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one-boring-person · 3 years

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Hii, I'm unsure as to who do you take requests for :( I'll just hope that you write for the yautja!

Could you maybe write a yautja's reaction to his furure mate seeing his face for the first time and they are like "😳" and all of the sudden they are even more shy around him since their crush on him only got stronger?

Thank you for reading and sorry if I requested a character you don't write for, haha. Please, feel free to ignore my request if that's the case! Have a lovely day! 💙

All of the characters I write for are listed on my character list, which can be found via my masterlist, but I'm glad you requested this, because it's given me the chance to try writing something new. This is my first time writing for a yautja, so I'm sorry if it sucks😅💛

Are You ill?

Yautja x reader

Warnings: some minor bad language

Masterlist

They're tapping under his mask again, the rhythmic clinking of their blunt nails on the dented metal drawing the yautja's attention to the human in his arms. He looks down at them, finding their wide eyes fixed on him, clearly curious, as they always have been, their lips drawn into what he's come to recognise as fascination - he's still a little unsure of which emotions are displayed by which expression, but he has a pretty good idea. Their hand rests by the chin of the face mask, fingers running over the covering, their other hand splayed on his chest to keep them balanced. He's not wearing his chest and shoulder armour, or the majority of his arm greaves, and his legs are bare of their metal shielding to make him more comfortable, but his face is still covered, and that means (Y/n) is likely to fidget with it.

Inside his mask, the yautja clicks questioningly, his mandibles and mouth starting to form awkwardly around unfamiliar words.

"What are you doing?" His voice always sounds unnaturally coarse to him as he speaks the human language, whichever dialect it is, the lexis unnatural to him as he forces his way through the question.

They look startled, but only momentarily, their eyes flicking up to the eyes of his mask, a smile playing at their face. He knows that expression - content.

"Oh, nothing. Just...Curious, is all." (Y/n) sounds so much sweeter when speaking their natural language, their voice running through the sentences smoothly and wonderfully.

"Curious?" He coughs up the word, stilling his hands on their back, lightly caressing his fingertips over their hips instead, careful to mind his shape claws; he can still feel the scar where he once caught them on their side.

"Yeah." The affirm, nodding.

"Why?"

They don't even have to think through what they're saying.

"I'm curious as to what you look like without your mask on." They inform him, shifting to lean up on their elbows, putting their weight on his chest, not that there is much weight. He could hold them up with two fingers, easily.

At their words, however, he has to take a moment to process them, roughly translating them in his head. As he figures it out, his body stiffen slightly, mandibles clicking together in consideration.

"You will not like what you see." Is all he says, turning his head away - he's not displeased with how he looks, but he is aware that humans are more particular when picking mates than yautja are, and his looks are not the norm for them.

"How do you know?" (Y/n) shakes their head, "And anyway, appearance shouldn't change anything in a relationship. It's not the most important factor."

Their response is encouraging to him, once he's deciphered the foreign words, but he's still hesitant. Inadvertently, he makes a sharper clicking sound, one of contemplation this time, but they just smile and lightly rub at one of his dreadlocks, sending small sparks of pleasure through him. Purring lowly, the yautja relaxes, enjoying their touch, feeling more at ease now.

"If you wish to see my face, I will show you." He eventually says, sitting up with the human still cradled against his chest, settling them in his lap as he lifts a hand to unfasten the gas tubes. Hissing sounds ensue as he plucks the tubing from its relevant inserts, his nerves sparking up slightly as he notices (Y/n) watching intently. Internally, he scolds himself for being weak: a hunter like him should not be so afraid to show his face to another.

Slowly, deliberately, the yautja reaches up and hooks his fingers under the lip of his mask, taking a firm hold of it as he pulls it upwards, clearing it of his dreadlocks and jaw. As his face is exposed to the light of the room, he has to let his eyes adjust slightly, unused to seeing in this light without his helmet. He drops the mask to the floor beside them, returning his gaze back to the human sat on his thighs, mandibles clacking together nervously.

(Y/n) is silent. Their eyes are fixed on him, roaming his every feature, his every scar, lingering on the powerful tusks jutting out from his jaw, their mouth falling open in surprise. Purring to help calm them, the yautja tilts his head to the side, keeping still as he waits for them to respond, his breath catching as he runs through every possible scenario in his head. They don't seem to be reacting badly, but they've stayed quiet for a good minute now, and that worries him.

"Holy mother of god…" They finally say, voice quiet as they lean back to look at him properly, eyes wide. A blush is quickly rising to their cheeks, but the yautja doesn't say anything - The red flush on human faces has never quite made sense to him.

