#wound me further and give me new shades of blood to work with

[psilocybinaut]

Feeling a lot of fomo rn

I guess just feeling a lot

[torreshalstead]

Your eyes in my life - Chapter 11

Summary - The night of Kim’s final layover as a flight attendant ended with a one night stand with a stranger she met across a bar.

6 years later, that same stranger walked into the 21st District and was assigned as her new Rookie and her life was thrown upside down. She hadn’t seen Adam since that night in LA. But she saw his eyes every day. In the eyes of their daughter.

Chapters - 11/?

Chapter Summary - The immediate aftermath of Kim’s shooting

Notes - This is the chapter I’ve been most looking forward to posting so I really hope you enjoyed! AO3 Link

The colour drained from Adam’s face as he watched Kim’s body collapse and hit the ground with a dull thud. Seemingly unaware of the bullets still being thrown in their direction, he ran towards her, throwing his body over hers on the ground, desperately trying to shield her from any further hurt. He didn’t think of anything else, his own safety, the rest of the team, his only concern was Kim.

‘Clear! 5021 George, we need an ambo to our location. Officer down. I repeat, Officer down!’ He was vaguely aware of Jay’s voice floating through the air. ‘Ruzek, is she good? Is she alive?’ Adam felt himself pulled upwards by his vest, he struggled, desperately trying to continue to shield Kim’s body with his own.

‘Ruzek!’ he heard another voice break through and suddenly was thrown back into the present. He was still in the warehouse, Kim had been shot.

Kim had been shot.

Finally pulling back slightly, he looked down at the woman underneath him. Adam started to panic as he noticed the red blossoming through her undershirt. Ripping her vest off, and pulling up her shirt to expose the skin of her stomach that was now drenched in red.

‘Kim. Kim,’ he muttered worriedly, trying to apply pressure on the wound. His hands were stained with her blood as he covered the wound, pressing down whilst whispering words of comfort. ‘Stay with me Kim. We’ve got you. I’ve got you’. He could feel the tears prick his eyes but now wasn’t the time. He had to stay strong, he had to stay strong for her. ‘I’m not leaving you, I’ve got you.’

Jay was standing behind them, on the radio demanding to know when the ambulance would arrive. His Sergeant, Hank Voight, was on the phone to Trudy, letting her know what had happened, allowing her to make the necessary notifications. The other members of the team had started to head towards their location when they had heard Jay’s call for an ambulance. Erin looked shell shocked staring down at her friend. Olinsky and Dawson were attempting to conceal their expression, their many years on the job undoubtedly giving them experience of officers being shot, but if Adam had taken the time to look up, he would have seen the concern behind their calm masks.

‘I’m sorry Kim’, Adam was saying as the woman below him remained motionless. Her eyes were closed but Adam could feel the beating of her heart as he continued to keep pressure on her gunshot wound, the blood still threatening to bubble up past his fingers. The sirens of the ambulance could be heard just outside. He was aware of Jay shouting information at them but he continued staring down at Kim. She was significantly paler than she had been when they had entered the warehouse, her normally pink lips were turning a shade of grey. He was doing all he could do but the worry that it might not be enough threatened to overwhelm him.

‘They’ve got her Ruze’, Jay said, patting his shoulder and then when he didn’t move, repeating ‘they’ve got her. Let them work’. He pulled the young rookie back by his vest and Adam reluctantly let the paramedics tend to his TO.

Angrily he spun to face Jay, ‘what about the bastard that shot her?’ He asked, vibrating with anger mixed with worry.

‘We got him’, Jay said calmly, resting a hand on his chest. ‘He’s down’. Adam was nodding furiously, rubbing his blood covered hands together, he was shifting from foot to foot, the emotions coursing through his body not allowing him the ability to stand still.

‘Trudy. We’ve got to tell Trudy. And Kevin’, Adam panicked again, trying to walk towards their vehicle.

‘All done man, Voight’s on it. Why don’t you let the paramedics check you out too, you’re covered in blood-’

Adam shook his head, ‘it’s not mine, I wasn’t hit. I need to go with her’. He spun around to where the paramedics were loading Kim onto the back of their rig.

‘We’re taking her to Med’, the PIC said as she closed the doors and started to head around to the driver's side. ‘You can meet us there’.

‘I’ll drive’, Jay said and led the young man towards his car knowing full well Adam was not in a fit state to be driving right now.

——————————————————————————

Machine’s beeping steadily were the only sounds in the quiet room. Adam sat silently in the only chair, keeping watch over his sleeping TO. The doctors had said she would be fine. The bullet was a through and through and hadn’t hit anything major, they had sewn it up and were keeping her in overnight to make sure. Then she would be discharged, signed off work for a couple of weeks whilst it healed but then she would be back. Concern for what would happen to him whilst his training officer was signed off sick hadn’t crossed his mind. His only concern was for the woman laying motionless in the bed.

He had begun to doze off when he heard a gentle knocking on the door. Rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up, he glanced over, Trudy was standing in the doorway.

‘Sarge’, Ruzek said hoarsely, not having used his voice for the past few hours, as he began to raise himself out of the chair.

‘You’re good Ruzek’, she said as she gestured for him to remain seated. ‘Just checking she’s alright before Kevin arrives’.

Adam nodded, looking over to Kim. At the moment, she looked like she was sleeping peacefully but Adam knew when she awoke, she would be in pain and any hint of peacefulness would be gone.

‘Has he got Annabelle?’ Adam asked. Trudy nodded.

‘Yep. We just wanted to make sure she didn’t look like she was at death’s door before the rugrat arrived’. She stifled a small chuckle and Adam gifted her a small smile. ‘You can go Ruzek if you need to sleep. No offence, but you look like hell’. Adam had to laugh at this.

‘Always the charmer Sarge, but I’ll wait until she’s awake.’ And in a quieter voice, ‘I promised her I wasn’t leaving’. Trudy knew the second half of that statement wasn’t meant for her ears so she chose not to comment. Moving instead to gently grasp on Kim's hand where it was resting above the hospital sheets.

The pair stayed in silence for a few moments, Trudy keeping a hold of Kim’s hand and Adam resting his head in his hands, still sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair he had made his home for the past few hours. They both turned to face the door when they heard the unmistakable voice of Kevin breaking through the silence.

‘Now remember what we said kid?’ he was asking someone.

‘Mommy got hurt but she’s going to be okay, even if she has some machines attached to her’, a small voice answered.

Kevin rounded the corner with a small brown haired girl clutching tightly to his hand. Her long hair was pulled back into two braids and she was staring open mouthed at the women lying in the bed, ignoring the other two people who were in the room.

Adam had heard about Annabelle from Kim, although she kept matters of her daughter close to her chest, Adam had never even seen a picture of her. But as he stood here in this hospital room with his training officer unconscious, staring at the little girl, he was struck by a possible reason why.

This little girl was the spitting image of Kim, except for her eyes. Those were Adam’s eyes staring straight at her mother. The girl must be around 5 years old. That night in LA, it was 6 years ago. But it couldn’t be.

All these thoughts were spiralling around Adam’s head so he didn’t notice Trudy make space for the girl to climb onto the bed beside her mother, taking over the position of hand holding. Kevin had walked over to stand next to Adam and was speaking but Adam couldn’t take his eyes off the child. His child?

‘Ruze? Hey Ruze, you good?’ Kevin said loudly to break through the haze.

‘Yeah’ he said as only as a whisper, ‘yeah I’m good man. Just need some air’ he said at a normal volume and walked out the door, not stopping to take another look back. He didn’t even know where he was walking to but found himself in an empty waiting room at the end of a corridor and fell into a chair.

Was he a father? He couldn’t be, but the likeness to that little girl, to Kim’s daughter was undeniable. He wasn’t a fool, Adam knew how a child came to be and he and Kim had certainly met the prerequisites to making a child, but they had used protection. Surely if Annabelle was his, Kim would have said something, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t have kept him in the dark like this, kept his own daughter from him. It must be a mistake, just a trick of the light, he couldn’t have seen what he thought he saw. The little girl in that room couldn’t be his.

But as he sat there, his head in his hands, he knew. In his heart, he knew. He knew as soon as he saw her. She was his.

[cflight]

Ya know Ekira, you really should carry a weapon or something to defend yourself. I mean, you could also just use your Lute to hit someone's skull... but that'd only get you so far.

You should learn how to fight back. How to get violent. How to hurt people in case they try to hurt you.

“I know.” Their voice is quiet, warbling, as if answering the question alone would be enough to shatter them. They don’t argue, and really— how could they, given their current condition?

Ekira winces in pain, the gentle brush of the cloth tied around their arm only further serving a reminder of what had happened. As if the splinted fingers, fractured ankle, and swollen nose didn’t give enough of a clue.

“It’s jus’—“ they start, hesitation seeping through their tone. “I mean… I… have a weapon. My, uh, my carvin’ knife. Though it’s grown a bit dull over th’ years, an’ I don’t exactly have th’ gold for a new one, but…”

Ekira trails off, gaze drifting towards the horizon. The sun had begun to set, coloring the sky pink as night began to slowly encroach on the hillside. Considering their condition, and the fact they couldn’t travel, they were stuck lying against an oak tree, thankful it could provide some modicum of shade when the next morning rolled around.

“…I know it doesn’t work like that. I know it doesn’t, an’ yet—“ Ekira’s voice cracks, a strangled mewl trying to break its way through their budding tears. “…I don’t— I can’t. I—I know it’s stupid, I know that I won’t— I won’t be a bad person if I fight back. I know that. But I— I can’t. If I fight back, then— then I’d be branded more of a monster than I already am.”

Tears begin to spill over as a choked sob escapes them, attempting to wipe their face over the bulky cloths and splints. “If I’m violent, then— then I won’t be a good person, I’ll hurt somebody, a—an’ I don’t wanna hurt anybody! If— if they killed me, then—“ they’re interrupted with a sob, mucus beginning to string down their beard. “It—it’d be better— much better— than bein’ branded as less of a p—person.”

It takes them a good while to stop crying, their ragged breaths growing slower as they slowly gulp for air. “But if I killed them, then…” their grip tightens on the knees of their pants, squeezing their eyes shut. Memories of blood splattering against the dirt, billowing smoke, and the bodies of their village folk littered across the ground flashed through their mind, opening their eyes with a heaving shudder.

“…it’s nothin’ like what he did. I know that. Self defense, an’ all. But I jus’…” they trail off, unsure of how to even explain it. If it was even worth trying. “I’d much rather get a few scratches—“ they gesture towards their wounds, their non-slinged hand wiping their tearstained cheek, “—than ever cause harm t’ anyone. Even if they deserved it.”

Sighing again, Ekira glances towards their lute, unplayed in the days they managed to hobble towards their temporary home. “So, I… I’m not gonna fight back. If I die, then— that’s okay. I don’t— need a weapon, or anythin’ else. I’ll jus’… manage, somehow, an’ walk away with a few more bruises.”

With a weak smile, they look up towards the stranger, giving a gentle tilt of their head. “So don’t worry about me. Okay? I’ll… I’ll be jus’ fine.”

[arrantsnowdrop]

Wrongly Accused  - Azriel x Reader (smut)

Fanart by LadyCamafeo on DeviantArt

Request: “angst to smut and then fluff” - Reader is a healer working for the Inner Circle, convinced that Azriel doesn’t like her.

Tags: @lillysugarsxx

Warnings: smut!!!! don’t read if you aren’t 18! also angst

Word Count: 6,000 (sorry)

A/N: Here’s another Azriel one! Sorry it took me about a week to write, I’m not amazing at writing smut and didn’t want it to be horrendous. I have a few more Azriel fics to write that people have requested, as well as one about Cassian! Feel free to request other stuff, but know it might take me a little longer to write it. I hope you enjoy! :)

Your father worked as an apothecary in Velaris, running a small shop to sell medicines and offer treatment when needed. You’d helped him ever since you were little - stocking supplies and bandaging small injuries. Over time, you developed a genuine interest in medicine and the chemistry behind it, working with your father as he developed new treatments for the common illnesses and ailments in the City of Starlight.

One night while your father was out on a house call, the High Lord of the Night Court himself had winnowed into your house after a mission had gone awry. He’d been seeking your father’s medical attention, of course, but he wouldn’t be home for hours, leaving you to tend to Rhysand’s wounds as he collapsed on your kitchen floor. While cleaning out a large cut on his arm you’d realized he’d been poisoned somehow, his skin far too pale for the minimal amount of blood he’d lost, his veins a startling shade of green. Despite your panic you’d been able to find a suitable antidote to the poison, calming down only when his complexion returned to normal. You wrapped his wounds, dragged him onto your couch, and called it a night.

In the morning, he’d been shocked that you’d been able to heal him, explaining he’d been struck by a poisoned arrow in a remote part of the Night Court. Apparently the poison was quite obscure, and Rhysand had praised you for what he deemed was “superior medical knowledge.”

You’d chalked it all up to a lucky guess, and after a once-over from your father you sent the High Lord on his merry way. A week later, he returned and offered you a job as a healer in the House of Wind.

You’d been hesitant to accept - you didn’t want to leave your father to run the shop alone - but at the end of the day, Rhys paid you more, allowing you to buy more supplies and medicines for your father to use. Plus, the library in the House of Wind was humongous, and you’d be able to learn more about medicine and healing there.

In the end, you’d taken the job, getting a better paycheck and the best friends in the whole world at the same time.

The Inner Circle was more than a family, and they’d welcomed you into their lives as if they’d known you for centuries. Rhys and Amren dedicated themselves to furthering your education, with Rhys frequently leaving new books outside your door and Amren inviting you over to her apartment to study. Cassian had convinced you to let him teach you self-defense, and Mor brought you with her to Rita’s almost every weekend.

There was, however, one member of the Inner Circle who hardly acknowledged your presence. After years of living in the House of Wind, you were confident Azriel hated you.

What other explanation could there possibly have been for the way he treated you? He hardly talked to you unless it was necessary, giving you answers and replies that hardly qualified as sentences. And you didn’t miss the looks he gave you during dinners and meetings that, in your opinion, were borderlining on glares.

What really sucked was how badly you wanted to be his friend. On the rare occasions you saw him smile or even laugh, you wanted nothing more to make him as happy as the other members of the Inner Circle did. But deep down you knew that would never happen; he simply wanted nothing to do with you, and that hurt.

But you ignored it, ignored his side-eyes and curt answers and obvious dislike of you. You understood it, you were a stranger who started living in his house and joined his centuries-old friend group. So you pushed all your own feelings aside and pretended that being in the same room as him didn’t spike your anxiety.

The most you’d ever done was ask Mor about it on your way to Rita’s one night. She’d dismissed you with a laugh and a wave of her hand: He’s just quiet, she said. But why did it feel so much more personal than that?

You didn’t want to cause any more trouble than you clearly already had, so you stayed out of his way, only asking him for anything when absolutely necessary.

But as months and then years went by, the anxiety he gave you only worsened. You’d stopped going to their weekly dinners, electing to stay up in your room or visit your father, and only attended meetings when your presence was necessary. Amren had asked you once if everything was okay, but you’d plastered a happy smile on your face and assured her you were just busy. You knew she didn’t believe you, but she didn’t pry.

What really sucked was that you’d stopped going to the library to avoid Azriel. It was one of your favorite places in the House of Wind, though apparently also one of his, considering he was almost always there when you were. Rhys brought you enough books for it not to matter much, but it wasn’t the same as reading in the library’s cozy chairs. You would move them near the windows, admiring the view of Velaris whenever you put your book down. Your room did not match the library’s aesthetic at all, but you were not willing to subject yourself to Azriel’s unfriendliness.

You still trained with Cassian once or twice a week, still visited Amren occasionally, still went out with Morrigan most weekends. But other than those few hours with your friends, other than the weekly trips down to your father, you kept to yourself.

You mostly stayed on your floor, studying on your balcony or in the sitting room a few doors down. Some nights, after everyone had gone to sleep, you’d creep down to the kitchen and read while you made yourself a midnight snack.

That was how you’d chosen to spend tonight, your books and notes laid out across the table while you stood in front of the stove, waiting patiently for the kettle to boil. You’d decided to make yourself tea, picking out a nice herbal variety so that you wouldn’t have any trouble sleeping when you decided to go to bed. You were humming to yourself softly, studying the designs on the mug you’d chosen, when you heard a small rustling behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of Azriel sitting at the table, head propped up on his hand as he read a page of your notes.

He glanced up at you, your eyes meeting briefly, and you turned back to the stove. Perhaps you were having visions? You turned around again…

Alas, he was still there. Not a vision, you decided.

You bit your lip, looking between him and the kettle as your pulse quickened.

“Would you, uh, like some?” you asked, gesturing to the now boiling kettle and hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the slight shake in your voice.

He gave you a slight nod.

“There’s, um, black tea,” you offered, grabbing another mug from the cabinet above you. “But that’s caffeinated so you might stay up for a while if you drink that. I’m having herbal tea which doesn’t do that as much...there’s also green tea.” Your voice trailed off as you picked up the kettle, giving Azriel a cautious glance.

He shrugged. “I don’t know much about tea.”

“Okay!” you said rather shrilly, Azriel jumping a little in his seat. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on pouring water into the two mugs on the counter. Your brows furrowed in concentration, yelping a bit as a bit of the boiling water spilled onto the counter.

You heard Azriel move in the chair behind you but held your other hand out to stop him.

“It’s good, I’m good,” you rambled nervously, setting the kettle down. You grabbed another tea bag and dropped it into his cup.

“You have to wait a bit before you drink it,” you explained, picking the two mugs up and turning towards the table. “It has to steep, and cool down.”

You set the two mugs on the table, pushing one over to him. He wrapped his hands around it slowly, as if afraid it might break.

You stared at your tea silently, hesitant to say anything else. This was the first time you’d been alone with Azriel in...weeks? Months?

Surprisingly, he was the one who broke the silence.

“Your notes are very detailed,” he said awkwardly, gesturing to the piece of paper he’d been reading before.

“Oh, thank you,” you replied, cheeks heating up a bit. “I spend a lot of time on them, maybe a bit too much.”

“The drawings are very realistic, I like them.” He brought the mug up to his lips and took a small sip. You gave him a small smile and glanced down at your hands.

“I haven’t seen you in the library in a while,” he continued.

You shrugged as if you had no idea. “I guess I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” Azriel asked incredulously. “Doing what, may I ask?”

You frowned at him. “I’ll have you know I do quite a lot around here. Rhys is having me modernize a bunch of old medical texts. That’s a lot of work.”

“Enough to justify you staying out of the library for two months?” he asked.

“Quit stalking me,” you muttered quietly, grip tightening around your mug.

“My job is to watch people, Y/N,” he said easily.

“To watch people who could be threats,” you clarified, sending him a pointed glare. “Which I am not.”

He just stared back at you, and you felt a stab of betrayal at his silence.

“You think I’m a threat?” you asked, hurt evident in your voice.

“I never said that,” he replied quickly, but you were already standing up from the table.

“You also didn’t say I wasn’t.” You began piling your books and notes together, him standing up as if to stop you.

“You’ve been distant for months,” he stated, grabbing your wrist. “Missing meetings, avoiding people.”

“And?” you hissed, pulling your hand out of his grip.

“I’ve noticed in my line of work that people tend to withdraw from others when they’re plotting something,” he said bluntly. You gasped, taking a step backwards from him as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“You think I’m plotting something?” you seethed, no longer trying to keep your voice down.

“What other reason would you have to elude all of us?” he asked.

“To avoid you, Azriel!” you shouted, stepping forward and slamming your hand on the table.

His eyes widened in surprise, mouth opening as you grabbed your stack of books.

“Why-”

“Do not think,” you interrupted, “that I haven’t realized how you’ve regarded me these past few years.” Your voice was steady despite how angry you were.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on,” you seethed. “You glare at me like I’m some lowlife at every meeting, every dinner, every time I see you in the library.”

“I don’t glare at you,” he said incredulously, giving you a confused look as you shook your head.

“You do glare,” you maintained. “And you don’t reply to me half the time, you’re the only person in this whole house who's never gone out of their way to talk to me. But then again, you think I’m some scheming infiltrator, so that all makes sense now.”

“I don’t think that!” he yelled.

“You just accused me of plotting something!” you reminded him angrily. “I literally avoid you because I don’t want to make you hate me more than you already do and you think I’m planning some act of betrayal!”

He just stared at you, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Do you not care that I have spent every day of my time here terrified of upsetting you?” you shouted. But he remained silent.

And your whole facade crumbled.

“Do you not care?” you asked again, quietly, eyes widening as hurt replaced your anger. You let out a shaky breath, tears forming in your eyes, and turned towards the doorway.

“Y/N-” Azriel started, but you were already walking out of the room. He called after you again, and again. You did not turn around.

You were halfway up the stairs when you bumped into Rhys, tears spilling down your face as you let out a choked sob.

His eyes widened in shock. “Oh my gods, Y/N, what happened?”

You stepped back as he reached out to you, shaking your head at the confusion on his face. “I can’t do this anymore, Rhys,” you rambled, voice shaking. “I can’t, not when he ignores me for years and then accuses me of fucking treason.”

“What? Who?” Rhys asked frantically, brows rising as Azriel appeared at the bottom of the stairs. You let out another sob, and then shook your head.

“I quit,” you managed between sobs. “I quit.”

And then you were racing up the stairs to your room, slamming the door behind you and collapsing on the bed. You heard several different knocks, but you answered none. Instead, you gathered up all your things and shoved them into the bag you kept under your bed. You left the books Rhys had given you in a stack near the door, left the dress Mor had let you wear one weekend laid out on the bed.

Before the sun rose, you snuck out of your room, out of the house, and walked down the ten thousand stairs leading back to Velaris.

----

You’d been away for a whole week, working long hours at your father’s shop and spending the remainder of the day asleep. It was easier to push aside your feelings that way, easier to throw yourself into work than think about how badly Azriel had hurt your feelings.

It was early one morning while you were bandaging a young child that Azriel had walked into the shop, glancing at you as he made his way over to the waiting area.

Your eyes widened in shock and then narrowed into a pointed glare, half of you wanting to curse him out and make him leave. But the other half of you knew that would terrify the child in front of you, so you took a deep breath and plastered a fake smile on your face.

