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multifandomfanatic02 · 1 month

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"Stuck in a Trap."

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 : deer!Alastor x human!Reader

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 : reader finds herself wandering the woods alone and falls upon a wounded stag stuck in a bear trap.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨 : deer Alastor, human reader, marked, soulmate trope in a way

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.3k

It was a cool night in spring. Nice enough to take a walk outside. You had decided to chose a descent into the woods behind your house. It wasn't dangerous or anything, had a nice gravel path. A few miles into it became an attraction to some tourists. Those who were into the whole haunting thing.

The most you heard were some silly ghost stories. What nonsense, you thought. Some believed there was a portal straight to Hell sitting in the thicket somewhere. Some believed there have victims from past murders buried in there. You weren't exactly into paranormal shit, you've lived and roamed these woods for years now.

No, the closest you have seen were the crazy amounts of dead deer lying on the floor. Hunters perhaps? Maybe mountain lions? Nah. The state of the deer made you feel bad, queezy more like. The poaching of the animals was upsetting to say the least. Whenever you went on these walks, you made sure to break whatever traps you could find. More often than not, all being bear traps. It was illegal in this area after all. Nobody really enforces the law around here considering how scared everyone was with this place.

You had been walking for what felt like a few hours. Your cue being the red and pink sky to head home. Oh but it just feels so right to be there. It wasn't until you heard a loud animal like cry that you stopped in your tracks. You bet it was a deer caught in a trap. What were you thinking following a scary sound like this. This kinda thing should only happen in scary movies.

After a few minutes of wandering around for the source of the sound, the creature in question comes in to view. It was a stag. What a divine animal this was. It was a lot larger than most deer, the biggest set of antlers you had seen. And it's color was dazzling. It was as if it reflected the crimson sky above it. There was no way that it was it's natural color.

Inching closer to it, the reason of it's cry came to your attention. A hoof was caught in a bear trap like you originally thought. Blood dripped from it's ankle, in attempt to soothe it, he licked it. Blood staining around it's mouth. Looks like he'd been there for quite some time.

Bending down to the ground, you hold up your hands hoping the creature would realize you were going to try and release it. All he did was bellow in hopes to scare you away. But you just stared in amazement. Your hand just inches away from the trap, the stag notices and understands your actions. Staying still for a few seconds.

His hoof finally free, you put the bloodied old bear trap in your bag. The beautiful creature bows his head slightly, one of his front hooves folding beneath him, obviously showing a little gratitude. You bent down to meet his gaze, returning the unusual human-like gesture. You didn't really think about it too hard.

Your hand reached out to him, in hopes he'll accept your advances. The stags ears laid back against his head as he pressed his forehead into yours. He backed away slightly, giving the entirety of your forearm a well deserved lick before bounding back into the thicket of the woods.

What a strange interaction. Something you surely won't ever forget whether you liked it or not. Upon looking down, you notice a green glow surrounding the area the creature marked. Looked like it was making out a subtle A-like symbol. Well time to proceed home and wash off.

A few years had gone by and the mark still remained on your arm. After many specialist appointments and surgeries, the doctors were just as stumped as you were. It wasn't a tattoo of any kind, no ink was found in the skin. It wasn't skin cancer. And crazy as it is, after several biopsies the mark simply grew over the scar tissue. It was a complete mystery as to what that mark was. And if you told everyone where you truly got it, they would all think you were nuts.

If that wasn't enough, you often felt prying eyes around your secluded house. The paranormal stories were beginning to sound sane after all the experiences you had. There have been many nights where the stereo would turn on by itself or static would just be heard. Or nights when a dark yet comforting shadow would loom over you as you slept. You eventually became accustomed to these intrusions. Most would have moved out by now.

Whatever was here was like a dark guardian angel. You weren't thinking about the holy ones whom would just, look after you, wish you the best of luck and bring you to heaven when you died. No. This one was different. The type to personally interfere with human affairs to keep you safe. The idea wasn't too off-putting considering you had done been in two severe car accidents and a tornado; somehow leaving all situations unscathed.

More often than not, you would have dreams about the stag you had found in the woods all those years ago. Talking about how you belonged to him. How you live under his protection. He had a name too but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. His voice was really unique and drew you in like a magnet. The dreams you've received were so surreal. Like you've known him all your life.

If this was paranormal, you were going to do some digging. The term typically refers to the dead, right? The town library should have records of your property and the folks who lived there before you.

It thankfully didn't take much to get the information you were looking for. There were several newspaper articles from the 1930's that included details of a man named Alastor. Alastor.. that was the name you heard in your dream. It explained the mark on your arm.

He was a local serial killer who targeted those who were for the most part ill intentioned. Especially toward women. He was found dead in the woods behind your house, burying one of his victims. Mistakened for an animal. Which is why to this day hunting is illegal in those set of woods.

More newspaper articles opened up about his profession. Despite the mans.. er.. hobbies, he was quite the talent as a radio host back in the 20's. Youtube even had some of the old audio recordings. Your heart soared upon hearing his voice. This was him. The stag you saved, the shadows watching over you, and the voice that whispered to you in your dreams.

What didn't make sense was.. why was he a stag of all things? Why did it feel real? Well, as it turns out, the power of the human soul varies in the afterlife. Some could just interact with inanimate objects while others can only muster a sound whether it be naturally or through something called a spirit box. Then, what was Alastor?

Ultimately, you had fallen in love with Alastor. Over the course of your life, you had gotten to know him from your sweet dreams. He often thanked you for your kindness. Never had he met someone that put his faith back into humanity. Who would show such a lowly animal mercy and generosity? And the day that you arrive in Hell, he'll be there to catch you and say.

"The name is Alastor, the radio demon. A pleasure to be finally meeting you properly. Welcome home, ma chère."

a/n: i would just like to say that none of the pictures are mine, creds to the amazing artists 🎨

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Yandere Fae King + G.N Huntsman Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Drugging, Kidnapping, Angst

What’s your favorite fairytale?

You hardly remember it now. It's been so long since you've been able to kick back and think back on all those old tales you once loved. Been a while since you've been able to do anything, really. The days drain away by the second with each life you take, and the nights in wait for the next cull. Your equipment receives better care than you’ve had in years.

If you were another person, maybe you'd seek for a change. Scrounge up every coin you earn and never looked back on this world, living free and without needless bloodshed. If only such a life was meant for a person like you. The person deserving of that dream died ages ago, on the day they learned to block out the screams.

He..lp me…

At least… The ones that no longer mattered.

You shift towards the source of the plea, equipping your trusty steel from the fire in which it brewed. It damaged the durability, but was the only way you could properly snuff the weakened voice. Its frightened face reflects in the flat blade of your axe; the bloodstains you weren’t able to remove marking its place as another victim to the flame. You've lost track of how many have fallen before it. At one time, you carved a mark into the handle of your weapon, but you lost the original piece for which you did so. You can’t recall if you stopped keeping track before or after that happened.

You stalk towards your captive like the cautious hero sneaking up to the wicked wolf to save the damsel in red, yet the only one who needs saving is one of you. Your feet grow colder the closer you approach, but lost in determination is not the cause. The snowy flesh and frozen tears of your prey chills the very air to a still. It's your first run in with such a creature, but far from the last. You raise your axe high.

“Please… Have you no heart?”

You would’ve gagged it if you had more rope. There's no reason to reply, for your eyes speak volumes. Silence rains as you bring down the axe.

A wet thud sounds as you toss the spoils from your kill on the ground.

“Found this in your barn. It's what's been freezing your crops.”

The farmer's face contorts in disgust, but they keep silent as they shove your payment in your hands and slam the door shut. You hear shouting over whether who will clean up the mess you made, but that's all behind you. With their miscalculation in pay, you should be able to get a decent meal in your system along with the supplies you need. The thought was a little too hopeful as the very second you allow yourself to rest, the ghost of your past comes knocking once more.

“Hunter.”

A note slides across the table you sit at, sealed with crimson wax.

“Your majesty requests your immediate attention.”

You take small bites of your food. The messenger sighs.

“Need I remind you that it's mandatory?”

“Do I have to remind you that I no longer work for that man?”

“This isn't about you or your issues with our king. It's about another.”

Their seldom glance towards the window is all you need to know. You settle your rumbling stomach with a drink of water and pour the remaining contents over the letter.

“Let's go.”

The messenger looks confused, and slightly worried. “I really think you should read-"

You quickly place your axe on the table, blueish blood embedded into the metal. “I said we're leaving. Take me to him, now.”

The messenger returns to the castle pale as a sheet and with you in tow. They hand you off to a younger hire to avoid the backlash of your arrival themselves; the servant leading you directly to the king's throne with the same tactic you used on the other party. The king sits in his chair, chatting away to anyone who'll listen to his personal retellings of the past. His general expression shows fearlessness and glee, but the trained eye could see the anxiety practically dripping from this shell of a man. A fear that unsheathes itself as he turns his head towards you. Not a thing has changed since you left.

“Hunter!” The king masks his faulty start with a well placed cough as he rises to his feet, arms raised. “It's been a while, hasn’t it, old friend? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow. We had a feast planned and everything.”

“I'm not here for pleasantries. Are you finally putting an end to this petty war or not.”

The king struggles to maintain his smile. “Ah, right. Never were one to allow yourself a break were you? Well once this task is complete, you'll have all the time in the world. We believe we've found something that will put an end to everything once and for all.”

He calls a servant to bring the item in question. It's a map. Hand drawn from what you can see. You drew one similar in your youth.

“With the noble sacrifice of our men, we've successfully navigated a path through the cursed part of the forest and straight to the fae king’s castle. There's theory that a hidden passage exists along its walls, but we have yet to figure it out. If anyone is able to, let alone kill that creature, it would be you. We'll prepare you a steed and armor by morning-"

“I'll leave before dawn.”

The king's eyes bulge out of their sockets like you just threatened his life. “Aha, surely you jest. There's the preparations, plus wouldn't it be better to leave on a full stomach and the support of your people.”

“No.”

Your flat, direct tone cancels any further argument. “If that is what you wish… old friend. Allow my staff to escort you to your room.”

You settle down for the evening in a room of the king's choosing. The bed is softer than you're used to, but too foreign to provide you with any actual comfort. You don't sleep that night, thinking of the life you'll have after you bring an end to the opposing forces' rule. A happy ending isn’t in the cards for someone like you, but maybe, just maybe- you'll be able to return home.

You refuse the servant's billionth attempt at offering you a warm meal, wolf down the dinner roll you snuck in, and tried to get some sleep with the remaining time you had.

You're up once again before the sun can peak over the horizon. The king, reluctantly giving in to your demands, greets you at the front gates with all the equipment his guard had prepared. You pick through it, only taking a water canteen, lantern, and the shiny new axe. The king appears uneasy with your hall.

“I do not doubt your skill, but is that really all you'll take? The journey may take less than a day, but you'll need to eat and walking yourself will only lengthen that time.”

“I know the beginning of the forest like the back of my hand. I'll be fine until I reach the creek. What happens after isn’t any of your concern. There's bigger fools than me ready to play hero if I don't come back.”

“I suppose you're correct…” He holds out his hand. “For luck? …and old times?”

You toss your bag onto your shoulder as you turn your back to the man.

“Suit yourself. Goodbye, Hunter.”

Word of your travel reached the village due to the drunken ramblings of an unnamed, yet frightened individual. The folk that shunned you lest they need your aid all watch as you set out towards the forest. Some try to give you words of encouragement or extra support, but you’re long past the need of their help. Taking your first step into the forest you feel the first thing you’ve felt in ages. Grief. It quickly passes once you cross the threshold of burnt wood laid out along the ground.

The start of the journey is as easy as you expected and remembered. Just a pleasant stroll through the woodlands, if you ignore the warning signs and nail marks in the tree bark. Some are faded and thin, but the majority are far larger and much fresher. They’re getting bolder. Best to hurry.

You make it to the creek with a few hours of daylight to spare. The bridge across it broke when you were a child, but now you were old enough to cross straight through without the fear of being swept away. The water barely reaches mid calf when you roll up your sleeves and step in. You hear splashing from nearby, but they quickly disburse with the squeak of a small gasp. The wise ones knew to steer clear of anyone who matched your general profile.

Crossing into the forbidden area of the forest, you expect more danger than you're met with. In this business, it's more worrying to go without danger than to be right in the middle of it. The only sounds you hear are the crunch of leaves beneath your boots – and the rumble from your stomach.

You stop to take a break at an overturned stump. The weight of the situation is really getting to you. Normally you’re about to go at least a day or two without something to eat, but now your body was fighting just to keep upright. You check your bag to see if you had anything left over from the last time you packed. It's empty, besides a single snack cake at the bottom of the sack. And a note.

“Dearest Hunter,

I know things between us have soured over the years. Your home was taken from you in the crossfires and that is truly one of my deepest regrets. I wish the fates could have turned out differently for you, but all I can do now is offer you my prayers and this final gift in hope that you'll forgive me in another life. Know that I do not even forgive myself. In the future, I pray you are cared for well.”

You crumble the letter and toss it back in your bag. Could be used for a fire if need be on your way back. You take careful bites of the cake. It's sweet and a bit tart, filled with some sort of jam which taste you can't put your finger on. It gets caught in your throat after you swallow the rest in one mouthful, but you dislodge it with a sip of water and continue on your way.

It's night by the time you make it to the castle. The snack gave you some of your energy back, but your legs still felt heavy. You bite through the fatigue and lift them high as you cross over to the unfamiliar land. You were warned of the king's carefree attitude, but you never expected it to be this lax. Not one guard manned the front gates nor the road to doors from what your blurring vision could see. The wiser choice would have been to round the back of the castle like the original plan, but the prospect of freedom and the growing headache lead you down the riskier path.

The heaviness of your legs travels upwards with each step you take. It isn’t long before you can barely keep a grip on your axe. You want to turn back, but something keeps you moving forward. The races through the trees. Cutting firewood in the fall. You want to be the person that loved those things so dearly in the past. You wanted to be you again.

Opening the gate with a shaky palm, you fall limp in the arms of the one person who could fulfill that dream.

Welcome home, my heartless spouse.

When you wake you find yourself in shackles. They're loose enough to give you a taste of freedom, yet they fit around your wrists just right to condemn you to the bed you lie in. You look around the room. It's impossible to move your body. Everything is so heavy and your throat is dry. A cool towel wipes away the sweat beading down your forehead.

“Are you finally awake? I’m so sorry for the confusion you’re likely experiencing. This was the only way we could be together with our people coming for your head.”

His hands creep up your neck. Soft, cloud-like skin more inviting than the pillow your head rests upon, but twice as cool. His eyes meet with yours, too beautiful pools of love and adoration, and so, so much sadness. Almost enough to drown out your own. You know this man. You’ve never seen his face, but you know.

“They'll come around someday. Maybe not a month. Maybe not a year, but they will. I know they will come to love this version of you just as I.”

His fingers sap the warmth from your skin. “What ever did happen to that sweet human I promised myself to ages ago? Worry not for any attempt at change, for my love for you counters any tide.”

You close your eyes. You don't want to hear another word of what he says. His lips ghost by your ear.

“Trust is a two way street. I should start our rekindling by informing you that it wasn’t just I who willed this fate upon you, but the king of the people you gave your years to.”

Your eyes snap open. The realization brewing gifts you the will to speak. “You're lying.”

“I wish I was. I know this hurts for now, but in the future you'll see it's the best for us all.”

Your breathing grows ragged. “You're a liar.”

“You and I both know that what I say is true. Deep down you know that the fire that broke out that day was not an accident. It was not by coincidence that the former king came across your weakened form. He was in need of a new tool, and you were in the prime condition to become his blade.”

You grit your teeth; nails sinking into the flesh of your palms. Precious memories break from the chains you had locked them in since that day. Your peaceful upbringing in the forest, the kind man who carried you away from the flames. The same man who made you kill those who you once called friends.

“You don't belong anywhere, my love. Raised right in the middle of the battlefield, neither side has use for you besides the things you can do. We are alike in that aspect. It's probably the reason you imprinted on me when we met for that brief moment he took you away. From that very second I knew – you were my everything.”

“Stop. Talking.”

“Don't be so cruel, my dear. There surely must've been a time when even you had a heart. I know that better than anyone. I will do my best to pick up those pieces and make you whole."

You can't keep it in. The floodgates you tried so desperately to keep up burst, and the decades of misery resurface. You thrash against your binds, kicking and spitting at the man who only draws his spit covered fingers into his mouth, and smiles so warmly at you.

“I'll kill you! I'll slaughter the people this land protects, and then I'll go after that bastard and his! I’ll kill you all and I won’t stop until I make sure every single one of you is dead. Don't fucking touch me!”

The fae king hushes you as he hooks his arms around your flailing form. He does his best to comfort you, even when one of your hits finally connects, and long after your screams turn into hoarse cries. He brushes your tears away just as he'll do someday when he takes away all your pain permanently.

“Worry not, my broken heart. You'll get your revenge when I bring you the broken body of that man to serve as the centerpiece for our wedding. We'll rebuild your cabin and live out the remainder of our days in nothing but happiness and pure devotion. Grief will only be a bad dream by then, but for now, just rest.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere insert #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere fae #yandere story #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere writing #yandere fantasy

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arctrooper69 · 3 months

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What Hurts the Most

A piece I wrote as a gift to @staycalmandhugaclone featuring her OC Doc and my Jedi!OC Danika. Set sometime after the season 2 finale.

❤️ Thank you for giving me permission to post this ❤️

Doc x Danika

WARNINGS: PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING. Viewer discretion advised. This is a bit darker than my usual fics. Suicidal ideation, self harm, survivors guilt, blood, medical care. Major angst but there's a good amount of comfort.

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

I couldn’t help myself.

The knife was in my hand, fingers curled tightly around the handle. It was almost surreal, but some part of me knew what I was doing. Some secret, sick, violent part of my mind urged me on, begging me to end things right here and now.

I don’t know why I did it. It just kind of happened. The knife seemed to slip as if it had taken on a life on its own and I was simply a passerby watching as the edge slid across my skin, drawing such a beautiful red.

It would make the pain go away. Of that I had fully convinced myself. The deeper the blade sunk, the more I found myself sinking along with it. Those heady crimson rivets fell like waterfalls and I wanted nothing more than to let them wash me away.

Let the Force take me like it took so many others before me.

It was only fair. Why did I have to be the one left behind again and again? I was nothing.

I was angry.

What did I do to deserve all of this? Why was I destined to fail each and every time I tried so hard to reach for success? What was the point of being a Jedi when there was no one left to save?

I had failed them. I had failed all of them. Master Plo. Lia. Echo. Hardcase. Fives. Kix. Comet. Sinker. Commander Wolffe. I couldn’t name them all and that broke me too. What good am I if I can't even remember the names of all the lives I could’ve saved?

All the Jedi? I remembered some.

Asher. Kylah. Willa. Torik. The younglings I pulled from the burning Temple. They were all gone now too - a testament to my weakness - only proving that I didn’t have what it took.

And Lia.

My precious Lia. Sacrificed herself in battle to save her men and I wasn’t there to save her. I felt her life flicker out like a candle and a part of me was gone as well. Maybe Master Plo knew, though he never said anything. I found myself wishing that he did - that maybe it would’ve been enough for the Council to throw me out - to spare me of all the pain to come.

Then Kix.

I’m so sorry, Kix.

Gone. Dragged away by Separatist droids as I lay bleeding in the street, unable to do anything but scream for them to stop - as if they’d listen to me. Powerless. Unable to help.

More like unwilling.

I should’ve forced myself to move. I should have willed my body back together. The Force could’ve done such miraculous things. But not through me.

The cybernetics in my spine ached - a gift from Master Krell. I tallied Umbara as the highest price for my failures. Allowing my anger to save and defend the honor of lives that would ultimately be lost anyway. Brother against brother orchestrated by Krell’s own hand.

Another unforgivable act.

I should’ve been able to face him. I should’ve been able to subdue him - to protect my men - not be flung aside like some helpless child. Maybe Kix would’ve been able to save more of his brothers if he hadn’t had to come and save me.

The thoughts came faster and more chaotic as they came, swirling and spiraling ever downwards like the blood that fell from my wounds.

---

I could hear footsteps now, thundering up the stone pathway. Quick and deliberate.

The sky was so pretty tonight, sun sinking low over Pabu’s golden beaches. The way it fell reminded me of others I had failed to save in one way or another.

Crosshair. Tech. Omega.

“Doc, get up here! Hunter!” Wrecker’s voice was loud. I didn’t mind though. The way his footsteps made the sandy ground tremble could have rocked me to sleep. It would’ve been peaceful. Finally success in something I could control.

It was taken from me then, knocked violently from my hands. Some stranger’s voice cried out as Wrecker’s vice-like grip locked around my arm and wrist, desperately trying to keep that crimson from flowing smoothly into the dirt. It wasn’t fair. That strange voice crying out for him to stop couldn’t have been mine. The pleas for him to let me have some semblance of control couldn’t have come from my lips because that would mean I had failed once again.

“Dani, why?”

I didn’t know his voice could sound so broken.

The agony of my reality didn’t hit me until Doc’s medkit hit the ground with a thud ringing though my head like her voice barking out orders.

I’m sorry, Doc. I just couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt too much. Please understand.

“Cyar’ika, why?” The crack in her voice hurt worse than the screaming icy sharpness that coursed nearly unbearably up my arm as she did what she was meant to do.

I found it endearing how easily she’d picked up the Mando’a from her boys.

Her words may have been gentle but her hands were not. I hadn’t realized how deep that blade had gone until her fingers pinched together the pulsing artery beneath my skin, forcing such a gutteral cry from my chest at the white hot sharpness she inflicted so ruthlessly.

I tried to run - to jerk away and hide from the agony of Hunter’s willing hands which twisted and wound the tourniquet obediently under Doc’s command, but I found that Wrecker’s arms, though gentle, held me fast.

Her voice was gentle with an edge of disappointment now - all of it laced with a quiet heartbreak. I couldn’t help the tears that streamed down my cheeks, nor the whimper of pain that tumbled over lips that had begun to go numb.

“I’ve got you, Dani. Look at me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I couldn’t bring myself to see how my actions had cut her just as deeply as the knife I’d used on myself.

“I need you to look at me.” Her fingers glided beneath my chin, caressing the same skin that she had kissed only hours before.

I wondered if she noticed how I watched her lips tremble as she brought my face up to look at hers. I wonder if the same shame that gripped me, now held her in its claws as well. I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault. I wanted to tell her that I loved her and never meant to hurt her like this.

“I’m sorry...” The words that leaked breathlessly over my lips were all that came out. I didn’t know what else to say.

The determined look she’d set over eyes shielded the tears I knew lay beneath. They were the same tears she had shed so long ago when she told me about her past. It seemed so long ago now, almost in a different life. I’d fallen in love with her then, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever told her that.

Had I failed her too?

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

She made no sound to answer me.

I couldn’t stop the hissing moan as she folded my arm over my own chest and pulled me into her arms.

“I know, cyar’ika. I’m sorry.”