"You are afraid?" He clicks, misreading their tells as he reaches for his mask again.

Hastily, they shake their head, mouth opening and closing as they struggle for words.

"No! No, I'm not. Quite the opposite." They laugh shyly, turning their head away as they shift in his lap.

Purring again, he lifts a hand and takes their chin in his grip, gently, like he's seen humans do before, tilting their head towards him, scrutinizing their expression. Their skin is warm to the touch, and their face is bright red, signs that draw a worried click from him.

"Are you ill?" He asks them, pressing his palm to their cheeks, trying to gain a more accurate reading on their skin temperature.

Surprisingly, they only chuckle, carefully pushing his hand away as they lift their own, hesitantly placing a finger on one of his upper mandibles. Gently, they run the digit along the curve of his face, tracing over the strong muscle in his jaw, marvelling at the power there. He has to fight the urge to nip at their finger as it draws close to his inner mouth, unable to help it as his tongue slips out in its stead, teasing at the appendage playfully. They giggle, cupping his face in their hands as best they can, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lower mandibles. Ecstatic, he purrs loudly, wrapping his arms around them so he can pull them flush against his massive body, his head ducking down to nuzzle at their hair, glad that they seem comfortable with him. His dreadlocks create a shield around them, and he feels a sense of relief and joy go through him as they return the embrace, small hands coming round to bury themselves in his black locks.

"You are not afraid?" He hums into their hair, still feeling some tension in the air, though there is also a new scent, one he recognises from other humans.

"N-no…" They admit, keeping their head down as they allow some nerves to creep into their voice.

Confused, the yautja breathes in the scent deeply, trying to remember what it is. After a moment, he figures it out, leaning back to look into their face. Naturally, they bite their lip and look away, face blushing a furious red now.

"You are attracted to my face?" He questions in surprise, mandibles clicking together.

It takes a moment for them to reply, their head nodding very slightly.

"Yes…" They confess, covering their face with their hands.

Elated, the yautja doesn't say anything, just pulling them in to nuzzle affectionately at their cheeks, remembering that humans often do similar things to show fondness.

(Y/n) giggles, hiding their face in his chest.

"Humans are strange." He remarks in amusement, cradling them back against his chest, running his hands over their back comfortingly.

"Yeah, we are."

#yautja #yautja x reader #predator #yautja imagine #predator imagine #alien

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cajunquandary · 3 years

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Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay.

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas.

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay.

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands.

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute.

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices.

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality.

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away.

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her.

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs.

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?”

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette.

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat.

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms.

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean.

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather.

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought.

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving.

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul.

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed.

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register.

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food.

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger.

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it.

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!”

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view.

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day.

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her.

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature.

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had.

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her.

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm.

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead.

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him.

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently.

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters.

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss.

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times.

Until this one.

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare.

Until this one.

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain.

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them.

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?”

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red.

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke.

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go.

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response.

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area.

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands.

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow.

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly.

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation.

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.”

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits.

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!”

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers.

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly.

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip.

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone.

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her.

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail.

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her.

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek.

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach.

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp.

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her.

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth.

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth.

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down.

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home.

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

#spnsecretsantaficexchange #hands that heal #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x ofc #dean x jay #fluff #smut #supernatural

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quirkfics · 4 years

Text

prove it

a commission for the fantastic @marigold-magpie !

wordcount: 4k warnings: smut, lemon, praise, body worship, keeping warm, marathon sex, touch starvation pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Female OC (Ai)

This entire trip has felt like an utter waste of time.

He knows it’s not, that it’s his impatience speaking. He can hear both Sensei and Kurogiri repeating the phrase, over and over as he watches the snow covered hills rolling by. If he’d found more though, if he’d just gotten a chance to-

The absolutely pitiful sigh of a noise that Ai has been making for the last half hour interrupts his thoughts. Again. Tomura presses his lips together, noticing the slowing windshield wipers and the atrocious lack of visibility, and easily puts two and two together. He can’t ignore her forever, but he waits anyway, barely glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He drums his fingertips impatiently over the armrest, waiting- and then catches her trying to watch him. Her lips are pursed in a pretty little pout and the longer he waits, the more her eyebrows lower in disappointment.

He should acknowledge her distress. Tomura only scowls a little harder.

Ai sighs again, dramatic and drawn out, just to drive her point home as the car slows and the windshield wipers slow to a pitiful crawl.

"Problem?" Tomura finally asks, snorting when her expression immediately smooths into a sweet smile. She’s always like this, yo-yoing into a better mood as soon as she gets what she wants. And usually? That’s his attention.

