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bowieandqueen11 · 9 days

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Exchanging Pleasantries / Cooper Howard Imagine

Request: Could you please do hurt/comfort with The Ghoul? Like, maybe you got hurt during a fight with Raiders and he's being mean while stitching you up. Thanks pookie bookie ily

Omg bb @itsyellow ily too I couldn't wait to write this!! Hit me with that hurt/comfort that's my jam son

Also did I make this full of unresolved sexual tension? Frick yeah I did

As always, if you enjoyed please drop a comment to help me out and let me know!

Warning: slightly NSFW/ making out, mentions of injury and violence, slight mention of a choking kink? and some strong language!

(I do not own Fallout or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

'Y'know, you may be one of the stupidest goddamn people left on this planet. And I've seen a hell of a lotta stupid people.'

You know better to think that the one and only Ghoul: the slinking shadow that steadily tails and entraps every inch of the starkly barren world he can reach, the infamous bounty feared in every town, from Philly to Rivet City, would be one for pleasantries. Yet, even during your brief period travelling with the man across the wake of the formerly 'glorious' West-coast America, his callousness often left you wishing for the sweet silence of a Nuclear Winter.

Even Cooper Howard himself recognises the fact that he doesn't exactly, well, radiate off anything that could be called close to a succouring nature. Hell, he would be happy to radiate off anything that wouldn't have you spending his valuable time making detours to wandering doctors holed up in blood-splattered tents to use his hard-earned money in bartering for caps off your next bottle of Rad-X. He supposes, as you had shaken the bottle in front of his frowning face and wandered back off into the crowning desert sun, that if he could work himself back up to being unenthused, he would be able to count it as his first win in over two hundred years.

'Well, if you tried to stop fighting every single person still left out here I wouldn't have to risk my ass stupidly running in to save you', you retort, gnashing your teeth and trying your best not to squirm against his chest as he rips a fragment of broken plate from the back of your shoulder.

It wasn't often that you were allowed to light a fire in the wilds of the Wasteland: far too many radroach nibble bites littered your legs, far too many gash-covered tentacles slashes from the repulsive Centaurs marked your outer arms. However, as the two of you had spent your seemingly so lovely afternoon out on the highway being ambushed by a group of bloodthirsty Raiders, you had browbeaten the Ghoul into allowing the two of you such a special treat. An empty bottle of Nuka Cola lies by your faded makeshift floor covering that acts as your mattress, and you sigh in relief as the warmth of the flames licks across your tired arms.

Your soon drawn out of your repose by the feel of The Ghoul's cowboy boots thumping against either side of your legs; he awkwardly tries to leave enough room that he's not straddling your back, but his legs won't quite dip down enough to be more than halfway off the floor.

It leaves him having to scrape himself forward until his groin is nearly pressed against your tailbone, and you can feel the hem of his hat brush up your neck as he idly surveys the extent of your injuries. As he fidgets the strap of your vest down past the joint of your shoulder, you have to breathe in sharply to stop yourself grunting at the sharp scratch of his glove's rough seams as he drags his hand down.

'You're right', he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, dragging a strip of musty cloth out of his satchel bag and pressing it against your oozing wound. 'Your ass really is fucking stupid if you think that you were helpin'.' You grimace as a flash of stimulation and mortification flashes through your body; whether the pain in your gut is from the flesh wounds or from the clutch of thick leather as the Ghoul tantalisingly rakes his fingers up the tender skin of your shoulder and grips, you're too distracted to try and find out.

Sweeping your eyes over the fire-brushed ground that cracked and and crumbled underneath your heel, you can understand his frustration at you. At the world. Scorch marks litter the dusty ground around your make-shift campsite, the plasma rifles and energy weapons the Fiends had managed to barter, steal, and smuggle out from the Van Graffs stock lying in blasted pieces around the fragments of rusted metal once shielding the long gone diesel pumps. The violence - the anger, it always seemed never ending. Gosh, what you wouldn't give for a canopy right now: to stop the sun burns from blistering your face, to hide the sudden hush of shame and embarrassment that rose flush up your face like a mushroom cloud.

'Yeah, well, I did come running- you're welcome, by the way-', you start, but the Ghoul, as venomous a man as he is, cuts short your reply by prodding the point of one of the needles holding the tail edge of his coat together into the hanging flaps of your skin. Your hand balls into a fist as you feel the sharp tip scrape over muscle; you try your best not to whimper as his poison slits through your veins and slithers down to corrode your very soul, but the relief. Oh, god, corruption has never felt so good as the Ghoul's free hand sliding down to cup your ribcage. His middle and ring finger took turns tapping against your waist, a slight huff coming from his mouth and tingling against the shell of your ear.

At first, you think the Ghoul is mad at you: pissed off that if any of the Raiders had survived and scampered off back to their chem-den to frenziedly retell their confrontation with a certain duster-clad gunslinger, a certain ruthless reputation - a certain long upheld persona, would be tarnished. That he was aggravated in having to waste his dwindling supply of bullets in wasting the spiky-hair fiend that had sprung out from the door of the thought abandoned Red Rocket Truck Stop just as you were busy body slamming his friend to the ground. That he was embittered at the fact that you had the incredibly anserine idea to stop off in the middle of goddamn nowhere: somewhere straight off your Pip-Boy map to nestle down for the night on your route to the New Vegas strip.

Enraged, indeed, by the fact that he may have to admit that he wanted to save your life.

'You call that running?', he puffs out a chuckle, unceremoniously wiping the blood of the needle by using the back of your vest. 'I call that leaping up yonder head over ass across that Nuka-Cola machine.' He lets go of your side, much to your disappoint, and looks at you disapprovingly as you turn around to face him. He's waving the syringe edge of a stimpak in your general direction, and you make sure to slap his hand extra hard as you grab it off him.

'You know, cowboy, you were the one that asked me to tag along. Not the other way round', you groan in exhilaration as you stab the needle into the knife wound on your thigh, and that first hit of the Stimpak courses through your muscle. Cooper has to clench his fingers into the leather of his fist to stop himself from going feral right there and then. He sniffs loudly, scrunching up his nose and casting his gaze to the fireside to try and hide his displeasure.

'Well', he manages to choke out between clenched teeth, gripping onto his own leg so harshly he wonders if he's drawn blood between his claws, 'you are such delightful company.'

For the first time in his life, Cooper Howard wants to just... ride away from his problems. That's all you were supposed to be: a solution. A resource. Another object to exploit, to foist upon his own callous needs so that he may survive another day in this merciless hell pit. A life for a hundred and fifty vials felt like a mighty fair trade in the disintegrating shit-show of post-apocalyptic commerce.

