#Cw: mutilation (minor) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

umbrasnow · 6 months ago

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In Headlights

In which a routine stop at a roadstop spacestation goes horribly awry, and things best left in the dark step back into light. • Event fic featuring @broken-lovestreak 's Zero!! This beast is. 9.5k, it got just a little bit away from me while writing. I've posted it to Ao3 too for easier reading if you want !!

CWs for: Attempted kidnapping, Graphic Violence, Minor Character Death(s), Mutilation, Paralysis, and some truly excessive amounts of blood o7 I'll tag further if I figure out any more that apply ᓚᘏᗢ

Thus far, the way was open.

Another spaceport opened out before them, as Khione stepped out of the disappointing commissary and left its questionable sandwiches behind. A brief glance around confirmed; no particular attention paid to them by the present security, and no more attention on them from the swirling masses than the customary awed second-glances. Good. It made their lives easier when they were just another amidst the crowd; albeit far better dressed than the rabble. It was a point of pride, to never step out looking any less than one's best. Besides, it was rather nice to look a matched set with their dear travelling companion. The heavy coat he wore was a common touch for him, but inspired nonetheless, pale fur accentuating the blue tone of his skin. An aesthetically pleasant contrast. As always, he knew what he was doing.

The cold glitter of pupilless eyes swept across their surroundings at the thought of him, checking once again for anything amiss, anything that spoke to a danger they couldn’t quite convince themself wouldn’t be there. They… Khione trusted Zero. It was an alien experience to trust, but if they were to attribute that rare bond to anyone, it would be him. If he said that the bounty they had discovered was nothing to worry about? Then, despite their knowing that he was lying, they would not worry about it. Or- at the very least, they would have the decency to be subtle about it. It wasn’t particularly hard to divert attention from their tension, regardless. As he stepped out alongside them and the two made their way out across the floor, the chatter started up again; it was nice. Part of how they fit together so well lay in how Zero could quite happily fill their silence with friendly banter, a back and forth that only occasionally demanded that words from their own lips join the crowded hum. They liked that. Speaking aloud was oft more discomfort than it was worth, to their treacherous throat. There were ways around that problem yes but… they didn’t like it. They didn’t like the quality their voice took on, when they fell to the register they used on coms. It was nicer, to speak infrequently and quiet, and let him fill the air they didn’t. It was nice to listen to him.

Oh, but they were getting distracted. Another darting scan of their surroundings, before their gaze alighted once more on their dear travelling companion, a few inches down from eye level. What was it, he was speaking of again-

Ra below, right. The two had been discussing the recently discovered fanfictions again, had they not? Khione could hardly be expected to suppress the eye-roll that rose to their features at the subject, memories of the truly god-awful characterisation of both him and the prominently-featured Booker playing out in their mind, a gently indignant sigh brushing past their lips. Well, at least this has become something more akin to amusement now. Another glance about the surrounded crowds, as the thought rolled idly around their head. Neither of them bore discomfort with a particular grace, preferring to confine that particular emotion to dark recesses where it could not easily be seen. But they knew him. The first fiction had taken him off guard, to some degree. It did them good, to see him laugh about it now.

Though perhaps, they could have taken or left the rambling twist their conversation took as their journey through the commerce floor pressed on. Khione was not prone to expressions of embarrassment, but they felt how their face grew warm as the discussion of awful live-readings and enough wine to soldier through the process bled into a reminiscing over the past few weeks, over the visit they’d paid to a certain darling mechanic. Pleasant company, Vissily made. Awfully strong spirits, though. Stronger perhaps, than they’d been expecting. There was a distinctly hazy spot in their memory in the direct aftermath of some of that moonshine.

Another sweep of the surrounding crowds. Nothing more interesting than a handful of shouting drunkards cheering along to some good news or another, a successful sporting event of some kind. Nothing unusual. So why was there a chill crawling through their spine…

No. Clear it out of their mind, like so much snow on a doorstep. It was likely paranoia, after recent events; they were hardly immune to overcaution, a fact they were all too familiar with. Especially when it came to the safety of the man before them, smiling ear to ear as he gently ribbed them over their state of inebriation during the aforementioned housecall. Zero was awful, anyone would tell you that. Rakish, even. A man so fond of trouble they had never met, before or since he was placed into their life by the whims of fate. And he was their friend. The only friend they had ever been able to stomach. They would not see him hurt, by something out of his control. Not if they could help it.

Zero hardly needed their concern; he could fend for himself, as he was leagues beyond competent. But, still. It was a kind of comfort, to know they had his back. Regardless of necessity.

They did rather wish they could move on from discussing the drunk waltz they had wound up leading him through while under the influence though. One lapse in judgement, and it was all anyone could seemingly talk about, honestly. It was most undignified to pout. They did so, regardless- just for a few moments. An indulgence of a kind. They didn’t really mind, not quite that much. But it was something akin to fun, to play along with him. With the weight of concern draped over their shoulders? It was nice. He made them smile, often when they didn’t much feel like it. Indignity chafed less, when in his company.

… The chill remained, though. Lodged in their spine, a few vertebrae from the small of their back. Cold, glittering eyes darted around the crowds once more, again finding nothing, but when they returned to their companion they could see that he had felt it too. Not in any faltering of his quick tongue, no frown creased his brow, no such overt signs. The both of them knew better than to spell out their realisation. It was more akin to a tension around the eyes, how his shoulders flexed beneath the bulk of his coat, gaze flickering back to where theirs had been a moment before. Searching.

It was no figment of their imagination, then. Something was amiss.

The haze of the noise and crowd snapped into a chill clarity as suspicion became certainty, as they observed his expression from the corner of their eye. No change, as his attention flicked back to them- he hadn’t been able to identify whatever tail they’d picked up, either. Not ideal. Professionals then. The kind that would notice should their necks begin to crane, and their surveillance of their surroundings became more obvious. Quietly, it would have to be. No need for discussion, regarding the way forward; they had done this countless times before, and would do so countless times after. A meeting of eyes, a glance toward where the crowds grew thin, back into the swirling mass of bodies that occupied the commerce floor; that was enough to lay their thoughts bare to him. They turned by a fraction toward the stores lining the extremities of the open-skied corridor, allowing the distance between their duo to grow, slowly. Organically. It would have been near impossible to distinguish this from a natural parting of ways, common when two went shopping together.

A terse countdown was ticking in their head, as they watched him grow smaller in the fabriglass of a shop window. Not too soon. Give the tails time to put them out of mind, before beginning the hunt in earnest.

The considerations behind division tactics were simple, but sound. Only a few weeks prior, Khione had made the discovery that weighed on their mind, while searching for further work; an active bounty, attached to Zero’s face. Another name, but- from the initial posting date, it had originated a lifetime ago. What had worried them was less the strange information, rather the status. Still active.

Still a target.

Their tail was on him. It was obvious. Unfortunate for those who would seek a prize of blood, he was far from alone amidst the cold stars these days; Faux ceramic plates crushed themselves into a fist as slowly, Khione took a breath, held, and released it. No harm would come to him, from an unwelcome past. Not while they stood. Not that he needed their protection, but… was that not what it meant, for someone to be important to you? That you would protect them? Bare teeth on their behalf?

Certainly, to them.

Enough musing, enough waiting. It was time to get to work.

Zero walked ahead as though not a care weighed upon him, the heavy fur coat wrapped around his shoulders and tail arcing behind making him easy enough to pick out in the crowd; a useful trait, for their purposes. The possibility they would lose him amidst the crush of people was not so heavy a concern, when he was so identifiable even amidst hundreds. Keep the distance thin. Should things go wrong, they had to be able to reach him. His lilting gait turned on his hoof, shaping his path toward a backstreet that tapered off from the wide open space, somewhere the hum of people would dim as crowds dispersed. It would be easier to find who didn’t fit, with the pool of suspects narrowed. Another glance around. Another failure.

Frustration was starting to burn in the small of their throat, another slow breath taken and released. Patience. It was not a matter of if they would locate the insufferable source of the chill through their spine, but when. Had they not proven themself an effective hunter, time and time again? Their quarry would be revealed in time. Follow. Watch. Have his back.

The crowds began to thin, as their surroundings began to rust. While not explicitly off limits, it was clear this part of the station was not intended to see the masses in the same gleaming light as the well-polished floor had been. Here were ladders and mislaid tools, flickering flights that would need servicing soon lest they blow entirely, a handful that had already burned themselves out into nothing. The people were fewer here; a handful of shadier stalls, the sort that weren’t officially registered with permits, but that station authorities would look away from provided the correct taxes were still paid. A handful of maintenance workers. Pilots searching for off-license parts, salvaged in local space. These people belonged. None invited the telltale prick of falsehood scraping the back of their skull, none drew their eye as out of place- none were the tails.

The frustration was starting to shift into something that sat less comfortably in the curve of their throat, as they swallowed past it. Fear. What were they not seeing. What could they have missed? Their eyes flicked from head to head, their quiet footsteps slowing to a halt, lips pressed tight against each other. Of course Zero drew heads, but none whose gaze lingered in the way they were searching for, and yet that crawling sense that something was not right would not leave them. There was danger here, still. But where?

Then, came the sound of something scraping against the metal floors sounded behind them- close behind them. The fear blossomed outward as realisation slammed itself through their body, too late all too late. All this fussing, and they hadn’t even considered that perhaps the tail wasn’t on his heels.

No. It was on theirs.

A hair trigger instinct flashed hot through their nerves as something behind them reached forward, as they felt the brush of strangers hands past their hair- they did not flinch away quite fast enough. The firm grasp of another settled over their thin shoulder. Their spine bent at its insistent tug backwards, complaint rising to their lips; there was warm breath against the shell of their ear in seconds, carrying with it a soft voice that spoke in quiet words. For them alone.

“Found you. Cut strings, Odette.”

In an instant, their heart was ice in their chest, frost tendrils lancing through grasping veins. That name. None should know that name, not here. Not anymore. Panic began to bleed through them, a violent impulse that ripped free of the spreading cold demanded they turn to face this interloper and tear the secret from his flesh- Their body did not respond to their instinct to whirl around, to bring that malice to bear against any who would make them that thing again.

No, their body did not respond to them at all.

The words he’d spoken sank through them as lead through flesh, driving the breath from their lungs, and then… it was hard to describe, how it felt. To feel one's limbs go inert without growing numb, feel ones knees crumble and give at the spoken words. It was as though their mind had been plucked from their flesh, confined to the smallest corner of their skull as their body stumbled and fell into the waiting arms of the stranger who somehow, somehow had done this to them. Khione did not like to feel afraid. At that moment, it did not matter. It overwhelmed them. It was strange, how they could still feel how panic surged through their body, how their blood began to hum and heart stuttered into thumping beats, how their stranger turned captor gripped them by the waist with a firm enough grasp to bruise beneath his fingers- and yet, no matter their desperate attempts to rip themself away, there wasn’t so much as a twitch through their muscles, a ragdoll in his grip. Helpless. For the first time in years, they were helpless.

Terror was too mild a word.

Not even their eyes would move as they strained to look up, to find their companion, Zero- did he know? Had he seen them fall? No use. Their lifeless gaze remained in place, a glasslike stare fixed upon the rusting station floor. Part of them ached to call his name. Another made a silent prayer that he had not looked back, that he at least would be safe from whatever had found them anew. Whatever could do this to them, with only a sparse few words.

Neither thought lasted long though; their conscious mind began to splinter into razor shards as the floor began to move beneath them and the world span, as fingers pressed tight into ribs and they were lifted sharply, over someone’s shoulder-

A flash of feathered fur and off-cream white flashed in front of their eyes, and then they were falling.

There he was.

Unable to move, their landing was a tangle of limbs and impact; shoulder first, skull soon to follow, the sudden acquaintance with the station floor driving what little breath they had drawn out of their lungs with the ache of metal meeting flesh. Through vision that swam with the force of collision and a veil of hair that fell across their face, they saw a flicker of blue and white drag who they could only assume to be their captor into melee, watched the flash of metal appear in his hand-

Now they could see behind the two shapes, three in the same colours as the one who had done this to them. Again, they felt their heart rise in their throat. It was beyond them, to swallow it back down.

The one who had dropped them stumbled forward, their only friend crashing into him with blade drawn, the coat that had been slipped from over his shoulders now wrapped about the man's head to wrench him into the knife with force enough to bury it between his ribs. And then again, then again- thrice in quick succession the weapon found its mark, all before any could react to the onslaught. A flick of the wrist was enough to twist the knife with a grinding crunch that choked a pained gasp out of him,enough to draw it back alongside the heavy fabric. His coat, they knew from experience, was weighted at the ends for situations just like this; a cudgel in its own right.

Seconds had passed. From where their body lay inert on the cold metal floor, they watched how his eyes widened as the shock set in before reality, how his hand rose startled to the blooming stain of red now soaking through his clothing. Third and fourth rib. It would be mere seconds before the last ghost left him, as lifeblood spilt across the floor. He crumpled, half landing over their… legs? They couldn’t see. But they felt the weight land, felt warmth and wet soaking into their skirt and crawling over their skin. He couldn’t hurt them anymore. But those who remained still could. Worse, they could hurt him. Zero had put himself between them and the assailants, hooves planted between the three that remained and the now-two inert bodies in a heap. They could see how his grip on the coat in his hand had rendered his knuckles white, as he flicked drops of blood from the knife in his other, see how the rigid tension settled into his stance.

“One chance. Leave.”

HIs tone brooked no argument, and yet as the startle wore off their assailant’s faces it was replaced not with hesitation, but annoyance. A broad woman toward the back shook out her sleeve and caught the folding sickle that fell into her hand; another figure in the group plucked a similar knife to Zero’s from a sheath hidden beneath intricate folds of fabric. The last to arm himself simply picked at the gloves over his hands, pulling them off over spiked knuckle dusters with a petulant sigh.

“You got lucky. That fortune is running out fast, you know.”

Zero did not give the group long to posture. Before the last word had broken away from the man’s lips he was hurtling forward, tail lashing behind him to counterweight his movement- he ducked the first strike out toward him with practised grace, driving his own knuckles wrapped around the pommel of his dagger into the browbone of the forward man. The momentum carried his coat forward, a lashing motion with the hand wound through it sending the weighted end hurtling forward into the throat of the figure behind, a shout of alarm as the heavy fur pricked at the eyes before dropping over their head.

There was an odd familiarity to how they’d spoken to him. An overconfidence that brought details of the past few days into sharp clarity in their panic-addled mind, watching the violence begin to unfold. It was as if they knew him, as if they were still expecting a level of skill from a man perhaps 13 years younger- it was him, wasn’t it? Him they were pursuing, him they knew. The same enemies as a decade ago. Then… fuck. Fuck what did that mean for them? How did those chasing Zero know the name their husband had given them?

Their head was spinning. The bloodshed unfolded before them in an uncaring tableau, dissociated from their realisations. None of this could matter yet. They were still in danger, and he was still in danger and well he knew it because despite his skill, here he was outnumbered- three to one. But for now, Zero had the advantage. Twas a fool's error, to underestimate him. It would seem that today, he squared off with fools.

The man with the knuckle-dusters stumbled back as the blunt impact driven into the brow half-blinded him, weight crashing into his ally; she kept her balance by force of will, but it closed her window of attack with a resounding thud. The thick leather-and-pelt of his fur coat had wound tight around the knife-bearing figure’s head and shoulders; facing three at once, he couldn’t focus this one down the same way as the soon to be corpse wheezing its last over their legs. He didn’t have to. Snapping his arm back in a whiplike motion was enough to drag their body directly into his knuckles with the full momentum he could drive through his body foot-to-fist, tail swinging to keep his balance. All it took to capitalise on that driving forward rush was a leg raised, bodyweight pulling back to deliver a gut kick that sent the knife-wielder hurtling into the wall with a crash that made their teeth ache in instinctive sympathy. Hoofs into ribs, he would be feeling that one. Good.

It was fast setting in just how frustrating it was, that even their eyes would not move at their will; Khione could see the flickers of movement as the two still standing righted themselves and parted, circled to flank their friend, but they could not focus on that movement. All they could track was the blurring motion and glint of metal in hands, all they could keep in focus was him in the center of it all, eyes flickering back and forth, fingers sank tight into the pile of his coat, watching. Watching-

Absently, they could feel how their hair was beginning to pull heavier at their scalp as blood from the dying one soaked through pristine white curls. There was a particular kind of heavy only the dead could truly manage, a kind of lifelessness that made them so deeply unwieldy. That weight would have pinned their legs quite firmly now, had they been able to move. Hell on earth, why couldn’t they move? What had he done to them? How? Why? It was strange, to feel that tightness coil around their chest in a way that would suggest panic, and yet to feel how their breath refused to quicken. Were… were they even breathing?

There wasn’t a chance to dwell on the low burning in their lungs, as one of the indistinct shadows lunged out, hook silhouetted in the alley lights- the woman, then, was to his fore. Flashing metal tried to hook its way around the wrist clutching his coat, closing over nothing as he darted back but, there was the man, hands outstretched to grasp at- Oh it was so very fun, to see that trick bear fruit.

His assailant's hand closed tight over the long flickering braid at his back, the man’s shoulders already twisting to drag him backward by it before pain registered through the shock and he flinched back, hard. Even through the maddening blur of their periphery they could see how the crimson stain began to soak into his cuffs as the barbs woven through their partner’s hair cut through skin and fabric alike, more than sufficient distraction to tear out an opening in the fight. At the tug and cry of pain, they watched Zero whirl again on nimble hoof to exploit the careless acts of his assailant and crack the pomel of his knife across the man’s jaw, fluid motion and distilled violence. It connected; the hair-trigger snap of motion more than enough force to send him staggering back, stumbling under the following slash by a mere flinch. Close, he was so close to finishing that one-

Before he could press his advantage the woman had lurched forward, the curve of her sickle now finding purchase in the mass of heavy fabric clutched tight in his hands, feet planted wide as she yanked back with evident strength; he couldn’t have seen it about to happen, couldn’t watch his own back. That was their place. Fucking damnit they needed to help him, needed to move why couldn’t they move why were they stuck here, practically a functional corpse pinned down under the dead weight and its death rattles-

Whatever. He was fighting without them, in part for them, and he was being yanked stumbling backwards in some petty attempt to unbalance him- one that worked, if only for a second, maybe two. Small mercies, that she didn’t move fast enough to exploit the opening she had created; but it was time enough for her ally to dart back out and away, closer now to them, close enough they could see how his legs stuttered as he hit the floor with a roll to evade the swinging knife that flashed out at the sudden burst of movement. From this angle they could barely see how his fists raised again, defensive this time. That surety was bleeding from him, and from her- something vicious curled in their gut as they watched hesitance cast a pall over the two attackers. Pride, maybe. He was more than they could have ever imagined.

Into tattered shreds, my heart.

But that surge of fanged exuberance died as fast as it had sparked. Caution would level the fight, and it was already against his favor. The figure he had sent careening into the wall had yet to rise but there was no way to tell if they were truly downed and out; certainly the two still standing were closing ranks now, trading wary glances as Zero regained his footing with a sharp exhalation of breath. There were no good angles to approach him from, knife-arm hovering at waist-high ready to lash out at any sudden move, the gash left through the pelt of his coat fluttering gently as the fabric swayed with him. Ready, at any moment to strike out, to make it hurt. The woman’s foot inched back, shifting the weight of her weapon back and forth as consideration read clear through her body; then in full, she stepped back. What was she- no time to consider it too closely, the man was moving forward again with flickering speed, ducking under the lash of cream-coloured fur that went for the throat, fist striking out with the side of his palm-

Their field of view was blotted out by the scuffed leather of well-worn boots, an irritable hiss under the woman’s breath as she dropped to a knee over them. Panic thrummed through their body, confusion, the instinct to flinch back produced nothing useful as their body remained severed from the mind within it; more than saw, they felt how her fingers raked through their hair, gathered it into her fist. What was she doing. What was- In one motion, inexorable as the tide she dragged them out from under the weight of her unfortunate ally, weight dangling from the hank of bloodsoaked white now enclosed in her vice grip as again. Once more, she turned to the fight.

It was hard to think. It hurt. It hurt and worse, there was nothing they could do to rip through the hurt, nothing to distract from the shuddering ache as their body hung limp, unresponsive, goddamned useless even still and it hurt. They did not weigh very much, this they knew, but even their minimal weight hanging from their scalp was enough to send shocks of aching pain through their nerves, shocks that tried to jerk pained gasps from their throat that got stuck and lodged behind their teeth. At least they could see more, now.

In the time it’d taken for them to be dragged into the air, Zero had darted backward and the man’s strike had swung wide; now that arm was wound up in the mass of pale fur and their friend was striking out with the point of his blade, trying to remove one more problem from play. Before the blow could land they caught the harried cursing from their right, felt how her grip dropped from their hair to their bodice and- Everything blurred as she hurled their body forward, crashing into Zero’s side. They did not weigh much, but it was enough in combination with the shock to knock him near-over, only his tail saving him from falling. Barely, they could see the surprise break over his face, a single terse moment of panic before the man stepped into the advantage his ally had forced open, a blow of the knuckles connecting with their friend’s brow with a ricocheting crack and sharp wince.

Again, they hit the ground with enough force to shake their ribs, but they did not remain on the cold metal for long. No, it was mere hazy seconds before the man darted back from Zero to grip them tight by the upper arm, drag them forward- it was hard to think through the vertigo but a sickening spark of realisation began to form, as they saw how their friend faltered mid-lunge at the realisation they were now held between him and his prey. Their stomach dropped, and as they watched his eyes flicker rapidly, trying to find an opening that would not endanger them, they wanted to scream. Hurt them, if that was what it took! This was an obvious ploy, a weight to drag down his speed so his assailants could land their blows, and their heart stuttered uselessly in their chest as they could see it working in real time. In his search for a way through he didn’t see the woman circle around to snatch at his coat and yank it back, his grip tightening in protest but it was clear who had the upper hand in raw strength; she threw it out to the side as the man digging bruises into their arm darted forward to try and land another blow, this one mercifully too sloppy, their friend swerving out of its path. They couldn’t focus on him but, they could feel how his eyes flickered from the danger, to them, back and forth and back- Ra below. If they could have trembled, they were almost certain they would be at that moment in time. He was going to get hurt. He was going to get hurt, badly, because he didn’t want to put them in harm's way. Nausea roiled in their gut at the very thought. Still, their breath refused to quicken, still their body denied them a hand in this fight for their lives. The dull ache of bruising that was likely blooming beneath their skin was little more than an afterthought in the wake of the raw, unfiltered terror the scene playing out in front of them evoked.

Their friend however, was not to be counted out yet. Unfair odds or no, he had always thrived in the midst of an open fight in ways they couldn’t match. So his coat had been hurled away from him; In a flicker of motion they’d have struggled to catch even with their full faculties, his second blade filled his empty hand, and again he was moving. Before the woman could fully turn back to him, glimmers of light that could only be sharp metal flashed in their periphery and they could just barely see how he slashed out at her, the well of red and sharp yell of alarm confirming to their vicious joy that he had connected, and it had hurt. The man’s grip on them shifted, from arm to the back of the neck as his stance pivoted to follow the path of Zero’s violence; now they could see the full extent of it. A gash mark across her stomach, and one blade buried to the hilt through her shoulder. It did not remain there for long, of course. She staggered back from the source of her agony with a defensive kick outward at him, and the weapon was plucked back from her flesh as he darted back to evade the blow.

Good, good. Not lethal, but she would think twice before trying to disarm him a second time, and the well of blood streaming from between her fingers where she clutched at the wound would serve as ample distraction. Blood, so much blood across the metal of the floor, soaking through their hair, across their skin- they could feel it now, how the ragged torn skin of the man’s palm and fingers were staining warm across their nape. His fingertips found purchase in the divots where skull met spine, the force of his grip dragging the rest of their body behind his. That hurt. There wasn’t long to dwell on it, something they would hesitate to call a mercy considering the circumstances. While his quarry was focussed on the other assailant, the man lunged forward; as Zero whirled to meet the blur of motion, blades flashing in the half-light, they were forced to watch how panic flared to life across his harried face as their lifeless body was shoved forward. It was by providence alone that he jerked aside in time to keep his weapons from catching on their limbs, as they fell forward without anything to keep them upright, again the floor met them with a shuddering crash and- christ wept, that one hurt like none of the others had. Maybe it was a kind of mercy that they couldn’t cry out, at this moment. The sound that would have torn past their lips would have been pathetic. As it was, the sunburst of beating red and white behind their eyes at the impact was a private matter- and one they could not afford to focus on for too long.

Sight was functionally useless with the way they had been dropped. Frankly it hurt to keep their eyes open with how close the floor had suddenly become, unable to focus on any part of the blurry metal and rust that dominated their sightline; they had no choice in the matter. Their eyelids would obey them no more than the rest of them. For now, they would have to rely on senses beyond the obvious to try and track the fight.

Sound would serve best, with sight eliminated, but it was maddeningly difficult to pick out where individual dull thuds and clatters of both light and heavy footsteps originated from. Focus, focus- the lightest ones with a gentle ringing of metal to the edges, that had to be Zero no? His cloven hooves struck metal with a cadence unlike boots heavy or light- so then heavy were likely those of the staggering woman currently bleeding like a stuck pig, lighter boots probably those of the man. Even with that tenuous rubric, it was difficult to parse what might be happening in their broad blindspot. The crashing of weight into metal, tempered growls and shouts of violence bled together into a muddy hue, a cacophony, a stabbing paranoia crawling through their organs that something was going to go wrong because they could not see it.

Their gut was lying to them, he would be alright, he could protect himself. It was difficult to convince themself of that, with nerves frayed beyond saving and frustration scraping their innards raw. Nausea bolted through them as the unmistakable wince of their friend shot through the air in the wake of a dull crack, think, think what could that have been- knuckles into flesh? Maybe, but they couldn’t rule out the worst either, what if-

Another sound, something crashing into the ground, anger ringing out heavy in the air as someone with weight to throw around went clean through unfilled crates, the crackling of wood splintering and pained grasping filling in the blank spots of their minds eye; masculine sounding voice, the man again then. It wouldn’t surprise them if he’d lunged for Zero and been punished for the overexertion. Good, that was a good sign, if he was still so light on his feet, the earlier pain lacing his voice couldn’t have been lethal. Maybe if they thought it hard enough, they could silence the doubt. A startled yelp, in his voice; before their spiralling anxiety could descend an further, white-hot pain blinded them anew as the sound of two bodies impacting snagged on the edge of their senses, and someone’s feet caught on their injured arm, stumbling over them to crash into the floor in the very edge of their periphery. Flashing white and blue, breaking his fall with a roll- fuck their heart sank at his expression, the bleeding edge of fear starting to work its way through the ragged edges of his flat, steeled focus. His gaze caught on their face for only a few seconds, all he could afford-

Don’t look at me like that. Even their thoughts came to them ragged, at this point, panic settled like cold bile in the back of their throat. Don’t worry for me, with blades at your own throat.

