#i could have just had each one be bones on the ground but i switched it up a bit

[trek-tracks]

Is that too much to ask, Jim? Spock?

[azsazz]

Shots & Spins

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @kristijenner19: I saw you were thinking about hockey!AZ because same. How about a fic where she's a figure skater and they're trying to teach each other their respective sports. Imagine poor Az trying to do a spin/jump/twizzle and a reader who can barely ever make a shot into a goal

Bonus points if they switch their skates and have to re-learn how to skate with the new blade

Warnings: Mild panic attack, mentions of readers injury (torn ACL), trauma from coaches (verbal) mentioned.

Word Count: 3088

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown

HOCKEY SZN SOON MY LOVES 💙💙

Notes: I swear I meant to make this cuter but of course, I had to give it some angst 😅

_________________________________________

“What is this?” You question. You’re probably being rude, with your nose scrunched in disgust. With the way you’re holding the pair of skates as far away from your body as possible, you’re pretty sure you look like the biggest bitch on all of campus. But for the life of you, you can’t figure out why Azriel has handed you hockey skates.

“They’re skates,” Azriel answers. You rip your glare from the offending skates at his obvious response. Your heart stumbles in your chest at the sight of his pink lips twitching, begging to reveal that grin he spends most of his time expertly hiding.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning closer in anticipation, so eager to see that smile until the hitch of his breath snaps you back to consciousness.

You rock back on your heels so quickly you nearly tumble over. Would tumble over if it weren’t for Azriel’s quick reflexes, his large hands enveloping your waist and steadying you back on your feet.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly, dipping your chin to the ground to hide your flaming cheeks. There’s not an ounce of amusement in your body.

“You’re welcome.” You don’t like the smugness in his tone or the way he’s playing with you. Tilting your face back up, you muster all the annoyance lancing through your veins at his retort, shooting him the nastiest glare.

“That’s not what I meant, Az, and you know it. Why am I holding a pair of hockey skates?”

Azriel sits on the bench beside the empty arena, and you want to pout. Why would you want to spend any more time at the rink than you already do? You’re bone-fucking-tired and your knee is feeling stiff. You overdid it in practice this week, trying to get back into the shape you were in before the time you’d been forced to take off, and it’s hitting you hard. All you really want to do is crawl home, roll out your muscles, and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

When you don’t join Azriel, he says, with a humor you don’t feel, “Don’t tell me you forgot about our little bet. Or how you so gracefully lost it.”

Of course you hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget losing at something as simple as a race across the arena? Afterwards, you tried to blame it on the differences in the ice, how it was colder and harder than you were used to, as it was prepared for the hockey team’s game later that weekend.

A rookie mistake, honestly. One that you’ve been kicking yourself over up until this very moment. Well, if you could kick with your injured leg, that is, you’d be doing just that.

You grind your teeth as a memory rises to the forefront of your mind. Your coach’s voice rings in your head, shrill and reprimanding. Why would you take such foolish chances? You need to get your head in your sport or you’re never going to make it on the Olympic team, let alone the University team.

Shame presses down on you, and your eyes prick at the criticism you should be used to by now. Your private coach from your time before Velaris University, Amarantha, had been very creative with her insults, always coming up with comments worse and harsher to cut down any semblance of confidence you had in your sport.

You bet she’s thrilled that you won’t be back in her presence until you’re healed enough. If you heal enough to relearn the very trick that took you out of the running for the Olympic team in the first place.

It must be a thing, coaches insulting their prodigies. You glance at Azriel from the corner of your eye and wonder if his coach is the same way. If Rhys is brutal with his teammates.

And you hate losing. It was Azriel who you wished forgotten about the bet you’d so stupidly agreed to, but here he is, wearing the same look that got you into this position in the first place.

You take your time studying him as you mull over how to get out of this. Azriel’s broad shoulders take up the space of two people, and his deep, dark hair falls over his brow, growing out into the perfect flow all the players seem to be sporting right now. You wonder if it’s superstition or they actually like the look. His thick lashes sweep as he bats them, and your cheeks take on a pink hue as he pretends to preen under your attention.

“Look,” he all but sighs, giving up his act. He leans back, reaching over to grab something out of sight. When Azriel rightens himself, he holds a pair of figure skates, a sheepish smile on his face. The apples of his cheeks mottle with pink. “I got myself figure skates, so we can both look like fools out there. Together.”

Fuck. The sentiment makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t have to be so damn thoughtful, you’re hardly even friends for Mother’s sake.

“Fine,” you manage when you can speak again. You plop onto the bench beside him. Your knee throbs dully in protest, but it’s nothing you haven’t been able to smother before. You’ve worked through worse conditions than hockey prepped ice, have skated in casts and aches so deep you weren’t sure you’d be able to compete at all if it weren’t for your raw love for the sport and your brutal stubbornness, holding yourself to the highest of standards.

And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your usual tricks. No, that’s all Azriel. All you have to manage is a few forward spirals, twizzles, and perhaps an axel just to show off a little, because there’s no way he’ll be able to recreate all of that in one go.

You just hope your knee stays steady for a few more hours.

The both of you lace your shoes in silence. The hockey skates are so different from your figure skates, you note. The blade is much thicker than you’re used to, more curved too. The boots are shorter, and you grimace at the lack of ankle support.

Not to mention you’re not entirely sure how well you’ll be able to stop without your toe pick.

Azriel leads you to the ice. You step on tentatively, giving the new skates a test. They have a lot more give than you’re used to. They’re not as snug, but easy enough to navigate. Muscle memory kicks in and after a few sluggish runs up and down the ice, you think you’ve gotten the hang of it.

The rest of this bet should be a breeze, especially compared to how Azriel is faring.

His face is contorted with a concentrated frown. He looks stiff as a fucking board, which make you giggle and him complain about. “How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely even move my ankles!”

“Practice makes perfect, young Padawon,” you tease, testing how best to shift your weight on the new blades. The pressure on your knee isn’t terrible, thanks to the looseness of the hockey skates.

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel waves you off. He trails behind you at a slower rate, focused on getting used to the stiffness of the figure skates on his feet. “Just wait until we scrimmage.”

Ugh, no thanks. This is just perfect for you, the both of you out on the open ice, all alone. You don’t want to ruin this peaceful bliss by bringing your competitive personalities into it.

“I knew if we raced under different conditions I’d have won!” You exclaim, zipping past Azriel again, showing off. He glares playfully, but you’re much too busy admiring your skates to notice the way he’s tucked his lip between his teeth, hiding a satisfied grin.

His toe pick digs into the ice, grinding down as he gets a feeling for the foreign piece, but his eyes stay glued on you.

“Ready for a stick and gloves already, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you throw a smirk back in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a brow. “You ready for twizzling?”

“Twizzlers?”

You roll your eyes at his lame joke, but your heart still skips at his wry smile. It’s more than cute. You push off your blade, moving closer to him.

Which is fine, until you try to use your toe pick to stop, only for the realization to hit that there isn’t one on these skates.

You go barreling into Azriel, who catches you in his arms. Your motion throws him off balance and before you even have the chance to squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself, you’re both falling to the ice.

Azriel hits with a grunt that reverberates through your bones. You’d think that Azriel breaking your landing would be less painful than it is, but with the way the muscle is packed on his body, he’s just as hard as the ice that’s no longer beneath your feet.

“Sorry,” you cringe. It comes out breathless and embarrassment flushes your cheeks, but you’re frozen to your spot and all too aware of how his large, warm hands are wrapped firmly around your waist.

“No worries.” Your lashes flutter as his breathy whisper caresses your face. He’s probably just winded, that’s why he sounds like that. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. “Didn’t think to remind you how to stop.”

“I know how to stop,” you argue, but there’s none of your usual fire tainting the words. You can’t even muster one of your famous glares that you reserve for the normally broody hockey player. You break eye contact as the humiliation begins creeping in. You scratch your nail distractedly down the waffled fabric of his olive colored henley. “I just…forgot, I guess.”

The hitching of his breath in his chest shifts your body and you jolt, the situation slamming into you like a truck.

You scramble off Azriel, grimacing at the sound of your blades clinking against his. His grip loosens, hands falling away as you slip to the ice beside him.

You shoot to your knees, then not-so-carefully climb to your feet. Azriel holds his hands out from where he’s still lying on the ground, like he’s more than ready to catch you again should you fall.

You’re positive the heat of your cheeks could melt the entire arena’s ice right now. You need to get the fuck out of here before you embarrass yourself further. You need to never show your face around here again. You’ve already transferred schools once, what’s one more time?

Azriel calls your name, but you hardly hear him over your racing thoughts. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, Coach Weaver’s voice now fills the rest of your head, screeching about your recklessness and how you could’ve injured yourself—

He’s quicker than you thought, or you’ve been trapped in your mortified headspace for too long because Azriel’s on his feet, towering over you and pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles and his hands tighten around you. He lets you bury your face into his chest and pretends not to notice the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. You’re fucking trembling, and his heart is pounding just as hard.

This is all his fault.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he tries to console. He looks around frantically, like one of the sports therapist students or coaches might be walking past the rinks this late at night. There’s no soul in the building besides the both of you, everyone resting for their busy weekends of competitions and away hockey games. “Please.”

You focus on his words, how he guides you, three seconds in, three seconds out. You focus on the soothing patterns he’s drawing down your back, focus on the beating of his heart and latch onto his scent: night-chilled mist and cedar.

“Sorry,” you croak when you finally manage to calm yourself and slide a step back. Your gaze sits pointedly on the ice. You don’t want him to see you like this, a woman who’s about to fucking crumble.

“Don’t be,” Azriel says softly. His hand finds your face, and as much as you don’t want him to, he lifts your chin. You don’t fight it, emotionally exhausted. You should have asked for a raincheck, but you can admit to the fact that Azriel’s gentle touch is a comfort that you can’t help but lean into.

Sad, hazel eyes meet yours. They’re more golden brown than green, a forest of hues backlit by a burst of gold. Your breath hitches as he drags a thumb softly across your lips. They part, even though you don’t mean them to, and the whisper of breath that leaves you passes over his hand, crawls up his arm, and sends shivers down his spine.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure you can hold yourself together enough to answer his question without completely melting into a puddle at his feet.

Your silence must be answer enough. Azriel takes both of your hands in his own and guides you back toward the bench where you left your shoes. His grip is reassuring, and you’re so tired that you don’t even have it in yourself to sling a witty remark his way.

For what might be the first time in your life, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

You can’t even muster a chuckle at the way he stumbles over the toe pick on his way off the ice, or the way you’re waddling in these skates. You feel anything but graceful and strong right now, but with Azriel’s hand in yours, it’s not as off-putting as you feared it might be.

“Sit,” he says, keeping his fingers clasped around yours as you heed his command. It brings you eye-level to his hands, puckered and pink and scarred to hell. They’re beautiful in every way. He embraces his story, and it’s an incredible strength, one you’re much too terrified of attempting to recreate.

“Azriel, no,” you protest, jolting forward when he lowers himself to his knees before you. You plant your hands on his shoulders, ready to force him away because you’re more than capable of taking your own skates off.

He catches your wrists, and you didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, but they do, and you melt. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of this for you.”

You try to swallow past the knot in your throat to thank him but are unable to. Instead, you nod and reluctantly sit back.

Azriel’s gentle with his movements, like you’re a wild doe that he’s helping free from a snare. He unties the tight knots, and your heart pinches when he struggles for a moment. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t watching so intently, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Like he knows you need to see this.

You carefully keep your mind from wandering into how good he looks like this before you.

He slips the first skate off, and you stretch your toes. It’s a reflex. Azriel smiles, peeking up at you just in time to catch your blush. His gaze ducks away before you become embarrassed, setting your foot down and holding your other ankle, lifting to get to work.

You hiss softly at the ache in your knee.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laces his voice, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“No, no,” you cringe a little at the lingering sting. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart.” Azriel says sternly. Seriously. “That reaction wasn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, defeated in more ways than one. You don’t want to admit that the injury that threw your entire career off-kilter is acting up again. You’d rather not have anyone know.

Perhaps Azriel is different. Or, maybe he’s forcing you, because the gold in his eyes is intense, pinning you to your spot. His mouth is set in a straight, firm line. He looks like he means fucking business.

You avert your gaze. You’ve never admitted defeat like this, but if Azriel can wear his scars so proudly, maybe you can too.

“I tore my ACL a few months ago.” You admit, sniffling. You can feel the shock in Azriel’s gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s the first person at this school outside of your coach who’s hearing it. You’ve never been so vulnerable, especially with someone you hardly know. You press on nonetheless. “It’s been fine up until now.” A white lie. “But it’s been a little sore since I started practicing my jumps again.”

“How many months is ‘a few’?” He questions, and he’s not going to like the answer, so you opt for brushing over it.

“I’ll go back to seeing my therapist,” you offer instead, but even you’re not too sure how much truth your words hold.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Azriel says, and you don’t want his sympathy, but you’re too exhausted for your usual anger to stir to life. “You need to take care of yourself, before it gets any worse.”

His sentiment has your nose stinging, eyes prickling once again. What the fuck is wrong with you these days? Get it together, girl. You can cry in your own room, not in front of the hot boy who’s helping you with your godsdamned shoes.

You drag your gaze back to his. “I will.” You think.

He studies you for a moment before nodding, accepting your answer whether he believes it or not. You don’t have it in yourself to care right now. No, you just want to be back in the safety of your dorm.

Azriel is even more careful removing this skate and helping you slip into your shoes. He makes quick work of his own, and while his head is down, you admire his stature. Broad shoulders and chest that tapers into a tight waist, an ass for days.

You’re not done drooling over him when he stands, offering you a hand.

You slip your palm into his, ignoring the electricity that zips down your arm. You’re hyperaware of him by your side, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure that you’re steady on your feet that he drops your hand.

You try not to feel too disappointed at the loss.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Azriel offers, and you trail him from the arena, your heart feeling a bit fuller with the nickname.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13

[heirofnight]

so long

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.8k (of heart-crushing angst)

based on this request: could you do something for azriel based off ‘so long, london’ by taylor swift! thank you in advance 🩵

a/n: this is literally just soul-crushing angst. that's it. pls give feedback, and lmk what you think <3

i saw in my mind ferry lights through the mist i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

you stood with your back to the rest of the room, peering out at the velvety night sky that was blanketing velaris.

your arms were wrapped around yourself, and you'd opted to put all of your focus towards counting each bright, twinkling star in the onyx sky - anything to avoid turning around, which would result in meeting the eyes of the male sitting on the bed behind you.

you'd heard the sheets rustle as azriel shifted his weight against the mattress. he huffed out a dejected sigh, his wings rustling in anticipation of the conversation that was inevitably going to take place.

you'd shook your head then, squeezing your left shoulder in an attempt to ground yourself, silence your swirling thoughts.

my spine split from carrying us up the hill wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill i stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe

"i can't keep doing this, azriel," you whispered hoarsely, sniffling once.

although you couldn't see him, you felt the tension that stiffened his slouched frame after you uttered those words.

"i've felt this way for awhile, but i kept telling myself to ignore it - i've ignored you shutting down, shutting me out for days. i've ignored the way you've so-," you paused, trying to reign in your quickly escalating emotions before continuing, "so obviously have been going out of your way to avoid me, and i've even ignored you leaving my bed in the middle of the night to return to your own rooms - to sleep alone," you breathed out a quiet laugh devoid of any humor.

when he offered you no response, you kept going, "i'm exhausted, azriel. i am tired. i cannot keep forcing this relationship along, and i refuse to allow myself to continue to be involved with you when it is so clearly one-sided," you finished, voice shaky yet firm.

i stopped CPR, after all it’s no use the spirit was gone, we would never come to and i’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

you finally turned around, daring to meet the hazel eyes of the male that, a year ago, handed his heart over to you in the palms of his beautifully scarred hands. you were both so happy in the beginning. he'd given you everything, he'd shared everything with you - his past, the horrible, vicious past that he'd endured. every thought, every feeling that made itself known at any given moment. he had slowly but surely opened himself up to you. no crevice was left undiscovered - and you had granted him the same.

but, for what? so much wasted time, wasted energy.

over the last few months, azriel had begun to revert back to his old ways - to the point where, you'd sometimes had to ask yourself if it was all a dream in the first place. this abrupt, glaring switch had been flipped, and it almost felt like you'd never known him at all.

even now, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. his shadows were twined tightly around himself - a safe cocoon that rendered him wholly hidden from you. his expression was cold, unreadable. before you was the shadowsinger, but you'd fallen in love with your az.

and if this heartbreaking shift in his demeanor wasn't awful enough to endure, he was also refusing to even speak to you about it. you'd receive grunts and hums in lieu of actual verbal responses. did you not even deserve an explanation?

"so, i'm done. i'm done trying to make this work, i'm done bending over backwards. i've only broken myself in half in the process. i am not going to be the only one fighting to keep this, this - whatever this is, alive. thank you for all of the times we've had, but i'm done," you sneered, cringing at how professional your last statement felt, sounded.

so far from where you'd both begun.

and you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it my white knuckle dying grip, holding tight to your quiet resentment

his eyes were cold and full of disdain, all of that anger and negativity being directed towards you - boring through you so intensely, you'd sworn for a moment that his gaze would leave gaping holes on every part of your body it touched.

he cleared his throat, his voice sounding like pure gravel, "so that's it, then? you're just - giving up?," he spat, his shadows swirling around him angrily - the sight reminding you of furious storm clouds preparing to decimate the land beneath them.

you must have been hallucinating.

giving up? you narrowed your eyes, taking a moment to process his words before you spoke.

"giving up?," you repeated out loud, voice hard and disbelieving.

"azriel, have you not been listening to me? have you not been bearing witness to how hard i have tried, and tried, and tried over the last 5 months?," you stepped towards him, face twisted in anger.

"how dare you?," you spat, hands slapping against your thighs as you gestured in utter shock. "i would have died for you, azriel. and several times over these last few months, it felt like i was heading in that direction," your voice lowered, growing dark.

he winced at your words, head dropping to stare at his hands that sat folded in his lap.

so how much sad did you think i had, did you think i had in me? how much tragedy? just how low did you think i'd go ‘fore i’d self implode? 'fore i’d have to go be free?

"i'm sorry," his voice hoarse and full of gravel - remorseful.

you paused, dropping your own head toward the floor.

"it's a little too late for that, az," you softened at his nickname escaping your lips, your heart aching at the familiarity of it. proof that you'd both been more than just strangers to each other at some point, even if that was the heart-wrenching truth now.

he shook his head to himself, running a frustrated hand through his jet-black waves.

curls that you'd play with so frequently when he'd begun to shut down right in front of your eyes. the action always seemed to bring him temporary piece, settling the raging storm that was beginning to brew within his molten-honey eyes.

your hand twitched at the memory, urging you to do the same thing for him again - now. but it was over, past the point of no return.

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? i died on the altar waiting for the proof

you bristled, straightening your posture after a pregnant pause of silence - you'd realized that he had nothing else to offer. no more words, no more explanations, no energy to fix whatever had irreparably split you both in two.

there was a point - about three months into the relationship - where things were so good, so heart-achingly perfect, that you were absolutely positive that he must be your mate. that was the only explanation for how well you both intertwined with each other. surely, there could be no other male walking this planet more made for you than azriel.

now, that thought almost made you laugh, the irony of it all almost paralyzing.

and so, with azriel offering you nothing further, you began to stride towards his bedroom door. this was it. he had no reassurance to give, no proclamation of love, no argument against the truth.

it was over, and that was that.

and I’m just getting colour back into my face

three months had passed since you had ended your relationship with azriel on a devastating note.

you'd avoided the entire inner circle for that entire timeframe. you'd stopped visiting the town house, the house of wind. you'd stopped visiting rita's, and the bakery that you knew feyre loved to frequent. you'd opted to ultimately avoid the rainbow entirely. you couldn't bare it, couldn't bare the thought of running into any of them.

the thought of their pitying eyes assessing you after everything that had happened - it was suffocating, it would leave wounds almost as deep and bloody as the breakup itself.

but, as time progressed, you'd begun to heal. you'd met new friends at a cooking class held across the river. and as time went on, you were even able to stomach the food you'd spent so much time learning to create.

and then - it happened.

you'd decided on a whim to accompany your new friends to a café alongside the sidra after a cooking class one evening. it was a beautiful night, the clearest sky you'd seen in what felt like months. you weren't sure if this had anything to do with the newfound clarity you'd received since ending things with azriel, but regardless, it was welcomed.

you were sat around a small, round table right next to the peaceful river, the stars reflecting off its surface in a way that threatened to steal your breath each time you glanced over.

you felt true peace, surrounded by company - friends, friends that were yours, and not yours and azriel's.

a laugh trickled out of you as you listened intently to a story being shared around your table of wine and appetizers. you glanced to your left, squeezing the arm of the new male beside you - leaning against his frame as you both giggled. you'd met him at these aforementioned cooking classes, and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't a large reason behind your continued attendance.

your eyes met his, and you shared a warm smile, and that's when something behind his head - in the distance - caught your focus.

the apex of large, membranous wings. you felt your face blanche at the realization, and you leaned back in your chair hesitantly, heart stuttering against your ribcage.

and sure enough, there stood azriel. he'd already found you, and his narrowed gaze pinned you in place. he was with his brothers, and they seemed completely unaware of your presence at all.

but azriel was always aware, of everything, all the time. and he was painfully aware of you, sitting next to a male that was not him. hooked around his frame as if you were sewn together.

his shadows twirled and looped around him ominously, and you knew him well enough to know that although his expression was blank and unfeeling, his shadows always gave his emotions away.

he was pissed.

but you offered him a tense, pained smile. you felt dizzy, but you nodded once in his direction anyway.

as if to say, i see you, and i'm here, and so are you, and that's okay

it was over, and you'd met someone new, and you had come to terms with that - with all of it.

and you'd wanted him to do the same.

so long, london stitches undone two graves, one gun you’ll find someone

a/n: this shit HURT. angst with no happy ending makes me want to claw my eyes out. but i hope you enjoyed this request!

a/n x2: i am just getting home from a morning shift, so if any of this was written poorly or not .... great, it's because i've been awake since 4AM. so sorry!!!

[veilofaponia]

Premonition

yan feitan x reader

warnings: yandere content, stalking, sexual harassment, detailed descriptions of gore

word count: 2.4k

You’ve noticed a strange phenomenon recently.

It started off small. You’d find a chapstick you often used to have suddenly disappeared, despite being sure of where you put it last time. Or jewelry you don’t remember owning would appear strewn around in your apartment.

Then, something happened that truly made you suspicious.

The sound of two pairs of footsteps joined in with the sound of your own. They were catching up with you, though you paid no mind to it at first.

A guy’s whistle caught your attention. You turned around to the source of the sound and were greeted by two men who must’ve been around your age. Both reeked of alcohol and sweat. One of them was having trouble standing upright while the other decided to take the initiative.

“Hey, you’re cute. How about joining us for a drink?” His speech was thick. It almost sounded like he was struggling to get each individual word out.

You huffed. “Sorry, I’m not interested.” You just wanted to get home and unwind. The desire to entertain two intoxicated men really wasn’t present.

Both of them just laughed, the sound boisterous and obnoxious. The second guy spoke up this time. “What? C’mon, no need to play hard to get. I swear, we’ll buy you the highest quality drinks on the whole damn market, you’ll never wanna go back.”

You didn’t bother humoring them with a response and spun on your heel to continue home. Their personalities changed so quickly you almost assumed someone clicked a switch inside their heads. One sneered while the other reached out to tightly grab your wrist.

“What’s the matter with you? You think you’re too good for us or something?”

Without thinking, you immediately went to slap him in the face, but accidentally scraped your nails against him too. This caused the man to let go of you and press his hands against his head.

“Ow! What the hell?! This bitch just scratched me!”