It had been easier that way, luring you away from the only small shack left among the rubble of the underground Subway Station that the Fiends hadn't left splattered with blotted rivers of crimson and half-mangled body parts. It had been so much simpler, as he had shoved the still fresh bodies of the murderers and cannibals off the side of the Metro escalator, that he was here to save you. That he had no knowledge of the bounty held over your head by the Enclave, or of the reasons that you had become so... acquainted with the New California Republic during your month long travels for the Crimson Caravan Company. As the door had groaned open, he was left pointing his pistol in your face: a towering penumbra, larger than life, that seemed to swallow every inch of swinging lamplight around your doorway in a veiled sinfulness. He had found it so much easier, as he peered down at your gloomy face and smirked as the unmistakable sound of a Ripper reared closer to his head, that he was here to be your saviour.

That's right. As he had offered you protection: a safe route away, a constant presence, your second shadow on your journey back to the Strip for only a measly few caps, he had found it so much easier to pretend that this wasn't personal. That the way you shook his hand hadn't made his skin prickle, hadn't been the first thing his nerves had alighted at since the last fading memory he had of caressing his wife. That the way you had strapped your leather armour pauldron around your left shoulder, and pulled up the hem of your trouser leg to strap a hidden knife to your calf didn't have him unconsciously dragging his tongue along the cracks of his bottom lip, and left him staring in bemusement. The incredulousness that had his eyes glazing over and the bottom of his stomach clenching as the two of you pried open the doors back up to the surface, and he had nonchalantly inquired as to who had... disposed of the Fiends before his arrival here. You had just shrugged, throwing a smirk at him from behind your shoulder, and he couldn't help but feel his own mouth twitch up to mirror your reaction.

It had been so, so much easier to pretend that you were just another bounty. That you were the first person, since he had lost Janey in another life, that had made him feel something other than contempt. Or worse, nihility. Nothingness. Just a hodgepodge script of fabricated and fictional lines that he reeled off as if it were more than just second-nature; an amalgamation of everything hollow and horrid that he had spent so much of his long-lost life trying desperately to bury.

But Cooper knew better than anyone, that nothing, and no one, could stay buried forever.

And with every returned smile: every lingering brush of some Caravan Trader's fingers on your arm as they tried to sell you some over-priced snake oil, every repulsive simper of a NCR trooper as they tried to buy you a bottle of vodka during your rare stops at some remote barrack, had the rot he had constructed within his soul become that little bit more mutilating.

The silence between you is deafening. And so you do something really stupid: you decide to ask him about his dirt-stained outfit.

'So', you drawl, turning yourself around so your legs are crossed out by your side, doing your best to stay firmly seated between the tensing muscles of the Ghoul's thick thighs. He draws his spurs in a line across the sand, but to your astonishment, and wild delight, he doesn't pull his legs open any further. 'Did you rob a real cowboy or something? I didn't think they were real. The only ones we ever saw were those rugged, way too contrived looking ones on those old movies.'

Your fingers curl over the edges of his collar, tentatively letting your fingers drop to rest against the sharp gap against his breastbone.

A muscle in Cooper's jaw jumps.

Oh. Oh. You'd never seen him actually angry before, behind all that cowboy western shooter charade.

For a moment, you're worried you've offended him somehow; a faraway look seems to draw him into the pale billows that smoke up from the orange flames, and a look that you've never seen before- never could even contemplate drooping the face of the suddenly so haggard looking man sitting by your side flitted across his scrunching face.

Forlorn. He looked so forlorn.

Neither of you are sure if he's even conscious of his arm moving, snaking itself across the small of your back to clutch almost painfully against the meat of your hip. His thumb strokes against the outline of your bone: probing, testing, clawing and pinching as if he had repeated the action over and over and over again in his mind.

'This? This is as old as the dirt and the worms.'

He doesn't react, doesn't move the frozen stone of his stoic face when you hesitantly grip onto his fingers, and slowly... god, so slowly, pull his glove off and drop it on the ground. Suddenly feeling so exhausted, your droop your head down against the dried sweat on your neck and watch yourself place your hand gingerly over his own, holding him in a wary vice against your side.

'What... what's a worm', you tentatively ask, your eyes wide open in worry that your question might break the provisionary affinity of this moment.

Cooper actually... snorts, a smirk threatening to break across his face as he looks out of the corner of his eye at you. 'An 'ol creature that used to live under the soil.' His eyes burn a hole into your irises, and he finally cracks out in a sallow grin as he contemplates the fact that he has your whole, enraptured attention. 'In fact, almost a whole lot like you.'

You smack his shoulder, but he only tilts his head back with an inquisitive gloat on his lips. He tips his head down, moving his other free hand to grab and squeeze the other side of your waist, making you woefully buck back against the bottom button of his shirt as the pit of your bottom begins to thrum with a devastating heat.

'Now', you can hear the teasing in his voice as he dips his spine down to hover over the shell of your ear. 'The real question is, where in the sweet hell would you have seen such heinous films such as those?'

His hand crawls like sweet spiderwebs across to your bellybutton, taking your breath away as he cups his palm against your skin and carts you back till your resting against the side of his chin, entangling you against the last vestige of the man he's entombed within the Stygian shadows.

'My ma used to show them to me and my brother if we had been extra good. She spent a whole three months saving up whatever metal scraps she could scavenge to go trade over at the General Store in Goodsprings and buy ourselves a real life television. The picture was blurry as shit, and we only had one holotape that I swear I ended up being able to quote back to front by the time I was sick of watching it. But hell, if we didn't crowd around the floor in wonder and dream about being a mysterious, rifle swinging stranger that roamed around the wastes saving people.'

Cooper purses his lips, swallowing thickly as he lassos your words in a whirlwind around his mind. After what seems like an eternity of listening to the soft whistle blow through the cartilage of his nose, of noting the quiet scurry of Bark Scorpions barbing through the pale tufts of faraway brushes, and the sound of your own heart hammering against your ribcage, each hit cracking your ribcage open with a sledgehammer, Cooper grumbles a reply.

'Y'know, there's an old saying back where I'm from - one that those folks in those movies you... respected use' to say. Feo, fuerte y formal. It means you're ugly, strong, and dignified. And shit, I can say for sure that you've got ugly ticked off that list.'

'You cheeky shit-', you start, but you can't help but shove your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. With a jolt forward over your stomach, you wince at the pain that flashes through your body at your only recently closed wounds. The Ghoul snarkily utters a tut tut, making you actually fucking whimper aloud this time when his hands grab your love handles, lifts you up, and slaps you down atop his lap. A faint slip from the curve of your buttocks sliding down to settle against his inner thigh has him hissing against the back of your head.

Even though there was no chance of it ever occurring, the Ghoul loosely clenched his fingers around your throat and tilted your head back until your throat went dry, as if daring you to move away from him again.

'Ain't your fault darlin'', he twangs out in that hoarse voice of his, his tongue flicking as smooth as molasses against the shell of your ear: his pointed edge darting a sticky trail up to your inner ear. 'It ain't your fault that you look like a molerat.'

You snort, and Cooper finds himself smiling at the sound of a noise he hasn't heard since his daughter was... since his daughter was...

