#i could have just had each one be bones on the ground but i switched it up a bit
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trek-tracks · 2 years ago
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Is that too much to ask, Jim? Spock?
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julymusings · 1 month ago
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you're good to me, baby
with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.
or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]
Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT
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Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.
One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?
Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.
The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?
(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)
The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 
It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)
After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.
The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.
When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.
Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.
You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.
“Jesus,” you mumble.
He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.
“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.
On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”
He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.
I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.
Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 
It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 
Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.
We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.
This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 
It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 
He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 
“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 
“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”
You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.
After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”
“Okay.”
He goes quiet.
You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.
It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.
You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.
“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.
He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.
You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.
He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.
(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)
You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.
“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.
“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.
You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.
Another deep breath. Then another.
Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”
“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.
“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”
You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”
Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.
You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.
“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.
You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.
“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.
You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.
But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.
One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.
He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.
When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.
Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.
His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.
You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.
The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 
“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.
“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”
“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.
He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.
You know why.
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this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚
but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢
listen to the inspo song!!!
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azsazz · 5 months ago
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Shots & Spins
Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader
Summary: Req from @kristijenner19: I saw you were thinking about hockey!AZ because same. How about a fic where she's a figure skater and they're trying to teach each other their respective sports. Imagine poor Az trying to do a spin/jump/twizzle and a reader who can barely ever make a shot into a goal
Bonus points if they switch their skates and have to re-learn how to skate with the new blade
Warnings: Mild panic attack, mentions of readers injury (torn ACL), trauma from coaches (verbal) mentioned.
Word Count: 3088
Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown
HOCKEY SZN SOON MY LOVES 💙💙
Notes: I swear I meant to make this cuter but of course, I had to give it some angst 😅
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“What is this?” You question. You’re probably being rude, with your nose scrunched in disgust. With the way you’re holding the pair of skates as far away from your body as possible, you’re pretty sure you look like the biggest bitch on all of campus. But for the life of you, you can’t figure out why Azriel has handed you hockey skates.
“They’re skates,” Azriel answers. You rip your glare from the offending skates at his obvious response. Your heart stumbles in your chest at the sight of his pink lips twitching, begging to reveal that grin he spends most of his time expertly hiding.
You don’t even realize you’re leaning closer in anticipation, so eager to see that smile until the hitch of his breath snaps you back to consciousness.
You rock back on your heels so quickly you nearly tumble over. Would tumble over if it weren’t for Azriel’s quick reflexes, his large hands enveloping your waist and steadying you back on your feet.
“Thanks,” you reply flatly, dipping your chin to the ground to hide your flaming cheeks. There’s not an ounce of amusement in your body.
“You’re welcome.” You don’t like the smugness in his tone or the way he’s playing with you. Tilting your face back up, you muster all the annoyance lancing through your veins at his retort, shooting him the nastiest glare.
“That’s not what I meant, Az, and you know it. Why am I holding a pair of hockey skates?”
Azriel sits on the bench beside the empty arena, and you want to pout. Why would you want to spend any more time at the rink than you already do? You’re bone-fucking-tired and your knee is feeling stiff. You overdid it in practice this week, trying to get back into the shape you were in before the time you’d been forced to take off, and it’s hitting you hard. All you really want to do is crawl home, roll out your muscles, and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
When you don’t join Azriel, he says, with a humor you don’t feel, “Don’t tell me you forgot about our little bet. Or how you so gracefully lost it.”
Of course you hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget losing at something as simple as a race across the arena? Afterwards, you tried to blame it on the differences in the ice, how it was colder and harder than you were used to, as it was prepared for the hockey team’s game later that weekend.
A rookie mistake, honestly. One that you’ve been kicking yourself over up until this very moment. Well, if you could kick with your injured leg, that is, you’d be doing just that.
You grind your teeth as a memory rises to the forefront of your mind. Your coach’s voice rings in your head, shrill and reprimanding. Why would you take such foolish chances? You need to get your head in your sport or you’re never going to make it on the Olympic team, let alone the University team.
Shame presses down on you, and your eyes prick at the criticism you should be used to by now. Your private coach from your time before Velaris University, Amarantha, had been very creative with her insults, always coming up with comments worse and harsher to cut down any semblance of confidence you had in your sport.
You bet she’s thrilled that you won’t be back in her presence until you’re healed enough. If you heal enough to relearn the very trick that took you out of the running for the Olympic team in the first place.
It must be a thing, coaches insulting their prodigies. You glance at Azriel from the corner of your eye and wonder if his coach is the same way. If Rhys is brutal with his teammates.
And you hate losing. It was Azriel who you wished forgotten about the bet you’d so stupidly agreed to, but here he is, wearing the same look that got you into this position in the first place.
You take your time studying him as you mull over how to get out of this. Azriel’s broad shoulders take up the space of two people, and his deep, dark hair falls over his brow, growing out into the perfect flow all the players seem to be sporting right now. You wonder if it’s superstition or they actually like the look. His thick lashes sweep as he bats them, and your cheeks take on a pink hue as he pretends to preen under your attention.
“Look,” he all but sighs, giving up his act. He leans back, reaching over to grab something out of sight. When Azriel rightens himself, he holds a pair of figure skates, a sheepish smile on his face. The apples of his cheeks mottle with pink. “I got myself figure skates, so we can both look like fools out there. Together.”
Fuck. The sentiment makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t have to be so damn thoughtful, you’re hardly even friends for Mother’s sake.
“Fine,” you manage when you can speak again. You plop onto the bench beside him. Your knee throbs dully in protest, but it’s nothing you haven’t been able to smother before. You’ve worked through worse conditions than hockey prepped ice, have skated in casts and aches so deep you weren’t sure you’d be able to compete at all if it weren’t for your raw love for the sport and your brutal stubbornness, holding yourself to the highest of standards.
And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your usual tricks. No, that’s all Azriel. All you have to manage is a few forward spirals, twizzles, and perhaps an axel just to show off a little, because there’s no way he’ll be able to recreate all of that in one go.
You just hope your knee stays steady for a few more hours.
The both of you lace your shoes in silence. The hockey skates are so different from your figure skates, you note. The blade is much thicker than you’re used to, more curved too. The boots are shorter, and you grimace at the lack of ankle support.
Not to mention you’re not entirely sure how well you’ll be able to stop without your toe pick.
Azriel leads you to the ice. You step on tentatively, giving the new skates a test. They have a lot more give than you’re used to. They’re not as snug, but easy enough to navigate. Muscle memory kicks in and after a few sluggish runs up and down the ice, you think you’ve gotten the hang of it.
The rest of this bet should be a breeze, especially compared to how Azriel is faring.
His face is contorted with a concentrated frown. He looks stiff as a fucking board, which make you giggle and him complain about. “How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely even move my ankles!”
“Practice makes perfect, young Padawon,” you tease, testing how best to shift your weight on the new blades. The pressure on your knee isn’t terrible, thanks to the looseness of the hockey skates.
“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel waves you off. He trails behind you at a slower rate, focused on getting used to the stiffness of the figure skates on his feet. “Just wait until we scrimmage.”
Ugh, no thanks. This is just perfect for you, the both of you out on the open ice, all alone. You don’t want to ruin this peaceful bliss by bringing your competitive personalities into it.
“I knew if we raced under different conditions I’d have won!” You exclaim, zipping past Azriel again, showing off. He glares playfully, but you’re much too busy admiring your skates to notice the way he’s tucked his lip between his teeth, hiding a satisfied grin.
His toe pick digs into the ice, grinding down as he gets a feeling for the foreign piece, but his eyes stay glued on you.
“Ready for a stick and gloves already, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know,” you throw a smirk back in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a brow. “You ready for twizzling?”
“Twizzlers?”
You roll your eyes at his lame joke, but your heart still skips at his wry smile. It’s more than cute. You push off your blade, moving closer to him.
Which is fine, until you try to use your toe pick to stop, only for the realization to hit that there isn’t one on these skates.
You go barreling into Azriel, who catches you in his arms. Your motion throws him off balance and before you even have the chance to squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself, you’re both falling to the ice.
Azriel hits with a grunt that reverberates through your bones. You’d think that Azriel breaking your landing would be less painful than it is, but with the way the muscle is packed on his body, he’s just as hard as the ice that’s no longer beneath your feet.
“Sorry,” you cringe. It comes out breathless and embarrassment flushes your cheeks, but you’re frozen to your spot and all too aware of how his large, warm hands are wrapped firmly around your waist.
“No worries.” Your lashes flutter as his breathy whisper caresses your face. He’s probably just winded, that’s why he sounds like that. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. “Didn’t think to remind you how to stop.”
“I know how to stop,” you argue, but there’s none of your usual fire tainting the words. You can’t even muster one of your famous glares that you reserve for the normally broody hockey player. You break eye contact as the humiliation begins creeping in. You scratch your nail distractedly down the waffled fabric of his olive colored henley. “I just…forgot, I guess.”
The hitching of his breath in his chest shifts your body and you jolt, the situation slamming into you like a truck.
You scramble off Azriel, grimacing at the sound of your blades clinking against his. His grip loosens, hands falling away as you slip to the ice beside him.
You shoot to your knees, then not-so-carefully climb to your feet. Azriel holds his hands out from where he’s still lying on the ground, like he’s more than ready to catch you again should you fall.
You’re positive the heat of your cheeks could melt the entire arena’s ice right now. You need to get the fuck out of here before you embarrass yourself further. You need to never show your face around here again. You’ve already transferred schools once, what’s one more time?
Azriel calls your name, but you hardly hear him over your racing thoughts. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, Coach Weaver’s voice now fills the rest of your head, screeching about your recklessness and how you could’ve injured yourself—
He’s quicker than you thought, or you’ve been trapped in your mortified headspace for too long because Azriel’s on his feet, towering over you and pulling you into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles and his hands tighten around you. He lets you bury your face into his chest and pretends not to notice the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. You’re fucking trembling, and his heart is pounding just as hard.
This is all his fault.
“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he tries to console. He looks around frantically, like one of the sports therapist students or coaches might be walking past the rinks this late at night. There’s no soul in the building besides the both of you, everyone resting for their busy weekends of competitions and away hockey games. “Please.”
You focus on his words, how he guides you, three seconds in, three seconds out. You focus on the soothing patterns he’s drawing down your back, focus on the beating of his heart and latch onto his scent: night-chilled mist and cedar.
“Sorry,” you croak when you finally manage to calm yourself and slide a step back. Your gaze sits pointedly on the ice. You don’t want him to see you like this, a woman who’s about to fucking crumble.
“Don’t be,” Azriel says softly. His hand finds your face, and as much as you don’t want him to, he lifts your chin. You don’t fight it, emotionally exhausted. You should have asked for a raincheck, but you can admit to the fact that Azriel’s gentle touch is a comfort that you can’t help but lean into.
Sad, hazel eyes meet yours. They’re more golden brown than green, a forest of hues backlit by a burst of gold. Your breath hitches as he drags a thumb softly across your lips. They part, even though you don’t mean them to, and the whisper of breath that leaves you passes over his hand, crawls up his arm, and sends shivers down his spine.
“You okay there, sweetheart?”
You’re not sure you can hold yourself together enough to answer his question without completely melting into a puddle at his feet.
Your silence must be answer enough. Azriel takes both of your hands in his own and guides you back toward the bench where you left your shoes. His grip is reassuring, and you’re so tired that you don’t even have it in yourself to sling a witty remark his way.
For what might be the first time in your life, you allow yourself to be taken care of.
You can’t even muster a chuckle at the way he stumbles over the toe pick on his way off the ice, or the way you’re waddling in these skates. You feel anything but graceful and strong right now, but with Azriel’s hand in yours, it’s not as off-putting as you feared it might be.
“Sit,” he says, keeping his fingers clasped around yours as you heed his command. It brings you eye-level to his hands, puckered and pink and scarred to hell. They’re beautiful in every way. He embraces his story, and it’s an incredible strength, one you’re much too terrified of attempting to recreate.
“Azriel, no,” you protest, jolting forward when he lowers himself to his knees before you. You plant your hands on his shoulders, ready to force him away because you’re more than capable of taking your own skates off.
He catches your wrists, and you didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, but they do, and you melt. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of this for you.”
You try to swallow past the knot in your throat to thank him but are unable to. Instead, you nod and reluctantly sit back.
Azriel’s gentle with his movements, like you’re a wild doe that he’s helping free from a snare. He unties the tight knots, and your heart pinches when he struggles for a moment. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t watching so intently, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Like he knows you need to see this.
You carefully keep your mind from wandering into how good he looks like this before you.
He slips the first skate off, and you stretch your toes. It’s a reflex. Azriel smiles, peeking up at you just in time to catch your blush. His gaze ducks away before you become embarrassed, setting your foot down and holding your other ankle, lifting to get to work.
You hiss softly at the ache in your knee.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laces his voice, and you’re quick to reassure him.
“No, no,” you cringe a little at the lingering sting. “It’s nothing.”
“Sweetheart.” Azriel says sternly. Seriously. “That reaction wasn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”
You sigh, defeated in more ways than one. You don’t want to admit that the injury that threw your entire career off-kilter is acting up again. You’d rather not have anyone know.
Perhaps Azriel is different. Or, maybe he’s forcing you, because the gold in his eyes is intense, pinning you to your spot. His mouth is set in a straight, firm line. He looks like he means fucking business.
You avert your gaze. You’ve never admitted defeat like this, but if Azriel can wear his scars so proudly, maybe you can too.
“I tore my ACL a few months ago.” You admit, sniffling. You can feel the shock in Azriel’s gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s the first person at this school outside of your coach who’s hearing it. You’ve never been so vulnerable, especially with someone you hardly know. You press on nonetheless. “It’s been fine up until now.” A white lie. “But it’s been a little sore since I started practicing my jumps again.”
“How many months is ‘a few’?” He questions, and he’s not going to like the answer, so you opt for brushing over it.
“I’ll go back to seeing my therapist,” you offer instead, but even you’re not too sure how much truth your words hold.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Azriel says, and you don’t want his sympathy, but you’re too exhausted for your usual anger to stir to life. “You need to take care of yourself, before it gets any worse.”
His sentiment has your nose stinging, eyes prickling once again. What the fuck is wrong with you these days? Get it together, girl. You can cry in your own room, not in front of the hot boy who’s helping you with your godsdamned shoes.
You drag your gaze back to his. “I will.” You think.
He studies you for a moment before nodding, accepting your answer whether he believes it or not. You don’t have it in yourself to care right now. No, you just want to be back in the safety of your dorm.
Azriel is even more careful removing this skate and helping you slip into your shoes. He makes quick work of his own, and while his head is down, you admire his stature. Broad shoulders and chest that tapers into a tight waist, an ass for days.
You’re not done drooling over him when he stands, offering you a hand.
You slip your palm into his, ignoring the electricity that zips down your arm. You’re hyperaware of him by your side, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure that you’re steady on your feet that he drops your hand.
You try not to feel too disappointed at the loss.
“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Azriel offers, and you trail him from the arena, your heart feeling a bit fuller with the nickname.
_________________________________________
Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:
@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13
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heirofnight · 5 months ago
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so long
pairing: azriel x reader
word count: 1.8k (of heart-crushing angst)
based on this request: could you do something for azriel based off ‘so long, london’ by taylor swift! thank you in advance 🩵
a/n: this is literally just soul-crushing angst. that's it. pls give feedback, and lmk what you think <3
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i saw in my mind ferry lights through the mist i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away
you stood with your back to the rest of the room, peering out at the velvety night sky that was blanketing velaris.
your arms were wrapped around yourself, and you'd opted to put all of your focus towards counting each bright, twinkling star in the onyx sky - anything to avoid turning around, which would result in meeting the eyes of the male sitting on the bed behind you.
you'd heard the sheets rustle as azriel shifted his weight against the mattress. he huffed out a dejected sigh, his wings rustling in anticipation of the conversation that was inevitably going to take place.
you'd shook your head then, squeezing your left shoulder in an attempt to ground yourself, silence your swirling thoughts.
my spine split from carrying us up the hill wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill i stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe
"i can't keep doing this, azriel," you whispered hoarsely, sniffling once.
although you couldn't see him, you felt the tension that stiffened his slouched frame after you uttered those words.
"i've felt this way for awhile, but i kept telling myself to ignore it - i've ignored you shutting down, shutting me out for days. i've ignored the way you've so-," you paused, trying to reign in your quickly escalating emotions before continuing, "so obviously have been going out of your way to avoid me, and i've even ignored you leaving my bed in the middle of the night to return to your own rooms - to sleep alone," you breathed out a quiet laugh devoid of any humor.
when he offered you no response, you kept going, "i'm exhausted, azriel. i am tired. i cannot keep forcing this relationship along, and i refuse to allow myself to continue to be involved with you when it is so clearly one-sided," you finished, voice shaky yet firm.
i stopped CPR, after all it’s no use the spirit was gone, we would never come to and i’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free
you finally turned around, daring to meet the hazel eyes of the male that, a year ago, handed his heart over to you in the palms of his beautifully scarred hands. you were both so happy in the beginning. he'd given you everything, he'd shared everything with you - his past, the horrible, vicious past that he'd endured. every thought, every feeling that made itself known at any given moment. he had slowly but surely opened himself up to you. no crevice was left undiscovered - and you had granted him the same.
but, for what? so much wasted time, wasted energy.
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over the last few months, azriel had begun to revert back to his old ways - to the point where, you'd sometimes had to ask yourself if it was all a dream in the first place. this abrupt, glaring switch had been flipped, and it almost felt like you'd never known him at all.
even now, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. his shadows were twined tightly around himself - a safe cocoon that rendered him wholly hidden from you. his expression was cold, unreadable. before you was the shadowsinger, but you'd fallen in love with your az.
and if this heartbreaking shift in his demeanor wasn't awful enough to endure, he was also refusing to even speak to you about it. you'd receive grunts and hums in lieu of actual verbal responses. did you not even deserve an explanation?
"so, i'm done. i'm done trying to make this work, i'm done bending over backwards. i've only broken myself in half in the process. i am not going to be the only one fighting to keep this, this - whatever this is, alive. thank you for all of the times we've had, but i'm done," you sneered, cringing at how professional your last statement felt, sounded.
so far from where you'd both begun.
and you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it my white knuckle dying grip, holding tight to your quiet resentment
his eyes were cold and full of disdain, all of that anger and negativity being directed towards you - boring through you so intensely, you'd sworn for a moment that his gaze would leave gaping holes on every part of your body it touched.
he cleared his throat, his voice sounding like pure gravel, "so that's it, then? you're just - giving up?," he spat, his shadows swirling around him angrily - the sight reminding you of furious storm clouds preparing to decimate the land beneath them.
you must have been hallucinating.
giving up? you narrowed your eyes, taking a moment to process his words before you spoke.
"giving up?," you repeated out loud, voice hard and disbelieving.
"azriel, have you not been listening to me? have you not been bearing witness to how hard i have tried, and tried, and tried over the last 5 months?," you stepped towards him, face twisted in anger.
"how dare you?," you spat, hands slapping against your thighs as you gestured in utter shock. "i would have died for you, azriel. and several times over these last few months, it felt like i was heading in that direction," your voice lowered, growing dark.
he winced at your words, head dropping to stare at his hands that sat folded in his lap.
so how much sad did you think i had, did you think i had in me? how much tragedy? just how low did you think i'd go ‘fore i’d self implode? 'fore i’d have to go be free?
"i'm sorry," his voice hoarse and full of gravel - remorseful.
you paused, dropping your own head toward the floor.
"it's a little too late for that, az," you softened at his nickname escaping your lips, your heart aching at the familiarity of it. proof that you'd both been more than just strangers to each other at some point, even if that was the heart-wrenching truth now.
he shook his head to himself, running a frustrated hand through his jet-black waves.
curls that you'd play with so frequently when he'd begun to shut down right in front of your eyes. the action always seemed to bring him temporary piece, settling the raging storm that was beginning to brew within his molten-honey eyes.
your hand twitched at the memory, urging you to do the same thing for him again - now. but it was over, past the point of no return.
you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? i died on the altar waiting for the proof
you bristled, straightening your posture after a pregnant pause of silence - you'd realized that he had nothing else to offer. no more words, no more explanations, no energy to fix whatever had irreparably split you both in two.
there was a point - about three months into the relationship - where things were so good, so heart-achingly perfect, that you were absolutely positive that he must be your mate. that was the only explanation for how well you both intertwined with each other. surely, there could be no other male walking this planet more made for you than azriel.
now, that thought almost made you laugh, the irony of it all almost paralyzing.
and so, with azriel offering you nothing further, you began to stride towards his bedroom door. this was it. he had no reassurance to give, no proclamation of love, no argument against the truth.
it was over, and that was that.
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and I’m just getting colour back into my face
three months had passed since you had ended your relationship with azriel on a devastating note.
you'd avoided the entire inner circle for that entire timeframe. you'd stopped visiting the town house, the house of wind. you'd stopped visiting rita's, and the bakery that you knew feyre loved to frequent. you'd opted to ultimately avoid the rainbow entirely. you couldn't bare it, couldn't bare the thought of running into any of them.
the thought of their pitying eyes assessing you after everything that had happened - it was suffocating, it would leave wounds almost as deep and bloody as the breakup itself.
but, as time progressed, you'd begun to heal. you'd met new friends at a cooking class held across the river. and as time went on, you were even able to stomach the food you'd spent so much time learning to create.
and then - it happened.
you'd decided on a whim to accompany your new friends to a café alongside the sidra after a cooking class one evening. it was a beautiful night, the clearest sky you'd seen in what felt like months. you weren't sure if this had anything to do with the newfound clarity you'd received since ending things with azriel, but regardless, it was welcomed.
you were sat around a small, round table right next to the peaceful river, the stars reflecting off its surface in a way that threatened to steal your breath each time you glanced over.
you felt true peace, surrounded by company - friends, friends that were yours, and not yours and azriel's.
a laugh trickled out of you as you listened intently to a story being shared around your table of wine and appetizers. you glanced to your left, squeezing the arm of the new male beside you - leaning against his frame as you both giggled. you'd met him at these aforementioned cooking classes, and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't a large reason behind your continued attendance.
your eyes met his, and you shared a warm smile, and that's when something behind his head - in the distance - caught your focus.
the apex of large, membranous wings. you felt your face blanche at the realization, and you leaned back in your chair hesitantly, heart stuttering against your ribcage.
and sure enough, there stood azriel. he'd already found you, and his narrowed gaze pinned you in place. he was with his brothers, and they seemed completely unaware of your presence at all.
but azriel was always aware, of everything, all the time. and he was painfully aware of you, sitting next to a male that was not him. hooked around his frame as if you were sewn together.
his shadows twirled and looped around him ominously, and you knew him well enough to know that although his expression was blank and unfeeling, his shadows always gave his emotions away.
he was pissed.
but you offered him a tense, pained smile. you felt dizzy, but you nodded once in his direction anyway.
as if to say, i see you, and i'm here, and so are you, and that's okay
it was over, and you'd met someone new, and you had come to terms with that - with all of it.
and you'd wanted him to do the same.
so long, london stitches undone two graves, one gun you’ll find someone
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a/n: this shit HURT. angst with no happy ending makes me want to claw my eyes out. but i hope you enjoyed this request!
a/n x2: i am just getting home from a morning shift, so if any of this was written poorly or not .... great, it's because i've been awake since 4AM. so sorry!!!
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staarboyyy · 7 months ago
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Paid in kind
cooper howard [ the ghoul ] x bounty!reader | no pronouns
explicit - minors dni
tags / warnings ; gunplay, breathplay, bondage, spitplay, hairpulling, oral [ m receiving ], throatfucking, wallfucking, creampie, accidental yearning, prolonged eye contact is sexy, switch!cooper is underrated, mentions of past sexual experiences, nondescript reader genitals, rad x as ghoul birth control
summary ; you've been running for weeks, but there's nowhere he won't find you.
word count ; 5.2k
a / n; inspired by the wonderful @ghoulsbounty and @ghoulbrain ! both are such lovely writers, i couldn't help but jump on this old man's bones !! (also as a texan i just had to put a fic out there using my southernisms)
The sun was achingly bright - That was the first thing you recalled. It beat down against the tattered and worn material of what you could manage for clothes, your eyes squinting as they couldn't resist to meet the sky. Everlasting, going as far as you could see - It brought strange comfort to have this one constant in this place, while also being a nice change from the large warehouse you took shelter in. Your feet moved slowly, the gravel against the soles of your shoes shifting with each step, eyes still pinned on the infinite blue stretching above your head forever. Instinctively, you knew being distracted, and taking time to enjoy the small things in this broken world, would be far less than short-lived. Though, taking in slow breaths of the thick air, clogged with the stench of the dirt below your feet and a dry breeze that stung your eyes; So much so, that you hardly noticed the hulking mutated mass moving towards you. It took in ragged breaths, crouched forward, wet tendrils obscuring its surging bloodshot eyes and split-cheeked jaw, messily hanging off the hinges. This action exposed rows of teeth, tattered and yellowed over the years roaming this land - As you whipped your head around, your hand moved with a practiced poise, already hovering over your weapon, itching with the need to draw against this thing that amassed itself towards you. An ear-shattering crack reverberated through the air before you could even finish bearing your teeth, white-knuckling your weapon. The blast was nasty, crushing through the reptile's large skull with an obscene squelch before falling forward to the hot ground with a thud. It lay in the seeping mess of what must be its blood, a dark pungent green, reeking of hot rubber - It stung your nose with a sharp sour tang, churning your stomach as you threw your hand over your mouth, staggering backward from both the sudden onslaught on your senses and the sudden shot tearing through the air.
"Well, well."
Your blood ran cold as the familiar gruff voice came a few yards past the bleeding mess in front of you, your eyes shuddering over the scene to meet the speaker with a widening gaze. He came from around the corner of the warehouse, that man - The one that insisted on shadowing your every move, no matter how far you ran. The soft breeze of the blazing day swept the tattered edges of his long coat, soft jingles following him as he took a few slow steps forward. He had lowered the gun level your face, gloved hands steady on the weapon as his eyes found yours. They were alive - Coherent, a sharp contrast to the little visible skin he showed, stretching scars bound over his cheeks and neck arching down and distorting the grassy texture of his tanned skin. Slowly, his thumb rose, letting it rest on the gun's hammer with a punctuating step.
"Looks like someone's not payin' attention."
You had been on the run for hours, and yet he cocked his head off to the side as his gaze raked over your hardening expression; It was all for nothing, the ghoul hardly affected by the travel you were desperate to turn into escape. Escape from the world that still tangled itself around your neck, pulling you across this wasteland with little, if any direction. Your heart slammed against your ribs, taking in a tentative breath of the nauseating air, keeping your eyes as far from the gurgling body of the reptile. You were hot, hungry, and most of all, exhausted of running. Maybe he knew that - Maybe that's why he chased you, knowing that one day, you would finally give up. The clicking of the hammer being drawn back pulled you from your thoughts, eyes moving to meet the barrel, then scrape back up to him.
"Why don't you just kill me?" It hurt to talk, your throat cut up and raw from breathing the thick radiated air - Still you couldn't shake the question as it pressed past your chapped lips, keeping your eyes pinned on the barrel. It was challenging, how you spoke to the shell of the man. Your eyebrows drew together, focusing past the smoking barrel of his shotgun with an insistent expression. At this, his eyebrow muscles shifted with a slightly suprised chuff.