-they felt rough leather hook beneath their body and kick them onto their back, weight pressing a boot into the flesh above their cybernetic arm to pin them to the floor; a useless gesture given their lifeless state, serving only as an intimidation tactic. One that it seemed would backfire on her, spectacularly. From the very corner of their vision they saw Zero’s expression collapse into a single-point rage before his body went terse, coiled and lunged like a loaded weapon; the woman he rammed his full bodyweight into had opened her mouth to speak, but all that left those bloodied lips were stuttering gasps of pain as his blade found its home in a flurry of unrelenting violence. To the hilt, once, twice, thrice- a blur of movement and blood that spattered back far enough to fleck against their face, adding to the myriad stains- wait, had their nose been bleeding? Their face felt wet, too warm, the scent of iron clogging their senses. Shit. Must have started when they hit the ground face-down. It didn’t matter, right now.

At last, the woman’s grip on her weapon loosened and it fell to the floor, overwhelming relief flooding their useless body as a last gurgling noise jerked from her throat, as bloodloss and bodily trauma scrubbed another problem off the board. Their friend was panting by now, breath coming unsteady and sharp, his shoulders bearing a tension that spoke of injury, but he was standing. One left, by their count. Where- Fuck.

Behind him. Behind him, and they couldn’t so much as raise their voice to warn him as the man slipped closer in silence, a fury of his own writ clear as Zero made sure his kill had stuck, he was distracted, he was-

All they could do was watch in a nauseating horror as the attacker wrapped arms around their only friend from behind, one snaking around his throat to drag him backward, the other… they didn’t want to watch this. Silently they begged for any passing mercy, that they might find the strength to stand again, that he might struggle free before what was about to come to pass, but when had mercy ever been offered? To either of them, by any hand or force beyond the pale? Never.

Helpless, they watched as the man’s grip closed around their Heart’s tail prosthetic, and methodically began to tear it from his body. This wasn’t the tool he wore on their work, neither had expected life-or-death during their pitstop; all that kept malicious actors from its delicate inner workings were porcelain plates. He’d opted for it as a stylistic choice years ago now, matching their own cybernetic limbs; at the time, it had been a gesture that near made their heart stop, that invited an aching in their throat and eyes that was oddly welcome.

Now, that aching was something quite else. It might actually kill them, being forced to listen to him strangle back a breaking agony.

The arm around his neck he could rake at, dig teeth into the hand trying to cover his mouth, slash blade through the fabric of his attacker’s sleeve, but the damage to his tail was done before he could fight his way free of the larger man’s grasp; by the time he drove a cloven hoof into the man’s knee, forcing his assailant to drop him with a sharp yelp, the feathered fur end was clattering to the floor in a shower of shattered plates and torn-out mechanics.

They felt sick. It was difficult to tell whether the vertigo of being thrown around like a fucking pinball was catching up to them, or if it was the singular horror of watching their only friend brutalised while they could do nothing to help. Nothing to protect him.

Ever coiled to strike, he did not waste the momentum- his feet hit the ground as his attacker stumbled back, and instantly he was turning, driving his closed fist into the falling man’s temple with a crack that ricocheted through the metal alleyway. But even with how their vision blurred, they could see how the shredded mechanical stump was throwing him off; without the counterweight his momentum carried too far, forcing him scrambling back to compensate for what could have become a stumble, could have become a fall-

Fucking hell, it felt as though their lungs might collapse in on themselves. Their heart was racing, a beating drum in their ears, but their breath stubbornly refused to hasten with it; they had only enough air to keep them conscious. Barely.

But, he was standing; the man conversely was a smear of colour and motion in the corner of their vision, a hunched shuddering mass, from what they could see he was still struggling to regain his feet. Dark red staining through the long sleeves of his garment, exhaustion hanging heavy in his panting breath, he couldn’t last much longer, could he? Now, Zero was between him and them, now he was watching carefully as what remained of his tail twitched and swung. Something else was moving, the far corner- all they could see was the motion of it, how Zero’s head began to turn as it caught his eye too, before a sharp click sounded and their blood ran cold. Metallic. A sound they were intimately familiar with, an arming mechanism. It was unmistakable, to them both; immediately his head jerked back to the half-broken mass on the floor, already moving, blades in the air- too late.

Whatever was in their attackers hands flew through the air, hit the ground once, twice, rolling into view enough that its cylindrical shape and empty pin-slot came into clarity. Grenade- no, shit, flashbang.

They realised just a second before detonation, but what could they have done? Their eyes wouldn’t close, their voice wouldn't rise above the silence to shout a warning, what could they possibly do but stare in frozen terror as the light of the sun seared off the shadows of the alleyway. It lasted mere seconds, but that was plenty; even with the antiphoton lens of their artificial eyes, the light lanced through their head as physical pain and blinded them for an agonising stretch of seconds. There was no chance he had escaped the sunburst unscathed; in the blind moments that followed they heard a pained hiss through teeth and stumbling hooves against the floor, quickly drowned out by heavier boots drumming into that same metal. A cry of pain and impact against flesh, breathless gasping and the crack of knuckles against bone- skull. There was a distinctive sound that came with an impact shocking the jaw open, and there it was amidst the medley.

Motion was the first thing to return to their vision. Then colour, a furious dart of blue colliding full-bodied and blind with a mass that had been trying to drag it upright, from what little they could make out. Zero wouldn’t be able to see yet, didn’t have the benefit of their artificial eyes, but his assailant had made the mistake of indicating his position to the sightless man. Clarity began to bleed through the tableaux, the glint of metal held at an angle in his fists as he lashed out; too risky to stab in the dark. Too easy to hit metal, blunt or break the honed edge. More efficient to ram fists closed around the weighted pommels into the downed man, a furious string of blows that did not slow until the man beneath him stopped fighting. Even when he stood, slow and tottering, a cloven hoof kicked out against their assailant's chest. For good measure.

…quiet. For the first time since their body had severed from their mind, Khione felt the tension begin to slacken. There was a moment now for him to breath, to slip one knife away beneath folds of clothing and rub at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Their chest tightened into an ache, watching him. Ordinarily he held himself with a grace it was difficult to match, but with his tail ripped into mechanical pieces strewn across the floor-

Something was moving.

Nothing should be moving, every target in pursuit had been eliminated; their first assailant lay a corpse on the floor, the woman a crumpled heap. The man was not dead or at least, they didn’t believe so, but he was unmoving and groaning in the kind of pain that would not allow him to rise for a good while yet. And the other, the one who had drawn a blade, that one was still…

No. No, the stain trailing down the wall led to an empty patch of floor notably lacking in the final pursuant. Their heart fluttered in their chest as they searched their narrow field for the flickering movement they had seen, trying to trace its path, trying to find the final unaccounted for threat. But they couldn’t see anything moving, nothing but their friend turning toward them, nothing but his eyes going wide in- fear?

Before they could put the scattered pieces together, a firm grip dug its fingers in beneath their jaw. Their body was dragged sharply upward, pinned against someone’s chest, unsteady breath hot against their ear. Cold metal scraped at the rise of their throat, just beneath the feverish warmth of a cornered animal. They could see how Zero’s body coiled, a whip about to crack, but at the dig of the knife into their skin he faltered, eyes fixed on the hand that threatened them.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?”

The sting of split skin was barely a ripple through their rising nausea, through the throbbing ache lacing through their arm, but they saw in him the near imperceptible flinch as a bead of warmth rolled down their skin. A biting frost clawed its way through their innards, a desperate and useless instinct to demand he not listen to a word of this, aching behind their lips. Zero could not be allowed to put their pale reflection of life above his own, they couldn't allow it- they did not have a say in the matter.

Just something to fight over. To threaten to take away, if someone who mattered misbehaved. It always came back to Odette, didn’t it?

The grip on his weapon shifted as his stare fixed on the assailant holding them as leverage. The chest at their back rose, then fell in a tense breath.

“You’ve grown competent, that much is obvious. But you will disarm yourself, and surrender. It is still alive for now, but I can take it from you. For good.”

…that was a lie. The instinct in the base of their skull snagged and ground on the words, even as the knife dug in further in a display of conviction. The attacker’s actions claimed they were unimportant except as leverage, that they could be killed to punish disobedience. But they knew. The assailant was lying. Then, they were needed alive. The raw terror that ripped through them would have wrenched the air from their lungs, had they command of their body. What it meant, if they were needed alive-

No time for fear. Zero didn’t know the threat was empty.

Consideration played out on his face, behind the veil of pure anger. The grip on his weapon shifted again, hesitant, his eyes darting back and forth. Then he lifted it slowly, making a display of tossing it to the side. An exhalation brushed past their ears, from behind them.

“Good boy. Now-”

The second their assailant's eyes left him to follow the flash of metal, Zero was moving; too distracted to see him draw its twin in a single flickering act. In dull echoes, Khione felt the knife at their throat split through further skin before their captor shoved their body aside in a panic. Then, he fell upon them, too fast to fend off, and then- What happened next was beyond their sight, crumbling once more to hit the metal floor with a thud that reverberated through their body, with a shock of pain that burst behind the eyes. But they were intimately familiar, with the sound of unrepentant violence. Warm iron hung heavy in the air soon enough, blood spattering across their skin from his backswing, screaming silenced with metal into flesh. Good. Good.

The noise died down eventually, melted away to nothing but a single, panting breath. This time, it really was over. None of their attackers remained who could move, no more threats upon the field, they were… safe?

No they weren’t. The freezing still that claimed their body held them in a vice, their only friend was barely able to drag himself to his feet as he began to move again, and whoever had done this knew them both. Not of them- knew them. Something that should not have been possible.

Neither was safe, and they would not be until whoever sent these fucking bastards was dead and buried.

The wash of violent anger drained slowly from their mind as they felt gentle hands slip around their face, and they realised that Zero had staggered over to where their body lay, knelt by their side as best he could with his deerlike legs. Fingers probed fearfully against the scarlet line across their throat, his face over theirs as he searched their face for any sign of life… Ra. It tore bloody furrows into their heart, to see him so deeply afraid.

Having confirmed the wound was shallow, his shaking fingers pressed gently into the underside of their jaw, tense and unmoving before finding the flicker of their pulse. For seemingly the first time since the violence began he breathed out, slow, measured and shuddering.

Ra below, he might have thought them dead. They couldn’t have faulted him that; they had not so much as blinked in some time now, barely drawing enough breath to maintain consciousness. At least their pulse was a telltale beat beneath their skin. At least he would not believe them gone, beyond his reaching.

A trail of blood was rolling down his face from the split skin over his brow. Now he was leant over them, he was all they could bring themself to see; his shoulder stiff and moved with care, squinting still from the aftermath of the flashbang, his sleeve ripped at the edges as be brought it to their face and dabbed at the blood still seeping from their nose.

A familiar burn behind the eyes began to ache, watching him try and fail to swallow the panic behind a wary smile.

“They have left you in quite a state, haven’t they my dear?” The words were a poor attempt at his usual humour, laced through with a crackling tremor that betrayed him. It felt as though their heart might beat out of their chest, trying to get to him, trying in vain to tell him that they were alright. Silence remained around them, a tight wrapped shroud. The smile wavered, further still.

“... are you still in there? Please, Khione-” the words came to an abrupt stop, the line of his mouth pressed into a grimace. What they wouldn’t have given in that moment, to speak even a single word.

No such bargain could be made. They were trapped behind their own eyes, watching on as silent audience to the wash of dread creeping through his attempt at resolve. He could hide his face, but they saw the tension his body still held. The cautious flick of his ears, the anxious swaying of what remained of his tail.

They were scaring him. The thought alone felt as though it might kill them.

They felt more so than saw his hands move from their pulse, shaking, as though at loath to abandon the scrap of evidence that their body was not a corpse. But, they would be unable to move of their own accord like this. And neither of them were safe- not here, not in the wake of violence that would surely draw attention, not now they knew without a shadow of a doubt that something was hunting them. Though, only they knew that unnamed hunter was grasping at them both.

It was not as though he had the time to ponder this now, gently lifting their body into his arms with a gentle wince. It was difficult to tell, what provoked the sound; it could have been his own injury, even their peculiar lack of mass enough to draw complaint. It could have simply been that rising to his feet was an endeavor all its own, without his tail, with the added burden of dead weight. His head flicked back and forth, a final scan of the area before he began to move- they felt how his whole body flinched at a pained groan from behind them, where the man he had beaten within an inch of his life was crumpled on the floor.

A moments hesitation, before he turned to hurry away; no time to scrub out the last attacker, not when there could be more inbound. Not when they were lifeless in his grasp.

… christ alive their head was swimming. It had been for a while, but the lilting step of his biomod legs was blurring their vision at the edges, a pulsing vertigo beating red behind the eyes. It was hard to think. Perhaps that was a mercy.

Absently, they heard his muttering beneath his breath. Something or another about having liked that coat, about exacting its price from the hide of whatever fool pursued them next. That… that at least, set their heart a little at ease. He was complaining again. That was good. The instinct to take a slow breath in itched at their throat, the urge toward relief still functioning even if their body wouldn’t heed it. If he was complaining, he wasn’t panicking outright that very second, at least.

It might only be because he could not afford to, but they would take what they could get in this state.

The station was far too bright they were realising, its poor attempt at naturalistic sunlight stabbing at their unblinking eyes. He carried them carefully through the station backways, steadying himself every so often. It would likely be hours before his sight returned to him in full, after a point blank flashbang. Even their synthetic eyes were still straining, the colours and shapes before them barely comprehensible to their aching head. By this point, they were half glad their body had removed itself from their mind; they thought they might have been sick, were they able to.

It took them too long to realise he was speaking again, speaking to them. When did it get so difficult to parse his words? Something, something- “...somewhere safe, my dear. I’ll get us there. Just hold fast, you can do that no? Hold on. Wherever you are, I’ve got you.”

Somewhere safe. That… that sounded nice. They needed him to be safe. They couldn’t protect him, like this.

It was oddly cold, considering the climate control. Shouldn’t his warmth at least, be bleeding through them? Unless- oh, but of course. A sudden drop in adrenaline would explain much of this, a fact they considered with a detached kind of clarity.

Being unable to think straight, or to parse the words of their heart as he carried them somewhere, somewhere… well, they didn’t really know. But they trusted him. They did.

They were going to pass out, weren’t they.

A thin shred of fear spilt through them, at the realisation. There was naught they could have done to protect him from the inbound threat surely on their heels, but to be unable to even watch- it scared them. A pattering heart picked up its tempo as their vision became nothing but colours and shapes, and then the shapes began to blur as well. They fought against the encroaching dark, the heaviness in their unresponsive limbs, that familiar burn behind the eyes threatening tears they knew would not spill-

They did not want to leave him alone.

But still, the last shred of their conscious mind bled away. It was out of their hands.

Be safe. Please.

#▸ tales of umbra #▸ words of winter #Shadows of Misericorde #lancer rp #cw Attempted kidnapping #cw Graphic Violence #cw Minor Character Death(s)#cw Mutilation #cw Paralysis #cw blood

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multch · 10 months ago

Text

Thoughts.

Art the clown x reader [18+]

CW: actually smut \ afab masterbation

Your boss admires your dedication to staying back late to finish off repairing most nights. What he doesn't know is your affiliation with the ‘Miles County Killer’.

Who knew sewing pays in a good view…

You whipped back as the bloody black and white suit whacked you in the face. If art was anything- it certainly wasn't subtle. The smell was revolting but what did you expect? Daisies? Of course he’d smell like a dead animal, he’s a murderer for Christ's sake! Still, you would've appreciated it if he at least let you set down the jacket you had to repair first- or had the decency to cover up a little instead of walking around the studio with everything out on display.

Tonight marks the 3rd year since you had first encountered this killer clown. You worked at a humble costume shop- Often very late to scramble enough of a paycheck to pay rent, utilities, whatever, ect.

On the strange night you two met, he had walked in- completely skipping past you- and searched for some sewing supplies. He went so far as to have even checked out the staff room you had accidentally left unlocked. Regardless, he eventually waddled up to your counter and dinged the bell on your desk several times. He had waved his hands around like a maniac trying to make sense until you realised he was gesturing towards the sewing needle in your hand. If he wasn’t so charming, maybe you would’ve called the police on him right then and there.

Maybe you should’ve...

Since then, you always patched up his ripped and tattered clown costume and he would repay you by helping out around the shop when you worked late. Repairing shelves, moving boxes and pestering you incessantly while doing so.

It was a shock when you had first discovered his more malicious side. The ”Miles county killer” plastered on every television screen for miles. You couldn’t tell what had scared you more; Art’s heinous acts or the simple fact that he seemed to spare you.

But why?

The question haunted you. Your moral compass never seemed too correct however you understood the evil that seemed to possess him was devilish. What you couldn’t understand was what a being so sinful could've thought about a seamstress that made him show not only mercy, but companionship…

Honk! Honk!

Art could’ve killed you with how well he’d scare you. They didn’t call him the ‘Terrifier’ for nothing you thought. You were just minding your business- lost in thought- until Art practically made you jump out of your skin from his infuriating infatuation with his stupid little hand horn.

He had crept right up behind you and placed himself close enough to feel the cold air escape his lungs. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice but his horn was practically touching your ear. The sound it let out was more than enough to make your eyes widen. It had startled you so much you fell backwards on your stool. Luckily for you though, Art was there to catch you.

His skin was smooth and frigid. His hands having responded by grasping your waist with his rough hands- You were accidentally pressed right up against his naked chest.

His touch felt electric. The contrast between your human heat and his icy exposure was a feeling like no other. He helped you back up onto your seat but by then it was too late. Fuck.

Seeing him naked was one thing but feeling his bare touch was another. Your minor interest in him had easily turned into obsession over the course of the last few years. A mysterious stranger showing up out of the blue. Saturated in blood. Torn up and often mutilated. How couldn't you be intrigued?

It felt like there was no one else in the world he treated like you.

You felt special.

Protected, even.

You tried your best to resume your repair but by the time you reached the hole by the gusset of his suit, you had lost it.

Maybe excusing yourself to “go to the bathroom” might’ve been a bit overkill but there was no way you wouldn’t melt in the heat that you felt just simply looking at him. His playful taunts. The way he bats his eyelashes at you. Even his disgusting black smile!

These ‘normal’ acts of his felt misconstrued into one big flirty mess.

Despite your efforts, you were clearly just too horny to stop. Every time you think about him in this moment, you couldn’t help but remember how he’s outside right now in nothing but a mask and his flimsy little top hat. In times like this, you couldn’t help but shake your fist in the air at Art’s infamous refusal to wear anything under his suit.

(You tried to convince him once by buying him a pair of boxers, but in retaliation he had ripped out the crotch and walked out- giving you the full view of his “pencil”)

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking but deciding to work one out sounded great right now.

You lent up against the red tile wall of the staff bathroom. It was cold. Perfect.

Slowly fondling yourself, your hands snake around your skin. One climbing up your stomach to slip under your bra. The other sneaking down the waistband of your shorts.

God, he made you so wet from just one touch. You slid in one finger first- wincing back at your contraction around so little. It made you only more hungry for what your eyes had feasted on so often yet you had never been given the chance to taste it yourself.

Seeing it made you understand why this clown always went commando because he really was hiding away a whole balloon animal. It was BIG.

Imagining it made your mouth feel empty..

You slip in another 2 fingers. Thrusting into yourself enough to make you press hard against the wall behind you. You were so cold but inside was a warmth you wanted him to feel so badly.

Your eyes squeezed down hard. You wanted to see him. His face. His body, as he thrusted into you.

You wanted him to trap you beneath his form with his inhuman strength.

To be scared he'd rip you in half if you ran away was a major turn on for you -the idea of becoming less than a victim of his by becoming a slave for his enjoyment.

Imagining it made your pussy throb, feeling empty despite your aggressive movement…

You tried to muffle your moans but the more you indulged in your fantasy, the more you struggled to show some self restraint.

A fourth finger, then a fifth.

Pounding harder and faster into your core, you thought back to all the toys you brought reimagining them as his girth.

Art was more than a friend to you. You ached for him nightly. You felt him in your core. You've dreamt of his touch and woken up in a hot, sticky sweat because of him.

You wanted to be honest with him but only Hell knows what he'd do to you if he didn't feel the same.

The possibilities made you salivate. Being his victim would be an indulgent death for sure..

You feel yourself very quickly feeling your release build as an air of tension fills the room. It's sickly sweet.

Rubbing your pretty little pussy until it's puffy and squirting when he's in the room outside was your tipping point.

You let out one final wince before your knees give out- causing you to crouch down on the frozen tile floor.

You can't help but imagine it's him holding you after a scene of absolute passion.

It's only been 10 minutes since you had excused yourself but once you had made your way back out, Art was nowhere to be seen.

You're embarrassed to say the least but you decide to push forward with your plans for tonight.

You turn around to close the bathroom door behind you only to find a familiar face greeting you instead.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- All while still being fully naked.

Oh god no…

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noctiva · 5 months ago

Text

Under Your Skin

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

“You poor thing. Sweet mourning lamb. There’s nothing you can do, it’s already been done.”

WC: 4.1k

Summary: Before he has to skip town again, Toby grants you your one and only request of him.

CW: 18+ content, very graphic descriptions of gore and bodily harm, mutilation and murder, blood and guts, desecration of a corpse, major character death, you die in this, dead dove!!! I’m being so fr that’s the whole drabble, toby kills you bc you ask him to, suicide + suicidal thoughts, veryyyy toxic relationship, sexual content, self-destructive tendencies, mentions of bodily decomposition and rot, if ur squeamish stay away

This is a work of fiction!! None of the acts written here are meant to be endorsed or romanticized! Also if you don’t think you can handle any of the above warnings do not read! Stay safe!

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

How was it, that you were even more beautiful on the inside?

Warm, you were so warm still, even as your skin began to grow cold. So warm as his fingers dug in deep, slipping under skin and into your depths to curl around your entrails. He could feel them all, slippery and smooth, your intestines wrapping his hands in a sticky embrace.

It was so satisfying. So lovely. You were lovely. Always had been, but especially now.

Limp against the forest floor, eyes glassy as a pool of crimson grew and grew beneath you. Sinking into the earth, staining the dirt. It was just a taste, because at the end of this all, you’d be buried deep beneath the ground he was currently kneeled on - wide lifeless eyes unable to feel the sting of the soil pressing against them.

With a sickening squelch, he sinks his hand in deeper, clawing upwards into your rib cage. Elbow deep in everything you had to offer, his breathing quivering as he hovered above you. Fingers twitching inside you. Searching. Sliding against your bones. He found a lung and squished it, puncturing it with his nails and feeling as it deflated in his palm.

Your true last breath. The thought made him shiver. Feeling the last little bit of oxygen your body had preserved, turning to mush in his hands.

It was a beautiful feeling. You were beautiful.

That’s why he had done this, after all. He was a sucker for beautiful things.

Toby had met you on one of his missions. One that involved him going into town often, to stalk and gather intel on a soon-to-be target. He had to learn their routine, when they ate, when they got home, when they were alone. It was tough, time consuming work. And, so naturally, he needed a way to unwind.

The diner you had worked at was a shitty, rundown joint. Paint peeling off of the walls, grime caked so deep between floor tiles that no mop could ever scrub it clean. Posters on the walls from the eighties, sun bleached and faded to the point you could barely read them.

You, had stuck out like a sore thumb.

Young and pretty. You were far too much of each to be working there. Soft features with not a wrinkle in sight, nimble unblemished fingers tying an apron around your body.

He wasn’t one to get distracted, especially not on a mission, but you had gotten him. You had gotten him good.

He couldn’t remember much of your first encounter, and maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe the boss had caught wind of you, and was trying to scrub you away.

It was alright. You were safe now. He could never get you.

He did remember sliding into a barstool at the counter and looking up at you, to which you had returned his gaze with a disinterested frown.

You did that a lot, he would come to find out. You were always frowning, as if it were your default expression. When you did smile, it was fleeting, and it never reached your eyes.

Your eyes. Always so tired, like you never got a wink of sleep. Worn and hollow. Aged beyond your years. He remembered thinking they’d look so beautiful with a twinkle in them, but that had long been snuffed out. Long before you had met him.

“B-Boss not let you take breaks?” He had asked you, so stupidly forward. Always unapologetic in the way he spoke, even to strangers. “You look d-dead on your feet.”

And you had narrowed your eyes at him, your frown somehow deepening even further.

“I’m fine.” You had muttered. “Thanks though, mister. Can I take your order?”

You had probably just viewed him as another annoying patron. Some run of the mill chump who had come here to hit on you during your shift. He would bet you got a lot of that. The diner was mostly occupied by skeezy truckers and grumbling old men, and you… Well, you were a sight for sore eyes.

You had probably expected to serve him, entertain his annoying advances, then never see him again if you were lucky.

You weren’t.

Toby became a regular. Coming in every day, at the same time, even long after the mission was over and done with. He ordered the same thing every time. Black coffee with sugar on the side. Sugar that he never added, but always asked for anyway.

And as the days passed, you slowly began to warm up to him.

It was a drawn out process, but it was satisfying to him. Watching your irritated frowns morph into reluctantly amused little smiles. Seeing you let your guard down, come closer. Leaning against the counter to talk to him, fingers brushing his when you would take the empty mug from his hands.

He would learn a lot about you. How misfortune seemed to follow you everywhere you went. How life had been so cruel, to someone so lovely, leaving you to do nothing but waste your days away in this stupid diner - just so that you could pay for a bed to wallow in when your shift was over.

You didn’t have many hobbies. Had given up on them all. And you didn’t have many friends either. Just your coworkers, and him now, he supposed.

It was on the day when you had rounded the counter to sit next to him, that he knew he had really gotten you.

“What do you even do, Toby?” You had asked him curiously. “You’re here every day, same time on the dot. You coming home from work or school?”

“Nah, just… H-Hanging out.” He had shrugged. “Life’s boring. Need a l-little excitement.”

“You’re looking for that here?” You had snorted out a laugh. A lovely sound. “You’re not gonna find it.”

“Already did.” He hummed back to you, and met your eye.

You had tried to hide it, but he saw it when you melted.

It didn’t take long to for you to let him take you out. Even less time for you to take him home.

And he had been sweet on you. He had tried to be, at least. Was as gentle as he could be as his hands caressed your soft skin, smoothing over your curves, feeling every bump and ridge where your bones lay hidden. Resting his hand just under the swell of your breast, to hear the ‘thump, thump, thump’ of your heart beat - growing more and more rapid by the minute.

Sometimes, he would sink his fingers in too deep. Grip a little too hard and make you wince. But you’d never push him away. No, you always only pulled him closer.

You’d pull him close even when he sunk his teeth into your neck, even more so when he’d draw blood.

He almost felt bad about leaving his mark on you. This poor, sad girl, who was definitely only using him as an escape. As a way to forget for a little.

The key word there was ‘almost’. It was hard to truly feel bad when you fell apart so beautifully.

You would wrap your limbs around him like you were trying to suffocate him, claw at his back like you were trying to tear him to shreds. You would cry and whimper beneath him, mascara running down your cheeks as he took you apart over and over again. Sullying your sheets for the nth time that week.