There were two thin lines of blood trickling down his face, though neither were deep enough to scar. Taking a deep breath, you made your voice sound as confident as you could.

“If you don’t leave me alone,” You rummaged in your bag till you found your phone and held it up. “I’ll have no choice but to call the cops.”

The man who you’d hit gathered saliva in his mouth to spit on you, but missed and hit the ground next to you instead. His friend scoffed and murmured “You wouldn’t be able to handle us anyway.” Then, the two saw fit to walk off.

You sighed and made a mental note to carry a self defense tool next time you had to work overtime.

It wasn’t until a week later that it refreshed in your memory. You’d taken a relaxing shower and decided to finish the day by watching some tv. When you saw what was on the news, bile rose in your throat.

Two corpses had been found near the center of the city. As if whoever the perpetrator was wanted them to be found. What had been done to the pair was simply awful.

One had his legs bent in an unnatural position, an untreated third degree burn present on his left, while his right showcased an infected cut so deep bone could be seen. His tongue wasn’t in his mouth anymore and his oral cavity was stained with dried blood. Multiple teeth weren’t in his gums anymore.

They were instead found shoved down his throat.

The other had been subject to the same torture, if not worse. His head was barely attached to his neck anymore, being almost completely cut off. It had a notable dent and fragments of skull were found in his hair. Two deep cuts were visible on his forehead, continuing all the way down to his chin. It was almost like whoever had done this was trying to mimic a cat scratch.

You were stuck in a state of shock while you heard the news reporter rattle off all their wounds and what was known of the case so far. A sense of pity and empathy for the two friends filled you on top of the anxiety you felt. The channel then showed the pictures of the two men. It felt as if you’d seen their faces before but couldn’t recall when or where. Your mind was struggling to piece together the puzzle, when abruptly, it dawned on you.

These were the two men who had harassed you that day you returned from work.

You didn’t know how to react. Sure, they were assholes towards you, but a fate like this was something no one deserved.

When you processed everything you’d heard so far, you realized a similarity that the newsman didn’t comment on: their hands. Fingernails had been ripped off, burn wounds taking their place instead. Some fingers were broken, the bone completely shattered beyond repair, while others simply weren’t present. Skin had been torn off. The flesh underneath had started to rot. There was even one of them who’d had a nerve exposed, only for it to be cut in half. You shivered at how that must have felt.

You decided this story would only give you nightmares and quickly switched channels.

The media milked the case for all it was worth. With no new material besides theories online, they lost interest and moved onto the next mildly interesting story to rant about. The fact the culprit had never been found made you feel uneasy, but since the neighborhood you live in isn’t known for violent crimes, you told yourself to stop being irrational.

You’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone when the sound of a glass being slid towards you brings you back to reality. An alcoholic drink is placed in front of you, similar to the one you’d ordered beforehand. You’d told the bartender about the guy you’re meeting here and how excited you were. Now, she just gives you an apologetic smile and you murmur your thanks.

Overstimulating music induces a headache and you berate yourself for not bringing your headphones. To your left is a girl giggling at whatever compliments the mediocre guy she’s talking to is giving. You scoff at the display, refusing to admit it bothers you so much because your date never showed up.

You decide to re-check your messages with him, silently praying he’ll finally have answered you.

It’d been over an hour since you sent your first. None of them had “read” underneath them. You sigh and down your beverage, the taste warming your mouth. Anger bubbles inside you, but you’re not looking to cause a fuss in front of others. You pull out the needed amount of money and slam onto the table with much more force than you meant to. You’re cursing under your breath and clenching your fists the entire time you exit the building. What was supposed to be a date with a cute guy instead had you wishing you never agreed to meet that idiot in the first place.

You’re in front of your door and reaching for your keys when a strange smell hits you. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever smelled before. If you had to think of a comparison, you’d settle on the smell of something rotten. You grimace at the odor and assume someone must’ve not thrown away their garbage properly.

A sense of dread fills you, but you can’t seem to figure out where it’s coming from. It’s like your gut feeling is screaming at you not to enter your apartment. When you ask yourself why, you can’t arrive at a sensible answer. Concluding the alcohol must be having a negative effect on your voice of reason, you pretend not to notice and stick your key into the hole.

The voice in your head gets louder. Don’t open the door. Turn around and walk away. But you push it down, deeper and deeper, until you can’t hear it anymore.

I live in a protected neighborhood. Nothing that has happened has given me reason to be this paranoid.

The door unlocks and opens swiftly. Almost as swiftly as your expression morphing into one of pure terror.

You immediately sink to the floor. Your knees crash against the wood, but you’re too out of it to notice the pain it causes.

The guy you were supposed to meet today. He’s here. On your floor. There’s cuts all across his entire body, a larger one on his torso taking the center of the stage.

Tears are starting to obscure your vision. You wish they could wash out the sight in front of you right now, never to be seen again. You’re digging your nails so tightly into your palms blood is being drawn.

This doesn’t make sense. This shouldn’t be happening. Why is this happening?

Police. I need to call the police.

Even in your frenzied state, you have enough clarity to remember your phone so you can dial the emergency number. Your eyes are fixated on the body in front of you while your arm reaches for your bag. But your hand doesn’t find it, instead meeting the texture of your floor. You direct your gaze to where your bag should be, but isn’t. In fact, you don’t see it at all.

Instead, your eyes notice a pair of gray shoes that doesn’t belong to you. Your eyebrows furrow at this. Looking up reveals a sight that sickens you to the very core.

A man is looking down at you. Blood is soaking into the fabric of his clothing and into his dark hair. Blood is dripping onto the floor. The air feels heavy with his presence, weighing down onto anything and everything else. So much so you’re having trouble breathing.

Reading his facial expression is hard, a cowl covering a large part of it. But his eyes tell you all you need to know. They’re glimmering. He’s clearly thrilled at the situation.

He sounds pleased with himself when he speaks up. “Like it? Gift.”

A sinking feeling forms in your stomach while processing his words. You can’t think of something to say, even if you could.

“He’s not the only one. Two more. Those on the news.” The way he speaks is like a blacksmith’s blade, every word instilling fear deeper into you.

If Feitan wasn’t so proficient in Nen, his bloodlust would’ve surely leaked out and alerted you by now. The display in front of him disgusted him, the pair of men truly digging their own grave. He had to remain patient, just a bit longer. Then, like the thief he is at heart, he could steal you away.

He throws one last look your way before turning around and tailing the guys who’d bothered you. Whatever their corpses would look like when Feitan was done would be their own fault, he reasons. After all, he’s not nearly as tolerant of behavior like that as you are.

“Then, the one who killed them...” You don’t finish your sentence, fearing the answer you already know. His eyes crinkle with delight before a thin, pale finger points at himself. Fear stirs inside you like ash.

The blood on the pliers was starting to dry. The one who had put his hands on you was much worse for wear than the one who’d only spoken. His breathing is coming out uneven and ragged, his heartbeat going at a slow and irregular pace. When this hell for them started, the first thing Feitan wanted to do was recreate the way your nails scraped against the mans face. The sight of blood dripping down due to Feitan in the same manner you drew blood excites him, even if his version is a lot more brutal.

You open your mouth but no sound comes out. You don’t know what to say. Any words that escape could very well be your last.

At the lack of a response, the man clicks his tongue and walks towards the body on the floor. Your eyes follow him.

He settles his leg on top of your date’s chest and applies pressure. You assumed he was already dead, bled out to death, but your hypothesis is proven incorrect when his bloodshot eyes shoot open and stare deeply into yours. His chest is still weakly moving up and down and his heart is still pumping blood. If only the organs would just give up; it’d be a mercy for both him and you.

You wish you could look away, anywhere but the gruesome display in front of you. Your nerves must’ve stopped sending signals to your brain, because your entire body is refusing to move.

Through the weak breaths of the dying man, you can make out a single word.

Help.

The orchestrator of this event must see this as some kind of comedy event. His eyes betray his amusement before he regards you again. “Go on. Help him.”

This causes your frayed nerves to finally spring into action. Your vocal chords seem to have finally regained the ability to produce sound, though your voice comes out cracked and fragile. “I really don’t understand what’s happening. I just-” I don’t want to die like them. “Is there anything I can do to get you to go away and leave me alone?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, appearing to genuinely consider an answer to your question. Then, he delivers his verdict. “No.”

Mortification seeps deeper into your bones, but he doesn’t grant you any time to recover. He begins to walk towards you. His footsteps are quiet to the point it’s uncanny.

Sparing a final glance to the man begging for your help, you mumble a “sorry” and redirect your attention to the one approaching you. Your attempts to scoot away with him are just met with a huff and a grip on your arm. No matter how deep you plunge your nails into his skin, he doesn’t relent. When you run out of energy to continue, he pulls you up by the arm he’s holding so his mouth is positioned near the shell of your ear.

This time, he pulls down his cowl before whispering into your ear.

“If you don’t want any more victims, you come with me.”

[staarboyyy]

Paid in kind

cooper howard [ the ghoul ] x bounty!reader | no pronouns

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; gunplay, breathplay, bondage, spitplay, hairpulling, oral [ m receiving ], throatfucking, wallfucking, creampie, accidental yearning, prolonged eye contact is sexy, switch!cooper is underrated, mentions of past sexual experiences, nondescript reader genitals, rad x as ghoul birth control

summary ; you've been running for weeks, but there's nowhere he won't find you.

word count ; 5.2k

a / n; inspired by the wonderful @ghoulsbounty and @ghoulbrain ! both are such lovely writers, i couldn't help but jump on this old man's bones !! (also as a texan i just had to put a fic out there using my southernisms)

The sun was achingly bright - That was the first thing you recalled. It beat down against the tattered and worn material of what you could manage for clothes, your eyes squinting as they couldn't resist to meet the sky. Everlasting, going as far as you could see - It brought strange comfort to have this one constant in this place, while also being a nice change from the large warehouse you took shelter in. Your feet moved slowly, the gravel against the soles of your shoes shifting with each step, eyes still pinned on the infinite blue stretching above your head forever. Instinctively, you knew being distracted, and taking time to enjoy the small things in this broken world, would be far less than short-lived. Though, taking in slow breaths of the thick air, clogged with the stench of the dirt below your feet and a dry breeze that stung your eyes; So much so, that you hardly noticed the hulking mutated mass moving towards you. It took in ragged breaths, crouched forward, wet tendrils obscuring its surging bloodshot eyes and split-cheeked jaw, messily hanging off the hinges. This action exposed rows of teeth, tattered and yellowed over the years roaming this land - As you whipped your head around, your hand moved with a practiced poise, already hovering over your weapon, itching with the need to draw against this thing that amassed itself towards you. An ear-shattering crack reverberated through the air before you could even finish bearing your teeth, white-knuckling your weapon. The blast was nasty, crushing through the reptile's large skull with an obscene squelch before falling forward to the hot ground with a thud. It lay in the seeping mess of what must be its blood, a dark pungent green, reeking of hot rubber - It stung your nose with a sharp sour tang, churning your stomach as you threw your hand over your mouth, staggering backward from both the sudden onslaught on your senses and the sudden shot tearing through the air.

"Well, well."

Your blood ran cold as the familiar gruff voice came a few yards past the bleeding mess in front of you, your eyes shuddering over the scene to meet the speaker with a widening gaze. He came from around the corner of the warehouse, that man - The one that insisted on shadowing your every move, no matter how far you ran. The soft breeze of the blazing day swept the tattered edges of his long coat, soft jingles following him as he took a few slow steps forward. He had lowered the gun level your face, gloved hands steady on the weapon as his eyes found yours. They were alive - Coherent, a sharp contrast to the little visible skin he showed, stretching scars bound over his cheeks and neck arching down and distorting the grassy texture of his tanned skin. Slowly, his thumb rose, letting it rest on the gun's hammer with a punctuating step.

"Looks like someone's not payin' attention."

You had been on the run for hours, and yet he cocked his head off to the side as his gaze raked over your hardening expression; It was all for nothing, the ghoul hardly affected by the travel you were desperate to turn into escape. Escape from the world that still tangled itself around your neck, pulling you across this wasteland with little, if any direction. Your heart slammed against your ribs, taking in a tentative breath of the nauseating air, keeping your eyes as far from the gurgling body of the reptile. You were hot, hungry, and most of all, exhausted of running. Maybe he knew that - Maybe that's why he chased you, knowing that one day, you would finally give up. The clicking of the hammer being drawn back pulled you from your thoughts, eyes moving to meet the barrel, then scrape back up to him.

"Why don't you just kill me?" It hurt to talk, your throat cut up and raw from breathing the thick radiated air - Still you couldn't shake the question as it pressed past your chapped lips, keeping your eyes pinned on the barrel. It was challenging, how you spoke to the shell of the man. Your eyebrows drew together, focusing past the smoking barrel of his shotgun with an insistent expression. At this, his eyebrow muscles shifted with a slightly suprised chuff.

"So you do speak." The Ghoul. You heard stories, making your way across the wasteland with little you could to make do, falling into bounty work, and getting caught up with bad people - The wrong people. The ones that talked about digging him up, that he would be able to take out the one target that seemingly ruled the wasteland. The Ghoul's voice scraped across the air, the breeze carrying the rough twang in his voice, the jingle of his spurs as he shifted his weight. You didn't care for the stories of your peers; And my, there were stories. Cooper Howard, movie star, face pasted across battered billboards. You also didn't care for the night three men you worked beside insisted on digging him up - But when you saw your face smeared across the radiated land, posters crumbled and pinned messily to boards and the inside of almost every building; You knew he was looking for you.

"I don't know what you want from me," You said in a rasp, unable to dwell on the near teasing tone in his rugged voice, not in this sweltering heat, not with the stifling smell of the creature between you and The Ghoul - The thing, the shell of a man, Cooper Howard; Or at least what was left of him.

"Well - Looks to me, I just saved your life," He mused, clearing the raggedness in his throat as his eyes lowered to your hand. How it twitched over your weapon, tattered gloves hiding bruises and scars. Cooper pushed his tongue to his cheek, head falling slightly to one side as he eyed your trigger-happy fingers strum at your holster teasingly; His mind pulsed with flashing images, the forking of how this awaited meeting would actually pan out. His tongue slid over the grit of his teeth with a slow hissed breath.

"Now, you plan on usin' that thing?"

A beat met you, breath hitching for a moment as he flicked his speculative gaze to return to yours - And just as you caught each other's eyes, your hand moved. Your fingers wrapped over the mangled handle of your pistol, fabric tied over the base for some steadying on your trembling hands; And as soon as you drew, the bullet fired, keeping his eyes on yours as you squeezed the trigger tight. The sound rocketed through the dusty air, his left shoulder falling backward with an unnatural shift, letting his weight fall off to the side as he grunted softly. His gloved hand reached his shoulder, rubbing at the hole now torn through his jacket, hissing through his teeth. You tried to move quickly, the exhaustion cementing you to the hot dirt of the wasteland as your boot heels scraped against the rubble, pushing yourself away from the other. However, it didn't matter now, not as his hand moved from his crooked shoulder to the coiled thick rope slung around his thick belt, wasting no time seeing your sudden urgency to escape.

"Not lettin' you get away again sugar." You nearly made it to your feet as you heard the chilling metal clinks of his spurs, panting as the sun that boiled overhead went dark; Cooper stood above you with a scowl, grasping the lasso now looped around his hands, clutching at the fraying rope with the assured intent to use it. "Now, you best put that toy of yours away. I need you alive." The sharp pull of the lasso whipped through the space between you, taking hold of your throat with a sudden drawn pressure of your quickly swallowing breath. Your hands rose, letting the pistol fall from your grasp as you white-knuckled the rope, now being pulled by it to your feet. Cooper sucked his teeth, tightening the knot with a gruff exhale as your cheeks flushed, blood rushing in your ears in crashing waves. It wasn't choking you per se - Though the pressure spun your head, staggering as he yanked you forward, invasive eyes now inspecting both your growing frantics and the expertly tied knot.

"From how I'm seein' it - I deserve a little kindness for not lettin' that thing tear you apart," You still managed to scoff, even as the rough frayed rope pressed tighter, threatening to take your breath completely.

"Just trading one monster for another," You spoke in a strained voice, eyebrows twitching together as you still tugged at the rope constricting your air, temples pulsing with hot sparks of pain. His lip twitched, eyes darkening and forcing the knot to slide tighter against your throat for just a moment. You choked, breath pulled entirely from your lungs before suddenly falling against the dirt to your knees, ragged coughs pushing between your lips, drinking down gasps of air with a gluttonous groan. Upon opening your eyes, you could make out his boots, and the sound of his soft snickering - He was entertained by it, the way you so quickly fell from challenging him to kneeling, saliva spilling from your lips onto your chin as you coughed on the radiated air, finally able to tear the constricting rope away from your bruised neck. Cooper let it go on, head tilting off to the side with a smug expression before one of his hands met the top of your head. The leather creaked as his fingers spread and tangled themselves in your hair, gripping the locks and yanking back, you had no choice but to rest your watering eyes on his, trying to control your desperate need for clean oxygen.

"You know how many people want'ya dead?" He looked down at you with a blank expression, his jaw shifting slightly as he kept a firm hold on your hair. "Now, I could sure as hell use the caps," Cooper went on, the muscles of his brow shifting as he sucked his teeth. Your mind raced with the many posters you remember seeing, pasted in nearly every store window in Filly - You didn't know the price they set for you, you just knew it was enough to keep your head low and stay far away from any wastelander that seemed a bit too keen on helping you.

"But, I could also see about being paid in kind."

The hot smell of aged leather clogged the wash of dusty oxygen you gasped down in shuddered breaths. He gripped your chin with his free hand, thumbing the pooling saliva glossing over your bottom lip. He looked perversely deep in thought, eyeing the glassy strings as he drew his thumb back, lips parting slightly with a dry chuckle.

"Well ain't you a sight." Cooper sighed the words in a lower tone, as if speaking to only himself. You bared your teeth, jerking your head off to the side with a grunt, the hot sting of his iron grip on your hair causing you to hiss. "Ah, ah. You cut that shit right now," Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders, glaring towards him with a determined expression.

"You've been tailing me for weeks, you know I don't have anything you want." You spoke through grit teeth, making an attempt to reason your way from his grip on your hair, at least long enough to get a better shot on him.

"We both know that ain't true." Silence befell your snarled lips, eyes twitching over changing his expression - It was somber. As close as his mangled face could manage, muscles clenching in his jaw as his eyes sought something distant and familiar. He looked as if he was trying to remember a dream, eyes searching for that connection. How long has it been since he touched another with no violent motive to do so, you wondered. Your eyes softened, a sigh making its way past your cracked lips. Cooper would never admit just how human you were, that familiarity of how your breathing wavered haunting him. The man would not admit many things, that this motive for caps had fallen away weeks ago, that he pictured what this meeting would look like for hours on end; Would you be terrified, fight back as any normal wastelander would? Would you wriggle free of his desperation for a broken connection, even if rooted in malice? Questions like this kept him from approaching you on those nights.

The nights he watched you from afar, making a fire for yourself as you glanced over your shoulder every moment you could, cooking the little amounts of meat you managed to harvest while on the run. He considered interrupting it all, a quiet shot through the night you wouldn't see coming, even going as far as to click back the barrel with an uncharacteristically shaking hand. Though he never did. Even as you slept, and as he held his gun with a ferocious intent to use it, he never even made himself known.

"I saw you." Cooper's grasp on your hair reflected those many nights, fingers twitching, his senses toying with the idea of allowing you to go on or stopping this entire conversation entirely. "I saw you so many times and just waited for the moment you would fucking do it. And you didn't. So please, just be a human for a second and," The man growled, throat rumbling with a charred snarl as he shoved you backward onto the dirt, releasing your hair and wiping the remaining saliva on his glove over his duster. You caught yourself with a grunt - What would it take then? The heel of your palms scrapped into the hot gravel, as you refused to back down. You deserved answers. "And tell me what you want!"

You shouted the last words - If he killed you, so be it. It would just proved to you how much he's lost of himself, the stories, the fuzzy black and white movies you'd heard endlessly about; That you were right the entire time, there was no legendary Ghoul, just a man in pieces reformed by the wasteland. He grimaced at your voice pitching up, hand hovering his holstered gun with an instinctive need to defend himself before glaring down at you.

"Don't look at me like that." He muttered as he watched you push yourself from the ground, grimacing at the throb in your wrists as you knelt with squared shoulders before him. Your lips shaped the words, throat vibrating with the hum of your voice, though they never came to be; What could you say? He wouldn't answer you, and looked at you with pain in his eyes - Your eyebrows twitched, pursing your lips to pacify the pressing questions that threatened to spill. With a slow movement, you lifted your hand, perching your fingers against the worn fabric and leather of his thick belt.

"How do you want me to look at you?" You asked, the question desperate, seeking any answers he would give you. His gaze darkened, head tilting forward to carefully watch your hand, the shadow of his hat cast over his face. A part of you knew he wouldn't answer. Maybe part of you didn't want him to, even as your other hand lifted to slide the coarse leather tail of his belt through the metal buckle, trying your hardest to ignore the holster just off to the left of his hip. As you drew it away, your eyes snuck a glance upwards to meet his eyes. It sent chills through your veins, the focus on his expression a twisted part monster and so painfully human, his brown eyes unable to settle on just one part of you. He hadn't been touched by someone like this in years - Far longer than he could ever explain, let alone remember. His heart stuttered in his chest, lips twitching as a shuddered breath escaped him.

"Like that," Cooper whispered. His voice - Alluring, a deep purr pillowed with a desire. The voice was nearly foreign, the canvas of the wasteland falling away just for a moment; He let himself fall back in time, eyes softening as the familiar pull of his pulse rushed through his veins, the gloved hand that shielded his holster falling away. The warm leather of his glove met your hand, guiding you to him even as his eyes refused to keep your gaze for too long. His grasp on you was soft, his breathing wavering as your palm met the base of his cock, the friction even through his pants eliciting a soft grunt.

Cooper Howard was never a man to beg, even before the wasteland. Though, as he tipped his head back slightly, the word shaped his lips, swallowing back the urge with a clenched jaw. Now was not the time to let his guard down - But your hands were just so goddamn warm. Moving on their own now, your fingers dancing with the rusted zipper and loose button, he pressed his tongue to his cheek, unable to shake the urge. He released your hand and with an animalistically watchful eye, spoke.

"Please." The desperate tone of his growl was not one of demand - It was the need to be touched without scorching ropes, without venomous words, to be human again, even if for just a moment. There it was, you thought. The man in the movies, you could see it in his pleading eyes, in the way his fingers now laced themselves with tremors. He knew better than to be distracted in the heat of the chase, yet in that silent moment, he was helpless. As your touch lingered on the zipper of his pants, a barely audible groan escaped his lips. The coy tug at his clothing was met with barely resisted impatience, his jaw clenching and eyes darting around, warily assessing the safety of your surroundings. With a final click, the last barrier between you and Cooper's now sparking need was removed, freeing him from this teasing torment of anticipation. His cock resembled the rest of his visible skin, scars arching down the stiff base, veins tracing the underside of his shaft, and aching tip beading with arousal; You had your fair share of dalliances across the wasteland, and so had he - Though not like this, your eyes widening slightly as you took in the size of him, how his eyes watched your every reaction. As your hand wrapped around the man's throbbing cock, rugged and needy, hot and pulsating, his breath hitched.

In that moment, you were as much a captor as he was the hunter. The Ghoul's muscles tensed, beads of sweat dewed against his temples; He bit his tongue, silencing the breathy gasps pushed from his lips. Each stroke of your hand along his shaft sent a shockwave of pleasure and agonizing need crashing through him, his lungs straining for breaths that seemed to evade him.