My head felt so heavy. With so much weighing me down, I couldn’t fight how my head rested against her shoulder.

“Doc… let me help. I got her.” Hunter’s voice sounded strained, like I’d added another thousand pounds onto his already heavy shoulders. I couldn’t help the tears that came again, burning hot with shame that choked me like a fist around my throat.

I wondered if she knew how I felt that spike of protective instinct shooting through her soul as she stood, cradling me against her chest, pulling me closer and ever so slightly away from the concern of the others. I wondered if she was aware of the regret that weighed so heavily on my chest. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.

Her feet moved quickly with practiced purpose down the stone steps and across the landing platform.

“How can we help, Doc?” Wrecker’s voice echoed through my ears and her reply sounded almost comical as it warped and blended in and out with everything else. All I wanted to do was stay here in her arms. She was warm and safe. Everything felt different with her.

I could’ve floated into a dream where everything was alright again. A dream in which the weight of our actions had no effect on the galaxy around us. It was just simply us. Doc and Danika. What a beautiful world that would be, and I wondered briefly if she ever felt the same.

The sudden cold hand of reality cruelly pulled me back once again beneath fluttering eyelids and that thin cot of the medbay I was suddenly placed upon.

“No, no, no. Danika, don’t you dare!” Her voice was sharp. Panicked fingers pulling desperately at the lids of my eyes, forcing me into a sudden, uncomfortable wakefulness. I couldn’t help the twinge of despair in realizing she’d once again pulled me back to her.

I would only fail her again, and even that thought flooded me with a tangible guilt I could feel in my mouth.

“Don’t do that again!” She nearly shouted in an angry relief. “I won’t lose you too!” Her voice quieted, “I can’t…”

I could only turn my head to regard her under lidded eyes that were aready threatening to close again. I found myself unable to keep from shivering as I watched her gather what she needed in frantic movements.

I nearly smiled. It took a certain kind of courage to efficiently do what needed to be done even when the life of someone you cared about was on the line.

“Here.” She layed a blanket over me. Her eyes were kind but oh, so tired. It was the kind of tired where even a thousand nights of sleep would not ever been enough.

Her hand felt cold as she brushed the hair from my neck with nimble fingers. She held the autoinjector in the other.

“Just a pinch,” she warned, smiling in a sad, but comforting expression as I met her eyes.

I barely noticed the slight burn of the sedative she’d given me as I felt it pull me into the grasp of unconciousness. A terror suddenly gripped me tighter than anything I’d ever felt before and I felt myself fight how that sedative pulled me down. I couldn’t let myself be taken away like this - not when she meant so much to me. I knew then, whatever it took, I had to fight to stay with her. She was my rock. I was hers. She would be my reason to keep living.

---

Gentle fingers weaving through my hair, woke me slowly.

The door to the medbay hissed open. “How is she, Doc?” Hunter’s voice held that same tired concern as it had before.

The fingers in my hair paused their movements. “I think she’s starting to wake up.”

“Do you think we should - “

“Yeah,” her curt reply cut him off. “She’ll stay here for awhile. Just so I can keep an eye on her.”

“Good. I’ll give you some privacy then.” The door hissed shut and she sank into the chair with a sigh.

“Hey…” I whispered. She stiffened, pulling her hand from my hair. She stood up suddenly, moving her hands as though she didn’t quite know what to say.

“Hey!?” She repeated incredulously. The sudden sharpness of her tone startled her as much as it did me. “That’s all you have to say to me!? Hey!?” The anger she’d tried so hard to convey, cracked at the last few words. She took a breath as if to calm herself. My chest felt heavy. I knew I’d hurt her, but I hadn’t realized just how much.

“I…” I began.

“Oh, no.” she interrupted me, a fire ablaze in her eyes. “You don’t get to talk just yet!”

I fell silent.

“H-how dare you do something like that! How dare you…” her voice cracked as she collapsed back into the chair beside me, placing her forehead on mine, pressing so hard I could taste the salt of her tears on my lips as they fell. Her hands gripped my face as though she was afraid if she let go, I’d slip away once again.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” The anger in her voice was gone now, replaced only by grief and sorrow.

“Am… am I allowed to speak again?” I asked timidly, hoping a small grin and some infantesimal amount of good humor would help lift that awful weight from her shoulders.

She chuckled with a broken sniff as she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, “Yeah… I guess you can. Maker knows, I can’t stop you once you get started.”

It was my turn to chuckle.

“I… I’m so sorry,” My own words breaking over emotion I couldn’t hold back any longer. She wiped the tears with her thumbs as they flowed.

“I… Sometimes it’s just so easy to get all caught up in my own head,” I sobbed.

She moved, sitting on the cot beside me, lifting me so that my head rest against her chest. The beat of her heart was soothing. I could sit there forever and that sound would be all I needed to sustain my living.

“I know, she said, placing her lips on the top of my head. “That’s what I’m here for though, right?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, closing my eyes, leaning into her embrace as she wrapped herself around me.

“Promise?” She asked.

“I promise.”

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

@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97 @jambolska-grozdova @flyingkangaroo @melymigo @rain-on-kamino @jiabae @my-own-oracle @dragonrider9905 @queenofspades6 @ordinarylokix @jupitersaturnapollo @queencousland101 @vampire-rouge @southernbaguette @staycalmandhugaclone @dalu-grantkylo @dangraccoon @aconstructofamind @sev-on-kamino @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @atomickidsoul @caitnotfound @temmiegailg @skellymom @freesia-writes @trixie2023

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

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markedprey · 3 months

Note

grabs his face and brutally attacks him with kisses ❤️

@bloodybcrbie

It was an unexpected sort of love, then again, it seemed everything about their relationship was just that- unexpected. To think that it was fate, or maybe just dumb luck that he’d happened to move in nearby her, a little trailer park full of little people with truly nothing to their names. It was why he’d picked the place at all, far from home, a chance to hide away from any crimes he was running from. What he had never expected was to find someone so similar, the girl next door, so seemingly innocent- unaware of what dangers lingered beneath her charming smile. All it took was a single slip up on her part, and he was oh so quick to find out her wicked truth. Killers, one in the same, how he could tell, plain as day, when she tried so hard to hide the body. It was then on he knew she was special, not just another victim, but the hunter herself, luring men in like flies to a black widows web.

In truth, he enjoyed watching her, for how many days, weeks, he couldn’t remember. In one man would go, out they’d roll in a suitcase, a box, where he was so quick to help her when she couldn’t carry them on her own. Admiration in her dedication, which brought them closer, each day stopping in to help her, and with it their desire for one another. Unable to resist, how he was drawn to her, the need to protect her- and from that something stirred within- love in the least expected place. It seemed like they were always meant to be.

Why he couldn’t help but smile, knowing when she was near without even needing warning. The sound of her footfalls, her soft little song she’d hum to herself, the scent of her perfume- he knew it all too well. The gentle touch on his arm was enough to pull him away from his work, working away inside the hood of his truck as she’d try and pull his attention away. It didn’t take much, truth be told, lowering himself to her level as she’d take hold, closing his eyes and letting her lips roam where they wanted, painting his face with a crimson red he knew would definitely stain. Still, he didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch or complain for her to stop. Instead his hands would move, taking hold of her waist, pulling her in flush so he could instead lift her up. Like second nature to him, her small frame and the way he could hold her with ease, stopping to drop the hood of his truck so he could sit her on top of it instead. Pure, undivided attention, not caring if the neighbors saw as he cozied himself between her legs, hands roaming down the curve of her waist, along her legs, head tilting to the side with a smile of pure adoration on his face.

“You sure know how to distract a man, I’ll give you that much…” Fingers would skirt up just beneath her dress, toying with her while he had her full attention. “Y’know, I was just thinking about you. Figured I’d stop on by later… but now that you’ve got me, how about I stop in for some of that lemonade of yours, hm? And whatever kinda dessert you got saved for me...”

#ask.#v: main.#wholesome adorable 10/10.#bloodybcrbie

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estel-eruantien · 7 months

Note

“Make me yours.” Dustin/Hunter

“Haha, eat my dust, Hunter!” Dustin cried, whooping as he zoomed away from the crimson ranger. The two had been racing all evening, along with Blake, but he tapped out about half an hour ago when Tori and Shane showed up inviting them all to dinner.

The other two, Hunter having been teased and tormented by the yellow all day, were not to be slowed down. They made some kind of stupid bet that if they won so many races then they’d have to buy the other drinks (knowing full well that Dustin wasn’t old enough to buy alcohol, but Hunter could get them “the good stuff.”)

Somehow, by sheer dumb luck, Dustin had gained the upper hand in the last hour, pissing off the red in a way that Lothor never could. He swore up and down he wasn’t getting alcohol, but Dustin would just look at him and stick his tongue out and then dash off for another lap so Hunter just HAD to follow–

And despite his best effort, Dustin beat him by two races. The others weren’t interested in their petty game, so they had ditched them for dinner a while ago. It was just the two of them when they put their bikes away and Dustin was literally singing and dancing in his victory.

“I beat you, I beat you,” He sang, pumping his fists and shaking his hips back and forth as they walked away from the track. “Now you gotta get us driiiiinks,” He held out the note poorly, stepping up into Hunter’s frowning face.

“No, Dustin,” He shot down, barely holding his frown, “I’ll get you a soda or a frosty or something, but no alcohol. You’re basically a child.” He said, mock pouting at the sad face Dustin was making at him.

“Pleeeeaassseee, Hunter!” The yellow ranger begged, getting down on his knees in the dirt. Hunter felt his heart stop at the sight, the gentle light of the sunset complementing Dustin well. “I’m an adult, you know that! And I won fair and square, come on, man!”

The brunet leaned forward, hands grabbing onto Hunter’s hips, trying to knock him off balance. He knew Dustin’s game. He wouldn’t give up until Hunter bought him one of those fruity little drinks he liked.

“Fine,” Hunter sighed, looking away from Dustin until he felt the man stand up and shout in victory. Quickly, he added, “you can have a beer from my fridge.” He stuck his tongue out at the crestfallen look he got in response.

Stepping forward quickly, the crimson ranger wrapped his arms around Dustin, smirking as he said, “What? All you said was that you wanted alcohol. I already have that.” He leaned in close to the other and whispered in his ear, “Come back to my place, maybe we can play another game for your drink.”

Hunter has no idea where this courage came from. He and Dustin flirt all the time, really, but rarely do they act on it except for some touching here and there. Something about the adrenaline tonight, the sunset, and Dustin’s cocky ass smile has Hunter wanting to play too.

“Bring it on, Bradley.” Dustin agreed in a flash.

At the apartment, Hunter set out the beer, taking one for himself, but knowing full well that Dustin wouldn’t touch it. He watched the yellow ranger walk around the apartment, not accustomed to being there. He was nervous, Hunter could tell by the way he shuffled his feet and fiddled with his clothes. Dustin was losing his edge while Hunter was gaining it.

“Alright, hotshot,” He started, taking a big swig of his beer and setting it down. He walked up to Dustin and pushed him up to the wall. “We gonna address the elephant in the room for once?” He asked, face close to the other’s.

Dustin gulped and breathed slow, shaky breaths. “Wh-what do you mean?” He wasn’t stupid. He was the first to flirt with him ninety percent of the time. Hunter wasn’t going to let him play dumb here.

“You flirt with me all the damn time and think you can get away with it.” Hunter explained, smirking at the strange look on the yellow’s face. He wasn’t scared, but he wasn’t confident either. He was nervous, but also enjoying this closeness. He was aroused.

“I-I’m sorry.” Dustin said, slowly, trying to read the situation. “I’ll stop if it upsets you–”

“I like it.” Hunter affirmed. “I don’t want it to stop. I just want you to do something about it.” He explained, arms on either side of the boy's head, making it so he couldn’t really look anywhere but Hunter’s face.

“Oh,” was Dustin’s response. “I-I’m not great at making the first move.” He same lamely, trying to look away from the red. “It’s why I flirt. I can do that. But everytime I try to do something, I normally mess everything up.”

Hunter placed a hand under Dustin’s chin, the other gently in his hair. Their bodies were almost touching. “What would you mess up?”

“Our friendship or something; I don’t know.”

Hunter made the first move. It was easy. He leaned forward and kissed Dustin passionately, pulling a sweet moan from the younger man. When they pulled apart, he asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Dustin was quiet for a moment, staring at the taller man in awe. Shaking himself slightly, he leaned up and kissed Hunter back, much more gently than the other man had.

“Make me yours, Hunter.”

#power rangers #fanfiction #power rangers ninja storm #writing prompt #pre smut #anon ask #will probably post on ao3 #dustin x hunter #i love them

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vale-ocs-roleplay · 2 years

Text

I found fragments of a story I was writing some time ago. And damn... my vampires had a plot. I found several things about Misha and this was supposed to be his "death". Nobody cares but I decided to translate it just because that's how I wanted to do it. Well, don't expect joy from me.

Dulce somnia

Misha's long, sharp teeth sank into the hunter's flesh. They pierced the skin, lodged in the muscle and reached the carotid artery. His vital blood gushed into his mouth, filled it without the need to suck, and he had only to swallow that liquid nectar with a sour taste that contained the sweetness of what he had lost. It was the taste of life, the one that poured into his throat, it was the taste that humans could not know because it was already part of them, intertwined with their beating own breath.

And Misha's heart was beating now, he could feel it in his chest, against his ribs. It looked like a beast ready to go out, and each sip was a heartbeat, a swelling of the muscle it tries to revive.

It wasn't the nourishment vampires seek, it was life, like Charlotte's life years ago and still flowing through his veins undeterred. Sweet and lovable now he felt her warm from his blood vessels, he recognized her, as he recognized his mother and father, and sister, and now that new essence that was now entering and joining them.

The other huntress screamed, and with her Alisha. His little girl Alisha, who called his name as she had never done, with such incredulity and despair that even the rain seemed to stop in front of that terror.

Misha almost seemed to see her, even if he had never been able to grasp the features of her face in addition to the darkness that always accompanied him. He wondered if he would see it in his head if he drank her warm blood. Maybe he could, and she would be with him too, along with Charlotte and everyone else.

The vampire's bloodstained lips parted in a smile; the kind he had always had when addressing her.

"It's my nature, Alisha."

The girl fell silent. Her mouth tried to breathe, but the metallic smell of blood mixed with the rainwater closed her lungs. Her slow, shaking hands reached up to her lips, resting on them as if to keep them from screaming.

She had never seen him like this. The black pits of the hollows of his eyes seemed to speak, express themselves as if there was a look in them. Misha's face was kind, yet cruel as it had ever been. With crimson cheeks, greasy lips, body quivering horribly red from live nourishment, he looked happy. He seemed free as he had never been, as if until that moment he had forced himself into chains that enclosed the beast that he was and that he had longed to get out.

She understood too. How many times she had seen him drink the blood from those stolen bags, but it was not the same thing. It was draining the blood from a beating heart that slowly died to feed his that made him what he was, a vampire.

It was as if she had seen only the shadow of him up to that moment, a mere dreamlike projection, the pale ghost of that being now monstrous, yet alive.

Misha was suddenly alive in the mortuary aspect of him. Tall and thin as ever he was now towering over Bastian's lifeless body, which had now fallen from his arms.

The creature's blond hair was greasy with blood, filthy with the sandy water of the storm, stuck horribly to his cheeks and neck. From the glimpse of his shirt his chest throbbed to the frenetic rhythm of his heart no longer accustomed to that powerful movement.

And he stretched out his long, clawed hands to the smaller girl. Nothing had changed in his feelings, it had only changed the way he lived them, how he was called to live them.

"Alisha." He called her, looking for her. How much he had adored the smell of her skin, of her lymph, and how he adored it now!

Suddenly the presence of the huntress came alive again. Taken as he was by his little friend, he had even forgotten about her. He felt the weight of Isabella throw itself on him. It was a blind fury, hers, as she tried to kill the dead. There was no technique, no security, just the fear and despair she shared with Alisha behind her.

The tip of the ash stake touched Misha's quivering chest, but there was no way he would let it penetrate.

It was right, the vampire thought, for her to try to kill him, it was right for her to try to defend Alisha, but it was also right for him who was stronger to survive.

His long fingers gripped her hands, lowering the weapon between them. The woman's breath hit the undead's bare skin stained with her companion's blood; she was shaking and crying. She wouldn't have suffered for long.

His jaws opened wide, he slowly approached her. Weak as she was, there was no way that Isabella could resist him.

But something got in the way. It was just a touch, but something penetrated the monster's navel like a seed in the ground, and it took root inside.

His red lips remained parted without reacting. It didn't hurt, yet it was as if that thing grew, and the more it grew the more his body lost the strength to move. The grip on the hands of the human fell, and just lowering his face Misha caught the smell of Alisha, who had slipped between them.

"What is that?" He asked her with a faint smile as he felt more and more the immobility take possession of him. What an extraordinary effect, he thought.

But Alisha was crying, and crying, and she didn't seem to be able to answer him.

"I'm not angry, Alisha ..." he would move his hand to reach out to her and caress her cheek, but he realized he couldn't do it anymore "you were good ... just tell me ..."

Oh, what a bewitching perfume rose from his stomach. Misha suddenly recognized the scent of the flowers and imagined them blooming as they drew nourishment from his own strength.

"It's the rosehip..." he heard the girl's voice sobbing against his chest "the rosehip of this garden, that you wanted."

It must be beautiful, he told himself as his tall figure fell to the ground like a twig in the wind.

His little human friend did not leave him, despite everything, and she kept calling him even though she had been the one to sleep him, she had wanted it and Misha knew it. Misha also knew of the hatred that Isabella had for him, of her pain for Bastian and how this pain would heal and protect Alisha, and one day the two of them would be happy.

Maybe the ash stake was on top of his chest right now, he couldn't know it anymore, and even though his eyes hadn't existed for a long time, the vampire lowered his lids.

Characters:

Misha is a vampire

Alisha is a human girl friend of Misha

Isabella is a vampire huntress

Bastian is Isabella's superior

Charlotte was Misha's wife when he was human.

#tw: death #tw: blood #vampire #vampire story #vampire oc #My oc #original characters #original story #writing experiment

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miracle-sham · 2 years

Text

A Brush With Death and the Fangs of Regret.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event} |

| {What other secrets did you keep from me?, Phantoms, Clouds, Would you just stop treating me like something you're trying to fix, Crimson, Wanna bet?, Am I safe with you?, and You hit surprisingly hard for the weakest member of your team} |

| Monsterhunting is a dangerous business, Marinette knows this well with how many close calls she's had over the years but perhaps this is the closest call to date. |

| Injured and answerless, she's forced to reckon with the missing pieces and gaps in her memories and hope she makes it out alive with her humanity intact. |

| Though it's starting to look more and more unlikely with every step she takes. |

| Word Count: 4,361. |

| Warnings/Tags: Alternative Universe—Fantasy/No Miraculous, Horror, Dread, Gothic Horror, Survival Horror, Unreliable Narrator, Monster Hunter Marinette, Vampire Jason, Alchemist Jonathon Crane, Memory loss, Blood and injury, Canon typical violence, Implied/referenced Character Death, Major character undeath, Implied/referenced vampire turning, Good Sibling Jason, Hurt Marinette, Hurt Jason, both deserce hugs, Angst, Mild hurt/comfort, Hallucinations, Loss of control, Loss of senses, Loss of trust, Swearing, Mind Mamipulation, Implied/referenced non consensual drug use, Implied/referenced needles, Unethical human experimentation, Near death experiences, Panic attacks/disassociation, ambiguous/open ending, Unreality. |

———

| A/N: Regarding the tags, please make sure to read all of them carefully before reading because even though most of it is all implied/referenced, it is still pretty dark/angsty. Also regarding the panic attack/disassociation those don't technically happen but they're the closest words i could think of to accurately describe what Marinette goes through during this fic and it gets a little heavy at point. If you struggle with unreality this may not be the fic for you because there is some very explicit unreality throughout the fic as a main theme, so if you're unsure please be careful. |

| If you think or know you can handle this kind of content, then I hope you enjoy this au! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

Run! Marinette's mind screams. But her throat burns and her body aches like she's just gone toe to toe with an animated grotesque. And maybe she has! It's not like she can actually remember anything from the past three days, just a harrowing black void where her memory is and the knowledge that three days have passed, a fact that's waving red flags in her mind. Not to even mention that the rest of her memories predating the lost ones are blurry at best and incomprehensible at worst right now. After all, missing time and messed-up memories are dangerous symptoms for a monster hunter like herself to be experiencing, especially when disorientated and alone in an unfamiliar place—she knows that for certain at least.

Stifling a hiss between her teeth, Marinette dives, rolling into the nearest room and darting to one side of the door frame. Then, by hooking her fingers around it, cautiously shuts the wooden door—reinforced with iron bars and bolts—partially, until it's only barely ajar; as to make as little sound as possible to find her by.

The manor house's basement is a maze and she's oh so vulnerably lost. She can't afford to stay here—stay still—for long. Holding her breath for a moment, she waits. The seconds pass like the dripping of blood from the deep gash curled across her collarbone and throat. Luckily though, the other new injuries she awoke with—littering her arms, legs, chest, and throat, looking dreadfully like signs of torture—are freshly scabbed over and haven't seemed to have reopened.

A small mercy.

Perhaps a little too violently for the stealth she desperately needs, she slams her shoulders back against the stone wall inside the room and lets herself slide to the floor, legs giving way beneath her. The impact will probably bruise nastily, knowing her luck.

She hasn't got time to clean the wound on her neck, meaning she'll still be easy to track via the scent of her blood but really, it's too late now all things considered, and there's no water or alcohol she could even use to do so in the first place anyway. Scrabbling for a scrap of cloth, she tears the bottom of her tunic and wraps it with practised deftness around her neck to cover the gash in a temporary bandage—better than nothing.

In, two, three, four. Her shoulders shake as she struggles for every slow breath, desperately willing her heartbeat to steady from its frenetic rhythm.

Out, two, three, four.

Footsteps approach.

Marinette freezes, pulse skyrocketing and breath hitching in terror. No, no, no! He's coming, he's coming, he's coming!

Who, she doesn't quite know but what she does know, is that instinctual fear for her survival clouding her mind.

Closer, and closer, floorboards groaning and moaning in warning. Only accentuated by the scraping prowl of hardened leather soles against the wood.

Bloody fingers scramble at the crossbow resting on her belt, silver bolt at the ready.

The footsteps reach the threshold of the doorframe, nails squealing in the floorboard beneath the boots. Hinges on the door wailing as whoever lurks behind, slowly begins prising it open like a coffin.

Quick as a flash, Marinette yanks the crossbow from its belt hook and up at the now-open door. Without hesitating to aim, fires. There's a clunk of the mechanism activating and a twang as it shoots.

Thunk, as it misses.

“Shit! Fuck!” An almost familiar voice yelps, sounding strained with a growl between their teeth.

She ignores the cursing and its accompanying sense of déjà vu, already reloading by habit and bringing the crossbow up to aim at the one tracking her.