“That man looks scary,” they whispered to you, eyes wide with fear as they took in Azriel’s wings and the shadows that wrapped around him. Azriel turned towards you slightly, no doubt listening to your conversation.

“It’s wrong to judge others by their looks alone,” you murmured, tucking the ends of the bandage into place.

You glanced towards the front door as your father walked in, obviously struggling as he carried in a stack of supply crates.

“Good morning Y/N!”

Wordlessly, Azriel walked over to help him. You hadn’t told your father why you’d come back from the House of Wind, so his eyes lit up at the sight of the tall Illyrian.

“Ah, hello spymaster!” he greeted cheerily. “How can we help you today?” “I came to talk to Y/N, actually,” Azriel replied carefully, sending a cautious look in your direction. “Where would you like me to put these?”

You scowled as your father directed Azriel into the backroom, pushing yourself up from where you’d been kneeling on the floor and patting your patient on the shoulder.

“You’re all set!” you smiled, helping the child out of the chair they’d been sitting in.

“Thank you!” they exclaimed, giving you a bright smile and prancing off towards the door.

“Be careful!” you called after them, walking over to the supply cabinet and returning the bandage roll to its drawer.

You stiffened as Azriel walked out of the storage room, watching out of the corner of your eye as he made his way over to you.

He stopped a few feet away, looking at you almost nervously.

“Yes?” you asked, turning your head to glare at him.

“I’ve come to apologize.” His voice was soft.

You laughed humorlessly. “Did Rhys force you to come?” You scoffed as Azriel nodded, rolling your eyes and turning to face the bookshelf by the window.

“I did want to apologize of my own accord,” Azriel replied quickly. You could hear his unease. “Rhys just...urged me to do so sooner rather than later.”

“Ah, does the mighty High Lord miss my presence? Did he think I’d be moved by your apology and want to come back?” you said sarcastically. Azriel looked down at the floor in front of him.

“Everyone, not just Rhys, misses you.” His voice was quiet. “And Cassian is convinced he’s going to get wounded during a mission and die because you won’t be there to fix him up. He keeps complaining about it, actually.”

You chuckled at that, the corners of Azriel’s mouth turning up slightly.

“I don’t want to beg you to return, but I will if I must,” Azriel continued. “Amren demanded I bring you back.”

You remained silent, weighing the options in your head.

“You can tell Amren I’ll be back tonight,” you said finally.

“I can bring you there now, if you want,” he offered. You shook your head.

“I’ll be there tonight,” you restated bluntly, grabbing a few pieces of parchment off the bookshelf and walking towards the backroom. You cast a dismissive glance back at him. “Goodbye, Azriel.”

Hours later, after you’d repacked your belongings and helped your father with his weekly shopping, you began the long trek up to the House of Wind.

If ten thousand steps going downhill was a challenge, ten thousand steps in the other direction was practically impossible. But you were too stubborn to accept help from Azriel, and too prideful to ask Rhys or Cassian either.

It was the middle of the night when you finally finished the climb and made your way into the large living room. Rhys was sitting on a large couch - obviously having stayed up waiting for you - and sent you a rather mean glare as you walked over towards him.

“I’ve been sitting here for hours,” he frowned.

“Hello to you too, gracious High Lord,” you feigned a bow, plopping yourself down in an armchair across from him. You groaned in exhaustion, reaching down to rub your sore leg muscles.

“You do realize Azriel could’ve flown you up, right?” Rhys asked bluntly, clearly unamused by your stunt.

“I don’t need his help,” you retorted, “nor do I want it.”

“I take it you haven’t accepted his apology?”

You shook your head. “It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than some forced apology for me to forgive him.” Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“He really is sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” you retorted. “He all but accused me of treason, he’d better be fucking sorry.”

“Y/N-”

“Even before this whole accusation thing, he’s never been nice to me,” you interrupted, throwing your hands in the air. “That alone is hard to forgive, let alone suggesting I was plotting against you all.”

“Perhaps it’s time to turn over a new leaf,” Rhys suggested. You gave him an incredulous look.

“Oh, should I bake him cookies?” you suggested sarcastically. “Here you go Azriel, after years of treating me like crap, I’ve come bearing gifts in the name of friendship!”

Rhys groaned, throwing his head back against the couch in defeat.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be his friend,” you huffed. “Do you know how jealous I am of all of you? You make him smile and laugh like it’s no big deal, meanwhile the only reactions I can get out of him are mean looks and psychological analyses.”

Rhysand gave you a curious look. “Jealous?” he asked. You shrugged.

“I want to be able to make him happy, too,” you admitted defeatedly. “That’s why I started avoiding him. I figured I just made him upset.”

“That’s not true!” Rhys insisted, but you shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said, standing up and grabbing your bags from off the floor. Rhys just gave you a scandalized look as you made your way towards the stairs.

“You can’t just go to bed after saying something like that!” he called after you. “All of that was completely untrue, we have to unpack that!”

“Goodnight, oh mighty bat man!” you called back as you climbed up the staircase.

Rhys cast a sad glance at the far corner of the living room. You’d failed to notice the winged male standing in the shadows, a broken look on his face.

---- You’d started reading in the library again.

Something about the whole last week and a half had given you a much needed reality check. You lived in this damn house, for crying out loud! You could read a book in the library if you wanted to.

And who were you to care about bothering Azriel? You scoffed just thinking about it - there was no use trying to tiptoe around him anymore.

It was raining outside. You were sitting at a table, reading a book about muscle healing techniques, when two scarred hands slammed down on the wooden surface in front of you.

You glanced up, furrowing your eyebrows at the rather angry look on Azriel’s face. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” you asked rhetorically, redirecting your gaze to the book in your hands.

You shouted in protest when he pulled the book away from you. “Give that back!” you yelled, lunging across the table.

He took a step back, out of your reach. “Not until you explain...this.” He gestured towards you briefly.

“What the hell do you mean?” you asked incredulously, eye wide in confusion. “Give me my book back!”

“Why were you avoiding me?” he asked. You groaned.

“I didn’t want to bother you! Can you just give me my book back?” He shook his head, lips pursed together in thought.

“See, that’s where you’ve got me confused,” he said, hazel eyes fixed on you intently. “When did I ever give you that idea?”

“That I bother you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he nodded. “Oh, I don’t know Azriel, maybe all the times you’ve glared at me during meetings or given me half-assed answers when I asked for something?”

He glared at you, jaw clenching. You rolled your eyes and stuck out your hand.

“I answered your question, I want my book back.”

He shook his head. “I don’t glare at you. I’ve never glared at you.”

“You certainly don’t give me happy looks!” you retorted. “I’ve lived here for years and you’ve never once smiled at me or something I’ve said. I know I’m funny, everyone else likes my jokes!”

“Does that bother you?” he asked lowly.

“Of course it does!” you replied, eyes darting between his face and your book.

“Why?” he asked, hazel eyes boring into yours. You opened your mouth, then paused. You bit your lip, face heating up as you realized you didn’t have an answer. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know!” you stammered. “Azriel I just want my book back, I walked all the way up here yesterday and my legs are very sore, and I’m trying to figure out how to make them stop feeling like jelly…”

Azriel kept his gaze fixed on you as he moved around the table, looking far too predatory for your liking. You took a step back nervously as he approached you, then another, grimacing as your back hit one of the large marble columns holding up the ceiling.

“Why does it bother you?” he asked again, voice softer but even more intense.

“Would you back up a bit?” you hissed, heart pounding as he kept drawing nearer.

“Answer my question,” he growled, stopping right in front of you. He reached out and gripped the marble on both sides of you, effectively trapping you against the column.

You gulped, looking up at him and taking in his strong jawline, his darkened eyes.

“I don’t know!” you cried again. You pushed your hands against his toned chest, frowning when he did not budge. “Move!”

He chuckled lowly, and your eyes went wide.

You stammered for a second, giving him a confused look. “Did I make you laugh?”

“I wouldn’t consider that a whole laugh,” he said with a small smirk. “Maybe a half.” Your jaw dropped.

“What is happening?” you spluttered, frantically looking between his face and his hands and his damn smirk.

Gods, you could get used to a view like this.

“You don’t bother me,” he said finally, gazing down at you with glazed over eyes. “I don’t know where you got that idea.” You leaned your head back against the column, bewildered. “And I do laugh at your jokes.”

“I...I thought you didn’t pay any attention to me,” you clamored, mind spinning when he shook his head.

“On the contrary, Y/N, I pay too much attention to you,” he answered with a gorgeous grin. “Half the time I can’t keep myself from staring at you. Perhaps you’ve been mistaking those looks as glares.”

“That can’t be,” you whispered, brows knit together. “I thought…” You trailed off, speaking proving to be too difficult as you lost yourself in his eyes.

And then he was leaning down, your heart practically leaping out of your chest at the realization that hit you. He was leaning down...leaning…

“Azriel,” you whispered.

And then his lips were on yours, and all you wanted was him.

You pushed yourself up into him, mouths meeting in a heated battle as he moved his hands to cradle your face. You moaned, head reeling as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, as he trailed a hand down to your hip.

You threw your arms around his neck and jumped, wrapping your legs around him as he slammed you back into the marble column. You moaned again, tilting your head up as he began exploring your neck with his mouth.

His name was like a chant on your lips, a cry leaving your mouth as he bit down on the skin between your neck and your shoulder. He growled, bringing a hand up to fondle one of your breasts.

“Azriel... Azriel please,” you begged, arching into his hand.

“What do you want?” he murmured, eyes dark as he watched you writhe against him.

You moaned loudly, the obscene noise echoing throughout the library.

“Touch me,” you managed, your core clenching as he groaned.

He whisked you away from the column, turning around and laying you on top of the table you’d been reading at minutes ago. You pulled him down on top of you, lips colliding in a sloppy mix of tongue and teeth. You didn’t care.

You trailed your hands down the broad expanse of his back, fingers brushing against the base of his wings. He shuddered against you, shadows tickling your skin sensually.

“Take this off,” you murmured, tugging at his shirt.

He was happy to oblige, pushing himself off you and pulling his shirt over his head. You groaned, trailing your hand down your body at the sight of him.

You grabbed at the laces that held the front of your dress together, undoing the knot as Azriel helped you shimmy out of it. He let out a wanton moan at the sight of your bare breasts, surging forward to capture one in his mouth and cupping the other in his hand.

You threw your head back, moaning as he made his way down from your breast to your stomach.

He looked up at you, hands gripping the fabric now bunched around your hips. You bit your lip and nodded, heat pooling in your stomach as Azriel slid the rest of the dress off of you. His eyes darkened at your body, displayed for him on top of the table.

“Let me just admire you for a moment,” he murmured, hand tracing a line from your navel to your thigh.

You gasped, arching your back as his fingers ghosted over the apex of your thighs. You were dripping.

“What do you want, darling?” Azriel drawled, grinning as you moaned loudly. “Use your words for me.”

“Please,” you panted as he dragged his hands down your sides, grinding desperately against nothing, relishing in the heat of his hands and the cold of his shadows.

“What do you want?” he whispered again, and you spread your legs.

“I want you here.”

He let out a strangled groan, dropped to his knees, and pressed his mouth against your aching core.

“Azriel!” you cried breathlessly, hips lurching as pleasure jolted up your spine. He snarled, throwing your legs over his shoulders. You moaned loudly, writhing in pleasure as he sucked your clit.

“Keep these still,” he growled, draping an arm over your hips and lowering his head again.

Your breath hitched as the coil in your center began to tighten, shaking legs clenched around the sides of Azriel’s face.

You glanced down, taking in the sight of Azriel going down on you as if his life depended on it - his nose rubbings against your clit, little pieces of his hair clinging to his forehead.

Azriel’s gaze snapped up to yours as a breathless moan left your lips, eyes blown out with lust. He thrust his tongue into you and you gasped, back arching off the table.

It was Azriel’s languid moan against your heat that spurred on your orgasm, your cries ricocheting throughout the library as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Azriel kept working you as you came, forcing you to push his head away when it finally became too much.

“Tapping out?” he asked cockily as he pushed himself back onto his feet. You glared, ignoring the way your heart swelled at the signs of your pleasure glistening on his face.

“Was that all you had to offer, shadowsinger?” you teased, sucking in a breath as Azriel’s face darkened.

“Gods, no.”

Azriel made a move for the string of his pants, glancing up at you as if he half-expected you to stop him.

“Keep going,” you urged, smiling as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch. He gave you a small smile, undoing the knot and ridding himself of his pants and underwear.

Your eyes widened as his size; apparently, the saying about an Illyrian male’s wings was true. He was more than endowed, and your mouth practically watered at the sight of him. You trailed your eyes back up his toned body, melting at the nervous look on his face.

“I want you inside me,” you said with a smile, reaching your hands out for him.

A look of relief washed over his features as he moved forward, grabbing your outstretched hands as he bent down over you for a kiss.

You flung your arms around his shoulders, tongue moving against his as your mouths collided. He groaned, trailing his calloused hands down to your thighs.

He spread them apart and wrapped them around his waist in one fell swoop, pulling back to ask for your permission one last time.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Gods, Az, just fuck me,” you replied, throwing your head back against the table as he thrust into you.

He groaned, pushing into your heat until he had bottomed out. You gasped, trembling as you basked in the searing pleasure of him inside you.

“Is...do you feel good?” he huffed, clearly making a large effort to not start pounding into you.

“Move,” you panted, eyes closed as you rotated your hips frantically. “Please move.”

“My pleasure,” Azriel moaned, pulling back slightly and snapping his hips forward.

You were a moaning mess as he started a slow but steady pace, moving your hands to grip his biceps as he thrust into you again and again.

“Faster,” you breathed, moaning as Azriel pressed his forehead against your and quickened the pace. You admired the sounds coming from him, the shaky breaths and occasional groans.

You cried as he hit that one spot deep inside you. His hips stilled for a moment.

“There?” he asked, giving another experimental thrust. This time your back arched, toes curling as he grinned.

He began speeding up again, stroking the flame inside you as he hit that same spot with every thrust.

You were reduced to wordless cries, jolting every time he sheathed himself within you. Your eyes snapped open as Azriel let out a true moan, pulling yourself up crash your lips against his.

He grabbed onto one of your legs again, hitching it above his shoulder as he continued fucking into you. You cried into his mouth, body tensing up with anticipation as he brought his thumb to your clit roughly.

“Are you going to cum?” he asked breathlessly, hips snapping into yours at an almost inhuman speed.

As if in response your core tightened, back arching off the table as you came with a sob. Your hips writhed against his as you rode out your second orgasm of the night, entire body trembling as you clutched onto him for some kind of stability.

You felt his grip on your hip tighten, felt something within him snap as he pulled out of you, letting out an animalistic roar as he came. You gasped, hot ribbons shooting onto your stomach and breasts.

You felt dizzy as you opened your eyes, immediately blushing at the way Azriel was studying your body from above you. You glanced down, biting your lip at the sight of his cum painting your skin.

“That’s hot,” you grinned, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Azriel let out a strained chuckle, grinning as he pushed himself up and collapsed next to you.

“You’re hot,” he replied bluntly, closing his eyes as he combed his hair back.

You fell into a contented silence, save for the two of you panting as if you’d just worked out. Though, you supposed fucking could be considered a workout in some regards.

“I suppose you don’t hate me as much as I thought you did?” you asked finally, turning your head to gaze at him.

He shook his head with a smile, stretching his arms above his head on the wooden tabletop. “I never hated you.”

“Well, that would’ve been nice to know,” you laughed. “Gods, we could’ve been having ridiculously hot sex for years!”

Azriel laughed, really laughed, deep voice sounding throughout the room as you smiled brightly. His laugh had always been beautiful, but it sounded so much more special now that you were the one who caused it.

“I suppose the whole house knows we’ve reconciled,” he hummed thoughtfully.

You nodded, lips pursed. “We were indeed quite loud.”

He turned to face you, smiling as your eyes trailed down his body.

“I do own a small cabin in the woods north of Velaris,” he said slowly, a jovial smirk on his face. “I’m sure it wouldn’t matter how loud we were there. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

You grinned. “I think we should ask Rhys to send us on a retreat to further explore our new friendship. For purely professional purposes.”

“Yes, I’m sure that would have a significant effect on workplace morale,” Azriel replied, biting back a smile as he reached out a hand to stroke your face. You hummed, leaning into the touch.

“You know, I haven’t taken one vacation the whole time I’ve worked here,” you said, watching Azriel’s face contort with realization.

“I don’t think I have either,” he stated alarmedly, a suggestive look quickly overtaking his face. “I think now would be a great time to invoke all the vacation time we’ve earned.”

You grinned, rolling on top of Azriel and kissing him again.

[sweetbunnykook]

Devotion (M)

Word Count: 5,885 // angst (toxic relationship, friends to lovers, yandere behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, mention of physical harm, mention of neglect), smut (rough sex/slight dub-con, fingering, omorashi, asphyxiation, forced creampie), no fluff

Childhood friend!Taehyung X Childhood friend!Reader

Summary: You and Taehyung were inseparable once. When you come back to your hometown after three years, fate pulls you back to him. And this time, Taehyung won’t ever keep his eyes off of you. 

Music: X

Winter darkness came early this season. It’s only a few minutes past five and the sky had darkened and streetlights casted a deep orange hue over semi-empty cobblestone paths. The streets are almost silent except for the faint piano music wafting out into the cool air from restaurants and cafes lining the streets. You keep your fists deep in your coat pockets but the numbness persists. You never thought your hometown would look the same after running away at age twenty with nothing but clothes and a roll of cash – his cash – in your bag. Now, at twenty-three, you wondered if you made the right choice, if the yearning that slept deep in your marrows was the reason why you’re glued to the ground in front of the café you had your first kiss in.

You never thought you’d see Taehyung again – assuming he left not long after you did – but here he is, sitting near the bar with his long fingers grazing over the rim of his whiskey glass. He chuckles at something the bartender says, takes a drag from his cigarette, but his eyes are sad and his smile fleeting. His hair grew longer – past the tip of his ears – and he looks overall larger than life. He’s wearing the coat you bought him for his birthday and you’re wearing the knitted plaid scarf you stole from his closet before leaving. It doesn’t smell like him anymore. It doesn’t smell like his warm cigarettes and aftershave and it takes all your might to not walk in and put your arms around from behind like you used to do when he comes back from work.

Your heart wants him. It craves him. It has spent many nights in your chest begging you to call him and apologize to your tormentor who kisses you while keeping a noose wrapped around your throat. Your Taehyung, your lover, your captor who gave you everything including his own fears.

He doesn’t know why he is the way he is and you can’t find it in yourself to ask. You just know he was easily scared of losing you. The day you found your intimidating and loving boyfriend in your classmate’s house, hovering over the poor boy with his blood-stained knuckles in the air, was the day you knew your love for him isn’t enough to keep himself from hurting himself or others.

Just a moment longer. One moment. You want to stay in the cold for just a moment longer and admire how beautiful he looks without you even if the bags under his eyes are deep and his downturned lips are set in a permanent frown.

Just one moment. Just until he swings the shot of whiskey down his throat and asks for another.

You exhale into the scarf wrapped around your lips.

“Taehyung…” you whisper his name into the cashmere wool.

As if he’d heard you, Taehyung briefly glances up at the bartender and you hold your breath, thinking he would turn his head towards the window. He doesn’t and instead stares straight ahead, the cigarette hanging loosely between his lithe fingers falling into an empty dinner plate. Your heart leaps in your throat when he doesn’t move, the finger over the glass paused, his lips falling just slightly. It’s not until you look over at where he is staring that you stumble back a step, meeting his eyes through the angled mirror that gives him a direct view of your figure through the window. His gaze pins you to the floor; you’ve seen it many times in your dreams but in real life it feels like needles down your throat.

When he moves from his seat you tighten your hand around your handbag and run, your lungs burning in the cold as you stumble through the blanket of snow in your heavy boots. You don’t turn to look, not when you can hear the faint bell of the café door opening and your name hollered in that deep, baritone voice that makes your insides clench. He sounds just as guttural as the day he was covered in blood, shaking his head and whimpering your name when you kneel next to your wounded classmate, annotated papers strewn across the broken furniture.

You turn into an alleyway, looking around to see if there is a place you can hide or crawl under.

You’re stupid.

So fucking stupid.

The footsteps grow louder in the darkness the faster you run into the alleyways. The smell of smoke and dirt making you hold your breath as you turn another corner only to face a brick wall and a line of abandoned bicycles. Screaming for help is no use in this part of town.

Your toes curl in your boots as the footsteps grow louder and louder before stopping just a few feet from where you’re standing. Taehyung can see you tremble softly under the small lightbulb from the back of a dormant restaurant building and he is in disbelief.

You, who had torn his heart out of his chest, had the nerve to run away at the first sight of him.

Again.

“Turn around.” He breathes into the air. His voice is shaking, from anger or from desperation, you can’t tell. “Right now.”

You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You certainly can’t run past him. Taehyung has always been stronger and faster, even when you had pulled him away from bullies when you were both children. Even when he had let you ravish him, let him drown in ecstasy underneath as you rolled your heat into his pistoning hips, you can feel his strength. You can feel his capacity to easily turn pleasure into pain.

“Turn the fuck around!”

You wince at his voice, your tear-streaked face disappearing further into the scarf.

When you fail to obey, Taehyung walks forward and grips the top of your arm, his large hand easily wrapping around your limb. He brings you to him, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and neck this time as his whiskey breath hits your face. He breathes in the scent of your perfume when he presses his forehead to the top of your head.

You changed so many things about yourself when you left him. The color of your hair. The shade of lipstick you wore. The dresses you adorned. The thick rimmed glasses you exchanged for contacts. The one thing you didn’t have the heart to change was the perfume he loved to smell in your hair. The faint smell of roses and musk that kept his sanity intact when your eyes lingered too long on another man or when you scream and shout at his reasons for locking you in the bedroom after working so hard to earn your first job.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” He whispers, tightening his hold around your body as if you were an illusion that could disappear any moment. “I looked for you everywhere. Everywhere, baby, everywhere…everywhere…”

You remember. The cries your neighbors in Denmark had to endure when Taehyung’s brother informed you that he crawled on his hands and knees in front of your injured classmate’s porch, hoping that if you saw how apologetic he is you might come back. The police had to drag him away on the third night.