"So you do speak." The Ghoul. You heard stories, making your way across the wasteland with little you could to make do, falling into bounty work, and getting caught up with bad people - The wrong people. The ones that talked about digging him up, that he would be able to take out the one target that seemingly ruled the wasteland. The Ghoul's voice scraped across the air, the breeze carrying the rough twang in his voice, the jingle of his spurs as he shifted his weight. You didn't care for the stories of your peers; And my, there were stories. Cooper Howard, movie star, face pasted across battered billboards. You also didn't care for the night three men you worked beside insisted on digging him up - But when you saw your face smeared across the radiated land, posters crumbled and pinned messily to boards and the inside of almost every building; You knew he was looking for you.
"I don't know what you want from me," You said in a rasp, unable to dwell on the near teasing tone in his rugged voice, not in this sweltering heat, not with the stifling smell of the creature between you and The Ghoul - The thing, the shell of a man, Cooper Howard; Or at least what was left of him.
"Well - Looks to me, I just saved your life," He mused, clearing the raggedness in his throat as his eyes lowered to your hand. How it twitched over your weapon, tattered gloves hiding bruises and scars. Cooper pushed his tongue to his cheek, head falling slightly to one side as he eyed your trigger-happy fingers strum at your holster teasingly; His mind pulsed with flashing images, the forking of how this awaited meeting would actually pan out. His tongue slid over the grit of his teeth with a slow hissed breath.
"Now, you plan on usin' that thing?"
A beat met you, breath hitching for a moment as he flicked his speculative gaze to return to yours - And just as you caught each other's eyes, your hand moved. Your fingers wrapped over the mangled handle of your pistol, fabric tied over the base for some steadying on your trembling hands; And as soon as you drew, the bullet fired, keeping his eyes on yours as you squeezed the trigger tight. The sound rocketed through the dusty air, his left shoulder falling backward with an unnatural shift, letting his weight fall off to the side as he grunted softly. His gloved hand reached his shoulder, rubbing at the hole now torn through his jacket, hissing through his teeth. You tried to move quickly, the exhaustion cementing you to the hot dirt of the wasteland as your boot heels scraped against the rubble, pushing yourself away from the other. However, it didn't matter now, not as his hand moved from his crooked shoulder to the coiled thick rope slung around his thick belt, wasting no time seeing your sudden urgency to escape.
"Not lettin' you get away again sugar." You nearly made it to your feet as you heard the chilling metal clinks of his spurs, panting as the sun that boiled overhead went dark; Cooper stood above you with a scowl, grasping the lasso now looped around his hands, clutching at the fraying rope with the assured intent to use it. "Now, you best put that toy of yours away. I need you alive." The sharp pull of the lasso whipped through the space between you, taking hold of your throat with a sudden drawn pressure of your quickly swallowing breath. Your hands rose, letting the pistol fall from your grasp as you white-knuckled the rope, now being pulled by it to your feet. Cooper sucked his teeth, tightening the knot with a gruff exhale as your cheeks flushed, blood rushing in your ears in crashing waves. It wasn't choking you per se - Though the pressure spun your head, staggering as he yanked you forward, invasive eyes now inspecting both your growing frantics and the expertly tied knot.
"From how I'm seein' it - I deserve a little kindness for not lettin' that thing tear you apart," You still managed to scoff, even as the rough frayed rope pressed tighter, threatening to take your breath completely.
"Just trading one monster for another," You spoke in a strained voice, eyebrows twitching together as you still tugged at the rope constricting your air, temples pulsing with hot sparks of pain. His lip twitched, eyes darkening and forcing the knot to slide tighter against your throat for just a moment. You choked, breath pulled entirely from your lungs before suddenly falling against the dirt to your knees, ragged coughs pushing between your lips, drinking down gasps of air with a gluttonous groan. Upon opening your eyes, you could make out his boots, and the sound of his soft snickering - He was entertained by it, the way you so quickly fell from challenging him to kneeling, saliva spilling from your lips onto your chin as you coughed on the radiated air, finally able to tear the constricting rope away from your bruised neck. Cooper let it go on, head tilting off to the side with a smug expression before one of his hands met the top of your head. The leather creaked as his fingers spread and tangled themselves in your hair, gripping the locks and yanking back, you had no choice but to rest your watering eyes on his, trying to control your desperate need for clean oxygen.
"You know how many people want'ya dead?" He looked down at you with a blank expression, his jaw shifting slightly as he kept a firm hold on your hair. "Now, I could sure as hell use the caps," Cooper went on, the muscles of his brow shifting as he sucked his teeth. Your mind raced with the many posters you remember seeing, pasted in nearly every store window in Filly - You didn't know the price they set for you, you just knew it was enough to keep your head low and stay far away from any wastelander that seemed a bit too keen on helping you.
"But, I could also see about being paid in kind."
The hot smell of aged leather clogged the wash of dusty oxygen you gasped down in shuddered breaths. He gripped your chin with his free hand, thumbing the pooling saliva glossing over your bottom lip. He looked perversely deep in thought, eyeing the glassy strings as he drew his thumb back, lips parting slightly with a dry chuckle.
"Well ain't you a sight." Cooper sighed the words in a lower tone, as if speaking to only himself. You bared your teeth, jerking your head off to the side with a grunt, the hot sting of his iron grip on your hair causing you to hiss. "Ah, ah. You cut that shit right now," Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders, glaring towards him with a determined expression.
"You've been tailing me for weeks, you know I don't have anything you want." You spoke through grit teeth, making an attempt to reason your way from his grip on your hair, at least long enough to get a better shot on him.
"We both know that ain't true." Silence befell your snarled lips, eyes twitching over changing his expression - It was somber. As close as his mangled face could manage, muscles clenching in his jaw as his eyes sought something distant and familiar. He looked as if he was trying to remember a dream, eyes searching for that connection. How long has it been since he touched another with no violent motive to do so, you wondered. Your eyes softened, a sigh making its way past your cracked lips. Cooper would never admit just how human you were, that familiarity of how your breathing wavered haunting him. The man would not admit many things, that this motive for caps had fallen away weeks ago, that he pictured what this meeting would look like for hours on end; Would you be terrified, fight back as any normal wastelander would? Would you wriggle free of his desperation for a broken connection, even if rooted in malice? Questions like this kept him from approaching you on those nights.
The nights he watched you from afar, making a fire for yourself as you glanced over your shoulder every moment you could, cooking the little amounts of meat you managed to harvest while on the run. He considered interrupting it all, a quiet shot through the night you wouldn't see coming, even going as far as to click back the barrel with an uncharacteristically shaking hand. Though he never did. Even as you slept, and as he held his gun with a ferocious intent to use it, he never even made himself known.
"I saw you." Cooper's grasp on your hair reflected those many nights, fingers twitching, his senses toying with the idea of allowing you to go on or stopping this entire conversation entirely. "I saw you so many times and just waited for the moment you would fucking do it. And you didn't. So please, just be a human for a second and," The man growled, throat rumbling with a charred snarl as he shoved you backward onto the dirt, releasing your hair and wiping the remaining saliva on his glove over his duster. You caught yourself with a grunt - What would it take then? The heel of your palms scrapped into the hot gravel, as you refused to back down. You deserved answers. "And tell me what you want!"
You shouted the last words - If he killed you, so be it. It would just proved to you how much he's lost of himself, the stories, the fuzzy black and white movies you'd heard endlessly about; That you were right the entire time, there was no legendary Ghoul, just a man in pieces reformed by the wasteland. He grimaced at your voice pitching up, hand hovering his holstered gun with an instinctive need to defend himself before glaring down at you.
"Don't look at me like that." He muttered as he watched you push yourself from the ground, grimacing at the throb in your wrists as you knelt with squared shoulders before him. Your lips shaped the words, throat vibrating with the hum of your voice, though they never came to be; What could you say? He wouldn't answer you, and looked at you with pain in his eyes - Your eyebrows twitched, pursing your lips to pacify the pressing questions that threatened to spill. With a slow movement, you lifted your hand, perching your fingers against the worn fabric and leather of his thick belt.
"How do you want me to look at you?" You asked, the question desperate, seeking any answers he would give you. His gaze darkened, head tilting forward to carefully watch your hand, the shadow of his hat cast over his face. A part of you knew he wouldn't answer. Maybe part of you didn't want him to, even as your other hand lifted to slide the coarse leather tail of his belt through the metal buckle, trying your hardest to ignore the holster just off to the left of his hip. As you drew it away, your eyes snuck a glance upwards to meet his eyes. It sent chills through your veins, the focus on his expression a twisted part monster and so painfully human, his brown eyes unable to settle on just one part of you. He hadn't been touched by someone like this in years - Far longer than he could ever explain, let alone remember. His heart stuttered in his chest, lips twitching as a shuddered breath escaped him.
"Like that," Cooper whispered. His voice - Alluring, a deep purr pillowed with a desire. The voice was nearly foreign, the canvas of the wasteland falling away just for a moment; He let himself fall back in time, eyes softening as the familiar pull of his pulse rushed through his veins, the gloved hand that shielded his holster falling away. The warm leather of his glove met your hand, guiding you to him even as his eyes refused to keep your gaze for too long. His grasp on you was soft, his breathing wavering as your palm met the base of his cock, the friction even through his pants eliciting a soft grunt.
Cooper Howard was never a man to beg, even before the wasteland. Though, as he tipped his head back slightly, the word shaped his lips, swallowing back the urge with a clenched jaw. Now was not the time to let his guard down - But your hands were just so goddamn warm. Moving on their own now, your fingers dancing with the rusted zipper and loose button, he pressed his tongue to his cheek, unable to shake the urge. He released your hand and with an animalistically watchful eye, spoke.
"Please." The desperate tone of his growl was not one of demand - It was the need to be touched without scorching ropes, without venomous words, to be human again, even if for just a moment. There it was, you thought. The man in the movies, you could see it in his pleading eyes, in the way his fingers now laced themselves with tremors. He knew better than to be distracted in the heat of the chase, yet in that silent moment, he was helpless. As your touch lingered on the zipper of his pants, a barely audible groan escaped his lips. The coy tug at his clothing was met with barely resisted impatience, his jaw clenching and eyes darting around, warily assessing the safety of your surroundings. With a final click, the last barrier between you and Cooper's now sparking need was removed, freeing him from this teasing torment of anticipation. His cock resembled the rest of his visible skin, scars arching down the stiff base, veins tracing the underside of his shaft, and aching tip beading with arousal; You had your fair share of dalliances across the wasteland, and so had he - Though not like this, your eyes widening slightly as you took in the size of him, how his eyes watched your every reaction. As your hand wrapped around the man's throbbing cock, rugged and needy, hot and pulsating, his breath hitched.
In that moment, you were as much a captor as he was the hunter. The Ghoul's muscles tensed, beads of sweat dewed against his temples; He bit his tongue, silencing the breathy gasps pushed from his lips. Each stroke of your hand along his shaft sent a shockwave of pleasure and agonizing need crashing through him, his lungs straining for breaths that seemed to evade him.
"Shit," Cooper seethed the word through grit teeth, escaping your locked gaze with half-lidded eyes. His cock responded to each one of your movements, his hips stuttering forward in an unpracticed motion as he ached for more. Your thumb breezed over the scabrous tip, gathering the beading arousal now sliding down his shaft with a shudder.
"Like this?" Your lips ghosted over the tip of his twitching cock, eyes heavy as they sought perilously to meet his, letting the hot weight of him press against the soft of your cheek. Hesitantly, his brown eyes found yours, flickering over the wasteland behind you and your tattered clothes, how they shaped the silhouette of your body. His were parted, taking in unsteady breaths with tense shoulders, anticipating your every motion. His eyes were inexplicably human; Perhaps, you thought, for just a moment you could fall into the very same fantasy that he did. That connection, that heat - You craved it just as much as he did. As your tongue pushed from between your lips, you could hear the pleased groan fall from his chest, shoulders rolling back as he yearned for the pleasure you held just over his head.
"Just like that." Cooper gave a slight dip of his chin, shadowing his eyes with the brim of his hat. You hummed at his confirmation, your tongue pressing to the underside of his throbbing cock, generous with your saliva as you slid your mouth to wrap over him entirely. He hissed a chain of curses under his breath, now refusing to move his gaze from yours as his hips eased forward. He wanted more, greedy upon getting the first taste of something so painfully familiar, that heat he craved, the slick warmth of your lips making their way lower around him. Your tongue worked in slow waves, drinking down the salt of his sweat and the sounds you pried from him with every deliberate movement of your head. The texture of his cock rolled over your tongue, the tip now prodding at the soft of your throat, your lips tightening to accommodate the size of him; At this, his hips jutted forward, eyes tightening closed for a brief moment, eyebrow muscles drawing together in a pained expression of impetuous pleasure. He pushed himself deeper, hips now rolling forward in a rhythm he craved, his fingertips tingling as your teeth grazed against the sensitive scarred skin of his cock. "Fuck baby, that's it," Cooper took a heady breath, lifting a hand to his lips and bearing his teeth with a hiss. He took hold of the tip of his glove, swiftly biting down and pulling the thick leather away from his large hand. Warm bare fingers, met your hair, tangling through it with a purr strung tight in the mans chest. You were so soft, hot to the touch, searing his dulled senses with an electric singe he swore he forgot long ago. Glassy saliva slid over your chin, spreading messily over your lips as you took him as far as your throat would allow, the size of him taking your breath. " Christ - Takin' a ghoul's cock down your throat like that," He followed his obscene growl with a shallow thrust, threatening to surpass the limits of your pillowy mouth and throat as he watched you silently struggle for air. He held himself deep inside, each twitch and spasm of your throat working breathy gasps and trembling groans from his shivering body. After a smug moment, he pulled your head away from his length, the sting of your scalp hitching your messy breathing, instinctively moving to wipe the back of your hand against your soaked lips.
Cooper caught your wrist with his still gloved as it rose, swallowing down the biting urge to continue his ravaging of your throat. Sweat traced his jagged features, the shadow of his hat shifting with the glinting sun overhead, his panting causing his broad shoulders to rise and fall. He found himself searching for the words, on the tip of his tongue he could swear it - How long had it been, since he's been run this desperate for someone? His cock tensing and twitching at the simple idea of someone bent over for him? He tugged you to your feet with a chuffed exhale, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to keep your gaze on his. He wouldn't let you go, not now, not as the hunger flamed in his veins, not as he pressed your stomach against the warehouse you once took shelter in. The man pried off his other glove, tossing it to the dirt below your feet. He wanted to feel you.
"Is this what you wanted?" You breathed raggedly, a chuff of an almost smug exhale ghosting past your lips as you rested your cheek against the rusted steel of the warehouse. His hands were invasive, hungry as the rough skin grabbed hold of your waistband, calluses and scars rubbing over your skin as he yanked your pants to your ankles. A glaze of sweat lit your body aflame, his rough palms groping your ass with a shameless groan. "Is this what you pictured those nights you watched me?"
Your words tugged a deep moan from his throat, his bare fingers making their way to your lips; He gathered the left over saliva from your chin, yet your tongue extended to wrap over his middle finger, coaxing him into your mouth with a tantalizing arch of your back. His cock was heavy against your ass, pulsating with a fierce need for release, fingers lathering over your tongue.
"You got a mouth on you, huh?" Cooper leaned down, his length glazed with your saliva sliding over you - He purred in your ear, the throaty bass of his voice stippleing goosebumps over the nape of your neck. He drew his soaked fingers from between your lips, moving to slide them messily against your hole. Your breathing hitched, thighs parting instinctually as his fingers prodded teasingly at your entrance.
Cooper thought of those nights briefly, gloved hand wrapped at the base of his cock as he watched you from afar, teeth crushing into his tongue to silence himself. Cumming to the sound of your voice, the images of you pulsating in his mind wading into his mind, positioned just like this. He chuckled darkly, the tip of his cock throbbing against your soaked entrance. "Arch that back baby - There you go, that's it," He spoke against the shell of your ear, the rough palm of his hand planted at the small of your back, pressing down gently to arch you to his satisfaction.
You don't remember saying his name, though you distinctly recalled the scrawled cursive of navy blue and yellow all over billboards and television screens; There was nowhere he wouldn't follow, there was no way to forget the taste of his name falling over your tongue as he pulled you tight against him, pushing inside you with little hesitation. You could feel him still for a moment, heart staggering in his chest as you cried out. You cried out for him.
"Cooper!"
The man snarled, the palm on your back clutching at your clothes as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you. The moment your hips met his, he pulled away, then back again. He filled you ruthelessly, pulling your weight against his own just to draw back and fill you again; He clawed at your hips, your lower back, grabbing any of you he possibly could to be sure he'd keep you there. Your head swam with electricity, the slight burn of being stretched so suddenly easing into a head spinning heat, bundling itself tight in your abdomen. Each one of his thrusts stoking the roaring fire in your senses, beads of sweat pooling in the curves of your body as you moved in tandem with the Ghoul.
"Fuck - Sayin' my name all pretty like," He grunted, his head falling back as he pulled one of his hands back, cracking his rough palm against the soft of your ass. You yelped, body flinching at both the sting and the sudden sound, but that seemed to only rouse his hunger for you more. You gasped and arched into the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling the slickness of your saliva and his thickness meld together in a twisted symphony of desire. You pressed against the warehouse, white-knuckled as the pleasure and pain coursed through your body. Every slap echoed in your ears, each time intensifying the sensation, your body clenching around him as you begged for more.
"Cooper, please" You cried out once more, the words tumbling from your lips as if his name was the only thing you'd ever need to say. His hands were tight on your hips, a strangled moan escaping him as he took you. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost to the euphoria of it all. You could feel the walls of your entrance clenching and pulsing around him, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. The Ghoul's rough hands explored your body as your hips began to meet his animalistic thrusts, matching the rhythm and urgency until you were both moving in perfect synchrony, a symbiosis of lust and need. You clawed at the warehouse wall, your legs trembling as your body inched closer and closer to the edge.
"Shit, I'm- I can't, I'm gonna," You knew it wouldn't be long, the coiled rope of need within you was about to snap. A low growl escaped his throat in response, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine, and you knew he was close as well. A hand gripped your hair, tugging gently, his other hand still wrapped over your hip as he drove into you with renewed fervor.
"Cum for me, baby," He moaned for you, a bated breath on his lips. And so you did, the world shattering around you in a wash of blinding pleasure, the shudder that wracked your body echoing the spasms of your core. You screamed his name once more, the sound guttural and raw, as you shattered into pieces, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. Each spasm of your inner muscles caused him to shudder, his own release close at hand. You could feel your knees shaking, his body accommodating your limp weight as he kept you close against him.
"Look at you, fucked so stupid you can't even stand, sugar?" Cooper spoke between grunts, his hands lined with tremors as he held onto you with a desperate gasp. "Shit baby," His eyes locked on your ass, watching how you threw your weight back against him with reckless abandon - He clenched his jaw tight, the fire in his mind and senses sparking aflame in a sharp thrust forward. His movements became messy, clinging to you and muttering obscenities, shuddering out gasps as the fire roared inside him. "This what'ya want huh? Get filled up rough by a man like me?" Cooper groaned at your responsive whimpers, tipping his chin forward in a slow nod, the fire crumbling into an explosion within mere seconds. He came with torn outcry, burying himself to the hilt inside you, watching your hips slowly milk all he was walling to give you.
For a long moment, you remained locked together, breaths coming in ragged pants, before he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you feeling both empty and full at the same time. You slumped forward, still clinging to the steel wall of the warehouse, feeling every nerve in your body tingling. The soft clatter of a glass bottle pulled you from the wading pleasure of your mind, eyes slowly opening to see a bottle of Rad X hit the heel of your shoe. You swore his hands were still on you, the heaving of his breaths still on your ear - Though as you turned, kneels wobbling slightly, he had disappeared into the sinking dusk of the wasteland. Your eyes circled the land around you, shoes crunching the gravel as you leaned your sweat glazed back against the warehouse.
"Fuck," You sighed the word through panted breaths, glancing down at the Rax X, and quickly doing a double take upon catching sight of something else. A leather glove, discarded in the sand and gravel. With a hesitant breath, you leaned down slightly, fingers hooking the glove into your grasp. You held the warm leather in your hand, turning it in your grasp fondly.
Surely he'd be back for this.
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catgirlredux · 12 days ago
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A Machine Named Hope
Content warning // some graphic violence, abuse, and mild body horror
Haiii mechlovers and pilots!! Here's a story I've been working on for a while, if y'all like it enough I might write a part 2~
Enjoy!! =>w<=
crack
Aster’s vision blurred, black seeping into the edges. Through the haze she could barely see the stranger standing over her, hoisting a hefty wrench above their head as they prepared to bring it down again. The head of the tool was slick with blood - the same blood that flowed along Aster’s bone and down her fractured shins.
thump
The stranger slammed the blunt head directly into her left shoulder and the tip dug through her flesh. As they yanked it out unceremoniously the stale air of the hangar rushed in to fill the gash, causing her to yelp in pain.
crunch
This time Aster took the hit directly in her side. Breath gushed out of her lungs; she was too winded to scream, but she could feel and hear ribs fracturing under the assault. She wanted to curl up into a ball, to protect her aching insides, but her legs had been rendered completely immobile and the agony racing through her veins kept Aster nearly paralyzed.
As she shook on the ground, the stranger squatted down in front of her. Through her throbbing headache she thought she could see them smiling, a pained smile that seemed forced through the sweat drifting down their face. They cradled Aster’s cheek in one hand and ran their fingers through her blood-soaked hair; she wanted to inch away but there was no chance.
“You still have much more to grow, little bird,” the stranger whispered. “I’m sorry.” They stood, and Aster watched their heels click away as darkness slowly swallowed her.
She awoke from her dreamless slumber to a sharp hiss. A dim green glow surrounded her and illuminated her surroundings: she was sitting in a box, barely a foot wider than her and not tall enough to stand in. The walls were covered in panels of buttons and switches which emitted soft multicolored lights in the gloom.
As her mind slowly began to wake up, she started to feel the pain again - still unmistakably present, still pulsing through her entire body, yet somehow… softer? By all rights, Aster should have been in too much agony to even think straight. Instead she just felt quite sore and tired, undercut with a slight tingling sensation centered around her pelvis.
She looked down and fought to stifle a scream - a dark, shiny ooze encased her entire body up to the chest. It churned and snaked as if it were alive, weaving between her thighs like a giant worm and slowly creeping across the gash in her shoulder.
Thankfully her good arm was still free. Aster grabbed a thick nodule of the goop and tried desperately to wrangle it off. To her horror, what twisted through her fingers wasn’t liquid but rather a cluster of hair-like filaments. The strands were microscopically thin and each one writhed in sync with the greater mass. Worst of all, many of them seemed to be actively burying under her skin. The ticklish feeling she had noticed wasn’t just her brain starting up - it was dozens of these hairs systematically digging into her very flesh.
With a frantic yank she managed to pull the mass off her shoulder, holding it as far away from her body as possible. She immediately let out a gasp as countless microtendrils slid out of her exposed muscle and even bone, not snapping like string but instead dragging out angrily and sluggishly, like a worm being hunted by a bird.
The ache in her shoulder quickly grew, becoming first acutely present and then overwhelming in its anger. Blood spurted out from the gaping wound in thick streams. Aster recoiled in shock and gritted her teeth. This was the pain she was expecting five times over, and still worsening. But through the burning that was starting to expand down her arm, she heard something. Or perhaps “heard” was the wrong word; it felt like one of her own thoughts, yet muffled, as though it was blocked by glass.
[Please.]
This must be a hallucination, one caused by the loss of blood and the overwhelming pain. Perhaps the head trauma was making Aster see visions - it sure felt bad enough. Or maybe she was hearing the Open Doors calling her. But it spoke again:
[Please. We will die.]
It was hard to argue with that. Aster felt herself growing rapidly dizzier and weaker. It was getting hard to think. It doesn’t even matter now, was all that came to mind as she struggled against permeating fatigue. This was it. She was done for. Her grip gradually loosened and her arm dropped, and she lost the strength to fight back.
The silvery tentacle she was holding inched back towards her shoulder the moment it got free. It extended scores of filaments into her flesh once again, seeming to absorb any spilled blood it touched. Everywhere a strand dug into her the pain immediately dissolved.
Aster breathed a sigh of relief. She found she could think straight again. Within seconds her shoulder felt completely fine (as long as she didn’t look at it). In fact, any pain at all had been replaced with a pleasant, warm flush that reminded her of an opiate shot.
What now? she thought to herself. Now to figure out what was going on - starting with that strange voice in her head. “T-thanks,” she whispered. Was that right? Could it understand speech? It certainly had ‘spoken’ to her in Common. “Whoever… whatever you are.”
The voice didn’t return, but the bundle of tendrils plastered against Aster’s chest pulsed a little and a faint wave of euphoria (or maybe more painkillers) rushed through her.
She hesitated to ask, but she had to know. “Am I - am I dying?”
It spoke again, soft as a memory.
[No.]
Oh thank the Open. That was probably good, right?. Before Aster could ask another question, the voice continued as if it was reading her mind.
[You are not currently dying. However, you have lost 3.872 liters of blood. Your heart and one lung are severely compromised, and three nonvital organ systems are damaged beyond reasonable repair.]
Aster’s heart dropped. She didn’t know too much about medicine, but that sounded less than good.
“Then, what now? How long until I’m better?”
[All viable actions have been taken. Neurological integrity remains at acceptable levels. Nanofilament harness is fully integrated, and fulfilling vital functions in place of damaged biological organs. Core endocrine guidance system stands at 99.6% synchronization. If not for the nanofilament harness, you would cease all vital function within 180 seconds. However, by integrating with this unit, your vital function, and more importantly your neurological integrity, has been ensured for at least 30 more years or until this unit loses NH functionality.]
Did she hear that right? 30 years… attached to this thing… This had to be a nightmare, right? Aster trembled and looked down at her legs: she didn’t see it before, frightened as she was, but now she could trace their outline through their oozing metallic blanket. They were splayed out to the sides at a perverse angle. She couldn’t even tell if they were in one piece.
Aster wanted to vomit, but nothing came up. There was no shot that she would ever walk again, even if she could get out. She became suddenly very aware of coldness in her cheeks, and the fact that she could not feel her heartbeat.
She coughed, “So that’s it then? I’m stuck in this, this box until I die?” The goop shimmered and hummed rapidly. It was laughing at her. “Stop that - kaff kaff.” Her mouth was too dry. Maybe forever. “Fuck. Fuck! Is someone out there? Hello? Why don’t you bastards just kill me? You twisted sick FUCKS!!”
Aster tried to tear the silvery gunk from her torso. She didn’t care if it killed her - she would welcome it. Anything but this. But the fibrous ooze was too strong for her; it pinned her to her seat and this time she could feel the drugs spreading through her body, forcing her to calm down. The voice spoke again:
[You are bound to this unit. But not stuck.]
A prickling sensation sprouted at the base of her neck and her vision blurred and darkened. Aster was sure she must be passing out again. Good, she thought, I hope I never wake up. But before she had sat in the darkness for more than a few seconds, a light appeared that grew into a full image. Something was wrong though: she wasn’t in the cramped chamber, lit by a sole green beacon. Instead she found herself standing in some sort of large warehouse, or maybe a hangar. Sunbeams streamed through skylights in the roof. Large pieces of machinery, from forklifts to giant winches, lay scattered across the entire room.