“Hey, hey, it's just me!” The person—a man with an unnervingly agnising streak of white in his black hair—stumbles back, raising his hands in surrender, near unnaturally bright green eyes apprehensively wide. He's grinning at her anxiously, making it more of an uneasy half grimace than any sort of smile really. “You recognise me, right? C'mon, Mari!”

She doesn't. Her fingers tremble against the trigger, keeping the crossbow raised to shoot his heart at the slightest threat. Why does he know my name… Is he the one chasing me? The one I need to run from?

“Marinette?” He pleads, fingers curling in slightly as his eyebrows furrow, a look of deep distress slowly etching its way across his features before the realisation crushes his hope and a wretched sort of dolorous dawns in his eyes. “No! No, please, come on!” He takes a step back. “I can't…”

“Can't what?” She retorts carefully, not erring in her aim as she continues to hold the crossbow up and ready.

He swallows a breath of air sharply at that, “you… fuck—you really don't recognise me, huh?”

Licking her lip nervously, she squints at him. “Should I?”

The man opens his mouth to speak then shuts it, biting his tongue and holding the unspoken words between his teeth.

But Marinette catches a glint of something unmistakably amiss.

And they can both hear the distant ringing of the death knell outside, marking the hours they have left to flee this place—to escape with their lives.

They're running out of time.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment before staring at her intently. “What do you remember?”

“I'm a monster hunter.” She responds, eyeing him warily, finger twitching on the crossbow trigger.

His face twists at her answer, “Yeah… yeah… but anything else?”

“What's it to you?” Marinette answers unhelpfully, tone almost whingey in petulance.

The man barks out an acerbic laugh of disbelief and shakes his head slightly but offers no answer.

Tilting her head to one side, she nods stiffly towards him, switching the topic. “What's your name then? Since you already know mine?” She can't help the slight questioning lilt at the end of her words. The curiosity burns like the wound around her neck.

“Jason.” He mutters lowly. “But, uhh,” the corner of his lips starts to curl into a frown before scrunching into a full grimace. “You used to call me Jay, among some other nicknames. We were close, you and I.” He breathes in slowly as if the words pain him to speak. “I'm your older brother.”

A chill runs down her spine and it takes all her willpower not to shoot as she raises an eyebrow at him instead. “Uh-huh? Is that so?”

Jason doesn't respond immediately but the grief-stricken stare he gives is answer enough. He takes a tentative step forwards again, reaching one hand towards her, the other still raised in a show of harmlessness.

Watching askance at his movements, she holds herself perfectly still. Not daring to even breathe. Until the very last second, when he gets but a fraction too close.

Violently, she flinches back. Heart racing, hands shaking.

The crossbow fires.

Thwonk, the bolt slams into Jason's torso, shadowed by a hiss of burning flesh.

“Fuck!” He bites out, a snarl on his lips, accidentally revealing two inhumanly long fangs where his canines should have been. “I'm offended, Nettie.” He coughs, “your aim's gotten worse.”

‘You really wanna bet?’ is the snappy response upon her lips that dies like a bolt through the heart, as she stares, eyes wide in horror at the sight that answers her unspoken challenge.

For, slowly a patch of dark crimson upon his sternum begins to stain and spread through the pale shirt.

Marinette freezes again, unable to wrench her eyes from that bolt sticking out of his chest, skin smouldering on contact with the silver—she shouldn't be so surprised, so shocked by her own reaction, not when she can't recall ever being so distraught over hurting a monster before, in her blurry memories. So why is seeing Jason hurt different? He can't be telling the truth, can he?

Still trembling, she reloads the crossbow yet again, between hesitant flickering glances up at him. “If you're really my brother then how come you're a vampire?” She demands, baring her own dull teeth back at him before adding on quickly, “because I'm still completely human. So either you're trying to take advantage of my memory, intact or not, or you should be dead.”

“I ain't arguing with that.” Shaking his head, he scoffs. “Look, you won't be human for fucking long if we don't get out of here, okay.” He scowls, sending a dark look back down the shadowed hallway he came from, before offering a hand out to her once more. “I know a way out, I can explain shit afterwards. And we will find a way to undo whatever the fuck he did to you, alright.” Sighing, he swallows another heavy gulp of air, furrows his brows and grits his teeth. “And I'm sorry but I promise you, I've never used any of my vampire powers to hurt you, Marinette, never, I swear.”

She scrunches up her nose and twists her lips at his words, shifting between a soft frown and a grimace. Fingers twitching on crossbow trigger, Marinette leans towards him just a smidgen as she voluntarily chooses to lower some of her guard—as a test obviously, definitely not because her instincts, despite all her training to the contrary, seem to be screaming that he, a deadly monster is trustworthy.

Making a small noise of gentle distress at the back of her mouth, she drops the crossbow's aim to the floorboards. Softly, voice wavering like the candle flames lighting the room, she queries, “if that really is the case, then what other secrets did you keep from me?”

Jason cocks his head to one side and hums, gazing over her shoulder unseeing for a split second. “Not a lot to be honest, apart from my… undeath at first but suffice to say I was in no state to even tell you. And the one who turned me, wasn't exactly planning on me being found, let alone in one piece.” With a small grave smile, he rubs his neck, clearing his throat as he does so. “I won't let you be hurt, or turned, like I was, alright. As I've told you countless times before, I'll protect you always, even if it kills me again.”

It takes a moment for either of them to notice the deafening silence of the basement. Not a creak, nor groan to be heard from the wooden doors and floorboards.

“Oh fuck. We're outta time.” He keeps his hand offered to her. “Please,” Jason begs, desperation shining in his eyes, “trust me, just until we escape at least.”

Nodding gingerly, Marinette doesn't hesitate to clasp his hand. “I trust you,” she murmurs a little too softly—too truthfully—not quite half-believing herself, tightening her grip and adding with slightly muted vitriol, “but just until then! I'm only trusting you so I can escape. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Jason bursts into a blinding grin, hauling her up to her feet easily by the hand.

The action is so strangely familiar to her eyes. It hurts.

Scrunching her nose up and grimacing, she grits her teeth and then bites her lips as she glances aside, muttering under her breath, “am I even safe with you, trusting you?” Clearing her throat quickly, she chews on the next words as she picks them ever so carefully. “You said,” she asserts, louder and clearer, intending for this to be heard and not her former words. “that you knew a way out, right?” Her voice pitching on the last word.

Just barely catching the heart-sinking defeat flickering through his eyes as his smile wanes to a thin fragile frown. Jason shrugs his shoulders, tensing mordantly, then tugs gently on her hand in silent communication.

When she hesitates, his frown deepens.

He clears his own throat, pointedly looking away from her now. “C'mon, follow me. It shouldn't take long but we can't risk getting caught.”

The second they cross into the hallway, a long low creak of a boot on a squeaky floorboard emanates from the darkness beyond their candlelit threshold.

She exchanges a glance with Jason like second nature, the familiarity of the action aches like her scabbed over wounds.

Nodding, he cocks his head to one side, raising his eyebrows briefly and throwing his gaze down the hallway in a half-roll, indicating the opposite direction from the creak. With the flick of his other hand, he makes a few quick gestures and begins speed-sneaking—steps silent as a bat—away from the encroaching threat, pulling her after him.

Marinette lets him guide her as she focuses on keeping her own footsteps as quiet as his—and surprisingly achieving it despite her humanity. Daring not to dwell on the thought, she keeps her ear out for any further sounds in their surroundings.

Near bolting down the corridor lined with blood and closed wooden doors that are also reinforced with more iron nails and bars, warped and gnarled like unburied coffins in a graveyard. The deeper they run, the more disconcerting it becomes. Light scuffs and scratches on the doors, walls, and floor bleed into gaping gouges clawed a merciless rusting crimson.

The creaking floorboards remain a constant slow death knell behind them.

A turn of the corner. Then down another long corridor with doors less tightly bolted—yet the fatal stains and jagged slashes only worsen. That which is kept down here struggled and fought. Where Marinette has run from, those signs are faint.

It's a sickening sort of nausea to know by the context of this sight, that either she had been prevented by unknown means from fighting back like those before her, or… she had gone willingly down there. She doesn't know which implication is worse. She doesn't want to know the truth either. Because either way, it will hurt.

The crossbow weighs heavy on her hands and the silver bolts burn painlessly.

As they dart around another corner, a dangling bait of hope glimmers before them. Polished spiral stone stairs.

The creaking fades.

Only for laughter to creep in after.

“Fuck!” Jason grunts, whipping around to glare behind them from where it comes from but not missing a step as he pulls her up the steep climb. “It's never a good sign when Crane laughs like that. We're nearly out though, just trust me a little longer, Nettie.”

Nodding, Marinette stares up at him unguarded and, for a split second, she feels the phantom tugging of a distant memory that dissipates upon her grasp.

The spiral staircase ascends into pitch darkness for far longer than she will ever dare be comfortable with alone.

But… she's not alone. Is she?

No, Jason's hand is cold but firm, wrapped around her own. So familiar yet so unfamiliar it hurts. But what in this place doesn't?

The candlelight at the end of the spiral is more comforting than she's willing to admit at this moment—she's a monster hunter, and every monster hunter knows that the light can be just as much a sign of danger as the darkness but that doesn't stop that primal relief at light returning.

Still, they're not out yet, they can't afford to get complacent and act like it's safe before they really are.

Jason leads her down another two left turns—the walls, floors, doors noticeably undamaged up here—then a right as the hallway lined with richly woven tapestries and fanciful portraits of the Agreste's ancestors, splits into three, and then through an inconspicuous plain wooden door. Through it, is another long hallway decorated with all the finery of aristocracy, with a large window partially ajar at the end—large enough for two people to escape through.

Thunder rumbles outside, and stormy clouds are visible in the sky through the window, even at this distance away.

Glancing back at her, Jason bursts into another blinding infectious grin and starts bounding down the hallway like an overexcited puppy—or a werewolf—tugging her along with him.

Marinette should still be wary of him, and yet, she can't help but start to smile along with him at his antics. They're so close to freedom, surely they can afford to get excited about it now, they're practically out already.

Sooner than she expects, the large open window that leads to the outside is just within reach. Only a few more metres, only a few more steps.

And then... Then she'll be free.

But—

—Her body—

—It seems—

—Has other plans.

Collapsing to her knees. Her hand slipping from his grip, with only a shallow inhale of breath and the thump of her body against the wooden floorboards to indicate what is wrong.

Jason hasn't noticed. Not yet. He's so close and yet so far with each passing second.

Her fingers twitch against the grain. Sluggish and leaden as though there are chains dragging against her every movement.

A rising numbness unfurls from Marinette's chest like poison, inciting her heart and mind to writhe—clouding them with a permuting toxin. Her heartbeat spikes with a violent staccato and the world shutters around her as darkness creeps into the corners of all that she can see. Slowly she loses her sense of touch, the floorboards beneath her fingers and knees no longer registering to her mind, no longer able to feel the movement of her lips parting or her chest heaving in breath. But she can still see, it, the phantoms of their movement at the edges of her tunnelled vision. Her breathing hitches as she realises, that with one sense gone, grounding herself will be so much harder now.

And then… her breathing stops. Her heartbeat pounds in her head, the rushing of blood and the throbbing drowning out any other sound. Her vision starts to grey, colours bleeding like her hopes for freedom.

Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't— Marinette's mind screams.

It is as if she's a puppet with her strings cut, unable to move or react, trapped in her crumpled body—helpless. She can barely hear, all she can do is watch with monochrome sight.

“Fuck!” Jason yells as soon as it twigs for him that she's no longer beside him, pivoting on his heel to bolt back for her, a dawning dread in his eyes. “Nettie!”

She's just barely at the right angle to see his reaction, and the strangest thing occurs, Marinette doesn't so much hear Jason's words, as she knows he spoke them. Which means even though she can't hear anything in her mind above the beating of her pulse, she can still hear and understand outside sounds even though it doesn't feel like she can.

It's weird. Disorientating. To lose another sense. And it's only in that knowledge of an absence, does Marinette notice another sense gone, and another. She can't smell or taste the mustiness in the air, or the acrid scent of freshly clotting blood clinging to her thanks to her wounds. She can't taste the dryness of dehydration or the otherwise unnoticeable taste of her own mouth anymore.

It's all gone. Only the shreds of sight and hearing are left and those are nearly gone too.

“C'mon, c'mon, I got you,” Jason mutters, desperation squeezing the words in a vice grip. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

“I'm fine,” Marinette's body responds automatically—against her will. If she had control, her heart would've plummeted at the chains wrapping around her mind, caging her within as the body continues to repeat the words. “I'm fine.”

Rattling like a rabid beast, she claws at the boundaries of her mind. ‘No! No, no, no, please! Let me go! I'm not fine! Stop! Don't listen, please!’

But he can't hear her pleas.

“Do you remember what's been done to you?” He questions, crouching down beside her and scouring every visible part of her up and down for anything concerning—pausing only for a moment to blow the white strands of hair out of his face that has fallen in the way. “Any other injuries, barring the obvious one on your collarbone and neck, if you've been drugged with any chemicals, and if you have what they are, or something?”

Oh, how desperately Marinette wants to cry at him that she doesn't know. Her body doesn't respond against her will again, another small mercy.

Though she cannot feel it, she watches his hands ghosting down her arms as he frantically looks her over and over again, eyes wide, brows furrowed, mouth half agape in horror and concern as he speaks. “—And Leslie can help you once we get out, she can check you over to make sure you're okay and patch up any injuries, of the body or mind.”

She's missed something he said. It's worsening.

And all she can feel within her mind, are the phantoms of restraints tearing at her skin and needles piercing her flesh.

“Would you just stop treating me like something you're trying to fix!” Her body snarls, though otherwise still not moving.

How much longer…?

Her thoughts trail to a stop as Jason gently takes her hands in his and shakes them softly. “I'm not trying to fix you, Mari. You're hurt and that means you need help—but it doesn't mean I think you need fixing.”

“It's going to be alright, Nettie. I know you also hate how pitying this can sound like but B, A, and Leslie all have means of helping however you've been hurt by Crane. And we're nearly out of his laboratory, please just bear with me, with this treatment just a little bit longer.” He pauses to let the words sink before adding tenderly, “I'm going to pick you up and carry you out now, I've got you, okay.” Slowly, he reaches around her to scoop her up and haul her over his shoulders as carefully as possible to prevent aggravating any of her injuries. It's not the comfiest way to carry someone but it will at least let him safely carry her as far as needed.

‘Who's what?’ Marinette wants to ask as he moves her. ‘We're in the Agreste manor house, not a laboratory?’

Jason still doesn't hear her, he adjusts his grip and starts speed walking towards the window. “No matter what, Mari, I'm not leaving without you.”

“Is that so?” A voice that sends shivers down her spine calls out, his words cut through the throbbing heartbeat in her mind with surgical precision, “well I'm afraid I can't let you whisk away my favourite little experiment just yet, vampire.”

Steps closing in. Slowly, patiently… tauntingly.

“Back the fuck up.” Jason growls—sliding into a bloodthirsty hiss at the end. “Batman may have a rule against killing you rogues, but I sure as fuck don't. You ain't getting your hands on her again.”

What little of the hallway Marinette can still see through her fading vision begins to distort, the trappings of a foreboding but opulent manor house bleeding away to a grim plainness now littered with gouges and dragged claw marks, not unlike the basement had held.

Jonathan Crane laughs lowly—callously, “Did you know, that littlest bird of yours hits surprisingly hard for the weakest member of your team, when under the influence of enough fear? It's truly fascinating.”

Unable to hold back a snarl, Jason's face twists as his control of his vampiric powers slip for just a moment. Acutely aware of Marinette on his shoulders still, he pulls a vial from his belt and lobs it violently at Crane's feet, immediately bursting into a sprint towards the window whilst swinging Marinette from his shoulders and into his arms.

There's a hollow unbreathing second as the glass shatters upon the wooden floorboards before a shrieking roar that rivals the thunder begins to tear the building apart. A writhing mass of viscous starving flames burst from the point of shattering, sticky globs of oil splattering across the hallways, creating a sea of liquid fire.

Marinette can just barely watch it from her position in Jason's arms, her sight burning like the laboratory's hallway.

Angling his body to protect her, Jason leaps at the window. A cascade of glass showers around them. Glinting and glimmering in the reflection of the drowning inferno behind them. And for a second it almost looks as though they are falling with wings of smoke, glass, and fire outstretched from their backs.

And then the world tilts violently. The earth comes rushing up to meet them. Jason hits it first, a sickening crack of branches shivering apart beneath him. But he keeps her cradled in his arms, shielding her from the worst of the impact.

The laboratory above them crackles and screeches as it is swallowed to the bone by the insatiable fire.

Slowly, Jason breathes deeply, making a sort of chuffing laugh between every other breath. “Fuck. We made it. We're out!”

If she still had control of her body, Marinette would nod and be breathless in laughter too.

Grinning blindingly at her once more, he hauls himself off the conveniently planted shrubbery—Most likely Poison Ivy's doing—that has broken their fall. Then turns and offers a hand to her.

Marinette stares at him blankly.

“C'mon,” he coaxes, still smiling at her like the sun. “Just a bit further, the others will have noticed the beacon by now. We'll take you back home, to safety. And Leslie and A can help you with your injuries. You'll be okay.”

She can't even open her mouth to answer. Pitching forwards, her body crumples again. Like an unloved discarded doll.

There's a look of flooding panic in his eyes, his mouth moving frantically with unheard words, as her eyes roll back and everything goes dark.

Distantly, within the inky darkness, Marinette wonders why she never thought to ask why he came to save her from that place, or who those other people were.

But… It's a little too late now.

The pain of her injuries fade away along with her final bleeding thoughts—the darkness smothering it all as she's cradled ever so gently to the unwavering lull of her heartbeat—steadying itself from the staccato of before.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this very short little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| And if you liked this, don’t forget to check out my teammate’s works as well! |

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the-fourth-devoted · 2 years

Text

I Will Overcome

A Story from the "To Victory" Series

Content Warnings: Violence, Blood

Hebn's eyes looked at nothing. They were unfocused and swaying back and forth, her head trailing behind. Dell waited.

The mob walked the street, knocking on doors to recruit more people to their cause. They had been seven strong since Dell could see them.

The veiled spirit put her hand on Dell's shoulder. "The man is at great risk. He will perish if nothing is done."

Dell didn't look away from the mob. "Great. Fantastic."

Hebn faded as Dell walked out. The mob was after someone that committed some wrong. He didn't know or care. Mob justice is not just.

The group stopped and stared. Dell's breath was heavy, but they weren't after him. He could be strong for someone else.

The elven woman in front, wielding a simple wooden club, shouted at Dell. He slowly shook his head. Despite the low-flying panic he was in, he wouldn't move. Or, maybe, that's why he wouldn't move.

She alone stepped forward, and Dell readied to throw a punch. Her anger far outstripped his sense of justice. The club impacted Dell's left elbow, breaking something. A quick shove to the chest followed, knocking him to the ground.

Intellectually, Dell knew he was injured. No debate. Emotionally, he knew he had to stop them. The mob walked past, giving him mean looks. It was only an arm, he reasoned. He could still make them reconsider.

Pain! His broken arm hurt terribly. He groaned as he lie back down. He watched the mob walk closer to the house. What to do?

"Get up, you child." Genno growled. His red scales were already glowing. He was mad.

His voice faltering, "My arm's broken."

The dragon took a knee. "That's no excuse. Heal yourself and get up."

Softly, "I can't."

A pause. "Then let me go in your stead."

"N-no! Absolutely not." Dell reached for Genno's shirt with his good arm.

Genno stood. His internal glow was yet brighter. "Make a decision, and quick."

The summoner sighed. Another place to run from.

"What are you waiting for?!" Bits of crimson fire leapt from his mouth. He was radiant.

Dell pleaded, "Just don't kill anyone."

Genno tensed up. Through clenched teeth, "We'll have a talk when this is done."

The dragon sprinted off in the direction of the mob. It had been an awful day according to Dell. Genno, a former champion of the Ascended Dragon King who is a noted lover of anger and violence, thought it was a fine day.

Dell cradled his arm as best he could. Pain. He waddled off to find a dark corner. He could see people watching him. They knew he was a summoner. They were too afraid to confront him, and Dell hoped it would stay that way.

A naga slithered out of thin air and began to treat the broken elbow. "I can't be mad at you." She paused. "I shouldn't be."

"Go ahead and be mad. Genno doesn't have a problem with it."

Szikaadr huffed. "I respect you, unlike Genno." She slowly straightened his arm. Pain...

"Respect comes in many forms." Dell gasped as Szikaadr magically repaired his joint.

A moment of hesitation. "Some better than others." She released his arm having completed her work.

"Sure." Dell stretched his arm. Pain? "Thank you."

"You are most welcome, Dell." She gives a small bow. "Please be more careful."

Dell looked away and nodded. He can't make that promise, and Szikaadr knows that. Genno knows that. Every lord and knight knows that.

The dreams and aspirations of young Dell were grand, as were most kids'. He wanted to be a hero first. Then, he wanted to be a hunter. At fourteen, when his power finally manifested, he just wanted to live a normal life.

But he couldn't throw off the desire to help people. That was etched into his soul from all the movies and shows he'd watched. He remembered being enraptured by a movie that, in hindsight, wasn't for kids of his age. The hero was battered and bruised, but pushed through. He wanted to be like that.

But not like this. Genno returned with his knight Ignevisa in tow. Genno's anger was dulled, and he looked pleased. Did he kill someone? Is that blood on his hands?!

Dell frowned. "You didn't kill anyone, right?"

Sniff. "No."

He kept looking at Genno. "And you?"

Ignevisa crossed her arms and smiled.

"I swear to the gods," he pointed, "if you killed anyone-"

Genno leaned forward. "You'll what?"

Dell stared into Genno's eyes. Dell didn't know what he would, or could, do. He had to leave this town before a mob came for him. Can't waste time failing to punish a dragon.

Dell looked away. "Not now. Or ever."

Two bloodied, red-scaled hands grasped Dell's head. "It's time for that talk."

Panic was setting in again. "Let's go somewhere else first."

Genno gripped tighter. "I didn't become the champion by turning away and letting a majority tell me what to do. I turned them away."

The summoner closed his eyes and breathed. Szikaadr glared at the dragon. A small crowd had gathered on the street.

"Make demands of others. Show them you are superior." Genno was nose-to-nose with him. Whispering, "Don't fear."

Ignevisa was shouting at some of the townsfolk. Their din was not diminished. No, it grew.

"I. Will. Overcome." Genno snarled each word like he was talking to an indignant child. "Say it."

"I'm not the villain they want me to be."

Claws poked into Dell's head. "Say. It." He was glowing again.

Quietly, wavering, "I will overcome."

Genno faded, as did his knight and Szikaadr. He stood alone against a crowd of no less than thirty, shouting unknown obscenities at him. They would not make the first move.

Dell wiped the blood from his face. The elven woman was there. She was holding her club, but with one hand this time. Her other hand was wrapped in cloth, wet, stained.

Dell took a single step forward. The crowd took several backwards. Some stumbled. The woman's face contorted in fear. He was holding back tears. He hated this.

