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fluloa · 1 year

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Jake sully x reader [series, part two]

PART ONE

The sand burns beneath his feet, his skin hot and irritated from Eywa's unforgiving sun. Jake pats his ikran firmly on the chest, breathing steadily. He watches as people crawl out of their pods, emerge from the blue water and judging by their expressions, they aren't happy. He looks back to his family, gaze lingering on his oldest seeming weary and his fingers grazing the bow strapped to his ikran.

"Neteyam," he whispers sharply, and he looks to him, cowering away from the bow with a small huff through his nose. "On me," he commands his children, unable to hide the nervousness peering out of his tone. "Tuk," he mumbled, stretching his hand out for her to take. She runs to grab it, before settling her hands on the back of his leg.

Jake readjusts his slipping loincloth to sit comfortable on his hips before stretching his arms out wide, making sure to walk slowly and steadily. A sign of peace, a sign he could only hope they accept. He isn't able to stop himself from staring at the spears that some of the people hold, noticing the sharp, hard points of them. He does his best to keep his face neutral.

Two young boys and a girl crack through the thick group, slightly circling his sons.

"What is that? That supposed to be a tail?" One cracks, snickering and the other laughs with him. "How are they supposed to swim—"

The girl suddenly hits the cocky boy's arm, voice stern, "Do not, Roxto and Ao'nung."

Suddenly, the hushed talk of the people dies down a few notches.

Jake tilts his head to see a figure pushing— no, melting through the crowd, because they seem to be immediately parting for the said figure. He hears the light sound of shells rattling, smooth feet treading on the sand and before he can even catch his breath, there you are.

Weirdly enough, his mind jumbles. An unusual, unfamiliar bolt jitters through his body, settling at the pit of his stomach. Like a jolt of electricity.

You're of status. That much he can tell. Your black hair lavers down your back and over your shoulders, with a bundle of pearls and crystals twisted through it. You wear a lengthy sarong that lies loose around your hips, the right side cutting only at your calf. There are three crystalloid waist-beads that wrap around your torso, and your threaded top only covers what's necessary, and that too, is sprinkled with colorful spangles. Anklets, armlets, bracelets. A necklace that's crested with precious seashells and looped with glossy pearls. Your body is wet, skin dotted with water drops as if you had just gotten out of the ocean.

You scoop your hair out from your neck, unsticking it from your skin and moving it all to the back of you. He doesn't think he's ever seen a movement be done so gracefully.

A being that's ethereal, nothing he has seen before and it's something about you that reels him in like a fish caught on a hook. Your gaze finally locks with his, eyes ripe with curiosity and poise. His stomach does a flip, suddenly feeling the heat burning from beneath your expression. Your face is unreadable, your chin held high as you examine him and his family, and the sudden big whooshes from above him is the only thing that pulls his attention away from you.

Three big sea animals with long wings ride in, splashing into the water and one rider soaring on them is recognised easily. Tonowari, chief of the Metkayina, the reef people. He emerges from the water with a sense of power flowing behind him, and he strides with strength as his spear digs deep into sand each time he takes a step. They exchange greetings, and Jake's feels a sense of relief at the calm connection, as he knew Tonowari was a fierce leader.

But it wasn't him Jake was worried about.

Ronal emerges through the crowd, hips swaying gently and her face is unreadable, just like yours. She holds a strong aura, and her skirt rattles powerfully against her teal skin as she takes long, wary appearing steps.

"I see you, Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayinas," Jake rushes, connecting his fingers to his head and releasing them swiftly. She says nothing in return, only flicking her eyes over his kids scattered behind him.

"Jakesully," Tonowari begins. "Why do you come to us?"

Jake licks swiftly at his lips, "We seek Uturu."

"Uturu?" Ronal snaps, like he has just insulted her with three striking words.

"Yes— sanctuary for my family," Jake reaches for Tuk standing meekly behind him, grasping her hand and bringing her gently forward.

"We are reef people," Tonowari lets a soft, unbelievable laugh escape from his chest. Ronal begins to circle Jake and his family. "You are forest people. Your skills will mean nothing here."

"So we will learn your ways, yeah?" Jake pleads.

Ronal grabs at Jake's tail, earning a little jut of his body from the unexpected action. She strokes her hand down Tuk's arm. "Their arms are thin," she states loud. It takes him by the unexpected when he feels another set of hands settling on his tail, and he whips his head around to see you, fingers grazing the length.

"Their tails are thin as well," you say, earning a small nod from Ronal. You drop his tail, now stepping over to his little girl behind him. "Mother," you murmur, jutting your head towards Tuk and she follows the movement, humming lowly. Mother. You were the clan leader's daughter, the next tsahik in line. He now understood the mutual energy you both shared.

"The thinness of your body parts will make you weak," Ronal then pulls on Kiri's tail, earning a whiney ow from her but the tsahik completely ignores it. "You will be slow in the water."

Ronal examines her arms, then moves to settle on her hands, and her eyes widen. She swiftly grabs at her them, swinging them up for everyone to see. "These children... are not even true na'vi." She strides over to the next kid, and of course, she lands on Lo'ak. She pushes his hand up too, revealing the same five blue fingers, "They have demon blood!"

The thick crowd swirls with gasps and terror-filled whispers, even a round of hisses chucked out. But Jake is quick to wave his hand out in front of Ronal's face, a sudden desperation, a sudden need to protect his family rushing in. "Look. Look!" Ronal's gaze snaps to him, eyeing the way his fingers wiggle around. "Look, I was born of the Sky People and now I am Na'vi. Alright? You can adapt." He turns to his worried family, "We can adapt."

"My father was Toruk Makto," Kiri rushes to tell, her eyes hung with slight desperation in them. Jake bites at his tongue, pulling all his inner strength together to not clamp his hand over his teenage daughter's mouth. "He lead the clans to victory against the Sky People. You know the tale."

"This is what you call victory, child? Hiding amongst strangers?" She towers over the teenage girl, her gaze darkening with disgust. She whips her head to Jake, "It seems Eywa has turned her back on you, chosen one."

An immediate, breathy hiss comes from Kiri, which is then met with a hiss from Ronal right back, dangerously leaning over her and that's when Jake places a hand on Kiri's shoulder and gently rocks her back a few steps. "I apologise for my daughter. She has travelled for a long time and is exhausted." He shoots her a look while explaining, tightening his grip on her shoulder slightly.

"Dad..." Kiri is quick to complain, but stops her next coming words when his expression hardens.

"Toruk Makto is a great leader, all Na'vi people know his story." Tonowari suddenly speaks out, extending his arm outwards toward Jake. "But we Metkayina are not at war," Tonowari turns to him. "We cannot let you bring your war here."

As Tuk numbly reaches for Jake, he immediately scoops her up by her torso, laying her head against his shoulder as her body presses sleepily at his chest. "I'm done with war," he plains, tone hugging a tiredness. "I just want to keep my family safe. That's all." He wraps an arm around his daughter's back, feeling the burning warmth of her sun-exposed skin. "Please," he adds.

A long look is exchanged between Ronal and Tonowari, and as restless anticipation boils at Jake's stomach, Tonowari turns around to him once again.

"Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us." Immediate relief floods through Jake's system, and he gives a reassuring pat to Tuk's small back. "Treat them as our brothers and sisters. But they do not know the sea, and they will be like babies taking their first breath. We shall teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless."

Jake huffs out a breathless laugh, mixed with soft adrenaline and consolation. "Well— what do we say? Thank you."

A round of thank yous are heard, and a short, quiet one is added on by his attitude-filled daughter, Kiri.

"My eldest daughter will teach you the ways of Metkayina, Jakesully. As for my other daughter and son, they will show your children what to do," Tonowari speaks and a choked scoff is heard from beside him. Your jaw tightens, eyes setting wide as you whip your body towards your parents.

"Father," you dash. "You cannot exp—"

"It is decided." He booms, not sparing you even a look and your lips break into a snarl, a tiny and annoyed hiss breaking past your them. You seem to collect yourself just a moment after, breathing in through your chest before you take a large step forward.

"Come, I will show you our village," you invite, letting a small smile spread on your face and placing your hands neatly behind you. "Tsireya," you call, and she quickly follows after.

"Come!" the younger girl behind you cheers, and Jake swears he hears a soft laugh from in front of her.

He's quick to join you.

The ocean waves crash against your feet, splashing at your ankles as you toss food into a young ilu's mouth. You hold a basket at your hip, filled with fresh fish that is ready to be eaten.

Tsireya stays restless beside you, rising up and down on her toes as she helps you. "What do you think of Toruk Makto and his family?" you ask, dipping your hand into the basket again and wrapping your fingers around the thick of a fish's wet body.

Beforehand, you had examined Jakesully and his family from afar as they settled into their new home. You were relieved that they had seemed to like their marui pod, and hoped that they found peace within it. While they attempted to grow comfortable in their new home, you couldn't help but awe at their appearances. Their skin colour was a shade so blue, their eyes a vibrant, startling yellow.

Jakesully is intriguing looking, you figured, and you found yourself letting your eyes linger on him when they had firstly arrived. Even just before, you had to forcibly pull your eyes away from him and the action of the readjustment of his leather clip around his torso.

"I find them interesting. They're so.. blue." Tsireya replies. You throw the fish into another ilu's mouth, a happy chirp flowing from the eager animal as you do so. "You were upset about teaching Toruk Makto the ways of our people. Why?"

You blink, collecting another fish in your hands, "I was not upset about that. I was upset about the fact that father throws tasks at me repeatedly, and just expects me to handle it with the snap of my fingers. I'm aware that this was a completely unexpected event, but... it can get infuriating. Mother is the same."

"I understand," she responds, tucking a bunch of hair behind her ear.

You huff out a breath of air. "Fine, I must admit that I was a bit tempered in the moment. Toruk Makto does not seem like the ideal man to teach."

Tsireya laughs, "I understand that, too."

"Mm," you make a small, giddy humming noise. "Lo'ak seems ideal though, yes?"

"What?" she frowns, and your smirk widens.

"I saw you making big eyes at him," you tease, kicking her ankle softly with your foot.

"I wasn't."

"Oh, I think you were, hi'i ilva." You kick her again, finding amusement in her growing fluster. She groans out your name, pushing you in the shoulder and you gasp out a dramatised grunt, "Ooow!"

"You said you were going to stop calling me that," she embarrassingly wipes at her cheek, stretching out the skin of her eye.

"But you used to love it when you were little," you pout. Her frown deepens playfully. You notice the way her eyes travel over you, and a cheeky grin of her own makes its way to her smooth lips.

"Don't look now, but Toruk Makto is staring at you." Tsireya whispers giddily, ducking her head a little.

Your back straightens instinctively and you immediately turn your head around to look, doing exactly what she said not to do. Tsireya groans because of it.

She's right. Jakesully is looking at you from afar, and when he sees that you've caught him, he pushes out a dopey smile, flicking his still hand up in greeting. You nod your head back, letting a tiny smile split your lips. He begins walking over to you, and that's when you sigh quietly.

"Go help out Toruk Makto's children," you say, handing your basket to a villager ready to finish the task. "Use nice words, and make them feel welcome. And keep Ao'nung in line. Anything goes south, call out for me."

"Alright," she giggles, and you can tell she's excitement. She grazes your arm in goodbye and trots off, filling you with a small warmth at her obvious eagerness.

You wish you too possessed eagerness for teaching Jakesully, but Eywa didn't seem to be on your side today.

When he's near enough, you gently ball your fingers in a small fist on your forehead and then release them, a soft bow of your head. "Oel ngati kameie."

"Oel ngati kameie," he returns, repeating the gesture. There's a sense of awkward tension between the two of you. It's small, but it's there.

"Come," you command, sliding your hands behind your back and he listens, trailing behind you like a lost baby ilu following its mother. He attempts to match your long strides against the sand, even flicking up some and bits of it sprigging you in the legs. "My sister is eager to teach your children. She makes a great teacher. They will learn quick."

"That's good," Jakesully grumbles. You can feel his eyes stare into your face.

"I hope I make a great teacher to you, Toruk Makto." You add, flicking your fingers in your conjoined hands.

"Jake," he says, now grabbing your attention and you spin your head towards his. "Call me Jake."

"Jake?" you ask, the foreign word springing off your tongue loosely.

"Jake." He confirms, a smirk twitching on his lips. "And what shall I call you?" he prods, letting his eyes flick a mischievous glint.

"Karyu," you reply. Teacher. You aren't looking at him, but you hope he doesn't see the ghost of a grin playing on your mouth. You do catch the little flick of his tail though from the corner of your eye.

You begin to sink into your feet into the water, ushering him with the flick of your wrist and as you dive deeper into the sea, you glide a hand along an incoming ilu. "You will make bond with many ilu. They are kind, soft creatures. Treat them as your brother, your close one," you explain, rubbing a hand over the ilu's head before you.

Jake's next to you, placing a hand on its back. You take his hand, guiding it to the base of her long neck and angling his fingers to rest at the side of it. "Feel the strong huff of her breath, the scales of her skin."

He does as told, smoothing his palm flat onto her neck. Then his ears perk up, and his eyes run over to a spot behind you. "What's that?"

You attempt to look where his gaze was set, and you sigh once seeing where it was. "That is a skimwing. Only the most skilled Metkayina hunters may mount them."

You can see the way his eyes dart open, looking to you from the side and before he can even open his mouth, you're scolding him, "It isn't wise to start with a skimwing. An ilu would be much better."

He grins for the hundredth time today, but this time you're able to catch a glimpse of his pearly teeth. "Toruk Makto can handle a skimwing, ma karyu."

The skimwing is puffing out ragged and intimidating breaths as Jake flops belly first onto his back, swinging his leg over recklessly as a few men around them struggle to keep the beast down. Its back end thrashes, splashing water wildly and hitting you a couple of times. You're at the eager man's side, keeping your own and holding down the skimwing with an arm on its side.

"You hold here, yes— tight grip, Jake. Do not let go," you declare with your voice raised, trying to boom over the loud smack of the thrashing animal beside you. Jake grabs the leather band out from his mouth, using it to wrap it around his hand and the thick handle. "Remember, when you dive back into the water, keep a good position. Strong hold."

"Mhm," Jake mumbles, half-paying attention as he yanks the band a few times, stabilising the hold. Then he looks at you, and with a quirked lean of his head, he states, "I got this."

You breathe in deeply through your chest, taking a step back as you eye him steadily.

"Heeyah!" he shouts, the skimwing pouncing into action. It swivels and bolts through the water, and you watch as it jolts up and out of it, orange bold wings flapping out powerfully. You're impressed by it, with the way Jake hops up on one foot and rides the skimwing not flawlessly, but bravely. You even begin to tilt your head to get a clearer view of the scene. But then you notice the mishap, the leak of his performance when diving back down.

The skimwing escapes him, and he's left on his side before he's jumping up from the water, locks of black hair swishing back and forth. He swings up his arm, the hand that was once twisted into the skimwing's handle, now waved up in the air as he shakes it with anger. You can hear him groaning out in frustration, and a short laugh snorkels out from your mouth. You call for an ilu, hopping on it with a chortle and gliding to his aid.

"Toruk Makto cannot handle a skimwing as it seems," you tease, earning a chopped, slightly sheepish laugh from Jake. Your grin weakens when you see his arm, now reddened with whipped marks that seemed less severe from two hundred metres away. "Would you like something to aid that?"

"This? This ain't nothing." He brushes off, shoving the arm into the water.

"Hm," you murmur, raising a brow gently. "I will aid it for you if it does not fade within a few days."

"It's fine. Really—" he sees the expression on your face, and it's an expression that tells him that you will not give up on persistence. He sighs lowly. "'right, sweetheart."

Sweet heart? A heart that is sweet, you gathered. You've heard of many stories that your mother has told of the humans, and their foul and odd language. But this, you had not heard of. It should not have made the inner of your belly swirl with a sudden warmth like it had.

You raise your head, "Let's return to the ilu."

It's at the dark of night, and Jake is sat down with his family. Just like the Omoticaya, the Metkayina gather around for supper, a large bonfire in the middle of the peaceful people. The fish he chews is warm and smokey with flavor, his body tired from the day's work. Tuk is leant against his shoulder, a yawn leaving her. Neteyam sharpens an arrow of his bow, and Kiri is playing with one of her beads mangled in her hair as Lo'ak recklessly gobbles down his dinner.

He feels a sudden glow spread through his chest, because what he feels is the similar sensation of peace. Peace, at last. It partially convinces him to believe that what he did was right. It was right to rip himself and his family away from their home, to protect them from Quaritch and the vicious forces of the RDA.

