wasn’t pretty.

So, you walk determinedly to the youth’s apartment, and knock.

At first there is silence. Then a ruffled sound. Then, a voice. “One moment!”

So you wait.

... quite some time.

After what seems like an eternity, but most likely was only a minute, the door opens up. “Hi ma’am! What brings you here?” And you can’t help but flinch.

They look the same as usual. Sunglasses, face mask, and gloves. The same, no sicker, no healthier.

Three scars like slashes come across their right eye.

They have a sheepish laugh. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t have time to put on my make-up.”

Make-up? To cover the scars?

You look them over. Sunglasses, face mask, gloves. At first you’d assumed they were some kind of delinquent. At first you’d assumed they didn’t want to be recognized.

Ah, sorry. I didn’t have time to put on my make-up.

Ah.

You think you understand now.

“... Would you like to have dinner with me?” Originally, you wanted to bring them some chicken soup and be done with it, but what little of their apartment you can see behind them seems... unfit to host people. You wonder how they manage to live in it. It’s just... so full. Toys and tools and papers as if they could barely focus on one task at once. Where did they even fit their bed?

“Ah.” They click their tongue. “That’s very nice, ma’am, but I don’t think-”

“I’ll look the other way while you eat.” You say. “If you really don’t want me to see your face.”

They stay silent. For a few seconds, you can’t even hear them breathe.

“...Okay.”

It starts with chicken soup on a sick day. Then it turns into a small chat every two week. Then a meal every week.

After two months, you’ve gotten into the habit of hosting Fujimaru over twice a week.

They’re comfortable enough to remove their sunglasses when you’re the only one here, now. One of their eye is blank. The other one rarely ever focuses on you when you speak to them.

Weirdly enough, their eye is about the least interesting thing about Fujimaru.

"And there! That’s how you make mocassins.” They’re beaming. You can’t see their mouth, but you’re sure they’re smiling. “Friend of mine taught me how to make these.”

“You seem to have a lot of odd friends.”

“Oh, definitely. But that’s just how life is, y’know?”

Somehow, you get the feeling that their life isn’t exactly what you’d call “average.”

It takes another month for them to take off the face mask.

... Huh.

“Hyperdontia.” That’s the only explanation they give you. You don’t press them. Not about their teeth, not about their eye, not about their soot-like skin under their gloves. From what you’ve seen, it’s a miracle that Fujimaru ended up somewhat functional despite whatever stacked that many scars on them.

“Say, ma’am,” they ask between two bites of food, “if you could have any wish fulfilled, what would you want?”

“A wish?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m a little old to believe in genies, don’t you think?”

“Humor me.” They set their chin on their palm. “Any wish at all. What would you wish for?”

Any wish...

A few months back, you’d probably have answered ‘a friend,’ or something cheesy like that. Life can be... lonely, when one is as old as you, with no kid or nephew to speak of.

But now, well...

“... no, I can’t think of anything. I’m good.”

They blink. Evidently, they were not expecting that answer.

“... You’re a good person, you know that?”

Their teeth are long and sharp. Somehow, it doesn’t stop their smile from being incredibly sweet.

Fujimaru has a friend.

Well, multiple, obviously. Fujimaru looks kind of scary at first, but give them the occasion to chat you up, and they will not let you leave unfriended. But what you mean by that is that Fujimaru has a friend.

“I saw Caster the other day!” They always look giddy talking about Caster. You’re hesitant to call it puppy love, but evidently, this person means a lot to them.

Here’s what you know about Caster:

- They act like an old man

- They look young enough that Fujimaru has to be the one to buy alcohol when they hang out

- They’ve got Opinion on writing

“So, you write too, Fujimaru?” You ask, after the third time they retell you about some writing discourse or another.

“Mh? Oh, yeah. sometimes.” They rub the back of their neck. “Well, not really. There’s just this one thing I’ve been writing over and over again, so.”

(They do that a lot. Repetitive things, you mean. Sometimes, they repeat something they’ve just told you. Sometimes, they do the same action twice, thrice in a row, as if they’d forgotten they’d already done it.)

(The scars on their face looks deep. You think they might have some mild brain damage, but again, this isn’t your place to ask.)

“What is it about?” You ask, because you’re genuinely interested.

They look down, and seem suddenly very interested in scratching the underneath of their nails.

“... It’s a little silly.” They finally say. “I had this friend, you see.”

You nod. Do go on. For all the time you’ve spent with Fujimaru, you know surprisingly little about their past.

“He was great. Incredible! He knew so much. And he was kind! And resourceful. He could always get someone out of a bind even when himself had next to nothing to work with. I owe him a lot.”

“He sounds pretty great.”

They nod excitedly. “That’s who I’m writing about. My friend.” They pause, for a second, as if unsure if they should continue. When they speak again, their voice is a little lower, as if telling a secret.

“There is power in stories, you know? If it’s written down, then it’s real. In a way. Not real real. But real in a way that matters. Once a story is weaved, you can’t unmake it. Even if no one knows of it. Even if it gets burned down afterwards. There is power in stories.”

It’s a good thing that they don’t ask you if you’ve understood, because you certainly hadn’t. But they go on.

“That’s what I’m writing about. My friend. I’m writing a story about him. Some meaningless slice of life thing. A regular day at work. Getting coffee in the morning. Saying hi to his daughter. Feeling the wind on his face. That’s what I’m writing. Normal life stuff.”

They tilt their head back, look at your roof.

“... It’s the least I can give to him. It’s the only thing I can give to him. A story in which he lives.”

It’s been six months since you’ve met Fujimaru, when they ask you with the utmost seriousness: “Do you believe in lucky charms?”

“As much as the next person.” You shrug. It’s very much a maybe maybe not to you. You don’t care all that much.

“Okay. That’s good.” Fujimaru smiles. It’s weird, how used you’ve become to these teeth. How comforting the sight of scars can become. “See, there’s this one lucky charm I wanted to give you. Something of a spell if you ever need me and I’m not here.”

? Well, why not. It wouldn’t be the strangest of Fujimaru’s quirks.

“Okay, listen up. Don’t repeat what I’m going to say. You can only say it one day where you really mean it, okay?” They lean towards you and cup their hands around your ear. Their breath is almost anormaly warm. “It goes something like this. By the power of my Command Spell, I ask of you...”

#fate #fate grand order #fgo #ritsuka fujimaru #guda #my writing #WELL.#THAT WENT WILDLY OUT OF HANDS.#MY BAD.#Anonymous

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years

Text

force sensitive

pairing: rex / reader

word count: 2017

summary: you’re a mechanic for the 501st & you go with torrent to 79’s during leave. you get drunk off your ass & start pushing things off tables, claiming that it was the force (it wasn’t). then, after a few minutes, it was.

rex didn’t know what he did to deserve any of this. he was just trying to have a fun night at 79’s and wind down after yet another visit to fellucia, the hellhole planet that tested his sanity, and reunite with some brothers he hasn’t seen in a while. in hindsight, there was no point in hoping that things would be quiet at the clone bar because the words “quiet” and “79’s” didn’t belong in the same category.

this, however, would have been above his pay grade if he actually got paid for this shit.

you were drunk off your shebs, to describe your condition briefly. in more vivid detail, you were splayed across the laps of him, fives, and hardcase with a smile that took over your face as you laughed at literally anything anyone said. you had an arm wrapped around rex’s shoulder and was currently using his pauldron as a pillow despite saying it was uncomfortable. there was a double-digit number of empty glasses in front of the area where you previously sat and rex knew well how miserable your hangover would be in the morning.

he also knew that tomorrow would be a terribly busy day for you and your fellow mechanics because the 327th was temporarily going to be bunking with them on the resolute, and they just got back from another hellhole rex didn’t have the displeasure of knowing. “alright, i think it’s time to get home-“

“but rex, look!” you swept your free arm across part of the table and knocked over the bottles belonging to fives and hardcase with a flourish. “i used the force! i’m force sensititive!! i need to go to the temple, as soon as i can!”

hardcase started laughing so hard that he nearly shoved you into the floor. the only way you don’t fall is the way rex and fives grip onto you and save you from the grimy bar floor. no one deserved to be on that floor. there was no telling what diseases someone could get from it.

“y/n, cyare, you’re drunk. we need to get back to base so you can get a head start on sleeping out this hangover.” why did rex have to be the voice of reason? it was so hard and emotionally taxing. but on the other hand, he thought with a hidden smile, it did give him some serious blackmail for when his vod’e needed to be straightened out.

you pouted, shifting yourself clumsily away from rex and snuggling closer to fives. the arc trooper didn’t mind it one bit, hamming it up with an arm around your waist as he pulled you into his lap. a small shriek accompanied fives burying his chin in between your shoulder and neck, the tickling sensation heightened by his goatee burning slightly into your exposed skin.

“fives! fives, stop! i- i can’t breathe! fives!” you were giggling and bracing yourself on his thighs, clueless to the wrath beginning to boil in the captain at the sight of you all over his vod. he quickly brushed it away and buried any evidence of his jealousy as he lifted you into his arms, trying not to glance at your inebriated smile that was now dangerously close to his.

“c’mon sweetheart, you’ve got a long day ahead of ya tomorrow.” fives said nothing as you were removed from his lap but with that knowing look in his eyes, he didn’t need to. the protective body language of his captain and the way you leaned into him were signs that pointed to something a little more than platonic.

you let yourself relax into rex, the plastoid armor not even a bother in your pursuit for comfort. you’d been in far less comfortable places as a mechanic; plastoid painted in five-oh-first blue was always welcome. footsteps carried you out of the bar and back home. “you’re soft, captain. anyone ever tell you that?”

rex flushed redder than a sith’s ‘saber at the affection in your words paired with your breath innocently panting against his neck (maker how he wishes it were anything but innocent). “no, i… can’t say that i’ve been made aware of that knowledge. is it a good thing?” he didn’t know where the last part originated from, only that he said it and it unfortunately couldn’t be forced back down his throat.

your smile seemed to bring him back to the planet, while the way you nudged his ear with your nose as you replied, “it’s a wonderful thing, alor’ad. absolutely wonderful.”

he smiled despite himself, allowing himself this time of bliss while he carried you out of 79’s and back toward the barracks. your mando’a was a little lacking in some places, but he loved to hear the way your tongue rolled over every syllable. especially when it was to him.

“rex, i did it again!”

“i’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

another clatter was heard around his quarters and rex didn’t know whether he should laugh or groan at the mess you were making as you claimed to be using the force. he knew that you probably should be staying in your bunk in the mechanics’ quarters for the night, but only a cruel man would leave your bunkmates subject to the giddy drunk that was his cyare. so he carried the burden gladly, looking forward to falling asleep beside you once you had tired yourself out.

you had only been in rex’s private quarters on one other occasion, and that first time was so brief that you hadn’t gotten the chance to see the small things that made it his and different from the same official-looking bunks that all commanding officers were given.

he had a wooden hat/cloak rack in the corner closest to the door that held his helmet and your prized bomber jacket. there was a bottle of unopened corellian whiskey on a caf table that rested in front of a worn couch that no one knew how he got into his room. all they knew is that it was comfortable & was a great place to talk about your problems with the blond man currently enduring your drunken antics with a smile.

you plopped down next to him on said couch, toeing your boots off clumsily and letting your feet prop themselves on the coffee table. they didn’t stay there for long. rex’s voice was chiding you right after but he did so softly, knowing that you wouldn’t have done that if in your right mind. “cyare, feet off the table!” he grabbed your legs and swung them over his lap, your angle changing to where your head was resting against the arm of the couch.

“i’m sorry, rexy,” you pouted as you wiggled around for a moment to get truly comfortable in the new position. “forgive me?” you gazed at him through your lashes, your foot now nudging his armored thigh playfully, a smirk growing as he jostled slightly at your efforts.

his grin mirrored yours after a minute and it could’ve powered the entire damn ship with how bright it was. “yeah, i couldn’t stay mad at’cha for long, anyway.” in your honest/drunken opinion, he didn’t smile like that often enough, and you resolved to do anything to bring that light back to his face. you didn’t know if you’d remember the vow by morning, so it was more of a sentiment than anything at this point.

hummed approval emitted from your throat, deciding to enjoy the comfortable silence that had now settled in the room. a gloved hand came up to rub your leg and your eyes drifted shut when he began to massage the muscle. rex took your head falling back a sign that his ministrations were effective and so he continued, secretly filling away the image of you on his couch so relaxed. you were always running yourself ragged trying to keep everything in working order for him and the entire five-oh-first that you deserved this peace, to let loose every once in a while.

then he heard a clunk as his helmet landed in your lap, the thing seeming to float all the way across the room as if you used- holy kriff, you weren’t lying.

“y’know what would be weird, rex? if the five-oh-first had gold paint and the two-twelfth had your blue.” you ran your fingers over the markings of his helmet, taking the time to admire the welding marks that signified the way he customized his phase 2 helmet. “don’t think your jaig eyes would pop out the same th’ do in blue. not sure why not, might just be because this is the only real color i’ve seen you in. blue suits you, i think.”

he wasn’t paying as much attention to your words as he would have been otherwise, but you just made his helmet float to you! he was warranted a bit of distraction, in his opinion. he chuckled when thinking back to it now, knowing that your mischief has probably caused at least one food fight in the mess because of course his gotabor’ika would use the force to start shit.

rex was in his head for a moment too long because your feet had returned to nudging his thigh, you clearly not satisfied with his attention being held elsewhere while you were trying to make conversation. drunk you took his silence as a cue to him being sleepy, and even though plastoid felt okay when you were being carried by the strong arms of your captain, it most likely wasn’t comfortable to sleep in.

getting your feet with a slight wobble (rex would have laughed) you stretched out the hand not holding his helmet toward him, signalling for him to hold your hand. “rex, we gotta go’sleep. bly’s coming tomorrow and i wanna say hi, an’ i can’t say hi if i’m sleeping off a hangover.” rex stood but didn’t take your hand, deciding to remove his armor first.

“your logic is flawless as usual, gotabor’ika. you go on ahead, i’ll get this stuff off and meet you there.” he’s slept next to you before, it wasn’t a new experience for him; the unfamiliar territory was that it was in his bed without the prying eyes of his brothers to watch him hold you as protectively as he ached to when you were assigned to join them on the field.

a little huff followed you making your way to his bed, once again flabbergasting rex as you used the force to move his blanket aside enough to crawl in. your eyes watched approvingly as he stripped down to his bottom blacks, your arms hugging his helmet like an extra pillow.

you didn’t put up a fight when his hands moved your arms away from the helmet, body already succumbing to the exhaustion that would be trailed by a nasty hangover. your eyes were fighting it, them being your only ally in your quest to admire the blond man now shimmying under the covers. his quiet little demand for you to scooch warranted compliance because it sounded so soft, like he was saying something with far more substantial than the six-letter command.

rex felt a hum vibrate in your chest as you tangled your body around his. you’d told him before that you got cold easily and the mechanics’ barracks being below the air filtration system made them colder than most of the ship. you were letting yourself get lost in the warmth of him, your mind becoming peacefully blank of everything but rex.

he simply smiled as your breath fanned across his bare chest, lightly blowing the light chest hair that adorned his body. in this bliss he’d nearly forgotten that you could apparently use the force until you used said force to tug the blanket up to your neck and tuck them around you both. eh, that force stuff can be a problem for future rex. all he wanted to do was stay in this moment with your weight resting comfortably against his side, not a worry in sight.

#captain rex x reader #captain rex #captain rex imagines #star wars imagines #star wars reader insert #swtcw #star wars the clone wars #rex #ct-7567 #clone wars imagines #the clone wars #clone trooper rex #we love and respect captain rex #drunk!reader #mechanic!reader #ao3 saw it first

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cheeriecherry · 4 years

Text

Birds Of A Feather [5/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: kissing, allusions to smut but nothing explicit

Part 5/7

The next day, you wake up early. Not so early that you’re inclined to roll over and go back to sleep, but enough that you’ll have time to make and enjoy breakfast.

Keigo is still snoozing beside you, cuddled tightly in a cocoon of soft blankets. You’re glad. After yesterday, he certainly deserves a good rest. You lean over and press a kiss to his forehead, smiling gently at his peaceful face.

After he’d kissed you last night, you’d been worried, as his piercing gaze stared down at you. Worried he didn’t mean it in the way you wanted, worried your feelings would get rejected. But he’d just looked at you with the softest expression you’d ever seen him wear, and reconnected your lips. You’d stayed on the floor for a good ten minutes, holding each other close and making out like a pair of teenagers.

He insisted you share a bed with him afterwards, in the most innocent way possible. He promised he'd sleep better with you nearby, but you knew it was just a thinly veiled excuse to spoon you. You didn’t mind.

Even now as you prepared breakfast, you felt light and airy and happy. All because of him.

“Mornin’.”

You’re frying some eggs when a sleepy voice sounds in the doorway, and you turn towards him. Keigo is there, barely awake and still rumpled from sleeping, with even his minimal feathers resembling some kind of bedhead.

“Awh, look at you, all drowsy,” you coo.

He grumbles halfheartedly, bumbling over to where you stand to kiss your cheek. He wraps his arms around your waist and sets his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the wide array of food you’re making.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks.

You hum a little and shrug. “I dunno. Figured you’d need a good meal after what happened yesterday? It might help your feathers grow back faster.”

You stay like that for a few minutes, until it comes time to flip the eggs. You shoo him to the breakfast table, and follow shortly after with your arms full of plates.

He starts heaping things onto his dish the moment you sit down, and you hide a laugh. Your mother always said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

“So what do you wanna do today?” you ask, shoveling a piece of egg into your mouth.

Keigo shrugs, giving your question little consideration. “I thought movies on the couch sounded okay?”

You wonder when the last time he had a day off was, and even more so when he last did something fun. “You said we’d go out and do stuff together, Kei,” you tell him, “that’s why I agreed to take time off. Remember?”

He smiles at your nickname, his cheeks glowing a soft pink. “Fair enough. What did you have in mind?”

“I dunno...what kind of stuff haven’t you done before?”

“A lot, actually,” he chuckles dryly, “you’d think I would have seen more of the country I grew up in.”

Your heart twists a little, silently mourning for his lost childhood. You hoped he’d open up about that to you sometime in the future, even though you already had a pretty good idea of what he went through. You hoped you could be somewhere safe for him to come home to.

“How about we start with the big things you haven’t done,” you suggest around a mouthful of food, “like, things you always wanted to do?”

He thinks for a moment.

“I’ve never been to the zoo,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Or a butterfly sanctuary. I’ve never had a beach day, either, despite the fact that I have a summer home. Uh...movie theatres. Amusement parks. All that stuff.”

He pulls some pancakes onto his plate and douses them thoroughly in syrup. You smile and shake your head.

“Well, we don’t want to get swarmed by fans, as much as I love them. Maybe we could do something like the beach?”

“Yeah?” you can hear the excitement in his voice.

“Yeah. We could spend a few days in that summer house of yours.”

Keigo finishes his food quickly after that, rushing to make a few phonecalls and arrange for a ride. You remind him to also get someone to come in and stock the place with food, so the two of you won’t have to deal with the grocery store. It would be a nice, relaxing weekend. No fans invited.

----

You start packing your suitcase while he makes his calls. You have most of what you’ll need for the trip; clothes, toiletries, the like. You wonder if you should pack a set of sheets, too, but you decide against it. This was Keigo’s house you were talking about, after all. You’d bet your left arm you’d walk into the place and it would be fully furnished.

Said boyfriend wanders into the room while you’re tossing things into a duffel bag, and leans against the wall to watch you.

“What?” you ask, “do I have something on my face?”

He smiles sweetly at you, shaking his head. “Nah, you’re just really pretty. It’s gonna be nice to have some time for just us.”

You fluster slightly, warmth creeping onto your face. “Y-you can’t just say things like that!” you scold, but it’s half hearted.

“Why not? Am I not allowed to compliment my girlfriend?”

The warmth spreads down your neck, and you think for a moment that he is a smug, smug oversized chicken.

“So I’m your girlfriend, huh?” you tease, zipping your bag up and throwing it over your shoulder.