'You remind me of someone I used to know, you know that? She was... she was far too sweet. Far too good for all this shit too.'

'Aha, there he is.' You wrestle out of his grasp and turn your head disbelievingly. The Ghoul looks almost taken aback, before he draws back into himself and fixes himself to stare you down. 'Finally making an appearance after all this time, are we? Good to see I'm finally getting through to you.'

'Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?', he bares his teeth, gnashing them together almost instinctively.

'I mean, I think that was as close to an honest exchange with the man inside you I'm ever going to have.'

That makes him start.

Pensively, he watches you, assessing and appraising the quirks and emotions that wander across your face as he waits for you to finish your accusation.

'And unless you stop sticking your blaster in the face of every creature that walks and talks, probably your last as well.'

The Ghoul swallows thickly, doing his best to seem as straight laced as usual, but growing more and more discourteous in his manner by the almost sinful way he's darting your eyes down to your lips and allowing them to hover there. 'Now darlin', I'm only exchanging pleasantries.'

'Is that really what you'd call yourself? And here I thought it was cantankerous.'

'Considering the literal crap-hole you grew up in I'm surprised you even know that word, now.'

'The sewers are empty, Cowboy - I'd say there's more piss on you from Dogmeat than down there. Besides, I lived in a Subway Station... asshole', you spit out at your feet, hitting the fragmented remains of one of your assailants helmet spikes.

A jab pokes at your inner thigh; the clenched thumb of the Ghoul branding into your skin as he finally looks you dead in the eyes with a cold stare. 'And there you are.'

And yet there's something. There's something lingering there, in the dark. In the swirl of his irises. In the only part of his body that still remains fully intact. Fully him. Something valorous. A convolution of steadfastness and pride. An imploringness.

'Suppose...', you inhale sharply, not realising that the two of you have managed to claw and scrape and crawl inch by inch closer to each other during your... showdown. 'Suppose', you buck your knees forward until you have enough leverage to haunch yourself up and turn, using the exertion to swivel yourself round and straddle the Ghoul's legs. Your gaze dips down to watch the purse of his strangled lips, his head slowly raising itself to unmask itself from the murk. 'That we aren't so different after all.'

Before you have time to regret your words, the stout pressure of clashing thumbs and fingers have jerked against your chin and pulled you down to smash against Cooper's mouth. Gnashing teeth pull at your bottom lip without a moment's warning, slicing down to draw blood. Cooper pulls back to snarl, before diving back in and licking away the thin trail of blood driplets that dribble down your chin dimple with the flat edge of his impoverished tongue.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly against your stomach ravishes you, growling as he reaches down to pull at the bottom of your thighs, and raise your knees up so he can cup your ass and knead the sweet flesh.

Part of you wants to rip his clothes off him right there and then, part of the recesses of your mind worries about the impending danger of the Wastelands: a roaming gang of looters, the unlucky shimmer that forewarns the arrival of a Nightstalker, but all of you wants to slam your hands around the side of this man's face and knock him straight to the ground with the ferocity of your kiss.

Before you can even make it past the squishing his cheeks phase, you’re distracted from your plan by the pressure point of his fingers teasingly prodding against the outline of your inseam. You can't enact your plan - you can't, not when you can feel the tip of his finger run slowly... slowly... god! So agonisingly slowly up your inner thigh. Can feel the warm, almost ruinating nibble of his top teeth against the pulse point of your neck, before he leaves an apologetic slide of his inner lip against it: something bright and burning and beautiful making the nerves of his body scream as it gnaws away at their rot.

Perhaps, perhaps there was still time for the Ghoul to exhume the mouldering remains of Cooper Howard after all.

#fallout #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard imagine #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul x reader #fallout imagine #fallout show #cooper fallout #cooper fallout imagine #cooper fallout x reader #fr though why are there so many plates in this game

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chaotic-mystery · 5 months

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Pairing:Joel Miller (jackson era to be specific) x f!reader

Summary: practicing your knife skills goes south when you find yourself hiding in a janitor’s closet with Joel.

Warnings: 18+ only- MDNI. Smut, porn w minimal plot, unprotected piv, big girthy age gap but it’s not specified, forced proximity, knives, cutting panties, fingering, roughness & degradation, cum eating, spitting, dirty talk, Joel is a panty thief once again! No use of y/n. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Notes: Big big thank you to @pr0ximamidnight for helping me with the idea & this post inspiring dialogue for it. Also a big thank you to @amanitacowboy for Beta reading it. This is my (late) secret Santa gift to @planet-marz1 ! Hope you like it baby! 🖤 || wc: 1.5k || notif blog ||

Christmas in Jackson was like any other day for Joel, the same shit needing to be done but just a different day of the week. For you on the other hand, you were excited for the lights strung all over the town, kids throwing snowballs at each other, the overall warmth it spread. Joel had other plans for today, practicing your knife skills. The last time you two were on patrol, things got kinda hairy and you almost got stabbed with your own knife. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy having to beat a skull in with a log.

It was going well, stabbing snowmen he built all over the open field next to an old abandoned factory from years ago, when suddenly you could hear rowdy raiders yelling rude remarks towards you and Joel off in the distance. He grabbed your wrist, looking in their direction before going into his stern mode he stopped putting on for the brief moment you had with him. “Don’t ask questions and don’t make a sound, got it?” He rhetorically asks before running inside the dark building with you close behind him on his heels. The quickest solution was to hide inside an empty janitor's closet and make it seem like you ran upstairs to the empty floors or maybe even out the windows.

Joel tucks himself in the corner away from the door with you pressing tightly against him, his hand squeezing over your mouth. The clammy skin made it harder for you to breathe, your chest heaving rapidly with anxiety as you both watched the shadows run past the door.

Joel grunted as he shifted slightly behind you, a bulge pressing against your ass. Though a natural reaction to someone being up against you, he still didn’t want you to notice, not at a time like now. Several minutes go by before you hear any more noise, a voice booming down the hallway and more footsteps running past the door again. You move your ass against him a little more and whimper the faintest bit before he sees your little game.

“Knock it off before you get us found.” He grumbles in your ear and yanks you to him, his other arm holding you against him tightly.

Joel was always someone you wanted but couldn’t have. He never gave into you the way you wanted him to. Joel would flirt the day away with you but when it came down to business, he’d tell you to find someone your age who won’t break your heart. That was easier said than done in an apocalypse.

As soon as Joel doesn’t hear any more movement in the building, his hand slips around your waist and grabs you roughly.

“Santa won’t leave you on the nice list if you keep this up.” Joel's harsh tone shouldn’t be like a symphony to your ears but it is and you need more. He couldn’t get over the fact you were the only person not scared of him, scared to push his buttons to make him snap. His hand doesn’t leave your mouth and he tugs for you to meet his eyes. Your hand follows down your body until you find his, trying to drag it between your thighs.