“I’m sorry…” you breathe into the scarf, your shaking fingers coming up to grip his caging arms.

Maybe you wanted this to happen. You stayed another second longer, just another second longer, in front of that café window hoping that he would turn his head. You held your hand over the candle when you know it’d hurt you in the end.

“Don’t run away from me again, baby. Don’t you fucking dare or else I’ll go crazy,” he sobs into your hair. His hold is tighter and your heart is bleeding just like it had when you left. “You’re the only one...”

He pulls back and tugs the scarf down to see your face. You, his moon, his love. Your wet cheeks are still full and soft, your eyes as dark as the night sky, and your lips still swollen and wounded from your habit of digging your teeth into your skin when you’re nervous. You sniffle slightly in the cold and in such close proximity you can’t bear to look at him in the eyes until he takes your face in his big, cold hands and angles you to meet his lips.

You taste the cigarettes and the whiskey. Beyond his tongue, you taste his yearning and pain. You taste the nights he spent lying in bed with the dresses you left behind. You taste his appetite to hurt something – someone – when he comes back to a barren living room from work. You taste his seething, heartbreaking anger that enslaved you as the lover who needed to look at him and him only.

Despite the harshness of his tongue, above all cries, you taste home.

…

The apartment would have looked nearly identical as before had he expected your arrival. Stepping in, you’re hit with the smell of alcohol and leftover pizza on the kitchen counter before you witness the broken television and shards of glass from empty picture frames and bottles. There’s new workout equipment in the corner where an old, broken player used to be. Whatever cleaning he had done in the past three years was minimal. The only object that looked cleaner – polished even – than before was the snow globe with two angels in the center. You had gifted the little globe during fifth grade, gathering coins from underneath couches and stealing a few dollars from your father’s wallet.

Taehyung reaches from behind and underneath your armpits to undo the buttons of your coat and pull it down your shoulders. You turn your head away from the living room and let him without complaint, knowing from his trembling fingers that he’s holding back his unease.

He doesn’t have to say anything. Just from the sight of the place you once called home, the broken shards told you everything you needed to know.

Taehyung’s fingers pauses on the scarf around your neck. Moving your back to lean against the wall, you peek at his face through your lashes and look back down again when his piercing eyes meet yours once more.

“If you still loved me, why didn’t you come back earlier? Why leave in the first place?”

He tugs the material free from your neck and wraps the scarf around his hands before hooking it onto the coat rack next to the entrance. The light switch lays just underneath the rack but he shows no desire to reveal the extent of his anger just yet.

“I was scared.”

“Of me?”

You nod. “Of you and of myself. Of us. Together.”

Taehyung doesn’t comment, merely watching your wet lashes glimmer in the darkness as it catches the hue from the streetlights outside the window.

“D-Did you…see anyone else a-after I left?” You ask him in that soft, airy voice that you used to soften his heart when he’d get upset. Old habits die hard.

He squints just slightly before tracing the back of his teeth with the tip of his tongue, his arms coming to cage you further against the wall.

He contemplates lying.

He wanted to hurt you as much as you’ve hurt him. He wanted to watch your brows come together and fat globs of tears roll down your cheeks as he tells you he would bring women who looked like you in this space and made love to them. He wanted the satisfaction in feeling your fists pound his chest when he tells you he came inside them with a satisfied groan against their ear. He wanted to tell you he’d fall asleep with them in his arms and he’d lick every inch of their skin like he had done to you. It would be all a lie, but he wanted to. He really wanted to fucking tear your heart apart even if it’d feel like he’s tearing his own.

No matter how much he desired it, he couldn’t do that to you. Even when he knows without you telling him that you made love to other men in whatever place you ran off to, he couldn’t do that to you. Because he’s always known he loved you far more than you loved him.

“No, I didn’t.” He says and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I’ve only ever been yours.”

Taehyung takes your hand and puts it on his chest. His wristwatch ticks against your skin like a beating heart.

“Take off my coat.” He commands.

You undo the knot around his waist with a small tug and let the black coat fall open. Taehyung hisses underneath his breath when he feels your hands flatten over his pecs and up his shoulders, peeling the heavy coat off of him until he draws his arms down and let the fabric fall onto the ground. He’s broader than you remembered him and so, so much larger in presence like he’s engulfing your entire being whole. He’s wearing a plain white button down with a pressed pair of black dress pants and a matching belt just like the time you left him on such an ordinary day.

His skin is warm underneath the shirt and you can faintly trace his strong arms and shoulders before wrapping your arms around his waist and placing your cheek on his chest. You close your eyes and breathe – in and out – gradual and rhythmic and soft. He can hear you whispering his name underneath your breath over and over again like a prayer, like he’s your religion and you found your way back to him to repent for your sins.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you want to stay with him forever when he suddenly takes your wrist from his waist in a vice grip and pulls you into the apartment, not looking back when you stumble and fall on your knees. He half-drags you into the open bedroom and throws you onto the bed before looming over your curled figure as you rub your sore shoulder. The bed smells like you and it takes a moment for you to see your dresses laying across the pillows and blankets until you’re forced to tear your gaze away as Taehyung wraps his hands around your ankles and pull you towards him.

“Tae!” You squeal when he leaves hot, wet kisses down your cheeks, jaw and throat and nips at your skin with his front teeth. Your skin prickles with sweat and your shoulder still aches from his relentless pulling.

The room is stuffy and you struggle to catch your breath with the windows shut and sheer curtains drawn. It’s stuffy most of all with the memories it held of Taehyung bringing you a heating pad during your periods, tending to your hands when you burned yourself making dinner, watching movies with a secondhand projector on the opposite wall, and stealing each other’s popcorn because you always finish your share before the movie starts. The little things that leave such heaviness in your lungs.

Taehyung’s hands are shaky but firm as he reaches underneath your knitted dress and tugs your panties down your hips along with your stockings. Because you’re still wearing your boots, Taehyung doesn’t wait until he buries his face into the crotch of your panties pulled down to your ankles and licks your essence off the fabric onto his tongue, sucking the satin clean before finally unlacing your boots blind with sharp, uneven tugs and peeling them off your ankles. The shoes fall to his feet with a thump and your panties, along with your pantyhose, falls onto the leather not long after.

He doesn’t recognize this attire and it makes him grip the softness of your thighs harder when he imagines yourself or any other man buying you these dresses. It has always been his pleasure to see you dressed in his money. He’d made a promise to be your provider when your parents threw you out of the house as a teen and out of their lives with nothing but a backpack on your shoulders.

As soon as he brings back your luggage from the worn-down hotel you’ve been staying, he’s throwing every dress he doesn’t recognize into the raging fireplace.

Taehyung pops the top button of his shirt and reaches behind him to drag the cotton over his shoulder and head. His skin glows like molten gold and the silver chain hanging from his neck, curving just slightly over his collarbones, sways with his calculated movements. At the end of the chain is the ring from a cracker jack box you’d engraved with a pocketknife.

So many fragments of your relationship with him surrounds you yet you gathered the courage to leave all those years ago. Three long years it took for you to realize you preferred to be in his arms than be free anywhere else. In his shackles you feel safe. In his shackles you feel loved. Your freedom had its own shackles too – putting on pretenses in front of strangers, trying to meet the expectations of men who could never love you like Taehyung does, molding yourself to fit into who you could be rather than who you really are. Taehyung’s shackles feel like jewelry, like luxury, like comfort.

“Did you think about me?” He runs his warm palms up and down your calves, kneeling between your legs as you squirm on the edge of the mattress.

“Every single day. I missed you…I w-wanted to call but…” I was scared you were going to hurt me like you hurt the people around me.

He doesn’t comment and for a moment you wonder if the years of anger he had built inside him will rush forward like water bursting from a dam. It was strange how you are the same, vulnerable person after all these years despite changing nearly every part of your identity.  

When he looks up your heart leaps to your throat. If it were physically possible, Taehyung’s eyes would turn into steel with how hard, how piercing, his gaze is as if he intends to burn holes into your skull. Despite the glare that steals air from your lungs, he’s still beautiful with his uneven eyelids, thick straight eyebrows, chiseled cheekbones, and a prominent cupid’s bow.

“You’re not leaving me again. You hear me? You’re not taking one single step out of this room until I say so. I,” he grits his teeth, tightening his grip around your calves enough to bruise. “don’t fucking trust you anymore. You destroyed us.” His voice is harsh, labored, full of agony. “You destroyed every fucking thing we built together just because I allowed myself to love you.”

“I know, Tae, I know,” you bring a hand over your lips and stifle a sob. Taehyung’s hard gaze falters slightly upon seeing your sadness otherwise his face remains promptly emotionless. “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry I left, I d-didn’t know what to do. I just…I’m sorry, Taehyung-ah.”

He takes his hands off of you and places them on the edge of the mattress next to your knees, gripping the plushness with all his might.

“You’re not leaving me.” He repeats as if he needed to convince himself more than he needs to convince you.

You shake your head. “I won’t. I swear.”

“If you do this again…something bad will happen. You know that, right? I won’t let you walk away. I can’t let you do this to me anymore, baby. I…haven’t I suffered enough?” He asks and it makes you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his lips towards you. He devours you like he needed you to breathe. It was obvious he was suffocated in this little apartment just as much as you suffocated in the little den back in Denmark, struggling to make it to the next month.

“I love you so much,” you whimper against his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “I’m here, Tae. I’m home.”

Your boyfriend groans as he pushes you back onto the mattress and hovers over your body with his knees on both sides of your hips. You bring your legs back, curling them towards your body before hooking it around his toned waist. The warmth that solely belonged to him, you didn’t know how you survived without it. His tongue roams your entire mouth from the back of your tongue to your teeth. You wince just slightly when his fingers trace your slit underneath your red dress, gathering the wetness over your swollen clit in slow circles then moving down to your throbbing core.

“Is this all for me, baby?” He whispers into your mouth as you snake your fingers into his deep chocolate brown tresses and brush his long hair back.

“All for you. I belong to you, Tae, I always have.”

He tsks, watching your hooded eyes suddenly widen and your mouth fall open into an ‘O’ when he impales his index and middle finger into your soaking pussy to the hilt. You had forgotten how long his fingers are until he’s deep inside, until he pushes so hard against your walls that you can feel him from beneath your skin. Your cervix probes his fingertips back and it makes you squirm and wince as he curls his fingers inside and lightly digs digits into your walls. You’ll take the pain with grace.

Your trembling hands reach down to wrap around his wristwatch, slightly wet with your juices trailing down the length of his palm.

“Please, Tae,” you plead, squeezing his wrist. “I want you.”

His fingers move slowly against your walls, leaving you panting and soaking your dress with sweat. He makes no move to be merciless and instead pushes his fingers incredibly deep until your opening burns. He keeps his fingers inside while he undoes his belt, the clinking of the silver buckle raising goosebumps on your skin. All those times he bent you over the kitchen table and lash you across the ass with the belt for blushing when you enjoyed the attention of another comes rushing back, your insides gripping the contours of his fingers as he moves his fingers up and down. Lewd squelches from between your legs make you turn your head away in embarrassment but Taehyung won’t take your disrespect. Not anymore.  

You’re left unfilled when he slips his wet fingers out and places them in his mouth to suck, eyes rolling back and his smooth naked chest heaving at your scent. He’s brought back to reality when you work to remove his belt, your palm kneading his throbbing hardness as you unzip and peel his pants open as far as they can go to reveal his boxer briefs. His cock bulges through the dark fabric and you can lightly feel the trail of dark pubic hair above the base. In the silence of the room you relish in his labored breaths and the rustle of clothing. It’s a sound you longed to hear when you’d spend numerous night with your fingers in your panties in your lonely, cramped apartment, fingertips rubbing circles around your clit until you leak all over the vibrating dildo shoved inside.

Taehyung pulls the belt free from his hips and makes you sit up to wrap the belt around your neck like a scarf before lacing the leather back into the buckle and then tightening the loop. He places two fingers underneath where the belt meets your neck to make sure you’re safe. Even with anger radiating off every pore, he cares about you, loves you, wants to please you.

“Okay?”

You nod, palming him and wrapping your fingers around his thick, pulsing length leaking pre-ejaculate through the fabric. He admires the need in your tear-filled eyes and twists the length of his belt around his fingers before pulling you up, earning a whimper as your hands immediately move to your makeshift collar.

The fact that other men had seen you in this position kills him.

Taehyung pulls the thin straps down your arms and peel your dress down to your ankles. You’re not wearing a brassiere and he suppresses a smile. You’d often lounge wearing his shirts in the living room, your perky little nipples peeking through the cotton, all ready for his greedy mouth to latch onto.

When you kick the dress away from your ankles and bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself, Taehyung takes the chance to kick off his shoes. He’s too impatient to remove his slightly tight slacks and black socks, choosing to give all his attention to you instead.

“You’re really here,” he breathes, eyes glazed over in remembrance of you over the years.

It started with kisses in cafes while studying together; at the time, he hardly knew how to kiss and knew less about the feeling deep in his belly. Kisses turned into roaming hands, his fingers disappearing under your panties and yours under his jeans. You lost your virginity to him – and his to you – in the backseat of his car after graduating in which half the time was him struggling to put on a condom while your laughs made him giggle along. He had always been yours, and you his.

You couldn’t accept that Taehyung is no longer the boy you used to know. While he accepted your changes and made peace with your mercurial ways, you couldn’t do the same for him.

“I want to show you how much I missed you,” you bring his hands to your face and rub your cheeks into his palms like a kitten.

Taehyung melts, his tired smile plastered on his face as he pushes the dresses on the mattress away and lays next to you. You know what this meant. He wants to watch you come undone, watch you mold into his body as your spine arches and he can tighten the belt around your neck as you spill onto the sheets. You reach down and slide your hands under his pants, gasping slightly when your hands wrap around the girth of his cock. His hips jolt when you run your thumb over his weeping tip and smear precum down his thickness. Taehyung turns you away from him, his perspired chest sticking to your back, and brings your hips towards his lap until he can slip his cock between your folds.

Heat blossoms on your cheeks when he pants lightly in your ear, breath hitching as he slips the tip of his cock into your entrance before ramming his entire length without warning.

“Ah!” You grip his iron arms secured around your waist. He pushes his cock further until he’s fully nestled in your warmth.

“Ung, baby,” he hisses, sliding his left arm underneath your head to reach the end of his leather belt. He wraps the leather around his fingers twice and brings the belt back to him as he pushes your spine away from him in an arch.

He begins moving, his hand around your waist slipping down to your clit as he rubs coaxing circles while pulling the collar back to compress your jugular. In the dark, cold bedroom Taehyung makes you feel every inch of himself inside your starved pussy. Your vision is filled with spots and every nerve in your body curls and bows to his carnal hunger.

“Please…please, Tae, please…” You beg as he pounds without giving you the luxury to adjust to his thickness, tight balls clenching further as he grinds his hips into your little hole.

You cum immediately, legs twitching as you sob his name and curse under a single breath, the wetness from your folds coating the base of Taehyung’s twitching, loaded cock. When you gurgle and cough, he loosens his grip on the belt and listens to you heave, watching your arms pull you up and away from him as you get on your hands and knees to take bigger breaths. You palm your lower abdomen with the heel of your hand, the ache making your head turn towards the pitch-black bathroom connected to the bedroom. Not only did his penetration burned your entire lower body, but you can also feel the pressure inside screaming at you to run to the bathroom.

You underestimated how cruel Taehyung can be. With teeth gritted, he suppresses the need to cum, and bring your hips back towards him to slip his cock back into your battered pussy. You’re tighter after cumming and it takes every ounce of his energy to not spill his load inside then and there.

“T-Taehyung I need to go to the b-bathroom,” you pant as you sweat from the pressure building even more in your lower region.

He doesn’t reply, only spreading your legs further with his knees and grip your waist before impaling you onto his cock over and over again until you slump back down to the mattress.

“It aches,” you breathe as Taehyung throws his head back and closes his eyes, plunging with the ferocity of a man possessed. He finds the end of his belt curled on your back and pulls, yanking your neck back and curving your entire body to take his length. He hardly prepped you enough and he did so with purpose, with the intent to make you release in more ways than one. “T-Tae, I can’t…Taehyung!”

His hips move quicker and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes along with his deep, guttural groans.

“Give it all to me, baby,” he snaps, falling forward to pin your body beneath his as he pistons his hips like a demented animal. You can breathe now but your vision is still hazy and your breathing labored. You can’t move your arms with Taehyung’s hands wrapped around your wrists in a vice grip above your head. “Do it for me.”

When your legs convulse underneath and a scream rips from your throat, Taehyung leans his damp forehead on your shoulder and spills his seed inside. You swear you can feel every lash of his load against your walls. Your ears ring just as you reach your high once more, neck arching back, nose in his hair as you spill your wetness over the sheets along with warm urine that stung as it leaks down to the dresses below. This was his intent all along – to claim you and to humiliate you into accepting that he will take your body as he wishes.

Still, the embarrassment makes you bury your face into your arms and sob.

“You did so well for me, baby,” Taehyung exhales against your jaw and takes your earlobe in his mouth, suckling gently before running his wet tongue over the shell of your ear. You squirm in his grasp, feeling as if your bones had turned into jelly.

Taehyung reaches down and runs his fingers gently over your pussy, rubbing the wetness over your pubic curls before leaning back on his heels to look down at the soiled dresses beneath your thighs. The warmth of your urine no longer lingers and instead you’re left shivering with the collar still tight around your neck.

He takes a clean dress from behind and wipes your fluids from his semi-hard cock and thighs before wiping between your inner thighs and folds. You’re quiet, toes curled as he works his way down to your knees where your urine trailed. He rolls you to the side, gently, and gathers the wet dresses in his arms before stepping away from the bed and dumping the mound of fabric into a half-empty laundry basket.

He then takes a towel from the shelf and disappears into the bathroom. You can hear the faint sound of water running as you reach up to undo the belt from around your neck and let the leather fall onto the floor with a clatter. Taehyung would prefer to remove it himself, but he doesn’t complain when he comes back with a warm, damp towel and wipes your cheeks and neck before roughly wiping down your body.

The smell of sweat is heavy in the air but it feels rather comforting to know you can be disgusting with him and still wake up loved in the morning.

You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling until Taehyung pulls you up to the pillows once the top half of the bed is clean, molding his body to yours as he buries his face in your hair. He inhales slowly, arms locking around your body and keeping you caged inside his embrace. Only when you lean into his chest does he bring a blanket over your body and his and tuck you in.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, eyelids heavy.

The room is even quieter than before. It feels serene under the blanket since nothing strange has ever happened when you’re safe in his arms.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your fingers twirling his necklace on his chest. “So…so much.”

Taehyung’s voice is hoarse when he speaks. “I never left. I’ve always been here.”

You blink, training your eyes on the broken chess pieces scattered on the floor, and close your eyes. No more lonely nights. No more haunting dreams.

…

‘What’s that?’ Taehyung pouts when you stand in front of him with a small box behind. Every time he attempts to look around your figure, you turn to hide it behind your puffy white skirt. He was really starting to get pissed off and the playground is growing louder with more lousy children interrupting his time on the slides with you. The fifth grade class is the largest in the school after all and there’s only so many slides to go around.

‘You have to guess!’ You insist, keeping the box behind you still.

Taehyung’s frown deepens and then he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, turning away in a haughty manner with his nose turned to the sky.

‘Whatever it is, I don’t care.’ He says, stepping closer to the slides, but regrets it immediately when your eyes fill with tears and your hands fall to the side. You know he hates being teased, but he knows you love to keep him waiting.

He looks down at your hand to see a box with a picture of a snow globe plastered on the cardboard.

His mouth opens and close like a fish as he contemplates apologizing but he ends up walking up to you and putting his sticky hands on your face instead, tilting your face up to him. You don’t say anything before dropping the present on his shoes and dashing away, maneuvering through the monkey bars and sandboxes with your skirt floating around your knees.

Taehyung kneels and takes the box in his hand, shaking the package until the globe falls into his palm. There it is, the two angels and the glitter particles swirling around them, the very object that he admired in the book fair yesterday. He turns the globe around in his hands, careful, until he reaches the writing written sloppily with a sharpie pen on the glass.

‘I like you’ 

[ohworm-writes]

Burns

MCYT: c!Technoblade Boyfriend Scenario

mcyt masterlist

‼ c!Technoblade prompt: Reader gets hurt while exploring through the Nether, coming back wounded to their lover ‼

Featuring: c!Technoblade

Warnings: GORE, angst (?), mentions of injury, description of injury, mentions of blood, worried techno

[ 1.5k word count ]

a/n - i wanted to do a Techno work for a while, so i finally got around to doing it! enjoy the work! i’m horrible at doing endings if you couldn’t tell lol

content below the cut!

You happily made your way through the scorching confines of the Nether, checking your inventory to look at the loot you had gotten. You had been trading with piglins for hours, giving out one bar of gold after another in return for a wide array of items, a lot of which were useless to you.

You had traveled farther out than you anticipated, seeing nothing other than the dull shade of red from the netherack and the flow of lava around you. You had placed a few stray blocks to keep you on track, one of these landmarks more obvious than the others.

The nether-bricked fortress loomed over you as you passed through one of the arches. It didn't seem to have been looted yet, so you had saved the coordinates to it, planning to tell your boyfriend when you got back. Your footsteps echoed through the landscape as you made your way back, unaware of the group of 4 blazes that floated high above you.

You had been absentmindedly checking your inventory still, throwing out the near stacks of soul sand and quartz that had accumulated in your inventory when they started firing at you. You reacted a split second too late, overwhelmed by the searing pain in your arm.

Your clothing was starting to burn up as you erratically patted it down, now left with the skin painfully peeling off, your blood crisping and drying up around it. You screamed in pain as you set the fire out, tears welling up in your eyes at the sight if the injury.

Focusing on getting away, you made a dash towards one of the pillars, hiding behind it as the blazes shooting again at you. The fire caught at the netherack in front of you, fire crackling at your feet. You took a few frantic steps backward, your back meeting with the wall of nether brick.

Waiting a moment to catch your breath, you peered over the side to look at the blazes. They had gotten a bit closer, still looming high above you. You looked around you, spotting the nether portal to the tundra a few hundred blocks away. If you booked it, you could probably make it! But would the blazes catch you before you got there?