He looks out in front of him and past the bright fire, his line of eyesight landing on both you and your family. You're scratching your knee as the bonfire toasts around you, its orange light illuminating on your face and giving the shade of your big eyes a warm glow. Ronal then looks to you, and the trace of her eyebrows pinch together. "Eat, child. You have barely touched any food," she snaps.

Obviously embarrassed, you heave out a long, exhausted sigh. "Mama," you whine out, a flush erupting on your cheeks and Jake has to suppress a chuckle from breaking out his chest.

Ronal picks up your wooden bowl, jutting it toward you. "Eat," she sterns. You take it from her, side-eyeing her as you begin to stuff your mouth little by little. When Jake realises he's been looking too long, he snaps his head down, mentally slapping himself.

When the lights are out and the only noise that goes through Jake's ears is the cold wind, Jake sits. He sits in his marui, as his children sleep soundly. It wasn't out of the ordinary. It had been like this for a while, ever since Neytiri had left him and gone into the hands of Eywa. He'd just wait and wait, until his eyes finally became wary, and sometimes even that didn't happen. Sometimes he would not find the comfort of sleep at all.

But then he hears the bend of the floor nets near him, the same clatter of shells he heard earlier that day and his ears flicker against his hair. He slowly gets up, careful not to awake the sleeping youngsters beneath him as he creeps his way to the closed opening of the pod.

When he opens the cloth flap, there you are, head flicked up and looking up at him with those big eyes of yours. "Hello," you say, and it's the quietest he has heard you.

"Hey," he mutters, gaze turning to his kids for a split second.

You lean your head over too, "Are they asleep?"

"Yes." He states, looking back at you. It's quiet for a second, and he takes the moment to do a once-over of you. Your hair is completely out, wild and breezing gently through the ocean's breeze. A shawl is wrapped loosely around your form, beaded with tiny shells that dangle each time your arm shifts.

"Tsireya has told me they are kind. That they are eager to learn." You continue, adjusting your shawl to cover your shoulder a bit more.

"That's good," he says. He gets a jolt of déjà vu from the conversation you shared earlier today. His eyes drift to the way a large piece of your hair sways in front of your shoulder and pools at the centre of your chest.

You then say a word, and he doesn't quite catch it.

"Hm?" he whispers, eyes connecting with yours once again.

"That is my name," you repeat it again, the word rolling off your tongue like a run of honey. His eyes twitch wide, blinking as his mind registers it. A pretty name for a pretty girl. He doesn't say that, though.

Instead, "S' pretty."

"Thank you," you mumble, already turning to leave when he calls out your name. You tilt your head, gazing up at him through the thick of your eyelashes.

"Just wanted to say it," he admits, and fuck, shit, he's already regretting it. He expects you to do anything but crack a gentle smile, a muffled and soft laugh from you as you turn back and walk away. He watched your form disappear into the night, the clattering of seashells fading from his ears.

When he climbs back into the pod, for the first time in a while, he finds the comfort of sleep easily.

- guys im so sorry i could not do a taglist for this shit there was about TWO HUNDRED PEOPLE ASKING. i think i’ll gradually add everyone onto a taglist but for now, there is not one. sorry bbies <333

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louroth · 10 months

Note

Lou I'm so sorry for this random thought but I had to leave it out in the open: remember that ask whose premise was a role swap between L and the hunter?

Just, what would they have thought of the 'puppet corpse' the Vicar brought, of her words about a celestial seemingly taking the hunter as their spouse?

"They're what?" Leith's one brow raises in interrogation as they pin the vicar with their stare, dark as night.

"A concubine."

It starts as a mere twitch in Leith's eye, their body perfectly still, hunched as they are over the body of the hunter like a mother of dragons protecting her young. There's a hitch in their breath as their eyes flicker to the hunters dead gaze, and then they start to rumble from deep within their chest, something terrible prowling in there, begging to be let out. Their eyes slowly travel back to meet the vicars, wanting nothing but to wipe the smug smile off her face. Without thinking, Leith flings a knife that grazes her serpentine torso before lodging into a pew. There’s a beat of stunned silence even as the knife rattles and the guards stiffen into readiness.

And then she laughs. Like it's genuinely funny. If Leith had any less self preservation, they'd plunge another knife into the vicars throat and listen to her gurgle, and then they'd laugh, too. They'd laugh and laugh and laugh.

Instead Leith clenches their jaw and hefts the weight of the hunter into their arms silently, as if it's no matter at all; as if their knees aren't buckling and their chest isn't being torn in two. They turn on their heel, walking out. The vicar snickers, stopping her guards with a waggle of her fingers.

She won't hear the promise Leith whispers into the deaf ears of the hunter. But she knows. Leith will stop at nothing to find them again.

------

Leith buries the hunter beneath the tree they once climbed together as younglings, placing a palm against the trunk as if they could bleed it for memories. They kiss the earth where the hunter lay, and [whatever flower you associate with your hunter] begins to grow there the second they do. It breaks what little sanity Leith has left to see the first sprout break through the loose dirt, to then recognizing the bloom, and they rise then, slowly- like a new metamorphosis- they set their jaw and check their knives and then they walk into the forest, one simple goal in mind: to find what's theirs and take it back. Whatever it takes.

#L's rage is very quiet but this? they would probably lose their mind!#AUGH THANK YOU NONY THIS BROKE MY HEART #OUROBOROS #ouroboros-if #interactive fiction #leith/custom #the rest of the team catching up to leith whos just forest gumping the walk to lake sevell like a damn terminator:#atleast this got them out of the house #id in the back being extremely concerned: i dont think you understand. leith is going to level the entire world if we dont find the hunter #leith: i am going to kill a god and eat it

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lovedrunkheadcanons · 7 months

Text

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M

A predator knows how to hide in plain sight; A lion will camouflage with the Saharan grass next to a herd of grazing zebra; A bolas spider will emit chemicals akin to female moth pheromones to lure prospective male moths towards its web; A thousand year old cursed spirit will split his essence into twenty fingers and scatter himself to places forgotten by man, ready to be made whole. Predators understand that to hunt their prey, you must first lower their defenses. Give them a false sense of security. Dupe the fools into believing they are safe and sound and the danger has passed when it lies waiting on their doorstep. Hungry.

Satoru didn’t trust the finger outright. He wasn’t so naive as to think it could ever be that simple. His plan was to monitor. Cursed objects had to be monitored for twenty-four hours when found. Kumari was strong, but if anything were to go wrong she wouldn’t stand a chance, and his wife’s behavior only made him more suspicious, hence why he took the finger home (and maybe also to appease his inquisitive nature). Hannah thought nothing of it when they returned. It’ll be gone in the morning, she thought and cozied up beside her husband on the futon later that night. Satoru would take care of everything. He always did.

So she thought.

From the time she was small, since the tender age of five or six, Hannah had been hearing voices. One hears many voices when inheriting The Sight. Mostly last breaths and dying screams. A curse cackling by the carnage of torn bodies. All of them disturbing and violent and horrible. So why would this be any different?

It rasped somewhere far in the distance. Thames. Over the pine crested peaks of Mt. Takao, the mokoshi penthouse roofs, and the torii gates. Thames. It blew across the school yard, rustling passed the trees, billowing near their house, sighing through the eaves, through the walls, just outside Hannah’s bedroom. Rattling her eardrums.

She heard claws scrape across the floor, repeating a name no longer hers.

Thames.

Satoru’s arm was wrapped snugly around her torso, holding her dear, yet she had no trouble breaking free and rising from the floor, leaving him sound asleep on the futon. “Mmph,” he grunted and stirred at the feel of something missing, but then switched positions and grew still once more, snoring contently on their shared pillow.

Somnolent, Hannah stood and walked towards the entrance, a thin nightgown strap hanging loosely off her shoulder. The door slid open by its own accord, but she did not return to the only person who could grant her safety. Out to the beyond she wandered.

Each step felt lighter than air down the tatami woven corridors, the shoji panels. Door after door after door, adjarring without interruption, her silhouette a mere shadow across the many lantern-lit halls. The voice beckoned louder. Thames. It wanted her. She would answer.

She came to a halt at the twelfth door, riddled in spell-tags. The incantation Satoru recited could be traced back to the earliest of jujutsu, some say since before the monolithic Jōmon began texturing their clay with bands of rope.1 Ancient jujutsu was the purest form of sorcery for good reason. Untainted. Indomitable. Satoru had mastered the secret incantation quicker than his predecessors. Nothing on heaven or earth should’ve been able to cross those barriers and remove those spell-tags.

Hannah did so without lifting a pinkie.

The barrier didn’t object to her presence, and the paper tags unglued themselves, one by one, scattering to the floor like a pile of white autumn leaves. The door slowly parted. Inside over by the corner was the sealed box. That’s it now, come here. Come to me. Five steps and she was hunkered down in front of it like a curious Pandora, nescient of the evil she was about to release upon the world. She flicked open the notches.

The floor beneath collapsed.

Hannah felt she was falling…

falling.

Her bare feet hardly made a splash in the blood water, wading just above her knees. Something ripe mushed between her toes. The air stank heavily of decay and iron. Though her eyes were transfixed by the large blackened ribs scaffolded above like an animal enclosure.

On a mound of bones, human and beast, buttressed and stacked high, was a notch arranged into a dais. The eery crimson light, emanating from God knows where, began building in strength, and the bone-filled graveyard started to unveil its secrets. She saw the outline of a figure seated atop the bones. Something like four monstrous arms, two sets of eyes, tattoos, and a mouth where a stomach should've been.

Regaining her wits, Hannah’s head began to throb. Her knees quaked. Blood ceased circulating to her legs from the cold water. She couldn’t feel the oxygen exit her lungs, nor her heart crumble and un-crumble like a reused plastic bottle.

“W-Where am I?” she croaked.

She saw one of its two mouths twist into a wry, sinister grin and suddenly felt she had unintentionally signed her death certificate. That’s not human, she thought. Not anymore. An alien life form. A freak of nature. Demonic.

“Woman.” the four-armed demon drawled above its mountain of skeletons, man and beast. “Did Uraume send you?”

Hannah stayed silent, struck paralyzed from the waist down.

“Are you a challenger?” it spoke again.

Tendrils of fear clamped around her throat. “A what?” she said dumbly.

The demon gave out a snorting laugh, “Guess not,” and rose to its feet. In a flash, it was standing in front of her, frame hulking and grotesque, roughly seizing her face between a mass of blackened claws, hooking a thumb to her lower lip. Hannah drew mute. The malevolence in its four vermillion eyes was a raw, insatiable sort.

“Weak,” the demon crooned, and stretched its mouth into that awful, predacious grin that conveyed unspeakable harm. Something knife-point sharp tapped her lower back.

The last thing Hannah heard were cruel peals of laughter before the world was swallowed inside a scarlet sea.

A goodnight’s sleep was a hardfought luxury for a jujutsu sorcerer. Not that it mattered much. Satoru sucked at sleeping anyways. Always had. Always will, so it didn’t take much for him to become gradually aware that the primal, gut-wrenching screams ringing in his subconscious were not a figment of his dreams, but real.

Oh so terrifyingly real.

The Six Eyes wielder could recall the time he witnessed the late cauterization of a grown bull, back when the estate was in the business of raising livestock. Most dehornings are performed when the bull is a calf to reduce infection and long-term pain: chemical solutions,"tubes," saws, keystone dehorners, you name it. But the rancher they hired cared little for the well-being of their cattle, and thought axing the bull’s horns with an old splitting maul and cauterizing the wound with a branding iron was the method of choice; highly illegal. Satoru watched him tie the bovine’s head down in a compromising position and with zero remorse start chopping. The agonized lowing that left the animal with each forceful thwack of the maul. The blood. Satoru couldn’t remember much of what he did afterwards, other than running to Makoto in tears. He freed all the estate’s livestock the day he became clan-leader, suppressing childhood trauma he hadn’t told a single soul.

Now twenty years later, Hannah’s tormented screams reminded him of that one bull.

There was no escaping it.

Wide awake and panicked, he twisted himself over to see his wife thrashing wildly on the bedding, her screams not of fear, but of pain; vocal chords cracking and clicking from too much exertion. She couldn’t catch her breath.

But what alarmed him most were her eyes. Hannah’s frightened eyes were like two dying stars, glowing a bright, ember red, inflamed and leaking a flood of tears, staring wide open.

He grabbed her by the arms, shaking, voice pleading for her to wake up, but every attempt failed. She scrambled to get away, wincing whenever his fingers came too close to touching her back.

This did not go unnoticed. Holding her at an angle, Satoru ever so gently slipped a hand underneath and felt his body grow cold at the sensation of something warm and sticky soaking the satin nightgown, the tang of rust. He began praying, Please be sweat, please be sweat, and slowly removed his hand.

The palm was coated so thickly in blood you’d think it was fresh paint, staining the once white futon into a dark, sickly grenache that would never wash out. With trembling hands, Satoru mustered the courage to flip her over and see what his heart earnestly wanted to deny.

Bile rushed to his throat. It was worse than he could’ve imagined.

Gashes like a jagged cuneiform were scrawled all along the expanse of her back; phantom claws, five tallies each, plowing deep into the skin, digging for purchase. Hannah sobbed more violently than ever. Her pallor was like stained glass left exposed to sunlight, faded and drained of color. Blood. Blood everywhere.

To his frustration, Satoru’s eyes detected nothing wrong. He saw no neon trail, no grimy residuals, an invisible enemy he could not see and could not fight; a true ghost. The band of gold on his finger started burning.

What is this?

Hannah’s strangled cries were growing weaker by the second, either from fatigue or something far more life upending. Her lips took a bluish hue from the oxygen not circulating to her brain and the rest of her body, hazel eyes glassy. If he didn’t act now, she’d be gone forever.

“Stay with me, Hannah.”

Satoru scooped his wife in his arms, her cries faint and disoriented, and ran like hell out the door.

“Please, don’t die.”

Chapter Contents

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru x oc #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #gojo x oc #gojo takes a wife #satoru gojo

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yourdeepestfathoms · 2 years

Text

probably the most brutal of all the Whumptober prompts i have planned. please be wary of the content, y’all! it’s gory!

“I’m stuck,” Ocean says again. Talking is strange for her, too, but it’s not just because she can feel the slime of her vocal cords sliding against the tissue of her throat. During the accident, the cart collided with something after derailing, causing the entire front part to crumple like a crushed soda can. In the process, she must have struck her torso against the safety bar in front of her, shattering her rib cage into chips. Her chest is a broken mirror, and the pieces of her destroyed ribs are fragments of glass that pierce the soft surface of her lungs. Whenever she breathes, she can feel them dig in like the sharp teeth of a rabid dog, and whenever she speaks, they rattle like loose teeth in the oozing mouth of a young child.

But, as uncomfortable as they may be, her ribs are the least of her worries right now.

Because of the whole “the front part of the cart looks like a crushed soda can” thing, the metal of the train has, as a result, crumpled inward.

Directly into Ocean’s legs.

Day 3: A Hair's Breadth From Death - Imapled

#ride the cyclone #rtc #rtc fanfiction #ocean o’connell rosenberg #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #constance blackwood #ricky potts #the amazing karnak #the postmortem interval #whumptober 2022

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themrsackerman · 3 years

Text

Angel of Paradis

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers from Season 4. Mentions of gun violence, blood, death

A/N: Now I know EP8 is only the beginning of the end but goddamn it hurts!! I love potato girl and losing her just tore me to bits. So here, take this. Its my way of coping I guess..

Levi is pissed off. From the start, he disliked the plan but it wasn't like Eren gave you all much of a choice. So the moment the kid got on the airship, he was welcomed with one of the captain's infamous kicks. The cockpit wall quakes with the impact and Hange sighs, shooting you a look. "I think you need to get out there and make sure Levi doesn't kill Eren, Y/n." She says exasperatedly and you nod, rising from your seat next to Onyankopon.

"I'll be right back." You say and she flashes you a knowing grin, shaking her head slightly. Even the commander knows you're the only one who could reign in the Levi Ackerman.

You see Levi on the corner glaring at Eren as he was being tied up. You sigh heavily, seeing Eren steaming as he heals. Jaw probably unhinged from the captain's kick. You sat beside him on the bench and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his face clean from dirt and blood.

"Y/n-san." He greets you monotonously and you gave him a kind smile. "Hey, kid." You greet back, tucking loose strands of his now long hair behind his ear.

Your heart aches at the sight. He used to have so much fire, had the same will to fight for humanity that you only ever saw in your mentor, Erwin. Now all you see is ember of pure hatred and cold blooded need for revenge. "I'm glad you're okay." You murmur. Eren's blank stare softens for a second and a small smile hints the corner of his mouth. "Glad to see you too, Lieutenant." He says quietly and out of the corner of your eyes, you see Levi roll his eyes and make a disgruntled sound as he turns around.

