#though I do want to try out colossal weapons for a bit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

Note

Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

��Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

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oneofthosesimps · 4 years ago

Text

God knows I tried

pairing: levi x fem!reader I nsfw

word count: 7983

summary: reader comes to paradise with yelena and the others. although you are marleyan, you want to fight for the eldian. at the beginning you experience harsh rejection before levi develops feelings for you

warnings: SPOILER season 4, first time, angst, fluff, smut, harsh words

authors note: i got the idea from a request (although i interpreted it completely different and wrong, i'm sorry (still)). well, i want to elaborate and develop my writing skills a bit, which is why i'm trying out a bit at the moment. that's why i focused less on smut and more on conveying feelings. i hope you like it and once again, i'll write the story again with the theme of the actual request and more smut (it's on my list)

all credits to the artist of this pic:

Bev-Nap

-----

You feel out of place, even though you have fought so long to sit right here. Not only the icy stares of your opposite but also the tense posture of your comrades give you exactly that feeling. A silence overcomes you at the table, while you can hear the sound of metal and ammunition. You dare not lift your eyes and instead look at the cup in your hands. The tent is filled with the scent of black tea, which blends with the sound of chirping crickets to create a symphony of summer, if only it wasn't so cold. A heavy stone rests on your chest and a nervousness creeps through your body that you have rarely felt before. Your warrior heart is a wrinkled mess and you are surprised at yourself for the thoughts that are floating through your head right now. It has been a long time since you felt so small. Your gaze lifts slightly and your eyes fall on folded arms. You can see veins on his hands, winding along under his skin. They follow the contours of his muscles, which are hidden under his jacket. Wings emblazon one of his shoulders and right above his heart and you eye the beautiful symbol before your eyes travel even higher.

Frozen iron looks at you and a shiver runs down your spine. His half-closed eyes are partially covered by his black hair and yet hatred shines through them. You are paralysed for a moment before you pull away and look at the woman beside him instead. You hold your breath as she looks curiously down the barrel of the loaded pistol and your right fingers clutch the porcelain in your hand. If a shot were fired now, she would also lose her remaining sight.

A broad grin settles on her face, which is bathed in a warm orange by the lamp above you, reflecting through the lenses of her glasses, "Oh, I see. So you can shoot multiple times with it." She is wearing the same clothes as Levi and inwardly you wonder what the wing symbol is all about.

Your gaze wanders to the left and you look at the tall, blonde woman. Yelena's features are soft and you admire her for her courage and composure. If she is insecure, she has that feeling hidden deep within her and doesn't let it show through. Her eyes glance at the cup in her hand as she eyes the dark liquid, "Those are Marleyan soldiers' standard equipment." Hange's fascination does not abate and she turns the weapon from right to left.

Yelena's hand grips the handle of the cup before she takes a small sip and sets it down again, "Each Marleyan's army divisions consists of about 20,000 soldiers. There are 50 divisions in total, making around a million of them."

The brown-haired woman's face slips and you can see the surprise and shock in them. Slowly she lowers the firearm and places it on the table.

"In addition to that, they possess three fleets consisting of 21 battle ships. They've also seen incredible progress with new weapons including aerial military capabilities," Yelena continues, briefly fixing her gaze on the pistol before catching Hange's eye.

"...Aerial?" You can hear the tremor in her voice and light beads of sweat settle on her forehead. Small wrinkles form around her lips. A second later she yelps as Levi nudges her with his foot and leans towards her. His voice is low as he talks to her and you exchange brief glances with Onyankopon. His large dark eyes look at you as confused as you feel and your brow furrows. His eyes turn back to the two people opposite you and he clears his throat, "So in other words, mobile weapons that can go beyond seas and walls, and drop the enemy from the sky." His explanation seems to strike a chord with Hange and she jumps to her feet. Her chair scrapes across the floor before toppling backwards with a thud. She slams her palms down on the table and leans her upper body towards you, "They'll come from the sky?!"

Despite her joyful enthusiasm, this little phrase leaves a bitter note. Suddenly you realise again how terribly sad this situation is. Such things are normality for people on the mainland. Guns and flying ships are technologies that have been around for a long time. The whole world uses them, except for a small island in the middle of the sea. Hange has never seen such things in her life, nor have the rest of the people in this camp and within the walls. Although they are the same people, they live such different lives.

Your mouth goes dry and you take a big sip of your tea, almost burning your tongue. The feeling mixes with the pain in your chest and your heart tightens. So much has gone wrong, so much you now have to fix and undo. The weight on your shoulders seems to crush you as you continue to look to Hange, not letting on.

She leans forward even further and her face becomes thoughtful, "Marley has all that wonderful power, yet they haven't launched a proper attack on us for almost a year, why is that?"

Yelena's expression remains unchanged, "There are two main reasons." She takes her time with her words, thinking them over as she takes another sip of the dark tea. After setting the cup down she continues to speak, "The first reason is the Pure Titans that they unleashed on this island. Their existences make it hard for them to get here, even with the latest weapons. It was originally a policy meant to confine the Eldians inside the walls. However, it ended up protecting Eldian from attack."

For the first time you hear his deep voice. It sounds like dark strong honey and nestles around you. You feel as if the vibration is making the tent wall shake and goosebumps settle over you, "Seems like it. Quite ironic, I must say." He adds a snort to the end of that sentence and looks disdainful.

Yelena smiles dryly at him for a moment before lowering her gaze and breaking eye contact, "However, the day is about to break. The Titans should be active soon. Yet, we're still leisurely drinking tea here outside the wall. That means you have killed all the pure Titans on the island. Would that be correct?"

Levi's body tenses almost imperceptibly as his clothes cover much of it, but you see that his shoulders are getting even broader. The veins on his hand that you noticed earlier stand out more and you feel an electricity emanating from him. His face shows no movement and he keeps a straight face, "So what? Are you going to somehow inform Marley about it?"

This is the first time you would like to say something to convince him that you have come with good intentions and that he can trust you. But deep down you know for a reason that it will probably take the longest with him - if he will ever trust you at all.

Yelena stares at him and you can see a small smirk curl her lips, "No, It's wonderful."

Only by Levi's eyebrows can you tell he's slightly surprised as the furrow between them gets a little deeper and darker. His body tension doesn't change as he glares at you with dark eyes while Hange's right hand becomes a fist, "What's the second reason?" Her gaze wanders back and forth between the three of you.

"Marley is currently in a state of war with multiple countries," Yelena explains, "In other words, they got bigger thing to deal with. You guys have defeated Marley's trusted Warrior unit. You guys also took the Colossal Titan and the Female Titan, their key weapons. Marley is a country with many enemies. So other countries came together in a blink of an eye and then the war began."

Your gaze falls to the weapon on the wooden table and images of war run through your head. Goosebumps forms on your skin as the sound of guns being fired echoes through your head and you shake slightly. Your breathing changes through your quickening heart and you feel Levi's eyes on you for a split second.

"So that means you guys are the people of losing countries with grudges against Marley. And you infiltrated the army as some sort of intelligence agent?" The air around you thickens and grows heavier and Yelena closes her mouth. You see a small change of temper in her before you stare at Hange. Seconds pass and no one says anything before a small, happy sound comes from the brunette and she smiles broadly at you, "Oh, was that a bullseye? As I thought, you guys must have convincing enough motives and backers to betray Marley like that."

Yelena's hand tightens around her cup and Onyankopon and you do likewise. Again your heart tightens and you lower your gaze. Unnecessary guilt creeps from the depths of your soul to the brightness and spreads through your body. How many people, how many women and men and children have lost their lives? Why are you, of all people, sitting here? What can you contribute? Questions and questions swirl in your head and you literally drown in the wave that drives them.

Your thoughts almost overwhelm you Yelena's voice comes through to you, "We lost our homeland to Marley and join their army as conscripts. We're weak. We also start losing hope in opposing such a big nation. It is until we're guided by him."

Something warm mingles with the tension and darkness as her posture changes and all tension falls from her. Her chin lifts and she looks up into the brightness of the lamp above her, literally making her eyes glow. A slight smile settles on her face as her eyes glaze over, "Marley and the world feared the Titans as devils. However, it looked like something else to me. A god." At these words, she jolts and a shiver runs down your spine. Sometimes Yelena seems like a believer, as if she has seen something that is still hidden from the rest of you. In such moments you notice again how different your drives are, although you are striving for the same goal. Deep down, however, she sometimes frightens you, even if you would never admit it, but she seemed like an addict on the way to her redemption. "He gave us hope when we're at our weakest," she continues and for a moment she seems to float above the tent before coming back to the here and now and lapsing back to normality, "We shot our superior under the orders of Zeke Yeager. We're the Anti-Marleyan Volunteers. Our goal is to free the Eldian people."

"By betraying your own people?", Levi's voice echoes again through the small cloth fenced room and your eyes shoot to him. With the corners of his mouth pulled down, he meets you and you almost choke on your own saliva. Your hands form into fists and your eyebrows draw together.

"She has proven herself often enough. Her background may be different, but we fight for the same goal," Yelena's unimpressed voice pre-empts yours, but the tension between you does not subside. Instead, sparks of anger almost fly out of you. Your self-doubt has just been pulled out of you and laid bare on the table for all to see. It is raging inside you. Hange's gaze also falls on you and she examines your presence, which seems small next to Onyankopon's and especially Yelena's, from top to bottom. "Why is someone from Marley fighting for Eldia?"

Yes, why does anyone do that? Why does one fight alongside the supposed enemy to support their plans? Why do you act wholeheartedly against all that has been impressed upon you all your life?

Your nails dig into your palms and you grit your teeth, "I do not betray my people. I betray those who lead my people."

The memory mixes with the swirl of hot water in front of you. The liquid spreads in the small porcelain vessel and nestles around the leaves, which immediately begin to smell at your touch. Warm steam wets your face and makes the rest of your body shiver.

"Don't worry so much, will you?" says Niccolo from his place at the counter and raises his head. He tilts it slightly and smiles at you. His dark eyes sparkle at you across the room as his blond hair falls wildly across his forehead. It's a stark contrast to the storm going on outside. You return his gaze with a slight smile before he turns his attention back to the vegetables in front of him. The sound of steady chopping movements fills the room and you glance back at the teapot. A sigh falls from your lips and you support yourself with both hands on the countertop.

"That's easier said than done, Niccolo. You know me."

"Yes, I know you and that's why I'm sure you have nothing to worry about".

A soft huff comes out of your mouth and you roll your eyes, "Yeah, sure. That's easy for you to say, Eldian."

His head lifts again and he looks into your eyes with slightly furrowed brows, "I mean it, Marleyan". You pucker the corners of your mouth slightly at that name. Although that is exactly the right name for you, you don't identify with it. The word has a negative connotation and tends to bring bad qualities with it. And that is not you. You are not Marleyan, you are just and simply you.

His face looks more unhappy and he seems thoughtful before a smile settles over his lips again, “I trust you, we trust you and they do too. You've done so much in your time here and even before. Don't be so critical of yourself."

Your eyes fall back to the pot in front of you and you place the lid over the opening. With a push, you push yourself off the counter and cross your arms in front of your chest, "You're right.”

"Of course, I am," he smirks. His radiance continues to fill the room and his warmth reaches you, flooding you and your little heart, and your lips pull up slightly as well. Niccolo is to be envied for his positive nature. He is by far one of the nicest people you have ever had the pleasure of meeting in your life and a truly true friend. Perhaps his nature is also the reason why he is such a good cook. His nimble fingers allow his thoughts and emotions to seep into his food and every bite has a piece of his soul in it.

"I mean, you and Sasha are the best example of what can become of two opposing camps." You hear an uneven cut and see him wince slightly. His cheeks turn pink and a grin spreads across your face. He puts the knife down and places his right hand on the back of his neck, nervously stroking his hair, "Yeah, you think so?"

"Who doesn't?" the tips of his ears turn pink too. He looks cute.

"My food is just good. That's the real reason Sasha comes."

You snort. "No, Sasha comes for your food as well. But I'm sure there's another, bigger point that's much more important." Again, a smile curls his lips and he looks happy.

"I envy you for that," you murmur, your expression changing slightly. A tide of sadness settles over you, leaving your body shivering.

"Envy me? But for what?"

"I just wish I could get along with them as well. I wish I had a significant other too."

Now comes a snort from Niccolo. Surprised, you look at him and he shakes his head, "Yes, I have Sasha. But you have someone else for that". As you continue to look confused, he takes the towel from his shoulder and throws it on the countertop. "Don't act like that. I've seen the looks on his face. Don't pretend you don't know who and what I'm talking about."

You tear open your eyes and your breath catches in your throat. Immediately a heat rises to your face as you understand who he is talking about and a deep blush settles over your cheeks, far surpassing his.

"I-I don't know what you mean," you stammer to yourself as your face gets even hotter and it is now time for Niccolo to grin at you. "N-no, you've got it wrong. Levi and I ... we ... this is absolutely nothing."

"So Levi, huh?" You slap yourself for saying his first name so carelessly.

"The captain and I," you begin again, "there is nothing. I don't think there could be anything with anyone either. You know him, he's a cold lump of ice." You look down at your feet on the floor, "besides, he hates Marley and I can't even blame him."

A silence settles over you before you hear footsteps. As Niccolo puts his hand on your shoulder, you lift your gaze again and warm brown looks at you. "That may be, but I can tell you one thing: I can clearly see that he doesn't hate you".

"You think so, huh?" you bite your lower lip, unable to suppress the flutter of wings from the butterflies in your stomach. He squeezes your shoulder lightly with his hand, "I mean it, yes."

You mirror his soft smile, but it doesn't reach your heart. Maybe Niccolo is right in what he says, but it was rather unlikely and your body can't imagine Levi feeling this way. Your head tells you that's not the case. You are alone.

A knock on the door snaps you out of your thoughts and he drops his arm. The wooden door opens with a soft squeak and a dark brown pigtail pokes its head into the room. Big brown eyes look at you and you notice Niccolo's energy change.

"I hope I'm not too late," Sasha says happily and opens the door wider. Still in her uniform, which accentuates the curves of her body, she raises her hand and waves at you. You smile broadly at her and take a step back.

"Absolutely not, you're just in time. I've already got the vegetables ready," Niccolo says, grabbing the kitchen towel again. Sasha jumps in the air with happiness and runs past him to the counter with the chopping board. You see another slight blush on Niccolo's face before he turns away from you and takes his place beside her. You watch the two of them for a brief moment and your heart blossoms. Who would have ever thought that feelings could arise between two actually so hostile parties. And they both seem more than happy, even if it is hard to tell at the moment because Sasha is literally foaming at the mouth with hunger. You place the teapot on the tray next to it and leave the two of them discussing about the best temperature for the soup.

Your feet carry you through the kitchen door and you stride down a long corridor. The storm outside is slowly getting stronger, whipping against the windows. Without thinking, you walk through the building. You have been walking this way several times a day for several months now, you could serve tea in your sleep. By now you are probably even better at this than at holding a gun and fighting. When you reach the end, you stop in front of a large door.

Your knuckles touch the wood and you knock on it three times in quick succession. There is silence for a moment before Levi's dark voice comes muffled from the other side of the door, "Name and request."

You clear your throat briefly, "It's me, sir. I've brought your lunchtime tea." You hear the rustling of paper for a brief moment.

"Come in."

Your hand grips the cold metal of the door handle and you push it down.

The captain's office is probably very similar to the one in the capital, at least that's how Hange once described it to you. In his back is a large window framed by curtains, through which the sun's rays fall in the afternoon. Due to the rain today, however, it is a little darker and rather unlikely that you will be able to see the setting of the sun. The remaining walls are either empty or filled with shelves containing all kinds of books. In the back half is a massive desk, its surface almost completely filled with stacks of papers. Levi sits in his chair, as he usually does, his head bent over his papers, causing strands of his black hair to spread across his forehead.

There is a scent of detergent in the room, which mixes with his body odour. Sometimes you have the feeling that he is gradually taking on the smell of lemon and lime and regret the fall of cedar, earth and something else that you could never quite put your finger on until now. As soon as he senses your presence at the entrance, his eyes lift and your heart slips a little. You lick your lower lip to moisten it and feel your hands grow a little damp as you clutch the handles of the tray. Shadows are on his face and you can see the circles that have formed under his eyes.

For a brief moment you look at each other before you tear your gaze away and your feet move across the wooden floor.

"How are you, sir?" you ask as you set the tray down on a dresser on the left wall and take the cup and coaster in your hand.

"Tch, I already told you that you can call me Levi."

Your toes just barely touch the surface of the water and you dip them in before they come back out. It was completely silent except for the chatter of the people behind you and the sound of the ocean. Somewhere you could make out Niccolo's loud laughter and you smirk inwardly. The waves of the sea flow towards you before breaking on the piers of the pier.

The moon is still low over the horizon, but a few stars can already be seen in the cloudless sky. A gentle breeze sweeps over you and you pull your jacket tighter around you, snuggling into it. It is so incredibly peaceful and beautiful, it is hard to put into words.

"Tch, you shouldn't go so far away," says a cold, deep voice behind you, a total contrast to the rest of the scenario. Startled, you turn away from the reflection of the twinkling stars and look behind you.

His hands buried in the pockets of his suit, he looks down at you with a slightly annoyed expression and half-closed eyes. His figure is captured by the black fabric and it flatters him very much, fitting perfectly. You wonder if he had it tailored. A cold shiver runs down your spine as he eyes you.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir," you stammer, pulling your feet out of the water. Just as you are about to get up to quickly run back to the others to not annoy the captain more, he plops down beside you. Confused, you stare straight ahead and tense up as he makes himself comfortable next to you. Should you go now anyway? After a few seconds, he makes no move to tell you again, so you remain seated. The mood remains tense and does not fit in at all with the relaxing sounds around you. His hand is right next to yours and your knees are almost touching. Out of the corner of your eye you eye him and maybe it's the moonlight accentuating his contours, but he looks different. Had he always been so handsome? Such a face should be forbidden. A breeze comes up again, tousling his hair slightly, and you breathe in. Has he always smelled this good? Such a smell should be forbidden.

You look towards the moon, trying to control your rapid heartbeat. Your hands begin to sweat and the situation becomes uncomfortable. You've never spent any of your free time with him before, it doesn't feel right.

"Doesn’t it look beautiful ," you murmur to break the silence.

You hear a snort beside you and look at Levi, instantly regretting your statement. His eyes resemble the stars in the sky, even as they slowly turn dull and grey, "Yes, but at what cost?"

You frown slightly, confused by his statement and he looks past you, "How long we fought to be able to sit here."

A light goes on in your head and you bite the inside of your cheek. You didn't mean it like that, that's not what you wanted. Shame and anger come over you. Sasha told you a bit about her background when she was with you and Niccolo in the kitchen. You could never understand how much they have been through. The pain they are in is immeasurable.

"How many people I have lost to sit here," he murmurs, probably more to himself than to you, "Isabel, Petra, Erwin...", at the last name his voice breaks off and he hangs his head. The next breath of wind that surrounds you makes you freeze. This situation is cruel and deep inside you ask yourself how it came to this and why he is saying these things to you of all people. None of these names mean anything to you, but you feel his pain. You have never seen him like this, so fragile and weak. Tears come to your eyes and you are speechless. Your heart tightens and you feel the need to take him in your arms, to help him somehow. A huge burden lies on you. Your people have done this and now you have to make up for these mistakes. At that moment you realise that this will never be possible. You can never make up for something like this. It remains silent between you, the sea no longer has anything happy about it. Instead, it seems to you that every sound, every wave, reflects the cries of fallen friends, comrades and families.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, looking down at your hands, which you place in your lap. A tear drips onto them and you brush it away.

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

Your head lifts and you look at him. His gaze is averted and his knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the pier.

"Yes, it is. Somehow it is," you murmur, seeking his gaze. As he returns it, the grey in them moves and slowly changes again. "I should have done something sooner, I'm so sorry. I can never make it right, but I'm trying to do everything in my power to make sure it never happens again. So that no one ever has to suffer at the hands of my people again, sir." Please believe me.

There it is again, the silver sparkle slowly coming back. Your heart beats heavy inside you, burning. Levi eyes you for a long time, letting his eyes glide over your features, and you do the same. You block out your surroundings, taking in only the sound of his steady breathing and the feel of his closeness.

"Call me Levi."

A barely perceptible blush settles over your cheeks once more as you set the dishes down on the only small space on the desk and remember this scene. Forms, reports and the like form a neat chaos that follows a strict principle. Never have your eyes seen even a piece of paper on this floor. He is the cleanest person you have ever met.

"Sorry, I just got so used to call you sir or captain." You lift your gaze briefly, looking into cool grey. Your assumption earlier was correct, his dark circles are darker than ever. He looks terribly tired and exhausted, but that doesn't stop him from continuing to maintain his strong posture.

You smile at him briefly before going back to the dresser. You feel his eyes on you the whole time, which sends a warm shiver down your spine.

"When was the last time you had a break?" your hands grip the porcelain of the pot. There is a silence between you as you pour him his tea. His lack of response speaks volumes and you feel sorry for him. It must not be easy being in charge next to Hange. Does he ever wish for a break inside? Does he even know such a thing? The quiet flow of liquid breaks the silence as he continues to look at you. Your nervousness increases and your butterflies fly stronger, tickling your stomach.

As always, he takes a sip of tea as soon as you finish and as always, you look at his fingers as they wrap around the top of the cup. Many times you have wondered where he had learned to drink like that, but over time your thoughts change. Instead you admire his hands, his long slender limbs that conjure up dreams in your mind. Your left hand forms into a fist as your face turns red.

"Good", he says as he raises an eyebrow and eyes you questioningly.

You just nod at him and walk quickly back to the dresser, hiding your face from him. As you put the pot back in its place, your hands tremble and you take a deep breath to slow your breathing. It is unimaginable what he is doing to you. Is this how Niccolo always feels when he sees Sasha?

Finally, you turn and look down at the floor, "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Your hands play nervously with each other as you hold them in front of your body.

Silence falls again and seconds pass, it takes longer than usual to answer this question and you are beginning to wonder if he didn’t hear you.

"No, you can go," he finally says. You nod and head for the door. You don't dare look at him again, to prevent him from reading you like a book. Because he is extremely good in this area. Sometimes he knows more about his counterpart than he does himself. Just as you are about to reach for the door handle again and push it down, you hear his voice again, "Are you happy here?"

You open your eyes slightly and turn to him. Your eyes cross again and your forehead wrinkles. His eyes look different than usual, the grey seems much warmer and ... darker? You have never seen his eyes this colour before. You swallow hard and give up trying to control your heart. His question is unexpected and you can't find an immediate answer. In fact, you've asked it yourself many times before. There is no comparison to Marley, positive or negative, it is a very different life. Either way, it feels like you're a prisoner. Like you don't belong in either world. You remember Marley, your family, who you will probably never see again because they never want to see you again. At the latest after they found out you were leaving them, you were on your own. But you are sure that they already had an idea of what it was like and that their hatred began much earlier. How different your thoughts were and are compared to those of the rest of the people there. And here in the realm of the devils, it hardly seems any different. Of course, you are now a little closer to your goal, but even here you are not welcome. You fight for people who do not want you.

"I'm not unhappy," you murmur and slump your shoulders, "I just feel lonely."

You see his head working and an emotion wash over his face. Again, there is a long silence before he opens his mouth, "Why lonely?"

"Well," you stammer a little, surprised at the direction your encounter today is taking. It's funny how much has changed since that time in the tent.

"It seems to me that everyone has their purpose, that everyone knows their place. Yelena, for example, led us here, has been our leader from the beginning. She takes care of all these important things and what do I do? I get to help Niccolo prepare the food and I get to bring you tea." Your hands form into fists and anger rises from your belly. "I'm not allowed to go anywhere near the city or you'd have to worry that I won't come back because they've put an end to my life. What have I been fighting for all this time?" Without you realising it yourself, your voice rises and you become louder. "I try to do something good, to achieve something, but nothing happens. I can't do anything. What am I doing here? What did I do in Marley? Why does everyone hate me?", the last words are more of a whisper and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. Your emotions overtake you. The anger slowly fades, leaving a bitter, nauseating taste. You are so pathetic. Your life is useless, you are useless. You stand in the office of the man who is your superior, who is supposed to look after you so that you don't betray anyone, who hates your people from the bottom of his heart and who brings out feelings in you that shouldn't be there. Your body begins to shake slightly and you wipe away individual tears. What has happened to you since that moment in the tent? You feel as if you are losing sight of your purpose, the one thing that drove you to keep living.