"Shit," Cooper seethed the word through grit teeth, escaping your locked gaze with half-lidded eyes. His cock responded to each one of your movements, his hips stuttering forward in an unpracticed motion as he ached for more. Your thumb breezed over the scabrous tip, gathering the beading arousal now sliding down his shaft with a shudder.

"Like this?" Your lips ghosted over the tip of his twitching cock, eyes heavy as they sought perilously to meet his, letting the hot weight of him press against the soft of your cheek. Hesitantly, his brown eyes found yours, flickering over the wasteland behind you and your tattered clothes, how they shaped the silhouette of your body. His were parted, taking in unsteady breaths with tense shoulders, anticipating your every motion. His eyes were inexplicably human; Perhaps, you thought, for just a moment you could fall into the very same fantasy that he did. That connection, that heat - You craved it just as much as he did. As your tongue pushed from between your lips, you could hear the pleased groan fall from his chest, shoulders rolling back as he yearned for the pleasure you held just over his head.

"Just like that." Cooper gave a slight dip of his chin, shadowing his eyes with the brim of his hat. You hummed at his confirmation, your tongue pressing to the underside of his throbbing cock, generous with your saliva as you slid your mouth to wrap over him entirely. He hissed a chain of curses under his breath, now refusing to move his gaze from yours as his hips eased forward. He wanted more, greedy upon getting the first taste of something so painfully familiar, that heat he craved, the slick warmth of your lips making their way lower around him. Your tongue worked in slow waves, drinking down the salt of his sweat and the sounds you pried from him with every deliberate movement of your head. The texture of his cock rolled over your tongue, the tip now prodding at the soft of your throat, your lips tightening to accommodate the size of him; At this, his hips jutted forward, eyes tightening closed for a brief moment, eyebrow muscles drawing together in a pained expression of impetuous pleasure. He pushed himself deeper, hips now rolling forward in a rhythm he craved, his fingertips tingling as your teeth grazed against the sensitive scarred skin of his cock. "Fuck baby, that's it," Cooper took a heady breath, lifting a hand to his lips and bearing his teeth with a hiss. He took hold of the tip of his glove, swiftly biting down and pulling the thick leather away from his large hand. Warm bare fingers, met your hair, tangling through it with a purr strung tight in the mans chest. You were so soft, hot to the touch, searing his dulled senses with an electric singe he swore he forgot long ago. Glassy saliva slid over your chin, spreading messily over your lips as you took him as far as your throat would allow, the size of him taking your breath. " Christ - Takin' a ghoul's cock down your throat like that," He followed his obscene growl with a shallow thrust, threatening to surpass the limits of your pillowy mouth and throat as he watched you silently struggle for air. He held himself deep inside, each twitch and spasm of your throat working breathy gasps and trembling groans from his shivering body. After a smug moment, he pulled your head away from his length, the sting of your scalp hitching your messy breathing, instinctively moving to wipe the back of your hand against your soaked lips.

Cooper caught your wrist with his still gloved as it rose, swallowing down the biting urge to continue his ravaging of your throat. Sweat traced his jagged features, the shadow of his hat shifting with the glinting sun overhead, his panting causing his broad shoulders to rise and fall. He found himself searching for the words, on the tip of his tongue he could swear it - How long had it been, since he's been run this desperate for someone? His cock tensing and twitching at the simple idea of someone bent over for him? He tugged you to your feet with a chuffed exhale, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to keep your gaze on his. He wouldn't let you go, not now, not as the hunger flamed in his veins, not as he pressed your stomach against the warehouse you once took shelter in. The man pried off his other glove, tossing it to the dirt below your feet. He wanted to feel you.

"Is this what you wanted?" You breathed raggedly, a chuff of an almost smug exhale ghosting past your lips as you rested your cheek against the rusted steel of the warehouse. His hands were invasive, hungry as the rough skin grabbed hold of your waistband, calluses and scars rubbing over your skin as he yanked your pants to your ankles. A glaze of sweat lit your body aflame, his rough palms groping your ass with a shameless groan. "Is this what you pictured those nights you watched me?"

Your words tugged a deep moan from his throat, his bare fingers making their way to your lips; He gathered the left over saliva from your chin, yet your tongue extended to wrap over his middle finger, coaxing him into your mouth with a tantalizing arch of your back. His cock was heavy against your ass, pulsating with a fierce need for release, fingers lathering over your tongue.

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" Cooper leaned down, his length glazed with your saliva sliding over you - He purred in your ear, the throaty bass of his voice stippleing goosebumps over the nape of your neck. He drew his soaked fingers from between your lips, moving to slide them messily against your hole. Your breathing hitched, thighs parting instinctually as his fingers prodded teasingly at your entrance.

Cooper thought of those nights briefly, gloved hand wrapped at the base of his cock as he watched you from afar, teeth crushing into his tongue to silence himself. Cumming to the sound of your voice, the images of you pulsating in his mind wading into his mind, positioned just like this. He chuckled darkly, the tip of his cock throbbing against your soaked entrance. "Arch that back baby - There you go, that's it," He spoke against the shell of your ear, the rough palm of his hand planted at the small of your back, pressing down gently to arch you to his satisfaction.

You don't remember saying his name, though you distinctly recalled the scrawled cursive of navy blue and yellow all over billboards and television screens; There was nowhere he wouldn't follow, there was no way to forget the taste of his name falling over your tongue as he pulled you tight against him, pushing inside you with little hesitation. You could feel him still for a moment, heart staggering in his chest as you cried out. You cried out for him.

"Cooper!"

The man snarled, the palm on your back clutching at your clothes as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you. The moment your hips met his, he pulled away, then back again. He filled you ruthelessly, pulling your weight against his own just to draw back and fill you again; He clawed at your hips, your lower back, grabbing any of you he possibly could to be sure he'd keep you there. Your head swam with electricity, the slight burn of being stretched so suddenly easing into a head spinning heat, bundling itself tight in your abdomen. Each one of his thrusts stoking the roaring fire in your senses, beads of sweat pooling in the curves of your body as you moved in tandem with the Ghoul.

"Fuck - Sayin' my name all pretty like," He grunted, his head falling back as he pulled one of his hands back, cracking his rough palm against the soft of your ass. You yelped, body flinching at both the sting and the sudden sound, but that seemed to only rouse his hunger for you more. You gasped and arched into the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling the slickness of your saliva and his thickness meld together in a twisted symphony of desire. You pressed against the warehouse, white-knuckled as the pleasure and pain coursed through your body. Every slap echoed in your ears, each time intensifying the sensation, your body clenching around him as you begged for more.

"Cooper, please" You cried out once more, the words tumbling from your lips as if his name was the only thing you'd ever need to say. His hands were tight on your hips, a strangled moan escaping him as he took you. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost to the euphoria of it all. You could feel the walls of your entrance clenching and pulsing around him, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. The Ghoul's rough hands explored your body as your hips began to meet his animalistic thrusts, matching the rhythm and urgency until you were both moving in perfect synchrony, a symbiosis of lust and need. You clawed at the warehouse wall, your legs trembling as your body inched closer and closer to the edge.

"Shit, I'm- I can't, I'm gonna," You knew it wouldn't be long, the coiled rope of need within you was about to snap. A low growl escaped his throat in response, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine, and you knew he was close as well. A hand gripped your hair, tugging gently, his other hand still wrapped over your hip as he drove into you with renewed fervor.

"Cum for me, baby," He moaned for you, a bated breath on his lips. And so you did, the world shattering around you in a wash of blinding pleasure, the shudder that wracked your body echoing the spasms of your core. You screamed his name once more, the sound guttural and raw, as you shattered into pieces, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. Each spasm of your inner muscles caused him to shudder, his own release close at hand. You could feel your knees shaking, his body accommodating your limp weight as he kept you close against him.

"Look at you, fucked so stupid you can't even stand, sugar?" Cooper spoke between grunts, his hands lined with tremors as he held onto you with a desperate gasp. "Shit baby," His eyes locked on your ass, watching how you threw your weight back against him with reckless abandon - He clenched his jaw tight, the fire in his mind and senses sparking aflame in a sharp thrust forward. His movements became messy, clinging to you and muttering obscenities, shuddering out gasps as the fire roared inside him. "This what'ya want huh? Get filled up rough by a man like me?" Cooper groaned at your responsive whimpers, tipping his chin forward in a slow nod, the fire crumbling into an explosion within mere seconds. He came with torn outcry, burying himself to the hilt inside you, watching your hips slowly milk all he was walling to give you.

For a long moment, you remained locked together, breaths coming in ragged pants, before he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you feeling both empty and full at the same time. You slumped forward, still clinging to the steel wall of the warehouse, feeling every nerve in your body tingling. The soft clatter of a glass bottle pulled you from the wading pleasure of your mind, eyes slowly opening to see a bottle of Rad X hit the heel of your shoe. You swore his hands were still on you, the heaving of his breaths still on your ear - Though as you turned, kneels wobbling slightly, he had disappeared into the sinking dusk of the wasteland. Your eyes circled the land around you, shoes crunching the gravel as you leaned your sweat glazed back against the warehouse.

"Fuck," You sighed the word through panted breaths, glancing down at the Rax X, and quickly doing a double take upon catching sight of something else. A leather glove, discarded in the sand and gravel. With a hesitant breath, you leaned down slightly, fingers hooking the glove into your grasp. You held the warm leather in your hand, turning it in your grasp fondly.

Surely he'd be back for this.

[krewekreep]

2.6K Words. College AU, Study Partner to Lovers AU, GoldenRetriever!BF, Dumbo Hot Boy needs study help.

When he is the kid in school who just can’t keep up. And not for trying but the fact for whatever reason school just isn’t on his side. You end up being in the class he has the most struggle in. The professor now avoids him cause of all the after class conversation and visits to office hour. He’s more endearing than annoying but his persistance gets grating. He watched over time as you’d receive your results and praise yourself silently. Over time he became curious how well you actually had to be doing for the professor to always smile happily at your raised hand and responses. He began to sit behind you and almost laughed aloud in self contempt seeing your Canvas sitting with a huge 98% in the center. That meant every class you could’ve been signed up for you were practically ace-ing. He knew it best to seek further assistance and the bounce of your breasts at continually doing well made his dick harden the slightest. He mustered up the strength after class and fumbled his way into a conversation you were having with other classmates, shyly scratching the back of his head agreeing with the displeased about how hard it seemed to get higher scores.

He mentioned he just seemed to continually get stuck on three of the topics closest to mid-terms. The defeat in the fall of his head and his almost eerie stare at the ground made you pity him. “Hey, I know that’s stressful, I’ve been doing pretty well with those parts of the curriculum and I’m down to study with you if you wanted?” His entire demeanor switches. “Really!?” He’s a glowing bubbly awkward mess and a flush rises up your neck. You quickly turn into your phone pulling up your messaging app. “Here. Just give me your number and we’ll coordinate a time, okay?” When you look up to pass your phone his smile is ear to ear, eyes squinted, and his hair bouncing. Golden Retriever. Your stomach almost explodes. You shake away the growing feelings of a crush at first site. And lowkey thank whatever God made him this bad at the class work.

When you met up it was the Friday of the same week you both agreed to become study partners. Both of you a bit eager to become acquainted. When you arrived at the library he was leaned against the wall near the entrance asleep. You were able to absorb his physique more with his height extended and his arms crossed. His loose t-shirt flexed around his biceps and torso. You couldn’t say you ever paid much attention to him before but you kinda kicked yourself he had been sitting in class for so long, looking this good, struggling while your ace-ing, and only now you saw the opportune time to see what he was about. You walked up to him and he must’ve sensed you somehow because before you could say anything he slowly opened one eye and stretched groaning loudly as his shirt rose to show his hip bones, lower abs, and belly button. Oh wow.

You guys walked to the study room he reserved and for the first couple sessions you guys just got to know each other and where he had the most trouble. He began to get the hang of things and you realized he’s just the type who has to be more confident in his knowledge. You learned he was an athlete on scholarship and didn’t come from much. He really had had only himself especially for critical moments of development. Everything you learned of him made his frustrated chuckles, flurry of apologies, and tendency to glance over at you for approval all the more heart-melting.

He became your little student. Obedient and ever willing to make you as happy as you wanted. You were never the kind to indulge in that behavior, it seemed belittling and mean. Yet, a sliver of dominance would color your tone when you corrected him. When he’d get too many in a row wrong (more times than not simply his nervousness or psyching himself out) you would reprimand him with a soft hit of your pen against his hand. The little twitch of his fingers turned you on and he wouldn’t admit your commitment to his improvement made him want to prove himself to you more. You weren’t known for initiating much of anything but his willing and nervous energy was something of a turn on you unlocked the more you toyed with him. He got another answer wrong and you both know he knew it. Teasingly you said, “Now you know you know this,” reaching for his thigh and giving it a soft but assertive squeeze. He jumped and his leg began to shake uncontrollably. You laughed aloud at him and he flushed red. “I’m- im sorry.” You rubbed his thigh and his leg was over the moon. You leaned your head into your free hand pouting at him. “Now how are you supposed to pass if you keep doubting yourself?”

Although you were sending him sultry eyes you had to hold your gaze against his as it was no longer nervous or self-conscious. They were lidded and low, peering what seemed farther into you than you could ever do to him. Your stomach rattled and you wanted to falter but without a word he closed the distance with kiss. You gasped a bit before he met your lips and the gap was enough for him to solicit your tongue which you gave him eagerly. Both you wrestled in your seats fighting for dominance until he became frustrated with the conflict. He grabbed your legs firmly lifting them enough be on either of his sides. It caused you to need to support yourself so you wouldn’t fall back. With your hands busy, he pulled you flush to his lower abdomen. You were warm and slightly dazed. His grip on your lower thighs sent hot pulses to your pussy. He was as eager as you letting his grip move closer to your ass. You don’t know how far it would’ve gone had it not been for the attendant that loudly and profusely knocked on the glass showing the both of you to the rest of the lounge. You hid your head in his shoulder as he laughed sheepishly pulling the blinders down. Without a word you packed your things and left together. You weren’t ashamed just embarrassed (and kinda still in the mood). You got a few blocks away before he burst into laughter. You joined him. And as the air cleared he looked over at your disheveled clothes. “Hey,” his dick grew hard (never really went soft) when your doll eyes looked up at him all lusty. “Back to your place?”

After that every study session was had in your respective dorm rooms. Always ending in fucking each other brainless. He was loud and a bit clumsy but you’d come even harder once his thrusts knew how to hit your core bringing you to loud crescendos that made your roommates make last minute plans every time either of you walked through the door. Neither of you had much experience (and for him lowkey too many weird ones) so you ended up studying how to fuck too. His confidence grew immensely as you praised him for how good he fucked you. “Baby—Ah,” your hips rocked together seamlessly. He had a bad habit of staring right into your face wanting to soak in every bit of how gone he had you. “You feel so good. Please keep fucking me like this.” You threw your head back as your pussy began to tingle building towards an orgasm you wanted to achieve badly. “Oh my—please.” His moans grew louder but his gaze on you never wavered. “Tell me how good I feel beautiful.”

He slowed down to position his hips so his dick drove the farthest he had ever been. You yelped clawing into his upper back. “Too much?!” But before he could shift to anything softer you bounced against him. Different feeling than when he moved as your pussy felt sweet gliding up and down his cock. A shock of pleasure caused you to lightly convulse and his abs flexed inwardly so hard it seemed it hurt. “Relax baby.” You repositioned widening your legs, accepting the spread of his girth as your pussy muscled around him abundantly wet and barely able to keep him in. “I got you.” You took hold of his face bringing him into a kiss as you rocked up and down on him. He met your thrusts with his own and a sloppy sound filled the room as he became so undone his groaning and pleading almost drowned you out. “Baby doll I need to cum.” He sounded so innocent and ready. “I really need to cum—uh,” his pace almost stalled as his arms shook, his waist buckled, and he shot his load into you. Feeling his cum squirt all in you made you claw into his back. His cum was so warm it made you feel full and visceral. He went to pull out but you halted him “Baby, can we cuddle?” He beamed so hard at you. “You don’t want me to pull out?” He felt concerned about any roughness and the elephant in the room of him not using protection. “Eh,” you shrugged. “We already have been pretty irresponsible, and I like feeling you in me. Youre…still hard?” He and his entire face and neck went red. “It’s okay,” you laughed. “But I am a bit worn out.”

“Of course, I’m just—I really like this…thing we have going on.” He hid his face with his hair at the admission, turning away futilely. Neither of you mentioned labels out of a deep fear of rejection, only really stalling the inevitable. But in this moment you pulled him to your chest. He had to pull out a bit to readjust and upon inserting himself to the hilt both of you began to slowly rock back. You really did want him again but a sliver of pain pierced you. Your face contorted and he stopped again immediately. “I’m so sorry Y/N.” This time he did pull out, slowly. And pulled you into a cuddle where your head rested on his arm and you felt the fullness of his pillow-like muscle. You began to drift to sleep pretty soon after. Before finally succumbing to your exhaustion he whispered against your neck: “Thank you for everything.” His breath low indicating he also was soon about to fall asleep. “I’ll let you keep me warm another time.” He placed a kiss to the back of your neck sending a sensitive ripple of pleasure through you. You hummed in agreement then you both, bare and fulfilled didn’t awake until his early practice alarm went off.

Midterms came and went. There was no doubt in your mind both of you passed but he sat nerve wracked until the results came in. Not only did he pass he had actually scored higher than you. He felt guilty that you spent so much time worrying about him you didn’t focus on yourself because you obviously deserved the better grade. Upon telling you this you grabbed him by the wrist without a word and led him into a bathroom towards the end of the building. You knew that hey if it wasn’t occupied there’d only be one or two people and you didn’t quite care at all. You brought him into the empty bathroom (thankful something somewhere was okay with you getting your rocks off) and into the farthest, largest stall. He did nothing but submit the entire time and only yelped when you set him against the wall, untying his sweatpants. He grabbed your arm when he saw you beginning to kneel but you looked up at him with an intensity that scared him in the sluttiest way possible. He then assisted you pulling his attire down until his cock somewhat swung up hitting him against his lower sternum. His length was intimidating but you gleefully took him into your mouth.

Although your first time you asked your friends and watched videos. Practicing was a bit embarrassing but you ended up getting into it thinking how well you’d draw all of him into your mouth. You were so excited you had to remember to watch for your teeth but surprisingly he muttered “Mmm what the Fuck. Bite me baby.” You had to swallow a genuine laugh cause this man was really weird sometimes. But you flattened your tongue against the bottom of your mouth bobbing your head with an amateur but passionate pace. “Hey,” you looked up to him peering at you with lust consumed eyes. “Can I help you? Put your hands on my thighs.” You put your hands on either of his thighs, shifting your kneeling to a squat. “Smart girl.” He set his hand reassuringly against the back of your head, leaning his hips up from the wall so his dick was more comfortably set for you. Given he had an angle he knew better than you that continually hitting your cheek like that might become bad feeling. “Take your time, I can be quiet.” With one hand on the back of your head and the fingers on his other hand lovingly gripping either side of your chin he guided you with a knowing pace. He choked on his moans but never broke eye contact.

Something in you expanded as you felt bold enough to reach a hand under to cup his balls. “Waa-where did you learn that?!” You paid him no mind determined to bring him to climax. You’re awkward relationship developments seemed to always lead to public displays of affection. You were especially dismissive towards shame once your eyes soaked up enough of his image, it was almost compulsive how dire you had to get him between your fingers. You finally defeated him as his head fell back and his eyes shut. His Adam’s Apple bulging and flexing as his grip tightened in your hair. You knew he was about to cum. So you bobbed on him with more intensity, letting his tip meet the back of your mouth entering your throat the slightest bit. He became an undone mess of moans. “Y/N you feel so fucking good. So fucking—“ his breath hitched when a rougher mindless thrust had him slip down and gag you ever so slight. A sensation to gag was overcome as he soon came filling the bathroom with expletives and thank you’s.

When you released with a loud pop of your mouth, you looked up at eyes that declared you owned him now. He pulled you up surprisingly aggressive slipping his tongue into your mouth sharing his taste with you. “We need to get out here.” He says with a dark glint in his eye. He threw his hoodie over your head and walked out as if it was nothing. The girls in the bathroom could only snicker and blush, confused and jealous at the hot boy hiding you from exposing yourself. Once out of the bathroom and outside he tells you to keep his hoodie until he sees you again. He kisses you on the forehead. “Umm,” he says rubbing the back of his head. “So we are like? Dating now, right?”

Who: DENJI, NARUTO, Jean, Tamaki, YUUJI, CHOSO, ARMIN (I think him more nervous if anything ), ICHIGO + any other sweet idiots.

[kel-lance]

Team Bonding: JJK Students x Reader x Sukuna Part 2

- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more.

- Premise: Characters are (18+) (Reader is 21) Jujutsu College au where things are the same but they found yuuji/He ate the finger at 18/+ the start of college. 

- Yuuji “came back” after two months of “being dead” and you’re in charge of the training for today for the kyoto sister event. 

- Sukuna switches with yuuji in this and chaos ensues :/

__________________________________________________

“Anyone want to come and hold the camera? Sukuna tosses the phone and gets right to it. He slaps your ass and grinds into your softer parts. His weight on your back, taking out the air from your lungs, it kind of was easing the pain in your face.

No I gotta get out of here I can’t have intrusive thought right now.

He picks your head up and makes you look at your friends again. You’ve never seen them so angry, or was it disgust? You knew it was hopeless if they’re not willing to risk getting to safety if they can’t trust you to handle this.

You were adaptable, like you said, it was another part of you reversed curse technique. You were healing your own wounds as he inflicted more. Each strike was messing up your concentration, and no one other than yuta knew how hard that was for you right now.

Sukuna raises his fist again and you brace for it. He smiles and said, “Good, someone get this on camera, now.” You were now faced with two phones in your face.

“Make sure you get her face or I’ll hurt her real bad.” Yuta grits his teeth and looks down. This was too weird, really out of character for everyone to be powerless, essentially you. Pinkie snaps in his direction. “Hey, you did this”

His body shifts back upright, his weight mounting onto his legs, crushing yours that’re pinned underneath. You couldn’t move, not like he wouldv’e let you, but it sure didn’t help you to expect the punch under your shoulder blade. Then the other, and the other all around the same spots.

You couldn’t see with the tears coming to your eyes, much less think without the air you just had whacked out of you. He was just punching into your ribs, your lungs, his eyes sparkling as your head cringed in pain and arms thrashed like a bug under his foot.

He stops when you’re starting to respond less. He turns to the rest of them, “You didn’t listen. Don’t make me do it again I can’t wait any longer.”

You think your rib’s broken, or at least your organs are bruised up. You could probably fix it in a second, but you missed your chance. Sukuna slices open your forearm and sticks his fingers inside, wriggling them, making you lose control.

“AHHHHHHHH” You belted. “AAAAAAHhhHHHHHHHH” Your pitch hitching as he slid his digits down, slicing you opening further.

“Cmon. I’f you give up now-“

You grab at his hand stopping him from strumming at your veins and rip him out. Immediately you use your RTC on and focus your breathing. Your view only on fixing the gash, youre energy was a mess, your hands and rest of you were convulsing. You wanted to look up, in case another assault was planned but you could only see sukuna.

You wanted to look out further, but you could see that they were giving you a face you’ve never seen before.

They don’t feel bad do they? Were they scared for you? You were the best choice of this inane situation, and being perfectly honest, everything still works, you should be fine, No, you. were. fine.

Sukuna licks his lips and laughs at you. “You can’t look at your underclassmen? Won’t you tell them you’re alright?” One palm now on your bruised back, holding you down to the ground while the other starts squeezing at the fat of your ass.

You just continue to heal as fast as you can, multitasking with your bones and organs while he’s distracted. He grabs at the bottom, cupping you in his hand and grasping it as much as he could above your leggings. You could only focus on slowing your breathing again, but that doesn’t help with the confusing pain yet distracting pleasure on different ends of your body.