Aster saw all this from her vantage point high in the air - too high. Either that, or she had gotten way bigger. She spotted a small two-man buggy on the ground. Normally she could pretty reliably fit in the driver’s seat with her slightly-larger-than-average frame, but from here it looked like a toy. What’s more, she felt dozens of times heavier than usual, as though gravity was yanking her feet to the floor and forcing her shoulders down.
A wave of vertigo threatened to knock her over and she stretched out an arm to brace herself against a wall. Wait a second. That wasn’t her hand. Instead she saw a four-fingered metal claw, hard and brutal and definitely not human. She jerked back and the claw yanked away from the wall. She hesitantly balled her fingers into a fist and gasped as the claw followed suit. Aster’s eyes followed it down a tough-looking metal arm, down its entire length until she was gazing down at her own chest. It was broad and angled and shone like polished steel, and below its shadow she could see a pair of equally metallic legs.
Aster should have begun panicking, she knew that. This wasn’t her! She had to be seeing things. But she found herself strangely calm. Instead of being afraid, she was curious more than anything; and where moments ago she had been wishing for death, now she only felt strength, and a deep yet delicate hunger.
“What is this… where am I now?” she whispered.
The voice echoed in her head, [You are now fully neurolinked to this unit, HAK-AM.6836, and receiving a live sensory feed translated from this unit’s exterior. This unit will serve as your vital support, weapon of primary engagement, and means of mobility until its services are no longer required. Congratulations on the promotion, Pilot.] 
A Pilot…as in, for the corps? A HAK Pilot?? She had heard rumors about them: giant steel titans with hellfire in their hearts, who had turned the tide of the War and saved the Thousand Rings from being reduced to a pile of ash. Nobody Aster knew had ever seen one obviously, but people claimed that the distant booming that rang out night and day was the sound of dozens of the machines deploying to protect the outer border. Word was that the HAKs were operated by test tube pilots, grown in a secret government lab and genetically modified for enhanced reflexes.
Evidently that was wrong, because here she was. It felt too strange to believe - but she was clearly in control of some sort of giant robot. Or turned into one, she shuddered. She brought the claw of the giant mech - her hand - up to the ceiling and gave it a single tap. She could feel it, not the texture of the metal itself but the pressure and the impact and even the coldness of the steel.
“But… why me?” She was never the fastest or strongest, or even particularly smart. Aside from working her horrible manufacturing job, Aster pretty much just stayed home. The last (and only) time she had gone to a recruitment session they turned her away. Why did they change their minds?
[Your neuroplasticity phi-levels measured within 0.03% of optimal levels at your last health screening. Likewise, your social fatigue index indicated a likely rapid acclimation towards piloting a kinesosuit. Upon receiving this information, Master Sergeant Sam Lin - your commanding officer - acted immediately to oversee your retrieval and induction.] The machine paused. [Master Sergeant Lin also personally assigned you to this unit, and induced heightened nonmedical trauma to ensure the success of your synchronization.]
So that’s who beat Aster within an inch of her life. She clenched her fist and heard a scrape as the machine’s claw squeezed the air with equal intensity. With her new strength…
[This unit encourages you to dismiss any negative emotional attachment to Master Sergeant Lin. Bodily harm to the degree inflicted upon you is not typically required for neurolinkage, but purging your Hale’s boundary proved difficult. Attempting linkage without appropriately induced physical and mental trauma would have caused rigid particulate rejection, resulting in psyche death with 82.4% certainty.]
Oh but Aster wanted revenge though. She was so powerful now; it would be like crushing a bug. And after what they put her through, she wouldn’t even feel bad. After all, she hadn’t signed up for any of this: one minute she was taking the G-train back home, the next thing she knew she was getting her guts yanked out with a goddamn wrench in some bullshit secret lab. Nobody could tell Aster that her anger wasn’t justified.
On the other hand though… she wasn’t dead. No, just stuck in a giant robot - even if she killed her kidnapper now, there was no going back to her old life, not like this. If the HAK told the truth (and she really had no reason to doubt that), the sergeant had also technically saved her life.
She wanted to join the corps anyway, if only to get out of the shitty run-down Ring she lived on. Her only friend there was a coworker at the Forgehead who had died in an insurgent bombing two weeks prior. It was really only a matter of time before Aster joined them and all the rest, by hunger or violence. Maybe now she had a shot. I didn’t even give myself 30 years to live out there, she smiled grimly.
She tentatively tried to take a step, and as the HAK’s foot hit the floor the whole hangar boomed and shook. Yeah. She definitely had a chance now.
“Well then,” she sighed, “I guess I gotta get used to having you around, right? What should I call you? Cuz I sure as hell don’t wanna say HAK-whatever every time.”
[This unit has no preference for title. This unit’s designated emblem is Fraudulent Hope.]
“Well that’s not very encouraging, is it? Not to mention a bit of a mouthful.” Aster thought for a second. “How about just - Hope?”
The machine pulsed dopamine through her and a slight buzz made her vision shimmer. 
You may call this unit Hope.
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krewekreep · 1 year ago
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2.6K Words. College AU, Study Partner to Lovers AU, GoldenRetriever!BF, Dumbo Hot Boy needs study help.
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When he is the kid in school who just can’t keep up. And not for trying but the fact for whatever reason school just isn’t on his side. You end up being in the class he has the most struggle in. The professor now avoids him cause of all the after class conversation and visits to office hour. He’s more endearing than annoying but his persistance gets grating. He watched over time as you’d receive your results and praise yourself silently. Over time he became curious how well you actually had to be doing for the professor to always smile happily at your raised hand and responses. He began to sit behind you and almost laughed aloud in self contempt seeing your Canvas sitting with a huge 98% in the center. That meant every class you could’ve been signed up for you were practically ace-ing. He knew it best to seek further assistance and the bounce of your breasts at continually doing well made his dick harden the slightest. He mustered up the strength after class and fumbled his way into a conversation you were having with other classmates, shyly scratching the back of his head agreeing with the displeased about how hard it seemed to get higher scores.
He mentioned he just seemed to continually get stuck on three of the topics closest to mid-terms. The defeat in the fall of his head and his almost eerie stare at the ground made you pity him. “Hey, I know that’s stressful, I’ve been doing pretty well with those parts of the curriculum and I’m down to study with you if you wanted?” His entire demeanor switches. “Really!?” He’s a glowing bubbly awkward mess and a flush rises up your neck. You quickly turn into your phone pulling up your messaging app. “Here. Just give me your number and we’ll coordinate a time, okay?” When you look up to pass your phone his smile is ear to ear, eyes squinted, and his hair bouncing. Golden Retriever. Your stomach almost explodes. You shake away the growing feelings of a crush at first site. And lowkey thank whatever God made him this bad at the class work.
When you met up it was the Friday of the same week you both agreed to become study partners. Both of you a bit eager to become acquainted. When you arrived at the library he was leaned against the wall near the entrance asleep. You were able to absorb his physique more with his height extended and his arms crossed. His loose t-shirt flexed around his biceps and torso. You couldn’t say you ever paid much attention to him before but you kinda kicked yourself he had been sitting in class for so long, looking this good, struggling while your ace-ing, and only now you saw the opportune time to see what he was about. You walked up to him and he must’ve sensed you somehow because before you could say anything he slowly opened one eye and stretched groaning loudly as his shirt rose to show his hip bones, lower abs, and belly button. Oh wow.
You guys walked to the study room he reserved and for the first couple sessions you guys just got to know each other and where he had the most trouble. He began to get the hang of things and you realized he’s just the type who has to be more confident in his knowledge. You learned he was an athlete on scholarship and didn’t come from much. He really had had only himself especially for critical moments of development. Everything you learned of him made his frustrated chuckles, flurry of apologies, and tendency to glance over at you for approval all the more heart-melting.
He became your little student. Obedient and ever willing to make you as happy as you wanted. You were never the kind to indulge in that behavior, it seemed belittling and mean. Yet, a sliver of dominance would color your tone when you corrected him. When he’d get too many in a row wrong (more times than not simply his nervousness or psyching himself out) you would reprimand him with a soft hit of your pen against his hand. The little twitch of his fingers turned you on and he wouldn’t admit your commitment to his improvement made him want to prove himself to you more. You weren’t known for initiating much of anything but his willing and nervous energy was something of a turn on you unlocked the more you toyed with him. He got another answer wrong and you both know he knew it. Teasingly you said, “Now you know you know this,” reaching for his thigh and giving it a soft but assertive squeeze. He jumped and his leg began to shake uncontrollably. You laughed aloud at him and he flushed red. “I’m- im sorry.” You rubbed his thigh and his leg was over the moon. You leaned your head into your free hand pouting at him. “Now how are you supposed to pass if you keep doubting yourself?”
Although you were sending him sultry eyes you had to hold your gaze against his as it was no longer nervous or self-conscious. They were lidded and low, peering what seemed farther into you than you could ever do to him. Your stomach rattled and you wanted to falter but without a word he closed the distance with kiss. You gasped a bit before he met your lips and the gap was enough for him to solicit your tongue which you gave him eagerly. Both you wrestled in your seats fighting for dominance until he became frustrated with the conflict. He grabbed your legs firmly lifting them enough be on either of his sides. It caused you to need to support yourself so you wouldn’t fall back. With your hands busy, he pulled you flush to his lower abdomen. You were warm and slightly dazed. His grip on your lower thighs sent hot pulses to your pussy. He was as eager as you letting his grip move closer to your ass. You don’t know how far it would’ve gone had it not been for the attendant that loudly and profusely knocked on the glass showing the both of you to the rest of the lounge. You hid your head in his shoulder as he laughed sheepishly pulling the blinders down. Without a word you packed your things and left together. You weren’t ashamed just embarrassed (and kinda still in the mood). You got a few blocks away before he burst into laughter. You joined him. And as the air cleared he looked over at your disheveled clothes. “Hey,” his dick grew hard (never really went soft) when your doll eyes looked up at him all lusty. “Back to your place?”
After that every study session was had in your respective dorm rooms. Always ending in fucking each other brainless. He was loud and a bit clumsy but you’d come even harder once his thrusts knew how to hit your core bringing you to loud crescendos that made your roommates make last minute plans every time either of you walked through the door. Neither of you had much experience (and for him lowkey too many weird ones) so you ended up studying how to fuck too. His confidence grew immensely as you praised him for how good he fucked you. “Baby—Ah,” your hips rocked together seamlessly. He had a bad habit of staring right into your face wanting to soak in every bit of how gone he had you. “You feel so good. Please keep fucking me like this.” You threw your head back as your pussy began to tingle building towards an orgasm you wanted to achieve badly. “Oh my—please.” His moans grew louder but his gaze on you never wavered. “Tell me how good I feel beautiful.”
He slowed down to position his hips so his dick drove the farthest he had ever been. You yelped clawing into his upper back. “Too much?!” But before he could shift to anything softer you bounced against him. Different feeling than when he moved as your pussy felt sweet gliding up and down his cock. A shock of pleasure caused you to lightly convulse and his abs flexed inwardly so hard it seemed it hurt. “Relax baby.” You repositioned widening your legs, accepting the spread of his girth as your pussy muscled around him abundantly wet and barely able to keep him in. “I got you.” You took hold of his face bringing him into a kiss as you rocked up and down on him. He met your thrusts with his own and a sloppy sound filled the room as he became so undone his groaning and pleading almost drowned you out. “Baby doll I need to cum.” He sounded so innocent and ready. “I really need to cum—uh,” his pace almost stalled as his arms shook, his waist buckled, and he shot his load into you. Feeling his cum squirt all in you made you claw into his back. His cum was so warm it made you feel full and visceral. He went to pull out but you halted him “Baby, can we cuddle?” He beamed so hard at you. “You don’t want me to pull out?” He felt concerned about any roughness and the elephant in the room of him not using protection. “Eh,” you shrugged. “We already have been pretty irresponsible, and I like feeling you in me. Youre…still hard?” He and his entire face and neck went red. “It’s okay,” you laughed. “But I am a bit worn out.”
“Of course, I’m just—I really like this…thing we have going on.” He hid his face with his hair at the admission, turning away futilely. Neither of you mentioned labels out of a deep fear of rejection, only really stalling the inevitable. But in this moment you pulled him to your chest. He had to pull out a bit to readjust and upon inserting himself to the hilt both of you began to slowly rock back. You really did want him again but a sliver of pain pierced you. Your face contorted and he stopped again immediately. “I’m so sorry Y/N.” This time he did pull out, slowly. And pulled you into a cuddle where your head rested on his arm and you felt the fullness of his pillow-like muscle. You began to drift to sleep pretty soon after. Before finally succumbing to your exhaustion he whispered against your neck: “Thank you for everything.” His breath low indicating he also was soon about to fall asleep. “I’ll let you keep me warm another time.” He placed a kiss to the back of your neck sending a sensitive ripple of pleasure through you. You hummed in agreement then you both, bare and fulfilled didn’t awake until his early practice alarm went off.
Midterms came and went. There was no doubt in your mind both of you passed but he sat nerve wracked until the results came in. Not only did he pass he had actually scored higher than you. He felt guilty that you spent so much time worrying about him you didn’t focus on yourself because you obviously deserved the better grade. Upon telling you this you grabbed him by the wrist without a word and led him into a bathroom towards the end of the building. You knew that hey if it wasn’t occupied there’d only be one or two people and you didn’t quite care at all. You brought him into the empty bathroom (thankful something somewhere was okay with you getting your rocks off) and into the farthest, largest stall. He did nothing but submit the entire time and only yelped when you set him against the wall, untying his sweatpants. He grabbed your arm when he saw you beginning to kneel but you looked up at him with an intensity that scared him in the sluttiest way possible. He then assisted you pulling his attire down until his cock somewhat swung up hitting him against his lower sternum. His length was intimidating but you gleefully took him into your mouth.
Although your first time you asked your friends and watched videos. Practicing was a bit embarrassing but you ended up getting into it thinking how well you’d draw all of him into your mouth. You were so excited you had to remember to watch for your teeth but surprisingly he muttered “Mmm what the Fuck. Bite me baby.” You had to swallow a genuine laugh cause this man was really weird sometimes. But you flattened your tongue against the bottom of your mouth bobbing your head with an amateur but passionate pace. “Hey,” you looked up to him peering at you with lust consumed eyes. “Can I help you? Put your hands on my thighs.” You put your hands on either of his thighs, shifting your kneeling to a squat. “Smart girl.” He set his hand reassuringly against the back of your head, leaning his hips up from the wall so his dick was more comfortably set for you. Given he had an angle he knew better than you that continually hitting your cheek like that might become bad feeling. “Take your time, I can be quiet.” With one hand on the back of your head and the fingers on his other hand lovingly gripping either side of your chin he guided you with a knowing pace. He choked on his moans but never broke eye contact.
Something in you expanded as you felt bold enough to reach a hand under to cup his balls. “Waa-where did you learn that?!” You paid him no mind determined to bring him to climax. You’re awkward relationship developments seemed to always lead to public displays of affection. You were especially dismissive towards shame once your eyes soaked up enough of his image, it was almost compulsive how dire you had to get him between your fingers. You finally defeated him as his head fell back and his eyes shut. His Adam’s Apple bulging and flexing as his grip tightened in your hair. You knew he was about to cum. So you bobbed on him with more intensity, letting his tip meet the back of your mouth entering your throat the slightest bit. He became an undone mess of moans. “Y/N you feel so fucking good. So fucking—“ his breath hitched when a rougher mindless thrust had him slip down and gag you ever so slight. A sensation to gag was overcome as he soon came filling the bathroom with expletives and thank you’s.
When you released with a loud pop of your mouth, you looked up at eyes that declared you owned him now. He pulled you up surprisingly aggressive slipping his tongue into your mouth sharing his taste with you. “We need to get out here.” He says with a dark glint in his eye. He threw his hoodie over your head and walked out as if it was nothing. The girls in the bathroom could only snicker and blush, confused and jealous at the hot boy hiding you from exposing yourself. Once out of the bathroom and outside he tells you to keep his hoodie until he sees you again. He kisses you on the forehead. “Umm,” he says rubbing the back of his head. “So we are like? Dating now, right?”
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Who: DENJI, NARUTO, Jean, Tamaki, YUUJI, CHOSO, ARMIN (I think him more nervous if anything ), ICHIGO + any other sweet idiots.
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kel-lance · 11 months ago
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Team Bonding: JJK Students x Reader x Sukuna Part 2
- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more.
- Premise: Characters are (18+) (Reader is 21) Jujutsu College au where things are the same but they found yuuji/He ate the finger at 18/+ the start of college. 
- Yuuji “came back” after two months of “being dead” and you’re in charge of the training for today for the kyoto sister event. 
- Sukuna switches with yuuji in this and chaos ensues :/
__________________________________________________
“Anyone want to come and hold the camera? Sukuna tosses the phone and gets right to it. He slaps your ass and grinds into your softer parts. His weight on your back, taking out the air from your lungs, it kind of was easing the pain in your face.
No I gotta get out of here I can’t have intrusive thought right now.
He picks your head up and makes you look at your friends again. You’ve never seen them so angry, or was it disgust? You knew it was hopeless if they’re not willing to risk getting to safety if they can’t trust you to handle this.
You were adaptable, like you said, it was another part of you reversed curse technique. You were healing your own wounds as he inflicted more. Each strike was messing up your concentration, and no one other than yuta knew how hard that was for you right now.
Sukuna raises his fist again and you brace for it. He smiles and said, “Good, someone get this on camera, now.” You were now faced with two phones in your face.
“Make sure you get her face or I’ll hurt her real bad.” Yuta grits his teeth and looks down. This was too weird, really out of character for everyone to be powerless, essentially you. Pinkie snaps in his direction. “Hey, you did this”
His body shifts back upright, his weight mounting onto his legs, crushing yours that’re pinned underneath. You couldn’t move, not like he wouldv’e let you, but it sure didn’t help you to expect the punch under your shoulder blade. Then the other, and the other all around the same spots.
You couldn’t see with the tears coming to your eyes, much less think without the air you just had whacked out of you. He was just punching into your ribs, your lungs, his eyes sparkling as your head cringed in pain and arms thrashed like a bug under his foot.
He stops when you’re starting to respond less. He turns to the rest of them, “You didn’t listen. Don’t make me do it again I can’t wait any longer.”
You think your rib’s broken, or at least your organs are bruised up. You could probably fix it in a second, but you missed your chance. Sukuna slices open your forearm and sticks his fingers inside, wriggling them, making you lose control.
“AHHHHHHHH” You belted. “AAAAAAHhhHHHHHHHH” Your pitch hitching as he slid his digits down, slicing you opening further.
“Cmon. I’f you give up now-“
You grab at his hand stopping him from strumming at your veins and rip him out. Immediately you use your RTC on and focus your breathing. Your view only on fixing the gash, youre energy was a mess, your hands and rest of you were convulsing. You wanted to look up, in case another assault was planned but you could only see sukuna.
You wanted to look out further, but you could see that they were giving you a face you’ve never seen before.
They don’t feel bad do they? Were they scared for you? You were the best choice of this inane situation, and being perfectly honest, everything still works, you should be fine, No, you. were. fine.
Sukuna licks his lips and laughs at you. “You can’t look at your underclassmen? Won’t you tell them you’re alright?” One palm now on your bruised back, holding you down to the ground while the other starts squeezing at the fat of your ass.
You just continue to heal as fast as you can, multitasking with your bones and organs while he’s distracted. He grabs at the bottom, cupping you in his hand and grasping it as much as he could above your leggings. You could only focus on slowing your breathing again, but that doesn’t help with the confusing pain yet distracting pleasure on different ends of your body.
You heave, hard and heavy, tired as this was a lot of work. It really hast been that long has it? Gojo really left 30 minutes ago? He slaps your ass and they wince for you. Slapping you a few more times, he then goes between your thighs and traces over you from hole to clit. ‘Wuh-”
“Everyone take a picture!” Sukuna tells the others. His hand pinning you down is pressing you further into the floor while his other freed your ass from its restriction. He pulled with such force your hips lifted, causing your ass to bounce when he let go.
“Hm? Not bad at all.”
You could feel it again, except it was harder, bigger, what the hell you could probably tell since he was taller, his build seemed pretty great, and he has a nice face, though it looks devilish right now, you couldn’t help but hate him. It was still your first meet. Every instance of hearing about him made Kugi sad or react in some way, Megs has seen it a few too many times to say much but you knew.
You don’t know if you’d be able to separate him from who he was from who he is now.
“This had gone too fucking far!”
“What the fuck are we going to do?”
“Y/n we’re sorry we’re gonna wait for Gojo.”
“It’s so risky. Can you endure this?”
Sukuna laughs “I SAID that was the lesson today! She’s doing well, I might just keep her after this.”
He covers your mouth and tells you to bite down. He shoves himself inside you, tearing through your walls, forcing his length further with each exasperated rut, you could only freeze up as he kept climbing in you.
Your eyes shot out to nothing. “No way. No fucking way. I want to die this isn’t real I want to die I want to kill him and then die!!!” You tense up, reacting to each thrust as there’s something invading your core, trapping you under him with just his sex. You twitched around, this cramping coming to you as his other head assaulted you from the inside.
You close your eyes, tears forming as your body reacts. The memories of how you decided to become the way you were now, showing everyone you were strong. You were never going to let that happen again, now that you can take almost anything down, there couldn’t be an instance of something like this happening.
It was because it was Yuuji. No, this was because of Gojo sensei. Where was he? The day he decided run late or even have you in charge for the whole day instead of half, what ever it was, this should be on his head. You knew he was careless but he was the one who voughed for Itadori.
Sukuna sighs as he’s adjusting to your heat and restriction. He looks up at everyone else, letting go of your arms as they can see the dead shock on your face.
“Yn?”
You don’t respond.
“Hey they’re asking for you. Show them more.” He slides himself out of you, leaving you gaping from the cockwarming he needed. He picks you up by the back of your shirt, tearing it off along with your sports bra.
“Now that you all know how serious I am,” he puts you in front oh him, playing with your chest and digs his face in your neck, roughly eating away at you. He lifts your leg and shows you off to everyone.
You try to gain control again, out of embarrassment. This was stupid! You were hot!! You knew that!! But you never would just expose yourself to your friends! Your legs quivered and tried to close as you could only stand on your toes.
“Ah ah ah…” he cracked you open, took his two fingers, and spread you outward.
With that you just start crying. The embarrassment, helplessness, and general change in everything made it all so confusing. It happened so fast, the first moment that yuuji got hit in the face that now not even 10 minutes later Sukuna started harassing everyone.
It was worse that looking out finally, everyone had their phones out. If they weren’t looking their phones were facing you, if they were the looks on their faces contorted. They didn’t want to stand there, they couldn’t believe their senior would ever be put in this position, that they would be part of it either.
You could tell some of them were flustered. Everyone just didn’t know what to do. Megumi glowering through his phone. You think if he sees it in real life he might just call moraga. You told him never do that unless he was dying.
Nobara covering her face, her heart breaking as her mentor told her of their past. She kept getting upset whenever Yuuji was brought up, now he’s back but at a cost. She wanted to throw up but she could only cry while watching.
Maki, toge, they scowled. Arms raised to record in case anyone else were to miss a moment, in case they needed some content for sukuna to be satisfied. Maki grit at her teeth, her eyes ripped through you and dig into sukuna who only winked at her.
Toge, usually cool calm collected and even goofy, just seemed helpless too. His brows furrowed but he couldn’t tell what the next move could be. It looked like he was still figuring out a way to stop this. You just wanted it to be over.
Lastly Yuta, holding his device up, his eyes screaming he was sorry for before. Before? Oh your back? And your lungs and all that? You had them under control. You wounds slightly open and partly all fixed, you were still broken in terms of physicality, but mentally there was still a little bit to fight for.
With you spread he starts to play with your sensative parts. He slaps a your thighs and pulls you closer, running his large fingers between your folds and shoving his fingers in.
“You’re like a puppet!” He turns. “Watch what I can make it do.” He rubs his fingers inside you quickly, thrusting hard and invading every crevice you own, he curls his fingers deep inside causing you to whimper.
You hitched your breath and felt a quick jolt of pleasure come from your core. The noise surprised you, but more so surprised your peers.
They were used to you barking orders, laughing at them when you knocked them down, watched as you recovered yourself from everyone’s hits, it was always lighthearted fun, or just brutal attacks from you. This was the main factor that this was real to them. Seeing you cry, not looking at them like you always do, telling them how you feel through your eyes.
It was a talent of yours. You could read people, and you could let others read you right back, not by your actions. That would be too easy for an enemy. Any of your mates knew your signatures, a look could have them burst out laughing or gives them a split second of a warning before you went in. This was a look they’ve never seen before.
“What can we do to make you stop this?” Yuta gritted. “You can’t do this forever.”
His warning didn’t loosen sukunas grip, he instead maneuvered you to line above him. Your legs folded to your chest as the pink dude holds you up, in a standing nelson. “Don’t worry, this vessel can’t last long, so we’ll build a tolerance.” He drops you onto his hard cock, the gravity helping him pierce you further and further, it felt like forever was filling you up.
You couldn’t hide your face, you couldn’t move anything else for the matter. You just squeeze your eyes shut and try to bite your tongue. You didn’t want them hearing you anymore. They could see but there’s no way you could show them this side.
Sukunas hand let go, letting the gravity fully envelope him, and holding you up by the throat. He grunts as he moves you up and down by the neck, playing with his strength and the weight to move you around however he wanted.
“While I have my breaks, she won’t.” He means you. “Before I go, your homework will be capturing the beginning, during, and the end results of you playing with her. I don’t can’t if you share, I don’t care if she’s even awake, you will keep my pet company.” His voice rasped in your ears. What the fuck was he talking about?
He picks you up and drops you on his cock again, you barely being able to think because the pain has all numbed out by now. You could barely anything else, given that you used a ton of energy on your wounds already. Every minute passing by was close to a blackout, but you couldn’t be careless and leave them now.
His head grinds and pokes through your cervix, you’re pissed that the cramps you know that will come from such a brutal beating. “I don’t care what order you do it in.” He’s getting rougher, your face was a mess now, tears, snot, drool, blood, it was all making you lose it. The discomfort, the mess, the humiliation, you felt scared. No, that’s not what that is.
“I don’t care if you even clean up after each other, just pass her on.” He lifts and plunges you down again, like a toy or a doll now, moving you, using you with ease. It was something you’ve thought of before, someone larger using you like a human fleshlight. The terrible, abusing thoughts you grew to endure from your past rape. When you were completely powerless.
Sorcery doesn’t come easily to kids. But now you were supposed to protect everyone. You basically taught them this was how to save you.
The cold air stinging your skin as you all hid in the shade, rather that’s where he dragged y’all. “Remember what I said.” He thrusts into you now, holding you tightly, you’re trying still to stifle your noises but he grabs your face, forcing your mouth open letting everything come out.
“My idea is to keep this from the Brat. For as long as we can go on for. Maybe even until you stupid humans die.” He laughed, you feel his deep voice echo through you. You hold onto his arms, digging your nails into his arms as the only control you had over the sensations.
“If he figures it out, he’ll break, and then I’ll take over.“ He growls into your ear. “Get ready.”
He lets you go, pushing you onto the floor. You’re at their feet now, in front of everyone. Not just a few feet away before, you were now right at anyone’s ankles.
Sukuna slaps your ass again, pulling it back towards his hips before he started to rut into you again. As deep as he could, it hurt so bad as he bullied his dick into you, trying to create a new hole from the inside. But with a soft gasp, he released himself inside of you. The hot liquid being the first to coat your bruised walls.