---

Thank you for reading.

This marks number four. I had a barebones outline for this story already, but I had to make changes from the word go. That was a good thing. Being forced to adapt is no less important than putting word to document, even if it can be stressful at times.

Where fiction of my own creation is a whirlwind of struggles and triumphs, I can find so much other fiction that is an already-edited, curated experience. Reading others' work can fill the cup from which I sip, metaphorically speaking, energizing me to turn around and make some of my own.

Funnily enough, I don't read much fiction. I find inspiration from many non-written sources. Video games likely make up the lion's share. Genno and Ignevisa are based on a couple of characters from a specific game, but altered to fit my needs. Good artists borrow, and all that.

Greatest of the merits to such inspiration is I have to put in work to make the character my own. While there is an emotion inside me that seldom acts like a petulant child, I can't, in good conscience, literally steal Vergil from Devil May Cry and slot him into my stories.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against fan fiction of any kind. Shit, I'm on a website with a non-trivial amount of fiction that exudes horny like radiation from a capsule of cesium-137. I understand the appeal, but it's not my thing. Mostly.

I say mostly, because a game concept of mine, that I go absolutely feral over, can only be interpreted as a vehicle for fan fiction. I love that project, and I will never stop loving it. However, if it existed, it would just be playable fan fiction.

Yet again I thank you for reading. Let's keep going until the wheels fall off.

#writing #creative writing #writeblr #original writing #original fiction #cw violence #cw blood #to victory series

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liz-allyn · 3 years

Text

shudder, part 5/6 [agent mobius x gn!reader]

After disaster places your life in danger, Mobius makes a consequential choice.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Series Summary: Pre-Loki series. You are one of the most dangerous variants the TVA has ever recovered, but Mobius knows what makes you tick. Five times he made you shudder, and the one time you returned the favor.

Words: 4k

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Language; Graphic Violence; Whump; Angst; Panic Attack; Hurt/Comfort; If the movie Titanic stresses you out too much-this isn't for you, chief; Mobius x reader

2889. Hell was erupting on the planet of Olympus-V in its final hours.

A fierce rainstorm barreled down on the alien world’s rocky cliff face. A dangerous surf crashed on the rocks, the sea threatening to scale the cliffs. The sky glowed crimson, illuminated by a Red Giant that was hours from its own collapse. The red light gave the rainstorm an eerie hue. It looked like it was raining blood.

The landscape was crowned by the fiery wreckage of an alien ship. It was the intended getaway vessel of a dangerous variant that managed to escape your team through a hijacked Time Door. Your team followed him boldly, not realizing it was never a getaway. It was a suicide mission. And you walked right into a kamikaze attack.

The variant was dead. Eight other Minutemen were dead. Your still-sorta-new analyst partner was dead. B-15 was badly wounded and unresponsive. You and C-20 were stumbling through the corridors of the ship, both sporting nasty head wounds, as you dragged-carried B-15 towards refuge.

Catastrophe was a mild description, never mind the looming apocalypse outside.

“Help!” another voice rang out from the distance. It was U-91. “Somebody help me!”

You turned towards the sound of the man’s voice, stopping in your tracks. You looked at C-20.

The ground beneath your feet was subtly moving, quaking the ship with every inch. The rocky soil beneath you was giving way under the weight of the wreckage. You and C-20 knew that soon the ship would be a fireball at the bottom of the cliff. But you couldn’t leave him behind.

“Go,” you ordered. “Get her outta here.”

You turned around and rushed back into the smoke and flames. C-20 watched you anxiously as you disappeared. She carried on her rescue mission, dragging B-15 towards a temporarily opened Time Door that would lead them safely back to TVA HQ. It would stay open, as long as the ship didn’t crumble down the cliff.

You were alone again, covering your mouth with your jacket sleeve, following the painful groans as they grew louder.

“I’m over here!” U-91 hollered, his voice echoing down a corridor that was bent nearly vertically. You spotted his position, flush against the ground, but you would have to scale walls of the hallway at a steep angle to reach him. “I’m stuck on something!” he shouted.

“Hang on!” you replied. You approached the base of the corridor with trepidation. Carefully and quickly, you began to climb up the hallway via the walls. You gripped door frames, pipes, handles - anything that you could use to scale the corridor.

“Where’s A-19,” the Minuteman shouted about his partner. “I can’t find A-19!” He sounded panicked, which was never good.

“Hang on, I’m almost there!”

“Did you find A-19?”

You didn’t immediately reply, seeing from your vantage point what he could not. U-91 was less than 10 feet from you, and was truly “stuck.”

His leg was impaled on a ripped pipe that had torn away from the wall in the crash. He was hanging there helplessly by his limb. You winced at the sight and scanned your eyes over the area. You locked on to another gruesome sight: the body of his partner of many years, A-19, crushed by a beam just feet away..

“I c-can’t move,” U-91 said with a choked-out sob. You’d never seen this hunter anything less than tough-as-nails. But now he was weeping. “I-I… I can’t find A-19.”

“It’s okay,” you said as calmly as you could.His wailing broke your heart. “I’m going to get you.”

The final hurdle was going to be just that. You needed to jump up and reach the top of the doorframe to be able to free U-91. You glanced down the corridor warily.

The ship growled impatiently as it shifted another inch.

You used all your strength to leap up in the air and catch the doorframe. You’re pretty sure you sprained your shoulder, if you hadn’t already in the crash. You struggled to keep a firm grip as you shimmied to reach him.

While supporting his weight, you pulled the pipe downwards and freed him. His weight fell on you, unleashing cries from you both. But you didn’t let go.

U-91 looked at you blearily, body wracked with pain and exhaustion. He froze. His eyes went black. You knew exactly whose body he could finally see.

“No,” he cried out pitifully. “No!”

“We have to go!” you implored him. “The ship is unstable and we’re going to fall.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off of his partner’s body.

You held him tightly, and looked down the corridor to where you began. This part was basically a giant slide if you aimed just right. Just like at a water park. Piece of cake.

You said a brief prayer and leaned U-91’s weight across your chest as you both slid down the walls of the corridor. You landed with a harsh thud and U-91 cried out again in agony.

You looked up at the Time Door, still open where you left it - where C-20 and B-15 had already made their escape. It was just you and U-91 alone. If you ran now, you could make it.

“You did this,” you heard U-91 moan beside you. He was delirious; you could only imagine the immense physical and emotional pain he was in. “We should’ve never followed you—”

His sentiments burned like acid, but you shook them off. “Come on!” you hissed, using all of your strength to pull him onto your back. Your shoulder was buckling from the weight, still ravaged from your last injury in the field.

Maybe you were bad luck. Maybe U-91 had a point.

“I need you to walk!” you ordered him.

“You killed us,” U-91 repeated through chattering teeth. “You killed us...”

You tried to throw him on your back and carry him fireman-style towards the exit. Four steps in and you lost your balance. Both of you fell to the ground as the ship started quaking. This time, it didn’t stop.

You felt a strong hand grip your upper arm and yank you to your feet. For a moment you expected to see C-20 back to rescue you. Your heart skipped a beat at who you saw instead.

Mobius pulled you up close until you were nearly nose-to-nose. You gaped at him like a literal deus ex machina come down from the heavens to deliver salvation. He wasn’t supposed to be on this mission. He wasn’t on the mission. How did he get here—?

The Time Door. He went through the Time Door. He came there for you.

“We gotta move!” Mobius shouted as the vibrations jolted you both into action. He reached down and grabbed hold of U-91, and you grabbed the injured man’s other side. It was much quicker to carry the man down the hallway until you were steps away from the time door.

Then the ground shifted, and your world was upside down.

When you came to, the first thing you felt was the cold. You were laying on the ceiling of the ship.

There was a voice echoing— Mobius’ voice. He was crouched down over you shouting something that you couldn’t hear.

You noticed his TVA flank jacket and tie. Paired with the mustache he looked like a detective on a procedural cop show. This stupidly-handsome, hero time cop walked into an apocalypse to save you, now stared down at you with wide, terrified eyes.

That’s when you realized you couldn’t move.

“Stay with me,” he implored, as he lifted your head out of the water.

With your ears clear, you could finally hear the chaos around you. A symphony of groans from twisting metal squealed and cracked through the halls of the ship. You could hear another crushing sound on top of the din. Rushing water.

You lifted your head to see why you were cold. You were laying in rising water with your hips pinned to the ground by a fallen steel door. Mobius was pulling up on the door desperately trying to free you.

Your heart began to pound.

The ship had fallen off the cliff into the ocean below. You were now sinking, the wreckage falling deeper into the sea, with you trapped inside.

You saw water rushing in through the hallways, filling all the corridors. It surrounded you. It was going to bury you.

“Agent Mobius!” you heard from a distance. “Get through the portal!”

You turned your head to see two Minutemen shouting as they dragged the injured U-91 through a flickering Time Door. They were so far away.

“Get help!” Mobius ordered frantically. “I can’t lift it off of her!”

“We can’t keep it open!” one of their voices echoed back. “Sir, you gotta get out bef—”

The door shorted out and vanished. And now, you were both trapped. .

“Mobius…” you exclaimed, barely able to breathe through your terror.

The water was rising quickly. Mobius glanced down at you again, and he reached down deeper to get a grip on your restraints. You both struggled and grunted, but the door only slid a little further without freeing you.

You were allowed a little more space to breathe, and were able to lift your torso a little higher out of the water. The relief was short-lived. The water was flowing rapidly and neither of you were strong enough.

“Damn it!” he roared in frustration.

You glanced around frantically and spotted an opportunity. “Look! There!”

He followed the end of your finger to a pipe nearby. He was on his feet immediately, kicking the piece of metal loose as you continued to try to push the door off of you. Once he broke the pipe free, he brought it over to you and stuck it in the space between your body and the watery ground, driving it down deep beside your leg. He gripped the pole tight and lifted with all of his might.

You pushed up on the door as he shouted, his muscles burning. You were shifting and thrashing like a fish in the frigid water until you were finally able to pull your hips out. You kicked furiously in the tiny crawl space until your legs were freed.

Mobius dropped the weight, and collapsed on his hands and knees. You were reaching for him desperately, your fingers aching to hold him. He wrapped his arms around you, embracing you tightly, as you both kneeled in the ocean water.

A sob escaped your lips as you buried your face in his neck. “You came back for me…” Your body shook as you cried like a child.

He tightened his hold on you and you felt the hair of his mustache graze the delicate skin of your neck.

“Of course,” he replied.

You wanted to hold onto him forever, letting the tears flow freely down your cheeks. It was the greatest act of love that anyone had ever shown you. And it was about to be the last.

Your eyes focused ominously on other imminent danger pounding its way through the doors.

“Moby...” you shuddered as he pulled you up to your feet. The water level was crawling up your thighs, rushing in from everywhere.

He snapped into action, grabbed you by the wrist, and pulled you back down the (inverted) hallway where the Time Door once stood. You took giant strides to push through the current towards a less-submerged part of the corridor.

It became easier to run, but everywhere you looked, your nightmares were coming to life. Your brain began to cease; your mind locked up. You were being paralyzed by terror.

Mobius was shouting something again, but you only caught part of it.

“...outer ring of the ship. If we swim we can make it.”

“What?” you blinked incredulously. He pointed towards a submerged hallway. A water-filled tunnel into the deep darkness. You looked up at him with wide eyes, horrified at his suggestion.

“The ship’s emergency systems would’ve opened the door passages in the event of a crash,” Mobius rushed to explain. “The way should be clear. If we swim now, we can make it out of the ship and up to the surface.”

You were shaking your head, trembling uncontrollably.

“We can do this,” Mobius breathed, pulling you towards the deeper end of the water.

“No-no-no,” you shrank away from his grip. “No, please, no..!”

“We don’t have a choice!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you. He took a breath and calmed himself once more, “We’re running out of time.”

“Please, don’t make me!” You were crying again. “I-I-I can’t, I’ll drown.”

“No, you won’t—”

“You don’t know where you’re going! You don’t know if there’s even a way out!”

“We have to try,” he explained, meeting your pleas with calm declarations. “If we don’t, we’re gonna die in here. The more we wait, the deeper we sink.”

He had stopped pulling you towards the water, but he wouldn’t let you pull away. He held your body close to him, and for a moment you thought he’d drag you under. He was begging you not to give him a reason.

“Please icanticantocant…” You gripped his chest desperately.

His hands went to the sides of your head, a placating touch matched with a stern voice. “Look at me,” he ordered. He was once again that person that you’d met in the time theater: calm, compassionate, but equally authoritative and focused. “Look at me,” he repeated. You did, and that was the last time he’d ever have to give you directions twice.

You reached up and covered his hands with your own as he held your face. His dark orbs were gentle as they drew you in, hypnotizing you into a vague sense of calm.

He was reading you again—reading and dictating the pages of your mind, writing miracles in the margins of your nightmares.

“You can do this,” he declared with resolve. He whispered to you at a frequency you could hear, even over the crashing current. “You’re the best hunter we have. I’ve seen what you can do.” He gazed at you like he could see the sun rise through your eyes. “You can do anything.”

Your heart swelled and ached.

“I swear to you,” he said softly, as if in prayer, “you will make it to the surface.” He touched his forehead to yours as he wiped the tears from your face with his calloused thumbs. “You’re not going to drown.”

He sounded so confident. Like it was already written and he’d read it many times before, and this was all just another page in the chronicles of the Sacred Timeline. You wanted to believe him. He was asking you to believe him.

That was the moment you realized it.

He was the only thing in the universe that mattered to you.

You couldn’t fathom a version of your story without him in it. You believed in him. And even if he was wrong, it was worth dying for.

You wanted to cry out; to tell him all of the things you felt for him - that you loved him, and would die for him, and wanted nothing more than to be back in his bed at the TVA where he could hold you and tell you that the nightmares were over and that you were safe with him.

“Okay?” he said to you, his eyes fixed.

You blinked at him, and gave him a gentle nod. “Okay.”

He took your hand in his and walked you into the icy water. You were soaked already but your body jolted from the shocking cold.

“We need to slow down our heart rates,” Mobius explained. “Preserve the oxygen a little longer, alright? So we’re going to take five deep breaths - together, then we go under, okay? I’ll give you the signal when it’s safe to breathe.”

You nodded, despite your terror. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, trying to burn into your memory every line and curve of his face.

“Just don’t leave me behind, okay?” you pleaded with him meekly. You didn’t even think about what you’d said until it was done. His eyes softened as they rested on you. “Promise you’ll stay with me?” you asked.

He contemplated you, then reached out and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Always,” he promised.

You both turned towards the water, then back to each other. “Okay, five deep breaths,” he instructed. “In and out. Through your nose.” You filled your chest with air and exhaled deeply.

“That’s one,” he counted. “Pull in from the diaphragm.” Mobius rested his hand on your stomach and watched it move with your next inhale and exhale.

“Two.” Another deep breath. He removed his hand from your belly and grasped your hand. There was no way you were going to let it go.

“Three.”

You were gazing into his eyes again, losing yourself in their warm earthy tones.

“Four. One more, in and out.”

You pulled the air in through your nose and out through your mouth, in sync with him.

“Five. Deep breath.”

You filled your lungs as tightly as you could, and dived beneath the surface with him.

It was so much darker than you’d expected. You might as well have been swimming through a starry sky, and in your mind that’s what you wanted to pretend. There were brief flashes - sparks from blown fuses, mostly - that would illuminate your surroundings. You pretended they were flares from stars dying out as you swam through the milky way.

The water was so cold. It was the kind of cold that your skin doesn’t acclimate to. You started counting in your mind as your feet kicked. You weren’t sure how long you'd been holding your breath, but you’d only made it down the first hallway. Mobius pulled you around another corner, continuing on to some blind destination.

How did he know where he was going? You didn’t let your mind dwell on it, as you felt your heart start to pound under the exertion. He knows about space ships, probably an expert. An expert on space ships and jetskis.

Down another corridor. It was getting darker. Were you supposed to be swimming up, or down? You were moving so slow although every muscle in your body struggled to propel you forward. Maybe the cold was slowing you down.

Your chest was burning.

Mobius was still kicking and pulling himself through the water, holding your hand tightly. He was a strong swimmer. Fit for his age, which was… 1,000? Time moved differently in the TVA, so you didn’t know. He was moving slower now, you noticed. Or maybe time was slowing down. Maybe you were drowning already.

God, your chest hurts.

You reached another intersection. He hesitated, looking back and forth briefly. Your mind registered the brief pause, but before you began to panic he pulled you along.

The stars had all gone out. It was so dark.

You kept thrusting your arms deeper through the water, picking up the pace. They were burning from lack of oxygen, but it only made you fight harder.

Mobius pulled you to a stop and you went through another door. It was an elevator shaft of some kind, and the sparks above illuminated the path forward.

Bright lights were filling your gaze, but not from the sparks.

You kept kicking. You could see light. Red light.

Mobius is pulling you forward now. The opening is right there. You’re almost out of the ship and can see the red glow of the surface.

Every thrust of your arms makes them weaker. Like you’re swimming in molasses.

Your lungs are on fire. You’re kicking freely past the confines of the ship. The surface is getting brighter. How deep were you - maybe 40 feet? 30 feet?

You weren’t going to make it.

You were running out of air fast. Your body was beginning to convulse as Mobius held you against him. The world around you was getting brighter and darker.

You weren’t going to make it. You were running out of time.

Mobius stopped his upward push and for the first time you could feel he was losing it too. He let go of your hand, but grabbed the sides of your face. His mouth was on yours, and he gripped the knape of your neck.

That’s when you felt it. The double-squeeze. The signal.

You breathed inwards instinctively before you realized what he was doing. He emptied the last bit of oxygen into your lungs and you felt his grip soften.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to save you from blacking out. You felt his touch disappear. Your hand shot out through the water and gripped him by the arm. You turned your gaze up to the surface and kicked as hard as you could, reaching up for the sky.

No, no, no, no, no.

You were busy trying to convince your mind that this wasn’t really happening. That Mobius was not limp in the current beneath you. You climbed furiously upwards. 15 feet. 10 feet. 5 feet.

Your head ripped through the surface as you gasped for air, choking on the blistering pain. Rain pelted your face as you kicked to stay afloat on the surface. “Mobius!” you cried out as you dragged him up above the water. His head rolled back in a way that gutted you.

You glanced around frantically as a wave crested over you both, filling your mouth with sea water. You spat as you broke through the surface again, kicking even harder to keep him afloat.

You started swimming towards the shore. The tide allowed you to ride the current most of the way. It was dumb luck. You probably would have drowned otherwise.

You held Mobius tight, fighting to keep his head above water, as another surge pushed you forward. A beachhead at the base of the cliff was visible in your sights. One more wave and you both washed up on the crystalline white sand of the shore.

Every muscle in your body throbbed, but you didn’t stop. You squirmed to your feet and dragged your partner with all of your strength further up the beach.

He wasn’t moving. You crouched down beside him, your body shaking with terror. You dropped your ear to his mouth.

He wasn’t breathing.

“No... no, Mobius...”

Your teeth were chattering cold while hot tears flooded down your cheeks. Your mind struggled frantically to process a solution.

You stacked your hands firmly in the center of his chest and sat up on your knees, counting each compression under your breath.

After the count of ten, you tilted his head back, opening his airway, pinched his nose and breathed deeply into his lungs. Tears were falling freely from your eyes onto his face, and you choked back a sob after your second breath did not resuscitate him.

“No,” your voice was thick with anger. “No - you promised me.”

You repeated the process of CPR, compressing his chest and breathing into his mouth to no avail.

“You promised me, you son of a bitch,” you hissed. “You promised you’d stay with me!”

You shoved the heel of your palm into his chest even harder. Your shoulders were filled with a strength that the rest of your body was drained of. This was worse than heartbreak. Your soul was crumbling.

“Please don’t leave,” you were begging. “Please come back... Please, I need you...”

A cough sprang forth from his throat as water shot up from his mouth.

The rush of joy winded you and knocked you to your elbows. Mobius turned his head and expelled the rest of the sea water from his lungs, coughing harshly, his whole body shaking.

You were shaking too, not just from the cold.

“God,” you breathed, overcome with immeasurable relief. Hearing him gasp for air was the closest you’d ever come to heaven.

You laid your head on his chest as silent cries racked your body. You were now a disciple, a humble and devout witness to whatever miracle brought you two together. You squeezed your eyes shut as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat, the gentle sound of each blessed breath. And you worshipped him.

“S-See,” he said with a cough, that sly smirk on his face. “To-toldya w-we’d make it.”

And for that comment, you were going to kill him.

Part 6

A/N: Ok kids, the next chapter is straight up hard R-rated. Like X-rated. Like. The. Whole. Chapter. I’ve never written anything like this. And it’s long! Is that weird? I keep thinking 4k words of smut is like… whoa… Your thoughts in the comments, please. Part of me also just wants to cut the smut in the middle but that would be cruel, right?

Did you like this chapter? Reblog & let me know! If you're not tagged, it's because I couldn't tag you.

@generalhugzzz @isaxbella749 @yodaboo @aloyssia

#mobius x reader #agent mobius x reader #mobius m mobius x reader #mobius #agent mobius #mobius m mobius #mcu fanfiction #loki tv series #loki show #owen wilson #mobius fanfiction #mobius imagine #Lizzy writes.#Lizzy writes!shudder.#mobius x you

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just-here-for-the-moment · 2 years

Note

Din Djarin/PV👀👀👀

LEAH!!!! I got this weird idea right after waking up the other day, and I hope you’re okay with the fact that it’s not canon… in fact it’s so far OFF canon that it might as well be a crackfic. It’s just a big pile of cheesy chaos, LOL, but I hope you’re not disappointed in me. I love you!

Word count: 4100+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: 19 year old “Mando”/Din Djarin x “You” (late 30s cis/het female bounty hunter; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: curse words and vulgar language; mentions of alcohol; non-canon Din; age gap (both are adults); mentions of canon-typical violence; unprotected P/V sex (I don’t know, it’s magic outer space birth control); stripping; mentions of sex work; groping; naked reader/clothed Din; descriptions of guilt

You stepped into the bar and let the smoke and the darkness settle over you like a curtain falling closed. You were here for your sixth (and last) bounty of this cycle. Your carbon chamber was already full of five idiots who were definitely not going to be running anymore.

The last one had been some jerk who thought he could talk his way out of it by offering you sex to let him go, and you had let him get as far as seeing your bra before plunging a tranquilizer dart into his neck. Karga would be especially happy to see that one, since the low-grade lothario had been a personal vendetta for him, and not just another number on a Guild chip.

Now you were here for some kid, some dumb fucking 19-year-old who thought he could steal from the Guild. It had cost one tracking chip, two months of your time, and way too many credits passed to sleazy informants to get a lead on him. You hoped that the intel was correct, and that you could sidle up to him at the bar, bag him for Karga, and get the fuck away to some kind of hotel for a well-deserved weekend off before starting the whole thing up again.

You rolled your head on your neck and felt a few creaks and pops, thinking that maybe it was time to hang up your blaster. Just a few more cycles, and you could maybe, possibly retire. Just the thought of it was enough to make you tired, so you pushed the hope of it away and focused on your task at hand. The kid.