"I don't hate you."

You look at him in surprise. His body looks tense and you regret having such an outburst. Levi is not really one of the people you should and would pour your heart out to like that. Suddenly you feel terribly small and stupid. While you have confided in each other more and more little things over time, such outbursts of emotion is still unusual. Especially since Levi very rarely lets you see through his shell. He probably just wanted to be nice and didn't expect you to pour your heart out to him right away.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have burdened you with this." You straighten your figure and smile at him. "If anything should be the matter, don't hesitate to let me know". With these words, you turn and open the door. You want nothing more than to leave this room and escape from this uncomfortable situation.

Before you can take a single step, it slams shut again. Immediately you tense up and freeze. Your eyes widen in shock and surprise. His hand is right next to your head and his body is leaning against the wood. His presence is strong and warm and you feel the need to fall backwards against him. Your belly does somersaults and the butterflies come to life. Slowly, as if in slow motion, you turn towards him and immediately press yourself against the door behind you. He is close, much too close, much closer than you suspected. His eyes sparkle at you, the grey has turned to silver which darkens as you return his gaze. You feel trapped like an animal about to be eaten by its hunter.

" You are talking bullshit, idiot," his warm breath swirls over your skin, his dark voice even deeper than usual. You expel a long-held breath and your nails dig into your skin as you form your hands into fists again. The tension between you is huge and the air is about to crackle. Your heart beats with strong, firm thumps against your ribcage. If it keeps up like this, it's going to jump out.

"Yeah, you think so?" you murmur, licking your dry lower lip. You press harder against the door as his gaze lands on your lips. Your chest almost aches from the hammering of your heart. You feel as if you are about to throw up. Your nerve endings tingle with anticipation. Very slowly his head moves towards you. If this is a dream, you don't want to wake up, ever. The movements are barely noticeable and you hold your breath again.

"Yes, I think so," he murmurs, stopping in front of your face. His silver eyes meet yours and a deep, strong feeling runs through you. He sees something in your eyes just before his lips touch yours. You don't dare move. The touch is light as a feather and your eyes close to take it in fully. His lips are much softer than you expected. They move like wings against yours and your eyes roll into your skull. Despite the light touch, whole emotions wash over you that you can barely tell apart. Lust, loss, happiness, sadness, desire, restraint. They swirl through your head and make you dizzy. He leans closer against you and you can't suppress the soft moan that escapes you. His body tenses, but he doesn't flinch. Instead, the kiss becomes more decisive, stronger. His tongue licks over your lower lip and you collapse inside. Another moan comes from you, this time a lot louder and you open your lips, greedy to get more, to taste more. The kiss breaks away, leaving you both breathless. Your head spins and all your weight falls against the door, your legs wobbly. You can't deny that you've thought about scenarios like this many times.

And your eyes meet again and your heart aches for a brief moment as you can see something in them. "This shouldn't have happened," you sum up your train of thought and speak it. The sentence hangs between you. You see the approval in his eyes, but his body makes no move in it. His chest rises almost as fast as yours and his expression is inscrutable. It almost seems as if he is fighting an internal battle, "You're right, the risk is too great."

Your head is screaming at you to leave, to say goodbye here and now and step through that door. You need to get some distance. This must never, ever happen again. Please, please go. Your head repeats these words over and over. But your gut...

"Would you take the risk again?"

Not even a second passes after you have uttered the sentence. Not even a second passes before his lips land on yours again. This time it is completely different. The kiss is more brutal. Immediately his tongue snakes between your lips, finding its way into your mouth. You play with each other as you cling to his shoulders to keep from falling over. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you against him. Your whole body is on fire as he explores your mouth with pleasure. He elicits one moan after another and enjoys the little noises you make. Your brain can barely process what is going on. What is happening here? An Eldian and a Marleyan? How can that be? Of course, it's similar with Niccolo and Sasha, but Levi is a completely different act. He was the person who even made a name for himself in Marley, a country he has never been to. He is one of the highest animals here.

He's just unbelievably perfect.

He releases the kiss and you gasp. Immediately his lips settle on your jaw before he moves further down and sucks on your neck. His tongue runs over your pulse and it takes your breath away. Is this really going to lead to that one thing? Should you really be doing this? The questions in your head give you a headache that eases as soon as he sucks on the thin skin of your neck. Slowly your head gives up, the screaming quiets and instead your gut and heart come to the fore, wanting in unison just the opposite. You want to feel him, more than this.

Awkwardly, your hands wander to his belt and you try to undo the buckle with trembling hands. All this is not so easy when you have no idea about it. To your surprise, he doesn't stop you. You can still feel the battle he is fighting inside, but it seems that his heart is also stronger. His big hands dig into your hips and he lurks above you. His mouth finds yours again and he kisses the swollen lips, sucking on them and in the same move your soul out of you. What takes you what feels like an eternity is only a few moves for him. He opens your trousers with an ease that makes your knees go weak. His hands move from your hips to the waistband and he pushes it off your pelvis. Without releasing the kiss, you slide them off your legs and feet. Goosebumps form on your legs as your overheated skin touches the cool air in the room.

His hands run over your pelvic bone, down to your thighs and caress your soft skin. A soft moan comes from him at the touch, making the butterflies in your stomach dance again. He reaches around your legs and lifts you up, his hands moving to your buttocks in the same motion and clasping it. You whimper as soon as you feel them. Never before had a man touched you like this. When should that have happened too? You have spent most of your life in the midst of war, never having had time for such things. He kneads the fat of your ass and a deep, dark moan comes from deep in his throat. The sound makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you cling to him. He holds you tightly to his body and you feel as if you are both drowning men, clinging to the last bit of your lives.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he moans against your neck as he strokes your soft skin and pulls your ass cheeks apart.

"I know," you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment.

"And I'm sorry it's happening here now."

"It's okay." His hands dig deeper into the flesh and your lower body is on fire. You've never felt such lust and greed in your life.

"No, it isn't. You deserve better". With these words you feel his fingers between your legs, the fingers you had thought about so many times before, and you go insane. It is indescribable when he pulls the thin fabric aside. It is indescribable when the cool air hits your core and then his fingers brush against it. Your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, you moan loudly against his neck and bury your face, grateful that he can't see it right now.

His fingers caress your cunt and you whimper. Your pelvis automatically presses against his hand before it disappears. And again, it is indescribable as you feel his tip between your lower lips. He smears your juice, rubbing it along his hard cock before you feel it against your hole. "I just can't hold back anymore, I'm so sorry".

You draw in air through your nose, tensing slightly. A mixture of fear and anticipation, panic and anticipation, flows through your body. Your cunt tingles and there is only one thing that can soothe that tingle.

His tip penetrates you. Your world turns upside down and you groan. Your eyes close and you focus on the sensation. In all your imaginings, secretly night after night as his eyes roamed your mind, it was never like this. The pain you wait for doesn't come. Instead, a warm, indescribable feeling flows through you. Every inch of him stretches you further, fills you. It fits so damn perfectly, like it was never meant to be any other way. When he's completely inside you, he exhales shakily and you only notice now how tense he is. A moan comes from his lips as your insides clench and you lean back, your back pressed against the door again. Your eyes meet and your mouth opens slightly. There is a slight blush on his cheeks too, barely noticeable. His eyebrows are slightly drawn together, creating creases between them, and his eyes are almost black. You lift your right hand and place it against his cheek, caressing his cheekbone. He looks so erotic. As if he can read your mind, he leans down to you and again your lips touch, but this time more gently, as if this moment is fragile.

His pelvis pulls back and he thrusts for the first time. You moan out, enjoying the feeling of being completely filled. Your kiss breaks away and he rests his forehead against yours. With your eyes closed, he thrusts against you again and again, stretching your walls, fucking you against the door. Your moans grow louder and you are unbelievably happy that the rain outside has become heavier. The whipping of the wind and the patter of the drops against the windows mixes with your sounds, almost drowning them out, making it less likely that you can be heard.

Your hands wrap around the back of his neck and you bury them in the stubble of his hair.

He searches your eyes again. Intense stares burn into your brain and the speed and hardness of his thrusts become harder. Something deep inside you stirs and you can't stop the tears that run down your cheek. They travel down your cheek and drip onto your legs, which are still tight around Levi's waist. This day is like a wild rollercoaster ride, one emotion after another overtakes you and you can hardly recover from the ups and downs. And now being fucked by Levi, for the first time in your life, leaves you speechless.

There is a tingling underneath your stomach, this time different from what the butterflies cause. You can't quite place the feeling, but you want more. Levi seems to be feeling the same way, his speed picking up even faster and his hands digging almost painfully into your ass. You stare at each other as you both moan again and again, the knot tightening and tightening. More, please more.

"I don't hate you," he whispers, repeating his words from earlier, hitting a specific spot inside you. You moan loudly and he does the same. Tears roll down your cheeks again and you are so close. His eyes watch your face and your trembling lips tell him everything. He keeps the angle, keeps bumping into that one spot that makes you fly. All the while he keeps repeating that one sentence, burning it into your minds so that you, above all, can never forget it.

"I don't hate you either," you gasp before your insides explode. It's like a firework that takes you with it. This is how you imagine flying. Nothing in your life has ever felt so good. You scream Levi's name, preaching it and clinging to it, clawing into it. Your soft walls twitch like crazy, driving Levi to explode too. He leans all his weight against you and the door, moaning as he continues to fuck you, albeit slower and slower.

As soon as you come down from your high, he slides to the floor with you in his arms. His right hand goes to the back of your head and he strokes your hair as your head rests against his neck again.

"I promise you that you will never feel lonely again."

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi #levi heichou #shingeki no kyoujin #snk #attack on titan #aot

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g4rous · 4 years ago

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Your blog is so cute! I was wondering if it would be okay to request a fem!reader x Genos one shot or HC where reader is Saitama's younger sis & he asks Genos to pick her up at the train station & keep her busy for the day since he's trying to prepare for dinner. While reader and Genos are around town, there is a monster who attacks the city and Genos is fighting it, but loses. Reader steps in & defeats the monster with no problem. She smiles and acts like it's no big deal & helps patch Genos up

Aaa I loved writing this, the idea was so exciting! 😭💕 Genos deserves more love and appreciation 💕 I hope you like how this turned out and ty for the request! 💞💕

“As expected of master Saitama’s sibling”

Two canary yellow orbs meet your (e/c) ones as you look up from your phone.

You were waiting on the bench at the train station for your close friend to show up, and as soon as you saw the blond man you couldn’t help but smile.

You joyfully waved at him before you stood up to greet him with a warm hug, to which he smiled gently.

“I apologize for the wait,” he said, slowly letting go of you, “master Saitama thought it might be a good idea you and I spend some time in the city before we go eat dinner at home. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes of course! I’d love to spend the day with you,” you smiled at him and took his hand.

He’s lucky he doesn’t have the ability to blush, otherwise he’d constantly have to hide his face from your loving gestures. Nonetheless he could still feel his face heating up.

He smiled back and took hold of your hand as you two left the crowded train station. This wasn’t the first time you two went out, actually you’ve been dating for a while, and your feelings for each other were crystal clear. Genos being Genos, when Saitama first introduced you it took him a bit to warm up to you, but ever since he saw your true, loving side he couldn’t deny the butterflies in his stomach.

You were the only person he treated with similar respect as he did Saitama. He would constantly call you to make sure you’re doing ok, rant about his missions to you, go shopping with you, and well, any activity that you’d want, he’d be more than up for it.

The two of you decided to take a stroll around the city until dinner is ready, because surely it wouldn’t take your brother too long to make it. But even though you’re just walking around, the mood is calm and refreshing. You can always count on returning home satisfied after a walk with your Demon Cyborg.

You two came across a fountain, one where you’d always enjoy sitting and looking at it’s beautiful, modern decorations. You two sat next to it, as usual and began chatting about your day. Genos is all ears when you have anything to say, even if it’s just bland things you do routinely. However, the poor boy’s prone to losing focus on what you’re saying after a while because all he’s doing is staring at you, taking in your alluring features. He could get so into it and not even notice he’s been staring at you for 10 minutes. Such as now.

“Um, Genos..?” you give him a small, nervous wave and giggle.

“Oh, I apologize y/n!” he jolted, returning back to reality, “do not worry, I heard what you were talking about.” He added, somewhat bashfully.

“It’s alright!” you chuckled, but were cut off by an earsplitting roar from behind.

You quickly turned around, only to see a monster demolishing the buildings in it’s path. Genos already had his fighting stance and weapons ready.

“It looks like a threat level demon to me. Stay here, I’ll take care of it in a moment,” he added, but before you could say anything he already darted towards the threat.

He said it was just a level demon threat, but you couldn’t help but think otherwise. It looks like it’s even higher than demon, if not dragon. It always worried you how reckless and brash he could be, and this case wasn’t any different, so you quickly ran towards him so he wouldn’t get hurt.

The monster wasn’t colossal, it was the size of a smaller bus, but the aura it gave off was way more menacing, definitely not to be taken so lightly.

You were trying to locate the blond man but there was so much dust and debris flying around you had to protect the remaining defenseless citizens at the site first. All you could hear in the meanwhile was the constant, heavy sound of clashing metal and flesh.

And just as the dust cleared up you saw finally saw the cyborg, clearly taken damage from all the attacks, still taking a stance with his one remaining arm. It wasn’t about speed, or immense, raw power. During his encounters with Sonic and numerous monsters he gained way more of both during the last couple months. However, this opponent was different, it’s electromagnetic pulse made all types of machinery ineffective. It wasn’t even that overwhelming, but rather the worst match-up for any type of machinery whatsoever. Before Genos could make another move he was thrown into a wall by his foe, it’s four ghastly eyes now staring at you, murderous intent swarming in the air around it.

Just when Genos was about to step in again he was jolted by a loud ‘‘thump’’, as the monster dropped before him, you standing right behind it’s bleeding body. He stood there for a few moments, trying to process what had happened, his face frozen in confusion until you finally managed to approach him to see if he’s ok.

“Did you.. do that?” he asked, “what just happened?” he continued, still bewildered at the fact that the monster he had so much trouble with is now dead in front of you two.

“I uh, did it yes,” you chuckled nervously, now looking at his damaged body.

“How did you do it?” he asked somewhat loudly, not being able to comprehend you did that. He knew you were an excellent fighter, but he never really saw you in action like this. This feeling, it was like the first time he saw Saitama defeat Mosquito girl while he was laying on the ground, on the brink of death. It was a whirlpool of turmoil, shock and amazement.

“I just beat it’s ass, it was no problem really!” you laughed, “I guess it’s ability wasn’t a really good match for your cyborg counterparts, so please don’t blame yourself,” you added caringly.

He still stood there, unable to comprehend the situation in front of him, but snapped out of it as you took his hand.

“We should give Dr. Kuseno a visit before we go eat dinner, don’t you think?” you added light-heartedly, but you were serious about it, Genos’ state like this was making you worry after all.

“Right..” he answered, taking a good grip on your hand again, “thank you.”

You smiled again and placed a quick peck on his cheek as you started walking, to which he smiled softly.

“Well, what was I surprised for anyway, y/n is after all master Saitama’s sister.” He thought to himself, that smile not leaving his face.

#genos #genos x reader #demon cyborg #saitama #opm x reader #one punch man headcanons #one punch man x reader #opm #one punch man #one punch man fluff #one punch hero #opm one shot #one punch man one shot #genos one punch man

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in-my-feels-probably · 4 years ago

Text

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter Ten

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of.

Chapter Ten

The Crows quickly navigated the palace halls, trying to get to Jesper at the meeting point as quickly as they could. He was supposed to be waiting outside the escape route, standing watch, overlooking the carriages, which was their escape plan, and Elham was praying he was ok and waiting for them so she could get as far away from the Little Palace as possible.

She was cursing herself the whole way, punishing herself for not getting Alina away from the Darkling. She didn't have much time to ponder how colossally they had failed, or how pissed Kaz was going to be for her not telling him that she was an Inferni, although he would have plenty of time to sulk on the way home, because he had finally led them outside, spotting Jesper.

They trudged over to him, Kaz now very obviously limping, and Elham looked even more worried than Jesper did.

"Wow, Elham. I've never seen you in a dress. Interesting."

She sent a glare his way, and he immediately reeled back.

What happened, you ok?"

Inej's face lit up. "She's real, Jesper. She made the light sing."

Kaz grumbled next to Elham. "We lost her."

Jesper chuckled, turning towards the carriage, a smile on his face, his voice full of amusement.

"Did we?"

Kaz squinted his eyes, before speaking. "Well, we don't know where she is."

Jesper was still chuckling. "Don't we?"

Elham froze, before catching up to Jesper, spinning him around by his jacket.

"What can I do for you, love?"

"Jesper, very much not the time for you to be joking. What do you mean?"

"Just ask."

"Jesper!" Elham let a flame pool in her palm, and Jesper immediately gasped, taking a step back.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

Kaz stepped up as they began climbing into the carriage. "We don't have time for this, just get in, and you can give us all a very well deserved explanation."

His tone was menacing, and Elham sunk into her seat she had taken next to Inej.

"Do we have a fix on where the target is?"

Jesper glanced towards the back of the carriage, before smiling, snapping the reigns. The carriage jolted forward, and they began making their way off the palace grounds.

---

It had been a few minutes of riding in silence, and the air was thick with tension. Elham pretended not to notice Inej's glances toward her hands she had clenched in her lap. Jesper kept glancing over his shoulder at her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Kaz hadn't turned around once, eyes set straight ahead.

Jesper finally broke the silence. "So...do you want to tell me what the hell that was?"

Elham took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. Through clenched teeth, she spoke. "I'm an Inferni."

"Well that's obvious, love. I think we all gathered that. Why the hell didn't any of us know? And why show us now?"

Elham thought back to the orphanage she grew up in, to being tested and taken to the Little Palace. Meeting Nina, training with Baghra, finding out about the Darkling. Escaping and coming to Ketterdam. Going through a year of pain, meeting Kaz and becoming part of the Dregs, then the Crows, part of a family.

Kaz still hadn't turned around, but she knew he was listening. Inej had turned to face her, contently listening.

"Ok, ok, alright. You all know I'm an orphan, I grew up in Karamzin until I was 10 or so. I don't know who my parents are, what happened to them, or why they didn't want me, I just know I was born in Novyi Zem and I was taken to the orphanage, and I lived there till the Grisha came to test the new children. They tested me, and took me to the Little Palace to become part of the Second Army, to start training."

Jesper turned around slightly, eyeing her. "You're telling me you lived here, and didn't wanna tell us any vital information to get us inside?"

"I didn't want you to know, ok! It wasn't exactly the best time of my life here."

"Why not?" Elham felt a tear roll down her cheek, and quickly wiped it away. "I'm an Inferni, but I'm not like the rest of them. They have to use something to create a spark, they can't just summon it like I can. The problem is, it's unpredictable. I never got a hold on it, so they would rarely let me use it in training. I had to learn physical combat skills instead, which did actually come in handy in the Barrel."

Inej had grabbed Elham's hand now, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Kaz had slightly turned in her direction.

"Anyways, everyone thought I was a freak, people were scared of me, they didn't want to be around me. Besides Nina."

Kaz fully turned around towards her at that, and you could almost detect a tone of hurt in his voice. What else hadn't she told him? "Really? You know Nina?"

"Knew. I haven't seen her since I was 13. She was one of my only friends in the Little Palace, and even then, I hardly saw her. Etherealki don't interact much with Corporalki, each type of Grisha generally sticks to their own order. Nina left before me though, she was quite skilled, and the Second Army needed new soldiers. I wasn't anywhere near ready, so I was left alone. Baghra took a liking to me, and made me her personal project."

Inej quipped up. "Who's Baghra?"

Elham's lips turned to a frown. "The Darkling's mother."

"What? Isn't the Darkling like a hundred years old?"

"Yes. And so is she. He just plays her off as an older mentor that had joined when he first came into service for the King. Which wasn't in the past hundred years, by the way."

Jesper sounded exasperated. "What does that mean?"

Elham almost laughed, and she would have if there wasn't a pit in her stomach and she felt like she could burst into tears at any moment.

"The Darkling, and the Black Heretic...they're the same person. He's been faking his death every few hundred years and coming into the service of a new King, now he serves the Lantsov line. I'm sure he was alive when the first Lantsov became King, he's that old, and so is Baghra."

Inej gasped, her face going pale. "The Black Heretic, the one who created the Fold...the Darkling did that?"

"Yes."

Kaz finally spoke up. "How the hell could you possibly know all of this? I find it hard to believe someone decided to tell all of this to a 13 year old girl."

Elham narrowed her eyes at him. "They didn't have a choice. Baghra had to tell me, it was the only way she could get me to leave."

Jesper was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Saints, Elham, alright, I'm gonna need you to explain a little bit better than that."

Elham nodded, sitting up straighter. "As I said earlier, Baghra started watching over me. She didn't like the idea of a Grisha not being able to defend themself. So she made me choose a weapon, and master it. She had me running drills, practicing sun up to sun down. Saints, I've never been as tired as I was training with her."

Elham chuckled, but it was pained, and her smile didn't meet her eyes. "She taught me some ways to try and control my powers, but I would never be as good with them as I was with a sword, and I think she knew that, so she let me master it before she started training me with my powers. We would practice away from the other Grisha, she didn't want me distracted. One day, the Darkling sat in on my training."

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. "He never told me why he was there, and Baghra lied and said he just liked to check in on the training sessions every once in a while. It's awful to say, but Saints, I would have done anything to have people look at me like he did when he watched me use my powers. He didn't look at me like I was some freak of nature, he saw my potential. I was so naive, I should have known."

Kaz was intently staring at Elham, watching the emotions change in her face. "Know what?"

"That he wanted to use me. My powers are different, I can summon them whenever I want, and the more I used them, the stronger I got. I could blaze down a whole forest if I wanted to and not even break a sweat. He made sure Baghra was teaching me to control them, and then he started taking me to training sessions himself, asking me questions."

Kaz's jaw was clenched. "Like what?"

"Like if I was scared of his powers. Or if I was sick of people looking down on me. When I started getting a grip on my powers, he took me from training out into the forest to practice more. And then...he--"

Elham choked down a cry, rubbing her hand down her face. "He wanted to see if he could use my powers with his. He had me create a flame, and he would twist darkness into it, making the flame grow. He could pull the flame towards him, moving it without me having to. Saints only know what I could have done with an amplifier."

"What's an amplifier?"

"An object that a Grisha can use to enhance their power. The Darkling is one himself, he was by far the best method to me controlling my powers."

Inej squeezed Elham's hand again. "I don't understand, why'd he take such interest in you?"

Elham couldn't stop the tears from falling this time. "He wanted to use my powers and his in the Fold. He wanted to light the whole thing up. It would have been a mountain of fire and darkness. He never wanted to destroy the fold, he wanted to make it a weapon." She chuckled darkly. "I didn't want to believe Baghra when she told me. I was just beginning to feel like I belonged, and it felt like she was ripping that away from me. I'm not completely heartless, though, I never would have let him use me like that. I have no love for Ravka, but I could never add to his incessant need for destruction and power. I escaped, and never thought about coming back."

Jesper laid a hand on her knee. "I'm sorry you had to come back."

She gave him a small smile. "It's alright. I think I needed to. I needed to face this, I needed to face him. Besides, I had to at least try and get Alina out. When you all went into the palace, and I had to try and find another way in, I took the trail I used to escape. It led right to Baghra's hut, she's the one who helped me get inside the palace. I had to see if what everyone was saying was true, if the Sun Summoner was real, so I went to her."

Elham was actually smiling now, and Kaz's shoulders eased at the sight of it. "You know, she was the one who gave me the sword. The one I had all those years in Ketterdam."

The smile faded. "The one Pekka Rollins broke. I had almost forgotten about that."

Kaz watched her face fall, and despite himself, his heart clenched at the sight. She continued.

"Baghra told me that I needed to get Alina out, and I promised her I would. That kind of power in the hands of the Darkling, it would be catastrophic...oh, Saints!"

"What?"

"Baghra! If Alina escaped, the Darkling is going to find out who let her go, who told her about him. He's ruthless, he'd kill his own mother. If anything happens to her..."

Elham trailed off, unable to speak. Despite not knowing the right thing to say, Kaz couldn't bear to watch her in pain, and watch her sit there suffering. He hesitated then spoke.

"You know, she is the Darkling's mother. She's survived all of these years before him, I'm sure she'll long outlive him. If she's anything like how you talk about her, she has nothing to worry about."