You walk up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Levi meets your gaze with his dull gray ones for a second and sighs, his expression softening too. At this you smile a little and say, "We still have a long battle to fight ahead of us, Captain. Things might not have gone smoothly, but we won today." You remind him and as if proving your point, right on the other side of the ship you hear the soldiers celebrate as they reunite.

"You're right." He agrees. Levi then takes a deep breath and grabs the hand you placed on his shoulder so he can bring it to his face. He turns his head and placed a chaste kiss on your palm. Your heart flutters at the gesture. It isn't grand but was still something you couldn't quite get used to. You two never declared your love for one another, never really had the luxury of time or chance to do so, but small acts like this was enough to let you know that your presence provided him the calm he sorely needs. And that was all you want. Be his peace in this war.

"I'm going to check if the rest of the squad made it back up." You tell him, grazing your thumb on his lower lip and he reluctantly lets you go. "Be back as soon as you can. Meeting will start as soon as this fucking monkey heals enough." He says, cold glare flashing at the other Jaeger who is a pile of steam still laying on the ground. "Okay, I'll just check on Lima's squad. They're the last ones to be picked up supposedly." Levi nods again and watches you leave before turning to talk to Yelena.

You smile past Floch and the other soldiers who are weeping, hugging and making their tributes for those whom had fallen in battle. You then saw three of the soldiers you've grown close with through the years. They were huddled in the corner, sharing a hug.

You hear Jean say in protest, "Dont hug people with that lump ass iron gear on.", while shrugging off Connie's arm. You chuckle at this and tackled him back to the embrace. "Shut the hell up, Jean. I would take Connie's armored hugs any day!" To which the trio whines out, " Lieutenant Y/l/n!!" when you squished them tight.

Although the new gear designed by Hange was in deed not made for hugging, you four relaxed in the uncomfortable embrace. Grounded by the fact that you all made it safe despite the battle you had just gone through. Connie and Sasha smile up at you while Jean tries to still look annoyed, although the softness in his eyes says otherwise.

The soldiers left below start coming in and the cheering just grows even louder. You didn't have the heart to stop them because you yourself are quite happy that today was a success despite some casualties. Now, you have the War Hammer titan as well and were able to destroy the fleet. Now, the Eldians' chance stands higher against this damn war.

"Did you hear that just now?"

Sasha asks out of the blue and you turn to her in wonder. Honestly you couldn't hear anything but the soldiers celebrating. But out of the lot of you, you know Sasha's sense of hearing is far superior than all of you combined. So you take a step back from the crowd and actually looked around.

"Hey, quiet down!!"Jean yells over the chanting but Floch shouts, "Make some noise! Victory!!!" And was echoed by the rest as they embraced and pumped their fists in the air.

"Hey!" Jean tries again only to be pulled by Connie to the side to ask, "Isn't Lobov-san still out there?"

"No, I think he came aboard." Jean says thoughtfully and this was when something didn't sit quite right with you. Commander Lobov is a man that is hard to miss. And with his dedication to this mission to make up for his years being a useless garrison, he would be amongst the soldiers cheering the loudest for the said victory.

Your instincts has never failed you before and its the very reason why you are so good at your job and able to survive this long. But sometimes, you wish that your instincts aren't always right because you always perceive danger. And right now, every fiber of your being is telling you something is fucking wrong.

That if you were to look out the airship right now, you'll probably see the commander lifeless.

Or worse, an enemy may have made its way up to the ship.

Your blood runs cold for a split second before you acted purely out of instinct. You shove Sasha to the side, dreading as you head for the airship's side door and at the exact moment.. someone aboards.

Your gaze met the kid's muddy brown ones. It was determined, filled with fury and you saw that there isn't any trace of hesitation as her finger pulls the trigger. You knew you didn't stand a chance judging by look on her face and her sure aim on your torso. The word of warning you want to let out was caught in your throat as she fires.

You remember seeing those crazed brown eyes and then the ceiling of the airship the next. The sensation of what can only be compared to fire piercing your skin spreads through your chest and insides like molten metal. You hear the indistinct noise of the soldiers' voices grow louder yet muffled at the same time around you.

From happy cheers to manic, hysterical screaming.

You couldn't catch your breath at first and you aren't sure from which. Was it from falling flat on your back? Or was it the searing pain that made tears leak from your eyes?

And then above the chaos, you hear your three closest comrades call your name in unison.

"Lieutenant Y/n, hey!!!" Connie's frantic voice shrill through the limited space of the ship. "Hang in there, hey!" You feel him rattle you, placing his rough calloused hand against your cheek. Jean's panic stricken face comes to your field of vision and you whimper, "A kid." You gasp. "In the airship."

"Bandages! Now! We need to stop the bleeding!" Jean commands shakily and the rest of the soldiers that aren't capturing the two intruders scramble to get the med kit and the captain.

"Y/n-san, please hold on until we make it to the island!!" Connie pleads but hopelessness crawls his veins as he sees your blood flood the wooden floors.

"Keep him safe." You whisper out to nobody. The captain in mind. Your eye lids grow heavy but you didn't want to close them. No. You can't die. You promised him.

"Don't you dare die on me, Y/l/n." His voice echoes in your mind, compelling you to keep breathing despite how excruciating it feels.

Sasha who was frozen at first, snapped out of her shock as she hears Connie's voice call your name out of sheer panic when your eyes fall close. She then runs to meet the soldier carrying the bandages and was at your side in an instant. With trembling hands, Sasha tries with all her might to wrap you up and stop the bleeding.

"No, no, no, no!!" She starts sobbing while watching the bandage turn red, your gushing blood seeping through no matter how tight she puts the wrap around you. "Y/n-san, no, you can't leave us like this." Sasha hiccups, wiping her tears hastily before grabbing your now cold clammy hand and pressing it to her face. "Please!" She cries, eyes falling close.

If you hadn't pushed her, if you didn't step in her place, it would have been her that got shot. Guilt rakes through her as she watches you desperately fight for your life.

You can feel yourself drifting and you felt helpless. You then meet Sasha's, Jean's and then Connie's gaze, muttering with your remaining strength, "Protect him." And it was no request but an order.

Jean stumbles away, his hands going over his ears, unable to stand your labored breaths and Connie and Sasha's whimpering. Jean felt like hurling when Floch turned the kids to him. The other responsible for you being on the brink of death.

But to those two kids, they are the enemies who wreck havoc to their hometown. Floch wanted to kill them and throw them out but what good would that do? Would taking their lives save yours? And knowing you, who practically treat soldiers like them like your kids even though you were just a few years older than them, you would be disappointed in him at the mere thought of hurting these kids.

Jean can almost hear your angelic voice, "They're just children." You would say. So with a vexed expression and heavy turmoil growing within him, he ties them up and led them to where the captain and commander are.

Jean swallows hard when the captain's cold gaze met his and asks, "Who are these kids?"

By the looks of it, he still does not know.

"They killed Lobov-san and used his gear to come aboard." A lump forms in his throat, suddenly can no longer meet the captain's gaze. "A-and this one here, she.. shot Lieutenant Y/l/n."

Levi's eyes widen. Did he just hear Jean correctly? You? Shot? You were with him just minutes ago. No, how is that possible?-

"Captain, I-I don't think she'll make it." He continues, voice faltering. The grievance in Jean's face make Levi's blood run cold. He stumbles forward a bit as Armin and Mikasa run past him but he seemed frozen in his tracks.

No.

You got hurt but you'll pull through this. You always have. You promised him. And you are one of the toughest people he knows.

Levi tries to convince himself as he glared back at Zeke. He tries to distract himself from the cold fear of losing you with the blinding rage he feels for the Beast Titan wielder. But then, the door swings open again and Levi felt something terribly wrong right away.

And when Connie appears with tears sliding down his face and says,

"Y/n-san.. is dead."

Levi's entire world shifts.

Everyone was shellshocked for a moment. Because how could you be gone just like that? When you were just with them just minutes ago providing comfort to all of them? Passing by and giving them a wave of peace and calmness like the angel that you are.

Hange wobbles, her knees growing weak and its as if someone had punched her in the chest. The pain reminiscent as the day she watched Moblit vanish before her eyes. You were her right hand woman. Her confidant.

Eren's head hung in disbelief. His mind clouded by your kind smile just earlier and telling him you're actually glad to see him. Him. The monster who had just devastated a whole town and killed probably thousands of people. He thought that by now, he'd have gotten used to losing the people around him but losing you is gutting him. Its was like losing family. A sister.

"Connie.. did Y/n-san have any last words?" He asks mindlessly, wanting to know what your last thoughts were. Connie blinks through his tears and his eyes drifts to the captain, whose face was undreadable and knuckles threatening to split open at how tightly his balled fists are clenched.

"She said.. 'Protect him.'" Connie mutters and Levi's facade breaks.

The mob of weeping soldiers parted as the captain staggers to the back of the ship where you lay. Armin and Mikasa were still curled up beside you, their faces red and puffy from wailing. Both of them reluctantly stood up and stepped away as he walks closer. His gaze was still trained on the ground as he puts one foot in front of the other.

He shudders and stop midstep as his foot steps on the crimson stained wood. Before he knows it, he falls on his knees with a thud. Your pale hand comes into his field of vision and he takes a deep shakey breath as he reaches for it. His eyes darts everywhere but your face. The bandage on your middle, the boots on your feet that he had his fair share of shinning as his token of appreciation for you making his morning teas, the emblem of the Wings of Freedom embedded on your breast plate.

Your hand felt cold and stiff against his. A stark contast of the warmth it exuded on his cheek just moments ago.

"Y/n?" He croaks.

Suddenly his breathing shallows as the deafening silence stretches on. He can still smell you but can no longer feel you although you're right fucking there. Levi wanted this to some fucked up nightmare. But then, as he steels his nerves and finally looked at your face, his heart shatters.

Your hair is uncharacteristically dishevelled, e/c eyes lifeless, pupils middilated and your mouth parted ever so slightly.

Levi pulls you in his arms frantically, plethora of would have been and should have been anchoring his heart into a sea of regret.

He should have never let you out the damn door.

He should have held you tighter.

He should have you talked to you longer.

He should have told you.. he loves you.

He never even got to tell you.

Levi's face crumples, face reddening before a resentful yell erupts from him. The soldiers wince at the sound. It was pure agony and it pierces through each and everyone of them, bringing the lot of them back to tears if they ever stopped in the first place.

The entire flight back to Paradis, Levi held you the way he wished he did while you were still with him.

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs. A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #waaaAAAAAAAAH #ever so slightly nerve-wracking hahaha #this is EXTREMELY sentimental you have been WARNED #it's also supposed to feel almost suffocating or overwhelming #bcoz ur reader yk #okay ANYWAY ENJOY #tw drugs #tw toxic relationship #tw daddy kink

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lipstickstainz · 3 years

Text

true lies - s. r. (8/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: You and Spencer meet at your favorite coffee shop - and he asks you to spend some time with him.

Warnings: some minor talk about injuries, mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: hello friends! here’s part 8! I hope you like it. gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

previous part

As you enter the bullpen through the glass door, you are immediately stopped. "What are you doing here?", Emily asks, confused. She's standing at JJ's desk, both of them holding a coffee cup, looking at you in amazement. "I told you to stay home."

As you set your bag down on your desk, you wince briefly. "It's boring at home. Besides, it's just a minor bruise, Emily. And sitting at a desk doesn't require much physical exertion. I can handle it."

JJ presses her lips together. "I thought the doctor put you on bed rest because you narrowly escaped a broken rib." You give her a meaningful look. "Sorry, Y/N. You should take that seriously."

"You don't have to stab me in the back, though", you say playfully, and the three of you grin. "Desk duty?" Your eyes shift to Emily. She shakes her head and you sigh.

"We're on a case, Y/N. So no desk duty, and like JJ said, the doctor put you on bed rest."

You cross your arms in front of your chest, carefully, because the skin underneath is stained dark blue. You took quite a beating on your last case. The unsub kicked you in the torso with all his might as you tried to wrestle him down. And even though the pain shot through your whole body like a lightning bolt, you managed to do it.The result is a bruised rib that hurts a lot, but isn't so bad that you can't go on a mission.

Only Emily disagrees. "Go home, Y/N. Get some rest. If we need your help, we'll get back to you." You want to say something else, but she beats you to it. "That's an order."

Reluctantly, you shoulder your bag and try not to let the pain in your torso show. "You promise to call me if you need anything, though?"

Both women paint a cross over their chests where the heart is located. "Word of honor."

You don't feel like going home, because there's absolutely nothing waiting for you there. You could clean - which is against the bed rest, which you wouldn't stick to anyway - or cook something sensible, because your stomach has only had to experience ready-made meals and fast food lately, but you don't feel like it. Although it would be just the thing for you. A bit of everyday life would do you good, maybe take your mind off Spencer for a bit, and honestly, your life needs to get back on track.

So before you head to your local supermarket, you step into your favorite coffee shop. The smell of coffee wafts into your nose and the atmosphere alone warms you up, even though it's not particularly cold outside. You stand at the end of the queue, examining the pastries displayed in a small window. After ordering, you wait patiently for your drink and the muffin you couldn't pass without your mouth watering. The barista wishes you a nice day as she hands you the cup and you make your way towards the exit.

"Y/N?"

Your gaze lingers on Spencer, who is sitting at one of the small tables. In front of him are several loose sheets of paper that take up the entire table and an empty coffee cup. You bite your lower lip. It's been several weeks since you've seen each other, as Spencer's one hundred days of work has expired and he's now teaching some students. As he smiles at you, you realize how much you've missed him these past few days.

"Hi, Spencer", you smile at him as you stand in front of his table. Your fingers curl around the back of the empty chair in front of you. "How are you?"

He reaches for the slips of paper in front of him and folds them before putting them in his pocket. "I'm fine, thanks." He closes his bag before placing it on the table. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a case to solve?"

"Emily gave me the day off. I took a kick and bruised up on our last case, so I'm not allowed to go out on case", you explain, shrugging. Spencer looks you up and down. He's probably trying to figure out where the injury is. "She sent me home again this morning."

Spencer gets up from his chair, shoulders his bag, and walks with you toward the exit. "So what are you planning to do today?"

"I was thinking about cooking myself something delicious and doing a little cleaning at home. To bring a bit of everyday life into my life," you answer and your tone tells him that you don't feel like it at all. "I'm not so sure about the cooking yet, though. After all, I don't want to risk food poisoning."

Spencer has to smile in response. "I can remember that. Everyday life isn't quite your thing."

You nod and pucker your mouth. "Right. But I have to do something. And just sitting around at home waiting for the day to be over isn't an option."

Together, you walk a short distance, chatting about his students until you arrive at your car. You push the button on your key and hear the central locking system open. You open the driver's door. "See you around, Spencer," you say goodbye and are about to get in, but Spencer stops you.

"You could come with me", he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah. I'm about to teach another class, and you're welcome to join me." Blush rises to his face, and you're not quite sure if he's serious and really wants you there. But when he lifts his gaze from his shoes and looks you in the eye, your doubts evaporate. "So?"

"I'm actually Emily's phone joker“, you give out, because really, you're not sure spending the day with Spencer is the right thing to do, even if you'd only be sitting in the back of the lecture hall. "She wants to call me if they need help." You see Spencer's expression darken. Apparently he was excited to have you on board today, and your cancellation actually seems to hit him a bit. You take a deep breath. "But I'll still be happy to come along. If Emily does call, it could be very interesting for your students."

A smile spreads across his face, reaching up to his eyes. "Well then, let's go. Class starts in twenty minutes."

There's something comforting about sitting in the back of the lecture hall and listening to Spencer explain things to his students. It reminds you of the time you sat on your couch in the evenings, eating delivery dinners and watching documentaries. The TV sound was always on mute because Spencer's knowledge was so vast that his versions of the documentaries were much more exciting than the original versions. Those evenings had been perfect. Listening to him now, with a passion that seems all too familiar, the way he explains things and the looks he casts around the room, some sticking to you, come pretty close to those perfect evenings.

The ringing of your phone snaps you out of your thoughts. The students in front of you turn around in annoyance and you apologize as you get up from your seat. Spencer looks at you questioningly, but you just press your lips together into a thin line as you look at him and leave the lecture hall.

"What's up, Emily?", you ask her as you answer the call.

"The unsub always leaves puzzles at the crime scene", she begins without greeting you. You don't blame her. "And always different puzzles. Self-created crossword puzzles, number sequences, picture puzzles and symbol series, for example. Maybe you can take a look at them sometime." Emily emails you the puzzles, and before you can ask how the case is going, the line goes silent. Typical Emily.

