CHANCE ENCOUNTER
lock-nah x fem!reader
Summary: You are a university student on a excavation 'retreat'. When the Egypt desert starts to shift, you run for cover where you encounter the mysterious stranger for the first time during the chaos, still unaware of his deadly reputation.
wc: 1.5k (this is js the first part)
warnings: no smut yet cause this is the first part, theres really no content warns except it might be a bit spooky idk not rlly
a/n: hey guys... srry for dropping a banger and leaving, last year got really stressful but im good now and free most of summer cause i dont have any summer classes !! but yeah, i rewatched the mummy + the mummy returns and lock-nah is so hot im gen shocked i couldn't find ONE xreader with him. also if you recognize the actor its cause he plays alamo in euphoria
─── 𓂀𓂀 ───
The shovel hit something hard, a dull sound that vibrated up your arms and rattled your teeth. Dust clouded the air, turning the moonlit sky into a haze of grit and sand.
You wiped the sweat from your forehead, leaving a streak of dirt across your brow. This excavation was supposed to be standard, digging up some fossils, maybe artifacts if you were lucky, just for record.
Your professor said, “I want everyone to find at least one interesting thing today.”
You had not found one thing. Which is why, you were currenting in a trench much past dark, sinking on your knees as your hands clawed through the dirt at the sound of something that wasn’t just dirt.
Your fingers brushed against something, and you pulled the buried metal out of the sand. It wasn’t pottery or a relic, it was iron, cold and inscribed in symbols you didn’t recognize. As you traced the etches, a shadow passed in your peripheral.
You looked up, but there was nothing but the shimmering heat haze and the distant, unsettling silence of the dunes.
I’m going fucking crazy.
A prickle crawled up on the back of your neck, the unmistakable sensation of being watched, and you turned, scanning the empty dunes.
Crawling out of the trench, you grunted, pocketing the iron plate and pushing yourself up, brushing the red dust from your khakis. Something still felt wrong. It wasn’t just the feeling of being watched, just something… off.
You looked towards the camp, where the lamps were dimmed, and the majority of the crew were asleep. But, there was movement.
A shadow—darker than a shadow—slithered between the tents. It moved with a fluid, predatory grace that belonged to something far more dangerous than a stray animal.
You took a step back, heart hammering against your ribs. As you watched, the dunes dipped, a bowl of sand that swirled in a rhythmic pattern.
You stepped away from the perimeter, boots sinking into the loose, hot sand as you distanced yourself from the camp.
As you walked, the distance between you and the camp grew. Within moments, the tents seemed like toys perched on the edge of an abyss. The air grew thinner, cooler, and tasted of ozone and stale incense. You hid behind a ridge, lungs burning, and stumbled into a cave.
Your palms skidded against basalt, the rock unnaturally cold despite the desert’s heat. You pulled yourself up, fingers raking through a layer of fine, silver dust that didn't look like the coarse sand of the dunes. It looked like ash.
As you rounded a sharp bend in the labyrinthine rock wall, the heat abruptly died. The transition was violent, a sudden vacuum of sound that left your skin growing goosebumps. You stood at a hidden sort of a bowl shielded from the outside desert.
In the basin of the rock formation, there was a hypnotic chanting, sung in a language that defied the linguistic rules you had spent your life mastering. When you looked down, there had to be a dozen figures in desert-worn gear and cloths moving in a slow orbit around a central, lit pillar.
A ritual circle?
Your academic mind, the part of you that had been trained to document and categorize, tried to rationalize what you were seeing. This has to be hallucination brought on by dehydration. But then you saw the way the shadows in the circle didn't move in accordance with the flickering braziers. They stretched and lashed out like whips against the rock walls.
You gripped a loose stone, meaning to steady yourself, but your trembling fingers knocked it free. It tumbled over the edge, rattling down the cliff face with the sound of a gunshot in the silent basin.
The chanting stopped instantly.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Every head in the circle snapped toward the ridge where you were hidden. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to suspend itself. Your blood ran cold.