You scanned the bar and the assorted crush of life forms pressed against it, not seeing any trace of the quarry. He didn’t seem to be at any of the tables, either. The informant had said that he was definitely here, that he had been spotted less than two days ago. You could wait, you decided. You could be patient.

You took a seat at a small table that had just been vacated, sitting with your back to the wall so that you could watch the front door. A peek into your bag at the tracking fob showed that the kid was close, but after an hour of watching creatures come and go, there was still no sign of him. You hoped that there wasn’t an error in the tracking code, but right now the hunt seemed to be futile.

Just as you finished your second drink, the lights in the main room went low, and a hush fell over the crowd. A weak spotlight lit up a sad little stage in one corner. A dusty red curtain and an ancient synthesizer keyboard set up to one side were the only indications that the platform was intended for some kind of performance. Just as you started to wonder what kind of act the bar patrons were going to be subjected to, the music transformed from background buzz to a deep, throbbing baseline. A few people in the crowd started to clap and hoot, and then a figure stepped out from behind the crimson fabric. Holy shit. The quarry.

He was wearing the Mandalorian helmet he was known for, the shiny silver Beskar reflecting the lone spotlight and a few of the candles on the tables, but the rest of his outfit was ridiculous. The pauldrons and chest plates were cheap, flimsy imitations of armor: battered and dented, covered over with multiple chipping layers of paint and looking for all the world like pieces retrieved from some scrap heap. It didn’t look at all like the traditional Mandalorian kit he had been wearing when he raided the Guild stores, and it didn’t fit with his sleek helmet. Was it actually him?

A quick glance at your tracking fob showed that it was, and his broad shoulders and narrow waist matched the form you had memorized from the surveillance video of the robbery. But what had he done with his usual armor, and why was he wearing such shitty replacements?

You watched as he took one step over to the synthesizer stand and tapped a few buttons, changing the spotlight from bright white to a revolving eclipse of colors. The song pumping through the speakers changed, gliding into another bass-heavy number. The kid turned his back to the audience and put his hands on his hips, then started swiveling his ass in time to the beat. Your jaw dropped as the hoots and catcalls from the audience increased in volume. No way, was he…?

You couldn’t believe the sight of your bounty shimmying and gyrating on stage as he started to remove pieces of his outfit. On the one hand, it was kriffing stupid to be hiding in plain sight, working in such a shitty bar, but on the other hand he seemed to be making credits hand over fist as one customer after another approached the stage to drop currency into the jar sitting on the synthesizer stand.

You watched, transfixed, as he shucked his pants, then peeled off the chestplate of his costume armor. Now the outfit made sense, it was a costume, designed to be removed easily. He probably had his real armor stashed away safely somewhere else. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as he held one gloved hand up to the audience and then gently tugged at the fingers one by one. He finally pulled it off and threw it on the edge of the stage, where a woman leapt forward to snatch it up before tucking it down the front of her shirt.

Now that he was in just a long-sleeved shirt and tight black underwear, your shock was starting to wear off, replaced by something you were a little ashamed of: lust. The young man was beautiful, and if he hadn’t been a mark, if you weren’t relying on his capture to make a living, you might have bedded him happily.

His skin was golden everywhere you could see, and his broad shoulders and strong arms belied hours of training and fighting. He was cute, you decided, as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and then turned his back to the room to peel it slowly off his shoulders. That left him in just a black sleeveless undershirt and his briefs, and the appreciative noises from the audience reached a thrilling crescendo.

He turned back toward the audience and pulled at the neckline of his tank top, bringing it down to reveal one nipple and then the other. As you watched, he gripped the center of the neckline and then yanked, ripping the fabric down the middle, the clean line of the tear telling you that it had been snipped or prepped to rip cleanly away. A woman at the table next to you screamed and you laughed under your breath. This wasn’t the first time you had seen a show, but it was definitely novel that you were here to capture the main act. You supposed you could just enjoy it, and then grab him out back in the alley when he was leaving.

But as you watched him strip off his black underwear, leaving him only in his helmet, his cock half-hard as he thrust his hips in time with the music, another thought occurred to you...

---

You passed a few credits to the bartender and whispered in his ear, then pulled back to make sure he understood you. He met your eyes, looked at the credits in his hand, and then looked back up at you. His big, wet eyes blinked once and he nodded. You stepped behind the bar and let yourself into the door marked “PRIVATE” in six different alphabets.

Just beyond the door was a long hallway stacked with crates on one side, and an unmarked door. You let yourself in, finding a wide, comfortable couch and one small desk inside. You sat on the couch and waited.

After a minute you heard heavy footsteps from the hall outside. They paused for just a moment, and then the door opened, the Beskar helmet poking into the room first, as if to test the atmosphere. As soon as he saw you he nodded once and then closed the door behind him.

“You the client?” His voice was gruff, low and modulated by the helmet, but it didn’t match his awkward posture. He seemed nervous, like he hadn’t done this before. You hoped the nerves didn’t mean he had figured you out. But then again, if he had gotten any whiff of you being a bounty hunter, he most likely would have disappeared entirely, not come to a private meeting in the back room of a low-grade bar.

You nodded once at him and patted the seat beside you. “Yes, dear boy. Come here and sit next to me.”

He hesitated for just a moment before crossing the room and taking a seat next to you. He held his back rigid, nerves clearly thrumming with electricity as he perched on the edge of the couch, turned slightly to face you. You ran one finger up his arm in a lazy motion. He had dressed again in the long-sleeved black shirt, pants, gloves and boots, but he hadn’t put any armor back on, theatrical or otherwise. He tilted his helmet to watch your finger make its way up and down his bicep.

You purred as you stroked his arm, smiling at the memory of his hardened muscles as they had moved under his beautiful golden skin. You wondered what he looked like under the helmet, but you also knew that some Mandalorians spent their whole lives with their faces obscured. And then to muddy things further, fact and fiction were often intertwined when it came to this ancient group of people.

“I liked what I saw out there, Mandalorian. I’ve got three hundred credits if you have a few minutes to spare for a more…” you paused, licking your lips seductively, “-personal interaction.”

He made a noise that sounded like he was clearing his throat, but could also have been a strangled gulp. It was hard to tell through the modulator. You hoped he wasn’t a kriffing virgin or anything. Maybe you should rethink your plan, not seduce him and just tranq him now? But then you would have to drag him out through the entire hallway, and down the street. If you could seduce him here, you might be able to get him to come back to the ship willingly with the promise of sex, and that would save you a heap of trouble. You’d be able to knock him out just steps away from the carbonite chamber. You bit your lip and dragged your fingernail lazily over his shoulder as you thought through your options.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

The declaration startled you, snapping you out of your ruminations. Your eyes flicked up to his dark visor, and for a moment you swore you could feel his eyes boring into your skin. Your face burned with a sudden heat, and you felt your mouth go dry.

“Th- thank you.” You swallowed hard. “You’re not so bad yourself. You put on quite a show, is there a reason you don’t take the helmet off?”

He nodded once. “My creed.”

You waited, but he didn’t add any information, and you weren’t sure what an appropriate follow-up question would be. You leaned closer and placed a soft kiss to his shoulder, lingering a moment to drink in his scent. Whatever he had last showered with was deep and spicy, and combined wonderfully with the saline notes of his fresh perspiration.

You pulled back and looked up at him from under your eyelashes, hoping that he would take the bait. You felt like a pervert, but your new plan was to take him back to the ship, take him to bed, and then stick him in carbonite for Karga. Just the idea of it made you feel so filthy that you swore to the Maker that it would be your last job.

“I’ve got a ship parked just around the corner. Do you want to come back with me? It’s a little more private than this dank office.” You tilted your head and smiled at him, and you realized that your heart was thrumming behind your sternum with an altogether different cadence than usual.

Normally you would have blamed it on the adrenaline rush of tricking a quarry into submission, closing a deal that you knew would fuel your ship for the next few cycles. This time you felt… lighter, almost hopeful. This time your heart was beating because you wanted him, wanted to see him and touch him and feel him heavy between your legs or on your tongue. This was lust with the added taint of guilt - the secret hope that he would figure it out and run, or that you wouldn’t have to freeze him at all.

You held your breath and waited, and then breathed out when you saw him nod the helmet once, a dip of the chin and back up, and you knew you would enjoy this for all that it was worth. You would treat him right before you had to do him wrong.

—-

The walk back to the ship was brief, both of you scurrying through the darkened streets like fugitives. When you finally arrived you tossed your bag down in a corner, and the ship’s ramp was barely closed before he was on you. He pushed, crowding into your space as you fisted your hand into the front of his shirt and pulled, and you ended up with your back up against the wall with one of his broad thighs pressed between your legs. The friction of his strong, hard thigh against your pussy was incredible.

In every other hookup situation you had been in, there would have been kissing and probably biting, but since the Mandalorian refused to take the helmet off you improvised by leaning your head down to nip and bite at his shoulder. The sounds he was making through the modulator were downright sinful, huffs and moans that sent chills up your arms and hardened your nipples into buds. You opened the top of his shirt to get to more of his delicious golden skin, licking and tasting as much as you could since his mouth was off-limits.

He hissed and spilled words of passion into your ear as you tasted him. “Fuck, you’re so… so fucking pretty.”

The compliment gave you a moment’s hesitation, not because it was a repetition of what he had said in the bar’s back office, but because of the earnestness and honesty he displayed. He sounded like a kid on a date. Kriff, he was young. Young, and you were taking advantage of him. The thought made you slow your lips, and you felt guilty for everything you had ever done wrong, and for what you were about to do.

“What’s the matter?” He had noticed your hesitation, how you pulled back a bit, though your hands were still gripping his open shirt.

You looked at him. The reflection of your face in his visor was the worst kind of mirror. All you could see was a wanton, selfish woman who was about to fuck up a young kid’s life, all for her own greedy lust.

“I’m sorry.” The words were out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

You felt him still, his whole body suddenly going immobile, though he still held your hips firmly in his grasp.

“Why are you sorry? Are you- you’re not married or anything, right?”

“No, nothing like that. I just-” You shook your head and your eyes landed involuntarily on your bag, slouched in the corner.

In a flash he was off you, picking up the bag and opening it, holding the tracking fob up and staring at it. Dank farrik, he was fast. It blinked scarlet in his huge glove, the flash beating so bright you swore you could feel it behind your eyes. You couldn’t breathe, and each pulse of the red light drove the stake of your own guilt deeper.

He lifted his visor to you and spoke short, declarative sentences. He didn’t need to ask questions; the fob and your own face told him everything. “A tracking fob. You’re a bounty hunter. This is for what I did to the Guild.”

You nodded, waiting for him to speak again, but all he did was hold the fob and look at you.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to kill you. I was- I just wanted to-” You gulped and tried again. “I was just going to knock you out with a tranq dart and freeze you. The sex wasn’t- wasn’t part of the plan.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying more. Stars, you should have quit ages ago. What kind of hardened bounty hunter spills the whole plan like that? You had gone soft, and now you were going to pay for it. You hoped he would just run, and not kill you or beat the snot out of you.

His next statement nearly knocked you out of your boots. “We haven’t had sex… yet.”

“Y-yet? Yet? Y-you… what?” Your head spun. You knew you had already lost control of the situation, but you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly was happening now.

He dropped the tracking fob and your bag, letting them fall to the floor. Then he took slow, deliberate strides toward you. You felt like you were being hunted, an entirely odd sensation in your current line of work.

He put his two big hands on the wall on either side of your head, and the smell of the leather and his spiced soap brought on a rush of arousal that swept your fear aside so quickly that it nearly made you faint.

“I said, we haven’t had sex yet.” His voice purred out of the modulator with a growl, the deep baritone of it making you damp in an instant. “Do you still want to?”

You nodded. This was insane. How he had managed to flip the tables on you like this was beyond you, but for the life of you all you could say was, “Yes.”

As soon as the word passed your lips, he was back on you, hard thigh once again pressed against your cunt like he owned you. You moaned and threw your arms around his neck.

“Where’s your bunk, pretty girl? Or do you want to do it here in the cargo bay?”

You tilted your head toward the door set into the wall. “There.”

He let you go and you wobbled the few steps on shaky legs, pressing blindly at the button until the panel slid open. You realized that you had neglected to make your bed, but that was fine. No need to straighten the covers when they were about to get messed up.

You turned back toward him and he closed the gap, guiding you backwards into your bunk. You half-fell, half-sat down, letting him crowd into you as you leaned back. He pressed his helmet to your forehead and groped your breast through your shirt, running one leather-clad thumb over your hardened nipple. You threw your head back with a moan, relishing the feeling of his clothed erection against your clit. He pulled away and stood up, and you tried to catch your breath.

He nodded once at you. “Strip.”

You didn’t think to argue, sitting up and unbuttoning your shirt with a haste that resulted in ripping two buttons off. You toed off your boots and then leaned back, shifting your hips up just enough to slide your pants down, kicking them off your feet onto the floor.

You lay there naked and gazed up at him, hearing the sharp intake of breath behind his modulator. You swelled with happiness, suffused with pride that this man was so taken by your form that he was at a loss for words, even for just a moment.

“Fuck…” he trailed off, and you imagined that the rest of his thoughts were a repeat of his earlier declarations, a statement that you were so pretty. You saw his cock jump behind the dark fabric of his pants, and you opened your legs slowly. It felt odd watching his helmet as if you were expecting a change of expression, but he seemed to show his feelings with his stance and his posture. At the sight of your open legs, his shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if he were holding himself back from diving in face first.

You curled your finger and smiled wickedly, feeling back in control. “Come here, sweet boy.”

He didn’t hesitate, simply opened the zipper on his pants and hauled out his meaty cock. You had gotten a preview of it from the strip show, but hardened like this, fully erect… it was something else.

He wasted no time in pulling off a glove and kneeling between your legs to stroke the head against your lips, letting your arousal coat him as much as he could before he pushed into you with one insistent thrust. You moaned high and needy, lifting your legs high to wrap them around his waist. The feeling of him pushing into you was divine, your cunt stretching to accommodate his fluid drags and thrusts. You clenched your thighs tight and hung on, letting him pull out only slightly before he had to fuck back into you again.

“Stars, woman. Kriff…” His voice sounded pained. “You’re holding on so tight, fuck…”

He buried his helmet into the side of your neck and you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, loving the feel of his half-naked chest against yours. You had undone half of his buttons before your guilt had made you confess, and the feel of his clothing as he fucked into you made you feel deliciously vulnerable. The soft material of his shirt rubbing against your nipples, and the rougher fabric of his trousers between your soft thighs made you impossibly wet.

You unwrapped your legs and opened them wide, letting him fuck into you as deeply as he could. He never slowed his pace, and you braced yourself against the rhythmic grind of his hips. The few coarse curls that were poking out of his open pants were grinding against your clit, and you angled your hips just right to catch them with every stroke. It wasn’t quite enough, so you patted his shoulder as a signal to lean back up.

He propped himself up on his hands and lifted his visor off your shoulder. You snaked a hand down and touched yourself, and the feel of your own fingers nearly made you jump.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Touch yourself. Come for me.”

You ached to do exactly that, and you found yourself staring up into his visor as you brought yourself closer to orgasm. Fuck, he was beautiful braced above you like that, his shirt falling open to give you a glimpse of his broad chest, the way his neck flexed and strained with every thrust. You bit your lip and felt the onrush of your climax, and with one more breath you were over the edge and flying.

He felt you clench around him, and that seemed to send him over, too. He spit out one more whispered curse before he buried himself deep and spasmed against you, filling you with the sticky heat of his cum.

You lay there, catching your breath, in no hurry to finish and get up. Who knew what was next? Would he escape? Hurt you? You didn’t think so, not from the way he had behaved so far. And he wasn’t a violent criminal, just a thief.

When you had both recovered, you patted him and he rolled off of you, laying on his back and throwing one hand up over his head.

You sat up to retrieve your pants and shirt, and started pulling them back on.

“You gonna turn me in?”

You paused, not entirely sure of that yourself. “I should, that’s why I tracked you down.”

“What if you didn’t? What if I came willingly and turned myself in? You think they’d be lenient?”

You sat on the edge of the bunk to lace your boots up. “Probably not. But maybe we could work something out.” You thought for a moment. The work had been hard on you lately… maybe you could train him... maybe Karga would let him work off his debt by apprenticing with you, instead of in some seedy Guild establishment?

“How do you feel about becoming a bounty hunter?” You turned to him and smiled. “You’d get to keep your clothes on.”

The sound of his laughter was warm, even through the modulator.

He nodded, “I’d like that.”

---

Din Djarin/Mando character masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @astoryisaloveaffair @fan-of-encouragement @nolanell @deadhumourist

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Devil-May-Care

Pairing: demon!Dream / Clay x demon hunter!gn!reader

Summary: [Demon Hunter!AU] When you went in search of the most powerful demon known to mankind, you didn’t expect him to be so charming.

Warnings: a little horror + some violence + tw// weapons (crossbow, gun)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this was requested by a passionate anon! i fell in love with the request at first sight and had loads of fun writing this, although i did take some creative liberty with it. i hope you all enjoy :)

You huffed as you pushed past the branch hanging in your face, wrinkling your nose as you trudged onward. The forest was almost eerily silent around you, the pitch black night doing nothing to ease the tension that had gathered in your shoulders. Above you, the moon and stars twinkled soundlessly, peering down at you with wide, watching eyes.

Where could he possibly be hiding? you thought to yourself with a grimace. Is he even in this forest?

Your mentor had told you that this forest was the last place he’d ever been seen, and that it would be your best bet. But she also told you not to get your hopes too high, since he was known to be a trickster who never stayed in one spot for too long.

You sighed as you stepped over a fallen log, making sure not to trip. Despite how young the night was, you were already getting tired. Tracking was arguably the hardest part of your job, and easily your least favourite part of it.

Then again, no one said being a demon hunter was easy.

With a slight grumble, you squinted through the darkness while walking past another tree. So far, all you’d seen was tree after after tree, and you were getting fed up. Heck, you could have sworn there was a clearing just ahead of you here.

It was at that moment that the trees suddenly parted before you, and you found yourself standing in the middle of a clearing. The soft grass rustled beneath your feet as you took a tentative step forward, your ears perking up for any noise or movement. When nothing came, the muscles in your legs tensed.

This was the first clearing you had found in hours, and something about it just felt off.

“What are you looking for, little hunter?”

You whirled at the sound of the low, curling voice, your gaze frantically darting around the darkness for its source. You kept your lips pursed as your head whipped this way and that, nothing but silence filling the forest air. Even with the light of the moon, all you could make out between the shadows were the silhouettes of trees and their taunting branches looming over you.

There was no way it was who you thought it was... right?

“Not gonna say anything? Hm. Perhaps that’s just because you can’t see me. Here.”

You heard the snap of a finger, and the clearing around you suddenly lit up in a faint, greenish hue. Your eyes widened as the earth you stood upon began to glow, your fingers twitching at your side. Turning again, you quickly searched your surroundings once more for the voice’s owner. Everything seemed to be exactly how it appeared when you first arrived—the trees were just trees and the grass was just grass, even if they were both admittedly glowing.

Just then, there came a whistle from above you.

You lifted your head, and your gaze fell upon a figure sitting atop a tree branch a few feet away. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight.

Piercing, emerald eyes. A green fitted shirt to match. Dark, golden hair. A smattering of freckles. A cold, wicked grin.

The man smiled at you, swinging his legs leisurely as he tilted his head. “Hello there, pet.”

You didn’t wait another second before your arms were reaching up behind you, pulling your crossbow off your back. You slotted the arrow into the flight groove in near record time before aiming it up at him, aiming for but a split second before you pulled the trigger. In a flash, the arrow went flying through the night sky, pointed directly at his face. You could have sworn you caught his eyes turn red before he suddenly vanished, your arrow passing through empty space before pinning itself into the tree trunk he had been leaning against just seconds prior.

You panted, quickly pulling another arrow out of your quiver and reloading your crossbow as you turned in a circle, not a single detail going unnoticed by your watchful eyes. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to focus on the rustling leaves around you. Your fingers curled around the stock of your bow a fraction tighter, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Where is he? Where did he go?

A smooth voice curled around the back of your neck.

“Is this how you greet everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

Whipping around again, you pulled the trigger without even an ounce of hesitation. A twang of satisfaction shot through you as you heard the distinct sound of flesh being pierced, followed by a tumble to the ground. You rushed over at the sight of the man—or demon, as you should be calling him—lying sprawled on the ground, his arms casually tucked under his head as if he hadn’t just been shot.

“Ooh,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his chest, “your arrows are made of dreamshade.” He grinned at you. “Smart one, aren’t you?”

Before you could even react, he ripped the arrow out, watching with amusement as crimson slowly dripped onto the front of his shirt. You stared at the hole in his chest, left behind by your arrow, a glimmer of glee expanding in your chest. Yes! you thought, your lips quirking as your hand floated toward the pistol hanging at your side. Now’s my cha—

All of a sudden, you watched in horror as the skin began to reform, the sinew and muscle stitching themselves back together to fill the gap. In an instant, his chest was whole again, the hole having disappeared entirely with nothing to even hint at its existence, were it not for the tear in his shirt.

“Unfortunately for you,” he said, tossing the arrow behind his head with a flick of his fingers, “I’m tougher than most demons out there.”

In a flash, you were standing over him, one foot digging into his chest. You didn’t even give him the chance to blink before you were pointing your crossbow at him once more, this time just barely allowing the arrow tip to hover above his neck. You tried to calm your breaths, pushing back the sick sense of joy you could feel starting to boil over inside you. You were so, so close to just killing hi—

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to attack me without even asking for my name?” he calmly drawled, looking bored out of his mind.

You blinked in surprise, your thoughts faltering for a moment before your expression hardened once more. “I know who you are.”

He cocked his head at you, something like delight swimming in his viridian eyes. “Do you, now?”

You gulped, hesitating only for a moment before you began to speak. “Y-You’re Dream. Lord of chaos. Progenitor of destruction. Harbinger of nightmares.” You nearly choked on your own words.

“The world’s most powerful demon.”

He grinned at you, clapping his hands together above his head as he let out a small hoot. “Aw, you know all my titles?” He winked. “That’s cute.”

Cute, your brain repeated dumbly, a fuzzy feeling forming in your chest, but you quickly shook the thought from your head with a scowl. You should not be happy that one of the most powerful demon’s known to mankind called you cute.

(Okay, well. Maybe you were a little happy. Not that you would ever admit it.)

With a stony look, your finger wrapped around the crossbow trigger, the cool metal sending a shiver down you spine. “I’m here to kill you, Dream.”

He didn’t look fazed. “Oh? Even though we only just met?”

A snarl ripped itself out of your throat, fury slowly beginning to claw up your insides. Why did he sound so calm? Didn’t he understand that he was about to die to your hand?

“That doesn’t matter,” you said bluntly, trying to ignore your heart ramming away at your ribcage. “You’re a monster that needs to be disposed of.”