You grind your ass against his bulge, not looking away from his eyes that glimmered with the faintest line of sunlight from a broken window to the side of you. Pulling your head away so his hand slips off your lips, you meet his eyes once more.

“Maybe then I could get an old man to punish m-” not another letter escapes you before Joel’s lips crash onto yours.

He turns you to face him with his forceful arms tugging your torso against his chest. Clawing at your body like a fully starved man, his breath gets heavier with each kiss to you.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not until I’m finished with ya.” He tuts at you as his hand travels down the front of your pants and discovers how wet you are for him.

“Do you always get like this when someone manhandles you? Fuckin’ Christ you’re so pathetic for me to touch you. Where do you need me, hm?” Joel whispers into the crook of your neck, groaning from the pit of his stomach as he finds your throbbing clit with his index and middle fingers. His freehand grabs your bicep, holding your body against the small table pressed to the wall.

“Right there, pl-please Joel-oh fuck.” you whine out, knees buckling with every rub to your clit.

He matches your moans as his hand on your arm squeezes tighter like you’ll slip through his fingers if he eases up on you for even a second.

“Turn around for me, let me see where I’m gonna bury my cock.” Joel orders in your ear and spins you before you can do it yourself. So desperate for him to keep going, you bend over the table, arms tucked in underneath you. The stale, cold air hits the soaked fabric covering your pussy as Joel rips down your jeans to your ankles and cuts your panties right off you, causing you suck in a sharp breath. His warm tongue covers your clit and dips between your folds until he reaches your entrance. A groan vibrates against you as your head spins, groaning out anything to make him go faster. A smirk grows on his lips as he fiddles with his belt buckle, giving his cock a few tugs with his right hand.

“You’re about to absolutely ruin my life aren’t you? Make me so needy I only want you to fuck me..fuck, Joel.”

He spits on your glossy cunt before standing up, burying his cock deep inside you and grabbing your shoulders to keep himself steady. Your back arches as his hips start to slam into your ass, Joel's groans getting longer with each thrust. Joel tosses the closed pocket knife onto the table in front of you along with your ruined panties.

“I’m gonna fuck every last thought out of this pretty little head, you understand me?” Joel manages out between moans, squeezing your shoulders harder.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You smart mouth back at him, hoping he’ll lay into you and make you rethink ever wanting him to be so rough on you.

His left hand covers your mouth once more and yanks you against him, your back a deep arch while he continues to fuck into you. Joel’s teeth nibble on your earlobe, panting softly before mumbling, “Doesn’t matter, you’re a filthy fuckin’ girl and I know you’ll enjoy it either way.” The broken sentence slips from his lips.

He was right. It didn’t matter how he gave it to you, you wanted him to shred you apart from the inside out.

You two moaned in sync, his hands roaming all over your clothed chest as he pumped inside you, half-open mouth kisses shared between gasps of air. Joel shoved you down on the table, pushing the side of your head down to keep you still.

“Joel-I’m gonna come, baby i’m gonna come, i’m gonna come-” You chanted, eyes screwing shut as the table squeaked louder from Joel going faster.

“Come on, baby come all over my cock, c’mon baby, c’mon.” He squeezes the back of your neck as his jaw clenches, encouraging you to let go.

With a couple of more snaps of his hips against your ass, you unravel on him, struggling to keep yourself standing as your knees were giving out trying to close your thighs together. The struggle had you whining his name while you grinded against him to ride your high.

Joel barely pulls out in time to come all over your lower back, grunting profanities as he watches his load dribble onto your skin.

“Stay there, stay fuckin’ there.” Joel ordered as soon as he finished letting out every drop of cum from the tip of his cock.

You’re too fucked to argue or move away and within moments you feel his tongue lick up the dribbles of cum from your skin and his freehand turns your head, meeting your eyes with his as he spits into your mouth. A rough kiss follows and you moan in each other's mouth before he goes back for the rest that was left on your back.

“Open.” Joel mutters and pinches your cheeks firmly to part your lips, spitting the rest of his cum in your mouth. You swallow willingly before he kisses you again.

“Think you’re never gettin’ off that naughty list, baby.” He chuckles and presses a few soft kisses to your clothed shoulder blade.

He unpins you from the table and tucks his cock back into his jeans before pulling yours up to your thighs and letting you finish the rest.

“W-what about my panties?” You question as you pocket your knife, looking at him with a smirk.

“Merry Christmas to me, I ‘spose.” Joel kisses your forehead and takes your hand in his, leading you out of the building.

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edgeofn1ght · 1 month

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all you conceal, let out: ch. 1

After the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, in his grief, takes off on a mission half-cocked to find a lost holocron on Jedha. The next thing he knows, he's waking up injured on a planet he's never seen before, surrounded by calm and an unsettling quiet. Then, after passing out again, he wakes up in a strange home, patched, clean, and safe. And his savior is someone he loved who he didn't think he'd ever see again. Will he be able to get back to his own universe, and does he even want to?

i finally managed to fill another square on my @obikin-events bingo card well after the event was over 🫡 (i tried my best to finish it before it ended, but oh well)

alternate universe travel • obikin • 5.1k words • read on ao3 instead

Anakin knew his mission wouldn't be easy. He was warned against going, specifically going alone, but he insisted on taking it anyway. He needed to be away from the Temple, from everything that reminded him –

“You still need time to mourn!” His own padawan had cried out in the hangar as he strode away from her, his responsibilities, and any bit of sanity he was still holding onto.

Death is a natural part of life, he thought bitterly as he jogged up the Twilight's ramp, followed quickly by Artoo. I guess you forgot that lesson.

If he had bothered to turn back, he would have seen Ahsoka's deeply troubled countenance, but he wasn't concerned about that. He had a mission to carry out – one that had been important to Obi-Wan. And he would see it through.

But as Anakin slowly lifted his head out of the dirt, he was no longer so sure he could see it through. He didn't even know where he was anymore. His head throbbed as he became aware of the blood rushing through his ears, drowning out all other noise. Not that there was much to hear anyway – no blaster fire, no clankers yelling in their tinny, robotic voices, no shouting clone troopers, no explosions… nothing.

As he became more aware of his being, his whole body ached, hurting so much he wouldn't have been surprised if every single bone in his body was broken. If Obi-Wan were here and could read his thoughts, he would have undoubtedly told him he was being dramatic.

‘Get up, my young padawan, you’re not so old yet.’ He heard his master’s voice so clearly, just as if he was standing right next to him, looking down at his old padawan with a wry grin and his hands on his hips. He frowned – wishing Obi-Wan was here wouldn’t make him appear, no matter how much Anakin wanted it. He turned his head left then right, searching for his ship, for Artoo… for anyone or anything, but he was completely alone.

Anakin gingerly pushed himself up and made it halfway before his arms gave out and he dropped back into the muck with a disgusting squelch . And that, too, was different. Last he could recall, he had been on Jedha, surrounded by orange dust and sand as far as the eye could see, even inside the old temple ruins. But as he looked around now, there was nothing but vibrant multicolored trees, green grass, and a brilliant blue sky.