You heave, hard and heavy, tired as this was a lot of work. It really hast been that long has it? Gojo really left 30 minutes ago? He slaps your ass and they wince for you. Slapping you a few more times, he then goes between your thighs and traces over you from hole to clit. ‘Wuh-”

“Everyone take a picture!” Sukuna tells the others. His hand pinning you down is pressing you further into the floor while his other freed your ass from its restriction. He pulled with such force your hips lifted, causing your ass to bounce when he let go.

“Hm? Not bad at all.”

You could feel it again, except it was harder, bigger, what the hell you could probably tell since he was taller, his build seemed pretty great, and he has a nice face, though it looks devilish right now, you couldn’t help but hate him. It was still your first meet. Every instance of hearing about him made Kugi sad or react in some way, Megs has seen it a few too many times to say much but you knew.

You don’t know if you’d be able to separate him from who he was from who he is now.

“This had gone too fucking far!”

“What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Y/n we’re sorry we’re gonna wait for Gojo.”

“It’s so risky. Can you endure this?”

Sukuna laughs “I SAID that was the lesson today! She’s doing well, I might just keep her after this.”

He covers your mouth and tells you to bite down. He shoves himself inside you, tearing through your walls, forcing his length further with each exasperated rut, you could only freeze up as he kept climbing in you.

Your eyes shot out to nothing. “No way. No fucking way. I want to die this isn’t real I want to die I want to kill him and then die!!!” You tense up, reacting to each thrust as there’s something invading your core, trapping you under him with just his sex. You twitched around, this cramping coming to you as his other head assaulted you from the inside.

You close your eyes, tears forming as your body reacts. The memories of how you decided to become the way you were now, showing everyone you were strong. You were never going to let that happen again, now that you can take almost anything down, there couldn’t be an instance of something like this happening.

It was because it was Yuuji. No, this was because of Gojo sensei. Where was he? The day he decided run late or even have you in charge for the whole day instead of half, what ever it was, this should be on his head. You knew he was careless but he was the one who voughed for Itadori.

Sukuna sighs as he’s adjusting to your heat and restriction. He looks up at everyone else, letting go of your arms as they can see the dead shock on your face.

“Yn?”

You don’t respond.

“Hey they’re asking for you. Show them more.” He slides himself out of you, leaving you gaping from the cockwarming he needed. He picks you up by the back of your shirt, tearing it off along with your sports bra.

“Now that you all know how serious I am,” he puts you in front oh him, playing with your chest and digs his face in your neck, roughly eating away at you. He lifts your leg and shows you off to everyone.

You try to gain control again, out of embarrassment. This was stupid! You were hot!! You knew that!! But you never would just expose yourself to your friends! Your legs quivered and tried to close as you could only stand on your toes.

“Ah ah ah…” he cracked you open, took his two fingers, and spread you outward.

With that you just start crying. The embarrassment, helplessness, and general change in everything made it all so confusing. It happened so fast, the first moment that yuuji got hit in the face that now not even 10 minutes later Sukuna started harassing everyone.

It was worse that looking out finally, everyone had their phones out. If they weren’t looking their phones were facing you, if they were the looks on their faces contorted. They didn’t want to stand there, they couldn’t believe their senior would ever be put in this position, that they would be part of it either.

You could tell some of them were flustered. Everyone just didn’t know what to do. Megumi glowering through his phone. You think if he sees it in real life he might just call moraga. You told him never do that unless he was dying.

Nobara covering her face, her heart breaking as her mentor told her of their past. She kept getting upset whenever Yuuji was brought up, now he’s back but at a cost. She wanted to throw up but she could only cry while watching.

Maki, toge, they scowled. Arms raised to record in case anyone else were to miss a moment, in case they needed some content for sukuna to be satisfied. Maki grit at her teeth, her eyes ripped through you and dig into sukuna who only winked at her.

Toge, usually cool calm collected and even goofy, just seemed helpless too. His brows furrowed but he couldn’t tell what the next move could be. It looked like he was still figuring out a way to stop this. You just wanted it to be over.

Lastly Yuta, holding his device up, his eyes screaming he was sorry for before. Before? Oh your back? And your lungs and all that? You had them under control. You wounds slightly open and partly all fixed, you were still broken in terms of physicality, but mentally there was still a little bit to fight for.

With you spread he starts to play with your sensative parts. He slaps a your thighs and pulls you closer, running his large fingers between your folds and shoving his fingers in.

“You’re like a puppet!” He turns. “Watch what I can make it do.” He rubs his fingers inside you quickly, thrusting hard and invading every crevice you own, he curls his fingers deep inside causing you to whimper.

You hitched your breath and felt a quick jolt of pleasure come from your core. The noise surprised you, but more so surprised your peers.

They were used to you barking orders, laughing at them when you knocked them down, watched as you recovered yourself from everyone’s hits, it was always lighthearted fun, or just brutal attacks from you. This was the main factor that this was real to them. Seeing you cry, not looking at them like you always do, telling them how you feel through your eyes.

It was a talent of yours. You could read people, and you could let others read you right back, not by your actions. That would be too easy for an enemy. Any of your mates knew your signatures, a look could have them burst out laughing or gives them a split second of a warning before you went in. This was a look they’ve never seen before.

“What can we do to make you stop this?” Yuta gritted. “You can’t do this forever.”

His warning didn’t loosen sukunas grip, he instead maneuvered you to line above him. Your legs folded to your chest as the pink dude holds you up, in a standing nelson. “Don’t worry, this vessel can’t last long, so we’ll build a tolerance.” He drops you onto his hard cock, the gravity helping him pierce you further and further, it felt like forever was filling you up.

You couldn’t hide your face, you couldn’t move anything else for the matter. You just squeeze your eyes shut and try to bite your tongue. You didn’t want them hearing you anymore. They could see but there’s no way you could show them this side.

Sukunas hand let go, letting the gravity fully envelope him, and holding you up by the throat. He grunts as he moves you up and down by the neck, playing with his strength and the weight to move you around however he wanted.

“While I have my breaks, she won’t.” He means you. “Before I go, your homework will be capturing the beginning, during, and the end results of you playing with her. I don’t can’t if you share, I don’t care if she’s even awake, you will keep my pet company.” His voice rasped in your ears. What the fuck was he talking about?

He picks you up and drops you on his cock again, you barely being able to think because the pain has all numbed out by now. You could barely anything else, given that you used a ton of energy on your wounds already. Every minute passing by was close to a blackout, but you couldn’t be careless and leave them now.

His head grinds and pokes through your cervix, you’re pissed that the cramps you know that will come from such a brutal beating. “I don’t care what order you do it in.” He’s getting rougher, your face was a mess now, tears, snot, drool, blood, it was all making you lose it. The discomfort, the mess, the humiliation, you felt scared. No, that’s not what that is.

“I don’t care if you even clean up after each other, just pass her on.” He lifts and plunges you down again, like a toy or a doll now, moving you, using you with ease. It was something you’ve thought of before, someone larger using you like a human fleshlight. The terrible, abusing thoughts you grew to endure from your past rape. When you were completely powerless.

Sorcery doesn’t come easily to kids. But now you were supposed to protect everyone. You basically taught them this was how to save you.

The cold air stinging your skin as you all hid in the shade, rather that’s where he dragged y’all. “Remember what I said.” He thrusts into you now, holding you tightly, you’re trying still to stifle your noises but he grabs your face, forcing your mouth open letting everything come out.

“My idea is to keep this from the Brat. For as long as we can go on for. Maybe even until you stupid humans die.” He laughed, you feel his deep voice echo through you. You hold onto his arms, digging your nails into his arms as the only control you had over the sensations.

“If he figures it out, he’ll break, and then I’ll take over.“ He growls into your ear. “Get ready.”

He lets you go, pushing you onto the floor. You’re at their feet now, in front of everyone. Not just a few feet away before, you were now right at anyone’s ankles.

Sukuna slaps your ass again, pulling it back towards his hips before he started to rut into you again. As deep as he could, it hurt so bad as he bullied his dick into you, trying to create a new hole from the inside. But with a soft gasp, he released himself inside of you. The hot liquid being the first to coat your bruised walls.

As he let out sighs of relief, you started letting out cries again, somewhat being able to understand what just happened. Your brain was trying its best to figure out how to help you in this moment, there was so much pressure, you just…

“Look at that!” Sukuna slips his way out, unblocking your bladder. You couldn’t even stop it, the fear and anger and everything just came out with your squirting orgasm. The world in front of you disappeared, your friends faces blurred, having finally your senses just melt away as you spasmed.

“I didn’t have to do much and we both end up cumming. Your friend is a born slut, she’s perfect for my ‘assignment’. ” You legs now dripping with your own juice, and his/yuuji’s seed slowly slopped itself out, adding to the mess.

He leaves you on the ground, catching your breath before laying in exhaustion. You couldn’t do anything else, your legs would give and your head was already so fucked up. “I’ll be popping in randomly, so have everything ready. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself do I?”

Sukuna starts dressing himself again, just tucking himself back into his pants as he planned this to be quick. “Any questions?”

The heavy energy coming from the group ahead. They’re standing with their hearts in their throats, having just watched, recorded, photographed, basically taking part of this sick situation. You look at the girls, they’re more than ready to kill. The initial shock became more than rage, as what was this for other than to humiliate another strong woman.

The boys, they were hard. The guilt in yuta and toges eyes while trying to look away from what they just saw. A confused feeling overcoming them. Megumi now crying that his body also reacted. His fingers drawing blood from how hard he clenched his hands.

Kuna stood behind you, and picked up yuujis phone again. You didn’t know what could even happen next, so you let go, slipping into sleep as you hear clicking.

I'll probably have to edit this later but im working on mafia au (that's got 12 parts ive gotten planned out rn, this one i have 4 more chapters plenned out, and i have a few more fics with 5+ chapters plnned out. but i also got other stuff going on so thanks for reading <3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Welcome Bienvenue, Rollo.

{January 30th to February 2nd}

Please read the Birthday Blog Takeover Submission Rules. Yes, I’m reviving this from 2020-2021 just to honor Roro—

Something was amiss.

Of that, Rollo was certain.

The air at Noble Bell College had been strained all day, pulled taut like the tightened strings on a violin. Every so often, those strings would be plucked, sending a wave of tension rippling through the campus and setting his bones shaking. There were whispers passed, quick glimpses made, stifled laughs shared between his aide and vice president.

But the instant he so much as cocked his head in the direction of the guilty parties, they would nervously retreat out of sight. Alas, no chance for a proper chiding--nor to divulge their secret.

What do I care of their matters? Rollo scoffed, dismissing the idea of pursuing them. He made his way down the hallway and to the student council's quarters. So long as it does not interfere with my duties or cause a commotion, there is no reason for me to step in. Leave fools to their foolishness.

Rollo swung the door open and stared into an abyss. The fireplace that normally warmed the space had been extinguished, leaving the room blanketed in darkness.

He sighed, running a hand along the wall. His fingers met the light switch and flipped it, light flooding his field of view.

Students, his aide and vice president among them, sprung out from behind furniture. Gargoyles swooped down from the ceiling. Each grinned and chorused, "SURPRISE!!"

Pop, pop, pop!! Crackling, colorful confetti rained down, settling on Rollo's robes and inside of the large brim of his headwear.

He blinked, dazed as the students descended on him. One offered a party hat, another ferried a platter of petit fours, and several more bore wrapped boxes topped with bows. Excited chatter on all sides, eager eyes in every direction.

"... What is this fanfare?" Rollo demanded warily.

"It's your birthday, Mister President!" his aide beamed. "Don't tell us you forgot."

"It isn't that I forgot," Rollo massaged his temples. His growing frown was difficult to conceal with a single folded square of cloth. "It's that I had plans to tend to some important documents today. This is... an unprecedented turn of events."

"You're always working so hard for Noble Bell College and your peers, putting work before yourself," his vice president said.

"We've never seen you have fun your birthday once in all the time we've known you," a gargoyle added.

The aide nodded. "That's why we decided to throw this special celebration in your honor! Let us handle your duties for the day while you relax with your friends.”

"No, I couldn't possibly allow for you to..." Rollo's voice trailed off as realization set in. "Wait one moment. When you say 'friends', who exactly are you referring to?"

“Oh, we were in correspondence with them to prepare for the party,” explained the vice president. “They should be joining us soon. It’s just a short trip for them through the mirror.”

Through the mirror? His gut wrenched with dread. No, it can’t be…! Not possible!!

“Flamme.”

He turned at the voice calling his name, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

Faintness overcame him, and the handkerchief which he reverently clasped to his face fluttered to the ground. Rollo’s face was a show of open shock. “Y-You…!!”

There, in the doorway, was a gaggle of boys in black uniforms edged with golden trim. A band in various colors and a unique emblem was proudly displayed on every left arm. Seven variants, seven dorms.

At the front of the pack was a horned man dripping in black.

They're here. He's here.

Searing bile rose in Rollo's throat.

The villains of Night Raven College. They've returned to torment me.

The horned man's lips pulled back, revealing blinding, knife-like incisors. His voice was a rumble that could shake the mountains. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

Rollo knitted his fingers together tightly, his knuckles going bone white. "Malleus Draconia and company. How kind of you to pay a visit to the City of Flowers."

"Well, it is an important acquaintance's day of birth." Malleus extended an arm to him. His smile was mocking, twisted at the corners. "It is good manners to come and greet the blessed boy."

Rollo snorted, careful to not let his expression sink into a too-obvious sneer--not in front of his classmates. "You will have to excuse me. I don't recall granting you such information."

"Ah, that," Malleus chuckled darkly. "One could say... a little bird told me. Excitable creatures, those. I do believe she is in attendance as well--likely lost in this sea of guests. Do remember to give your gratitude for organizing this get-together, for now you have no need to fear being alone on this momentous occasion."

That Malleus Draconis, he's patronizing me!! Rollo snarled internally. Bells played a resounding war ballad in his head. Were his rage any greater, steam would be pouring out of his ears. How dare he...

Before he could get a word in, his aide and vice president excitedly flanked him.

"Isn't this great, Mister President?" the vice president asked, heartily smacking Rollo on the shoulder. "All your friends gathered in one place to celebrate you and your achievements."

"We worked really hard to put this together," the aide chimed in. "We hope you enjoy it."

"This is our thanks to you!" A line of gargoyles bounced up and down--perhaps the most animated he had ever witnessed the slabs of stone. "Happy birthday, Rollo!"

The words shriveled in his mouth.

He took one look at his fellow student council members. Their jubilant, shining faces met him. He looked at the waiting Noble Bell College students behind them, and then the Night Raven College students walling off his only route of escape. They wore smirks in varying shades. And the dancing gargoyles.

Rollo was caught like a mouse in a trap.

A monstrous roar ripped through the room. "Let's get this party started!!"

"Yes, quite..." Rollo muttered unenthusiastically. He was easily drowned out by his overjoyed classmates.

Rollo glowered to himself as he bent to retrieve his fallen handkerchief. His harsh glare burned a hole in the floor.

The man's carefully crafted schedule, interrupted. Peace and quiet, shattered. His worst enemies in his sanctuary. And he, tiredly relenting and resigning to it all.

What am I going to do with these charlatans...?!

[creamsickle-writes]

Secrets: Vinsmoke Sanji x Roronoa Zoro (ZoSan)

Tags: Friends with benefits relationship between Zoro and Nami, body swap, morally dubious!Sanji, penetrative sex, oral sex, squirting, and switch!Zoro (kinda)

When Sanji first swapped bodies with Nami, he was elated. He experienced a euphoria he never thought possible; with a female body, he could stare at himself and feel a sense of joy he had never felt before. It was a weird sense of pride and happiness. 

But then Zoro had to ruin it. 

After the groups reunited, Zoro motioned Sanji over.

“C’mere,” The swordsman gruffly speaks, pulling Sanji by his suddenly delicate wrist once he was within grabbing distance.

“Quit being so rough!” Sanji barks, not wanting that idiot to bruise Nami’s delicate skin.

“Keep quiet, woman.” He hisses, dragging Sanji behind the laboratory, “And since when were you picky about how rough I am with you?”

Sanji tsks and snatches his hand away from Zoro, “What do you want-“

Zoro narrows his eyes, “Why are you wearing that shitty cook’s jacket? Didn’t I tell you to stop looking for his attention?”

Sanji opens his lips to speak, but Zoro slams his hand against the wall, leaning closer to Sanji. The chef’s face flushed when Zoro leaned in closer, speaking through his teeth.

“Damn woman,” he hissed, “You never listen to me…”

Sanji wants to say that Nami shouldn’t have to obey his barbaric demands and that a woman has her own agency and can do what she wants. But Zoro’s following words cause him to falter.

“You’re so lucky I love brats like you.”

Before Sanji can respond, Zoro’s lips are attacking his neck. Sanji’s legs go weak, and his brain short-circuits. 

What the fuck?

Sanji pushes Zoro away, his cheeks bright red as he clutches his chest.

“W-What do you think you’re doing?!”

Zoro smirks, “Punishing you for wearing his dumb jacket. What, playing hard to get today? You know I love when you do that…”

Zoro growls lowly before smashing his lips against Sanji’s (or rather Nami’s), and his body doesn’t know how to respond. His hands are awkwardly raised before him, fingertips hovering over Zoro’s chest. Meanwhile, Zoro’s hands unbutton the jacket, removing it from Sanji’s person and tossing it to the snowy ground.

As Zoro kissed him, Sanji remembered one thing: Zoro had fallen asleep during the explanation of what had happened to their bodies.

He must’ve genuinely thought he was Nami.

Zoro whispers into Sanji’s ear, “Not even kissing me back… and after we’ve been fucking like rabbits since the crew reunited…”

Sanji practically chokes on his spit.

Fucking? And like rabbits? He’s trying to figure it all out, wondering just how long Nami and Zoro have been a thing, but Zoro has other plans, shoving Nami’s bikini top out of the way, making Sanji’s new breasts fall out from the fabric.

“Let’s make this one quick.”

“W-Wait, I’m not N-!”

Sanji moans as Zoro leans down and takes one of his nipples into his mouth. His warm tongue sucks and swirls around the bud, his large, rough hands gripping Sanji’s waist.

Sanji tries to push him away, but his grip is firm, and he only laughs when resistance is presented.

“Stop it, you brute!” Sanji squeals in his feminine voice, but Zoro keeps sucking on his breast.

Sanji’s legs buckle and his chest tightens.

He can’t deny that it feels good; Nami’s nipples are much more sensitive than his own. And Zoro’s warm tongue stimulates him in all the best ways. As the green-haired man pleases him, he feels his panties grow wet. The feeling is strange, not something he’s used to with his new genitalia, but it’s so amazing, so unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

“Shut up,” Zoro growls, “You know you like it.”

Sanji’s throat dries. 

Okay, so apparently, Zoro and Nami have been jumping each other’s bones at least since a few weeks ago. But did he really talk to her like this? Was he so rough, so stoic all the time? Or is it because he thinks that he’s playing hard to get? Was this the kind of thing Nami liked?

Sanji’s thinking is cut short as Zoro’s hands reach for his jeans’ front buttons. 

The chef gulps as Zoro unbuttons them, his dark eyes watching closely. 

Zoro pulls the tight jeans and skimpy panties down to Sanji’s thighs, and the swordsman kneels before him, pressing wet kisses to his thighs. Sanji’s hand clasps over his mouth as the other man’s lips travel closer and closer to his crotch. 

Eventually, warm lips place a delicate kiss on his clit, and the chef moans as his cunt throbs. He never expected that a pussy could be so sensitive. 

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to stop the swordsman.

Zoro’s tongue flicks out from his lips, licking a stripe up his new slit. Sanji’s head tilts back against the laboratory’s walls, a familiar warmth trickling from his nose. 

Zoro glances up at him and chuckles, “You’re starting to look like that shitty cook.”

Sanji wipes his nose with the back of his arm. He squeals as Zoro suddenly latches onto his clit and begins to suck, his warm hands stroking his upper thigh.

Wow, this is what it felt like to be eaten out. 

Sanji was in absolute bliss, enjoying this new experience. 

It made him wonder what sex would feel like with this body. 

But as soon as he has that thought, he shuts it down. He couldn’t do this, not now and definitely not with Zoro. 

But… maybe he could enjoy the great head he was getting just a little bit longer.

Zoro’s tongue is sloppy, his movements hurried and passionate as he laps his slit. Sanji’s legs shake as he feels something bubbling up within him. Zoro coos quietly, pressing another kiss to his slit, “That’s it, cum for me.”

He resumes his assault, sucking and licking at Sanji’s swollen clit. The cook bites his lip as he attempts to keep quiet, but sounds still escape his lips as he approaches the edge.

“C-Cumming-“he gasps, “I-I’m-!”

Sanji’s vision blacks out momentarily as it hits him all at once. No longer is he worried about keeping quiet; he just lets his moans flow freely from his lips. His legs are quivering, and his chest feels tight as he attempts to catch his breath.

“Good girl,” Zoro chuckles, kissing his slit once more before standing up and ordering, “Put your hands against the wall and bend over.”

Sanji, too blissed out to care about any of the reservations he previously had, obeys Zoro’s words, presenting his pink pussy to the swordsman.

Zoro growls and uses his thumbs to spread Sanji’s lips apart. The cook whimpers as he feels his hole flutter around nothing, his pussy desperately needing something inside. He ached for Zoro; he needed him.

“Zoro,” Sanji whines, “Please-“

Zoro laughs before sliding his cock between Sanji’s legs, the head pressing against his throbbing clit. The green-haired man rocks his hips back and forth, grinding his shaft against the cook’s slick folds.

“You’re so wet today,” he chuckles, “Looks like I wasn’t the only one craving this, huh? Look at how your body reacts to me.”

“Mm-“Sanji turns his head back to face the swordsman as he prods at his wet hole, “Just put it in already-“

Zoro laughs before slamming in without warning. Sanji’s eyes roll back, and Zoro coos, “Oh, you’ve never made that face before. C’mere,” 

With one hand on Sanji’s hips, Zoro brings the other to take his jaw in hand, kissing him deeply. Sanji moans into it as Zoro hammers away, each thrust hitting him in all the right ways. 

“F-Fuck-“Sanji breathes out against his lips, “You fucking a-animal-“

Zoro gives a cocky smirk, pressing a quick kiss to Sanji’s lips, “Feels good?”

“Yes-“He drawls out, his nails dragging against the laboratory’s wall. “S-So, so good- Ngh-“

Sanji desperately reaches between his legs and rubs his clit quickly, his eyes crossing as the pleasure overwhelms him. Zoro kept thrusting his hips, skin slapping against skin echoing in the air. Their breath fans their faces as they lock eyes, lips dangerously close.

This sort of pleasure was overwhelming. Sanji had never felt this good before. A familiar tingling sensation snuck up on him.

“Cumming-!” Sanji squeals, his pussy constricting and throbbing before squirting all over Zoro. That causes the tanned man to stop for a moment before slowly thrusting in and out of the gushing hole. 

“Holy shit,” he says breathlessly, “You’ve… never done that before.”

Sanji whimpers pathetically before his legs buckle. Zoro pulls out and gently guides Sanji onto his knees, stroking his cock slowly as his other hand tucks Sanji’s lengthy hair behind his ear, “Shit, Nami, you’re so sensitive today-“

Sanji, with a shaky hand, reaches back to grab Zoro’s shaft, guiding it to his pussy, his voice wavering, “More-“

Zoro smugly smirks, and Sanji almost regrets being so desperate. He’s soiling Nami’s reputation as strong and unwavering, but damn it, it’s better than him in his own body begging for Zoro. And at this point, he can’t stop himself; his needy pussy is dripping onto the ground below, and it needs Zoro’s cock.