He meanders towards you and takes your face in his hands. “Yeah, you’re my girlfriend, and I plan on keeping you for a long time.” The kiss he then gives you is gentle and sweet, maybe from the syrup on his pancakes, maybe from the affection he pours into it. You sigh happily against his lips and snake your arms around his waist.

He’s warm and solid, pressed against you, lithe body holding an unexpected amount of strength. His hands travel downwards, slowly, fingertips ghosting over your neck, collarbones, stopping and hesitating at the tops of your breasts.

Ah. Ever the gentleman.

You arch against him and bite his bottom lip, and his hands continue. His grip is gentle on your chest, nimble fingers caressing soft flesh through your shirt. He groans, low in the back of his throat, and squeezes a little harder.

His kisses grow sloppier, until he’s mouthing down your neck to nip and suck at your skin.

“Keigo…” you whine, shivering at his touch, “I...I want-”

He slips a thigh between yours, and pulls you against him by the hips. You have no choice but to grind down on him, delicious friction sending pleasant shocks throughout your body.

You continue like that for a couple minutes, hands grabbing and groping at each other, slipping under shirts for better access and more sensation. You’re in heaven, wet and hot on his thigh, and you can feel that he’s in no better a condition.

But it’s not enough. Enough to drive you crazy, sure, but hardly enough to bring you over the edge. You’re about to beg him for more, for as much as he’s willing to give, when suddenly his phone starts chirping in the distance.

Keigo groans in irritation, his head dropping onto your shoulder. He slows him ministrations, touches regretfully receding from your body, and gives you a final apologetic kiss.

“Sorry, chickadee, but that would be our ride.”

You grumble at the loss of contact, mind foggy and nerves buzzing, muttering about how you’d like a different ‘ride’. “S’okay…” you say, though the disappointment is evident in your tone. “We can try again later though, right?”

He lights up like a christmas tree.

----

The drive is uneventful, peaceful even, and it’s late afternoon by the time you arrive at the beach house.

“You know, when you said ‘summer home’, I don’t know why I thought ‘cottage’.” You stare up at the building in front of you, which has to be at least three times the size of your apartment. It’s two, maybe two and a half, storeys tall, with dozens of huge windows, and an enormous front porch. The garden is meticulously maintained, filled with exotic plants, and palm trees you’re pretty sure have been imported.

It’s very over the top, and you know you should have expected it; Keigo worked hard, flew fast, and earned more money than he knew what to do with.

You wander into the front foyer together, kicking your shoes off before proceeding to the rest of the house.

From the main living area, you had a clear view and access to the backyard, and beyond that a private spit of beach and ocean. You weren’t sure how such a huge property could be as secluded as it was, but it certainly made it happen.

“Kei, why is there a pool?”

He wanders over to you, following your gaze to the aforementioned structure.

“Huh,” he says, “I didn’t know that was there.”

You close your eyes and sigh deeply. It’s fine, you’re fine, and it’s none of your business to question why there was a pool on the property when the ocean was a hundred feet from the back deck.

“You really never stayed here, have you?” you’re exasperated. “Like, did you even look at the place before you bought it?”

He at least has the decency to look sheepish. “I never had time? Even when I lose my feathers, I usually have to stay in the office and do paperwork.”

“Do you not have paperwork this time?”

“Oh, no, I do!” he smiles cheekily, “I’d just rather be here with you.”

“Keigo!”

----

You both unpack quickly, setting your clothes up in the wardrobe in your shared room. He’s packed entirely too much for a three day vacation, but you suppose he doesn’t have much experience with that. You’re also fairly certain you did the same…

Despite your overall reservation about the rich and slightly entitled atmosphere of the house, you were excited to be there. It’s been years since you’d last had a vacation, the last time possibly being your senior graduation event, and you could feel that you desperately needed time off.

Keigo sits on the edge of the bed, clad in comfortable shorts and a T-shirt, watching you sort your things out and set them in drawers.

“So...what now?” he asks.

You hang your final sun dress up, and turn to him. “Now we do whatever we want. Lounge on the beach, or the patio -though it looks like it might rain-, go swimming, decide what to make for dinner…speaking of, did you have someone stock the pantry?”

“Yeah. Fridge, too.”

“Perfect! How about you pick what to make, and help me with it?”

----

Keigo, in his chicken-loving fashion, decides on ‘fancy chicken nuggets’. You’re not exactly sure how to make that, or what would go well with it, but you’re giving it your best shot, mixing fresh spices and herbs into the floury breading.

Your boyfriend sits at the island a few feet away, watching you flit between appliances and bowls and chopping boards. He had tried to help you briefly, but proved himself rather inept at preparing food, so you’d kindly banished him out from under your feet.

“You’re a woman after my own heart,” he sighs, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand.

You peek at him over your shoulder and smile. “I swear, you’re such a dude. A nice plate of food in front of you, and you swoon.”

Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “That’s not true! I like a pretty face, too!”

“Then why the heck did you choose me?” you snicker.

Keigo doesn’t laugh. Quite the opposite, in fact. He grows unusually serious, and slides off the barstool to come stand beside you.

“You’re beautiful. You know that, right?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “It was just a joke, Kei…”

“Self deprecating jokes have an element of personal truth to them.”

“Keigo seriously-”

“Say you’re beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Y/N, you know what I mean. Say you’re beautiful.”

You sigh. “I’m...pretty.”

“Beautiful.”

“Good! Now, all together.”

“I’m...I’m…” you hesitate on the word, fidgeting while you try to say it. You don’t know why a single self compliment is proving so tricky. It might be the way he looks at you, so intense and focused. It’s making you nervous.

You avert your gaze and turn away. “I should check the nuggets-”

But he captures you in his arms, pulling you back against his chest. “We’re not done here yet.”

You squirm a little, but your heart isn’t in it. When you finally still, he speaks again.

“Who made you believe you aren’t beautiful?” he wonders softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. You shiver at his warm breaths on your neck, and let yourself lean back into him.

“Why does it matter?”

“I need to know who to punch.”

You laugh at that, but it’s dry and humourless. “I’m afraid it’s no one in particular,” you tell him, “It’s just kind of a behaviour that everyone picks up over the years, y’know? It’s not a big deal, in my case, it’s not like I hate myself.”

Keigo squeezes you a little. “You just don’t think you’re beautiful.”

“The definition of beauty changes from person to person, anyways. I’m sure there are people I find beautiful that don’t see it, too.”

“Doesn’t that make you sad, though?”

Your shoulders sag in defeat. It does make you sad, when the people you love and cherish would choose to change so much about themselves, if they could. When they don’t see the life and personality and kindness behind their smiles and dimples and blemishes.

“I guess,” you mumble.

Keigo lays a kiss against your shoulder, lips lingering against your bare shoulder. He presses another, closer to your neck this time, and another after that. “I’ll say it every day until you believe it, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice low and silken, “you’re beautiful. Your wings are beautiful, too. So strong and graceful. They give away your feelings sometimes, y’know? They get fluffy when you’re excited, or mad, or scared…”

“Keigo…”

He continues his journey across your shoulder, while his hands roam slowly up your sides. “You smile could light up a room, and your laugh? Don’t even get me started. I’ve never heard something so close to perfection, it makes my stomach twist up in knots.”

You tremble in his arms, the familiar warmth of arousal beginning to course through your veins. Still, he doesn’t stop.

“You work so hard, and you take your job seriously, and you’re good at it, too. Yet you’ve never cared about popularity, even though you’re kind to your fans. You just want to help people, and make a difference where you can. It’s admirable, and noble, and the world needs more heroes like you.”

You squirm in place, turning carefully around in his arms. At this distance, you can see all the freckles and scars on his face, and feel his short breaths fan across your cheeks.

“You...really have feelings for me, don’t you?” you whisper, as though you can’t quite believe it.

“Of course I do,” his tone is low, “I wouldn’t have tried so hard to befriend you if I wasn’t at least a little bit interested. And you turned out to be so much better than I expected.”

You lock your fingers behind his neck, the soft hairs there tickling your skin. His eyes flutter ever so slightly, and his next breath is shaky.

“Y/N, I…”

You lean forward and kiss him.

It’s messy, and heated, and he responds to your touches with soft moans and gasps. He pulls you as close as he can, your bodies flush together, and you can feel him hard against your thigh. He’s certainly easy to rile up, but you don’t particularly mind.

His hands roam your form, grabbing and squeezing wherever you let him venture. He breaks your kiss to start sucking a bruise onto your neck, biting down on your skin when his actions earn a gentle whine from you.

“The things you do to me,” he sighs, stilling his hands from a brief second. “I wanted you the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

Your press your foreheads together, staring into his golden eyes.

“Would you let me have you, chickadee?” he asks, begs, “would you let me keep you?”

“Yes,” you whisper without a second thought, reconnecting your lips.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #winged reader au

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loveisblindfanfictionbka · 3 years

Text

Love Is Blind: Chapter Twenty

Robyn sighed as she carefully made up the bed then plopped down to catch her breath. The kids were asleep but Chris was still up doing work for when he returned back to work. He had agreed that it was time for him to move back into their bedroom but she was really worried about whether that’s what he wanted to do. They hadn’t slept in the same bed in weeks and she was concerned whether it would be awkward for them.

“Babe, you up?” Chris called out as he made his way to their bedroom. Robyn turned towards the doorway just as he appeared, “hey you. How’s work going?”

“It’s going. You ok? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I needed to change the bedding and stuff. You alright?”

“I’m good. I think I’m done for the night.”

“Oh. Just coming to say goodnight then?”

“I thought I was moving back in here unless plans have changed.”

“ Huh? No. I just didn’t- never mind.”

“You thought I changed my mind?”

“I didn’t think you were gonna do it anyway.”

Chris chuckled lightly as he walked over and sat down beside her, “I thought we were working on trusting each other.”

“We are. I just didn’t want to rush you into anything. It’s only been a week or so since we’ve started hashing things out.”

“We can hash things and still share a bedroom.”

“I know.”

Chris slipped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her close to him. Robyn kissed his chin before resting her head against his chest, “you drive me crazy but I love it.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“You still do. How was lunch with Mel?”

“It was good. I liked getting out of the house.”

“I’m glad. I’ve still been a little worried about you being isolated here.”

“I’m isolated for medical reasons and I’ve learned to accept that and adjust. My life is just gonna be different for a while, that’s all.”

“How’s the business going?”

“Good. Mel and I dropped in on the shelter while we were out. We hired another on-call doctor to help with the increased business but other than that not much has changed.”

“Beverly enjoying being the boss?”

“She’s always thought she was, now she just getting the pay too.”

Chris laughed, “gonna be hard to talk her down once you go back.”

“I think I’d let her stay vet director and just be the doctor for a change. I can’t handle the stress of patients and paperwork.”

“Oh, that sounds great.”

“If having a five minute argument with you had me passing out, I don’t think dealing with vendors and donors is gonna be too good for my health either.”

“Understandable. You sound a little winded, do you need your inhaler?”

“Please.”

Chris reached into the nightstand and handed the item to her. Robyn pumped on the trigger two times before inhaling deeply. She handed the inhaler back to Chris and he put it back in the drawer, “Sorry.”

“What you apologizing for?”

“I’m sure having to take care of a sick girlfriend, a toddler and a newborn wasn’t in your plans when we got back together.”

“No but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“We’re being open here, you don’t have to say the ‘right’ thing.”

“I’m not. Listen, having you back in my life in general was not something I ever thought would happen. Being in a relationship with you and having a baby, double miracles in my book so I am happy to take on whatever I need to because this happened.”

“Don’t start making me be all mushy.”

Chris chuckled, “Don’t start crying or I might have to get your inhaler back out.”

Robyn laughed as she leaned into his chest, “I have a feeling I’m never gonna get rid of that thing.”

“There’s always room for things to get better. Do you feel like your legs are getting better?”

“Yea, I can stand a little longer so I guess the physical therapy is working. I still got months to go unfortunately.”

“What’s so unfortunate about it?”

“Us can’t do us things because I can’t physically handle it. I’m not trying to have a seizure while we fucking. Too weird.”

Chris laughed, “Robyn, the last thing I’m worried about is sex. As long as I can wake up to you, I’m good.”

“Here you go being all perfect again.”

“What would you like me to say, Babe?”

“I don’t know. Just stop being so good because it makes me wanna fuck you and I can’t.”

Chris kissed her temple as he wrapped his arms around her, “Woman, I love you so much, you know that?”

“I love you too. You’re really gonna stay in here with me tonight?”

“Tonight and every night after.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Whatever you need.”

Robyn smiled up at him, “stop being so sweet. Anyway, can you check my stitches for me?”

“Of course. Is the kit where I left it last?”

“Yea. I’ve been trying to keep it clean but I don’t know if I’ve been doing a good job because I can’t really see it.”

“That’s not an issue, Sweetie. You could’ve asked me to do this a long time ago, you know?’

“I was embarrassed. I still am but since we’re being open, I’m rolling with it right now.”

“I understand. Lay back.”

Chris went to the bathroom to wash his hands and grabbed the little medical kit out the bottom of the sink then went back into the bedroom. Robyn was lying on her back with her shirt pushed up to the underside of her breast. Chris sat the kit on the bed beside her then put on some latex gloves. Carefully he pressed around the sides and top of her belly then moved down towards the spot where the doctor’s had cut her open. He gently pressed against the closed wound, “can you feel that?”

“Yea, I can feel it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“No stinging? No sharp pains?”

“None.”

He shined a small flashlight on the area for a second then grabbed a small jar of black/white ointment, “have you been putting this on?”

“Trying to. I don't know how much I’ve actually put on the stitches or just around it.”

“It looks pretty good to me. It doesn't hurt but you’re also not numb and there’s no smell to it. I think you’re good.”

“Ok. Thanks, Babe.”

“You’re welcome.”

He carefully put some ointment on the area before throwing his gloves in the trash and repacking the kit, “you got any other pains in your belly, not just near your stitches?”

“No. I’ve had some stiffness in my neck but that’s usually only in the morning.”

“Have you told your doctor?”

“I mentioned it but it wasn’t that bad really.”

“So you mentioned it but you downplayed it.”

“Kind of.”

“Robyn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sweetie, the fact you are still having so many aftereffects is concerning. Nothing is a small thing when it comes to that, ok?”

“I know. I just didn’t feel like having them poking me and sending me for a bunch of tests.”

“What else is bothering you?”

“I’m forgetting stuff more frequently.”

“Things or thoughts?”

“Thoughts. A lot of my memories are fuzzy or missing parts. Sometimes I can’t remember what I did for pockets of time.”

“Robyn, I think you’ve been having mini seizures.”

“What? No. I don’t shake or nothing.”

“Not all seizures require shaking though, the doctor told you that.”

“He did.”

“I think we really need to get you checked out.”

“In the morning, please. I really need to sleep.”

“Tomorrow morning we are going to the hospital, ok?”

“Ok. I promise to cooperate.”

“I don’t want to lose you not just after getting you back.”

Robyn gently palmed his face, “don’t get all melancholy on me. I’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chris kissed the palm of Robyn’s hand as the doctor hooked her up to an EEG, “you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Robyn replied as she looked up at him, “you’re more nervous than I am.”

“You can tell?”

“Definitely can tell but I appreciate the concern, Baby.”

Chris turned to the doctor, “Will you be able to tell if she’s had any previous seizures?”

“We will attempt to use her last EEG and compare if there has been any changes. There’s no guarantee that we’ll see anything but if she’s been having them often, there should be some kind of abnormality,” Dr. Richardson replied as he carefully checked the placement of the nodes, “it doesn’t hurt a bit and should be over fairly soon.”

After a few minutes, they were sitting in a regular examination room as Dr. Richardson placed her EEG results up on a board beside him, “so, there is definite evidence of prior seizures. Have you ever felt stiff, unable to move, sort of like you're frozen in time?”

“Yes, a few times,” Robyn replied.

“You were having mini focal seizures. People often don’t categorize them as seizures because there’s not always shaking or twitching involved. When this begins to happen postpartum, the usual cause is eclampsia. They are also contributing to your respiratory issues as well.”

“Oh. Does it affect memory?”

“Yes, it does. We may need to change the anti-seizure medication you are currently using because it doesn’t seem to be working for you.”

“Do you know how long I’ll have this problem?”

“Usually it only goes on for about six weeks postpartum but seeing as yours has persisted beyond that, we don’t have a clear window on whether your body will completely return to normal.”

“So I’ll be on anti-seizure medication for the rest of my life probably?”

“That is a high possibility.”

“And the respiratory issues?”

“Your respiratory system is stronger than it was, so it seems to have rebounded well. I still want you to take it slow, minimize your stress and continue your physical therapy.’

“Does this happen often?”

“It is rare for a case to be this severe but it does happen. Unfortunately, there’s no definite explanation for why it develops or why it persists longer for some women than others. With monitoring and care, you should be relatively back to normal within a few more weeks outside of the need for medication.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. You’ve been doing well so keep up the good work but please don’t hesitate in letting me know about any more symptoms, I can’t treat what I don’t know about.”

“I understand.”

“I’m going to write a prescription for a new medication. You are not to take it for a week, I want your system cleared of the last medication before you start this to minimize any complications. I don’t want to set back your progress.”

“Ok.”

“I will notate the date you are to start on the prescription bottle. After about a month, we’ll run a new batch of tests to see if it’s helped. In the meantime, if you have any more symptoms, that includes stiffness, numbness, an altered state of consciousness, inability to move your limbs, feeling like you're frozen, blackouts etc., return to the hospital. I don’t want you to ignore it and it becomes worse and possibly causes a stroke.”

“Yes, Dr. Richardson.”

“You can sit here for a few moments or go to the waiting room while I complete your chart and send your prescription.”

Chris shook the doctor’s hand before he left, closing the door behind him. Chris turned to Robyn, “how are you feeling?”

“Overwhelmed. I didn’t anticipate this after having our baby.”

“It’s a lot to take in but we’ll get through it especially now that we know what to expect going forward.”

“I just wanna go home and lay down.”

“You hungry?”

“No, I’m good.”

Chris helped her down off the table and to stand up straight, “you need your walker?”

“No, I think I can make it without it.”

Chris grabbed the portable walker and folded it up into itself while following Robyn’s slow gait out of the examination room. They sat in the waiting room for a few minutes before they were cleared to leave.

Chris watched as Robyn tucked her feet underneath herself as she sat in a chair on the front porch. The newly installed rocking chair helped as the weather got warmer and the kids wanted to be outside more. She carefully started to rock and Chris had to stop himself from going to her immediately. He knew she was still trying to come to terms with the doctor’s diagnosis. Having your miracle baby but developing serious health problems as the result of it is a lot for a person to handle. His therapist had cautioned him to let Robyn take her time to adjust to any new situation before he rushed in to talk to her about it. Everyone needs their space to think before trying to problem solve. He finished washing the cup he was holding when an idea came to him.

Robyn sighed as she brushed a tear off her face. She didn’t anticipate postpartum life being this hard. A few minutes passed when she heard a knock on the wall beside her. She looked up and Chris smiled at her, “Hey Babe.”

“Hey you. Mind some company? I got hot chocolate and sweet cake.”

Robyn giggled, “my favorite. I guess you can sit out here too.”

Chris set the tray down on the side table while he grabbed a chair from the other side of the porch to sit down.

“How you feeling, Baby?”

“I’m ok. Still wrapping my mind around my new body, I guess but I’m ok.”

“You know you don’t have to put on a front for me. I know this is hard and definitely not either of us anticipated when you got pregnant.”

“Definitely.”

“But you don’t have to suffer through this in silence. I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

“I don’t know how we do this.”

“The same way we do anything else; we adjust, adapt and just do it. Unfortunately, there’s no prewritten playbook for this.”

“I know. It’s just- it’s overwhelming. How are you?”

“I’m good but I’m focused on you. I wish I could tell you I understand how it feels but I’m no woman and I have not given birth so I can’t possibly help in that aspect but I want to help you by making this easier for you to deal with.”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to adjust to the weight, the breathing, the walker, and the seizures all at once.”