You scrambled backward, intent on fleeing. But, a hand, rough and calloused by the hilt of a blade, clamped over your mouth before you could scream.
You were yanked backward, your spine slamming into a hard, unyielding chest.
"Curiosity is a dangerous companion in the wastes, little scholar," a voice rasped in your ear. It was low, cultured, and devoid of any chaos, surprisingly.
You thrashed, boots digging into the dust, but the grip was absolute. You were held with the precision of a man who dealt in death as a trade. You stopped fighting, chest heaving, the realization settling in that there was no use in fighting.
He spun you around, slowly releasing your mouth. You gasped, the cold air rushing into your lungs, fueling the adrenaline that turned your veins to ice.
The proximity was stifling. The man's face was a map of harsh angles and scars that seemed to catch the dying, eerie light of the braziers. His eyes, dark and unreadable, bore into yours, searching for the terror he clearly expected to find.
You expected him to draw his blade. You expected the quick, final violence that the situation demanded. But instead, his gaze tracked the pulse jumping at your throat, a flicker of something raw and deeply unsettling igniting in his expression. It wasn't pity, and it definitely wasn't mercy. It was an intense, predatory fascination, the way one might look at an intricate toy that had suddenly begun to work in an unexpected way.
He tilted his head, his thumb tracing the sharp line of your jaw with a pressure that was dangerously close to a caress.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” you managed, your voice steadier than you felt. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, ignoring the way his eyes seemed to strip away your defenses. "I didn't think anyone would be here. This is a restricted site."
He let out a sound that might have been a laugh, though it held no mirth. He tilted his head, his dark eyes tracing the line of your throat, then dropping to the dirt-stained clothes you wore.
"Restricted," he repeated, tasting the word. "You speak of boundaries, of fences and red tape, while the very earth beneath your feet is crying out for its true master.”
"I thought I saw something. I was scared," you said, trying your very best to be convincing, the memory of the shifting shadows still burned behind your eyelids. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything. I swear of it.”
“Liar.” “What?” You asked, your voice coming out as a disbeliefing scoff. “I am not lying.”
“Are you sure?”
You tried to speak, but your throat was dry, your mouth still tingling from his hand. You looked past him, down at the ritual circle where the men were beginning to look up toward the cliff, their blades drawn. You were a liability. You were a witness.
“Yes… I am sure,” you whispered.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. A terrifying, triumphant curve. He turned, pulling you with him toward the edge of the cliff, effectively shielding you from the sight of the others.
You stayed silent for a moment, before surprising yourself by saying: “Why haven’t you killed me?”
"Death is a dull finality," he said. "I find your curiosity... inconvenient. Yet, there is a resonance in you. A pull. The desert does not tolerate intruders unless they serve a purpose."
"I am an archaeologist," you spat, trying to reclaim your identity. "My purpose is to document, not to serve."
“You are an anomaly,” he said, his eyes roaming over your face with a hunger that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with recognition. “I can tell you have a penchant for wandering into places where you are not invited.” “Who are you?” you asked, voice gaining a trace of defiant terror.
His gaze dropped to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. The intensity of it made your knees weak. “I am Lock-Nah. And you are a complication,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "One I should excise before the moon wanes. But there is a part of me—a very distinct, very human part—that finds your defiance... refreshing."
He stepped back, breaking the spell, though the air between you two still felt charged with the static of a incoming storm. He turned his back to you, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, and inexplicably tethered to him.
"Go back to your camp," he commanded, his voice devoid of his previous warmth, returning to the icy tone of an enforcer. "Look for your pots. Write your reports. Tell yourself it was a hallucination caused by the heat and the sand. But know this: the next time you wander into the dark, I will not be so patient. And you will not be so lucky."
You didn't wait for him to change his mind. You turned and scrambled out, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You didn't look back, even though you could feel the weight of his gaze on your spine, a silent thread that tethered you to the desert’s most dangerous secret.
As you stumbled back toward the glow of the excavation site’s lanterns, the reality of what you had seen and the terrifying allure of the man who had shown it to you began to settle in.