And the way you kissed him. You kissed him like you were drowning, and the only available air had to be stolen from his lips. Even after he had taken his bandaging off, and showed you the nasty blight tearing through his cheek.

You didn’t mind. Of course you didn’t, because you were perfect for him.

As time went on though, it became harder to keep you in the dark.

“What do you really do, Toby?” You had asked him one night, sat at the edge of your bed with your skin still bare. You were swaddled in your comforter, hair a mess with a cigarette perched between your lips. One that you had snagged from the carton in the back pocket of his jeans, which lay crumpled on your floor.

Toby supposed he should’ve seen it coming, your curiosity. You had held it back, bit your tongue over so many questions he knew you had, and so it would only take time until you were unable to restrain yourself.

“Told you, I-I hunt.” He had muttered back to you, but it was becoming a lazier and lazier excuse as the days passed. Especially right then, as he lay on your bed in just his underwear - a myriad of scars littering his skin. Far too many to be excused by simply being a ‘hunter’.

You had told him once, that you were sure he was made up of more scar tissue than true skin.

“Yeah? What do you hunt?” You had questioned him, voice soft and hollow, as it always was. But something about the way you spoke then, with a slight tremble to your voice, had him knowing that you had figured him out.

If he was being honest, you probably knew it all for a while now. He hadn’t exactly been… careful. Showing up at odd hours of the night, sometimes stained with blood, sometimes not. On the nights when he was, your gaze would linger, but you’d never say anything.

You’d just tug the bloodied garments off of him the same as you always did, kissed him as you always did even thought you could taste copper on his lips.

He wonder why, sometimes. Why you didn’t care. Why, though you definitely knew there was something very wrong about him, you kept letting him in your home. In your body. Over and over again.

You couldn’t be ignorant to the danger, you were smarter than that. So were you just ignoring it? Or worse, were you just waiting?

Waiting for the day when he left your home bloodied instead.

“I th-think you already know.” He had spoken back to you softly, before standing up and rounding the bed - coming to stand before you. “Don’t you?”

You had looked up at him, bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through your bedroom window, and he watched as your hand began to tremble.

“Yeah.” You whispered, breathing out the words in a cloud of smoke that washed over him. “I do.”

“And?” Toby reached down and cupped your jaw, squeezing the soft flesh gently. “Are you ss-scared?” He had known what your answer would be before he even asked, and so it was no surprise when you simply shook your head in response.

“No.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I know you can help me.”

Those words, were the clearest memory he had of you. He remembered you speaking them so vividly, could picture the exact expression you had when you said them. Somehow both resigned, and hopeful. A sad little smile tugging at your lips.

And he could remember how they had struck him. Because he had known what you meant, the second you had uttered them.

Still, he had asked;

“H-Help you… How?”

You had reached up, your fingers so cold as the wrapped around his wrist, gently grasping him as you leaned into his palm. You don’t answer directly, instead you say;

“You’ve thought about it, right? Killing me?”

Of course he had. How couldn’t he? It was like an itch he refused to scratch every time he was in your presence. He had thought about it all - the sound of your screams, how your face would contort in agony, what shade of blue your lips would turn when it was all over.

He thought about it often. Every time he laid his hands on you. Every time he curled his fingers around your throat, knowing that with one movement, he could end you with a ‘snap’.

Maybe you had seen it. The way his eyes darkened as he hovered above you, fingers pressing against your pulse point.

“Y-Yeah, I have.” He had muttered back to you. “I like you too much t-to really do it, though.”

“That’s a lie.” You had argued. “I’m just another person. You’d forget about me just like the rest of them.”

He didn’t want to agree with you, but he knew that you were right. Maybe that’s the real reason he hadn’t done it yet. Because he didn’t want to forget you, and if you weren’t at an arms reach at all times, he knew he would.

You’d just be another person. Another body he had to bury.

You’d lose your name. And your face would dissolve in his mind, faster than your real one would as the worms picked you apart.

But that was what you wanted.

To not be known. To be forgotten.

You were right. He could help you with that.

He had brushed your request off for a while after that. For weeks, actually, though he had never forgotten about it.

You never let him forget about it.

You’d guide his hand to your throat while he was inside you, curl his hand into a grasp and make him squeeze. He would. With enough strength to leave you wheezing beneath him, eyes fluttering as your cheeks started to go purple.

But he’d always let go, right before you went under.

Much to your dismay, though you’d never say it. Toby could tell though, from the look of disappointment that took over your expression as your lungs gasped for air greedily.

You wanted it, really wanted it, and it was getting harder to pretend that he didn’t want it too.

He got rougher with you. Drawing more blood. Leaving more bruises. Just to see how much you could take. If you really meant what you had said, or if you’d shy away from the pain out of fear.

You never did. Just letting him do whatever he pleased, to your poor mistreated body. Always reaching back out for him, begging for more.

And yet he still didn’t feel bad.

Did he even actually like you? Shouldn’t he feel at least a little guilty, if he did?

It didn’t take him long to realize the truth. He didn’t feel guilty, because he liked you. Because he wanted to give you what you wanted, to free you from the shackles of the life you lived. He was the only one who could. The only one willing.

The only one, who could make your dreams a reality.

It was two months after meeting you, that he decided he would.

It was a late Sunday evening, when Tim had informed him they’d be skipping town again. Moving far, to another state completely, because their mounting list of bodies was getting too large for the public to ignore.

It was a common thing for Toby nowadays. Hopping from state to state, leaving a blood trail in their wake. Normally, it wasn’t an issue, but this time - he had an attachment.

Unfinished business.

He had you.

And he couldn’t leave you here, with memories of him riddling your mind.

So, like he always did, he showed up to your front door unannounced - this time, for the first ever, with his two trusty hatchets hanging from the belt fastened around his hips.

You had known what he was there for, the moment you opened the door.

The look in his eyes, deader than you’d ever seen them. The glint of metal off the blades in his possession, rusty and already stained with what you knew was old blood.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t usher him inside like you always did. Instead, you simply stepped out and closed the door behind you. Not bothering to lock it, and not bothering to take anything with you.

“C’mon.” Toby had told you, voice low, before he turned and started walking without another word. You followed him, feet clad in nothing but socks, the shorts and flimsy t-shirt you had been wearing doing nothing to protect you from the nippy fall wind.

He lead you out of your building, down the road, in silence and under the cover of darkness as he trudged down the town’s streets. With each step he took, you could hear the clink of his weapons knocking against one another.

He would swear he could hear your racing pulse from a few feet in front of you.

“Y-You sure you really want this?” He had asked you, not looking back as he walked further and further from your home - closer to his destination. “I could just t-take you with me, y’know. Away ff-from all this. I’d keep ya’ safe.”

The offer, was a genuine one, but he had known you would refuse it.

“I’m sure.” You had responded predictably.

“Thought so. H-Had to at least try though.”

He stopped once he reached the edge of the forest bordering your little town, before finally turning around to look at you. “I won’t b-be nice about it. If you were s-smart you’d just do it yourself.”

“That’s okay. I want it to be you.”

Of course you did. Because you were perfect for him.

So, he had taken your hand in his glove clad one, and let you into the darkness.

He could feel you shaking as he dragged you through the brush, bare legs snagging and skin tearing against sticks and thorns. You didn’t complain. Not once. Even as the journey dragged on and on, further away from civilization. Even as the wind bit at your skin, and caused your teeth to chatter. Even when rocks and fallen branches stabbed at your feet through the thin barrier of your socks.

You just followed, not making a peep. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Toby could still remember how he felt when he finally stopped. How the silence hung so heavily in the air. Crisp, yet suffocating. An eeriness in the air, like the entire forest was holding its breath.

And then he had turned to you, and raised a hand, cupping your face with it. The other one, just out of your sight, reached down to curl around the handle or one of his hatchets.

“Y-You deserved a better ending, y’know?” He had muttered, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “Probably c-coulda been something, if you really t-tried.”

And you had smiled at him. The first, genuine smile he had ever seen you produce. Crinkling your eyes, forming dimples in your cheeks - a happiness taking over your irises that was so potent it nearly made him falter.

“I tried for a long time.” You had spoken back to him. “I’m tired of it.” As you leaned into his touch, he was pulling the hatchet from his belt loop.

“I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

And he could tell that you meant it. That you really, truly, had no regrets even as you stood in front of this monster of man. You looked… Calm. Serene. Like he was bestowing a gift upon you, not offering a gruesome demise.

What a strange, strange girl.

It had to be fate, that he had met you.

He had leant forwards, giving you one last parting kiss. Pressing his lips to yours in a way that spoke volumes. A farewell, an apology, a congratulations, a ‘you’re welcome’.

And the way you had kissed him back, was the gentlest you had ever touched him.

If he had allowed himself to, he may have hesitated, just because of that alone.

But he didn’t, because this was what you wanted.

This was the one thing he could give you, before he left.

His memory was spotty for the next coming moments, a blur of red the moment his lips left yours. He did remember the way you had cried though, when his blade sliced into your shoulder.

You had stumbled back, trembling and gasping for breath, blood gushing from your wound and staining your clothes. The blade had sunk in deep, just like he had hoped. Probably hitting bone. Maybe even cracking through it.

He advanced on you when you backed up, but you didn’t retreat any further. It was so weird, having someone not fight back. Shaking and crying, but just standing there and taking it.

He swung again, blade already dripping with your blood. This time, he hit your arm. His hatchet embedded itself deep. Deep enough that he had felt it when he hit your humerus. Right into your bone it sunk, bringing with it a cascade of blood and a chorus of your screams.

You sounded pretty. He had thought absently, as he tore his blade from your skin - the gash it left behind so deep, that he was sure he could snap your arm clean off without much of an issue.

He had watched as you sunk to your knees, dizzy, crying, breathing ragged and frantic. You were gushing with blood, face contorted with agony - eyes squeezed shut as you sobbed and sobbed.

You had asked for this. Why were you crying?

“I-Is this not what you had expected?” He had asked, standing above you with a blade hovering over the crown of your head. You were swaying where you sat, skin already growing pale. Blood loss setting in rapidly. “I t-told you I wouldn’t be n-nice.”

“I-I know.” You had sputtered out, eyes shining with tears as you looked up to meet his gaze. “It’s- It’s alright. Just hurts.”

“Do you not w-want it to? I can end it right n-now.”

“No. Keep- Keep going. Do whatever you want.” You sounded woozy, eyes drooping as you took in shaky, shallow breaths. Your left arm hung limp at your side, mangled, still gushing blood onto the forest floor. You looked so pitiful.

So beautiful.

And so, he swung again.

And again, and again, and again.

Your chest, your neck, your thighs. Nothing was spared from the brutal onslaught he dealt upon you. Metal slicing through skin. Deeper, through fat. Deeper, meeting bone. He painted you red as you cried beneath him, turning you into nothing but a heap of blood and tears.

When you had fallen backwards, back hitting the dirt, he crawled on top of you.

“Still alive?” He had asked, eyeing your now mangled throat. Ribbons of skin and cartilage mostly disguised by the flood of blood pouring out of you.

You merely let out a little whimper. He supposed it made sense, if you couldn’t talk anymore. “You know, y-you’re pretty even like this.” He told you, watching your glassy eyes and how the life faded from them. How they went foggier and foggier as the seconds ticked by. He raised his arms up, both hands clutching the weapon he held over his head. “Maybe you’ll b-be a pretty ghost too.”

You sputtered, blood splattering against your lips and chin as you coughed it up. But you had also, by some miracle, managed a small, pained smile up at him. He deduced that sound would’ve been a laugh, if he hadn’t shredded your vocal cords. So he does as well. Lets out a bemused little chuckle, a warped grin on his face as he shook is head in disbelief. “Gonna miss you. You w-were a lot of fun.”

If you had something to say back to him, you couldn’t voice it. Reduced to just gargled whimpers, and pained whines. That was alright. He already knew everything. You didn’t need to tell him a thing.

He meets your eyes one last time, before bringing his hatchet down.

It tore through your abdomen, ripping through your clothes and skin in the same fluid motion. Tearing into your insides, puncturing organs and severing your intestines. He did it again, when his arms raised once more. Again, his blade met your your warmth within, widening the already gaping wound he had left upon your smooth skin.

The skin he had kissed, caressed. Loved, as best as he could.

This, was his final act of devotion.

He felt as the legs he straddled twitched beneath him. Watched as your eyes blew open wide, before they were rolling back. Tasted it, as stray droplets of your blood hit his lips.

Just as sweet as he remembered.

It was only once you stopped moving completely, did he relent. He dropped his hatchet down on the ground beside your head. Beside your face - the one attribute of you he had left untouched. Still contorted in agony, frozen in time, even though your breathing had ceased.

He was a mess. Coated in you. It was covering his whole body. Staining his clothes, seeping into his hair, dripping down his face and clinging to his eyelashes. You were everywhere. Just as you deserved to be.

You were much worse than he was though, obviously. Mutilated beyond all belief. Limbs barely hanging on. Cartilage and bone that should’ve never saw the light of day, basking in the moonlight. Your entrails had started to spill. Intestines slipping out like snakes that had been confined for far too long, bursting from you as if they had been waiting for this very moment.

And he thought to himself;

How was it, that you were even more beautiful on the inside?

—————————————————————————☆

trying my hand writing gore hmmm,,,

was it icky enough? yucky enough? I’m not sure

I promise also I’m working on asks this was just a short and easy lil thing to edit and post

thanks for reading! ♡

#toby rogers #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x female reader #ticci toby x you #toby rogers x reader #creepypasta headcanon #crp #crp fandom

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cheralith · 3 months ago

Text

𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞. masterlist (18+) — a blue lock horror dystopia cannibal au.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬.

you may have passed one today. you may have even held the door open for one. you may have even smiled at one today in greeting with them returning one back, with teeth that have seen more than you know.

but despite looking like you, acting like you, talking like you, their true self lurks in the shadows—monsters unveiling themselves when the time calls for it, sinking those same teeth that smiled at you today into the flesh of another and drinking blood that isn't theirs. and while you think that there's a clear line of separation between you and them, look a little closer, blink, and you'll find you're merely looking at your reflection.

in a world where cannibals are bred from the worst sentiments a person can feel, heed this warning: control your emotions and maintain your humanity, or you just might find yourself stumbling over to the other side.

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞. (about this au)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐢. dead dove do not eat: this au contains smut as well as heavy dark content with vivid descriptions of cannibalism, blood, gore, body horror/mutilation, violence, and murder. i don't know your limits, but i know mine so proceed with caution—there are and will be certain times where i do not hold back. minors/ageless blogs dni.

𝐢𝐢. this is less of one consistent story, but rather multiple fragments of stories in a singular timeline under one alternate universe. each character has their own separate reader* who they follow their own plotline with and each reader is a completely separate "character" from another reader (ie: kaiser's reader is a human, whereas karasu's reader is a cannibal). *exception of nagi & reo.

𝐢𝐢𝐢. all readers are gender-neutral and use they/them pronouns. anything with smut contains reader with female anatomy.

𝐢𝐯. this au mainly revolves around kaiser. most fics and drabbles will be associated with him and his reader. his storyline is the dominant one in this au and will be the most followed.

𝐯. there is currently no complete timeline, but this is the pace to follow as of currently. everything else outside of it are background/outside stories. (will update when necessary).

urge → compulsions → compulsions: an aftermath

𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐬.

⋇ = full fics

— michael kaiser. ⋇ compulsions ⋇ compulsions: an aftermath (ty to azrael for ask <3! @haruchiyos)

— isagi yoichi. ⋇ urge

— nagi seishiro ⋇ red curtains

add-ons: about i | about ii | warehouse (with kaiser) | three's a crowd (with reo) |

— otoya eita ⋇ bonnie and clyde

— yukimiya kenyu add-ons: about

— bachira meguru add-ons: bite me

— hiori yo add-ons: about (with karasu)

⋇ tba...

𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬.

— itoshi sae add-ons: about | heart to heart (with rin) |

— shidou ryusei add-ons: about |

— karasu tabito add-ons: about i (with hiori) | about ii | withdrawal |

— mikage reo ⋇ red curtains

add-ons: about i | about ii | warehouse (with kaiser) | three's a crowd (with nagi) |

— alexis ness add-ons: about |

⋇ tba...

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

⋇ breeding process ⋇ playlist

#remember when i wanted to make this isagi's au . yeah no good times #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin #otoya eita #yukimiya kenyu #bachira meguru #hiori yo #itoshi sae #shidou ryusei #karasu tabito #mikage reo #tw ; cannibalism #tw ; gore #꩜ ; the rabbit hole #mini series ; aacd

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lorelune · 2 years ago

Text

cicatrix

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, cathartic smut || wc: 21.5k || ao3 ||

Both you and Jing Yuan are known to put well-being aside for the sake of others. You reckon with it.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: i've been COOKING!!!! please enjoy this very cathartic, gooey oneshot 😩💕!!!!! jing yuan is so beloved and getting to chew on him and his character makes me wanna roll around and scream (positive). thank you so much to bee (@suguwu) for talking this piece out w me each step of the way and andy (@andypantsx3) for a so helpful final read through 🥺🩷 read and enjoy loves!!!

CW: reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and afab anatomy, author-created lore & worldbuilding, reader visibly loses weight due to bodily stress, general talk of weight and bodies, reference to pain during intimacy, a single pregnancy joke made entirely in jest

“You should go see him.”

This is not the first time Diviner Fu has told you this. It’s actually the third time. It’s her third time attempting to have this particular conversation with you, one which you are becoming increasingly adept at parrying around.

“Who?” You lie. You already know who.

“The General?” Fu Xuan sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “He’s awake, you know. Barely. But he has asked for you. Both while he was mostly unconscious and since he’s regained his lucidity. Go see him.”

“I’ll pass.” You shift on your knees with a heavy thump. Bone on metal. “Besides, can’t you, of all people, see I am hard at work here? I don’t exactly have the time for personal visits at the moment.”

That is not a lie. That is a steadfast truth. One both you and Fu Xuan, as the Master Calibrator and the Master Diviner respectively, fully understand.

Fu Xuan has sought you out deep within the Luofu’s inner structure. Far below the sprawl of metal-plated cities and neighborhoods, are the catacomb intestines you’ve been toiling in for... sometime now. Since whenever the Lord Ravager harnessed the Arbor, and the roots of a dead tree powered by an Aeon mutilated the Luofu’s most delicate innards. Innards you need to fix, rather than having frustrating conversations with Lady Fu.

You tap around on the interface on your wrist-bound jade abacus and curse. Your fingers are newly calloused, irritated at the tips from all of the poking and prodding you’ve had to do. You dip your hands into one of the opened buckets fastened to your belt, pulling forth when you’re sticky with iridescent sludge that slowly drips down your wrist like thick syrup.

Returning to the utility panel you were previously working on before being interrupted, you tinker with a few of its delicate dials. All thrown off by the overabundance of... Abundance and the physical impact of the roots growth, deeper in the Luofu’s structure. You concentrate and thread quantum with the sap on your hands, trying to coax the machines into a more stable stasis.

“At least consider it.” Fu Xuan says. Technically, she could order you, as she is on some administrative level, your superior and (from what you last heard) the acting General of the Luofu while the Divine Foresight has been indisposed. And yet, she does not force you.

“Fine. I’ll consider it— if and when the Luofu is running diagnostic assessments with an average above fourty.”

“That’s— somewhat agreeable. But, I do think you’re being entirely—”

“Foolish?” You interrupt her with a laugh.

“Childish.” Fu Xuan taps her foot. The sound bounces around the narrow passageway, rattling into your skull. “Can the two of you not talk like adults and settle things?”

“I’m not sure what there is to ‘settle’ with him, Lady Fu.” You twitch your index and pinky finger at the same time. The internals sing, a hymn you know, the chord is a step or two too low— fucker. “He did something supremely stupid, and I am working.”

“That’s an obtuse way to look at things, and you know it.”

“In what way?” You crack open your eyes. You hadn’t realized you’d shut them. You’re sure they’re bloodshot. “What do you think about the General’s actions in subduing the Lord Ravager, Lady Fu?”

“I do believe he was reckless— as reckless as that man allows himself to be.” Fu Xuan has clearly thought about this before. Frustration pinches in her voice. “But it was not without the results.”

“So calculated recklessness is fine if, in the worst case, you end up as the Luofu’s next Arbiter General?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“I am.” You say, sighing. Anger prickles under your skin. This is all easier to deal with (read: ignore) if you focus on the ship and its internals. Its stupid, destroyed, obliterated internals. “I apologize.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Fu Xuan asks.

“... Yesterday? Probably?” There’s no daylight. You conserve battery life on your various devices by keeping screens dim, so you don’t know the hour. Time has felt liquid for some time now.

“I could take over.” Fu Xuan suggests.

“You still have a ship to run, I assume. Unless the Divine Foresight was so eager to get back to work already.”

“... Tasks can be delegated accordingly.”

“It’s not necessary.” You shake your head. “I mean this as no slight, but the rate at which you would be able to complete repairs and calibrations would be at the same rate at which the ship’s fail-safes and functions are degrading. It isn’t worth it.”

Perhaps, under different circumstances, Fu Xuan would squawk at you for discounting her skills as a calibrator so quickly. She is trained, not to your degree or expertise, but in a pinch, she can complete repairs, hear the chords, see the quantum maps required to keep the Luofu and its many delicate parts and pieces functioning accordingly.

However, the Luofu’s current circumstances do not constitute a ‘pinch’ and rather a ‘once-in-an-era disaster that nearly killed the long-lived, beloved General, destroyed the longstanding Creation Furnace, revealed the previous disgraced High Elder of the Vidhaydara, nearly reawoke the Ambrosial Arbor’. And, as Jing Yuan had told you in confidence— “It’s a Stellaron.”

And hence, you and your expertise are best-suited for the task of repairing the insides of the Luofu.

“... Even still.” She says somewhat gravely. “This is unsustainable.”

“I recognize that.” And you do, childish avoidance of the General aside. “Once the ship’s up to forty percent attuned, the diagnostic algorithms attached to the internal citrine abaci should stabilize and begin to re-establish a self-healing cycle. At which point, my manual diagnostics and repairs will no longer be necessary at the level at which I’m completing them now.”

“What percentage attuned is the Luofu at, as of now?”

“... Twenty-seven.” This is, technically, the truth.

(However, you have little confidence in that number, as it fluctuates heavily based on time of day and your own location within the tunnels and mechanical catacombs. You imagine this may be due to any number of things— there may be a gamma leak down deeper, where the radiation sponges are not as effective. There could still be creatures and roots of Abundance, alive in the passageways, wreaking havoc on the systems in real time. The diagnostic systems themselves could be failing, or at the very least damaged, which means that prescribing a number at all to the Luofu’s condition is a stupid idea to begin with—)

Fu Xuan says your name sharply.

“Yes?”

“... I’m worried.”

“That’s probably for the best.” You wish there was more sympathy in your voice, but it sounds cold and outside of your body.

(You’re so tired.)

Fu Xuan sighs, and drops to her knees next to you, peering in one the copper box you’ve been wrist deep in for the better part of ten minutes. Distractions slow down the process so immensely.

“Your reasoning is sound, and I understand that this isn’t entirely some ploy to skirt around the General’s requests to see you.” Fu Xuan hands you a small pendant, cut of purple stone and lit from the inside out. “Please, wear this. It will transmit your vital signs and location to a monitor on the surface.”

You blanch, “Is this for you, or the General?”

“For the Divination Commission on paper.” Fu Xuan loops it around your neck. “You’re the only Master Calibrator on the Luofu. To lose track of you, or lose you, would be dire. It will also assuage some of the General’s anxieties and keep him from pestering me about you.

“The general, anxious?” You throw back your head with a laugh and withdraw your hands from the paneling. The sludge has liquified further, more mucus-y now as it drips down your forearms. You wipe away what remains with a well-used rag from your belt. “I’ve never known Jing Yuan to be anxious.”

“He is now.” Fu Xuan says simply. “Or, as much as he allows himself to be. I am not interested in delving into the General’s psychology, but I am interested in keeping you in decent condition. That pendant has an emergency function. If you tap it three times, it’ll send a distress signal with your location.”

You want to say that that’s ‘unnecessary’, but you know that’s your bad mood. There’s a reason why Fu Xuan made this journey, alone, and is speaking to you so frankly. There are bags under her eyes too.

“Thank you, Fu Xuan.” You say, softly, kinder than you have been.

Despite your grime, perhaps mutual, you wrap your arms around her shoulders and squeeze. She hugs you back and deflates, if only for a moment.

...

The Luofu’s utility organs are built downwards, filling what would be considered the ‘hull’ of the ship, until you hit the Hall of Karma. There’s insulation between the ship’s most vital part and the weary souls of the departed, which provides you some comfort as you must descend deeper and deeper.

The Luofu is as much a ship as it is a planet— a live ecosystem, adapted to fit the various immortals who call it home. The bowels of the Luofu are truthfully a combination of metal and plant matter— dirt and mechanical roots meant to hold the ground in one piece around you. Much of the organic matter of the ship is covered behind metal plating, lest risking a collapse.

Most of the damage you must tinker to fix occurs in the small, delicate panels that are placed in the walls every ten meters or so. They’re nondescript, mostly. Surrounded by a few various dials— a few circular meters are faded and out of use (relics from when the Luofu left its parent civilization, millenia ago), and a port to sync up a jade abacus to for more detailed readings.

Most of the data is slop to someone without training.

Even with training, your exhaustion is making the various numbers, symbols, and graphs feel like slop.

The panel can be disconnected with a small, quill-looking tool (there’s only a small amount left on the Luofu, maybe twenty in total. The head of the tool is carved from an old, red stone, burnt in an old fire by a forgemaster long dead. You keep track of your handful diligently, lest you lose them without another smith to make them.) Once the utility panel is pried off, it reveals a suspended layer of liquid, far deeper than it looks. If you really tried, you probably could fit your entire arm in and still have depth.

Suspended in the liquid are the mechanisms that truly run the Luofu. It’s hard to describe how they fit together. It takes an affinity for quantum, a century (or three) of training, to make sense of how to parse together the ship's parts. The parts are various small machines, crystals, living ecosystems bound into balls and sustained by astrosynthesis beyond this world.

You’re used to the awe of it.

Along your waist, you carry several pots of stellar lubricant. The grease provides... some amount of slip when poking around in it yourself. It resonates with the quantum and allows you to see the stretches of energy that allow the ship to run as it does. Tender leylines, woven threads, songs and hymns that are of many familiar beats and melodies.

Everything slips together as you pull yet another panel from a wall. The mechanisms sing out of tune, in dissonant chords, off-beat in the wrong time signature.

You dunk your hands into the lubricant, ignoring the slowly erupting burns on your forearms from over-exposure.

You shove your hands into the wall. You work. You fix.

...