“It’s a lot, Sweetheart. I know but you are the strongest woman I know. You’ve made it through so much that I have no doubt if we really give it our best shot, you’ll get through this. You’re not alone in this. Maybe we can approach this the same way we’ve approached getting back to center. One thing at time. Your health is way more important than the whole weight thing right now. Once we get your seizures under control which in turn assists with your breathing, we can worry about that.”

“I guess that would be best. I guess I’ll have to get used to being a size 14 for a while.”

“Which is not a bad thing.”

“You’re only saying that because my butt is bigger.”

Chris playing raised his brows at her and Robyn laughed, “Listen, intercourse may be out of the question for a while but my hands are not broke.”

“Oh my God, Christopher.”

“What? I’m just being honest. I can rub on you a little bit, it can’t hurt.”

“You’re such a troublemaker.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

Chris smiled and leaned over to kiss her lips, “you wanna go on a date with me?”

“We have the kids here.”

“I know. We’re not gonna leave the house but I wanna do something special for you.”

“How?”

“You let me worry about that. Just need a yes or no.”

“Uh yes.”

“Good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ok, are your eyes closed?”

Robyn chuckled, “does it matter? I have a blindfold on.”

“I’m just checking, Ms. Fenty-Brown,” Chris replied with a laugh, “it’s just a few more steps.”

“I don’t know why I have to be blindfolded, we’re at your house.”

“Our house. And I still want this to be a surprise. You been fussing for the last five minutes.”

“Because I’m anxious. Hurry up.”

Chris carefully guided her to the middle of the backyard before standing behind her and taking the blindfold off, “what you think?”

“Aww Babe, this is beautiful.”

Chris held her waist to keep her steady as she started to walk around. Decorative lanterns were placed inside and outside a large tent with the opening flaps pinned to stay open. Small lights were hung inside the cloth and metal structure as the all white pillows and palettes glowed underneath them.

“Can we go inside?”

“Yea, just hold onto my hand and i’ll help you get down.”

Robyn kneeled carefully as she held onto Chris’s wrist then slowly crawled inside the tent, “this is so pretty.”

“You like it?” Chris replied as he sat beside her.

“I love it. It’s comfy and relaxing in here.”

“Good.”

“So what else you got up your sleeve?”

“What you mean?”

“I know you and I sense there’s something else going on here.”

“There’s no hidden agenda here, Robyn.”

“I didn’t say it was a hidden agenda, I just think you got something else planned.”

Chris smiled, “it’s not anything like you think, I promise.”

“Ok.”

Chris moved to close the flaps of the tent and shifted to press a button on a small black box that was situated on a small table behind them. A lens popped up out the top of the box and began to project an image on the white flaps.

“Aww Babe, my favorite movie. This is so cute.”

“I wanted to get the usual movie stuff but I know you can’t eat any of it so...I got this,” Chris grabbed a tray and sat it between them, “so there’s some green tea with honey, some mini sweet cakes and cookies.”

Robyn did a little dance and Chris chuckled, “I’m guessing I did good.”

“You did perfect. I only find these cookies at the airport, where’d you get them?”

“You can order them in bulk online. I found them last week.”

“You even chilled the green tea. You remembered.”

“You’re the only person I know who drinks brewed green tea cold.”

“It just tastes better to me.”

“You ready to watch the movie?”

“Yes. Can you move closer?”

Chris furrowed his brow then moved the tray out the way and scooted closer. Robyn leaned down and put her head in his lap. She grabbed one of his hands to hold it as the movie began to play. Chris leaned down and kissed her temple before whispering in her ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Baby.”

#chrianna #loveisblindfanfiction

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solesurvivorpaigeargot · 4 years

Text

Loving Stupid - Chapter One: Sanctuary [Fallout 4 Fanfiction]

HELLOOO Tumblr! Now that I’ve got this blog up and running, I wanted to do what I could to expand the exposure of my fic and get it around to new readers. While it’s already up on Fanfiction.net , it seems to me that the majority of the community prefers Ao3 or reading directly here on Tumblr. So, I figure why not post it over here as well?

Though a heads up that this first chapter was first written entirely for personal enjoyment, and then a friend I showed it to encouraged me to expand upon the story cause they wanted to see more of the ship. XD It’s uh... lil spicy. Or lemony, depending on how old you are and how far back your fic vocab goes.

Story Title: Loving Stupid

Story Summary: Paige [Sole Survivor] and Hancock venture into the Glowing Sea in pursuit of a lead on the Institute, when a catastrophic equipment failure forces them to separate.

Rating: MATURE

Content Warnings for this Chapter: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing

Content Warnings for story overall: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing, violence, blood, injury, needles, limb mutilation

Genre: .... erotic romance-adventure? IDK shit goes down and there’s some spicy scenes, but also a lot of character building and relationship stuff. I’m bad at genre assessment. Open to suggestions XD

.:_Sanctuary_:.

“So these are your digs, huh? … can't say it's my speed.”

“Not historical enough?”

“Nah, it's...”

Paige watched Hancock's face twist as he struggled to pick out what word fit his distaste, ghoulish features creating sharp valleys along fault lines in leathery skin while the shiny dark of his eyes appraised the home she'd built atop one of the empty foundations of Sanctuary Hills.

It wasn't anything special, wooden planks coaxed together into floors, walls, and roofing with nails and elbow grease. This was the only settlement where Paige had a place that was specifically hers, where she kept the little knickknacks and oddities she collected; all dutifully looked after by Codsworth-- ever dedicated to his task two centuries after it had been assigned to him. She'd given some life to the wooden bones of the shack, however; recycled fabrics became rugs and curtains with only mildly clashing patterns, and she even managed to cobble a number of worn out flannel shirts into a workable set of sheets for a double-wide bed that was, in truth, just a pair of smaller mattresses pushed together to pretend they were a queen size.

What could she say? She liked to sprawl.

Generators lit up Sanctuary at night with bare bulbs, and her little shack was no different. It brought yellow light against the dark, and reflected off a multitude of glass bottles, lined up on the shelves of a bureau she'd rescued, mostly intact, from the home of a long-dead neighbor. Whiskey, vodka, wine-- she jokingly called it her liqueur cabinet, despite the thing not having doors to lock the alcohol behind.

She'd done her best to make this a where place she could sleep soundly, when she was in the area. It was little more than a bed, a roof, and a lot of junk on shelves; insulated from the outside world with some sewn-together fabric scraps... but stepping over the threshold always made her feel like she'd entered a sort of... bubble. Not safe-- nowhere was safe-- but... quiet.

She could pretend, here.

“Comfortable.” Hancock decided, grousing out the word. “Damn near cozy-- you put this together?”

“With my own two hands.” She informed him; trust Hancock to find an issue with comfort-- then again, she couldn't blame him. Comfortable people had a habit of being complacent people, and they both knew that was where a lot of ugliness could happen... but his opinion didn't stop her from stepping inside and divesting herself of the pieced together armor that she layered over a set of somewhat over-sized army fatigues, reclaimed after clearing an old base of ferals. There was a wooden bin by the door for that stuff; she'd have to strap it all back on in the morning... but for now she was grateful to take a load off, starting with an enameled metal helmet.

“I've watched those hands beat faces to a bloody pulp. I didn't figure they could sew.”

She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes as she heard him trudge inside anyhow, metal door closing behind him, and set herself to the straps that kept her secured within the bits of metal and leather that frequently kept her alive on the road. Left arm first, a metal shoulder piece coming loose, and the whole ritual making her feel as if she were shedding skin.

She didn't tell him that she might have been a housewife a few centuries ago-- that was a different life. The idea that someone could live so cushy as to devote themselves to home-making and nothing else was a fever dream in this age, and while Hancock probably had enough chems in his pockets to attempt imagining it, she didn't feel like trying to paint the picture for him.

She didn't want to know what he'd think of her, knowing just how... comfortable she'd been.

“I'm a woman of many talents.” She snarked instead as another heavy piece of metal thumped into the bin, freeing up the shoulder beneath to roll and stretch. “Don't worry about getting used to it-- this is a one night stop. First thing in the morning, I'm seeing to the upgrades on the armor, and then back on the-- ah--”

Hands-- surprisingly strong hands despite withered skin that clung to spindly bones. She didn't know how that worked-- Hancock wasn't a big man, and the ghoulishness made her think he'd be frail... instead he'd hefted a flamer onto his back when he set out with her, and carried it from one end of the Commonwealth to the other without complaint. Finding those hands suddenly assisting with undoing the straps at her sides so that her chest piece could come loose was a surprise; simple and sure movements causing the scavenged military combat armor to come loose and slide forward. Without an anchor, it slid forward until the hard edge of the back plate caught on her neck and stopped it from simply falling to the floor. Meanwhile, Hancock's hands had slid in along her ribs, pressing firmly into the rough fabric and reminding her that they were, for the first time in a while, blissfully alone.

“I'm aware of that.”

Her lips pressed together-- a low sigh was expressed with his rough whisper in her ear. She swore he knew how much that got to her, despite her very deliberately not telling him. It was a struggle not to react, not to lean back as he reeled her in, those spidery hands easily finding their way upwards beneath the hanging breastplate and his chin perching on her shoulder. He'd pulled them together, his body against hers, and punctuated the move with a mischievous chuckle.

“Sometimes a little too talented-- doin' everything yourself, despite having a public servant waiting in the wings.” He teased her. “Let a ghoul help, eh sister?”

It wasn't entirely unexpected, nor unwelcome, but his eagerness was something that caught her off guard. She usually had something to say, something sly to come back with, but for some reason all she could focus on was the ticklish clutch of her gut as his fingers gathered up the material of her shirt in their traveling to her bust, squeezing fitfully enough to expose an inch of skin at her belly.

“Hancock--” She muttered, squirming slightly, but not in earnest. “C'mon, we've got the whole night--”

“That's right.” He agreed, but it was with an entirely different tone. One hand remained up, keeping her tight to him, while the other traveled down. The thin ribbon of skin that had been exposed was soon graced with the specific texture of his skin; rough, but not terribly so. Like callous, only it was all over; somewhat leathery and unique. His entire palm invaded through that opening, hard against her belly as fingertips sought out a path further south. “We've got the whole night-- and I didn't plan on wastin' any of it...” His fingers were ruthless once they found purchase, shoving past the tight fit provided by a belt she was wearing. “Did you?”

Her breath shuddered. No part of her wanted to tell him no-- the rush was enough to make her ignore the metal edge digging into the back of her neck, and forget how doggedly exhausted she'd been after their long trek here... particularly lugging her own weight in lead along the way.

In her hesitation, he'd gotten far enough to make a more intimate contact-- damnably persistent, like ivy finding the cracks in brickwork to wheedle its way in.

He pressed in against her, too certain to be deterred by straps and clothes. Barriers had been passed without any show of manners, knowing her well enough that if he was unwanted she would have thrown him off by now... and getting a sweet gasp as his reward.

“There we go.” His smile was evident in his tone-- no, not a smile, a grin-- a smug, shit-eating grin. She could imagine how it looked on his face, and knew he'd be wearing it for hours just to make her glare at him.

It didn't matter. Everything he'd done so far was just testing the water in his puckish, incorrigible way. Now he had her, and his wrist twisted as he worked that hand just a little further into her pants before slipping a fingertip against soft flesh. The motion was a sort of rocking of his hand, sliding the single offending finger down between sensitive lips before drawing back upwards with the tip pressed in, working up a little warmth in general and offering up a little tantalizing pressure to wake up the sweet spot for later, stroking her like that as his hips pitched against hers to turn her away from the bin next to the door and instead face her against the closed portal they'd entered through, reinforcing that he had her.

Without thinking, her right hand came out to brace against the door. Cold metal barely registered, just that it gave her something to push back against as he leaned in harder against her back, idly kneading her breast as he stroked her beneath restrictive layers of cloth and leather.

“O-oh... damnit, Hancock--”

“I was thinking fuck it, actually.” He smirked, still right by her ear for that quip before finally leaning back the necessary inches and releasing her breast to help her get her armor the rest of the way off, falling to the floor with a hard thud instead of getting placed in the bin. Pitching his shoulders back, hips pressed forward, grinding against her to advertise himself against her rump. “... just like this...” He added, losing a little breath as he suggested it, that free hand of his coming right back as if magnetically drawn, this time landing at the top of her hip and sliding upwards to expose a few more inches of skin-- his palm on her back, pushing with his surprising strength to encourage her to bend forward.

Bend over, actually.

She got his meaning, groaning softly as his stroking remained steady. She didn't resist the push, her hand shifting against the wall as her body dipped lower and her own free hand fumbled with the latch for her belt. The strip of leather resisted her, frustrating her fingers for a few agonizing moments as the sensation of his hand brought on another faint sigh, slipping against her with more ease as her body reflected her own eagerness; building with the anticipation. Then, finally, she managed to yank it just the right way for the latch to loose, the pressure of having his hand shoved in where it was such a tight fit relived, and further tugging releasing the subsequent button and zipper before they became obstacles... and before her hands became utterly uncooperative.

The loosened hem could be yanked down on his side, exposing more precious skin to the evening chill that crept in through the walls. Gnarled knuckles hooked on the hem, and fingertips got her underwear in the same dragging motion that demanded quick access. The lower she bent, the more he leaned against her, miming what would come in due time. It wasn't until he had her ass bare, pants and underwear drug down below the swell of her hips, that he finally pulled his own body back the inches necessary to attend to a few layers of fabric himself... but he didn't let off touching her as quickly. The hand that exposed her lingered, fingertips ghosting the sensitive skin just below the curve of her rump and sending a tingle across her skin, before his weathered palm pressed up and squeezed hard, his thumb sliding up to the top of her hip while his fingers rotated down. Finally, he finished up the groping with a light swat, chuckling behind her.

“Fuck you look so good like this...” He marveled, and she could hear layers of fabric moving against each other. “I just wanna wreck you.”

“Shut up and-- nnnnnnnh--”

She couldn't see him, but she felt him; hard and hot against her skin, pressed first between her thighs before he adjusted himself upwards. His finger's rubbing of her had paused, that hand simply anchored there as, from the rear, he worked himself against her, dragging the tip of himself this way and that until he found just the right angle to slick himself up with her excitement... and making her crave him in the process as she flexed her hips back towards him, trying to make it easier for him.

Somehow, some fucking how, she'd gone from exhausted to needy in the span of only a few minutes. It was the kind of eagerness that usually belonged to the young and dumb-- insanity she thought she'd left behind in her teen years, but he always found a way to draw it out of her.

She had no idea how he did that, but she never wanted it to change.

“Yeah?” His voice had dropped, the word barely differentiated from the heavy sigh it was carried out on. “C'mon, you can moan for me... no one's gonna hear you this time...”

More of him, pressing between wet lips-- and then more; there was resistance, going for it quick like this always meant it was a little rough, but it was the kind of sensation that left her gasping aloud as she went from craving that feeling of him to having him sink into her and remind her just how good it felt. Imagination, memory-- it always fell short, not quite living up to what it was in the immediate reality of the moment. Friction and heat, bound up in an intimate need-- just as addicting as any of the chems he slipped into her pockets whenever he thought she looked strung out.

Out of reflex, her jaw clenched tight, denying the urge to moan aloud and her body clenching around him instead. Both hands had applied themselves to the wall, and her breath shook as teeth ground together, resisting.

“Oh shit-- fuck-- if you squeeze me like that, I'm gonna...”

His hips bucked forward after a short draw back, the hand he'd been using to guide himself against her now finding its way to anchor at the crease that formed between her hip and her body as she bent against the wall, yanking her tight against him with the same motion before coming to a sharp stop. She could feel him inside, throbbing and thick, and the jolt made her jaw drop open for a short exclamation to escape her.

Buried, he began to rub her from the front again, abandoning the long strokes he'd used to warm her up and instead zeroing in on where she was most sensitive. Where his opening moves had all been about pressure with maximum contact, he changed tactics to only flick across her with the tip of his finger, instigating another tightening of her body as her resistance to making noise produced a shudder instead.

“D-don't--” She finally managed to murmur. “Oh God-- Hancock, you don't have to--”

This was a quickie-- an opener. She didn't expect this kind of attention; he always made up for it later, after a little Jet got him going again. This was usually the part where he took her by the hips with both hands and went to town, but instead he held her to keep them both tightly together, all while--

“F-fuck--” A whispered curse, kept lower than a murmur, followed by a greedy breath. He wasn't letting up, despite her telling him he didn't need to bother. She tried to push herself back against him, to antagonize him, but his fingers only tightened their grasp on the side of her hip as he leaned forward over her, ensuring that he was the one in control.

A defined clutch passed through her, centered at her core.

“Oh fuck-- mmmm--!”

“There you go... c'mon, let it out...” He coaxed her, rocking himself back in another short motion before jolting back into her again, letting out a guttural sound of his own as he did so. “Lemme hear you...”

It was an old habit to hold back, to grit her teeth and hold her breath-- anything to keep quiet. Her own fingers, once splayed open against the metal door, curled inwards into fists as the sensation built up, deep and desperate gasps getting drawn in through her nose as her jaw remained tightly closed, lips pressing hard against each other as she hummed and swallowed. Her head dropped down, his touch taking more and more of her focus.

Old habits were hard to break, but he was a new habit. One that liked to push at her old habits and see how long they'd stick.

Toes curled inside her boots, eyes closed without thinking. There was no thinking-- no, just her perception of him; the weight of his body against hers, the grip of his hand, and sound of his breath, all as her body underwent jolts that made her hips continue to try and rock back against his, one of her hands eventually lifting and banging back onto the door as the sensation turned briefly sharp, jaw loosing for a raw gasp between her lips and a guttural groan. “F-Fuck Hancock, you're gonna--- oh-- oh-- shit--”

“Rub you raw?” He completed the thought she was trying to articulate, drawing in a heavy breath of his own. His own hips rocked now, a minimal motion of a man that could barely help himself. “Wouldn't... wouldn't dream of it... just love the way you squeeze...”

The rocking changed things, introduced that delightful sensation that scratched the ineffable itch he'd aroused in her. Pressure and friction as he kept up his assault on her sensitivity made her knees wobble with a threat to give out, breath viciously driven out of her lungs in a single erotic moan.

“Fuck...” He murmured emphatically. “Sing for me babe... it's so pretty...” He encouraged her, pressing his face against the back of her neck as he kept a steady tempo. He was fully against her, laid over her back and abandoning his grasp on her hip to reach forward, those thin fingers of his stealing beneath the buttoned blouse of her fatigues and taking a demanding grasp on her breast; stalled only momentarily by the worn elastic band of her bra. The heel of his hand ground upwards at first, pressing in against her ribs, before he was pulling on her again, ensuring she remained anchored against him as he kept up the rocking motion he'd adopted over more conventional thrusting.

“Ah... ah shit... shit- shit-- J-John, oooooh... oh fuu...”

She lost the thread of why she'd been protesting in the first place. Her jaw fell open, and another moan came out; louder as everything began to come together. The movement, his insistent grasp, that very specific sense of fullness within her body and the craving it both satisfied and aggravated at the same time--

“Yeah?” He breathed against her ear. “You gettin' there, sweet thing? … good... I wanna feel it... And once you're over the edge, I'm gonna rail you until I burst.”

A thrill ran through her, like electricity that danced along her spine. Now that he'd articulated his intention, she wanted it, too.

“C-close...” She whimpered, nodding her head faintly. “J-just like that... l-little higher... rub a little higher... little circles around my-- oh- oh god- there- fuck yes-- there--!!”

Feverishly murmured coaching that directed his stroking where the craving was strongest sent her further than she expected to go, her head and chest dipping lower as her elbows bent and her forearms joined her hands in being braced against the door, a defined shaking running through her person as she went up to her toes and the rubber soles of her boots dug into the floor, further flexing her hips back in the desperation to have that sense of fullness as her body seemed to anchor itself on where they were intertwined. More than just laying open, her jaw stretched for her cry out with the rush.

His grip on her changed. He wasn't leaned over her anymore, but pitched back as both of his hands found their way to her hips.