He hummed, absentmindedly picking at his nail. “That’s bold of you to say.” His tone was dull and interested, and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter thanks the green glow surrounding his head. “I can’t remember the last time a demon hunter has ever been so upfront with me.”

The string tying your restraint together snapped. That was it. How could he be so nonchalant? So apathetic? Didn’t he care?

“You’ve killed so many people,” you spat, “taken so many innocent lives, and for what?” You narrowed your eyes, nothing but pure disgust running through your veins as you dug the tip of your crossbow into the soft flesh of his neck. “What reason do I have to stop myself from ending your life right here, right now?”

Below you, Dream only stared blankly at you, his eyebrows raised. Then, he let out a sigh, wrapping a hand around the stock of your crossbow. Panic shot through you as he pulled it away from his throat with ease, his fingers curling around the polished wood. “First of all,” he said lowly, “that little thing isn’t going to do anything.”

In a blink of an eye, you heard the snapping of metal and wood, your gaze going wide. He shot you a cocky grin. “Not anymore.”

You leapt back, gritting you teeth and tossing your now useless crossbow onto the earth beside you. Your hand moved in a blur as you reached down and pulled out your pistol from its holster, pointing it toward him. “Each and every one of these bullets is soaked in holy water,” you shouted, your hand cocking back the safety. “Don’t think I won’t shoot.”

Dream rolled over onto his stomach, his grin widening as he rested his chin on his hand. “Tell me,” he drawled, tilting his head, “do you really think you scare me?”

You ignored the shaking of your fingers. “I—I can and will shoot you.”

He laughed, an uncomfortable warmth wrapping around your gut. “Please, darling—I’ve been alive for longer than you can even fathom. As if you’d be the first to pin me down, let alone try to shoot me.” His eyes flashed crimson, and you felt your stomach drop. “I know all your hunter tricks and tactics, and believe me when I say they won’t work.”

Suddenly, he floated up off the ground, not changing his position whatsoever. In only a matter of seconds, he was hovering above you, blinking down at your shocked expression with mirth glimmering in his scarlet gaze.

Of course he could levitate—what were you expecting?

“Second,” he said, “I did a lot of those things a long time ago, especially in human years. How long has it been?” He tapped his chin. “Probably centuries by now, which is like forever for you guys.”

You scowled at him, your pistol still pointed at him. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t caused any chaos recently.”

“That’s true!” he chirped, snapping his fingers. “But my more recent activities have been much more... tame in comparison to my golden years, don’t you think?”

As much as you wanted to shoot him right here and now, you also wanted to punch him in the face before you did. “Lives are lives, Dream!” you shouted. “Any more or less lost doesn’t make you any more redeemable.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, flipping onto his back as he continued to hover in the cool, night air. “Oh, you humans and your morality. How entertaining you all are.”

There was only one word running through your mind as you glared at him, your jaw clenching tight as your rage only multiplied inside you. Monster, monster, monster.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he allowed himself to drift a fraction lower toward you. “Well, I do believe I should ask—who’s to say that I was the one who killed those people, anyways?”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “...what are you talking about?”

He peeked an eye open at you. “It’s not like I flew down from the sky and shot them all with a rifle, and it’s not like I just snapped my fingers and everyone dropped dead.” He hummed at the thought. “Just what kind of person do you take me for?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your toes curling in your boots. “Stop distracting me—you’re dodging the question.”

“On the contrary,” he shot back without missing a beat, “I’d argue that you’re dodging mine, pet.” You could hear the laughter threatening to bubble up his throat as he spoke. “Do you really think I was the one purely responsible for all that destruction?”

You tried to ignore the slight tremble of your hands. “A-Aren’t you?” you stammered out. “You’ve started wars, detonated massive bombs, pushed people to their absolute limits. That stuff’s all your fault.” You gulped. “...isn’t it?”

For a second, he simply stared at you. Then, he burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, how naïve you are, pet. Just what were you taught?” As he clutched his chest, he sunk a little lower toward you. “I didn’t fight on those battlefields. I didn’t press the red button. I didn’t kick men and women to the ground, pointing guns in their faces. But do you know who did?”

The cogs in your head began to turn as you wracked your mind over his words. Then, a wave of understanding slammed into you, and you lowered your pistol, your arm going limp at your side.

He couldn’t possibly mean...

“Ding, ding, ding! You guessed it.” His lips curled up into a delighted smirk. “Humanity did.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Oh, no.

The manic look in his eyes only grew. “Oh, yes.” He cackled at the look on your face, pointing at you. “I didn’t even have to lift a finger for you to all walk straight into your own demise! How pathetic is that?”

You took a shaky step back, your pistol dropping to the ground. “B-B—”

“B-B-B-But what?” he said mockingly, mimicking you in a high-pitched tone. “Did they tell you that I’m the big, bad wolf and that humanity is Little Red? Because they lied, pet. They lied to you.” He pointed his fingers together to form an X, tilting his head at you. “I’ll have you know that I’m not a liar. A trickster, perhaps. But a liar?” He narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

He bent down where he hovered in the air, waggling a finger in your face. “The truth is, darling, is that I didn’t do anything. I just stood in the room and watched. I might have pointed out that that one little duke was in perfect view, or that that one city only had so many people living in it, but I never took any lives myself.” He lightly tapped your nose, and you shrunk back as he crooned, “Humanity did all that, pet. They’re the real monsters to blame here.”

You wanted to sink to your knees and melt into a puddle on the ground. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Your mentor told you that Dream killed all those people—that he was the one to stab the knife in and twist it while pulling it out. She wouldn’t lie to you, never in a million years.

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But there was something about the freckles scattered across Dream’s face and the way the moonlight bounced off his eyes that made you realize.

He was telling the truth.

A few moments passed in silence as you stared long and hard down at your feet. You could feel Dream’s gaze boring into your figure, eyeing you up and down as you struggled to steady the beating of your heart. You half-expected him to mock you even more, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Maybe he was more human than you thought.

“Why?” you finally whispered after god knows how long.

When you were met with silence, you raised your eyes to meet his once more. “Why did you do it?” you said, louder this time. “Why did you interact with us at all if you wouldn’t even get your own hands dirty? If you knew it would only end like this?”

His eyes flashed, the tiniest hint of carmine swirling in their murky depths. “Isn’t the answer obvious, pet?” He flashed you a wicked grin. “I was bored.”

You blinked, realization slowly setting in. “Bored? Bored?” You were about to lose it, now. “You did all that just because you were bored?”

He shrugged. “Sure did. Chaos makes the world so much more interesting, don’t you think? If only good things happened, you would be bored, too.”

Your stomach churned with disgust. “You’re twisted.”

His smile only widened. “At least I’m having fun.”

All you could do was stare at him in defeat. This wasn’t right. There were more ways to have fun than to toy with humanity’s psyche and drive them to end people’s lives, even for a demon like him. There had to be something you could do. For some inexplicable reason you couldn’t bring yourself to name, a part of you almost wanted to help him.

I must be losing my mind, you thought. What person in their right mind would try to save a demon, let alone the most powerful one of them all?

You, apparently.

The cogs in your head began to churn, your mind bustling as it tried to come up with some alternative, no matter how silly. There had to be something he could do that wasn’t just this.

That was when it hit you.

“Why,” you started slowly, your voice coming out shaky and unsure, “don’t you have fun in a way that doesn’t destroy things... but creates them?”

He blinked lazily at you. “Hm?”

You swallowed, raising your chin. “You—you can have chaos, but it doesn’t need to be destructive.”

He raised his brows. “It doesn’t?”

Your gaze hardened. “Not at all.”

Just then, a flash of memory shot through your skull, and you gasped. “Say, Dream,” you began, “do you—do you know how the Greeks thought the universe came to be?”

You didn’t wait for him to answer. “First,” you said, “there was chaos. And from chaos, life was born. Gods and goddesses, plants and animals.”

“And humans,” he added.

You nodded. “And humans—like me.” You pressed a hand to your chest. “See? Chaos can create things. It doesn’t have to be so full of death and terror.”

While his expression was bemused, there was something sad about it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “You do realize that that’s just a story that you human made up?” he hummed. “How the universe came to be is far more different.”

You blinked. “You were alive for that?”

He sent you a blank smile, the look in his eyes betraying nothing. “Maybe, maybe not.” Waving his hand, he flipped over onto his back, floating a fraction higher than before. “Point is, that kind of chaos probably doesn’t exist.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “But it could,” you whispered.

He paused, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What?”

You dug your heel into the ground, raising your voice. “It could! You don’t know that it doesn’t.” You took a step toward him, throwing your arms out. “Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that exciting? That there’s a whole other form of chaos you’ve never discovered before?!”

Your shout rang out into the quiet forest as Dream stared at you, his lips parted the tiniest bit. Rather than looking amused or arrogant, he almost looked... raw. Real. This might just the most vulnerable look you’d gotten of him all night.

Then, he burst into laughter.

Lowering your arms, you huffed at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth blossoming between your lungs as you took in his wheezing face. “W-What?”

“Oh,” he gasped between peals of laughter, “what a treat you are, pet.”

Heat flashed across your cheeks as he wiped away a tear from his eye, his chuckles slowly dying down. His laugh should not sound as attractive as it was—he should not be as attractive as he was.

“Tell you what,” he said as he caught his breath once more, sending you a devilish grin. “If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my real one.”

You stared at him for a moment, then your jaw dropped. “What?”

He stared at you, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim light. “You heard me.”

For a few seconds, you simply gaped, your brain still struggling to process his words. “But... but why?” you finally blurted. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

He hummed at you, flipping upside down. “What about it doesn’t make sense? It seems like a fair trade to me.”

Sputtering, you threw your hands into the air. “A demon’s true name is the source of their power! By handing it over to me, you’re basically putting your life in my hands—in a demon hunter’s hands.” Your face blanched at the mere thought. “A human name and demon name aren’t even remotely comparable.”

He blinked at you, slow and lazy. “I know.”

You didn’t understand—you couldn’t understand. “Then why are you doing this?”

He dipped his down toward you, his face hovering mere inches away from yours. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured. “You’re interesting. And rather cute, I suppose.”

You back-pedaled, your eyes wide as you stammered, “I-I could kill you if you told me your real name.”

He hummed, tucking his hand under his chin. “Perhaps, I suppose.” His lips curled upward. “But you won’t.”

Your hand squeezed around nothing. “You don’t know that.”

He chuckled again, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “Oh, yes I do, pet. Don’t act as though I can’t see right through you. I know you’re too wishy-washy to kill me off just like that.”

He tilted his head at you, his gaze brimming with mischief. “That’s the thing about humans—you’re all so greedy. You all want something you don’t have, something that fuels you to acquire more. It might be power, or fame, or fortune, or love. It’s quite pathetic, really. But curiosity?”

Lowering himself, he pushed himself up until he was standing flat on the ground again, his hands sliding into his pockets. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your mouth went dry. “Why, curiosity is your greatest flaw of all. You humans always want to know more, and I know that you want to know what I do next, whether you’re aware of it or not.”

You felt like your blood was going to tear right out of your veins. You hated how right he was, how well he seemed to know you. “You’re insane,” you said.

His smile was lazy and wide as he took a single step toward you. “Probably. But I’ve been alive for ages now, and you might be the most fun thing I’ve seen in millennia. I want to know your name, pet.”

This was crazy in every sense of the word. Any other demon wouldn’t even dare utter their true name aloud, even to themselves, yet here Dream was, bargaining his for yours.

You’d be an idiot not to tell him your name, now.

Swallowing, you didn’t dare look away from his piercing eyes. “It—my name is [Y/N].”

His lips parted in awe, and he stepped toward you once more. “[Y/N],” he repeated, slowly. Carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey. “Fascinating name. Haven’t met too many of those in my lifetime, shocking as it may be.” He paused for a moment, and you could have sworn his smile looked different. “It’s pretty.”

A rush of heat went shooting down your spine, your stomach doing a flip. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glared at him. “Well, stop dawdling! What’s your real name, Dream?”

For a long, excruciatingly slow minute, he only stared at you, scanning every inch of your face. You could feel anxiety begin to crawl up your throat as he did nothing more than watch the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

All of a sudden, he was standing in front of you, his hand tucked underneath your chin and lifting it upward. You barely had the chance to gasp before you felt a soft warmth pressing against your lips, light as a feather and tasting like ash and smoke.

Before you could even register what had just happened, he was gone.

You whirled, your face growing astronomically hot. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears again, but for an entirely different reason this time. You raised your hand to touch your lips while your cheeks burned furiously.

Did he just... kiss me?

Just then, a whisper ran along the shell of your ear, so soft that you almost missed it.

“My name is Clay.”

814 notes · View notes

joonie-beanie · 3 years

Text

Present | Diluc x Reader

Word Count: 6,692

Pairing: Diluc x GN Reader (Traveler)

Preview: After realizing that Diluc never gives himself a chance to relax and enjoy the many festivals of Mondstadt, you and Kaeya come up with a plan to create a festival specifically for Diluc. One that he won't have a choice but to enjoy.

"I want this all to work, because more than anything, I want to see the look on that bastard’s face when he realizes we’ve created an event so perfect that he’ll have no reason not to relax. He’ll be pissed.”

In which Kaeya is a little shit, Diluc doesn't know what's coming, and you're a bit of a (love-stricken) fool.

Mondstadt, as the city of freedom, has no shortage of festivals.

Each year, there’s at least half a dozen festivals—well, official ones, at least. Sometimes Good Hunter or Angel’s Share just happen to be doing a special of sorts—you know, a new wine tasting, a limited-time seasonal recipe, and all of the sudden the entirety of Mondstadt is out enjoying themselves and creating a festival of their own.

During the first leg of your journey, when you’d crusaded with the Knights in order to stop Dvalin, you’d experienced your fair share of the city’s festivities. On a handful of occasions, you’d ended up nursing a glass of Dandelion wine—watching as Mondstadt’s residents mingled in the bars, and seeped out into the music filled streets.

Venti had a habit of putting on a show, his cheeks flushed pink as his melody entranced his audience. Jean tended to immerse herself in her work, but Lisa and Amber always managed to drag her away—the trio getting a bite to eat, and a bottle to share. And Kaeya…well, Kaeya could typically be found in Cat’s Tail—flirting his way through the evening with no shortage of confidence. And if he ever felt like being a bit more mischievous, he’d head over to Angel’s Share and see if he could rile Diluc’s feathers.

Speaking of…the red-headed winery owner never quite seemed to enjoy the liveliness of Mondstadt. No matter how much his workers tried to relieve him of his place behind the bar, he never opted to indulge himself. On occasion, he would leave Charles to run things by himself—quietly slipping out the back door and returning no more than 15 minutes later, not a hair out of place.

It wasn’t until after you’d figured out exactly who the Darknight Hero was that you realized what exactly it was he was doing in those short reprieves of his.

“You know,” you say, the evening of your last festival in Mondstadt. Diluc is making his way back in from the side gate—the masks of defeated Hilichurls left in the grass behind him. “You deserve a break.”

“The Knights use the city’s festivities as an excuse to get drunk and shirk their duties,” he responds, crimson gaze turning to you. “If I don’t keep an eye out, Mondstadt will be left undefended.”

“But that’s not fair to you!” Paimon argues over your shoulder, peeved on his behalf. “Even Master Diluc deserves some downtime!”

“I feel better when I’m doing something—slacking off doesn’t suit me.”

“It’s not slacking off it's relaxing,” you argue, scooting from your spot atop the short concrete wall and following after him once he makes his way up the stairs. “Everyone deserves to relax, especially you, Diluc.”

He sighs at your persistence, B-lining for the back door to the bar.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Y/N.”

“I don’t need to, but I am.”

He pauses in his stride, turning to look at you. Confusion creases his brow, as if he’s not used to anyone outside of his staff genuinely worrying for his well being.

He stares at you for a few seconds, his gaze flitting to the slight pout of your lips. Unfortunately, a little pout isn’t enough to break him.

“Please don’t worry, I promise I’m fine,” he says, his features softening. He doesn’t smile, but the look in his eye is enough to have your heart skipping a beat. Luckily, if your cheeks flush, it can easily be passed off as a side effect of the glass of alcohol you’d already downed.

Without waiting for a response, Diluc then strides forward and returns to the bar. You’re left alone in the street, staring after him--at least, until someone else saddles up beside you.

“I came looking for our dear old friend Diluc since I noticed he was gone, and here I find him out here with you,” Kaeya’s teasing voice reaches your ear. You glance over your shoulder at him, rolling your eyes when he cocks an insinuating brow.

“15 minutes is long enough for a quickie, no?”

“Oh hush,” you say, slapping the front of your hand against his chest. He chuckles.

“Hey, don’t tell me you would be opposed.”

You decide not to respond to that, opting to change the topic, and while Kaeya certainly notices, he chooses not to push it.

“You know,” you start. “Diluc never participates in these festivals because he knows the Knight’s are out enjoying themselves.”

“Ah, and by that you mean “Diluc hates the fact that the Knights are taking a break, and is busy masquerading as the Darknight Hero to protect the city instead, since he thinks we’re incompetent”.”

You wince at his wording. “Well…I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“But he would,” Kaeya scoffs. He eyes the drink in his hand, swirling the contents at the bottom of the glass. Silence stretches for a moment.

“You’re worried about him.”

“I think he just deserves to…I don’t know…enjoy himself??”

A grin stretches at Kaeya’s lips. “Well, if you show up in his bedroom wearing a cute little lingerie set I’m sure he’d—”

“Paimon, look! There’s Venti!” you hurriedly interrupt him, pointing at the intoxicated bard that has come into view just up the road. “Didn’t you say he owes you a meal at Good Hunter?!”

Luckily, the distraction works. Paimon gasps, realizing you’re right, and floats away from your side.

“Hey! Good for nothing bard! Time to pay up!”

You breathe a sigh of relief before turning a narrowed gaze on Kaeya. He holds his hands up innocently.

“Whoops~”

“You have no self-control,” you tell him with a huff, attempting to brush past him and head back into the bar. The cryo-user catches your wrist, however, before you can get too far. With little trouble, he tugs you backwards—your bottom bumping into a wooden table set out behind you, and you reach back to steady yourself. Kaeya places his hands on either side of you, effectively caging you in.

He smiles cheekily.

“If I had no self-control, you’d be flung over my shoulder as I carried you back to your lodgings.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Then what’s stopping you?”

The question isn’t teasing, but curious. This is far from the first time Kaeya has entered your personal space, or made naughty insinuations while around you. In fact, once before he had thrown you over his shoulder and attempted to escape, only to be stopped by Jean along the way.

This time, however, despite his bold words, he’s not moving to follow-through.

You hold his gaze, waiting for an answer, and he sighs.

Hanging his head, his soft hair brushes against the skin of your neck as he rests his forehead on your shoulder.

“Because…I think you’re right.”

“…what?”

“I think you’re right,” he repeats, finally taking a step back and giving you some space. There’s a disgruntled yet bashful look on his face.

“I think…maybe…Diluc should relax for a day. Even just an evening, really. I mean, after all, if he doesn’t relax every now and then he’ll age horribly.”

You breathe a laugh at that.

Pushing yourself up, you eye the Knight considerately.

“…you really do care about him, don’t you?”

Kaeya shoots you a look—one that obviously screams “don’t you dare say a word more”—and luckily for him, you don’t. At least, not about his secret concern for Diluc.

“So, if we want to get him to relax for once, how do we do it?”

Kaeya pauses, considering how exactly the two of you can take on this nearly-impossible task. It will be no easy feat to get Diluc to relax, even if only for a few hours. He doesn’t trust a majority of the Knights of Favonius, if any, so even if Kaeya recruited other Knights to guard the city during the next festival, he doubts Diluc would simply accept the increased defense in Mondstadt and relax.

No…of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“The city is too big,” Kaeya says, making his thoughts known. “Even if the Knights didn’t take a break during the next festival, and chose to patrol instead, I don’t think Diluc would see them as competent enough to actually prevent an attack. He’d assume they’re pouting about being on guard while the rest of the city is having fun, which…wouldn’t exactly be wrong, I’m afraid to admit.”

“Then…why not have a festival in a smaller area?” you suggest. “Maybe the area around the cathedral, or—”

“The winery…”

There’s a look of surprise on Kaeya’s face, like he’s taken aback by his own brilliant idea. But, the more you think about it, the winery would be a perfect place. The area to survey isn’t nearly as large as the entire city, and the winery is already bustling with staff that could help out with the preparations.

“That…yeah, that would definitely work,” you agree, feeling excited that this plan might actually be successful. But…then you remember your sibling, and the fact that you’re leaving for Liyue in the upcoming days, and your cheery demeanor quickly melts away. Kaeya, even while buzzed, is quick to notice.

“Leave all the preparation to me,” he says. “I can ask Jean, and Venti…maybe even Amber to help out too. I want this all to work, because more than anything, I want to see the look on that bastard’s face when he realizes we’ve created an event so perfect that he’ll have no reason not to relax. He’ll be pissed.”

You laugh at that. “Okay, I feel bad leaving you to do everything, but…I trust you, if only because I know your need to see him pissed off is genuine.”

“Perfect,” he says. “You just need to meet me at the Winery at noon exactly 30 days from now.”

“30 days from now?” you blink, head tilting to the side. “Why--?”

“April 30th,” he responds, not bothering to explain when you don’t register the significance of the date. “You’ll see. Just be there.”

“Got it,” you nod. “April 30th.”

Kaeya hums, pleased that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and then leans in. Before you can register the movement—too busy thinking about your and Kaeya’s newly formed scheme—you feel a pair of lips press against your cheek.

Kaeya smiles as he inches back.

“Now, be safe in Liyue, alright?”

As annoying and flirtatious as Kaeya can be at times, you sense a sincerity in his words and his actions.

“I will,” you promise softly, and with that, Kaeya turns and disappears back into the city. Two days later you leave Mondstadt behind as you make your way to Liyue, and never once do you forget to count down the days each time the sun sets.

Exactly 30 days after your conversation with Kaeya, you wake up in a bed at the Wanshu Inn. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, and you feel the most rested you’ve felt in the last month of traversing all over Liyue. You assume it’s thanks to being able to sleep in a real bed—not a sleeping bag, in a tent, with one eye open in case any monsters come your way.

No, after accepting a commission for the Inn, they’d offered you mora as a reward, and immediately you’d turned around and given it right back.

“Can I…have a room for the night, instead?”

Thankfully, they’d been more than happy to oblige.

“Today’s the day!” Paimon exclaims as the two of you make your way out of Wanshu, and up the road to the North. “We get to see all our friends from Mondstadt! Aren’t you excited??”

“Of course I am!” you respond with a quiet laugh, eyes trailed on the path ahead. It will be a few hours walk to make it to the winery, but you should make it there by noon no problem.

“I’m just…a little worried. I hope Kaeya’s planning went alright…”

“Oh, don’t start worrying about silly stuff!” Paimon scolds you. “We’ll be there soon, so don’t start thinking bad things! Just trust Kaeya, okay?”

You look at her curiously.

“…do you trust Kaeya?”