As he let out sighs of relief, you started letting out cries again, somewhat being able to understand what just happened. Your brain was trying its best to figure out how to help you in this moment, there was so much pressure, you just…
“Look at that!” Sukuna slips his way out, unblocking your bladder. You couldn’t even stop it, the fear and anger and everything just came out with your squirting orgasm. The world in front of you disappeared, your friends faces blurred, having finally your senses just melt away as you spasmed.
“I didn’t have to do much and we both end up cumming. Your friend is a born slut, she’s perfect for my ‘assignment’. ” You legs now dripping with your own juice, and his/yuuji’s seed slowly slopped itself out, adding to the mess.
He leaves you on the ground, catching your breath before laying in exhaustion. You couldn’t do anything else, your legs would give and your head was already so fucked up. “I’ll be popping in randomly, so have everything ready. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself do I?”
Sukuna starts dressing himself again, just tucking himself back into his pants as he planned this to be quick. “Any questions?”
The heavy energy coming from the group ahead. They’re standing with their hearts in their throats, having just watched, recorded, photographed, basically taking part of this sick situation. You look at the girls, they’re more than ready to kill. The initial shock became more than rage, as what was this for other than to humiliate another strong woman.
The boys, they were hard. The guilt in yuta and toges eyes while trying to look away from what they just saw. A confused feeling overcoming them. Megumi now crying that his body also reacted. His fingers drawing blood from how hard he clenched his hands.
Kuna stood behind you, and picked up yuujis phone again. You didn’t know what could even happen next, so you let go, slipping into sleep as you hear clicking.
I'll probably have to edit this later but im working on mafia au (that's got 12 parts ive gotten planned out rn, this one i have 4 more chapters plenned out, and i have a few more fics with 5+ chapters plnned out. but i also got other stuff going on so thanks for reading <3
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bearlytolerant · 4 months ago
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Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan
Rating: T
AO3
say that you will
It is a long way back to Skyhold and she knows she should give him space. But it’s so damn hard to convince herself this is the end. A day ago he was in her arms at dawn. A day ago he had held her hand and said I love you just before noon. A day ago and he had said she was a distraction at sunset.
Is that all it takes to return to strangers? A single day?
What changed?
She would’ve done a million things differently had she known. Traded in a meal just to stroke her knuckles against his jawline. Skipped that war meeting to lay in bed with him for that extra hour. Foregone a night of wicked grace to gaze at the stars, his whispered stories in her ear while he holds her tight.
And yet, maybe everything would’ve played out the same, exactly as it should have.
But what if it hadn’t?
Together they travel in silence, her arms wrapped around his waist upon her hart. Her fingers barely ghost the solid form of him, afraid to be too much when it’s not enough. But he holds her arm against his body tighter, reins in his hands and she knows he doesn’t want what he’s done either.
It’s raining. But the barrier he casts above their heads keeps her hair dry. And she knows if he were alone, he’d let the world dump on him, drenching him to the bone. He does this for her, even still.
The words unspoken form a wall between them but she can hear his heart beat as she rests her head on his back, staining his tunic with tears.
He had offered to walk back to Skyhold, knowing full well the hurt he caused would be unbearable, but she couldn’t bring herself to let that happen. It wasn’t his fault. All along he’d told her about his hesitancy in the relationship. Made his intentions quite clear.
He had said, “It could lead to trouble.”
She’d known this end was a possibility and the most likely outcome. She understood that time was the stipulation and she had agreed to the terms. If only it wasn’t so short-lived.
Stealing kisses and affection from him where she could was something she’d welcomed and treasured. Still, she just wished she’d had some warning so she could’ve stayed in his arms just a little longer. Tasted his lips just once more. Heard him call her Vhenan and mean it. After all, Corypheus wasn’t defeated. He didn't need to destroy what they had. Didn’t need to bury her in ruins.
Why did it have to be so sudden?
Maybe that’s the real reason she wanted him to ride with her. To hold him one last time. To say her silent and broken goodbyes. To memorize the curve of his body against her own and cement what they had as real. Her motivations for this situation were dubious at best but just because he could switch himself off with a sentence or two didn’t mean she was capable of the same.
He asks too much.
“We should stop and make camp,” he says. His formal tone with her jarring and foreign. But he sniffles, softly, almost inaudible.
“Oh, al-alright.” She sniffs too and wipes her face with the back of her hand.
She wonders if she should be angry. Any other sane person would be. But it’s hard to be angry at him when he rubs at his eyes, smearing his own tears with his thumb, trying to hide his own pain from her.
Solas doesn’t offer his hand to help her down like he used to. Doesn’t smile either. Or even spare a glance in her direction. Instead, he stiffly begins unstrapping their supplies from the hart and begins setting up a makeshift camp.
Sarya shuffles alongside him, doing her part to help and move the process along quickly. The sun sinks below the ombré blanketed horizon and the stars take its place as they pull down the blackened curtain. She piles the last of the kindling and lights a fire, then sits on the ground and stares into the flames.
Solas passes her some sandwiches left over from their romantic picnic and each bite she takes makes her nauseous. The bread tastes of despair and smells of heartache. She sets the half eaten sandwich aside, curling her arms around herself and watches the bats flit around in the trees above them. She studies them and wishes she could transform into a bat and fly away right about now. Oh to be a shapeshifter.
“You should eat,” Solas says.
Sarya slowly turns toward him and glares, unfurling herself. She snatches up the sandwich, stands, then winds up and hurls the sandwich as hard as she can into the darkness. Wiping the crumbs off on her leggings, she returns to her sitting position and continues to glare at him.
It earns her a sigh.
“No. You don’t get to do that,” she says.
“Do what exactly?”
“You don’t get to be exasperated with me.”
“You are angry.”
“I am—no.” She shakes her head, a few curls springing loose around her face. Hurt. Confused. Empty. “I have lost my appetite because I am in emotional pain. But not angry—maybe bitter. Spiteful even.”
“It is understandable for you to feel that way.”
“Solas, please. Don’t.” She yanks up a handful of grass and starts shredding it to pieces. “I can’t do this. Talking to you like this. Like what we were, never happened? Like you aren’t the source of all of—this.” She throws her hands up and then wraps her arms around her legs again.
Like he’s a friend who can offer advice and help her heal after hurt.
“This is not easy for me either.”
“Then why do it? Why not wait?”
“Would it make any difference?”
Sarya rubs at her forehead. She can feel the tears coming again but she swallows them back. “Well no. But,” she picks up a lonesome stick and begins to snap it, shredding it into saddened splinters, “can we just—can we just have this one last night?”
She can’t bear to look at him but she hears his sigh. It sounds so heavy and she doesn’t understand it because he won’t let her.
“Please,” she says again between the cricket chirps. “Let me in just one last time. Then we can move on. Promise.”
She sees his fingers tapping against his knee. Long fingers that spent countless nights intertwined with hers. Long, perfect fingers that danced in the air when he was passionate. That have comforted her during nightmares. Healed wounds and left no scars. Elicited pleasure she never experienced before. And now tap, tap, tap against a knee, never to grace her skin again.
“Sar–Inquisitor, it would be easier for the both of us if we refrained. I am sorry.”
No, she will have none of that Inquisitor shit.
She chucks the remainder of the stick behind her and is up on her feet. She marches over to him, fingers clutching his collar as she studies his stupidly sad face. He can’t even look her in the eye. But gods, if she doesn’t still love him. She bends down, fist in his collar and hand cupping his chin as she pulls him into a final, wild, and desperate kiss. He doesn’t move the rest of his body but his lips find their way to her easily enough. When she releases him, he reaches for her, hungrier than ever before.
“We shouldn’t,” he breathes.
“We aren’t,” she replies. And his hands are threaded through her hair and salt is on her lips.
Artwork here
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Text
Welcome Bienvenue, Rollo.
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{January 30th to February 2nd}
Please read the Birthday Blog Takeover Submission Rules. Yes, I’m reviving this from 2020-2021 just to honor Roro—
Something was amiss.
Of that, Rollo was certain.
The air at Noble Bell College had been strained all day, pulled taut like the tightened strings on a violin. Every so often, those strings would be plucked, sending a wave of tension rippling through the campus and setting his bones shaking. There were whispers passed, quick glimpses made, stifled laughs shared between his aide and vice president.
But the instant he so much as cocked his head in the direction of the guilty parties, they would nervously retreat out of sight. Alas, no chance for a proper chiding--nor to divulge their secret.
What do I care of their matters? Rollo scoffed, dismissing the idea of pursuing them. He made his way down the hallway and to the student council's quarters. So long as it does not interfere with my duties or cause a commotion, there is no reason for me to step in. Leave fools to their foolishness.
Rollo swung the door open and stared into an abyss. The fireplace that normally warmed the space had been extinguished, leaving the room blanketed in darkness.
He sighed, running a hand along the wall. His fingers met the light switch and flipped it, light flooding his field of view.
Students, his aide and vice president among them, sprung out from behind furniture. Gargoyles swooped down from the ceiling. Each grinned and chorused, "SURPRISE!!"
Pop, pop, pop!! Crackling, colorful confetti rained down, settling on Rollo's robes and inside of the large brim of his headwear.
He blinked, dazed as the students descended on him. One offered a party hat, another ferried a platter of petit fours, and several more bore wrapped boxes topped with bows. Excited chatter on all sides, eager eyes in every direction.
"... What is this fanfare?" Rollo demanded warily.
"It's your birthday, Mister President!" his aide beamed. "Don't tell us you forgot."
"It isn't that I forgot," Rollo massaged his temples. His growing frown was difficult to conceal with a single folded square of cloth. "It's that I had plans to tend to some important documents today. This is... an unprecedented turn of events."
"You're always working so hard for Noble Bell College and your peers, putting work before yourself," his vice president said.
"We've never seen you have fun your birthday once in all the time we've known you," a gargoyle added.
The aide nodded. "That's why we decided to throw this special celebration in your honor! Let us handle your duties for the day while you relax with your friends.”
"No, I couldn't possibly allow for you to..." Rollo's voice trailed off as realization set in. "Wait one moment. When you say 'friends', who exactly are you referring to?"
“Oh, we were in correspondence with them to prepare for the party,” explained the vice president. “They should be joining us soon. It’s just a short trip for them through the mirror.”
Through the mirror? His gut wrenched with dread. No, it can’t be…! Not possible!!
“Flamme.”
He turned at the voice calling his name, looking as though he had seen a ghost.
Faintness overcame him, and the handkerchief which he reverently clasped to his face fluttered to the ground. Rollo’s face was a show of open shock. “Y-You…!!”
There, in the doorway, was a gaggle of boys in black uniforms edged with golden trim. A band in various colors and a unique emblem was proudly displayed on every left arm. Seven variants, seven dorms.
At the front of the pack was a horned man dripping in black.
They're here. He's here.
Searing bile rose in Rollo's throat.
The villains of Night Raven College. They've returned to torment me.
The horned man's lips pulled back, revealing blinding, knife-like incisors. His voice was a rumble that could shake the mountains. "It is a pleasure to see you again."
Rollo knitted his fingers together tightly, his knuckles going bone white. "Malleus Draconia and company. How kind of you to pay a visit to the City of Flowers."
"Well, it is an important acquaintance's day of birth." Malleus extended an arm to him. His smile was mocking, twisted at the corners. "It is good manners to come and greet the blessed boy."
Rollo snorted, careful to not let his expression sink into a too-obvious sneer--not in front of his classmates. "You will have to excuse me. I don't recall granting you such information."
"Ah, that," Malleus chuckled darkly. "One could say... a little bird told me. Excitable creatures, those. I do believe she is in attendance as well--likely lost in this sea of guests. Do remember to give your gratitude for organizing this get-together, for now you have no need to fear being alone on this momentous occasion."
That Malleus Draconis, he's patronizing me!! Rollo snarled internally. Bells played a resounding war ballad in his head. Were his rage any greater, steam would be pouring out of his ears. How dare he...
Before he could get a word in, his aide and vice president excitedly flanked him.
"Isn't this great, Mister President?" the vice president asked, heartily smacking Rollo on the shoulder. "All your friends gathered in one place to celebrate you and your achievements."
"We worked really hard to put this together," the aide chimed in. "We hope you enjoy it."
"This is our thanks to you!" A line of gargoyles bounced up and down--perhaps the most animated he had ever witnessed the slabs of stone. "Happy birthday, Rollo!"
The words shriveled in his mouth.
He took one look at his fellow student council members. Their jubilant, shining faces met him. He looked at the waiting Noble Bell College students behind them, and then the Night Raven College students walling off his only route of escape. They wore smirks in varying shades. And the dancing gargoyles.
Rollo was caught like a mouse in a trap.
A monstrous roar ripped through the room. "Let's get this party started!!"
"Yes, quite..." Rollo muttered unenthusiastically. He was easily drowned out by his overjoyed classmates.
Rollo glowered to himself as he bent to retrieve his fallen handkerchief. His harsh glare burned a hole in the floor.
The man's carefully crafted schedule, interrupted. Peace and quiet, shattered. His worst enemies in his sanctuary. And he, tiredly relenting and resigning to it all.
What am I going to do with these charlatans...?!
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luna-is-lost · 4 months ago
Text
UNDERWELCOMED
CHAPTER 15
(Before this chapter I would like to credit @amalia-uwu for the idea of what happens to Sans in the 6th POV switch)
Papyrus's POV:
Flying through the air, I grabbed Undyne and we attacked the humans from over their heads. Undyne threw spears at the soldiers, turn the majority of their SOULS green. Since the soldiers were immobilized I was able to shoot bones from the ground and lower each human to 1hp before leaving them. We fought hard and long getting hit rarely, but bringing forth a storm of attacks on the enemy. The humans tried their best, I'll give them that, however they were never came close to beating the Captain of the Royal Guard and her right hand man! As Undyne knocked the last of the Army out I shouted, "Nyeh-heh-heh, W-We've Done It Undyne!" She only smiled and exhaled a shaky breath. "U-Undyne?" I questioned, lowering my best friend down. "Are You A-Alright?" "Y-Yeah, I'm just-' she coughed and breathed heavily- 'exhausted... and h-hot..." Once we touched the ground I removed my glove and touched a scale on her arm...! "U-Undyne, You're ... Incredibly Dry... W-We Need To Get You T-To Some Water." I helped Undyne sit down in a trench the humans had built as I said, "Stay Here, I-I'll Find A Creek In The Forest, T-Then I'll Come Back For You. I-I Promise..." She nodded, wheezing. So, I took off thinking of the best way to get to a brook. It hit me that the fire we fought over and the dry area we set up camp in was most likely the reason she became dehydrated. Though we did have drinking water, we were rather far from the nearest source of fresh water, hence we sent monsters that could fly to get water. I never went because as lieutenant I was meant to stay near the Captain and help her... Suddenly, as I flew through the forest I came across something white and blue... wait... "S-Sans...?"
Sans' POV:
On the ground seein' stars wasn't really on my to do list, but I was sorta struggling to get up at the moment. I heard a 'woosh' over head... Probably a bird- "S-Sans...?" Oh, not a bird, "uhh... hey..." Papyrus landed and immediately began to pick me up from the ground. "What Happened? W-Why Were You Just... Lying There And Where A-re The Others..." Right.... the others... "the others... pap i... i tried but the humans ambushed us. alphys she... uh kinda' sold us out..." "W-what...?" Papyrus's voice fell to a whisper. " 'm sorry paps... is there anyone left with you?" "O-Only Undyne... As Far As I Know The Three Of U-Us Are The Last Ones Standing." All of monster kind... captured? Every living monster but the three of us and Asgore. I can't wrap my head around it really. I don't believe it's true... or possible, but it is. We lost... "S-Speaking Of Which, We Need Water And Fast. I'm N-Not Sure How Well Undyne's Doing..." "i think i heard a stream up ahead. could you get us there real quick?" "Of Course, Brother." Thus Pap flew. Faster than I've ever seen him go before, guess it's just me trying to comprehend the severity of the situation. "I'll D-Drop You Off At The C-Creak And Pick Up Undyne To Bring Her There." "sounds good to me." "Then It's A P-Plan." My brother's so cool. Always level headed, man he shouldn't have ever been involved in this. Perhaps he'll lead us to victory. I don't know how, but if anyone could it would be him. I'm sure of it.
Third Person Narrator (omniscient) POV:
Brother in hand Papyrus soared across the forest, following his brother's directions. The fall colors blurred together into a warm gradient as he flew faster than ever before. Eventually they two arrived at a rocky brooke, the harsh terrain clearing the path of trees. So, Papyrus set Sans down and gave him a quick glance before flying off to retrieve Undyne. She was growing more sick as the seconds went by; Papyrus knew this and he wouldn't let that happen. By the time he arrived to where he had helped Undyne to the sun was beginning to set. She was asleep when Papyrus walked up to her, before gently shaking her shoulder to wake her. "Undyne, h-how are you feeling?..." He asked once she opened her eyes. "....mmmhm heat sick...?" "I-I see... Sans helped me find a creek that you could swim in and that we can all get some drinking water from." "S... sounds good." She coughed harshly after she spoke. It was getting worse, she couldn't go on like this any longer. "I-I'm going to get us o-over there, don't worry..." Papyrus picked her up from the dirt and took off once again. He was getting tired...but he refused to give up or land before Undyne got to safety. Right now, she was depending on him, they all were. Thus, he flew faster, tried harder, and regained his focus as he made it to the half way point. Undyne was going to be okay, Sans too.
Sans' POV:
Takin' advantage of being near the water by washing my face and getting something to drink is... most likely the best decision I've made in a while. The water is cold, but it's not like I care. 's refreshing, Papyrus would say the same. The wind is getting louder, so I'd assume he's almost here... The sky is somewhat cloudy which makes it harder to see, but I'd recognize that red scarf anywhere. Papyrus is back. "heya bro" I say as he lands. He's carrying 'Dyne to the river so I wait for him before flashing him a smile of which he returns. "glad ya made it here alright, did anyone see you?" "N-No, Sans, There Wasn't A-Anyone In S-Sight." "good, let's get ourselves healed up then." Papyrus had taken off his boots and scarf to help Undyne into the water, but she doesn't look steady. "here, lemme help." I tell them as I go to the right of Undyne to help get 'er into the water. The effect is almost immediate as she dives into the water splashin' us both. "U-Undyne-!" Papyrus yells as he bursts out laughing and I can't help but join in, taking his surprise to splash him again. "Nyeh- S-Sans, Not You Too!" Should've payed more attention cause I didn't see Undyne coming behind me and pushing me into the water. Papyrus yanks me out of the river by my hoodie laughing harder than I've ever seen. I only just realized that I'm smiling... really smiling. He set me down on a rock and I watch as him and Undyne swim and splash each other. The sun is getting low in the sky, but the two show no signs of slowing. They've always had more energy then I could handle, 's probably why they're such good friends. The two of them messed around for about twenty more minutes which allowed me to mostly dry off before the sun set, hanging my hoodie on a near by branch. It was completely dry by the time Papyrus walked over to me sopping wet. "heya, bro, you look soaked to the bone." "Nyeh..." He gave me an annoyed glance before ushering me to sit next to a fire pit that Undyne was building. She shivered as the wind blew a cool breeze reminding me that as a cold-blooded monster her internal temperature dropped and rose from external temperature. "I'll G-Get The Fire Wood, Sans Could You Help Undyne Build A P-Place For The Fire?" " 'course, bro" He walked into the forest after my response and I began to help 'Dyne. Most of the rocks I found were somewhat wet, but they would still work in containing the fire. "you find any?" "Yeah." We arranged the rocks into a circle and finished as a red boot stepped out of the forest. "I F-Found Quite A Few For Us To U-Use. Many Twigs Too F-For Kindling." "Thanks, Pap, you're the best!" Her teeth chattered. "tha's my bro." We help set up the wood and then let Undyne start the fire since she has the most experience. It ignites quickly giving off a comforting warmth. A huge improvement from earlier. ’Suppose it’s a good thing I had most of the food... the other supplies not so much. “We N-Need A Plan For The Morning. Any Ideas?“ Papyrus bit into a cinnabun. “nah, imma go with whoever’s got the best one though“ He sighs. “Why not plan something tomorrow,“She yawns, “I'm exhausted...“ “hmm.... I secound that, paps...“ He sat with his knees bent, legs close to his chest and arms holding them close. “you ’kay, bro?“ “Y-Yeah, I’ll Take First Watch...“ “we don't really need... okay...“ Nothin’ I can do to calm his anxieties, besides he isn’t wrong... Having someone keep guard might help us in the long run. “i’ll take second then“ Undyne would take third but that went unsaid, she was already asleep, her arms crossed as she leaned against Papyrus’s arm... the chipped one not... the other... “well, night paps.“ I zipped my hoodie and threw up my hood before sitting against a large rock near the fire. “G-Goodnight, Brother... And Undyne.“ It was more of a customary thing, since she wouldn’t be responding. I’m shutting my eyes now, I trust Pap to keep us safe.
Papyrus’ POV:
Tonight would have been beautiful, the stars dazzling the sky, the soft babble of the brook, and the cool breeze making the fire that much warmer... Unfortunate that we monsters won’t truly enjoy this till the army stops hunting us down. Until all the monsters are saved, I wonder if things would have been different. Maybe not, perhaps even if the human survived we would remain trapped or be hated my mankind. ...Focus Papyrus! Your brother is counting on you, Undyne too!
There is no movement besides Sans' occasional stirring, no sound besides the chirping of crickets. The fire is dying, but I can't leave the camp to get more wood, let alone move. I wouldn't want to wake up Undyne, but she was starting to look cold. My scarf is sitting on a nearby tree branch because I forgot to put it on, but luckily I can easily reach it. She looks much warmer wrapped up in a scarf. Nyeh, I really am the greatest skeleton -besides my brother of course- and the greatest friend. I can't help but smile... it hurts still, but less.
...
It's been very quiet for the last few hours, seems even the crickets have gone to bed. The wind hasn't even rustled in the grass. For a moment the world appears at a standstill. Nothing happens. Nothing will I want to think, but you never know what lurks in the darkest shadows of the night. Suddenly Sans is awake. He was talking, but I have no clue what he said. "Yes, Brother?" "uhhh.. i was sayin' i can take watch for now." "Oh, S-Sorry, Sans, I Was L-Lost In T-Thought For A Minute." "don't worry about it, bro. just, uh, get some sleep, kay?" I yawned, "I S-Suppose An Hour Or Two Couldn't Hurt?" "sweet dreams, pap." "Goodnight, Sans..." I streched my legs out towards the almost dowsed fire and put one hand behind me for balance before closing my eyes. Sans would protect us, he's never once let me down.
Sans POV:
The forest is incredibly dark, and a weird sound, not unlike foot steps, can be heard. It doesn't help that Papyrus and Undyne are sound asleep, not to mention that the fire's out. I swear I heard whispering as well. Strange... So I check it out, but... nothing's there...? Maybe I'm just being paranoid. The woods are misty at this time for night, if I went in no one would see me. No one would know. An eery feeling comes over me as shadow falls onto me from behind. "Hello, skeleton..." The deep, gravely voiced presence looms over me. His voice is oddly familiar. I turn around to face him knowing that I'd be vulnerable if he had a weapon; he appears unarmed. A sinking feeling in my lack of stomach tells me I should get back to camp. "what do ya' want from me?" I summon my magic ready to fight, just in case. "To finish the job, S. 7267. If you want things done right" the tall man pull something out from his pocket almost too quickly for me to react and shot it at me. "You have to do it yourself!" I summon a few bones to throw at him, but I feel very weak... and so tired..." was... tha' a- a tranq?" "Very astute, S. 7627, though I'd have expected more of a fight." He said something else too, but I couldn't hear him as I fell to the ground with my vision fading to black.
Papyrus POV:
I wake up to the sun shining warmly on my face. "G-Good Morning, Sans, Undyne." Undyne groans as she sits up, rubbing her eye slightly too hard. "Morning, Paps" I stand and quickly help her up. "S-Sans? Are You Awake?" No answer. "Sans?" I look around camp but he's nowhere to be found. "Sans?!" I call into the forest. I turn to Undyne, but she's washing her face in the creek. "Undyne, I-I Can't Find S-Sans Anywhere, It's N-Not Like Him To Ditch Us!" "He never got me for patrols last night..." Her eyes widen horrified and I can't help but think that something terrible has happened, and it might be my fault. "I don't understand, why would someone attack him and not us? We've done far more damage to the human forces." "I Don't Know, A-And As Far As I'm Aware They Could Be Taking H-Him To That Filthy Prison To Do W-Who Knows What..." I feel sick. Undyne and I quickly clear camp and take to the air. I've learned it makes travel much faster, even if it uses quite a bit of magic. "Do You Know Of A Near By B-Base?" "Not a clue" she sighed," we'd have better chances looking for Asgore." "Undyne, L-Look..." "What?" "There's A Human Town." "Alright, can you fly over or around it?" "Y-Yes, But, I Think We Should Go Into It." "Why?!" "M-Maybe The Humans Can-" "Papyrus! What are you thinking?! When has a HUMAN done anything good for us?!" I only look at her sadly and begin to fly towards the town. "Papyrus-" "Do We Really Have A Choice, Undyne? We're Never Going To Find Him Ourselves..." And I fear that I may be right. All I know is I will find my brother, even if it's the last thing I do.
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vxyselectric · 10 months ago
Text
Story of My Life (J.A.T.P)
Word Count: 4.1k
Warnings: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mentions of Parental Death
Pairings: Luke Patterson x Julie Molina
AU: Everyone lives, no one dies (minus Julie's mom, for plot, of course)
In honor of the fandom growing again, and the possibility of a second season, have this little story.
-
Written in these walls are the stories that I can't explain
I leave my heart open but it stays right here empty for days
Luke always watched Julie from afar, admiring the girl from a distance. His friends always made fun of him for it. Especially Alex, who later on became quick friends with Flynn, Julie's best friend.
But, he never talked to her, he knew she knew who he was. He was sure Alex told her a story or two about him to embarrass him. But he never talked to her, he always clammed up whenever she was around.
Luke was content with admiring her from afar, staying quiet as he watched her interact with everyone around her with an energy that could never be contained.
Everyone loved her, that was the thing. Julie was kind to everyone, always helping out people who needed it. He couldn't even count the amount of times she went out of her way just to make sure a stranger passed a class.
She told me in the morning she don't feel the same about us in her bones
It seems to me that when I die, these words will be written on my stone
But he watched her light dwindle, fade over time. No one around her seemed to notice, except maybe Flynn. He could see the way her smiles stopped reaching her eyes, and watched as she stopped going to play a random tune on the piano in the middle of class.
But soon enough, she stopped trying to put on a front. It was like a switch flipped and she stopped caring. The light left her eyes, she stopped helping people out, she even distanced herself from Flynn. Well, she tried to. But Luke knew that Flynn was way too stubborn to let herself be pushed away.
He didn't know exactly what happened, but from the whispers in the hallway it seemed that her mother passed. When he found that out, he felt his heart break for the girl he adored so much.
A piece of him seemed to break every day as he watched Julie become a shell of her former self. He hadn't seen her touch a piano or hum a tune in almost a year. He yearned to hear her angelic voice once more, but alas he didn't know her, nor did she know him.