"We’re going to have to pull over and wait this out," Ai says, her smile wavering for a moment as she tucks a long lock of hair behind her ear. “Even my car isn’t going to get through this.”

Tomura grimaces. They've been searching these damn mountains for ages now, and all they've come up with are mere crumbs of a trail for a man who’s supposed to be as large as a mountainside. The lack of progress has been grating on him, and he wants to get out of this fucking place nearly as much as he wants to find Gigantomachia.

Not badly enough to risk their safety though.

He turns his scowl to the window, watching the heavy snowfall with distaste. The chill has been seeping into his bones this entire damn trip, and it’s been no kinder to Ai. He doesn’t want to hole up on the side of the road with nothing for entertainment, with little for warmth. Never mind that it’s dangerous, that if an officer or someone who keeps up with the news stops to help… Well, turning them to dust won’t be a problem for Tomura, but it will put a damper on things. It will announce their presence here, and- His eyes dart back to Ai, to the thick sweater that covers her curves and the sweet pout of her mouth. It doesn’t matter how much he worries about it all, they have to stop.

Maybe he doesn’t like the venue, but he sure as hell is enjoying the company, when she’s not acting like an absolute brat. Not that he’d ever willingly admit it.

“You’re right,” Tomura mutters, and for a split second surprise is bright on her face.

“I am,” Ai agrees, and it makes Tomura want to sneer.

“Find a place to stop,” he demands instead, looking back outside the window and ignoring her gaze currently trying to burn a hole in the back of his head. It’s slow going though, finding a spot wide and stable enough to park in. The tires lose traction once, and even Tomura will admit that it sends his heart racing. As soon as the car comes to a complete stop in a flat location, Tomura unclenches his fingers.

“You could have said please, Tomura,” Ai says archly, turning off the engine. “I do like to feel like I’m appreciated.” The key turns over and the sudden lack of whooshing air in the car leaves Tomura’s head ringing. The cold starts to creep through the cabin, leaving Ai rubbing her hands together for warmth, shoulders still tense because of his waspish tone. They can’t exactly sit there with the engine idling and burn up all the gas, Tomura knows that, but it’s frigid and he hates it.

Tomura digs in his pocket, pulling out his phone and desperately hoping that they’ve got some kind of signal- but the bars are empty. “You?” He asks, glancing at Ai when she pulls out her own, unlocking it with a smart little twirl of her finger across the screen. For a moment, Tomura is distracted by how cute the motion is, by the way her pretty lips are pouting again. It's utterly ruined when she starts whining again.

“This is miserable,” Ai whines, dropping her phone into her lap and knocking her head against the back of her seat. “I thought this would be a snap and we could-”

“You and me, both,” Tomura interrupts, trying to ignore the ache in his bones as the car grows colder.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Ai grumps, straightening back up in her seat.

“So?” He asks, and then rolls his eyes when she frowns harder. “‘We could’ - I don’t know. Get out of this weather. Go back to the base? There’s nothing else to do up here on this frigid block of ice.” It’s… It’s strange, being in such a small, enclosed space with her. It would be with anyone, really, but especially with Ai. His shoulders are starting to shake and his feet- he probably shouldn’t have worn these particular shoes in the snow. His toes are aching, and he’s fairly sure that his socks are damp. He stretches his hands out to try and ease the tension in them, and then promptly closes them again. The last thing he wants to do is brush his fingers over something accidentally and leave a hole for more cold air to come in. What they have is bad enough.

Ai frowns at him, like she can’t quite believe that is what he came up with, and then her violet eyes drop down to his shaking shoulders. A bright little smile blooms on her mouth as she leans over the console. “Cold?” She asks sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes, but before Tomura can snap at her or summon up even a wisp of annoyance, Ai is taking off her shoes. She has the gall to grin, unbuckling herself and hurriedly climbing over the center console, uncaring when her hip and thigh brush against Tomura’s arm. The contact makes him tense, makes him want to lean against her, just so he can prolong it, but then she’s in the back. “Into the back seat,” Ai declares, barely waiting for more than a breath before she’s huffing, leaning back towards the front to meet Tomura's eyes. “Well? Do you want to be cold and miserable, or warm up?”