Elham sniffed, nodding at him gratefully. "So...now you all know, I guess. About me, and everything. Surprise?"

Inej let out a laugh, and Jesper was grinning. "Hey, El...want to know another surprise?"

She eagerly nodded, directing her attention to him. He glanced around at the Crows, leaning in. "The Sun Summoner? She may or not be in the back of the carriage in the trunk. Allegedly, of course."

There was silence for a few moments, and nobody moved, stunned. Elham just stared at Jesper, who was grinning like a fool. Kaz relaxed against his seat, his lips curled into the smallest grin.

"Well. Maybe there are Saints after all."

---

A/N - hi guys, i'm really excited to get into the stuff i've had planned since before starting this story, i've got a lot of elham and kaz content coming, hope y'all are ready for it all. let me know what you thought, feel free to reach out, and thank you for the support!

#wattpad #shadow and bone #six of crows imagine #six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #grishaverse #in my feels probably #ineffable #x reader #oc

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

Note

Could you perhaps do Rung's Cyclonus', Tailgate's and First Aid's reaction to their human S/O being trapped in the same room as Rung and Whirl while Fort Max he has his psychotic episode? And Fort Max isn't exactly gentle with them either so

Couple of broken ribs there at least

I love how you guys are so invested in this situation and all the potential prompts because it miiiiight just be from one of my favorite issues of MTMTE... Changing canon for all of these in that Rung emerges from this whole situation with his head intact.

Rung

·He's accustomed to the risks inherent to his profession, and despite his tiny size compared to his larger patients he's more than capable of handling himself in most crisis situations, you knew that the moment you heard that one of his more recent positions involved treating the Wreckers. But when Fortress Maximus burst in to his office, clearly in the fog of an agonizing psychotic episode, he felt fear like he hadn't in ages. His terror isn't for him however. You were preparing to head out so Whirl could have his appointment, your smile as casual as could be as you bid him goodbye from the doorway, when you were snatched up by the colossal Autobot forcing his way inside. Just seeing your fragile organic body in that gigantic fist... Whirl had been unable to stop him before being stabbed to the floor, and he'd been equally incapable of doing anything to save you as he was pinned to a chair with a few errant pieces of warped metal.

·With what Max endured, he knows the hulking mech is suffering from pain he hasn't even begun to acknowledge, but that doesn't make it any easier for him to stay calm and proffesional as you're held firmly in his grasp. Words can't begin to describe how badly he wants to ask for you to be released, even if only to be set down on an available surface so you can breathe, as his sharp audials can pick up every tiny gasp from your struggling body. Yet he doesn't dare to risk upsetting the mech and potentially spurring him to squeeze. His always in control temper is almost able to break loose as Whirl antagonizes Max with you in such a vulnerable position, but he settles for broadcasting audio from his thumb's recorder to the camera he spots on the ceiling. All he can do is hope the bots watching are planning a rescue in short order...

·Things go south quickly when Maximus realizes his demands aren't being heeded, and of all those in the room it's you that pays the highest price. His thumb being torn off hardly compares to his agony watching you be held aloft as a warning and squeezed, your hoarse cry of agony wheezing out into a whisper as your bones audibly crack. Max actually seems horrified for a moment, particularly as you cough up crimson, but he doesn't end the ordeal. Clearly guilty but not deterred, he only lays your tiny body on a nearby surface as he returns to his demands. Nothing had ever hurt more than the agonized little coughs you emitted as you lay so perilously still... It had been enough to compel him to try the worst thing one can do in a hostage situation, ask something of the captor, even if it's little more than weak pleading for only your release.

·He has no way to describe how badly he wishes he could tear himself from his bonds, but when the footage of Overlord is projected on the wall and Maximus collapses under the weight of his trauma, he still finds the softness in his spark to lean forth and comfort the weeping giant with an embrace. While he'd hear later there were plans for taking a shot through one of the many windows, the presence of your tiny body had made it impossible, and thus he had the freedom to end the situation on peaceful terms. Fort Max had been gently led to a guarded room for solitary confinement, Whirl had been proffesionally extracted from his impalement, and you had been rushed to the medical bay while he was still being unstuck from the chair... He hadn't even cared about his missing digit when he'd been told you were being taken to a private room for emergency treatment, from which the medics had refused him entry due to the intensity of your injuries.

·When he'd finally seen you afterwards it had almost broken his spark. You had looked so unlike yourself; frail, lifeless, and connected to a number of life saving machines that beeped and hummed to keep you stable. It didn't matter that you'd be fine, the suffering you had endured already and would face while recovering was enough to overwhelm him with guilt, as he blames himself for the whole ordeal. He hadn't seen the potential for Maximus to suffer a break, and hadn't even been able to talk him down, resulting in suffering for you and so many others. Though he's encouraged and comforted by his friends, he keeps a tireless vigil at your bedside until you wake, occasionally brushing a digit against your tiny hand to provide some reassurance that he's here and watching over you.

·When you do wake up, he's the first thing you see, his gentle smile looking down at you while he welcomes you back to the waking world. The guilt behind his lenses is even more apparent than the pain in every part of your body. Initially he's steadfast in denying he has any such inclinations. All he wants to focus on is your recovery, and making certain you're not traumatized by what you've experienced, he says and insists in a way you know is merely half true. Only when you've recovered enough strength to pressure him does he break, expressing his boundless guilt at having failed you in such a high stakes situation, which he shouldn't even have allowed to happen in the first place. Your reassurance that the only one to blame for the ordeal is the mech who tortured Fort Max brings a measure of perspective, but it's the feeling of your hand in his that solidifies the sense of comfort, your total lack of blame allowing him to turn some of his boundless forgiveness inward. You made it, everyone had made it, and the two of you could bask in the wonder of that simple victory together. That was enough for now.

Cyclonus

·It takes a full legion of bots to hold him back when news of the situation reaches him. You'd been near Rung's office when Fortress Maximus had apparently grabbed you in his rush, and he cares little for calm or strategy when the full weight of the situation is explained to him. The only two other bots in there with you are Rung and Whirl, meaning that you're not only without protection, you're in the middle of a powder keg. He's only prevented from overpowering the barricade when a firm reminder gets him to see the need for caution; all Max need do is bat you aside with his hand and you'll die, which makes your survival unlikely in the event of any altercation. Such painful logic reigns him in to a simmering silence. Joining the main team on the bridge, mostly so he won't try another break in, he's left to watch everything play out on the security feed.

·He only has optics for you as he stands silently by. Though his motionless self could be mistaken for a glowering statue, any bot who looked closer would see the rage boiling in his glare, and how his claws twitched every time there was sudden movement on the screen, which was often due to Whirl gesticulating and Maximus pacing with his weapon ready to fire. Like a hawk ready to dive, he keeps track of it all. You're the center of his focus of course, but he needs to be ready the nanosecond you need him, and that means knowing the terrain to plot out potential rescue missions. Ten minutes into the ordeal he already has fifty or so plans to remove you from just as many scenarios that might play out. While he's initially fine letting the commanding officers take control for the sake of a unified front, that quickly ends when he sees that no effort is being made to storm the room in order to ensure there are no casualties, a goal he hardly agrees with.

·For all of his efforts he fails to hide how incredibly worried he is for you in this situation. Though he snaps the instant someone tries to reassure him, declaring that he has no undue concern but merely wants them to consider the delicate nature of organics, he convinces no one. As he watches Rung lose his thumb, his claws dig so deeply into his crossed arms that they bleed. The lack of audio which follows only makes his worrying turn to nauseous panic. Watching your impossibly tiny form sit tensely on a table brings up a deep buried bit of self loathing, an internal voice taunting him for putting his spark on the line for something so weak, but he crushes its efforts by thinking back to the happiness you've given him. You aren't weak, he's seen the strength of your spirit time and again, your body is simply fragile... As if to cruelly make his point, Fort Max picks you up in a sudden rage, holding you aloft as he roars threats none of them can hear before he squeezes.

·The sight simultaneously breaks his spark and flips a switch inside of him. Ultra Magnus himself is an insignificant obstacle as he does what he should have when this whole thing began; run to your rescue. Cries for him to stop go unheeded, and thankfully for the sake of saving time most are smart enough to get out of his way. As fast as he is, the room you're held in is a fair distance from where he was, and thus there's an agonizing amount of limbo he has to endure on the way there. Even through the dull camera feed he could see how you'd spasmed in Maximus's grasp, and the way your face had contorted in absolute agony... It hurt in a way he wasn't ready to comprehend. There's no way for him to know if you're even still alive, but as unthinkable as losing you may be, he's well aware of what will happen if he arrives to find you lifeless behind the blockaded doors. Hopefully for Fort Max it won't come to that.

·There's a sobering dose of bewilderment when he arrives to see the doors opening of their own accord, but that hardly delays him for long, and he barrels forward to discover a hostage situation that's been settled for precious few moments. Ignoring anything and everyone else, he grabs your tiny self and runs, silent as he's informed through comm that Maximus has surrendered and the medics are ready in the medbay. Unable to be grateful at the sight of you so damaged, he holds you closely but gingerly as if he might break you further, willing your ragged breaths to keep coming unaided for just a little longer. One of his last thoughts as he arrives at the medical bay and the medics take you away is how small your body is in his claws, which somehow makes what's been done all the more agonizing. What reason would any member of his species have to hurt something so incapable of fighting back? As he waits in the common area for news of your condition the question almost mocks him with his own history of misdeeds...

·Seeing you after the surgery does nothing to quell his conscience. Though he's told you'll live, it's difficult to restrain the urge to execute violent revenge on your attacker, and only his greater need to ensure your safety prevents him from doing so. The vigil he keeps over you is tireless and appears stoic to others, but when he's certain you're alone his demeanor is soft and caring, his digits gently adjusting your blankets or brushing errant strands of hair from your face as he waits for you to regain your strength. You awaken slowly and peacefully to the sound of a regal baritone singing a soft song in a language you don't recognize. A familiar thumb brushes your face as you open your eyes, the gigantic claw that greets you not intimidating in the slightest as you behold the faintest hint of a smile on a face otherwise wrought with pain. He's barely able to contain his guilt as he relays his ineffectiveness during your capture, but his gratitude to see you alive is equally obvious in the way he relaxes as you lay your hand in his palm. Weak as you may be, you reveal that you were still conscious when he took you to the medical bay, and how his protective grasp around you had allowed you to believe everything would be okay. The news has a profound effect on him. To hear that he brought peace to you even once, in a manner similiar to what you do each and every day, is beyond anything he could ever imagine. It's enough to make him content just to enjoy the simple gratitude of having you back.

Tailgate

·When he's informed that you're being held hostage he nearly has a panic attack, and when the details of who you're with are relayed only his drive to protect you prevents full on fainting. Through his panicking he's able to convince the commanding bots to let him in the crisis room, if only because not knowing what's going on behind the heavy doors simply tears him apart in a way he can't endure. Knowing what you mean to each other, he's allowed in, and his little visor locks onto your image on the screen without hesitation. Nothing beyond your somewhat blurry face exists in his mind. Small hands clasp as they usually would to hold yours, but the emptiness due to your absence makes him feel pain instead of any kind of comfort, something he doesn't know how to process as he watches you with sad intensity.

·From the moment Maximus makes his first demand he's pushing for your rescue and advocating giving whatever Max wants to facilitate your release. Though he knows that isn't possible, the helplessness of being stuck on the sidelines makes him desperate enough to want Rodimus to give it a try. That sense of powerlessness is exacerbated by the sight of you being held up in the giant's fist. He's woken up after six million years to find someone he adores, and he's going to lose them like this, after so little time together? It's not fair to anyone, but especially you! Rage boils over in his spark as the injustice of it all tempts him to consider charging in himself. All you ever did to Fort Max was be nice, and this is what he does in return? Knowing the bot is suffering a psychotic episode does nothing to quell his anger.

·With nothing good happening on the screen, he tries to recall all the happy moments you've enjoyed together to keep himself calm, replaying the fun movie nights and dates at Swerve's that showed him how wonderful life could be... But the strategy does little to help with his traitorous optics constantly flipping back to the video feed. Nothing has changed each time, but he still can't help looking in some desperate hope that Fort Max will realize you are innocent and either let you go or end this entire ordeal. In his frustration he snaps at the commanding bots for not doing something, and their continued lack of action angers him almost as much as their reassurances. Don't they know how important you are to him?! How you made everything better and that losing you might destroy him?! He's on the verge of a kind of furious panic attack when the situation on the screen goes south dramatically fast.

·Being a small bot means he knows how terrifying it is to be grabbed and pinned by larger Cybertronians, but he can't even begin to imagine how afraid you must be when Fort Max swipes you up far more aggressively than before after an argument none of them can hear breaks out. You're endlessly brave as always, resisting the urge to scream despite the fear and pain visible on your expression, but his worrying turns to a near breakdown when you're held up high and squeezed. The spasm that passes through you is so great he can practically hear the crack of your little bones despite the lack of sound coming through. Resisting the urge to be sick, he grabs onto Rodimus and demands that action be taken before he's forced to do something himself, and despite his tiny size his tone is determined enough to give every present bot pause. By convenient timing that moment is concurrent with Rewind finally getting into position and projecting horrifying images of Overlord into the room, debilitating the hulking Autobot and leaving him helpless whilst Rung talks him down. With you lying motionless in the line of fire Rodimus makes the call to quickly but peacefully have security forces take the room.

·Tailgate is tearing down the hallways before anyone can say another word, desperate to see you as soon as he can if there's still time. The distance between the command center and Rung's office means that he takes some time to arrive, and while he's a quivering mess of panic by then it's only made worse when he hears you're already in the medical bay and receiving emergency care, as your injuries are potentially fatal. Between exhaustion and grief he briefly loses consciousness, but when he awakens in the medical bay he has to be kept from leaping off the berth to aid you. Hearing that you've been stabilized gives him some level of peace, but he still pushes to see you as soon as he can, and no number of visitors can distract him from the agony of waiting, leading to him absolutely jumping when he's told he can see you... Though he finds no comfort in finally beholding your broken body on the medical slab. Still, he takes a dutiful place by your side and whispers idle conversation in a tireless watch that breaks only when he's forced into brief naps by sheer exhaustion.

·Your slow return to consciousness is greatly sped up when, in a rather natural gesture, you squeeze the familiar presence in your hand and get a loud squeak of surprise as a result. A blue visor brimming with tears welcomes you back to wakefulness, but the babbling that pours from the minibot is so emotional you hardly catch even a word at first, and your aching ribs make it almost impossible to speak loudly enough to get his attention. Once he finally gathers himself enough to speak clearly and relay the situation, he's despondent about his nonexistent role in your rescue, something you have to reassure him isn't his fault in the slightest. Weakly but with a smile, you reassure him that thinking about him was the only thing that kept you calm. He tears up again, but this time in a kind of relieved happiness, his helm gently leaning forward to nuzzle you with soft buzzes of affection. Knowing he was able to help in some small way... there's still a lot of healing to be done, but he's determined to stand tall by your side through it all, because you've reminded him that he's strong enough to hold others up.

First Aid

·As a medic, he's usually one of the first bots informed when something goes wrong, to get him ready for a potential influx of patients if nothing else. But this time he's contacted because he's an affected party, and his ever present ability to stay calm is put to a whole new kind of test. Though he manages to keep the panic on the inside, it's raging like an inferno in his spark as he's escorted to the crisis room, his imagination keeping him fully stocked on all the potential ways you could be hurt. Considering Maximus grabbed you in a rush to drag you into the situation, it's not at all unlikely you're already injured. Watching the grainy footage of you in the company of your less than ideal fellow hostages has his processor simmering with terrible possibilities. The reports from the medical bay regarding the rampage victims leave little doubt; Maximus is as powerful as he is unhinged.

·His optics are locked on the screen the instant he manages to gather himself. Every movement, every action and once the audio starts coming through every word is analyzed. Between searching for a solution and ensuring you're okay his thoughts are absolutely racing. There has to be a way to get you out safely, and the moment you're freed as you will be he'll need to be ready for any potential injuries. Losing you isn't an option. In the short few months since meeting you he's become so very close to you, closer than he's ever been to anyone, and in that brief amount of time he's already realized he wants to be with you always. You make him feel worthy, which is perhaps why this helplessness is so incredibly agonizing. For the first time since your relationship began he's feeling that certainty of his incompetence once more.

·The pain of his own self depreciation is offset by simmering anger at his commander's inability to resolve the situation. Deep down he's experienced enough to know they can hardly be expected to control a situation so volatile, but that logic hardly has an impact on his passionate need for action. It only gets worse as things in the room deteriorate. Whirl is hardly staying still to prevent further injury from his impalement, and while Rung covers his bleeding hand to prevent further energon loss, the casual way Max ripped off his thumb makes it clear he has no qualms about violence. An unyielding imagination fills his processor with terrible thoughts about what that same strength could do to your tiny body. Grisly images flash before his optics and drive him to try begging for action once more, though it appears too late as you're suddenly snatched up in a gigantic hand.

·The universe stops moving as you're squeezed with what he knows is too much force for your body to safely handle. The lack of sound doesn't stop him from identifying that you've undoubtedly broken bones, and in fact his hyperactive processor is already trying to work out what damage has been done. Crushed ribs, snapped clavicles, perhaps a fractured humerus, and then there were your softer organs and tissues... The blood on your lips as Maximus lays you down on the table makes it clear something important has been injured that needs immediate medical care. Demanding that a rescue be launched for your sake, he's given a rare bit of luck in the form of two minibots on rivet duty. The specifics of the operation are a blur he can't bring himself to care about, even as the gory footage of Overlord covers the wall, as your limp form is all that exists in his perception. Attempts to count your very breaths only end when the situation is reclassified as under control and he's moving before anyone can say another word.

·Immediate communication with the other medics keeps him in the loop, so he knows you've been extracted the moment it happens, and he plots his course to intercept the team that recovered you even before they reach the medical bay. A random bot on the security detail has you cradled in careful but uncertain hands when he arrives, and is more than willing to hand over the tiny body to someone who actually knows what they're doing. First Aid feels his processor split between his medical training and his personal feelings for you, with the former a calculated source of experienced reason and the latter a maelstrom of agonized panic. Though he's more than able to keep the proper half in charge, he's unable to prevent his emotions from tearing into him as he gets you to the medical bay, where Ratchet and Ambulon have already prepared for emergency procedures. His CMO is adamant on his involvement being voluntary, emphasizing that he knows all too well how hard it is to operate on those you care about, and that he can focus on their other patients if this will be too difficult. First Aid replies that he's grateful for the offer but unwilling to choose anything that doesn't mean giving his all to save you.

·Stabilizing you is a team effort only made possible by the research each medic did in advance on your species, and while he's grateful he took the time to prepare for something such as this, he'll never regret anything more than having to use that knowledge. Waiting for you to wake is harder than it's ever been for any of his past patients. As a medic he has work to keep him busy, but he constantly finds excuses to check in on you, and every spare moment is spent by your side. He checks reports, takes his meals, and even rests all at your bedside. By great fortune he's present when you finally wake up, and you've barely opened your eyes by the time he's checking you over. A worried expression is the first thing you comprehend as a gentle voice asks if you have any sedentary pain. Somehow it's a relief to have your worried medbot be the first thing you see, but you quickly put together this isn't just his usual level of concern, and that there's active remorse in his features. Firm insistence is required to get him to confess; for all of his analytical skills, he couldn't think of a way to resolve the situation to save you. It seems to surprise him when you bring up that he's literally one of the bots that saved your life. An attempt to deflect on the grounds that being a medic is just his job is stopped by himself at your look of silent pleading, and he remembers in an instant how much faith you have in him. Even if he doesn't always feel worthy of that admiration, he knows there must be something to it if it's coming from one such as yourself. That simple reaffirming of his abilities lets him focus on the miracle of having you here with him, and he begins gently and lovingly fussing over you as he always does, bringing the smile back to your face that he so adores.

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vodkassassin · 5 years ago

Note

You've been bullying SQH too much, he needs a break! Maybe some cuddles? A vacation? An emotional support animal? All of the above?

Two of the above, as a treat. Other options to be considered at a later date, perhaps... ;3 @dancibayo

Warnings for injury and near drowning >.>

—

There is a reason that, way in the beginning of all this peak lord business — before then, in fact, when they were all still just head disciples, brand new to the job and still figuring things out— there is a reason that Shang Qinghua signed the paperwork making Mu Qingfang his mission partner. And only Mu Qingfang.

It wasn’t because Mu Qingfang was the only one out of all of his martial family that Shang Qinghua liked, or could actually deal with… though it was kind of for that reason, but not entirely! The main reason, here, is that Shang Qinghua was not at the time entirely sure how to work with his martial siblings, and when he had tried, it… didn’t really work out.

There are a lot of examples in which missions with a martial sibling other than Mu Qingfang have not worked out, but the paragon amongst them all was that first mission with his fellow head disciple, Liu Qingge. Whenever Shang Qinghua thinks about why Mu Qingfang is his preferred mission partner, that one clusterfuck with Liu-shidi always comes to the forefront of his mind no matter how he wishes he could just forget about it.

A lot of the reason that mission had been such a total failure, in hindsight, really doesn’t have anything to do with Shang Qinghua at all, and a lot to do with the fact that Liu Qingge had, at the time, held such a low opinion of Shang Qinghua that it made working with the man an absolute trial.

In Liu Qingge’s defense, he’s much better nowadays. Like, a lot better. He barely glares at him anymore, even! Well, Liu-shidi glares at everyone, that’s sort of his default expression, but the glare is much less scary when pointed in Shang Qinghua’s direction than it had been even just a year ago! Progress!

Shang Qinghua ducks under the heavy swipe of one colossal, furry paw, complete with wickedly sharp claws that peak out just above the oversized toe-beans, and resists the urge to wail. He yanks out his sword and hops onto it like it’s a snowboard, and directs it into the air with a monumental push of his qi. The claws miss the edge of his robes by mere inches, and Shang Qinghua starts to daydream, a little bit, about what kind of headstone he wants for his memorial.

There’s another big reason, which he’s being reminded of right now, why Shang Qinghua would actually rather be partnered on a mission with anyone other than Liu Qingge.

The man loves monster fighting.

Now, listen. Listen! Shang Qinghua, he is a big fan of the monsters of this world. Mainly because he created most of them himself. They are just as much his beautiful (and sometimes incredibly less-so) babies as the characters he’d spent hours crafting with his words. Seeing them in full-form, brought to very real life in this world that is fashioned after his story is so fucking cool, but also! Actually mainly! Very, very fucking terrifying. Because those things, most of them, can, will, and have certainly tried, many a time in the past, to kill him.

And Liu Qingge’s absolute, favorite pastime is hunting these creatures down and facing off against them, for fun.

So like, sue Shang Qinghua if he can’t really see the appeal.

He’d rather be stuck in his office surrounded by stacks of unfinished paperwork with a deadline, than be dragged out by his martial brother to face another monster. At least then, he would be safe, and not have to deal with nearly being shredded by giant titan tiger claws, thanks!

Unfortunately for Shang Qinghua, ever since Liu Qingge had decided, for some reason that he still couldn’t figure out, that they are friends, he’s been coming to An Ding to regularly kidnap Shang Qinghua and force him out on what the man probably thinks is fun, bonding time between martial brothers or something.

It’s not. It’s not fun. It’s certainly bonding time, perhaps, if only because of the many times Liu Qingge has been forced to come over and save Shang Qinghua’s skin. Then again, Shang Qinghua has also been forced to save Liu Qingge’s skin, through vastly different means than Liu Qingge has saved his, so maybe it is some type of bonding? Experiencing life-threatening situations together is a sure-fire way to form close ties with someone. Like, that’s a legitimate trope. Shang Qinghua has used that one in his own stories many a time before.

So, Liu Qingge might be onto something here. But Shang Qinghua wishes he’d choose some other way to level up their apparent friendship than monster hunting. Can’t they just stay home and have tea? Play some go? Not potentially die?!

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge calls. He sounds a little exasperated. He’s exasperated, huh? Shang Qinghua is exasperated with this entire trip! “Pay attention!”

Shang Qinghua ducks again, aiming his sword down sharply as his shidi’s sword shrieks by overhead in the spot he’d just been, to parry the monster’s attack with a serious OP swing of the same blade.

It’s really unfair, sometimes, watching how easily powerful his martial family can be. And then there’s Shang Qinghua, who… isn't, really? Just, nowhere near as powerful as the likes of Liu Qingge, or Yue Qingyuan.