You open the emails and are inundated with images. Emily definitely didn't overstate. As you head back into the lecture hall, you give Spencer a meaningful look.

"Excuse me for a moment", he says to his students and is with you in just a few steps. "Does Emily have something for us?"

Us. As he says the word, you warm to it. While he doesn't mean it the way you'd like, you're incredibly glad that he considers you friends. Although, really, you don't deserve it, because it's all based on a lie. You push the thought aside. Spencer is standing so close to you that you can breathe in his perfume and feel the warmth of his body. You have to pull yourself together not to inhale his scent deeply.

"The unsub leaves puzzles at the scene", you describe the situation, handing him your phone so he can take a look. You can practically see his brain start to rattle and before you can do anything, Spencer walks forward again.

"So, guys. This", he turns back to his students and gestures for you to join him with a wave. Tense and a little nervous, you stand next to him and raise your hand. "Is my colleague and friend SSA Y/N Y/L/N. Since she sustained some injuries on her last case, she is assisting me today." He hands your phone back to you. "Can you project the pictures on the wall somehow?" he whispers to you and you have to grin. The guy has several PhDs, but can't manage to connect a cell phone to a projector. You tap the screen a few times, playing it safe to make sure the projector on the ceiling is actually turned on, and moments later the puzzles appear on the wall behind you. Spencer smiles at you.

"Today you have the honor of working on a real and, more importantly, current case", Spencer speaks to the students again, curiosity spreading across their faces. They all sit up straight and listen intently as he paces. "Unit Chief Prentiss and our team are in the field right now and have found these puzzles at the crime scenes. Please take a look and let us know your thoughts. Maybe you can give us an important clue."

Immediately, the students start talking to each other, sharing theories and jotting down their thoughts on paper. Spencer and you lean against his desk at the time, watching the scene. You keep noticing how some of the female students give him ogling looks, but as soon as they meet your gaze, awkwardly turn back to the task at hand.

"How many people audit in your class?", you ask him quietly, Spencer shrugs. "Because I think the girls in the first two rows are just here to stare at you." You nudge him with your shoulder and stifle a grin.

"You and your imaginations", he replies, but he has to grin, too. He opens his mouth, about to say something else, but a student beats him to it.

"Professor, agent, I think we've found something."

And indeed. Together you are able to crack the puzzles, which takes the rest of the day, but neither you two nor the students complain about it. After you update Emily on your progress and send the students home, they actually thank you and ask if you'll keep coming to class.

As Spencer packs up his things and the last people leave the lecture hall, you wait patiently for him at the exit. The day has been pretty exhausting, but you're glad you got to spend it with Spencer. You're sure that today is a very good start for a friendship. And that alone makes your heart beat a little faster.

A young woman suddenly stops in front of you, and you avert your eyes from Spencer. You recognize her. She was sitting in the front row until just now, and she was one of the girls staring at Spencer throughout.

"Agent Y/L/N?" She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and chews on her bottom lip. She's visibly nervous. "Can I ask you something?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Sure."

"Are you ... I mean ... are you and Professor Reid a couple?", she stammers. "I know it's a pretty personal question. But I've noticed the way they look at each other and -"

"We're colleagues and friends", you interrupt her immediately. You don't sound harsh, but your tone doesn't leave room for another question either, so she turns away with a quick nod of her head and disappears from the lecture hall. You look after her.

How did you look at each other? The way friends do, right? Maybe there was some longing in your looks, after all, you love Spencer, but you're pretty sure that wasn't the case with him. When Spencer walks up to you and puts a hand on your arm, you flinch briefly in shock. "Are you okay?"

You nod at him. "Uh, yeah." Together, you leave the room. Should you tell him about the question? Or would that be weird in light of the fact that you had actually been a couple once? "She had another question." Spencer looks at you, a sign that you should keep talking. "She asked if we were a couple." At your answer, he stops and looks at you curiously. "She was one of the ones eyeing you. She said we looked at each other in a special way, or something. But I think she just wanted to know if you were available." The situation is so weird that you can't stop talking. Luckily, Spencer eventually interjects.

"And what did you say to her?" He sounds unsure.

"What would you like me to have said to her, Spencer? We're colleagues and friends." You adjust the bag on your shoulder and smile slightly at him before turning and continuing towards the exit. You want to escape this moment and are relieved when the wind outside hits your face and cools your heated skin. Finally, you can take a breath.

You don't see Spencer's expression twist and his voice is just a whisper that you don't notice. "Right ... friends."

next part

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader

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mrsmaybank · 3 years

Text

Honey - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and the reader were very much in love during Reid’s brief stint in Pasadena. When he has to see her again on a case, he is super nervous.

a/n: first section is inspired by such great heights

C/W: Swearing

PASADENA - 2002

A note from the love of your life is a lovely way to wake up.

------

When you can understand everything but yourself, finding somebody who does is like seeing a comet; disappointingly rare. My shaky hands can only be stilled by the smile of my most incandescent--in every connotation--creature, and that is you. The universe always seems to know what it is doing even if humanity does not. The stars align and move in patterns we as it’s audience do not fully understand. I think we have watched the stars so much the universe has aligned us as a favor to our poor, overestimated souls. I am so grateful! Tolstoy noted that "We are asleep until we fall in love!” And I thank you for waking me up.

However I thought it best the favor not be returned this particular morning. You were up late last night, and looked too cute to disrupt. Do not kill me, I am getting coffee.

I love you and do not leave the bed.

-Spencer

------

Only Spencer Reid would write that on a sticky note, and only for you would he do so.

You heard the rattling of keys and a door being opened and shut as Spencer made his way back to your bedroom. The smile you saw on his face was the start of a story that ended on the upturn of your lips, revealing the two protagonists in a mad frenzy of love. As soon as he reached you, your lips pressed to his in a desperation to be impossibly closer.

“Hi.” he said.

I am thinking it's a sign

That the freckles in our eyes

Are mirror images

And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

“Hey love.” you tucked a loose brown hair back behind his ear for a closer look at the face you adored. “Please get back in bed.”

He sighed but crawled in next to you, big nimble hands making their way across your torso to diminish the space in between you two. You nuzzled into his chest.

“Your note was beautiful.” you whispered into his ear.

A big, goofy grin spread along his face.

“I meant every word.” his voice so sweet, it sounded dipped in honey.

Honey is incredibly sticky.

-----

There had to have been a world where it all worked out.

In this world, my things never got old, and the ice cubes in my coffee never melted. I could listen to that song over and over again without draining the life out of it and I could like my hair style for more than three months.

Spencer had read to me the greatest works of the world. Words of the greatest thinkers, authors, and minds. He had an appreciation for them greater than those of the average passerby and I adored that, because so did I. Truly, our similarities are what connected us. Our minds were correlated perfectly when it came to subjectivity.

In accordance to human nature however, certain matters were never agreed upon. In particular, we argued about the future. The canyon of discrepancy so vast it tore us and our love in two. I didn’t think that was possible.

I wanted to write the book and watch the film as I lived my life and he and his arrogant over-practically thought that impossible. He thought himself an oneirocritic, but my dreams were not looking for critiques.

Like I said, Spencer read to me the greatest works of the world. And years would pass and the heartbreak and sorrow would fade, but I would always find it ironic how the last thing I ever heard in that honey soaked voice was a work of Confucius. “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”

Spencer chose to go to Washington. He took his heart and a piece of mine with him.

-----

BAU JET - 2011

Seaver must’ve noticed my flinch when the sound of her name resonated through the jet. I’d never liked going to California, but this...this had never happened. “That name mean something to you Reid?” She smiled, “You look kind of horrified.”

I ran my hands through my hair in a futile attempt to ground myself. “No. I just...I used to know her.”

In between the fine lines of love and hate, fell a blurry midsection where feelings came before logic and screams and whispers sounded the same. She ruled over this midsection of chaotic emotional fury.

Morgan spoke, and I quickly realized I might be falling into a conversation I really did not want to be having. “How the hell d’you know her pretty boy?”

There was no point in lying on a plane completely occupied by profilers. My best option was to clumsily dodge any direct questions about just how well I knew her.

“I’m from the West coast.”

“So are over 50 million people. You mean to tell me you know all of them?” he laughed.

“The exact estimation is actually 53,492,270. And no, I’m not saying I know all of them, Morgan. I lived in Pasadena for a year after I graduated from Caltech.”

“Okay?” Morgan questioned my previous statements relevancy.

“She went to USC. We were in the same social circle.”

Morgan laughed again, “You had a social circle?”

Emily, next to us, was presumably combing through her file.

“You, ultimate three doctorate dorky dork, were in the same circle as a film major?” she asked. “

What the hell is ‘doctorate dorky dork’ supposed to mean?

“She double majored actually. Film and political science.”

Emily double checked the file, “And Reid’s right. Per usual.”

“Reid and Prentiss, Y/L/N has agreed to talk to us in her home. She lives in the Hills. When we land, you guys go talk to her.” Hotch stated.

“Why?” I said before I could stop myself. The team sat in confused silence in reaction to my bluntness, but Hotch, like always, was not having it.

“Because we have a serial killer that is reenacting the murders in her movie, Reid.” his tone was stern and swift, with a patronizing sarcasm I supposed I deserved.

“Sorry,” I got out, “I guess I just meant..why me?”

“Well, you know her don’t you?” Rossi asked.

I was not ready to divulge the personal details between me and this girl to my entire team, so I just pursed my lips and nodded.

“Right. Sorry.”

----

Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament. George Santayana. I was in the biggest fucking predicament I’d ever encountered in my life.

Nothing could slow the incessant, double time pounding in my chest. I was showing symptoms of the beginning of a heart attack. Hopefully I would die and never have to face this.

Fuck, don’t think that.

Have the seats in these cars always been this uncomfortable? God, is California always this hot?

I looked at Emily for half a second, and instantly recognized that keeping quiet from her was proving to be dysfunctional. I could feel her eyes burning into my brain with every profiling skill she knew.

“What are you not saying Reid?”

I sighed. “Do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah. Unless you want me to just find out on my own. It’ll be a lot less delicate.”

Here goes nothing.

“I dated her. For two years. I was very much in love with her. It ended....abruptly. I haven’t spoken to her since, and now, nine years later, I am on my way to her house. I might have a heart attack.”

Emily's eyes widened, “Shit..” She laughed a little, “Reunited at last?.”

I answered with a glare. Hard no.

“Fine, sorry.” She said, masking a giggle with a cough.

I shifted in my seat and I could practically see the gears in Emily’s profiler cerebrum spin. She knew exactly the question to ask. “Is it nerves?”

I nodded my head, “I was a very different person back then.”

“Nothing like time and the bureau can change somebody.” she said. “But, hey..”She smiled again and my eyes widened when I realized what I’d revealed. “I asked you if you were nervous. I didn’t-”

“Emily..” I started.

“Are you nervous she won’t like you now? Do you still like her?” her mouth hung open, “Oh my god Reid!”

I shook my head, “No, I don’t still like her! I don’t even know her anymore! I just..I’d never loved somebody the way I loved her.”

Emily had figured me out at the same time I had. “And you still haven’t.”

Fuck.

“Correct.”

The car pulled into her driveway, and conversations from all those years ago started to replay in my head.

“When we get a house, can we paint our front door bright blue?”

“I want a lemon tree in the front yard.”

“Windows. Huge windows. It’s a must.”

All these things I’d promised her in our future home she’d gotten for herself. Good.

Fontaine said “Sadness flies away on the wings of time”, but the pain I felt from the loss of her was as prominent as ever.

Here goes nothing.

---

Thank you for reading!

a/n2 : this is completely unedited so if its sucks dick i am sorry :/ i just wanted to post it lol

A/n 3: the typos oh my fuck. I wanna Kick myself for letting this cute fic be up in that state for so long. Anyway, fixed! :)

#spencer reid #drspencerreid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you

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snidgetwidgeon · 3 years

Text

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I��m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

#breath of the wild #zelink #fanfiction #roleswap au #prince link #champion zelda #urbosa #king rhoam #Son of Hylia Daughter of Farore #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

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miss-smutty · 3 years

Text

Immortal Chapter 3

A/N- My first OC and I'm super excited for it and this story! Hope you love her ☺️

Summary- Thor learns more about his mystery love interest

Word count- 1,952k

Pairing- Thor x OC

18+ Only!

Posted: 21st June 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires

Part 1. Part 2.

The last thing Aria remembered before her vision pooled with bright lights and stars, was a car heading straight towards her. She felt the impact, her body flown through the air and crashing back to the ground with a sickening thud. She expected to hear her bones fracture into pieces with the impact of the car, to see her life flash in front of her eyes as she floated through the air. The world around her paused, time going incredibly slow, the speed causing the wind to blow her hair around the curve of her jaw in slow motion. She'd expected to feel the rough tar of the road, peeling away her skin as she landed in a heap, to feel tiny fragments of gravel imbedded in her soft and malleable flesh.

When none of that came though, she wasn't overly surprised. Instead of feeling excruciating pain, she revelled in the feeling of flying, enjoying the moment while it lasted until she was pulled back to earth and ultimately, back to reality. The reality of knowing the look on people's faces as she stood unharmed after a brutal collision that should've left her for dead.

Aria kept her eyes screwed shut, willing herself to just disappear and not have to deal with the backlash. The accident drawing unwanted and dangerous attention to her, attention she'd worked so hard to avoid. I mean she'd run away from her Prince Charming just to avoid this sort of attention, it was kind of ironic really.

Aria slowly opened one of her eyes, her vision blurred and glassy, there were people around her. Lots of faces she didn't recognise, hazy shapes all merging together until her eyes settled on one familiar face. Thor.

His distinct features standing out through the obscurity of her vision. Piercing sky blue eyes shone brightly, until that was all she could see. Eyes so clear she could see straight into his soul, a soul so pure it made her eyes sting. Thor's story playing through her mind like a movie, she blinked repeatedly willing it to stop, wrinkling her eyes tightly shut again.

"Everybody move out of the way, give her space. MOVE!" Thor bellowed over Aria, the crowd dispersing at once with his all commanding tone. He crouched down beside her, giving her body the once over, gulping deeply at the feel of her curves under his touch. Shaking his head while trying to ignore the unwanted thoughts that so helplessly followed. Wondering morbidly if it would be the second and last time he would be able to feel that magnetic pull he felt when their bodies touched.

Aria's tense muscles relaxed at the feel of Thor's hands smoothing down her legs and arms, checking for broken bones he was never going to find. A gasp left her lips when he lifted her T-shirt up just above her belly button, his fingers prodding gently at the softness of her flesh. It took all she had not to giggle, as his fingers tickled against her bare midriff.

Thor continued kneeding his hands softly around her precious torso, more than sure he would find something life threatening. Knowing there was absolutely no way a Midgardian could escape a collision like that with absolutely no lasting scars. His brow furrowed with suprise at finding absolutely no broken bones. Not even one. Even more surprising he found no cuts or bruises, not even a graze.

Aria lay before him, a vision of perfectness, her dark as night hair blanketing her defined features. She bent her hour glass curves, bringing her knees up to her chest. Thor's eyes widened, drawn to the definition of her hips and the swell of her backside in the tight black jeans she wore. He reached forward to stroke the silky hair away from her face, anxious to see her flawless skin and the rosy pink flush of her cheeks.

Aria's eye's fluttered open when she felt Thor's cold fingers brush against her clammy cheek. She recognised the painful look of anguish in his expressive blue eyes, the worry set deep within them.

"I'm ok, help me up please." She stuttered, trying to raise her head from the ground, twisting her body around. Thor's arms immediately reached out, cushioning his large hand behind her head.

"I don't think that's wise, you've been flung about five metres down the street. You need medical assistance. How are you even…"

"Thor I'm fine, just dizzy. Help me stand please." Aria stopped him mid-sentence, desperate to get out of there before the ambulances arrived, not knowing how she was meant to explain how she was completely fine after being hit by a fast moving car and thrown at speed for quite a distance. The car alone should've broken bones and left her with internal bleeding and that's before she shattered onto the ground five metres down the street. She shouldn't even be alive, never mind perfectly capable of walking away unharmed.

Thor gave in and helped her to her feet, hooking his arms underneath hers and pulling her up gently. Aria's legs buckled when she stood but Thor was there to catch her and hold her steady, the bulk of him stood behind her as he waited for her to find her feet.

Shaking loose from his grasp, squirming free, she turned to bolt but not before his thick fingers wrapped around her wrist. Aria's heart sank when she realised she wasn't getting away from his restraint, not then and maybe not ever. Thor wasn't about to lose her again, not after she was nearly taken from him for good.