God, she could feel him; the meeting of their bodies dominated her brain as she felt him throb within her shortly before he changed to much more active motions. There, again, was that surprising strength as he drew back and adjusted himself just low enough to begin taking her roughly, groaning between sharp breaths as his hips shocked against her rump with every thrust.

Her body was still squeezing, still rippling from what he'd just put her through, aware of the force in his every motion as he drove into her tightly clenched core.

“A-aah... aaanngh--!!”

A hitch, and his voice gave out for a more primal noise, his motions growing more hurried as she felt his nails digging into her hips. There'd probably scratches to attend to later-- not the first time. His breath juddered, followed by a gasp before it was held a moment. All at once, everything came to a halt, a shuddering swell moving up through his flesh that came shortly before a certain warmth spread within her; passed from him to her.

He claimed a sharp breath after, followed by a relieved exhale as his hands loosened. He didn't release her just yet, but he wasn't clutching quite so hard anymore.

“...shit that felt too good...” He muttered faintly as she tried to regain her own breath. One hand and forearm remained braced on the door, but the other had released to reach backwards for him, flexing her fingers to show she desired another kind of contact, and getting one of his hands in return for the non-verbal gesture. Once intertwined, she squeezed him, and let out a faint and almost girlish giggle.

“Too good...?” She quested, surprised he'd ever entertain the concept.

“Damn right.” He lobbed back, squeezing in return. “It's the kind of good a guy gets addicted to... Gotta find us some privacy a little more often.”

Don't have to tell me twice.

This was about the point where bodies needed to come apart; signaled by their hands drifting away from one another after that comforting squeeze... but that process was interrupted.

There was a knock at the metal door Paige was braced up against.

“General? Do you have a moment?”

… Preston, your timing is a disaster.

She recognized the voice in a heartbeat, and it was exactly the sort of person who had previously voiced his disapproval of her and Hancock's partnership... and he didn't even know about the more intimate details of said partnership. There was a shock associated to hearing his voice at this particularly compromised moment, one that made her face flush as she was excessively thankful for the solid door between them.

More thankful that he hadn't shown up a few minutes ago, when he might have heard a thing or two through that door.

Behind her, she more felt than heard Hancock's muted chuckle.

“I'm a little occupied at the moment, Garvey.” Paige answered back through the door; not entirely a lie. “Is it urgent?”

“Just a couple questions I'd like to ask, that's all.” Preston's voice answered back. “Security concerns.”

That was code for yes, it's urgent to me. Preston had been very particular about security ever since she assigned him to it. Making him wait would prompt more questions later, and possible lost trust with him and his group.

Despite very much not wanting to, it sounded like she was going to need to put her clothes back on for a little while.

“Just a minute, I'll be right out.” She informed him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Awee...” Hancock quietly cooed, easing himself away from her. “No cuddle time?”

Finally able to straighten up, she shot a look back at him that encouraged him to shut his face before she broke some part of it in lieu of his mostly missing nose... before cracking a smirk. “There's a bathroom behind that partition--” She directed him quietly, muting her voice to lower the chance it would carry. “No hot water, but it's clean.”

“Heh, ritzy.” Hancock smirked back. Looking at him, she was able to see exactly how ruffled his coat and blouse had ended up, with trousers only shifted just enough out of the way to get away with what they'd just done. He hadn't made any motion to arrange himself back into those trousers, though, appearing all too comfortable to just let it all hang out. “Is that your way to telling me to put it on ice? Cause if anyone needs cleaning up right now, it's you.”

He was right; she was a sticky mess between the thighs, and standing upright allowed for dripping between her legs. Usually she would have insisted on some clean cloth and water to manage that with, but at the current moment? She reached down and simply pulled pants and underwear back up, zipping, buttoning, and straightening both bra and blouse until it was impossible for anyone to know what they'd been up to by simply looking at her... and with only him aware of the specific nature of what was probably going to end up staining her undergarments.

“I'll make you clean it up, later.” She informed him playfully. “It's your mess.”

“Oooh... dirty.” He chuckled. “Don't threaten me with a good time.”

Her look hardened, making a motion at him that encouraged him to shoo-- the last thing she needed was to open the door and have Garvey catch a glimpse of her companion with his dick out. Hancock pouted at her, but ultimately obeyed.

With a sigh, she turned herself back towards the door, hesitated a moment, and then finally grasped the handle to push it open and head out.

Doing so was not unlike a splash of cold water to the face. Twilight was a good hour past, and the night sky was filled with stars without a single cloud to obscure them. There was a stiff wind tonight; enough to snap Garvey's trench coat against his legs and make the man pull up the swell of his scarf a little more to protect his nose and cheeks.

Going from the relative comfort of her little home-made haven, as well as the heat of her recent encounter, into the abrupt chill of the night with a sharp wind in her face could have only been more of a shock to the system if it had been raining.

As she emerged, Garvey looked back to appear in profile to her. The man was always at the ready, laser rifle held upright over his chest and his eyes brightly aware despite the dark of the night. Paige's shack was at the far end of Sanctuary; away from where she'd built housing for the other residents, as well as where she'd set up crops, power generators, and water. Looking down the slight hill her shack sat upon at Preston meant also seeing the lights of the settlement beyond him; the faint yellow glow of something that could almost be called a town as the back-drop to his silhouette and shining gaze.

“Garvey.” She greeted him by his last name; it felt more professional, what with him always insisting on calling her General since she'd helped him revive the Minuet Men and retake their old headquarters. “What can I do for you?”

“Like I said, I just had a few questions...” He answered, peering further up and towards the shack. She couldn't see his face; her abode featured no outdoor lights, and with the glow of the settlement behind him his features were cast in shadow. “... where's the ghoul?”

The ghoul. She could practically taste the disapproval on that one.

“Hancock is taking this chance to wash some of the wasteland out of his clothes.” She responded. “Is your security concern about him?”

“No, no, of course not. If you trust him, that's enough for me.” Preston assured her. “But, uh...”

“Out with it, Garvey.” She ordered sternly.

“I was manning the watch when you came back to Sanctuary, General-- I saw you brought back your power armor, and it looked like you were carrying a heavy load of supplies. I know you'd tell me if anything were coming for us here, but... I didn't see any of it go out with the traders, and that made me worry. So, I've gotta ask; do you think something nasty is coming up this way?”

She blinked. Preston thought she was stockpiling for an incoming threat. She almost wanted to laugh aloud, but couldn't manage it. Instead, she stepped down from her place above him on the hill, coming to stand at his side while still looking out at the settlement.

“No,” She answered him. “Nothing's coming here. I'm preparing for a journey into dangerous territory... I need to upgrade my armor before we head out, and we needed a safe place to rest our heads before we committed. I want every advantage we can get under us before we go.”

A pause. Whatever he expected to hear, that wasn't on the list.

“... General, you know all you'd have to do is say the world, and I'd--”

“I'm going somewhere you can't follow, Garvey.” She responded flatly. Of course he wanted to go with her, probably wanting to convince her to take him instead of Hancock. He considered himself more capable, more trustworthy; the better choice on all fronts.

She'd disagree with him outright, but Hancock also had a very specific advantage over Garvey that would leave him no grounds to argue on.

“I'm going into the Glowing Sea.”

Silence. The pause stretched out for several beats, no doubt as Preston processed what exactly it was she was saying.

“... I see. The armor will protect you from most of the radiation, and your companion is immune.” He observed. “... smart choice.” He added, begrudgingly, before asking, “But why are you going in there? Even with the armor, you're going to need to be carrying your weight in medicine to even have a hope of making it back alive...”

“It's important. That's all I can say right now.”

A month or two ago, she might have told him. Before getting involved with the Underground Railroad, before encountering a synth and the person they were trying to replace at the same time and very nearly killing the wrong one during the confrontation, before learning exactly how the institute dealt with people they didn't want to have around anymore... But now? There was doubt in her mind, about almost everyone. Was Preston really Preston? Or was he just another set of eyes and ears for them? If she mentioned a defector, hiding out in the Glowing Sea, would they somehow beat her to that defector and kill them?

She couldn't risk it. This was her line on Shaun, on her son. Right now, the only person she trusted was the one who was going with her; Hancock... and even he didn't know exactly why they were going.

Granted, he hadn't asked.

“... You're sure about this?” Preston quested quietly.

She scoffed. “... barely.” She answered back. “But it's the only way forward I have right now.”

She'd already decided on a direction. Her doubts didn't matter anymore.

“Then I suppose the only thing to do is wish you luck.” He sighed, turning to face her and taking a hand off the stock of his laser rifle to offer it to her. She, in kind, turned to him and took it, sharing a firm shake. “Whatever you're facing, if there's anyone who can survive it, it's you. You already provisioned?”

“Been buying out all the Rad Away and Rad-X I can find.” She confirmed. “Cleaned out every trader between here and Diamond City. Tomorrow morning I take all the lead I've collected and upgrade the power armor to withstand the radiation... and then we'll be suiting up and heading out.” She paused, withdrawing her hand from his. There was something else that had to be said; something she'd been hoping to save until they were on their way out, so there'd be no space to argue about it... but now was probably the kinder time to say it. “Garvey, if I don't come back--”

“You're coming back.” He interrupted.

“If I don't,” She pressed. “You'll be back in charge of the Minute Men. You can't hesitate from that. We've got enough supplies to last a day out there-- maybe two or three if we find a place to shelter that's not soaked in rads, like a cave or a pre-war bomb shelter that's somehow intact. If I don't come back to Sanctuary within that time? You need to take over properly and keep up the fight.”

He was quiet. He didn't like it.

“... I don't know if I can live up to what you've done for us, Paige.” He admitted, softly. “But... if it comes to that, I'll do my best by you.”

“... that's all we can do out here, Preston.” She affirmed in kind. “I know you're the man for the job.”

“Let's try not to find out.” He rebutted.

That time, she let out a faint laugh. “Don't worry.” She told him. “I'll be doing my best, too.”

__________

Chapter One: You are here Chapter Two: [hasn’t been posted to Tumblr yet, will add link when I’ve got it up... oor you could just go read the story so far on Fanfiction XD]

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging it to help me find a wider audience! <3

#Fallout 4 #f!sole survivor #sole survivor #hancock x sole survivor #John Hancock #Hancock #Loving Stupid #fanfiction #fallout 4 fanfiction #female sole survivor #Paige #Paige Argot

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fyregrayfong · 4 years

Text

Hesitate 9|15

FryeArcana

Chapter 9

Shopping or Makeovers?

Summary:

After the attack on the arena how are you able to cope with the rising tensions from Amon and the Equalists?

“I still can’t believe they’re shutting this place down” Mako packs his belongings as he looks down sadly.

“yeah…but with all the damages, it just isn’t safe for anyone to be in the building. Not until it gets fixed up anyways.” You look out the window as you sit on the ladder of the loft area, as you watch over the guys while the rest of your squad are outside of the arena making sure no pedestrians enter the arena. You came with Asami to help Mako and Bolin move their belongings over to the Sato Mansion.

You hear footsteps coming up to the attic and sit up to see Korra running in, “Guys, great news. You don’t have to go back to the streets. I talked to Tenzin and made all the arrangements. You can come live on Air Temple Island with me.”

You look at Mako and Bolin, feeling the air turn awkward. “uhm did no one tell her?” you slowly talk up Korra looks over at you as she didn’t see you up there. “no one tell me what?” she looked over to Mako and Bolin for an answer. “oh…well, we’d love to, but—” Mako rubbed the back of his neck trying to sound as nice as possible Bolin quickly cut him off “Asami already invited us to live in her dad’s giant mansion!” Korra looks surprised as she looked at the boys and Asami pops out from behind you with Pabu and greets Korra warmly, “oh, hey, Korra. I was hoping you’d stop by.” You jump down from the ladder and stand in front of everyone “um, yeah, Asami and I came by to help the guys pack up and move their belongings over to the mansion” you try to ease the obvious tension in the air. “you’re welcomed to come with us, if you want” you warm up to Korra as Asami comes down the ladder. “I was just leaving.” Korra looks over annoyed then looks over at the guys “so, I guess I’ll see you guys around…sometime” she slowly makes her way over to the trapdoor. Pabu scurries off and runs over to Bolin while Asami makes is down to the floor “why not tomorrow? I’d love to have you come visit the estate.” You look at Asami and softly sigh “yeah, you should come.” You smile. Korra quickly rebuffs “I don’t know I have some…Avatar stuff to do.” Bolin picks up Pabu and does a high pitched voice to what he pictures Pabu’s voice would be like. “Come on, Korra. Come relax with us, we deserve it after all the craziness. We can swim in Asami’s pool. It’ll be fun” Pabu chirps along as Bolin waves him along. Korra comes down the steps in the trapdoor and laughs. “Alright, Pabu.” You and Asami walk over to Mako and Bolin “Great, we’ll see you tomorrow.” Asami chimed in and I walk over to Korra “Here, let me walk you out. I have to head out too anyways and I’ll give you the address” You follow behind Korra as you make your way down to the front of the arena.

“you’re being weirdly nice to me” Korra mutters as both of you walk out and walks to her polar bear dog. “I am nice, it’s just you annoy me sometimes, but Asami told me to try not to judge you so soon and give you a chance.” You shrug sheepishly. Korra stands there deep in thought, maybe taking your words into account. You look over at her polar bear dog “who is this fellow” you smile, “huh? Oh this is Naga, my polar bear dog” she smiles and pets her head. “well hello to you Naga, it’s very nice to meet you” you smile and extend your hand for her to smell your scent before you give her head a pat. You look over at Korra who seems to be still upset about Mako and Bolin, “you should really come over to the mansion tomorrow.” Korra looks up at you. “it’ll be good, better than whatever training or stuff Tenzin probably has you doing” you smile, and it brings a soft laugh from Korra. “yeah, you might be right.” You laugh “I usually am, here..” you take out a pocketbook and pen from your pocket and write down Asami’s address on a piece of paper then ripe it out of the book and hand it to Korra, “this is the address. Hope to see you there.” You look at her then start walking away, Korra looks at the paper and then looks over at you “thanks, y/n.” she calls out to you. You mount your cycle and put your helmet on “don’t mention it…. Avatar” you wave at her and drive off.

You pull up to Cabbage Corp seeing the squad already investigating the warehouse. Boxes among boxes shredded open, you pull your helmet off and get it on the seat and walk inside. Walking up to Lin “Chief…” you look around at the insane amount of evidence in the warehouse. “how’s everything at the arena?” Lin looks over at you. “a mess, but I have a squad at the arena. Mako and Bolin are pretty much done packing, Asami Sato is there with a car to take them to her estate. After that, the building will be officially shut down”

“Good” Lin looks around the room as her officers pack up the evidence. “so did you find these hidden in some room?” you slowly walk around seeing the crates of gloves and propaganda. “nope, it was just here” you put your finger on your chin and go into a deep thought. Lin looks at you raises her eyebrow “what are you thinking?”

“it’s too soon to tell just by first glance, but…” You look around once more at all the crates “don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious how conveniently you were able to find all this stuff?” you look at her with a bit concern. You help the officers with packing up the evidence and taking it to the station while you drive after Lin in the squad car over to Cabbage Corp HQ to make the arrest.

You’re standing on one side of the front entrance while an officer is escorting Mr. Gan-Lan out to the squad car in cuffs. “I’m innocent!” Mr. Gan-Lan calls out. You watch Lin take on questions about Cabbage Corp and their alleged involvement with the Equalists. “the evidence points in that direction, but the investigation is ongoing. For the time being, we have frozen Mr. Gan-Lan’s assets and are closing Cabbage Corp.”

“No! Not my Cabbage Corp!” Mr. Gan-Lan shouts from down the steps and gets put in the car.

“I mean, when most people have something to hide they actually try to hide it, making it difficult for us to try to locate it, yet everything seems to be place here. Like if on a silver platter” you think deeply at all the evidence you have seen as you look over at Lin and Tenzin. “you think this was planted?” Lin asks you “I mean I can’t be sure, but it is certainly suspicious don’t you think? The attack at the arena and all of a sudden an intel steps up about the gloves and they are just waiting for us right then and there. No fuss or no need to dig.”

“hmm I don’t know, if what you say is true then this investigation just got messier.” Lin looks out pensively and Tenzin jumps in “agreed, but first we should find out if anyone seen or heard anything during the attack.”

“we have Hiroshi Sato coming in for questioning. Maybe he saw something we missed. Y/N, can you walk him in? After that you can be dismissed for the day.” Lin looks over at you and you nod as you walk out the room and walk down the corridor and see Hiroshi.

“Y/N, glad to see you’re okay. That was quite a scare at the arena” Hiroshi looks at you with concern and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“yeah, no one could imagine that kind of attack from Amon, but I’m glad you and Asami made it out safely.” You give him a warm smile as you walk him down the hall and go down the corridor towards the room where Lin and Tenzin are at.

“yes, we were lucky to get out of there. Barely a scratch. I hope we can get these Equalists and get justice once and for all.” He makes a fist with his hand and swings it softly in front of him.

“that’s the plan, Hiroshi. Here let me get the door for you.” You open the door and let Hiroshi walk in as he thanks you then slowly close the door after them. You walk down the hall with your thoughts about the arena and then the warehouse, before making way over to Asami’s.

You’re chilling besides the pool in a black tank and matching shorts leaning against the pool wall besides Asami with Mako at her other side. “hey Bolin, I dare you to jump off that fountain!” you laugh “oh that’s easy!” Bolin swims to the other side and pulls himself up before climbing up the lion fountain and stands on its head. “Earthbending bomb!” Bolin yells out and cannonballs into the pool you cover your face with your arm, “nice, Earthbending bomb, Bolin!” you laugh then look over and see butler walking with someone behind him.

“Avatar Korra has arrived.” The butler announced

“Hey Korra” Mako waved

“Glad you made it.” Asami chimed in

“Hey” you waved at Korra

“Welcome to paradise” Bolin says as he comes out the water stretching his arms out.

“looks like you guys settled right in.” Korra looks at everyone at the pool.

“pretty much, except someone forget to ask her father if we could stay here” Mako looked over at Asami

“yeah, but I smoothed it over with him, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Asami smiled

“You’re just lucky your dad is the forgiving type, Sami.” You sneered at her and playfully nudged her shoulder.

You watch as Bolin asks Butler to dry him and Pabu off to which butler does before Bolin jumps right back into the pool. You look at Bolin “well that was effective” you deadpanned.

“So what do you have planned for us today? Let me guess, shopping, makeovers…” Korra looks at Asami sort of scared of what Asami’s answer would be. You watch the guys push each other down as you swim over to the edge and pull yourself up and sit, letting your legs still in the pool while you have Pabu lay on your lap and you rub his back.

“ooo ooo I vote makeovers!” Bolin jumps up before Mako quickly pushes him down in the water. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his comment.

“I have something a little more exciting in mind.” Asami says as she walks out the pool and look over at Korra. Only you know what Asami means by that and you quickly get up excited. “Oh yes! Let’s go do that!” you chime in as you hold Pabu in your arms. “what is the “that”” Korra looks between you and Asami, you and Asami exchange a look and smirk as you look at Korra. A look of unsettling appears on her face wondering what it could be.

The group changes and get into Asami’s car, you told Asami you rather take your bike and follow behind them on the way. Asami refused at first wanting to keep the group together but then gradually lets you. You put on your helmet and get on your bike while the rest of the group get in the car. “is y/n. not going to join us?” Korra looks at Asami “she is, but she’d rather go in her bike even though I told her she can fit with us. She knows where were going so it’s no big deal. We’re all heading to the same place” Asami looks out at you and gives a thumbs up once everyone is settled and you return the gesture and soon both vehicles are on their way to the track. You follow behind Asami then start to pick up speed, lifting your bike as you ride on the back wheel beside the car then past them up getting to the track before them.