The sound of fire shooting resonated in your ears, making you jump back behind the pillar. The fire caught on the netherack, much further away than the last shot. You moved your shoulder a bit, crying out in pain at the intensity of your injury. You held your arm against your chest, clutching it tightly.

You decided it was now or never, breaking into a sprint towards the portal. You heard the fire shooting again, but you couldn't risk slowing down. Sweat ran down your back as your feet collided with the soft netherack under them. The vibration from your footsteps shot up through your arm, making you scream as you pushed forward.

The portal was much closer now, and you didn't hear the shots of blazes. You couldn't risk looking back, so you continued to run. The obsidian pathway felt hard under your feet, in contrast to the softer feeling of netherack. You slowed your pace, adrenaline draining as you stumbled through the portal.

When you came through the other side, you were met with the calm winds of the arctic. You fell to your feet, the pain becoming almost unbearable. You laid your back against the portal, finally deciding to take a better look at your wound.

The entirety of your left arm, from your shoulder to your elbow, was burnt. A large portion of your top was burnt too. Raw skin peeked out from under the burnt portions, red and blotchy. There wasn't much blood, to your relief. Your entire arm still felt like it was burning, searing in pain.

You had to get back to the cabin. That was your goal. Get back to the cabin. You shakily stood up, stumbling slightly as you made your way across the tundra. You held your arm close to your chest, wincing every time the wind blew against it and the vibrations that wracked through your body with every heavy step.

After what had felt like hours, the cabin was finally in sight. The sun was starting to set over the icy plains. You knew mobs would start spawning if you didn't hurry up. You stumbled your way towards the cabin, seeing how all of the lights were on in the place you called home.

When you finally reached the spruce doors. Before you could even reach for the handle, the doors swung open, revealing your piglin boyfriend with a worried expression on his face.

"Y/n! Where the hell have you be-" His eyes switched from concern to anger and settling on distress. He held your uninjured shoulder and ushered you inside, moving you to sit down on the couch that sat down in the center of the room.

He quickly started rifling through chests, not a word spoken as he did so. He pulled out a bottle of healing and regeneration, tucking them under his arm as he reached for gauze and a variety of antibiotics.

You watched him as he made his way from the chests over to where you sat. Your legs dangled off the front of the couch, your boyfriend situating himself between them as he took a better look at your arm. He took a short blade from his boot, cutting off your shirt carefully. He tossed it to the side, focusing his attention on your wound.

He pushed two potions into your chest, you could just feel the anger radiating off of him. It was scary. Without a word, you downed both of the potions, feeling the pain subside for the most part. You exhaled a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, shutting your eyes slowly.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell happened?" His tone was firm, cold, anger dripping from it. You felt terrible, you knew his mind would be working overtime trying to find out a solution before you told him a worm. Your eyes opened slowly, a frown finding its way to your face.

"Blazes," you tell him softly. You saw as his shoulders became slightly relax, at least it wasn't a person who did this to you.

"Tech, love, it's really not that bad. Let me patch it up." Wrong choice of words. His eye twitched and his brows furrowed as he looked towards you. "Not that bad?! Y/n are you looking at it? Your entire upper arm is messed up!"

"I've seen worse on you." You wanted to try and deescalate the situation, but you knew it wasn't going to end up that way. "This isn't about my wounds, this is about yours! You aren't fine!" He yelled, worry filling his eyes as he started to focus on dressing your wound. He stood up, going towards the kitchen to grab a wet cloth.

"Tech-" He grumbled angrily as he drenched the cloth in water. You knew he was blaming himself, you knew the voices would be screaming at him. He settled himself in front of you again, eyes dark as he gently pushed the cloth against your wound, very contrasted to how tense he was.

Your breath hitched, your hand grabbing onto his tightly. He put all of his attention onto wrapping you up. He was completely silent during the whole process. By the end of it, you had a new shirt on, your arm settled comfortably in a sling.

When he was fully finished, he settled his palms on your knees, head down as he mumbled something. You brought your free hand up to his hair, gently coursing your fingers through it. "I could have prevented this," he said, just enough so you could hear him.

"Hey," you whispered, taking your hand out of his hair and moving it to his cheek. He leaned into your palm affectionately, casting his eyes upwards to meet yours. He didn't look angry anymore, his eyes were just filled with remorse.

"It's not your fault, please believe me when I say that." He hummed lowly, closing his eyes and melting into your touch. You stayed like that for a while, silently cupping his cheek. When he opened his eyes again, his arms moved off your knees and he sat up.

You cast him a confused look as he sat down next to you, resting his back on the armrest of the couch. He huffed, opening his arms as a welcoming for you. You chuckled softly, laying back into him and making sure you didn’t lay on your injured arm. 

You lay your head against his chest as he carefully wraps both of his arms around you. He hums again, the sound resonating through his chest. You let your eyes shut as you smile. You feel him press a kiss to your forehead as you let exhaustion take over.

[sweetcathedral]

Note: First Toji story! Your "mom" that I had in mind for this one is basically a female Nanami, and your adoptive mom. Tried my best not to get burnt out from this one, so it might sound a bit rushed and repetitive, but I’ll be taking a two week break after I post Gojo’s sometime this week (hopefully tomorrow or the day after). Enjoy !

⚠️: 18+, raw, bulge, plot (?), voyeurism/exhibitionism (phone), eating out, fingering

It was obvious why Toji was around your mother lately, and why your mother still bothered keeping him around.

“Cut the sweet talking and just say you’re broke again,” you overheard your mother say. There wasn’t any anger or resentment in her voice, she didn’t need any sweet talking for her to lend Toji money again ‘cause she was also someone without any need for attachments. In fact, your mother hated attachments, so her pretend relationship with Toji was perfect. Not only did he fuck her any chance he got, but your mother even asked if he could take you into his place until you found a suitable apartment close to your university (of course he’d be getting paid double the amount for the hassle).

“I don’t have an extra room, so take mine for now. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You sure? I don’t mind taking the couch instead,” now that you’re finally facing him, you take in the details of his gruff features, hardened by whatever work he does for a living.

“Something wrong?” he cocks his head to the side and rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

“No. Sorry, it’s just—it’s my first time properly seeing you,” you can feel the heat rise up in your body.

“Oh, I guess it is,” he walks up to you and looks down, realizing how big he is and that you’re no longer looking at him from afar. “You’ve changed from the last time I saw you though,” measuring you against him, using his hand to see where your height compares. He smelt of smoke and something metallic, a foreign scent your memory had nothing to contrast to. A dark red smear on his forearm catches your attention. You thoughtlessly brush your fingers on his arm, triggering him to grab your wrist. His eyes widened in a wilderness you’ve never seen before with a hint of panic.

“Um . . .” you didn’t know how to react.

“Sorry,” he clears his throat and collects his composure back, “I’m gonna go take a shower first. Make yourself comfortable.”

The grip around your wrist lightens, leaving a red imprint that’s a bit sore to the touch.

Fuck. Toji had been too caught up with the bounty hunts he took that he forgot you were temporarily moving in with him today. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. It was his calendar app that reminded him, in the middle of a fight with a curse user, that he quickly finished the job and rushed back home to see you already standing at his door. Patiently waiting for him to answer the first few knocks and hesitating to knock again, which he found cute. He didn’t even have time to clean his wounds up when he snuck in through his back window.

Once Toji strode into the bathroom and locked himself in, he took off his shirt, thankful for the black shade concealing the blood slowly oozing out of his wound on the side of his torso. “Tch, for fuck sakes,” he mumbled before cleaning off the excess blood and throwing his shirt in the garbage. He thought his forearm was wounded too, the pain concealed from the rush of adrenaline he still had from running back home, but it was just the blood from his torso.

Toji wasn’t sure how to react when he’d see you again, especially as a proper person, since he has never paid any attention to you back then, until now.

“Take in my daughter until she finds her own place. She’s currently shopping for ones near her university since the other one had a person who died in the building,” your mother told him over the phone, neither sounding like a question or a demand.

“Huh? You have a kid?”

“Are you blind now too?”

“Don’t give much attention to kids.”

“Well she’s an adult now, so how ‘bout it?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Money, of course.”

“Heh, deal,” he answered, not giving much thought to the details as long as he’s getting paid for it.

“Now you’re making it sound like I’m selling my daughter off to the Devil.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

“She’ll be coming over in two weeks time,” your mother sighed in relief before hanging up.

Toji pulls himself back to the present hearing the faint scuffling of your feet across the floor, probably carrying your boxes and luggage into the living room. I should help her out. He carefully lifts the towel off his wound to check if the bleeding started to slow down. He lost track of how long he’d been in the bathroom, so he went against the thought of stitching it up and just slapped on some gauze for now. It’d be suspicious if he holed himself in the bathroom for too long. As Toji inhaled his breath to pull himself together, he raised his head, losing his sense of his equilibrium.

“Shit,” he softly chuckles, seeing his blurry reflection in the mirror falling out of the frame and hitting the floor. His body goes limp as his mind slowly succumbs to the darkness, only the sound of your frantic voice through the door being the last to leave his senses.

When you finally busted the door open, Toji was shirtless and laying on the floor drifting in and out of consciousness. You flipped him over to see that he was trying to patch up his wound. “We need to get you to a hospital,” you started dialing 911, but his heavy arm stops you from doing so.

“. . . don’t . . .” he desperately said through ragged breaths before going limp again.

“Fine, but I need to at least get you to your room. I’m not strong enough to carry you,” you try to heave him up to his feet, lugging his arm over your shoulder, opposite from the side where his wound is.

Once you managed to get him in his room, you guided him to his bed before rushing through your boxes to find your medical stitch kit. Although it was hard trying to disinfect his wound before stitching him up and placing a clean gauze over it, you managed to help him dodge the hospital bills he wanted to avoid. Cheapskate, just use the money you get from my mom.

You let out a sigh, tired from the nervousness of moving into a new place shared by a man with a mysterious background, and the panic that ensued when Toji looked like he was knocking on Death’s door. Peering up at him from the side of his bed, you take in his other scars along his body; there’s a jagged one on his chest, a couple clean slits along his shoulder, and some small rigid circular ones scattered over his stomach. You lightly run your fingers over the soft pink flesh like tracing a roadmap of his past life, his scars standing out like checkpoints.

“Home. My father threw me into a . . . fighting pit,” the rough vibration of his voice startles you, breaking you from your trance.

“Sorry, I—!” you pull away, retracting your hand back. But instead Toji grabs it back, unfurling your fingers to place them back on his scar.

“Also home. A fight with my cousins . . .” he continues guiding your fingers throughout his body, dragging you from scar to scar and telling you the story of his past, like there was nothing to hide. “And finally,” he gently places your palm on his fresh wound, “. . . another bounty hunt . . .” There was a moment of hesitation in his voice, his eyes laid on your hand as he thumbs over your knuckles, twiddling with your fingers before firmly yanking you over him onto the bed.

His finger traces up the curve of your spine, the small of your back, feeling the bulge form under his joggers—nudging at the plump bulb of your cunt through the thin fabric of your satin shorts. Keeping yourself calm and collected, you push yourself up from his shoulders, his muscles tensing up from your touch.

“Toji, I don’t have money to pay you. The medical courses in university are expensive already.”

“Who said I was asking for money?” he traces down your neck with his eyes before bringing you towards him, rubbing a lock of your hair between his thumb and index finger as he kisses your neck.

“You’re hurt and acting delirious from the pain. I’ll look through my boxes to see if I still have painkillers,” you huffed, trying to fight through his strength and the aching need to continue to see through to the end. It felt wrong, but his desperate hands kept you from making the right decisions.

“Don’t leave, stay,” he whispered between kisses, now trailing down to your breasts, sucking at your nipples. The straps of your tank top and bralette slip from your shoulders as his fingers softly drag down your back, your garments now clinging to your waist. Your soft moans bounce off the walls of the room. Your fingers laced through his hair, continuing to tease your nipples and thoughtlessly riding your hips on his bulge, leaving a wet stain through your shorts and his joggers. A wave of shame clashes over your need to have more of him, but the movements of his hands, arm, tongue, body keeps you from turning back.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you moaned through huffs of breaths.

“Then, what are you waiting for? Do it. I’m right there,” he valiantly bucks his hips up, pressing his erection into your pliant cunt, holding your thighs down on either side of him.

Your fingers reach for his cock from under you, molding around the shape of him as you push his joggers further down his hips. There was already precum dripping down his cock, painfully pulsating at your soft touch. You hold the tip at your entrance, glossy and slippery from your eager juices, and slowly ease yourself onto his cock. Toji groans at your plump walls hugging him and pulling him deeper inside of you. Your body blooms into a lustful behaviour that even he was surprised in awe at the honesty, forming a bemused grin across his face.

When your hips started to tremble beyond control, Toji continued, propping himself up with his arms and careful not to bust the stitches you gave him. At this point his pain had melted into pleasure, gratefully thrusting into your cervix and feeling the satisfaction of the shape of his tip protruding from your lower abdomen. You wrap your arms around him, spreading your legs wider so as to not touch his wound.

“Ngh, I think I’m about to pass out,” you bit back a moan, struggling to keep from cramping.

“Heh, that’s cute,” he rammed himself harder into you, the sound of slapping intertwining with your moans & grunts. Your body twitches in intervals, keeping up with his rhythm, nearing your climax. Toji grasps onto you, clamping you down on him as his warm cum fills up your womb, unable to keep the excess from flowing out.

“Shit, sorry,” he reaches down to touch your vulva, the tips of his fingers feeling at his thick substance leaking out from you..

“Mm-mm, it’s fine. Infertile,” you said, trying to catch your breath.

“Did you cum yet?”

A giggle fell from your lips, “not yet—!” he flips you over before you could finish whatever you were about to say, switching places so that you’re laying on your back now. He wasn’t gonna take that for an answer cause he always finishes what he started.

“Allow me,” his head settled in between your legs, hands firmly placed at the back of your thighs. You sharply inhaled at the soft velvety feel of his tongue to your sensitive clit, and the strong feeling of his fingers pushing through your swollen walls. Your head falls back into a lustful daze, allowing him to do whatever he wants to do to you. Only the sound of your rapid breathing and cute moans fill the air of the room, as Toji satisfies himself with your lewd expressions and lolled out tongue.

“Did you make it safely to Toji’s place?” your mom asks through the phone.

“Yeah . . . everything, went well,” you bit your tongue, flailing your hands behind you to try and get Toji to slow down.

“Are you okay? You sound too out of breath in the morning.”

“Yeah—! I just, just came back for a—jog,” he thrusts harder into you, having fun watching you try to keep your composure. Ready to hear a moan slip out from your wet lips. “Anyways, I need to, to go, bye mom!” you hung up before she could say her goodbyes.

“Someone held up pretty well,” he chuckles at the nape of your neck before leaving his marks along it.

“Fuck you,” you pant, hating yourself for obliging in this situation, but loving the hard feeling of his cock splitting you apart. He hooks one of your legs up to the kitchen counter, your other fighting to stay on its tippy toes as you reach your morning climax—squirting on the kitchen floor.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he growls in your ear, flipping you over and stirring his cock back inside of you. “Get ready to go rounds with me.”

[sweetpxxches]

I got time. [Hank x AFAB Reader]

Contains: Smut, fluff, mild blood stuffs.

The reader is AFAB but goes by gender neutral pronouns. 

The first fic I post here and it’s just me being a simp for Hank as of late my lords above don’t look at me and my shame but enjoy it anyway LMAO

Somewhere, in Nevada, settles a group of mercenaries that managed to crawl their ways into a hideout where there was a scarce amount of grunts and guards that were on the hunt for them. You were there, laying flat on a worn down couch breathing lightly, though wincing through your teeth every once in a while as Sanford was bandaging a gashing wound on your back. You cursed under your breath unsure of how long the pain was going to last, the feeling of your skin burning was unbearable, but alas it finally was over when Sanford lightly patted your hip and getting off of you with a “You’re good to go,” and turning over to Deimos who was asking for a smoke. It’s been a rough week, with Hank going solo in most of his tasks there wasn’t a lot to hope for at the end of the day. But knowing him, he’s certainly doing just fine and if more, having the time of his life doing what he loves most. Sometimes you wonder if he even thinks about you. “Hey, Mercenary.” Deimos called out to you. You sat up grumbling, rubbing the now bandaged wound as you turned to gaze over Deimos, who was slumped by a window, legs spread apart on a chair puffing smoke out to the direction of the open window.

“Yeah?” Was all you could say. Deimos held his cigarette in his mouth, using his hands to gesture out the window. With that silent statement was all you needed to know that Hank’s finally made his way back to his crew. You sprung up only to pause midway from the stabbing pain you forgot existed, and held your side to keep going forward. “Settle down, hot shot. I’m sure Hank’s coming in on his own.” Deimos snickered, puffing the smoke through his mouth as he tips his hat over his eyes, leaning back to relax. You pouted at him, but your head jerked back when you heard the door open, Hank standing there to see his crewmates doing just fine. Immediately, you rushed over to hug the behemoth of a man who you could only level at his chest. Because of the tough muscle, it didn’t really make Hank budge much from you just practically attempting a tackle-hug on him. “Hey, you.” Hank simply stated, ruffling your hair as he closed the door behind him. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, but that’s what I’d expect since I’ve been fucked over a few times from those grunts.”

“Good to see you back, Hank.” Sanford welcomed, who was cleaning his hook by Deimos. “Anything new?” “Just a few files of past conversations between Sheriff, Jebus, and the Auditor.” Hank held up folders, tossing them over to Sanford as he slumped into the couch you sat on before, stretching back and leaning his head back. “I’m starting to wonder where these fuckers are making their planned dates these days, just seeing them talk all that talk and yet have their dogs do all the dirty work annoys me.” Sanford huffed, looking down at his weapon. “Yeah well, it keeps them busy being idiots while we find more about what’s going on behind the scenes with them. How’s the conditions with everyone?” Hank asked. “Deimos nearly lost a leg, but he’s recovering, Mercenary’s back got gashed but I handled the wound, nothing too extreme. I did fine so far.” Sanford replied, though Hank looked over to you. “Shit, you getting rusty with the whole ‘look behind’?” Hank teased, poking your head as you puffed your cheeks.

“Don’t start playing with me, it’s bad enough that I’m hurt as it already is.” You retorted, settling back down on the couch, cursing under your breath once more as you felt the stinging. Though you couldn’t help but personally scoff at Hank’s obvious worries being plastered as banter. He’s not really the type to show his worries over anyone, even to his closest comrades. Deimos hummed, looking over to Hank. “Hey, you think we can call this a small break for us all? I’m beat.” You sighed, nodding at his response. “Yeah, Deimos is right, I’m exhausted, and I ain’t going to run around with this back ache.” It wasn’t long until Hank lazily waved off of the statements. “Alright, alright, I’m sure we can call this a night for us all.” With that, the group sighed in relief. “Thank God, in that case I’m gonna go call it a night, I ain’t gonna miss this opportunity of sleep.” Deimos stated, hopping off his seat as he burned out his cigarette, flicking it off to the floor. Sanford watched him leave, and began to sit up himself. “I’ll be spectating the area, that way in case anyone gets too close I’ll take them down and give you guys the que.” He stretched, grabbing his hook and a rifle in both hands making his way out the door. Deimos went upstairs, and Sanford was outside. Which then left you and Hank.

It was kind of awkward at first, you weren’t sure what you wanted to say or even do, but Hank looked over to you. “What about you? You’re the one that’s been complaining all night.” He smirked, and you lightly shoved him. “Oh, shut up. I don’t have time for your uncalled for bullying.” You joked, but he seemed to be watching your every move. You weren’t so sure if this was just him taking the joke too seriously, or there’s something going on his mind. But he shrugged it off, leaning on the other side of the couch, hands behind his head. “You talk too much sometimes, you know that, right?” “Look who’s talking.” You crossed your arms, raising a brow. Where was he even going with this? You weren’t sure. Or were you overthinking things? Then again, just look how he’s behaving, it’s almost as if...

“Hey, eyes up here.” Hank tilted his head, raising a brow back at you. You snapped out of it, cheeks flushed. “Hey, shut up!” You didn’t even know what to say for yourself other than you may be looking at Hank a little more than you should. It was a moment of silence, you looking away and leaning on the other side of the couch, ignoring Hank’s curious gaze. His red tinted glasses shined, and he sat up. “Hey, you’ve been acting pretty weird as of late. What’s going on in your mind, Mercenary?” He asked. You turned your head to him, “Nothing! I’ve just been stressed and exhausted from all of this, don’t you know how tiring it is at times? Actually, don’t answer that. You’re never tired.” You then turned back, but Hank scoffed at you. “Someone’s feisty. Listen, I can get a good guess as to why you’re acting this way, and it’s because you missed me, wasn’t it?”

Oh, you hated how right he was. With a furrowed brow, you eyed at him, but not turning completely just yet. “What’s it to you?” You simply put, and he knew where this was going. “Listen Merc, I know you hate my guts whenever I turn away from you, but I promise ya it isn’t because I want to, it’s just I’m a busy guy.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, and your tension let loose immediately. “I know Hank, but it’s just it’s hard to do things without you.” You then turned completely to him, who was already close to your face, and that caught you by surprise. “What, can’t do things on your own, sweetheart?” Pet names. He’s giving you pet names now. May Jebus save your soul now. “It’s not that, it’s just...”  “It’s just what?” He continued, fixing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You couldn’t even make eye contact to hose red tint shades. “It’s just... I miss you too much to last without you for that long, Hank.” You finally admitted, sighing in defeat. Hank lifted your chin, and tugged you close. “Babe, it’s okay. I promise you that’ll be the last time I keep you away.”

“For now, isn’t it?” You replied.

It was silence at first. “Yeah. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” Hank said, and you couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, even if it hurts to know he might do this again eventually. But that’s later, and this is now, and you can tell Hank is thinking the same way. It wasn’t until he tugged his bandana off his chin, revealing that grotesque zombie-looking metal jaw. But to you, you found that the best thing about him. “How about I’ll make it up tonight with something special?” Hank brushed his nose against yours, feeling your soft breath against his. “... But aren’t you going to be busy?”

“I got time. Take that armor off, Mercenary. I’m gonna make up those days I missed you.” Did he just admit he missed you just as much?