So where the hell was here?

Anakin really had no chance to think about his location or predicament because, unsurprisingly, he had passed out again. He didn’t know how long he was out, but when he awoke, he was still on the mystery planet and dusk was settling on the land. It was just as quiet as before, but now the silence was punctuated by the sound of night coming to life.

He always found the night strangely unsettling when wasn't at home. Coruscant’s night never deviated from its day – the ecumenopolis was a constant hum of traffic and pulse of billions of lifeforms. And Tatooine’s night had been… well, when it wasn’t eerily silent, it was a howling sandstorm or some other form of danger such as raiders, Hutt cartels, or baying creatures that could eat you whole.

He’d forgotten the true sound of silence, the feeling of it. The way it crept into your bones, enveloped your senses, and made you feel uneasy and cold. Not long after the war began, they all became quickly accustomed to being constantly surrounded by dozens, sometimes hundreds of other beings all the time, whether on board a star destroyer or in battle. Then add to that, life on Coruscant, in the Temple, and pair it with his own constant loud thoughts, feelings, and anxieties, and he really couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced a true quiet like this. Had he ever?

Anakin summoned enough energy to roll over with a grunt. His face was covered in muck and dirt, he could feel it in the pull of his skin when he winced. His cloak was wet, but he still used the voluminous sleeves to wipe it away. All his clothes were wet as it turned out – not exactly soaked , but damp enough to be uncomfortable and annoying. He became more aware of every pain in his body – temples throbbing, joints aching, and most inconvenient of all, the sharp stab of pain in his side. It was most likely a fractured or bruised rib… he hoped anyway.

As he continued to lie supine in the grass, he took stock of the rest of his body, curling and straightening his fingers then rolling his arms across the dirt to test the movement. Next he tried wiggling his toes inside his boots then flexed his calves, and finally pulled up his legs to bend his knees. Nothing seemed broken. He finally pushed himself up until he was in a sitting position, swaying a bit as his vision swam.

Forgetting about all his physical aches, his gloved hand moved to his belt, searching for his communicator, but it was nowhere to be found. Then it flew to his left hip where his lightsaber usually sat, a comforting weight always at his side, but it wasn’t there either.

"Shiiiiit," Anakin whispered. He looked at the ground around him, blinking, his eyes straining to see anything at all in the grass in the low light. It could be anywhere. He would find it – he would – but he couldn’t focus right this second. He scrambled to stand but it was too much, too soon and he fell back into the dirt.

He groaned long and loud into the rapidly darkening night.

But then, he heard the most beautiful sound to his buzzing ears – the sound of help. Help was on its way in a beaten-up X-34 landspeeder, which sounded like the combustor of the axial compressor needed to be replaced. He’d never been so happy in his life to hear the low rumble of an engine that needed some serious maintenance, or more happy that he had not completely forgotten everything he knew.

A wave of dizziness and nausea came over him, but he leaned forward and stretched out his arm as the speeder rumbled closer. “Help?” He could barely muster the single-syllable word. Not that he could be heard over the noise of the engine anyway, but he had to try.

Then, unfortunately, he blacked out once again.

Anakin slowly came-to, aware of warmth, comfort, and a voice, calm and gentle, like home . He suddenly remembered being lifted, a hand on his cheek, his forehead, the cool night air then –

Nothing more.

For the third time in less than half a day, Anakin awoke from slumber. Except this one had been much more fitful than the others. He still ached, but at least he was no longer lying face down in mud in wet clothes. Instead, now he was lying on a sofa under a blanket, his head cradled in a soft pillow, and he was clean and comfortable. The thought was concerning, but he'd get to that later.

Golden sunlight filtered in through the room’s shades. It was certainly no longer night, and it seemed rather bright, but he had no idea what time it could possibly be. He squeezed his eyes tightly and tried to remember… He could recall nothing at all of how he got here – on the planet or in this room. He had been on Jedha with Artoo and a couple of troopers from 501st (who showed up at Ahsoka's insistence), combing through an old excavation site. It was the last-known location of an unknown holocron, apparently buried amongst the ruins, and looking for it had felt like searching for a single star in a nebula.

When the Jedi first learned of its existence (or ‘ potential existence’ rather, as Obi-Wan had insisted), neither he nor Obi-Wan had truly believed in the presence of such a holocron on the planet. Something like that would surely have been recovered long ago! Obi-Wan’s incredulity echoed in Anakin's head. But t hey were instructed to at least look, as it would have been rather foolish to allow something like that to languish untouched with the potential of falling into anyone’s hands. And if the rumor was true and they did find such a thing, they could study it. Incredulity aside, Obi-Wan wasn't very good at completely hiding his interest (or at least not to Anakin), and he had remarked several times on how he'd love to study it and learn all its secrets. Anakin had adored the way the older man’s eyes lit up just talking about it. He wouldn't have dreamed of ever telling his old master that.

Then he would never get a chance to. Obi-Wan became one with the Force, leaving Anakin behind forever, and he was forced to go on, to live the rest of his life without his best friend and master. It had been three months, and the wound was as raw and as fresh as the day Obi-Wan was taken from him. He couldn't find peace no matter what he did or who he talked to. They weren't Obi-Wan.

Master Kenobi’s loss was felt keenly by all the Jedi, but Anakin was sure he didn’t mean as much to them as he did to him. His master was gone and Anakin would never have peace again.

So Anakin had gone to Jedha on a half-cocked mission to find the holocron, because Obi-Wan had wanted to find it, and Obi-Wan wanted to study it, and that was a last wish Anakin could honor even though every fiber of his being cried out for the loss of the man he loved.

Perhaps the holocron held secrets to eternal life. Perhaps there was a way to see or speak to him again. Feeling delirious with the prospect, Anakin had run headlong into the temple ruins built inside a cave mouth of a large plateau, feeling as if he was getting close. The pull of the Force was strong, like a nexus of power. He remembered a thrumming and buzzing in his head then nothing at all after that.

And now he was in some house he didn't know, on a planet he didn't recognize.

He carefully stretched out with his senses and found that all was calm. He reached further looking for someone, anything , but didn’t get much beyond the general course of life on the planet. Then suddenly, on the edge of his consciousness, a single life form appeared, close… It was inside the house with him. Anakin should be on high alert, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be. Perhaps he would come back to the why later. Wherever he was, he felt safe and not in any danger. The life form felt calm, relaxed, and slightly amused. Then suddenly he heard a low humming, but not like the humming of the Force, but a living being softly humming a tune. It wasn’t in the room with him but it was close. Then it stopped.

"Ah, you're awake."

Anakin whipped his head in the direction of the voice. THAT VOICE. A voice he knew better than anyone else's. A voice he had heard most every day since he was nine years old, a voice he'd grown to love more than anyone else's. He twisted around to get a better look, hissing when his side and back protested, clearly still in no shape to move so quickly.