Not so long ago, you and Fu Xuan were not the only two Calibrator on the Xianzhou Alliance’s Luofu. There had been an apprentice in the Divination Commission who was studying, seeking mastery, just as you yourself had. They were more skilled than Lady Fu in the arts of calibration. You think they hailed from the Yaoqing. They were soft, gentle-hearted and young by the standards of Xianzhou natives.

So perhaps, this is why they became Marastruck in the mouth of one of the utility tunnels after seeing footage of the Divine Foresight being dragged unconscious and limp into the apothecary. Gingko leaves tearing their skin, an unholy sob turning to a shriek to cut the air. You were lucky the transformation occurred while you were above ground, and a patrol of Cloud Knights was nearby.

You’re probably lucky that you hadn’t (haven’t) succumbed to Mara. If you were a few centuries younger and less trained in the arts of meditation, you might have been swallowed up like the apprentice had been.

Jing Yuan, for all of his many games and schemes and tricks, radiates the air of someone almost infallible. He is not perfect; he has never been one for edges that are too manicured. He’s far more content dozing the afternoon away or taking a stroll through one of his gardens than hosting war-meetings. He prefers to wear plain clothes to the market in hopes he will not be recognized (though, he always is).

But, he is strong and remarkably difficult to phase or bother in any setting. On more than one occasion, you’ve spent the evening trying to rile him up and get him to pounce, but the General is always content to watch your attempts with a lazy smile on his face. Content to sweetly watch you struggle in getting under his skin. He may be affected, but he is hard to break. If he does, it is with such grace that you wouldn’t have any idea he did break, and it feels as if you’ve somehow slipped, rather than him. He is cunning and sure-footed in a way that you can’t help but admire.

You’re not the only one to feel that way.

(Though, you’re the only one who shares a bed with him. So.)

The Xianzhou has little place for legends, yet Jing Yuan is old enough and well-thought of enough to have become one. So, you cannot blame the apprentice for falling to Mara. Not when they, and the rest of the Luofu, saw a legend buckle at the knees.

...

You were right about diagnostics being inaccurate. However, the reason was a mix of your two initial hypotheses.

Parts of the diagnostic system, deep and low within the Luofu’s internal organs, had been damaged. Radiation leaks from the core of the ship, usually held back by sponges and filters, was drifting upward to damage any number of sensors and organic processes keeping the Luofu operational.

(All useless details really, none of it makes sense anymore. The ship is fucked. You must fix it.)

And you have been fixing it.

You reek of stellar lubricant, skin stained pearly and glittery under the fluorescent lights that dot the tunnels. Your eyes ache; it’s gotten quite difficult to focus them. You’re lucky that there’s occasional spigots tapped into the walls, with some type of freshwater flowing from them, even if it does take awhile for any liquid to run. They probably haven’t been used in decades— maybe centuries. Most of the internals of the Luofu heal and repair on their own.

A calibrator would only need to step-in in the case of a calamity.

Time has gotten slippery. Though you send up status reports (of varying quality) through your wrist-bound jade abacus, you can’t say it’s on a schedule. You do them when you have the mental fortitude to craft something acceptable for the Divination Commission to scoff at.

You’re tired, maybe.

There are some mediary chambers between levels. Old, dust-covered rooms with a cot and some rations. Though you raid the ones you come across for emergency food stores, you don’t stay to sleep. You usually keel over on the metal flooring with your outermost robe thrown over you like a blanket. Your pillow is your own folded hands.

It’s viciously uncomfortable, but you find sleeping difficult regardless. The offensively bright grow lights are sensitive to flesh life, and will not turn off in your presence. The floor is sometimes searingly warm, sometimes ice cold. If you stop working, your own thoughts threaten to swallow you whole. You only achieve sleep in brief moments, perhaps a few hours at a time, when you’re entirely spent.

It is unpleasant sleep. A mix of recent horrors and faraway comforts.

(You initially heard from Fu Xuan what Jing Yuan had done.)

(Shortly after, footage was posted of the Divine Foresight, unconscious and being dragged across the Luofu for medical attention. Jing Yuan was entirely unresponsive and cradled in the arms of the Vidharayda’s... reawoken? Returned? (You stay out of Lizard Politics.) (Regardless, it still burns.))

(There’s chaos in the sounds captured on the video, the shocked, disbelieving voices.)

(You had turned off your phone (you have still yet to turn it back on) and dragged the apprentice to the tunnels. You ignored their crumbled expression and all of their disbelief. It would not serve either of you— anyone— in that moment. This was foolish of you.)

(You remember your apprentice and how their panic grew to Mara so quickly. How they looked sick to their stomach, braced against one of the entrances to the tunnels of the catacombs, clutching their skull. You urged them forward, begged them to hurry— that the diagnostics were grave. You could see the gnarled roots of the arbor already having penetrated some of the ancillary walls.)

(They looked so scared as they were swallowed by Mara. Eyes flashing scarlet, gingko leaves spilling from their mouth as they screamed. Flesh tearing to be healed wrong seconds later. Beautiful silk robes torn to shreds, body mutilated from the inside out.)

(They’d lunged at you, howling, and you’d barely side-stepped them. You ran to a patrol of Cloud Knights, overworked and clearly battleworn themselves and exhausted. Regardless, they took down your apprentice. Cut them at the back of the knees, called a Judge, dragged them off to the Hall of Karma.)

You dream of Jing Yuan often.

Sometimes, these dreams are awful.

Lady Fu had told you to visit him, prior to your initial descent into the catacombs. She said he was unconscious and battered. He would certainly recover; the General is particularly hearty. She urged you to see him in the Alchemy Commission. She said this as if Jing Yuan hadn’t just thrown himself in front of a being that rivaled some Aeons. She said this as if the Luofu wasn’t a few mechanical failures away from ceasing function and you were the only one aboard the Luofu able to stop it with any efficiency.

You dream of Jing Yuan being lanced through with his own guandao. You dream of him falling to the stone of Scalegorge Waterscape, eyes blooming red, and ginkgo leaves erupting from his shoulders. You dream of him mutilated beyond belief by beings so much more powerful than either of you. You dream of having to watch a patrol of Cloud Knights pin him to the ground as Mara consumes him.

Sometimes, the dreams are pleasant.

The worst are those where you think you have woken up in bed with him. Mimi purrs at the foot of his stupid, indulgently large bed. Your cheek is pressed to his chest, warm and alive and okay, and he rumbles some laugh when you seem confused. He asks if you’d like breakfast. A bath. You should go to the markets together, shouldn’t you?

You dream of his body next to yours. Well and whole and intertwined.

You prefer to be awake; it allows you to feel like you have some semblance of control over your own mind.

Horrors crop up into the forefront of your mind without warning often. Staying focused on your repairs helps you. Grounding yourself in the sting of the lubricant over your skin keeps your thoughts closer to the material, rather than the intangible fears that threaten to swallow you whole.

Leaving only you to your work. Fixing.

You wipe sweat from your brow, uncaring of the grease that smears across your skin and clumps in your hair. The panel in front of you is being particularly fuzzy. The parts are old. The impact from the Arbors sudden growth had damaged the delicate nature of the mechanisms.

So, you tinker away.

Quantum threading, weaving, unraveling, trying again. And again, and again.

Your head pounds.

...

At some point, when checking your jade abacus, the diagnostic percentages have stopped going down. They’re actually going up, steadily and on their own.

You don’t believe it at first, but after... a while of keeping an eye on it, it doesn’t appear to be a fluke. Functionality is hovering around thirty-three percent, unfailingly, and rising a percentage every day or so. The panels you check appear to be healing themselves as well, albeit slowly. Thin, vermillion tendrils snake around in the oil to poke and prod as you have. Albeit, it’s not enough, but it provides a kernel of respite nonetheless.

Coincidentally, you run out of stellar lubricant around this same time as well.

The only option (as you’ve already pilfered the stores you’ve come across) is to ascend back to the surface of the Luofu and fetch more from the Artisanship Commission.

You feel delirious when you rise fully and stretch your arms above your head. Your hands knock into the metal ceiling as your back cracks in at least four different places. Your knees ache. Your legs have long since cramped up. You feel stiff down to your bones, but you separate from the feeling. You must, there’s more important things to worry about.

Ascending the catacombs is difficult. You hadn’t... realized quite how deep you’d gone for repairs. It takes quite some time to climb the thin utility ladders and weave the correct path upwards. You’re slowed by gravity and your own lethargy. The exertion takes its toll quickly, but you ignore it. You have a task to complete.

(Your body's slick with sweat. Your vision threatens to tunnel.)

Perhaps you’ll pick up some proper rations as well. The nutritional power you had pilfered from the tunnel’s stores probably isn’t meant to be consumed in the long term.

You come to surface through a shrouded doorway in a residential neighborhood. It’s warm, temperate as the Luofu usually is. There’s a pleasant breeze and the smell of grass and water in the air. It’s a sharp contrast to the metallic tang of oil and lubricant that you’re slicked with.

You try to think little of it. Artisanship Commission.

On your way, you get the occasional odd stare. A child points at you. You, perhaps, are covered in grime and attribute any gawking to that. Maybe? You’re due for a bath. Though with all the errands it appears you need to run, do you really have time for one?

There’s a shop on the edge of the Artisanship Commission you duck into. The shopkeeper is speaking to another customer at the counter, but goes silent when you give him a friendly wave. You’re a regular here, after all.

You grab as much of the lubricant as you can carry in your arms and place it on the counter, poking around in your pocket for your... phone. It’s probably out of battery.

“Could you put this on the Divination Commission’s tab?” You ask him. “It’s being used for official business.”

The shopkeeper is still looking at you, wide-eyed. Mouth hanging open. He stiffly nods and rings you up.

Odd.

You think little of it. He slowly loads your jars into an old crate and hands it to you.

“Be well.” You say on the way out. The shopkeeper does not reply.

The interaction leaves you with a vague sense of unease.

That feeling mounts the more you realize that people are looking at you, as you make your way to Aurum Alley for rations. One woman even tries to stop you, but you wave her off. You need to—

Get rations. Maybe take a shower. Descend again because there’s no way the systems can be sustained and heal fast enough on their own. You must work, you must toil.

And you mustn’t visit Jing Yuan.

Not yet. Not until you can forget how he looked, slack and half-dead in the arms of his men. Perhaps you should forget the face of the returned High Elder as well. You’ve— you’ve put together that he and Jing Yuan have some type of history. You know from the whisperings that the man saved Jing Yuan.

(You can’t ever save him. You are not a fighter. You’re a well-paid mechanic.)

Rations.

You’re stopped before you ever are three steps into Aurum Alley by a group of Cloud Knights.

“Halt.” One of them says, raising her weapon.

“... Pardon?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. The crate in your arms is too heavy for this. “Can I help you?”

“Please wait,” the tip of her guandao shines, “you are the Divination Commission’s Master Calibrator, correct?”

“... Yes?” You sigh. “I apologize, but I must get past you. I’m on official business. Supply run.”

The Knight rotates her blade to the butt of it against your chest, applying light pressure. Holding you there, tucked between several buildings and fairly out of sight. Your stomach drops.

“I can’t allow that.”

“... Excuse me?”

You’re about ready to snap at the nervous-looking knight once more, but you’re interrupted. The sound of quick feet over stone stops behind you and frigid air begins to spill down your neck. You turn your head painfully over your shoulder.

Yanqing, the fierce little thing, is poised behind you, spitting steam and frost. His gold eyes are angry, teeth bared. He looks exhausted.

“You are being detained,” he says, angry and sharp.

“What?” You snap, turning to face him. He looks ready to raise his blade against you, hand twitching at his waist. That’s not your concern at this moment. “Yanqing— what are you—”

Yanqing’s eyes are shiny and wet.

Oh.

“You’re being detained by order of the Divine Foresight.” He says, voice unwavering despite the tears beading against his lower lashes.

...

Yanqing seems like he’s seething as he leads you to one of Jing Yuan’s personal gardens. It’s on a terrace, high above most of the Luofu, far-away from any of the Commission's that may bother him when he is attempting to relax.

You know this garden well; it’s your favorite spot to relax in with Jing Yuan.

He leads you directly to Jing Yuan who is standing on an overlook, hand behind his back as he stares out over a roiling sea. The waves crash far below, the sound a mere echo. His shoulders are slack. He hardly looks angry. It’s rare that he ever does.

“General.” Yanqing says— he is angry. “I’ve brought them.”

“Oh?” Jing Yuan turns, a pleasant smile stretching across his face. “You found them?”

“Yes, in Aurum Alley.” Yanqing salutes and steps to the side.

You cross your arms and try not to cry.

Jing Yuan looks fine. He’s clearly in one piece. Whole. Whole. No visible injury, no new limp as he steps closer to you, examining you just as intently as you examine him.

It’s a horrible relief to see him fine— even if you should scold him. If you had the energy, you would. You would rake him over the damn coals for endangering himself as he did. You will, later. Maybe. But for now—

“Am I done being detained?” You ask, malice in your voice. “I have work to do.”

“No hello?”

“Fine. Hello.”

“Hi,” Jing Yuan says more gently, beckoning you to a lovely looking pile of silk pillows and a thick mat. The perfect spot for a midday catnap. “I’m afraid I do intend to keep you for a bit longer. Sit, please.”

You don’t budge.

“Jing Yuan,” You say his name. Your voice doesn’t wobble, and you’re grateful for it. “I do not have time for this.”

He hums, “You do.”

“You must know the Luofu’s internals are shot.” He must, right? You need to get back. You need to keep fixing. “I do not have time for tea and a chat. Be forward with me, please.”

Jing Yuan, who has already sat down on the silks, looks up at you. He’s perfectly poised, relaxed like a big cat, but with sharp, watchful eyes. He’s choosing his words carefully, albeit quickly.

“Did you know the Matrix of Prescience resumed function earlier today?” He tells you. “Early this morning, it awoke. Diviner Fu says the function is still minimal, but improving by the hour.”

There’s a wave of relief hearing that— at least the Divination Commission can resume somewhat normal activity. Fu Xuan is probably overjoyed. Maybe. You should check— you need to check. There may be calibrations to reconfigure on the surface. Aeons, there probably is and you’re foolish for not addressing those yet. You should.

Jing Yuan says your name, gentle but unyielding, “Stay with me.”

“I’m— I’m glad the Matrix is working. But, there’s still much that needs to be addressed Jing Yuan. The Luofu’s fail safes— the vitality transmitters— the gamma diffusers—”

You feel overwhelmed and nauseous. You want to lay down and cry. You want to run away to the nearest hidden entrance to the tunnels and work. So badly do you want to flee, hide, and toil and fix this stupid ship.

(Because, you can’t look Jing Yuan in the eye for too long. He’s safe, but the memory of him half-dead is still living in your mind. It’s murky, but there. You need it to die. You need it to stop. You need—)

Jing Yuan takes your hands in his own. It shocks you out of your spiral as his thumbs graze your knuckles. It hurts. You wince without thinking to muffle it. Chemical abrasions and hives litter the skin of your hands. It tracks up your arms to your elbows, you see now.

You flinch and try to pull away, but Jing Yuan keeps you there. Suspended.

“I had a meeting with the other Arbiter-Generals, just the other day.” Jing Yuan sounds wistful. “I was surprised to find out that every other ship in the Xianzhou Alliance’s fleet has at least four Master Calibrators. They were shocked to find the Luofu only having one.”

“That sounds embarrassing.”

“It was, perhaps,” Jing Yuan laughs in a good-natured way. “The other Generals were quite kind, and have sent a handful of Master Calibrators to the Luofu to assist with repairs. They’ll be here in the next day or so.”

“... Really?”

“Yes.” Jing Yuan sighs. “I’ll owe a favor or two, but it’s more than worth it.”

You don’t know what to think.

“I have to—”

“You’re actually being placed on a somewhat indefinite leave.” Jing Yuan then yanks you down into the pillows, to the thick mat, and into his arms. “I’m afraid I’ve missed you terribly. You’ve been incredibly difficult to track down.”

“I was just in the tunnels.” You try to push away from him. “Fu Xuan gave me this little tracker.”

You tap the pendant on your chest.

“You went deep enough into the Luofu that this pendant only pinged your location every few days.” Jing Yuan raises you up, so you’re perched in his lap. You steady yourself on his chest. His living, breathing chest. “At one point, it didn’t register your vitals for a week.”

Jing Yuan says this quietly. It’s admission, given the tone of his voice. He sounds a bit stricken, almost pained. His brow is scrunched as he rubs up and down your shoulders.

“... A week?”

“Indeed. You scared me quite badly, you know.”

Something in you aches. Guilt rises up your throat, but you don’t give yourself much time to examine it. Not yet.

“You’re one to talk.” You murmur, hitting a fist against his chest angrily. “You threw yourself in front of a Lord Ravager?”

“A necessary blow that ensured victory.” Jing Yuan says simply. As if he is speaking about a feint during a sparring match, or a risky move in a star chess game. “A worthwhile opportunity, really—”

“You could have died.” You snap at him, finally looking at him down your nose, baring your teeth. You are tired and angry. It feels like you could swallow the sun and you would be fine with exploding.

“I could have.” He hums. There’s more that he wants to say, you can tell. You can imagine what he could wax on about—

(“It would have been worth it if it guaranteed the Luofu’s safety.”

(“Am I not going to die already? I would think it be better to give my life for the safety of the people, rather than be decimated by Mara.”)

(“There are worse ways to die.”)

“You’re so foolish.” You want to cry. Maybe you are. Your head is pounding and your eyes hurt. “You can’t do that.”

“Ideally, I wouldn’t—”

“No, stop, just—” You grab his cheeks in your hands and bring your nose to press against his. You meet his eyes, gold and molten. “You cannot sacrifice yourself in such a way. I beg you to be selfish. If for no other reason than to give me a proper goodbye.”

(Jing Yuan had been distant in the days leading up to the Arbor’s reawakening. He’d been dodging your calls, ignoring pre-scheduled outings, and skimping on sleeping in your bed. When you’d seen the videos of his limp body and heard from Lady Fu that he was still unconscious, there was, perhaps, a moment where you believed that that was it. You wouldn’t get a goodbye. You’d only see a ragdolled corpse to mourn.)

What you’re asking of Jing Yuan is a siren song of Mara. You know this. To yearn is to suffer. To be attached is to suffer. To cling is to suffer. And suffering is to mara. You both know this. You dance with the stars and their weavings often enough to be suspended somewhat above other immortals— such things seem small in avenues of Aeons and destiny.

Jing Yuan, however, is a master of separation. Meditation. He is quiet about the skills he’s cultivated. You notice them though— the way he measures his breathing, the conscious effort he makes to keep himself loose and slack. The way his memory is diced up, not from incensed Mara sprouts, but from missing pieces. Tragedies that have either been removed or blotted out from his own practice.

To save him from being swallowed by Mara.

And yet, you beg him to remember you.

You almost retract, recoil, and run. This is too real. You have been in the General’s bed for who knows how long. It doesn’t matter that you have been his partner for the last several decades. You’ve never asked him to keep you in his thoughts— keep you like this. It has always felt too unfair of a thing to ask.

“You,” You spit through tears, “Cannot leave me so cruelly. Not like that. Let me be precious to you, Jing Yuan, if only for a short time.”

There is no such thing as being endless without consequence, but perhaps the General can spare you his affections, truly, for a brief moment. Maybe it’s a pipedream. Maybe you’re delirious from lack of sleep and hunger and the high of feeling Jing Yuan solid and whole beneath you is simply too much.

Jing Yuan coaxes you to keep your head up when you try to duck into his neck. He buries a hand in your hand that quickly slides down to your nape. He holds a wide, warm palm there to steady you.

“Dear,” Jing Yuan strokes down your cheeks, rubbing away tears you can’t stop from falling. His smile is melancholy, his eyes crinkled at the corners with a broken smile. “I’m quite remissed. Have I not made it clear that I already think of you in such a way?”

You swallow.

“Probably not.”

“I apologize.”

“Don’t apologize— just— say it.” Not on his deathbed, or Mara-struck in chains and gnarled with Ginkgo leaves.

Jing Yuan pauses, rubbing away tears from under your eyes and squeezing his hand that lingers on the back of your neck. He opens his mouth, flounders, then closes it. Then speaks.

“Beloved,” He begins and you’re already breaking. “I am sorry that I haven’t made it clear to you that you are dear to me. There are certain things that I cannot promise you as they are outside of my control as well as yours. But what I can assure you is that you are so incredibly dear to me. If I must continue to live as I do now, I would like to do so by your side. I apologize for not being forthright.”

“... So, no throwing yourself in front of Lord Ravagers?”

“... Sacrifices must be made.” Jing Yuan says, though his voice is, perhaps, more mournful.

“You are not a sacrifice.” You swallow, the words burning you as well. “You are much more than just foder. You are— you’re dear to people. Dear to me. You are not to throw yourself in the line of fire as part of a convenient plan.”

“I will not make you a promise that I cannot keep.” He is too duty-bound; it’s a practiced thing. You’ve heard he was once laze-about oaf who could barely handle a sword. You try to appeal to any remnants of that man.

“Then at least tell me.” You urge, beg. “Maybe there are other options you haven’t thought of. You get stuck in your head, you know.”

“Do I?” His smile turns mischievous and teasing.

“You—!” You headbutt him lightly and he rolls you into the silken blankets.

The moment your back touches the softness below you, skull cushioned in the palm of Jing Yuan’s hand, you can feel exhaustion catching up with you.

“You must heed your own rules, love,” Jing Yuan tells you, covering your body with his. Silver hair falls in a veil around you. It’s like starlight. The memories of oil and machine parts feel far away. “No more running yourself ragged. Or hiding in the utility tunnels for a month.”

“... A month?” Your words slur. There’s no way you were down there for a month.

“Actually, a month and a week.” Jing Yuan says. His hand smooths over your front with a front. “You’ve lost weight. And as effortlessly radiant as you are, you do look quite poorly. I’m sure it’s nothing an indefinite, relaxing, extended, paid-leave can’t fix, hm?”

“Thas’ so long,” You say, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re slipping.

“I know.” Jing Yuan kisses your forehead and remains there. “I missed you terribly.”

You want to say more. How desperately do you want to tell him, “I missed you too. I couldn’t stop thinking of you dying. I dreamed of your bed and warmth and wanted nothing more.” But your body is simply too tired. The... month of exhaustion catches up with you within the silks and you have to fight to keep your eyes open.

Jing Yuan hushes you when you whine, grabbing at him to drag him closer.

“Rest now.” He tells you. “You need it. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jing Yuan holds you in the soft blankets, flush against downy pillows and the plush of his chest. One of his hands finds home around your waist, the other over the crown of your head.

You are tugged down— not in the bowels of Xianzhou’s Luofu, but into the arms of a lover and the hold of a deep and inexorable sleep.

The next time you’re awake, you’re swathed in buttery linens and pleasantly warm. Your world is fuzzy and unfocused, and at first you think you are dreaming.

It’s simply too pleasant.

Your cheek is pressed against Jing Yuan’s bare chest. You can tell from the softness of your cheek squished against the softness of his pectoral, along with the bit of silver fuzz that tickles your nose. He smells like you remember— notes of cedar oils and herbs, mixing with the scent of his own stale sweat from whatever training he completes with Yanqing.

It’s comforting and familiar. This is why it must be a dream.

So you cling to Jing Yuan. The arm thrown over his chest constricts. The leg you have loosely thrown over his own tangles and hooks him closer. You shimmy higher to press your nose to the underside of his jaw and inhale.

Jing Yuan chuckles, a rumbling thing that’s hoarse with sleep, “Good morning to you too.”

You do not open your eyes. Rather, you squeeze them shut, and cling to the dream.

His hand glides up your back, finding home on your waist once more before giving you a squeeze, “You can sleep more, you have quite the deficit to make up for.”

You grumble. You’re practically on top of him, like it would prolong the pleasant illusion your mind is creating.

Your own palm rests over his chest, and you pause. There’s a texture that’s new. Scar tissue beneath your finger tips that runs little rivers over his flesh. Jing Yuan’s breath hitches as you trace them. You pull away from the safety of his throat to peer down at his chest. New scars litter his chest, all connected webs of damage. The skin is puckered and freshly healed.

This is not a dream.

“Oh,” you say, softly.

“I apologize. Your favorite canvas has been a bit marked up.” Jing Yuan sighs.

“Jing Yuan.” You squeak and bat at his chest. “Don’t speak of your body and condition in such a way.”

“Why not? I so have missed your marks on me, you know. It’s been a lonely recovery period—”

“Jing. Yuan.” You tug at his hair playfully. “It is too early for you to be teasing me.”

“I don’t think it’s ever ‘too early’ for such things.” Jing Yuan laughs. “Besides, I think you quite like it.”

“Cruel man.”

“You wound me.” There’s no bite to either of your voices. Just something warm and underused.

You press a kiss to his cheek and nudge your nose into the pudge of it, “Truly?”

“No.” Jing Yuan pulls you up by your waist, holding you flush to him as he turns to face you. You are chest to chest, nose to nose. “There’s no need to worry about the nips of a kitten, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You awful, awful man—” You say with a burgeoning smile that you can’t help but wear.

Jing Yuan cups a large, warm palm against your jaw and presses his lips to yours.

It’s indulgent, just like the ridiculously-sized bed you’re entangled in and the silken sleep pants you can feel him wearing. Your smile into it— you missed this.

Why did you miss it—?

Oh.

You pull away, eyes widening, “Jing Yuan, the ship. I have— repairs. I have to—”

He silences you with a quick kiss, racking his nails down your back and you gasp.

“The repairs are being taken care of by a few honored guests from the Xuling and Yuque. Diviner Fu is their point of contact and guide for the duration of their stay. They will be completing the remaining restoration while you enjoy your leave.”

“I mean—” You flounder, panic is bursting in your chest. “They can contact me— I know what needs to be fixed, I can at least make a list—?”

Jing Yuan hums, grip getting tighter around your hips. It’s a shadow of something you’ve seen in him before— it’s a bit possessive.

“Once again, dear, you are on indefinite leave by order of the Seat of Divine Foresight by the Arbiter General himself.” He reminds you with a glint in his eye. “You needn’t make any lists or instructions for our guests. Diviner Fu is more than capable of directing them as necessary. Actually, I believe she’ll quite like it.”

“You’re pulling rank on me?”

“As I have every right to do.” Jing Yuan doesn’t relent. More sweetly, he continues. “As your lover, I would also be much happier to see you recovering in bed than anywhere else.”

“… Are the gardens off limits?”

“No, though I’d recommend giving yourself a few days of minimal activity.” Jing Yuan frowns then. “I don’t believe you realize it, but you are quite weak at the moment.”

“... Really?”

“Lady Bailu’s cloudhymns are quite advanced these days.” He rubs a thumb below your eyes, over what must be a dark circle. “But, her skills mostly lie in healing flesh wounds and disease. You are malnourished, dehydrated, and... overall rundown.”

“... The Dragon Lady is going to give me an earful, isn’t she?”

“In time.” Jing Yuan laughs. He brings one of your hands up to his face to press his lips to your knuckles. No longer covered in burns and irritated hives, but still bearing light scarring.

Neither you nor Jing Yuan escaped unscathed.