Then again, maybe that’s trying to compare 5G internet to dial up? They’re simply in entirely different leagues.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes water as he rockets toward the ground, to where there huddles a cluster of disciples that stare with wide-eyes and awed faces as Liu-shidi does his thing. Their expressions are practically meme-worthy. God, he misses the internet so, so much. He might cry.

Wait, no, he can’t cry right now, the Bai Zhan disciples are right there, and they will make fun of him for it. Absolutely no respect with these kids. Liu-shidi, please teach your peak disciples some manners!

“Shang-shibo,” one of them complains, sword unsheathed entirely and obviously rearing for some action. “Does Shizun — does he want —?”

Shang Qinghua holds up a hand. The disciple falls silent, and the entire group of them watch him like over-eager hawks waiting for their prey to make a mistake. He takes a moment to catch his breath.

“No,” he eventually says, sending a brief glance over his shoulder to where the Bai Zhan peak lord is going head to head with a flying tiger the size of a dragon. “Shizhi, does your Shizun look like he wants help? Does your Shizun ever want help?”

One of the other disciples, a girl this time, bearing biceps that might be bigger than melons, grumbles. “He doesn’t. But why can’t we fight, too? It’s not fair, Shibo!”

“What wouldn’t be fair, is having both your arms ripped off before you can even graduate Jiedan.” Shang Qinghua refutes, and begins to herd the lot of them back toward the tree line so that they are at least out of sight. “This beast is a third-rank Flying Thunder Deity, it is so far out of your league in terms of strength that I’m currently questioning whether we should have brought you all with us on this mission in the first place.”

The disciples look disgruntled.

“But, Shibo—!”

“Nope!” Shang Qinghua holds up a finger and gives them all a stern look. Liu Qingge may not give a fuck whether his disciples remain unscathed or not — honestly, the man likely assumed them to all have fled like smart disciples of their level would, but he obviously greatly underestimated their enthusiasm for a good fight. Which is just incredibly fucking ironic of him. Anyway, no disciple of Cang Qiong sect is going to be in harm's way, if Shang Qinghua has any say about it. “I don’t want to hear it. All of you stay here, if I see a single limb out of these trees, I’ll assign the lot of you as aids to my paper-pushers for three months.”

At their adequately horrified looks, Shang Qinghua decides that his job here is as done as it can be, and so he turns around to peer back out at the currently thunderous (as the name of the beast might suggest) battle currently being waged. If any of the disciples decide to actually take their chances — both at potentially becoming paste on the ground and being stuck helping his disciples with copying out fresh requisition forms, then that’s not exactly his problem, is it? Shang Qinghua tried his best!

He rises up on his sword to where his shidi is fighting the Flying Thunder Deity several hundred feet up in the sky.

Aerial combat has never been Shang Qinghua’s strong suit, and quite honestly it’s neither the strong suit of any other cultivator, strong in battle as Liu-shidi or not. There’s just something about attempting to juggle needing to balance on your soul sword to stay in the air and also needing that same weapon to fight with, that is just altogether difficult.

It’s fifteen minutes of ducking and weaving and praying that he can move just fast as to be an irritating enough pest to the Deity that it turns it’s attention onto Shang Qinghua and consequently gives Liu Qingge the opening he needs, when Shang Qinghua’s hopes come true a little too well.

The thunderous (ha-ha) expression that graces Liu Qingge’s face when the Flying Thunder Deity snaps it’s huge, hulk of heard forward and encloses him in its massive jaws would have been gratifying in literally any other circumstance. Shidi! You do care! Or are you pissed at Shang Qinghua, for being so slow and requiring rescuing yet again? He’s sorry, Liu-shidi, he really is! Next time he would move faster! Or better yet, not come at all! Just as he’d originally begged you, shidi!

Shang Qinghua wishes that people would listen to him more. It would make his life so much less stressful than it is.

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge shouts, with a tone to it that makes Shang Qinghua’s heart stutter oddly. Or maybe that’s because he’s, you know, currently trapped in the mouth of a vicious monster that probably won’t hesitate to swallow him whole? But, could it be, that Liu-shidi really does care?

Such ponderous thoughts will have to be shelved for now, to be ruminated upon later when he’s safe. For now, Shang Qinghua curls up into a ball, shaking like a leaf, his elbow bouncing off a curving incisor that’s nearly the length of his entire body, and he can’t help but let out a terrified cry.

This is it, isn’t it? Nearly a century of surviving against all odds, making it through perilous situation with no hope after perilous situation, avoiding death flag after death flag, to be eaten by this hungry, flying tiger the size of a small mountain.

Truly, he’s so blessed to be going out with such a bang.

System! Shang Qinghua wails miserably inside his head, a series of loud whimpers bursting from his mouth without his permission. Be useful for once and lend me a scenario pusher!

The cheerful ding that rings throughout his mind is incredibly ignorant of the current circumstances. [Request acknowledged! Please contact customer support to undergo an eligibility survey.]

There is no such thing as customer support, Shang Qinghua knows. He’s neither a customer, nor is he sure that the System actually has any higher power that it answers to. It clearly loves fucking with him, though, and he clenches his jaw and screams through his teeth in frustration as the sharp point of one of those too-close teeth digs viciously into his side.

I don’t have time for that! Fuck! System, please! I don’t want to die! Be nice to me for once in your miserable existence! I deserve it, dammit!

There’s a brief pause, and during it Shang Qinghua thinks he can hear his shidi yelling amongst the sounds of battle.

[... Host’s complaint has been posted and reviewed.] Oh, wow. That’s a first! [Due to Hosts exemplary services rendered, compensation has been rewarded. Would host like to exchange for a scenario pusher?]

Just save me already! Shang Qinghua demands, curling into an even tighter ball. The tooth digs into his flesh painfully, and he bites back a sob.

[Compensation loading…]

The tiger is growling, now. Shang Qinghua can feel the coalescing vibrations of the sound as it emanates from behind him, from deep within the beats chest, rippling sound waves that travel up it’s throat and make him tremble from the force of them alone. His skull is split by a resounding headache, and his vision doubles. It’s like being trapped inside a subwoofer box, and it hurts.

Shang Qinghua is struck rather suddenly by a massive fit of vertigo, as the tiger seems to shake its head in response to whatever attack Liu Qingge is throwing at it. Being inside its mouth, the motion sends the An Ding peak lord sprawling, and he nearly impales himself on one of it’s incisors. Thankfully, being covered in its saliva, though disgusting, seems to be a silver lining of some sort, because he’s by now slippery enough with it that the tooth only deals him a glancing blow. Despite not being as fatal as it could have been otherwise, it still hurts enough, sharply enough, that Shang Qinghua can’t hold back the cry of pain and surprise that escapes him.

The deep vibrations of the growl come to an abrupt halt. Shang Qinghua only has time to hear Liu Qingge make a distant sound of confusion and anger, before he’s unceremoniously spat out into the open air.

It’s a relief! Truly, it is, to be freed of the tight, damp space that was a beast’s hungry maw at long last. However, there’s still a problem! A big one!

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have his sword, and they’re all still hanging out several hundred feet up in the air! By the laws of physics, he has only a brief millisecond to feel any sort of relief before he goes plummeting to his death. He brings up his arms to shield his face from the turbulent air, robes flapping in its vicious currents.

“Qinghua!”

He peeks open eyes that he doesn’t recall closing to find his amazing, beautiful, talented shidi diving down beside him, sword under his feet and hand held outstretched toward him. Shang Qinghua doesn’t have enough air in his life to breath out a sigh of relief as he reaches out for him, ready to cry, because within the very next second he’s ripped away from the help by a big, furry blur that knocks him out of the sky entirely.

He continues to fall for a few long, terrifying seconds, and then he’s fighting to breathe not because the air is moving past him too fast to catch, but because he’s been submerged in water.

He panics, kicking his legs uselessly against the heavy weight of the tide that wraps around him and shoves him roughly to and fro. He’s not entirely certain which way is up and which way is down. His lungs are tight and painful with their pleas for air, and Shang Qinghua can see spots begin to dance before his vision.

Something grabs onto the very back of his robes, then, and he’s dragged out of the water and lands heavily on a patch of what he’s able to eventually identify as grass, once his mind has enough ragged gasps of sweet, sweet oxygen to get itself into working order again.

He rolls himself over and onto his knees, fisting his hands in the grass as he spits out mouthful after mouthful of water. His eyes sting with tears, but thankfully he’s so soaked he doesn’t think they will be all that apparent to anyone who thinks to look at him now. He brings up a hand, to press the back of his fist into his mouth and smother the sob that wants to burst free. He doesn’t really succeed.

There’s an odd sound from nearby, almost like an engine of some sort, which is incredibly confusing because Shang Qinghua hasn’t heard anything of the like since his last life, where the world was much more industrially advanced. There’s a brief moment of confusion, where his mind races in trying to correlate the sound with something that makes more sense, before something big and warm presses against his side and nuzzles heavily into his neck.

Shang Qinghua blinks, dumbly, vision still swimming in such a way that it makes his aching, pounding head revolt in nausea, but after a moment he’s able to turn his head to the side and get a mouthful of fur instead of a visual.

He splutters, reeling back, which of course gives the Flying Thunder Deity, which is no longer flying nor deity-sized, to press forward even more. It knocks the befuddled Shang Qinghua into the grass and clambers over him, purring loudly and aggressively all the while as it nuzzles him and butts it’s head into his again and again.

“Um,” someone says, and Shang Qinghua blearily looks up from the now normal-sized tiger to find a group of disciples staring down at him, looking just as confused as he feels. “Shang-shibo?”

He blinks, head canting toward the side as the Flying Thunder Deity shoves at it with it’s leathery nose. It’s purring so loudly he can feel it in his jaw. “Yes?”

“Would you, uh…” The disciple speaking gestures at him and the tiger. “Would you like help?”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua considers the offer, laid flat out on the ground as he is while being aggressively cuddled by a suddenly, oddly, terrifyingly over-affectionate tiger that had literally, just a few moments ago, tried to eat him. “.... Hmm.”

“Mwrrrr,” the tiger echoes, long whiskers tickling Shang Qinghua’s face.

“...Shang-shibo?”

“Qinghua!” Ah, look who finally decides to join them!

Liu Qingge barrels to a landing in the grass right beside him and barely has time to yank his sword up from under himself when the newly enamoured tiger jumps to its feet, bristling and hissing like a house cat facing an annoying, yapping dog that’s intruded into their home.

Liu Qingge is very visibly confused at the newest course of events, but there’s still a level of rage that thrums underneath it, and he readies his sword against the Thunder Deity, muscles twitching in anticipation that far exceeds his usual excitement for a fight. For some reason, that Shang Qinghua is currently too dazed to even guess at, it has become personal.

The tiger’s tail flicks, it’s sharp teeth bared as a growl erupts from its throat, and Shang Qinghua apparently had lost all common sense during his fall into the lake, because he props himself up on one elbow and reaches out his hand to curls it into the damp, wet fur around the tiger’s neck.

Immediately, the beast stops growling. It even turns its back to Liu Qingge! In order to plop down into Shang Qinghua’s lap and nuzzle it’s face into his neck, purring once again at full blast. The Bai Zhan disciples that are gathered a few hundred feet away make a series of quietly alarmed sounds. What the fuck! Liu Qingge looks just as confused.

“Qinghua?”

“I don’t know, shidi,” Shang Qinghua says, shrugging. It sends a ripple of pain that spikes in his lower abdomen and winds up his side, and he winces. “Ow.”

“You’re injured,” now Liu Qingge is frowning at him, but he doesn’t move to come any closer. His hand is whit knuckling the hilt of his sword, and he glances between Shang Qinghua and the tiger in open puzzlement.

“Yeah, kinda got impaled on its teeth,” Shang Qinghua replies, and makes a face. “When they were, uh, you know, bigger. Before...”

“It shrunk.” Liu Qingge states, scowling.

As if on cue, there’s a bright flash of light that momentarily blinds him, and the weight in Shang Qinghua’s lap shifts. Once his vision clears, he glances down to find a small, fuzzy little tiger cub gazing up at him with big, round, glistening eyes.

Shang Qinghua stares at it. The cub purrs, much softer than it had in its adolescent form, and gently butts it’s head against his chest, mewling quietly.

Shang Qinghua tears up. He can’t help it. He struggles to sit up, gathering the cub into his arms as he goes, and holds it against his chest. It’s fuzzy little ears perk up, tickling against his collar bone, and Shang Qinghua swallows.

Liu Qingge stares, as well, about as absolutely befuddled as the rest of them. After a moment, though, his face clears of its confusion, as if he’s decided to simply discard it, and he gives a shrug, hefting his sword arm up a bit and taking a step forward.

Shang Qinghua startles, scooting back a bit even though it pulls at his injury. “Shidi?!”

“It will be easier to kill, like this.” Liu Qingge says, nonchalant.

Shang Qinghua clutched the tiny, purring little tiger to his chest, aghast. “Shidi, no! It’s a baby!”

“It’s not,” Liu Qingge frowns at him. He points at the cub, who continues in its mission to aggressively cuddle the An Ding lord. “It’s a fully grown adult Flying Thunder Deity. It can just change its size.”

Shang Qinghua pauses. He pulls the still-purring cub away from his chest and holds it up to his eye-level.

“You tried to eat me,” he accuses.

The tiger cub blinks once, slowly, and lets out a tiny mewl in response.

“....” Shang Qinghua wraps his arms around the tiny thing and cuddles it to his chest. “I forgive you!”

“Shang Qinghua,” Liu Qingge exclaims, exasperated. Which! Not fair! Shang Qinghua wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him! So really, this is all Liu-shidi’s fault to begin with!

He tells him as such, and Liu Qingge scowls grumpily one response.

Shang Qinghua stands to his feet. And immediately tilts to the side. Liu Qingge steps forward, sword sheathed, to catch him around the waist, and the tiger gives a startled meow as it’s suddenly squished between the two of them.

Both men stare down at it. It blinks up at them for a moment, before turning to nuzzle it’s face into the dampened collar of Shang Qinghua’s robes, closing its eyes as if it's decided to take a nap then and there.

“You can’t tell me you’re going to kill it,” Shang Qinghua says. His words are beginning to slur together. “It’s too cute, Qingge!”

Liu Qingge tenses slightly at his given name, as he always seems to do when Shang Qinghua uses it. If he didn’t want him saying it, he shouldn’t have given him permission in the first place! After a moment, the man relaxes, and something about his face is… not as fierce, somehow.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what that means.

“You’re soaked,” Liu Qingge says. “... And injured.”

“Impaled,” Shang Qinghua reminds him, blinking his eyes slowly. They feel a little heavy. Maybe the tiger had the right idea of a nap. “Almost drowned.”

Liu Qingge frowns at the reminder. He stoops down after a moment and scoops up Shang Qinghua’s legs. Normally, he would protest being bridal carried like some maiden, but right now he’s way too tired. He rests his head against Liu Qingge’s shoulder, the tiger purring sleepily on his stomach, and closes his eyes.

There’s a quiet cough. “Shizun.” One of the disciples speaks. They sound embarrassed, for some reason?

“We’re heading back to the sect.” Liu Qingge announces.

“The, ah… the tiger?”

There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence. Then, “It’s your Shibo’s.”

“Ah…. okay….”

Shang Qinghua turns his face into his shidi’s collar and falls into a doze.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #liu qingge #liushang #scumbag villain self saving system #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #dancibayo #monster hunting

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benevolentcalamity · 4 years ago

Text

"A Hunter must hunt."

A scared young woman rushes through the streets, luckily dodging pitchforks and claws alike. Like a few that had already grown cold, she was trapped outside - and on a night of the Hunt, of all nights. No one would take her in, and any incense that could be spared was hoarded or gone, with no in-between.

Every door she knocked on, voices either told her to go away or laughed at her misfortune, with very few simply praising the Healing Church. As if it could save them, they proclaimed their adoration for the church. But all the same, rejection awaited her everywhere.

"Accursed beast!" A man roared, his voice guttural from the steady transition into a monster.

"Die, die, DIE!" Another shouted, his pitchfork's prongs barely scratching the poor girl's face.

The next windows and lights turn into a blur, her shoes wet and filthy with blood and muck and piss, threatening to force her into losing her balance. Despite all of her challenges she still runs, the vermin and beasts hardly able to see where she's to go.

Eventually, her scurrying carries her to a cathedral, towering figures closing in behind. Forcing a climb with sticky, clammy hands, she's brought back to her senses with the ringing of a gunshot lighting up her surroundings.

Whipping her head toward the noise, a particularly scary-looking man, clothed in blood-soaked rags and carrying what looks like a saw in one hand and a gun in the other, is swiftly closing the distance. Through his drooping hat his eyes pierce into her soul, as if challenging her to run.

Had he been chasing her this whole time? When had he begun his pursuit? Whatever he may be up to... she had no other choice than to keep running.

Monkey-swinging off the gate and to a weeping statue nearby, she ducks behind the other statues and fixtures as glass breaks and brick chips with more gunshots. Only when they stop does she dare take a look, and the man's still at the closed gate, surveying the other side.

His eyes land on her, and an animalistic growl shakes his chest before he backs away from the gate, body language promising that won't be the end.

Taking a deep breath, she turns, beryl eyes, though frightened, focused enough to figure out where to be next. The next best thing would be to rush toward obvious safety, if that's something the cathedral can provide.

Well... what safer place than a church? And what choice really is there?

Scaling onto the head of a statue, she carefully stretches both hands until she climbs onto a roof, effectively avoiding the grotesque priest-looking creatures below while only seeming to have one colossal beast noticing her. She all but screams as she narrowly avoids it trying to bring its... hammer? Scythe? Onto her head.

Like a cat trying to escape a bathtub, she scurries and leaps from roof to roof, until- huh?

Nearby, a strange-dressed corpse lays, a pair of weapons on either side of his hands. Curious, she approaches, inspecting them all. The clothes are still intact and the weapons didn't have time to wear out or rust.

She checks the gun. Seventeen bullets.

"... Alright."

Methodically she undoes the buttons and zippers, sliding the clothes off the corpse one by one while undoing her own. Quickly glancing around, she slings the shirt and coat on, flinging her dress aside. Sliding on the pants and boots despite her stained stockings, she dons the hat as the clothes seem to change themselves to fit her shape. Works for her.

Picking up the weapons, she clenches them tightly in her fists, curtseying to the now naked corpse.

"Forgive me," She utters. "I have to live."

bang!

Whirling around, she screams seeing the same man as before closing in, gun raised and weapon poised.

"A wannabe Hunter, are we?" He hisses. "Act quickly, now!" He throws his head back to laugh, and she turns tail and runs away. "Don't you worry, little rabbit! I'm going to kill you now!"

I'm near the cathedral! I have to get to the cathedral!

More leaps and lucky dodging of bullets, until she's just near the stained glass window of the cathedral. Whirling around, she registers the assailant speeding up, before hurling herself into the window, him quickly following, colliding into her before he's knocked by a fixture, allowing the two to land further apart.

Oddly, the clothes shield her fall, but she does feel slightly breathless. Tightening her grip, she sighs in relief when she feels her newly acquired weaponry didn't slip from her hands.

Biting her lip, she pushes herself onto her feet. "Alright..."

___

The only way to describe the fight was a clumsy yet somehow delicate dance of bullets and blades, her agility thus far keeping her from getting too injured but her lack of muscle putting her at a disadvantage in close quarters. Even so, the opposition's apparent insanity rips his focus by the minute, allowing her more openings to go in and slam her weapon into his spine.

"Jump some more," He growls, swinging his large blade at her only for her to jump out of the way, "RABBIT!"

Quickly aiming, she pulls the trigger on one of three last bullets, miraculously hitting his knee and causing him to fall down. Closing in, her shoulders heave as she pulls her hand back.

"Damn you!" She yells, plunging it into his chest, gripping inside him and ripping her fist back out.

And like that, with a scream and a torrent of blood, he fades into the naught, leaving her to the altar, the darkness; the solitude.

She leans back, letting out a sigh. "Finally... it's over..."

clap, clap, clap

Her hair stands on end, and she slowly turns her head toward a figure emerging from the shadows. Silver hair spills from the back of a strange-looking helmet, and his clothes mimic the feathers of a crow. As he approaches her, he continues applauding her, before going still just a few feet away.

"That was quite a good battle," He praises. "You did well against Oliver, although I really should scold you for killing what was mine to kill."

"Who are you?" She asks.

Somehow she can hear him smirk. "No one of consequence." Then his head tilts. "But what about you? You're not the Hunter sort, are you?"

"No?" The wording is a bit confusing.

"Didn't think so." He shrugs. "Too small. And yet here you are, swinging weapons and firing guns like a Hunter to be. Might I say, however, you've managed to come out of that strife without a scratch - as if you'd done this a thousand times before."

She purses her lips, reaching her hands back to tighten the ribbon in her bright hair.

"What is your name?" He asks. "If you still remember it, that is. The Hunt is never kind to those who partake."

"... Melanie." She pulls up her gloves a bit. "My name is Melanie."

"Well met," He nods. "My name faded into obscurity long ago, but I am known as the Bloody Crow."

"Bloody Crow..." She furrows her brows. "So are you my enemy?"

"If that's what you choose, but allow me to convince you I'm not a man you want as one." He draws his weapon - a sword she had only seen in gruesome folktales - and points it skyward, before pointing it at her. "Wish to try your luck?"

"Ah, no."

"Wise girl." He then gestures to a small lantern just in front of the altar. "See that lantern there? Don't be afraid of the little Messengers - that lantern will take you where you must go."

At this point, she's willing to survive even if reality has gone upside down and obscure. "Will I see you again, Crow?"

"... Perhaps." He sheaths his sword, crossing his arm before looking away in thought. "But not as you may see me now. Next we meet, I can't promise we will remain so cordial." Then he looks toward her, chuckling. "Your intentions, Melanie... They're to make it through tonight, yes?"

She nods, and he laughs.

"Good, good!" He shouts, almost jolly. "What's bravery, without a dash of recklessness! I've taken a liking to you." He reaches into his cape, before approaching her, holding out a pair of blades. "I know not if a fledgling could even operate these, but here. Something a little more your size."

Obtained Blade of Mercy

"Run along now. No trembling in your boots." He steps back when Melanie hangs the blades on her hip. "And good hunting to you. One more thing, however."

His hand raises, and he lifts his helmet so his face can be seen. He's an older gentleman, to be sure, but his structure implies strength and his eyes hold great focus in their almost blizzard-like color. Wrinkled cheeks lift with an unclear smile.

"You'll meet a woman with the same garb as I," He says. "Should you meet her, do give her my regards. I have a hunch you two will be well-acquainted."

And with that, he puts his helmet back on, turning and rushing back into the shadows, and with some shuffling and a soft thud in the distance, Melanie is alone again.

Sighing, she trudges to the lantern, holding her hand out to touch it, before her body collapses with exhaustion.

___

"Are you cold...?" A soft voice asks, and she's covered with a blanket. "... Oh, good hunter."

#bloodborne #the bloody crow of cainhurst #bloodborne fanfic #my writing #hi

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bertrumstrousers · 4 years ago

Note

How much has JDS and ink hell changed Bertrum in your AU? Is it mostly the physical changes of being a weird monster now, or is his personality different in any big ways?

CAN OF WORMS CAN OF WORMS CAN OF WO—his personality swaps around TREMENDOUSLY (colossally, if you will).

I START BABBLING A LOT HERE IS A PAGE BREAK

Prior to the Ink Hell and during his tenure at JDS, it was incredibly clear to those around him that Joey was causing his usual polite, patient, professional demeanor to slowly crumble and give way to his less agreeable personality traits. He’s normally half-decent at toning down his self-importance when he knows he needs to--unless of course someone asks about his legacy--but towards the end of his stay at the studio he’s impatient, irritable and that nasty ego of his almost seems hard to control now that he’s put up a front of “I know what I’m doing, don’t bloody get in my way”. It’s not something he’s aware of, but had he been, he would be quite disappointed in himself for being so openly hostile.

Aaaannd monster Bertrum is where all of those extremely unpleasant parts of his behavior just boil to the surface and do not go away. Completely unconcerned and almost amused by the “paltry, petty little plights” of other monsters (though an argument could be made for Lacie), horrible temper, prone to violence and very, very little sense of humanity. At first he finds his entrapment in the Whipper to be a hindrance but once he figures out how to operate the thing and use it as a weapon, he gets quite comfortable in his newfound “power” and will happily use it to make his points when confronted by anyone who dares disagree with him, monster or otherwise. Joey took everything, EVERYTHING from him, he is PISSED. OFF. about it, has nothing to lose now and EVERYONE. WILL. KNOW.