Paimon stares blankly. Then, she speeds up the path, arm outstretched.

“Okay! Let’s get a move on!”

You make it through the mountain pass between Mondstadt and Liyue just as the sun hits its highest point in the warm spring sky. Across the lake, you can spot the Dawn Winery and a smile tugs at your lips.

While you’re learning to love Liyue, Mondstadt and its people had been the first to come into your life. For that reason, the familiar sights and sounds have you feeling just a bit more at ease.

“Look! There’s Kaeya!”

Paimon points up the path, and you spot Kaeya’s blue hair in the distance. There are other figures bustling around him, and judging by their outfits, you can only assume they’re employees of Dawn Winery.

Seems like Kaeya did manage to get Diluc’s people in on the surprise.

“Kaeyaaaaa~” Paimon cries as she floats on ahead, catching the Knights’ attention. He smiles charmingly at spotting you both.

“My favorite mysterious traveler and Paimon! Welcome back to Mondstadt.”

“Good to be back,” you respond with a smile as you make your way up the small set of steps. Your gaze sweeps across the winery, and you note the tables that have been set out on one end of the patio. On the other is a small wooden stage, and on either side of the entrance are long banquet tables.

“I see you actually planned something. I’m impressed.”

Kaeya looks seriously offended at the comment.

“What? You thought I would forget? Do you really think that little of me?” he sighs dramatically, but smiles when you roll your eyes and smack his arm.

“Well, you did good, Captain Kaeya, I have to admit.”

“Thank you,” he responds, turning to survey the progress of the winery workers. It’d taken up a chunk of his free time—getting this all planned—but hopefully the look of disbelief on Diluc’s face will make it all worthwhile.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “What is the plan?”

“Well,” Kaeya starts. He crosses his arms, looking up to the sun in the sky. “Master Diluc is away on a trip to Starfell Lake to meet with a potential vendor for the winery. He should be back at…eh…I’d say 3, normally, but my guess is he’ll make some pit stops on the road home to take care of some rouge slimes and hilichurls, so let’s go with 4.”

You breathe a laugh, realizing he’s right. “Okay, fair. So until then it’s just preparation here, I’m guessing. What are we doing about defending the city?”

“Jean asked Lisa to lead a training exercise with the rest of the Knights. An all-night patrol of both the outside and inside of the city walls—a “test” of their will-power.”

“So…trying not to fall asleep on the job?”

Kaeya smiles. “Maybe.”

“Well, so long as the city is being protected, I can’t say anything. Hopefully that will be enough to reassure Diluc.”

“If it’s not, we can just force-feed him a few glasses of wine.”

Speaking of, you watch as two of the winery workers roll out a HUGE barrel of wine. Apparently, there are no holds barred when it comes to throwing an event for their master…

“We’re also using protection for the winery,” Kaeya pipes up, turning to stare to the North. “Amber managed to talk to that wolf boy, Razor, and he agreed to keep an eye out across Wolvendom. Amber volunteered herself to keep tabs on the area between here and Springville, so I don’t think the Abyss Order will get away with trying anything tonight.”

You nod, surprised at the lengths Kaeya had gone to make this a perfect chance for Diluc to relax.

“…god he’s gonna hate us for this,” you sigh, holding your face in your hands. You care about Diluc so much it’s insane, and the only thing you want for him is to take a little break, but man he is gonna be pissed.

“There there,” Kaeya says, patting your back. “No sense worrying now—everything is already in motion. For now, why don’t you see if you can help the preparations in some way? Everything needs to be perfect for Master Diluc, after all.”

You shoot him a disgruntled look. “Ugh, it’s so weird when you call him that. Stop it.”

“I think he gets off on it,” Kaeya responds, an amused glint in his eyes. “Maybe you should try calling him that when the two of you are alone—see if it makes him blush.”

“I’ll hurt you,” you deadpan.

“Maybe I get off on that.”

Wow, he doesn’t miss a beat.

Snorting a laugh, you turn away from him and move to help the winery staff. In just a few hours, you’ll see Diluc for the first time in too long (although you won’t admit that to anyone), and you want to do what you can to make this evening great for him.

Everything goes swimmingly until Jean arrives just before 4pm—jogging up to you and Kaeya with a perplexed look on her face.

“I know how important it is for there to be guards in order to get Master Diluc to relax, but a large number of slimes were spotted near Windrise, and with the Knights of Favonius doing their training exercise tonight in the city, I had no one available to send except Amber,” she explains with a sigh, rubbing her fingers against her forehead.

Worry knots in your throat, eyes scanning the crowd of people that have already gathered. Many of the guests are employees of the winery and patrons of Angel Share that Diluc gets along with. Only a handful of the people present have Visions, but asking any of them to give up being a part of the fun to go and stand watch in the nearby hills sounds like a terrible thing to do.

“Well--,” Kaeya interrupts your thoughts, rolling one of his shoulders. “Guess I’ll have to take over. My dear friend doesn’t seem to enjoy seeing my face around here anyway, so I might as well—”

“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ll play guard.”

Both Kaeya and Jean pause.

“Y/N…,” Jean starts, looking torn. “You traveled all this way. Out of anyone here, you should get to stay and enjoy the festivities…”

“No, it’s okay—Diluc doesn’t even know I’m here, right? I can watch for enemies. You both stay here and enjoy yourselves.”

Paimon looks heartbroken. “Well…if you insist, but won’t you miss seeing Master Diluc?”

You smile at her, attempting to be reassuring. The idea of coming all this way and not getting to mingle with your friends certainly does make your heart ache, but the entire point of this event is to let Diluc relax, and have fun. So, long as he does, you’ll be happy.

“He’ll be here soon,” you respond. Jean and Kaeya notice how you avoid answering the question—instead taking a step back and looking towards the northeast. “I should get going.”

You run off without waiting for the others to comment. Paimon scurries after you, shouting something about how she’ll keep you company instead.

“Idiot,” Kaeya sighs as Jean shakes her head.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late!” Venti says, coming up behind them. He’s got a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and a bright smile on his face. His eyes scan the nearby area, and when he spots that someone is missing, he frowns.

“Wasn’t Y/N supposed to be here?”

You’ve just arrived at the Statue of The Seven when you hear a chorus of cheers from the Winery. Turning, you watch over the treetops as the intimately sized crowd raises their glasses—sharing a toast before the merry music begins—rolling over the hills.

“I guess Diluc just arrived,” Paimon surmises, face drawn into a pout. You can tell that she wants to be down there, joining in on all the fun, and you can’t say you don’t share the sentiment.

“Looks like he took the long way around,” you say, turning away from the winery, and seating yourself at the base of the statue. “Otherwise, we would have passed him on the way here.”

Paimon frowns at you, floating down to look you in the eyes.

“Why does it seem like you’re trying to avoid Master Diluc?”

“I’m not,” you respond with a huff. “It’s just easier this way.”

Paimon doesn’t buy it.

“You know, Kaeya offered to keep guard. I’m sure Master Diluc would prefer to have you at the festival, rather than him.”

“Even if they act like brats towards one another, they’re still…frienemies,” you say, for lack of a better term. Silently, you attempt to block out the jovial noises behind you. You don’t want to be focused on something that you’re missing out on.

Paimon pouts even harder at your argument, looking like she’ll start stomping her foot midair, but she keeps her mouth shut for now. Even if you won’t say it, she knows you’re sacrificing your own wants at the moment, and bickering with you won’t do anything to help.

So, instead she flies down and sits herself snuggly in your lap—determined to make you feel better.

“I feel like any Hilichurls in Mondstadt already know not to mess with you,” she says, changing the subject. “Do you think any will show up?”

You breathe a laugh.

“I hope not. But they are quite dumb.”

Diluc has to admit…he was not expecting to come back to the winery to find that a makeshift festival had been staged at his very own home.

And on his birthday, no less.

“Surprise!”

“Welcome home!”

“Happy birthday!”

An array of familiar faces greet him as he steps into view—caught on the path between the rows of grapes. Understandably, he’s speechless. He typically is aware of the happenings of his staff, and if an event had planned in Mondstadt, surely he’d have gotten word, but…here he is, and here they are, and at the front of the pack is a certain Cryo-wielding Knight, grinning ear to ear.

Of course he had something to do with this.

“To Diluc!” Kaeya cheers, holding up his mug.

“To Diluc!” the rest of the guests’ chorus, and as if on cue, the music starts.

Diluc, perplexed, remains where he is. At least, until Jean and Venti make their way to him.

“I hope you don’t hate the surprise,” Jean speaks, offering him a glass of wine. “We just…wanted you to be able to relax for once. We know how busy you always are, and I also wanted to thank you for your help with Dvalin.”

“We?” Diluc echoes, taking the glass from her. He stares at it for a moment, hesitating, but then he remembers that Kaeya is here, and he takes a long swig.

“Yep! Me, Jean, Kaeya, Y/N--,” Venti doesn’t notice the way Diluc’s eyes light up with interest at the sound of your name. “—and even the people who frequent Angel’s Share, or work at Dawn Winery! We all thought it would be nice to hold something like this for you! And hey—no better time than your birthday.”

Diluc is silent for a moment, his scarlet eyes scanning over the crowd.

“Well,” he finally responds, apparently not having found what he’d been looking for. “If anything, I’m surprised. I should have suspected something was happening when I noticed the Knights patrolling the city in full force on my way back…”

Jean laughs—reaching out and giving his arm a friendly pat.

“Just try to enjoy yourself, alright? For one night.”

Diluc sighs heavily, but he can’t ignore the efforts everyone had put into throwing this mini-festival for him. Doing so would make him just as bad as anyone in the Abyss Order.

“Fine.”

Venti beams a smile, reaching out and snagging his wrist. Diluc’s eyes widen in shock.

“Good! Now let’s get you some food, and some more alcohol!”

For what it’s worth, Kaeya really does try to lay off the teasing. It’s Diluc’s birthday, after all. He can manage to be civil for a few hours, right? Right.

So, the cavalry captain keeps his distance—enjoys his alcohol and female companions at least 20ft away from Diluc. He dances along with the music, cracks jokes with the crowd, and flirts his way into more than a few women’s hearts. (And maybe even a man or two).

However, even while doing so, Kaeya quietly keeps tabs on the birthday boy. He is far from blind to the way Diluc’s gaze searches the grounds every so often, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone he’s sure not to find.

And yet, that doesn’t stop him from doing so time after time. Poor bastard.

Sighing, Kaeya stares past the winery, into the northeastern hills. He can see the light from the Anemo Statue beaming into the sky. A silent beacon of where to find you.

“You know,” Kaeya says, saddling up next to Diluc. He has decided to break his imaginary 20ft rule for the first time tonight—leaning back against the winery wall. Diluc is standing in front of him, eating a skewer, and blatantly avoiding making eye contact.

“It was Y/N’s idea—all of this. They wanted you to be able to relax for once.”

The redhead pauses for a millisecond at the mention of your name, before he quickly resumes chewing. Kaeya takes the opportunity to continue talking.

“I decided to help out, considering they were leaving for Liyue. Oh, and also because I wanted to see the look on your face.”

At that, Diluc shoots him a glare.

“Are you pleased with yourself?”

“Very,” Kaeya grins, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’re on your third drink, you’ve had two plates of food, and I’ve seen you smile nearly half a dozen times—which I’m pretty sure is a daily record.”

Diluc glares harder. Kaeya smiles wider.

“You’re enjoying yourself and hate me for it. This is the perfect outcome.”

Rolling his eyes, Diluc tosses the empty wooden skewer into a nearby trash bin and turns away. Kaeya is less than a step behind him—following Diluc as he makes his way to the edge of the crowd. As the two distance themselves from the heart of the festivities, Kaeya can spot the serenity swirling in the winery master’s colorful orbs. However, beneath it all, he sees a twinge of disappointment.

Once again, he finds his attention turning to nearby Anemo Statue.

Silence stretches. Then—

“I got you a present.”

Diluc cocks an eyebrow.

“I hope it’s not another vase.”

“No, that beauty is one of a kind,” Kaeya responds with a snort. “The issue is, my present…is playing hard to get. If you want to be able to unwrap it, you need to go to the Statue of The Seven.”

Now, Diluc just looks confused.

“You…left your present at the statue?”

“Actually, I think it’s hiding there.”

Worry etches into Diluc’s handsome face. Kaeya rolls his eyes.

“Why not go and see, Master Diluc? No harm in a little walk to get some fresh air, right?”

Diluc doesn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he stares at the blue-haired Knight with genuine concern. At least, until a small figure floats down the hillside and into view.

“Is that--?”

“Paimon!” Kaeya greets, not showing the least bit of surprise. “Wh—”

“Can’t talk! Gotta find a bathroom!” she yells, floating right past the two and towards the front door of the manner. Diluc stares after her, wondering if his eyes are playing tricks on him. However, when his gaze shifts to Kaeya, and he finds the Knight sipping on his wine, all while shooting him a teasing side-eye, Diluc knows what’s waiting for him at the statue.

“How long were you planning to hide from me up here?”

The sound of Diluc’s voice sends a shiver straight up your spine. Your entire body freezes, head stiffly turning to look at the man who now stands only a few feet behind you.

“I…I wasn’t hiding,” you say, jumping to your feet. You attempt to avoid his gaze, but his crimson orbs pull you in—refusing to let you look away.

Heat rises on your cheeks.

“I just…Amber was supposed to guard this area, but something came up, and I decided that since you didn’t know I was back, it wouldn’t be a loss, you know?”

Diluc’s brows furrow at your comment, but he says nothing. You cough, hoping to ease some of the tension.

“…how did you know I was up here, anyway?”

“Paimon floated down the hill from this direction,” he responds. He finally breaks eye contact, glancing up at the stars overhead. “Also, Kaeya told me that he’d left me a birthday present by the statue.”

For a moment, the cogs in your brain grind to a halt. A…what?

“It’s your birthday?!”

Diluc’s eyes widen innocently at your outburst. He looks confused, but judging by the way you’re quickly flushing red and looking bewildered, he can only assume you truly had no idea that today was his birthday.

“…you planned this event and didn’t even know the significance of the day?”

“Kaeya picked the day!” you respond, groaning into your hands. If you had known it was his birthday, you at least would have gotten a present for him! Something nice from Liyue! “I just wanted to have a festival where you could actually relax, and not be playing the hero to make up for the Knights slack! Ahhhh~”

You crouch down, holding your head between your hands. Dammit, if only you had known!

“I’m so sorry,” you finally say after a moment. “I didn’t know. I don’t have a present for you.”

If you weren’t freaking out, maybe you would have noticed the breath of laughter behind you, or the sound of footsteps making their way towards you through the thick grass. It’s not until Diluc crouches down in front of you and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear that you notice just how close he’s gotten.

“You’re present enough,” he says quietly, sincerely. His eyes are fond, his lips turned up into a soft smile, and for the first time in 30 days, you feel your heart skip a beat.

His fingers skim behind your ear—lingering longer than they need to—and you lift your hand—placing it atop his own and trapping it there.

“I missed you,” you admit, unable to look at him. “I didn’t want to hide myself away up here, but I thought it would be the best thing to do. I just wanted you to have a good time.”

“I am,” he reassures you, his gloved fingers curling around your own, and giving them a squeeze. He presses back to his full height, tugging you to your feet along with him. And when he releases your hand, you immediately find yourself missing his warmth.

“It just would have been nice to know that you were here. I could have snuck away sooner to come and visit.”

“Your friends are all down there.”

“But you’re here,” he immediately reminds you, the tips of his ears turning red. “And you also matter.”

The “to me” is left unspoken, but is certainly implied.

You chew the inside of your cheek. His admission—while it certainly causes your heart to race—has you feeling a bit worried.

“…are you drunk?”

The glare Diluc sends your way is telling enough, and you quickly try to backpedal.

“It—It’s just!” you spring forward, placing yourself in front of him just as he turns to leave. Your palms reach forward to press against his hard chest, effectively keeping him from going another step.

“I’m not used to…feelings…from you,” you admit, your thoughts coming out in a jumble. You don’t want him to go anywhere. He can’t just say something like that and then walk away. Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to your poor little heart??

“Of course, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy you opening up to me. I definitely do. I want you to be able to talk to me, and trust me. It was just…unexpected, okay?”

Your fingers curl into his black coat. Your eyes trace the checked pattern of his shirt.

“I…I like that I matter to you.”

You finally find the courage to look up at him, and damn, he’s so beautiful. You’re not even sure when it was that you fell for him. Perhaps it was when he faced the Abyss Order head-on at Mondstadt’s gate without anyone knowing, or when he followed you into Dvalin’s layer and fought alongside you for the first time. Really, you have no idea, but the fact of the matter is: you have feelings for him—feelings that you’ve been attempting to ignore.

“I…like you,” you admit, no more than a whisper.

On a quest for your lost sibling, you shouldn’t have time for inklings of love. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself. It feels selfish—falling for Diluc, of all people, because charming as he is, he’s also stubborn, and closed-off.

You know this, and yet, you can’t stop yourself from yearning.

Unfortunately, you’re not sure he feels the same wa—

“Mmph—"

Diluc’s lips on yours is what manages to stop your worrying.

He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close as his free hand cups your cheek. While at first you go stiff with shock, you quickly melt into him. He tastes like sweet wine, and smells like firewood, and gosh, he’s oh-so-warm.

“Mm,” you can’t help the appreciative groan, pressing yourself closer to him in a bid to soak up all the heat you can. Since the sun had set, the chilling air had soaked into your skin, and while you hadn’t realized it before, you certainly notice it now.

As your lips connect—once, twice, and again—a part of Diluc’s brain acknowledges that he should grace you with a response. That he should tell you how he feels. But…he’s not exactly good at that, and actions speak louder than words, right?

So, he tilts your head up—deepens the kiss. His brows furrow as he soaks up any sounds that escape you, internally conflicted by his actions. He’s not used to doing this--feeling this way. He never intended to feel anything for you—to feel sad when you left, and excited when you returned, but…here he is, and Barbatos be damned if he was going to let you slip away now.

“Diluc,” you pant, cheeks flushed as you manage to nudge the man away. As much as you enjoy his kisses, you need air.

“Sorry…,” he says, looking bashful. His cheeks are rosy, and his eyes nervous. He had acted on pure desire, without considering your feelings, or how his actions might be perceived.

“This isn’t like me,” he continues after a moment with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Diluc attempts to take a step back, but your grip on his jacket holds him steady.

“No, don’t be sorry,” you say. You give him a gentle tug—drawing him into you once again. Your eyes fall to his lips. “Just…shut up, and kiss me again.”

Diluc can see the desire in your eyes, and he’s not used to such an emotion being directed his way. Sure, he’s aware that a few select citizen’s perhaps have affections for him, but this is the first time anything has felt…mutual.

It’s terrifying.

Leaning in, he captures your lips once more—not hesitating to slot your mouths together and deepen the kiss. And when you make a contented sound, your fingers tracing up his chest and moving to wrap around his neck, Diluc immediately forgets about his inner conflict.

Right now, he refuses to waste the time he has with you. He can overthink his emotions later.

Wanting to be closer—to feel more of you—Diluc briefly breaks the kiss. He leans down, wrapping his arms beneath your thighs, and hefts you upwards. You make a sound of surprise, more heat rising on your face as you feel your back rest against the Anemo statue.

“This really isn’t like you,” you say, your palms moving to cup his face. Your thumbs brush over his cheeks, and you silently carve this version of him into your mind. His hair tousled and cheeks red—his body flush against yours. This is a Diluc you never want to forget.

“Shall I stop?” he asks, voice quiet. You immediately shake your head, drawing him into another kiss.

“No…it’s just a side of you I’m discovering for the first time. I don’t dislike it at all.”

You feel him smile against your lips.

“Good.”

Things begin to blur after that. The two of you forget about the festival being held in Diluc’s honor just a short way down the hill. You don’t consider that people are likely looking for the master of the winery—wondering exactly where he’d gone off to. No, the only thing the two of you think about is the feel of each other’s bodies pressed together, and the heated kisses you exchange.

Quiet gasps and moans begin to fill the area around the statue—your hands wandering against Diluc’s torso, and his lips moving to trail kisses against the sensitive skin of your throat. It’s very possible that things would have continued to get even more intimate…had someone not interrupted.

“I see you like my present.”

You can almost tangibly feel Diluc’s annoyance.

“I’ll kill you.”

Kaeya chooses to ignore that.

“It’s been over half an hour. People are starting to get worried about the birthday boy.”

“Let them worry.”

“No, hey, c’mon,” you say, brushing his hair away from his eyes and catching his attention. You smile sweetly, nodding your head towards his residence. “You should get back. This whole event is for you, after all.”

With a sigh, he loosens his grip on you—his hands moving to hold your waist as your feet touch the ground for the first time in minutes.

“Fine, but only if you come too.”

You frown. “But…the whole point of me being out here is to keep guard so you can rela—”

“I won’t be able to relax knowing you’re out here,” he argues, and the look on his face tells you he won’t be taking “no” for an answer.

“Okay, okay, fine—guess I have no choice,” Kaeya breaks the tension, sighing somewhat dramatically. For the first time, you note that there’s a bottle of dandelion wine tucked under his arm.

“You two lovebirds go enjoy the festivities. I’ll play guard until the night winds down. I’ve already had my share in the fun anyway.”

“Perfect,” Diluc says, grabbing your wrist and tugging you away. Helplessly being dragged toward the winery by its master, you at least manage to turn and mouth a “thank you” to Kaeya. Because despite your determination to guard over the area, you really are looking forward to being able to spend some time at the party with Diluc and your friends.

Kaeya flashes you a smile in response, his lips innocently parting as he mouths back some words of his own.

“Use protection.”

Sometimes, you really hate him. Tonight though…

You glance to the redhead in front of you, moving your hand so your fingers slot through his own. He slows his stride—allowing you to catch up—and then gives your hand a squeeze.

You can’t help but smile.

Tonight, you can’t find it in yourself to be mad. Not when Diluc looks so happy.

#diluc x reader #diluc x traveler #diluc x gender neutral reader #diluc #diluc fic #genshin impact #6k of word vomit just bc my brain is a dumpster fire for genshin rn #genshin impact fic #kaeya #writing kaeya's lines was pretty much my favorite thing ajdhlaks

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

you’re all that i need, underneath the tree

characters: dabi, shigaraki tomura

genre: tooth-rotting fluff with a sprinkle of angst

notes: aaah okay! set in the break my bones but act as my spine universe, between part one and part two but after dabi’s apology!! poor dabi gets dragged out with the happy couple to go hunting for the perfect christmas tree :) | title credit: underneath the tree by kelly clarkson

warnings: pining, daddy kink (without the kinkiness), generally toxic relationships

words: 3.3k

synopsis:

And so what if you’re more excited than Tomura is about his agreeing to come, even though it was Tomura who asked for his assistance; so what if it makes his chest swell with that irritatingly tingling sensation, the one that seeps into his veins and shoots through the rest of his body, the one that makes him feel like he’s buzzing. What’s it matter, anyway?

The answer, as far as he’s concerned, is simple.

It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. It never will.