“Do I need to prepare?”

“Perhaps not as much as you think.” Jing Yuan hums, pulling the sheets over your heads. “She examined you while you were asleep a few times. She has already scolded you plenty, even if you don’t remember it.”

“Did I wake up at all?”

“Barely. It was almost concerning.” Jing Yuan tugs you closer and tucks your head under his chin. “I did manage to have you sip some water and give you a wipe down though. Admittedly, you do need a proper bath.”

You nearly moan.

The idea of a bath is downright erotic. Though you don’t feel as greasy and as sticky as you could, given Jing Yuan had kindly gotten the worst of it off of you, the idea of being truly clean sounded pornographic.

Especially, given you were at Jing Yuan’s residence, and in addition to his indulgently large and comfortable bed, he also had an indulgently large and opulent self-heating bath. The idea of having a long soak and scrub has you burying your face into Jing Yuan chest and squeezing around his middle.

“I want it.”

“A bath?”

“Yes. And you. And a meal. Lots of things, actually.” Enough to make your head spin. It feels like your slowly waking mind is all out of sorts.

“Let’s start with a meal and a bath, then.” Jing Yuan offers. “Perhaps after a nap?”

You don’t need to be persuaded.

It’s a kinder sleep you sink into. Less bottomless and far warmer. Jing Yuan kisses you breathless and a bit stupid as you drift off, chuckling against your lips as you grumble and grouse at him, before being tugged down into sleep once more.

...

“How are you feeling?”

You ask Jing Yuan this as you give yourself a pre-bath rinse behind an ornate screen. The wet cloth clutched in your hands drips fat droplets of water onto the polished, glass tile beneath your feet. Soap clings to your body, falling into little rivulets, taking the worst of your grime down the nearby drain. Watching the iridescent bubbles distracts you from the weight of your own words.

You’ve been wanting to ask Jing Yuan this for—

(Weeks, probably, actually, in the time of the Xianzhou Alliance’s calendar. At least you since you saw him nearly lifeless in the grainy cell phone footage.)

Since you have woken and were sleepily led to Jing Yuan’s opulent, resplendent private baths, at least.

From the other side of the screen, Jing Yuan answers, “I feel fine, dear.”

“Physically?”

“I’ve had more than enough time to recover.”

“... Mentally? All over, Jing Yuan.”

You hate asking this, but you know it’s necessary. You’re sure Jing Yuan is being monitored for Mara-onset symptoms; there’s no way he couldn’t be. You don’t see any obvious ones. But, Mara is the most extreme of afflictions.

He laughs again, and you can feel him shaking his head like it can shake off your concern, “I assure you, I’m more than fine. Having to be responsible for so much paperwork again is painful, but doable.”

He’s dodging your question, albeit with less finesse than he normally would.

“Would you blame me if I doubted that answer?”

“No, not at all.”

You sigh and rinse the last of the suds from your body. It’s tedious, this roundabout game with Jing Yuan, but he is rarely forthcoming with personal information. Whether that’s memories of his life before you entered it, political stratagem, or his own mental state— it’sall veiled. You’ve gotten more adept at playing his games, but you truthfully don’t know if you have the energy to try.

You rub your hand over your face. One thing at a time.

You pluck the robe Jing Yuan had supplied from the top of the screen and wrap yourself in the (thin, wispy, objectively indecent) garment. It’s not doing much to cover you at all, as the light, silken fabric clings to the wet curves of your body. You appreciate the attempt at modesty in the same way you appreciate Jing Yuan idling on the other side of the screen.

You feel like a doe on uneven ground still. Jing Yuan probably expects this.

He guides you to the bath, steering into more light-hearted chatter. He tells you what Yanqing has been up to since he has resumed his office, once again asking for swords and seemingly training with a new vigor and intensity. He has been begging the General to spar with him all hours of the day. Or, call back his newfound friends from the Astral Express for a round or two. Qingzu will be taking a much-needed vacation in the coming weeks. Jing Yuan’s carmelias and bluebell astrums have begun to bloom.

You nod along, only half-there.

Jing Yuan eases your robe off your shoulder as he speaks. His voice is low and a bit rough from his own nap. The broad planes of his palms and fingers smooth over your shoulders and peel the fabric down. His thumb worries the marred skin of your forearms.

“We’ll make sure your next meals are particularly hearty. These should heal up quickly, wouldn’t you say?” He coaxes.

You nod, staring at the burns. They’ll be nothing but worn-looking scars in a matter of weeks.

Your robe is slung over a cart, filled with a collection of luxurious bath oils and soaps. Jing Yuan only has a few indulgences— his sprawling, soft bed, his many gardens, and his opulent, resplendent private bath laid with emerald green glass tiles and a sunken tub that could’ve been counted as a pool given its size. You’re grateful for it— though you’ve only used it a handful of times. The General has a habit of taking quick showers, unless he has the better part of the day to lounge in the perfectly-warmed water.

You try not to linger on your own nakedness, though you can feel Jing Yuan surveying you. There must be bruises on your waist from the heavy belt you were wearing. Visible weight loss too. You busy yourself by untying the sash of Jing Yuan’s robe and pulling it from his shoulders. It had already been somewhat open, revealing the marred expanse of his chest. Thin, spidery scars that clearly stretched over most of his body.

Typically, Xianzhou Native bodies heal with little scarring. But, these wounds were carved by a Lord Ravager. You’re unsure if they will follow the same logic.

You will love Jing Yuan, obviously, regardless of any lasting marks. But the thought still makes you sad— something in you aches. You trace the scars leading down from his chest to his softened tummy to the v of his hips. His cock is soft between his legs. It’s too dark in the bath to tell if the scars extend there as well.

“You look troubled.” He says, pausing his stories.

“I worry for you, so much.” You tell him.

Meeting his eyes is difficult. The honey-stone color of them looks darker in the dimly-lit chamber, but you can easily see the crease between his brow. There’s clear concern, perhaps a bit overwritten by his need to conceal his hand.

Perhaps he is too tired himself to be as careful as he usually is.

(Good. If there’s anyone who he can let his guard down around, Aeons, let it be you.)

Jing Yuan helps you into the tub. First, he enters, sliding into the steaming water with a shudder. He extends his hand to you as you take unsure steps onto the slick tiling. The water is the perfect temperature— not too hot, but pleasantly warm in a way that won’t lead to overheating. You hide your body under the water and sink up to your chin and sigh.

It feels heavenly.

Jing Yuan chuckles as you do and smoothes a hand over the top of your head. He’s already reaching for a few bottles on the nearby cart, pouring a few under the steady gurgle of water that flows from a wide tap. It’s entrancing to watch— equally as entrancing is the breadth of Jing Yuan’s shoulder, marred by the scarring. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your stomach knot.

You end up settled with your back pressed to his front, laid in his lap, almost dozing as he massages shampoo into your hair.

“I’m filthy, aren’t I?” You ask.

Jing Yuan hums, “I’ve never seen you this unkempt, no.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He kisses the back of your soapy skull. “You needn’t apologize for anything. I’m not upset with you.”

“... Okay.” You concede. He goes back to dutifully washing your hair, then follows it with conditioner and securing your hair up and out of the water as necessary. His idle talk has stopped, the space filled by the running water and your own breath.

“May I wash yours?” You ask.

“You still have your body, love.”

“I know,” You reply sheepishly. “At least let me get your conditioner in?”

Jing Yuan laughs, and coaxes you to turn with his big hands wrapped around your waist under the waist. You spin his lap, straddling him. It’s a precarious position, but you... missed it. Nudging yourself closer, you lean into him, chest to chest, and deflate.

He laughs, something rich and warm that radiates from his body into your own, “It really is hard work, bathing, isn’t it?”

“No,” You muffle your words into his collarbones. “Just give me a minute.”

“Of course,” His arms wrap firmly around your waist, locking you together. He’s hot— he runs like a furnace even when not in a toasty bath. There’s a bit of sweat dripping down his neck and you’re tempted to lick it away.

Maybe later, for now you bask.

You bask in the fact that Jing Yuan is here, warm and alive. You want to commit him to memory— better than you have. If it forsakes you to Mara in a few decades, you do not care. You had forgotten the softness of his chest, the curve of his waist and the point of his nose. The details of Jing Yuan had become so fuzzy in such a short time. You’re sure Lady Bailu would assert it had something to do with your ‘chronic sleep deprivation’, but you’re not sure if you agree with that potential diagnosis.

Spending too much time attuned to immaterial quantum fields erodes your psyche, probably.

“So deep in thought.” Jing Yuan runs a head down your back. “Take a break to rinse, hm?”

“I haven’t gotten yours in yet, though?”

“We can take our time. Besides, I bathed this morning. This is all for pleasure.”

“... Pleasure, huh?”

Jing Yuan flashes you a grin burgeoning on mischievous, “Yes, pleasure, in whatever form that may come. Is that what’s plaguing you, dear?”

“No, not at all.” You sigh and lean back from him, cupping his cheeks. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Jing Yuan says. His cards are showing— his voice is straining, pitched in a way that indicates he’s sad in his chest. The thing between your ribs aches.

“I was worried.”

“So you have said.” Jing Yuan cajoles you down, slipping your head half in the water to rinse away your conditioner. He suspends you with a single arm. His musculature is obscene.

“How could I not be?” You clench your jaw. “I saw videos of you being taken to the Alchemy Commission— you— you looked—”

Half-dead.

Corpse-like.

Steps from death’s door.

On your way to the grave.

Dead.

Jing Yuan calls your name, rubbing soothing little circles over the small of your waist, “I’m well now, dear.”

“But you almost weren’t.” Your voice breaks. You don’t mean for it to. You tuck yourself into his neck and hide.

You don’t want to cry, but you can feel something welling up from within your guts. It’s the thing you pushed down relentlessly in the bowels of the Luofu. As you tinkered and toiled in the depths of the ship, you never let this ache spill over, lest you drown. Whether that’s in Mara or a less permanent type of suffering, you do not know.

“But I am.” Jing Yuan assures you. “I am here now, aren’t I? Whole and in one piece.”

You know this. You know this. But— You drag your fingernails over his shoulder blades. Jing Yuan shudders as you do.

“It’s hard.”

“I know.”

The hands around you squeeze hard enough to bruise.

“I thought you were going to keel over in the gardens when Yanqing first brought you to me.” Jing Yuan confesses. “I’d been pestering Lady Fu on the hour for any updates about your whereabouts and communications.”

“... I wasn’t communicating with anyone, though.”

“I know.” Jing Yuan has a thread of... contempt to it. “I wish you would have.”

“What could I have said?”

“I’m not sure,” Jing Yuan tangles a hand in your washed hair and tilts your face to meet his. “But, I’m sure you would’ve found the right words.”

He kisses you. Or you kiss him. Who’s to say.

You don’t have the right words— you may never. Certainly not in your mind or on your tongue now. The thing that rises in your throat is carnal and old and writhing— want. Verging on need. You struggle to keep the kiss chaste, closed lips pressed together after so long apart

Perhaps Jing Yuan has a similar depth that’s clawing at his insides.

He tilts his head, dragging you closer. Close as can be. He kisses you in a silently desperate way. You accept his advances and tangle your hands in his hair. Tug him closer and closer and closer.

(Don’t go. Please don’t go. Not yet.)

(Not until we’re both split apart by gingko roots and dappled in noontime sunlight.)

You gasp his name as you break apart for breath, smoothing your thumbs down his cheekbones and jaw. His pupils are blown and desperate.

“Can I touch you?” He asks, always so polite.

“Please—”

Jing Yuan kisses you again, deeper and pulling you into the depths of the bath. His hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing along the way. Calloused and wide, familiar. The feel of them is coming home, you hadn’t realized how much you missed this.

You keen against his lips and Jing Yuan laughs— the gall of that man.

His flips you easily, caging you against the edge of the pool. This way, he has height over you. He looms, casting a flickering shadow in the amber light of the beeswax candles scattered about. You swallow as you watch droplets of water slide down his throat, chest, tummy. His forearms make you feel dizzy.

“May I have you?” He asks, once again. “Not yet— but I don’t want to progress if you’re not feeling fit for it.”

“N-No,” You feel desperate, you sound desperate. Sensitive and clawing, the beast that you buried in the depths of the Luofu crawls out of your throat and wraps itself around you. Tears spring to your eyes. “Please? Just— be slow—”

Jing Yuan must see your eyes water. He softens.

He thumbs over the fragile skin beneath your eyes, as if wiping the stray tear could wipe away the dark circles punched there as well.

“Of course.” He assures you and presses his lips to your forehead.

...

Jing Yuan takes ‘slow’ both seriously and literally. You are both grateful and horribly frustrated by this. You almost regret not telling Jing Yuan to simply bend you over the lip of the bath and fuck you senseless, though Jing Yuan probably would not have granted you that even if you had asked. He loves to savor when he can. Bedding you is no exception— even under more typical circumstances.

And these aren’t typical circumstances.

Perhaps you should’ve known Jing Yuan intended to break you apart and stitch you back together.

He doesn’t escalate things much further in the bath, despite petting down your sides and seeming to always have his lips on you. You wash his hair as you’d ask to, scratching at his scalp and relishing the almost-purr he lets out as he wraps himself around you. When you start to just barely grind in his lap (squirm, more than anything), he is quick to still you with an iron-like hold on your hips, pinning you down and over his thighs.

“Not yet,” He tells you, nipping at your jaw. “Be patient.”

You huff.

Jing Yuan takes charge of finishing washing you, using gentle touch and a soft cloth from your ankles to the crown of your head. His touch lingers, starting some low burning flame low in your gut that you have a feeling won’t be quenched for quite some time.

It’s tortuous. It’s wonderful.

After you towel each other off, he leads you back to his rooms, only in the damp robes and undergarments he’d dutifully remembered to bring along. The silk clings to Jing Yuan’s bulk as he walks beside you. His hand is on your lower back. Little bugs chirp in the courtyard gardens you pass. There’s the gurgle of a fountain. The soft breeze that Luofu always keeps, even on the most temperate days of summer. It’s all so different from the acrid smell of lubricant and the ambient machine hum you had become so used to.

“I’m only on leave, not house arrest, correct?” You ask as you enter his wing, to his bedroom.

He locks the door behind you as you step inside.

“No, no house arrest.” Jing Yuan hums as he strips off his robe. You want to bite him. “You’re free to roam within reason.”

“Does ‘within reason’ include the nursery that outlander keeps in the Exalting Sanctum?”

“Of course. Though I may assign you a chaperone.”

“Really? Would you send Yanqing with me for a quick run to grab a new shrub or two.”

Jing Yuan laughs, something rich and full that rolls over you like a fleeced quilt, “I figured that I would be your chaperone, dear. If you’d allow.”

“... You’re making this sound like a date, General.”

“Am I?” Jing Yuan smiles so honeyed, it makes something in your chest begin to crack. You lay your hands on his bare chest and hold your ear to his chest. He laughs when you do. “I’d like it if it was. If you’d have me.”

“Of course I would.”

You say it so simply.

You want to crawl into his body and live there, and break any spindly seedlings of Mara away with your own two hands.

Jing Yuan kisses you, walking you back into the door. His lips are soft, a bit chapped in a way that’s familiar and comforting. You run a hand up and down his chest, stopping to squish one of his ample pecs. You muffle a laugh into Jing Yuan’s lips as he stutters out a groan. Sweet, sweet man.

“I missed you,” You tell him once more, hoping your words seep past the seam of his lips, down his throat and sink into his guts.

Jing Yuan responds by pressing you into the door, using the warm line of his body to flatten you to the wood. His kiss verges on desperate, tongue insistent at the seam of your lips, hands tugging you close, close, closer. You yield to him, whining as his tongue licks into your mouth, the taste of him so familiar it makes you ache.

You tug at his hair and urge him closer, if that is possible.

His touch is searing as he breaks away, panting, eyes hot. Scalding. His hair is down, drying to a fluffy, untamed mane around his cheeks and shoulders. It’s charming. You thumb over his cheeks with a smile. He leans into your touch while giving you a soft smile.

“The reign you have over me.” He sighs. You don’t get a chance to question him— his thigh slots between your own and your breath catches with the contact.

You haven’t been touched in so long.

You cling to his shoulders and just barely grind on his thigh— as much as his hold on your waist will allow. Jing Yuan’s kisses trail from your lips to over your cheeks and down your throat. He stops at the juncture of your neck and shoulders, nosing into the spot.

“Such a lovely scent,” He hums.

“I-I bet I smelled horrible before, h-huh?” You laugh as he begins to worry a patch of skin. Tender and fragile, perfect for bruising.

“Hm, I wouldn’t say that.” His teeth graze your throat and your head falls back into the door with thud. Jing Yuan shields your skull with his hands a beat later. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve shared a bed and you’ve reeked of your favorite brand of astral lubricant.”

“Jing Yuan!” You shriek with a laugh and bat at his shoulders. “You’re so cruel.”

“What, do you not like when I tease you?”

“Scoundrel.”

“I think you do like it.”

You missed bantering with him.

“I love you.” You tell him. He knows— you know this. Declarations of love are rare for the long-lived. At least so directly— to care so deeply is to damn yourself to a faster descent into Mara. Though, to live and deprive yourself of companionship and love is to be dead while living. There’s a tender balance between connection and detachment. Both you and Jing Yuan are intimately familiar with it and indulge together.

Jing Yuan bites down on your neck.

It hurts, enough that you jolt and squirm against his body. Jing Yuan holds you into place, sucking on the skin he’d sunk his teeth into. It’s higher on his neck than he’d usually mark you.

(He’s leaving it to be seen. You are Jing Yuan’s, loved and held.)

(What a wretched man.)

By the time he pulls away, you’re panting. Tears have welled up on your lash line. It hurts and it hurts even more when Jing Yuan runs a high thumb over the quickly rising skin. You gasp and Jing Yuan catches your chin in the wide palm of his hand.

You meet his gaze, intense and lighting-vibrant. You’re panting with an open mouth.

“How lovely.” And he presses a kiss to a corner of your mouth.

Jing Yuan guides you to his ridiculously large bed (that could surely fit up to five bodies and a fully grown, white lion.) The sheets have been changed, though you have a feeling they’ll be dirtied again by the morning.

It’s gentle, the way he hastens you higher up the mattress before giving you a light shove into a mound of pillows. You hook your legs around his waist, drawing him as close as he’ll allow.

He massages the meat of your thighs. His gaze goes long, and a bit unfocused, though it's trained on you.

(You wonder what he’s thinking. Jing Yuan is so careful, always so ginger and measured in his steps. Still, there’s a fire in him that you often overlook. It’s the part of him that keeps a lion as a housemate, raised a young boy into a champion, and... you suppose urged him to become the Luofu’s sacrificial lamb in the face of the Destruction.)

You gulp, throat bobbing. Perhaps, you know your General to be a docile, indolent man who prefers naps and board games too much else. Perhaps you have overlooked, or rather forgotten, that you once saw the Divine Foresight as a warlord, given what you’d read about him in the data banks during your studies on the Yuque.

Jing Yuan’s hand drifts down your front. You’re still wearing your robe. Gentle touch peels it away, leaving you in just a pair of thin panties. They’re a soft, breathable fabric— the kind that will surely show your interest in the General. (You have a feeling Jing Yuan picked them out for that reason expressly.)

Jing Yuan presses the pad of his thumb over your clit through the fabric.

You aren’t expecting it, and arch your back with a squeak. His hand lays hot at the innermost part of your thigh, at the fragile skin where it meets your more sensitive parts.

“I-I thought you said you’d go slow.” You squirm.

“Of course.” Jing Yuan remains unmoving, applying just enough pressure to be maddening. “I intend to.”

With how sensitive you are, you need him to be slow. Your body feels tender out of the bath— cooked and raw all at once. Your muscles still ache from your time in the tunnels and you feel... atrophied, if anything.

Jing Yuan must know this, and you trust him to keep his word.

He makes his way home between your thighs, laying over your front to kiss you once more. This is slow, every lick and nip thoughtful, every barely-there roll of his hips is intentional. You’re not sure where he finds the restraint.

You pet through his hair, softening incrementally with each soft touch he gives you.

He pulls away, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks flushed. It’s cute to see the General so disheveled. He’d never look this out of it and starry-eyed outside of this shared bedroom. It makes you giddy. You smother his cheeks with kisses and let him muffle laughter into your skin.

It’s all soul-splitting.

It’s good. The proximity is warm and inviting. You missed the richness of his bed, the scent of incense and the candles you stock the room with. You missed the roll of his muscles underneath your fingertips and the mirthful glint that flashes in his eyes whenever he thinks he has you on the ropes.

You were so scared of losing this.

It hits you in the chest, caving you in, breaking rib and bone. You were so scared— terrified that this dance you’ve become so adept at sharing with Jing Yuan would end before you were ready for it too. You know that you’ll both fall to Mara, it’s inevitable— but you don’t want it to happen yet. You’re not ready for the final flourish. You weren’t ready for Jing Yuan’s cradled, near lifeless body to be the dying gasp of the partnership you had.

You know it's foolish to think this way. Things— all things, are bigger than mortal minds. Paths cut by the stars, brushstrokes by Gods and Aeons that dictate the lives and destiny of all. You are one mind, one body, one tender spirit. You cannot fight against such forces. You will be crushed.

But, for now, you savor. Take each moment and be grateful even as it slips, honey-warm and molten, between your fingers to be replaced by another in the next instant, equally as lovely. Piled on each other. It is enough.

You crush Jing Yuan to you, hard and fast enough that the wind is knocked out of him, “Please be more careful with yourself.”

I can’t lose you just yet.

“I will try.” His voice is a comforting curl over you. He strokes over your temples and forehead.

“N-No, you must.”

You don’t know the words yet for what you want to tell him. The feelings are too large, too unmanageable. Maybe attuning to the Luofu’s quantum fields has rotted your brain. You’ve lost your words.

With some cajoling, you flip Jing Yuan onto his back.

Sitting up over his hips, you set upon his neck. First with soft kisses, just as he gave you, then with nips and stronger bites. Then a chomp below his jaw. His hips crest upwards, his hands spasming around your waist as he holds you steady. The sounds that leak from him make you want to crawl down his throat.

You suck and bite at the mark until you’re satisfied, pulling away to see his pale skin bruising darker by the moment. You admire the popped blood vessels with what must be a dreamy expression on your face.

“Leaving your mark on me?” Jing Yuan asks, breathless and light.

“It’s only fair.” You kiss his smile, sharing it, “Just as you did to me.”

Running your hands down his chest, you frown at the scars.

“What if I joined the Cloud Knights?” You ask him.

Jing Yuan looks a bit... surprised, “Why would you do that? Though, perhaps, giving up your position as Master Calibrator would be reasonable, given recent events.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” You watch the rise and fall of Jing Yuan’s chest with an ache in your own. “If I was stronger, I could protect you, couldn’t I?”

Tears well up in your eyes.

Jing Yuan opens his mouth to speak, you hear his inhale, but you cut him off, “I-If I was a fighter, or just a Diviner, couldn’t I help more? Could I— could I have stopped this? Or stop something horrible from happening in the future? I don’t want to see you hurt like this.”

It should be a bit funny, maybe, that you’re sitting on the waist of the half-hard Divine Foresight, in tears, asking him if you could protect him. A man treated as nearly infallible, a legend amongst people who so rarely have them. He has an eternal spirit gifted by an Aeon tied to his very being.

And yet you, something of a mechanic and professional tinkerer, beg to protect him.

“Oh, [Name].” He says, mournful.

You swallow down a sob and tears drip from your eyes to splatter on his chest. Your vision blurs and you rake your nails down his chest. More raised marks— yours struck on him this time. Jing Yuan winds a hand in your hair, strokes down your neck, tries to calm you but it's hard. You can’t catch yourself.

“I’m s-sorry—” You tell him between gulps of air. You’re supposed to be being bed right now, fucked stupid and more brainless than you already are, but you’re crying and the panic welling up in your chest feels bottomless and vast.

“No apologies,” Jing Yuan hushes you, rubbing away tears. “You’re alright. I understand.”

“You do?” You snort. It’s blotted out by a proper sob that you hide in Jing Yuan’s chest.

“How could I not?” He rubs over your dark circles under your eyes, then the bruising around your hips. The softness around your waist that’s not as plump as it was a month ago. “Do you think I didn’t contend with traversing the tunnels myself and pulling you out by your scruff?”

“... You did?”

He pauses.

“Everyday.” Jing Yuan admits after a moment. Any admission from him is hard earned.

“Oh.”

You blink, and cry all over again because you feel silly and foolish all over. He hushes you, petting over your cheeks, back, hips— anywhere he can reach. He’s good at soothing, knowing what strokes to provide and where.

“Did you think I didn’t worry?”

“I—I don’t know,” You shake your head. “You had more important things to worry about, right? And— and you were recovering.”

“I asked to see you, you know.”

“... I was told.”

“What did you think that meant?”

“... I don’t know.” You don’t. “I just— I was being a coward. I was scared to see the extent of your injuries before the ship was repaired fully. I wanted— I wanted things to be okay. I didn’t want to go to the surface and see that Vidyadhara who saved you.”

“... Dan Heng?”

“Sure.” Lizard. Fucker.

“... You’re jealous?”

“No.” Oh, yes. Entirely. “I just— he got to carry you. I have to join the Cloud Knights and get strong enough to do so myself. It’s only fair. You’re mine, not some lizard’s.”

Jing Yuan looks startled, then his expression softens.

You besmirch the not-quite outlander easily. You do not know him— you’ve heard whispers. Nothing from Jing Yuan, and you do not pry at his past (and he doesn’t pry at yours.) You know they have a connection from before your time on the Luofu. You don’t fully know its nature, but judging by the passing... grief that Jing Yuan wears, if only for a moment, you can guess. Infer.

(Something of lovers. Almost lovers. If nothing else, Jing Yuan cared for him very much.)

“You needn’t worry about Dan Heng, dear,” he gently. says. “Such things are in the past now. He has moved onto a different shore, and is quite happy on the Astral Express.”

“... He’s not coming to steal you?”

“No,” he laughs, looking mournful again. “I’m certain he has no interest in such things.”

He speaks so sadly. Not heartbroken, it’s not that fresh. He speaks through a wound with a type of melancholy that resonates in your chest like a minor chord. You resist the urge to say, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

“Do you wish he would?”

Jing Yuan pauses.

“No.” He shakes his head, “Not anymore. We have both grown.”

And he pets over your cheek before kissing you. You know he’s telling you the truth.

...

Jing Yuan does not allow haste, and neither do you. Perhaps, you both are feeling fragile. You keep breaking each other open, only to help the other reassemble their pieces a moment later.

Jing Yuan enjoys savoring physical contact, regardless of circumstance or propriety. He steals touches in public in a way that’s indulgent, but never overt. He licks into your mouth with the pace like cooling honey. Each does is meant to brand. You’re meant to feel it, feel him, for as long as the moment will allow. He savors you with hitches of his own breath, a desperation of his own bubbling under his surface.