“Beg for- “

“Please-“Sanji interrupts, bumping his hips back against the blunt head of his cock, the tip slipping in, “Fuck me already, you damn brute! I need your cock!”

Zoro’s eyes are wide, surprised, “Goddamn, you never beg like th-“

Sanji makes a frustrated sound before bucking his hips, taking Zoro in one smooth motion. Zoro lets out a shocked grunt, his hands hovering over Sanji’s hips as he frantically fucks himself on Zoro’s cock. 

“S-Shit-“ Zoro groans, still shocked at Sanji’s eagerness. He watches, absolutely hypnotized by how his ass bounces against his dick. The swordsman simply leans back, admiring the view as Sanji lets out animalistic moans and squeaks below him. 

“So good, a-ah-!” Sanji drools, his nose beginning to bleed again as he works his hips back onto Zoro. His toes curl, and he mewls as his hands find themselves on his hips again. Though, to his surprise, they aren’t guiding him; they’re trying to get him to stop.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum-“Zoro’s voice breaks, “S-Slow down- I gotta pull out-!”

Sanji doesn’t listen; he just keeps fucking Zoro, his gigantic cock slamming into his furthest walls. 

“S-Shit, woman, stop-!” Zoro holds Sanji’s hips still, pulling his cock out just in time as hot spurts of cum decorate Sanji’s ass. 

Zoro’s left panting, his cheeks bright red as he looks down at the mess he’s made, with rings of cream built up around his base.

Sanji, mind clouded by lust, reaches back and slides him back inside. Zoro lets out a guttural moan, “They’re gonna ask where we are- fuck- let’s save it for later-“

Sanji knew he was asking for trouble, but he didn’t know how long he would be in Nami’s body. He had to take advantage.

“Just shut up- “Sanji whines, wriggling his hips, “We’re not done until I say we are-“

Zoro’s face up to his ears turns crimson, his eyes widened in shock, “Yes, ma’am.”

[veysxrge]

Story of My Life (J.A.T.P)

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mentions of Parental Death

Pairings: Luke Patterson x Julie Molina

AU: Everyone lives, no one dies (minus Julie's mom, for plot, of course)

In honor of the fandom growing again, and the possibility of a second season, have this little story.

-

Written in these walls are the stories that I can't explain

I leave my heart open but it stays right here empty for days

Luke always watched Julie from afar, admiring the girl from a distance. His friends always made fun of him for it. Especially Alex, who later on became quick friends with Flynn, Julie's best friend.

But, he never talked to her, he knew she knew who he was. He was sure Alex told her a story or two about him to embarrass him. But he never talked to her, he always clammed up whenever she was around.

Luke was content with admiring her from afar, staying quiet as he watched her interact with everyone around her with an energy that could never be contained.

Everyone loved her, that was the thing. Julie was kind to everyone, always helping out people who needed it. He couldn't even count the amount of times she went out of her way just to make sure a stranger passed a class.

She told me in the morning she don't feel the same about us in her bones

It seems to me that when I die, these words will be written on my stone

But he watched her light dwindle, fade over time. No one around her seemed to notice, except maybe Flynn. He could see the way her smiles stopped reaching her eyes, and watched as she stopped going to play a random tune on the piano in the middle of class.

But soon enough, she stopped trying to put on a front. It was like a switch flipped and she stopped caring. The light left her eyes, she stopped helping people out, she even distanced herself from Flynn. Well, she tried to. But Luke knew that Flynn was way too stubborn to let herself be pushed away.

He didn't know exactly what happened, but from the whispers in the hallway it seemed that her mother passed. When he found that out, he felt his heart break for the girl he adored so much.

A piece of him seemed to break every day as he watched Julie become a shell of her former self. He hadn't seen her touch a piano or hum a tune in almost a year. He yearned to hear her angelic voice once more, but alas he didn't know her, nor did she know him.

And I'll be gone, gone tonight, the ground beneath my feet is open wide

The way that I been holdin' on too tight, with nothin' in between

Luke wanted to be able to help her, to bring back the life and energy that she had lost. But he couldn't, he couldn't find the words. He couldn't figure out what to say to her. How he would start the conversation, he had so much he wanted to say but he didn't have the ability to form it into words.

He sat at his desk every night, thinking about the beautiful girl who had lost her spark. The girl that had to grieve over the loss of such an important figure in her life. The girl who had stolen his heart without even realizing she had.

He wished he could tell her the way she made him feel, but he knew if he ever got the courage to he wouldn't say it. He couldn't tell her, not while her wounds are still so fresh. If there was a way to make her happy again, he'd do it. He'd do anything to see her smile again.

Luke went through pages and pages of his notebooks, crumpled up papers overflowing in the trash can that rested under his desk. But he couldn't find the words, he couldn't figure out how to explain the storm that was going on in his head. He didn't know how he could help her.

The story of my life, I take her home

I drive all night to keep her warm, and time is frozen

In a perfect world, Luke saw himself and Julie smiling and writing songs that they sang together. Their friends surrounded them and helped bring their songs to life. In this world, they knew each other and they loved each other deeply. But sadly, a perfect world doesn't exist.

So instead, Luke was going through a funk. Everyone could see it, his friends were worried. He hadn't written a song in months, and his last one was barely a song if he was being honest. He couldn't write, his brain was in scrambles and everything he had written down wasn't good enough.

This went on for long enough that even Reggie had told Luke that maybe it was time to take a break from the band. That's the moment that Luke felt his heart completely shatter. He knew he had to do something, he had to get out of this funk.

But his mind was only filled with Julie, filled with the ghost of what the girl used to be. Overflowing with ways he could help but also the anxiety of being rejected. Filled with longing and anguish for this girl that he had never spoken a word to. He couldn't figure out what to do.

The story of my life, I give her hope

I spend her love until she's broke inside, the story of my life

Eventually, his friends started to give him space. They still hung out with him, gave him ideas of how to get his rhythm back. But they just gave him a bit of space, which Luke was immensely grateful for.

He still watched Julie from afar, finally, after a year it seemed that she was opening up a bit more. She was smiling again, joking around with her friends. She stopped pushing people away, started helping people out again. But she didn't touch the piano.

He saw the longing in her eyes whenever she passed the piano in Music class. He also saw when Mrs. Harrison stopped Julie one day to talk after class. When he saw her leave, dejected and nervous, he knew what the conversation was about.

The need to help her had finally grown too strong, he knew he had to do something. He couldn't watch her be kicked out of music, even if she was having a hard time singing. His choice was solidified when she choked the next day, starting to play a tune only to not be able to get the words out.

Written on these walls are the colors that I can't change

Leave my heart open, but it stays right here in its cage

As Julie ran out of the class after Carrie's particularly harsh comment, Luke had finally had enough. He got up, sending a glare towards Carrie, "That's a new low for you Carrie, real mature of you."

He saw the way her eyebrows furrowed, Luke never got upset. He was a pretty energetic, gung-ho type of guy. He never glared at people, and he definitely never was rude or talked back to someone if it wasn't directed at him or his friends.

But he still walked out of class, after Julie, much to the surprise of all of their mutual friends. He looked both ways, trying to figure out which way Julie turned, seeing her curly ponytail turn around a corner at his right.

He was quick to follow, and once she was finally in his sights he spoke, "Julie, wait!"

At the sound of his voice she turned around, shock evident on her face once she realized who called her. He wasn't surprised that she reacted that way, he never spoke to her despite their mutual friends.

I know that in the morning, I'll see us in the light up on the hill

Although I am broken, my heart is untamed still

"Luke?" She asked, tilting her head as she looked his figure up and down, making Luke scratch the back of his own head.

"That's my name." He mumbled, becoming shy once they were face to face. "I just, I wanted to say to not give Carrie any mind. I'm sure you'll be able to sing again soon."

Julie smiled sadly, shaking her head, "Thank you for that, but that was my last chance."

Luke furrowed his eyebrows, a frown appearing on his face as he looked at Julie. "I'm sure they'll be another, you're way too talented for Mrs. Harrison to give you up."

Julie sighed gently, her eyes flicking back to something behind Luke before going back to him, "I appreciate the encouragement Luke, and I really hope you're right." She mumbled before walking past him.

Luke turned around to watch her walk away, towards Mrs. Harrison. From the look on the music teachers face he knew that it may be the last chance for Julie. He knew he had to figure out a way to make sure she didn't get kicked out of the music program.

And I'll be gone, gone tonight

The fire beneath my feet is burnin' bright

When Luke sat at his desk that night, he finally knew how to word how he was feeling. He finally knew what to write, and that's what he did. He wrote, he put words to how he felt. The want and need to help Julie, the adoration he felt for the girl he barely knew.

When he finished writing, he was quick to message his bandmates that he finally finished a song. A song that he actually loved, one he was proud of for once.

Alex was the first to reply, expressing his happiness that Luke was able to get his groove back and Bobby was quick to second that. Reggie of course just sent a bunch of keyboard smashes that caused a small smile to form on Luke's face.

They ended up meeting later that night, meeting up at Bobby's garage and finding out what melody and music they could add to this song. They worked hard, and were happy that they would have it ready for the pep rally at the end of Spirit Week.

The way that I've been holdin' on so tight

With nothin' in between

The next day, Luke went up to Mrs. Harrison, giving her a small smile, "Hey Mrs. H, I was wondering if the offer to play at the pep rally was still open for us?"

He could see the way that Mrs. Harrison's eyes lit up at that, "Of course it is, you can perform after Carrie and her group."

Luke grinned at that, nodding at Mrs. Harrison before going back to his friends. It seemed that while he was gone, Flynn and Julie had ended up joining the conversation.

His eyes ended up meeting Julie's and he gave her a shy smile before turning towards Bobby, Alex and Reggie, "We're in."

Reggie was quick to bring the 4 of them into a hug, wrapping his arms around all of their necks and pulling them towards him, "The band is back!!" He exclaimed, causing Bobby and Alex to laugh.

Luke looked back over towards Julie, noticing how she smiled softly at the boy's actions. He grinned a bit before finally pulling away from Reggie, clapping his shoulder as he did, "We still will need to practice, we've only played the song once."

"You finally were able to write a new one?" Flynn asked, raising an eyebrow towards Luke. Julie seemed surprised by this, obviously unaware about his current creative block.

"I had a bit of inspiration." He replied, forcing himself to not glance over at Julie as he said it. But Alex just rolled his eyes, letting out a soft laugh.

"That's one way to put it." He said before turning his attention to Flynn, "He wrote a love song."

Luke felt his cheeks heat up as he awkwardly scratched his neck, "There is no way, actually?" Flynn asked, grinning a bit as she looked at Luke.

"Yeah, it's actually really cute! A bit sad, but it's such a mushy song!" Reggie said, smiling brightly, "Like one of those cheesy one-sided love songs you hear on the radi-"

"Alright alright, enough with that, would ya?" Luke said, wanting to turn the attention off his song and the implications of it. He wanted it to be a surprise. He looked towards Julie once again, realizing she was already looking at him. He smiled a bit towards her before looking away once more.

The story of my life, I take her home

I drive all night to keep her warm, and time is frozen

After that day, Julie and Luke seemed to finally get closer. Surprisingly it wasn't because of Luke, but because of Julie herself. She went out of her way to walk up to him after class, and pair up with him instead of Flynn in their shared Biology class.

Flynn didn't mind, instead pairing with Alex seeing as he usually paired up with Luke. All these things made Luke beam, brighter than he had before. It was embarrassingly obvious to almost everyone how infatuated he was with Julie. To everyone but her that is.

Julie herself seemed a bit happier, even offering to help Luke write another new song. She didn't sing it, but she did hum along to the melody he came up with which surprised Luke immensely. He ended up gifting her the lyric and music sheet, saying he'd rather hear her sing it when she was able to again.

He didn't notice the way Julie's heart almost leapt out of her chest when he said that. He didn't see the way her eyes practically formed hearts at the fact he'd rather wait for her to be ready so she could sing it instead of doing it with his band.

He couldn't tell that all these little things, all these small subconscious things he always did with people he cared about slowly made Julie feel less empty. He didn't realize he was helping her find her music just by existing by her side.

The story of my life, I give her hope

I spend her love until she's broke inside, the story of my life

The pep rally was close, Luke was feeling more and more anxious by the day. There was no way for Julie to know that the song was about her, but he still felt nervous at the fact she was going to hear it.

He yearned deeply to know what she would think of it. Would she hate it? Would she love it? Would she not think anything of it at all and just be counting down the minutes until she could go back to class?

He knew the last thought was ridiculous. Julie was too much of a compassionate and kind person to not have her full attention on the band's music when they performed. But the knowledge of that didn't ease his worries.

His friends were quick to notice his nerves a few hours before the pep rally started. Alex was the one who decided to confront him about it, seeing as he himself knew what nerves Luke was feeling.

"Hey bud, you doing alright over here?" Alex asked, making Luke jump up from his thoughts, staring at his friend like he gained two heads in the last half-hour since they had talked.

"Yeah." Luke finally answered, wringing his hands together as he glanced off to the side of the room, "Just pre-performance jitters."

Alex nodded hesitantly, pursing his lips in thought before he responded to Luke's obvious deflect of his original question, "She's going to love the song, just don't think about it too much." He said before walking away, pretending not to notice the way Luke's shoulders sagged in relief at the assurance that it'll be alright.

And I've been waiting for this time to come around

But, baby, runnin' after you is like chasin' the clouds

Before Luke knew it, he was on the stage, staring at his peers looking back at him from the bleachers. His eyes scanned the crowd, trying to find the familiar set of curls among the students. Soon enough he found her, sitting next to Flynn and Willie, smiling at him.

Luke shyly returned the smile before averting his attention away from her, "Hello, Los Feliz Bobcats! Thank you for having us today at the Pep Rally, we really hope you enjoy the few songs we've got today."

Bobby was quick to join in next, grinning and winking at the crowd as he spoke, "My good friend Luke here wrote all the songs from deep within his heart, so please show him some love for that!" Applause was quick to follow, seeing as Bobby was the more popular person in their band.

"Without further ado! We are Sunset Curve!" Alex said, causing Reggie to quickly chime in, "Tell your friends!" Laughter settled over the students before they eventually quieted down at the start of their first song.

Luke felt his nerves quickly vanish as he sang, his song for Julie wasn't until the end, and this he was extremely grateful for. He could lose himself in the music he spent ages on writing and composing to the best of his abilities. Smiling and running around the stage as he sang his heart out, having to force his laughter to stop when Reggie made a face when they harmonized on the same mic.

This is what he missed, performing, the cheers of the people around him as they learned the chorus as tried to sing along for later verses for the songs he hadn't yet released and sang for the public.

He caught Julie's eye multiple times throughout the first couple of songs, and he knew she loved them. He saw her eyes light up when she realized she knew the song, mouthing the words, but he knew she wasn't singing. He'd recognize her voice among the crowd that harmonized before him.

Soon enough, it was time for her song. He waited for his classmates to calm down a bit before grabbing the mic and pulling it closer to him, "This last song is a bit slower... Don't get me wrong, the chorus is obviously still upbeat- But..." He subconsciously glanced towards Julie's direction, "This song is one that's close to my heart, I wrote it for someone I've always admired from afar."

He smiled a bit, looking at his shoes before shaking his head, "Sappiness aside, I really hope you all enjoy it. Here's our final song, Story of my Life."

As he performed, he couldn't help but look at Julie. He didn't care if he was being obvious, and by the way her smile seemed to brighten as she listened to the words that he sang to her, he didn't think she minded either. He never wanted to see her smile fade ever again.

When they finally finished, they all bowed, smiles never fading as they stepped off the stage. Mrs. Harrison was quick to take their place, saying her final speech before sending the kids back to their classes.

The story of my life, I take her home

I drive all night to keep her warm, and time is frozen

Luke wasn't sure what he expected as he checked the strings on his guitar, not yet having unplugged it just yet. But he definitely didn't expect to hear a piano start to play a few feet away from where he stood in the wings of the stage.

He glanced over, recognizing the cords that started to play, but he was surprised to see Julie sat at the piano. She glanced over at him, not too surprised to see him staring in awe back. She sent him a nervous smile, and he was quick to give her a beaming one back, mouthing the words 'You got this.'

That seemed to be all she needed, smiling softly before she started to sing the song they had written together. She had quickly caught the attention of the students and teachers, pausing in their leaving to watch the girl in surprise.

Luke could see the way Julie stared at the keyboard, her voice still a bit timid, not the usual loud and bright voice he missed dearly. He glanced at his bandmates, and by the way they were all reaching for their instruments, it seemed they had the same idea.

So soon enough, the boys joined on the stage, joining in on the music. Julie was surprised, but obviously happy at the surprise addition to her performance. Soon enough they were singing together, smiling and dancing around each other.

Luke and Julie's voices harmonized beautifully, not that it was much of a surprise. It was obvious that they would, you could ask anyone with a musical bone in their body and they'd say it was clear they would sound amazing together.

It was clear that Julie didn't expect the reaction of the crowd when they finished, surprise evident on her features as she stared at the crowd that was cheering and clapping in front of her. Luke smiled softly, glancing towards the crowd as well. When he noticed the principal and Mrs. Harrison whispering, he knew that this might be Julie's chance to get her spot back.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, heart melting just a tad when he saw her bright smile directed towards him. He said nothing, instead motioning towards their teacher and principal who seemed to want to speak with her. He watched as she walked towards them, nerves already showing just by how she walked away from him.

The story of my life, I give her hope

I spend her love until she's broke inside

Luke sat nervously on his truck in the school parking lot. He hadn't seen Julie since the end of the pep rally, he was worried that it hadn't worked out well for the girl.

His friends were sitting in front of him, but he barely paid them any mind. He stared into the sky, watching the clouds pass as he chewed at the skin by his fingernails anxiously.

After what seemed like hours, he felt the hood of his car move slightly, signaling someone had sat down beside him and successfully breaking him out of his trance so he could look next to him. Julie sat there, smiling fondly at the boy.

"Julie!" He said, immediately standing up so he could face her properly, "Tell me, how did it go? Did you get in trouble? Did you get kicked out?? Are you rejoining the music program? DID YOU GET EXPELLED??"

Julie laughed softly, placing a hand on Luke's shoulder to calm him down a bit, "Slow down, cowboy. Nothing bad happened." Luke felt his face light up at those words, waiting patiently for Julie to finish, "They were able to pull some strings and add another spot so I could rejoin the program, as long as I was sure I wouldn't choke again after this."

Luke couldn't help the smile that grew, immediately moving and wrapping his arms around the girl, "I am so happy for you, you deserve it Jules." He felt her arms wrap around his middle, melting into his embrace. He knew he wanted to stay like this forever, but he knew it wasn't likely.

"So, that song you wrote." Julie started, pulling away a bit so she could see his face, "Who was it about?"

Luke felt his cheeks heat up, glancing away for a second before returning his attention to Julie. He was about to answer, but by the grin that was growing on Julie's face it seemed like she already knew. He groaned in annoyance, resting his head on her shoulder as if to hide his embarrassment.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard her beautiful laughter hit his ears and her hand came to pat his back, "It's alright, rockstar. I like you too."

The story of my life

The story of my life

Luke glanced up at Julie, tilting his head to the side instead of lifting it up so he wouldn't have to lose the close contact he craved from the girl, "Do you?" He asked, his voice soft as he scanned her face as if to try to guess if she was lying or not.

"Have for a while now, I thought I was being pretty obvious." Julie responded, her smile softening at the hesitant look on his face. His own smile finally appeared, pulling Julie close once again and burying his face in her neck.

It turns out he did end up saving her, just like he wanted to since the beginning.

The story of my life

[heliosthegriffin]

Shadow Knight 24

Ao3 Link

----

“What on Remnant is that?!” White screamed flying to the left, a giant bony palm swatting through the air next to her, the draft in its wake fighting to drag her down.

“We got to go!” A hand grabbing her shoulder, White saw Black’s desperate eyes. “He did something! This place is sinking, I don’t know where!”

“Yaah!” A silver slash cut across the Giant Skeleton’s face, leaving a path of burning black sludge and argent smoke. It rolled its head backwards facing the sky, letting out an ear-piercing scream that sent cracks up the stone walls, exploded lights, vomiting forth a condensed blast of hyper-sonic air into the sky, bringing both hands down on Red, sending a shower of rose petals across the air, as she leaped away.

It’s burning red eyes stared at the rose-petals and swung it’s arms across the hallway, destroying more of centuries old building, violently ejecting ruble in blast at them, leaving a bald semicircle in front of the half-emerged monster, still half-way sunk into the ground.

Crimson danced through the air in front of them, her barrier of metal eroded the rubbled before it could touch any of them. She pointed a spear at the giant, ruggards chunks of metal exploded toward the creatures, knocking it around, leaving small craters in its black bones. She narrowed her eyes at the sight. She waved her hand towards White and Black, her barrier harmlessly absorbing them in, as they flew out of range. “We need to deal more damage, White do you think you can freeze those cracks in the bones?”

White looked at the pock-marks slowly filling up with dark essence, the slashes made by Red were smoking and sizzling, unhealing. Lifting a hand she fired an icy blast into the cracks of the bones, the silvery essence wrapping around the icy power, as a small iceberg ripped the small slashes open further. 

“We don’t have time for this! The place is done for, it’s sinking and it’ll take this thing with it, we need to go, before we can’t go back!” 

“If we defeat it now, while it’s not fully mobile, that one less tool in His box.” Crimson fired more improvised missiles at the monster, further damaging it.

“Feel free to leave, Black.” White cast more ice at the wounds. “We’re more than capable of handling this without you.”

“You-”

“Incoming!” A voice like thunder came down the hallway, Yellow soared past them fast, nearly throwing them against the wall, a golden aura of fire surrounding her as shot into the chest of the skeleton with an obscene crash. It was knocked back hard, the monster almost seeming to gasp as it screamed thunderously.

Yellow bounced off, just as it started to claw at its chest, a smoldering crack running across its sternum.

A swarm of purple lighting bolts struck its chest, the cracks growing larger and larger by the second. “Fine! I’ll help kill it! But, if we get stuck in His realm, I withhold the right to slap you all senseless before we die!”

-----

She watched as Jaune went rocketed forward, slamming a shield into one of those things, her skin crawling as red eyes locked onto them. It was as the same bulk as he was, but taller with longer limbs ending in razor claws, yet it still went stumbling backwards. 

“Advance!” He told them the words targeted some sort of primal switch in the back of their heads, flipping it from off to on. Velvet forgot any fears she had, the trembling in her hands, or the overwhelming amount of noise her ears picked up, for a moment, everything made sense. She moved with a half-dozen other men and women around him, flowing around Jaune like water; she wondered if he even knew the power his firm words held in a time of crisis, as they surrounded the monster, stabbing at it.

Not every stab hit, but they didn’t need to, as speartips struck it’s body, the wounds built up, until it would fall. Velvet felt with each thrust the blade went a little bit deeper, the wound a bit wider, until one last piercing blow, and it split in half.

“Fallback!” It was like they had become extensions of him, Velvet realized. He hardly needed to say a word, before they understood his intent. As a body flew threw where they had been, one of those creatures had a hole in its chest, laying dead on the ground. Velvet followed the direction it had come from, and almost didn’t believe her eyes, Ren’s fists were glowing pink, locked in combat with those monsters.

Not alone, though, as Nora was at his side swinging her warhammer with reckless abandon. Her blows contained surprising strength, her hearing picking up the sound of bones breaking. 

“Advance, surround it!” Her body moved on its own, spear at the ready. Ahead Jaune fought through a small pack of those things, shield bashing one of them away from him, toward them and they advanced on a sole lanky monster.

-----

River Song felt his couch pillow vibrate, eyes still closed he felt around for his scroll. Turning it on, he read the message, it came from an unknown number.

‘R. get on the chat-room, the Museum. - K’.