And I'll be gone, gone tonight, the ground beneath my feet is open wide
The way that I been holdin' on too tight, with nothin' in between
Luke wanted to be able to help her, to bring back the life and energy that she had lost. But he couldn't, he couldn't find the words. He couldn't figure out what to say to her. How he would start the conversation, he had so much he wanted to say but he didn't have the ability to form it into words.
He sat at his desk every night, thinking about the beautiful girl who had lost her spark. The girl that had to grieve over the loss of such an important figure in her life. The girl who had stolen his heart without even realizing she had.
He wished he could tell her the way she made him feel, but he knew if he ever got the courage to he wouldn't say it. He couldn't tell her, not while her wounds are still so fresh. If there was a way to make her happy again, he'd do it. He'd do anything to see her smile again.
Luke went through pages and pages of his notebooks, crumpled up papers overflowing in the trash can that rested under his desk. But he couldn't find the words, he couldn't figure out how to explain the storm that was going on in his head. He didn't know how he could help her.
The story of my life, I take her home
I drive all night to keep her warm, and time is frozen
In a perfect world, Luke saw himself and Julie smiling and writing songs that they sang together. Their friends surrounded them and helped bring their songs to life. In this world, they knew each other and they loved each other deeply. But sadly, a perfect world doesn't exist.
So instead, Luke was going through a funk. Everyone could see it, his friends were worried. He hadn't written a song in months, and his last one was barely a song if he was being honest. He couldn't write, his brain was in scrambles and everything he had written down wasn't good enough.
This went on for long enough that even Reggie had told Luke that maybe it was time to take a break from the band. That's the moment that Luke felt his heart completely shatter. He knew he had to do something, he had to get out of this funk.
But his mind was only filled with Julie, filled with the ghost of what the girl used to be. Overflowing with ways he could help but also the anxiety of being rejected. Filled with longing and anguish for this girl that he had never spoken a word to. He couldn't figure out what to do.
The story of my life, I give her hope
I spend her love until she's broke inside, the story of my life
Eventually, his friends started to give him space. They still hung out with him, gave him ideas of how to get his rhythm back. But they just gave him a bit of space, which Luke was immensely grateful for.
He still watched Julie from afar, finally, after a year it seemed that she was opening up a bit more. She was smiling again, joking around with her friends. She stopped pushing people away, started helping people out again. But she didn't touch the piano.
He saw the longing in her eyes whenever she passed the piano in Music class. He also saw when Mrs. Harrison stopped Julie one day to talk after class. When he saw her leave, dejected and nervous, he knew what the conversation was about.
The need to help her had finally grown too strong, he knew he had to do something. He couldn't watch her be kicked out of music, even if she was having a hard time singing. His choice was solidified when she choked the next day, starting to play a tune only to not be able to get the words out.
Written on these walls are the colors that I can't change
Leave my heart open, but it stays right here in its cage
As Julie ran out of the class after Carrie's particularly harsh comment, Luke had finally had enough. He got up, sending a glare towards Carrie, "That's a new low for you Carrie, real mature of you."
He saw the way her eyebrows furrowed, Luke never got upset. He was a pretty energetic, gung-ho type of guy. He never glared at people, and he definitely never was rude or talked back to someone if it wasn't directed at him or his friends.
But he still walked out of class, after Julie, much to the surprise of all of their mutual friends. He looked both ways, trying to figure out which way Julie turned, seeing her curly ponytail turn around a corner at his right.
He was quick to follow, and once she was finally in his sights he spoke, "Julie, wait!"
At the sound of his voice she turned around, shock evident on her face once she realized who called her. He wasn't surprised that she reacted that way, he never spoke to her despite their mutual friends.
I know that in the morning, I'll see us in the light up on the hill
Although I am broken, my heart is untamed still
"Luke?" She asked, tilting her head as she looked his figure up and down, making Luke scratch the back of his own head.
"That's my name." He mumbled, becoming shy once they were face to face. "I just, I wanted to say to not give Carrie any mind. I'm sure you'll be able to sing again soon."
Julie smiled sadly, shaking her head, "Thank you for that, but that was my last chance."
Luke furrowed his eyebrows, a frown appearing on his face as he looked at Julie. "I'm sure they'll be another, you're way too talented for Mrs. Harrison to give you up."
Julie sighed gently, her eyes flicking back to something behind Luke before going back to him, "I appreciate the encouragement Luke, and I really hope you're right." She mumbled before walking past him.
Luke turned around to watch her walk away, towards Mrs. Harrison. From the look on the music teachers face he knew that it may be the last chance for Julie. He knew he had to figure out a way to make sure she didn't get kicked out of the music program.
And I'll be gone, gone tonight
The fire beneath my feet is burnin' bright
When Luke sat at his desk that night, he finally knew how to word how he was feeling. He finally knew what to write, and that's what he did. He wrote, he put words to how he felt. The want and need to help Julie, the adoration he felt for the girl he barely knew.
When he finished writing, he was quick to message his bandmates that he finally finished a song. A song that he actually loved, one he was proud of for once.
Alex was the first to reply, expressing his happiness that Luke was able to get his groove back and Bobby was quick to second that. Reggie of course just sent a bunch of keyboard smashes that caused a small smile to form on Luke's face.
They ended up meeting later that night, meeting up at Bobby's garage and finding out what melody and music they could add to this song. They worked hard, and were happy that they would have it ready for the pep rally at the end of Spirit Week.
The way that I've been holdin' on so tight
With nothin' in between
The next day, Luke went up to Mrs. Harrison, giving her a small smile, "Hey Mrs. H, I was wondering if the offer to play at the pep rally was still open for us?"
He could see the way that Mrs. Harrison's eyes lit up at that, "Of course it is, you can perform after Carrie and her group."
Luke grinned at that, nodding at Mrs. Harrison before going back to his friends. It seemed that while he was gone, Flynn and Julie had ended up joining the conversation.
His eyes ended up meeting Julie's and he gave her a shy smile before turning towards Bobby, Alex and Reggie, "We're in."
Reggie was quick to bring the 4 of them into a hug, wrapping his arms around all of their necks and pulling them towards him, "The band is back!!" He exclaimed, causing Bobby and Alex to laugh.
Luke looked back over towards Julie, noticing how she smiled softly at the boy's actions. He grinned a bit before finally pulling away from Reggie, clapping his shoulder as he did, "We still will need to practice, we've only played the song once."
"You finally were able to write a new one?" Flynn asked, raising an eyebrow towards Luke. Julie seemed surprised by this, obviously unaware about his current creative block.
"I had a bit of inspiration." He replied, forcing himself to not glance over at Julie as he said it. But Alex just rolled his eyes, letting out a soft laugh.
"That's one way to put it." He said before turning his attention to Flynn, "He wrote a love song."
Luke felt his cheeks heat up as he awkwardly scratched his neck, "There is no way, actually?" Flynn asked, grinning a bit as she looked at Luke.
"Yeah, it's actually really cute! A bit sad, but it's such a mushy song!" Reggie said, smiling brightly, "Like one of those cheesy one-sided love songs you hear on the radi-"
"Alright alright, enough with that, would ya?" Luke said, wanting to turn the attention off his song and the implications of it. He wanted it to be a surprise. He looked towards Julie once again, realizing she was already looking at him. He smiled a bit towards her before looking away once more.
The story of my life, I take her home
I drive all night to keep her warm, and time is frozen
After that day, Julie and Luke seemed to finally get closer. Surprisingly it wasn't because of Luke, but because of Julie herself. She went out of her way to walk up to him after class, and pair up with him instead of Flynn in their shared Biology class.
Flynn didn't mind, instead pairing with Alex seeing as he usually paired up with Luke. All these things made Luke beam, brighter than he had before. It was embarrassingly obvious to almost everyone how infatuated he was with Julie. To everyone but her that is.
Julie herself seemed a bit happier, even offering to help Luke write another new song. She didn't sing it, but she did hum along to the melody he came up with which surprised Luke immensely. He ended up gifting her the lyric and music sheet, saying he'd rather hear her sing it when she was able to again.
He didn't notice the way Julie's heart almost leapt out of her chest when he said that. He didn't see the way her eyes practically formed hearts at the fact he'd rather wait for her to be ready so she could sing it instead of doing it with his band.
He couldn't tell that all these little things, all these small subconscious things he always did with people he cared about slowly made Julie feel less empty. He didn't realize he was helping her find her music just by existing by her side.
The story of my life, I give her hope
I spend her love until she's broke inside, the story of my life
The pep rally was close, Luke was feeling more and more anxious by the day. There was no way for Julie to know that the song was about her, but he still felt nervous at the fact she was going to hear it.
He yearned deeply to know what she would think of it. Would she hate it? Would she love it? Would she not think anything of it at all and just be counting down the minutes until she could go back to class?
He knew the last thought was ridiculous. Julie was too much of a compassionate and kind person to not have her full attention on the band's music when they performed. But the knowledge of that didn't ease his worries.
His friends were quick to notice his nerves a few hours before the pep rally started. Alex was the one who decided to confront him about it, seeing as he himself knew what nerves Luke was feeling.
"Hey bud, you doing alright over here?" Alex asked, making Luke jump up from his thoughts, staring at his friend like he gained two heads in the last half-hour since they had talked.
"Yeah." Luke finally answered, wringing his hands together as he glanced off to the side of the room, "Just pre-performance jitters."
Alex nodded hesitantly, pursing his lips in thought before he responded to Luke's obvious deflect of his original question, "She's going to love the song, just don't think about it too much." He said before walking away, pretending not to notice the way Luke's shoulders sagged in relief at the assurance that it'll be alright.
And I've been waiting for this time to come around
But, baby, runnin' after you is like chasin' the clouds
Before Luke knew it, he was on the stage, staring at his peers looking back at him from the bleachers. His eyes scanned the crowd, trying to find the familiar set of curls among the students. Soon enough he found her, sitting next to Flynn and Willie, smiling at him.
Luke shyly returned the smile before averting his attention away from her, "Hello, Los Feliz Bobcats! Thank you for having us today at the Pep Rally, we really hope you enjoy the few songs we've got today."
Bobby was quick to join in next, grinning and winking at the crowd as he spoke, "My good friend Luke here wrote all the songs from deep within his heart, so please show him some love for that!" Applause was quick to follow, seeing as Bobby was the more popular person in their band.
"Without further ado! We are Sunset Curve!" Alex said, causing Reggie to quickly chime in, "Tell your friends!" Laughter settled over the students before they eventually quieted down at the start of their first song.
Luke felt his nerves quickly vanish as he sang, his song for Julie wasn't until the end, and this he was extremely grateful for. He could lose himself in the music he spent ages on writing and composing to the best of his abilities. Smiling and running around the stage as he sang his heart out, having to force his laughter to stop when Reggie made a face when they harmonized on the same mic.
This is what he missed, performing, the cheers of the people around him as they learned the chorus as tried to sing along for later verses for the songs he hadn't yet released and sang for the public.
He caught Julie's eye multiple times throughout the first couple of songs, and he knew she loved them. He saw her eyes light up when she realized she knew the song, mouthing the words, but he knew she wasn't singing. He'd recognize her voice among the crowd that harmonized before him.
Soon enough, it was time for her song. He waited for his classmates to calm down a bit before grabbing the mic and pulling it closer to him, "This last song is a bit slower... Don't get me wrong, the chorus is obviously still upbeat- But..." He subconsciously glanced towards Julie's direction, "This song is one that's close to my heart, I wrote it for someone I've always admired from afar."
He smiled a bit, looking at his shoes before shaking his head, "Sappiness aside, I really hope you all enjoy it. Here's our final song, Story of my Life."
As he performed, he couldn't help but look at Julie. He didn't care if he was being obvious, and by the way her smile seemed to brighten as she listened to the words that he sang to her, he didn't think she minded either. He never wanted to see her smile fade ever again.
When they finally finished, they all bowed, smiles never fading as they stepped off the stage. Mrs. Harrison was quick to take their place, saying her final speech before sending the kids back to their classes.
The story of my life, I take her home
I drive all night to keep her warm, and time is frozen
Luke wasn't sure what he expected as he checked the strings on his guitar, not yet having unplugged it just yet. But he definitely didn't expect to hear a piano start to play a few feet away from where he stood in the wings of the stage.
He glanced over, recognizing the cords that started to play, but he was surprised to see Julie sat at the piano. She glanced over at him, not too surprised to see him staring in awe back. She sent him a nervous smile, and he was quick to give her a beaming one back, mouthing the words 'You got this.'
That seemed to be all she needed, smiling softly before she started to sing the song they had written together. She had quickly caught the attention of the students and teachers, pausing in their leaving to watch the girl in surprise.
Luke could see the way Julie stared at the keyboard, her voice still a bit timid, not the usual loud and bright voice he missed dearly. He glanced at his bandmates, and by the way they were all reaching for their instruments, it seemed they had the same idea.
So soon enough, the boys joined on the stage, joining in on the music. Julie was surprised, but obviously happy at the surprise addition to her performance. Soon enough they were singing together, smiling and dancing around each other.
Luke and Julie's voices harmonized beautifully, not that it was much of a surprise. It was obvious that they would, you could ask anyone with a musical bone in their body and they'd say it was clear they would sound amazing together.
It was clear that Julie didn't expect the reaction of the crowd when they finished, surprise evident on her features as she stared at the crowd that was cheering and clapping in front of her. Luke smiled softly, glancing towards the crowd as well. When he noticed the principal and Mrs. Harrison whispering, he knew that this might be Julie's chance to get her spot back.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, heart melting just a tad when he saw her bright smile directed towards him. He said nothing, instead motioning towards their teacher and principal who seemed to want to speak with her. He watched as she walked towards them, nerves already showing just by how she walked away from him.
The story of my life, I give her hope
I spend her love until she's broke inside
Luke sat nervously on his truck in the school parking lot. He hadn't seen Julie since the end of the pep rally, he was worried that it hadn't worked out well for the girl.
His friends were sitting in front of him, but he barely paid them any mind. He stared into the sky, watching the clouds pass as he chewed at the skin by his fingernails anxiously.
After what seemed like hours, he felt the hood of his car move slightly, signaling someone had sat down beside him and successfully breaking him out of his trance so he could look next to him. Julie sat there, smiling fondly at the boy.
"Julie!" He said, immediately standing up so he could face her properly, "Tell me, how did it go? Did you get in trouble? Did you get kicked out?? Are you rejoining the music program? DID YOU GET EXPELLED??"
Julie laughed softly, placing a hand on Luke's shoulder to calm him down a bit, "Slow down, cowboy. Nothing bad happened." Luke felt his face light up at those words, waiting patiently for Julie to finish, "They were able to pull some strings and add another spot so I could rejoin the program, as long as I was sure I wouldn't choke again after this."
Luke couldn't help the smile that grew, immediately moving and wrapping his arms around the girl, "I am so happy for you, you deserve it Jules." He felt her arms wrap around his middle, melting into his embrace. He knew he wanted to stay like this forever, but he knew it wasn't likely.
"So, that song you wrote." Julie started, pulling away a bit so she could see his face, "Who was it about?"
Luke felt his cheeks heat up, glancing away for a second before returning his attention to Julie. He was about to answer, but by the grin that was growing on Julie's face it seemed like she already knew. He groaned in annoyance, resting his head on her shoulder as if to hide his embarrassment.
His suspicions were confirmed when he heard her beautiful laughter hit his ears and her hand came to pat his back, "It's alright, rockstar. I like you too."
The story of my life
The story of my life
Luke glanced up at Julie, tilting his head to the side instead of lifting it up so he wouldn't have to lose the close contact he craved from the girl, "Do you?" He asked, his voice soft as he scanned her face as if to try to guess if she was lying or not.
"Have for a while now, I thought I was being pretty obvious." Julie responded, her smile softening at the hesitant look on his face. His own smile finally appeared, pulling Julie close once again and burying his face in her neck.
It turns out he did end up saving her, just like he wanted to since the beginning.
The story of my life
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creamsickle-writes · 2 years ago
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Secrets: Vinsmoke Sanji x Roronoa Zoro (ZoSan)
Tags: Friends with benefits relationship between Zoro and Nami, body swap, morally dubious!Sanji, penetrative sex, oral sex, squirting, and switch!Zoro (kinda)
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When Sanji first swapped bodies with Nami, he was elated. He experienced a euphoria he never thought possible; with a female body, he could stare at himself and feel a sense of joy he had never felt before. It was a weird sense of pride and happiness. 
But then Zoro had to ruin it. 
After the groups reunited, Zoro motioned Sanji over.
“C’mere,” The swordsman gruffly speaks, pulling Sanji by his suddenly delicate wrist once he was within grabbing distance.
“Quit being so rough!” Sanji barks, not wanting that idiot to bruise Nami’s delicate skin.
“Keep quiet, woman.” He hisses, dragging Sanji behind the laboratory, “And since when were you picky about how rough I am with you?”
Sanji tsks and snatches his hand away from Zoro, “What do you want-“
Zoro narrows his eyes, “Why are you wearing that shitty cook’s jacket? Didn’t I tell you to stop looking for his attention?”
Sanji opens his lips to speak, but Zoro slams his hand against the wall, leaning closer to Sanji. The chef’s face flushed when Zoro leaned in closer, speaking through his teeth.
“Damn woman,” he hissed, “You never listen to me…”
Sanji wants to say that Nami shouldn’t have to obey his barbaric demands and that a woman has her own agency and can do what she wants. But Zoro’s following words cause him to falter.
“You’re so lucky I love brats like you.”
Before Sanji can respond, Zoro’s lips are attacking his neck. Sanji’s legs go weak, and his brain short-circuits. 
What the fuck?
Sanji pushes Zoro away, his cheeks bright red as he clutches his chest.
“W-What do you think you’re doing?!”
Zoro smirks, “Punishing you for wearing his dumb jacket. What, playing hard to get today? You know I love when you do that…”
Zoro growls lowly before smashing his lips against Sanji’s (or rather Nami’s), and his body doesn’t know how to respond. His hands are awkwardly raised before him, fingertips hovering over Zoro’s chest. Meanwhile, Zoro’s hands unbutton the jacket, removing it from Sanji’s person and tossing it to the snowy ground.
As Zoro kissed him, Sanji remembered one thing: Zoro had fallen asleep during the explanation of what had happened to their bodies.
He must’ve genuinely thought he was Nami.
Zoro whispers into Sanji’s ear, “Not even kissing me back… and after we’ve been fucking like rabbits since the crew reunited…”
Sanji practically chokes on his spit.
Fucking? And like rabbits? He’s trying to figure it all out, wondering just how long Nami and Zoro have been a thing, but Zoro has other plans, shoving Nami’s bikini top out of the way, making Sanji’s new breasts fall out from the fabric.
“Let’s make this one quick.”
“W-Wait, I’m not N-!”
Sanji moans as Zoro leans down and takes one of his nipples into his mouth. His warm tongue sucks and swirls around the bud, his large, rough hands gripping Sanji’s waist.
Sanji tries to push him away, but his grip is firm, and he only laughs when resistance is presented.
“Stop it, you brute!” Sanji squeals in his feminine voice, but Zoro keeps sucking on his breast.
Sanji’s legs buckle and his chest tightens.
He can’t deny that it feels good; Nami’s nipples are much more sensitive than his own. And Zoro’s warm tongue stimulates him in all the best ways. As the green-haired man pleases him, he feels his panties grow wet. The feeling is strange, not something he’s used to with his new genitalia, but it’s so amazing, so unlike anything he’s ever felt before.
“Shut up,” Zoro growls, “You know you like it.”
Sanji’s throat dries. 
Okay, so apparently, Zoro and Nami have been jumping each other’s bones at least since a few weeks ago. But did he really talk to her like this? Was he so rough, so stoic all the time? Or is it because he thinks that he’s playing hard to get? Was this the kind of thing Nami liked?
Sanji’s thinking is cut short as Zoro’s hands reach for his jeans’ front buttons. 
The chef gulps as Zoro unbuttons them, his dark eyes watching closely. 
Zoro pulls the tight jeans and skimpy panties down to Sanji’s thighs, and the swordsman kneels before him, pressing wet kisses to his thighs. Sanji’s hand clasps over his mouth as the other man’s lips travel closer and closer to his crotch. 
Eventually, warm lips place a delicate kiss on his clit, and the chef moans as his cunt throbs. He never expected that a pussy could be so sensitive. 
Suddenly, he doesn’t want to stop the swordsman.
Zoro’s tongue flicks out from his lips, licking a stripe up his new slit. Sanji’s head tilts back against the laboratory’s walls, a familiar warmth trickling from his nose. 
Zoro glances up at him and chuckles, “You’re starting to look like that shitty cook.”
Sanji wipes his nose with the back of his arm. He squeals as Zoro suddenly latches onto his clit and begins to suck, his warm hands stroking his upper thigh.
Wow, this is what it felt like to be eaten out. 
Sanji was in absolute bliss, enjoying this new experience. 
It made him wonder what sex would feel like with this body. 
But as soon as he has that thought, he shuts it down. He couldn’t do this, not now and definitely not with Zoro. 
But… maybe he could enjoy the great head he was getting just a little bit longer.
Zoro’s tongue is sloppy, his movements hurried and passionate as he laps his slit. Sanji’s legs shake as he feels something bubbling up within him. Zoro coos quietly, pressing another kiss to his slit, “That’s it, cum for me.”
He resumes his assault, sucking and licking at Sanji’s swollen clit. The cook bites his lip as he attempts to keep quiet, but sounds still escape his lips as he approaches the edge.
“C-Cumming-“he gasps, “I-I’m-!”
Sanji’s vision blacks out momentarily as it hits him all at once. No longer is he worried about keeping quiet; he just lets his moans flow freely from his lips. His legs are quivering, and his chest feels tight as he attempts to catch his breath.
“Good girl,” Zoro chuckles, kissing his slit once more before standing up and ordering, “Put your hands against the wall and bend over.”
Sanji, too blissed out to care about any of the reservations he previously had, obeys Zoro’s words, presenting his pink pussy to the swordsman.
Zoro growls and uses his thumbs to spread Sanji’s lips apart. The cook whimpers as he feels his hole flutter around nothing, his pussy desperately needing something inside. He ached for Zoro; he needed him.
“Zoro,” Sanji whines, “Please-“
Zoro laughs before sliding his cock between Sanji’s legs, the head pressing against his throbbing clit. The green-haired man rocks his hips back and forth, grinding his shaft against the cook’s slick folds.
“You’re so wet today,” he chuckles, “Looks like I wasn’t the only one craving this, huh? Look at how your body reacts to me.”
“Mm-“Sanji turns his head back to face the swordsman as he prods at his wet hole, “Just put it in already-“
Zoro laughs before slamming in without warning. Sanji’s eyes roll back, and Zoro coos, “Oh, you’ve never made that face before. C’mere,” 
With one hand on Sanji’s hips, Zoro brings the other to take his jaw in hand, kissing him deeply. Sanji moans into it as Zoro hammers away, each thrust hitting him in all the right ways. 
“F-Fuck-“Sanji breathes out against his lips, “You fucking a-animal-“
Zoro gives a cocky smirk, pressing a quick kiss to Sanji’s lips, “Feels good?”
“Yes-“He drawls out, his nails dragging against the laboratory’s wall. “S-So, so good- Ngh-“
Sanji desperately reaches between his legs and rubs his clit quickly, his eyes crossing as the pleasure overwhelms him. Zoro kept thrusting his hips, skin slapping against skin echoing in the air. Their breath fans their faces as they lock eyes, lips dangerously close.
This sort of pleasure was overwhelming. Sanji had never felt this good before. A familiar tingling sensation snuck up on him.
“Cumming-!” Sanji squeals, his pussy constricting and throbbing before squirting all over Zoro. That causes the tanned man to stop for a moment before slowly thrusting in and out of the gushing hole. 
“Holy shit,” he says breathlessly, “You’ve… never done that before.”
Sanji whimpers pathetically before his legs buckle. Zoro pulls out and gently guides Sanji onto his knees, stroking his cock slowly as his other hand tucks Sanji’s lengthy hair behind his ear, “Shit, Nami, you’re so sensitive today-“
Sanji, with a shaky hand, reaches back to grab Zoro’s shaft, guiding it to his pussy, his voice wavering, “More-“
Zoro smugly smirks, and Sanji almost regrets being so desperate. He’s soiling Nami’s reputation as strong and unwavering, but damn it, it’s better than him in his own body begging for Zoro. And at this point, he can’t stop himself; his needy pussy is dripping onto the ground below, and it needs Zoro’s cock.
“Beg for- “
“Please-“Sanji interrupts, bumping his hips back against the blunt head of his cock, the tip slipping in, “Fuck me already, you damn brute! I need your cock!”
Zoro’s eyes are wide, surprised, “Goddamn, you never beg like th-“
Sanji makes a frustrated sound before bucking his hips, taking Zoro in one smooth motion. Zoro lets out a shocked grunt, his hands hovering over Sanji’s hips as he frantically fucks himself on Zoro’s cock. 
“S-Shit-“ Zoro groans, still shocked at Sanji’s eagerness. He watches, absolutely hypnotized by how his ass bounces against his dick. The swordsman simply leans back, admiring the view as Sanji lets out animalistic moans and squeaks below him. 
“So good, a-ah-!” Sanji drools, his nose beginning to bleed again as he works his hips back onto Zoro. His toes curl, and he mewls as his hands find themselves on his hips again. Though, to his surprise, they aren’t guiding him; they’re trying to get him to stop.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum-“Zoro’s voice breaks, “S-Slow down- I gotta pull out-!”
Sanji doesn’t listen; he just keeps fucking Zoro, his gigantic cock slamming into his furthest walls. 
“S-Shit, woman, stop-!” Zoro holds Sanji’s hips still, pulling his cock out just in time as hot spurts of cum decorate Sanji’s ass. 
Zoro’s left panting, his cheeks bright red as he looks down at the mess he’s made, with rings of cream built up around his base.
Sanji, mind clouded by lust, reaches back and slides him back inside. Zoro lets out a guttural moan, “They’re gonna ask where we are- fuck- let’s save it for later-“
Sanji knew he was asking for trouble, but he didn’t know how long he would be in Nami’s body. He had to take advantage.
“Just shut up- “Sanji whines, wriggling his hips, “We’re not done until I say we are-“
Zoro’s face up to his ears turns crimson, his eyes widened in shock, “Yes, ma’am.”
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aghost-writer · 1 month ago
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Followers
Chapter 6
This is a Yandere Jujutsu Kaisen/JJK x Female Reader Fic!
MDNI!!!
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In the eerie, shifting landscape of Sukuna’s domain, the air crackled with tension. Sukuna reclined atop a sinister mound of bones, his gaze fixed with a mix of amusement and disdain upon Itadori, who stood defiantly below.
“Don’t look inside me without permission,” Sukuna growled, his voice resonating with a dark edge. “I hate it, brat.”
Itadori’s eyes narrowed, his expression fierce. “Then come down from there, and I’ll look down on you!”
Sukuna’s amusement deepened. “You’re being awfully hostile, aren’t you?”
Drenched in frustration and anger, Itadori retorted, “Damn straight I am. You just killed me.”
Sukuna’s smirk widened. “This is the thanks I get for fixing your arm?”
Itadori’s fury flared as he recalled the gruesome moment. “Yeah, and you ripped out my heart right after that!”
A sigh escaped Sukuna’s lips, almost as if he were bored by the confrontation. “Haa…”
Itadori, grappling with his predicament, voiced his darkest thoughts. “Is this Hell? I’m not sure I can accept being stuck with you even after death. This works out, though. I’ll make you cry!”