But oh, then the escape.

A lot of things go into the way he manages to escape the ride, but none of them really carry over into his escaped form. At least, not outwardly. His first few days following his escape were spent in an inconsolable, livid haze in which it was nearly impossible to speak to him without him launching the nearest solid object directly at anyone who dared try to get his attention. As the last few bits of influence from the ink start to dissipate and clarity returns to him for the first time, the gravity of the evils he did in the Ink Hell hit him like a train and he falls into something Lacie can only describe as “that mood a guy gets when he’s got more on his mind than he can handle”. He speaks softly and has little to say, isolates himself to be with his own thoughts and seeks company and comfort from Lacie, and Lacie alone.

One side effect of his time in the studio remains--Bertrum becomes incredibly prone to vertigo. Turning his head the wrong way, looking up for too long, turning around in his chair, even getting out of bed too fast will send him into a bout of dizziness that only becomes somewhat bearable if he lays directly on the floor, head in his hands and in near-complete darkness (not pitch black--he needs to be able to see a horizon to orient himself) until it passes. This does not mesh well at all with his new habit of pacing in circles when in distress of any sort and he carries a cane most of the time, just in case he needs to steady himself on the off chance he makes himself dizzy. Lacie is by no means capable of catching him if he loses his balance.

He does eventually regain most of his sunny disposition that he had pre-JDS, but it’s easy to see that there’s something on his mind and he’s not too keen on talking about it. The hard-wired ego is still there, but it manifests differently, especially given that he never wants to see another amusement park as long as he lives. Now, he’ll go on about how proud he is of surviving the ink, conquering the ink, defeating the ink. Escaping the studio. Escaping Joey. Lacie honestly preferred when he talked about his parks, but she isn’t about to tell him--she’s just glad to hear that proud voice of his again after such a long period of meek near-silence. He regains a great deal of empathy, and the paternal “let me comfort you and tuck you into bed and make sure you’re safe” instinct comes back far, far stronger than it had been prior to the Ink Hell--look even vaguely upset and he’s going to find out what’s wrong, and if you’re not keen on sharing, he’ll quite gladly just sit and keep you company.

#headcanon #the giandark speaks #bertrum piedmont #lacie benton #lacie x bertrum #bertrum x lacie #batim bad blood au #batim au #HJKDSHFAKJS #SO MANY THINKS #IT FEELS GOOD ON MY BRAIN #mental illness mention #violence mention #batim #bendy #bendy and the ink machine

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zydrateacademy · 3 years ago

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Current Activities on Elden Ring #3

The following post will have many spoilers. I’m basically going to talk about the endgame with reckless abandon. Last warning, I shall blog as normal. So it has been a couple days since I last posted because I’ve just been too busy actually playing Elden Ring to bother blogging about it. I have not used my offline, hacked characters at all as I’ve discovered the suicide bird farm to effectively over-level my character(s), especially going into much of the game with a larger health pool than the area may expect. When we last left off, my Samurai had only dipped her toes in Atlus but didn’t enter the capital. I have since gone through the rest of the map and beaten the game on her entirely.

It may be a few ‘minutes’ off but this is basically her as she beat the game with the Ranni ending (which I will not pursue in her NG+). She’s actually almost 190 now, but getting ahead of myself. Again I continue to be impressed with what I’m capable of but again, I have no illusions as I remain fairly over-leveled. I’ve done well against several first-phases but second phases continually kicked my ass. The likes of Mohg, Melania, and the Fire Giant were stop-gaps to get me to summon assistance from the Elden Ring discord. I like the Mohg and Fire Giant fights a lot, pretty clear mechanics (though I did know beforehand that Mohg curses you and there’s a wondrous potion item you can plug in to fix that). The Fire giant was a fun fight but his second phase mostly involves hitting his hands rather than his legs and he only puts his hands on the ground for like three seconds every seven minutes. Typically when he goes down to spew some fire, which is hard to maneuver around. I summoned help, and it took several tries. Fun fact, my FIRST try I managed to get him to like 10% all by myself but ultimately his damage resistance in phase two outlasted my potions. Same problem again with Maliketh. I dominated the first phase by myself but the second phase he was too mobile. Again, same thing with Radagon. Maliketh in phase 2 was literally AoE’ing through massive pillars, so I couldn’t heal through the fight. Another out of date intel is her build. My #2 post talked about her running Moonveil and I wasn’t feeling it. I actually got her INT to 80 (the initial softcap) and it did perform adequately, especially after rebinding my weapon art to alt (can’t do the horizontal slash with the default bindings). It did fine, to be honest and got me out of some decent scraps. But... I acquired Rivers of Blood, a very powerful katana with a strong weapon art that I immediately respec’d into, and followed a build guide to acquire some relevant life-stealing and chain-attack boosting talismans, and she became a powerhouse. She doesn’t stagger enemies as much as the Moonveil art did, but she’s melting enemies a bit quicker. She will very often take a couple hits during her volley of River’s art but I can usually come out on top and if there’s some basic enemies around, I can probably just kill a few and heal back up without using a potion. Generally speaking during bosses, her maxed potion can outlast most. She’s in her NG+1 now and I’m loving it very much. She’s an absolute terror in the first half of the game so far, burning through mid-level bosses right out of the gate. Made a beeline to unlock the suicide bird farm just to have it accessible, absolutely demolishing the likes of Godrick and Radahn all by myself. Again, I realize being level 180+ probably helps with this but I don’t care, I’m having fun.

I also made an online Vagabond a while back, and got her to the suicide birb farm as well. Had some help to carry through Radahn (whom I figured out isn’t even required for the Varre questline, just beating Godrick and doing some pvp, but she got cool gear now). I specifically wanted to give colossal weapons a go, and while the moveset of Radahn’s swords took some getting used to, with the high poise I’m not getting flung around like I expected to be and she’s a lot of fun now. Boosted her into the 120′s which is probably a similar value to my Samurai above, and I just use the bird farm to eke out a level if I’m about to enter a “hard” area while being on the cusp of a level-up. I typically do the farm before entering the capital proper. But the Vagabond has already demolished Nokron and got her mimic tear so in the future, she needs to work on hunting down the upgrade items to get it past +3. Despite the nerf, the +10 mimic is still a terror, especially when you’re running a meta build. Right now I’m back on my Samurai to clear the Academy and re-unlock cosmetics and respec. I’m thinking about overtly renaming my character to “Zydrate” just for visibility purposes, like summoning and such. At least I have a screenshot of her true name just in case.

Aw shit, here we go again.

#Elden Ring #FromSoftware #Gaming #PC Gaming

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bybibucky · 4 years ago

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Honey, Just Tell Him

Bucky Barnes x reader One Shot

You’re much less quiet about your obsession with the idea of being fucked by Bucky Barnes than you should be. What if, one day, he catches on?

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), a smidge dubcon, oral (f receiving), choking, gagging, exhibitionism, bit of bondage, spanking, face slapping, degradation

note: idk what exactly happened here but this is my filthiest one yet. the working title was BUCKY VIOLENT SMUT so do with that what you will. feel free to yell at me in the comments

Bucky Barnes was strong. Everybody knew this, everybody was intimidated. He was a bit of a violent guy – came with the territory – and everybody flinched whenever he rose his voice. Granted, that wasn’t often, but recruits knew not to approach him unprompted. He wouldn’t actually hurt them, especially not the new ones, but he had a century worth of deadly reflexes on his side, and anyone would be clever not to tempt him into letting his inhibitions go.

But you, you wanted those inhibitions gone. Practically every mission you were on with him, whenever you watched him squeeze the life out of various villains with that fucking metal arm, whenever you marveled at his insane precision every time he pulled the trigger on one of his guns, whenever he threw his favorite knife, you were as wet between your legs as the blood seeping from Bucky’s victims.

It was hot beyond relief and such a contrast to his sweetheart-self at home. Not that he wasn’t sexy every minute of every day, but this danger that oozed off of him whenever he needed to be a weapon was difficult for you not to find attractive.

“You have to stop staring at him.” Natasha came up right next to you, and you almost jumped out of your skin. That pathetic hiding spot behind one of the punching bags that hung from the ceiling apparently wasn’t all that secretive. “He’ll notice it one day. If he hasn’t already.” The sound of her voice traveled from one of your ears to the other as she walked to stand behind you so you wouldn’t be seen by Bucky. To your luck, he was preoccupied with his own punching bag.

“I can’t,” you whispered, “and you know it.” Your obsession had become prominent enough for it to be your main topic on girls’ nights.

“Honey, just tell him.” There was a comforting hand on your shoulder, but her tone was traced with annoyance.

“Tell him?” you screeched, though still barely above a whisper, “tell him what exactly? Fuck me senseless, Bucky Barnes? Step on my throat until I lose consciousness?”

Natasha couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Maybe not in those exact words. But I’m willing to bet he’d fuck you sideways till Sunday or whatever you want to call it if you just asked. He’s not shy about it.”

You groaned. You were painfully aware of how not-shy he was about his sex life. There barely passed a night in which you didn’t have to listen to Bucky going to town with a random girl he had brought home. His room was next to yours, and at this point you were convinced that the universe had constructed this specifically to torture you. “Don’t remind me.”

As Bucky sent the already weak punching bag flying across the room with a hearty kick, you were ready to whimper. The image of you getting shoved against a wall in a similar fashion was instantly on your mind. Helpless, you felt jealousy grow in your chest when Bucky waved over a new recruit towards the sparring mat.

Natasha chuckled beside you, taking a deep breath to get ready to ruin your life. “Hey, Barnes!” She stepped around the punching bag, pulling you with her. “I got a better opponent for you!”

A minute later, you were stood at the opposite side of the mat, facing Bucky. You weren’t enhanced yourself, much like Nat wasn’t, but you had taken him down before. Although, you weren’t sure you would again, not if he looked like that. The shirt was rudely tight and even the obvious sweat stains didn’t repulse you, rather on the contrary. He was panting, that signature smirk on his lips taunting you.

“Anything off limits?” he asked and you already felt your stance weaken.

You shook your head. “You know the drill, Barnes.”

“Then c’mon, doll,” he said lowly, “give me everything you’ve got.”

Naturally, you pounced. His hands met you half way, firm around your waist to throw you over his shoulder a second later, but yours were still free to punch him straight in the jaw. He didn’t take the time to wipe at the corner of his mouth were a bead of blood was gathering, of course he didn’t, and instead spun you around, one arm switching to wrap around your throat. It wasn’t enough to cut off your airway and you appreciated that. It gave you the opportunity to drop your weight in his hands. He’d let go, you knew it, so he wouldn’t actually choke you, and you would use that as leverage to hook a leg around one of his to make him falter.

Bucky fell, rolling over in an attempt not to crush you, and you sighed when he gave you enough time to get back on your feet.

“You’re holding back,” you said, complaining. This wasn’t how training was supposed to go.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” His stance called for a time out, and you relaxed as well.

“Yeah,” you said, “you’re coddling me and you’re giving me all those opportunities to take advantage of you.”

Bucky laughed, whole-heartedly. “You’re taking advantage of me?”

Your lips pulled together in a pout. “Haven’t you noticed? You’re open everywhere. It’s no fun if you let me win.”

His smile darkened. “So you’re telling me to go all in? No mercy whatsoever?”

“Yes, obviously!” You bounced on the balls of your feet, excited now. You’d been craving a real challenge. Okay, more like craving something vastly different from Bucky, but this was the next best thing.

A second later, your back smacked against the mat, wind knocked from your lungs. You hadn’t even seen it coming. “What the fuck,” you coughed, Bucky’s face appeared above you. “I wasn’t ready.”

He cocked his head. “You said no mercy. Nobody would wait for you in a real fight.”

“This is a real fight.” Your lungs were still not fully filling up and you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.

Bucky laughed again. “Not a fair one, doll. You’d never win against me.”

Like hell you wouldn’t. Once you had regathered your strength and will to fight, your hands flew up, trying to push him off, but he was quicker. In one swift move, he trapped your wrists above your head. No matter how much you struggled, they wouldn’t budge.

“Face it, doll.” God, when had his mouth become so close? “You’re a weak little thing. Nothing against my power. I could do anything I want to you like this and you’d just have to endure it. Only begging can help you now.”

A whimper caught in your throat and you swallowed it down. He couldn’t know.

But his hearing was enhanced. “What was that, princess? Am I hurting you?”

He was but you couldn’t let it show. You shook your head. Any second the two of you stayed in this position was too amazing to pass up on. Princess?

Bucky leant down to whisper. “Don’t lie to me.” His hot breath fanned across your neck, forcing out goosebumps in their wake. “It won’t do you any good.”

You were at a loss for words. What had gotten into him? Part of you was suddenly convinced you had hit your head too hard against the mat and where now unconscious and dreaming. But when he scraped his teeth along your jaw line, practically biting down, you knew. No dream felt like this. You felt your nipples as taut pebbles against your sports bra, your core practically aching already.

“You’re wet, aren’t you, doll?” he asked, and you shook your head vehemently. But Bucky scoffed, “bad girl. Still lying even when I told you not to.” He wouldn’t let up, instead spoke again, and you pressed your thighs together at his words. “I can smell it on you.”

Now you couldn’t hold back the whimper. It forced itself out of your throat in a mix of arousal and embarrassment.

Bucky chuckled. “There we go,” he said, still so fucking close to your ear. “I told you you’d lose against me.”

You shook your head, entire body thrashing with it. The attempt wasn’t to get him off you, but rather because you couldn’t contain your energy. His words were doing unspeakable things to you.

“No?” The mocking tone hadn’t left his voice. “Go on, then. Try to escape.” But your hands were glued to the mat, he didn’t even try to spare you some of his colossal weight that pressed against your body. That and the sheer weight of his words kept you immobilized entirely. “Thought so.”

You puffed out a breath in annoyance. This wasn’t fair at the slightest. He was being mean for no damn reason. But you couldn’t deny the way it was making you feel. Being at his mercy like this was exhilarating.

His free hand firmly grasped your jaw. “I don’t like that little attitude on you,” he said and with the way he was holding you, it was impossible for you to respond. “You think you can just lie here, pretending you’re not fucking turned on, when we both know that you’re parading your filthy state of mind all day every day?”

Oh God, did he somehow know about your pathetic crush on him? Was this punishment for letting it consume you?

“Don’t look at me like that,” he continued, “you’re not the innocent victim in this. You’ve been telling everyone in detail how you want me to rail you. ‘Fuck me senseless, Bucky Barnes? Step on my throat until I lose consciousness?’ That can be arranged, doll. You could have just asked.”

Was he actually serious? This had to be some cruel joke. “Did Nat tell you?” Suddenly, there was deep pit in your stomach. But Bucky wouldn’t have any of it.

“She didn’t have to,” he said, “not only can I smell your arousal – by the way, it’s so prominent right now that I can almost taste it – but you can’t really hide from my enhanced hearing. Especially when we’re in the same room and you’re literally begging to be fucked.” The hand on your jaw finally released you, only to run down the hollow of your throat until it found the hemline of your sports bra. Inches away from your breasts, you arched your back, trying to push them into his grip.

“Oh, you really are a little slut,” Bucky murmured, “aren’t you, princess?”

It didn’t feel like a question, so you didn’t reply. But the need to shake your head in a pathetic attempt to maintain your propriety remained.

“No?” He almost laughed, and you felt the offending puff of air against your neck. “So you don’t touch yourself and moan my name? You’ve never told any of your friends how you want me to fuck you hard enough to leave bruises? Because I’m pretty sure I heard you. Are you telling me I imagined all of that?”

You wished you could tell him that he was imagining it, that there wasn’t an undeniable pool of your arousal seeping through your yoga pants – which he could apparently smell – and that you weren’t hungry for him like you like you hadn’t eaten in months. But he had told you not to lie. You shook your head once more.

Bucky smiled against your skin. “Then tell me, princess, are you a little whore?” He finally brushed his fingers against your nipple and that alone compelled you to say, “yes!”

“There we go,” he hummed, “you can’t hide from me.” Briefly, he pushed your wrists into the mat, signaling for you to keep them there. At this point, you had almost forgotten they were there at all, so at ease with being unable to move.

Then, less asking for permission – because he knew he had it – and more finally taking what he wanted, he wrenched open your legs, calloused hands firmly on your knees. They slid up, up towards your center, but ignored it completely, and you were ready to cry when they settled on your stomach instead.

You whined high in your throat, and Bucky full-on laughed at you. “You want me to touch your cunt, is that it?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question, “poor thing. You’ve been bad, princess.”

Princess. There it was again. Where was that coming from? Before today, he had never used that word, much less in this context, but you didn’t get the opportunity to think about it further, because Bucky tore at the fabric of your sports bra and pushed it up, finally freeing your tits. Instantly, he attached his mouth to one of your nipples – all teeth, sucking harshly.

“God, fuck!”

Bucky came up for air, regarding you for a half-second. “Shut up,” he said, an unimpressed growl in his voice, “you want the whole compound to hear us?”

You hadn’t thought of that. Right now, you had your tits out in the middle of the gym. There were floor-to-ceiling windows practically everywhere. Anyone could see. But you didn’t care. All you wanted was more of Bucky, whatever he would give you.

Before you could give him an answer, he brought your scrunched-up bra higher up until it was level with your mouth, and without waiting for you to react, he shoved the fabric between your teeth. You were trapped, arms pressed against your head as the tight garment held them in place, silencing you.

He went on, bringing all his attention to your other nipple while the first one lie completely forgotten, soaked skin tortured by the air conditioning. You wanted to touch it yourself, twist and pull to imitate his teeth but you weren’t allowed.

“More,” you moaned instead, voice muffled by your sports bra. You could feel him smile against your bud, the tender skin slick with his spit there as well.

“You need to learn to behave, little girl,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, his face back in front of yours, “you’ve wanted me for so long and now that you finally have me you can’t wait five minutes?” He scoffed. “I thought you were better than that.”

Shaking your head, you opened your mouth to beg. “Please, Bucky, please.” Speaking now – as coherently as you could – you didn’t recognize your own voice. The desperation was heavy and a borderline moan traced every syllable, even through your makeshift gag.

Bucky took pity on you. Partly, at least. He leaned back to unceremoniously pull at your yoga pants as well as you underwear until you were completely bare from the head down. There was a significant rise in his power like this, him above you fully clothed while he had you writhe and moan naked beneath him. You loved every second.

Fully bypassing your clit where he knew for a fact was the place you ached for him the most, Bucky plunged two of his fingers straight into your pussy. They were thick, thicker than your own, and longer on top of that, instantly reaching spots you could only dream of by yourself. You were ready to mewl but the possibility of him stopping at all when he had barely begun and it already felt like this was too much of a threat.

Bucky watched your nostrils flare as you tried your best not to cry out while also continuing to bring enough air into your lungs. One hand keeping the steady rhythm of his fingers fucking into your cunt, the other went to stroke your chest. “You think you can be a good girl for me and stay quiet?” he asked, and it was the gentlest he had been this whole time, “I’ll get you out of this.” His free hand found your makeshift gag, slightly pulling the fabric tighter against your lips. It was now fully lodged between your teeth. He was teasing you.

You nodded as much as you could in your restraint. Part of you wanted it gone. What if you moaned again, then? Would he punish you?

“If you say so,” he drew the words out, warning you. And he slipped the sports bra, its fabric soaked in your spit, up your arms and off. One-handed, unsurprisingly, and kept his other hand between your legs, warm flesh fingers pumping into you. His thumb joined the party, lightly flicking your clit and you would have almost lost your composure, had it not been for the raise of Bucky’s brow. You didn’t want to disappoint just seconds after being granted some mercy.

You had known he was good at this – countless nights of having to listen to him take apart is conquests were proof enough – but you hadn’t expected the feeling of drowning like this. Cotton in your ears, you noticed yourself to be almost paralyzed. Anything physical that was restraining you was gone by this point, his hands only there to pleasure you. What kept you without movement were solely his words and your desire to be good for him.

But then, his metal fingers replaced his flesh hand in your pussy, consequently hitting the most delicious spot while he kept his thumb on your clit, and you couldn’t contain the high-pitched moan that burst from your lips in surprise. It was met, even more shockingly, with Bucky’s hand slipping from you only to slap across your cheek.

Your head whipped to the side harshly, almost straining your neck. He eyed you dangerously when you looked back at him and your stomach churned.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

The thought was there. That you should lie, deny him that power over you, but he would have seen right through it.

“Don’t play innocent. I could feel your walls clench around me, grip me so fucking tight,” he groaned, “wanna squeeze my cock like that, princess?”

The frantic nodding of your head happened on its own accord and your hips bucking only underlined it further. He laughed at you.

“Fucking hell you’re desperate,” he said, “and I’m all here for it.” The confession was accompanied by a bruising kiss. He stopped his ministrations on your pussy, but the kiss was so good that you didn’t even fully notice. It was the first of its kind, Bucky’s lips tangling with yours deliciously. Tiny, tiny whimpers slipped through and he ate them all up, quite literally.

When he pulled away, his eyes were even darker than before, they almost weren’t even blue anymore. You were certain your facial expression mirrored his, though presumably, you looked more wrecked that he ever would.

“I should keep you like this forever,” he mused, “bound and chained to any flat surface just for me to take you and take you until you’re bruised and aching, dripping with cum. You would be the pettiest sight.”

Your breath hitched. The thought of that was starting to get to you embarrassingly harshly. It sounded it amazing.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, “wanna be a good little girl for me?”

“Please.”

“Think you’ve been good enough for me to taste you?” he asked and you went to respond but Bucky answered for himself, “I don’t think you have. A good girl wouldn’t have flaunted herself, worn those skimpy little outfits when outside it’s fucking snowing, told anyone who would listen how much you need to get railed. No, you’ve been bad, asking for it without actually asking for it.” Bucky slapped you square on the thigh and you jumped in surprise, whimpering.

“That’s what I want,” he said, “so sensitive that you flinch when I raise my hand, reduced to nothing but a complying, whimpering mess.”

Your eyes nearly rolled back in bliss. That simple thought went further than your own fantasies, but sounded delicious. “Your mess,” you agreed. Bucky smiled.

By now, you were dripping down to his wrist, your pussy letting out a filthy squelch every time he pushed his metal fingers in. Accidentally focusing on that, on how embarrassing it really was, you didn’t register how Bucky propped himself up on his elbows between your thighs, but the first contact of his tongue against your cunt definitely didn’t go unnoticed. You bucked against his face on accident and Bucky pulled back instantly.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growled, “you’ll take whatever I give you, not a fraction more.”

But you couldn’t stop. Being turned on way past the breaking point, and his mouth was too skilled for you to just lie there, unresponsive. Bucky got up a moment later, cussing you out under his breath as he walked over to the wall of weights across the room.

You thought he was leaving you altogether, that you had annoyed him one too many times, but the thoughts died right when you opened your mouth to call after him. Because Bucky returned, a barbell in hand. Eyes widening, you watched it come closer until it sat square across your abdomen. It wasn’t tight enough to make breathing more difficult, but enough to trap you against the mat. He smirked at the sight, towering above you.

“This is what happens if you don’t comply, princess,” he said darkly, “but you’ll bend against my will eventually, even if I have to force you.”

Bucky was back between your legs before you knew it, resuming his work against your pussy. He forewent your clit entirely, much to your dismay, but beneath the little contraption, you had no choice but to endure the teasing.

He looked up at you the entire time, watching your reactions closely as he ran the tip of his tongue across your lips lazily. He was waiting for you to break, prompting a punishment the closer he got to your clit. But you were stubborn, unwilling to let him win this. You would behave and stay quiet like your life depended on it.

Bucky saw that and chose to grant you some mercy and he suddenly felt the urge to witness you climax from just his tongue alone. He watched your eyes screw shut the moment he latched his lips to your clit and sucked, running his flat tongue all over it a second later. Somewhere deep down he knew she should reprimand you, tell you to keep your eyes on him and not your own fantasies, but the sight was prettier than he had imagined. You looked better than any girl before you, had a richer taste, more exhilarating smell and feel, and were altogether breathtaking. He should have done this much sooner.

But you didn’t give him more time to contemplate, as you began to involuntarily fight against your restraint, bucking your hips for more friction where you craved it the most. You were close, that much was clear, and even though he wanted to torture you some more and deny you that pleasure, if you looked this already, he needed to know what you would look like orgasming.