“Take it easy!” The voice warned.

He watched in disbelief as the source of the voice set a tray down on the small table in front of the sofa. As he took in the man before him, his chest constricted and tightened and his breathing shallowed. He stood on the precipice of a panic attack with no way to ward it off. Because here was Obi-Wan Kenobi in the flesh, standing in front of him, whole and alive .

He was older than Anakin knew him to be at the time of his death – by five years or so, maybe more. His hair was longer, not quite as long as it was right before the start of the war, but long enough so the ends curled around his ears and sat on the collar of his shirt. There were more strands of grey threaded throughout his hair and at his temples, more lines etched into his face, particularly around the eyes. His skin had taken on more of a golden hue than Anakin had ever seen – like he spent most of his time outside – which also meant more, darker freckles dotting his forehead, cheeks, and the bridge of his nose.

He was wearing a light colored work shirt with the buttons undone to mid-breastbone and the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His trousers were the color of rust and he wore tall, brown boots. The clothes hugged his strong figure as if they were tailor-made specifically for him. Anakin couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Obi-Wan in anything but his loose, cream-colored tunics, robes or under blacks and armor.

He looked like a man untouched by war, healthy and content. Anakin had forgotten that once Obi-Wan did look like that, but it was long ago. He stared, slack-jawed, as he thought of Obi-Wan’s pale face and lifeless, clear blue eyes as he held him in death. This was Obi-Wan as he could have been – should have been. Anakin's heart clenched in his chest.

"I brought you some breakfast," the man finally added, still hesitant and wary of what Anakin would do next.

Feeling panicked at the strange normality of it all, Anakin attempted to fully sit up so he could defend himself if needed, but he was still in quite a bit of pain. He grabbed his side and winced as the aching muscles in his core contracted. Then his fingers came in contact with a large bandage stuck to his left side.

"Careful now!" Obi-Wan rushed over to grab Anakin's arm and steady him. The touch was like a brand in his skin. He ripped his arm away and stood quickly, hitting his shin on the small table as he stumbled away from the strange Obi-Wan. He blindly reached again for where a lightsaber should be at his hip, only to find it still wasn't there.

Instead, Anakin brandished the knife he'd grabbed off the tray in his haste to distance himself from the imposter. "What kind of trick is this? Who are you?"

Not-Obi-Wan put his hands up in a half-hearted surrender. "I'm not really thrilled about being threatened in my own home. Even if it is with a dull butter knife. I can assure you, I am unarmed."

"Obi-Wan… what… what are you doing here?"

Confusion colored the man's features, but it was there and gone just as quickly. "It's just Ben,” he said, slowly putting his hands down.

Anakin's eye brows pinched as he frowned, “Ben? I– nevermind!” He thrust the knife out in warning and Ben's hands flew back up. "Where am I? How are you here??"

"Well this is MY house, and you're a guest in it, though I have half a mind to throw you out now for threatening me."

This ‘Ben’ was so much like his Obi-Wan, it took his breath away. The way he talked, even if the accent was slightly less of the clipped Coruscanti, and more of a slight brogue, then right down to the casualness with which he handled Anakin's threat… But behind the light-hearted jest, there was a definite wariness, a bit of fear for this complete stranger in his home. Because Ben clearly didn't know him. Anakin meant nothing to him. This wasn't his Obi-Wan.

Anakin blinked as he tried to remember anything before he woke up, trying to make sense of this situation. Maybe he was actually lying in a cot in a tent in the middle of a dusty desert on Jedha. Or perhaps on a moderately comfy bed in the Halls of Healing back inside the Jedi Temple. Or maybe he was floating inside a bacta tank – injured, knocked out, and healing. Yes, that was it. He was asleep and this was a dream, and in his great grief, he'd conjured up this older Obi-Wan. An Obi-Wan who was not only alive, but content, happy, and healthy. Of course he would – that's what Anakin wanted for his friend and the man he loved. He had created a life that Obi-Wan didn't get to live.

Tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes. He squeezed them shut tightly and willed himself to wake up.

"You seem to be very hurt," the voice spoke again, and Anakin opened his eyes. "Why don't you eat something then go lie down?"

"Maybe I am hurt, but this isn't real, you're not real," he said resolutely. "I am hurt, yes. But I'm at home, in the Temple." Maybe if he said it forcefully enough and without any doubt he would make it so.

Not-Obi-Wan stepped towards him and Anakin stepped back.

"I have no intention of hurting you, I think you need to lie down before you hurt yourself," Ben stepped towards him again, one hand extended, palm up as if he was trying to settle a wild nexu.

“You know that I could hurt YOU,” Anakin said, his voice wavering. The knife in his hand trembled.

“You won’t though.”

Their eyes fixed on each other as Ben stepped closer. Anakin didn't know whether he wanted to fight or flee, but he felt immobilized so he did neither.

Before he knew what was happening, Ben lunged forward and wrapped his right hand around Anakin’s wrist, gripping it tightly, forcing him to drop the knife, then another arm came around Anakin’s neck and squeezed.

“Sleep,” was the last word Anakin heard before he did just that.

Anakin dreamt of Obi-Wan.

But not the Obi-Wan he had known since he was nine years old. It was an Obi-Wan he'd known for maybe nine minutes.

In his dream, this Obi-Wan looked exactly like his Obi-Wan, he dressed differently but otherwise moved and talked like him. His gestures, jokes, and smiles were the same, even down to the lingering sadness behind his eyes that Anakin had always noticed when Obi-Wan thought he wasn’t looking. But in his dream, he was still on this other planet, and not Coruscant, and Obi-Wan wasn’t a Jedi, but a farmer.

Anakin was inside a small house which sat in the middle of several acres of land covered in trees and lush fields. Directly behind the home was a large garden where the older Obi-Wan currently stood amongst many kinds of plants, small and large. He was naked to the waist, and the sinking sun's rays reflected off his sweat-shiny skin, making it glisten. Ben was a bit thicker than Anakin remembered ever seeing Obi-Wan, but he was still strong and lithe. The muscles in his back and arms flexed as he dug into the earth and bent down to plant new seeds. Obi-Wan finally stood and turned, wiping sweat from his brow with a bit of cloth he pulled from his back pocket.

“Anakin,” he said with the loveliest smile Anakin had ever seen.

This Obi-Wan loved him. Anakin knew it somehow.

Anakin’s eyes flew open, he was sweating and his breathing labored. He sat up quickly, blankets pooling at his waist, and looked around. Daylight was fading, but it was enough to illuminate the room and he could see it was homey and cozy. He was now in a small bedroom he didn’t recognize in a very comfy bed. Far more comfortable than anything he'd grown used to in battlefield tents and aboard Venator destroyers. He looked to his right, wondering if he’d find Ben there, since this was surely his room, but when he found it empty, he exhaled, strangely relieved.