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

Snow crunches under his heavy boots as he trudges along behind you, staring at the back of your head with a glare so vicious, so ferocious it could melt platinum.

Dabi hates Christmas.

Smoke from a large bonfire, lined by families—good looking couples with tiny carbon copies of themselves, gloved hands tenderly cupping hot chocolate as the children chatter animatedly, little squeals of laughter overlapping the indistinct noise—blows into his face and he chokes on it a bit, the tiny glowing embers it carries with it through the air burning his eyes.

Dabi hates Christmas.

He’s only coming because Tomura’s his fucking boss, he had told you curtly when you swiveled around in the front seat of the Maybach to express your excitement to him, forcing his eyes to stay on the white leather beneath him, unable to bear the way he’s sure your face is falling at his sharp words. He hates Christmas.

But Tomura had snorted a little to himself the moment the words left Dabi’s lips, because God, what a fucking lie. He doesn’t voice the thought, but he doesn’t need to—it’s clear in his ruby eyes as they meet sapphire through the rearview mirror, an amused little smirk present on his scarred lips as he raises an eyebrow in mocking question.

Yeah. Alright, fine. He’s a fucking liar, so what? Yeah, alright, so maybe he’s only here because of you, because he knows that if he had refused, the entire trip would’ve been ruined, and he couldn’t have that on his conscious, couldn’t handle that on his conscious.

It’s his turn to snort at himself, rolling his eyes. What a pathetic excuse for a man. It’s a real funny joke, though; a man who can kill indiscriminately, who can kill delightfully, without batting a fucking eye as bits of skull and brain splatter on the toe of his boot, can’t handle the thought of even one more of your salty tears staining his soul.

The answer, as far as he’s concerned, is simple.

It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. It never will.

❅ ❅ ❅

This place is way too extravagant for a Christmas Tree farm, Dabi mutters to himself as he trails behind you, seething azure darting around the venue with a deep scowl, taking note of the large stone building that doubles as a gift shop and a café—all baked goods made on the premises and handcrafted with love, of course—with crystal windows that gleam in the weak afternoon sunlight and gentle curls of smoke escaping its chimney. Scattered bonfires blaze among the grounds, each with a group of Christmas tree hunters arranged in a loose circle around it, keeping warm and roasting marshmallows. The sticky sweet scent drifts through the air, Dabi wrinkling his nose as it hits him. That soft clop-clop of horseshoes against matted snow mingles with the sound of classic Christmas music as white and brown horses pull intricate wooden sleighs around the area.

It all makes him fucking sick. God, Dabi hates Christmas.

“Oh my gosh!” you’re gushing as you cling to Tomura. “Daddy, it’s so pretty,”

The two of you are attracting the gazes of everyone in the immediate vicinity, Dabi hunching in further on himself, trying to bury his face in the neck of his jacket. Really, he should be used to this by now. The pair of you are always a sight to be seen, with you in your little dresses—crushed black velvet this time, with a high neckline and a dainty satin ribbon tied around your ribs in a tiny, neat bow—and black trench coat, hem ending just above your knees; and Tomura in his vibrant red coat, teasingly obscuring his fitted black trousers—tailored specifically for him, of course—and black cashmere turtleneck.

It makes the two of you look like you just stepped out of the Christmas edition of a fucking high fashion catalogue. It makes Dabi feel ratty and underdressed—makes everyone around you feel ratty and underdressed, honestly—in his faded black jeans and big combat boots.

You’ve wandered off a little further ahead now, eyes glittering and bright as they soak everything in, hands clasped adoringly against your chest.

“Daddy!” you gasp suddenly, turning back to look at Tomura, eyes wide and sparkling, catching in the soft yellow glow of nearby Christmas lights. “They’re giving out hot chocolate!”

“Yes, they are, princess,” Tomura smiles, eyes softening as he gazes at you, now halted a few feet ahead of him, his hands outfitted in leather gloves clasped loosely behind his back as he strolls.

“Can I go get some?” you bounce a little on the balls of your feet as he meets you.

“Of course you can, baby,”

“Thanks! I—Do you want some, too?”

“Sure,” Tomura shrugs amicably. “Go wait in line, Daddy will be there in a moment,”

Your smile falls a little—just a hint, really, the corners of your lips twitching, a miniscule action Dabi hates that he notices—as your eyes flit between your Daddy and him, blinking twice, brow wrinkling in the cutest way. Dabi grits his teeth, hands balling into fists as he fights the itch, the urge, to reach out and smooth your skin out again. Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic.

“Um, o-okay,”

Tomura nods encouragingly, then quirks his head towards the ever-growing lineup, as if to say get going! You obey immediately, scampering off with a cute little affirmative yelp. Dabi instantly moves to follow you, is so accustomed to having you glued to his side that watching skip off on your own like that evokes a thick panic in his chest, rising way too quickly in his throat, his mouth opening to call your name, to scold you for running off as he’s done so many times before.

“Wait,” Tomura mutters, a hand curling tightly around Dabi’s bicep, his voice low, dangerous. Brow furrowing, Dabi looks from the hand wrapped around him, to the face of its owner, and back to you again.

“Look at me,” Tomura snaps, Dabi’s tongue running along the front of his teeth as he sucks on them, keeping the insults brewing in his mouth from escaping. Scarlet eyes search his face, slowly, calmly, but every second you’re away from him has Dabi’s heart pounding harder and harder, powerless to stop his eyes from worriedly glancing your way again, only brought back to his boss’ face by a harsh squeeze around his bicep.

Tomura speaks at an unhurried pace, voice even and controlled, annunciating each word with purpose in an effort to beat them into Dabi’s scattered brain.

“Do not upset her today, or I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking nose. She’s been looking forward to this for weeks—I had to pull teeth to get this day off,”

And Dabi hates that, even in the middle of a humiliating, demeaning scolding from his boss, he can’t keep his eyes from darting towards you again, scanning the line you’re currently squished in for any potential threats, instinctual and automatic at this point, a habit. Tomura pulls on his arm a little, directing Dabi’s stare back to him again.

And he knows, goddamn it, he knows how excited you’ve been for this, how important this stupid little Christmas tree hunt is to you, because it’s all you’ve been able to babble about for fucking days now.

“Take whatever the hell you need to, to be fucking nice, you hear me?”

But he nods anyway, carves false derision into his face as his eyebrows furrow and his lips tug down, ripping his arm from Tomura’s grasp. “Yeah. Got it.”

His tone is clipped, and he doesn’t miss the way Tomura’s jaw clenches once with the grinding of his molars, smirking a little as his head tilts, crimson eyes regarding Dabi in a way that makes him feel like shivering, in a way that makes him feel exposed, naked, unprotected.

“You better.”

❅ ❅ ❅

“Here, Dabi!”

A jolt runs down his spine at the sound of your voice saying his name, and he turns towards you, brow knitting slightly as he’s met with a paper cup, held out to him between your two mitten-clad hands, your own drink secured precariously between your ribs and the crook of your elbow.

“What’s this?”

And he fucking hates the way his voice trembles, the way that stupid warmth starts blooming in his chest again, the way it does any time you do something small for him, any time you physically prove that you were thinking of him, too. Clearing his throat, he stares at the beverage, pointedly avoiding your eyes.

“I got you one, too,” you explain simply, pushing the streaming drink at him a little more, rich notes of chocolate and cream wafting over him, urging him to retrieve it from your tiny hands. “Take it,”

He has half a mind to lie, to tell you that he hates chocolate even though his mouth is watering, even though he knows you know he loves it, to knock the cup from your hands and watch as the hot liquid eats through the snow like a disease, melting it into nothing.

“Thanks,” he grumbles instead, looking away as he grabs it from your outstretched hands.

Tomura returns a moment later, a large red saw in his clutch. “All ready to go Christmas tree hunting, princess?”

❅ ❅ ❅

Dabi will always be amazed by your ability to make everyone around you fall absolutely, irrevocably, head over heels in love with you in mere moments, cobalt eyes trained on the old man holding the horses’ reins—a wide, sincere smile stretched across his face, hazel eyes positively gleaming as they gaze down at you from his spot atop the sleigh—asking you if you’d like to feed the animals, your knuckles gently caressing their velvety noses.

Maybe later, Tomura promises you when you glance back at him, whispering “Can I, Daddy?”, reminding you that there’s only a few hours of sunlight left, and if you’re on a mission to find the perfect Christmas tree, you best start soon.

Sat in between Dabi and yourself in the tiny oak sleigh, Tomura pulls a tattered, folded piece of paper from his pocket, reciting your criteria for The Perfect Christmas Tree.

The Perfect Christmas Tree, the paper states, must encompass the four elements listed below:

It has to be the perfect mixture of forest green with those pretty blue undertones—nothing too blue or powdery!

It has to smell good but not too strong—if it’s too strong, it makes you nauseous

It has to be full—you know, not one of those Charlie Brown trees that are all branches and no body, or one of those thin tall trees—but not too bushy! Not so fat that the needles obscure the lights and ornaments

It has to be perfectly symmetrical and triangular, not lopsided or wonky

Dabi plays stupid, acts as if he doesn’t have that whole list memorized back to front, acts as if he couldn’t regurgitate it in his sleep, like he didn’t sit down with you at the breakfast bar and help you make it, even though it’s in his handwriting.

❅ ❅ ❅

Every tree is beginning to look the same to him. The three of you have been wandering through these fields for just over an hour and a half now, and Dabi’s positive he’s about to lose all ten of his toes to frostbite.

“We are not leaving until we find the perfect tree, damn it!” Tomura spits, ruby eyes practically glowing as they fly to Dabi’s face.

“Right, right,” Dabi grumbles to himself, nodding his head a little and tucking his gloved hands under his armpits in an attempt to at least save his fingers.

But you do eventually find it, after Dabi complains about dying from hypothermia for the third time; a massive blue spruce that isn’t too blue, that smells good but not too strong, that is full but not bushy, and that tapers off into a perfect triangle—wide at the bottom and coming to a point at the top, perfectly symmetrical.

Tomura glances over his shoulder at you after he’s finished brushing off all of the snow from the tree’s branches, so you can examine it fully. “Well? Is this the one, baby?”

And the way your eyes absolutely dazzle as you gaze at it, a large, brilliant smile splitting your face as the most precious giggles hitch in your throat, head nodding in cute little motions—well, God, that makes it all worth it. In that moment, Dabi’s sure he’d endure this cold a thousand times over, would lose all of his fingers and all of his toes, just to experience that look of pure, innocent happiness on your face once again.

“Yes, Daddy! It’s perfect,”

❅ ❅ ❅

Even baled, this tree is a giant pain in the ass to get up to the penthouse. It takes the men a solid half hour to figure out a way to fit the tree into the elevator, gleaming droplets of sweat dripping down their faces, tufts of hair clinging to their cheeks.

“Is it still—oh, for fuck’s sake—the perfect tree?” Dabi hisses out as the three of you press yourselves against the monstrous tree, just barely stuffing yourselves into the elevator, an escaped branch digging into his cheek.

“Yes,” you snicker.

“Yes,” Tomura echoes. “Stop being a brat, Dabi,”

“I—Me? Me!” Dabi sputters, at a loss for words. Him, a brat? After everything he just did for you, Tomura’s perfect little princess?

“Yes, you,” you giggle, knocking your shoulder playfully against his bicep. Any rebuttal gets lodged in his throat as he gazes down at you, sapphire eyes softening as they meet yours, shining with mirth, unable to tame the smile tugging at your lips.

He hasn’t seen you this happy in a long time. An ache takes root at the very core of his body, agony radiating throughout his limbs as he’s hit with the dim realization that Tomura’s increasing absence affects you a lot more than he originally thought—that you miss him more than you let on—and the ache in his chest pulses, though he is unable to discern whether it pulses for you, or for him.

It takes nearly another thirty minutes to get the tree safely secured in its stand before slowly cutting through the netted baling and removing it, allowing the tree’s branches to fan out.

Isaac is immediately curious, sitting back on his hind legs and gnawing on one of the branches for a moment before leaping into the tree, lithe body curving through the boughs as he burrows his way to the trunk in the center, digging his little claws into it as you cry out his name in alarm.

“Here, I’ll get him,” Dabi offers, still kneeling on the floor from fastening the screws on the stand.

A little chuckle falls from his lips as he reaches between the branches, gathering the kitten in one hand.

“What do you think you’re doin’ in there, little guy,” he asks as he pulls Isaac from the tree, little paws swiping at the needles, trying to catch them as Dabi drags him out.

“Silly kitty,” you scold as Dabi places him gently on the hardwood. “You aren’t an ornament!”

And Dabi can’t help the genuine laugh that gets caught in his chest, gazing up at you with a fond shake of his head. “He’s gonna be real trouble around this thing, that’s for sure,”

Tomura returns then with three large boxes full of expensive, glittering ornaments in his arms, grumbling about how he had to dig through one of the spare closets to find them and dropping them unceremoniously by the tree, the items delicately clinking together.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on his chest, beginning to restrict his breathing, and Dabi takes this as his cue to depart, because truthfully, the last thing he wants right now is to have to witness you being all mushy and domestic with Tomura. Wordlessly, he heads towards the front door, already craving the soft embrace of his lush bed, eager for the bliss unconsciousness undoubtedly brings with it.

“Dabi?”

Your voice is so small, so fragile, sounds almost hurt, his hand freezing on the handle, shoulders tensing.

“You’re not staying?”

He stares directly ahead, gaze searing into the door as his body goes rigid. Please, he wants to beg, don’t start, not now, not when he knows he won’t be able to resist you.

But his name falls from your lips again, the sound so beautiful, so heartbreaking, and it pulls a deep sigh from his chest. He has no control, not an ounce of authority as his body instinctually turns towards you, the voracious need to comfort you outweighing the full, throbbing pang it inspires.

And, Christ, you look so fucking cute in your little opaque tights with fluffy, woolen socks pulled over them, clinging to your calves with cute little reindeer sown into them, toes pointed inward and overlapping just a little as you stare at him with the sweetest pout.

“Wait,” Tomura smirks, chucking a little. “You were going to leave me alone with this one, when she’s all hopped up on Christmas joy like this?”

Dabi stares at his boss, blinking rapidly, lips parting in anticipation of the words that never come.

“There’s no way I could handle her by myself today,” Tomura continues after a beat, crimson eyes shining in the warm light. “She’s got enough Christmas spirit for all three of us, and then some,”

“Daddy!” the word escapes your lips in a playful little squeal, giggles bubbling up in your throat as Tomura wraps an arm around you, pulling you against his side and nuzzling his nose against your neck. “We could really use your help,” you tell him softly, almost gently, still leaving that option for him to escape, should he choose to do so.

His heart’s thudding against his ribs as he clears his throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips, words leaving his mouth sluggishly, yet at an uneven pace, voice quivering ever so slightly.

“I-I guess I could…Stay, to help you guys decorate the tree—for a little. I mean, it is a fucking monster,”

“Ah, yay!” you beam at him, clapping your hands excitedly. “Daddy, now that Dabi’s staying, can we make cookies?”

“Sweets before dinner, princess?”

“Pretty please?” you whimper, gazing up at him with the very definition of puppy-dog eyes. “I promise I’ll eat all my veggies, even the funky looking ones—” Tomura snorts, interrupting you, but you barrel on. “—I will, I swear!”

And, really, Tomura’s powerless to resist you, to deny you, left absolutely defenceless when you’re batting your eyelashes up at him like that, voice syrupy and sweet as little fingers cling to his shirtsleeve. Dabi doesn’t blame him—your pout should be registered as a lethal weapon.

Tomura goes to call for his personal chef, but you cut him off, wrinkling your nose and shaking your head.

“No, not the fancy ones,” you say as if it’s obvious. “I wanna make the store-bought ones! Y’know, the ones in the tube—”

“The ones that you begged our personal grocery shopper to smuggle in for you?” Tomura raises an eyebrow, and you finally have the decency to look sheepish, nodding your head. “Those ones?”

“Yes! Yes, please, those ones,” you respond eagerly, waiting for that final nod from Tomura before scampering off towards the kitchen, Tomura’s voice calling after you as he warns you to be careful with the scissors!

Yeah, alright, Dabi thinks as the smell of cheap sugar cookies washes over him, nimble fingers hanging another crystal bulb on the tree while you scold Tomura for placing too many ornaments of the same colour in one spot, an involuntary grin spreading across his cheeks as that inexplicable warmth blossoms in his chest again. So maybe Christmas isn’t that bad after all.

#dabi x reader #dabi fluff #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fluff #dabi #shigaraki tomura #WAAAAAH SURPRISE ehehe #this is just something small n quick u know but i wanted to write some cute christmassy stuff for the bmb universe too!!#figured it would be nice to give u guys some old fashioned fluff amidst all that touya angst <33

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officialleehadan · 3 years

Text

Ink in Water

The next time mageborn came to the town, Keeli and Morzan were ready for them.

They had practiced fighting together, had sparred, their bond sparking like a smith’s furnace as it grew stronger. Thoughts rippled between them until it was like they shared a single mind.

Now it was time to see if their work would pay off.

“Everyone knows what to do?” Keeli checked in with Coré, Sarra, and Mala. Shandar wasn’t there. He struggled with battle magic, and had pointed out that he would be more use holding the protections from his workshop. Morzan had called him a coward, which wasn’t strictly untrue, but admitted that his fellow mastermage would be more liability than use in a fight. “They should hit the first salt line in a moment.”

“I see them,” Coré said. She was a healer, like Sarra, but she had a talent for sight magic and certain protections. More importantly, Morzan’s Mistress didn’t know that there were two light-path mages holding the line beside him and Keeli. “They’re almost to the bridge and… there.”

Distant explosions echoed off the high walls of the valley. The town knew, of course, that there were attacks coming in. They were protected by light and dark magic, and warned by a horn attached to the top of Shandar’s school. The rest of Shandar’s students were with him in his workroom. Their job was to use the school as an anchor for the great spell-dome they set up around the town itself.

Hopefully it would be enough to keep the mageborn at bay if Keeli and her team couldn’t bring them down.

Morzan rested a finger on Coré’s scrying bowl, and his eyes went unfocused. He was ‘riding along’ with Coré’s spell to see what was happening. None of them knew it was possible to ride along with someone else’s spell, but Morzan brought more than just power when he joined their side. There was something to be said for the kind of training he had carved into his soul. For better or worse, he was a very fine mage.

“I count fifty,” he said after a minute, and three more explosions. “They’ve realized the bridges are trapped, and they can’t cross running water. They’re trying to find a way around.”

“How long do we have?”

“Five minutes or so.” Morzan wasn’t prone to exaggeration, and he knew more about mageborn than the rest of them. If he said five minutes, they had five minutes. “It won’t take them long to find the bridge we left open.”

That had been a calculated decision, and one that not everyone was happy with. Morzan had argued against letting them in at all, but Keeli had convinced him that it was better to know where the weak point in their defenses was than it was to find out during the battle. If they controlled the charge, they could be sure the mageborn didn’t get away from them.

“Now we know the salt-wards hold,” Sarra murmured to Keeli. That was important too. It meant they could keep the mageborn out of the town. It meant the wards at their back would offer a protection that might save their lives if this stand didn’t go well. “That ought to please Shandar. The wards were his idea.”

“Here they come,” Coré said before Keeli could reply. Beside her, Mala raised her hands, her mastery-bracelet bright with stored power around her wrist. A shield bloomed around their group, smooth and deep green. Moments later, the first of the mageborn were in sight. “Stand ready.”

Morzan came out of the scrying spell and reached for Keeli’s hand. She laced their fingers together, and they stepped forward out of Mala’s shield. Her job was to keep that shield ready in case they needed to retreat, with Coré and Sarra to feed her power, or offer healing if Keeli or Morzan needed it.

Their job was to destroy the mageborn.

Keeli’s dark-silver magic washed against Morzan’s red-black and wove together like ink in water. The swirls of her power caught in his spell, and she wove his magic into her own until the boundary between them was a whirling eddy of silver and red-black. Like water, it slipped through her fingers and wetted her skin.

Together, they unleashed the full destructive force of their magic on the mageborn.

With Morzan’s knowledge of battle-magic to pull on, Keeli found spells coming to her almost before she needed them. In return, she tapped into the deep valley-node under the town and fed Morzan the power to replenish what he lost in the fight.

The first rank of mageborn vanished in a wave of black flames. They were horrible, twisted creatures that had once been people and were now many-legged, mutated monstrosities, driven mad by pain and evil magic. There was no saving them, Morzan had told her one night when they sat beside the fire in her cottage, sharing a mug of mulled wine between them. He had tried, long ago, before his own magic became too twisted to do any good. The mageborn had regained just enough mind to beg for death.

He didn’t try again.

The second rank was more cautious. They all had different shapes. Some were clearly two people, or ore, fused together. Others went on two legs, or four, but none of them resembled anything human. Not anymore.

Keeli followed Morzan’s example, and went to work. Where he preferred classic battle magic, she leaned into the memory of the firebursts that Mala shot into the sky for Solstice last year, to welcome back the light. Bright, soundless explosions of silver went off like scattershot amid the horde of mageborn. They shrieked in fury and skittered away, only to discover that Morzan was ready for them.

Together, they broke the charge. Keeli’s firebursts made it impossible for the mageborn to creep around them, and Morzan gave them the only mercy they still desired.

Keel didn’t see the bolt coming until it was almost too late. Morzan was wrapped up in his own magic, focused on the monsters and not the sky. There was no time to warn him, so Keeli simply dove at him. He was strong enough to catch her, but his magic spiked out of control. They stumbled backwards, tangled together until they crashed to the red-dirt ground just inside Mala’s shield.

The bolt, bright crimson and shot with fury, exploded around them. The mageborn vanished in a firestorm that sprang from the bolt, and there was no question that it would have killed them both if Keeli hadn’t felt it coming. She unceremoniously shoved her way into Mala’s shield-spell, and linked herself and Morzan in, with the node to support them all.

It was enough, just barely.

When the firestorm faced, there was a blackened circle around them. The river steamed, and stank of dead fish. The trees that had shaded the road were burned down to the ground until there was nothing left but dirt and the ghosts of stumps. The mageborn were gone, devoured by their mistress’s foul magic.

“She knows where we are,” Morzan said from flat on his back. Keeli belatedly realized that she was laying on top of him, not that he minded, and got up. He accepted her hand and kept it when he stood. “We need to get back to the school. This won’t be her last attempt.”

+++ Blood Magic:

Keeli never had a knack for magic the way her best friend Sarra did. That is, until a half-cocked plan binds her to the blood mage who came to destroy them all. But Morzan has problems of his own, and maybe, just maybe, Keeli can find a way out for them both.

Blood Magic:

Blood Mist

Flower Crown Dreams (Subscriber Only!)

Runes Written

Blood Fire

Red Salt Warning (Subscriber Only!)

Hunter Cry (Subscriber Only!)

Cool Water Bond

Runes Written Gold

Argument Array

Dreamless Sleep (Free on Patreon!)

Forget our Yesterdays

At the Last Moment

Healing Touch

Unbound, Unbroken

Blood Runes (Subscriber only)

+++