River woke up immediately, K. was one of his hunting partners. They didn’t talk outside of hunts.

Opening his burner scroll, he went into the chatroom. Eyes nearly unbelieving what he was seeing. A building sinking into the ground, with rumors of a terrorist attack, or gas leaks, surrounding it.

His gut told him otherwise, so he turned on the news. That LaCroix SOB was there again, declaring the area around the museum in a state of emergency, a small, but powerful localized earthquake had hit the building, and a nearby gas-pocket was leaking into the building, trying to explain any sighting of monsters.

When asked about the sinking, for a micro-expression he seemed almost furious for a moment, before putting on a sad face. “It seems that the earthquake accelerated the growth of a sinkhole under the museum, something that we have left the public uninformed about due to its minute nature, however, we, The city of Vale, have failed you all. We may lose a vaunted piece of history today, but we can’t get back people, as they are the future, and what we should be focused on.”

“What about the people stuck in the museum?”

LaCroix's eyes seemed to glow for a moment. “I’m afraid that anyone who hasn’t managed to escape, must be dead. Being exposed to gas for that long, they have surely perished, or suffered such severe brain-damage that they will expire soon anyway. As sad as it is, we can’t not risk more lives. Doubly so, when the Museum is likely to collapse at any moment.”

“Mr. LaCroix! What kind of gas is it, anyway? We haven’t-”

“No more, questions! I am needed elsewhere to help with the emergency, good night, and to those in mourning, you have my condolences.”

River felt pain in his temple, gritting his teeth. A building in a sinkhole does not uniformly sink in! The building was uniformly falling into the ground, this wasn’t a sinkhole!

A quick look at the chatroom revealed people calling BS, others that were at the Museum today, said they didn’t feel any shaking at all, just some anxiety and lightheadedness. A couple even admitting to seeing some strange figures.

Then, someone posted a link, Javier or something, linked to a live feed. 

River’s eyes opened. It was coming from inside the Museum, apparently they had some type of back of generators in there.

-----

Red jumped to the side, a bony fist crushing stone into dust next to her, her aura protecting her from stone shrapnel. There was a warmth like sunlight behind her eyes, as she focused the energy into her gaze staring at the hand, then a feeling of a warm and clear day hit her, as the purity of the sun focused into her eyes was shot forward.

The silver-blast sent shockwaves through the air, as tons of evil inky smoky exploding out toward the evening sky, layer after layer of millenia old bone was dissolved under her silver-eyes, greatly damaging the limb, but it’s age and soakage in Grimm power was still resisting her. 

It still had nearly broken it. “Hit it, ladies!” She cried valiantly, not at all squeaking! Speeding away, as ice, metal, lightning, and Yang crashing in like a meteor destroyed it, not just the hand, but the entire right arm!

“We’re nearly there! Just a bit more damage!” Crimson cried out, but Red frowned, she felt the floor drop again, as the sky seemed to grow just a bit further away from them. Her ears twitched, as she thought she heard something, like shouts?

-----

Jaune walked ahead of the rest, head twitching at every sound, trying to figure out what was going on today. Along with, why was this all happening? He had wondered that every second since this whole mess started. He felt a shake hit the building again, he had stopped keeping  count of them. Was it related to those magical girls? Or was it something else entirely?

He hated how clueless he was.

At least he knew it was related to the Grimm in some way, though how, was the question. Were they actually Grimm? Or were they part of some family tree, or … He didn’t know, there were so many blank spots to fill.

They didn't disappear like Grimm normally did, yet they still had the same masks and biology, and they had bones that broke. Worse, when he had the misfortune to peer into one the monster's bodies, he had seen organs.

That brought two strong options to mind, and he didn’t like either of them. Both of them involve people. Looking back at his group of survivors,they were all taking today differently, some were twitchy, others were breathing hard, and all were dirty. After today, he hoped they’d forget everything, as best they could.

A shadow moved next to him, a pair of red eyes giving away his visitor, it was sad how predictably they were. Then again, they probably didn’t have good muscle memory to work with, and if they did, it wasn’t suitable for swinging around claws.

Claws scraped against his shield, not even scratching the old metal of the shield, whether that was a testament to it’s craftsmanship or something else, Jaune couldn’t tell you. He stepped into its range, sword coming down on its arm, severing it.

 It was over in seconds, it’s head went down the hall. 

Jaune didn’t have the guts to go confirm his suspicions. The building shook again, the head fading away into the darkness.

He felt another pair of eyes on him from the shadows, they weren’t red, and they didn’t feel hostile. He looked at them, down the hallway, they stared off for a moment. Until they winked at him disappearing in the small motion.

“I’m losing my damn mind.” Jaune shrugged, going to meet back with the group.

Gathering them up, they resumed their march towards the door, eliminating any monsters that got in their way. With their fast pace they reached the doors quickly, just in time to see darkness climbing up the front of the door to the halfway point.

Jaune didn’t hesitate to open the doors, revealing the ground was at the middle of the door, instead of at the, well, the ground. “Come on! Get through there before you can’t get out at all!” He shouted, voice firm and echoing.

He pointed at the edge they could grab. “Get up there and leave! You all are not wanted here!” It didn’t take much convincing to have his soldiers leave. As one after the other they pulled themselves out of this hellhole.

Nora was given a boost by Ren, who wormed his way out between the ever smaller hole out. Soon, it was just him and Velvet, in what little light that remained, she gave him a small smile. “See you on the other side?”

“Yeah.” Jaune nodded. His ears twitched, it sounded like stomping.

He knelt down, giving Velvet a boost up. The sound was getting louder. It was heavy footsteps. Velvet nearly fell as Jaune essentially threw her through the gap. He looked behind himself and wished he hadn’t.

The lights were going out behind them. Not in the sense that they were being turned off, but something was moving under the lights, and they went out. That darkness was moving towards them. Something giant moved in it, as the sound of clacking was getting closer, a gigantic all-consuming noise, and what looked like fading coals burning were getting brighter.

Gripping the edge he pulled himself up, the gap growing smaller, struggling to squeeze through the gap.

“Help him!” Someone cried. 

Hands pulled at him trying to help him through. Ren at one side and Nora at the other, he was being squeezed through an inch at the time, almost there, given just enough time.

Enough time, they did not have. Something enormous grabbed Jaune by his legs, and its power exceeded any help that they could provide. Jaune laid his against the ground, relaxing his partially out body.

“Let go! I’ll be -” Was the last thing they heard him say, as he was pulled backwards into the building. He didn’t reemerge, as they stood there waiting for him to reappear, even as the sound of enormous struggle began, only to become more muffled. Any chance of him escaping to them was gone, as they watched with heavy-hearts as the gap shrunk and shrunk until no space remained, and soon, the building was gone.

----

The Magical Girls floated victorious over the greasy black smear that used to be their opponent, small pieces of bone floating around in it. They looked at it with narrowed-eyes, dirty figures, and a general air of exhaustion.

“That's it?” Yellow asked.

“Close enough,” Black answered.

Red floated up to the ceiling, seeing it was night and nobody remained within a thousand feet of the old museum. Except for vehicles with flashing lights next to some hazard tape that went around the front of the building. “Do you think that everyone got out ok?”

Crimson looked around. “We were so busy fighting that thing, -”

White floated out the building, pointing down at the nearly sunken building. “We don’t have time to check. Not unless we want to be pulled in with it.” She paused with a sigh. “Besides, with all the Grimm running around, it’s far too late for them. Face it, anybody left in there is dead.”

There was a moment of silence, as they floated up and away. “I don’t like this.” Yellow pulsated with flame. “We could have done more, could have done better.” Watching the building as it disappeared entirely into the darkness below. Once gone, the darkness returned down into the pit, leaving only an enormous crater where a piece of history had been erased.

For once, there was no fighting among the girls.

[linked-through-the-centuries]

do you have any specific design choices in mind in order to distinguish between the different links?

I DO I DO, I’m just an awful artist so I can’t like… fully sketch out what I have in my brain but I can do my best to describe it!

Warriors: Would he even be HW Link without that damn scarf- It’s a staple part of who he is at this point, and it was a gift so of course he always has it. I haven’t done much to change what he wears, it’s very similar to the green tunic he wears in game, just with a lower cut V neck and the fabric of it reaches his knees. He has a few more “professional” looking outfits, he likes to dress nice and look presentable. Also I have designed him better boots because drawing his canon boots killed me. He doesn’t wear the blue earrings he did in game, he’s switched them out for gold ones

Tears: This guy’s wardrobe would have Warriors on the ground sobbing if the good captain ever caught the full extent of it. Tears likes to mix it up, wear new outfits, their favorite is the Frostbite Armor tunic with the strappy sandals you get at the beginning of totk, and he likes doing his hair nice, but that’s not always practical, so they have the hylian trousers and champion’s tunic that they wear most of the time. He also has multiple piercings, so they can wear more of their charmed earrings at once

Wolf/Twilight: Well right now he’s stuck as a wolf, but if he weren’t, he’d wear his Ordonian clothes. They’re comfortable for him, and they remind them of home (he really misses his family). He does still have his green tunic which is more comfortable to wear armor with, but again, he is stuck rn as a wolf so clothes are the least of his concerns. Tears saw he had pierced ears and gave him small earrings with guardian resistance

Sky: I’ve definitely redesigned his outfit in my mind quite a bit. I imagine he’s very attached to his green tunic, but I think he’d wear the red piece of his “casual clothes” (i don’t know what it’s called) over that. The sail cloth is wrapped around him kinda like a shawl. He has feather earrings from his loft wing, and he wears his blue earrings right above them (so he has two holes in each ear). Sky also has a tattoo that wraps around his right wrist (his sword arm), and it’s his loftwing’s wings

Tune: Another one I’ve redesigned a bit. He wears a loose fitting dark green tunic that he leaves incredibly loose around the neck, tucked into pants and belted. (Think William Turner from pirates of the Caribbean. There’s one specific outfit of his I’m thinking of, with the dark red shirt from I wanna say the third movie). He wears an eyepatch, and his hair is quite long and very curly, but he ties it up and out of his face. His hair also has several braids woven into it. He has a lot of piercings, several in his ears and an eyebrow piercing

Hyrule: Very similar to his in game design, simple green tunic with brown sleeves and brown pants. He doesn’t have much, but he likes his clothes. They’re a bit worn, so they have patches and places where embroidery covers small holes, and at this point he could afford to buy new clothes but he’s sentimental. Wears small gold hoops in his ears as a last resort to sell if he really runs out of rupees (it has never come to that)

Past: They have very long, bright pink hair that they sometimes tie up, but a lot of the time is just loosely braided to keep it out of their face. Down, it reaches just past his collar bones. He has a long green tunic that’s kind of dress-like, belted with a flashy belt, and wears shorts under it and then boots. The fabric of the tunic is a bit flowy like a dress as well, and Past has embroidered little patterns and flowers along the bottom hem. They got bored one day. They have a lot of earrings and necklaces, they like shiny things, and have a staff they claim is used to channel magic but really is just a fancy walking aid (he doesn’t need the staff to do anything magic related. It’s literally just cool to them and it also helps them walk when they need it)

Calamity: Champions tunic or full on soldier gear. He hasn’t learned to relax much, he’s always a bit stressed and he dresses to impress and to look “official”

Mask: He’s another one I took creative liberties with. He wears incredibly casual clothes, mainly a plain white linen shirt belted over plain brown pants, because he doesn’t want to be associated with the Hero of Time (which is he, he just won’t tell the others that) and he doesn’t own a whole lot of clothes. His hair is shoulder length and cut a bit choppily (he did it himself), and sometimes he pulls it back. He has simple but pretty blue earrings, which were a gift from Warriors for one of his birthdays during the war

Spirit: He wears his engineer’s clothes, they are usually covered in dirt or coal

Minish: He wears something VERY similar to his in game design, except I’ve also given him a small, darker green cape. He gets cold a lot, and he often wraps it tight around himself. He’ll also put the hood up sometimes to try to remind himself of Ezlo

One day I’ll have to get over my inability to draw and sketch these out, but for now I hope this works!! None of them wear the hats, those were just things they had for their adventures :)

If you have any more questions please ask them!! I would love to talk more about these guys I just literally don’t know what to say

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 22: Alternate Universe

Word Count: 754/Rating: M/Pairing: None/CW: Misery AU, stalker!Reader, mention of S4 events, allusion to violence/Tags: Eddie Munson, stalker!Reader, Misery

Divider credit to @silkholland

There was not a bone in Eddie’s body that didn’t hurt. His muscles ached as though he’d run a marathon. Pain surrounded him; it infiltrated every cell despite the days of rest he’d been getting in your house.

Thunder crashed as he slept fitfully, washing away the blood he’d left behind. Evidence of his involvement in the Upside Down, which would ultimately prove his living status and bring the police his way to arrest him for Chrissy’s murder. But it was also evidence that he had been here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

Eddie struggled against the ropes that tied him to the bed as he fought off the nightmare, one that had plagued him since the night Chrissy died in front of him: her body gracefully levitating off the ground until it was yanked to the ceiling, her eyes being sucked into her skull, her bones snapping like twigs in the forest. 

He willed himself to claw his way out of the dream and wake up. But when he finally latched onto consciousness, the sight before him was somehow even more frightening.

You stared at him–no, glared at him–unblinkingly, and that’s when he knew. 

Declarations of ‘I’m your biggest fan’ were still flattering to him. Corroded Coffin wasn’t necessarily a household name, but people in and around Hawkins knew them, though their opinions varied. When you had recognized him and didn’t immediately call the cops, he was grateful for your hospitality. But that relief soured quickly as days passed and your behavior became more erratic. Your kindness apparently came with a cost, and when Eddie confessed that he planned on leaving the band after graduation to pursue solo opportunities, it flipped a switch within you. 

Eddie’s stomach twisted now as you procured a syringe and injected him. The knife, he thought through the haze. Get the knife under the mattress, get the—

“Eddie.”

He blinked, adjusting to the sunlight streaming through his window. What time was it? How long had he slept?

“Hmm?”

“I know you’ve been out.” Though your voice was light, the statement was loaded. 

Deny. Deny it all. “What?” Eddie feigned confusion as best as he could, given his grogginess. 

“You’ve been out of your room.” Your words were clipped, accusatory. 

Eddie mustered up a smile. “No, I haven’t.”

“Eddie.” You walked from the foot of the bed to the side. Each step sent a chill down his spine. “My Cabbage Patch Kid in the study always faces due South.”

He swallowed his shame, knowing he should have been more careful when he broke free yesterday. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered. His fingers dipped beneath the mattress, searching for the cool metal blade…

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The knife gleamed where you held it next to your face. 

All of the air left his lungs in one defeated exhale. 

“I know you’ve been out twice, Eddie.” You placed the knife on the dresser, far from his reach. “At first, I couldn’t figure out how you did it. But last night…I found your key.” 

You reached into your pocket, and Eddie nearly sobbed when his guitar pick necklace dangled from your hand. He writhed against the ropes again, to no avail. 

Reassuming your position at the foot of the bed, you continued. “Last night, I realized you just need more time. Eventually, you’ll come to accept the idea of being here.”

Eddie couldn’t get a word in edgewise before you began speaking again. 

“Eddie, you know about the early times of the Kimberley Diamond Mines? Do you know about what they did to the native workers who stole diamonds?” In response, Eddie thrashed against the ropes, and you smiled at his struggle. “Don’t worry; they didn’t kill them. That would be like Steve Harrington junking his Beemer because it had a broken spring. No, if they caught them, they had to make sure they could go on working, but they also had to make sure they could never run away.”

Your gaze latched onto Eddie’s, watching him process it all.

“The operation was called hobbling.” You placed a wooden block between Eddie’s trapped ankles, fitting it snuggly.

His eyes shone with fear. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing,” he begged, “please don’t do it.”

Your answer was silent, lifting a sledgehammer. 

“For God’s sakes,” Eddie cried out, body tensing in anticipation of the blow.

“Trust me.” There was no missing the anger and disappointment in your frown as you heaved the tool backwards. “This is for the best.”

--

[skoulsons]

Dialing In All Your Pheromones

• gif from @olisgifs

• title from Novo Amor’s song “Terraform”

Relationships: Joel and Ellie

Word count: ~2800

Authors note: Just some father and daughter fluff :) If you ship them I will tie you to a table and force you to eat wet bread. This is the first proper fic I’ve ever written, so please be kind <3 I do have a ton of other wips I’d love to post eventually, if I ever finish them. But, for right now, enjoy this!

Summary: based entirely on this post which sent me into cardiac arrest when I first read it.

(Thank you to my lovely beta readers @ellie-licious @sunflower-0180 @swinging-stars-from-satellites *I was too antsy to post but thank you still!!*)

~~~

Note- I know she rode that one horse into Jackson in episode 6, but we’re going to ignore that for the sake of this. I don’t know, say they just walked them there. Or Ellie sat behind him. I’m just saying that she’s never sat and lead/steered a horse on her own before. Also, I know almost nothing about horses, only what I find out through google. So, apologies in advance if I get something terribly wrong or weird

-

Ellie never knew comfort like she did right now. A different comfort to her warm bed on a rainy day or even a lukewarm shower after FEDRA school drills around the gym. A comforting presence. A grounding presence that she could touch. The presence her heartbeat would match with and she could steady her breathing alongside. This presence in a man she has her cheek pressed against and her arms wrapped around, her fingers linking together in front of his stomach.

When she’s not bothering him with questions about construction, Tommy, or foods from Before, or she’s not taking a nap against his back, she kicks at his ankles with the tips of her feet. He ignored it the first two days, simply letting out a sigh when she’d tap his boots in a rhythmic manner, clicking her tongue to make a beat. But now, he kicks back at her, a smile on his face as they fight with their boots against Callus’ side. Joel always knew he won after a defeated “ow…” came from behind him as she shifted her weight to rub her ankles to relieve the pain.

“You kick too hard,” she grumbled, placing her forehead against his back and readjusting her hands to his sides.

Joel smiled, “Ain’t kicking you that hard.”

“Then why’s it still hurt?”

“Need s’more meat on your bones, you’ll be able to take it better,” he argued.

“Or you could kick softer,” she challenged, earning a laugh from him. It reverberated through his chest and back and through her forehead, forming a small, almost reluctant smile on her lips at the feel of it. It felt…warm.

“Sorry, kiddo. Not an option,” he smiled, throwing the lightest kick he could to her foot, just to tease her.

“Oh, funny,” she huffed, leaning defeated into his winter coat.

They continued riding a few more hours, passing car pile ups, fallen over utility poles that stretched across every lane, and overturned tractor trailers. They were getting closer to the highway. Ellie’s cheek was pressed against his back again, arms against his stomach as she held onto each of her wrists to keep a tight hold around him. Callus’ trotting kept a slight bounce in their step, and with the added velvet material of his coat and the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat in her ear, she couldn’t help but relax into his back.

Joel turned his head to the side, trying to get sight of Ellie behind him. She had been still against him the last few minutes. “Ellie?”

“Hm?” she mumbled, sleepiness present in her voice.

“You want to switch?”

Ellie perked up immediately, beaming at the salt and pepper mix on the back of his head. “Really?”

“Yeah, before we stop for the night. That okay with you?”

“Yeah, man!” She shouted, excitedly tapping the sides of his arms at a rapid rate, half expecting her tapping to make Joel slow Callus down faster the quicker she tapped.

Joel brought Callus to a stop along the shoulder of the road (old habit with driving, he claims) as Ellie climbed off first, nearly bouncing with excitement as her feet hit the mossy asphalt. Joel climbed down after her, keeping a hand on Callus’ shoulder as Ellie is nearly glowing beside him, stepping up close to the saddle.

“Alright, gimme your foot,” he instructed, squatting down and linking his fingers together underneath her left boot as she swung her right leg over the saddle. Her feet barely reach the stirrup once she’s in the saddle, so Joel leads her boot through as the tip of her boot grazes the iron.

“Hold on to both,” Joel says, handing the reins to her lap once she’s settled into the saddle.

She eyed him sarcastically, “I know, Joel,” she said, grabbing hold of the reins. “You need a hand up, old man?”

“Cute,” he scoffed, putting his left foot through the stirrup and swinging his right overtop Callus, grabbing Ellie’s shoulder briefly to stabilize himself.

“You just doing this so you can kick my feet better?”

“Mmm,” he hums, raising his eyebrows in consideration, a slight smile on his face. It wasn’t his intention, but since she mentioned it-

“No…” she starts.

“I won’t, I won’t,” he reassures.

-

It was nice. Holding her. Getting to have her against his chest. To keep his arms at her sides as she settles into the saddle.

You’re not my daughter. And I sure as hell ain’t your dad.

He hadn’t meant it. Not really. It was a mess of feelings. His inadequacy and fear. His need for her to be protected, just not by him. And for her to shove him and tell him she cares about him? For him to tell her he cares about her, without missing a beat? Course I do. He didn’t even think when he said it, it came out as clear as any other truth he’s ever spoken to her. Because that’s what it was; truth.

But to say she wasn’t his daughter was the furthest thing from the truth. Over the last three days (their whole journey, really), she was nothing but that. Teaching her how to shoot, start a fire, and do the ‘dressin’’ part of their hunting. Those and the teasing, laughing, bickering, and earth-shattering annoyance with each other is what really sold the family unit. He lied to himself, and he hopes Ellie isn’t thinking about it nearly as much as he is.

Getting to hold her almost felt like his way of apologizing. Of taking back what he said and telling her ‘I’m sorry.’ He’d never say it aloud, but he hopes she gets it, even just a little bit.

“Joel?” She asks, breaking him from his thoughts. “You with me? You haven’t moved or spoken and I don’t exactly know how to get Callus going.”

“I’m good,” he reassures, squeezing her side gently and offering a smile that was more for him than her. “…wait, Callus?”

“Yeah, it’s what I named him. Tommy didn’t exactly tell us his name, so…figured I’d give him one.”

“And you went with Callus?”

“Listen, man, it was the first thing I thought of! Besides, I think it fits him well,” she tries, praising herself at the name she’d given him. “Anyway, I was scared I’d do something wrong and he’d fling us off or something, I don’t know,” she admits.

“He won’t fling us off, kiddo. Well, you maybe…”

“Hey!” She said, throwing her heel back and making contact with his shin.

“Alright, alright. Here-” he started, moving his left hand from her side to both of her hands, grabbing the reins from her as she dropped her hands in her lap. “Hold the reins overhand, like this,” he demonstrated, the reins held securely in the curl of his fingers. “You don’t gotta hold ‘em real tight, just enough so they’re secure in your grip.” He turned his hand over, palm to the sky as the reins draped across his hand. “Show me.”

“Right hand or left?”

“Whichever you want. I use my left so I can draw my revolver or knife easier, but it’s up to you,” he said, reins still draped across his hand.

She brings her left up from her lap, taking the reins from Joel’s hand and holding them as Joel showed her; secure grip in the curl of her fingertips.

“Good,” he said, his left hand falling back her side as his right came up to her shoulder, gently adding pressure. “Release the tension in your shoulders, too. I can feel it all the way back here.”

She rolled her eyes at the comment, but obliged and inhaled deep, held it for three seconds, and exhaled, letting her shoulders fall as she did. Joel’s hand stayed on her until she relaxed, reverting back to her waist when she did.

“Now, for walkin’, It’s easy. You just gotta give him a little squeeze with your legs.” Joel glanced down to where her legs fell, noting how close they were to Callus’ shoulder. “Keep your feet away from him now, cause if they nudge him, he’ll think it’s time to go when you may not be ready,” he explained, Ellie nodding in understanding. “Now, gently squeeze your feet to his side. Gently,” he repeated, wanting them to start slow.

Callus started walking as Ellie tapped his shoulders with her feet, letting them fall back to a more relaxed position in the open air beside him. A toothy grin grew on her face knowing she was the one doing this, not Joel. “Whoa,” she smiled, barely a whisper as the clop-clop of Callus hooves stepped along the pavement.

“How he responds and reacts comes down to your weight in the saddle and any pressure in your legs against him,” Joel explained, Ellie nodding in understanding again as she watched Callus’ mane wave back and forth slightly. “Here, gently tap your feet against him again.”

Ellie did as instructed, tapping her feet against Callus’ shoulders once again. The signal against him made him go from walking to a trot, Ellie letting out a small “whoa,” at the change of pace. Her right hand went to the reins, holding a little tighter to the ropes with both her hands. She felt Joel hold a little tighter to her sides, keeping her steady.

Joel noticed her tightened grip on the reins and he gave her left side a gentle squeeze, as well as attempting a, “hey, relax,” but no words came to him. She didn’t need them. They didn’t need them. One squeeze was enough for her to hear him, and she let her right hand go from the reins, letting her hand fall back in her lap as she inhaled, held for three seconds, and exhaled, letting her shoulders fall again as Callus carried the two of them along in his trot.

After about five minutes of the steady trot, Joel broke the silence. “Alright, Ellie, try and make yourself feel a bit heavier in the saddle and gently squeeze your thighs against him, don’t tap your feet.”

“Feel heavy, squeeze thighs. Gentle…” she repeated to herself, squeezing her legs against Callus gently as he slowed his trotting to walking. Ellie let out a breath as she smiled, craning her neck around to look at Joel, the two of them sharing a smile together.

Joel rubbed his right hand up and down her waist lightly, commending her. “Good job, kiddo.’

“Can we gallop?”

“Ah, no.”

“Joel, please?” She draws out her ‘please’, leaning her head against his chest with a goofy, over-the-top grin on her face.

“You keep askin’ and I may just have to take the lead again.”

“No,” she breathed, a hint of offense in her voice, though sarcastic. She sits up from his chest, her posture straightening as she continues watching Callus’ mane flow back and forth as the clop-clop of his hooves fill their silence

-

They stay in a gentle walk for miles as the sun sets, creating a glow of orange, pink, and a dim purple across the horizon, stratocumulus clouds highlighted by the contrasting colors.

“Joel?” She asks, voice seemingly smaller than normal. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from a day of traveling. Or maybe it’s the setting.

“Hmm?”

“Look, the sunset.” She throws her right hand up in front of them, pointer finger haphazardly out in a pointing motion, like she needed to point to the incredible painting-like view in front of them that nearly covered the whole sky. His head perks up over her beanie from where he kept it down in thought, taking in the view. It was really nice. He could hear her breathing change to controlled, stable breaths. Content breathing as she paused after each inhale and exhale. Joel smiles to himself as he notices the light from the sunset creating a glow overtop her beanie and one shaping Callus’ muzzle. He smiles to himself, knowing that Ellie’s face is definitely also glowing, and it’s not from the sunset alone.

Ellie lets out a content sigh as she drops against Joel’s chest, letting her weight fall against him. Joel smiles at the contact. This is new for them, really new, but it’s nice. The comforting presence they bring to each other; the security. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t grow a size or two with these moments. Or even three or four when he wraps his arms around her a little tighter as she lets out another sigh against his chest, his chin coming down to set atop her beanie.

Joel’s not one to let his guard down, especially not in the open like this. He always has one eye open, one foot in the door. Always looking for an exit or being extra keen on their surroundings, despite his lesser hearing on his right side.

But right now is an exception to that; to what he’s built up so heavily the past twenty years. He unclenches his jaw as his face relaxes in the cotton of her beanie. He holds his own forearms with each opposite hand, arms against her abdomen. He holds far enough up his own forearms that they press against her, keeping her securely held against his chest.

Joel closes his eyes. For a brief moment, he succumbs to the embrace; to the gentle clop of Callus’ hooves, the calm breeze occasionally blowing Ellie’s loose ponytail hairs into the air, and her breathing against his chest. How her shoulders rise and fall with his; how they’re in rhythm with each other.

His lips find the top of her beanie and he inhales deeply, exhales just as deep. It’s so familiar to him, physical touch. Holding her face, snuggling together on the couch for movie nights, her holding his ovenmit of a hand during trips to Walmart, and kissing her forehead when they’d say goodnight. And man if he doesn’t curse at how strikingly easy it is to fall back to those old ways when this little girl is against him, his lips pressed into her beanie.

She turns and presses the side of her face against his chest. “Joel?”

“Hmm?” He mumbles, lips still pressed into her beanie, holding still.

She lifts her face slightly against his chest as his lips struggle to follow her moving beanie. She turns her head a bit more, trying to see him.

“Why can’t a nose be 12 inches?”

Oh, a new one. Joel breathes in and lets a sigh escape his lips, preparing himself for the disaster. He lifts his face from her beanie, “why?”

She sits up straighter, trying not to jostle Callus too much as she tries to face Joel. “Because then it would be a foot,” she answers, trying to contain her giggles by pressing her lips together. She cranes her neck more to try and watch Joel’s reaction intently.

“Wow,” he responds, trying a little too hard to keep his stone cold expression. “That…was terrible.”

“Oh, come on! It was a good one! You’re laughing!”

Joel shakes his head to the side, avoiding the attempted gaze and strain of her neck to see him. “Am not,” he denies, repressing the smile in his voice.

She sighs, turning back around and dropping her posture back against him. “You’re a loser.”

“Oh, I’m the loser? Someone can’t handle a little tap to her feet.”

“You kick me.”

“Oh?” he questions, tapping her right foot gently, but with enough force to send it forward into the air for a second. “I wouldn’t consider that a kick.”

“You’re such an asshole,” she sighs.

He wraps his forearms back around her middle, nearly holding his elbows to hold her close as his layers allow him. He gives her a tight squeeze as his lips find her beanie again. “Mhmm,” he smiles into the cotton, planting a light kiss to it as she relaxes into him. He breathes in the scent of the beanie. It smells like their fire from the night before; the one he taught her how to make. It smells like pine from two nights ago when she mocked his snoring, he mocked hers (nonexistent, but he sure made a convincing argument), and she balled it up and threw it at him, Joel deflecting it into a pile of pine leaves and acorns. There’s a hint of…shampoo? From when they were in Jackson and they had the chance to clean themselves up with hot water and soap.

It smells like Jackson. It smells like Tommy and that blue house they were so graciously given and the stables with that foal ‘Shimmer’ that Ellie seemed to connect with so quickly. It smells like fresh wood and whiskey and home cooked casseroles and morning coffee. It smells like home.

Now, come dawn, we’re going our separate ways.

No, he definitely didn’t mean what he said.