The bed was a modest size, easily large enough for two, but not so big that two people would never meet in the night. A dresser sat pushed up against the wall opposite with a small mirror resting on top. From where he sat, Anakin could see there were some trinkets and other items there as well, but he couldn’t make out what they were. A large chair sat by the window with a blanket haphazardly thrown over and a discarded datapad in the seat. On the small bedside table next to his side of the bed, there was a lamp, and surprisingly, his communicator and his lightsaber.

Anakin pushed away the covers and swung his legs over the side. He picked up his lightsaber to feel the familiar and comforting heft. Ben had undoubtedly found it, but it was a bit surprising that he had actually returned it to him. Maybe he didn't know what it was, didn't know what Anakin could do with it. Well, at least he'd be spared the 'your lightsaber is your life' lecture, though Anakin would have given up his lightsaber forever just to hear it again.

He was still wearing only a pair of sleep pants and he was glad to find that the glove over his mechno-arm was still in place. He wiggled his toes then slid off the bed and stepped onto soft, cool carpet and stretched away some of the stiffness. It felt like he had been asleep for days. At the window, he pulled back the curtain slightly to peer outside. The sun was setting in the distance behind the foothills, painting the sky in soft pinks, oranges, and purples. The landscape was bathed in a soft yellow, but none of that beauty compared to the man standing in the middle of the large vegetable garden.

Just like in his dream.

His heart rate picked up again.

Was he even awake now? Or was all of this a dream?

Suddenly small flashes of what he thought were recent memories returned to him – a pair of strong arms wrapping around his back and under his knees, the feel of a warm, wet cloth being dragged across his face gently, humming in another room, then Anakin threatening to stab this beautiful man with a butter knife. He flushed, hoping against hope that that was also only from his dream.

He dropped the curtain and made his way through the house and out onto the back porch. Ben was practically glowing in the evening sun. It only took a second for him to look up and smile.

“Hello there.” Ben thrust his shovel into the dirt, then rested his elbow on the handle. Anakin’s mouth suddenly became very dry. “Oh, I’ve hidden all the butter knives,” he added with a slight twist to his mouth. Anakin's face fell – so that one was true. “However, that thing I put on the bedside table seems like it could do much more damage than a knife.” Ben huffed as he pulled a cloth out of his back pocket and wiped his face.

“That 'thing'??” Anakin scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. His still-bare chest, he was reminded. Maybe from that distance Ben couldn’t tell that he was blushing. “That thing, Ben, is my lightsaber. MY LIFE. You are… were always so fond of reminding me.” Ben chuckled but said nothing else. It felt so odd for him to say nothing at all about it.

They stood and stared at each other for a few moments. Anakin allowed the stillness and quiet of the evening to envelope him once more. Was this really his current reality? Or was it possible that his mind had actually created some world so tangible, so intricate and detailed? An Obi-Wan who was both Obi-Wan and not simultaneously, and who had no clue who Anakin was.

Ben pulled his shovel from the ground and walked towards the house. He stopped below the porch and stared up at Anakin. “You must be hungry, would you like latemeal?”

As if right on cue, his stomach growled. “Yes, okay.”

“Let me get cleaned up and I will get it for you,” Ben said with a nod and passed by Anakin without a second look.

Anakin sat at the small table in the kitchen and watched as Ben deftly moved around the space preparing the meal. It was strange how everything seemed so familiar, from the way he stood and held himself, to the way he drank from his own mug, even down to how quiet and focused he was on the task. It was strange to know and love the man so well, but to not know him at all. Because this still wasn't his Obi-Wan. No matter what his dream told him. No matter what he wanted to believe and be real. But he was so like him, it made his heart ache. He knew a mind consumed with grief could create fantastical things, believe the unbelievable, especially if it brought back loved ones. He'd also heard stories of beings traveling through time and space, but that’s all they were supposed to be, stories – ‘wistie stories' his mom told him before bed or outlandish yarns spun by his fellow padawans as they shirked their duties.

But if that was true, and he'd been flung into another time and universe… Where was Anakin Skywalker here? And why wasn't he with Obi-Wan Kenobi?

He snapped out of his reverie when Ben set some food down in front of him then took his own place in the chair across the table. It was intimate, but Anakin couldn’t think about it too much because he was starving and the food smelled amazing. It was a needed distraction.

Between sips from his mug of tea, Ben finally spoke up. "I didn't see a ship. Or a speeder, for that matter."

"Uh well, I didn't have one," Anakin said as he pushed the food around on his plate. "At least not here." He shoved a large chunk of fried tuber in his mouth.

Ben narrowed his eyes, "I'm not exactly close to the nearest town, are you saying you walked?"

“No,” Anakin said around a mouthful of food. "I just ended up out there.”

Ben frowned, "How do you mean ‘ended up’?”

"Just that. I was on Jedha then I woke up in a mud puddle… I think."

Ben took another sip of his tea. "You've still not given me your name. What do I call you?"

Anakin felt like sulking, "You really don't know it." It wasn’t a question.

"Well, I… you seem to talk a lot in your sleep, and I thought maybe you'd mention it, but strangely, I only heard my own name over and over.” He looked down then cleared his throat. “But I can't really understand how you know my given name.” He stroked his beard.

Anakin felt as confused as Ben – or actually Obi-Wan. But he did know he didn’t like the way that sounded. He couldn’t remember any part of his dreams except for whatever vision that he had of Ben in the field before he saw him out there. He was now afraid of anything he might have said.

He toyed briefly with giving a fake name, but then decided against it at the last minute. This was Obi-Wan… some Obi-Wan, and with him he was always Anakin. “It’s Anakin.”

"Anakin," Ben repeated softly.

He ducked his head and continued eating, hoping that the older man would find something else to stare at for a little while. But he could feel his eyes still on him.

After a prolonged silence, Anakin spoke up again. "I'm not from here, wherever here is." Ben stared at him but kept silent so Anakin would continue. "I'm from Coruscant. Well, that's where I live anyway… In the Jedi Temple."

Ben’s eyebrows raised briefly then he looked down into his mug. “You’re a ways from Coruscant.”

Well now they were getting somewhere, and at least Coruscant existed in this universe. "And where is here?"

"Stewjon," Ben said as he sat back in his chair.

Of course. Of course! It was so obvious now – he’d been sent to Obi-Wan’s birth planet for some reason. Maybe it would be a starting point for figuring out the how and why.

"And what of the war?"

"What war?"

“What war?” Anakin huffed, "THE war, Ben, the war against the Separatists!?"

Ben shook his head in response. "I'm afraid I don't know it. I try to keep up with news from the Core Worlds as much as possible, but I've never heard of a war or the Separatists. Though, from the name alone, I can possibly figure out their platform.”

Anakin leaned forward, settling his elbows on the table. "When I say I'm not from here, I mean, not from HERE – this universe." It was out there – now it was up to Ben to decide what to do with it. Ben's brow dipped slightly, but he remained silent. "I am a Jedi, a general in the Grand Army of the Republic, I was your…" He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. Did he even know the Jedi? He certainly wasn't his master here. "I was on a mission on Jedha, then… then, I woke up here."