The crowd of people that had gathered around to witness the miracle, the deception of logic, begin whispering between themselves. Sounds of astonishment filled the air at the spectacle before them. Thor pulled Aria against his chest, wrapping his arms around her back in an embrace. The warmth of his body was comforting for her,

the familiarity of his heartbeat thrumming against her ear. The sounds around them melting away as they held each other on the sidewalk, as they became lost in each other once more they heard the faint signs of cheering.

Aria let herself smile, she let herself be happy in the moment if for only a minute before the cheering and whistling was drowned out by the sound of approaching sirens. Thor noticed the visible panic on her face as she pulled back from him, searching the streets for a place to hide.

If he knew anything after seeing that look in her eyes, that terrible look of fear in her emerald green, Doe eyes, he knew he would do absolutely anything to protect her. Thor knew it the first time he ever laid eyes on Aria, he would always do everything within his power to keep her safe.

Without a moment's hesitation he pulled Aria by the hand, taking her with him as he ran down the street. Glancing at her through his peripheral and taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her next to him, the feel of her fingers wrapped tightly around his hand as she gave her trust to him. The wind blowing through her shoulder length hair as they ran and realising that he hadn't needed to slow his pace so she could keep up. She was running at the exact same speed as him, running along side him effortlessly as they dodged the obstacles in their paths. Aria was just as agile, just as strong and with the exact same level of reflexes as Thor.

If Aria wasn't in a state of panic she would have enjoyed the feeling of running alongside Thor, to finally not have to hold back any longer. It was a big deal for her to put her trust in anybody let alone somebody she had just met but she didn't have much choice. She needed to get out of there and fast.

They turned the corner together, down a narrower street lined with trash cans and through an even smaller alley.

With no where else to go, they stopped at the end of the alleyway, a metal gate blocking their way. Closed in with no where to escape but luckily no one to escape from. Thor leant one hand against the sturdy gate, studying Aria closely. Waiting with bated breath to see whether she would need to catch her breath, instead she looked up at him bright eyed, crinkling her nose in the cutest way. Then he heard the most glorious sound he has ever heard, like sweet music to his ears.

Aria couldn't help herself, she looked up at the god of Thunder, a look of confusion etched on his chiselled face and she laughed. Not a cute little girly giggle either but a full belly laugh, holding on to her knees as she struggled to breath through it. The truth was, she hadn't felt that exhilarated in years, running away from danger usually wasn't so exciting for her but having a tall, strong, literal God by her side made her feel invincible. Cheating death also added to the thrill, to that untouchable feeling. She knew it wouldn't last long, it never does, but she would enjoy it while it lasted.

"Why are you laughing?" Thor couldn't hide the amusement in his voice from the warm feeling it gave him seeing Aria laugh.

"The look on… People's faces." She struggled to get out between laughing. Her pink cheeks turning red, her head feeling light from lack of air. "On your face." Her chest rattled as she finally started calming down.

"Yes, although it wasn't funny at the time, I can see why it would make you laugh." He leaned his body against the gate. The sound making Aria jump, goosebumps travelling up her arms as her ears pricked, the laughter dissipated.

"Relax, it's just me." He soothed, taking note of how easily she startled. Not only eyes like a doe but the behaviour too. "So you're unbreakable, you have no trouble keeping up with my speed and your stamina almost matches mine. That's without even mentioning the feeling I get when I'm near you."

The uneasy feeling came, as she knew it would. She was deluded to think she would automatically begin to trust. To forget about the way people had used and hurt her in the past. So much so that she'd built a giant wall, locked her heart up and thrown away the key. Luckily Thor had his own hammer to knock down that wall and nothing would stop him finding that key.

"So what are you saying Thor?" She didn't hide the annoyance in her voice. Resting her back against the brick wall and slumping down to the ground.

"I want to get to know you, to figure out why we're quite clearly connected in some way. I don't even know your name?"

"My name is Aria and I don't know what I am. I've spent my lifetime trying to figure it out. And I don't know, ok?" Aria sniffs.

"It's ok, I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you Aria. What about your parents?"

"I don't know my parents, they probably realised what a freak I am and sent me away."

"I can help you." Thor pushes back from the gate and slides himself down next to her. "We're similar. And you can not deny the connection we have." He nudges her with his elbow, willing her to look at him just as the sound of footfall echoed down the alley towards them. They both turned their heads at the same time, in the direction of the noise. The footsteps drawing closer.

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fukurodaze · 3 years

Text

five stars: part 4 | four days

IT’S EMBARRASSING: a third year cheerleader!reader x second year athlete!suna au

wc + genre: 4.7k, fluff + drama <3 warnings: cursing, burnout

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more. more. more.

faster blocks. louder voices. stronger spikes.

the interhigh is in four days.

the cheerleaders have begun rehearsing along to the players, shouting rhythmically to every point taken from each side of the practice court. the room is intense, filled with sweat and ambition to rise to the top - whoever jumps higher, hits harder, wins.

suna rintarou is no exception.

“nice, sunarin!” a voice sounds.

out of all the days in which he plays, they tell him today’s the best. on point, just in time, lightning speed, they say. he’s pleased with his own performance, momentarily, before he’s off to ask one of the second years if they’re down for another round of practice. when atsumu says yes, he’s up on the balls of his feet, ready to jump some more times.

aside, there’s a voice that calls your name. kouno yuki, the captain of the team, stands by your duffle bag, waiting for you.

“earth to y/n?” she shakes your arm when she comes closer, finding that you’ve fallen asleep against the wall of the gym. she sits down beside you, poking your shoulder.

“hey.”

there is a throaty groan.

“y/n~”

you stir.

“suna’s watching.”

“wait, what?” your eyes flutter open, body stretching at the sudden wake. you see how your co-captain doubles down in held back laughter, choking down a giggle present in the creases of her eyes.

“nothing, nothing. i was waiting for you so we could store the uniforms together, but i think i’ll just do it with sato-san.”

“oh, okay,” you nod, eyes drifting back down to close. the volleyball team is still practicing, and though it’s loud, the sound of shoes sliding against polished wood suddenly becomes relaxing when you’re as tired as you are. you thank yuki for the fix and she smiles at you with a sympathetic look in her eyes.

the next time you wake up, your eyes are forced open when a volleyball comes close to your head.

“shit! sorry!” the boy you recognise as ginjima hitoshi from some of suna’s stories is bowing on a fourty-five degree angle, face cringing in regret. he jogs lightly to pick up the ball and bring it back but suna sends him a look and a thumb, telling him that he’ll get it instead.

when suna approaches you in all his 185 centimetre glory, there is a sort of gleam that radiates off of him. you’re not sure if it’s the smirk at how flustered you are or the sheen of sweat covering his skin, but it makes a heat rise up your neck at how close he is when he leans in and squats over you to retrieve the ball.

then again, you’ve been burning up all day.

“are you okay?” suna’s voice is low and almost a whisper.

“what?” you shake your head, “yeah, yeah. i’m fine. don’t worry.”

he nods and picks up the ball. you watch as he slowly steps away, so you call, “suna?”

he looks back with nonchalance.

“walk me to the bus stop?”

the answer is ‘always’.

early august is when the summer begins to cool down, signalling the latter half of the year to come. your summer uniforms no longer stick to your skin with heat, but lie loosely on shoulders and limbs as short sleeves made of thin material.

still, you feel hot.

it’s one thing to be tired and lethargic, but it’s another to feel like your eyes are begging to close and your hands are searching for something to cover.

suna notices this in the way that you’re talking less on a friday night and how you’re walking in unsure lines. he wishes he had brought a hoodie or sweater with him.

the sky has become a deeper indigo after practice, and though the lights have turned on, it doesn’t seem like your vision is alright, either. you continue to stumble and mumble out words that suna can only make out as assurances of “i’m okay” and “don’t worry.” of course he worries.

“we’re almost at the bus stop,” suna’s hand lingers around your wrist, unsure of whether you need it or not.

still, you grab it, and it makes a world of a difference when you begin to lean on him. he feels your temperature, feverish yet freezing, and he makes sure to hold you up until the bus stop.

“actually,” you try your best to talk coherently, “can i walk you home?”

suna furrows his brows, “what do you mean?”

“i’ll tell my mom that i’m staying over at a friend’s. it’s fine.”

suna questions your resolve at staying over at his place, especially when you’re sick. he knows he can’t take care of you like your mother might. and yet, he’s always weak to your requests, seemingly unable to say no whenever you ask him.

“okay,” he tells you, and he feels the arm around his hand wrap tighter. it reminds him of that one night on the bus.

“wait, lemme carry your bag.”

you look up at him from where you’re slouching, “hm? oh. sure.”

now he has a backpack and a duffel bag slung across his torso, your arm linked to his as you two walk along the sidewalk outside of school. it hasn’t been long since the two of you left, but the night seems to come earlier despite it being only august.

the walk grows silent, characterised by heavy breathing from your end and concerned looks from his. you stare at the ground, where the rubble and asphalt are sometimes withered, and try to match up your steps to the boy’s, focusing on the one-two-one-two of your feet.

it’s only a five minute walk to suna’s place, and you thank heavens that it is, for by the time he opens his door, you’re stumbling into the room and holding onto the sofa, eyes asking for permission to lay down.

he nods, unsure if his sofa’s even comfortable enough for you to sleep on. he feels weird, and wonders if you’d be in good hands when you return home on a saturday morning from a “friend”’s house. would you be in trouble if your mother found out you had resorted to staying at a boy’s place with a fever?

it’s like you almost hear his thoughts, “don’t worry, suna, one good night’s sleep and i’m going to be good.”

“but you haven’t had dinner?” suna hates how he sounds like a parent.

you whimper, tossing and turning on your back, “okay.”

with that, suna begins to wait for his rice cooker as he pulls out a packet of instant miso soup, hoping that something warm would help you sleep better. it takes a short amount of time for him to pour in the hot water and paste, mixing it in a bowl, before keeping it still on the table while waiting for the rice.

in the meantime, he makes himself another bowl of instant miso soup, hands going on autopilot as his mind drifts off into a frenzy of thoughts. will you be okay? will this be okay? how long have you been unwell for? are you overworking yourself? he’s never even seen you at the school canteen. how often have you been eating?

the questions rattling his mind are interrupted by the beeping of the rice cooker. he opens its lid and is introduced to steam, still hot when he reaches in with a spatula to scoop some rice for you.

he brings the food to the table in front of the sofa with a warm glass of water. tapping your shoulder to remind you, he’s hesitant to have you wake up after you’ve finally laid still.

“for me?” you squint.

“yeah. for you.” suna has his food right next to yours, thinking he might make you feel a little bit better if you’re not eating alone.

when you shimmy yourself down from the sofa, the two of you coexist in silence once more, the only sounds being chewing and gulping down soup or water. none of you mind, really, although it’s not what usually happens when the two of you are spending time together, usually filled with banter and, more recently, flirtatious remarks.

suna wonders if he’ll ever get to embrace you soon. your figure cowers as you eat, sometimes leaning on the front of the sofa for support. he should embrace you. he wants to embrace you. he doesn’t embrace you.

when you try your best to finish your meal, he tells you you’re doing great. suna’s surprised those words even come out of him, seeing as he’s never really congratulated anyone outside of volleyball before, but your soft smile tells him everything he needs to know.

thank you.

you lift yourself back up onto the sofa, curling up. suna gets you a wool blanket, a spare from his room, and covers you with it. he sees you smile again.

suna puts away the dishes, leaving them in the sink for doing tomorrow. he’s still in his school uniform, and so are you. by the likes of eight-thirty in the evening, he can tell you’re just about ready to pass out into sleep.

until he hears your voice.

“you’re so great, suna.”

there is no other voice but yours.

“you let me sleep on the bus, found me that morning on the bleachers, helped me with my work,” you trail off, but suna keeps listening.

“you take care of me,” you tumble through your words, turning as you lay, “i guess that’s why i like you.”

suna freezes.

it’s a gamble, whether or not you’re awake, but he decides. there is silence in the air and the smell of warm miso soup wafting against the walls, and he tells you something he’s never cared to tell anyone before.

“i like you too. goodnight.”

suna feels his heart beating in his ears all night.

he twists under his covers. shit.

does this mean we’re dating now?

“suna?”

the boy almost jumps when he sees you in the morning, peeking through his bedroom door.

“oh, right. y/n.”

his heart still beats in seemingly uneven patterns in his chest, the memory of last night still fresh in his mind. there is only one question in his mind: do you remember it as much as he does?

“um, i’m all better now. so-”

“that’s good,” suna’s stomach growls. he lifts himself out of his bed, squeezing through the doorframe where you’re leaning. you don’t miss the way he leans into you, just slightly, the deeper baritone of his morning voice sounding further into your ears as he groans and walks out.

he stops at the table, however, and his face almost turns entirely red in surprise.

“you made this?”

you come up to the table, urging him to take a seat. breakfast: leftover rice and fish from yesterday’s lunch and dinner. suna remembers how his mother would always urge him to eat fish for breakfast, even sending him cuts of frozen fish from time to time.

“i wanted to thank you for yesterday, at least. i’m sorry if i’m intruding, or something.”

suna shakes his head, “no, you’re not.”

“that’s- that’s good then.”

breakfast fizzles into silence as you take a seat across the table, the air somehow stuffy. was it the fact that you had stayed over? had you burdened him by being sick? did you miss out on something?

mornings are never usually this quiet, but suna eats with a wholesomeness that makes you swoon. you’ve started to think that his mind is full when his mouth is devoid of words, and that his mind is only clear when his mouth is full. it’s cute, you think, how his bed hair seems to look more tame than his usual hair, or how his bed shorts are a bright red.

“you staring?”

you return to your food, “never in a million years.”

“that’s a pretty long time.”

you hum in a half-joke, cringing inwardly at your own words.

“hey, uh,” suna hesitate, wondering what had happened that made the two of you so stiff, “can i take you home?”

you’re really missing something here.

here’s what you’d expect: the boy walks you home, leaves you at the bus stop. what you’re getting is miles away from it.

“suna, are you okay with this?”

suna does a double take between you and his phone, “sure. why wouldn’t i be?”

“i don’t know, i’m…” you don’t know how to continue your sentence. i’m not wearing anything underneath your hoodie, you want to tell him, but you’re not quite sure about his reaction.

“what?” he shakes his head, “anyways, i was the one that offered my clothes to you. no big deal.”

“right, no big deal.”

“now, c’mon, we walking you home or not?” he opens the door, and you scoot outside slowly, waiting for him as he locks the door. when he finishes, he comes to you, closer, and intertwines his hand in yours.

his hand, in yours. what?

“s-suna, the bus!” you blurt out in surprise.

suna hums in a question, “yeah, what? we’re taking the bus, right?”

you glance down at where your hands are connected, “right. i’ll pay.”

he lets you pay for the tickets this time, the bus ride keeping you company with caring conversation and, of course, a comforting hand.

you had never thought you would be getting so close to this boy so quick, and yet here you were, taking him to your house on a saturday morning.

you wonder how your parents would react to you hanging off a boy’s arm like this.

when you two reach your stop, the sky is sunny, seemingly cooler with the way suna’s damp and newly-washed hair shines in the light. you tell him things, jokes, little stories about your childhood as you stroll through the neighbourhood. you care to take him the long way home, unsure if the butterflies in your stomach would subside if you spent some time holding them off.

"are you doing anything after the interhigh?” suna asks eagerly.

“well, the cultural festival is coming up. and honoka’s leaving, so i’ll take her to the airport and everything.”

“oh,” suna mumbles, “that’s cool.”

you shrug, “i guess so.”

he looks at you for longer than usual, “i’ll miss you.”

you bite your lip in attempt to hide your surprise, “don’t try to miss me too much! besides, i’m not going anywhere.”

you notice that you can’t make eye contact with the boy in fears of being flustered even more. yet, he picks up on it, “are you flustered?”

“and if i was?”

“that’s no problem. we’re, you know.”

“we’re... what?”

“you know...” his voice softens, “dating.”

your eyebrows furrow immediately, your hand unknowingly slipping from his grip, “wait, we are?”

“i thought you remembered.”

“remembered what?”

“last night, when we said we liked each other. do you not feel that way anymore?” suna shoves his hands in his shorts pockets, the embarrassment creeping up his face.

“wait, i don’t get it!” you wave your hands around in confusion, “i mean, i do... feel... that way... but i was sick! i didn’t remember anything, of course.”

“oh god.”