Tomura doesn’t think he can politely word any kind of answer, so he grits his teeth, unbuckles and starts tugging roughly at the ties of his shoes. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting - he knows that they’re both going to be huddling together for warmth - it’s the smartest idea, but seeing Ai laid out on the back seat, adjusting a throw blanket over herself… Tomura’s heart starts beating a little faster. She’s curvy and her clothes look soft as does her skin and the sweet arch of her mouth-

Tomura kicks off his shoes and clambers into the back seat. He throws himself down next to her, feeling testy and awkward as he tries to adjust, and then Ai grunts in discomfort. She shoves him in the back when he half rolls onto her arm. “Hey,” she starts, as soon as he tugs too hard at the blanket, nearly yanking it off of her. “You’re meant to-”

“Shut up,” Tomura mutters, turning towards her, heart pounding as he yanks her close against his chest. He crosses his forearms behind her back. It’s logical, he reasons in silence. Body heat is the best way to keep warm, and if she doesn’t like it, then she’ll tell him. She always tells everyone when and if she doesn’t like something or someone, and if she decides she doesn’t want this? Then she can suffer a bit of frostbite, hopefully in absolute silence. He doesn’t care- but holding her like this, even with his pulse near choking him, feels… Good. Really good. He can’t recall what it was like to place the flat of his palm and all of his fingers against anything, but if he could, he would stroke his hands down her back or wrap her long dark hair around his fingers. He hopes she doesn’t push him away, doesn’t put a halt to this because he.. He needs it. Her touch, her warmth. He wants- Tomura stops breathing when she tilts back her head, hand resting gently on his hip, and then presses a tender, eager kiss to his throat.

He’s figuratively frozen, waiting for her to pull away or bite him and insist he give her room, that he takes his hands off of her- Instead her mouth moves to another carefully chosen spot on his neck and she repeats the gesture, gentle, reverent. Her lips part, tongue darting out to trace over one of the scars on the hollow of his throat, left behind from his own fingernails, endlessly scratching, gouging at his own skin. He doesn’t know that he’s ever felt something so.. Soft.

He both wants and abhors the feelings rising up to drown him. Being touched, being needed- He has to be so careful with anything and everything that he doesn’t want to turn to dust. It’s a hassle on his best days, worth burning everything down for on his worst. What’s the point of the world around him if it may as well be intangible? God though, Ai- The soft noises she makes as her mouth pays homage to his scars, as her tongue laves over them or she sucks them into her mouth? Tomura is aching. Even with her typical coy smiles, with the way she pouts or stamps her feet, even with the blistering arguments she gets into with anyone who tries to tell her that something isn’t her due - Ai is the only one Tomura wants.

He can’t get enough of her attention, even if he ignores it half the time, even if he flinches away from most of her casual touches or from anyone who even dares get in close. Right now, pressed against her, cock hard and twitching as she hooks a leg over his thighs, Tomura doesn’t care about his usual hangups. He wants to get closer, he wants more, wants her to keep looking at him from underneath the fan of her eyelashes, wants her to touch him, to keep him warm with her hands and her mouth, wants-

Tomura hisses when she sucks a little too hard, her hand starting to wander underneath his partially rucked up shirt. He tenses, a cruel thought occurring to him far too late for his comfort.

“You’re not being a tease?” He rasps, grabbing hold of her wandering hand with only three fingers and gripping just this side of too tight. “You want this, want me?” He knows he sounds needy, almost childish, but he can’t find it within him to care. He needs an honest answer. Ai pulls back, frowning, and Tomura can’t quite understand why his heart flip-flops when he sees the expression. He doesn't like it, wants her to go back to simpering, to trying to please him, desperately wants her answer to be something positive.

“No,” Ai says sharply, and for the first time today, she doesn’t have that wheedling tone, that sulky look in her eyes. "You think I'd waste my time teasing?" She asks, reaching up to tug viciously on a lock of his hair. Tomura sneers, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it, her snapping, the way her cheeks flush when she's angry. The way the pain is almost synonymous with pleasure as it makes his cock throb. He ruts against her, eyelids growing heavy when she makes a sweet little noise of surprise. She doesn't move away, doesn't push him or pull back, she leans into him, like she truly wants him too.

“Let me prove it,” she says, voice immediately softer, kinder, and-

Tomura could stop it, just to rile her up. He could do it in a million and one ways, guaranteed to push her buttons and leave her seething, trapped against the back of the seat with nowhere to go. They could try and sleep, it would achieve the important thing here - conserving body heat. But.. he would rather let her prove it. Prove herself.

He releases his hold on her hand, lets her tug him close, thigh flexing. His hips arch and then Tomura is tilting his head back to curse because she’s wonderfully, blisteringly hot between her thighs, dressed rucked up around her waist. “Fuck,” he growls, letting his eyes fall closed as he rolls up against her. He’s still chilled, the back of his neck is uncomfortably cool and if he thinks about it too much, he knows his back is cold, but suddenly it feels like there are way too many layers between them.