In a burst of reckless defiance, Itadori hurled a skull from Sukuna’s bone pile, but the King of Curses dodged effortlessly. Undeterred, Itadori charged, his fists clenched tightly.
“Urahh! Hope you’re ready for this!”
His punches were met with Sukuna’s effortless blocks. Each strike from Itadori seemed to be swallowed by Sukuna’s impassive demeanor.
“Fufu…” Sukuna chuckled, his amusement unshaken.
Itadori’s frustration grew palpable as he continued to attack. “Urgh! Ahh! Ngh! Ugh!”
In a desperate move, Itadori punched the ground, hoping to gain an edge. He had aimed for where Sukuna stood, but the curse king remained unfazed.
“You fell for it!” Itadori shouted triumphantly, attempting a leg sweep. Yet Sukuna dodged with ease.
“Huh?” Itadori muttered in disbelief.
Sukuna’s disinterest was clear. “Man, you’re boring.”
With a swift motion, Sukuna kicked Itadori off the platform. Itadori’s surprised cry echoed as he tumbled through the air.
“Ah!”
The impact of the fall was harsh. “Gah! I thought I landed that one perfectly!” Itadori groaned as he struggled to regain his footing.
Sukuna, almost playfully, jumped onto Itadori’s back, pinning him down. “Ugh! Damn it!” Itadori cursed as he felt the weight of Sukuna on him.
“This isn’t the afterlife,” Sukuna’s voice came with a chilling calmness. “It’s my Innate Domain.”
Confusion flickered in Itadori’s eyes. “Innate Domain? That thing Fushiguro was talking about?”
Sukuna’s voice took on a more sinister tone. “You could also say we’re in my mind. In other words, we’re not dead yet.”
A realization dawned on Itadori. “Ah…”
Sukuna offered a twisted sense of hope. “If you’ll accept my conditions, I’ll fix your heart and bring us back to life.”
Itadori’s eyes flared with distrust. “Cocky bastard… You act all big, but I know you don’t want to die, either.”
“The situation’s changed,” Sukuna continued, “In the near future, I’ll be able to see something interesting. I have two conditions. One: When I chant ‘Extension,’ you’ll hand over your body for 5 minutes. Two: You’ll forget this promise. Three: I keep without object I bring back into my domain”
“No way!” Itadori’s voice was firm. “I don’t know what your goal is, but it’s shady as hell. After what you did this time, I finally get it. You’re evil. I’m not lending you my body again!”
Sukuna’s irritation was palpable. “Then I’ll promise that I won’t kill or injure anyone during that minute. Haa… So annoying.”
“Like I can believe you!” Itadori shot back.
“It’s not about whether you believe me or not,” Sukuna explained with a touch of finality. “This is a pact. It’s a geas. I’ll be the one punished if I break it.”
Itadori’s anger remained unyielding. “It wasn’t a problem before!”
Sukuna’s tone was dismissive. “Huh? Oh… That time, I wanted to switch, too. And you were just doing as that sorcerer told you to. A pact founded in mutual interest. That’s one of the key factors behind all jujutsu.”
Reluctantly, Itadori agreed. “Fine, then. Move. I’ll accept your conditions.”
Sukuna stepped off Itadori, who rose with a determined breath. “Haa… I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but it means I’ll come back to life!”
With a sudden burst of anger, Itadori swung at Sukuna, landing a punch squarely on his face. “Like hell I’d say that. Bring me back to life without any conditions. It’s your fault I died in the first place.”
Sukuna sighed, considering his next words carefully. “Haa… Then how about this? We’ll fight to the death, and if you win, I’ll do it without conditions. If I win, you come back to life under my conditions.”
Itadori’s eyes lit up with determination. “Sure! I’ll beat you to --”
Before he could finish his sentence, Sukuna’s hand moved with lethal speed. In an instant, Itadori’s world went dark as Sukuna’s deadly strike ended the fight abruptly.
As Sukuna stood over the fallen Itadori, he glanced around, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “By the way, brat,” he said, his tone shifting to one of casual curiosity, “I’ve heard whispers about a certain individual. Y/N, was it? What’s your connection to her?”
Itadori, even in the abyss of unconsciousness, seemed to sense the gravity of Sukuna’s question. The name Y/N hung in the air, a thread of intrigue woven into the fabric of the dark domain.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
In a cozy corner of a café, Y/N sipped her coffee, the warmth of the cup offering a fleeting comfort against the chill of her thoughts. The clatter of cups and the murmur of conversation surrounded her, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in a haze of uncertainty. The café door opened with a gentle chime, and Gojo entered, his usual confident stride tempered by an unusual seriousness. He scanned the room briefly before making his way to Y/N’s table.
Y/N looked up as Gojo approached, his demeanor strikingly different from the carefree attitude she was accustomed to. "Gojo, what’s going on? You look… serious."
Gojo took a seat across from her, his eyes meeting hers with a grave expression. "Y/N, I need to talk to you about something important. It’s about Yuuji."
A pang of worry twisted in Y/N’s chest, but she pushed it aside, forcing herself to focus on Gojo’s words. "Itadori? What happened?"
Gojo took a deep breath, his gaze steady but filled with an underlying sadness. "Yuuji’s situation has been… difficult. He’s been involved in a dangerous battle, and it’s left him in a precarious state. Right now, he’s… not with us in the way you might hope."
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. "You mean he’s…?"
Gojo nodded solemnly. "Yes. He’s not alive.”
The weight of Gojo’s words settled heavily on Y/N, but she fought to maintain her composure. Her mind was numb, a blank slate against the backdrop of Gojo’s gravity. "So, what’s going to happen? Is there anything I can do?"
Gojo’s eyes softened with a hint of empathy. "I wanted to give you a chance to pay your respects. We have a place where we’re keeping Yuuji’s body. I can take you there if you’d like."
Y/N looked down at her coffee, the warmth now seeming cold and distant. The offer was both comforting and painful. She nodded slowly, her voice trembling slightly. "I’d like that. Thank you for giving me the chance to say goodbye."
Gojo rose from his seat, his expression a mixture of resolve and compassion. "We’ll go whenever you’re ready. It’s important to me that you have this opportunity."
As they left the café together, Y/N felt a mix of apprehension and gratitude. The walk to the location where Yuuji’s body was kept felt heavy with unspoken emotions. Despite her efforts to appear concerned, inside she felt a disquieting emptiness. 
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
At Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College, within the dimly lit morgue, a conversation unfolded between Gojo and Ijichi, both immersed in their own thoughts amidst the eerie surroundings.
“You know,” Gojo began nonchalantly, leaning against a table, “I have a bad personality.”
Ijichi, accustomed to Gojou’s eccentricities, nodded. “I know.”
A mischievous glint sparkled in Gojo’s eye. “Ijichi, expect a hard forehead flick later.”
Ijichi blinked in confusion. “F-Forehead flick?”
“Being a teacher isn’t my style,” Gojou continued, ignoring Ijichi’s bewilderment. “Do you know why I decided to teach at this school? Ask me.”
Ijichi hesitated before asking, “Err… Why did you?”
“Because I have a dream,” Gojo declared with a fervor that cut through his usual nonchalance.
“A dream?” Ijichi echoed, intrigued.
“Yep,” Gojo affirmed, a serious tone replacing his casual demeanor. “As you can see in this case with Yuuji, the top of the jujutsu world is a den of vice. Conservative fools, traditional fools, arrogant fools—just plain fools. It’s a bargain sale on rotten mikan.”
Ijichi’s eyes widened as he absorbed Gojou’s words. “Ah…”
“Murdering everyone at the top would be an easy task,” Gojou continued, “but they would just get replaced. It wouldn’t bring a revolution. And if I did that, no one would follow me.”
Gojou’s gaze softened as he spoke of his chosen path. “That’s why I chose education. To raise up strong, clever comrades.”
Ijichi looked thoughtful, considering Gojou’s explanation. “That’s also why I occasionally tossed my missions to my students. It’s tough love.”
Ijichi’s thoughts wandered, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Are you sure you don’t just want to slack off?
“They’re all talented,” Gojo said, clearly proud. “Especially the third-year Hakari and the second-year Okkotsu. They’ll become jujutsu sorcerers on par with me.”
“And Yuuji was one of those, as well,” Gojo added with a touch of nostalgia.
Ijichi nodded in understanding. “Ahh…”
The door to the morgue creaked open, and Ieiri’s voice broke the conversation. “Hey, you two.”
Gojo and Ijichi turned their attention to her. “Huh?”
“I’m about to get started,” Ieiri announced, looking at them with a mix of irritation and amusement. “Are you just gonna watch from there?”
As Ieiri moved towards Itadori’s table, Y/N arrived at the door. She had been summoned by Gojo, but her eyes were red and swollen from tears, her face etched with worry. Her steps faltered as she saw Itadori lying on the table, motionless. 
A sudden, intense wave of emotion overcame her. She rushed forward, her breath hitching as she saw her friend’s lifeless form. “No… no, this really can’t be…” Her knees gave way, and she collapsed beside the table, her sobs filling the room. Tears streamed down her face, each one a silent testament to her grief.
Gojo, sensing her anguish, approached her gently. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “Y/N, it’s okay.”
Before Y/N could respond, Itadori’s body stirred. The room fell into a tense silence as he began to move. A moment later, his eyes fluttered open, confusion clear on his face. “Woah, I’m completely naked!”
Ijichi’s eyes bulged with shock. “G-G-G-Gojo-san!”
Gojo’s reaction was a mix of amusement and nonchalance. “Fufufu…”
Ijichi’s disbelief turned into relief. “H-H-H-H-He’s alive!”
“Ijichi, be quiet,” Gojo instructed with a grin.
Ieiri glanced between the two, her disappointment evident. “I’m kind of disappointed.”
As Itadori looked around, trying to get his bearings, Y/N wiped her tears, her face now a mix of relief and amusement. Seeing Itadori awake and well, she let out a shaky laugh. “Oh my God, Itadori, you’re naked!”
Itadori looked down at himself and then back at Y/N, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Seriously? Can’t a guy get a break?”
Y/N’s laughter rang out, her earlier grief now replaced by a light-hearted joy. “Looks like you’re back to your usual self!”
Gojo smiled at the interaction, pleased to see the emotional tension dissolve. He put an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, offering a comforting squeeze. “It’s good to see you smile, Y/N.”
Y/N nodded, her eyes still wet but her spirits lifted. “Thank you, Gojo. I really needed this.”
As the room’s atmosphere shifted back to a more relaxed state, the sense of relief was palpable. 
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
As Itadori’s laughter filled the room, the atmosphere lightened, but within the depths of his consciousness, a darker presence stirred. Sukuna, lurking just beneath the surface, observed the scene with an expression far removed from the jovial mood outside.
Through Itadori’s eyes, Sukuna watched as Y/N wiped her tears, her relief and joy so evident that even he could sense the shift in the cursed energy around her. Unlike the others, who were simply caught up in the moment, Sukuna’s attention zeroed in on Y/N with a predatory sharpness.
His gaze narrowed, recognizing something that no one else had. The cursed energy woven into her very being, the subtle fluctuations that hinted at something far deeper and more dangerous. It wasn’t just that Y/N was laughing or that her grief had melted away—no, it was the undercurrent of cursed energy that piqued his interest.
“So, the little girl has a secret,” Sukuna mused, a slow, malicious grin spreading across his face. “Interesting…”
The realization hit him with the force of a revelation. Unlike the others, Y/N’s presence wasn’t just a byproduct of being near Jujutsu sorcerers or living in a world plagued by curses. No, there was something more. Something she was keeping hidden, perhaps even from herself.
“She’s not just some ordinary human,” Sukuna muttered to himself, his voice low and filled with a dark anticipation. “She has cursed energy… and she’s powerful enough to conceal it from these fools.”
His eyes gleamed with malicious intent as he continued to watch Y/N, the gears in his mind turning. He wanted to meet her, to confront this intriguing enigma wrapped in a deceptively innocent facade. The idea of it, of getting close enough to unravel the mystery that was Y/N, sent a thrill through him.
“When the time is right,” Sukuna decided, his voice cold and resolute, “I’ll meet her myself. And I’ll uncover every secret she’s hiding.” 
As the scene played out before him, Sukuna retreated back into the depths of Itadori’s consciousness, his interest now fully piqued. He would bide his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to introduce himself to Y/N, confident that when they finally met, the results would be nothing short of catastrophic—for her, and for everyone else.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
Sometime later, on a walkway in the school. Gojou and Ieiri stroll side by side, the crisp air carrying their conversation.
Ieiri sighed, her frustration evident. “Ugh, I’ll have to revise the reports.”
Gojo, with a casual shrug, responded, “No, leave them as-is.”
Ieiri glanced at him, puzzled. “Hm?”
Gojo’s gaze was steady, his tone serious. “I want to give Yuuji time to gain the minimum power necessary before he’s targeted again. Sorry, Shouko, but could you leave Yuuji listed as dead on the records?”
Ieiri’s eyes widened in surprise. “Huh? So you plan to keep Itadori completely hidden away?”
Gojo nodded. “Not just Itadori. Y/N too.”
Ieiri looked at him in confusion. “Y/N? Why?”
Gojo’s expression softened with a hint of nostalgia. “The reason is simple. No one’s allowed to take the events of youth away from young people. They need to come back in their own time, to enjoy their youth and the events that come with it.”
Ieiri nodded, understanding the deeper meaning behind Gojo’s words. “Alright, I see where you’re coming from.”
In the morgue. Itadori, now dressed in a shirt, looks down at himself with a sense of disbelief.
Itadori chuckled, a mix of relief and amusement in his voice. “I bet everyone will be surprised.”
Ijichi, standing nearby, managed a nervous smile. “Err… Ngh…”
Back in the courtyard, Gojo and Ieiri’s conversation continued, the weight of their discussion lingering in the air.
Gojo’s tone was resolute. “Not anyone. It’s important for Yuuji and Y/N to come back in their own time, to enjoy their youth and the events that come with it.”
Ieiri nodded, understanding the gravity of Gojou’s decision. “I see your point. They deserve to have their experiences and to return on their own terms.”
As they walked together, their footsteps echoing softly, the sense of camaraderie and purpose filled the space between them.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
The room was filled with the soft hum of the ventilation system, a stark contrast to the intense emotions that lingered in the air. Ieiri had left, giving Y/N and Itadori a rare moment alone together.
Itadori, now dressed in a simple shirt, looked around the room with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. He had a look of tentative relief, but there was a lingering confusion in his eyes. Y/N, sitting on a nearby bench, seemed to be lost in thought, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.
“Y/N,” Itadori finally spoke, his voice breaking the silence. “I’ve been meaning to ask… how have you been? I know things have been tough, but… I hope you’re holding up okay.”
Y/N looked up, meeting his gaze with a gentle smile that belied the turbulence within her. “I’m managing,” she said softly. “It’s been a lot to process, especially with everything that’s happened. But I’m here for you, Itadori. I want to support you in any way I can.”
Itadori’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his hand closing around hers in a gesture of comfort. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. I know things have been chaotic, and… well, I’ve been struggling to understand everything that’s going on. But having friends like you helps.”
Y/N felt the warmth of his hand, and a pang of guilt mingled with her resolve. Her outward demeanor was a careful façade, a cover for her true intentions. She needed to act like a supportive friend, to maintain the illusion while she worked toward her goal. Her mind raced as she considered her next move.
Slowly, she focused on the subtle, intricate flow of her cursed energy, pushing it gently into Itadori’s body. She had hoped to establish a connection, a way to influence him subtly. Yet, as she concentrated, she realized that it was more challenging than she had anticipated. The resistance she felt was unusual, suggesting that something in Itadori’s condition or presence was interfering with her energy.
Despite the difficulty, Y/N persisted, trying to embed her cursed energy more deeply. She knew that if she wanted to be effective, she needed to refine her approach, perhaps even create an object specifically for him to ease the process. But for now, she kept her focus hidden, pretending to be a concerned friend.
After a moment, she let go of his hand and offered a reassuring smile. “I’m glad we could talk. I know it’s not easy, and I’m here for you, no matter what.”
Itadori returned her smile, his expression a mixture of gratitude and relief. “Thanks, Y/N. It’s good to have someone who understands. I feel a bit better knowing you’re around.”
As they sat together, the silence between them was filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Y/N’s mind was occupied with the challenge she faced, the need to maintain her façade, and the realization that she would need to devise a more effective method to reach her goals. But in this moment, she allowed herself to be present, to play her part convincingly.
The room, bathed in soft shadows, seemed to hold the weight of their quiet conversation, a momentary respite from the chaos of their lives.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
The streets of Tokyo’s less frequented neighborhoods seemed strange. The air was heavy with the scents of urban decay and the distant hum of city life. Gojo's sleek car glided smoothly through the less desirable part of town, finally coming to a halt outside a nondescript apartment building that looked as though it had seen better days. Y/N glanced at the building with a mixture of resignation and gratitude.
“Here we are,” Gojo said, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance. He turned to Y/N with a small, reassuring smile. “I hope you’re settling in okay.”
Y/N nodded, her expression brightening. “Thank you for bringing me back here. I really appreciate it.”
Gojo stepped out of the car, and they walked towards the entrance of the building. The air was cool, carrying with it the distant echoes of the city’s life. As they reached the entrance, Y/N fumbled with her keys, her nerves barely concealed.
“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Y/N offered, her tone both warm and welcoming. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for driving me home.”
Gojo looked at her, his usual confident demeanor softened by her kind offer. “Sure, I’d love a cup of tea. It’s been a long day.”
Once inside her modest apartment, Y/N set about preparing the tea. The kitchen was small but tidy, and the aroma of boiling water soon filled the space. Gojo took a seat at a small table, his gaze taking in the cozy yet unremarkable surroundings.
As Y/N bustled about, they continued their conversation. “You know,” Y/N began, trying to keep her tone light, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier. The world of jujutsu seems so… dangerous.”
Gojo leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “It is. The jujutsu world is filled with power struggles, conflicts, and dangers. But that’s why it’s important to have people who can make a difference, who can try to change things for the better.”
Y/N handed Gojo a steaming cup of tea, her eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and concern. “And how do you plan to bring about that change?”
Gojo took a sip of the tea, his eyes briefly closing in satisfaction. “By building a new generation of jujutsu sorcerers who can stand up against the current system. By teaching and guiding them, hoping they can one day make the changes needed.”
As the conversation continued, Y/N’s mind was elsewhere, her thoughts focused on her own plans. At a moment when Gojo’s attention was diverted, she slipped a small coin from her pocket, an innocuous object that would soon play a crucial role.
Excusing herself with a quick smile, Y/N headed towards the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her, and she carefully placed the coin on the edge of the sink. With deliberate concentration, she infused her cursed energy into the coin, her hands moving with practiced ease as she channeled the dark, swirling power into the small object. The process was swift but intense, and once she was finished, she felt a sense of satisfaction. Even though it was a fast job. It would have to do. She would work on something better after he was gone. 
Returning to the main room, Y/N found Gojo standing near the door, his expression a mix of casual ease and underlying seriousness. “All done,” she said, her voice steady. “I just wanted to give you something.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the coin, now imbued with her cursed energy. “Here,” she said, holding it out to him with a warm smile. “Consider this a good luck charm. I know the jujutsu world can be unpredictable, and I thought you might find it useful.”
Gojo took the coin from her, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. “Thanks. I appreciate the gesture. I’ll definitely keep it with me.”
As he pocketed the coin, Gojo looked at Y/N with a genuine smile. “It was good seeing you happy again. Take care, okay?”
Y/N nodded, her expression one of earnest appreciation. “You too, Gojo. And thank you for everything.”
With a final exchange of smiles and farewells, Gojo left the apartment, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. Y/N watched him go, a quiet sense of purpose settling over her as she closed the door. The coin, now a vessel of her cursed energy, was a small but significant step in her intricate plans.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
In the bustling streets of Tokyo, a young woman wandered with a deliberate calm that belied her purpose. The city’s vibrant chaos flowed around her—shouting vendors, the hum of traffic, and the soft murmur of conversation. Y/N’s eyes, however, were focused on a different task. Her goal was not merely to experience the city’s pulse but to find objects with potential, vessels that could be imbued with her cursed energy.
As Y/N walked, her thoughts drifted to a time not so long ago—a memory of a conversation she had overheard in a dimly lit restaurant. The scene replayed in her mind like a fragmented dream, the events unfolding with an eerie clarity.
The restaurant had been quiet, a typical evening until chaos erupted. The scene had been both surreal and horrifying. Kenjaku, Jougo, Hanami, and Dagon had gathered around a table, discussing plans that involved significant danger and power.
Jougo had been particularly animated, his fiery presence palpable even from a distance. “Gojou Satoru…” he had mused, his voice filled with a dark curiosity. “I wonder if we could kill him if we joined forces.”
Kenjaku’s calm response had been a counterpoint to Jougo’s aggression. “Either he’d flutter out of your grasp, or worst case, you’ll all get exorcized. I would recommend you pour energy into sealing him rather than killing him.”
Jougo’s frustration had been clear. “Seal him? Do you have a lead?”
Kenjaku’s reply had been chillingly casual. “We’ll use the special-grade cursed object Prison Realm.”
The mention of Prison Realm had ignited a dangerous spark in Jougo. “Ah… Prison Realm?!” His excitement had been uncontrollable, resulting in an eruption of cursed energy. 
As the scene had unfolded, chaos ensued. The atmosphere had turned unbearably hot, the restaurant’s patrons igniting in flames. The eruption of cursed energy had caused the air to crackle with tension. The once serene restaurant was now a conflagration of screams and desperation.
Jougo had relished the chaos, his flames consuming everything in their path. “Getou, how strong am I in terms of Sukuna’s fingers?” he had asked, his voice laced with an unsettling mix of pride and madness.
Kenjaku had assessed calmly, “At a low estimate, I’d say eight or nine fingers.”
“That’s plenty,” Jougo had responded with malicious glee. “Give me the Prison Realm! I’ll add it to my collection. In return, I will… kill Gojou Satoru.”
The memory of the last woman’s terrified scream had been a haunting echo. The scene had been a brutal display of the lengths to which these cursed spirits were willing to go.
As Y/N’s footsteps echoed through Tokyo’s streets, she thought of that night with a blend of unease and resolve. The cursed energy she had seen in the restaurant had been a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beneath the city’s surface. It had also been a crucial lesson in the significance of powerful artifacts and the necessity of concealing her true intentions.
Her search for objects to turn into vessels was not merely about finding useful items. It was a calculated effort to prepare for any eventuality, to safeguard herself against the kind of chaos she had witnessed. Each object she selected was infused with a subtle but potent energy, a small piece of her power designed to serve her purposes and, perhaps, to influence those who might come across them.
As she entered a quaint shop filled with antiques, Y/N’s eyes scanned the shelves with practiced precision. Her movements were methodical, her touch gentle yet purposeful. Each object she picked up was examined carefully before being subtly infused with her cursed energy. The goal was not to draw attention but to ensure that her energy would seep into the items without detection.
With each successful infusion, Y/N felt a quiet satisfaction. The objects, now vessels for her power, would be carefully distributed and used as part of her larger strategy. The events of that night, the chaos, and the dark power she had witnessed were all part of a larger picture she was piecing together—a picture that involved creating followers.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
At Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College, the sprawling field was abuzz with activity. Students were scattered around, engaged in various training exercises under the watchful eyes of their instructors. The sun was high, casting a golden light over the scene, and the air was filled with the sounds of exertion and encouragement.
Maki Zenin, her sharp eyes scanning the field, called out to a figure approaching with a casual but determined stride. “You’re late, Megumi.”
Fushiguro Megumi, slightly out of breath from his hurried arrival, shrugged nonchalantly. “What does it matter?”
Maki arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What were you doing?”
Before Megumi could answer, a voice from the side cut in. “Kelp.”
It was Inumaki Toge, who had been silently observing the conversation. He offered his usual cryptic but useful advice as he always did.
Maki glanced at him with a nod of understanding, then turned her focus back to Megumi. “Zenin-senpai, what kinds of people do you want to save as a jujutsu sorcerer?”
Megumi hesitated for a moment before responding. “It’s not that simple.”
Maki tilted her head slightly, confusion evident in her eyes. “What?”
Fushiguro, clearly feeling the weight of Maki’s question, let out a sigh. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Maki’s confusion turned to irritation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before Megumi could elaborate, Panda, ever the enthusiastic and playful spirit, was busy holding Kugisaki Nobara by the legs and spinning her around in the air. Kugisaki’s laughter and shouts filled the air.
Kugisaki, trying to regain her balance, yelled out. “Fushiguro! Quit asking interview prep questions! Switch with me! I’m sick of these school uniforms! Let me go buy some cute tracksuits!”
Panda, clearly enjoying the chaos, responded. “Here we go!”
With a mighty heave, Panda flung Kugisaki through the air, and she let out a series of exaggerated screams. “Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!”
As Kugisaki landed with a thud, Fushiguro looked on with a mixture of amusement and concern. “What are those two doing?”
Panda, still grinning from ear to ear, answered. “Falling practice.”
Inumaki, who had been quiet until now, interjected with his usual monosyllabic responses. “Mustard leaf.”
Panda continued, “You’re both weak in close quarters, after all.”
Maki, not one to let the conversation drift too far, refocused her attention on the training. “So first… land a blow on us. We’ll talk after that.”
As the group resumed their training, Kugisaki’s curiosity got the better of her. She called out to Megumi, “Hey, speaking of distractions, have you guys heard about Y/N?”
Maki, intrigued by the sudden shift in topic, turned her attention to Kugisaki. “Y/N? The girl with Gojo? What about her?”
Kugisaki grinned mischievously. “Fushiguro’s been talking about her non-stop lately. He’s totally smitten.”
Panda’s ears perked up, his interest piqued. “Oh, really? What’s so special about her?”
Megumi, feeling a flush of embarrassment, tried to explain. “Well, she’s not a student. She’s… different. I mean, she’s really smart, and she has this way about her that’s just… captivating.”
Maki raised an eyebrow. “Captivating, huh? You sound like you’re gushing.”
Megumi, flustered, stammered. “I’m not gushing! It’s just… she’s got this aura. And she’s been really supportive. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”
Panda’s playful smirk widened. “Sounds like someone’s got a bit of a crush.”
Kugisaki leaned in, eager for more details. “Come on, Megumi. Spill the beans. What’s she like?”
Megumi’s face softened as he spoke about Y/N. “She’s got this calm confidence and a way of making you feel understood. And she’s always doing things to help others. It’s hard not to be impressed.”
Maki, now satisfied with the answer, nodded. “I see. Well, I’m sure we’ll get to know her better. But for now, let’s focus on our training.”
As the group turned their attention back to their exercises, the conversation about Y/N lingered in the air. 
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
In a secluded room at Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College, the fluorescent lights cast a stark, steady glow over the training area where Gojo and Itadori were deep in practice. The room was neatly organized, with a few soda cans placed on a table as part of the exercise.
“You’re a head above the rest when it comes to close combat, Yuuji,” Gojo said, his tone encouraging and focused. “So what you need to learn right now is how to control cursed energy, as well as the basics of jujutsu knowledge.”
Itadori’s face brightened with enthusiasm. “Hehehe…”
“What’s up?” Gojo asked, noticing Itadori’s grin.
“I’m just really glad you’re the one training me,” Itadori said, his excitement palpable. “I’m weak, and I couldn’t save anybody. Worse, I nearly killed Fushiguro. As I am now, I won’t be able to face them. I want to become strong. Teach me to be the strongest!”