You held it off for as long as you could. Then, you began to beg. “Please,” you whined, not caring about the consequence, “please, Bucky, please. I need to cum. Fuck, fuck, please let me cum.”

Bucky listened to your begging for a while longer, urging you on with two fingers against your g-spot and his tongue on your clit. Once your words turned into incoherent babbling, he knew it was time. “Come on, then, princess,” he said, voice still hard, “cum for me. Right now or you won’t cum at all.”

And you did. Finally being granted permission, you allowed yourself to let go, to let all that pent-up frustration wash over you in a tidal wave that shook you to the core. A string of broken curses left your lips with a volume that went silent against your own deaf ears. In all that haze, you even lifted the bar on your chest about an inch off the ground, pushing your hips further into Bucky’s hands. His ministrations kept going, keeping you going, and pulled every fraction of your orgasm from your body until you were reduced to a whimpering heap of heavy limbs.

“Good fucking girl,” Bucky said, making his way back up your body. He ripped the weights off of you and effortlessly tossed them across the room. “Gonna fuck you now, baby.”

You whined in response, the only response you managed.

“What was that, princess?” he asked panting, right in front of your face, “think you can take me?”

When he had shoved down his pants and underwear, you had no idea, but suddenly, you felt the head of his cock against your thigh. You jumped in surprise. Bucky chuckled.

“Thought so.” But he angled himself against you anyway, before slowly pushing in. “Fuck,” he moaned instantly. Not even when you dared to thrust your hips against his did he intervene, instead he let it slide this one time. But you grew cocky, and did it again. You weren’t able to a third time, however, because Bucky wrapped the metal hand around your throat, using it as leverage to fuck into you all the way. “Feeling brave, are we?”

The growl in his voice did not fall to deaf ears. And deep down, you felt bad for not following orders but the feeling of finally getting fucked by Bucky Barnes was too great. “Please, I can’t wait anymore. Please I need it so bad.” His grip around your throat wasn’t tight enough for you to stay silent.

“I’m gonna have to teach you patience, princess,” he scoffed, “this won’t do.” But instead of making true to his word, he simply grabbed your hip harshly, angling them up towards his. The movement brought blissful friction against your g-spot, and you couldn’t contain the yelp. Bucky placed his flesh hand over you mouth, the metal one still around your neck. “Next time.”

With that, he began a brutal pace. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight, little slut.” The words were more growled that spoken, gritted teeth displaying how concentrated he was. Bucky was chasing his own pleasure above yours, partly as punishment, partly because he couldn’t help it. But you wouldn’t complain with the way his thrusts hit all the right spots anyway.

The urge to scream his name was there, but all that came out was a muffled whine. Bucky leant down, smirking. “Huh? You trying to say something? Too bad.” His hips only moved faster, harder, and you knew it wouldn’t take long for you to cum all over his cock.

He lifted you, balancing you on his thighs as he used your hips for leverage. You could feel your skin getting caught between the plates of his metal hand. Bucky watched your jaw fall slack and eyes screw shut.

“You better keep looking at me, princess,” he hissed between his gritted teeth, “and don’t you dare make a sound.”

That was easier said than done. With the way he was making you feel so fucking good, they way he spoke, you developed a kink for his voice right there and then. The whines with every breath you took were much harder to hold back. When Bucky grew tired of it, he tore off his own shirt only to shove it between your teeth. “Shut up.”

His strong scent engulfed you instantly, and you could clearly discern a mix of his deodorant and sweat from working out. It was relentlessly filthy but this close to edge, it wouldn’t matter what he forced on you, it would turn you on. Embarrassingly enough, a long moan could be heard even through the soaked fabric in your mouth when Bucky rubbed his thumb all over your clit.

“You need to cum, don’t you, princess?” he asked, also slightly breathless by now.

You nodded harshly, desperate to be good for him, to silently beg for him as much as you could. And he chose to be merciful.

The nod came before his words. “Do it.” His voice held a strained grumble. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum all over my cock. Cum like the good whore that you are.”

And, fuck, you did. The second orgasm was completely different from the first. That one would have pulled your legs from beneath you had you been standing, rolling over you in a blissful wave. This one tightened all your muscled simultaneously, a slow-motion tingle in every corner of your nerves. You arched your back, shuddering your hips in his hold for even more friction. The scream was only silenced by his shirt, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you were grateful for it.

Bucky felt your walls clench around his girth as he continued to fuck you in deep, harsh thrusts that only spurred your orgasm on further. “Fuck,” was all he said, groaning in bliss as he watched you cum, all for him.

It didn’t take long for him to follow you down the rabbit hole. His hips faltered as he struggled to keep up the reckless rhythm. “Fuck, princess.” Bucky was close, that much was evident in his heated stare. “Look at me, slut” he said, “look at me when I cum inside you.”

You obliged, because it was all you were left to handle. Only him.

“Want me to fill you up?” he asked, voice hoarse, “mark you as mine?” Your frantic nods were all he needed. His gaze was glued to yours, and you kept your eyes unblinking, unwilling to miss even one second of his orgasm. And it was worth it. His hair matted to his forehead, a deep focused crease between his brows, his hands in an unwavering grip around your hips, he stopped just barely, and you felt him shoot his load. He began thrusting again moments after, riding out his orgasm. If he made any noise, you were unaware, you hardly heard a thing over your own ringing ears.

The mixture of his cum and yours oozed out of you the moment he pulled out, and you were ready to feel ashamed about it, but Bucky gathered your legs straight up in the air with one hand, leaning down to lick up every trace of the mess you had made. It was, while filthy beyond belief, also insanely hot.

You accidentally let out a surprised whine. Bucky responded with an almost playful slap to your thigh while keeping his mouth on your pussy. The shock and your remaining sensitivity made you jump from the impact, shutting you up in the process.

“Thought so,” Bucky mumbled against your skin. Once he was done cleaning up as much as he could, which only were a few more seconds, he gently placed your feet on the mat. Careful not to touch you, he moved to lie beside you, one arm propping up his head, the other pulling out the soaked shirt.

You felt his cool metal fingers brush away small strands of hair, and watched him curiously.

“How are you doing?” he asked, voice still slightly hoarse but having lost that mean tilt.

“Good,” you whispered, “you?”

Bucky nodded. “Same.” He paused. “Was that too much?”

You nodded instantly without really thinking it through, but when Bucky took another moment to answer, you realized it was the truth.

“I know you weren’t expecting it.”

“It’s okay,” you said, “I really liked what you did.”

At that, he offered you a toothy grin. “Yeah? Maybe we should repeat it sometime.”

Before you could move to agree, you heard Tony’s voice over the speakers. “Look, I’m glad you guys finally bumped uglies,” he said, voice obviously annoyed, “but I’d appreciate it if the entire compound wouldn’t be part of it next time, yeah? Barnes, we talked about this. The gym is a public space and not your personal fuck room.” There was a click in the speakers which told you that Tony was done, but you were too occupied with staring at Bucky in shock.

“What? I told you to keep quiet.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

Grinning his cocky grin, Bucky rolled back on top of you. “I’ll show you–“ But he wouldn’t finish that sentence.

“Guys! Get a fucking room!”

::::::::::

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years ago

Text

Haven - Chapter 6.

First Steps

Summary: The Black Hammer’s infamous mettle is put to the test when he finds himself approached by a sleepy, human youngling. You get your hands looked at and learn a little bit more about your massive guardians in the process.

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As soon as the minuscule woman sitting in front of him finally succumbs to the persistent lull of sleep, Ulthane nearly lets slip a powerful sigh, only just managing to snap his lips shut in time to catch it.

The giant is not about to utter any sound that might risk waking you up again, not when you're so clearly in desperate need of a long, uninterrupted rest.

Balancing an elbow on each knee, the maker slumps forwards and scrubs tiredly at his face with a thick, calloused hand which he drags down just enough to peer at you over his fingers.

For perhaps longer than he ought to, Ulthane meticulously studies the side of your face that isn't pressed up against the tree bark, unaware that his own features are becoming softer and softer with each passing second.

Although you're sitting right in front of him and he's even held you, touched you and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're real and here, he still can't quite believe that he'd managed to save both you and the children. Admittedly, he's reluctant to stand and leave, and he tells himself that a few more minutes of keeping watch is just a sensible idea, certainly not paranoia setting in. 'Besides,' he thinks, scanning the room and taking note of both the awkward angle at which you've lain yourself against the wall and the broken 'glasses' that sit at the end of Archie's bed. 'There're some things I need to take care of...'

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

Slowly, the sconces flickering on the walls burn lower and lower, dripping wax onto the wooden ground until at last, the maker decides your sleep is deep enough that he could move you to a bedroll without waking you up. Glaciers would have moved faster than Ulthane in that moment as he rises to his feet, wincing at every creak of his leather tunic and the clanking, metal belt fastened around his waist. Soon enough though, he's upright once again and he bends down, inching his fingers closer to you until he's able to slide them gently around your back, fingertips brushing over delicate vertebrae and his heart begins to hammer when you scrunch up your face and emit a small moan. For several beats, the maker remains frozen in place until you settle down again.

Breathing a gentle sigh that ruffles your hair, Ulthane carefully works his fingers around and underneath you, having to wiggle them so that your legs sit comfortably across his palm, allowing the maker to press his thumb to your front and pull you up against his chest.

With cautious steps – which would have been cause for amusement had anyone been there as a witness – Ulthane carries you over to the spare bedroll and lays you down upon it, mindful of your head the whole way. Once again, he retracts his hand with an almost painful slowness but the moment his fingers slip out from underneath you, he's startled when you unexpectedly roll towards him in your sleep and fling an arm out, draping it loosely around his forefinger.

The maker's breath catches like a hook in his throat.

Fragile lips part slightly and you let out a soft sigh of contentment, your features relaxing until the lines in your forehead begin to diminish.

Ulthane swallows, captivated by the sight. He'll just have to stay where he is then....

Fine. No problem. Clearly you're subconsciously seeking comfort wherever you can find it, and who is he to deny you that?

The maker is more than ready to crouch here all night if he has to. But then... he considers what a shock it might be for a fetching, young human like you to wake up with a scruffy giant looming over them. Suddenly, staying doesn't seem like the most prudent of ideas.

“Sorry, lass,” he breathes, giving his finger a careful tug until it slides out from under your arm. For a second or two, your lips twitch down at the loss of warm contact, but soon after, you fall still on the bedroll, your breathing slow and even, which is more of a reassurance to the maker than you could possibly know. It's a simple facet of biology he never realised could be a comfort to him after seeing so many humans whose chests were motionless, as if they'd been turned to stone.

Ulthane indulges himself in another few seconds of watching your ribs expand and contract before he pushes himself to his feet again and treads back over to the entrance, bypassing Archie's bunk along the way.

Tree bark scrapes noisily against the maker's braid as he hunkers down against the wall, opening his palm up and squinting curiously down at the fragile spectacles now laying within it. Shifting his weight slightly to one side, he flips the lid of a pouch on his belt and digs around in it for a moment until he pulls out a handful of small tools, those typically saved for his more delicate work.

Settling back against the tree bark, Ulthane readies himself for a long and hopefully peaceful vigil.

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

There wasn't any particular reason why Lucia jerked awake in the middle of the night. Only one thing is for sure though, she tells herself adamantly as she clutches at the front of her thin, cotton shirt and gulps down a lungful of air – Waking up has absolutely nothing to do with a nightmare. Definitely not at her age. She's seven, after all. Far too old to be afraid of such babyish things as bad dreams, even those that are filled with gnashing jaws and grey, lifeless eyes, or of hulking monsters who have four arms that raise high above her, just moments away from squashing her flat against the ground below....

Groggily, Lucia twists her head around to see her classmate, Kitty, is still sleeping soundly on the bed next to her.

Kitty has always been a heavy sleeper, and she doesn't even stir as Lucia shuffles tiredly to the ladder at the end of their bunkbed and slides her bare feet onto the first, wooden rung. The girl's descent is painfully slow and she can barely keep her eyes open to see where she needs to place her hands, yet somehow, she manages to make it down to the ground in one piece.

The young girl blearily peers towards the enormous doorway where you and the giant were sitting last night after she and her classmates had climbed into their respective beds. Glassy, sleep-deprived eyes seek out your familiar shape, yet they fail to find you in the spot they expected you to be, an outcome that causes Lucia's throat to tighten. Not a moment later however, she catches sight of Ulthane and her chest hitches apprehensively.

The giant of a man is still sitting propped up against the tree wall with his piercing, blue eyes fixed in her direction, hard and unflinching as stone. It's an unnerving thing to be held underneath that gaze, and yet, as abrupt as Ulthane's appearance is, Lucia doesn't retreat back up into the bunk bed. Rather, she blinks slowly up at him and rubs one of her eyelids with a closed fist. She's tired and she's hungry and she wants nothing more than to see her mother again, to fall into a pair of warm, comforting arms and be reassured that this is all just an unusually long dream. Nevertheless, with a distinct lack of any other viable grownup in the vicinity, the girl's sleep-addled brain seeks out the next nearest source of safety and protection.

Ulthane stiffens and his jaw grows tight when the human youngling begins a slow march across the tree towards him, dragging her feet the whole way.

As she stumbles past Archie's bed, Lucia doesn't even seem to notice that her classmate's glasses are no longer discarded at the foot of it, but instead lay just beside his head, looking polished and brand new without a single crack marring the lenses. Why would she notice, after all, when her sights are set on the mountain of a man sitting in the entrance, his blue gaze tracking her vigilantly across the tree? Perhaps if she'd been even slightly more awake, her stomach might have churned at the thought of venturing closer to something so formidably colossal.

The tiny girl comes to a stop in the space between Ulthane's boots and she tips her heavy head back to peer up at him whilst he, in turn, stares down at her, the bushy eyebrows sitting on his forehead slowly raising with every second that ticks by.

Not for the first time, the Old one is completely lost for what to do.

He'd been prepared for the human younglings to avoid him altogether, not for one to approach him, alone, in the dead of night and without her guardian present.

Swallowing thickly, the maker flicks his eyes up to seek you out on the other side of the room and he momentarily considers making a loud noise or clearing his throat, something that might jar you awake so you can intercept the exhausted child currently yawning up at him. He's quick to scrap that idea, however, sharply reminding himself that he's a maker, for the love of Stone, and the Black Hammer to boot. He's faced down scores of undead, battled against invading, demonic armies! His hands have shaped cities and crafted weapons capable of cataclysmic destruction! He – Ulthane Black Hammer – has no reason to be so tense in the presence of -! 'Oh, maker's beard, she's trying to climb me.'

Apparently, following any lack of a rejection from the giant she'd so boldly approached, Lucia's childish mind has reasoned that it's safe to proceed. So, without a word, she ventures right up to the enormous chain dangling from his equally large, leather belt and, before he has the time to flinch at the prospect of a child getting so close, she reaches up and slips her hands around one of the chain loops and begins hauling herself up into the giant's lap.

The angle at which Ulthane is propped up against the tree works to Lucia's advantage and her hands and feet find easy purchase on the maker's intricately adorned apron, allowing her to crawl onto his stomach without much difficulty, proceeding onwards until she comes to a halt directly over his thundering heart.

Any breath that had once occupied Ulthane's lungs no longer exists as he wheezes it out, all pretence of bravado fleeing him whilst the little human makes herself comfortable upon his chest. Hands like fragile glass twist into his blue, striped cowl and tug it close, seeking comfort in the soft fabric and then, after parting her jaw around yet another yawn, Lucia plops herself down on her belly, head turned to the side so that Ulthane can see her eyes flutter closed.

Every rise and fall of the maker's chest seems far too violent a motion, prompting him to try to keep his breathing as shallow as possible, even though his lungs begin to burn with the effort and his throat bobs as he swallows a thick lump, tilting his chin to peer down his nose at the child.

All right.... All right, he can do this. He can be gentle. After all, he's been gentle with younglings before. Although come to think of it, maker younglings are far, far sturdier than humans. One glance at the girl's twig-thin arms and he clenches his jaw, his immeasurable nerve actually beginning to waver.

It's laughable really. The mighty Black Hammer's famous courage shaken by a tiny, little girl.

If his brother could see him now, he'd be bent double, howling with laughter.

Then again...

Ulthane's shoulders lose some of their tension and with the speed of a melting icicle, his forefinger creeps steadily towards the human.

….Thane has never had something so fragile laying beneath his palms. Thane has never had the terrifying responsibility of holding a body so breakable that just breathing in its direction seems like too much of a risk.

The pad of Ulthane's finger finally touches the child's spine, feather-light and hesitant to the point that he can barely feel her individual vertebrae beneath his toughened skin.

Maker's beard... She barely even covers the length of his palm... He holds his breath when she lets out a soft noise and shifts, curling her legs up tight against her stomach and pushing the curve of her spine a little more noticeably into Ulthane's touch, causing his heart to lurch in response. There's a tenderness to his frown as he hesitantly sweeps the pad of his forefinger down her flimsy shirt and finds himself momentarily exasperated that humans don't bother wearing any kind of armour. They aren't exactly fast enough to outrun their enemies. Nor are they especially strong. Their bones can shatter after a short fall and a single fracture in their spinal column could render them completely incapable of movement. Why, all it would take is a single slip of his finger and....

Shuddering, Ulthane withdraws his hand and lays it on his stomach, just below the girl's feet. In the museum, carrying the humans had been different. He hadn't exactly had much of a choice. Now though, with enough time to stop and think about all the ways a being of his size could unwittingly damage them, Ulthane is far more hesitant and his mind begins to race because suddenly, he has to be so, unfalteringly aware of himself, uncomfortably so.

In direct contrast to the maker's frenetic brain, Lucia isn't really thinking much about anything. All she knows is that she feels a lot safer now than she had in the bunkbed. No nightmare would dare to touch her here, not with the giant keeping watch. With this in mind, the girl lets out a last, lingering yawn before she buries her face in the blue fabric clutched between her fingers and finally drops back off to sleep.

Ulthane is so busy wondering what your reaction will be if you awaken to catch him like this that he doesn't even notice Lucia has fallen asleep on him until he sees her hands go slack around his cowl and her back starts to rise and fall at a much slower pace.

For countless hours – or perhaps it was only mere minutes – the maker watches his charge as she sleeps, every now and then casting his watchful eye over the rest of the group.

Lucia doesn't stir again, not even when Ulthane eventually plucks up the nerve to relax, leaning a little further back into the wood behind him. Not even when, a few minutes later, he curls one of his vast hands over her back whilst she continues to sleep, being beyond careful not to put any weight on her.

All of a sudden, just as he lets his head drop to rest against the bark, it hits him that this girl – this impossibly small, innocent human child might just have wordlessly admitted that she trusts him, and he very nearly shoots upright once more at the revelation.

Outside the tree, the first of Earth's birds begin to sing, hailing the sun as it brightens the eastern sky and while Ulthane's ear twitches at the sound, he doesn't tear his eyes from the girl curled up on his broad chest. Slowly, the maker's forehead wrinkles into a frown.

He doesn't deserve her trust. He doesn't deserve the trust of any human, not least that of those he's taken into his care. If they knew... If they ever found out about what he's done, who he's conspired with, then he would have that tenuous trust ripped away from him and replaced with cold, angry hatred. 'And that,' he tells himself with a solemn sort of acceptance, 'is something I do deserve.'

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

It's with a grim and despondent weariness that your head eventually raises from the soft surface it lays upon. Unlike last night, awareness comes back to you in a rush, slapping you harshly across the face with the memory of where you are and what has happened to the world around you. The temptation to simply let your head fall back against the pillow is almost overpowering.

Almost.

Pressing your eyelids together, you take a moment to brace yourself before stretching your arms up over your head, jaw parting into a yawn.

Warm firelight greets you when you blink into the room, disoriented for a few seconds as you realise you're no longer sitting in the tree's entrance with a maker in front of you. In fact, it abruptly occurs to you that you're now laying down, a fact that causes you to give a start, struggling up onto trembling arms and pushing your face up off a scratchy, green pillow.

Glancing around, you deduce that at some point during the night, you must have been moved to the bedroll Ulthane had mentioned. Of course, you're fairly certain you haven't suddenly begun to sleepwalk, so you imagine that the culprit is none other than the maker himself. Blearily, you rove your gaze across the chamber towards the hollow that leads out into the main trunk. It doesn't take you long to spot him, and when you do, your heart leaps into your throat for a second before you manage to swallow it back down.

Ulthane is leant up against the wooden wall just inside the hollow with a restful smile on his face, but what draws your focus are his hands that are cupped gently over a familiar child. The unruly pair of jet-black buns poking out over the top of his thumb are unmistakably Lucia's.

Suddenly much more awake, you throw the ratty blanket off your legs and clamber upright.

In a flash, Ulthane's head jerks up and he feels his hackles raise, only relaxing once he realises it's just you shuffling over to him, the heel of your palm scrubbing at eyes still thick with sleep.

“Mornin',” he rumbles quietly, raking his gaze from your head to your feet.

A little self-conscious under his probing stare, you throw out an automatic reply of, “Good morning,” before drawing to a halt just beyond his boots, wringing your hands together and shooting anxious glances between him and your student. The maker must have been able to guess what you can't quite find the courage to voice because his ears droop and a crestfallen line appears between his eyebrows.

Guilt slugs you hard in the chest when you pick up on his hurt expression, so you force yourself to pry your hands apart and send him a tired, albeit hesitant smile, whispering, “What happened?”

It's a relief to see the maker's face soften at your question.

With a grin that's borderline sheepish, Ulthane removes one of his gargantuan hands to reveal Lucia curled up underneath it on his sternum, her comparatively miniscule fingers twisted into the fabric of his soft, blue cowl. The loss of her makeshift blanket causes the youngster to frown lightly and utter a sound of protest before she settles down again. You can't help but sag with noticeable relief upon seeing that she's unharmed and apparently very comfortable on her newfound bed.

Huffing out a soft laugh, Ulthane admits, “Think this littl'un might've had a bad dream... She rolled out of bed a couple o' hours ago and... Well.” He tips his bearded chin indicatively at the girl.

Sparing her an exasperated look, you shake your head and sigh, “Sorry about that, Ulthane. You should've woken me up so I could take her back to bed.”

The maker's shoulders move as if they're about to lift into a shrug, but he thinks better of it when Lucia emits another, quiet whine and buries her face into his scarf.

Flicking his eyes from the girl up to you again, he instead murmurs, “Didn't want to disturb you. You looked like you needed the rest.” His broad mouth tilts up in one corner and he drops his gaze to Lucia, eyes crinkling fondly at their edges. “'Sides, she weren't exactly any trouble.” He decides to leave out the part where she'd clambered into his lap and almost gave him a heart attack.

“Huh...” you muse thoughtfully, sparing the maker an appraising look, “Guess she must trust you after all.”

Ulthane's smile falters for a second and his ears seem to wilt, you assume due to disbelief. You have no idea that your words only twist at the barbed-wire coiled around his heart as he's once again reminded that he's just one confession away from being a monster in all of your eyes.

Be it from the rumble of his chest underneath her ear or the tug of his cowl as the giant lifts his head to look at you, but Lucia abruptly shifts, stretching her legs out and pushing sleepily on his sternum to raise her torso from the unconventional bed.

There's something considerably amusing about a nine tonne giant bristling with apprehension as a child no larger than his finger lifts her head and blinks tiredly up at his looming face. You can hardly fault her when she lets out a yelp and lurches backwards onto her knees, startled by the enormous man peering back down at her. However, in doing so, she begins to topple over at the awkward angle and would have fallen down the length of Ulthane's chest had he not flipped his hand over with surprising speed to catch her in his palm. She lands against him with a soft yelp and scrabbles at his calloused skin for a moment, trying to take stock of her situation.

“Sorry there, lass,” the maker chuckles, though his nostrils are flared, betraying his prior alarm, “S'pose I'm not what you were expectin' to see first thing in the mornin', eh?”

After taking a couple of large, gulping breaths, some colour begins to return to the girl's cheeks and her eyes land on Ulthane's hesitant grin.

Instantly, her face lights up with recognition.

“Heracles?” she croaks, scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

The maker's tusks flash in the dim light as he huffs out a warm laugh.

“It's Ulthane, Lucia,” you remind her gently and the girl mumbles a quick, 'oh yeah,' in response, stretching her arms up and yawning widely.