You can be a bit shy when he truly gluts himself this way. It’s so overt. It tears something in you, and reveals a squishy, softer center that you’re anxious to show anyone. Even a lover like Jing Yuan who has shown you time and time again there is nothing to fear, other than his own foolhardy decisions.

Jing Yuan probably likes it when he gets to be this slow. Peeling back layer after layer of you, forcing you to luxuriate in the unfamiliar warmth, and be reminded that he is there and sturdy.

Jing Yuan is laid between your thighs, your legs over his shoulder. His thick forearm is braced across your navel, your hand held in his. Your fingers are intertwined. His other hand pets at the back of your thighs as you shudder.

You’re sensitive.

Jing Yuan eats your cunt with the pace of a man who has nothing to lose, no phases of the moon to observe, and something to prove. He laps at your center, squeezing your hand with each jolt of your hips against his mouth.

The stroke of his tongue is slow and unhurried. He’s enjoying himself, savoring your taste, humming and groaning when you inadvertently grind against his mouth. During a more routine fuck, Jing Yuan enjoys when you anchor yourself with a grip in his hair and fuck his face. Any impulse you could have to indulge in such a way tonight is quelled. His grip is unyielding on your hand. Your free hand is tangled in the sheets, occasionally shakily pushing Jing Yuan’s mane away from his forehead so you can watch him tongue fuck you with the pace of the lazy, sunbathing cat.

You drop your head to the nest of pillows behind you with a groan and throw your arm over your eyes.

Jing Yuan chuckles against your cunt and flicks his tongue over your clit. He sucks and you want to sob. He hasn’t let you built up to any release— it’s long form teasing, it’s torture. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs, sticky from your own slick and his saliva. You’re messy.

(This is how Jing Yuan prefers it anyways.)

Jing Yuan had made a point to tease you in your thin panties before putting his mouth on you at all. Stroking over the fabric, barely dipping his fingers under the thin, lace waistband. He kissed your covered pussy until you were almost tearing the sheets in your balled up fists.

Jing Yuan still hasn’t put anything inside of you. You know it will be— tight. Jing Yuan has large hands and a proportionally large cock (that most Xianzhou Alliance gossip forums still undersize). Part of his slowness is necessary.

The tip of a finger teases your hole and you kick at his back in surprise.

“F-Finally giving in?”

“I’m not giving in at all,” Jing Yuan pulls away from your cunt to speak, wet and sloppy around his mouth. Eyes half-lidded and so, so content. “I’ve never had anything other than the intention to open you on my tongue and my fingers. What gave you any other impression?”

“Bastard.”

He nips the apex of your thigh and you yip.

“Yours.”

You smile, stupid and a little love drunk, and stroke his hair, “Mine.”

Jing Yuan’s gaze darkens for a moment— something passes there. A thought you can’t read from him or glean anything from. The headiness of the moment temporarily breaks, and for an instant you think that something is wrong. You almost push yourself off the bed in a fit of concern—

But Jing Yuan begins the slow press of his finger into your cunt.

You gasp and squirm, flinching almost. Jing Yuan bears his weight on your waist and keeps you in place as you do, intently watching your expression and parted, wet lips. You’re flayed. It’s just a finger, but it feels big. His fingers are big— a bit calloused, but softer than you’d think.

As he sinks the digit into you, you pant. He kisses your clit, encouraging you to open up for him, murmuring little words of praise that sit in your brain pleasantly but are hard to make distinct. You go slack into the mound of pillows as his mouth returns to your cunt, the single finger fully inside you, resting as you tremble.

With a suck to your clit, he crooks the finger up.

It feels good. The spot is tender. Jing Yuan knows just where to apply pressure, the pace and angle are so, so good. He’s memorized this part of you. A month apart isn’t going to remove that knowledge.

He teases you like this— never letting you rise too close to release. The roiling tendrils of arousal in your gut stay there, like stoked embers without tinder to light anew. You take it— you take what he gives you. You relish each touch, lick, and kiss.

“Jing Yuan—” You gasp his name as he removes the single finger to begin to stretch you with two.

Two is— it’s a lot. Normally, it wouldn’t be. Maybe, you’d beg for more, and beg for more faster. But now, two stings and aches on your insides. You claw at his hair and whine in the back of your throat. Jing Yuan hushes you and spits on his fingers, the extra bit of lubrication helping somewhat, but you’re tight and wound.

“Are you alright?” Jing Yuan asks as he massages the most sensitive spot in your cunt. He asks genuinely, not as a tease.

“‘S tight,” You squeeze out, wiggling your hips.

“Am I being gentle enough?”

“Uh-huh,” You pet over his forehead. “Thank you?”

“Of course.” Jing Yuan chuckles. “Does it feel good?’

“Y-Yeah,” You whine as Jing Yuan curls his fingers, thumb pressed against your clit and rolling the pearl of itl. “I-It’s unfair.”

“What’s unfair?”

“That you make me feel s-so good,” You don’t know how else to articulate it. The feral thing in your chest crawls over your body once more, and jerks your hips for more of his touch. You urge his fingers deep, wordlessly beg for more pressure against your cunt.

“You’re so sweet,” Jing Yuan coos, rising to his knees and taking one of your legs with him. Your middle falls open. It feels... vulnerable. You feel exposed and sliced. Your stomach churns for a moment. You nearly ask Jing Yuan to stop.

(Except, Jing Yuan has fucked you enough times to know that you don’t enjoy the physical vulnerability of your sensitive core. It sets you off. He knows that you prefer to cuddle with his massive hand against your belly. He knows you even wear clothes that provide some protection, billowing fabrics and belts. You’re a sensitive thing.)

He slides his broad hand over your belly, and presses down as he leisurely pumps his fingers in and out of your core. The pressure of it burns— scalds you and your arousal feels white hot. He’s prodding you from the inside and the outside, and you feel something bubbling up.

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says with a catlike smile. “Would you like to come?”

“P-Please—”

Jing Yuan hums, slowing, almost ruining the impending crest, but clicks his tongue and continues. It’s a farce, a little game he’s playing, and much to your (enjoyed) frustration, you’re his other player.

“I would love to hear you beg,” Jing Yuan croons, leaning over your form, bending your leg at an angle that is unfair in all regards. “But, I’d also like to be kind tonight. I think you deserve it— you need it, don’t you?”

“I—” You do. His hand quickens and with his other, he braces behind one of your knees. He ducks down to retake his place between your thighs, eating your cunt with a persistence and vigor that has your eyes roll back in your head. He drills your insides with a deep, steady rhythm that. Maybe could get you pregnant.

Who's to say.

“I’m—” You gasp, ready to beg regardless of what Jing Yuan wants or expects from you. You want to give him everything.

“That’s it. Let go.” He beckons you and you break.

Your orgasm slams into you. The teasing and playful edging made you sensitive and like a livewire. When you finally cum, you choke on your own breath, eyes rolling back into your head, and you shove your face into a pillow to muffle the half-sobbed moans that spill from your lips out of your control.

Jing Yuan continues his ministrations through it. Dutifully. Unyielding, even as you twitch with oversensitivity and wisps of exhaustion.

He gently lowers your trembling leg with a sweet smile. He pets you like a cat.

“You’re beautiful.” He says, softened in a way you only get to see.

“Thank you.” Your words slur as he settles beside you, tucking next to you.

He’s hard— so hard that there’s a wet patch on his bottoms from pooling pre. You can feel the length of him against your thigh, and you reach for him. You should really grab some oil—

Jing Yuan stops you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Slow, remember?” He reminds you with a grin that is mischievous. “Let’s take a break, just for a moment.”

“Are you sure?” You look down.

The bulge of him makes your mouth water.

“Entirely.” He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to your wrist. “How about a quick snack, hm? I can fetch some fruit to cut.”

“... That would be nice.”

“Would you like peaches?”

“P-Please.” Your voice is watery and small. Jing Yuan looks smitten to hear the tone. “... Meldberries too? And apples?”

“Of course,” Jing Yuan looks happy. Relieved. Deflated in a way that makes you realize that he had been so tense before. Since you met him in the gardens, haggard and exhausted.

(You’re in his bed, sated and watery and being taken care of.)

“Can I come to the kitchen with you?”

“Are you sure you can walk?” Jing Yuan teases, thumbing at your trembling inner thigh, littered with fresh bruises.

“I can now—” you huff, playfully indignant. “We should bring some back. For... later. When I can’t walk. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?” Jing Yuan tilts his head, eyes half-lidded and amused.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent!” You laugh and headbutt him lightly. If you had more energy, you’d play fight with him and ruffle the sheets up more than they already are. “I’m sure you’d like me immobile by the time you and your ridiculous cock are through with me.”

“... Ridiculous cock?” Jing Yuan can’t hide the laughter in his voice, or the flush on his cheeks. “So cruel.”

“I— I forgot how big it is.”

“I’m still covered, dearest.”

You gesture, panicked, below the covers to the bulge and still growing wet spot, “Your dick is close to the size of my forearm, Jing Yuan. I can see it without... seeing it.”

“You’re so complimentary.” He practically giggles. “So sweet. I had forgotten how sweet orgasm makes you. Or, is this your fatigue talking?”

“... Both? I missed you.” You say, using your un-held hand to pat Jing Yuan’s covered cock with a smile. “Missed this too.”

Jing Yuan almost squeaks at the unexpected contact. He apparently is just as sensitive as you. He hides his light blush in your neck, and you can’t help but laugh, and think about how sweet the peaches will be when cut by your lover’s hands and shared from the same plate.

...

Jing Yuan keeps his word. The early evening stretches into late evening, every touch and sensation coaxed and unhurried. Slow-stretched sugar, lest it shatters.

In the kitchen, Jing Yuan cuts you a plate of peaches while you rest on his lap, watching the hypnotic carving of his knife with half-lidded eyes. He feeds you slices on a small fruit fork while sending off a message or two from his jade abacus. He carries half a dozen other fruits back to his bedroom and prods you for a more substantial meal order at some point.

You finish off the last few slices while draped in his robe, dazed from your previous high. You feel— out of it. Raw and scraped out. Not much different from how you felt during your time in the utility tunnels, but instead of feverishly working, you’re in the warmly light room of your lover. His warm hand is splayed on the small of your back, rubbing little circles.

You want to ask him:

“How do you do this?”

And Jing Yuan, mirthful, would say:

“Do what?”

And you would say:

“This.”

This:

The way your mind resists fullness, empty by familiar nature. You’ve been cored, like the apple Jing Yuan dutifully cut and fed to you. Your thighs continue to shake. You’re bruised, marked, all his, in a way that cows and strokes the feral part of your mind still half-convinced this is all an elaborate illusion.

How could any of this be a fabrication? When Jing Yuan is so warm behind you, happy to bask in your presence while you bask in his. Jing Yuan’s contentment is infectious, it always is— but so quickly, he has stripped you of your ability to parry it. You can’t hold concern. You can barely hold your body upright. You want to fall into him, ask to take more, and hold him until you simply can’t anymore.

You do not ask Jing Yuan how he undoes you. Predicting the conversation seems— easy. Too easy. (Probably because calibrating a machine meant to sustain a civilization for weeks on end does damage that’s yet to be fully healed. Prediction is a symptom of overuse, divination a side effect. A cumbersome one.) You can imagine the way Jing Yuan would dance with his words, effortlessly sparring in a way that you simply couldn’t keep up with. You are already disarmed. You need his candor, and nothing is more honest than the General’s body.

“Come here.” Jing Yuan beckons you into the sheets to lay with him properly.

(It’s uncanny how he can predict your needs like a diviner himself.)

You follow his direction and let him tug you into his side. Your cheek rests over his chest, soft and a little rounder than it was when you first met him. He’s gained weight since then— which is good. He’s always been bulky under his uniform and regalia, toned muscle from centuries of training and sparring. But there wasn’t much else to him— he used to skip meals if it was too inconvenient to eat. If you were sharing a plate, he’d offer you a larger portion.

It was something so slightly self-deprecating. At first, you hadn’t noticed it. Jing Yuan is not a proud man, he is keen and clever in all regards— but his ego has stayed in check for as long as he’s been Arbiter-General. He commits this quiet act of self-harm, so miniscule that most wouldn’t bat an eye. His lack of appetite was a manifestation of some burden— as he will continue to live and slowly waste away, why should his body not as well?

You’d like to think you’d broken him of his destructive eating habits. Or, at least contributed. Warm meals, arm-in-arm snacking on street foods at night. Vendors are always happy to give the Divine Foresight a free treat, even if he offers them strales every time. He eats well around you, and you know it extends farther. He takes lunches with Yanqing at least once a week. There’s a stash of homemade honey oats and dried apricots stowed in his desk.

You are glad he eats. That he is full.

You appreciate the feel of him under your fingertips, how he has softened and grown a bit less worn during his own leave. He deserves a vacation. Maybe, you’ll sit on his cock and beg him to fucking retire with the promise you’ll be happy to stay that way for as long as he pleases if he does. Anything to keep him this lax and soft. You want to commit it to memory, but you still feel fuzzy.

“Enjoying yourself?” He laughs as he speaks, busying himself with the tacky skin on the nape of your neck. He pets you there.

“Yes.�� You grab his chest, thumbing dangerously close to his nipple. “You feel nice.”

“I’m glad.” Jing Yuan says, tone curling and smitten. You feel drunk with it. He hums. “You seem a bit lost. May I guide you back here?”

“I don’t think I am.” You pout. “I’m here.”

“Are you sure?”

“... Fairly sure.”

“May I try anyway?” Jing Yuan asks. “It would make me very happy too.”

There’s no harm to it, really.

“I’ll be good.” He adds and holds your wrist so tenderly in his palm. “I’ll be gentle with you.”

Jing Yuan drags the thin skin of your wrist over his lips, kissing the flesh as he does. It’s reverent, slow as he promised. He peeks up at you as he does, a curtain of his silver hair almost obscuring the warm gold of his eyes. There’s want there, so caramelized that it makes you ache.

Jing Yuan rolls you, so that he’s above you, sitting over your hips. It’s— not too heavy. The weight of him is comforting if nothing else. The heat of him is grounding as he hovers over you, nosing at your jaw, nipping bruised skin. He licks the brutal bite he left earlier and you yip. You don’t have it in you to chastise him for it— you— you maybe like it too much to do so.

Like this, it’s easier to notice how Jing Yuan wants. How his hand is sliding between over your sternum, between your breasts, down the soft line of your belly and navel, and back up again. It’s slow, radiating a yearning that sinks down into your organs heat from a hearth. He thumbs over the line of your throat and kisses you.

He’s more insistent now, licking into your mouth immediately, keeping his rhythm slow and actions drawn out.

Jing Yuan pulls back just enough to speak, warm breath over your lips, “You’re doing so well.”

You feel warm in your cheeks and tug him closer. If only you burrow in his flesh bones, flush the marrow out to replace it with yourself. You’d do it if it meant keeping him upright for longer.

“I’m right here.” Jing Yuan hushes you, gathering your wrists in one hand. You hadn’t realized desperate little keens were leaking from your throat, soaking the room. Jing Yuan doesn’t seem to mind. “No need to fuss. You’re alright.”

“You’re sure?” You ask, you feel out of your body.

Jing Yuan knows this and he tethers you to him with a kiss and firm touch, “I’m sure. You trust me, don’t you?”

“So much,” you admit.

Jing Yuan looks down at your softly, expression beginning to shatter. He is a difficult man to work with— he wears many faces, several hats, and speaks in riddles more often than not. To receive his honesty is— a fucking gift. You want to hold it in your hands and swallow it. His hair falls over his face as he peers down at you, thumbing over the lines of your throat.

“You’re so good.” He says gently, quiet. Like it’s a secret for the two of you. “You’d do anything I’d ask you to right now, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, then think about what he asked. You still would. Probably. Maybe give him some grief along the way, “As long as you’re not too mean about it.”

“Oh?” He teases. He teases, even now. Even when your core is exposed and you’re bare and he’s stalling despite being hard against your thigh. “You’re still so sweet when I’m a bit mean. I think you enjoy it.”

A broken, nearly-pathetic noise drips from your lips. You clutch at his arms and try to bury your face in the sheets. Your face feels so warm, it's making you dizzy.

“No need to be shy,” he sounds smitten, a smile bleeding into his tone. He kisses you with it, again and again until you’re breathless and stupid once more. He pulls back until you’re nose to nose, hand drifting to the apex of your thighs.

You squirm, bucking your hips, urging him closer.

“Patience, love, I’ll give you what you need.” He tells you and kisses the corner of your mouth. You believe him.

Jing Yuan settles himself between your thighs, holding them open with his own. He is not a small man, and it leaves you very exposed. More exposed than you would like, and it makes something in you writhe. Jing Yuan hushes you, soothes you as he’s so good at doing as he drenches his fingers in oil.

(The first time you fucked, you did not do this step. Oil and any type of lubricant was skipped, and you paid the price the next morning with a bit of light bleeding and an ache that would send Jing Yuan to the Alchemy Commission to fetch some specialty painkillers. He was very apologetic the morning after, guilt-ridden even. At some point, he started carrying little vials on his person and insisting lubricant be used regardless of how impromptu of a lay it was.)

(That is all to say that Jing Yuan’s cock is huge and has the capability to break you.)

He presses a finger into you— it goes in easily, slides with the aid of lubricant and your own slick.

“Oh,” Jing Yuan breathes, gaze drifting from your parted lips to the finger he sinks into you. “You’re so wet.”

You want to be snarky. Of course you are, he’s already had you on his tongue earlier in the day— now, he’s been teasing you, playing with you, and being sweet with you. How could you not be? It’s the only natural response to your lover treating you in such a way.

However, you do not get a chance to show him any sass as he crooks his finger upwards and rubs the pad of his thumb in a familiar pattern, little circles over your clit. A gasping moan spills from your lips and Jing Yuan holds you down with his free hand on your hips. He pets you when you shake and yearn for more too quickly.

“‘S okay?” You ask.

“Very.” Jing Yuan smiles, beaming, almost purring. “I’ll tell you if it isn’t.”

“Okay.” You nod, feeling wrung out already. Beads of sweat rise between your breasts and drip down your skin.

Jing Yuan must notice too, as he ducks forward to lick a firm strip over your tacky skin, groaning as he does before moving to one of your nipples. He kisses around the bud, nips just enough to make you fuss, before wrapping his lips around it. He bites, sucks, and groans into you as he does.

You pet through his hair, scrapping your nails down his neck and back. Marking him however you can.

Jing Yuan pulls away from you, panting, and kisses you hard on the mouth. It’s a clash, really. Harsher and more desperate than he usually would give you. He’s usually not this messy, but your teeth clack together awkwardly and you swallow around the discomfort. Jing Yuan is quick to correct himself, deepening the kiss more sweetly as if to apologize.

He slips a second finger inside your cunt, next to the first, drenching your hole in slick and lube. It’s— messy. It is wet. The sound is obscene, even if Jing Yuan is being slow and gentle with your most delicate parts. Arousal pools in your gut, and want makes you feel like a sinking puddle, spreading out over the sheets like you’re going to absorb into Jing Yuan’s lavish mattress.

You open up for him, relax with the contact and let him take care of you as he wishes.

He presses another finger into you— this one stings, despite the preparation and slick drenching you down your thighs and the sheets below you. He moves slowly, kissing your cheeks and hushing you when you whine.

“I’ve got you,” He smiles, and drags his lips over your cheeks. It’s reassuring, and something blooms from the base of your spine up to your throat. He gives you playfully chomp over the apple of one and you let out a little laugh. It bubbles up out of you and Jing Yuan shares it with his own deeper one.

He fans out his fingers inside you, slowly, with each thrust. It’s measured, practiced. Despite the time apart.

Jing Yuan is hard against your leg. You can feel him, though Jing Yuan is still wearing his own robe and silks which simply will not do. Tugging, you drag it off him, and push yourself half up. You attempt to reach for his cock, you want it— him. But Jing Yuan stills his fingers inside you, clicks his tongue, and knocks you back into the mattress with a gentle (albeit firm) shove.

“Not yet.” He scolds, though there’s no bark behind it.

You frown. “But I want you.”

“And what if I want you too?” Jing Yuan asks.

It’s something he’s never raised directly before.

He’s made such a fact known, however. You know he wants you. Jing Yuan was happy to complete a number of courting gestures, prior to becoming something of an official couple. He keeps you close, he is kind to you, he even tells you a secret or two. He fucks you like he loves you and wants you close. He leaves marks all of you, from your neck, all the way down to even your ankles and calves on occasion. He shares drinks with you in his gardens, offers you a place in his bed and somewhere in his heart, even if you’re still (after decades) understanding where that is.

But, so rarely does he state that he wants you so plainly.

Want is dangerous. Yearning and all. Yearning must be a passing emotion if one is to resist Mara. If anything, Mara is accumulated and rotting yearning.

Jing Yuan has lived a long life due to how he copes with yearning.

To admit to it— it is an act of vulnerability. To admit a weakness, a thing that could tear him full of undying roots and strike him down. It is the danger of the Divine Foresight finding a partner and becoming coupled. It invites such feelings.

You had assumed Jing Yuan hadn’t entertained such notions directly. To give them time in his mind could bring rumination. Which— could easily go sour.

“... You want me?”

Jing Yuan tilts his head cutely, “Yes, of course. Was that not obvious?”

“I inferred,” You feel sticky and sloppy as Jing Yuan withdraws his fingers.

He climbs off the bed, only for a moment. He shucks off the last of his clothing, leaving him bare. Candle light casts shadows over the contours of him. His cock looks— painfully hard. As he climbs back into bed, it bobs, swollen and dark red at the head. Almost purpling. It’s slick with pre that is still beading from his slit.

“... Can I suck you off?” You ask, a bit entranced. “Please?”

“Not now,” He tells you with a laugh. “Later, if you ask me nicely again.”

“Okay.” You can do that.

Jing Yuan huffs out another laugh with a shake of his head, “Insatiable thing.”

“I missed you.” You tell him. Your voice is watery. Your own admission.

Jing Yuan flips you by your midsection, coaxing you to raise your hips enough to sandwich a few silk pillows between your hips and the bed. His hands linger over the bruises on your hips, then slide down the swell of your ass to the backs of your thighs. He pets you until you’re relaxed, boneless.

He parts from you over for a moment, rummaging through a nearby cupboard for oil. You hear him slick his cock. The sound makes you squeeze your thighs together and bury your face in the sheets.

Jing Yuan surprises you by pressing a finger into you from behind. A sound rips from your throat as he finds your sweet spots, adding another finger quickly, then a third. You’re drenched between your thighs, so slick you feel drunk. Jing Yuan positions your legs a little wider and settles between them.

“D-Don’t aggravate your injury,” You remember, beginning to push yourself up. A moment of lucidity as you can sense Jing Yuan lining him up. “Not on my account.”

“I won’t.” He promises, running a hand down your back from tailbone to nape to coax you back against the mattress. He presses a kiss to the base of your spine. “Always so caring and diligent.”

“I—” You cut yourself off as the head of his cock teases your folds. Rubbing. “Jing Yuan—”

“I want you.” Jing Yuan tells you, doubling back, bumping against your clit as you moan.

“Y-You can have me,” You want to see his face, rub his cheeks. “You do have me. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Damning yourselves.

Can’t the General be selfish in lieu of his looming retirement? Can’t the Master Calibrator enjoy the company of others, and not the mechanical hum of a God Ship?

“I have you?” Jing Yuan asks, beginning to push into you.

You can’t reply— you can’t. Despite the prep, and oil, and arousal all together, it’s still tight. Jing Yuan is thick enough that it’s outlandish, and you’re feeling every inch of that girth as he enters you. You clutch your balled-up hands in the soft sheets near your head. You try to keep your breathing even but it’s hard. Jing Yuan pets down your sides, leaning over your back, whispering little words of praise and encouragement as you take him.

“You’re so lovely. Look how well you’re doing.”

“You’re going to take all of me.”

“I’ll be gentle. I’ll be good to you.”

He is, and you don’t mean to cry, you don’t, but you do when he bottoms out, and you can feel him so, so deep, it’s in your throat. The heat of him inside you is searing. You’re changed. You’re being carved out by him anew, and he wants you.

“You h-have me,” You tell him. You scrambled a hand behind you, shaking as you brace yourself against the bed. You manage to get a handful of his head and drag him down over your back. “Jing Yuan, please have me.”

You’ll beg for it; shame has been lost.

You want to stay here. In his bed. By his side. You want him to want the same with you. Not with old flames. You don’t want Jing Yuan to deny himself pleasure in the face of duty, as if the two cannot exist. As if rules cannot be bent or changed by the hand that rules them or the Calibrator who tweaks the vessel that you both live on. Things change. It is the nature of life and starshine.

Even with the Xianzhou Natives' lifetime, they are bound to grow, endlessly.

Jing Yuan pauses above you, stills so deep in you. You’re worried for a moment you’ve crossed a line. That your desperation has spurred him away, rather than closer. It terrifies you. It grips you so hard that it feels like your heart could shatter to pieces.

(Your worry is misplaced.)

Jing Yuan lets out a shuddering sigh, pulling out almost completely. You panic (“no, no, no, don’t, ‘M sorry”) and nearly flip over to try and recover the situation. However— you’re mistaken.

He groans as he slams back into you, curling over your back, gathering you up in his arms, and rolling his hips. He’s scraping the insides of you. You’re raw.

“N-No apologies,” His voice breaks. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Y—You offer me yourself so sweetly. I only feel guilty that—”

He cuts himself off with another deep thrust that punches a broken sound out of you. Tears begin to drip down your cheeks.

“No guilt—”

“I feel guilty,” Jing Yuan punctuates his words with a cant of his hips that has you going slack in his arms, ragdolled by pleasure, “that you think you must beg to be had. I feel immensely guilty that you could have any doubt toward me as a lover.”

He guides you back down to the bed, steadying himself with a searing palm on the back of your neck and a hand leveraged on your lower back.

You really won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

“I don’t doubt y-you like that.”

(It’s less about some nebulous insecurity you keep as his lover, and more about the solid knowledge that Jing Yuan is so careful with his connections. You cannot believe yourself to be the exception.)

(Sometimes, you doubt that he has any tether to anyone. Like he’s waiting to die. No matter how fond he is of you, that this will supersede it. It damns his well being. It damns the future. But, how steadfast does it make the present? You’d like to think its enough for him to keep you as company due to legitimate desire and care, rather than balming of some wound as your insecurities tell you it could be.)

In retrospect, you’ll feel foolish for thinking so little of Jing Yuan’s feelings toward you.

He grabs you by your cheeks in one hand, craning your neck back to face him the best you can on your tummy. He levels his face with yours, nose to nose. Eyes alight. He looks... almost angry. Jaw tight, seated and still inside you to the hilt. You’re full— bursting at the seams, but you have enough lucidity to focus your vision and see how pained he looks. Pained and enraptured, loving and loved. He’s bound up with it, the same way that you are.