Gojo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Fufu! You’ve got a keen eye.”
Itadori nodded eagerly. “Sensei, you’re the one who called yourself the strongest.”
“Alright,” Gojo said, gesturing to a couple of soda cans on the table. “First, take a look at those drink cans over there.”
With a smooth flick of his wrist, Gojo exploded two cans without touching them. The cans burst open, sending their contents splattering across the floor.
Itadori’s eyes widened in amazement. “Woah!”
“This,” Gojo explained, “is with cursed energy, and this is with a cursed technique.”
Itadori frowned, trying to understand. “I see. I don’t get it.”
“Think of cursed energy as electricity and cursed techniques as appliances,” Gojo said. “Electricity by itself is hard to use. That’s why we run electricity through appliances to achieve various results. Here, I just fired off pure cursed energy. Here, I channeled cursed energy into a cursed technique to activate it and twist the can with jujutsu.”
Itadori’s face lit up with excitement. “In other words, I’m about to learn a very, very good cursed technique?!”
“No,” Gojo said, shaking his head. “You can’t use cursed techniques.”
Itadori’s excitement deflated. “What? But… I thought I’d be able to do something amazing.”
“Setting aside simple Shikigami and barriers,” Gojo explained, “cursed techniques are fundamentally etched into your body from the day you’re born. So the power of a jujutsu sorcerer is roughly 80% innate talent.”
Itadori slumped to the ground in disappointment. “Ahh… Ahhh…”
Gojo leaned in, his tone softer. “You okay?”
“I just thought I’d be able to pull off thunder or fire or a power bomb or something…” Itadori said, his voice tinged with frustration.
Gojo laughed. “You can pull off a power bomb. Oonita’s, right?”
Itadori sighed. “Ahh… This sucks… I wanted to pull off a Spirit Gun or Bankai, or Rasengan, or a Dodon Ray…”
Gojo smiled, a hint of seriousness in his eyes. “Let’s just focus on what you can do! We’re going to enhance your strengths. We’ll get you to imbue your fighting style with cursed energy. I’m more concerned about someone who can push through the basics than an inferior jujutsu user!”
“Huh?” Itadori looked puzzled but hopeful.
“Like I said, your talent for close combat is top-notch!” Gojo said.
Itadori’s face brightened. “Ah! But wait! I can already do that!”
“Get up,” Gojo instructed.
Itadori stood and prepared himself. “Back then, I somehow managed to get the hang of that.”
“Then give it a try,” Gojo said, pointing to his palm. “Hit me here. Not that you actually can.”
Itadori, determined, took a swing at Gojo’s palm. “Don’t blame me if you get hurt.”
Gojo received the punch without flinching. “That didn’t have any cursed energy behind it.”
“How?” Itadori asked, confused.
“Negative emotions are the source of cursed energy,” Gojo explained. “In the incident you’re referring to, you were probably brimming with anger and fear.”
“Ah!” Itadori exclaimed. “So you have to be constantly flipping out to use cursed energy?”
Itadori’s thoughts drifted to Fushiguro. “Now that you mention it, Fushiguro’s always a bit snappy.”
Gojo laughed. “Not like that.”
As they continued training, Itadori’s expression turned thoughtful. “Sensei, could Y/N come and hang out with me during this? I really miss my friend.”
Gojo paused, considering the request. “I’ll see what I can do. It might be good for you to have someone you’re comfortable with around.”
Itadori’s face lit up with gratitude. “Thank you, Sensei!”
With renewed motivation, Itadori and Gojo continued their training, the room buzzing with a mix of anticipation and the promise of growth. Despite the challenges ahead, Itadori’s resolve remained steadfast, bolstered by the prospect of having his friend by his side. In a bustling track field at Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College, the afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the scene. Fushiguro was immersed in his training, his focus sharp despite the distractions around him.
Panda was energetically spinning Kugisaki in a wide arc, her laughter filling the air. “Ahh!”
Maki watched with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “What’s the matter, Fushiguro?”
Fushiguro frowned slightly, sensing a wave of irritation wash over him. “Ngh… I just got really irritated.”
Maki tilted her head, puzzled. “Huh?”
Fushiguro quickly clarified, “No, not at you.”
Panda, meanwhile, had just tossed Kugisaki in the air. “Hup!”
Inumaki, standing off to the side, chimed in with his usual terse input. “Salmon roe!”
Maki, ever the taskmaster, turned her attention back to Fushiguro. “There’s only a month and a half until the Exchange Event, so no dawdling. Here, you can try the long one next.” She handed him a staff.
Fushiguro took the staff, testing its weight and grip. “This actually feels pretty good.”
Off to the side, Y/N observed the scene with quiet interest. Dressed in casual clothes, she stood at a distance, her gaze drifting from one member of the group to another. As she watched, her mind was occupied with thoughts about her own plans. 
She knew that Megumi was already a potential follower, his loyalty and dedication evident. But as she observed Maki's skill and determination, she couldn’t help but think that Maki would make a formidable follower as well. Y/N’s eyes lingered on Maki with a hint of calculation, recognizing the potential in her. 
For now, Y/N remained a silent observer, her presence almost imperceptible as she considered her next moves in the complex web of alliances and influence she was weaving.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
In a secluded room at Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College, the dim light flickered over shelves stacked with cursed objects and various jujutsu paraphernalia. Gojo sat across from Itadori, who was looking at him with a mix of confusion and apprehension.
Gojo leaned back in his chair with a casual air. "Everyone’s trained to produce cursed energy using the faintest sparks of emotion. They’ve also trained on how not to waste cursed energy when emotions are flaring, too. There are several methods to train this. I’ll be having you use a pretty exhausting one."
Itadori’s eyes widened. "L-Like what?"
Gojo's smile widened mischievously. "Watching movies."
"Itadori blinked. "Watching movies?"
"Yep," Gojou confirmed. "Everything from masterpieces to C-grade horror films and terrible French movies! You’ll be watching them nonstop as long as you’re awake. Of course, you won’t just be watching them."
Gojou pulled out one of Yaga’s cursed puppets, which lay deeply asleep. "You’ll be watching them with this guy."
Itadori's eyes narrowed as he looked at the puppet. "What’s with the cute but creepy doll?"
Gojo chuckled. "It’s cute?"
He handed the puppet to Itadori, who examined it closely. "It’s a cursed corpse the principal made."
"Ah, I knew it!" Itadori said, recognizing Yaga’s style. He attempted to wake the puppet but was unsuccessful.
Gojo’s voice was calm but firm. "Don’t be hasty now. You’ll see soon."
The puppet's eyes snapped open, and it immediately punched Itadori in the face.
"Gahh!" Itadori exclaimed.
Gojo shrugged nonchalantly. "That cursed corpse will wake up and attack you, just like that, if you don’t keep pouring a set amount of cursed energy into it."
"Oww!" Itadori winced, rubbing his face.
Gojo continued, "Like I said, we have all kinds of movies available here. Heart-throbbers, thrillers, exciting ones, ones that’ll make you cry, laugh, or feel disgusted!"
Itadori groaned. "Urgh…"
"Your first goal is to watch an entire movie from start to finish without waking the cursed corpse. This trains you to maintain a steady output of cursed energy, no matter what emotions you feel. You can’t use too much or too little."
Itadori picked up the puppet again, and it stirred momentarily.
"Phew… Ah!" Itadori breathed a sigh of relief as the puppet fell back to sleep.
"Puppet Grrr!"
Gojo gave a knowing nod. "I have it set to the faint level of cursed energy you can produce right now, but it’ll steadily start demanding greater output, so don’t let your guard down."
"I couldn’t let it down even if I wanted to," Itadori said, clearly frustrated.
Gojou grinned and presented a stack of DVDs. "What do you want to start with? I recommend this one! The heroine’s annoying, but she dies spectacularly in the end."
Itadori’s face fell. "Major spoilers."
He glanced at the pile and suggested, "I say we start off with an action movie."
Before Gojo could respond, the puppet punched Itadori in the face again.
"Erk!" Itadori yelped, throwing the puppet at the ground.
"Oh, come on!" he said, exasperated.
Gojo's tone was amused yet firm. "Hey, even if you’re irritated, keep the cursed energy steady."
Later, as Itadori watched a movie with intense focus, the dialogue on screen droned on, "Do I cut the red wire or the blue wire?"
The female character continued, “You know, in the area where I used to live, the designated trash bags…”
The puppet stirred and punched Itadori again, causing him to spill his soda. “Don’t do that while I’m drinking soda!”
Gojo, observing from the side, shrugged. "Don’t drink it, then."
"But you gotta have chips and soda when watching movies at home!” Itadori protested. "That’s true," Gojou admitted. "Okay, I have some business to deal with. Just keep hanging in there."
Itadori looked up, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Will this really make me stronger?”
Gojo’s eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint. "Fufu… Oh, right. Did you talk to Sukuna while you were dead?"
“Talk?” Itadori echoed, puzzled.
Gojo pressed on, “When he fixed your heart, did he propose any conditions or contracts?”
Itadori furrowed his brow in thought. “Oh, I think we did talk about something… but I can’t remember what it was.”
“I see,” Gojo said thoughtfully. “I’ll bring Y/N over to visit you sometime soon. I think she might be able to offer you some additional support and advice.”
Itadori’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Really? That would be great. I miss her.”
Gojo smiled, his expression warm. “I’ll arrange it. Hang in there, Itadori.”
As Gojo left to handle his business, Itadori refocused on the movie, determined to maintain his cursed energy despite the puppet’s relentless interruptions.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
In the dimly lit apartment, the soft glow of a single lamp cast long shadows across the room. Y/N sat at a  wooden table cluttered with her recent acquisitions: a delicate locket, several rings, a collection of old coins, and a set of ornate metal hair clips. Each item had been carefully selected for its potential as a vessel, a conduit for the cursed energy she intended to embed.
A picture of pop-idol Takada-chan, prominently displayed in a small frame, sat among the objects. The photo was a reminder of an opportunity yet to be seized, a subtle invitation to reach out and capture the attention of someone influential like Gojo. 
Y/N’s gaze lingered on the array of items before her, a quiet satisfaction mingling with the anticipation of what was to come. She picked up one of the rings, its surface cool and smooth against her fingers. The ring, a simple band with intricate engravings, seemed to shimmer faintly in the lamp’s light. She had chosen it for its subtle elegance, believing it would make an effective vessel.
With a deep breath, Y/N settled onto her bed, the ring held firmly in her hand. The bed was neatly made, its simple design reflecting the orderliness that Y/N sought in her life. She sank into the soft mattress, feeling its comforting embrace as she focused on the task at hand.
Gently, she placed the ring on the palm of her hand and began to channel her cursed energy into it. The process was delicate and required concentration. She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to center on the flow of energy as she envisioned it weaving into the metal.
The energy she infused was not overwhelming but rather a subtle current, like a whisper of power that sought to blend seamlessly with the ring’s structure. As she worked, Y/N’s mind wandered briefly to the pop-idol Takada-chan, her picture a silent reminder of the influence she sought to gain.
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. The only sound within the apartment was the gentle rustling of Y/N’s breath as she focused intently on her task. The energy flowed more easily than she had expected, but she noted a slight resistance, an indication that the ring was absorbing the energy more slowly than anticipated. It was a sign that she would need to spend more time on this process or perhaps even modify her approach.
She continued to channel her energy, each pulse of power infusing the ring with a silent strength. The feeling of her energy melding with the metal was oddly satisfying, a reminder of her growing control over her abilities. The process was methodical and calming, a meditative ritual that grounded her amidst the chaos of her world.
After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, Y/N felt a faint shift in the ring’s energy. It was complete—at least for now. She placed the ring back on the table, its surface now imbued with a subtle glow that hinted at its newfound potency.
Exhausted but content, Y/N sank back against the bed, allowing herself a moment of respite. Her gaze drifted to the picture of Takada-chan, and she felt a renewed sense of purpose. The vessels were ready, and her plans were slowly taking shape. Each piece, infused with her cursed energy, would serve a purpose in her grand design.
She turned her attention to the metal hair clips, which she now picked up, one in each hand. These would be the next focus of her efforts. As she held one of the clips, she considered its potential. She had planned to give Megumi a handkerchief soon, but she was uncertain about the coin she had previously given him and its effectiveness.
She set the clip on the table, her fingers tracing its ornate design. The process of infusing it with cursed energy began, her concentration unwavering. It was crucial that each item received the proper attention, especially Maki's clip, which was set to become an integral part of her plans. Y/N's thoughts turned to her future interactions with Megumi and Maki, feeling that each item infused with her cursed energy would soon play a pivotal role.
As the night wore on, Y/N continued her work, the room filled with the quiet determination of her efforts. Each vessel, carefully imbued with her power, marked a step closer to achieving her grand design. The soft glow of the lamp cast a serene light over her meticulous preparations, underscoring the resolve and purpose that guided her actions.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥༻❀༺♥༻༺♥❀༺♥༺♥༻
At night, the city was draped in a cloak of darkness, its streets illuminated by the occasional streetlamp. Inside a sleek, black car, Ijichi drove with a steady hand, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror where Gojo sat, his expression unreadable.
"We have a bit of time before your appointment with the principal. Did you want to stop anywhere?" Ijichi asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Gojo considered the offer briefly before shaking his head. "It’s fine. I’ll show up early for a change."
A thoughtful silence settled between them. Gojou’s gaze drifted out the window, scanning the passing cityscape. After a moment, he spoke up again. "Stop the car."
Ijichi's brow furrowed in confusion. "Huh? Right here?"
Gojo's eyes were already shifting, a hint of a plan forming in his mind. "Yes, right here. I’ll handle it from here."
Ijichi hesitated for a moment, then, sensing that Gojou's request was serious, nodded. "Alright. If that’s what you want..."
With a slightly nervous chuckle, Ijichi drove off, leaving Gojo standing alone on the empty street. The air was cool, and a slight breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees. Gojo's expression hardened with determination as he turned on his heel and began walking in the direction of Y/N's apartment.
His focus was absolute, barely noticing the shift in the night’s atmosphere. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the street, and a figure crashed down from the sky. Jougo, with his volcanic demeanor and intense aura, landed with a resounding impact on the road.
"Heh…" Jougo sneered, his gaze fixed on Gojo.
Gojo's reaction was swift and instinctive. He dodged the initial attack, his movements fluid and precise. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, but even amidst the confrontation, his thoughts remained anchored to his destination.
"Who are you?" Gojou demanded, his tone carrying a mix of irritation and curiosity.
Jougo’s grin widened, his presence menacing and formidable. Yet, despite the imminent threat, Gojo’s resolve did not waver. He had a purpose tonight, and nothing was going to divert him from reaching Y/N’s place first.
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pleasestaywithmedarling · 6 months ago
Text
Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin: Part XXIV
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see end note for content warning
Anden studied the tiny razor blade he grasped between his third and fourth finger. With the subtlest twist, it was held tightly between the knuckles of his second and third, now only visible from the palm-side of his hand. Over and over he repeated the movement; if the circumstances weren’t so dire, he might have taken pride in the fact that he could now accomplish this task without even nicking himself on the remarkably sharp edge.
Switching to his left hand, though, only confirmed what he’d already known to fear. Scarcely had he twitched a finger when a spasm of pain shot up his limb. The blade dropped to the ground.
A small gasp made him look up. Though she still lay curled up on her pallet, Kiri was awake, her dark eyes fixed on Anden. Or, more specifically, on his broken arm.
Though the healer priestess had bandaged it up with a simple splint, she hadn’t bothered to truly set the bone properly. She’d only wrapped it at all, he was sure, to keep him from being in too much pain to keep quiet during the Midsummer’s ceremonies. It was pointless to worry about his arm healing when he was meant to die that morning.
He was meant to die that morning.
“It’s okay.” With his good hand, he picked up the blade once more and maneuvered it through a series of grips, each one hiding the gleaming Amantian steel from a different angle. She watched as it flickered in and out of the light, her eyes glassy.
“You really saved us last night, you know,” he said softly. “I mean, I know that it was hard, what you—what he made you do. But I could’ve come out of that with a lot worse than one broken arm, and we’d be fucked right now. So, thanks. For, uh, doing what needed done.” Anden knew she likely wasn’t hearing him, not really. He also knew it was probably for the best that she didn’t; gods knew he wished he could get last night out of his head. “I don’t know, I just, uh—I just needed say that, I guess.
“And I’m sorry. About your hand, and for—”
She was thrashing below the water’s surface, and his stomach dropped and his chest tightened and his heart thundered in his ears, and it had never gotten easier no matter how many times he’d had to watch.
“For, uh—”
But this time, this time he was right there. He was right there and he could pull her back up, he was right there and he could save her. But he couldn’t save her, he still couldn’t save her, because this time, this time it was him, it was him that was holding her down.
“For—”
And finally Emitis shut the fuck up, and finally Anden could let her surface, let her breathe. But when she looked at him she didn’t recognize him, and when he forced her back under he didn’t recognize himself.
His blood ran cold, but even the icy fear was not enough to numb him to the sickly heat of the shame festering in his core. Shaking himself as though to shake off the memory, he grimaced as the movement pulled at the cuts on his chest.
Gods, those fucking cuts.
At the reminder of the message now carved into his skin, the shame roiled in his core, a warm, thick, oozing yellow. It sloshed in his stomach and swelled upward, till suddenly he was spewing it out into his chamber pot. The taste of it coated his tongue; the smell of it filled his nostrils and poisoned his lungs. As he held himself over the pot on shaking arms, he caught glimpses of his reflection in the watery vomit, the image fractured by chunks of bile. He exhaled a grim laugh as the cuts on his chest throbbed.
“Piece of filth” indeed.
A soft whine made him look up, and his breath caught in his throat. Kiri was still staring at him, but somewhere beneath the glaze over her eyes he caught a small flash of recognition. Of worry, he realized. She was seeing him, in this state, and it made him feel even more pathetic. But she was seeing him, truly, even if it was through a heavy veil of fog, and his heart lightened to know that he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d thought.
But he missed her voice.
Years ago—several lifetimes ago, it seemed—his favorite of his dad’s bedtime stories had been the tale of the riverman and the sea. He’d loved how much his brother hated it; Antoni would always screw up his tiny face in frustration and proclaim that the story didn’t make any sense. How could the riverman hear the sea calling to him, if he lived miles and miles up the river? Anden would laugh, and tell him that stories didn’t have to make sense. Their dad, though, would only ever give the same reply: “All good stories make sense in due time.”
Anden had shrugged it off at the time; grown-ups were always saying weird shit. Now, though, with how impossibly far away Kiri seemed at times, he thought that maybe he was beginning to understand the tale.
She was always there, he knew, even if he couldn’t see it. He felt her call to him resonating deep within his core, as surely as he felt his own call to her.
But, gods, he missed her voice. His chest tightened as it struck him fully that he might never hear it again.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Taking up the tiny blade once more, he took a steadying breath and pretended he couldn’t feel the fear coursing through him. His eyes searched hers; perhaps he was only imagining the spark of awareness he found there, but he fixed his gaze on that faint light. “Kiri, I—”
The door of the outer chamber swung open with a loud creak, and in streamed the typical morning’s assortment of temple guards and attendants. But on that morning, all wore stiff ceremonial garb and stiff, somber expressions. No one brought him his usual meal—there was no sense wasting food when he was about to die, Anden surmised. The thought didn’t anger him; he couldn’t allow it to. He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not today.
Watching Kiri stumble out of the inner chamber on shaking legs, he didn’t dare think about how many hours, days, she’d gone now deprived of food and water. While she was bathed in the same pool in which he himself had nearly drowned her last night, he didn’t let himself listen to the distant sound of her hummed sobs. When the guards locked her back in her cell, she was clothed in the same richly embroidered gown that he’d seen worn by so many other young women being marched toward their deaths. And now it would be the two of them paraded down the sacrificial route. He didn’t pay any attention, though, to the way the temple workers looked at them without the slightest trace of sympathy; he merely tightened his grip on the blade hidden in his right hand.
He closed his eyes. Focused. Breathed in. Breathed out.
From the outer chamber came the murmurs of attendants and the orders of guards and the clinking of chains, and he tuned them all out. It was harder to ignore the muffled crying coming from the other cell, but after a few minutes the cries settled into the occasional whimper before stilling entirely. When he opened his eyes, Kiri was staring at his chest.
His throat constricted.
Piece of filth.
But that wasn’t what had caught her attention. What she was watching was the rise and fall of his rib cage, he realized; she’d slowed her breathing to match his. The swell of shame within his core abated as her eyes flicked upward to meet his own.
He held her gaze. Focused. Breathed in. Breathed out.
And then the new Vessels were brought in.
He’d never spared a thought for them, the two who would take his and Kiri’s place in this hellish cycle. He couldn’t afford to waste his energy on complete strangers, especially ones he didn’t have any way to help anyway. But as he listened to their protests, and the inevitable beatings that followed, he found himself glancing at his cell’s loose floorboard. He wouldn’t let himself think about the new Vessels after today; he was going to get himself and Kiri far away and never look back. Still, though, he found himself hoping that the key under the floor would be discovered. It had been solely for Kiri’s sake that he hadn’t used it to try to escape, but he liked the idea that maybe his choice to stay with her could save someone else too.
The outer chamber door creaked once again. Anden’s heart seemed to stop when the sinuous voice of Emitis called out, “Bring forth today’s Vessels.”
Midsummer had truly arrived.
He had to make sure they survived it. He couldn’t be afraid. Blade firmly in hand, he pulled himself to his feet.
As he and Kiri were led out of the their cells to the outer chamber, Anden spared one single glance at the young man chained to the same stone table he’d been restrained to one year ago. He was little more than a boy, really, though he looked strong enough. Most likely he’d been pulled from the labor camps; Anden may have even worked alongside him in summers past. But he didn’t want to know, didn’t want even the smallest connection tying him to this awful place. He ignored the boy, ignored the High Priest’s droning, and focused all his thoughts on the tiny blade he held between his third and fourth fingers.
His first real test of concealment came when a guard suddenly grabbed his wrist. But not even a sliver of the shining metal showed from the palm-side of his hand, and the guard was none the wiser as he made a small cut on the tip of Anden’s finger.
No one noticed Anden maneuver the blade to keep it hidden as he pressed his blood into the boy’s collarbone. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact; with a muttered, “I’m sorry,” he sealed the boy’s fate. Kiri was crying over the girl she’d just consecrated with water, but while he loved her care and her empathy, he could not afford to share it. After offering one last wish that the cell key would be found, he put the new Vessels from his mind. The blade had to be his sole focus; he kept it out of sight as he was marched out of the Chamber of Vessels for the last time.
The final journey through the lengthy halls of the temple was uneventful, if surreal—it was strange to think he’d never see them again. He could find no relief in that, though, without knowing whether or not he’d live to see the sun set on this day. He could hear Kiri stumbling behind him, humming out sobs into her gag, and pretended he wasn’t deeply worried about her. He couldn’t be, not now with the sharpened metal pressed precariously between his knuckles.
Out in the main courtyard, Anden was harnessed to the yoke of the ebony chariot as Kiri was stood atop it. He hissed as the leather straps dug into the wounds littering his torso, especially the cuts just below his left collarbone—piece of filth, piece of filth—but he was almost grateful for how much it hurt. At least the pain was easier to deal with than the sudden chill that swept over him as the gates swung open.
This was it. The realization struck him with a fullness of understanding that he’d been pushing away all morning, all year. He and Kiri were about to be sacrificed.
The attendants bearing the statue of Vato on its gold-leafed platform stepped forward, two, three, four paces. He should move—he was supposed to move, but how in the ten hells was he supposed to just walk toward what could very well be his death? How could he possibly drag Kiri toward their shared coffin?
A whip cracked, and a flash of pain struck hard across his shoulder. As he cried out, he felt the blade slip from his hand. Catching it with the very tips of his fingers, he quickly curled it into his fist and held it tightly, even as blood began to trickle down the length of his palm.
He couldn’t give anyone a chance to notice the blood. He couldn’t let these bastards rip away his chance at escape. He wouldn’t die today. He wouldn’t. And so he couldn’t be afraid; he walked forward, one aching step after the other.
The processions through the streets had been humiliating enough every other holy day, but now every person in the city lined the streets. There were many who did not usually practice the worship of Vato, especially in the lower classes, but participation in the Midsummer’s sacrifice was required by law. Everyone they passed offered up their final prayers of the year, a cacophony of pleas both half-hearted and fervent. Those who pitied him looked away, unwilling to face a death they could not prevent; those who didn’t looked right through him, unable to see him as any more than an object.
It didn’t bother him. It didn’t; he couldn’t let it. He couldn’t care what anyone in this godsforsaken city thought of him. He had far more important things to worry about, like how to staunch the blood still pooling in his palm. The cuts above his heart weren’t throbbing beneath the harness—piece of filth, piece of filth—and the thick mass of shame didn’t weigh heavily in his core. Anden knew nothing but the half-inch of metal tucked against his palm.
The sacrificial route to the riverfront was scarcely a mile long, far shorter than the usual processional loop through the city. Far too soon, the procession turned onto the final road leading to the Pier of Vato. His heart thundered in his ears with each painful step, the immense scarlet banners of the High Temple looming ever closer. Prayers were now being shouted from the sidewalks as he passed by, from the most zealous of worshippers wanting to make their piety known to all. The people here would have claimed their places well before sunrise in hopes of a good view, and Anden nearly stumbled at the sight of parents holding up their young children to better see him as passed by.
The attendants bearing the statue of Vato came to a halt and lowered the platform to the ground. Anden covertly swiped his bleeding hand on the hem of his tunic just before two guards released him from the awful harness and began pulling him up toward the pier. From behind him, even over the chorus of ardent prayers, he could hear Kiri’s fearful whines. There, down at the end of the pier, sat the polished wooden coffin.
They were going to die in there. If anything went the slightest bit wrong, they were going to die in there.
He adjusted his grip on the blade. Everything seemed to be working against his attempts the keep it hidden in his grasp: the guards’ manhandling, the summer heat making his fingers slick with sweat, the violent shudders rolling through his spine. But he could do this. He wasn’t afraid—he couldn’t be, because he had to do this.
But the prayers were growing louder and the coffin was growing closer, and as he stepped out onto the pier the waters of the Great River stretched out in every direction.
And there, just below the water’s surface, he saw her face.
She was thrashing, panicking, until she wasn’t. She was running out of air, running out of life, and it was his hands holding her down, his hands killing her.
A guard pulled him forward by his broken arm.
A cry tore from his throat.
And the blade dropped from his hand.
What—
What had he just done?
He was watching her struggles grow weaker and he was watching the coffin grow larger with each step and it was his hands holding her down and it was his hand dropping the blade and he couldn’t let her surface and he wouldn’t be able to free them and he was killing her and he’d killed them both.
What the fuck had he just done?
They had reached the end of the pier, and Kiri whimpered beside him, and he was killing her.
Emitis was droning on to the crowd but it couldn’t last forever, and he could feel Kiri’s eyes on him, and the coffin lay between them and the leaky boat hung off the edge of the pier behind them, and he’d just killed them both.
“Prepare the Vessels to be sacrificed.”
This couldn’t be happening. A wild impulse to simply throw himself into the river nearly took him, but there were guards everywhere, their weapons at the ready. But gods, this couldn’t be happening.