“Miss?” a croaking voice pipes up from the bunk beds behind you. Turning about, you see Archie - roused by the commotion - tugging his legs out of the blanket and swinging them over the edge of the bed, his bare feet hardly brushing the wooden floor, he's so small. He's staring over at your group, mellow eyes wide behind his glasses.

With your brain still partially addled by sleep, it takes you a few seconds to recognise the change.

“Archie!” you blurt out louder than you'd intended to, pulling several other groggy children from their slumber, “Your glasses!”

As the boy peers over at you, you're startled to notice that there's an unmistakable lack of any break or crack in the lenses of his spectacles, a fact that seems to have shocked him as much as it shocks you. For a second, you wonder if you'd merely imagined that they were broken. You were, after all, almost falling asleep on your feet yesterday.

But then, Archie presses a few fingers daintily to the frames around his eyes and says in a small voice, “They were broken last night...”

Keeping his attention focused stubbornly on Lucia, Ulthane leans forward and deposits her on the ground next to you with the level of care and concentration one might use to set down a crystalline figurine. His slow, deliberate movements catch your attention and you tear your eyes off Archie to shoot the maker a thoughtful hum, brows slowly knitting together across your forehead when he fails to meet your gaze and instead fiddles absentmindedly with the golden buckle on his belt. Suspicious, you're about to ask him if he knows anything about the impossible circumstances of Archie's glasses when Lucia promptly reaches up and snags the sleeve of your jumper, giving it a tug and declaring that she's hungry.

Ulthane must have been relieved at the distraction because moments later, he plants his boots on the ground and heaves himself to his feet. “Hungry? Well, we can't be havin' that, now can we?” he barks, bunching up his shoulders until there's a loud and satisfying 'crack!' that causes you to wince.

Seeing the maker at his proper height sends Archie stumbling backwards until his calves hit the bunkbed's wooden frame and the resulting thud pulls Kitty's head unwillingly from her pillow.

“Ungh, dad?” the girl moans, rubbing the dust from her eyes and looking out over the edge of the bunk bed, only to let out a strangled gasp at the sight of the bearded giant looming over you.

“It's all right!” you hurriedly say as Sam and Ashleigh also flick their nervous gazes between you and the maker, “It's just Ulthane, remember? He helped us yesterday.”

The initial confusion that always follows sleep begins to dissipate, recognition instead taking its place, at least on the faces of Ashleigh and Sam. Kitty, in the meantime, adopts a scowl and stubbornly remains in her bed, even as all the other children hesitantly start to venture closer to the giant.

“Miss,” Lucia complains, pulling at your sleeve again, “I'm still hungry.”

It's a surreal thing, you ponder quietly to yourself, that the end of the world has come to pass, and yet here you are, worrying about what the children are going to eat for breakfast.

For a few, selfish seconds, you're struck by just how unfair it all seems.

'What about what I want?' You scowl down at your shoes. 'Maybe I don't want to get up and eat and tell them that everything's gonna be okay when I know that it isn't! Maybe – maybe I'd like a few, goddamn minutes to grieve! Instead of putting on a stupid smile and a brave face and... and-...'

Small, weedy fingers slip into your other hand and just like that, the agitation is sapped from you.

You know without even having to look that Archie is standing by your side with his watery, blue gaze fixed nervously on the side of your face, seeking instruction and reassurance in a world that no longer has any rules. Exhaling softly, you deflate and lift your eyes to find Ulthane watching you closely from the entrance. When he catches your gaze, you think you see his lips twitch, like he's trying to give you a smile but his heart isn't quite in it.

Eyebrows pinched, ears drooping - He looks... sad, you realise.

The expression is fleeting however, and it vanishes the moment you blink.

Dragging your eyes off the maker, you look down at Lucia and Archie and force a smile onto your face. “Okay, let's go. Kitty, come on, we're going to eat now!-” Turning, you beckon for the last child to follow, yet all she does is cross her arms and glare down at you, bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“I want my dad,” she suddenly declares, and it takes a lot of effort on your part not to sigh. Gathering yourself, you school your expression out of the grimace it's collapsed into and reply, “I'm afraid he's... he's not here, kiddo.”

“What about my mummy and papá?” This question comes from Lucia, but when you open your mouth to respond to her, you find yourself interrupted by yet another question from Ashleigh, spoken far more softly than the others. “Do our parents even know where we are?”

The rooms falls silent again and a sort of hopelessness snatches the air from your lungs, leaving you feeling trapped and utterly, wholly useless. What are you supposed to tell these children? That the chances of finding any of their parents alive is astronomically small? That their mothers and fathers are, more likely than not, dead? Torn apart by demons? That they may never see their families again?

You wonder what the maker would do, if he were in your stead. You're dying to ask him, but a quick glance at his stoic face reveals no insight. Perhaps you'd be disappointed to know that Ulthane is silently referring to your judgement, unwilling to offer an answer to the difficult question simply because he, like you, hasn't the first idea of what the 'correct' response is. Should the children know the truth when they're still so young and unequipped to deal with the sort of tragedy truth inflicts? Or should they be protected from it, given hope that the following days are worth waiting for?

Shit... He wants to take the decision out of your hands when he catches a scent of the frustration and terror that pours out of you. The silence has begun to stretch out for so long, he wracks his brains for something to fill it. Luckily for him, you take a deep breath, letting the air fill you up entirely until your lungs start to hurt and you can't fit any more in. Then, after a beat, you exhale it all roughly and clap your hands, cheerfully saying, “Look. Why don't you guys come and have some breakfast and let me sort out finding your parents, okay? I'm... sure if Ulthane and I put our heads together, we can work out a way to let them know where you are.”

Thankfully, your words take immediate effect, perking the children up a bit and putting a relieved smile on most of their faces, though you do notice that Archie, by contrast, has his head tipped towards the ground and his hand tightens around yours. Without seeing the look of panic that flashes through his eyes however, you assume he's put at ease, like the others. A plan of action – even one that's been made up on the spot - is just what they all need hear right now.

A quick glance up at the maker reveals that he isn't nearly as optimistic about your plan as the kids seem to be. However, when they turn to stare questioningly up at him, the giant's face takes on a self-assured grin, one far more authentic than you imagine yours to be.

“Aye, don't you worry littl'uns. Old Ulthane and your teacher'll suss it out.” When he turns away to face the hollow, you catch a brief glimpse of his smile as it falls to something dour, yet his voice retains its chipper tone. “C'mon then, best get some food in you, eh?”

You decide to ask Kitty one more time if she'll come down from her bunk, but again, the young girl just shakes her head and casts a mistrustful glare at the back of Ulthane's head. In the end, you just shrug and concede.

“Okay,” you tell her, starting after the giant, “I'll bring you something to eat in a bit.”

She doesn't reply.

The rest of the children are quiet as they huddle at your back and follow you tentatively out of the sleeping area, lead by an ever-watchful maker, who continues to cast backwards glances over his burly shoulder at you and the kids, as if he thinks you could disappear without any warning if he so much as takes his eyes off you.

Archie's hand remains firmly clamped around yours all the way across the wooden bridge and down into the tree's vast inner chamber.

Once you spill out onto flat, solid ground again, you allow your eyes to wander up to the top of the trunk, where a large crack has split right across the toughened wood, through which shafts of sunlight drift lazily down into the room and dapple the floor with patches of warmth.

Dimly, you realise it must be late morning.

Through the hole in the makeshift ceiling, you can distinctly hear the sound of leaves hissing and whispering like voices in the wind. But above that, you can make out something else. Whistling. High and pretty and tuneful.

“Birds...” you whisper, sporting an incredulous little smile, unaware of Ulthane's gaze drinking in the sunlight that glints off your hair.

What had once seemed such a mundane occurrence nearly reduces you to tears on the spot.

The birds are still here, chirping away amongst the colossal branches high above you. They survived. Just like you and the children have survived.

Deep in the depths of your heart, deeper than the blood and the cells, a tiny ember of hope flickers to life.

'Maybe,' you tell yourself, 'the world isn't as dead as it seems.'

Meanwhile, behind you, the children are busy making their own discoveries.

Lucia's bottomless supply of curiosity must have won out over her trepidation, for she's the first to venture away from the safety of your leg and take several, tentative steps out into the room, her eyes roving to and fro until they're little more than a blur.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention away from the ceiling and you jerk backwards as a large, wooden crate is promptly dropped at your side by an eager Elanya.

“Mornin' humans!” she calls down to you, startling the children and earning a subtle growl from Ulthane which she expertly ignores, “Got you some good eats in 'ere!”

With a hand held over your racing heart, you give the young maker a tight-lipped smile and reply, “Good morning to you too. Kids, this kind lady has brought us something to eat, what do we say?”

Ulthane's eyebrows raise in amusement when there's a shy, stuttered chorus of 'thank you's' from the children. Elanya meanwhile, is positively beaming.

“Ha! 'Lady,” she echoes, flicking one of her blonde plaits over a shoulder and bending down to the crate, taking the lid between her hands before pausing to glance up at you. “Don't think flattery will make me forget what we're doin' later, missus,” she warns playfully, keeping her eyes locked on your hands even as she gives the crate's lid a single yank, tearing it free of the nails keeping it in place. Admittedly, you have to admire her persistence.

“My hands are fine,” you tell her as she tosses the lid aside and dusts off her gloves, “They stopped bleeding last night.”

Unconvinced, the maker cocks her hip and squints down at you. “Doesn't mean they won't still need seein' to.”

“S'probably for the best, lass,” Ulthane mutters to you, wincing at the look of betrayal you toss him, “Can't have you hurtin' if we can do somethin' about it.”

“Well, what about your arm?” The maker narrows his eyes but you don't falter, refusing to be the sole person on the receiving end of Elanya's doting. “You said you'd let her look at it if I let her see my hands.”

Quick as a flash, Elanya's amber eyes dart from you to her fellow maker. “Arm? What happened to your arm?” she barks.

“Oh. I – er -”

Try as he might to twist himself sideways and hide his injury, the youngling's sharp gaze finds its target and she lets a hiss slip out of her mouth. “Maker's beard! That's a doozie!”

There's something highly entertaining in the way Ulthane shrinks back as she marches over to him and grabs his arm, but as much as you'd like to continue watching him utter halfhearted complaints and try to escape her grasp, you decide to use the distraction to address the hungry children behind you.

Every mouth is watering like broken faucets at the sight of a crate full of food, yet none of them have made a move towards it, instead dragging their hopeful gazes back and forth between you and the wooden box. You have to admit, you're impressed with their self-restraint.

All of a sudden, before you can open your mouth to tell them to go ahead and dig in, a hulking shadow falls across the tree's entrance and when you lift your gaze towards it, you see the third maker trudging heavily inside.

As soon as he spots the children staring back at him through wide, frightened eyes, Yarin stops dead in his tracks, every muscle in his massive body turning rigid.

“Er...” Perplexed, he roves his eyes up to you and blinks, surprised to see you standing behind the younglings for a change, not in front of them.

In the span of seconds, the air inside the tree grows thick with disquiet and you're convinced that at least some of the kids are about to turn tail and dive behind you in search of protection.

It's Elanya's voice that ends up cutting through the uneasy tension.

“Yarin!” she exclaims, gesturing towards the children, “Just in time'! Mind keepin' an eye on the bairns while I see to these accident-prone ninnies?”

No sooner does the suggestion leave her lips than your heart drops down into your shoes faster than a stone sinks in a puddle and you begin moving towards the kids, noting that some of their faces have gone pale.

“Uh, I – I don't think-” you start, only to be cut off by a heavy but gentle hand falling upon your shoulder, almost throwing you off balance despite the care with which it's placed there. Glancing backwards, you find yourself peering up the length of Ulthane's muscular arm and meeting his powder-blue eyes.

Sensing your obvious hesitance, the maker offers you his trademark grin. “They'll be okay, bonnie,” he rumbles quietly, “Yarin'd sooner pull his own teeth out than let anythin' happen to those littl'uns.”

Biting your lip, you swivel your head around to look at the strange maker again. Ulthane you've started to trust and Elanya is slowly but surely endearing herself to you. Yarin, however, is a complete unknown. You've hardly heard him say two words and so far, you've found he's been the most difficult maker to get a bead on.

Shaking your head, you briefly resist against Ulthane's hand as he tries to pull you towards the spot where Elanya stands waiting, a wet cloth dangling from her fingers.

“I don't know...” you mutter even as the Old one succeeds in half steering, half dragging you across the tree and parking you in front of the younger maker, who bends onto her knees and slowly reaches out for you.

“You're not goin' any further from 'em than here,” Ulthane continues to murmur reassurances as he leans against the stone structure, observing Elanya's hands with rapt attention, ready to reprimand her if she becomes too rough.

You're so focused on Yarin as he cautiously settles himself next to the crate that you jump when large, warm fingers slide underneath your hands and lift them into the air and you very nearly end up pulling away, but two thumbs pressed gently against your palms keep you in place.

Whipping your head around yet again, you come face to face with Elanya's sunny grin and find that she's the one with her hands cupped oh-so carefully under yours. She almost seems mesmerised as she strokes the pads of her fingers along your delicate wrists, only catching herself once Ulthane very deliberately clears his throat, causing her to give a start and lean over to inspect the dried wounds on your palms more closely, tutting at the Old one's possessiveness.

“You don't have to worry about Yarin, you know” the youngling says matter of factly. Briefly, her gaze flicks up to your face before returning to your hands once more and she adds, “Aye, he looks like the sort of brute who'd eat humans up for breakfast, but between you and me?-” Pausing, she squeezes one eye into a wink and lowers her voice, whispering, “- he's a ruddy great softie, he is.”

As if to prove her point, she raises her chin and smiles fondly over your head and after following her gaze, you actually let a chary little bubble of laughter burst from your mouth at the sight before you.

Surprisingly, it's Ashleigh who appears to have approached the moustached behemoth first. She stands in front of his crossed legs, kneading her fingers into her bright, yellow dress as Yarin scoops something out of the crate and slowly holds his hand out towards her with a small sandwich packet sitting in the centre of his comparatively gargantuan palm, looking thoroughly lost.

It takes a couple of tense seconds, but gradually, the girl begins to inch forwards and pries her fingers away from the fabric of her dress, all the while staring up at the maker warily.

However, when he doesn't suddenly spring forwards and snatch her up, she grows a little bolder and stretches out over his fingers until she can reach the sandwich. Then, with the hesitancy of a doe, Ashleigh draws the precious food close to her chest and even from halfway across the tree, you can hear her meekly say, “Thank you,” giving Yarin one of her rare and peaceable smiles for good measure.

Behind you, Ulthane lets out a chuckle as his fellow maker's ears prick forwards happily and his cheeks are stretched by a beaming grin, as though the young human had just handed him the sun itself.

“Well, would you look at that,” Elanya murmurs, gently dabbing at your palms with the wet cloth, “I've nae seen him smile that wide since Dagny was born.”

Suppressing a wince from her ministrations, you raise an eyebrow and ask, “Who's Dagny?”

The blonde maker hesitates, her mouth hanging open as though she's only just realised what she's let slip and now has to decide whether or not it's her place to say more. In the end however, she resumes cleaning the dried blood off your palms and slowly mutters, “She was... Yarin's bairn.”

“Yarin... has a daughter?” you breathe, looking back at the brawny giant with newfound curiosity.

To your rear, unseen, Ulthane's eyes slip closed and he bows his head, exhaling a regretful sigh that escapes his lips in the form of a single word. “Had...”

You don't ask him to elaborate.

“I’m... christ. I’m so sorry,” you croak to the makers behind you instead, regarding Yarin with a little less caution and far more sympathy, “I never even considered...” Ashamed, you trail off at the realisation that all this time, you haven’t really given any thought to the idea that these large and incredible beings might also have families, just the same as humans do. You find yourself humbled by this new piece of knowledge and make a private vow to offer Yarin an apology for the way you’ve been staring at him, as though he were a threat to the kids.

Observing him now as he sits with his shoulders hunched and his head tucked in to make himself appear smaller for the sake of easing the children’s nerves, you berate yourself for being so quick to judge.

#darksiders #darksiders 3 #ulthane #fluff #kids #found family #gentle gianrs #angst #reader #next up #Yarin and Kitty #Elanya and Ashleigh and Sam #Reader and Ulthane find themselves alone outside the tree

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years ago

Text

The Recruit (3/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Violence may be wished upon Captain Rogers. Injury, blood, overall not happy times. Some poorly-written fight scenes.

Notes: Sorry for the lateness! Work’s been hectic and I’m about to pull a 9-day marathon. Please send love and chocolate and alcohol. Enjoy! x

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

It comes as a colossal shock to you that, two weeks following the incident with Captain Rogers in the gym, you’re paired up with him and Sam for a mission in Lima. When you receive the email, short and to the point, you spend a good few minutes blinking, rubbing your eyes, spluttering at your desk. Surely you’re imagining it that Captain Hardass has requested you to partake in this mission.

You’re proven wrong when he sends an email in response to yours, in which you claim there’s a mistake, that reads: “Quinjet takes off at 8 PM tonight. Miss it and you’re gone.”

So you show up fifteen minutes early, garbed in an all-black SHIELD-issued tac suit and heavy boots. At the gentle behest of Bucky, you’d applied the salve to your knee as you dressed, just in case. The slight numb feeling in the joint makes you smile - or is that the thought of Bucky?

Your acquaintanceship has blossomed headlong into an easy friendship. He works out with you in the gym, finds you when you’re lounging in the SHIELD common room. In turn, you’ve introduced him to some modern music once you’d learned he’s still trying to catch up. You’ve also gotten him sucked into Netflix and binge-watching shows, which the two of you do together often. Sometimes, you’ll just read while he learns how to work Snapchat or works on mission reports.

He’s easy to get along with despite the rocky start he’d had to the Avengers Initiative. Gentle, in spite of the horrors he’d survived; cheeky and sassy and so quick-witted it sometimes throws you off. He’s overall just...good.

It’s such a far cry from the relationship you have with his best friend that it nearly gives you whiplash.

And the look Captain Rogers gives you as you enter the hangar is proof of that. He’s glaring fiercely, even finding fault in the fact that you’re early for takeoff.

“What?” you snap before you can stop yourself. You cringe internally, wait for the reprimand for insubordination. You couldn’t help it - your reaction to him is automatic hostility, matching what seems to be his reaction to you as well.

You’re not sure where he gets off on such behavior, but you’ve about had it with Captain Steve Rogers.

“You’re late,” he barks, and it sends white hot rage through your blood.

“You said takeoff was at 8. It’s 7:50,” you retort, make a show of waving your wristwatch in his face.

“Prep is half an hour prior to takeoff, Agent.”

Oh, you could slap the smirk off his face. If you both a) wanted to fist-fight Captain America and b) wanted to be fired for assaulting a commanding officer. He seems to see the struggle on your face because his smirk widens, darkens when he knows he’s won.

“Forgive me, Captain. It appears my commanding officer seemed to have left that part out,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

“A good agent should know when prep time is without her CO reminding her,” he shoots back, and a hot rage boils in your belly.

You brush by him roughly, keeping your biting retort on your tongue, stomp into the jet.

Sam is seated at the controls. You haven’t interacted with the Falcon all that much, but he gives you a bright, welcoming grin that eases your aggravation a little.

“Welcome aboard Falcon Airways,” he chirps, and you find it in you to smile a little. The Falcon glances over your shoulder at Captain Rogers, nodding once, and begins takeoff. Captain Rogers prefers to stand, while you opt to keep your distance in a seat towards the back.

The ride is mostly quiet; Sam and Captain Rogers go back and forth, muttering between themselves, but it’s too low for you to hear. Occasionally, though, the Captain shoots you unreadable glances, and your mind itches with the knowledge that they’re discussing you. It sours you, puts you in a bad headspace that you know you need to get over. It’s your first mission - you can’t fuck it up.

Not with Captain Rogers there to see it.

Sam expertly lands the jet about an hour later. You’d spent most of the ride going over the details of the mission, analyzing each bulletpoint and retaining as much information as you could. In your opinion, it doesn’t hurt to be mentally prepared. Know thy enemy, you think the phrase goes.

(Un)fortunately, Captain Rogers benches you inside the jet. You’re incredulous, and you do a poor job at hiding it. Your first mission, and you’re benched?

“I beg your pardon, Captain?” you question as he slides the famed shield onto his back. He barely glances at you, only doing so when you follow him to the ramp. Then, he rounds on you.

“I said, you’re to remain here. In the event that we need you, we’ll call for you. Until then, do us both a favor and stay put.” He doesn’t say another word, merely stomps down the ramp.

Sam’s hand is warm on your shoulder, and you turn to him. His face reads of sympathy, but an unwillingness to go against his Captain’s order.

“He just wants you to stay safe. First mission and all. Keep your comms on, learn some things, and then you’ll get your chance.” He smirks a little when you scoff in disbelief. His wingsuit is buckled across his thick chest, goggles pushed up his forehead. He checks and rechecks his weapons.

“Next time, kid, it’ll be you out there. We’ll call if we need you.” And then he’s gone.

You can hear the two of them going back and forth, Captain Rogers calling out instruction and Sam countering it with a different strategy. They operate like a well-oiled machine, and you can only hope one day you’ll have that kind of comradery with your teammates.

You spend much of your time alone balancing your knife on your fingertips, disassembling and reassembling your sidearm, and poring over the mission notes once again. It’s boring, but you suppose, in the calmness that follows your initial outrage at being confined to the jet, you understand why Captain Rogers has done it. You’re green as can be, and though you’ve done simulations, have trained under duress, you’re still not quite sure how you’d react in the face of real danger. Perhaps you should be a little relieved, but still, there’s an underlying feeling of resentment towards your prickly Captain.

Narrowly avoiding slicing your finger open as you flip your knife, you startle when Sam’s panicked voice comes over the comms.

“Agent L/N, we need you - now. Southwest corner, fifth floor.” He’s cut off by gunfire, grunting, the sounds of fists meeting flesh. You don’t hesitate, slide the knife back into its sheath.

A second voice in your ear makes you pause. “No, Agent. Remain where you are. Do you hear me? Do not leave your post.”

Captain Rogers growls at his attacker, the echoing ping of his shield loud in your ear. You know the Captain outranks Sam, yet with the noises of the fight in your ears, it’s hard to obey orders when they so clearly need your help. Mind made up, you arm yourself to the teeth, tighten the straps of a Kevlar vest and slam the button on the ramp to the jet.

Nondescript, the building in front of you looks like an office, innocent, unimposing. The gunfire coming from within it, however, shatters that illusion. Your stomach curdles nervously, hands a little shaky where they grip your handgun, trigger finger along the frame, safety flipped off. The door in front of you is smashed open, a boot-shaped dent in it. On silent feet, you enter the building, follow the sounds of gunshots, shouting, the ring of Captain Rogers’s shield.

Sweat beads at your hairline, slides a salty line down to your eye. Jaw clenched, body rigid like a cat ready to pounce. Every bit of your training kicking into high gear as you focus on untoward sounds around you. Bodies litter the floor in the next room, all knocked out or dead, you’re not sure, but you clear the room and move on quickly.

Soon enough, you find Sam and Captain Rogers, each of them bogged down by men in dark tac suits. The shield glitters under the fluorescent lighting as it flies through the air, sends a man careening into a wall, returns to the Captain’s hand thanks to the magnetization. Sam, meanwhile, has his wings folded into the suit and grapples with a brute of a man who has his hand around his throat.

You aim your gun, careful, steady. Inhale, a squeeze of the trigger on the exhale. Bullet meets its mark in the brute’s shoulder. His cry is gruff, a spray of ruby as he presses a hand to it, and Sam sees his opening. A hard boot to the chest has the man flying backwards, head colliding with a metal desk that’s been flipped in the melee.

You throw yourself into the fight despite a sharp order from the Captain to stand down. Yet how can you when the two of them are overcome? You abandon the gun, slide it into the holster at your side and instead reach for your knife. It quickly meets the innards of an approaching enemy, and you drag it upwards towards his neck, open him to the bone of his sternum. You’re drenched in blood, but you shove him away, move onto the next.

Your hand-to-hand is sloppy, but it gets the job done as you slash and stab each body that throws itself at you. A punch to the ribs has you gasping, arching away from the attack as pain blooms in your side. It’s a mistake - your attacker is fast and hits you again, a left hook that sends you spiraling, puts stars in your vision. You hit the floor on your hands and knees, nose bloody and head swimming.