“pretty cool huh?” Asami looks over at Korra

Korra has a new face of wonder and amazement “way cooler than a makeover”

You besides Bolin and laugh softly as you look over at Korra “this is where Future Industries test drives their sato-mobiles.” Asami explained. “those cars that they’re testing right now are the new racer cars coming out. It’s way more powerful and faster than the sato-mobiles in the current market” you explained further “ever been behind the wheel?” Asami asks Korra “the only thing I know how to drive is a polar bear-dog” Korra smiled sheepishly. “you want me to take you for a spin?” Asami asks Korra which she quickly looked over to Asami and excitedly responded “let’s do it”

You stand up and wave Korra over “great! Let’s go, don’t think you’re gonna take Korra out without racing me, Sami. It’s been a while since we last raced” you smirk

“come on, let’s go” Asami smirks as she looks at you “I’ve gotten way better than last time. Had years to practice” the three of you girls walk down to the track and get your helmets.

You get into the red racer while Asami and Korra get into the yellow one” you and Asami both look down the track then at each other eyeing each other down like sworn enemies, giving her a smirk before looking over at the guy to wave the flag to start the race.

You both press on the accelerator and screech your tires burning rubber at the start of the race, you’re first to pull out with Asami following closely behind. You gain a slightly lead as you made the first turn and decide to cut Asami off causing her to drift along the curve. Korra grabbing on tightly on the carriage. You look back and smirk as you gain the advantage and switch gears and keep accelerating. You look at your side and see Asami creeping in beside gaining onto you. You try to block her not letting her have a way to pass you. Asami look down at you and switches gears moving over to the other side of you before she slingshots herself and gets between you and the wall. It’s neck to neck and you try to speed up before your front right wheel starts to shake and you slow down before you lose control of the car. Giving Asami the lead and give yourself an emergency exit blasting out the car in a parachute landing by the finish line as the car tumbles and lands over the barricade. You take your helmet off and take a deep breath before getting picked up by a service car and they drive you to the service lane. You see Korra and Asami talking before you stepped off and walk towards them. “What the heck Asami! I had you before that lame wheel started to malfunction” you breathe as you look at her before you laugh “you did good out there though. Way better than before.” You cross your arms and smile “good thing that emergency exit worked or else I would’ve been toast” you look over at Korra and Asami and notice their tension alleviate, “so I guess you figured out Asami, huh Korra” you smile as you look at her “yeah, she’s not who I thought she was.” Korra looks at the two of you. “so how long have you guys known each other” “y/n is a family friend, more like family than a friend.” Asami looks over at you and you smile back “aww Asami always the sweet one.” You put your arm around her for a side hug. “she taught me everything I know about cars and bikes.” You three make your way back to the guys then to the cars, you look over at Korra before deciding to ask her, “Hey Korra, you want to join me on the cycle? I can take you for a spin if you want” you smile as you mount your bike. Korra look like a little girl in a candy store, her eyes getting wide. “no way, really?” you laugh softly, and you take another helmet out from a compartment under the seat. “yeah really, come on” you extend your hand and help her on the cycle before turning it on. “just, hold on to me, tightly. Don’t want you flying off” you smirk as you give Asami the thumbs up and you rev the cycle and speed off.

“woah!” Korra yelps out and smiles as she feels the wind in her hair feeling the adrenaline and speed as you cruise on by through the streets of Republic City. Before long you and Korra arrive to the Sato mansion, both taking off your helmets at the same time. “so what you think? Hope I didn’t scare you” you look at her and see Korra trying to process the emotions she was feeling. “that was amazing!” Korra jumped “no wonder, you always want to drive that thing, it’s so cool and exhilarating.” You laugh and smile at her excitement remember how you felt when you rode the cycle for the first time. “I’m glad you liked it, whenever you’re down and I’m free. I can take you out for a spin” you smile as you take her helmet and put it back in the compartment before you set your helmet on the seat. You watch as Asami and the rest of the guys pull up. “wow I really had you and Asami totally pegged wrong.” Korra muttered and you scoff “no offence” Korra quickly butted in “oh no, I’m not mad” you calm her down “I was just remembering my first time I met Asami and probably thought the same as you. That Asami was just some prissy rich girl who liked to just waste her father’s money, but what you just found out is that Asami is nothing like that. She is the most down to earth, caring, and selfless person I know. That’s the thing about Asami, she doesn’t define you by your wealth but by the content of your character.” you look out at Asami and smile as the rest of the group walk up to you and Korra. “you girls talking about me?” Asami looks at the two of you and you both smile “yeah, just about how slow you guys to get here” Korra laughed softly and you followed suit as the four of them headed to the door. Asami turned over and looked at you “you’re not staying?” you look at her and the rest of the gang. “I wish I could, but I got other matters to attend to. You know work” you shrug as you rub the back of your neck.

“alright well it was nice hanging out with you” Korra waved at you as everyone else agreed and waved their goodbyes. Asami walked over and gave you a hug “come by soon, okay?” she whispered, you smile and nod “sure thing, Sami” you whisper back, and she walks back over towards Mako. You head on out of the estate. Maybe you and Korra can be friends after all.

#TLOK1Hesitate #fanfic #linbeifong #lin x reader #Fyrefics

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ourladytamara · 4 years

Text

Utah Beach

by tamara - 2020

Content warnings: blood, violence, NC, watersports, drugs, war crimes

Red. Weeping gusts of deep, vicious scarlet, twisting in the air like ribbons. Poison - no, something worse. The shells bled without a moment of reaction time given to their victims.

With the defense of Mobile Bay a complete bust, the crew of the USCGC White Lamb was ad-hoc conscripted into the infantry. Armed with service pistols, a few spare rifles, and a shotgun looted from the trunk of a wrecked car, they marched like shorn sheep, twitching and nervous, into the ferocious wind and sweltering heat. Their mission: provide enough of a distraction to cover the last of the refugee caravan heading Westward. Whatever the method, however they achieved it - upper brass, what remained of it, wasn’t very clear on the specifics. Should they fail to provide a suitable distraction, human civilization East of the Mississippi was in serious jeopardy.

With a few moments of rough water off the shallow coast of the Florida panhandle, the small defense ship was blown ashore.

The beach they’d run aground was clearly the back of a resort’s more luxurious offerings. Driftwood, hardy grasses, and stones dotted the coarse soil, not an inch of it developed or prepared. Beyond it, a small parking lot, dotted with the husks of the vehicles unlucky enough not to escape the maelstrom of carnage that was the Atlantic seaboard. The sky above shone an ominous shade of gold as the sun struggled to filter through the clouds of ash drifting westward. Rays of jaundice yellow crashed upon the pale sand and blistering asphalt, an uneasy serenity engulfing the women, already on edge.

Little time to spare. Using whatever implements available, they immediately began constructing a temporary landing shelter to plan at attack. Blair, the field medic, directed her compatriots to build sand berms, a task they began eagerly. Driftwood would make improvised shovels - it had to.

A crash and the turning of necks. Gasps and retches as the fumes gushed forth from the steel canisters like thick, syrupy blood. Each twisted steel shell was embedded into earth like engorged ticks. What little they had to show of their entrenchment efforts were dashed to the winds in an instant; many of the women were simply blown across the craggy dunes by the force of impact, weapons discarded and utterly dazed.

Amanda was the first to crack, sucking down a lungful of the stuff before she was able to find anything close to a respirator; in this case, rather, a leftover facemask from the pandemic a few years back. Flimsy cloth gave little respite, of course. The spice, tingling in the back of her throat in a way she’d never felt before, was the first thing that belied just how fucked she was. Choking, capable of little more than a whine, she fell to the ground.

She’d foam at the mouth. She’d clench her stomach, her throat, her chest, the cruel fate of chemical warfare - that’s what they feared, at least. Somehow, though, the image of her shaking, terrified body beginning to unfasten her belt and rip away her service uniform had managed to scare them even worse.

Because if this wasn’t poison, their enemy wasn’t going to simply kill them.

The others joined her an instant later, the sound of the remaining few guns clattering to the ground and the stifled screams of a half-dozen functionally-innocent women. Whatever it was, the air of musk and incense brought an inescapable paralysis. Not one brought from a direct stoppage of nerve activity, of course; it was readily apparent by now that Demonic strategy was less about efficiency and more about maximally traumatizing the populace of Earth, and this gas was evidently part of the same grand strategy.

Lust was a haze beyond impenetrable. It ate them whole. Every panicked lungful only worsened their condition, their bodies heating up, burning like brimstone and spilling forth from the inadequate, meaty forms they inhabited. Too hot, much too hot; one by one, with faces of indignity and fright, uniforms were tossed aside. Some were more modest, choosing to crawl into the trenches where they might not be as visible - only to fall chest-first into the more highly-concentrated pockets of the gas.

Moans became sobs and sobs became moans again. Under the din of war it was hard to make out the lewd sounds of hasty masturbation, a minor blessing as it was. Artillery roared overhead, jet fighters shrieking before their untimely end in the flak-saturated skies above. Wreckage fell to Earth like dead and dying angels. Amanda, by now, was fist-deep in her cunt. Tanya, the girl from Memphis - she said she worked in a bakery before the draft was reinstated - was on top of her, lapping aimlessly at the other woman’s face. Mud held to tear-soaked skin.

Not one of the six mariners-turned-marines spared a thought in their mind beyond indulging in every excess the foul chemicals offered. It was a heavy, throbbing ache, inescapable and thick behind the eyes; with it came the tingling, the burning, the itch - it was over, after that.

Joann, first mate and first body up against the asphalt, was too busy fucking herself on the butt of her pistol to notice the mass of infernal might moving towards her. Demons. At least four, with a few possibly lagging behind them. Towering forms of malice and hardened vermillion skin, muscles barely concealed beneath layers of angular-cut black silk and heavy Hellsteel armor; yet despite the inhumanity of their size, they were eerily reflective of Joann’s own kin. Two legs, angled at the knee and terminating in blackened, heeled hooves. Two arms, of course; each section of their bodies were covered in the thick, red, plate-like skin, yet around joints and tender areas they bore black and reflective skin that shone in the vermillion light like iridescent puddles of oil. A head, adorned with long, curling horns, black and ribbed like charred bone. What little could be seen of their skeletal faces bore crude resemblance to Joann’s own: six eyes, each glowing red, sat inlaid in their sockets where, in terms of human anatomy, a singular eye sat. Bony cheeks terminated in a bony chin, ribbed with bizarre indentations and notches the human’s addled mind could barely begin to understand the purpose of.

Adorning them, black silk, reflective in the dimming light like nothing of Earth. It clung tightly to their forms, cut away in places to more easily allow salacious gazing at their toned bodies. Unlike the humans, they bore no rank, no insignia - save for a single black-and-white sigil across their breast, each was dressed almost identically. Heavy Hellsteel armor rattled around as they moved, the angles of the metal complementing the Demons’ physique. Imposing, near-black shone along the ridged steel, and a deep rusted umbre in others. Spikes and rough edges menaced like the grinning teeth of some ancient and forgotten beast.

The Demon at the front of the line fired a burst of warning shots from her enormous squad weapon into the berm beside Joann, to which the brave patriot responded with a whimper and an uncontrolled bladder release. Staring back at her, a particularly angry-looking one of Lucifer’s bastard children; her red form towered nearly eight feet, draped in black hellsilk and human leather, slender and delicate like a finely-crafted blade.

Joann did little to fend for herself. Her mind conjured a million methods of escape, not a single one even remotely possible while so heavily intoxicated. By the time her grand plans had been reduced down to simply ‘scream for help,’ the unholy thing was practically on top of her - and, a few seconds later, physically on top of her. “Reporting full neutralization, my Imperatrix. This one is mine.” the Demon spoke into the walkie-talkie mounted on her chest, her tone belaying her excitement. To her human onlookers, guttural hissing and harsh syllables, their animal ears unaccustomed to the tongue of their masters. A hand wrapped itself around Joann’s throat and threw her to the ground while the invader tore away her baggy uniform pants.

Laughter, of course, transcended all language barriers. The Demon at the front began to cackle the sick cackle their kind seemed so fond of, clearly enraptured by the terror on her captive’s face as she pulled her twin cocks out. A few more soldiers would emerge from the brush, weapons readied - and quickly lowered, as the state of the so-called ‘resistance’ was found. One of them smiled behind their steel visor and licked their supple lips, eager to join in ruining the freshly-captured Joann. They’d yet to try both of their cocks on a single human...

Few of the human women writhing on the ground could be called conscious, but those that did found resistance more than troubling. Where their limbs could move - a task made progressively more difficult by heavier exposure to the gas, still leaking - they made little effort beyond that which scratched that deep, burning itch. In their most desperate hour, their very minds would be the ones to betray them. The gas took incoming impulses for self-preservation and fear, and twisted them into motions of lust and debauchery. Basic movements became Sisyphian tasks, the labor of those condemned to the windy depths of Incontinence.

Tanya, the communications lead, was the last to try and muster resistance to the oncoming Demons. She rose defiantly, trembling limbs beating like the wings of a mighty phoenix as it soared from the ashes. Her khakis’ location around her ankles and the slickness of her pussy wouldn’t stop her - triumphant, hand shaking, she pulled the stock of her rifle from between her wet thighs, bringing it to aim...

...and as swiftly as she rose, she was thrown to the floor and mounted by a Demonic auxiliary. The hulking thing cast her pistol aside as she dug her clawed hands into soft flesh like a predatory animal. Tanya was never the most voluptuous of women, her petiteness only accentuating the already-large disparity in their sizes. With a disgusting squelch, her stomach bulged outwards, reflecting her abrupt filling; the hot breath of Hell licked and kissed her neck with sharp teeth and sharp tongues.

With a quick motion of its high-heeled hooves, the Demon mounting Tanya kicked her rifle away. As the scraping of steel across concrete ended, so too did the crew of the White Lamb’s hope for resistance. Distant anti-air rattled off another burst of flak, and wordlessly, fighter pilots turned back, turned West - away. Communications were shuttered, bridges were blown, and they, along with the lives of everyone still East of the Mississippi, were left behind.

And fend for themselves they would not. Steel hoof plates dug into the mud, bloody fog swirling. Emerging from the foliage is the unit’s commanding officer. While an imposing mass of flesh herself, she tends towards the more voluptuous side; her body is soft, tender, rounded, unlike those of her Sisters. Each of her breasts rival the size of her long-horned head, hidden beneath the black helm of authority. On her black-clad hip, a pistol - and a whip, the tips flayed and bloodied.

Dry lips curled into a smile as a gloved hand slipped a flask back into its Hellsilk pocket.

“Another flawless victory, Sister-Cadres.” hissed the Imperatrix, taking a sip of her bloodwine. “Your commendations shall reflect this.”

With her declaration, the cadre let loose. They hissed, cackled, giggled to themselves in delight; the women found themselves pressed against a dirt hill and the sea, boxed in by the encroaching Demonic lines. If chaos hadn't been the word to describe the battleground prior to the looting, it most certainly was now; Demons wantonly gripped and tossed their captures like cheap sex dolls, striking them when their gas-saturated minds managed a scream.

To the bleary and intoxicated volunteers, time came in scattered, disconnected pockets. Human minds were fragile. At once their visions would fill with horrifying, devilish things, unintended for the eyes of mortal men; an instant and a deeper breath of the crimson air later, and the horror disappeared into clouds of ash. A grunt and a moist slap. Twelve inches of Demonic cock pulled out of Tanya’s throat and slapped her cheek, a thick strand of saliva connecting it to her puffy lips. In her eyes, hues of red and black swirled into incomprehensibility, all dissolving like fairy floss in water before the hegemonic will of the gas. Lust was a solvent more potent than any others, eating her mind down to the nub.

“Their throats are so tight, by the Empress!” hissed the auxiliary, barrel-chest rippling as she gripped Tanya once more and braced her for another few slaps into her esophagus. “It’s like I’m about to break it…”

She cocked Tanya’s head upright, and a moment later, the girl’s nose was buried in her crotch. Every inch of it was buried in the human’s throat, triggering her gag reflex and yet offering no hope to dislodge it. What little oxygen was available to suck down in the second or two she was given to breathe only forced more of the gas into her lungs. Clearly, the suffocation was delighting her tormentor, as every time she wheezed for air the auxiliary would snort in satisfaction.

“I want tighter.”

A clawed hand wrapped itself around Tanya’s neck and squeezed, stroking the auxiliary’s cock through her throat. Little if any concern was given to the girl’s wellbeing or the potential fragility of her trachea - the auxiliary, after all, was horny; pumping a few cups of pearlescent, disgusting Demon seed into her stomach was more important than any of the human’s weak protestations. Gurgling, mustering every ounce of her fading strength, the poor girl moved to try and break the demon’s grip… only to find herself weakly fondling the pair of taut, full balls dangling in front of her.

Tanya’s throat-breeding was hardly the worst of the volunteers’ fates - far from it, indeed. Amanda, the first to go down, laid broken and half-nude upon the ground. The poor girl had collapsed nearest the canister, getting the heaviest dose of all of them; whatever they were being exposed to was cumulative, and now, she could do little more than flutter her eyelids and drool as the gas wrecked absolute havoc on her mind. Thought beyond the desire for more pleasure was all but eradicated. Lacking external stimuli, she’d simply revert to a suggestive, inviting pose, waiting for the next Demon in the cadre to help themselves.

Help themselves they did, indeed. Evidently growing bored of sampling their other fresh captives, a Demonic gunner fancied Amanda a urinal. Torrents of brimstone-yellow piss cascaded across her unconscious chest, gushing from the Demon’s rigid, imposing cock and seeping into the ruined earth. If nothing else, it helped to wash away the thick, half-congealed layer of cum and dirt that clung to the remaining scraps of her uniform. Urine spattered up onto the gunner’s legs, the flow slowly ebbing; with a deep sigh and a grunt, the gunner gripped her temporary restroom by the throat and pulled her onto her shaft. There was, of course, no response.

The same couldn’t be said of Joann. As it turned out, there were seven demons to only six women - which meant one of them had to share, and none of the shock troops on deployment were horny or stupid enough to try and get the Imperatrix to give up the raven-haired field medic, Blair. Hastily, they tore at Joann’s jumpsuit, easily shredding the fabric in their feral claws.

Her nude form was hoisted a few feet off the ground by the arms of the twin Demons who’d picked her. She was bent between the arms of the muscular machinegunner, head forced downwards at a painful angle with her arms bound behind it. Gripping her hips were the black talons of another, slightly smaller Demon. This one held Joann’s legs, contorting the limbs to allow easier access to her pink, vulnerable pussy.

Gunfire ripped through the sky as Joann dropped her rifle, the weapon misfiring. Another hot slug of lead in a sky full of it; the noise alone set her skin on fire, a firestorm of stimulation raging in her already-overstimulated mind. The furthest from the canisters, she’d not fallen victim to the stuff’s more insidious mental effects - and thus, faced the horrors of Hell alone, head-on and sober.

Leathery Demonic skin rubbed against Joann’s scarred and sand-caked flesh. She’d begun to wish that it had taken her mind, had taken her out early and painlessly like her comrades - but it was a mercy she would be forever denied. A mouth full of shark’s teeth grinned back at her harrowed face, six-and-none of its eyes… blinking, perhaps.

“What do you think of this one - fertile?”

Behind her came the rattle of belt buckles and sick Demonic laughter - and even in her state of panic, she’d realized that Demons didn’t wear belts. At least, not regularly.

“Heh - it matters not for me, does it, Sister?”

They shared a chuckle. A pause, the wind howling in the silence.

“I’m going to take it’s ass anyway.”

The girl’s cries fell upon deaf ears. Thirteen inches of Demonic shaft forced their way into her throat before beginning to piston in and out. Behind her, hammering her asshole, ten ornately carved inches of some kind of Hellish ivory, twisted into a lewd facsimile of a Demonic penis. It was lubricated with the Demon’s cum-thick spit and a bit of blood seeping from Joann’s cuts. Neither did a good enough job, but hopefully the pain would get the thing to tighten her throat.

Both enormous Demonic forms completely overshadowed her, their sweat dripping down on her body and practically signing her comparatively-frigid skin. Joann was little more than a sex doll to them - one highly, painfully aware of its predicament.