“If I could, I would keep you in this bed. If not this bed, then the gardens I would follow you into your tunnels and learn the harmonies and chords you know, even if I couldn’t keep a tune. I would keep you full like this. I would cut you stone fruit whenever you’d like something sweet.”

It’s a declaration. It might as well be a proposal.

You don’t get a chance to reply. Your breath is knocked out of you, like every thought and fear and insecurity that you’ve been shouldering. Jing Yuan fucks you with the full force of his hips, thighs bracketed with your own. It hurts— barely. Enough that you’ll feel it for days and carry a limp for just as long.

His pace is quick and deep. He’s not chasing— he’s creating. Marking a spot inside you that’s just for him. Only him. It makes you feel giddy and stupid and you laugh through the tears streaming down your cheeks. It’s— all a lot. Jing Yuan keeps you tucked so close, pressing you into the silks sheets. He breathes through his mouth, panting against the back of your neck , sucking more marks into the skin, darkening the preexisting ones. Claiming, in a way that feels different from the hickeys he had given you in the past.

You sob as he tilts your hips up. He drills downward, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. You’re— you’re going to explode. The friction of the pillows below your hips isn’t enough to come,but Jing Yuan drilling your insides is getting you close to something. It feels like a peak you’re not meant to climb, and you sob at the sensation. Like you’re free falling.

Jing Yuan holds you closer, wrapping an arm around your midsection, and the feeling disappears.

He sneaks a hand to your cunt. First he feels where you’re joined. The sticky, sloppy mess of pre, slick and lube that you’ve made. You’ll need another bath. Maybe two. He runs gentle fingers along the seam of your cunt, where he’s slowed his thrusts so he can feel where you’re practically tethered together.

“Taking me so well,” Jing Yuan is breathless. He rubs your clit, bracing himself over your front, and fucks you so wonderfully that your vision begins to darken at the edges.

It’s unfair how quickly he gets you to your peak, touching you like this. He knows your body, and you squeeze down around him with a cry as you crest. Your cunt clamps down as the knots in your gut unfurl. You jolt back with the sensation, overwhelming and all consuming. Jing Yuan moans behind you, a beautiful sound you want to have so committed to memory so that even when you’re riddled with mara, you’ll remember the sound.

Jing Yuan doesn’t chase his relief, he lays over your back like a blanket as you shake through the aftershocks of your orgasm and fucks you slow and deep. He only hastens when you let out a warbling little sound, something hurt from your bruised insides making themselves known.

He quiets you with a soft, dragged out whisper of praise. He thrusts harder— faster— and moments later there’s a gush of warmth in your guts that makes your eyes roll back into your head. You want to come again, and you can’t help the temptation to reach down and get off, just once— more.

Jing Yuan nearly growls as you do. He bats your hand away, flips you so you’re belly up. Your hips are raised on the mound of pillows and it hits you what he intends to do.

To have both of you.

He throws your legs over his shoulders. Your thighs shake around his cheeks as he gives them a quick kiss, before diving into his meal. He moans and groans into your cunt, out of breath from fucking you still, but no-less diligent. He fucks his cum back into your with a thick finger for a few thrust, just barely— you’ll be too sore and he knows it.

He eats his release from your cunt. It’s— debauched. It’s so, so much and you can’t do anything other than writhe and tug at his hair. Your hips hurt, but you still find it in you to grind against his mouth. It’s— one of his favorite things. He likes to be used sometimes. This is one of his favorite flavors, when his tongue is inside of you and you drag him closer by his hair and let the friction bring you to orgasm, however long it takes.

You, truthfully, do not have much left in your body to chase this.

Jing Yuan must know this, or he is feeling similarly— or both. Probably both. You’re too floaty and gone to tell. You’re still crying as he moves to your clit, licks and sucks until you fall apart on his tongue once more, full and sated with him.

Both had by each other.

You fall into the bed sheets as you finish, dragging a sweaty Jing Yuan closer. So close. He keeps you closer still, over his chest, cheek pillows on the swell of his pec (breast) and a dusting of silver hair. You’re shaking from the high— so is he. You feel like you’re going to fall into a million pieces.

(It reminds you, briefly, of how it felt when you first dropped into the utility tunnels, after the calibration apprentice went Mara-Struck. How you felt so— alone— gone. How fragile you felt sprinting through the tunnels with the knowledge that your world was being torn apart by forces beyond your control.)

(You felt small and helpless.)

The feeling is quickly extinguished— or maybe made to feel pleasurable. Jing Yuan practically purrs underneath you, petting you, stroking over your new bruises and marks. You keep a hand buried in his hair, petting over his cheeks. Staying lucid— is hard. The last thing you clearly remember was hopelessly fond, adoring, gold eyes, gazing back at you so lovingly, that they could remake you.

Perhaps, they already have.

It’s sometime later, in one of Jing Yuan’s gardens. This one is nestled, lush, in the large courtyard in the center of his home. A pond gurgles with the bubble of fat fish that swim near the surface of the water. You fed them earlier and they’re still looping, searching for an extra snack.

You lay some distance away from the pond on a blanket that Jing Yuan has designated as your ‘outside blanket’ as it is particularly large (tall enough for him to sprawl out on and more than wide enough to fit the both of you) and thick. Your head is pillowed on Jing Yuan’s arm as he is curled toward you, legs tangled with your own. It’s late afternoon, and the General is taking one of his beloved naps. You’ve taken to combing a hand through his hair, scratching along his scalp and behind his ear and contenting yourself with the little sighs and almost-purrs he lets you.

It is good to rest.

Your leave has, overall, been quite restful. Mostly. Aside from the times that Jing Yuan cannot keep his hands of you and you end up fucking whereever is convenient before retiring to your (now shared) bedroom. The bouts leave you tired and worn, but in a satisfying way. Jing Yuan has been particularly dutiful and attentive post-fuck, always handing you chilled water to sip and offering a treat. Sometimes a fruit or a candy he has apparently been stashing away. He gives you as many kisses as you can bear, and you return the gesture as much as you’re able.

Jing Yuan has become... handiser. Needier. You’d say clingier, but as much as he tends to cling when he’s around his estate with you, it never feels overbearing. He indulges in closeness with you in a way that feels shameless in the best way.

It’s the same in public. You’ve gone to the night markets, once or twice to indulge in street foods, and Jing Yuan is equally as touchy, albeit it’s more subtle. A hand on your lower back, standing behind you while he orders with an arm wrapped around your waist. You hold hands when you walk, or you loop an arm through his elbow if it's particularly crowded. He did these things before, but they seem more... necessary. Like he has to keep you close. The contact he shares with you is firmer. Richer, even. He’s always been intentional with you, it's his nature, but now his actions have taken on a different shape. Intentionally showing want, rather than showing closeness.

It creates both a softness and an edge to him that you are thoroughly enjoying.

There’s softness in how lax he is next to you, dozing the afternoon away after completing the bare minimum of work for the day. His cheeks are rounder, and a bit rosy. It’s warm today. It’s the softness of skinship, how you’re both seeking out each other’s barest parts, even if it's only for a moment or two of skin-to-skin contact. It’s how his care is so explicit these days.

The edge of it is how the General is anxious, perhaps. It’s a possessive flavor that Jing Yuan has, perhaps, always has, but is simply more apparent now. His touches in public flaunt the fact that you’re clearly a couple, nevermind what gossip magazines and street whisperers will say. It’s the consistent marks he leaves on you— those visible hickeys on your neck, down to the dark, sore ones he leaves on your inner thighs and the softness of your stomach. It’s the way he commissioned a set of earrings, one for each of you to wear.

(He had looked a bit melancholy, just for a moment, when he first presented you with them. Like a memory had surfaced but then was quickly let go and set adrift in favor of the present.)

The set is crafted with gold connected with a flat, rectangle of stone that dangles down from it. The stone is red, inlaid with gold veins. Some alloy that was probably mined on an asteroid— a rarity. They’re beautiful. You hardly know what to say when you receive yours; Jing Yuan had presented you the gift while already wearing his.

Marking each other as each other’s.

It’s brazen— and you like it. The beast of feeling that tore you to shreds in the utility tunnels feels far away, lately. Your extended leave has been good and you’re... grateful Jing Yuan has been quite official (and strict) about keeping you away from work.

You run the pad of your thumb under his eye. The skin is delicate, wrinkled just the slightest. It’s a tragedy, for many reasons, that you both are long-lived and cursed with Abundance. You’d like to see the crow’s feet Jing Yuan would have, if his skin did not keep itself so elastic and young.

Apparently awake, Jing Yuan grabs your wrist and brings it to his lip. He sets upon you with a lazy smile. His eyes open, just halfway, and he looks at you, so adoring.

“Are your thoughts entertaining?” Jing Yuan asks, gentle as he holds you closer. “You seem quite lost in them.”

You hum, kissing his jaw with a drag of your lips, “Not lost. Just reflecting.”

Jing Yuan hums himself, nosing into your temple. Then your hairline, where he leaves a line of kisses in his wake. You shudder with the feather-light feeling.

“Would you like to share?” Jing Yuan asks. “Or, perhaps take a rest with me? Though I am very appreciative of the head massage, I do believe you could use a rest. Unless you wish to take a stroll, and turn in early?”

“A stroll sounds lovely in a bit. I don’t mind sharing, though,” you answer.

Jing Yuan smiles against your skin. You wish it could brand you, “I’m listening, whenever you’d like.”

You gather your words for a moment. It takes— a second. A long one. The Dragon Lady says that you’re experiencing some lasting effects from being attuned to the Quantum fields for too long in the wake of the Stellaron Crisis. She seemed confident your impairments would heal but your mind is that of a mortal. It will take time.

Jing Yuan is ever patient with you.

“I suppose I’m grateful,” You tell him. “I am glad I have a space in your life, and I am grateful that you show it to me in the ways that you do. I would be— very sad, if I was not by your side, I think.”

It is a simple way to put something much larger.

Jing Yuan seems to understand regardless.

He takes a deep breath, then squeezes you to his chest. It forces the air from your lungs in a way that makes you light-headed.

“How kind are you.” Jing Yuan sighs, nuzzling into your hair. “To think of me so sweetly, without prompting. I’m very fortunate to have you as a lover. I hope you know that.”

“I try to remind myself.”

“Do I need to remind you more myself?” Jing Yuan asks, his smile turning a bit mischievous. He rolls himself over you, caging you. “I’m happy to.”

“You’ll spoil me!” You laugh and bat at his chest, slipping your arms over his shoulders, locking your hands behind his neck.

“I quite like having you spoiled.” Jing Yuan contends with a cute tilt of his head. “I should resolve to spoil you more, actually. Do you have any ideas on how to do so? I’m happy to listen.”

“Jing Yuan—” You huff with an uncontainable grin. Your heart is going to burst from your chest. You would let it. You’d let Jing Yuan take its place. You practically already have.

“I think,” Jing Yuan whispers in your ear, breath warm and sweet. “I ought to keep you in bed for the afternoon, perhaps pause the plan for a stroll until later in the evening. Starfire flies have been gathering in one of the gardens near the Exalting Sanctum— what do you say to a post-coital jaunt?”

“I mean—” You flush and bump your nose into his cheek, like a cat giving ample affection. “I don’t think I’ll be properly spoiled if I can still walk after you’re through with me.”

“So, I’ll carry you? That’s doable.”

“No— I mean— You can—”

“I’m teasing you,” Jing Yuan murmurs with a tone so sweet and warm, you could melt into the soft blanket and soil below you. “Whatever you’d like. We can decide along the way.”

You smile.

“Yeah,” Your chest feels tight and warm and lovely all at once. Jing Yuan pulls away, and the earring that twins your own dangles, catching the falling sun in its veins of gold. “I’d like to decide along the way with you.”

It means more than this instance, it’s encompassing. To be long-lived and coupled is to tread the shallows of what could be Mara. To wear the mark of another is to dare to swim closer to the roiling beast of Abundance that none of the Xianzhou Natives can truly outrun.

But you think that, perhaps, you and Jing Yuan will be alright until that day, whenever it may be. You will spoil each other, hold each other, and take your steps while extending a patient hand to the other if they’d like to take it. You’ll listen to echoes together and learn to forget them. You’ll harmonize with stardust and Jing Yuan will play his games of many dimensional chess until he (hopefully soon) retires.

The smile that grows on your face is warm like a hearth, honeyed like a spiced tea, and kind. It splits the both of you open, and Jing Yuan kisses you like he can’t help but to do anything else. You don’t lose your grin, and you give it to him against his lips, laughing together as you share breath.

It’s sweet and lovely, you think, as Jing Yuan touches your foreheads together. You have this, and you’ll be happy to have this for as long as Fate and Aeons allow. You think that Jing Yuan will be happy too— with a coveted smile so kind given to you and a bed, shared.

You bask in it— this. The gardens and the heat of him and the warmth in your chest, for however long you’re given.

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan reader insert #hsr x reader #cooking complete. meal on the table :'^)#enjoy loves!!

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osamucide · 2 years ago

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Hi! I love your writing sm!!🥰 can I request a jealous Nikolai or Fyodor (nsfw pls) it doesn’t matter either one 🙏

jealous – nikolai gogol + fyodor dostoevsky . . . .ᐟ

NSFW CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 1.5k

cw: explicit sexual content, gn!reader, language, dirty talk, brief mentions of ownership/belonging, toxic ass men. nikolai: mentions of injury/threats/murder, edging mention, oral (m!receiving), rough facefucking, wrist restraints, cum eating, nicknames (dovey, angel, sweetheart; kolya for him); fyodor: teasing, mild degradation, mild spanking, one religious reference, fingering, penetration, i love yous, nicknames (pretty, my love, whore, милашка/milashka=cutie; fedya, my only/everything for him)

reid: hey anon, thank you so much for the kind words uwu why not both?? inspo for this struck me as hcs/scenario format, hope that's okay <3 this is my first time ever writing for nikolai! he's so insane and he was actually a lot of fun to take a shot at. enjoy!

. . . .ᐟ

i can see NIKOLAI being easily made jealous.

even if you don't mean to provoke it, he's got a screw or two loose enough that his paranoia will get the better of him

and in true nikolai nature, he'll do some unhinged shit in the name of protecting his relationship with you.

he definitely maimed, shot, and mutilated a couple innocent flirters before you could really sit down with him and express how much you...disliked that methodology.

he does not play about you.

he gets better about it further into your relationship - no more murder on your behalf, you tell him, and he can manage that much! with this man, however, the unfortunate soul who fucketh around shall still findeth out.

oh, how he enjoys the look on the handsy stranger's face when he slinks up behind you to curl around your waist and portal-hold the tip of a blade to their chin

likes your reaction even more!

the way you squeeze his arm when you realize it's just your beloved jester behind you -

the blush on your face as you explain to the scum that this is your dear boyfriend (and apologize for the knife pointed at their face) -

the smooch you whip around to press to nikolai's cheek while he withdraws the weapon but never breaks eye contact with the stranger as they back away -

it all works like a charm!

what he loves most, though, comes later...

He's been edging himself with your mouth for god knows how long.

"If other bitches get to hear you talk, it's gonna be with that pretty voice wrecked," Nikolai groans, out of breath. "Feels- ngh, s'fuckin' good."

You can barely take it anymore. The blood's rushing to your head, first of all - it's been hanging off the edge of the bed practically since the minute you got home. Your jaw aches as Nikolai continues to use your throat. Most frustrating, though, is the pulsing heat between your legs that you can't even sate because your lover has bound your wrists up near your chest - all you can do is arch when, off and on, Nikolai reaches down to play with you while he fucks your mouth.

But he's getting needy, you can tell, because he loses himself a bit - he hasn't touched you in a good few minutes and his thrusts are getting greedier. He's long quit letting you come up for air. You think you've run out of tears - all you can do is breathe furiosly through your nose as he holds each side of your head and grunts from his chest as he ruins you.

You claw at him. "So good, dovey," he tells you, "almost done. Keep bein' good f'me- yeah."

You move your tongue how you can, hum around him when you can - eventually your dedication is rewarded when he pulls all the way out and strokes himself frantically over your tongue - and you cough a little, curling up into yourself.

You can hardly help your open-mouthed smile, however, when Nikolai releases the rough grip on your jaw to caress your cheek as he cums in thick spurts across your face. Your lashes flutter, he's moaning - "fuck, angel- angh!" - and you let out the garbled beginnings of a giggle as you lap up what makes it in your mouth.

You feel him scoop his load off your skin before his finger's in your mouth. Immediatley after you suck the rest of him down, he's bending down to kiss you sloppily and uncuff your wrists.

"That's my dovey," he affirms (more to himself than you). He peppers your face with kisses, his messy, snowy bangs brushing your face. "C'mere."

He works you upright just to lay you back down, more comfortably this time, finally and with fervor circling his fingers around your clenching hole.

"Kolya-" you rasp, sore.

"Took me so good, sweetheart," Nikolai shushes you, eyes alight with mania as he starts trailing kisses from your neck to your stomach. "Now that you remember who owns you, 'm gonna show you none of those motherfuckers could make you feel as good as I can."

. . . .ᐟ

oh, demon FYODOR.

i think he's less jealous than he is simply possessive.

he's not super concerned about people flirting with you, doing things for you, checking you out...in fact, he kind of likes watching those things happen! not that he doesn't expect it, you're perfect after all <3

because he knows, as you settle in his arms to whisper about the compliment you received or giggle at the person who offered to pay for your coffee, none of it will ever compare to the sweet words and pure love he showers you with, and he relishes in that fact. they can try anything they want, but you will never belong to anyone but him.

doesn't go needlessly far with expressing his jealousy when it does crop up - he's a tactful man, and he's not going to act out in a way that might put you off like nikolai will

he's patient, too. he's so composed around others. no one expects it - anyone who doesn't know better would assume the idiot who makes a pass at the demon king's beloved would get the whole room aired out in a matter of seconds

on the contrary, fyodor will sit with the closest he can get to a humorous grin on his face while he waits for you to make your way over and kiss him or sit on his lap or hook your arms around his waist

he'll tease you a little about it. "getting some attention?"

if you smile at him reassuringly, lean in, and tell him, "none that truly concerns me," all will be peaceful.

if you tease him back, however - maybe cross your legs away from him and shoot him a smirk and a quick "maybe so" - oh yeah, you're in for it.

He works you up, makes you a mess - then he throws it in your face.

"My gosh, милашка-" He doesn't take the Lord's name in vain even while he's drawing downright sinful noises from your body. "-listen to yourself. Shameless."

Fyodor's a patient man, as mentioned before; he uses it to his advantage in situations like this. He's stretching you out on his lithe fingers, slowly, almost painfully - his other hand traverses your thigh, landing a hard spank to the side of your ass each time you roll your hips unwillingly. You really can't help it either way - you have to watch and feel his pretty, pale fingers disappear into your hole, so it's either squirm and get smacked or whine and get mocked.

You're in a lose-lose situation, it seems. It felt amazing at first, the slow curl of his knuckles inside you, the gentle circling of his wrist, the concentrated sighs that left his rosy lips as he watched you relax into his touch, but now it's just torture. Now, you can only clench furiously and cry out please, please, just a little faster, Fedya, please!

Your eyes water when he finally gives in a little, moving fractionally faster.

"Do you deserve it, my love?" He cocks his head, looking at you as if he really values your opinion on the matter. "Or, my whore - since you're comfortable entertaining the advances of strangers."

You weren't, you must've sworn up and down ten times by now. You were being polite, you promise, but he shakes his head, his soft black locks waving as if mocking you too.

"Polite? You're lucky I haven't forced that filthy mouth shut. That's what got you here, after all," Fyodor explains excruciatingly. Sure, you got a little sassy with him after he accused you of being just that, a whore, after you'd flashed a humble smile toward the fellow restaurant patron who'd sent you a drink. And sure, that was tone deaf of them, considering Fyodor was very clearly holding your hand across the table and sporting your love bites on his neck, but you just couldn't be rude.

His eyes soften when a fat tear rolls down your cheek.

"Oh, pretty, don't cry." He shifts his legs beneath himself; his pace stays the same, but he reaches deeper inside you. "You remember who you're talking to, yes? You learn your lesson?"

You nod frantically. You whimper. "Of course, of course, Fedya, my only, ‘m sorry..."

You yelp like you've been burnt when he pulls his fingers out of you, but soon enough his hand is gripping your waist, his tip is teasing your entrance, and he's cooing into your ear, "Your only. You only love me, right? Say it."

You cup his face, grab at his shoulders, grind into him as you tearily reply, "Only love you, Fedya. I love you. You're my everything, please. My everything. I love you."

He knows you do. He just has to make you say it - make sure you know you do.

Fyodor's tongue finds yours as he thrusts into you - you're his everything, too, and he won't admit that, but he'll fuck you so good you know it's true.

"Relax, my love. Let me make you cum."

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #bsd nikolai x reader #bsd fyodor x reader #nikolai smut #fyodor smut #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs smut #nnnsfw.ᐟ #with love—reid

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abbysdollie · 5 months ago

Text

Cherry wine

dark!Alcina dimitrescu x fem!reader

Finally got around to finishing this dark lady dimitrescu fic! Thank you @graciedollie for requesting this, I’ve lowkey been wanting to write for RE characters so this was great! I hope y’all enjoy this! 🫶🏻

Cw: abusive lady D. Body mutilation? She breaks your leg. She locks you in a dungeon. Manipulation. Lmk if there’s more!

!! Minors do not interact !!

You were running through the castle. finally, this is your grand escape. Skirt bunched up in one hand, the other clutching the dagger close to you. Running and running, you don’t look back. Finally, you reach the big metal door. Pushing it open, you’re blasted with the cold winter air. Walking out, you notice the cathedral in front of you and a bridge. What? By the time you figure out that this was not the way out, it is too late.

———————————

Waking up, you take in your surroundings; hell, you were in one of the dungeons. One arm was shackled to the wall. No, no, no, this can’t be.

This was the second escape attempt that failed, and you were sure Alcina was going to murder you. She walks into the dungeon, her tall seven-foot figure looming over you, her golden eyes much darker now—oh, she’s pissed.

Waking up, you take in your surroundings. hell, you were in one of the dungeons. One arm was shackled to the wall. No, no, no, this can’t be. This was the second escape attempt that failed, and you were sure Alcina was going to murder you. She walks into the dungeon, her tall seven-foot figure looming over you, her golden eyes much darker now—oh, she’s pissed.

Alcina leans down, and her claws shred your dress into pieces. Now left in just your panties and bra, you shiver. “As punishment, you are to stay down here and think about what you’ve done. One week.” She turns to leave, and clinging onto her dress, you start to cry out.

"Please, I’m so sorry, Alci. I promise I won’t do it again. I’m sorry!" Leaning down, she grabs your throat and applies pressure. She whispers into your ear, “I don’t want to hear it. You will stay here and think about everything.” She throws you down, and you grasp your neck, taking a couple of breaths. With that, she leaves.

The week goes by terribly; you’re so cold due to the winter air that is coming into the basement. You’ve been left in the dark, which scares you badly because you don’t know what’s down here. Also, one maid comes down to bring you some water, and that’s it—no food at all. You’re exhausted, cold, and you regret it all.

Alcina comes back after the week to let you out, but not before doing something that guarantees you won’t ever try to run away again. You beg and plead with her. you get down at her feet and beg and beg, but she doesn’t budge.

She breaks your leg.

The sound of the crack echoes through, and the scream of agony and pain you let out is blood-curdling.

“Shh, darling, it’s all over now. You’ll be good for me now?” She moves your head against her neck and lifts you up as you whimper and nod. She takes you up to her chamber and fixes you up and cleans you.

Safe to say, you never dared to even think about escaping anymore, finally accepting your place with her.

#dollie writes 🩰#resident evil village #re8 #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #re8 lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil x reader

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concretejunglefm · 17 days ago

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It seems that even in Arcadia you walk beside me still.

Summary: Hidden deep in the mountains, what is now known as Arcadia began as a crumbling church with a modest congregation and a preacher known only as Sleep—a soft spoken, maternal figure whose voice could soothe even the most fractured soul, but her sermons promised more than salvation, they promised rebirth.

What started as faith became devotion. Devotion became worship, and worship became something else entirely.

Now, Arcadia thrives as a secluded sanctuary ruled by doctrine, ritual, and the unwavering belief in Sleep’s love. Branded by Vialism, her followers have shed their past lives and names to serve her will, but beneath the hymns and veiled smiles, cracks begin to form. As loyalties shift and whispers grow louder, one follower begins to question everything.

Congregation:

Sleep - the preacher and 'motherly' figure. Vessel - the right hand man, the righteous, the doubter. II - the basketcase. III - the wayward, the guard dog. IV - the deceiver, the second hope. Espera - the sinner.

CW: includes religious cult themes, character death, suicidal thoughts, struggles with mental health, drug usage, minor mentions of violence, manipulation tactics, power dynamics, abuse of power, body mutilation, self harm, blood, use of poison, more to be added.

if you are interested in being tagged please let me know 💕

#sleep token fanfiction #vessel fanfiction #sleep token ii fanfiction #sleep token iii fanfiction #sleep token iv fanfiction #vessel x sleep #concretejunglefm fics

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yall-hate-kids-tourney · 4 months ago

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Tomie Kawakami (Tomie) vs. Pannacotta Fugo (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

Y'all Hate Kids: Screwed By The Writers

Propaganda below the cut

Tomie Kawakami (Tomie)

Cw: grooming, horror, mutilation, child death, sexualization of minors

I know in later stages of the manga she's just a horror momster, but lord. Groomed by her teacher (<- not acknowledged in text, but say a child manipulated an adult man), victim blamed by her whole class, cut up by her whole class, doomed to constantly multiply and repeat her death. She can be as haughty as she wants, she was a stuck-up-teen and killed over it. She is forever sexualized and gawked over now. At the very least the OG Tomie was fucked over.

Pannacotta Fugo (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

Cw: csa

"This kid. This POOR, POOR teenager. He's a (formerly) rich teen child prodigy with anger issues. He cares for the members of his team, even though he barely shows it. There are so many interesting things about his character that can be elaborated on, but guess what he gets in canon?

In the manga he has no backstory whatsoever. The only member of the Bucci group who doesn't have one. We only know that he came from a wealthy background. In the anime, he does get a backstory (in which he is now a CSA victim, it's written fine enough but my feelings are mixed) and SOMEWHAT of an arc, which is good! But only a few episodes later he is completely written out of the story. He straight up leaves, when the group decided to betray the boss, the group and is never seen again.

This is because the author, Hirohiko Araki, had planned on making him betray the group near the end of the manga, but went in a different direction due to personal events coming up that would make that hard to write. Obviously that's fine, but it was really sad for Fugo that he just got written out like that, missing out on potential future development! Because of him leaving the group (mind you, due to Araki having to write him out for personal reasons) certain sections of the fandom call him a traitor, coward, etc. Just because he didn't want to risk betraying a powerful mafia boss for some girl he didn't even know.

I do have to note that some of this is remedied in the light novel Purple Haze Feedback, which touches on his feelings on what he did and the aftermath of the fight with the boss, as well as the deaths of many of his friends. But alas, most people haven't even read it or don't know it exists."