~~~

Tags: @not-so-mundane-after-all (thank you so much for posting what you did) @sentientmasstransit @memelovescaps @tloubraininfection @tlouobsessed @fieldsoftulips @bejeweledmp3 @swol-bear @cassianendor @bluestar22x @elliiewiilliiams @longl0ngtime @dancealongthelightofday @protectorsjoel @joelxmiller @scootkiddo @astrasomnium @fallenstar07

I have just simply tagged you cute people that I always love seeing in my notifications. If you want to be taken off bc you don’t like me or hate fics, please tell me. Or, if you’re someone who’d like to be tagged for any future fics, feel free to ask me :)

[pleasestaywithmedarling]

Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin: Part XXIV

previous masterlist

see end note for content warning

Anden studied the tiny razor blade he grasped between his third and fourth finger. With the subtlest twist, it was held tightly between the knuckles of his second and third, now only visible from the palm-side of his hand. Over and over he repeated the movement; if the circumstances weren’t so dire, he might have taken pride in the fact that he could now accomplish this task without even nicking himself on the remarkably sharp edge.

Switching to his left hand, though, only confirmed what he’d already known to fear. Scarcely had he twitched a finger when a spasm of pain shot up his limb. The blade dropped to the ground.

A small gasp made him look up. Though she still lay curled up on her pallet, Kiri was awake, her dark eyes fixed on Anden. Or, more specifically, on his broken arm.

Though the healer priestess had bandaged it up with a simple splint, she hadn’t bothered to truly set the bone properly. She’d only wrapped it at all, he was sure, to keep him from being in too much pain to keep quiet during the Midsummer’s ceremonies. It was pointless to worry about his arm healing when he was meant to die that morning.

He was meant to die that morning.

“It’s okay.” With his good hand, he picked up the blade once more and maneuvered it through a series of grips, each one hiding the gleaming Amantian steel from a different angle. She watched as it flickered in and out of the light, her eyes glassy.

“You really saved us last night, you know,” he said softly. “I mean, I know that it was hard, what you—what he made you do. But I could’ve come out of that with a lot worse than one broken arm, and we’d be fucked right now. So, thanks. For, uh, doing what needed done.” Anden knew she likely wasn’t hearing him, not really. He also knew it was probably for the best that she didn’t; gods knew he wished he could get last night out of his head. “I don’t know, I just, uh—I just needed say that, I guess.

“And I’m sorry. About your hand, and for—”

She was thrashing below the water’s surface, and his stomach dropped and his chest tightened and his heart thundered in his ears, and it had never gotten easier no matter how many times he’d had to watch.

“For, uh—”

But this time, this time he was right there. He was right there and he could pull her back up, he was right there and he could save her. But he couldn’t save her, he still couldn’t save her, because this time, this time it was him, it was him that was holding her down.

“For—”

And finally Emitis shut the fuck up, and finally Anden could let her surface, let her breathe. But when she looked at him she didn’t recognize him, and when he forced her back under he didn’t recognize himself.

His blood ran cold, but even the icy fear was not enough to numb him to the sickly heat of the shame festering in his core. Shaking himself as though to shake off the memory, he grimaced as the movement pulled at the cuts on his chest.

Gods, those fucking cuts.

At the reminder of the message now carved into his skin, the shame roiled in his core, a warm, thick, oozing yellow. It sloshed in his stomach and swelled upward, till suddenly he was spewing it out into his chamber pot. The taste of it coated his tongue; the smell of it filled his nostrils and poisoned his lungs. As he held himself over the pot on shaking arms, he caught glimpses of his reflection in the watery vomit, the image fractured by chunks of bile. He exhaled a grim laugh as the cuts on his chest throbbed.

“Piece of filth” indeed.

A soft whine made him look up, and his breath caught in his throat. Kiri was still staring at him, but somewhere beneath the glaze over her eyes he caught a small flash of recognition. Of worry, he realized. She was seeing him, in this state, and it made him feel even more pathetic. But she was seeing him, truly, even if it was through a heavy veil of fog, and his heart lightened to know that he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d thought.

But he missed her voice.

Years ago—several lifetimes ago, it seemed—his favorite of his dad’s bedtime stories had been the tale of the riverman and the sea. He’d loved how much his brother hated it; Antoni would always screw up his tiny face in frustration and proclaim that the story didn’t make any sense. How could the riverman hear the sea calling to him, if he lived miles and miles up the river? Anden would laugh, and tell him that stories didn’t have to make sense. Their dad, though, would only ever give the same reply: “All good stories make sense in due time.”

Anden had shrugged it off at the time; grown-ups were always saying weird shit. Now, though, with how impossibly far away Kiri seemed at times, he thought that maybe he was beginning to understand the tale.

She was always there, he knew, even if he couldn’t see it. He felt her call to him resonating deep within his core, as surely as he felt his own call to her.

But, gods, he missed her voice. His chest tightened as it struck him fully that he might never hear it again.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Taking up the tiny blade once more, he took a steadying breath and pretended he couldn’t feel the fear coursing through him. His eyes searched hers; perhaps he was only imagining the spark of awareness he found there, but he fixed his gaze on that faint light. “Kiri, I—”

The door of the outer chamber swung open with a loud creak, and in streamed the typical morning’s assortment of temple guards and attendants. But on that morning, all wore stiff ceremonial garb and stiff, somber expressions. No one brought him his usual meal—there was no sense wasting food when he was about to die, Anden surmised. The thought didn’t anger him; he couldn’t allow it to. He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not today.

Watching Kiri stumble out of the inner chamber on shaking legs, he didn’t dare think about how many hours, days, she’d gone now deprived of food and water. While she was bathed in the same pool in which he himself had nearly drowned her last night, he didn’t let himself listen to the distant sound of her hummed sobs. When the guards locked her back in her cell, she was clothed in the same richly embroidered gown that he’d seen worn by so many other young women being marched toward their deaths. And now it would be the two of them paraded down the sacrificial route. He didn’t pay any attention, though, to the way the temple workers looked at them without the slightest trace of sympathy; he merely tightened his grip on the blade hidden in his right hand.

He closed his eyes. Focused. Breathed in. Breathed out.

From the outer chamber came the murmurs of attendants and the orders of guards and the clinking of chains, and he tuned them all out. It was harder to ignore the muffled crying coming from the other cell, but after a few minutes the cries settled into the occasional whimper before stilling entirely. When he opened his eyes, Kiri was staring at his chest.

His throat constricted.

Piece of filth.

But that wasn’t what had caught her attention. What she was watching was the rise and fall of his rib cage, he realized; she’d slowed her breathing to match his. The swell of shame within his core abated as her eyes flicked upward to meet his own.

He held her gaze. Focused. Breathed in. Breathed out.

And then the new Vessels were brought in.

He’d never spared a thought for them, the two who would take his and Kiri’s place in this hellish cycle. He couldn’t afford to waste his energy on complete strangers, especially ones he didn’t have any way to help anyway. But as he listened to their protests, and the inevitable beatings that followed, he found himself glancing at his cell’s loose floorboard. He wouldn’t let himself think about the new Vessels after today; he was going to get himself and Kiri far away and never look back. Still, though, he found himself hoping that the key under the floor would be discovered. It had been solely for Kiri’s sake that he hadn’t used it to try to escape, but he liked the idea that maybe his choice to stay with her could save someone else too.

The outer chamber door creaked once again. Anden’s heart seemed to stop when the sinuous voice of Emitis called out, “Bring forth today’s Vessels.”

Midsummer had truly arrived.

He had to make sure they survived it. He couldn’t be afraid. Blade firmly in hand, he pulled himself to his feet.

As he and Kiri were led out of the their cells to the outer chamber, Anden spared one single glance at the young man chained to the same stone table he’d been restrained to one year ago. He was little more than a boy, really, though he looked strong enough. Most likely he’d been pulled from the labor camps; Anden may have even worked alongside him in summers past. But he didn’t want to know, didn’t want even the smallest connection tying him to this awful place. He ignored the boy, ignored the High Priest’s droning, and focused all his thoughts on the tiny blade he held between his third and fourth fingers.

His first real test of concealment came when a guard suddenly grabbed his wrist. But not even a sliver of the shining metal showed from the palm-side of his hand, and the guard was none the wiser as he made a small cut on the tip of Anden’s finger.

No one noticed Anden maneuver the blade to keep it hidden as he pressed his blood into the boy’s collarbone. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact; with a muttered, “I’m sorry,” he sealed the boy’s fate. Kiri was crying over the girl she’d just consecrated with water, but while he loved her care and her empathy, he could not afford to share it. After offering one last wish that the cell key would be found, he put the new Vessels from his mind. The blade had to be his sole focus; he kept it out of sight as he was marched out of the Chamber of Vessels for the last time.

The final journey through the lengthy halls of the temple was uneventful, if surreal—it was strange to think he’d never see them again. He could find no relief in that, though, without knowing whether or not he’d live to see the sun set on this day. He could hear Kiri stumbling behind him, humming out sobs into her gag, and pretended he wasn’t deeply worried about her. He couldn’t be, not now with the sharpened metal pressed precariously between his knuckles.

Out in the main courtyard, Anden was harnessed to the yoke of the ebony chariot as Kiri was stood atop it. He hissed as the leather straps dug into the wounds littering his torso, especially the cuts just below his left collarbone—piece of filth, piece of filth—but he was almost grateful for how much it hurt. At least the pain was easier to deal with than the sudden chill that swept over him as the gates swung open.

This was it. The realization struck him with a fullness of understanding that he’d been pushing away all morning, all year. He and Kiri were about to be sacrificed.

The attendants bearing the statue of Vato on its gold-leafed platform stepped forward, two, three, four paces. He should move—he was supposed to move, but how in the ten hells was he supposed to just walk toward what could very well be his death? How could he possibly drag Kiri toward their shared coffin?

A whip cracked, and a flash of pain struck hard across his shoulder. As he cried out, he felt the blade slip from his hand. Catching it with the very tips of his fingers, he quickly curled it into his fist and held it tightly, even as blood began to trickle down the length of his palm.

He couldn’t give anyone a chance to notice the blood. He couldn’t let these bastards rip away his chance at escape. He wouldn’t die today. He wouldn’t. And so he couldn’t be afraid; he walked forward, one aching step after the other.

The processions through the streets had been humiliating enough every other holy day, but now every person in the city lined the streets. There were many who did not usually practice the worship of Vato, especially in the lower classes, but participation in the Midsummer’s sacrifice was required by law. Everyone they passed offered up their final prayers of the year, a cacophony of pleas both half-hearted and fervent. Those who pitied him looked away, unwilling to face a death they could not prevent; those who didn’t looked right through him, unable to see him as any more than an object.

It didn’t bother him. It didn’t; he couldn’t let it. He couldn’t care what anyone in this godsforsaken city thought of him. He had far more important things to worry about, like how to staunch the blood still pooling in his palm. The cuts above his heart weren’t throbbing beneath the harness—piece of filth, piece of filth—and the thick mass of shame didn’t weigh heavily in his core. Anden knew nothing but the half-inch of metal tucked against his palm.

The sacrificial route to the riverfront was scarcely a mile long, far shorter than the usual processional loop through the city. Far too soon, the procession turned onto the final road leading to the Pier of Vato. His heart thundered in his ears with each painful step, the immense scarlet banners of the High Temple looming ever closer. Prayers were now being shouted from the sidewalks as he passed by, from the most zealous of worshippers wanting to make their piety known to all. The people here would have claimed their places well before sunrise in hopes of a good view, and Anden nearly stumbled at the sight of parents holding up their young children to better see him as passed by.

The attendants bearing the statue of Vato came to a halt and lowered the platform to the ground. Anden covertly swiped his bleeding hand on the hem of his tunic just before two guards released him from the awful harness and began pulling him up toward the pier. From behind him, even over the chorus of ardent prayers, he could hear Kiri’s fearful whines. There, down at the end of the pier, sat the polished wooden coffin.

They were going to die in there. If anything went the slightest bit wrong, they were going to die in there.

He adjusted his grip on the blade. Everything seemed to be working against his attempts the keep it hidden in his grasp: the guards’ manhandling, the summer heat making his fingers slick with sweat, the violent shudders rolling through his spine. But he could do this. He wasn’t afraid—he couldn’t be, because he had to do this.

But the prayers were growing louder and the coffin was growing closer, and as he stepped out onto the pier the waters of the Great River stretched out in every direction.

And there, just below the water’s surface, he saw her face.

She was thrashing, panicking, until she wasn’t. She was running out of air, running out of life, and it was his hands holding her down, his hands killing her.

A guard pulled him forward by his broken arm.

A cry tore from his throat.

And the blade dropped from his hand.

What—

What had he just done?

He was watching her struggles grow weaker and he was watching the coffin grow larger with each step and it was his hands holding her down and it was his hand dropping the blade and he couldn’t let her surface and he wouldn’t be able to free them and he was killing her and he’d killed them both.

What the fuck had he just done?

They had reached the end of the pier, and Kiri whimpered beside him, and he was killing her.

Emitis was droning on to the crowd but it couldn’t last forever, and he could feel Kiri’s eyes on him, and the coffin lay between them and the leaky boat hung off the edge of the pier behind them, and he’d just killed them both.

“Prepare the Vessels to be sacrificed.”

This couldn’t be happening. A wild impulse to simply throw himself into the river nearly took him, but there were guards everywhere, their weapons at the ready. But gods, this couldn’t be happening.

A priest was ordering him and Kiri to disrobe, and he had to fix this. He couldn’t panic. He wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t horrified, he wasn’t out of his mind with terror. He couldn’t be, because he had to figure out what to do, and he was running out of time. As he slowly pulled his bloodstained tunic over his head, he didn’t feel the least bit sick with humiliation; he couldn’t afford to, because he had to come up with a plan, but it was so hard, it was so fucking hard to think.

And then Kiri screamed.

Scarcely had Anden whirled to face her when she tore herself from a guard’s grasp. Shrieking hysterically into her gag, she shoved her way past Emitis, knocking him to the ground.

“Kiri!” Anden tried to go after her, but after their initial shock the guards had rallied, and the two closest to him were quick to hold him back. He could only watch as she ran senselessly, her unlaced gown falling from her shoulders and billowing out behind her. She was halfway down the pier when she collapsed, wailing when she caught herself on her broken hand. She crawled, scrabbling weakly at the boards of the pier, but was soon surrounded by guards. They dragged her back, her bared breasts heaving as she sobbed.

The moment she saw Anden, her wild, unseeing eyes gleamed with sudden recognition. Though her gag rendered her cries wordless, he knew it was his name that she called. She clawed her way past the guards with a ferocity he didn’t know she possessed. Without thinking, he jerked against his guards’ hold and yanked his right arm free just as Kiri barreled into him.

For a single breath, he held her tight to his chest, shielding her from view as she feebly clung to him. Her hummed cries, incoherent of anything but her urgent distress, bore deep into his racing heart.

Gods, he had to do something. He had to find some way to cut away their restraints once they were on the river. No one as kind, as good, as Kiri should endure so much suffering, only to die at the end.

She yelped as guards tore them apart, reaching out to him as she was pulled away. For the briefest moment she clasped his hand, pleading, before she was ripped entirely from his grasp.

Emitis, upright once more, straightened his robes and hissed, “Finish preparing them to cast off, you incompetent simpletons!” He turned to the murmuring crowd gathered on the shore and launched into a speech about Vato’s justice.

Meanwhile, a guard began cutting away Anden’s remaining clothing.

Anden made no attempt to try to break free of the hands holding him fast; he offered no resistance as he was stripped bare. He was too shaken to pretend anymore. He couldn’t pretend the shame in his core wasn’t crashing through him in sickly yellow waves, to be so exposed before so many. He couldn’t pretend his heart wasn’t shattering into a thousand sharp pieces, to hear Kiri’s muffled screams as she was forcibly undressed. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t frozen through despite the summer heat, because he was so fucking terrified.

More than any of that, though, he felt a burning in his hand where Kiri had clasped it in her own. A hot, throbbing pain where a tiny, remarkably sharp razor blade had sliced through his skin as she’d thrust it into his palm.

Her wanton fear as she’d hurtled down the pier had been every bit as real as it was now, he was sure. Yet, incredibly, she’d still worked out a way to retrieve the chance at freedom that he’d lost. He didn’t know if she’d happened to see the glint of the blade as she’d run. She might have even watched him drop it. Perhaps she’d somehow maintained the presence of mind to orchestrate her impossible escape attempt with the sole purpose of finding it—he wouldn’t put it past her. He wouldn’t make the mistake of ever underestimating her again.

Gods, he loved her.

His hand didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly, though it still seemed miraculous that no one took any real notice of it. But Emitis’ anger at the chaos Kiri had caused had made the temple workers nervous; they moved with an almost frantic haste as they tied Anden and Kiri into position for enshrouding. Anden gasped as loop after loop of rope bound his wrists crossed over his chest and pressed his arms tight against his sides. The pain shooting up his broken arm so was nauseating that he would have collapsed without the support of the guards, and they resorted to shoving a handkerchief in his mouth in an attempt to muffle his cries. He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t even notice the rope being coiled around his legs until they were entirely welded together.

Never had he been so thoroughly immobilized, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t scared out of his mind. But he held fast to the blade he concealed in his fist. He could be scared, he could be terrified, so long as he didn’t let go.