Despite the agony of her own consciousness, Joann got off relatively easy - especially when compared to her other compatriots, Hannah and Kim. Kim was a short woman, the youngest by far out of the ragtag group; cum-slathered, pixie-cut blonde hair stuck out like patches of snow on a frigid peak of cum, blood, and uncountable other substances. She had been in the Air Force before “emergency reassignment” gang-pressed her onboard the White Lamb a day before it was scheduled to launch. Hannah, on the other hand, hadn’t so much as held a rifle in her life. They’d picked up the tall and fiery-haired woman in the open ocean after her yacht had capsized, apparently shelled at random by Demons on the mainland. As any adult capable of handling a gun, Amanda deemed her fit for duty on the spot.

They were tied together. Kim was arranged so that her face was all but swallowing Hannah’s cock, kept out of her mouth only by her limp and exhausted jaw refusing to close. The poor redhead was arranged as Kim’s opposite; blood trickled out of her broken nose as Kim’s pussy ground against it, seeking a relief to the deep, insatiable itch ignited by the aphrodisiac.

Binding them were several layers of reflective Hellish leather, slick like some awful polymer. Fresh sweat and blood made the uncanny softness of it all the worse, every inch that touched them practically overstimulating them from its mere presence. Across the leather stretched barbed wire sharp enough to dig through thick hide straps and pierce the skin; every inch of them was dotted with repetitive cuts and wounds, the jagged pattern of crude and mass-produced steel clearly reflected where it depressed and bit their skin. The slightest flinch would send shocks of pain through each of their bodies, each instinctive thrash like another volley of punishing spikes in their flesh. Fresh blood, vibrant crimson, swirled beneath the blackened leather and coated their constricted skin in coats of their vitality.

The constant discomfort would ensure they kept moving.

Each woman was gripped tightly and angrily by a muscled Demon, pumping away into them with the abandon one reserved for cheap sex toys. One laid on the ground below Hannah, bucking her hips upwards into the makeshift human fleshlight. Thick ropes of cum coated the inside of her thighs, the lewd squelching almost drowned beneath the rhythmic pistoning of the other Demon’s equine cock. Neither captive was held in a regard higher than that of dirt, the two once-vibrant and independent women reduced to warm, quivering holes. If their minds were still capable of rational thought, the two of them would be screaming.

What screamed instead was the sharp tongue of a whip as it slammed against raw flesh, Demonic hushing and reassurance below.

“That’s it, you’re learning. Your eager performance excites me, meat - perhaps there is hope for your kind yet.”

With half-lidded eyes, Blair lapped at the Imperatrix’s steel-toed hoof. Each alien syllable of Demonic that graced her ears rattled her brain, yet she understood not a word of it.

Out of the myriad women of the White Lamb, Blair remained the only one to be personally chosen by the Imperatrix - a dignity even the animal’s underevolved mind recognized the importance of - to lead her astray comrades into the welcoming arms of the God-Empress. She’d been chosen!

It was a strategy that worked again and again. Poor Blair was no different, it seemed; the Imperatrix’s personal collection of subjugated human concubines was growing, in no small part thanks to her deceptive use of restraint. Even the human’s impaired mind could still find horror in the things the shock-troops were doing to her comrades - and find solace in the protection the Imperatrix offered. With a relatively minor amount of coaxing, hatred and fear became undying devotion in the primitive minds of humans. Blair was to be a serpent twisted around her finger, unaware of just how tangled with her Owner its body had become.

Gloved fingers wrenched themselves around Blair’s tender throat, dragging her away from the spit-polished hoof and up towards her pussy. She knew the combination of panic and impairment would do wonders on the underevolved mass of grey matter between the human girl’s ears, accelerating the tiring work of breaking down the remaining vestiges of her dignity; indeed, the Imperatrix did revel in the carnal side of slaving, but Blair’s new role wouldn’t be that of a sex slave. No, indeed, she had something far greater planned for the human girl.

Keeping captives in line once the drugs wear off is always a difficult process. Without the sedation and aphrodisiac promoting submission, the often deeply-embedded fear of Demons in the human psyche begins to set in - but not if one were to give orders through a surrogate human slave-driver. Blair, the one they’d entrusted so much to, would make a wonderful puppet in the Imperatrix’s latest show.

A now-familiar black-gloved hand wrapped itself back around her throat, and with a gasp half-excited and half-mortified, she was dragged back into the heat of war. In her delirium she’d hardly noticed the Imperatrix speaking into her walkie-talkie

“At attention, slave.” she barked, twisting the girl’s head to the side and snapping a loose Hellsteel collar around her throat. “The front is moving - and you’re being promoted.”

With a quiet chant and the sudden, searing burn of an Anguish flash-welder on her neck, Blair’s collar was sealed shut around her throat. Fear wasn’t given a scarce second to set in before the scarlet air catalyzed it to a breathy moan, her lips twisting themselves into a weak smile. Contempt left the Imperatrix’s face unchanged.

A carved sigil upon the side of the now-permanently fastened collar indicated her status; it was tiny, almost imperceptible, yet stood as the sole barrier between her newfound role as slave-driver and the fate of her former colleagues. Pride, sickly-sweet like decaying fruit, mingled with the build of orgasm in Blair’s rapidly-beating heart. It did little to truly replace what the gas and degradation had stripped from her - but that didn’t matter.

She would be saved. Not Amanda, not Joann, not anyone else - because nobody else mattered. Not to her, and from the scene of absolute depravity surrounding her, not to her new Owners, either. Her pussy twitched.

The Demons had retrieved the mounts. Hellish beasts as they were, Blair’s intoxicated mind spiraled deeper and deeper into horror with every passing second she spent looking at them. Roughly horselike in form and size, the beasts had rippling, muscled skin. It shone a deep burnt umber that glistered in the dying sunlight like freshly-spilt blood. Bone plating covered their intimidating forms, and the bones too sat beneath heavy and well-formed Hellsteel plate armor. Pointy, needle-sharp hooves adorned each spindly limb, the tips white-hot and smoking like newly-cast bronze. Whatever unseen and arcane power source warmed them also coursed through its thick, gnarled veins, flickers of scarlet glow beneath the flesh.

Steam hissed from the nostrils of the beasts as they bit down on their reins. On their sloped backs sat small, metallic cages, round and uneven like spider eggs. Tight, cruel things; they were constructed of rusted, bonelike struts, a seam running through the center of each, facing the ground. Concealed cords of sinew within them allowed the whole thing to pop open at the turn of a winch, spilling their cargo across the ground.

Behind the other nightmares stood the Imperatrix’s steed. It was an imperious beast compared to the gnarled and sickly-looking mounts of her subordinates, standing tall and seething with white-hot blood. Instead of a cage, the Imperatrix’s bore two finely-decorated seats, the rear smaller than the primary rider’s. A thick, knobby dildo adorned it, crafted by a mind palpably sadistic. Blair’s breathing hitched as her eyes traced the lewd contours of it, salivating hungrily from both sets of lips. The Imperatrix- her Owner - gripped her by the shoulder.

“Your hand.”

Clawed fingers locked themselves between tender human digits.

***

“Hurry up. We want those commendations to actually matter, don’t we?”

“Fuck off. I’m backed up.”

Machinegunner Vahaqash furrowed her brow and tightened her rifle sling. Marakh, the auxiliary, was taking her precious time with Amanda. Sun-dried cum and sand stuck to every inch of the latter’s bronze skin, reeking enough to smell from the parking lot beside the beach. Despite her cohort’s distaste, Marakh continued pumping in and out of the human’s loosened asshole. Each thrust drove the auxiliary crazy, her forked serpentine tongue hanging limp and drooling from her open mouth.

Amanda’s holes had been thoroughly ruined by the dozens of other loads dumped inside her, and took the auxiliary’s shaft without trouble. Eighteen inches of equine Demon dick, hard like infernal basalt, pistoned in and out of Amanda’s worn-out, gaping asshole. Her pussy had been stretched far beyond the point of usefulness; humans had yet to evolve suitably elastic orifices to compensate their new masters, unlike their Demon superiors. Syrupy yellow-white seeped from her destroyed cunt, providing a bit of much-needed lube for her slightly-tighter asshole.

The gunner, on the other hand, had already slaked her carnal thirst in Tanya’s throat. A delay like this was unbecoming of her fellow sister-cadre; time spent getting sloppy sevenths in an unconscious slave’s holes was time that could’ve been spent incinerating the innocent for the glory of the God-Empress.

Clouds of ash from faraway fires and atom bombs drifted like tendrils of inky night overhead. The other Demons sat upon their steeds, ready to depart - all but Marakh and Vahaqash. Blair writhed giddily on her dildo, wrapping her meager hands around the strong waist of her Owner. Excitement continuously bubbled up within her, teased and never released. She hated to doubt her superiors, but the delay was beginning to puzzle her.

Wrought iron dug into flesh. None of the cages were intended to be comfortable, and any little relief given was promptly taken. Black leather isolation hoods covered their heads and concealed their identities, a dildo gag lodged in their throats keeping them nice and quiet. A temporary measure before the primary slave sorting facility. That was a problem for later, though. Fronts were moving, villages were being looted, virgins were being taken, and currently, none of the shock troops were getting in on it.

With one last triumphant slam of her hips against Amanda’s ass, Marakh was finally spent. Her hot breath left her lips as arid gasps, broiling like the thick ropes of Demonic sperm filling every inch of the poor girl’s bloated stomach. Ropes of it... squirmed, almost; the large, overactive sperm cells within her ejaculate moved constantly within the opaque white wads, like all Demons’ cum. Each cell fought eagerly and vigorously with countless others for a chance to impregnate her broken body; it might’ve felt like being filled with Pop Rocks, if she still had the capacity to remember those. For a moment, Marakh knelt in the sand between Amanda’s legs, grinning eyes trained on the visible annoyance behind Vahaqash’s Hellsteel visor.

“Mind your manners or I’ll have to fuck some into you, Vahaqash. Disrespectful bitch.” Marakh spat, gripping her still-erect cock and sliding it out of Amanda with a wet pop, yogurt-thick seed seeping out behind it.

“Marakh, on your steed. Leave the human.” the Imperatrix shouted.

Marakh’s smug and satisfied eyes widened at her superior’s voice. A gulp broke the stiff silence between the two Demons. Few things in life could manage to frighten Marakh into line, and it just so happened that the voice of her typically-reserved Imperatrix was at the top of the list. Her asshole never quite felt the same after her the first time she’d tried to push back - but she couldn’t simply leave without something to fuck! It was unthinkable - how would she go so much as the next hour, let alone the time it would take to reach the front?

Vahaqash finished tightening her shoulder straps and hurried back to her mount, bowing submissively towards her mounted commander and fellow sister-cadres.

“What!? This one is mine - I’m not leaving without meat for the road.” Marakh stammered.

No reply. A scowl spread across the Imperatrix’s brow.

“I - y-yes, Imperatrix! Give me but a moment to… c-collect myself.”

From her position atop the gnarled dildo lodged firmly in her ass, Blair furled her brow. It wasn’t Marakh’s insubordination that enraged her, but Amanda’s. The human had been given every opportunity to behave, to obey the orders she was given - and instead she lay tits-up in the sand, festering in the sun and sex that slithered across every inch of her battered skin. She clenched a fist. Ingrate - insubordinate! Amanda was offered the ability to stand on her two feet and she refused.

An odious smile crossed the Imperatrix’s dry lips as she over her shoulder, six red eyes curling upwards with unsated cravings and misintent. Blair rolled her hips.

“What do you see when you see defiance, human?” she asked, in English, speaking almost silently in the wind.

She wasn’t sure. Her Owner would want an intelligent answer! Blair racked her scarlet-choked mind as best she could.

“I… I see fear. I see fear and hesitation. I see foolishness, fear, and hesitati-”

“Really?” the commander growled, refusing to let Blair finish. “I see weakness.”

Blair gulped. In the distance, Marakh made a flimsy attempt to grab a slightly less cum-soaked patch of Amanda’s arm. Clearly she wasn’t trying, squicked out by the wretched lump of meat she’d just blown a load in. Weakness. Did she answer incorrectly? Her pussy betrayed her fear of punishment, clenching around the cock inside her.

Somewhere beneath the endless miles of bright red anger that now composed her mind, Blair recognized the Imperatrix fiddling with her holster.

“Weakness is a sickness,” the knife-toothed woman continued. “And it is your duty as a slave-driver to purge this sickness. On the ground.”

Legs trembling, Blair removed herself from the girthy phallus and dismounted the Hellbeast. Her bare feet hit the hot pavement, stinging where her Owner had struck her soles for speaking out of line. Pain didn’t phase her - showing weakness was not an option. Not now, not ever again - her Owner demanded it, expected it! To show weakness was a dereliction of her righteous, chosen duty. Pain was a gift which she was given freely.

Blair took her Owner’s whip.

“Prove yourself.”

The wind above howled louder. Every inch of Blair’s skin was lit angry red by the uncaring sun above, filtered through the ashen and choked sky. Moistness clung to her thighs and ran down her legs. All five fingers clenched the hardened leather like a vice-grip. She would perform her duty with delight, honor, and orgasm. Despite her fear, she marched across the blistering asphalt with resolve of steel. Whatever bravery had existed within her bosom was now galvanized by the flames of Hell into unrepentant zealotry.

Beyond the black pavement, shells of cars, and the detritus of sudden flight, Marakh was standing with her hooves in the sand. She was busy grunting, mid-piss, a stream of pungent gold cascading across the damp sand. Black-grey gauntlets, slick with half-dry cum, wrapped around the base of her equine shaft. Marakh turned to the human with a delighted expression, one that fell grim the moment she noticed the whip in her hand.

“What do you think you’re - ”

Blair struck the Demon across the leg with the whip, single tail flailing with an amateur’s devotion. Her pursed lips stayed silent, contrasting the started yelp from Marakh’s; caught off guard by her own submissiveness, the muscled auxiliary put up little defense as Blair reeled the whip back and prepared herself for another blow.

“Insect! How dare -” the Demon hissed in her mother tongue, cut off again by another strike of the veritable blade of cured leather. Angrily, she lunged for the holstered pistol upon her belt, nearly gripping it completely before the commander, from her steed upon the blistering asphalt, spoke.

“Unless you want to replace her at my heel, auxiliary, you will stand down immediately. You’ve wasted far more than enough of our time - get on your fucking mount,” dictated the Imperatrix, sighing as she finished. The depth of her voice was impressive. Echoes of it wafted through the vermillion fog of sunset and rang like a gunshot inside Blair’s empty head.

“Besides, your punishment is mine to dispense - the human wants the blood of it’s kin, not you.”

More silence, more tension - but in the end, Marakh relented.

“This Cadre is fucked.”

The auxiliary pulled the wet shaft back under her kilt and stuffed it into her tactical garter. Whatever retribution was certainly about to befall her wouldn’t be helped with sore knees, the smaller Demon thought to herself. Her reluctance was audible with each heavy footfall as the auxiliary, at long last, started her way up the beach and back to her steed. Blair watched her as she moved, sucking air through clenched teeth. She’d tasted vengeance, savored the tang of discipline. Weakness - weakness was to be rooted out!

Below her laid Amanda’s unconscious form and the source of her righteous anger. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Should she spit on her? Reprimand her? Her digits clenched around the whip until they turned white, her face flush. Blood pumped through her veins like molten lead. How was weakness best dealt with, she wondered? Drops of her own slickness fell from her snatch upon the already-saturated sand. This would be her first true test - the first time of so many that she’d be given the chance to prove her Owner’s judgment correct. Doubt’s tenebrous tendrils wormed their way into her mind before shattering. A crooked smile broke the enmity upon her face.

Blair unloaded a flurry of strikes with the whip against her fellow animal’s exposed chest. It wasn’t long before long lines of vibrant red began to glow through the fog of filth and dirt, the same hue of the sun as its dying rays trickled across Blair’s sweaty skin. In the low light, she bore little resemblance to a human at all. Once, she’d been the proud field medic of the White Lamb, a patriotic vessel of the US Coast Guard. Her shipmates - Amanda amongst them - entrusted their health, their lives, to her. In a sense, she still held that trust. It would still be her duty to carry them when they could not carry themselves.

Red. The sky above shone the red of war and freshly-spilled blood. Whatever embers still burned in the smouldering wreck of the USCGC White Lamb were now thoroughly snuffed out, darkness engulfing all but the light of the sun as it filtered through the cumulative ash of nuclear incineration, drenched blood-red as it sank to the earth.

A twitch. Another crack of the whip before the slave-driver realized what was happening, forcing her to stay her hand. Amanda’s bloodshot eyes cracked open.

Above her stood the towering crimson figure of a demon, whip in hand and contempt in its eye. It bore little resemblance to its adoptive siblings. Much smaller, with such diminutive horns - did it have horns? No, not this one. It was familiar, somehow. A word came running to her from the fog.

“Blair?”

Another crack pierced the silence. Twin demons smiled.

6 notes · View notes

savnofilter · 5 years

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Hello! How are you doing? I really like your bnha fics. I wonder if you could write a fic in which there is a STRICT 'NO LOVE ALLOWED' rule in UA. And couples must be very careful or else they'll be punished or something if caught. (S/o) loves Bakugo but there is no way she could break the rules because she is a goddy two shoes. But if Bakugo wants something he gets it. Probably some NSFW at the end. Thank you😉

Bakugou x Reader

warnings: semi-public, dub-con, reader & bakugou need to settle some stuff, smug bakugou, passive aggressive bakugou, reader might secretly by a pathological liar when around katsuki until she confesses her feelings, #spoiler.

a/n: a chance to write a smug as shit bakugou? yea im not passin this up. something different, so if you guys want my other idea just say so. ; ) also, this is a long one,,,, lemme tell you that much. thank you anon!

You could feel his heated gaze burning the back your head. You shift in your seat, biting your lip trying to focus on your English teacher. Your brain tries to shake off the memories from a few days before. The lingered touches were tugging at your roots, tickling your skin. You shift in your shift in your seat, getting the familiar feel-good goosebumps ghosting your skin and the whisper of his breath all over your body.

What were you even thinking about?

Katsuki Bakugou.

The hot-headed ash-blonde that sinfully caught your heart over the course of your time at U.A. Not that anyone knew anyways. To keep the strongest future heroes at the top, U.A. wanted to make sure you guys were focused no matter what. Welcome to U.A strict no love rule. You’re rewarded for focus if you didn’t indulge in “taboo acts” such as, having feelings for another person. Punishment for acting on simple urges results in over the board punishments, which was way too long to explain and list. (We’ll leave it to the imagination for now.)

It was simple for you to follow the rules, usually. But like explained before, you were in quite a dilemma. You wouldn’t say you were as strict as your class president, but you just couldn’t help yourself this time. You don’t even know how you got yourself all caught up with the boy in the first place.

You always reprimanded him for being so disrespectful, never approved of his brash behaviour until he changed his rude behaviour into one of teasing and persuasion. You wouldn’t couldn’t believe him when he confessed his feelings to you. His whole 360 threw you into a loop and somehow you were putty in his hands. Your goody too shoe nature with your mesmerizing personality earned you the nickname “Princess”, which was fairly innocent when other people called you it versus how Katsuki whispered it in your ear without you expecting it.

The butterflies in your stomach were getting stronger, the urge to smile like an idiot itching to crawl onto your face. Not only did he know you inside out, he treated you right which you had never expected. The feelings you held for him made you want to scream out in how in love you were with him, how nice it felt for him to embrace you-

You jump from the schools bell and quickly start gathering up your things. You’re already giddy, hoping to see Katsuki un-ironically. You pace is slow to your dorms as you already know that students would be eager to leave school to feel his arms around you again.

But you, against the rules? You shant.

But you needed to.

You see the blonde in your peripheral vision and quickly change your slow pace to one of hurry. You bite your lip, knowing that whatever was happening wasn’t going to end well.

Bakugou watched in delight, watching the bounce of your body. His smirk never left his face as he watched you peak from over your shoulder once in awhile to keep an eye on him, knowing that he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted.