You cry out roughly when his boot meets your stomach, knocking you flat on your back. Your grip is slippery on the handle of your knife, slick with blood, and it’s all too easy for your attacker to gain control. He straddles your hips, plants a knee on your knife hand and pushes. You feel the bones snap under the weight, sending a blaze of pain up your arm, and yours fingers loosen around the handle.

The man’s hands move to your neck as the bones in your wrist are crushed, fingers going numb and losing grip on your knife. The sounds of the fight around you begin to fade out at those gloved fingers tighten, press down on your windpipe until your vision blackens at the edges.

And then they’re gone - the hands around your neck, the weight on your broken wrist. A wrenching gasp from your throat while your entire arms feels as if it’s on fire. Whimpering, you cradle it to your chest as Sam helps you sit up. Around you are the bodies of the rest of the men, a sea of varying shades of black and charcoal stained with blood.

You grimace as your wrist is jostled, press it tighter against your chest as Sam helps you stand. Even with your head down you can feel Captain Rogers glaring fiercely at the side of your head. But he stays silent, at least until you’re boarded on the jet, arm in a makeshift sling.

“I ordered you to stay put,” he barks, face going red with his ire. “A good agent obeys command, not ignore it for five minutes of fame!”

Your face heats up in fresh anger - an emotion you’re quite getting used to around Captain Rogers. You grit your teeth against both his criticism and the pain in your wrist, level him with a fiery glare.

“If I had obeyed, who the hell knows what would have happened to both of you? Sam called for help - I answered.”

“And I said no. That trumps what Sam says,” Captain Rogers responds heatedly. Sam, bless him, pointedly ignores the argument in the back of the jet and prepares for takeoff.

“But you both were overwhelmed! Am I really just supposed to sit here while you get your asses kicked?”

“You might as well have! You nearly got yourself killed in the process. You have no experience in the field, and with that shoddy hand-to-hand, I’m not surprised you ended up where you are! In fact, I’m really surprised you aren’t dead.”

A sharp inhale, though whether it’s from you or from Sam you aren’t sure. Your mouth snaps shut with an audible click, teeth grinding hard as pressure builds behind your eyes. You look away, silently relinquishing this argument, and you can feel Captain Rogers’s gaze burning your face. But you refuse to break, refuse to let him see just how much his criticisms have affected you, have hurt you.

When the jet lands, you tear off of it, making for the med bay with your head down and feet quick. Behind you, you barely make out Sam and Captain Rogers exchanging words. You pay it no mind as you ignore your fellow agents, who all seem to know exactly what has happened already. Whispers flurry around you as you hurry to the elevator, making your face burn in embarrassment.

They’re prepared for you - Sam must have called ahead to let them know. To your surprise, Bucky is waiting too, and when he sees you, his expression is so worried it makes your heart pound. He’s gentle where he grasps your shoulders, eyes flying over you form until he sees the sling and your bound arm.

“Jesus, Sam called for medical but when Steve got on the radio too, I just...I got so worried, doll.” Whether his use of the pet name is intentional or not, it still makes your belly flutter, face flush, and his hands warm your body from the inside out.

“I thought the worst,” he admits, crystalline eyes shining and wide and so damn inviting you let yourself fall into him. He steadies you, an arm around your back and the other cradling your head.

It makes you forget your anger for a little while, allows you to simply enjoy his warmth, the safety you feel in his embrace. His flesh hand is warm where it slides up and down your back, the most comforting of touches that you know you should reject yet can’t.

Finally, you begin to feel a little awkward, your injured arm between you against his warm chest, and you step back. He lets you go but keeps his hands on you, begins to lead you to the waiting team of medics. They take you from Bucky, bring you into a room for an x-ray. He watches you, still worried but warmth in his gaze.

It keeps you distracted, blocks out the pain while they set your arm in a cast, prescribe you painkillers, and send you on your way.

Chapter Four

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #the recruit #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve x reader #steve rogers angst #bucky barnes angst #steve x you x bucky #bucky x steve x you #bucky barnes x you x steve #bucky x reader x steve #steve x reader x bucky

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draven-imani · 4 years ago

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Journal 8

I met the Queen of Mendev. Which somehow managed to still be impressive even after meeting the Inheritor a few days ago, which speaks pretty highly to her. Aaaaaand the Queen kind of sort of knighted me and gave me a promotion to commander of own legion and I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out a little.

Right. Right—let’s just take it from the top.

Our little group had met up at Defender’s Heart when we got word from Commander Spriggans that there was an attack on the horizon. We made our way outside and saw an enormous force approaching. There were a number of those colossal Ulkreth demons that Hiskaria had seen demolishing buildings during the first attack, as well as a full army of lesser demons. They were marching on us rather than teleporting straight in—we figured specifically to show off their might to lower our morale.

Then, before the army could reach us, a second army from the East came charging into battle. Above them great metal machines flew overhead, and they dropped into the middle of the demon army these huge metal scorpions, which landed and began shooting the demons with beams from their tails. A person with green hair and glowing lines down their body gave a battle cry as they grabbed onto one of those giant metal scorpions and caused it to shoot that appeared to be an empowered disintegrate out of its tail into one of the Ulkreths.

The United Mendev-Numeria Alliance had joined the battle, just in the nick of time. With the use of their ‘Annihilator robots’, those big scorpions, and ‘laser guns’, and all sorts of other weapons I’d never even dream up they cleared out the demons. Even Hiskaria was about speechless. I think her words were something like “I thought Kevoth-Kul didn’t have that many of those”.

We were all incredibly pleased with how that went, and everyone was heading to Defender’s Heart for a victory ‘we didn’t get crushed by demons for another day’ drink, when a messenger came to get the four of us. Apparently Queen Galfrey had come to Kenabres herself. And apparently she’d been told about what we’d done the day before. And apparently she wanted to meet with us personally. She gave us the option of meeting at her personal war tent or at a place of our choosing. We decided it seemed most polite to meet at her tent. Melody and I decided to go dressed in the fine clothes we’d gotten from the kind shop keeper who had given us the free incredibly nice clothing for saving his wares the other day. Hiskaria and Luna…did not. It turned out it didn’t really matter. I will compared Queen Galfrey to the Inheritor in one way—she is a warrior as much as anything else.

When we arrived to the Mendev-Numeria encampment, we were met by the green haired person, Coremagon—an android, the first I’ve ever met. They had a particular quirk, in that they were not particularly good with emotions, and kept blowing up in anger. It also turns out they are Cassandalee’s herald. I would say I bet that was pretty cool for Hiskaria, but honestly considering her goddess talks in her head, maybe it was kind of mundane compared to how utterly in awe I would have been in her place.

I admit, I may have gotten Coremagone riled up a little. I wasn’t necessarily trying to. I was actually trying to help. Legitimately. I’m not exactly the best with emotions myself. I figured, it’s more pleasant to focus on trying to feel the good ones than the bad ones, right? That’s what I do, at least. Smile.

Well, apparently telling the herald of the god that they should smile is a bad idea.

I got thrown into the air by a whirlwind and landed on my ass.

They got told off by the queen though, so I got a little vindication.

We went into Queen Galfrey’s war tent and met the Queen herself. She was an incredibly striking figure. Definitely more warrior than bureaucrat. She waved a hand over her war table, and an enchantment in the table went off that caused a feast to appear, and she invited us to sit and eat while we spoke of recent events. We confirmed the reports she’d received of what had happened at the Grey Garrison, and she told us some of what has been happening at the borders. The Stormlord’s forces have been attacking at the borders of Mendev since the fall of Kenabres, and without the Wardstone’s barrier it is now only the armies of the crusaders standing between them and the rest of the world.

She said that while some people understand the gravity of the choice we made, and the lives we saved in doing so, others are calling us traitors for destroying the final shred of the barrier and the last hope of renewing it.

Queen Galfrey had a new task for us. As a member of the Crusades I am, of course, obligated to see this through to the end, but she offered to the others that if they wanted to help to clear their names and to do something to strike a blow against the demon hordes, she had a mission for us.

Her Majesty asked that we travel with a legion of her men to Drezen, to take back the captured fortress, and to retrieve the Sword of Valor, the very banner once held aloft by Iomedae herself, which if hung in the town again would expel the demonic forces. Currently the bulk of the forces from Drezen were with the Stormlord on the border, and the Queen intended to take her army to keep their attention there while a smaller strike force went in and took Citadel Drezen. I mentioned that we’d discovered that Stauton Vhagn was involved in the attack on Kenabres, and that he was holed up in Drezen as well. The Queen felt this was all the more reason to strike while the iron was hot and take Drezen back from him.

Luna said she would be willing to help, but she had no desire to lead an army. Queen Galfrey agreed that Luna and Melody were not members of the crusades, and therefore the choice was theirs to not take such a role. She also asked Hiskaria for her paperwork, and signed off on her release papers, before sending them off to be returned to Kevoth-Kul via some sort of magic portal. She said that technically Hiskaria was free to go now, as she had done more than enough to warrant her release in good faith. However the Queen had a feeling that Hiskaria would see this through to the end, and Hiskaria agreed that she wanted to do so as well.

With that said, Queen Galfrey declared that she was going to have each of us knighted and titled for our services. Should we survive this, apparently we’d each have land back in Mendev should we want it. That’s. A lot. That’s more than I ever expected to get out of all this. I didn’t come here to get anything, except maybe a little justice for those who died, and the ability to stop as many people from being made victims as possible. Actual physical rewards never really crossed my mind.

Actually surviving to the end of all this never really crossed my mind if we’re going to be brutally honest.

Melody was titled Lady-Lady Melody Legro, Lady of Grace

Luna was titled Luna, Lady of the Crescent Moon

Hiskaria was simply titled Lady Hope—Hope being her last name and something meaningful given her story.

And I guess now I am Sir Draven, the One-Eyed Knight.

I guess it’s a good thing I decided to quit being so self-deprecating about my scars after last night, or I might have felt a bit of a sting about the big thing that held me back all these years and kept me wallowing in the Raven Corps being what she decided to highlight in my title.

Okay. There might still be a little bitterness there. But—I’m working on it.

With this done, we were given a timeframe to expect to go—we will be leaving in three days time. Then we were dismissed, except for Luna who asked to remain to ask the Queen something in private. The rest of us gave her privacy and remained outside while she talked to the Queen about…whatever that was about.

Then we headed back to Defender’s Heart for a little revelry and to meet three new allies who the Queen had brought to our attention would be joining us with the legion. Aron Kir, a master spy with a strong knowledge base in siege warfare. His boyfriend and an old friend of Melody’s, Sosiel Vaenic, a Shelynite cleric and tactician with a vast knowledge of demons who didn’t really understand Melody’s desire to keep her heritage on the down low. And last, smallest, but certainly not least, Nurah Dendiwhar, a halfling bard who kept the sangrias coming throughout the night from a seemingly never ending box on her back. The three were extremely colorful and enjoyable characters who I was feeling very optimistic about working with.

Then while we were chatting, Commander Spriggans flagged me down. We shared a drink, and he handed me new orders from Queen Galfrey. Hiskaria was officially no longer part of the Raven Corps. And neither was I, since I would be leaving the city and therefore the Corps behind.

Instead, as I alluded to earlier, I had gotten a promotion. Commander of my own legion. I have a couple of days to think of a name and to get everything in order. Commander Tirabade—I guess I should be on first name basis with her now like everyone else? Irabeth is coming as well, as neither of us have field experience outside of Kenabres, but she has longer experience as a commander and is meant to be an advisor of sorts.

Inheritor help me that might be the strangest sentence I’ve written in this journal so far, Irabeth Tirabade is supposed to be my advisor on being commander of my own legion. It has been a few hours and this is still surreal to me. Aravashnial is coming along to lend his magic expertise as well, and Anevia wouldn’t be caught dead being left behind with Irabeth going.

Oh! I had forgotten in the middle of everything else, Queen Galfrey had some of her personal clerics see to Aravashnial and Anevia, so their injuries from the attack are no more. It is a relief, especially in regards to Aravashnial’s eyes. Queen Galfrey offered to do the same for my own eye, but I declined. I explained that I’d already learned how to fight with one eye, and I’d have to readjust if she healed me now. Which is very true, although perhaps not my only reason after the other day. It’s a good reminder, too.

More surprisingly, Horgus is coming as well. He’s going to be managing the army’s funds, field supplies, basically all around making sure the numbers are in order and we don’t run out of what we need when we need it, or get overzealous and overstock on something we don’t need. Which is all well and good with me, I don’t have a head for numbers myself. Hiskaria’s volunteered to help him and I’m more than happy to let her. She’s proven with her magic and assisting Aravashnial that she’s good enough at bookkeeping.

As for me…I’m a bit at a loss. I talked to Leto, of course. Asked him how he does it. Plays off being the cool confident leader like he does. Well—obviously it’s because he is. His answer basically boiled down to fake it until you make it, which is so not the answer I wanted to hear. There’s no way he’s been faking that confidence all this time. I’ve seen him, that easy charisma that just draws people to him. He’s in a league of his own.

I guess I’ll just keep pushing on forward like I always do. It seems to somehow work out, although I’ll probably have to hit a few stumbling blocks along the way. ‘Just act like you have confidence’, hm? I hate him sometimes. He’s infuriating. I don’t think he even knows how he looks to everyone else.

#journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #draven imani

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alovesongshewrote · 5 years ago

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Swords and Stab Wounds | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot: You had moved to Arcadia to avoid participating in world ending cataclysms, but fate had something else in mind. Now you’re helping stop the Eternal Night in some unconventional ways. [Hisirdoux Casperan x StronglyHintedtobeaDemigodorOtherMagicalCreature!Gender Neutral!Reader]

Word Count: 2,364 approx.

Warnings: Stabbing, minor mentions of blood, a wee bit of angst, swearing, Archie doesn’t like you (it’s because of the stabbing,)

masterlist

This wasn’t happening.

Nope, nope, nopenopenopenopenopenopenopenope, not today.

You were not okay with this, so you had elected to ignore it. But that never works, does it?

So, now you were face to face with a great monster beyond comprehension. The sky was orange, monsters and men were fighting everywhere, and some lady in golden armor was pretty clearly trying to take over the world. And you had moved to Arcadia to avoid this kind of thing.

You sighed. This demonic creature of sin wouldn’t wait for you to process everything that had happened today. It was time for action. You looked around for something to defend yourself with. There wasn’t much. Just a few sticks and a fast-food cup. You wished you had a sword. Any sword. There were no swords. You turned back to the awful horrible abomination advanced above the human mind. It was advancing. That wasn’t good.

Before you could decide whether to run, fight, or give up, a boy emerged from absolutely nowhere and struck the thing with a guitar, killing it instantly. This did not phase you, stranger things have, in fact, happened.

“You alright darling?”

Oh shit, he was talking to you. And he had an accent. Nice.

“Uh, yeah, I’m good,”

The boy gave you a thumbs up and ran back into the fray. You should’ve probably gotten in there too, but also nyeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, no thank you.

As if it had heard your hesitation, the universe decided to make this worse for everyone involved and blow up some various objects. You couldn’t tell what it was, you just saw fire and smoke. And then you heard the screams. As done with war and fighting as you were, you couldn’t stand by and let innocent people suffer.

It was time to go find a sword.

Finding a sword was not as hard as it sounded. There were a lot of them lying on the ground, just none in the spot where you’d been attacked. T’was inconvenient. As you fought, you realized that these were probably weapons of the deceased. You could mourn later, now was the time to- DUCK.

You maneuvered around one of the regular bad monsters (not the colossal tower of pure malice that you’d been saved from earlier,) finding an opening and striking. Fighting came to you as easy as breathing. Since you were a child you’d been fighting. Fighting for your family, your friends, your home. And now you were fighting again, for the innocent. When would the forces of evil take a nap?

‘Probably never,’ you thought as you slid under a sword, turning on your knees to slice the back of the creature’s knees.

Maybe it’s good that some things never change. Evil always wants to fight, and knees are always a weak point.

You stood, taking a deep breath as you looked at the carnage around you. Most of it was actually caused by you. You were very good with a sword.

“Woah,” a voice came from behind you. You spun around, pointing the tip of your blade at the new opponent, but instead of another rock-thing, you found the boy who had saved you earlier.

You lowered your blade, “Hey,”

The boy walked towards you, taking in the field of rock at your feet, “This is-”

“Different?”

“Nuclear! Maybe you didn’t need my help after all,”

“Oh, no, I totally did. I had no weapon and no hope,”

The boy seemed taken aback by your words. Arcadians probably weren’t this blunt, at least under normal circumstances. You weren’t sure, you had only lived here a week.

“Alright then, do you-”

“DOUXIE, LOOK OUT!!” a voice called. You had no idea where it came from, but you didn’t care. A monster had appeared behind the boy, and it was ready to strike. You had five seconds to do something.

And in those five seconds, you did what anyone else would do and you ran them both through with your sword. It was super effective.

The boy cried out in pain, because, you know, he’d just been stabbed, and the monster crumbled to stone behind him. Good. Now all that was left was to take care of the boy.

You withdrew your sword from his abdomen, earning a groan of pain, “You-you stabbed me,”

“Yes, you’re very observant, now let me see it,”

You put your weapon on the ground, not super jazzed about his blood coating the blade. Oh well, sometimes sacrifices must be made.

You helped the boy lie on the ground and moved your hands above his wound. You were ready to go, but then a dragon attacked you.

It wasn’t a big dragon. In fact, it was about the size of a cat. However, size doesn't really matter when it comes to damage dealt, and this cat-dragon was dealing a lot of damage.

“What the fu-”

“STAY AWAY FROM HIM,” Oh, so this was an angry cat-dragon. Probably the boy’s.

“Okay, dude, calm down, I can’t help if you don’t let me,”

“You’ve helped enough!” Cat-dragon was still not pleased with you. And was still attacking, so you moved your hands, stopping the creature in mid-air, grabbing it from where it flew.

“Okay, look,” you sighed, “I am sorry I stabbed your friend, but if you don’t let me heal him, he will die,”

“Ughhh, thanks for that,” you wondered if the boy was always this funny, or if it was just the stab wound talking.

The cat-dragon fixed you with a terrifying glare, one that would have turned you to stone if you didn’t have work to do, “I will let you help him, but if you try anything you’ll be burned to a crisp before your body hits the ground,”

It was an impressive threat, especially from such a small creature.

“Don’t worry,” you said, setting the cat-dragon down, “I won’t hurt him anymore,”

The cat-dragon then turned into an actual cat, curling up next to the boy’s head. It was then you realized that the creature was wearing some really nice glasses. You had several questions but now was not the time.

Wasting no more time, you shut your eyes and took a deep breath. Silently, you placed your hands upon the boy’s stab wound, wincing slightly at the feeling of his blood covering your skin. You felt bad about it. There were probably better ways to kill that monster, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. You had to focus.

And so you did. And the magic flowed through you. It was soft and warm, and bright. You relaxed, letting the spell numb you, calming your nerves, and mending your broken skin. It felt like a soft fire, lighting your soul ablaze, and taking everything else with it. And then you felt numb. The magic was burning through you, and burning out. Exhaustion began to claw at you, but you bit your lip and persisted. You were nowhere near finished.

Now it was the boy's turn. Raising your hands, you let the spell drip from you and onto him. Hopefully, the magic had taken enough energy from you to spare him from the numb fatigue that tore into you. God knows you’d already caused him enough pain.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the magic to heal him. A few minutes went by and his breathing returned to normal. He would be okay.

And with your positive diagnosis, you let the spell go, releasing the energy into the universe and knocking you over. You elected to remain on the ground, groaning. You could hear the cat-dragon-cat talking to the boy. You should probably say something too.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for that,”

You waited for a moment. Something else blew up nearby, but you needed a minute before you had the energy to care about it.

“I’m sorry I stabbed you. I really couldn’t think of another way,”

“Why not let the troll attack me, and if I got hurt you could heal me then?”

“I couldn’t know how bad it would hurt you. I don’t know very much about what’s going on here. But I do know that I can heal a stab wound. A… what did you say troll? A troll attack I don’t know if I could manage,”

“That’s… fair?”

“Thanks,” you nodded, even though he probably couldn’t see you. There was more silence, another explosion. You really wanted a nap.

“So, your cat-dragon talks?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s a shapeshifter, actually. My familiar,”

“Dope,”

“My name is Archie, however, you may not address me at all, much less by my name,”

“That’s fair,” you said, closing your eyes. There was a rock digging into your side. You couldn’t nap here, “I did almost kill your guy,”

“My name is Douxie,”

“Cool, cool, cool, I’m (Y/N),” you sat up and turned to face him, letting yourself take him in for the first time.

He was definitely cute. He was tall with a very nice face and hazel eyes that stunned you for a moment. His black was dyed blue at the ends, and the ends themselves were so long that they hung in his face. He had an aesthetic going for him for sure, a black hoodie, skull necklace. What would that be, cryptidcore? Dark academia? Punk? The metal cuff on his wrist definitely added to the confusion, but it probably didn’t matter too much what aesthetic this guy subscribed too. Maybe, if one day fate was kind enough to let him forgive you for stabbing him you could ask.

For now, there were more pressing questions, “So, what’s your deal? You have a familiar, so you’re either a witch or a wizard,”

“Wizard. What about you? Not everyone in this town can run a man through with a sword and heal him immediately after,”

“Good to know. In short, I’m a healer witch with a sword. In long-form I was a child soldier sent into a war that I never should have been a part of because of who my parents were,”

“Oh... (Y/N) I’m... I’m sorry-”

“It’s not your fault, it was a long time ago,”

“A long time?” Douxie sat up, “So you-”

“Yeah, I’ve been around for a while,”

There was another second of silence while you both tried to figure out what to say next, but that stopped being a problem almost instantly.

“Douxie, I don’t want to stop you from bonding with the witch who stabbed you,” Archie said in a way that made it 100% clear that he absolutely wanted to stop Douxie from bonding with the witch who stabbed him, “But there is still a battle going on,”

“Right,” the wizard stood up now, without any sign that he’d been dying a moment before. You’d done well healing him.

“Well, (Y/N), I guess I’ll see you on the other side,” he extended a hand to you.

You looked up at him. Maybe this was the start of forgiveness. That would be nice.

You took his hand and stood.

“See you on the other side, wizard,” you took a moment, debating whether or not this next move would be a good idea. It was a bad one, but you went for it anyway, “Bye Archie. I like your glasses,”

You ran off before the cat could threaten your life again.

It had been, like, a week, since Morgana and the rock squad had tried to bring Night Eternal to Arcadia, and you were settling in pretty well.

You had finally unpacked all of your things, including your decently sized sword collection, now with the addition of a Gumm-Gumm sword (not the same one that you’d nearly killed Douxie with. You still felt guilty about that and you’d decided to pick up a new one.)

Now, you were out for a walk near a bookstore. It looked interesting enough, so you decided to look into the front window, only to jump out of your skin when you saw Douxie on the inside, sweeping away at the floor. Unfortunately, he also saw you. So you decided to run.

You didn’t get very far. The wizard caught up to you almost immediately without having to run. It was your fault though. You had run into a dead-end alleyway.

“(Y/N)! Hey! How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since-”

“Since I stabbed you. I’m sorry about that by the way,”

“I mean… I wasn’t going to say that, but you are forgiven,”

“Great! Now if you excuse me, I’m just gonna,” You began to walk to the end of the alley, planning on climbing over the wall to get out of this awkward situation, but once again, you did not get far.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?”

You froze with one leg already on the wall. Slowly, you turned to face him. “I’m sorry, but did I not stab you a week ago?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t see how that interferes with coffee,”

“Why-what-how do you,”

“Are you okay, love?”

“Why don’t you hate me!?”

Douxie blinked and then smiled at you. Your knees felt weak. Was that a wizard thing? Was he doing that?

“You weren’t trying to hurt me, you were just doing what you thought was right. You have a weird way of doing things, but I respect it. Archie on the other hand-”

“Will your familiar kill me if I get coffee with you?”

Douxie put a hand to his chin, “He might try, but I won’t let him,”

You laughed at that, just a little, “Good. In that case, I’d love to get coffee sometime,”

“Brilliant! Now, do you want to get out of this alleyway?”

“Yes,”

“Okay, let’s go,”

And from there, the two of you had a very nice conversation on the way back to the bookstore where Archie tried to burn you alive.

It was a nice walk though, despite the singed edges on your clothing from the familiar at your destination. From the sounds of things, you’d get to know what aesthetic the wizard subscribed to very soon. And for the first time in a long time, you actually looked forward to something.

#hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #this had no planning put into it lol #hisirdoux x reader #toa hisirdoux #lovesong's writing

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