Several priests stepped forward, rolls of winding-sheets in hand. With horrifying efficiency, they began to enshroud the two Vessels.

While the priests worked, Emitis stood first before Kiri, loudly calling out some speech or prayer in what sounded like old Illyrnan while making a series of exaggerated gestures. Mewling into her gag, Kiri struggled weakly against her restraints. When she looked over at Anden, he saw that her eyes had gone glassy, and he knew she wasn’t truly seeing him.

Beside her the coffin’s polished wood gleamed in the sunlight, and Anden knew that Kiri might never see him again.

No. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. She’d gotten them this far; he wouldn’t let her down now.

The winding-cloths enveloped him tightly down the whole length of his body, and the priests were now working their way back up with a second layer. And he could hardly move at all and he could hardly breathe, and he was scared, he was so fucking scared. And he tightened his grip on the Amantian blade, because none of that could stop him from accomplishing his task.

As the priests reached his shoulders and began to wrap his head, Emitis stepped in front of him, still waving and shouting in old Illyrnan. As he chanted, the High Priest met Anden’s glare with a smile of the purest satisfaction.

Suddenly Anden was trembling not with fear, but with fury. This man had beaten him, burned him, shattered him and sliced him open. This man had made him watch as Kiri was tormented, as she fought desperately for each breath. This fucking monster had made Anden torture her, too. And he had enjoyed every moment of it.

Anden had promised himself that once he and Kiri were free of this place, he would never look back. But he almost hoped he would see the High Priest again someday. Because Emitis deserved to die, and Anden wanted to be there to watch when he took his final, gasping breath.

As the winding-cloth was drawn over Anden’s eyes, the last thing he saw was Emitis’ hideous smile.

If Anden ever laid eyes on that smile again, he would kill the bastard himself.

But, damn it all, he couldn’t do that if he didn’t survive today.

He held tightly to the blade as he felt multiple pairs of hands at his shoulders and hips and knees, tipping him backwards until suddenly he was off his feet. It was disorienting, being moved through the air totally blind, and he couldn’t help but squirm in the arms that held him suspended. Something hard scraped at his right elbow, and the next thing he knew he was flat on on his back inside what he knew was the coffin. From somewhere above him came Kiri’s muffled cries; the sound came closer and closer until it was just to his left. She bumped against him as she thrashed weakly in her shroud, and, gods, this had to work—he had to get them both out of this.

He waited anxiously for them to lower the lid, desperate to begin working at his bonds as soon as possible. The light seeping through the winding-cloths disappeared, and a horrible thud reverberated through the coffin. And as he listened to the awful beating of the hammer nailing it shut, he could only seem to lay there frozen, his heart pounding in time with the hammer.

Suddenly everything was shaking; the coffin was lifted, then lowered to rest at the bottom of the boat with a thump that jarred his broken arm. Then they were swinging in midair, and the babbling of the river below them grew louder and louder until the boat hit the water with a small splash that knocked him into Kiri.

She shrieked, and immediately the urge to move, move, move rushed through him. He twisted his hand this way and that, trying to create enough room in the tight shroud to maneuver in. At last he managed to press the blade against the winding-cloths over his chest, just as the ropes anchoring the little boat were cut free.

Whether or not it was truly magical as the rumors said, Amantian steel was certainly every bit as remarkable as its reputation indicated. Despite his awkward grip on such a small blade, it tore through the fabric with ease. The bigger challenge lay in just how little he could reach, bound as he was, and how little room he had to move. And, of course, how very little time he had.

It didn’t help that Kiri was floundering beside him. All attempts to tell her to keep still were lost into his gag; even if he could have spoken, he didn’t know if she would hear him or if she was entirely lost in her fear.

Desperate for a way to reach her, he began to hum, that Koric ballad he’d heard her sing softly on so many awful nights. The melody was scarcely recognizable, breathless and off-key, and interrupted by frequent grunts of pain as his efforts to free himself pulled at the ropes around his broken arm. Still, as the song neared its end, Kiri suddenly went still. When Anden began the song again, her voice joined his, a few broken notes at a time between labored breaths.

By then he had cut through as much of the winding-clothes and the ropes around his chest and arms as he could reach. With a bit more room to move now, he pulled and strained and twisted his entire upper body trying to loosen the rest. It hurt—gods, his arm hurt so much that he screamed several times as colored stars filled his vision. But he did not stop, and neither did Kiri; though each of his cries made her sob, she lay perfectly still, humming in gasping bursts all the while.

At last, at last, one final hard pull sent his fists crashing upward into the lid of the coffin. His arms were free. He allowed himself one sigh of relief that he had not dropped the blade, before tearing at the cloth encasing his head.

The thin slivers of light peeking under the coffin lid might have been a welcome sight after the total darkness, but all he could think was how soon the water of the Great River would come pouring into every tiny crack.

Perhaps he was only imagining the damp spot in the winding-cloth at his left heel.

Yanking the fabric from his mouth, he worked his jaw for a moment. “Kiri?” he rasped. Propping himself up on his left shoulder, he reached across to her, but the moment he touched her she shrieked, her body flailing weakly.

“Sorry! Sorry, it's just me,” he said. There was no time to calm her first, but he kept his movements as gentle as he could as he worked to free her face of the winding-cloths. “It's Anden. I'm getting you out of this—it's just me. It’s just me.” He continued to murmur reassurances as he moved down to cutting the fabric encasing her torso. It was clumsy work, only one-handed, and more than once he was sure that he cut her. But her shrieks calmed to whimpers, and she stilled considerably, though he wasn't confident she truly recognized him. But once he'd finally freed her of the ropes, her hands immediately groped in the dark for him, seeking his face, his shoulders, his chest, her breaths shuddering in her relief.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's me,” Anden cupped her face, mindful of the blade. “I need to get to your legs—I can’t reach, there’s not enough room in here, so youre gonna have to help me. Can you do that?”

He felt her shaking nod, and he talked her through shifting onto her side and curling her legs upward, her knees resting on his stomach. It was just in time, too, because Anden most certainly was not imagining the dampness at his feet. Water was beginning to pool at that end of the coffin, and it was quickly spreading.

He made quick work of slicing through the cloth and the ropes winding up her legs. Her ankles and feet proved difficult to reach, but at last he managed to cut through the last of her bindings. “That was good. That was good, Kiri. Now when you stretch back out, you're going to feel a bit water—” He felt her stiffen beside him, a high-pitched whine caught in her throat. “You’re gonna feel a bit of water, but it’s okay. There’s not much. You're gonna feel a bit of water, and then I'm gonna give you the blade so you can help me. I’m still tied up, there’s not enough room in here for me to reach, so I need you to help me, okay?”

As he talked, he eased her legs off of him, and he felt a tremor rip through her body when she touched the growing puddle of the water. But she dutifully took the blade he pressed into her shaking hands. With her help, he was soon freed of his restraints as well. It was impossible to feel relieved, though—the water was now rising at an alarming rate. Already it was at least an inch deep.

For several minutes, he felt along the upper edges of the coffin, trying to find a way he could help open it from the inside. But when Kiri suddenly let out a series of distressed hums, he instantly gave up his search. Taking her hand in his, he murmured soft words of encouragement and promises that they would be okay. Antoni would come for them, he reminded them both over and over again. The most helpful thing he could do in the meantime, he decided, was help Kiri stay as calm as possible.

The water continued to rise. It soon grew exhausting to keep themselves propped up above its surface to breathe.

Frightened as he was, Anden kept talking. With each shaking exhale, he spoke of Antoni and Omika, how smart and brave and good they were, and how much Kiri would love them. How they were going to leave the city, leave the kingdom, and build a long, happy life together. He reminded her of everything they’d dreamed of during the long nights in their cells, how they would live in a little house far away from crowds of people, how they would spend summer nights laying under the stars, how they would save up enough coin to go travelling to see the sea.

Antoni used to hate the story of the riverman who loved the sea. When the jealous river tried to drown the riverman so that he wouldn’t leave her, when she told him he should curse the sea for calling to him and he refused, Antoni would always protest that it didn’t make any sense. If the sea had never called to riverman, then the riverman wouldn’t be about to die, so why did the riverman still love her? Anden would laugh, and tell him for the hundredth time that stories didn’t have to make sense. Their dad, as he always did, would offer the same explanation: “All good stories make sense in due time.”

They only had a scant few inches of air left. It took all their energy just to keep their faces above water.

They were running out of time.

Anden thought about Antoni, his smart-mouthed, pain-in-the-ass, thoughtful, perfect brother. He thought about Omika, precocious little Omika, how he’d missed watching her grow up, how she’d be furious with him for throwing away the chance she’d given him to escape.

He thought about the eight long years he’d lost, shivering in damp prison cells when he wasn’t toiling in harsh labor camps, and how the only thing that got him through it was dreaming of seeing his family again. For eight long years he would have done anything, anything at all, to see his family again.

He could have escaped three nights ago. He could have taken Omika’s key and run off to meet her. He could be with his family right now, journeying to the borders of the kingdom to go start a new life together.

But he couldn’t have left Kiri.

The sea had called to him, and even now that he was inches from death, he couldn’t regret listening.

“Gods, I love you,” he gasped.

Suddenly the sinking boat struck something, hard. It rocked violently, sloshing the water this way and that, and letting even more water rush inside. As he sputtered for air, he was startled further by a scraping at the lid of the coffin. At Kiri’s garbled scream, a muffled voice cried, “You’re not dead! Oh, you’re not dead, thank gods!”

“Antoni?” Pounding a fist against the lid, he called out, “Antoni!”

“Shit, no, don’t—don’t do that! We gotta get these nails out!”

“How long?”

“Two minutes!”

Water sloshed over Anden’s face; beside him Kiri snorted desperately to clear her only airway. “Make it one!”

The water was too high—they were out of air, and they were out of time. “Kiri—Kiri, big breath. Now!”

Overhead, another voice shouted, “We’ve got company!”

“Shit!” The scraping resumed louder, harder.

Anden couldn’t pretend he wasn’t terrified. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t trapped underwater with no way out, only seconds away from dying. But he wouldn’t lose his head, not now when it mattered most.

Kiri was panicking, thrashing against the thin lid of the coffin. Throwing his arms around her, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t in agony as the movement pulled at broken bone and her fist pounded into the cuts on his chest. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t holding her down and he was holding her down and he was killing her, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t drowning in fear and shame because gods, he was a piece of filth and he was killing her. But he couldn’t let anything make it even harder for Antoni to save them. He could feel all the pain and fear and shame, but he wasn't weak, he wasn't filth, and he wouldn't let anything stop him from doing what needed to be done.

A minute passed. Kiri’s struggling weakened. Anden’s chest tightened.

Above them, suddenly, a blinding light appeared.

They sat up, gasping, and when at last Anden could see he looked up into a familiar pair of green eyes.

Antoni.

He was alive. He was fucking alive, and he was with Antoni.

“Come on!” An arrow flew by, just overhead. Antoni ducked, and reached down for his hand. “We gotta go, now!”

Anden watched, horrified, as another red-flecked arrow struck his brother, and he fell into the Great River.

I'm low-key a little emotional posting this. This chapter is what inspired this whole fic; I had the idea a year ago of this fucked up sacrifice, and my first reaction was what a shame it was that I would never write it. But then I realized, I could just write it. And it turned into I don't know how many tens of thousands of words now. Crazy!

Anyway, sorry not sorry about that ending--I promise we're getting close to the end of this arc! But we still have a long way to go, cause there is definitely going to be a sequel lol

Can't thank y'all enough for sticking with me through this whole past year. The best part of writing this has definitely been all of you <3

taglist: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @monarchthefirst @whumplr-reader @scoundrelwithboba

Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

content warning: captivity, religious abuse, restraints, drowning, non-sexual nudity, mention of torture

[melonba11s]

Forest Fire (Strade/Plus-Size MC Fanfic)

This is a fic I wrote for @bitterandrotten ! Please follow them, they have very lovely art and sell cute keychains!

Contains: Afab MC, Plus Size MC, Oral (receiving), Non-Con, stress position, torture, after care, No ones being burned alive but theres a lot of fire based analogies used, knife play, it's Strade

Was there a way to make someone feel the pain of being burned alived without killing them? Sweat was dripping down your entire body, but it offered nothing to soothe the absolute fire coursing through your muscles.

Your feet were barely touching the ground, you could brush your toes across it but gain no support. It was driving you absolutely mad. Your arms wrenched behind you, attached to a thick metal hook Strade had embedded into the concrete, purely for this reason.

One tiny scene in a film he was watching, portrayed the torture of stress positions, and he’d had to try it. You had felt his fingers curl around your shoulder as the scene played out, his breath quickening as the protagonist screamed in absolute agony.

The actor’s dramatic performance couldn’t hold a candle to how this actually felt though. You were in such pain there was no longer any energy to scream. Each breath you took only served to make your bones creak, your muscles strain and your taut skin threaten to split.

Something that Strade was quickly growing bored with, you could tell. He liked it when you screamed, when you cried, when you begged. He wanted you to talk. Maybe that’s why he had given up on just watching, waiting from the shitty lawn chair he’d set up in the basement. You blinked dimly as the glint of metal caught your eye.

That knife, that fucking knife… He had it again. Approaching you, you only managed to whine pitifully as he held it to your arm, humming softly.

“This isn’t working as well as I’d hoped it would.” he said, looking disappointed, eyes raking over your sweat soaked body.

`“Well! Can’t believe everything you see in movies!” His mood switched instantly, as he ran the blade of the knife down your side, cutting perfectly between where two of your ribs were.

That's what ripped a scream from you, you jerked, away from the knife, less in pain but more in surprise. Movement made everything worse, and that's when the suspension finally ripped a more pain filled scream from you. Your entire body was on fire, the sweat it had produced to try and save it was now adding to it, the salty liquid running into the fresh cut.

Despite all of that though…

“Again.” You managed to wheeze out. The cut had been bliss compared to the hell your muscles were under. Your request brought a smile to Strades face, and he was more than ready to play dumb.

“Again? Do what again?” he asked, knowing it would take you several moments to catch a breath to speak again. While he waited, his rough, calloused hands made themselves at home on your body. Squeezing a handful of your stomach, rolling it in his hands as he waited for you to make your needs more clear.

“Cut. Me. Again.” You managed to spit out, a deep wheezing gasp between every word. He stopped playing with your soft flesh, flipping the knife in his hands and running it easily over your tummy. It hurt, but you could focus on it. You focused on how the tip dipped into your curves, how it began to split it so easily. Like carving through butter. And it was this focus that allowed you to stay still, to block out the fire in your veins caused by those damn chains and gravity.

And as soon as he took it out, Strade had his hands on you again. Smearing blood up your front, and you knew this was on purpose, using just enough strength to send your body rocking with the suspension. Even though there wasn’t much room to move, considering the short length of the chains hooking you to the wall, even just the whisper of movement he put on you caused you to scream again.

This time words found their way out too, begging that he craved. Declarations. Babbles about how your arms were about to be torn off, your nails dug so deeply into your palms from pain that you could feel blood running down them, wetting the chains.

Your hair hung in limp, clumpy curtains around your face, absolutely soaked through with sweat. You watched as it dripped down to the floor, your pain addled brain willing to cling to the most mundane of things as long as it served to distract from your torture. You could just begin to make out the soft “plap” of drops of liquid hitting the concrete before Strade’s knife found the junction of your hip and thigh.

He teased the folds of flesh there, as if he were teasing a lover, scraping the knife against it, before sinking it in. Strade had found his rhythm with this new type of fun, it seemed.

He couldn’t just let you stay there, silently hang in agony. He had to introduce other stimuli, prevent you from blacking out or blocking out anything. As blood poured down your thigh, he shifted his position, sliding his hand between your legs.

At first you dimly hoped he would lift you, ever so slightly. Instead though, he only began to rub your slit, dipping his fingers between it, a laugh rumbling in his chest as you instinctively squeezed your thighs around him, trapping his hand there.

“Eager?” He said, his voice sounding absolutely jovial. He tugged his hand out with some effort, and while you kept your gaze straight, you knew he was sucking his own fingers. He let out a low groan, sinking down to his knees.

You couldn’t lie, you had had fleeting thoughts in the past of being the one to tower over him. But those were little power fantasies of finally gaining back control, putting him in his place. Like this, with Strade nuzzling his cheek against your thigh, grinning up at you… It was no different from when he stood above you as you were tied to the pole, sitting on the ground.

Perhaps it was even more humiliating, though, as Strade pressed his face between your thighs, spreading them ever so slightly as he rose up until his lips met your cunt.

He didn’t get in so much as a single brush of his tongue against you though until you took advantage of him being so close, leverage and lift being available. You raised your legs up and instantly snapped them around his head, trying to take some pressure off your poor arms.

And it worked, to a point. There was no blissful relief, your arms were still stretched back uncomfortably, shoulders still twisted unnaturally. But at least a bit of your weight was taken off of them. And Strade was laughing, muffled. The scruff of his cheek tickled your inner thighs, his eyes gleaming with absolute joy. You could practically hear his voice, teasing you for being so eager.

He knew you weren’t eager for it, in fact you’d rather he do anything else right now. But as long as it sparked even the slightest bit of anger in you, Strade would do it. No matter how you felt though it didn’t stop the shudder that went up your spine, as his tongue ran over you yet again. His fingers were curling into your thick thighs painfully, as he began to lap at you like he was devouring a favored treat. Perhaps he was.

You couldn’t quite moan in your situation, instead you were letting out gasping, short wails. Each wave of pleasure was followed by a contradicting wave of pain throughout your body. Strade couldn’t be exactly comfortable where he was, his cheeks squished between your legs as you squeezed them together harder. Dimly you made an effort to try and cause him pain, images of his skull cracking between your thighs offering the smallest of comfort.

It didn’t stop him though, as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard. You tilted your head back as best you could, letting out a wail. It was overstimulating, far more painful than it was pleasurable. Your legs crossed around him, pulling him in closer despite desperately wanting to push him away.

And of course he didn’t stop. Before meeting Strade, orgasms had been a source of pleasure, relaxment for you. You hadn’t dreamed they could be painful.

You knew better now, Strade had forced you to see how he could turn your body against yourself. It beat on the inside of your head like a drum, like a stake being driven into your core as you screamed, cumming against him, feeling his teeth lightly scrape across your folds as he grinned, licking up his prize.

Your legs dropped from his shoulders as he moved away, standing up. Instantly, the fire was back, singing your muscles, coursing through your veins, every inch of you screaming for relief.

Strade was talking, saying something. You couldn’t quite hear him though over the crackling of the flames. Or were those your tendons and joints popping, finally giving out? Strade spoke again, and you tried to lift your head to look at him, open your mouth to speak.

Your body was in revolt now though, it refused to obey. You simply hung their limply, letting the fire rage on. Then there was the sound of a chain unlocking, the grating of metal on metal felt way too loud.

First your feet were flat on the floor, for a mere second as you stumbled forward. Your knees hit the concrete, surely bruised by the force. You moved your arms forward to catch yourself, but they still wouldn’t obey, and your cheek smacked into the floor. The concrete was cold, a rain shower came to put out the flames. You closed your eyes, hoping desperately that now that the blaze was over, you could just slip into unconsciousness.

But when the fire stopped burning, it was not without its damage. You tried to move your arms. There was nothing to move though. It was as though you were separated from them, they were no longer your own. The only thing left behind were the burnt stumps.

A hand on your shoulder, it felt more like a knife being driven into it as the abused muscle screamed in agony. You weren’t sure though if you were making a noise though. It felt as though you were underwater, everything was foggy. You were being shaken.

A few words managed to swim their way towards you though through it.

“... went too far?...” A few slaps to the face, then a slow caress, as if to erase the previous violent action. Slowly, you opened your eyes, meeting a pair of amber ones. Strade’s scrunched up, frowning expression relaxed a little as you stared at him.

“Aw, there’s those pretty eyes…” He sighed, almost wistful sounding, as he rubbed your cheek. You closed them again though quickly, trying to stop the flood of tears. A strange sensation was running through your arms. You could feel every string of muscle, a combination of numbness and needles running up them.

Your blood was boiling water, your skin was ash-laden earth. You wanted to scream, you wanted to throw up, you wanted to just pass out. A hand on your shoulder again, and you flinched back, finally finding your voice to let out a pitiful noise. You felt ruined, you didn’t even sound like yourself.

Strade was muttering to himself in German, and you heard the sound of his footsteps walking away. The quiet was bliss, you no longer had to strain yourself to comprehend what he was saying. But it was also torture, you had nothing to focus on to take your mind off of the pain.

You laid there in that torturous purgatory, wishing he’d come back, hoping he’d stay away, for a while. His footsteps approaching again filled you with both relief and fear.

“Here you go, Schatz.” His voice sounded soft, affectionate. You opened your eyes again just in time for him to lay something on your back. The muffled rustle of a bag, the instant chill, as well as the fast relief it applied. A large, makeshift ice pack.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The ache in your lungs told you that you’d been breathing unevenly for a while, and you began to gulp in the air as if you were a fish released back into the water.

“I guess I’ll be sticking to the knives for a while, won’t I?” One of his hands began to knead against your lower back. His fingers digging into the knots that had formed there, his palms smoothing them out.

You still couldn’t find any energy to respond with words, but you let out a grunt. You’d really prefer he’d cut you open to the fresh hell you’d experienced today.

However, this was also rather nice. You couldn’t help but sigh in relief as his hands descended, not yet wanting to touch your more sore parts, to your thighs. He filled his grip with handfuls of your flesh, kneading it, warming it with his own heat. Over the pain of your shoulders, you’d barely noticed the ache in your legs from straining for the floor.

But it was all ebbing away now underneath the calloused pads of his fingers. Strade continued to speak, even though you were unresponsive.

“You’ve got a lot of tension, Liebe.”

You let out an indignant snort. Who’s fault was that?

There was a rumbling noise you recognized as the beginning of a laugh from deep within Strade’s chest. The ice pack on your back was beginning to cause condensation to bead along your skin. Soothing water to cool the fire.

You experimentally moved an arm, only to hiss in pain. Strade began moving his hands back up, his beginnings of a laugh rising to a chuckle. This time, his hands moved to your sides. You flinched, the feather light touch tickling before he sunk his fingers into your flesh. It felt more like he was kneading you like you were dough than he was massaging you.

“I always loved how soft you are…” Strade mumbled, repeating something he’d said many times before. “It’s like having dinner. You’re always happier when there’s more food on the plate.” You wrinkled your nose at his analogy. It was like he was going to tear you apart, devour you… Considering the state he put you in, perhaps he was.

“I do think though… That you’re more like dessert.” He lifted the ice pack, beginning to move his fingers up to the most affected areas. You prepared yourself for gripping pain, of him digging his fingers into the tender muscle.

Instead though, he began gentle, as if he were stroking a cat.

“You’re meant to be savored… A rare treat. And you taste so sweet.” You heard him flick his tongue out to lick his lips. If you had the energy too, you’d surely blush right now, tell him to shut up.

His touches remained gentle, rubbing your chilled skin until it began to warm from his heat. Finally, you found the energy to speak.

“Strade… Can I have some Tylenol?” You asked. Your voice felt like gravel, your throat crackling as you spoke. Strade let out another laugh, though you didn’t see what was funny. But Strade had a habit of doing that, laughing just because he wanted to.

“You sound like ein frosch…” His fingers began to increase their pressure, sending a jolt of discomfort through you. “Let me help you to your feet, we’ll get you to the couch, and I’ll see if I have any.”

As you began to help you rise and stumble onto your shaking legs, he was laughing again. Your pain-addled, exhausted brain began to register something though. Strade laughed so much, because he found joy in something. He often laughed around you, because he found joy in you.

You felt like a fire was lit in you again. But rather than a raging forest fire, destroying life in its path… This was more like a campfire on a cold night. Warming, Comforting, and life saving.