“you’re not mad, are you?”

the boy shakes his head, “no, i’m just- really embarrassed.”

you peer at suna, who has his hand covering his face, head titled up, shadow long against the sun. the kids around the area gaze up at his tall figure, and then at you, recognising your face from the neighbourhood.

one of them even comes close to you, and you recognise him as the boy who lives two blocks away from you, “nee-san, is that your boyfriend?”

you look back, and one glance at suna has you close to letting out a loud snicker. you bend down, arms crossing into the hoodie he lent you today, “we’ll see.”

suna doesn’t know whether to laugh or smile when the little boy bursts into tears, mumbling a string of inaudible words that he can only guess spell out an unrequited love.

you return to suna, walking in silence at first. now it’s his turn to be confused.

“so i’m ‘we’ll see’?”

“reciprocated feelings don’t always equal dating, suna,” you say.

“yeah, sorry i-”

you speak first, “and i’m thinking about it. s’not a bad offer, y’know?”

“oh, shut up.”

“you’re telling me to what now?”

suna leans over to one side, quickly saying, “hey, isn’t this your house? the birdbath?”

“oh, definitely.” you have your hands on your hips, the playful air that you’re so used to having returned, “my house is number twenty, dumbass.”

“you’re calling me a what now?” he mocks.

you hit him on the shoulder, lightly, a hint of a flirt in your touch.

there is comfort stored into the space between the two of you once more, and it eases you to know things would always come back to the way they were between you two. maybe there is an added sort of suggestion, in the way his hand twitches when he stares at you, or the way you seem to love folding your arms against his hoodie.

“anyways. we’re here. wanna meet my mom?”

“do i have a choice?”

you smile, “nope.”

as the two of you enter the house, your hand lets go of his, unconsciously on purpose, arms to the side. suna feels as if his heart beats even louder, seeing your house, and, eventually, your mother.

she peeks out from the living room, rushing to the front door as soon as you announce your presence. she takes you in her arms with a soft smile on your face, glancing at suna once before turning to you to ask how last night was.

“is this the friend you were staying over with last night?” she whispers in your ear in a disbelieving tone, “you stayed over at a boy’s place?”

suna hears exactly what she’s saying. he swears there’s some sweat dripping down his temple.

you clear your throat, hand extending to introduce the boy. “mom, this is suna rintarou. he’s going to be playing at the interhigh i’m cheering at.”

“ah, a volleyball player! i think i might even recognise you...”

suna nods, bows. he introduces himself in the most formal way he’s ever known, which brings a cheeky smile on your mother’s face. it’s almost funny to see a ninety degree bow from someone so tall, she thinks, seeing how his seemingly scary or off putting demeanour had changed so quickly in front of her eyes.

“have you two had breakfast already?” your mother asks, to which the both of you nod. your mother smirks, and it makes you wonder why.

“anyways, just take a seat in the living room,” she motions, hand waving at the room from which the television sounds come from.

“oh, mom, do we still have those cookies?”

you mother chuckles darkly. you furrow your brows.

“alright then… i’ll get them…?” you walk out to the kitchen as your mother leads suna into the living room. she sits on the armchair across the room after suna sits awkwardly on the edge of the couch.

there is some silence as she watches the morning soap opera, eyes only flitting to the boy once the advertisements come on. once they do, though, suna becomes bombarded with questions and conversation.

“so you’re on the starting team?”

suna nods, “yes. i play middle blocker.”

“ah, that’s why you’re so tall! then again, volleyball players are so tall…”

your mother’s remark reminds him of that one time you had whispered it under your breath. your voices sound too similar for him not to smile.

suna shifts backwards, letting himself lean into the back of the couch, though his limbs still lay stiffly along the cushions.

“have you ever played against, what was that team’s name- from tokyo!” your mother thinks, “the school sounded a lot like an animal…”

suna tries not to tense up, “uh, itachiyama?”

“hmm, no, i’ve heard of them, but not them…”

“fukurodani?”

“right! fukurodani! i’ve seen them so many times when i watch nationals that i can’t help but love to watch their plays! of course, inarizaki is great too, because now we have an even better starting team. have you ever played against those guys?”

suna nods, “yes, we have. most people have heard of their ace, bokuto koutarou.”

your mother gleefully places her hand in front of her mouth before speaking, “i do love the energy that boy brings. he’s even announced that he’s going to the v-league!”

suna lets out a breathy laugh, “right.”

your mother retracts herself, “oh, sorry, i keep getting carried away when it comes to volleyball. y/n always chooses to go to the volleyball games so i keep watching them… i didn’t know it could be so fun… are you planning on entering the v-league, rintarou?”

he stirs, shrugging, “ah… it’s still a faraway decision.”

“well, i can tell you have some talent. i remember you were the one that was subbed in as a first year in the previous nationals, right?”

suna nods as your mother recalls the way inarizaki had risen up to the semi finals with their subbed in first years. it brings a swell of pride in his chest, having been so long since people actually complimented him on his plays.

“if you do want to go to the v-league though, please don’t overwork yourself,” your mother brings up.

suna raises an eyebrow at the sudden statement. your mother continues, “our y/n here does so much that it’s landed her sick in many ways. especially as a third year and everything, and now that her best friend is moving, you know, it’s a bit shaky.”

“right, she’s told me a little bit about it.” suna looks down, fiddling with his fingers. he hates hearing the little things about how you push yourself too hard. it’s a temporarily heavy feeling at first, knowing about your constant lack of sleep and food. and now your best friend’s moving out? suna finds that he wants to warm you up in his embrace to tell you it’ll all be fine - he just doesn’t know how. at least, not yet.

“if you do work as hard as y/n, make sure you eat enough and sleep enough, okay? i can’t count the times i’ve nagged that girl to get to bed or eat her breakfast-”

“were you guys talking about me?” you barge into the room, a plate of cookies ready in your hand. you groan, “also, mom, you didn’t tell me we finished the cookies!”

“i never said we did have the cookies in the first place.”

you mutter under your breath, “what is it with people doing that to me?”

still, you seat yourself on the couch next to suna, legs crossed, cookie in hand. your mother squints, “i’ve never seen you wear that hoodie.”

suna feels his hands grow warm.

“yeah, i’m borrowing it for a short while.” you glance at suna right after speaking, causing even more teasing looks from your mother.

“anyways, as i was saying, this girl never eats breakfast!” she begins, “and tell her to sleep earlier next time. at least ten o’clock!”

“mom, come on,” you curl up on the couch.

“it’s okay, mrs. l/n, she slept early yesterday. eight-thirty, actually.”

there is an amused look on your mother’s face. you don’t tell her it’s because you had a fever. there is a lack of conversation as your mother begins to focus her attention back on the soap opera on the television.

but she does say out loud, “i’m so glad you two did it.”

the room fills with the sound of the soap opera. you think for a little bit.

“did what?”

“ate breakfast, of course.”

“right.” you try not to choke on your cookie.

the rest of the morning passes as suna begins to feel himself loosen up at your house, finding the couch extremely comfortable and the soap opera weirdly entertaining. there is mindless talk of the interhighs on monday, and the three of you discuss preparations, strategies, venues. when your mother isn’t looking, suna finds his hand looping around your smaller thumb, a warm feeling blooming from the touch.

when your mother does look, however, she looks at suna, and then she looks at you.

“mom? the episode’s back on,” you call.

there is a genuine ear to ear smile on her face, eyes narrowing and shoulders relaxing.

“mom?”

shaking her head, she blinks repeatedly, “i’m so happy you ate breakfast today.”

your mouth parts in a wordless whisper, a glance at suna telling you he’s happy, too.

“see you on monday” is the last thing you hear from suna that week. when he hugs you as he leaves, he tells you he likes it; that he feels warm.

you don’t tell him that you’re still burning up.

on tuesday, the sun shines too bright for your liking even when you’re shielded by the large bus’ thick windows and air conditioner. your eyes feel hot, hotter than usual, and your feet need an extra amount of blankets to stop shivering.

it doesn’t show, though, and you make sure it doesn’t. it’s only a week, you tell yourself, you can manage. you had to admit the weekend wasn’t any better than friday night, but you promise yourself to sleep early. it hasn’t always been working, though.

so you try to distract yourself. you know the volleyball players had gone a day earlier, and that their opening ceremony is today, but you also know that the ceremony ends at lunch and the next match is only tomorrow.

your phone dings once more.

from suna: hru

to suna: cold :( the bus is so damn cold but it’s so hot outside ughh

from suna: ill lend u my jacket later ye

to suna: thank u. hows the opening?

from suna: fuckin cool wish u were there

you scoff. yuki, who’s sitting beside you, sneaks on your shoulder, “aw, he wishes you were there!”

you jump in surprise, “yuki! don’t do that!”

“you know, i didn’t expect him to be that dry.”

“okay, he’s not that dry,” you defend.

“really? is he? love is blinding, y/n.”

the bus comes to a stop, and you continue to text the boy. yuki stands up to tell everyone to bring their bags down, and that the other volleyball coach will be on standby at the hotel to check in for the cheer team. you follow suit, taking your bags and coming out of the bus. you’re greeted once more by the scorching sun, the heat on your head making you feel dizzy.

focus, you tell yourself, focus on the screen, at least.

from suna: im coming back to the hotel

to suna: omo… buy me food

from suna: hmm

to suna: cmon dont be shy

from suna: only if you buy me twice as much

meanwhile, suna’s got his jacket and backpack on, ready to go back. atsumu walks next to him, testing his patience at not sneaking a peek at suna’s phone, trying too hard to start a conversation with kita beside him.

atsumu does wonder what goes on in the chat. maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to see…

to suna: my god okay maybe we can get like

there’s no response. you’re not even typing. was that the end of the sentence? he closes his phone for a moment.

he gets a notification on his phone a second later.

to suna: hi, this is yuki. something bad just happened to y/n.

“holy shit,” atsumu mutters under his breath, “suna, is your girlfriend okay?”

“atsumu, you don’t just… do that.”

“shit, sorry.”

“it’s fine,” suna sighs. there is a pang in his chest and a struggling sentence of ‘i knew it’ swimming in his mind, worry seeping from the screen to his fingers. suna pockets his phone as quickly as he reads the message, a huff leaving his lips and a quicker, rougher pace developing in his step.

“we just need to go to the hotel.”

taglist: @maitenight @natszoo @ssuna @erens-piss-cleaner @osamus-onigiri @volleybloop @etherealiwa @agaasheesmilktea @bicchaan @anngelllla @tycrackculture @sins-over-tragedy @tsumuluv @daichibrainrot @underratedmage @sunasexual @kenmei @daydreamingtetsu @sunareii @bebegi @laventae @kaashikoi @chanayah @fukurodianthus @bearykei @yatoatyourservice (if i couldn’t tag you, your url is bolded :))

send an ask to be added to the taglist!

as always, thank you to @yooroomi for beta reading this series!

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna x reader #hqradiostation #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #hq scenarios #hq fluff #haikyuu imagines #suna rintarou #haikyuu!! x reader #suna fluff #suna imagines #suna x you #suna rintarou x reader #suna scenarios

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 4 years

Text

Tease (Angel Reyes)

A/N: SOAK ME IN HOLY WATER Y’ALL. This is pure smutty smut. Enjoy! As always, feedback is gold!

MASTERLIST

Angel Reyes x Reader

Word Count: 1900k

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, language, mention of choking, public sex?

Inspired by this beautiful picture...

********************

“Baby, what the hell? You hidin something from me?”

To her surprise, Angel’s piercing stare left Y/N flustered, wordless, and oh so horny. His usual sexy smirk was currently replaced with adorable puppy dog confusion. Y/N could no longer contain the laughter cascading down her windpipes. Eagerness oozed out of her pores; Y/N deviously smiled at the handsome man before her.

The thumping between her legs pulsed causing her skin to overheat. Her panties began to moisten against the barely present material hugging her plumped lips. She bit her bottom lip in hopes of containing the rampage of dirty thoughts scouring every part of her overly excited body. God, if only he’d bend her over…take what she so willingly gave to him.

“Ah ah ah, I don’t give away secrets that easily Mr. Reyes. You’re gonna have to sweeten the pot. Dare I say…tempt me?”

It was in this precise moment Angel knew he was done for, merely at the mercy of his beautiful girlfriend. He scooted closer pushing her backwards into his cushioned bike seat. They were out in the open, completely exposed to their surroundings for anyone to stumble upon. It only exhilarated the energy circulating throughout the air. Y/N faintly stumbled losing her balance momentarily before meeting the hazelnut eyes above. His hands magically found perch against her curvaceous hips leaving not a hint of space. Her breath halted, her heart stammered passionately, but she refused to give into him…not yet.

“So, you’re going to try to seduce the answer out of my Reyes? Really confident in yourself, huh?’

“Oh, querida. You have no fucking idea.”

Angel was soon growing fully aware of the effects within his range of capabilities knowing just how to set her ablaze with a simple touch, a press of a button. His nose edged along the column of her neck leaving small traces behind. She smelt of lavender and lilacs, so much so that his cock stiffened against his boxers. Y/N hummed in pleasure willing herself to remain strong.

In a minutely exasperated tone Y/N whispered; I know exactly what you’re doing. And it’s making me wet. Ya wanna feel?”

Angel’s hips thrusted into hers as her hands balanced on the motorcycle behind her, steadying the woman. A soft moan escaped trifling through the air as Angel continued his tortuous nibbles. His tongue was warm, smooth, and Y/N couldn’t help herself from imagining it elsewhere.

Angel’s patience began to wear thin growling softly; “Now, what is it you’re hiding? Or do I need to punish you?”

This time Y/N pushed back lifting herself and sitting down firmly onto Angel’s bike. Her toned legs wrapped around his hips luring him even closer digging her heels into the peak of his ass. She was determined Angel would be eating out of the palm of her hand before night’s end. Her dilated pupils gazed upwards meeting his reflection. If looks could speak volumes, Angel Reyes was drowning in lust.

“Oooh, you giving me a choice? Because if so, I’d go with the choke kink.” Y/n winked egging him on further; “Fuck, I love when you take control, to feel your fingers wind around my throat. Tell me, do you like me soakingly drenched submitting to your every whim?”

She was on the cusp of getting him to fuck her triggering her lower belly to enjoyably tighten, pleasure aching through her core. Her honeyed scent engulfed his flared nostrils, his hands locked determinedly in her bronzed curls, and her pouty lips awaiting his touch, his command. Y/N reached for his free hand pulling it close to her salivating mouth sucking his middle finger voraciously. Erotic moans met his ears as Y/N sucked harder before releasing him with a salacious pop.

“You turned on, baby?” Y/N’s words barely echoed into the shell of his ear like he was submerged underwater. His head lightly spun wanting nothing more than to slide into home base and hear her scream his name.

Once again, Angel grazed against her pelvis squeezing her to his powerful chest; “Looks like someone’s happy to see me?”

Y/N cupped him forcing his eyes to roll into the back of his head. Angel wasn’t sure how much more teasing he could withstand and Y/N knew exactly what she was doing.

Finally, he closed the little distance between them locking their lips as one. He moaned loudly; “Fuck, you feel that? It’s all for you…only for you.” Angel’s mouth planted against her devouring the words on the tip of her very skilled tongue.

“Mmm, has anyone told you how delicious you taste?”

“Most definitely but usually its another very sweet part of me you know exceedingly well.”

Her grin was enough to bring forth his tumultuous end, to cause all relevant thought to be banished, and take her on the goddamn spot.

Y/N’s hands guided straight for Angel’s thick belt, the clink of metal alerting him of her wandering hands.

“Still wanna know your surprise?” Angel sighed contemplating his options slowly losing his grasp on reality. Pulling back slightly from her embrace, Angel connected with her brilliant cerulean orbs; “You’re getting off on this, aren’t ya? Someone likes having the ball in her court.”

Y/N nodded in agreeance; “You bet that fine ass of yours I do. I can’t tell you how fucking sexy it is to see my Mayan all hot and bothered.”

With her hands secured around his buckle and his stare still penetrating hers, she slowly unhooked his clip pulling the excess material off the remaining belt loops clanging it noisily against the gray, cement floor.

“You wanna do this out in the open? Anyone could drive by and see us?”

“Angel, I will say this once and only once, but take your damn pants off and fuck me, NOW.”

Suddenly, Angel was a man of minimal restraint especially when pushed to his very last limit. His pants fell around his ankles alongside his now moistened boxers.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

Y/N loosened her stance allowing Angel’s hands to ghost up her thighs. Goosebumps erupted violently along every crevice of skin as she breathed heavily in anticipation. Angel slipped his strong hands underneath her ass lifting her thong in the process. Y/N silently thanked God for the design of skirts and their functionality. Sitting her down smoothly, he pulled her underwear down her calves before they fell to the ground.

“I’m not goin take it easy on ya, hun. I’m going to fuck you hard until you see shooting stars. Ya hear me?’

Y/N nipped at his shoulder; “Prove it then.”