You couldn’t even process that, because Hank immediately filled the gap to give you a somewhat sloppy kiss, of course with him lacking lips, you couldn’t really make way with it, but that’s not what he had in store, it was that tongue he holds. You shuttered as you felt it glide across your lips, wanting to get into your mouth. You didn’t hesitate until you began unbuckling your hefty armor, letting Hank take over. You gasped as he slid his tongue passed your lips, his drool dripping onto your chest but you couldn’t care, the mess wasn’t gonna get any cleaner anyway. His massive figure mounted above you as you leaned back onto the couch, letting his large hands gently caress your sides as you wrapped your arms behind his neck. However, despite it, you flinched at the wound causing you pain, but Hank knew he had to be careful with it. He didn’t want you to hurt throughout, so he decided to keep his hands gentle on the grip of your sides. 

His tongue reached every inch of your mouth, circling it with your own tongue as you grew desperate for him to touch you further. You held your head back as he began to bite down on your shoulder, hands beginning to venture more around your body.

“Hey, you won’t be getting just war scars now, huh?” Hank joked. “Just shut up and fuck me up, Hank.” You ordered. That hit a certain spot in Hank, making him want to do just exactly that. He didn’t hesitate any further, grabbing your bottoms with a swift tug down, letting you move your legs to take them off. He wasn’t the type to take off his own clothing, but when it comes to his partners, that’s a different story. He kept one hand on your hip as the other made way under your lower garments, large digits gently caressing your slit as he kept his head nestled between your neck and shoulder, enjoying your scent as well as your soft sounds. “Didn’t take long for you to get that wet, huh? Just how long have you been thinking about me? About this? You’re a wonder, Merc.” Hank teased, biting your ear as his two fingers spread your slit open, making you gasp as his middle finger lightly rubbed your clit. He wasn’t the most experienced, but when it comes to trying to find the right spot, he does it well. The feeling of your lower hips jolt as he kept a caringly pace with rubbing your clit had him wish he could devour you whole, but patience was what he needed. 

Hank leaned back, moving himself down to position himself between your legs, your gaze almost begging for him to continue, and it wasn’t long until he took your beckoning as his long yet slender tongue made way to press against your cunt. You held your head back, keeping your volume low so you don’t get Deimos’s attention. But with the feeling of Hank’s wet tongue circle around your clit more efficiently than his fingers did, it was hard to keep it to yourself. It was a little bit of a hassle knowing there’s really nothing there you could get a hold of on his head, with a lack of hair and all, but there was an attempted to hold his head down, making him grunt as he knew what you’re asking for. His tongue slid down, pressing itself inside your cunt. The feeling of it made you quiver, Hank feeling your walls shutter from the tension his tongue was giving. This man was practically spoiling you, feeling your toes curl as you raised your hips at Hank, but he held you down so he can do most of the work. A fair share between you two, and you were already getting at your limits. Hank noticed your body shaking up, and he held back himself once more only to hear you whimper. Gods, he loved how sweet you could be. “Easy there, I’m not gonna leave you hanging.” Hank settled himself between your legs once more, this time he was unbuckling his belt and proceeding to unzip his pants. You bit your lip as you saw his large girth of a cock was pulled out, it was obvious he was growing impatient. He settled your legs around his hips, of course keeping mind about your wound. It was adorable how caring he can be with you.

He leaned over, his head pressing against yours as he began to position himself against your wet entrance, you didn’t even know what to say. Just seeing him above you, his muscular figure taking hold of you and taking what is yours his own, it drove you crazy. But he wasn’t being selfish with his affection, he knew he needed you just as much as you did. You held onto his shoulders, embracing it as his cock head pressed against your cunt, then slowly and surely, it broke way inside you. You winced, his hands on your hips to keep you put. “Are you doing alright there, Merc?” Hank whispered in your ear. You could only nod, and by god you didn’t want to speak any time soon. If you opened your mouth, you’d be gasping and moaning, and it’s already a chore keeping it down. Hank’s chuckle was heard, a low rumble in his chest as he began to move his hips slowly and carefully. You kissed his neck, feeling yourself stretch from his large girth, it was surprising you could of even managed to handle it this well. Hank could hear your small moans, and he hoped the volume will get louder, not caring if the other mercenaries could hear them. “Come on, Merc. I know you have a lot more in you, don’t have to be shy.” Hank cooed, his hands brushing up to give your breasts a soft squeeze, you looked away, trying to ignore him. But this just gave him a challenge.

“Merc, come on.” He spoke up, his hands now sliding under your shirt to fondle your breasts better, your cheeks flared up with a crimson red as he began to pick up the pace. The wet sounds of his body meeting against your own was growing loud, the sheer lewd sounds was driving you both wild. You couldn’t help but hold your head back, a moan escaping your lips. “That’s it, just like that. C’mon and do it louder.” Hank retorted, as his hands went back to your hips, moving your body against his, letting his whole shaft reach the ends of you. Your eyes widened, a loud squeak was heard out of you, and it made Hank laugh. “Good, that’s what I wanted.” Hank snarled, his pace now getting vigorous and desperate. He wasn’t slowing down for you, and you tried to grab his back, clawing at what you could. Now it’s finally reaching it’s point, you began moaning like no tomorrow, your volume was loud and you felt Hank became balls deep inside you, your walls tightening as he kept up the rough pace. “H-Hank, holy fuck Hank, calm down!” You plead, but he didn’t seem to hear you, the sound of the couch creaking as the hard wet slaps continued, you were seeing stars at this rate. But he wasn’t done, feeling himself get close, he placed one hand down to your clit, rubbing it as he continued to thrust. You groaned, feeling yourself beginning to come undone. “Cum for me, baby.” Hank requested, and you did what he told you to. Your body jolting as you reached a climax, but as you did so, Hank slammed himself deep inside you, releasing his thick warm ropes of cum inside you, the amount was overwhelming that it spilled out of you, your moans being muffled with Hank’s tongue making back way into your mouth.

It was a few moments, and Hank held his head and body to see his work. You were dazed, staring at the ceiling. “Seems like I overdid it, huh?” Hank asked, but you just weakly held up a thumbs up, simply saying “You did great.” As you grew limp, exhausted. Hank scoffed, slipping his cock out of you and watching the excess of cum leak out of you. As he pulled his cock in and zipped his pants, he scooped you up to take you upstairs. Settling your sleeping body on a bed, and he turned over to see a Deimos, disgruntled at them.

“Can’t you two be more fucking quiet next time?” Deimos stated, laying back down on his own bed. Hank could only chuckle at him. “Guess I’ll get louder next time just to spite your ass, Deimos.”

Meanwhile, Sanford outside could only be unsurprised at the fact you and Hank had fun while he was out drinking and keeping check of the area.

[itsagrimm]

Imperial!Tech 3

Summary: Tech's chip activated instead of Crosshairs so Tech is now an imperial commander tasked to serve the Empire at any cost. But is he willing to do so? And are you, dear Y/N as member of the experimental Elite Squad, willing to follow any order your commander Tech gives?

CN: self-harm, talk of death murder and war crimes, stalker behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, power imbalance, overreaching behaviour, structural violence, sexually predatory behaviour and the likes, sensual overload, insomnia, references of drug abuse, depression and mental health issues, trauma

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab

Thanks a lot to @eyecandyeoz for your insight, feedback and thoughts. Check out their lovely blog!

I am sorry it took me so long. next part will be faster. I already started writing it.

And feel free to criticise especially concerning my use of CN and if the reader perspective is inclusive for you.

2800 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Tech collapsed into the chair as soon as Y/N had left the room. He was tired, so tired. He leaned back and put on his glasses. Him taking off his visual aids around Y/N was a degree of trust Tech rarely allowed. He was nearly blind without his glasses and the Kaminoans had considered terminating him for that. Tech was sure Y/N did not even know how much he had surrendered himself to Y/N and their touch. Their oh so soft touch. The memory of it was still fresh on his skin. It raced through is mind which for once was craving to match his body with the need to slow down and take a rest.

But it didn’t.

Y/N was pleasant to be around. Their touch was careful and considered. Only his brothers used to treat him like his. – His brothers, the former clone force 99, had left him behind after they refused to comply with order 66. Due to their divergence the inhibitor chip had not worked while he, Tech, had tried to kill the Jedi. – He had tried to kill a child. – The effect of the inhibitor chip was decreasing. His wound received on Bracca had an 84,743 % chance of damaging the inhibitor chip. But he should investigate further and get the chip out to stop any possible interference with his superior thought process. - Y/N was not aware of the inhibitor chips. He felt the need to tell them. Why? – The Havoc Marauder had not been mentioned on the imperial comm chatter for a while. – Echo was likely to take care of the ship now. – He should get some sustenance. He felt hunger. – Y/N – The Empire expected a degree of loyalty, uniformity, and compliance he was unsure he could deliver for long considering his diverging mind. – what would Hunter do? – the kaminoan proverb “yn’ja tha vaí m°O” was untranslatable into Basic but could be understood in Sit Bisti as “it needs tö be döne för the betterment öf äll”- The Empire was unlikely to grant him the freedom to find his brothers or in fact any freedom. – The canteen might serve Tiingilar tonight – He was a child slave destined to die in approximately 34,6 standard yearly rotations from old age if not sooner. – maybe the canteen will serve uj’alayi too. – Does Y/N speak Mando’an? He should enquire. – Of course, there will be no uj’alayi today. The Kaminoans did not allow sweet foods. – Y/N – How did the atmospheric controls work that ensured breathable air even for the highest floors of coruscanti buildings? - He knew why his brothers left him behind, but why did it feel so painful. – The empire was likely to kill him if he out served his usefulness for them. - He had tried to kill a child. He had killed several children on Onderon. How could he live with that? How could-

Tech forced his thoughts to stop by digging his fingers into his bloody scar.

The sharp pain felt soothing.

“Let’s consider making a list of the most pressing tasks for now.”

He starred at the ceiling.

“The Empire. It is the closest threat to my demise, but it can be my salvation if I am useful. Am I willing and capable to do that?”

His head started spinning again just at the thought of killing another child for the Empire. And yet serving the Empire gave him purpose he wasn’t sure he could muster on his own.

“Where are my brothers? How are they? How do I feel about them?”

Another unpleasant wave of thoughts and feelings washed over Tech before he continued.

“What is with the inhibitor chip inside my head?”

He nodded to himself. That was a rational and containable problem with fixed variables and clear answers. He felt comfortable with that question, pushing aside all the things he might have done due to being under the chips influence.

Only one question was left now.

“Why do I enjoy Y/N presence?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryloth had a warm and dusty climate during daytime. Y/N felt sweat dripping under the dark armour. The elite squad, including a new ES-03, was ordered to stand close by to Admiral Rampart, the highest imperial officer on Ryloth. And so, they had spent the last rotations following the Admiral around, doing tedious security work and presenting themselves like the Admirals favourite guard dogs to a public very much disliking their military presence. For once, even commander Tech looked annoyed about their not spec-ops appropriate services.

Today they were on the outlook. The Admiral wanted them scanning a large crowd for troublemakers and resistance fighters during a public announcement. Y/N couldn’t blame them. The Twi’lek of Ryloth had spent years fighting for their independence and spilled an ocean of blood on the dusty planet’s surface only to face an Empire now. Half a life ago Y/N would have hated themselves for being a soldier in service of a suppressing ruler. But now it was paid work.

“ES-01?”, Commander Tech brought Y/N back from their thoughts

“I am in position before the crowd.”

“ES-02?”

“Yes sir, I am on the building as you ordered.”

“ES-03?”

“Any nonimperial transmissions are being blocked now.”

“ES-04?”

“The war hawk is ready for take-off in case we need it.”

“Good. Do you register any noteworthy activity?

Y/N gazed through the crowd. They were mostly Twi’lek, waiting to hear from their leaders. All of them were in civilian clothing, none came with visible weapons.

“I can’t spot anything, sir.”

Tech said nothing. But Y/N could hear him type something.

“Analysing previous rebel fighter behaviour and strategies in similar situations they are likely to appear at these coordinates within the crowd today. I am sending you a list for you to especially pay attention to, ONCE.”, he finally said using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Yes sir.”

Y/N looked at their holopad and started checking the coordinates commander Tech had calculated. At entry four they spotted their targets.

“Commander. I have a visual about 40 meters from my position, 10 o’clock. There are two fighters. Twi’lek. One female and one male passing. Shade of blue and orange.”

A moment everyone was silent.

“Confirmed.”, ES-02 stated.

Another moment passed.

“Observe them for now. Stay alert.”, Tech ordered before ending the transmission.

High above the Twi’lek senator started to talk. Y/N could not remember his name and paid little attention to his words. Unlike the Twi’lek.

“They are not happy.”, ES-02 stated flatly.

“Yeah thanks, I would not have noticed without you.”

“Always a pleasure to help out, ONCE.”

ES-02 was right. The crowd was angry. The imperial presence, the empty words of some disaffected politician, the fresh memories of the clone war. It was no surprise that the Twi’lek called out for their resistance leaders to speak.

“We want Syndulla! We want Syndulla!”, the crowd chanted.

A different voice from above started speaking. The crowd calmed down, not entirely happy but at least not a raging mob.

“At least we will not have to gun them down, now.”, ES-02 mumbled with a bitter voice.

“Would you really do that, two?”

“You know what they say, good soldiers follow orders, ONCE. And I intend to be one. Especially when I’m getting paid for it.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rampart was an asshole. He was a smug little administrator, willing to lie, back-stab and sacrifice whatever needed to achieve his goals. Rampart was the perfect general to handle a loaded situation like the one on Ryloth. And he was no fool.

Y/N hat noticed that he had kept both commander Tech and Howzer, the commanding clone trooper in charge of the regular clone troopers on Ryloth, close. A strategic move. Spec-ops commandos like the elite squad and regular commandos were in constant competition and mistrust to each other. Should one commander not deliver or even consider treason the other would interfere. And Rampart would always end up on the winning side of their clone infighting.

Y/N could here their arguing inside the office.

Commander Tech had ordered for Y/N to wait outside the office for new orders.

More arguing from the office was audible until finally Ramparts voice cut their bickering short.

The door opened and Howzer left. His expression was that of a practised reserved solider hiding his worries.

The door opened again, and commander Tech stepped outside of Ramparts office.

He looked tense.

Instead of a greeting or an order he just started walking. They followed him.

“Clone force 99 is here. But we are kept on a short leash. As always.”, Tech stated, “It is implausible to not use the best tools possible when confronted with a problem. Howzers troopers will not be able to beat them if necessary. Just like they won’t be able or unwilling to beat the Twi’lek should the need arise.”

Since Kamino the commander had started to share more of his thoughts with Y/N. All they had left to do was to listen and ask the right questions.

“Sir, you think Howzer will commit subordination?”

“There is a possibility of him and his men disagreeing with the new imperial leadership and it’s methods. Howzers unit has fought alongside the Twi’leks the past years. Bounds forged in the trenches can be stronger than loyalty to an administrator from Coruscant. But I require further data to assess the likelihood of treason.”

“What about clone force 99?”

“Their abilities and erratic strategies will be a challenge should we … no, should I have to face them.”

“So, we did not get the order to hunt them down?”

“No. Not yet.”

“And yet you already imply them as of importance.”

“It would be a grave strategic mistake to dismiss their presence.”

“So, what is the elite squad going to do about them? What are your orders, sir?”

Tech paused and adjusted his glasses.

“We are going to do nothing.”

“Sir!?”

“Don’t.” There was a warning in his voice. A signal to Y/N not to cross a line, invisible yet perceptible. He was after all a commander and Y/N just a soldier.

“I am sorry. I overstepped. You are in charge.”

He turned, stepped away and looked at Y/N. His eyes scrutinized them like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen of remarkable value.

They shivered.

His gaze was intriguing. It was painful to feel on display like that. And yet it was nearly intimate to be studied by Tech. Unsure if he would finally hit Y/N for their countless discretions or if he just contemplated their objections.

Finally, Tech nodded appeased and continued his walking without any further talk.

“What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tech stopped.

“What do I want you to do now?”, Tech repeated as if the question had a different meaning to him than it had to Y/N.

He took out his holopad only to put it away again. He cleared his throat.

“I need you to stay alert. The situation is complicated. For now, get some sleep. The chances are below 4,65 % that there will be a significant development within the next two hours. After that I except the elite squad to be combat ready.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXXXXXX

The Refresher room was empty. Most clones avoided the elite squad, and all the other members of their unit were taking a nap before the night shift which left Y/N to have the large washroom for themselves.

They signed.

Taking a shower and having some alone time to think and feel before finally taking a rest was what they needed.

Y/N started to strip out of the armour.

First, they took of the helmet, then the vambraces and shin guards before getting the shoulder pieces and lifting the heavy breast armour off before finally getting out of the abdomen armour. The black katarn fell to the floor, making loud echoing noises.

Y/N didn’t care. No one was to correct them on their improper handling of equipment here.

And as much as the armour was a useful necessity, it was a heavy burden in more than one way.

Their blacks followed and soon Y/N was standing under the refresher, naked and alone.

The water was hot and painful.

It was a welcome distraction to all the feelings of … well what exactly?

Y/N felt tears running down their face.

No, no, no. It’s just the refresher.

An uptight sob escaped Y/Ns throat. It was all so different from what they imagined. They had entered imperial service for the payment during a desperate time. And ended up witnessing murder after murder, committing murder.

Today they could have become accomplices to killing a crowd of innocent Twi’leks. And Y/N knew that they would have complied with the order to open fire on the civilians if given. How could they not? Surrounded by troopers like them, ordered around by heartless and calculating commanders.

Would Tech give a killing order like this?

Was he that heartless?

He had done so before.

He had killed so many times before their eyes and yet a piece of Y/N refused to see him as a murderer. In fact, they felt shameful about feeling and thinking about Tech – about their commanding officer – at all.

Y/N stopped fighting the tears and cried out loud.

Nobody would know about this.

Nobody would know about their doubt and vulnerability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As always sleep had been an unwilling friend to visit Tech. With a sigh he gave up and got up from the cot. As always, his mind was racing. He had tried the breathing techniques Crosshair taught him after a particular long stretch of insomnia, but it didn’t work.

And Tech wasn’t in the mood to experiment with the vast collection of sedatives to force his body to sleep right before possibly facing his brothers and definitely meeting admiral Rampart soon.

Work it was then.

His holopad listed only unchallenging administrative tasks.

The new Shuttle was in top shape.

His weapons were cleaned.

Tech had nothing to keep is overthinking brain in check.

Kriff, his life really was miserable. A never-ending effort to bringing his spiralling mind some peace.

A notification came in.

What a blessing.

Tech looked at the holopad again. It was just a reminder to check on his subordinates, to listen in on their private talks and vital signs.

The order from Imperial Command was an uncomfortable task but it was the best he had to do right now. And listing in on some snoring was better than listening to the elite squads talk like last time. At least it felt less overreaching.

He started with ES-04 and workout down from there. Four was in deep slumber, nothing of interest to note. ES-03 was still new and his sleep was restless, a few murmurs about his home planet and family escaped his lips. ES-02 was dreaming. His heartrate was accelerated. Tech turned his observation of, not interested in the rutting sounds of ES-02.

ES-01 was left. ONCE. Y/N. The thought of peeping into their private life was not only uncomfortable, but it also felt violent to strip Y/N of their peace and privacy.

And yet, Y/N was the only one Tech WANTED to know more about. He felt his desire to learn more about Y/N like a physical need, an addicting obsession Tech knew he needed to be careful with not to indulge.

Was their slumber peaceful and sweet?

Did they have dreams about home?

Or did they fight their nightmares in sleep just like they did awake?

He swallowed.

He was just following an order.

He will do nothing more.

He was just a good soldier.

Y/N wasn’t asleep. Their bucket was off and there were no vital signs coming of them. But the acoustic signal was working.

Y/N was somewhere with a lot of echoes and running water.

Tech felt himself blushing and getting hot.

They were in the shower.

It felt so right to listen in on Y/N. Tech felt bad about it.

The thought of water running down their bare and naked body made Techs mind slow like nothing ever before. The pleasure of a calm mind made him groan.

He hesitated. This was not okay. He shouldn’t listen. He shouldn’t imagine a subordinate like that. He hated that he had to. He hated that the Empire gave him order to do so. But more than that he hated himself for following that order so willingly.

He reached for the off button on his holopad.

A sob.

Was that Y/N? Were they crying?

Tech’s mind went from zero into overdrive. He needed to know who or whatever made you feel like crying. He would find out. And he would remove whatever it was from your life.

Part 4

[scxrsgxrd]

*poke poke poke*

*whispers* please write for Eric Northman

*runs away*

I’ve been having a lot of Eric related ~thoughts~ lately (I blame yours and @skarsgard-daydreams drabbles) and they are ready to be released. Your Eric Northman wishes are my command ;)

18+, mentions of blood and blood kink

You looked up impatiently at the clock hanging on the office wall for the fourth time in a minute. Eric was late, again. The incessant ticking was beginning to seriously bug you, and there was a chill in the air that made every hair on your body stand on end. Another thing you cursed Eric for, recalling the same answer he gave you every time you complained about the temperature in his office. 

“I’m a vampire, why would I need to get the A/C fixed?”

Eric had recently fitted a mirror behind his desk for your activities, as he called them, and you gazed at yourself while you waited for what felt like hours. After all, someone had to appreciate the lingerie set you had just completed some sort of gymnastics to get into. The crimson lace fitted you perfectly, and you knew that Eric had had this made especially for you, knowing exactly the type of fit and material you liked, which in turn had cost him a small fortune. You often wondered his motives for paying so much for something you could only ever wear once, as it took a mere matter of seconds before your panties were torn and your stockings had five finger shaped holes ripped into them. To your surprise when you had opened the box, there was a studded collar sitting atop the lingerie with a buckle at the back. It had taken you a while to psych yourself up to ask Pam to fix up the buckle for you, but she simply laughed and pulled the buckle tight, stating “he’ll like it like that.” 

Your teeth had begun to involuntarily sink into your lip, the more you thought of Eric, the harder you bit down. The only thing that snapped you out of this trance-like state was the feeling of a warm dripping down your chin and onto the exposed skin of your upper thigh. As you focused your eyes against the mirror once more you noticed a crimson trail running down your chin, matching the shade of your underwear. At that second you realised exactly why Eric had chosen to dress you in red.