The very thought sent shivers down your spine and you took a deep breath when you managed to make it to the dorms. Unknown to you, the teen hot on your trail was ready to take action. You try to stay calm as you wait at the elevator, hoping, praying, wishing that’ll you make it your room in one piece. But sadly none of those affirmations made it to the heavens. You softly gasp feeling a familiar body press into your back, the warm smell of burnt-caramel filling your senses. It takes all of you not to melt into his mesmerizing aura. You feel his knuckles brush the back of your thigh, slowly rising your skirt higher.

Inch, by inch, by inch.

Your clouded head refocuses hearing the familiar ding bring you back to reality. You walk in, brushing off his hot touches. Which you knew made no sense since you guys were going to the same place anyways. You stand near the wall as you click the button and await for him to enter hoping this goes fast so you don’t succumb to your darkest needs.

Your heart jumped when the doors closed and it was only you two in the small enclosed space. You heard shuffling behind you, no where in specific. You kept your eyes trained on the floor, unknown to you what he was doing. The sound of an explosion and the sound of crunching metal was enough to make you turn around. Your face was written with shock watching as the blonde smirked and watched down at you.

“Katsuki!” You shame him, immediately trying to think of ways to excuse why he did such a thing, how he’ll make it up, the cost to replace the thing – and why he just clicked the emergency stop button. You furrow your brows as he backs you into the corner, his mischievous face twisting into one of smugness, yet no smile graced his face. He towers over you with his large statue, arms caging you in so there was no escape.

“You don’t think you act coy forever, can you?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lies.

“I know can make you scream more ways than one.”

“Y-You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Lies.

“I know you love me.”

“I was lying.” His hand was quick to wrap its way around your neck making you croak for air.

“How long are you going to keep lying (Y/N)?” He taunts, loosening his grip on your throat to hear your squeak as he presses his body flush against yours. “Huh? You can’t keep teasing me like this,” He continues, his hand that was occupied on your neck snakes to the nape of your neck then to grab your hair in a tight grip making you tilt your head back to look up at his eyes. “I’ll just ravish you.” He whispers against your lips. You whimper as his lips meet you in a condescendingly innocent kiss, his mouth swallowing all your whimpers and complaints. He pulls away with your heavy breathing against his lips.

“Katsuki…” You whine clutching his shirt with your small hands. He growls looking down at your blushing, already worked up wondering how he could how long can he old out for so long. “I-I can’t Katsuki..” You reason, more for yourself than for him. His chuckle sends a shiver down your spine as his other hand that was leaning against the wall was now inching up your thigh again.

Inch, by inch, by inch.

His burning touch leaves a lingering feeling on your thighs, to the skin of your hips, finally finding its rightful place palming your sex. You gasp at the feeling his warm touch against your sopping underwear. He tuts rubbing the damp material against your aching cunt. Your grip intensifies on his shirt when he grips your underwear to tug it against your clit. He leans down past your lips and starts marking up your neck much to your dismay if you were going to let this happen at least leave no evidence! He groans when you mewl in response to him moving your underwear to the side, allowing him to slip two fingers into you.

“I would ask if you were enjoying yourself, but we both know you’ll lie.” He mocks, before digging his teeth into your neck. His thrusting of his fingers were making you too weak to function, your knees were about to give out if he kept on defiling your body like this. “I bet you just want to rile me up, huh? Make me want to fuck you like I did last time when you were a virgin. Ready to be such a slut just for me.” He remembers, his hot breath hitting your neck, the air making some spots cool in the areas he hadn’t graced with his lips yet. “I remember just like it was yesterday, Princess. Remember?” Of course you did, it never left your mind. The night he took your virginity and secretly placed his own right on you.

The shuffling of cloths and muffled moans sounded the room accompanied with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. His grunts made your skin feel hot and made your face burn with delight. Hands gripping tightly onto the sheets underneath you, trying to stable yourself against the rough fucking of your secret admirer.

“Fuck you feel so good Angel.” He seethes between clenched teeth, enjoying the feeling of your ass cheeks ricochet against his pelvis. “Are you ready – to finally be mine?” He questions his hand giving your ass a more than generous slap when you don’t respond fast enough.

“Suki..!” Is all you could manage, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“Oi oi oi, that wasn’t an answer.” He responds giving your cheek another slap. “Don’t make me have to ask again.” He growls gripping, your hair tight. Drool is running down your chin and your eyes are clenched shut. Your throat is dry and you can’t attempt to make a cohesive sentence.

“W-We can’t!” You remind him, a not too generous tug was delivered to your hair as he gets rougher with his movements. One tug makes you blurt out a sentence you never thought you’d be able to confess in your entire school career. “I – love you!” Although with a pause he could register every word. His grin is brought to life as he kisses a line up your back feeling elated.

“Me too babygirl.”

His absence on your body draws your attention back to the present prompting your furrow your brows in confusion. He pulls away from your body and spins you around, shoving your face into the wall, your body more than ready to take. He notes your spread legs and wastes no time in flipping up your skirt to look at how much you needed him. And only him.

Your underwear is off in an instant with his girthy length teasing your opening. He’s in one motion relishing the feeling of you not for long as his hips are quick at work. You groan from his cock stretching and filling your cunt as your last encounter was months ago before the school year started, during your training camp. And just like before, he didn’t hold back.

“Fuck tell me you love me.” He demands his hand leaving its grip on your hair to find refuge on the absent spot on your other hip.

“I love you Katsuki! I love you so much!” You confess, tears welling in your eyes as this was too much to bare. He grunts bottoming out now, completely turning your brain to mush.

“Oi oi oi, how should I believe you? All you do is lie.” You groan in frustration. “Scream it, let everyone hear you.” And you did.

“Fuck I love you so much Katsuki Bakugou I love you so damn much please…! Only you!” you plead, tears streaking down your cheeks as you could feel yourself about to cum undone. He gives your neck a deep bite as continues to fuck you without any remorse.

“Damn you right you do.” He grits out, triumphant smirk dawning his face. “Who owns you?”

“You do!” This new feeling of not being treated like a fragile object, being claimed, it was pulling you closer and closer to your release. With a silent cry you cum around his length. He slows down his pace to pull out and cum on your bottom with a groan. Him leaving your cunt was just as satisfying as when he was in you. He clears his throat fixing your clothes, turning you around to delicately drub your drying tears off to give you deep kiss. You couldn’t help the reoccurring cycle of being shocked, not responding until he pulls away. Leaving you absolutely spent and a blushing mess, refusing to look anyway but him. His face is back to its original annoyed state, triumph aura radiating from. He clicks the emergency the button again not giving you a chance to get ready yourself. You feel a draft and liquid drip from you as it dawns upon you that you don’t have an underwear on.

“Hey give me back my underwear!” You tug his sleeve as he keeps his hands deep in his pants pockets.

“Nah.” Your stunned, face burning bright. The elevator opens revealing your worried class worried with their homeroom teacher accompanied with them.

“We were so worried! Are you guys alright??” Ochako questions helping out your stiffly walking form.

“Y-Yeah, just a little shaken.” You reassure her with the warm smile, trying your best to act how you normally did.

“Hopefully you guys aren’t hurt.” The class president checks in with you. Before you could kindly thank him, Katsuki beats you to the chase.

“You heard her, we’re fine. Stop worrying so damn much.”

“Alright enough, everyone get back to usual.” Your quick to pass by a hidden embarrassed Jirou. Your eyes connecting, gulping down your saliva that was the size of a golf ball as she mutters to you,

“I won’t tell anyone.”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academy #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #my hero academy #kacchan #bnha kacchan #mha kacchan #kacchan x reader #ns/fw text #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha fanfiction

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ghosthunthq · 4 years

Text

The Bones in the Acid 4

By: @sprghosthunter

Prompt: crime investigation AU

“Hey Mai.” Yasu dropped a large file on her desk. “I think I found something interesting. See,” he flipped the cover open, “Look at these bodies. All we have are a few bone fragments. We didn’t get an i.d. on any of them. But, this was before our time here. Obviously, these are cold cases, but what if ours is related to all these?”

Mai reached for the photographs in the file and frowned. “Yasu, one of these is… at least fifteen years old.” She paused and chewed on her lip. Had their killer really been killing for fifteen years, possibly more? “The location… they were all found in the same area. And our body… it was there too.”

Yasu drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah. Sounds like a serial killer to me. Do you think we could send these remains over to Naru, and have him see if they were dissolved by the same kind of acid? It might help narrow the field in terms of suspects.”

Chin in hand, Mai nodded. “You’re right. Why don’t you take them over? And have him call you if he finds anything.”

Frowning, Yasu gave Mai a sideways look, “Usually you like to handle these things yourself. Did something happen between the two of you again?”

“Other than him being a total ass?” Mai raised a brow as her tone lowered.

Hands in the air, Yasu moved back and said, “Alright. Didn’t mean to touch a soft spot. I’ll handle all this for you. I’ve got a copy of the file for him too, so you can hold onto that one. Let me know if you see anything else of interest.”

…line break…

“You have at least seven different sets of remains,” Oliver mused as he peered inside the box Yasu handed him.

“Seven?!” Yasu blurted, “We thought it was only four! How can you tell just by glancing?!”

Oliver deadpanned, “I’m good at my job.” He placed the box onto his desk and removed the file that had been included. As he scanned the pages, he asked, “I assume Mai isn’t far behind you. What else have the two of you got?”

“Ah,” Yasu rubbed the back of his neck, “it’s just me. Mai’s doing her own stuff at the moment.”

Mai… wasn’t coming…?

Oliver’s eyes glazed over with shock for a brief second. As he moved to sit, he removed his glasses. Placing the files in his lap, he continued, as if the information hadn’t bothered him in the least.

“I see. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“That you can’t easily deduce, no,” Yasu sat across from the scientist, “but there is one thing I think I should tell you.”

Listening, Oliver slouched back. “Alright.”

“Stop fucking with Mai’s feelings.”

“I don’t believe I-”

“Oh yes you do,” Yasu interrupted. “I know all about what happened after the last case we worked with you wrapped up. I don’t know what you did this time, but whatever it was, you hurt her.”

“I didn’t do any-”

“You clearly did something, Naru. Mai’s got buttons. You know that. By the looks of things, you pushed one pretty hard.”

Oliver looked away. He truly believed that he hadn’t said anything wrong to her… but… recalling the previous night, he realized he might have struck a nerve with Mai. He had only offered her sympathy… and a photo. What had been wrong with that?

“So, that’s all. You’ve got everything we have. Call me if you find something new.” Standing, Yasu offered a bright smile. As he turned, he smacked straight into the man that had walked through the doorway. His glasses fell to the floor and he stammered, “Oh, I’m sorry, sir!”

The man replied as Yasu knelt down onto one knee and blindly reached for his glasses, “It’s no trouble.” He turned his sunken eyes to Oliver and grinned, “Dr. Davis, I do believe we had a meeting scheduled for today.”

“I believe one of my staff explained to you that I was busy,” Oliver replied. The anthropologist closed the folder resting on his lap when he caught sight of his potential sponsor gazing at them.

Yasu rose to his feet shortly after clutching his essential eyewear. As he was cleaning the thick framed lenses, he squinted, looking at the man before him. He recognized the man through his blurry vision as Kaneyuki Miyama. Yasu recalled meeting him briefly at a fundraiser Oliver had his interns organize several months prior. Kaneyuki was also a notable business man in the region. He owned several industrial sites and was a well known philanthropist. His most sizable donation to date had been made to the local children's hospital. The man practically had it built and staffed.

“Yes, she did, however, I was hoping you had a moment to reschedule. I would like to invite you to my estate this Friday afternoon. We can discuss your next project, as well as the substantial funds I plan to offer.” Kaneyuki slid a boney hand into his pocket and offered Oliver a card. He glanced up at the security camera as he moved closer to the anthropologist. Rather than an actual camera, only two wires hung from the wall. With a frown, Kaneyuki turned his attention to the artifacts littering Oliver’s work space. The corners of his lips twitched into a forced smirk.

Yasu, glasses properly positioned, observed the man’s behavior as he stared at the remains Oliver had been studying. It struck Yasu as odd.

“What a fascinating project. May I ask what it is?”

Reaching for the card that had been offered, Oliver sighed, “That is classified information, I’m afraid. As for this Friday, I don’t believe I will be finished with this.”

Kaneyuki didn’t look at the scientist. Instead, his gaze continued to hover over the partial remains. “Just for lunch then. I insist. I’ll send a car for you.”

Oliver glanced at the agent still standing in his office. Though Oliver’s understanding of social interactions was limited, he thought Kaneyuki was acting strange. Never before had Kaneyuki displayed such interest in any of the ongoing work for the bureau. Yasu met Oliver’s eye and silently conveyed a warning. Something really wasn’t… right about Kaneyuki.

“I will have to decline,” Oliver stated, breaking eye contact with Yasu.

Chuckling softly, Kaneyuki attempted to persuade the young scientist again, “Only for an hour. I assume it shouldn’t take any longer than that.” He turned his dark colored eyes to Oliver.

“Mr. Miyama,” Oliver rolled backwards, adding distance between himself and Kaneyuki, “There are more pressing matters that warrant my attention at the moment. As soon as I am finished assisting in this investigation, I will contact you.”

…line break…

“So, Naru said it looked to be from seven victims?” Mai repeated to Yasu.

“That’s right,” Yasu replied, leaning against the exterior of the building. “But I noticed something strange. So, you know Kaneyuki Miyama?”

“Of course,” Mai answered. Who didn’t know him? “Why?”

“Well,” Yasu pushed himself off the wall and wandered towards the parking lot, “I think something’s up with him. He stopped by Naru’s lab today. Apparently he’s going to sponsor another dig. Anyway, I sent you a few pictures I snuck while he and Naru were talking. The guy was insistent Naru go to his estate this Friday. It was a bit creepy in my opinion. And on top of that, he kept looking at the remains we gave to Naru.”

“Huh, let me check the images you sent. That does sound a bit suspicious.”

The line crackled and Yasu sighed, “The dude just really bothered me. And I think he got under Naru’s skin too. Never seen Naru freaked by anyone’s behavior before.”

“Naru? Freaked by some old guy’s behavior? Oh, that’s rich-” Mai paused. She coughed, “Ah, yeah, I see. I just got the pictures…”

“Told you, freaky enough to bother our King of the Dead,” he attempted to lighten the mood, but Mai didn’t react to his antics.

“This picture you got, it looks like he knows something about our case. He’s not even looking at Naru, just the remains… Hmmm…” Yasu could hear Mai shuffling papers before typing on her keyboard. “I’m going to look into him. Finances, employees… the works. Yasu, do you mind following him for a bit? But don’t get too close, of course! You’re right. Something’s up with this guy.”

…line break…

Mai laid in bed, thinking over all the evidence that had been gathered. It turned out that the remains were doused in the same acid as the ones she and Yasu had found. Another fact that had been interesting was Naru’s estimate on age. All the remains belonged to people that were no younger than 25 when they died. It was an odd pattern. Why young adults? What motivation could someone have had to kill young adults over a span of fifteen years?

Mai tossed herself onto her side and yawned.

Then there was Kaneyuki. Mai still had no idea if he was connected to any of it or not, although her investigation into his business had led to some interesting discoveries. Kaneyuki was a meticulous guy. A few years back one of Kaneyuki’s workers had been caught embezzling, and was understandably fired, but it didn’t stop there. The worker’s two brothers and cousin were fired as well, then all evicted from their rentals, of which Kaneyuki owned. He even forced the extended families of his terminated employees to vacate his properties as well. Mai thought it was just nuts. She thought it was even more impressive such an event wasn’t reported in the media. Mai assumed Kaneyuki had offered up a good deal of money to keep the press out of it. It would have totally blemished his holier than thou image.

Still, there was a lack of concrete evidence tying anyone to the murders. But after hearing what Yasu had described, and looking over the photos he sent earlier that day, Mai had a gut feeling Kaneyuki was involved. His behavior had been more than unusual. Plus, the constant insistence that Naru go to his estate, alone…

Why couldn’t they have met anywhere else? Why had Kaneyuki been so dead set on meeting Naru at his home after catching a glimpse of their evidence?

It was just so fishy.

She fidgeted again, landing on her stomach before her thoughts drifted away, allowing her to sleep.

#Ghost Hunt #GHW2020 #GHHQ #sprghosthunter #crime investigation AU #submission

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trying-write-fanfics · 4 years

Text

OverhaulXReader part 43 (O)

There is an implied sex scene just for warning.

“Thanks again for driving me.” Y/n said. “Those doctors were really in my business.”

“They just want you to be safe.” Tai told her. “Why didn’t you call your friend to pick you up?”

“She’s 84.” Y/n told him. “We met in choir. She’ll take care of me for the next couple days.”

“An old lady? What is she gonna do when you faint?”

“Life alert.” She joked. “I can’t stay with you, Mr-pro-hero. Don’t wanna ruin your reputation.” She told him. “Why did they release you yesterday anyway?”

“I had some more paperwork to fill out.” He lied.

“The cops weren’t really asking me much. I thought there would be more. I listened to you and told them that stuff. I didn’t think it would be that easy.”

“I told you to trust me.”

“I just have to get something and I’ll be ready.” She told him.

Y/n gathered more of her things from the hospital room. She wanted to forget her stay here. Not only did she cry for the sins of her boyfriend, but then later that fateful day, he lost his arms. There would be no trial. He would be locked away forever, gone. The police were not on her case and was surprised she was looking at houses worked. She figured having a pro hero helping her worked. She walked out of the room and immediately dropped what she gathered when she ran into someone.

Her eyes widened seeing that green hair. Everyone told her how strong this kid was, how proud they were, Deku. He beat Overhaul and protected the child, Eri. Y/n was able to piece together what had happened in the battle from the murmurs, Tai, and his interns.

“Sorry, let me help you with that.” The teen said.

He gathered her things as she watched him. She hated the boy, but knew it was the right thing. It had to be done. Overhaul was no longer the prince of her past, but an abuser, a liar of her present. Y/n was trying to have her body and mind understand Overhaul did hurt her and used her. There was evidence, but she couldn’t totally understand it. She was special to him, she knew she was, so why did he do that.

“You did a good job, I heard.” Y/n told the teen.

“Oh- well I’m sorry you got caught up in all of it. Have your injuries been healing?”

“Yes, it’s been going quite smoothly.” She told the boy, taking her things back. “You’re so young.”

“Ah, it was my first big mission.”

“And you got to be the star of it.” She told him.

“I wouldn’t say star…” Deku sighed.

“Keep your chin up, people are gonna be looking up to you now.”

Yes, she hated the kid, but she knew it was wrong of her. Overhaul did horrible things, but she still worried for him. Deku did the right thing….Y/n would just need therapy. It had been a rough couple of years, but she had always had her love, but now apparently he was adding to it.

“Thanks for waiting.” She told Tai.

“Of course.”

“I didn’t know you had a car. Especially a sedan.” She told him.

“I’ll be renting it. While I’m working back to my fat form and recovering I won’t be running as much.” Tai told her. “Now that we’re alone, I need to know, are you in danger?”

“I don’t think I am, I think. Overhaul was always keeping me away from his work.”

She didn’t know.

“I think you you need a bodyguard.”

“You think I’ll be dragged down?”

“Yes.”

“Who to hire?” She mused.

“I could”

“You’re injured.” She told him.

“I had to look deep in your record and you’ve been to the hospital a lot. You’re free from the police having their suspicions about you, but you’re in danger now. I just think you need extra protection.” Tai told her.

Tai was flip flopping on his stance on Y/n. Yes he wanted to protect her, but he knew his lenses were clouded, and she was vulnerable. He convinced himself that despite his feelings, she was in danger whether he liked it or not. They took down one of the biggest organized crime groups in the area, but there’s a new threat rising and they might wanna twist Overhaul’s wound back open.

“You don’t think Gladys can keep me safe?”

“I’m being serious, Y/n. Chisaki has many active enemies.” Tai told her.

“I can’t think about all of that right now.” She told him honestly.