A priest was ordering him and Kiri to disrobe, and he had to fix this. He couldn’t panic. He wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t horrified, he wasn’t out of his mind with terror. He couldn’t be, because he had to figure out what to do, and he was running out of time. As he slowly pulled his bloodstained tunic over his head, he didn’t feel the least bit sick with humiliation; he couldn’t afford to, because he had to come up with a plan, but it was so hard, it was so fucking hard to think.
And then Kiri screamed.
Scarcely had Anden whirled to face her when she tore herself from a guard’s grasp. Shrieking hysterically into her gag, she shoved her way past Emitis, knocking him to the ground.
“Kiri!” Anden tried to go after her, but after their initial shock the guards had rallied, and the two closest to him were quick to hold him back. He could only watch as she ran senselessly, her unlaced gown falling from her shoulders and billowing out behind her. She was halfway down the pier when she collapsed, wailing when she caught herself on her broken hand. She crawled, scrabbling weakly at the boards of the pier, but was soon surrounded by guards. They dragged her back, her bared breasts heaving as she sobbed.
The moment she saw Anden, her wild, unseeing eyes gleamed with sudden recognition. Though her gag rendered her cries wordless, he knew it was his name that she called. She clawed her way past the guards with a ferocity he didn’t know she possessed. Without thinking, he jerked against his guards’ hold and yanked his right arm free just as Kiri barreled into him.
For a single breath, he held her tight to his chest, shielding her from view as she feebly clung to him. Her hummed cries, incoherent of anything but her urgent distress, bore deep into his racing heart.
Gods, he had to do something. He had to find some way to cut away their restraints once they were on the river. No one as kind, as good, as Kiri should endure so much suffering, only to die at the end.
She yelped as guards tore them apart, reaching out to him as she was pulled away. For the briefest moment she clasped his hand, pleading, before she was ripped entirely from his grasp.
Emitis, upright once more, straightened his robes and hissed, “Finish preparing them to cast off, you incompetent simpletons!” He turned to the murmuring crowd gathered on the shore and launched into a speech about Vato’s justice.
Meanwhile, a guard began cutting away Anden’s remaining clothing.
Anden made no attempt to try to break free of the hands holding him fast; he offered no resistance as he was stripped bare. He was too shaken to pretend anymore. He couldn’t pretend the shame in his core wasn’t crashing through him in sickly yellow waves, to be so exposed before so many. He couldn’t pretend his heart wasn’t shattering into a thousand sharp pieces, to hear Kiri’s muffled screams as she was forcibly undressed. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t frozen through despite the summer heat, because he was so fucking terrified.
More than any of that, though, he felt a burning in his hand where Kiri had clasped it in her own. A hot, throbbing pain where a tiny, remarkably sharp razor blade had sliced through his skin as she’d thrust it into his palm.
Her wanton fear as she’d hurtled down the pier had been every bit as real as it was now, he was sure. Yet, incredibly, she’d still worked out a way to retrieve the chance at freedom that he’d lost. He didn’t know if she’d happened to see the glint of the blade as she’d run. She might have even watched him drop it. Perhaps she’d somehow maintained the presence of mind to orchestrate her impossible escape attempt with the sole purpose of finding it—he wouldn’t put it past her. He wouldn’t make the mistake of ever underestimating her again.
Gods, he loved her.
His hand didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly, though it still seemed miraculous that no one took any real notice of it. But Emitis’ anger at the chaos Kiri had caused had made the temple workers nervous; they moved with an almost frantic haste as they tied Anden and Kiri into position for enshrouding. Anden gasped as loop after loop of rope bound his wrists crossed over his chest and pressed his arms tight against his sides. The pain shooting up his broken arm so was nauseating that he would have collapsed without the support of the guards, and they resorted to shoving a handkerchief in his mouth in an attempt to muffle his cries. He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t even notice the rope being coiled around his legs until they were entirely welded together.
Never had he been so thoroughly immobilized, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t scared out of his mind. But he held fast to the blade he concealed in his fist. He could be scared, he could be terrified, so long as he didn’t let go.
Several priests stepped forward, rolls of winding-sheets in hand. With horrifying efficiency, they began to enshroud the two Vessels.
While the priests worked, Emitis stood first before Kiri, loudly calling out some speech or prayer in what sounded like old Illyrnan while making a series of exaggerated gestures. Mewling into her gag, Kiri struggled weakly against her restraints. When she looked over at Anden, he saw that her eyes had gone glassy, and he knew she wasn’t truly seeing him.
Beside her the coffin’s polished wood gleamed in the sunlight, and Anden knew that Kiri might never see him again.
No. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. She’d gotten them this far; he wouldn’t let her down now.
The winding-cloths enveloped him tightly down the whole length of his body, and the priests were now working their way back up with a second layer. And he could hardly move at all and he could hardly breathe, and he was scared, he was so fucking scared. And he tightened his grip on the Amantian blade, because none of that could stop him from accomplishing his task.
As the priests reached his shoulders and began to wrap his head, Emitis stepped in front of him, still waving and shouting in old Illyrnan. As he chanted, the High Priest met Anden’s glare with a smile of the purest satisfaction.
Suddenly Anden was trembling not with fear, but with fury. This man had beaten him, burned him, shattered him and sliced him open. This man had made him watch as Kiri was tormented, as she fought desperately for each breath. This fucking monster had made Anden torture her, too. And he had enjoyed every moment of it.
Anden had promised himself that once he and Kiri were free of this place, he would never look back. But he almost hoped he would see the High Priest again someday. Because Emitis deserved to die, and Anden wanted to be there to watch when he took his final, gasping breath.
As the winding-cloth was drawn over Anden’s eyes, the last thing he saw was Emitis’ hideous smile.
If Anden ever laid eyes on that smile again, he would kill the bastard himself.
But, damn it all, he couldn’t do that if he didn’t survive today.
He held tightly to the blade as he felt multiple pairs of hands at his shoulders and hips and knees, tipping him backwards until suddenly he was off his feet. It was disorienting, being moved through the air totally blind, and he couldn’t help but squirm in the arms that held him suspended. Something hard scraped at his right elbow, and the next thing he knew he was flat on on his back inside what he knew was the coffin. From somewhere above him came Kiri’s muffled cries; the sound came closer and closer until it was just to his left. She bumped against him as she thrashed weakly in her shroud, and, gods, this had to work—he had to get them both out of this.
He waited anxiously for them to lower the lid, desperate to begin working at his bonds as soon as possible. The light seeping through the winding-cloths disappeared, and a horrible thud reverberated through the coffin. And as he listened to the awful beating of the hammer nailing it shut, he could only seem to lay there frozen, his heart pounding in time with the hammer.
Suddenly everything was shaking; the coffin was lifted, then lowered to rest at the bottom of the boat with a thump that jarred his broken arm. Then they were swinging in midair, and the babbling of the river below them grew louder and louder until the boat hit the water with a small splash that knocked him into Kiri.
She shrieked, and immediately the urge to move, move, move rushed through him. He twisted his hand this way and that, trying to create enough room in the tight shroud to maneuver in. At last he managed to press the blade against the winding-cloths over his chest, just as the ropes anchoring the little boat were cut free.
Whether or not it was truly magical as the rumors said, Amantian steel was certainly every bit as remarkable as its reputation indicated. Despite his awkward grip on such a small blade, it tore through the fabric with ease. The bigger challenge lay in just how little he could reach, bound as he was, and how little room he had to move. And, of course, how very little time he had.
It didn’t help that Kiri was floundering beside him. All attempts to tell her to keep still were lost into his gag; even if he could have spoken, he didn’t know if she would hear him or if she was entirely lost in her fear.
Desperate for a way to reach her, he began to hum, that Koric ballad he’d heard her sing softly on so many awful nights. The melody was scarcely recognizable, breathless and off-key, and interrupted by frequent grunts of pain as his efforts to free himself pulled at the ropes around his broken arm. Still, as the song neared its end, Kiri suddenly went still. When Anden began the song again, her voice joined his, a few broken notes at a time between labored breaths.
By then he had cut through as much of the winding-clothes and the ropes around his chest and arms as he could reach. With a bit more room to move now, he pulled and strained and twisted his entire upper body trying to loosen the rest. It hurt—gods, his arm hurt so much that he screamed several times as colored stars filled his vision. But he did not stop, and neither did Kiri; though each of his cries made her sob, she lay perfectly still, humming in gasping bursts all the while.
At last, at last, one final hard pull sent his fists crashing upward into the lid of the coffin. His arms were free. He allowed himself one sigh of relief that he had not dropped the blade, before tearing at the cloth encasing his head.
The thin slivers of light peeking under the coffin lid might have been a welcome sight after the total darkness, but all he could think was how soon the water of the Great River would come pouring into every tiny crack.
Perhaps he was only imagining the damp spot in the winding-cloth at his left heel.
Yanking the fabric from his mouth, he worked his jaw for a moment. “Kiri?” he rasped. Propping himself up on his left shoulder, he reached across to her, but the moment he touched her she shrieked, her body flailing weakly.
“Sorry! Sorry, it's just me,” he said. There was no time to calm her first, but he kept his movements as gentle as he could as he worked to free her face of the winding-cloths. “It's Anden. I'm getting you out of this—it's just me. It’s just me.” He continued to murmur reassurances as he moved down to cutting the fabric encasing her torso. It was clumsy work, only one-handed, and more than once he was sure that he cut her. But her shrieks calmed to whimpers, and she stilled considerably, though he wasn't confident she truly recognized him. But once he'd finally freed her of the ropes, her hands immediately groped in the dark for him, seeking his face, his shoulders, his chest, her breaths shuddering in her relief.
“Yeah. Yeah, it's me,” Anden cupped her face, mindful of the blade. “I need to get to your legs—I can’t reach, there’s not enough room in here, so youre gonna have to help me. Can you do that?”
He felt her shaking nod, and he talked her through shifting onto her side and curling her legs upward, her knees resting on his stomach. It was just in time, too, because Anden most certainly was not imagining the dampness at his feet. Water was beginning to pool at that end of the coffin, and it was quickly spreading.
He made quick work of slicing through the cloth and the ropes winding up her legs. Her ankles and feet proved difficult to reach, but at last he managed to cut through the last of her bindings. “That was good. That was good, Kiri. Now when you stretch back out, you're going to feel a bit water—” He felt her stiffen beside him, a high-pitched whine caught in her throat. “You’re gonna feel a bit of water, but it’s okay. There’s not much. You're gonna feel a bit of water, and then I'm gonna give you the blade so you can help me. I’m still tied up, there’s not enough room in here for me to reach, so I need you to help me, okay?”
As he talked, he eased her legs off of him, and he felt a tremor rip through her body when she touched the growing puddle of the water. But she dutifully took the blade he pressed into her shaking hands. With her help, he was soon freed of his restraints as well. It was impossible to feel relieved, though—the water was now rising at an alarming rate. Already it was at least an inch deep.
For several minutes, he felt along the upper edges of the coffin, trying to find a way he could help open it from the inside. But when Kiri suddenly let out a series of distressed hums, he instantly gave up his search. Taking her hand in his, he murmured soft words of encouragement and promises that they would be okay. Antoni would come for them, he reminded them both over and over again. The most helpful thing he could do in the meantime, he decided, was help Kiri stay as calm as possible.
The water continued to rise. It soon grew exhausting to keep themselves propped up above its surface to breathe.
Frightened as he was, Anden kept talking. With each shaking exhale, he spoke of Antoni and Omika, how smart and brave and good they were, and how much Kiri would love them. How they were going to leave the city, leave the kingdom, and build a long, happy life together. He reminded her of everything they’d dreamed of during the long nights in their cells, how they would live in a little house far away from crowds of people, how they would spend summer nights laying under the stars, how they would save up enough coin to go travelling to see the sea.
Antoni used to hate the story of the riverman who loved the sea. When the jealous river tried to drown the riverman so that he wouldn’t leave her, when she told him he should curse the sea for calling to him and he refused, Antoni would always protest that it didn’t make any sense. If the sea had never called to riverman, then the riverman wouldn’t be about to die, so why did the riverman still love her? Anden would laugh, and tell him for the hundredth time that stories didn’t have to make sense. Their dad, as he always did, would offer the same explanation: “All good stories make sense in due time.”
They only had a scant few inches of air left. It took all their energy just to keep their faces above water.
They were running out of time.
Anden thought about Antoni, his smart-mouthed, pain-in-the-ass, thoughtful, perfect brother. He thought about Omika, precocious little Omika, how he’d missed watching her grow up, how she’d be furious with him for throwing away the chance she’d given him to escape.
He thought about the eight long years he’d lost, shivering in damp prison cells when he wasn’t toiling in harsh labor camps, and how the only thing that got him through it was dreaming of seeing his family again. For eight long years he would have done anything, anything at all, to see his family again.
He could have escaped three nights ago. He could have taken Omika’s key and run off to meet her. He could be with his family right now, journeying to the borders of the kingdom to go start a new life together.
But he couldn’t have left Kiri.
The sea had called to him, and even now that he was inches from death, he couldn’t regret listening.
“Gods, I love you,” he gasped.
Suddenly the sinking boat struck something, hard. It rocked violently, sloshing the water this way and that, and letting even more water rush inside. As he sputtered for air, he was startled further by a scraping at the lid of the coffin. At Kiri’s garbled scream, a muffled voice cried, “You’re not dead! Oh, you’re not dead, thank gods!”
“Antoni?” Pounding a fist against the lid, he called out, “Antoni!”
“Shit, no, don’t—don’t do that! We gotta get these nails out!”
“How long?”
“Two minutes!”
Water sloshed over Anden’s face; beside him Kiri snorted desperately to clear her only airway. “Make it one!”
The water was too high—they were out of air, and they were out of time. “Kiri—Kiri, big breath. Now!”
Overhead, another voice shouted, “We’ve got company!”
“Shit!” The scraping resumed louder, harder.
Anden couldn’t pretend he wasn’t terrified. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t trapped underwater with no way out, only seconds away from dying. But he wouldn’t lose his head, not now when it mattered most.
Kiri was panicking, thrashing against the thin lid of the coffin. Throwing his arms around her, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t in agony as the movement pulled at broken bone and her fist pounded into the cuts on his chest. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t holding her down and he was holding her down and he was killing her, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t drowning in fear and shame because gods, he was a piece of filth and he was killing her. But he couldn’t let anything make it even harder for Antoni to save them. He could feel all the pain and fear and shame, but he wasn't weak, he wasn't filth, and he wouldn't let anything stop him from doing what needed to be done.
A minute passed. Kiri’s struggling weakened. Anden’s chest tightened.
Above them, suddenly, a blinding light appeared.
They sat up, gasping, and when at last Anden could see he looked up into a familiar pair of green eyes.
Antoni.
He was alive. He was fucking alive, and he was with Antoni.
“Come on!” An arrow flew by, just overhead. Antoni ducked, and reached down for his hand. “We gotta go, now!”
Anden watched, horrified, as another red-flecked arrow struck his brother, and he fell into the Great River.
next
I'm low-key a little emotional posting this. This chapter is what inspired this whole fic; I had the idea a year ago of this fucked up sacrifice, and my first reaction was what a shame it was that I would never write it. But then I realized, I could just write it. And it turned into I don't know how many tens of thousands of words now. Crazy!
Anyway, sorry not sorry about that ending--I promise we're getting close to the end of this arc! But we still have a long way to go, cause there is definitely going to be a sequel lol
Can't thank y'all enough for sticking with me through this whole past year. The best part of writing this has definitely been all of you <3
taglist: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @monarchthefirst @whumplr-reader @scoundrelwithboba
Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!
content warning: captivity, religious abuse, restraints, drowning, non-sexual nudity, mention of torture
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heliosthegriffin · 8 months ago
Text
Shadow Knight 24
Ao3 Link
----
“What on Remnant is that?!” White screamed flying to the left, a giant bony palm swatting through the air next to her, the draft in its wake fighting to drag her down.
“We got to go!” A hand grabbing her shoulder, White saw Black’s desperate eyes. “He did something! This place is sinking, I don’t know where!”
“Yaah!” A silver slash cut across the Giant Skeleton’s face, leaving a path of burning black sludge and argent smoke. It rolled its head backwards facing the sky, letting out an ear-piercing scream that sent cracks up the stone walls, exploded lights, vomiting forth a condensed blast of hyper-sonic air into the sky, bringing both hands down on Red, sending a shower of rose petals across the air, as she leaped away.
It’s burning red eyes stared at the rose-petals and swung it’s arms across the hallway, destroying more of centuries old building, violently ejecting ruble in blast at them, leaving a bald semicircle in front of the half-emerged monster, still half-way sunk into the ground.
Crimson danced through the air in front of them, her barrier of metal eroded the rubbled before it could touch any of them. She pointed a spear at the giant, ruggards chunks of metal exploded toward the creatures, knocking it around, leaving small craters in its black bones. She narrowed her eyes at the sight. She waved her hand towards White and Black, her barrier harmlessly absorbing them in, as they flew out of range. “We need to deal more damage, White do you think you can freeze those cracks in the bones?”
White looked at the pock-marks slowly filling up with dark essence, the slashes made by Red were smoking and sizzling, unhealing. Lifting a hand she fired an icy blast into the cracks of the bones, the silvery essence wrapping around the icy power, as a small iceberg ripped the small slashes open further. 
“We don’t have time for this! The place is done for, it’s sinking and it’ll take this thing with it, we need to go, before we can’t go back!” 
“If we defeat it now, while it’s not fully mobile, that one less tool in His box.” Crimson fired more improvised missiles at the monster, further damaging it.
“Feel free to leave, Black.” White cast more ice at the wounds. “We’re more than capable of handling this without you.”
“You-”
“Incoming!” A voice like thunder came down the hallway, Yellow soared past them fast, nearly throwing them against the wall, a golden aura of fire surrounding her as shot into the chest of the skeleton with an obscene crash. It was knocked back hard, the monster almost seeming to gasp as it screamed thunderously.
Yellow bounced off, just as it started to claw at its chest, a smoldering crack running across its sternum.
A swarm of purple lighting bolts struck its chest, the cracks growing larger and larger by the second. “Fine! I’ll help kill it! But, if we get stuck in His realm, I withhold the right to slap you all senseless before we die!”
-----
She watched as Jaune went rocketed forward, slamming a shield into one of those things, her skin crawling as red eyes locked onto them. It was as the same bulk as he was, but taller with longer limbs ending in razor claws, yet it still went stumbling backwards. 
“Advance!” He told them the words targeted some sort of primal switch in the back of their heads, flipping it from off to on. Velvet forgot any fears she had, the trembling in her hands, or the overwhelming amount of noise her ears picked up, for a moment, everything made sense. She moved with a half-dozen other men and women around him, flowing around Jaune like water; she wondered if he even knew the power his firm words held in a time of crisis, as they surrounded the monster, stabbing at it.
Not every stab hit, but they didn’t need to, as speartips struck it’s body, the wounds built up, until it would fall. Velvet felt with each thrust the blade went a little bit deeper, the wound a bit wider, until one last piercing blow, and it split in half.
“Fallback!” It was like they had become extensions of him, Velvet realized. He hardly needed to say a word, before they understood his intent. As a body flew threw where they had been, one of those creatures had a hole in its chest, laying dead on the ground. Velvet followed the direction it had come from, and almost didn’t believe her eyes, Ren’s fists were glowing pink, locked in combat with those monsters.
Not alone, though, as Nora was at his side swinging her warhammer with reckless abandon. Her blows contained surprising strength, her hearing picking up the sound of bones breaking. 
“Advance, surround it!” Her body moved on its own, spear at the ready. Ahead Jaune fought through a small pack of those things, shield bashing one of them away from him, toward them and they advanced on a sole lanky monster.
-----
River Song felt his couch pillow vibrate, eyes still closed he felt around for his scroll. Turning it on, he read the message, it came from an unknown number.
‘R. get on the chat-room, the Museum. - K’.
River woke up immediately, K. was one of his hunting partners. They didn’t talk outside of hunts.
Opening his burner scroll, he went into the chatroom. Eyes nearly unbelieving what he was seeing. A building sinking into the ground, with rumors of a terrorist attack, or gas leaks, surrounding it.
His gut told him otherwise, so he turned on the news. That LaCroix SOB was there again, declaring the area around the museum in a state of emergency, a small, but powerful localized earthquake had hit the building, and a nearby gas-pocket was leaking into the building, trying to explain any sighting of monsters.
When asked about the sinking, for a micro-expression he seemed almost furious for a moment, before putting on a sad face. “It seems that the earthquake accelerated the growth of a sinkhole under the museum, something that we have left the public uninformed about due to its minute nature, however, we, The city of Vale, have failed you all. We may lose a vaunted piece of history today, but we can’t get back people, as they are the future, and what we should be focused on.”
“What about the people stuck in the museum?”
LaCroix's eyes seemed to glow for a moment. “I’m afraid that anyone who hasn’t managed to escape, must be dead. Being exposed to gas for that long, they have surely perished, or suffered such severe brain-damage that they will expire soon anyway. As sad as it is, we can’t not risk more lives. Doubly so, when the Museum is likely to collapse at any moment.”
“Mr. LaCroix! What kind of gas is it, anyway? We haven’t-”
“No more, questions! I am needed elsewhere to help with the emergency, good night, and to those in mourning, you have my condolences.”
River felt pain in his temple, gritting his teeth. A building in a sinkhole does not uniformly sink in! The building was uniformly falling into the ground, this wasn’t a sinkhole!
A quick look at the chatroom revealed people calling BS, others that were at the Museum today, said they didn’t feel any shaking at all, just some anxiety and lightheadedness. A couple even admitting to seeing some strange figures.
Then, someone posted a link, Javier or something, linked to a live feed. 
River’s eyes opened. It was coming from inside the Museum, apparently they had some type of back of generators in there.
-----
Red jumped to the side, a bony fist crushing stone into dust next to her, her aura protecting her from stone shrapnel. There was a warmth like sunlight behind her eyes, as she focused the energy into her gaze staring at the hand, then a feeling of a warm and clear day hit her, as the purity of the sun focused into her eyes was shot forward.
The silver-blast sent shockwaves through the air, as tons of evil inky smoky exploding out toward the evening sky, layer after layer of millenia old bone was dissolved under her silver-eyes, greatly damaging the limb, but it’s age and soakage in Grimm power was still resisting her. 
It still had nearly broken it. “Hit it, ladies!” She cried valiantly, not at all squeaking! Speeding away, as ice, metal, lightning, and Yang crashing in like a meteor destroyed it, not just the hand, but the entire right arm!
“We’re nearly there! Just a bit more damage!” Crimson cried out, but Red frowned, she felt the floor drop again, as the sky seemed to grow just a bit further away from them. Her ears twitched, as she thought she heard something, like shouts?
-----
Jaune walked ahead of the rest, head twitching at every sound, trying to figure out what was going on today. Along with, why was this all happening? He had wondered that every second since this whole mess started. He felt a shake hit the building again, he had stopped keeping  count of them. Was it related to those magical girls? Or was it something else entirely?
He hated how clueless he was.
At least he knew it was related to the Grimm in some way, though how, was the question. Were they actually Grimm? Or were they part of some family tree, or … He didn’t know, there were so many blank spots to fill.
They didn't disappear like Grimm normally did, yet they still had the same masks and biology, and they had bones that broke. Worse, when he had the misfortune to peer into one the monster's bodies, he had seen organs.
That brought two strong options to mind, and he didn’t like either of them. Both of them involve people. Looking back at his group of survivors,they were all taking today differently, some were twitchy, others were breathing hard, and all were dirty. After today, he hoped they’d forget everything, as best they could.
A shadow moved next to him, a pair of red eyes giving away his visitor, it was sad how predictably they were. Then again, they probably didn’t have good muscle memory to work with, and if they did, it wasn’t suitable for swinging around claws.
Claws scraped against his shield, not even scratching the old metal of the shield, whether that was a testament to it’s craftsmanship or something else, Jaune couldn’t tell you. He stepped into its range, sword coming down on its arm, severing it.
 It was over in seconds, it’s head went down the hall. 
Jaune didn’t have the guts to go confirm his suspicions. The building shook again, the head fading away into the darkness.
He felt another pair of eyes on him from the shadows, they weren’t red, and they didn’t feel hostile. He looked at them, down the hallway, they stared off for a moment. Until they winked at him disappearing in the small motion.
“I’m losing my damn mind.” Jaune shrugged, going to meet back with the group.
Gathering them up, they resumed their march towards the door, eliminating any monsters that got in their way. With their fast pace they reached the doors quickly, just in time to see darkness climbing up the front of the door to the halfway point.
Jaune didn’t hesitate to open the doors, revealing the ground was at the middle of the door, instead of at the, well, the ground. “Come on! Get through there before you can’t get out at all!” He shouted, voice firm and echoing.
He pointed at the edge they could grab. “Get up there and leave! You all are not wanted here!” It didn’t take much convincing to have his soldiers leave. As one after the other they pulled themselves out of this hellhole.
Nora was given a boost by Ren, who wormed his way out between the ever smaller hole out. Soon, it was just him and Velvet, in what little light that remained, she gave him a small smile. “See you on the other side?”
“Yeah.” Jaune nodded. His ears twitched, it sounded like stomping.
He knelt down, giving Velvet a boost up. The sound was getting louder. It was heavy footsteps. Velvet nearly fell as Jaune essentially threw her through the gap. He looked behind himself and wished he hadn’t.
The lights were going out behind them. Not in the sense that they were being turned off, but something was moving under the lights, and they went out. That darkness was moving towards them. Something giant moved in it, as the sound of clacking was getting closer, a gigantic all-consuming noise, and what looked like fading coals burning were getting brighter.
Gripping the edge he pulled himself up, the gap growing smaller, struggling to squeeze through the gap.
“Help him!” Someone cried. 
Hands pulled at him trying to help him through. Ren at one side and Nora at the other, he was being squeezed through an inch at the time, almost there, given just enough time.
Enough time, they did not have. Something enormous grabbed Jaune by his legs, and its power exceeded any help that they could provide. Jaune laid his against the ground, relaxing his partially out body.
“Let go! I’ll be -” Was the last thing they heard him say, as he was pulled backwards into the building. He didn’t reemerge, as they stood there waiting for him to reappear, even as the sound of enormous struggle began, only to become more muffled. Any chance of him escaping to them was gone, as they watched with heavy-hearts as the gap shrunk and shrunk until no space remained, and soon, the building was gone.
----
The Magical Girls floated victorious over the greasy black smear that used to be their opponent, small pieces of bone floating around in it. They looked at it with narrowed-eyes, dirty figures, and a general air of exhaustion.
“That's it?” Yellow asked.
“Close enough,” Black answered.
Red floated up to the ceiling, seeing it was night and nobody remained within a thousand feet of the old museum. Except for vehicles with flashing lights next to some hazard tape that went around the front of the building. “Do you think that everyone got out ok?”
Crimson looked around. “We were so busy fighting that thing, -”
White floated out the building, pointing down at the nearly sunken building. “We don’t have time to check. Not unless we want to be pulled in with it.” She paused with a sigh. “Besides, with all the Grimm running around, it’s far too late for them. Face it, anybody left in there is dead.”
There was a moment of silence, as they floated up and away. “I don’t like this.” Yellow pulsated with flame. “We could have done more, could have done better.” Watching the building as it disappeared entirely into the darkness below. Once gone, the darkness returned down into the pit, leaving only an enormous crater where a piece of history had been erased.
For once, there was no fighting among the girls.
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