Angel’s insides roared wanting to dominate the addictive woman he so greedily loved. In the blink of an eye, Y/N clasped his cock pumping him getting harder with every stroke as he watched her hard at work. She was his muse, his angel, his everything. Unexpectedly, Y/N stopped hopping off of the seat. Angel was paralyzed wondering what the hell went wrong before she eyed him conspicuously hiking up her skirt above her hips and jumping back up. She spread wide for him allowing for her pussy to glimmer in the street lights above. Her hand slid down her torso inching closer to her untouched pussy as her eyes begged for him. Y/N inserted a finger producing a squelch of her inner labia.

So, he watched her get lost within herself guiding his hands towards his shaft.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so damn stunning like this. Keep goin.”

Y/N inserted a second finger deepening her reach as her legs moved farther apart.

Angel stalked closer to Y/N stepping in between her defined quadriceps. “I wanna be inside you. Please, querida?” Y/N nonchalantly smiled, whether it be their first time or their thousandth Angel always sought her permission and it drove her absolutely wild.

“Yes, yes please Angel. Fuck me.”

It was then that Angel fondled himself again rubbing up against her slick folds.

“Damn, you are dripping…”

Y/N glanced downwards extending her hand towards his cock before ravenously touching his tip to her clitoris repeatedly pushing her closer to orgasmic bliss. Her thighs clenched; her heart skyrocketed causing her to wither underneath him.

“Godamnit, you’re driving me crazy, woman!”

Y/N panted; “Good.”

Just then, Angel slipped into her warmth pausing for a second to catch the breath lodged within his confined chest. He continued until he was buried to the hilt as her walls hugged him fiercely. It was like the first time every time with Y/N knocking him off his feet. Angel was fully seated within Y/N as her walls hugged him pulling him deeper inside. He pulled out locking eyes with Y/N before plunging into her. Y/N lost her breath as his thrusts picked up in speed. His hand traveled towards her slender throat giving a minor squeeze.

His thumb collided with her clit forcing her walls to clench around his cock. She was a woman possessed, purring and moaning as Angel watched himself glide in and out of her radiant heat. Her hands rested on the back of his seat allowing her to meet him thrust for thrust. Angel’s bike rattled but didn’t loose its steady grip as he continued to plow harder into her.

“Ah, fuck, right there. Harder Angel, plllease.”

Angel couldn’t deny her when she begged, it only spurred him on as he fucked into her like there was no tomorrow. Luckily, not a single car had driven by the abandoned lot as his stomach began to spasm. He brought his forehead to hers allowing for deeper penetration.

“Y/N, you’re so fucking tight. Come with me.” Her neck bobbed unwilling to break eye contact with him knowing what was to come. She grabbed at his ass bringing him unfathomable close as her muscles tightened. Her eyes shut watching the array of colors swirl beneath her lids, again his finger connected with her clit sending fireworks up her spine to the base of her skull.

“I’m cumming A, I’m about to cu—mm”

Her body violently shook as her orgasm gripped her. Angel tensed beneath as he reveled in his final thrust. Hot spurts shot into her trembling pussy as she drew him to his breaking point. She spasmed around him milking him for all his worth, her pussy quivered in obedience. Both their breaths ran ragged as they attempted to calm themselves. Angel stayed dormant unwilling to pull out.

“Still wanna know your surprise big bad biker boy?”

Angel panted in response unsure; “You sly devil. Fuck me stupid then reveal your master plan?”

Y/N chuckled at his absurdity; “…Maybe.”

“Well considering I’m still balls deep, do tell.”

Y/N shimmed her hips initiating Angel’s grunts; “I got offered a position as General Chief of Surgery at Santo Padre Mercy today. I’m staying, baby.”

Angel beamed with pride knowing how hard Y/N had slaved and so damn happy she could stay here with him in the home they’d built together.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it! I’m so proud of you.”

Y/N laughed hugging him; “I’m so proud of us.”

~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @twistnet @ifoundmyhappythought @angelreyesgirl89 @carlaangel86 @imagineredwood @gemini0410 @mayans-mc @reaperwalking @prospectfandom @emmaveale123 @peaky-marvel @kind-wolf @scorpio4dayzzz @starrynite7114 @penny4yourthot @breanime @whyisgmora @thegirlwhowritesfics @star017 @threeminutesoflife @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass @blessedboo @ifoundmyhappythought

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

Text

Beg for me || Jurdan Dom-Sub One Shot

Jurdan Smut Week 2020 • DAY 1

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: M

Summary: “I need you.”

“Then say it. Beg for me.”

Masterlist • AO3

Thank you so much @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 for helping me betaing this, even when you’re sleep deprived, I have no words! 🧡

“Look at me, love”

Kneeled before him, Jude lifted her head slowly, her breath coming out in faltering huffs. A prickling sensation ran over her swollen lips. Surely a reaction to the punishing kisses he’d given her just seconds before. The moment their eyes connected, the intensity she saw there sent an anticipatory pulse down to her stomach.

“Do you know why I am doing this?” He said, cocking his head to the side and arms crossed over his chest. His words were low and honeyed.

Oh she definitely did. Yet, she tugged her lip between her teeth.

Arching an eyebrow he hauled the little chain that connected with the leather band around her neck, his movement soft but firm. Answer me, it said.

The corner of her lips quirked up a bit. The only sign of defiance she’d allow her body to show, or at least that’s what she tried. “Because I misbehaved… sir.” She quickly added at the change in his gaze.

He chuckled. “I might not be your boss at this moment, but I would appreciate it if you still minded your manners.” With another tug to the chain he signaled her to stand. “On the bed, dear.”

Heat creeped up her cheeks at the appreciative hum that left his mouth at the full sight of her. Black lace that barely covered part of her body, combined with high stockings framing her long legs. She’d bought it knowing he’d like it, but couldn’t get used to how much skin it showed.

It was almost unfair that he could keep his clothes on. However, she couldn’t really decide if she liked her boss better when he was completely naked, or just like he looked in that moment: bare feet, black trousers and loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up his arms. More than ready to play with her for hours.

The soft mattress sunk under her. Jude lay down, her pulse rose as he walked towards her.

“Hands up.” He commanded. A familiar clang reached her ears from the drawer he was rummaging in, sending a shiver down her back.

She swallowed before obeying. He had plenty of punishments in his repertoire, but only few include that artifact in particular. That narrowed the options.

Cold metal kissed her wrists and Jude gasped. With a small movement she felt the chain of the handcuffs firmly secured to the bed’s headboard. Her chest rose and fell with elaborated breaths.

She was officially at his mercy.

Turning her head back, she watched him loosen his tie and take it off. Popping the first buttons from his shirt open. His carefree movements, along with those mischievous eyes of his always took Jude off guard.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked.

“You know I do, sir.”

“Hmm.” Her boss purred. “Too bad it has to end.” At that he gently coiled his tie around her head, covering her eyes. He tied it tightly to keep it from falling but not enough for it to hurt.

Pulling away, he left her there, aroused and disoriented. Jude tried to sense where he’d gone. Focusing all she could on-

Jude yelped when something soft caressed her torso. A low chuckle came from the left.

The thing about being sight-deprived was that her other senses intensified in a terrible yet exhilarating way. And he knew it very damn well.

Whatever object it was, probably a feather, he used it to roam over every piece of uncovered skin. He trailed it down her arms, her neck, between her shuddering breasts. Dropped kisses here and there, nibbling at her sensitive spots. The sensation was too much and yet not enough, Jude was quickly losing all coherent thoughts. Every time he sucked low moans escaped from her throat.

She breathed his name as his mouth moved down to her hips. He continued his ministrations, carefully avoiding that hot and needy spot between her legs.

“Are you going to defy my decisions in front of my coworkers again?”

Of course she would, they were both aware of that. Especially if it lent to more sessions of this. It was all part of their game. She was brilliant at work, with her intelligence and sharp temper she had everyone around her finger in no time. And he, a promising talent on the rise, did everything on his power to conquer her. Even when it implied hiding it from the whole company.

It felt so good to quarrel in meetings. But it was better when he gave her that look, the one that signaled he would use that same argument against her later. Alone, and naked.

Jude opened her mouth to answer but felt as if her mind had forgotten how to form words. Fuck, she should be doing better than this, she scolded herself. Focus.

He sucked down on her inner thigh, really close to where she desperately wanted him and she cried out, arching her back. The handcuffs rattled against the board. That damned sound always remained to haunt her in her deepest dreams.

Hot breath caressed her core as he spoke again. “I asked you a question.”

She licked her lips. “No sir, I won’t.” He hummed, using his thumb to play with the lace of her panties and pulled them down just a fraction. Then he seemed to change his mind and dragged his hands up her sides earning a protest from her.

Jude felt the mattress shift under his weight, then hot bare skin pressed flush against her as he stretched on top of her. He still wore his pants and even with them, his hardness was evident. She tilted her hips up seeking some friction, but a strong hand held her hips still. She whined one more time and his fingers now grabbed her with enough force to leave bruises.

“What was that again?” His gruff voice was now against her ear.

She moved to put her arms around his neck but a metallic sound and a yank to her wrists reminded Jude of her position. She almost said the word she knew he wanted. But held back, huffing in frustration. “I need you.”

“Then say it.” He groaned, nipping her earlobe. The hand holding her down moved once more, soft fingers positioning on the edge of her underwear. Please, the word was there on the tip of her tongue. With a torturing pace, he slid them under the thin fabric. “Beg for me, Ember.”

“CUT! Excellent, I think we got it. Good work everyone!”

Voices burst around them.

Jude sighed, the air wavering. Seconds later cold air hit her skin as he moved away from her.

The tie was taken from her eyes and the bright light blinded her a moment. The handcuffs shackled again and were off a heartbeat later.

“Hey.” She turned to find Cardan, stripped down to only his trousers, with the offending artifact on his hand. “Are you okay?”

She blinked and sat up, taking in her surroundings. Filming set, not suite room. And Cardan, her co-star, not her boss. Sometimes she really envied Ember, her character. Getting the chance to live the excitement of a forbidden romance. A hot, forbidden romance.

At her lack of answer, he sat next to her and cupped her face. Worry filled his voice. “Jude? Did I overstep?”

“No, no.” Shaking her head, Jude grinned. “You were perfect, I’m just recovering my breath. I tried to put myself more into it this time.”

“I noticed,” Cardan chuckled. “If I’m honest, for a moment I almost forgot we were acting.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. Me too, she almost said. Instead she just looked at him. Even out of character there was something in his eyes that captured her in a way she didn’t believe was possible. He was kind, funny and incredibly respectful on and off of the set.

Jude couldn’t help the real fluttering in her stomach in every scene they shot together.

She knew romances weren’t unusual in their line of work, but since she was relatively new, this tv series her first leading role, she was still terrified to ruin it. Most of all, to ruin the friendship she’d built with Cardan in all those months.

Coats were given to them, observations from the director and the screenwriters too and at last, they could leave for the day.

Cardan walked her to her trailer, telling another of his weird experiences he’d had while filming. Tears fell from her eyes from all the laughing.

“I trust you’re laughing at the situation and not actually at me.” He teased.

“Oh I’m definitely laughing at you, no need to ask.”

Making an offended sound he ruffled her hair, Jude shrieking and pulling away.

“Jude,” He said, his tone more serious than before made her stop her mocking too. “Are you sure everything was okay with the scene?”

A blush covered her cheeks. “It was. You know I’m relatively new to this. I guess I’m just getting used to all of it.”

He nodded.

“But, thank you.” She added. “For making sure I’m ok, and...for all of your fun stories that make me relax after. It is...really nice from you.”

Cardan’s wide smile almost left her breathless again.

“It’s nothing.” He hesitated for a second. “I have more stories though… We could... go buy some coffee and I could tell you all of it. If you want to, of course.”

She stared at him, not quite believing his words.

He bit her lip and gave her an apologetic smile. “Think about it, will you? I’d really like to...go out with you someday.”

Jude smiled gradually, feeling her heart nearly jumping out from her chest. “I’ll think about it.” She said softly.

“Let me know.” He walked backwards and winked at her. “And Jude… just for the record, I enjoy being tied up too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @sweetlyvillainous @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003 @tessas-herondales

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you) please let me know!

#jurdan smut week 2020 #jurdan smut week #jurdannet #jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #tcp #twk #tqon #qon #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #judecardan #jude x cardan #tess writes

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raleighcarrera · 4 years

Text

ummmmm i got in a random mood to write some gratuitous bryce smut so !! i’m sorry !! but enjoy !!

he’s halfway through an adrenaline high that’s spiraling out of control when he spots her.

casey’s off in her own world, seemingly oblivious to the hospital around her, her nose buried in one of her charts. her hair falls loose around her face, a lock of it flopping into her eyes over and over again each time she pushes it back out of her way.

before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s jogging up to her, closing his fingers around her wrist and stopping her progress down the hall.

casey’s footsteps halt, and then she looks up, her confusion giving way to a grin when she sees it’s him who’s bothering her. “bryce!” she exclaims, voice warm despite how surprised she obviously is, “hi, what’s up? i thought you got called into that emergency surgery?”

“i did.” he shifts on his feet before her, his restless energy starting to pile up. “i finished early.”

casey’s eyebrows arch high, her pretty lips twisting with confusion. “you... finished a thoracic aortic dissection repair... early?”

well, if he wasn’t feeling pretty fucking pleased with himself before, he sure is now. “uh huh.” pride puffs out his chest in a noticeable way.

“jeez.” she laughs, though it’s clear she’s impressed. she tucks her chart in close to her chest, then shoots him a look from underneath her eyelashes. “that’s a really complicated procedure. you must be feeling on top of the world.”

oh, he is, but it’s not only because of his success in surgery. earning the respect and kudos of his mentors and peers is one thing, but knowing that he’s impressed casey -- seeing her face contort into that wide-eyed look of dazzled excitement -- is something else entirely.

he swallows, holding her gaze. “do you have a few minutes to take a break with me?” it’s not exactly an answer to her non-question.

casey’s teeth sink into her bottom lip. her gaze darts around the hallway, and then she nods, slowly, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

bryce pulls her into the first supply closet he can find, shutting the door behind them and thumbing the lock in one fluid movement, already shrugging out of his coat. from behind a rack of extra gloves and scrubs, casey’s doing the same, hurriedly unbuttoning her pants.

“c’mere,” he demands, extending an arm for her and yanking her in towards his chest as soon as she’s within grabbing distance.

casey makes a noise that’s half-laughter, half a yelp of surprise. she steadies her hands on his shoulders and smiles at him, stupidly pretty in the dark closet she’s actually let him pull her into.

at work. in the middle of the day. she must really like him.

bryce surges forward and kisses her eagerly, all traces of gentleness gone from his movements. the moment their lips touch he’s already groaning, sinking into the lush warmth of her mouth and savoring the way she feels against him, one broad palm slowly mapping the curve of her body as his hand wanders down her side.

he feels like he could run a marathon. he feels like a god.

casey’s own fingertips are slowly crawling under his shirt, gripping his muscles where they flex when he holds her tighter, pushing a knee between her legs.

she sounds delighted when he backs her into the wall, ominously rattling a rack of supplies somewhere to their left. casey only forces their lips apart long enough to wrench his shirt over his head and toss it to the floor, grinning brightly at him once it’s gone and he’s shaking his messed up hair back out of his face, mind already on the next way he can get her to make that noise she’d just hummed again.

“you’re way too hot to be street legal,” she murmurs, eyes fixated on his chest. it only adds fuel to the fire of his already raging ego, making him feel practically untouchable -- like it wouldn’t even matter if someone rattled the doorknob to the supply closet loose and caught them right now.

like he almost wants them to.

“please,” bryce returns, breath labored when her fingertips start to dance beneath the waistband of his scrubs, “like you’re not the sexiest girl in the whole city.”

casey scoffs, leaning in to drag her lips along his jaw. “the sexiest girl in the state,” she corrects, lingering behind his ear momentarily before dipping down his neck, “thankyouverymuch.”

he laughs, rocking his hips forward. the movement slips casey’s hand fully into his boxers, and transforms the sound he’s making into a low groan, his grip on her tightening where his hands are spread out over her ass.