Almost instantaneously the office door swung open, hitting the wall with such a force that you were surprised it remained on its hinges. You didn’t want to look into the doorway as you heard a low, animalistic growl. You had disturbed Eric from his work, and you knew that you had to pay the price.

“Well, well, well.” 

You gulped as you heard that voice. That voice that caused a shiver to ripple through your entire body and make your pulse quicken. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned your gaze over to the doorway where Eric was stood. His head was cocked slightly to one side, his eyes darkened with lust and his fangs already out. 

Just as you were about the wipe the blood from your chin he grabbed your forearm, his sudden movement making you jolt as you had never quite gotten used to his vampiric abilities. 

“I think you’ll find that’s mine.” His tone startled you slightly, his fingers gripping at your arm tighter as he studied the trail running down your chin, watching intently as another drop landed on your thigh. He stepped closer to you, parting your legs with one hand as he moved with ease between them, his bulge pressing against your crotch as he dragged his tongue up your chin, his eyes rolling back as though he was already in complete ecstasy.

Your breathing quickened as he reached your lips, his tongue trailing over the small nick in your bottom lip as you felt your chest heaving against him, finding it a little difficult to breathe properly as the collar sat tightly around your neck. Eric could feel exactly what you were feeling. Every beat, every deep breath, every acceleration of your pulse. That was what he thrived on, the humanness of it all; each beat of your pulse anchored him back to his own humanity, something which he had deeply struggled with before he had met you. It was so long ago, so buried, that he never expected to be able to feel its warmth again. 

He pulled back to gaze at you, his eyes raking up and down your semi-naked body as he studied the set of lingerie he had envisioned for you. His imagination hadn’t done you any justice, as you looked ethereal in the specially crafted lace design that fitted every part of you perfectly. A small smirk began to creep onto his lips as he his eyes caught onto the collar that had been tightly buckled around your neck, just as he had pictured it.

“Are you going to be a good little girl?” He grazed his long, cold fingers against your neck and traced along the collar.

“Yes, Eric.” Your voice was faint and your throat felt dry as you watched Eric begin to kneel before you.

His eyes never left yours as he knelt down, hands on your knees prising your legs further apart as he breathed in deeply, inhaling your sweet scent. He began to walk his fore and middle finger up your thighs, humming mischievously as he reached the waistband of your panties. His forefinger curled around the elastic, giving it one slight tug, filling the office with a tearing sound. You gasped as you felt the cold air hit you, and Eric let out another growl, wasting no time in burying his face in your inner thigh.

The sharp pain was one that had taken some getting used to at first, but now you barely even flinched as you felt Eric sink his fangs into your flesh. You were a little surprised when he pulled back so quickly, as he usually fed for a few minutes, sometimes even longer, when he had been busy with Fangtasia’s accounts paperwork. You furrowed your brow, about to question him when he dipped his finger into the small wound on your inner thigh, collecting up a small pool of your blood. He proceeded to then move his blood-coated finger against your clit in a slow circles, the sensation making your toes curl and your head fall back.

“Mmmmm, tasty.” 

Eric’s tongue then began to lap at your clit, his hands firmly gripping your thighs as he muttered soft words of appraisal against you. When your head lolled forwards you caught a glimpse of the debauched scene in the mirror before you, the visual element of the act providing you with a new wave of pleasure. 

You could feel a knot beginning to form in the pit of your stomach as Eric wrapped his lips around your clit, delivering a mixture of sucks and gentle bites as his guttural groans caused small vibrations to course their way through your lower body. You were getting closer and closer to your climax, and Eric knew it. Once again he pressed his middle finger against the still-bleeding wound on your inner thigh before smearing the slick of blood against your clit, working it into the most sensitive part of you with his ever-skilled fingers. You threw your head back once more, long strings of moans leaving you as you felt every muscle in your body tense and every nerve begin to quiver.

Then he stopped.

“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” Eric stood up and straightened his jacket, licking his lips in what felt like an attempt to mock you.

You felt your bottom lip wobble as the aching sensation between your thighs only worsened, reaching out your arms as you attempted to grab onto his jacket, but he simply took a step backwards so he was out of your grasp.

“N’aw, poor little girl. You thought I was going to let that pretty little pussy of yours come, didn’t you?” 

You nodded, not knowing what else to give him as he gazed down at you with a glint in his eyes.

He was then back between your legs in an instant, his right hand swooping behind your neck as he took hold of the buckle on the collar, making a strangled squeal form in your throat.

“Then maybe next time you’ll think twice about disturbing me.” He lifted his left hand and traced his forefinger gently across the small slit on your lip.

You wanted to protest, to tell him that distracting him from his paperwork wasn’t your intention, but you knew it would be futile. Instead you knew you’d have to wait, and as Eric walked out of his office and closed the door behind him you once again watched yourself in the mirror, the smears of blood further reminding you that you were Eric’s, and that however annoying, patience and delayed gratification were key elements of your relationship. 

[yannowhatigiveup]

My One And Only - Chapter 8

Previous | Next

So this chapter is longer than the previous one and hOpefuLly my writing will get better with each new chapter. One can only hope. And I’m updating this daily cuz I wanna be caught up with all of my chapters so I don’t forget to post one by accident. But the daily updates will unfortunately stop after chapter 13, I guess. For now, enjoy! *totally not debating if I should post chapter 9* also Gabriel, no

Uncle Jagged: Nettie! I got everything ready. Wanna record a bonus track for my new album?

'Oh god'

—————————————————————

Marinette kept rereading the message to make sure she had read it correctly. The message never changed. "Oh Tikki what if my voice sounds horrible? Uncle Jagged will be disappointed and then he won't have me as his designer anymore! He'll probably tell everything to everyone, to Gabriel Agreste, Clara, Chloe's mother and to the whole public!"

"Calm down Marinette!" Tikki flew out the bag and hugged the bluenette's face. "I'm sure you'll do just fine!"

"Thanks Tikki" Marinette said hesitantly. She then approached the hotel doors and towards the elevators. She had felt the gaze of the receptionists and one of them had got up with the intention to talk to her, only to be dragged back down by the fellow receptionist, the one who Marinette talked to yesterday. The bluenette had taken full notice of this but chose to ignore it. She then reached Damian's hotel room and knocked on the door. She heard something metallic drop on the floor followed by a slightly muffled word. Marinette knew exactly what he said but she was confused. She then heard the same voice again though much clearer this time.

"You can come in, the door is unlocked"

~~~

Damian had just finished showering, he was half dressed when he got a message from 'Angel'. He had changed used this nickname as her contact name.

Angel: I got an hour and half till my meeting with Uncle J, you want me to come over?

Damian smiled. Honestly, if he could he would give all his time to her.

Me: Sure, come over whenever you want I don't mind

He was about to put his shirt on when he got an urge to practice with his katana, which he did. He made a mental note about getting dressed soon and he went to the case which his katana was located. He then practiced different stances as well as practicing different motions with the blade. He thought of the bluenette. When he first met her, she struck him as someone defenseless and vulnerable. But he now had the feeling she could take down someone twice her size. Though, that didn't stop him from feeling obligated to protect her. He had become so focused that when someone knocked he tensed. Not that much but enough to loose grip of his katana. The blade sunk into his skin and left quite a deep cut on his upper arm and on the right side of his chest, causing him to drop his katana.

"Scheiße!" He didn't react to the pain, it was the thought of Marinette walking in on this situation. 'Since when do I know German?' "You can come in, the door is unlocked" 'Damn it that's not what I meant!'

Marinette opened the unlocked door to see a shirtless Damian. She probably would've metaphorically died at that point if she didn't take notice to the whole situation. Not only was he shirtless, he was bleeding. 'How did-' she noticed the katana. 'Oh, makes sense now'. The bluenette then sprinted into action. She closed the door behind her, put her bag down quickly but still being mindful of Tikki and turned her attention to the now flustered Damian. She grabbed the arm that wasn't cut and carefully dragged him onto the sofa, she also looked at the katana on her way there while taking some mental notes. 'Looks clean, no rust or scratches that could contain bacteria and seems so have been cleaned thoroughly before use. Great! That makes my job easier'.

"What are you-"

"Hush Shaytan" Marinette interrupted while going to the bathroom, searching for one of those medkits. "Let me take care of you" she said while getting one of the disinfectants in the kit. Marinette then carefully rubbed the liquid into his wounds.

"It stings" he grumbled.

"Awww don't worry little Dami, it will stop stinging soon" Marinette said lightheartedly, as if she was comforting Manon.

"Tt I am not five" he grumbled again. He shifted his body so that Marinette could properly bandage his chest and right arm. After she was done, he flexed his arm. 'She did extremely well' "Thank you, Angel. You really are a life saver". He subconsciously smirked when he saw her face turn a shade of pink.

"Thanks, did I bandage it correctly? I hope I did, oh no what happens if it doesn't heal correctly? What happens if-" she suddenly stopped as Damian had pulled her in close to his chest.

"Honestly you did perfectly Habibti, there's no need to worry" he stroked his fingers through her deep blue hair as a way to calm her down further, but he himself enjoyed it. He knew how Marinette would always think that she's the one at fault and he came up with a way to calm her down. From the looks of it, it was working.

Marinette blushed when Damian had pulled her into his chest, even more so when she felt his fingers brush through her hair. It felt like it had genuine emotion with it, not only just to make her feel better. She took advantage of being close to his chest, his wounds, and used her powers outside the mask to let the wound heal faster. Now knowing that it would heal soon, she enjoyed his embrace, burying herself further into his muscular body. The she remembered something. "So what are we gonna do about your spilt blood?"

"You say that like I deal with this often" he said with a smug looking face. Marinette then had a 'I know you do' face. He jokingly sighed. "I shall clean it and before you object, I feel fine enough to do a simple task such as this." Her giggling brought a smile to his face. "Also have you worked out what Jagged Stone has in mind for you?"

"I'll tell you that after you tell me how you know German" Marinette shifted so that he could get up. "If I recall, you told me that you were fluent in French, Arabic, English and Spanish and that you were learning Japanese. I don't remember German ever coming up" she said in a jokingly serious tone.

"Actually I'm fluent in Japanese now" Damian murmured while getting something from one of his cases, 'Something to clean the blood I suppose' "I was taught an easy way to learn languages, I might have crossed German once before but if so I just forgot about it. Also, how do you know German?"

"Well if you have any interest in learning a new language you'd want to know the swear words, am I right?" She giggled.

"Fair point" he chuckled while allowing his blood to soap into something he brought, a tissue or towel perhaps. "Now, do you know what Jagged Stone's surprise is for you?"

"Yeah, he wants me to record a bonus track for his album"

Damian paused just as he had finished disinfecting his katana. "Wow, that's great Angel!"

"Yes I'm very grateful to Uncle Jagged for organizing all this but what if I sound horrible? I do want to do it for him really, I don't want to turn the offer down but I-"

"Angel, there is no need to worry. If you're not comfortable with it you can tell Jagged, he'll understand. But I'm sure you have a beautiful voice"

"You really think so?" Marinette murmured. Damian nodded. She gave him a thank you smile before saying, "So, what's this quick way of learning a language? I've got 30 minutes"

Damian chuckled. "Well the first thing you would want to know is..."

~~~

'Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the only one in class whose been able to stop herself from getting akumatized. She must be very strong, physically and mentally. My point was proven when she became Multimouse, wearing nearly every miraculous that I've ever heard or come across. Ladybug must trust her greatly. I must find a way to akumatize her'

Gabriel Agreste stood in his observatory after recently detransforming. 'She can control her emotions well but when she's angry, it's incredibly strong. This girl could be one of the strongest in Paris, she could be one that senses auras. I must find a way. I will use her to eliminate all of heroes. All I need is time'.

———

Taglist: @little-bluestar, @miracleofadisaster, @frieddonutsweets, @jjmjjktth, @genderfluidmoma, @starlit-dreaming (ur the one who wanted to get tagged right? I’m so sorry I forget to write your name down so I’m not sure-), @icerosecrystal

[bloodpacks-archive]

ooooh if it hasn't been done yet could I request cruore with Seven!!

these were meant to be blurbs. this one is not a blurb. i don't know what happened. also if there are typos shhh. also second part of my birthday event wooooo

cruore | saeyoung choi

warnings: blood/wounds, trauma, it's a hurt/comfort fic w saeyoung it is what it is y'know

word count: 1.9k

Sometimes, it can feel as though Saeyoung Choi is man meant be a painting—someone meant to be adorned in the grotesque shades of scarlet, azure, and violet that are only meant for those who dare test the limits of what life can be. He is covered in differing textures, scars that she cannot fully see now as he wraps himself tighter in his clothes, but ones that she knows lay beneath those layers, ones that she can see peak out from under the seams and the hems.

A bitter crimson now flows from his brow down to his jaw, and he does not dare meet her gaze, not as she gingerly raises a hand up to press at the wound, her touch interrupted by the raised skin of an old scar there.

Sometimes, it feels as though Saeyoung Choi is nothing more than messy watercolor—an outline that was meant to be followed that has now flown out past sketches and black pen. There is too much of him to contain, too much of him left to leak out from the barriers he’s set, even months after he’d sworn he’d take them down.

Of course, he doesn’t feel that way to her. Those are all his words, ones said in poetry or in the confidentiality that only the bloom of nightfall can bring.

Soap and water touch the wound, and he winces, his eyes scrunching and a breath searing past his teeth. He mumbles an apology, leans back into her touch; this is where her interpretation of Saeyoung Choi can begin.

He’s come home to her more times than she could ever wish to count, bloodied and beaten and begging for something of forgiveness as if there was anything he ever had to be forgiven for. She’s seen him collapse onto chairs and lean onto walls, a half-felt smile pressing into his cheeks as though he could hide how hurt he was through the weakest of facades. She’s held his weight against her, led him to their bathroom and helped him sit on the counter when walking made his head feel a little too light.

She’s seen the ways color has adorned his skin in the worst ways, and though she hates to see him like this, wishes to never press another bandage into his flesh, she knows part of his messy watercolor—the part that has broken past the original sketch—is the part that allows himself to come to her.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers again, as though any louder and he may bleed in darker hues than before.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” She replies, a sweetness in her voice that contrasts against the bitter feeling that pushes into his flesh, a softness in her touch against the bandages that lay just ahead of his temple.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“And you should do it yourself?” She says, and although it hardly feels appropriate for the situation, there’s a familiar air of teasing that lays somewhere in her voice, one that makes Saeyoung’s lips perk into a hesitant smile. “You can hardly stand, babe.”

He doesn’t speak again, only bows his head further into himself. She can see the way his fingertips press into his own thigh, the way his jaw clenches and unclenches at the silence that settles into their little space.

She cleans a scratch on his cheekbone, a bruise and a scrape formed together into awful hatch marks amongst the wash of violet. He winces again beneath her, and an ache forms somewhere deep in her chest. By habit, an apology falls out of her own mouth, but as the words curl around the room, as the trill of her muttered voice creeps past both their ears, he leans into her—he pushes himself into her torso, and she’s so sure that he can feel an undeniable ache from the way his wounds press into her, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t even make a sound.

His name falls past her lips in a question, her hands now in his hair, her fingers careful against his scalp. She feels as he slips his hands around her waist, wrapping them closer together.

In this moment, it feels as though pieces of him have fallen apart into her hands, as though she can feel the hues of his hurt and his pain slipping through the cracks of her hands, seeping into the pieces of her skin that she’s left open to him (Which is every part. No matter how deeply 707 lays into him, no matter how many layers he’s left for her to uncover, there is nothing he would ever have to work for to know every part of her. It’s the only gift she can think of that may be good enough for him).

She knows the words that lay on his tongue. In the death of nightfall, he’s murmured them into her ears thinking she’d been long asleep—but that pull could never outweigh the wish to hear his every thought, and so she knows.

There is so much more you could do without me.

Something he’d said nearly five days ago, after they’d danced in the kitchen when she’d pulled him to his feet away from his desk, when she’d smiled into his chest as music filled their little kitchen.

I am forever indebted to you, and it will never be something I could repay. I can only wish for you to move to better things, for you to know how much you deserve, and that though I will always want to give it to you, I don’t know if I can.

A whisper after they’d gone for a drive, when they’d explored the fields and the stars and he’d told her of all the ways she’d made him better, and she’d only returned the favor. A night where dusk had fallen into his eyes and left him buried deep into her shoulder.

Why me?

Last night. He couldn’t bring himself to shower, had avoided any reflective surface they owned in this damn house. She’d blocked him from the mirror and undressed him, pulling him into the shower. She’d washed his hair and called him pretty and told him every good thought that had ever come into her mind—past and present.

And she’s sure that now, those words have found their way to crowd into his mind—a broken mosaic of doubt and hatred and hurt so deep into his flesh and his bone that she can’t tell where it begins and ends.

She wants to erase the sketch that was forced upon him, to create something new out of what he’s painted with himself over the years, to let his borders and barriers fall with the breath of morning air as though dusk had never fallen over his bruised and scarred body.

“Saeyoung,” She repeats, broken whispers forming through the cracks in her voice, “Doesn’t that hurt?”

He doesn’t reply, no shake of his head, not even a hum from somewhere deep in his throat, so she sinks lower until she can meet his gaze.

It’s the first time she’s been able to look him in the eyes that night. He’d been so careful about it up until this point, sure to keep his eyes hidden behind his lashes. Now, she can see everything so clearly in him, from the scar that rests above his brow to the way he can’t keep his gaze still on her, lets it flick over her face as though there would be something more for him to discover in her.

His face has become red, little blotches dotting across his cheeks and his forehead, and she knows it’s from how hard he had pressed into his bruises, from holding back a whine that had begged to settle into his throat.

He’s adorned himself in more colors, forced his skin to mold into the pieces he was given, allowed himself to be hurt because hell, what else has he been?

Loved. Something in her begs. He’s been loved.

Looking upon him, she knows she cannot take away his scars no matter how badly she wishes to erase them from where they lay on his flesh. She knows that every drop of blood is one that she can only attempt to bandage and heal, but it is not one she will be able to forever remove from his mind. Every bruise will never be the way it was before. She cannot love away the marks that rest on his skin.

But hurt is not the only thing that should ever define him.

“I love you,” She whispers, because there’s nothing else to say beyond that. She will love him until he doesn’t let her anymore, and then she will love him beyond that. She will love him until a last breath passes his lips, when crows feet have crossed the corners of his eyes because if he goes any sooner than that hell will whisper her name.

“I love you,” She repeats, and then again, until it is no longer the words that hold the meaning but the way her voice feels as it carries in her breath, and the way it meets him both by his ears and the way it hits his skin.

He doesn’t say it back to her, the words lost somewhere on his tongue, but he doesn’t have to. She knows by the way his lips purse and how his body lurches closer and closer to her with every moment that he means it too.

She lets him do as he wishes, so he curls into her once more, wraps himself so close to her that there is no separation between them. When he does speak, it’s a mess of languages that she doesn’t know, mumbled into her skin with the cracks of whispers.

Te amo in Spanish.

Je t’aime in French.

I love you in English.

Japanese, Mandarin, Russian, Arabic, Cantonese, and then Korean.

She doesn’t need the translation for the ones she doesn’t know, she knows by his breath that they all mean the same. He doesn’t press his flesh into her like he had before, but he holds her as though there is nothing else left on this Earth that’s keeping him here. He holds onto her as though the stars have begged him to leave, and he wishes for nothing more than to touch the grass with her one last time.

He holds her like he knows, like he has heard every one of her thoughts, like another border has been erased before her very touch.

Sometimes, it seems as though Saeyoung Choi is a collection—a movement of pieces that leave different whispers creeping at her skull. But, all the same, each of them are him. No matter the medium, no matter how much the paint spills past the canvas or the how far the protruding pieces reach past the glass casing they’ve been settled in.

Sometimes, it seems as though Saeyoung Choi is not a singular painting, but many, and she can only hope to be there as the gallery grows.

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Blackened Bond (Ch 19)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Graphic Depictions of Blood and Violence, Death, Gore, Japanese Mythical Folklore, No Major Character Death, Slight Horror, War

Previous Chapter: 百鬼夜行 - Hyakki Yakou

Next Chapter: Home with My Heart

Word Count: 3.96k 3.97k ish like rounds up to 4K

Tags: Kamo Noritoshi x Reader, Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, and specify if you're okay with NSFW posts or not, please mention it in the comments below ty ❤

Extra notes: Long. I suggest rereading the last chapter if you need a refresher. This is like more than twice the length of my first chapter lol.

Chapter 19: Stay With Me

You remain silent.

"No answer, hmm??" The Kitsune grinned. But deep inside she was pissed. Another technique of hers lies in knowing who you'd prefer to save and manipulating you into hesitating so that you’d lower your guard down.

You are the largest threat to them here in Kyoto after all. But you didn't trust so easily. Especially the words of a Special Grade curse who obviously has something planned.

You carefully took in a deep breath. And in less than a split second, you turned and ran towards Noritoshi, with one hand pointing behind you towards your cousin.

Your barrier activated around Hiroki while you moved to position yourself in front of Noritoshi. You whipped out your blades, ready to parry her thorns.

As soon as your feet moved from position, the magic circles flared and activated their sequence. 

Both boys realized what happened after a few seconds, the Kitsune's attack and your movements were too fast for them to follow.

She had launched her thorns in your direction. You tried to block as much of them as you could, but some got through your openings.

There were too many, and it was much faster than you expected. It was hard, not fighting with a guard around you.

You numbly stared down at your open wounds, feeling the pain in a distant manner. She had cleanly pierced through your ribs. While her other large set of thorns had bounced off your barrier, protecting your cousin.

The magic circles beneath both boys disappeared, as did your warp around Hiroki.

“Y/N!!” Noritoshi stared in horror. Your back was still to him, but he could see the protruding blood-stained thorns. Time slowed down as blood gushed from your lips. 

He catches you as you fall towards the ground. An insane heat spreads throughout your body. Something was very wrong. 

She laughed maniacally at the scene unfolding before her. "Jujutsu Sorcerers are so weak. So easy! You all crumple at the sight of your most beloved ones in danger." 

It's scary isn't it? Putting your life on the line for your comrades. Will you die today? 

The Kitsune launches an attack at the both of you, but Hiroki quickly steps and defends against her. She is forced further back as Mechamaru shoots out a laser beam from a distance.