#yall hate kids tourney #screwed by the writers #loser round 2 #Tomie #Junji Ito #jjba #jjba part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo #pannacotta fugo #fugo jjba #cw grooming #cw horror #cw mutilation #cw child death #cw sexualization of minors #cw csa

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a-killer-obsession · 1 year ago

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Shared Smiles [Heat x Reader]

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Despite being forced on board against your will, you find yourself connecting with a commander, and finding solace in your shared traumas.

CW: wounds, off-screen amputation, loss of limb, comfort, trauma, mentions of mutilation, fingering, p in v sex, afab reader

WC: ~6k

Masterlist || AO3

The chains holding you creaked slightly as you swung back and forth, blood running down over your face and dripping to the floor below you as you hung upside down. Your ankles were bound together in metal cuffs, your hands tied to your torso with chains, and your body bare save for your panties and the many fresh wounds that littered your body. Two Supernovas of the Worst Generation stood in front of you, Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid and his first mate, Massacre Soldier Killer. The captain pressed his boot against your face again, letting back off and making your body swing, the ankle cuffs digging into your skin at the added pressure the movement created.

“Last chance,” the redheaded captain gloated, kneeling and grabbing a handful of your hair to force you to look at him. You could barely keep eye contact, not out of fear but, because you'd been upside down for so long that you were nearly unconscious. “I don't usually give out mercies like this, but your skills are useful to me, and my girls enjoyed your company before you fucked up”

Said fuck up was simply rejecting the large man of his sexual advances. You'd met some of his crew, a couple of girls named Hip, Hop, Quincy, Emma and Dive, at a bar nearby. You'd seen a lot on your travels as a for-hire mercenary, but female pirates were not common on the Grandline. They'd made you laugh, a rarity for you, and hadn't judged your unusual mask that hid your mouth and the end of your nose. Of course they hadn't, they were used to a first mate who covered the entirety of his face in white and blue stripes. They didn't even ask questions about it, which was a breath of fresh air for you, only commenting on how cool the sculpting that decorated it was - a relief of a open lion's jaw, with large, sharp teeth and a lolling tongue, trimmed by a nose and cheeks curled mid roar. The whole mask gave you the appearance of having a lion's snout, and along with the clawed gloves you wore during combat, was the guiding force for the moniker the marines had given you: ‘The Lioness, [Y/N]’.

Now, had your rejection perhaps been a little harsh? Maybe, by normal standards. A large, attractive man with such infamy as him was probably not rejected often, let alone with such sass. You knew you had a knack for being too brutally truthful, never filtering your words or pulling your verbal punches. It'd gotten you in trouble on more than one occasion, but you were a talented fighter, fast and agile, you didn't usually get caught in situations like this. When the Massacre Soldier snuck up on you in the alley outside though, you found you were no match for him, he had such a high bounty for a reason.

“How bout it little kitty?” Kid purred in faux sweetness, bringing you back to reality, blinking as you fought the pull of unconsciousness. “You can join my crew, or you can stay here and get tortured till you die. This is the last time I'll ask”

Did you want to be a pirate? No, you liked running solo, you liked having the freedom to go wherever you wanted and take whatever jobs were convenient. Having your life dictated by someone else was the last thing you wanted, and being around the same people every day would make it hard to avoid forming attachments. You had sworn to never get close to others again, after your last relationship resulted in the unforgivable reason you wore the mask. Making friends you'd never see again in bars was one thing, but you weren't looking for long term relationships, platonic or not. On the other hand, you liked being alive. You would not let a man be your death, not after everything you'd been through.

“Fine,” you spat. The single word was a struggle to push out, your head felt like it was in a vice and the rest of your body was going numb as a new droplet of blood rolled down your face and caught in your eyelashes.

“Wise choice,” the first mate noted from behind his unreadable mask. “One of our commanders is gonna love that pretty little smile of yours”

“Bite me,” you spat back, voice laced with venom.

“Tell the girls to clean her up and get her settled,” Kid addressed the first mate as he used his devil fruit to release your bindings, dropping you to the hard floor unceremoniously. He threw your mask at you, bouncing with an audible clunk off your already sore head, and you grabbed it greedily. Killer watched you with empathy as you desperately covered your mouth back up, he knew that feeling well and felt like an asshole for knowing what you hid underneath. You shot daggers up at him as the mask was settled in its rightful place, the room brightening for a moment as the door opened for the captain to leave before returning to its barely lit state.

As the months passed, you found yourself feeling surprisingly comfortable amongst the Kid Pirates. It'd taken you a while to heal and stop being so jumpy, but it came as no surprise to learn you were not the only crew member who had been hired via torture after pissing the short-fused captain off, and they all thought it was hilarious in retrospect. You hoped one day you'd find it funny too, but for now you still had aches from where new scars pulled taut on your skin as you moved. You found yourself at home among the other girls, and learned that Kid protected them with fierce loyalty. You had expected to have to reject more advances from him, but as it turned out, he treated the girls on his crew like sisters, and after months of getting past the violent way you were brought on the ship, you found yourself able to laugh in his presence. You never expected to enjoy the life of a pirate, but in truth it was nice to not have to fight for everything and take care of yourself, it was soothing to know someone had your back if you got into trouble. The girls had been diligent in tending to your wounds and nursing you back to health, and you'd gotten to know them well over the last few months. At first you thought about running every chance you got, but now you felt a pang of guilt whenever you thought of leaving the women you'd come to call friends, and ultimately pushed away the idea of leaving all together.

Much like the first mate though, you never removed your mask in front of the others. They'd allowed you to put up a curtain around your cot so you could sleep without it in privacy, you ate your meals in solitude sitting on the figurehead skull of the ship, and thankfully the showers were built as separate cubicles with doors. Nobody asked why you wore the mask, they respected your privacy the same way they respected Killer's, to ask what lay underneath would be a disrespect against both of you. As for the two that had seen, Kid and Killer kept your secret, even from the other commanders. Their word was gospel, so nobody pried, and it helped to make you feel safe here. You hadn't gone this long without someone asking about what the mask hid for months, the only questions you ever got from the crew were in regard to the mask itself. How was it made? Why a lion? Where did you get it? Is it annoying to wear? Curiosities that you couldn't fault, but always asked in a respectful manner.

This evening, like many other evenings, you found yourself drinking with the crew. It was a crew of around thirty, and although there were a few members held higher than the rest - the captain, first mate, and four commanders - it was clear the whole crew were friends, and there was no divide when they drank. You found yourself sitting next to Heat, a quiet, tall man with an almost grey skin tone, thick blue hair that fell in waves, and an almost perpetually sad expression. He was sweet, and easy to be around, and you often found yourself seeking his company. He didn't pry about your past as long as you didn't ask about his, and he was okay with a comfortable silence, making him one of your favourite people to spend time with, along with his best friend Wire, another commander who was similar in personality, though a lot more stoic, an a significant amount taller. Heat looked tough, but on a more personal level seemed far too soft to be a pirate. He didn't have a devil fruit, but he could breathe fire, and his long thorn-like tattoos fascinated you. He was an interesting man, someone you could see yourself opening up to in the past, if you hadn't sworn to close your heart from all men after the betrayal you experienced with the last one.

For obvious reasons, you didn't actually drink around the others, you just took part in the conversations. Unlike the Massacre Soldier, who could thread a straw through the holes in his mask, your mask was one solid form, the only holes being a mesh for ventilation hidden under the top row of sharp teeth, and the holes in the lion's nose where there the anatomy dictated, again so you could actually breathe. You enjoyed the company none-the-less though, and you'd never been one for drinking before the mask anyway so it was no loss. You didn't like the way alcohol made you feel, you preferred to keep your wits about you. That was another thing you enjoyed about Heat, he was your comrade in sober arms, also preferring not to drink. Apparently last time he got drunk he accidentally set fire to a bar, so he chose to stay sober for everyone's safety.

You laughed wholeheartedly as Quincy fell victim to a well planned truth or dare, admitting she'd had a raunchy sex dream about another crewmate, Bubblegum, the crew erupting in laughter as the two of them flushed bright red. The laughter died down and it was Quincy's turn to ask a question to the next victim, and your breath caught as you thought she was going to pick you, only to move one more over and pick Heat. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Truth or dare Heatie!” She coughed out, trying to quickly divert the crew's attention.

“Truth,” he replied calmly.

“Okay, mmmm,” she pressed a index finger to her mouth as she thought, “tell us who you have a crush on!”

A few of the crew went “ooooooh” as Heat turned bright red, and Kid sat up, his attention piqued.

“Look how red he is!” Kid barked, “there's definitely someone!”

“Tell us! Tell us!” Someone called out.

“It's… it's…[y/n]” he finally stuttered out, finally breaking, curling in on himself and trying to hide his flushed face from you. Your own face went pink at the admission, you hadn't expected it at all and there were butterflies in your chest. Heat quickly picked the next victim to move the attention, and you quietly excused yourself from the gathering.

“I didn't mean to offend you,” Heat said softly as he approached where you sat on the figurehead skull, facing the ocean. You quickly wiped your tears and sniffed, replacing your mask which you'd removed to keep it dry from your crying. “Were you crying? [Y/n] I'm so sorry, please forget I said anything, it's just a dumb game”

“It's not that, Heat,” you sniffed, “it just… brought up some not very nice memories is all. It's not your fault”

“Oh, well I'm sorry anyway,” he shifted awkwardly on his feet, “do you want to talk about it?”

“The last man I was with was not kind,” you tried to explain, “he… decided I was no longer worth the trouble, and he did this,” you pointed at the mask.

“Can I… see?” He asked shyly.

You looked out to the ocean, thinking hard about whether you were ready for that, ready to let someone past that heavily guarded wall. If anyone would understand, it was him. In truth, you didn't want to carry this burden alone anymore, and you knew he was more than willing to carry it with you. You looked around the deck for spying eyes, and seeing no other life you gave him a small nod and patted the figurehead next to you, inviting him to come sit. He climbed up and sat beside you, cross legged and patient. You sighed nervously as you unlatched the mask with shaky hands, turning to him anxiously.

“Oh,” he said softly.

Staring back at him, stretching from the corners of your mouth to the apex of your jaw, were the jagged scars of a Glasgow smile, just like his own. His heart stung when he saw it, he knew the pain you'd been through, physical and emotional, and the way you no doubt feel every time you look in the mirror. You turned away from him again, replacing the mask and looking back out to the ocean.

“Did you kill him?” He asked, shuffling a little closer so your shoulders touched, staring out to the sea with you.

“Yes,” you replied flatly.

“Good,” he huffed. “How long ago did it happen, if you don't mind me asking”

“Three years,” you idly picked at the cuticles on your fingers.

“The dysphoria will pass, in time,” he assured you, then pointed at his own scars, “rival gang, eight years ago. I wore a scarf over the scars for five years before I finally got comfortable with my own reflection. It'll pass, and nobody here will judge you when it finally does”

You nodded quietly and rested your head on his shoulder, and the two of you sat in comfortable silence till you started to fall asleep and decided to head to bed.

“MOVE, GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Heat shouted at the other crewmates that had crowded around your fallen form.

In a blink of an eye, everything had gone so very wrong. The crew had been raiding a marine base, rampaging through it as they always did, cutting down marines left and right. Nobody could have known the building you were fighting next to was structurally unsound, closed off from use years ago, scheduled to be demolished before it could collapse on someone's head. One small shake of the ground from a nearby explosion and the whole outer wall crumbled, burying you in heavy cement faster than you had a chance to register what was happening. The crew had been quick to dig you out, working together to move the large slab of concrete that was crushing you. Heat took in your seemingly lifeless body with baited breath, the limbs on your right side twisted in unnatural positions, deep purple bruises already forming on any skin that was visible, blood running from your nose and ears.

Your body moved just a little, and suddenly you were screaming. Awaking in absolute agony, everything was on fire, you could barely think through the pain. Only one coherent word escaped you, a shrill, desperate scream of his name, before the world went black again. Thankful that you were unconscious again so you didn't have to feel your injuries, Heat carefully lifted you, holding you close to his chest as he carried you back to the ship, tears silently rolling down his cheeks and neck as he tried his best to keep it together for you, to get you somewhere safe and start the long, hard process of healing.

For five days you slept in the infirmary of the Victoria Punk, and for those five days Heat never left your side, sleeping in an old metal chair next to you, his head against your arm and your good hand held gently in his, praying to whatever god that would listen that you'd wake up. His back ached from sleeping upright, he had deep, dark bags under his eyes, and he smelt as bad as he looked, still covered in the grime and blood from the battle, refusing to leave your side for long enough to shower. You needed him here, he needed to be here when you woke up, because you had to wake up, and he fought tooth and nail against anyone who dared to try and drag him away.

When you finally awoke, you did so with a small whimper, unable to remember what had happened, or understand why half your limbs weren't reacting the way you wanted them to. Heat had been asleep next to you, but was quickly at attention, standing over you and making sure you knew he was here before you had time to question whether you were all alone.

“Shh, don't try to move,” he said softly, stopping you from sitting up too fast with a firm but gentle hand against your chest, “you got hurt real bad, but you're safe now, you're gonna be okay”

Your hand flew to your mouth, feeling for your mask, looking up at him with wide shocked eyes when you found it was missing.

“Shh, shh, it's okay,” he took your hand back in his and removed it from your face, “only the doc saw, nobody else except Kid and Killer have come in here, and they said they'd already seen”

Your breathing calmed down again as you accepted his assurances, squeezing his hand and trying to sit up again. You wanted, no, needed to know how bad the damage was, you needed to see for yourself. You felt heavy, no doubt from painkillers, but you could still tell something was very wrong, your right arm and leg still not responsive. Heat saw your efforts and sighed, he knew there was no keeping you from it any longer.

“I'm gonna help you sit up okay?” He slid his arm around your shoulders and held the other against your chest, “But I need you to not panic. Your injuries were life threatening, Emma did everything in her power but she couldn't save everything”

You tried your best to stay calm but you couldn't help but start to hyperventilate as he sat you up and pulled the blanket that covered you aside, finally seeing the damage for yourself. Your right arm was in a cast, from your armpit to your hand, set in a bend. Your pinky and ring finger were missing, only stubs of them remained. You were wearing nothing but your underwear, your entire torso wrapped in bandages, healing graze marks and yellowing bruises peeking out from wherever the wrapping didn't cover. But the worst of the injuries was your right leg. Or rather, lack thereof, because from your mid thigh down was just empty space where your leg should have been, a bandage wrapped tightly around the short nub that remained.

Heat held you tight to his chest as you took in the damage and started to sob, your tears soaking into his corset shirt and rehydrating some of the blood and dirt on his chest. You weren't sure how long you cried for, at some point he climbed up on the bed and sat behind you, rocking you back and forth and cooing reassurances in your ear until you were able to settle your breathing and your sobs turned to teary-eyed hiccups.

“It's gonna be okay,” Heat assured, his arms around your torso as he pressed a kiss to your dirty hair, “Kid is already working on a prosthetic for you, Emma said the amount she was able to save is plenty to learn to walk again with one, it's gonna be okay, I'm gonna be here the whole time”

You nodded as you let yourself rest back against him, the weight of your emotional burden too much to bare alone anymore, letting him support your exhausted body and keep you afloat.

A few days had passed and Emma, as the ship's doctor, had cleared you to leave the infirmary. You couldn't walk given you would need two working arms for crutches, and with your dominant arm out of action you struggled at even the most basic tasks, so Heat insisted you stay with him. He'd pulled a spare mattress from the henchmen's quarters and was sleeping on the floor with it, leaving the entire queen size bed for you. As a commander he had his own room and a small humble bathroom, nothing compared to the grand rooms Kid and Killer had, but it was private and it was comfortable, and it kept you from embarrassing yourself in the middle of the night whenever you needed to go to the bathroom. He'd even rearranged his room for you, and made Kid install metal railings, all you needed to do was hop a few supported steps to make it to the toilet. If you had to travel any further he didn't hesitate to carry you, he didn't even need to be asked, all you had to do was look at him and he was moving.

The first thing you needed after leaving the infirmary was a good wash. Emma had done her best with Heat's assistance to sponge bath what they could to keep your wounds clean of the blood and debris you'd been covered in when Heat had carried you in, but you really needed a soak to wipe away the thick layer of grime. You couldn't wash yourself though, you needed to keep your casted arm out of the water, which meant a shower was out of the question - not that you'd be able to stand in one - and with only one hand there was no way you were washing your hair on your own. Even with the one working arm, your chest and side were still aching from the deep bruising you'd received as a result of being crushed, you were lucky you hadn't broken any ribs, but every movement hurt badly.

Emma had offered to wash you, but you'd surprised yourself and Heat by asking him instead. Somehow you felt more comfortable with the idea of him seeing you naked. Not that you had anything against Emma, you just felt safest with Heat. He'd carried you wordlessly to his room, wrapped in the infirmary blanket, and sat you on the closed toilet seat in his bathroom while he ran the water. Emma had given you the all clear to remove your bandages, though the one on your amputated leg would need to be replaced afterwards, so you worked on removing them while you waited. When the water was ready he helped you to your… foot… and held you steady while you used your good arm to manoeuvre your underwear past your hips, letting it fall to the floor at your ankles and leaving you entirely naked in front of him except for your cast.

He lifted you gently and lowered you into the water, your good arm around his neck for support. Using the old bandages he fashioned a sort of sling hanging from the curtain railing to keep your other arm out of the water, so you wouldn't have to worry about holding it up yourself the whole time. He was so careful and methodical as he washed you, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks the whole time, unable to look you in the eye for shame of how much he enjoyed seeing your naked body, how much he enjoyed touching you, when such horrible circumstances had led to this.

He avoided your genitals, letting you wash them yourself, and you sighed as his strong fingers worked shampoo into your scalp, washing away thick layers of grime that a sponge bath couldn't touch. It was quiet and intimate, the only words shared being him asking consent and you granting it as he worked on the different parts of your body, wiping away the blood and dirt. You whimpered as the cloth ran over your stump, burying your face in his chest for moral support as he diligently cleaned the old blood from it, the conditioner in your hair transfering to his skin.

Finally finished, he discarded the cloth and held you close while he knelt next to the tub, and you couldn't help but cry more at the awful state of your body. He didn't question your need to cry, he just held you while you got it all out till you took a deep breath and pushed yourself away from him, nodding that you were ready to move on. He rinsed the conditioner from your hair and drained the tub, wrapping you in a soft towel as he picked you back up and carried you to the bed. He held you in his lap as he dried you with an extra towel, patting dry your hair and wiping the dewdrops from your limbs. He held you firm to his chest, your arm around his neck, your head tucked under his chin as you listened to his rhythmic breathing. It was enough to lull you to sleep, so he carefully slipped an old baggy t-shirt over you, trying his best to not wake you, and tucked you into his bed, leaving you to rest.

It'd been close to six weeks since the accident. Your arm cast had been removed a week ago, so you were now able to get around on your own using crutches, though the distance you could go before tiring was limited. Kid had built you a beautiful prosthetic leg, even going so far as adding a lion's clawed paw for the foot to match your mask, and Emma had given the go ahead for you to try using it in a few more days. For now, your stump remained covered in a compression sock, to promote healing and make sure it was ready for the prosthetic to be fitted. Kid had become an unlikely ally in this battle, having lost a limb himself he understood how you were feeling, and had helped you through more than one dark episode while you mourned the loss of your leg.

Mostly though, it was Heat that was there for you. You were still staying in his room, even though you assured him you could manage on your own. He insisted you would be more comfortable here, and try as you might he refused to share the large bed with you to at least alleviate a little of your guilt, telling you over and over that he was more than comfortable on his mattress, even though it was clear to everyone that his back was hurting and his eyes had heavy bags. You could hear him toss and turn at night, his quality of sleep significantly diminished because of his chivalrous sacrifice, but he'd give up anything to make you even slightly more comfortable. You had to admit though, having the privacy to sleep without your mask without fear of peeping toms was a luxury in itself. You didn't wear the mask in the bedroom, more than comfortable without it in front of Heat. He still helped you bathe, but it'd become significantly less awkward, now a time for conversation and laughter. You no longer had a cast to keep dry, and you really didn't need help anymore other than getting in and out of the tub, but neither of you had said anything about it, so he happily continued to help you, and you graciously accepted the help and his company. Subconsciously, neither of you wanted to let go of that time alone together, and you secretly enjoyed the feel of his hands wandering over your body, and the way he silently scanned your curves, a quiet hunger in his eyes that never left no matter how many times he saw you naked.

On this night, the ship was on route to a winter island, the long reaching weather system already chilling the air significantly as Heat helped you into bed. He stole a chaste kiss on the top of your hair, as he often did these days, before excusing himself to his mattress on the floor.

Hours passed, and he woke as he often did, sighing to himself and twisting his torso to crack his sore back. He strolled in his sweatpants to the bathroom to get a glass of water, thankful that his natural abilities kept him well heated, so he didn't feel the chill of the snowy weather outside. You, however, were not a fire breather, and were very much feeling the cold. You were shivering in your sleep, hunched in on yourself to try and conserve any heat from escaping but failing miserably. He felt a pang of guilt at your shaking form, and opened a cupboard to get you another blanket, only to discover you were already using the extra one. What was he to do? His own blanket was barely anything, more of a thin fabric to cover him for comfort than for warmth, it wouldn't make any difference to put it over you. Should he go find you another blanket? Where from? Maybe he could wake Wire and see if he had a spare? Everyone else on the ship felt the cold the same as you though, they were no doubt all using their blankets.

Stressed that you would fall ill, he pulled at his hair, trying to find a solution, till a small whimper escaped you and the solution was abundantly clear. He lifted the blankets and slid in beside you, wrapping himself around your body, covering as much of your icy frame as he could with his hot skin. Your shivering quickly stopped, and a small smile formed on your face as you settled into a deeper sleep. He let go a sigh of relief and shuffled till he was comfortable, laying so close that his head was on the same pillow as yours. It felt like a violation of your personal space, but he couldn't bare to watch you shiver anymore, and he felt butterflies at being able to hold you so close in what was really his bed, even if it mostly smelt like you these days, not that he had complaints.

You were so warm when you woke up, wrapped in what felt like an army of hot water bottles, your skin sticky with sweat but you were too comfy to care. It took you an embarrassing long time to realise you weren't alone, a soft breath rustling your hair gently in a rhythmic pattern that matched the movement of the warm form next to you. Your eyes traced the thorn like tattoos that ran up and down the arm that was draped over you, a thick, muscular thigh trapped between yours, a pillow of pale blue hair intermingled with your own. You had wrapped yourself around him like a koala on a tree, seeking out his warmth in the night and clinging to it so it couldn't escape. You tilted your head up, your face now millimetres from his, inspecting fondly the scars on his face that matched your own. The dark eyeliner he liked to wear under his eyes was smudged, always too lazy to remove it before he slept, and his chin was covered in a fine layer of blue stubble. You blushed at how handsome he was, and how close said handsome face was to yours, his strong arms wrapped around you like he was just as unwilling to let go as you were.

His eyes fluttered open, his dark irises immediately focusing on you and his pupils blown wide in surprise as he realised the position he was in. He tried to pull away, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but you pulled him back to you, pressing your lips to his on instinct, in a desperate plea for him to stay. For a moment he didn't move, frozen in fear that this wasn't real, that you hadn't really kissed him, till he finally accepted the reality and kissed you back. His kiss was tender, full of devotion and longing, and you made a small moan as his tongue ran over your bottom lip and his hand wove into your hair. You opened your lips for him and his tongue dove inside, rutting against yours with his own quiet moan as you held him tight, pulling lightly on his hair to wordlessly beg for more.

He rolled you on to your back, pressing his thigh further up between your legs, and you whimpered into his mouth as you tried to roll your hips to rub against him, desperate for friction but unable to get it with your stupid useless stump. Understanding your frustration he ran his hand quickly down your front, threading it under the waistband of your pyjamas and your panties to slide between your wet folds. He pressed a thumb to your clit, circling it as his index finger toyed with your entrance, before sliding in and pumping you with slow, shallow movements that made you cry out. You hadn't realised how badly you needed him, how much you needed him inside you, filling you and sharing your breaths. He pulled away from the kiss and you could see your own feelings reflected in his eyes, all that longing and need and love. Love you didn't think was possible for you to even feel again, but it was there, without a doubt, and you knew he felt it too.

He watched your face carefully as he slid a second finger inside you, then a third, his pace quickening as your walls fluttered around his digits, his clothed erection rutting against the thigh of your good leg in his own desperate need for friction. He wanted to he inside you so badly, he wanted to feel your hot wet walls take him in and see your face contort as you came on his cock, the thought alone was almost enough to make him cum as he groaned and kissed you with fervour. He swallowed your moans as you clamped down on his fingers, your back arching off the bed as you came hard, shuddering underneath him.

As soon as your high had settled, you were sitting up and trying your best to claw away at his pants. You wanted him inside you so fucking bad, you'd already cum once but you ached with need. He pushed down his pants, his cock springing to attention, red and swollen with equal need, precum leaking from the tip. You eyed him hungrily, he was thick and longer than average, a set of three piercings running up the underside, you wanted to know how they would feel inside you. He helped you pull off your own clothes before settling between your legs, his tip prodding at your entrance but not yet inside, much to your frustration.

“Are you sure?” He asked nervously. You pulled him down by his neck and kissed him, forcing your tongue in his mouth before biting his bottom lip, pulling a groan from him.

“Please, Heat,” you begged, “I need you inside me, please”

He returned his lips to yours as he slid inside you, stretching you out, till the need to breathe was too much and you broke the kiss to pant, holding his shoulders tight as he sheathed himself inside you. You let out a stuttered moan, your breathing haggard as you rolled your hips to try and get him to move. He pumped you deep and agonisingly slow, just enjoying the pull of your walls on his length, till you wrapped your good leg around him and pressed your heel against his ass, moaning and clawing at his back as his pace finally picked up. He buried his face in your shoulder as he fucked you hard and fast, holding the headboard above you for support while his other hand held your hip tight, his fingers leaving bruises in your skin. You cried out a flurry of curses, mixed with his name and a string of yes yes yes as he groaned and panted in your ear, whispering sweet nothings and praising you for how well you were taking him.

His movements became erratic as you started to tighten around him again, your fingernails sinking into the skin on his back as you screamed his name and came hard, clamping around his cock and pulling him forcefully with you. His thrusts stuttered and stilled as he unloaded inside you, his hot thick load dripping out of you for lack of space as he shook and groaned. He collapsed to your side, pulling you with him, his softening cock still buried inside you as he held you to his chest. You draped your leg over his hip, kissing him softly, slowly, your tongues pressing together with more careful and tender movements, no longer driven by the carnal need for him to be inside you. You were full and content, comfortable despite his cock still buried in you, you felt like you could stay connected like this forever. He made you feel safe, and beautiful, despite your scars and mutilated body, as he pressed loving kisses over your Glasgow smile, and you returned the favour with kisses traced along his.

#heat my beloved 💙#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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