“sexiest on the east coast,” he says, voice lowered to a whisper, like they’re alone in her bedroom instead of, arguably, in the middle of the hospital. “no contest.”

casey swings her head back enough for them to look at each other, and the gentle, amused expression on her face would be enough to make his heart skip on its own -- her hair’s already messed up and hanging in her sparkling eyes, her lips curved up into a sweet smile -- but the words it’s combined with do him in entirely. “sweet talker. are you going to fuck me, or what?”

he is, of course, even though they’re running on limited time and every minute they spend in here together makes it more likely that someone will overhear something they’re not supposed to.

they help each other out of the rest of their clothes without talking, though bryce can’t stop himself from lowering his head to kiss every bare patch of skin she reveals to him, his boundless energy manifesting itself in the form of doting adoration left on her shoulders, her chest and the curve of her waist when he kneels down to the floor to help slide her pants to her ankles.

then, in a move that proves she’s much too good for him, casey spins around and holds onto one of the shelving units, glancing at him back over her shoulder with an almost challenging grin.

bryce moves in behind her with barely a moment’s hesitation, vacillating back and forth between trying to remind himself to be gentle and wondering if she even wants him to, burying his face in her hair to kiss the side of her neck.

casey moans, not so loudly someone passing by in the hall would hear, but loud enough to send a shiver down his spine, making him pant into the back of her neck where he’s lining up behind her.

they’ve admittedly pushed the boundaries before -- plenty of times. they’ve messed around at work often and especially when they weren’t supposed to, in the on-call room, by the lockers, at the gym and even in the showers, but this is the first time she’s let him get as far as he is now, knuckle deep in her cunt to make sure she’s ready for him and groaning when he finds her wet, wiggling back against him alluringly.

“shit, case. you’d think you were the one with the groundbreaking medical achievement.”

her laugh is breathless, more of a moan than a genuine sound of amusement. “i mean -- i don’t love work that much.”

“debatable,” he sighs, rocking his hips forward experimentally. casey makes a sound of encouragement, and he does it again, a little more deliberately. “fuck, you feel good.”

“shhhh,” casey instructs, squeezing his forearm where it’s wrapped around her torso, “you’ll get us caught.”

“you’ll get us caught,” bryce corrects, bucking his hips harder, “you’re the loud one.”

“i am -- not,” she gasps, proving his point nicely. he smirks into her hair, ducking his head to bite her shoulder. “you are.”

“can you blame me?” he mutters, tipping his head back in the supply closet, squinting hard at the ceiling in a futile attempt to distract himself. this is going to be (what would be embarrassingly, with anybody but her) quick regardless. surgery had left him needy. “if you could feel you --”

“bryce,” casey sighs, the way she’s squeezing around him drawing his attention from the ceiling back to her bare shoulders, his hands aimlessly wandering along the front of her body while he builds up a rhythm. “i feel you, and you feel -- you feel amazing.”

amazing is an understatement for how she looks in front of him, the shelving unit she’s holding onto squeaking under the movement of their bodies, which builds in speed until the pressure’s almost too much, until his brain is short-circuiting with how good it is.

thankfully, he won’t need to use it for what’s left of today. hopefully casey’s almost about to clock out, too, and then -- maybe there’ll be dinner in their future, for once -- something quiet on his couch with no roommates, no siblings and, most importantly, no interruptions -- something that leads to her falling asleep in his arms and maybe even a lie-in, in the morning...

her broken groan startles him from the domestic fantasy he’s lost himself in, and bryce comes back to himself just in time to clamp a hand over her mouth, grunting into her neck when she wedges his palm between her teeth and bites.

the sharp prick of pain feels almost too good -- like what’s happening to him now is really meant for someone else. his life isn’t actually supposed to be going this well.

it is, though, and casey’s living proof of that.

the way she comes apart against him, shaking in his hold and panting against his hand is like poetry, making his head swim dizzyingly in the space that suddenly feels too small and too warm, his face flushed when he buries it back in the sweet-smelling curtain of her hair.

if he closes his eyes, the smell reminds him of her bedsheets, and all the times he’s fallen asleep with his head on the same pillow hers is resting on, her heartbeat a comforting rhythm in his ears.

in the end, it’s him who makes the loudest noise, because she has the safety net of his hand over her mouth, but that doesn’t stop casey from grinning smugly at him when she shimmies back into her clothes, though she winces a little when her hips tilt to get her pants on and that makes him beam obnoxiously at her, and then they’re just two idiots staring at each other through the dark, overly pleased with themselves for no real reason at all.

he steps forward to smooth his hands over casey’s hair while she fixes her coat, helping the messy strands back into place. something about the dark shadows on the planes of her face makes his breath catch; she’d been stunning out of her clothes, of course, but she’s weirdly even more beautiful now, something almost shy in her eyes when she looks up at him from under her lashes.

“come home with me tonight?” bryce asks, nervous even though he knows what she’s (probably, hopefully) going to say.

the corners of her mouth quirk upwards into a grin, and the vulnerability she’d been wearing fades away. god, but he fucking loves her. “sure,” she hums agreeably, bouncing up onto her toes to press one last smiling kiss to his mouth, already reaching around him for the doorknob at his back, “someone has a successful surgery to celebrate.”

#ns*w #can't stress that enough lol #open heart #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #casey valentine #bryce lahela x casey valentine #bryce x mc #bryce x casey #myfic #long post #idk i just FELT LIKE IT OKAY #it's short and not proofread take it anyway ❤️

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shroomcult · 3 years

Link

@soulxmakaweek

Got a little carried away with this one, so I’m posting it a bit later in the day. If people enjoy it, I’ll likely write a part two for this. I got some ideas rattling around in my head for some fluff to soothe the angst - just want to focus on trying to finish the rest of the prompts first. Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Day 3: Protect

It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out mission. The Kishin egg that had been terrorizing a small mountain town in Kazakhstan was at a relatively low threat level due to the small number of souls it had consumed.

It was once known by friends and family by the name of Erasyl when it was a human - a large, mild-mannered and hard-working man who often kept to himself. No one could understand what had caused him to go down the path that he did, but after consuming the souls of six innocent people over the course of a few months, Erasyl no longer resembled anything close to a human.

One of the creature’s massive arms came swinging at Maka’s unprotected side, flinging her body several feet in the air and smashing through what was left of a window and out into the blustery night air.

She was somewhat relieved to take the battle outside of the cramped quarters of the dilapidated sawmill building they had been fighting in. The lumber yard was something of an obstacle course strewn with old, rusted equipment she’d have to be careful to avoid tripping over, but at least she had more room to move about.

She wasn’t too enthused about the way she had landed jarringly on her left shoulder, though. That was sure to hurt in the morning.

“Dammit, Maka! Don’t stay in swingin’ range of that thing for too long. Strike, and move back!” Soul’s tinny voice vibrated in her hands.

Maybe she had lingered in close quarters of her opponent for a little too long, but she was becoming worn-out from the unexpected length of the battle and a little tired of her partner’s unsolicited coaching.

“It has four arms for death’s sake! It’s hard to dodge every time, okay?!”

“Just be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’. Your frustration is makin’ you reckless,'' he growled. “Head’s up, Big Ugly is comin’ our way,” he added before she had a chance to continue their banter.

She was back on her feet right as it smashed out the remaining bits of glass from the gaping opening of the window and swiftly climbed over the sill. The hand that had been gripping the side of the building had spread a thick layer of ice across the surface, vapor rising from its fingertips. She took quite a few steps back, bringing herself closer to the tree-line of the woods and putting strategic distance between herself and her enemy.

“Hey, you saw that, right? Didn’t think your average Kishin egg would have elemental manipulation powers. Stinks of magic intervention, I’d say.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she replied between breaths.

A Kishin egg with such a low kill-count shouldn’t have been this difficult to defeat. It was uncharacteristically cautious and surprisingly nimble for its imposing size. Now with the discovery of its freezing abilities, she was fearing the possibility of witch involvement. They didn’t have the necessary back-up to be in a situation like that.

She startled at realization that she had no idea what ice powers could do to Soul’s weapon form. It had even attempted to grab him from her multiple times. She would have to be more careful to avoid letting it touch her weapon.

The troll-like monster only took a few ground-tremoring steps before it halted, still quite a bit of feet away from her. Its eyes were pure white making it impossible to truly identify where its gaze was held, but it craned its neck to the side, ears twitching, searching for something. She got the distinct feeling that it was staring at something out in the dense forest that surrounded them. It was deathly still. What the hell is it doing?

For some inexplicable reason, the temperature sharply dropped and a chill that had nothing to do with the sudden cold ran through her entire body. It was so quiet, even the harsh winds around them had stilled completely.

“Maka, something is in the woods-”

In the blink of an eye, the beast in front of them lunged forward, dropping to the ground to sprint at her with the use of all of its arms. The air around them began to whip about violently.

She dashed to the left with every ounce of strength she could push into her legs, desperately trying to find some kind of cover - anything to become an obstacle between her and that thing if only for a couple moments. She needed to buy time, think up some kind of advantage that could bring her close enough to it without putting Soul in danger as well.

The sooner they took this bastard down, the sooner they could confront whatever the hell it was that was out there waiting for them.

She dove behind a rusted old flatbed full of lumber, but her enemy was quick on its feet as well and practically materialized in front of her. She swung her scythe in a smooth arc towards its abdomen, causing it to leap to the side reflexively, but not before throwing two of its arms forward.

She ducked down, but soon felt her stomach sink at the realization that it hadn’t been aiming for her at all.

A chain snapped loudly behind her and all of the thick logs that had been held in place on the truck lurched forward from the force of the strike and began tumbling towards her.

She was agile enough to roll to her side, keeping Soul’s handle tucked against her stomach - but the Kishin egg didn’t allow her the opportunity to properly evade.

It smacked one of the falling logs with two of its arms, launching it towards the direction she had flung herself in. While she was able to avoid having her head and torso crushed, it had landed on one of her legs that had outstretched in an attempt to give her an extra push away from hazard.

Searing pain immediately shocked her system and a raw shriek ripped from her throat as she was pinned between the log and the front wheel of the truck.

The beast lurched forward, and she could only watch with wide and teary eyes as she saw a flash of light and the telltale sound of Soul shifting from steel to flesh and bone.

“Soul, don’t!” she cried despite knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

He met the fearsome creature no more than a foot in front of her, blades sprouting forth from all over his body. He had successfully impaled and immobilized the creature’s bottom two arms with the blades poking out of his shoulders, another larger blade sticking from his chest was embedded fatally in its abdomen. His arms were outstretched and grappling with the beast’s two remaining arms, keeping its broad wrists in a vice grip.

Maka took this time to brace herself with elbows digging into the ground as she used a free arm and leg to attempt to roll the log off of her. Thankfully, the log’s state of decay made it somewhat lighter and easier to move, but the blinding pain of it rolling over her already broken shin and off her foot was almost unbearable, causing her to bite down on a scream. She grabbed onto the wheel of the truck for support and made to stand, but the moment her punished leg made slight contact with the ground, she was down on one knee and holding back a sob.

She couldn’t even stand and walk, what could she even do to help him?

He was visibly shaking with the tremendous effort it took to hold the giant brute at bay, and one of its hands was getting dangerously close to his throat. Smokey frost was budding from it’s open palm.

His heels were dug firmly in the dirt, but it pushed him back until he was nearly bumping up against the log she had just pushed herself out from.

It took a considerable amount of energy for him to even maintain this many external blades at a time, but somehow he pushed himself to manifest two more scythes from his trembling arms that sliced through the Kishin egg’s remaining appendages.

The large hand that had been desperately grasping for his throat had icicles hanging off of it, and the blood that had been leaking from its wounds had begun to freeze in place.

Its left arm was dematerializing, breaking down into ribbons of black matter that shortly vanished into air. It was dying, but so slowly.

At this realization, the beast seemed to gain a final burst of energy from its rage. Its jaw unhinged and it let loose a bellowing roar, saliva flinging in all directions. Soul responded with a rasping animalistic shout that likely scraped his throat raw as he bared fangs of his own.

It suddenly jolted against him, sending him backwards in surprise. He bent his knees slightly to avoid tripping over the log behind him and his back slammed into the front cabin of the truck, denting it with the sheer force.

Only the one arm fully remained, but it strained against him, outstretched razor-sharp claws finally making contact with the vulnerable skin of his throat, digging in.

Soul howled in pain, planting both of his hands against its chest and shoving with all the strength he could muster to send the beast stumbling backwards.

Its jaws were gaping open, eyes bulging out of its swollen head, but no sound came out. It dissolved into fleeting inky blackness and vanished before it even had the chance to hit the ground. The glowing red, scaly orb of its soul remained suspended in the air.

Soul only stood there swaying slightly, gulping in breath after shuddering breath before falling to his knees with a thud that brought a cloud of dust from the ground.

“Soul!” she screeched, ignoring the agony that lit up every nerve in her leg as she dragged herself towards his limp body. She caught the back of his head with her hands the moment he collapsed onto his back. The gashes in his throat were brutally deep and blood was welling up, trickling down his neck and soaking his shirt at an alarming speed.

His breathing sounded wet and labored, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he weakly croaked out her name.

She was removing both of her gloves, placing them against the wound and pressing down in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. One hand held the quickly reddening cloth against his neck while the other stroked his face.

“Don’t say anything else, Soul. Please , please stay with me - you’re going to be okay. W-we’re going to get help, just don’t leave me,” she pleaded, choking on a sob.

He kept his mouth shut, jaw trembling from involuntarily clenching it too hard. His pale brows knit together and his eyes were shining with an emotion that he didn’t have the ability to vocalize. He brought a shaking hand towards her face, so gentle as he tried to brush the tears from hers eyes to no avail as new ones only took their place.

He offered her a tight, apologetic smile. He was blinking sluggishly, the erratic puffs of breath coming from his nose were slowing down, evening out. His hand fell from her face to rest at his side. His eyes finally closed.

Maka’s breathing became frantic and a low wail squeezed out of her tightly clenched throat. The blood had already soaked through both of her gloves and she hastily ripped her coat off to help press against the wounds.

She hadn’t even registered that the winds had stopped again. The air was frigid and her breath formed in thick white puffs in front of her.

She hadn’t dared remove her hands from Soul’s wound, refusing to give up on providing him medical aid. She kept her body close to her weapon, but she looked up when she sensed the presence of another soul emerging from the darkness of the forest. A powerful soul - a witch.

She’d obviously been using soul protect; playing spectator to their battle - but she was done hiding now.

In short time, the witch stepped out from the cover of shadows that the trees once provided her. Barefoot and clad only in a simple white gown, she took silent steps closer and closer to Maka. Frost covered the ground wherever her feet met it.

Her eyes, much like the beast, were entirely white and she had no eyelids to cover them. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a wild mane of black hair that seemed to float eerily behind her. Despite the freezing temperatures surrounding her, fireflies flew around her head like a glowing crown.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Maka snarled like a cornered animal, clutching Soul close to her chest.

The strange witch stopped short only a foot away from her. Something was so unsettling, so otherworldly about her presence.

When she spoke, her voice was ethereal like it was no more than a wisp of wind, so soft yet carrying itself in all directions. She spoke a language that Maka couldn’t understand.

“Please,” Maka whimpered, “Please, do whatever you want with me. Just, let me get him help. Let my Soul live - take me and let him live, I’m begging you.”

The witch regarded her with that same unreadable expression. There was no malice that could be found in her face, but she hadn’t felt kindness present either.

She crouched down to level herself with Maka, and spoke again, but this time in words that she could understand. “You have taken my protector from me. Now, your protector is being taken from you. If the universe wills it, you shall be alone - as I am now alone. We are sisters in this same loss.”

The witch’s gentle words chilled her to her core. She looked up pleadingly into the milky voids of her eyes.

“No - he doesn’t have to be taken from me. He could still live, he’s still breathing. Please.”

The witch nodded once, “Perhaps so. If he does not die today, he shall die another. As it is your nature to seek out battles, it is his nature to protect you from them. His death will not be a peaceful one - this I can promise you. It is not in my hands.”

His pulse was weak, and she could barely feel any air coming from his nose anymore. Time was being wasted on this conversation.

Maka shakily pulled out their portable mirror from Soul’s front pocket, breathing against the glass and smudging the proper number to contact Kid. A trauma team could still be sent in time. She didn’t have to lose Soul despite any cryptic bullshit this woman was espousing.

“Maka? Is your mission completed?” Kid’s voice rang out from the mirror, but she didn’t bother looking at him - or the witch. She kept her eyes on Soul’s face, fingers buried in his hair and stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“I need a trauma team sent out to my location immediately. Soul’s been wounded, and he’s lost a lot of blood. Please hurry,” she mumbled numbly, still refusing to look away from her weapon.

“What?! What’s happened-” he was cut off when she snapped the portable mirror shut.

She leaned down to kiss his forehead, letting her lips linger there.

“You hear that, Soul? We’re getting out of here. I’m not losing you tonight, so don’t you dare let go before they get here,” she whispered against his skin, fresh tears beginning to roll down her cheek.

When she finally looked up, the witch was gone along with the corrupted soul.

The wind was blowing again.

#SoMaWeek2021 #SoulxMakaweek #soul evans #maka albarn #soul eater

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