You were trying to use your reverse cursed technique, with no avail. Your hands and legs can't move. It's a temporary paralysis. So you couldn't pull out the thorns and then heal your wounds.

"Love! Talk to me! What's wrong?"

You couldn't even answer him or move your mouth. Blood continued seeping out of your wounds.

You slumped as Noritoshi gathered you in his arms. How unlucky. There were barely any curses anymore and yet this had to happen. But you had no regrets. 

You looked up at Noritoshi with so much love in your eyes. But his own were filled with agony, screaming at you to hold on while blood was pouring down the side of your mouth.

Tears streamed down your face. You were happy, because you had the power to save the ones you love this time. 

But you really wanted to grow old with Noritoshi. See the wrinkles line his face. Experience everything with him. You'd take him back in a heartbeat and tell him that he owned you and your heart since the day you met. That you loved him even when you thought he put on a farce to be with you.

Even if he were to love or be with another woman. Even if it pained you to think of him as a distant person in your life, being by his side was the happiest you've felt in your entire life. 

He pressed his lips against yours, trying to give you more air. His hands trembling against the thorns embedded inside of you. Your blood was spilling everywhere, and he didn't want to look down to see his hands covered in red.

'There's so much blood,' he thought to himself, panicking. It was staining both of your clothes, dripping onto the pavement.

"Your reverse cursed technique! Use it!" He yelled hoarsely. In smooth movements, he ripped out the thorns one by one and applied pressure onto your wounds.

His heart plummeted as nothing happened. But he didn't lose faith. If you were paralysed, it was up to him to save your life.

Noritoshi did some quick thinking, remembering the content in the Gojo family records of Soulmates. He bit his thumb and forced his blood into your mouth. 

"Drink my love, please drink it." Turns out you didn't have to do much. The blood hit your tongue, and he activated his technique on your blood. 

Usually this would be impossible. Blood Manipulation only works on the user's own blood, but the power of soulmates isn't one to be taken lightly.

He read through your vitals, RBC (red blood cell), platelet, and WBC (white blood cell) count, and saw the rising blood pressure and temperature. He did his best to stabilize your vitals.

It worked. Your head cleared, and even while paralysed, you quickly managed to seal your wounds. You continued activating your reverse cursed technique, not stopping for a moment.

If it was any minute longer, you would have died. But Noritoshi worked way too fast out of desperation to keep you alive. 

"Stay with me, angel. Good, your wounds are finally sealing." He leaned down and continued applying pressure onto the open punctures.

He continued to scan and manage your blood pressure, and found something. It was a foreign substance in your blood. Something like a black tar, attacking your insides and messing with your nervous system. Alongside with it was a poison slowly seeping through your blood.

"What on earth is that? Is that the technique of the Kitsune?" He furrowed his eyebrows. 

But with complete hold over your blood, he was able to manipulate it into leaving your body by going outside one of your wounds.

It was so painful, more tears fell down the sides of your face, while you were still in paralysis. 

"This will end soon, I promise. Hold on."

Noritoshi blocks out everything else. Completely ignoring Todo and Mechamaru who are facing the fox behind him.

As soon as the black substance was out, you finally could move, trembling and heaving out more blood. 

"No, calm down. Calm down! Y/N!" He pressed you back down onto his lap as you tried to sit upright. “Love, please!”

Hiroki was fighting the Kitsune with tears running down his face, screaming bloody murder as he striked and aimed at it. 

It seems as though the magic circles require a ton of cursed energy. The Kitsune doesn't seem to be activating them anymore. She was now on the defensive, not having expected reinforcements. Still, it was clear she overpowers them all.

A red symbol appeared on your right eye, a cross identical to Noritoshi’s red flowing scale mark. You bent over to the side and started puking out a blue substance mixed with your blood. Moving to kneel down on all fours, while Noritoshi held you. 

“Get it all out, love, faster.” He was frantic like he’d never been before. Pressing a palm against your neck and forcing you to remove this new poison right away. 

An alarming amount of blood came out of you and pooled on the concrete. Even though he knew you needed to force it out of your system, you were still losing blood fast, and it wasn’t good. Your skin slowly turns into a sickly pale shade.

Thank goodness for Noritoshi, who could help push out the poison with brute force. If you were stuck with anyone else, you'd be dead right now.

As soon as the poison is completely out, he pulls you up and away from the bubbling blue liquid on the ground. “Close your wounds. That’s enough. Anymore and you’ll lose too much blood.”

The mark on your eye disappears.

Noritoshi cradles you in his arms. Both of you were drenched in blood, the blood of the enemy and your own, but he didn't care as he held you close. 

“Steady darling. Stay steady. You’re okay. You’re with me.” Tears continuously fell from his eyes. You tried to reach up, wanting to comfort him, but your arms could barely move. 'Don't cry Toshi. Please don't' You thought.

"I love you, please don't leave me alone. I can't live without you." He choked. With one hand on your wounds, Noritoshi did his best to ensure you didn’t lose any more blood. He tried to make it stay within your system, circulating properly.

You looked up at him with blood and tears running down your face. 'I love you too, Noritoshi, it's always been you. It has to be you,' you thought out loud. 

You took deep breaths, grunting at the pain. The pounding headache you’ve had for a while slowly started to clear. You were now able to completely seal your wounds, trying to do it carefully to prevent scarring. 

Noritoshi placed a hand over yours as you healed yourself. You turned to look at the Kitsune that was preoccupied with other sorcerers. They were going to die at this rate.

You feel light-headed and your eyes keep fluttering. It was hard to stay conscious at this point. Noritoshi slowly lifted your hand to kiss your knuckles ever so softly. “Stay with me, my heart.”

You will. If it was the last thing you’d do, you’d do anything to stay with him.

The reverse cursed technique activated and the wounds sealed tight and clean.

“I think I’m good now..." You tried to sit upright, breathing heavily. He worriedly looked over at you.

"You saved me, so I now owe you my life. Not that it's never been yours in the first place. Thank you for that Toshi," You heaved yourself up to stand, spitting out another mouthful of blood onto the ground.

“You saved MY life, darling. And what do you think you’re doing? You’re still hurt. Let’s bring you to the clinic. Come.” He beckoned you there.

"I didn't lose THAT much blood. It just looks really bad. Maybe a pint or two at most. I'll manage."

"No, you stay back. You need rest." He tried to push you to the direction of the clinic but you held fast.

Noritoshi stared into your eyes. They reflected the light of the fires behind him, making them look like glowing orbs of flame. You were his Phoenix, he realized. And he was utterly entranced by your charisma.

"I can still fight."

You knew your limits well, having trained all your life for a situation like this. Even now, your reverse cursed technique was activated in the background, simultaneously with your combat techniques.

Now that all the poison was out of your system, you only had to worry about the physical injuries.

"I don't want to lose you," Noritoshi whispered, broken.

"You won't. Because I'm much stronger than this, I promise you." You grabbed his wrist, "So stay with me. You said that just now right? I’ll stay with you, I promise."

“I can’t ever keep you down, can’t I?” He bitterly smiles to himself as he presses his forehead against yours. Eyes filled with pain, because he knew you were right. Jujutsu sorcerers always fight to surpass their limits.

“No, you can’t. But you already knew that since before, didn’t you? After all, you’re the same as I am.”

Noritoshi couldn't do anything else, but to kiss you. You returned it with just as much passion. It tasted of dirt and blood, but to both of you, it was like a breath of fresh air.

Both of your red strings slowly crept out into the open, invisible to everyone else except the two of you. The broken ropes reattached and you felt your mark burn for the first time in weeks.

But there was no time to celebrate.

"I've got this bitch to kill. Just watch the other curses in the area. I've got her." 

He let out the biggest sigh you’ve ever heard. “Okay. I’ll be right here. Cleaning up the rest. Right behind you.”

Your eyes zeroed in on the Kitsune who turned to you, shocked that you had survived her poison.

She quickly pushed out another palm with the same insignia flashing in blood red. But you were faster, moving past Noritoshi's arms and in an instant, shoving both of your blades into her gut.

“Get back!” You yelled to everyone else. There was a reason as to why you were most effective when you did your missions alone. 

She tried to pull away. Flames suddenly engulfed the both of you. But it didn't matter, because you've got a hold on her.

You didn't hesitate to choke her and wrap your legs around her waist.

"Fucking bitch," You spat out.

Her eyes flashed a brighter gold and the flames surrounding the both of you went even hotter. Burning the lamp posts and pavement in the vicinity. The ground warped and started flowing a bright red.

Noritoshi was forced back from the insane heat. The other curses and poor unprepared Jujutsu sorcerers closer to the both of you burst into flame and disintegrated. 

You couldn't see anything at all. Just the Kitsune, and a wall of fire. You thought about the damages distantly, and automatically used your technique to fly high up in the sky with her still in your chokehold.

"We curses deserve to rule this land. Just as we did thousands of years ago during the Heian period. What makes you think you're any better than us? You pathetic Jujutsu sorcerers are slowly dying out while ignorant weak humans stay protected by their ignorance. What are you doing this for?" She hissed.

"I don't care about any of you curses," your throat closed up, anger rising at the thought of innocent sorcerers dying in the middle of combat.

"You could join us and be stronger!" She pleaded.

Fury was evident on your face. You gripped her throat tighter, your fingers wrapped in your spacial barrier to prevent you from her fire. 

"Or you can shut up and die right here." You snarled.

The Kitsune saw that you were going for it. She raised her hand and the flames turned blue. If you weren’t fast enough you’d melt. This flame was far more than what you were used to handling.

What is stronger? Flame or ice?

You set Niflheim to the lowest setting you could.

"Absolute Zero."

Immediately the flames extinguished and turned to cold smoke. Ashes and steam billowed in the air, making it hard for anybody to see anything.

The Kitsune under you screamed as she slowly froze over. But she was still moving. Not enough?

You released your technique and the both of you did a free fall from the sky. 

You took a leaf out of Satoru’s book and slammed her down hard on the pavement, simultaneously releasing Goldenrod with a proper activation at over 3000 volts. You've been perfecting this attack with Hiroki for weeks. 

A loud crack of thunder with a flash of lightning shot out of your hands, incinerating her on the spot. Not a trace left as the curse disappeared into black smoke. The remnants of her final screams echoed in your ears.

You placed your palm against the still hot pavement and activated Niflheim to cool things down within the area. Steam fizzed out as the flames were put out.

You crouched down low on the ground to catch your breath, those last two attacks took a lot out of you and you were running low on cursed energy.

You have a lot. But it wasn't unlimited, unlike how Satoru could regulate his to an insane extent. Even now, you can feel some pain in your chest and try to heal yourself further. 

You felt omnipotent. There's no other way to describe it. You say you hate fighting, but the rush of defeating a powerful opponent is like no other. 

This side of you that enjoys beating down curses is rising, you couldn't stop smiling. But you felt a soft hand bring you slowly back down to earth. 

"Darling?" 

You looked up at him, still grinning. Ignoring the blood running down one side of your face.

"Darling."

Ah. That steady presence. The beautiful person whom you live for.

"My love, let's clear up the remaining curses. Celebrate later."

"Mmmm." You smiled at him, feeling yourself come back down.

You squeezed his hand. Noritoshi could feel your elation. It was almost electric. That ego rising up too high. Pride.

He didn't mind seeing you like this, but you tended to get overconfident in battle sometimes. Not that you didn't have any good reason not to be. This side of you was very much Gojo Satoru like, he thought to himself. 

You helped clean up the remaining curses. Not much stronger ones were left. Noritoshi watched every movement of yours, staying right beside you to support you. 

You staggered after seeing that your areas were clear. Noritoshi quickly wraps his arms around you, “You’re coming with me to the clinic. And I am not accepting any answer other than Yes.”

“Yes sir.” You leaned into him as he lifted you in his arms. Some of your wounds had reopened, due to your reverse cursed technique weakening. The adrenaline coursing through your body was too much that you failed to feel the pain. Which means you failed to realize that some wounds were still bleeding.

He entered the clinic and quickly put you down on one of the empty beds. One of your uncles came to check on you. Running over with an IV stand in hand. They hooked you to one of their regular Balanced Saline solutions to help with your blood loss. 

Hiroki came in, battered with a bruise on one temple, but still very much alive. He was now off combat duty and on healing duty. Quickly coming over to press a hand against your chest to activate his reverse cursed technique.

Noritoshi sighed in relief, seeing your bleeding come to a halt. He winced upon feeling a sharp pain in his right arm, turning to look at the nurse that was dressing his wounds. He didn’t even notice them, being too focused on you.

He had fewer injuries than you did.

“Hemorrhagic shock sis. You scared the life outta me back there.” Hiroki groaned as he let his head fall forward. 

“I would never have forgiven you if you died on me too.”

“You’re such a loser bro. I won’t die.”

“Keep talking shit like that and you might,” he pinched your side making you hiss at him.

“No fighting with the sick!” Your uncle smacked him upside his head.

“We need Hiroki! Life support emergency please!” A nurse from the other side of the ward yells. Your cousin worriedly looks down at you, “I’ve done what I can. Can you manage?”

“Yep. Go. You know how I’m fine now.”

He nods and leaves you with Noritoshi, who was still staring at you. Now with his wounds fully dressed and cleaned.

He kneels down in front of you, looking up with such a soft expression. He stayed like that for a while, feeling your vitals stabilise further. His technique was still linked to your blood somehow, which gave him a deeper sense of relief, knowing he can help you if anything else were to happen.

You felt absolutely horrible. The man had shown you time and time again that he loves you and you doubted that. 

"I'm sorr-"

"Are you-"

You both spoke at the same time, eyes widening. 

He motioned you to go first, but you shook your head and let him go first. 

"Are you feeling okay?" He whispered.

You smiled. "I am. Just need to sleep it off. It's not the worst I've had."

He ran his fingers through his hair, seemingly distracted, before reaching over to link your right hand with his left one. "Good, good."

“Are you okay Toshi?”

“I’m fine. Hardly a dent in me today. Thanks to you.”

You gave a shy smile, quietly relieved. 

“Toshi… thank you…” you whispered. 

Noritoshi shakes his head, “You save me and I save you. That’s how we work. As soulmates.” He holds up your hands, marks burning brightly.

He could feel your emotions once again. It used to be this numb feeling, where you once were. But now, he can sense all the negativity in the back of your head.

Regret. A lot of sadness. Guilt. But also, a deep love for him. You never stopped loving him.

"Toshi," You started again with a bit more confidence. He looked back into your eyes, smiling and nodding.

You have to apologize. Go do it. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but somehow you were still tongue-tied.

"Noritoshi, I really owe you a proper apolo-"

"Hey," You both looked to the right to see your mom approaching you. 

"Mom!" 

Noritoshi jerked into a standing position, body stiff as he bowed a full 90 degree angle towards your mother. 

"Ah, it's nice to meet you. I'm Kamo Noritoshi and I'm y/n's- " He froze, not knowing what to say.

You weren't dating anymore. As of now.

"Soul-"

"Boyfriend and soulmate, mom. He's my boyfriend." You smiled up at both of them. 

His heart warms itself at your words. A humongous invisible weight lifts from his chest and shoulders.

She smiled and reached up to pull him into a hug. "You've made my baby girl so happy. Thank you. Call me 'Okaa-san' too."

He felt his throat tighten, "Not at all. She's been such a blessing to me. Uh- Okaa-sama." 

“I need to bring my baby girl home now. Do you want to come back to the Tsuchimikado estate with us? We can oversee your recovery as well.” She offers.

Noritoshi’s eyes widened. “Ah, I’d love to. I just have to check on with my father-”

“I’ve already talked to him. A pleasant man he is, the head of the Kamo clan. More than I thought.” She had a bit of a wary expression when she said those words. Clearly still unfamiliar with Noritoshi’s family.

“If he said so, then yes please. I’d like to stay with her.”

After that, it was a blur of activity. Your mom makes sure you’re both stable enough before bundling the both of you in a car back to the estate. Noritoshi quickly shoots a text to his father to confirm things, and was actually surprised to see a jovial reply. 

No doubt trying to help him patch things up with you. He closes his eyes. For now, he’ll take this as a solid win. It was working in his favor anyway for his father to so strongly support your relationship.

You squirmed uncomfortably against him, patting him to get his attention. 

“Do you need anything, love?” Noritoshi nearly tosses his phone away in his haste to turn back to you. But you shook your head.

"I love you so much, Toshi. And I’m sorry for hurting you." You whispered. You were unsatisfied; it was far from a proper confession. But for now, exhaustion overcomes you. His eyes widen, but you fall asleep against him just as you see him open his mouth to reply.

He looks over the top of your head and checks your condition. You had fallen asleep. It was a miracle that you even stayed conscious for this long. Noritoshi was prepared to catch you in the middle of battle, but you held on the whole time.

Still, he was happy to hear those few words, not bothering to hide the biggest smile on his face as he tucks you into his side.

Authors notes: Guess whose form the Kitsune took on when Noritoshi looked at her as he was put under hypnosis.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast @nayydoesthings @a1hina @r-rose08 @cherriesanwine @felicityforyou

[actress4him]

The Barn 4 - The Pole

(Prompt #1 for Summer of Whump)

Yes, I’m coming in at the last minute with one more Summer of Whump prompt, and yes, it’s prompt #1. Also, if you read more than one of my series I’m sorry that this one is kinda like that one chapter of In Irons...? But I actually thought of this one first, and yes, it was inspired by Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Warnings: captivity, restraints, dehumanization, references to beating, mild blood, starvation, dehydration, nausea, emeto, fainting, heat exhaustion/stroke, probably medically inaccurate

.

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Stetson dropped Jacob’s foot, and another puff of red dust went up into the air, joining the cloud that his body had created as it was dragged. It would have been the perfect time for him to leap up and try to run again, but he couldn’t move. His everything ached.

A second later a leather-clad hand gripped his arm and yanked him upright. Jacob’s head swam with the swift change in elevation and his nose throbbed. While he was busy trying to get the world to stop spinning around him, Stetson roughly pulled his arms behind his back and started winding rope around his wrists.

Fantastic. He hadn’t even gotten to enjoy them being free.

Once they were thoroughly wrapped and the rope pulled tight, Stetson stood, taking the tail end with him and jerking Jacob’s arms backwards in the process. He cried out in surprise, and tried to get up. His legs only cooperated enough to scoot him back a few inches, but it was enough to let his arms rest against his back again.

Whatever Stetson was doing, he finished up and came back around to squat in front of his captive, arms propped across his knees and brown eyes studying him just as emotionlessly as ever.

“Maybe a few days of this’ll teach you some manners.”

“Doubt it,” Jacob immediately shot back without thinking. “My mom’s been trying to teach me manners for twenty-six years. I wouldn’t count on a few days making much of a difference.”

Stetson huffed very lightly, something that almost could have been taken for a laugh if Jacob wasn’t positive the guy didn’t know how. “We’ll see.”

Straightening with a quiet popping of joints, he turned and strolled away.

There was no way he was just leaving Jacob alone and able to run off. Craning his neck painfully around, he finally took a look at what was behind him. A post. A wooden post, probably coming up to around his shoulders. And the rope that was tying his wrists was looped through a metal hook in the top and knotted.

Okay, no problem. Jacob was good with his hands, he had nimble fingers from spending all day typing code. Struggling to his feet, he bent over forward so that he could reach and felt his way up the rope until he reached the knot, fingers fumbling around it, trying to get a sense of where it started.

Instead, he found a padlock.

Jacob let out a frustrated scream, the first time he’d actually had a chance to vent his feelings since this whole nightmare began. It felt good enough that he did it again. Then he ran forward, as hard as he could, as if he was somehow going to break the rope or pull the post out of the ground instead of nearly ripping his shoulders out of socket when he abruptly reached the end of his lead.

Tied to a stupid pole like...like a horse, or a dog. He was a human, dang it! Who did these people think they were, treating another person like this? The last…forty-eight? seventy-two? He didn’t even know how many hours anymore...had been completely flabbergasting, just seeing the sheer number of people who thought this was perfectly okay. And now he was stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with some psychopath who thought he was gonna what, train him? To do what, he didn’t even want to know.

Night was falling by then. Jacob was beyond exhausted, and resigned himself to sinking back down to the dirt, resting his back against the pole and getting as comfortable as possible.

The next day dawned with little sleep having been found. The sharp pains of yesterday had given way to stiffness and aches that made it hard to pry himself off the ground. His face was coated with dried blood and who knows what else, making him sticky and disgusted in addition to everything else.

He’d really never liked the outdoors that much. He was much more at home inside, in front of a computer. The outside had far too many things that could get you dirty, like, you know, dirt, for instance, like the kind of dirt he was currently sitting on and covered in. Most of his friends growing up had been your typical rough-and-tumble boys who lived for mud puddles and rolling down grassy hills, but Jacob had never been able to stand the feeling of being dirty.

Sweat was a thing encountered more often outdoors, too, and was just as bad as dirt. He could feel it, collecting underneath his shirt as the sun rose higher in the wide, blue sky. There was nothing in the way of shade in this field. Just dirt, dust, and more dirt, all surrounded by a wooden fence. A corral, probably. Meant for horses, not people.

The heat only grew more intense as the day wore on. There was no sign of Stetson, no indication that he would be bringing food or water or coming to untie him. Jacob hadn’t had anything to eat since this whole thing had begun, and no water since before the auction. His tongue was beginning to stick to the roof of his mouth.

He tried pacing around the pole, circling until the rope was tightly wound one way before turning and going the other way. His brain wasn’t used to boredom. There was always something to think about, always something to do. But now the only thing to think about was how absolutely screwed he was, and that wasn’t helping anything.

He tried pulling some more, too, not running this time, but turning until he could grip the rope in his hands and tugging backwards with all his might. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a lot. He was a computer geek, okay, working out wasn’t high on his list of priorities. The moral of the story was, pulling on the rope did nothing but make his back and arms ache even more.

The heat and the lack of stimulation made the day drag on and on forever. Jacob’s stomach moved from groaning to aching to roiling. If there had been anything in it, he was sure it would have been expelled. His head pounded something awful, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from heat or light or lack of water or having it repeatedly bashed in the day before.