Ben sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't believe him. Anakin could tell even though he said nothing.

He huffed again and ran a hand through his hair. "I want to get back, I need to get back. I don't belong here." Even if he could be at Obi-Wan’s side again, where he did belong.

Ben stroked his beard in thought. "Anakin, what you're saying… it's impossible. You can't hop to another universe. You can't travel through time or to another reality."

Anakin stood quickly, nearly upsetting the chair. "But I did it! And I’m here talking to you! An Obi-Wan who… who doesn't know or care anything about me!"

"Anakin, come now, that's not–" Ben started but Anakin wasn’t staying to listen.

He left the kitchen quickly and headed back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He threw himself down into the bed, wanting to scream into the pillow.

If he couldn’t even remember how he got here in the first place, how in the hell could he find a way back? And Ben clearly wasn’t going to help him. Anakin had no holocron here or a way to get back to Jedha to check. He couldn’t even get back to Coruscant, to the Temple. Maybe others like Mace and Yoda or Plo Koon existed here, even if he didn’t. Maybe they would know and could help him.

Anakin closed his eyes to keep the tears from slipping free, but they fell anyway, wetting the soft pillow underneath his head.

#obikin #obikin bingo #my writing #never a jedi au #alternate universe #universe travel #obi wan x anakin #fanfic #if you saw me reposting it #you probably didn't cos it wasn't showing up anywhere 😭

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wolven91 · 8 months

Text

Bears In Space

The marauders had thought this would be an easy take. A tiny craft, slinking through the system, using the shadows of the planets to hide. Perfect to go undetected, if not that the raiding party was doing the very same.

The danger on this tiny craft was the ursidain guardian. A powerhouse in her own right, she'd fight tooth and claw for her human ward. But handle her and the human would be easy pickings. They'd caught the craft unawares, deliberately using a small craft of their own to sneak up submerged in the civilian craft's engine wake. Only a pilot who had used the same tactic would know what to look for. At most they'd think their engine was doing something strange, not that a raiding party was mere moments away from boarding them.

The fight for control was intense, but short.

Three of the marauders had been killed. One had their top half separated from their bottom in one, seemingly effortless, pull by the thirteen-foot-tall guardian. Ursidains could tear bulkheads from walls if angered enough, one draconian spine wasn't much of a problem.

The second's, an esquinine, head was limp against their shoulder at an odd angle, the wild swing that had connected had obviously broken their neck with ease. So much for their 'powers'. It didn't take a telepath to know that the ursidain would have killed each and every one of them at a moments notice.

The third and final casualty was an idiot taurian. He had lost their footing rushing the ursidain and had ended up on their back, firing upwards. The ursidain had merely stepped on them. An average ursidain weighed easily over a metric ton. She hadn't even needed to stomp; the fool's ribcage had snapped like thin dry twigs.

The remaining three team members had simply fired round after electrified round at the raging creature. Ursidains were hardly, but not invincible. A thin pelt and flesh prevented rounds from penetrating deeper. A fused ribcage protected their organs, muscles and tendons with naturally occurring carbon, strengthening their power and force. Realistically, the only thing ursidains naturally feared was deep water. Pressure was their enemy, so not even vacuum scared them thanks to their ridiculous biology.

But she eventually went down. The remaining three raiders were smart, staying away from her swipes and keeping their backs to a sealed door in the small cargo bay.

"Don't kill her." Ordered the lead. The human was nowhere to be found, the place reeked of them, but being so small, like a chintian or geckin, they could hide in places the other races couldn't go, there was no point in searching, so they kept their attention on the entrance to the cargo bay. No, the ursidain had to be kept alive so they could use her to pressure the human into giving up. Humans were soft. Weak. One cut and they bleed out, they didn't even have thick flesh or a protective pelt. They could be tricked.

"Human! This has already been a failure of a raid. Not even you are worth the loss of three of my finest." An obvious lie. Those three were wastes of space and with their departure from his crew, the reward for the human would be divided only three times instead of six. Realistically, the felinoid could have given the human a cut of their reward as thanks and still come out with more credits.

"I'll just kill your friend here and blow up the ship. You're not worth this effort."

"You realise you won't get away with this... right?" The ursidain rumbled from her knelt position, head rising. The three remaining pirates turned their attention to her.

"Oh no? An empty system, no signals going out, no relays even if there was and the witnesses about to be taken care of. Go on, how am I not going to get away with this?"

The ursidain grinned.

"You weren't paying attention to the-"

A deafening roar stole her words as a hurricane materialised in the cargo bay. A terrible force tore all four of the creatures from their place on the metal floor as the fury and might of the vacuum of space grabbed a hold of them. The ursidain knew what to look for as she tumbled head over heels towards the black. A human in a space suit, holding the emergency venting lever down. She caught eyes with her ward as she sailed past and out of the doors.

The raiding team screamed as they went, but nobody heard them, there's no sound in space and the moment they were clear of the air rushing out of the cargo bay, all sound cut off for them too. By the time their bodies collided with their own craft, two of the three were pretty much dead. They had attempted to hold their breaths and their lungs had exploded. The third only survived as they had no air in their lungs, but even then, a mere thirty seconds after entering the black, they too passed.

Their last vision was the ursidain, floating by with them. At least they got one of the pair.

The human on the other hand knew they had a few minutes. Using everything their guardian had taught them, they ensured that their own harness was attached to the miles long cord that kept them latched onto their craft. Then, they leapt from their ship.

The only thing they could hear was their own laboured breathing. 'Never get off the boat' was engrained on anyone who left the safety of a station or planet, the panic and fear of the void was real. Too many things could go wrong if one went floating out into the void. The human ignored the other lazily spinning corpses nearby, the heads-up display on their helmet highlighted the ursidain. They slowed their approach and immediately latched a hook onto the ursidain's belt. Checking it twice, the human began to reel in the tether.

Ursidains were hardy. The sheer strength of their chests and muscles, meant that for a time, vacuum would not kill them. Deep water was deadly, able to crush them as it worked against their strengths, but it meant in the event pirates boarded a ship without vacuum suits? It was better to just vent the whole ship into space while the ursidain distracted them. Just so long as they get picked up well within quarter of an hour... after that...

When the cargo bay sealed and repressurised, the human was watching their HUD for the green 'Pressurised' label before unlatching the helmet and throwing it aside.

When their hands shook the ursidain, nothing happened. They shook the giant again and they still remained unmoving.

It wasn't until the human slapped the ursidain with a desperate panicked shout that the guardian awoke with an 'ow!'.

"I thought you were dead!"

"So you slap dead people?!"

"You were MESSING with me!?"

"I thought you'd find it funny!"

"You're mental!"

"You're rubbing off on me then!"

Discord / KoFi

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #bear #ursidain

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