The last few days were hard, but Tai supported both interns and Y/n. His interns weren’t too emotionally injured, and their families came to visit their kids. Y/n on the other hand had a different recovery experience. Her parents never showed. Her boss came in to offer her more time off, but was a little distant with her. She suffered anxiety attacks and stress vomit. She knew she would get the answers she wanted while in the hospital, but Kai did a number on her. It hurt Tai watching her go through this. She felt loved by him, cared by him, but now was she just a mere piece in his plan and she fell for the siren song of nostalgia? She gave up her relationship with her parents for him.

Tai did feel guilty for the enjoyment he got out of seeing Kai. Defenseless, unable to fight, disabled quirk, helpless, alone, rotting in prison. He abused Eri, the poor child. Cutting her open and putting her back together like she was just some toy. He also hurt someone who loves him and compromised on continuing loving him. But his last words “make sure she is protected” rang too many times in his head. He wasn’t doing it for Chisaki, but for Y/n. Chisaki ruined Y/n.

“I don’t know if you have that kind of luxury.” Tai told her.

“You know me, I’ll just land back in the hospital like I always do!” She laughed.

Please just listen to me, Tai was internally begging. He already knows how dangerous the league was, blue flames, touch into dust, and a woman who can slash about anything. Y/n was no match for any of them.

Tai helped Y/n get her bags and walked to the porch of the small house. Gladys didn’t know what time they were going to arrive and Y/n was just going to knock on the door. Tai set the bag down and with his hand he cupped her fist. With his other hand he pulled a more bold move and turned her waist to face him. He was desperate to keep her alive. His tired eyes explored her widened (colored) ones. Was she scared of him? Did he go too far? Yeah it was early to do something like this, but Gladys didn’t sound like someone who can fend for Y/n against a fire blast.

Was Overhaul ever like this with her? It was a known fact now that he hated touch. Would he break his fear for Y/n or was this completely forgein to her? How could Overhaul have someone so beautiful by his side and would avoid her touch? She was bruised and bandaged, but to Tai she was the most gorgeous. He wanted her safe and protected. If she would let him, he would want to love her right.

“Please, just think about it.” He said no louder than a whisper.

“I will…” she breathed.

She took her things and knocked on the door. The old women with scales on her neck answered. Gladys thanked Tainfor driving Y/n and she would make sure she would be monitored. It worked both ways, Gladys also wanted a human companion to watch over her just in case she slipped or fell. She even told Tai she taught her cats how to dial 911. Though it was hard Tai was able to leave.

At 6 o’clock Gladys went to bed and that’s when the thoughts began to unhinge. Y/n tried watching TV, but it only caused her headache to get worse. She tried showering, but remembered the day Kai walked in on her sleeping in the tub. She jumped out and threw up. She brushed her teeth and tried to calm down. She told herself it didn’t matter whether Kai had loved her not, he used her and abused a child. She tried not to blame herself but she did anyway. She should have known the signs that he was abusing a child. She wasn’t allowed at his place freely but he could come to her house whenever he please. Did he please that much? Sure he was in the yakuza so it could have to do with that why she wasn’t allowed over. Despite all that maybe she should have never came back. She always knew the yakuza was dangerous, she knew he was dealing drugs but she stayed with him and seemed him out! It was a fairytale she was following only with the worst ending. She should have known and listened to her parents to not rejoin the yakuza that they were so desperately trying to break ties from.

Gladys was sleeping. Y/n was alone and desperate. She wanted to feel anything else than what she was. She needed to stop thinking about Kai, but how? She had wanted him for over a decade, got with him and he destroyed her!

It wasn’t totally unthinkable what she did next. She wasn’t thinking, just following an instinct. She took the subway and found herself at Tai’s door.

Covered in sweat, the two were panting. It was like being pulled back to reality as Tai had really realized what he was doing. He should have been a hero, but instead he felt like he had manipulated her in to this position. Half of him felt amazing, was he sticking it to a child abuser, a domestic abuser, or was it that he had these feelings for Y/n.

“Keep going, what wrong?” Y/n panted.

His consciousness faded. He listened to his ID. Even if she was using him and didn’t even feel anything for him, he wanted to enjoy this moment. He was aggressive. She felt heavenly to him. When it was over they laid on the bed.

Y/n’s back was turned to him. Was it instant regret? Her bandages were still on her body, just like his own. The guilt began to hit his reality once more. He wasn’t much better than Overhaul. Sure Tai didn’t destroy a neighborhood, indirectly hurt his girlfriend, and sold drugs with people’s blood, but he was too impulsive. He listened to pleasure. He could have just told Y/n it wasn’t right, but instead he let her in and let their hands roam each other’s bodies’. He knew her weaknesses subconsciously. He knew how badly she was yearning for connection, warmth, and care. Since he done the deed, he would go through with it all the way. He pulled the sheet over her frame and spooned her. He wasn’t gonna let her feel like this was only a conquest. If she was going to be up for it, he’d do it again for her. If she wanted to be something more, he would accept, but right now, he promised himself he wouldn’t ask for anything yet.

At some point that night, Tai was awoken by the sound of sniffles. His face was in Y/n’s hair, but he checked her face. The moonlight revealed she was crying. They had alright been asleep, did she wake up feeling regretful? He delicately brushed her hair out of her face. With his thumb he wiped her tears and realized she was crying in her sleep. Tai kissed her temple. She did have a lot to cry about.

However Tai woke up alone. Though it was a somber gray morning, he tried not to feel too bad about it. He promised himself he would be fine with whatever happened between them next because he felt wrong with what he did. It wasn’t all terrible. She made him thank you pancakes. Though he loved food, deep down he did want to spend the morning together.

#overhaulxreader #overhaul #chisaki kai #chisaki kaixreader #xreader #bnha #bnha fanfiction

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

(lizard kissin’) tuesday again?? no problem

Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (Chapter 2)

[ch 1] [ao3] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)

Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.

Chapter Summary: It is Rilla's turn to have her morning unpleasantly interrupted.

Chapter Notes: Hope ya didn't think I'd forgotten about this one!! (I do not forget anything tbh. I just have about fifty back burners I keep shoving stuff onto.) Enjoy??? or something. not much happens and no one is particularly happy, but. y'know. I love you! Happy LKT! Chapter specific content warning for very mild injury and a little bit of blood.

Rilla wakes to the sound of the portal open in her front room, and the familiar singing and the sound of creaking vines and wood invite a smile as she rolls over in bed, stretching her toes and rolling her shoulders as she slowly comes awake.

She can hear Damien’s voice. Not his words, not quite, but-

Hm. He sounds- he sounds like he’s arguing? But Rilla doesn’t hear Arum’s voice, just the Keep, and-

Her name. She picks that out easily enough. She smiles wryly, stretching again before she sits up, pushing the tangle of her hair out of her face as she hears Damien’s voice increase in volume, as she hears the portal creak back closed and her poet clatter through her front room.

“Morning, Damien,” she starts before he’s even opened her bedroom door, but the second she sees him she sits up straight in alarm. He is still in sleep clothes, which isn’t entirely unheard of when he comes directly from the Keep, considering that Rilla has plenty of his clothes lying around her own hut too, but the much more pressing matter is the blood. His neck is bleeding- not badly, but there are two small cuts just below his jaw, the blood forking together into a small red rivulet running down towards the hollow at the base of his throat, and his expression is wracked, twisted in distress.

“Rilla something terrible has happened, some curse or injury or blight and I don’t know what to-”

“Whoa, Damien, slow down!” She slips from the bed, toes cold on the floor as her hands move on automatic, grabbing up her medical bag and snatching out a clean cloth. She dabs away the red, gently cleans the area, but before she’s entirely finished Damien reaches up and touches the trail of wetness with a look of utter incomprehension on his face.

“He-” Damien looks at the blood on his fingertips, wide-eyed and lost. “He… he cut me?” he says, voice gone faint, and then the brightness in his eyes spills over and Rilla has two whole armfuls of knight, shaking through with tears. “Oh Saint Damien please protect us, oh Rilla, my Rilla he- oh I don’t understand-”

“What- Damien, shhh, I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay, but you have to tell me-”

“Might never- never be- okay, never himself again, my Rilla, oh my love-” Rilla manages to pick out between wracking sobs, and then Damien lifts his face enough that she can see the wild misery twisting his expression, the confusion.

“What happened?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Damien moans, shaking his head. “Arum- I do not know what has befallen him, I only know that when he woke- when he woke he- he pushed me away and he- he was frightened and he did not- he- he did not-”

“Breathe, Damien, you can’t explain if you aren’t breathing- slow down and breathe.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, and then another, and the third comes at least a little bit slower.

“He did not know me, my love,” Damien keens, and then the sharpness in his breath is back again and his body is shaking in her arms.

“What- wait. What does that mean? He-”

“He has forgotten us, he did not recognize me, he- called me intruder and assassin and he- he leapt upon me and-” Damien interrupts himself with a sob, and his next words are so broken between gasping breaths that Rilla almost can’t understand them. “And if the Keep h-had not intervened I do not know what he w-would have done-”

“Arum- Arum attacked you?”

“He did not know me, Rilla, he- he looked at me like a stranger and, and he had completely forgotten-”

“He doesn’t… remember?” Rilla’s mind races, already digging for explanations, for clues. “But- but the Keep stopped him from hurting you.”

“Yes, it- clever creature, it pulled him away and- and opened the way here.”

“So the Keep remembers,” Rilla says, brow furrowing. “So whatever this is… it’s just on Arum. Not on… hm. That’s… strange, but it will probably make it easier to talk to him, at least.”

“Easier to…” Damien trails off.

“If he’s got some sort of amnesia - and I have to assume it would be magically sourced, of course, unless he’s suffered a head injury lately and just neglected to mention it - he’s not going to believe this, not any of it. You know how stubborn he is, and you know how- how long it took him to be completely comfortable being vulnerable with us. If the Keep didn’t remember us too- I doubt we’d ever be able to get close enough to him to figure any of this out.”

Damien makes a choking noise, and Rilla blinks back to the moment and pulls Damien closer, shushing gentle into his hair.

“But,” she says. “But the Keep does remember. It kept him from hurting you and it brought you here, so it has to remember, right?”

“R-right,” Damien says, a little weakly. “It certainly seemed to- it seemed- confused as well, from what little I can glean of its intent.”

“Which means that it can tell Arum who we are, and that we’re not lying.” She pauses, choosing not to mention aloud that she isn’t entirely sure that Arum will actually take the Keep at its word, that he’ll believe a single note of it anyway. That’s not really a helpful thought, and it’ll only make Damien more upset. “It can back us up. He’s gonna be more likely to believe his mom than a couple of- of humans.”

They hold each other, for a long moment. The only noise that passes between them is the soft rustle of cloth and Damien’s sharp, unsteady breathing, until Rilla sighs and leans back.

“Rilla I… I am terrified,” Damien keens quietly, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah,” Rilla agrees. “I’m not exactly feeling overwhelmed with confidence myself. But- but we love him, and we know he loves us. We’ll- we’ll figure it out, Damien. We’ll figure out what happened and we’ll fix it.”

Damien bites his lip, exhales, nods. “Somehow,” he murmurs. “Somehow, we will.”

She hugs him tighter for another moment, then steps away, keeping one hand clasped with his. “C’mon. Let me bandage that up, and then we’ll start gathering evidence.”

“Evidence?” Damien stammers as Rilla sits him on the bed and grabs her medical bag again.

“Evidence,” she repeats with relish as she dabs away the remaining blood drying on his neck. “We’ve been with him for nearly a year, Damien, and we’ve been careful for the obvious reasons, but it’s not like we haven’t made a noticeable impact on each other’s lives. Like- I’m sure he’s freaking out over there about his bedroom and all the other stuff that’s changed. There’s stuff here that’s changed, too. Hell, if we need to bring in other humans that know him now, we can do that, but he’ll probably feel less threatened if it’s just us-”

“What kind of evidence?”

Rilla purses her lips, carefully bandaging him before she stands straight again, tapping her knuckles lightly on her chin. “My recorder for one, I know I’ve got him commenting on things at least a few times, we’ve got that comfort log the pair of us made for you a while back, too, and I know he’s sketched notes in the margins of some of my books even after I told him not to, which- I mean, he’d recognize his own handwriting, right?”

Damien blinks, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Y-yes, yes I suppose- that all… well, that is something physical, something hard to deny-”

“Not that I’m saying the more ephemeral stuff won’t be helpful too,” Rilla says, turning to pace in a tight circle as Damien watches. “I mean, just the fact that we’re so comfortable with him- even you, letting him get close enough- I’m sure that- well, I know he’s got the denial game on lock but still, a human sleeping next to him? That’s gotta count for something, I think, some fuel to the fire, at least, and I bet- how did you respond, when he came at you?”

She turns her gaze on Damien again, and her eyes are- a little manic. “I did not… I did not fight back, if that is what you are asking, my love,” he says, and then he stands, reaching a hand out to try to gently caress her shoulder. She steps away again before he can manage the contact, though, pacing quick again in the small space. “Rilla, are you-”

“That’s what I thought,” she says, her lip curling into something like a grin. “Which- I mean, again, the denial, I’m sure he could fool himself into thinking that was part of the ploy, or maybe that you’re just stupid or something, but you trust him so much that you won't even lift a hand to defend yourself when he could kill you, it's not like that's good tactics or something if this were a trick, it's just you trusting him and loving him and not wanting to hurt-”

“Rilla. Rilla, my flower slow down, take a breath-”

Rilla stops pacing, turning her head to look at him again, and blinking as if coming back to herself. She swallows, clenches her hands, and laughs, a little uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, okay, you’re probably right. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.” She reaches out, then, taking Damien’s hand and squeezing. “Okay. Let’s… let’s grab a couple recordings and see if the Keep will- and see if the lizard Lord is up for a couple visitors.”

[->]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #lizard kissin' tuesday #rad bouquet #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #going through changes ripping out pages

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coyotescribbles · 4 years

Text

The Warlord’s Daughter #8

Jeanette didn't know how long she remained frozen in place after she was left alone. It could have been one minute, or five, or even ten, and her churning mind wouldn't have noticed.

What was happening? What was going to happen? She'd been so sure that she was about to die, but now that wasn't such an obvious outcome - she might still die, yes, but it no longer felt like a given. So what was going to happen to her? Was she going to be tortured? Turned over to someone else? She didn't know, and she hated not knowing...

Not knowing frightened her more than anything else.

Look at you, she chastised herself, scared of shadows and hiding in a corner like a child.

I am a child.

You are a Spartan.

At least, that's what she'd been meant to be, wasn't it? A Spartan, fearless and fierce...

She didn’t feel particularly fearless or fierce at the moment, though.

Finally, she took a breath to steady herself, and peeked out into the room, making certain that it was empty before she dared to venture out, uncurling from her hiding place and rising unsteadily to her feet.

And for the first time, she was able to get a proper look at her surroundings.

The floor was black stone, finely veined with delicate webs of white and gold, with a path bounded by narrow golden tiles that lead from the door to the entrance of another chamber on the far side of the room. The area she was in seemed to be some sort of sitting area, furnished with wide, cushioned benches - including the one she'd been dropped on - on either side of a low table. And, perhaps most fascinatingly, there were plants; live plants in large, heavy spherical containers - two flanking the door, another against the wall situated between the two benches, and four more across the room, arranged around some kind of small fountain built into the wall there.

She didn't think she'd ever seen plants indoors before, to say nothing of on board a starship.

For a moment Jeanette let her fingers brush over the leathery green leaves of the nearest one, before cautiously moving on.

The whole... living space - it certainly didn't seem to be any sort of prison cell - was laid out like a half-circle, far larger and more luxurious than anything she'd ever seen before, except perhaps the live-fire ranges at the facility.

Even just the thought of that place twisted her stomach now; she still couldn't understand why she'd seemingly been abandoned there, why the whole building had been so very empty and the evidence of conflict so scarce... it just didn't make sense. There had been hundreds of personnel there, and yet...

...and yet...

With a sharp shake of her head, Jeanette shoved those thoughts aside; they were pointless now. Whatever had happened, had happened, and there was nothing she could do and no one she could ask about it.

Best to focus on the matter at hand.

After she'd gotten her scattered wits back in order, she resumed her exploration, mentally mapping out the layout of the room, from the sitting area to the open entryway with its softly gurgling water feature, all the way to the shadowy chamber at the back.

It was there that she hesitated, peering warily into the darkness for a heartbeat before venturing in.

This room wasn't as open as the living area, and was outfitted with a single broad bed, a tall wardrobe, an equally tall mirror, and a low-set, long chest of drawers. The bed’s mattress was thick, with a slight give to it; the pillows were likewise thick and dense, obviously made for non-human heads and necks, and both bed and pillows were made up with heavy, smooth fabric coverings and sheets beneath a luxuriously soft quilted blanket.

It was a far cry from the thin, hard cot and scratchy sheet she'd grown accustomed to. She almost felt envious.

The next thing that drew her attention wasn't the elaborately-framed mirror or the wardrobe that was almost big enough for her to sleep in, but the chest of drawers - or, rather, what sat atop it, neatly centered on its flat, smooth surface.

A small, shallow, squareish ceramic dish, in which grew another plant.

No, she corrected herself, a very small tree.

The chest was just tall enough for her to rest her chin on as she leaned in close to examine this bewildering little thing. For a moment, she was almost certain that it was fake, but a curious poke showed that the soil in the dish was very real, and slightly damp, and the leaves were the same smooth, leathery texture as the plants in the living area. With the utmost gentleness, Jeanette reached up to run her fingertips over the springy branches and soft leaves, utterly fascinated.

It was with great difficulty that she pulled herself away from the tiny tree, and resumed her exploration, moving through the dark towards yet another door.

When she stepped through this one, she found herself blinking in surprise as an array of soft lights came on automatically, gently illuminating the space as they gradually brightened.

This room was clearly a bathroom, that much was obvious. For all their differences, it seemed that Elites, at least, used similar facilities to humans - the sink and shower stall, both tiled in shades of green, were unmistakable, and the toilet was... odd, but recognizable as well. The rest of the room was tiled in deep blue, with the tiles underfoot sporting a coarser texture than the tiles on the walls. Beside the shower was a rack, tiled in the same rich green as the stall itself, which held stacks of washcloths, rolled-up towels, and a selection of soaps which smelled pleasantly like burning wood, so unlike the overwhelmingly antiseptic-smelling stuff she'd once used...

Once again, she felt envious.

With a sigh, she turned to leave once more, noting how the washroom lights dimmed back to darkness after she stepped through the door.

She left the bedroom, too, despite the intense temptation to curl up on the bed and sleep off the steady throbbing that had settled into her skull.

Stepping back out into the living area, Jeanette next found herself eying the door that led out into the corridor.

What would happen if she opened it? Could she even open it? Where would she even go?

Ever wary, she approached until she was standing right in front of it; it remained firmly closed... but there was a pad set into the wall to the left, and she reached up to tentatively tap at its glassy surface.

The door slid open with a rush of air that almost startled her, and for a moment she could only stare at the open portal.

There was no freedom to be found beyond it, she knew that. She knew there was nowhere for her to run; even if she did somehow manage to make it back to the hangar, she didn't know how to fly.

Still...

Jeanette peeked around the doorframe, cautiously stepping through.

And she immediately came face-to-face with what she could only describe as an armored wall. A sense of dread rose up in her gut as she looked up, and up, even further than she'd had to with the Elite. A thick, sickly-glistening "neck" that seemed to be made of twisted orange ropes protruded from a heavy collar near the top of the towering mass, and at the end of that neck was a blocky, bluish box like a head.

As she watched, it swung towards her, fixing her with an array of brightly-glowing green "eyes" set into the metal, and a deep rumble rattled the depths of her chest. She choked on a gasp as she reeled away from the massive thing - into another unyielding object. Wheeling around, she just barely registered a second creature, just as immense as the first, before she dove back into the room she'd left, only a breath before the door slid shut.

Her heart pounding deafeningly in her ears, Jeanette scrambled and lunged for the sheltered corner she never should have left. Huddling as far back into the corner as she could, she hugged her knees tightly to her chest and, too overwhelmed to do anything else, began to quietly sob.

#The Warlord's Daughter #Jeanette-B315 #Khyl 'Voramai

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