By the time the sun finally started to sink beneath the horizon, his clothes were soaked with sweat, which was not only gross but also turned cold once night fell. He never thought that he’d actually miss the sun once it was gone. But now he was shivering, and the headache hadn’t gone away, and his stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out, and he was pretty sure there was dirt in his mouth, and he was completely, totally, miserable.

Day two was somehow even worse than the first. Jacob tried standing up and stretching his legs, walking around the pole again, but he was so dizzy that he collapsed right back to the ground. Groaning, he dropped his forehead against the pole, grinding particles of dust further into his skin.

His...dry...skin. He didn’t know much about health and science, like, at all, but he was pretty sure not sweating in this heat was not a good thing. He almost felt cold still, like the chill of the night was clinging to his skin.

Hours dragged by. Every time he swallowed, it felt like nails going down his throat. Moving his head in any direction made the world swim around him, the blinding rays of the sun making spots dance across his vision. His stomach kept feeling worse and worse until he finally ended up folding over, retching uselessly again and again until every muscle in his torso was on fire and his head felt like it was exploding.

His only vague thought was, am I gonna die? before he fell face-first into the dirt and passed out.

A blast of cold woke him. He tried to gasp for air, but instead inhaled a mouthful of freezing water, sending him into a coughing fit that racked his sore stomach muscles. But the water just kept coming. It was harsh enough that he couldn’t even sit up against the onslaught, not that he was sure he had the energy to, anyway. The spray scoured every inch of his bare skin, leaving it stinging from both the pressure and the cold.

But it was water. Sweet, beautiful water. As soon as he stopped coughing he tried his best to gulp it in, letting the cold coat his scratchy throat.

He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when the spray finally stopped. Bringing up weary, unbound hands, he wiped the drips from his eyes, blinking blearily up at Stetson, who dropped the hose and stared him down.

“You didn’t last as long as I had planned.”

“M-maybe…” His voice came out as a croak, and he attempted to clear it. “Maybe you should try some...food ‘nd water. Haven’t...had any of that in a while.”

Stetson continued to stare with crossed arms for another moment before walking over and grabbing onto his ankle again. “You just had your water. Maybe you can have food tomorrow. We’ll see how well you behave.”

Ignoring Jacob’s weak protests and attempts to fight, he dragged him away from the doorway of the barn and into a nearby stall. Iron bars reached from the half wall up to the ceiling, giving it even more of a prison cell feel. The only good news was that he didn’t bother to tie him up this time, just threw him inside and left, shutting the door with a deafening creak and an ominous click.

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

love

Written for Day 7 of @aangweek! Read here on AO3.

~*~

7. love - don’t got nowhere to go / so we’ll go with the flow / yeah, we’re living the life / sippin’ on sunshine

“I can help clean,” Aang offered as Iroh began clearing their group’s cups and plates from the circular wooden table.

Iroh chuckled, shaking his head. “There’s no need -”

“I insist,” Aang interrupted, standing and collecting his own dishes. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for closing the shop early so we could be together without politicians and paparazzi peering over our shoulders.”

“There’s no use arguing with him,” Toph commented before Iroh could protest further. “Once Twinkle Toes decides to help someone, nothing will change his mind. Accept your fate, Iroh.”

Katara laughed along with the rest of their friends, and Aang gave them a guilty grin.

“Hey, I learned from my wife-to-be,” he teased, pressing a kiss to Katara’s forehead. “Never turn my back on people who need me!”

Katara rolled her eyes at his comment, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Aang and Iroh gathered the last of the group’s dishes before disappearing into the kitchen.

Zuko hummed in contentment, draping an arm around Mai’s shoulders. “I wish we could meet up like this more often. Be together without all the chaos.”

Today had involved an annual meeting of important representatives from all four nations, this year hosted by the Earth King. In other words, Katara knew, it was a very rare opportunity for their friend group to reunite in full. Only after the day’s politics had ended, of course.

Sokka snorted. “I agree, but you’ve gotta admit it’s pretty much impossible for this to be a regular event.”

“Ember Island is always open for an impromptu vacation,” Mai reminded them, earning more laughter from the group.

“I might take you up on that soon,” Suki mused, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and shaking her head. “A vacation is sounding more and more attractive with every second.”

Katara allowed herself a breathy sigh. “Spirits, if I could get Aang to take a vacation…” She snorted. “That would be the day.” Her fiancé was notoriously stubborn about working until he dropped. In fact, there was only one other person whose work ethic could compare.

Mai chuckled. “Zuko is exactly the same. Always working himself into the ground.”

Ah, yes. There it was.

Toph snickered. “Sounds like a match made in the Spirit World. Are you guys sure Zuko and Aang shouldn’t be the ones getting married next month?”

Zuko flushed a shade of scarlet as bright as his fire. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

Katara bit her tongue to hold back a snicker as Toph grinned at him. “Yes, I’m very aware.” Her grin narrowed into a sly smirk. “You’re sitting right here, and yet you deny nothing.”

Sokka burst out laughing, lightly elbowing Zuko in the ribs. “She’s got you there, hotman.”

Mai snorted at the nickname before giving Katara a play-sympathetic look. “Master Katara, how do you cope with the fact that my husband and yours-to-be are in love with each other?”

Katara sighed, leaning back in her chair and pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, it was incredibly difficult for me to come to terms with.” She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “After I learned they’d kissed, I thought I’d never -”

“Oh, Agni,” Zuko groaned, burying his face in his hands at the same time Toph exclaimed, “Sparky and Twinkle Toes have kissed?!”

Katara couldn’t feign her melodrama any longer, letting herself succumb to a fit of intense laughter that made her entire upper body shake.

“Yes, they have,” Mai confirmed with a smirk. “It was hilarious, and I will never let Zuko hear the end of it.”

Zuko stared dead into the distance, his empty expression screaming that he’d rather be anywhere but there. “You’re going to tell them the story, aren’t you.”

The melancholic certainty with which he spoke was enough to make Katara snicker once more as she gave Mai a knowing glance, but before the Fire Lady could respond, Sokka spoke.

“Of course they’re going to tell us the story,” he scoffed. “The Avatar and the Fire Lord kissing? That’s the kind of thing you pass on forever to future generations!”

Suki laughed. “You sound way too invested for someone who has also kissed the Avatar,” she teased, smirking at her boyfriend.

Katara raised an eyebrow in amusement. Now that was news to her. “You did what, Sokka?”

Blood rushed to her brother’s face. “Not on the lips!” he squawked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am just very comfortable in my feminine side around Aang.” He tapped his cheek. “So yes, we have technically kissed, but not like that.”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure we’ve all been on the receiving end of Aang’s affection in some way or another,” Suki conceded. “That’s just his way of expressing love.”

A smile flitted onto Katara’s lips at her friend’s words. She knew most of all, perhaps, how Aang inclined towards physical affection. He was especially fond of kissing the tip of her nose.

“Really?” Sokka said, bewildered. “What, does he have a ‘thing’ with each one of us?”

Suki shrugged. “I mean, I guess so?” She smirked at their group. “Aang and I have a special, top-secret handshake. That’s our thing.”

Katara laughed. “I remember when Aang was just beginning to figure out the motions he wanted to include in your handshake.” She held her own hands up in joking surrender. “I was never privy to the final product, of course. Only experimental aspects.”

Sokka pouted. “First of all, I am hurt that I was never told this handshake existed. And second” - wounded, he placed a hand over his heart - “how come I don’t have a handshake with him?”

Suki rolled her eyes. “Babe, you said yourself that your thing with Aang is cheek kisses.”

Sokka appeared unconvinced. “Yeah, but I’m not the only one who gets cheek kisses from him.” He jutted his thumb towards his sister. “Katara gets them all the time!”

“Katara is also going to marry him, Snoozles,” Toph said with a snort. “I don’t think it’s totally off-base to consider she might have a few additional privileges compared to the rest of us.”

“Katara might be the one who snagged the Avatar,” Mai drawled, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, “but I think it’s safe to assume that everyone in here had a crush on Aang at some point in their life.”

Katara burst out laughing both at Mai’s declaration and the different forms of denial that followed. She’d long since accepted the reality that Aang’s charm meant many people would fall for him. And if anything, it made her feel even luckier that she was the one preparing for a wedding.

Mai appeared to thrive on the chaos she’d incited. The Fire Lady had clearly been spending more - maybe too much - time with Aang. “I don’t know why you’re all so up in arms about this,” she commented, studying her nails. “When I saw him dressed up for Zuko and I’s wedding, I wondered if I was marrying the right man after all.”

Zuko choked at her words, and Mai laughed as she patted him on the back. “Kidding. But I did think Aang was the best-looking man at the reception.”

Everyone’s gaze turned to Zuko, who sighed, shoulders slumping. “No, I agree with her.” He flushed, his eyes dropping to the table. “Aang was definitely the most attractive person there.”

Katara remembered that outfit of her fiancé’s fondly. Saffron robes that danced the line between classy and casual, as fitting for an Air Nomad Avatar. And perhaps she recalled the attire begrudgingly, too, as it had attracted both wanted and unwanted attention towards her then-boyfriend at the reception.

“I’ll admit my heart fluttered the first time Aang returned to Kyoshi Island after the war,” Suki mused. “I hadn’t expected him to get so tall.”

Sokka gave his girlfriend an affronted look. “Wait a minute. Wasn’t I there -”

Suki silenced him with a finger over his lips. “Sokka. We both spent that weekend discussing how hot Aang had gotten. Don’t deny it.”

Katara raised an eyebrow at her brother. “You were planning to make some moves on Aang?”

Sokka’s face reddened. “You know what?” he finally said. “Maybe in another life. I’ll leave it at that.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Toph,” Mai commented, giving the earthbender a small smirk. “When did you realize you had a crush on ‘Twinkle Toes’?”

Toph crossed her arms over her chest, which Katara noted with amusement did nothing to hide the rosy blush coloring her friend’s cheeks. “Never. Because unlike all of you, I’m blind and therefore cannot be affected by Aang’s so-called ‘good looks.’”

“Aw, but Aang is so much more than his looks,” Katara teased, unable to remain out of the chaos Mai had incited any longer. “What got you, Toph? His voice? His jokes? His incessant kindness towards anyone and anything?”

Toph opened her mouth before slamming it shut. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll tell you. On one condition.” She pointed at Zuko. “I still want to know how Sparky and Aang locked lips.”

Mai snickered at her husband’s misfortune, and Katara herself couldn’t help but laugh as Zuko muttered a variety of curses under his breath.

“An easy deal,” Katara agreed. “Now tell us - what got you?”

Toph exhaled a resigned sigh. “His voice,” she grumbled, and the table burst into another round of laughter and cheers. Really, they were lucky that Iroh or even Aang himself hadn’t returned to investigate all the noise.

“Honestly, no one can blame you there,” Sokka remarked, shaking his head. “Who could have predicted Aang would grow up the way he did?”

Katara raised an eyebrow at her brother, though she doubted the expression was as intimidating as she intended it to be. “Really?”

“Okay, well, except for you -”

“Enough chatter!” Toph interrupted, slamming a fist on the table. A smirk pulled at her lips. “Sparky? Storytime?”

Zuko groaned. “Remember how I said I wished we could all meet up more often?” He shook his head. “I take it back.”

Suki laughed. “Stop whining and get on with the story, Zuko.”

“Or else I’ll tell it for you,” Mai added, slipping her hand into her husband’s. Katara couldn’t deny the story would be funnier if Mai told it, as she’d already heard it a dozen times from her friend.

Zuko sighed. “It’s not even an exciting story.” He rolled his eyes. “I was going over some paperwork with Aang and Mai. At one point, Aang was called away for - for Avatar business, or something.” He huffed. “Aang went to give me a ‘goodbye kiss’” - Zuko pointed to his forehead - “because that’s his ‘thing’ with me, I guess. But I didn’t realize what he was doing, so I looked up to ask him a question, and we -”

“- and you accidentally kissed?” Sokka finished flatly. “Aw, man! That is boring.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Such a letdown.”

“What Zuko conveniently forgets to mention every time he tells this story,” Mai said, amused, “is that he leaned into the kiss.”

Toph burst out laughing as Zuko adamantly protested that no, he had not, no matter what his wife said. “So,” the earthbender said amidst her snickers, “what I’m hearing is that Zuko never really got over his crush on Aang?”

“No, he did not,” Mai mused. “But it’s not like I can hold that against him. Having a crush on Aang is perfectly understandable.”

“If it’s any consolation, Zuko,” Katara said, resting her elbows on the table and placing her chin atop her hands as she gave the firebender a devilish grin, “Aang thinks you’re a pretty good kisser.”

Her comment set their group off for the umpteenth time, and Katara snickered at the rollercoaster of emotions roaring over Zuko’s face. There was nothing better than sparking a little chaos every now and then, was there?

Huh. Aang had rubbed off on her, too. She supposed being engaged to him would do that.

“Uh… I feel like I missed something here?”

Katara bit the inside of her cheek to contain her laughter as Aang dropped into his seat beside her. “Oh, no. You didn’t miss anything.”

Aang stared with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment at their friends, who were yet to collect themselves. “Are you sure? What did you guys talk about without me?”

Katara hummed noncommittally, shrugging. “Nothing special.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Just how much we love you.”

~*~

more of aang being adored by his friends in fanworks 2k21, please and thank you. i hope you enjoyed my collection of ficlets for the week, and as always - thank you for reading!

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

VISIONS IN THE SNOW

Good Evening All! I have a new one-shot that was inspired by the horrific weather that recently swept across the U.S. It caused so much grief, suffering to so many people. I hope this would bring a smile to some faces. This was written with one particular person in mind (and you know who you are) and I’m glad you like it.

Thanks as always to @scubalass for the read through. Your suggestions were, as always, spot on. It made the final story so much better.

Status of Edinburgh to Boston: There is progress but it is painfully slow. There are two characters that are essential to this chapter whose voice I do not hear as well as I do Jamie and Claire. I write something, then I delete it and I do the same thing over and over. We will come to an understanding at some point so dinna fash. There will be A/N at the end to explain words or terms.

Without further delay I give you Visions in the Snow.

Here goes nothing:

VISIONS IN THE SNOW

February 1968  - Boston

The responsibility for hosting this week’s poker game fell to Joe Abernathy.  He took his duties in this regard very seriously. It was the way the surgeons decompressed after a week of stressful surgical procedures and this week was no exception. 

“It must have been a full moon,” he thought. Motor vehicle accidents, stabbings, gunshot wounds, volvulus, a ruptured esophagus, the works. It was during these times that he dearly missed his friend. Claire. He cast his glance over to the card table set with one extra place, Claire’s place. On the seat was her green visor that she wore when she played poker with the boys. It sat in repose like a memorial to a fallen comrade.

Silly thing! She believed wearing it masked her glass face.  Nothing could be further from the truth, but none of her colleagues had the heart to tell her. They all knew what Claire Randall was thinking. So much so, they often let her win which caused her to think she was good at playing poker.

He glanced around the room and saw that everything was in readiness for the evening. The sideboard groaned beneath the bounty of food, snacks, and brews.  

Outside, the wind blew fiercely rattling the windows drawing his attention. Joe looked out the window watching the two front trees bowing to the brute force of nature. Their skeletal fingers scraped at the roof almost as if trying to gain entry. It had been snowing for the last six hours with no sign of it letting up. He had considered canceling the game but a majority of his colleagues soundly vetoed that idea. Only Callahan and Peterson dissented. Callahan’s wife would kill him if he left her alone to deal with their six small ones while he went to play poker. Peterson lived thirty miles away. The remaining players all lived a short walking distance from his home, on Doctors Row. It was so-called because many of the physicians who worked at the hospital lived on the same street.  These surgeons were gambling men betting they had enough time for some comradery, hands, and beers before the brunt of the storm arrived.   

For a Boston snowstorm, it hadn’t accumulated very much. Yet. Regardless, it would not hamper these hardened surgeons accustomed to driving through Boston’s worst to get to the hospital. Without warning, the storm picked up intensity driving the snow hard enough to erase the landscape before him. Amid the squall, a hazy light glowed like the high beams of headlights in the snow. A wraithlike figure emerged from its center. Joe wasn’t able to make out any of its features. Man? Woman? He wasn’t sure. But one thing was for sure, it was headed directly toward his house. 

Joe leaned closer trying to see if the person was in distress as they were caught out in the snow. Maybe they had abandoned their car and were seeking help.  His warm breath met the cold pane fogging it, wholly obscuring his view.  Using his shirt sleeve, he wiped away the condensation hoping to improve his ability to see. As the person drew closer, it became apparent that it was a young woman and her attire was totally inappropriate for the weather. She wore a long dress whose hem floated across the snow. It looked like a green and black plaid and a white scarf crossed her neck to cover her bosom. Her hair was dark, curly, piled high on her head, and tendrils framing her face. She looked a lot like… It couldn’t be, could it? She came closer. So close that he could see her eyes. Eyes the color of a fine whisky. Claire? Claire! How? She had left for Scotland, disappearing into the past, to find her true love.

Anxiety flowed through him. He needed to speak with the woman. He needed to know if it truly was Claire. Joe tried to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge. The frame had swollen from the moisture, he thought. He rapped on the window calling her name, but she paid no heed.

Claire was running and laughing bright and merry. Stopping suddenly, she turned and extended a hand into the haze. A man appeared laughing and chased after her. He was a big son of a bitch standing at least six feet four inches and as big as a brick…Well, he was big. He had a mop of red hair, but to simply say red would deny the richness of the color. It was a curly thick mosaic of cinnamon, auburn, gold, and cinnabar.  And his eyes were the deepest blue Joe had ever seen. The man was kitted out in traditional highland garb right down to the sword strapped to his side. Reaching her, the young man made a courtly bow. He straightened, then took her hand to bestow a kiss. A moment later, he lifted and spun her around. She tossed her head back and peals of joyous laughter rang through the air. He set her down gently settling his hands on the swell of her hips. His eyes danced with love as he lowered his head to kiss her most thoroughly. Joe felt his cheeks burn as he watched such intimacy. 

Time advanced in front of him. He became witness to a lifetime, to a marriage, to the bonds of love that could not be broken. The vision changed from the blush of first love through to a life fully lived.  He wept at their trials, tribulations, and heartbreak. And he reveled in their accomplishments, triumphs, and joys. But through all their hardships, and there were many, their love for each other never wavered, never changed. 

The final event showed the couple had aged. The woman, Claire, had streaks of grey in her hair while the man’s hair had lightened. They stood atop a ridge overlooking some land. The man had his arm securely around her waist pulling her protectively close to him. Claire stood on her tiptoes wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a fiery kiss. She nodded her head and started to pull him toward a cabin. He scooped her up and carried her across the threshold kicking the door shut. 

As the vision faded back into the vapor as a voice called out, “I am happy Joe. I found my Jamie.”

Resting his head against the cold pane of glass provided a sense of comfort to his unsettled mind and spirit. Uncertainty gripped him as he grappled to understand what happened. Had this been a dream? Or a hallucination? Or had the fabric of time somehow been rent apart? He shook himself, much like a dog dispelling the rain from its coat, hoping to lift his state of bewilderment. 

Psssst, pssst, ssssssss! The homely sound of the radiator hissing brought him back to himself and away from his ruminations.

Mercilessly, the wind blew about the house ferociously shaking the windowpanes in their frames then suddenly died away. Out of curiosity, Joe tried to open the window. This time it slid open with ease. The blinding snow stopped returning to light flurries. As he turned to walk away from the window, he noticed the clock on the mantel. It was one minute later than when he last looked at it. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” he muttered.

Joe walked over to Claire’s chair and picked up the visor cradling it to his chest,  “Wherever you are Claire, I’m glad you’re happy and you found your Jamie. Jamie, if you can hear me, take good care of our girl.”

With that, the doorbell rang and Joe went to greet his guests.

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

Claire woke with a start bringing Jamie to instant alertness. He grabbed the pistol he kept by his bedside in preparation for any threat. Seeing none, he turned to look at Claire. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

“Sassenach, what’s amiss? Are ye alright?”

“I dreamt...I dreamt I was back in Boston going to play poker with the other surgeons. It was our regular night to play. The game was at Joe’s house and there was this blizzard.”

“Poker? What kind of game do ye play with a poker?” he was afraid to ask. Claire had told him so many peculiar stories about her time that he thought this would be another one. The only poker he knew about was the kind used in a fireplace.

“It’s a card game. I was rather good at it too. Someday I’ll have to teach you.” Claire snuggled up against Jamie seeking his heat, his comfort. She yawned greatly, “Except I will miss my green visor.”

 “A vi-zor?” All he could envision was a knight’s helmet with a visor covering the eyes and face.

“It’s a sort of hat with a green brim. It shades your eyes and some of your face. People use it to hide their facial expressions when they bluff at cards.”

Jamie looked at her as if she were a bit daft. He knew nothing could hide her thoughts on that glass face. He tucked her head under his chin, “Come, Sassenach, rest yer head, aye? I think ye had a bit of the nightmare. I’ll keep ye warm and safe.” He lowered his head placing a kiss on the top of her head.

Jamie closed his eyes and thought about the black man he had seen in his dreams too. “Aye, dinna fash, Joe. I’ll care for her with my life,” he whispered just before lapsing into sleep.

A/N:

VOLVULUS: A volvulus occurs when part of the colon or intestine twists. The twisting causes bowel obstructions that may cut off the blood supply to areas of the bowels. This can cause the bowel to die or left untreated the person can die.

RENT: This involves a story. When I was in catechism class the teacher was telling the story of Christ’s trial before the Pharisees. When Jesus was condemned one of the Pharisees was said to have rent his garment. You say that to a bunch of kids and they start to giggle. They wanted to know who he rented his clothes to and for how much. So the teacher explained that to rent something meant to tear it apart violently. I fell in love with the word’s usage and I never thought I would get to use it in this way. But I did!

And poor Jamie, Claire’s stories always leave his surprised, confused, shocked among other feelings.

The truth behind this story was that it was supposed to be smutty. Instead, it evolved into this. It was supposed to happen that the Ridge was also snowed-in. Claire was bored with playing chess with Jamie and wanted to play something else. She wanted to teach him strip poker. So I left myself an opening if I chose to do a second chapter. But I have to finish E2B first.

I hope you liked this and it brought a smile to your face.

You can find me on AO3. There I am LadyJane518.

Thanks for reading!