Ai’s hand slips back beneath his shirt, fingers chilled at first, but growing hotter as she strokes over his chest, over his nipples, and then back down to the fair trail of hair disappearing beneath his trousers. Part of him wants to rush, to demand she touch him where he wants, for her to strip- but Ai’s mouth is brushing over his, tongue touching against the scars on his lips and Tomura can’t find it within himself to move. She tastes like her lip gloss, faintly sweet, but beneath that is Ai. Tomura’s mouth opens, slowly, hesitant to deepen the kiss, but Ai makes wonderfully encouraging noises, thumb stroking rhythmically over his hip bones, thigh tensing where she's hooked it over him. Tomura rolls his hips again, grinding his cock against her as firmly as he can, just to get her to make noise, to hear that desperate, needy sound caught in the back of her throat.

“Tomura,” Ai whispers, one hand fumbling with the button of his trousers. It takes her a few tries because of the angle, because of the way they’re pressed so closely together. “Do you- do you know how badly I’ve wanted you?” She says, starting to pant against his ear and when Tomura reaches down, pulls back his hips so he can brush a knuckle over her, his brain seems to short circuit. “How often I’ve thought about your hands on me?” She asks, grinding herself against his knuckle, until he can feel her wetness soaking through her underwear. It’s utterly tempting to rip the offending material away, to push it to the side and rush things along, but everything Ai is saying keeps him still. He wants more of everything - her touch, her mouth, everything she says. He knows a platitude when he hears one, he knows when people are paying lip service - but Ai sounds like she means every single word.

“That lovely mouth?” Ai whispers, teeth nipping at his earlobe. His cock pulses again, but Ai falls back into sucking kisses along his throat, slowly pulling down his zipper. He doesn’t want her to stop talking, doesn’t want to interrupt what she’s moving towards, but .. He needs it, those words.

“What else?” He demands, thrusting as soon as her hand wraps around him.

Ai whimpers when he adjusts his hand, pushing aside her underwear so he can rub his thumb frantically against her clit. “Your- I think a-about how pretty your cock is- you’re so hard,” she whispers, stroking down until she can squeeze the base of him. Tomura curses, rushing to kiss her, knowing it’s messy and irritated that his teeth clack against hers in his haste but fuck, he wants her so badly. Ai moans, trying to roll her hips in time with his rubbing, but Tomura can’t make himself slow. The sounds she’s making whenever he hits that fast rhythm have him too impatient, and then Ai’s hand is squeezing him almost too tight as her thighs shudder. Her cheeks are red and her lips look swollen and she’s whimpering- and then she’s letting go of him, seizing his hand to still his fingers.

“Wait, wait, fuck, Tomura I need a second,” she gasps, leaning her forehead against his collarbone. “You sure know how to-” She squeaks when he presses forward, rubbing the head of his cock against her oversensitive flesh.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “tell me and I will.” He grinds a little harder, enjoying the feeling of thrusting against her, enjoying the wonderful heat of her. Breath whooshes out of his lungs when she pulls him closer instead.

“Keep going,” she whispers, taking his face in both of her hands to press another kiss to his mouth. Tomura groans, hips rocking, sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. The cold is- minimal now. An afterthought. He doesn’t much want to roll out from under the blankets, but there are still too many clothes between them.

“On me,” he says, careful to only stroke two fingers and a thumb down her thigh. “Get on me,” he adds, when Ai simply blinks, gaze clouded with lust. “Please,” he hisses, and then his heart skips a beat when she smiles. He can’t get enough of this. They roll, with Ai settling herself over his thighs, trapping his cock against his abdomen so she can grind herself against him. He plucks at the hem of her sweater dress and then meets her eyes. “Take it off?” He asks, and then wants to buck when she stops moving, keeping balance with her hands on his chest.

“It’s cold,” she whines, and then has the audacity to roll her hips again, nearly making his eyes roll back in his head. Tomura sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

“Isn’t this,” he says, punctuating the word with an upwards thrust, “supposed to help warm us up? I can use this lovely mouth,” he says, almost mocking, even though- even though the words mean everything to him right now. The way she touches him, the way she talks about his body - Tomura is starving for it.

“Rude,” Ai snaps, but she bites at her lip and Tomura can almost taste victory- and then she changes the angle of her hips and presses. Tomura slips into her, cursing up a storm as she makes soft, breathy little moans that nearly have him coming before he can even blink. As soon as she’s fully seated, licking at her lips, hands trembling against his chest, Tomura arches.

“Such a tease,” he growls, shivering when cold air seeps underneath the blanket from his frantic movements. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses, and can’t even summon up a wit of irritation when she smiles.

“It’s cold,” she reiterates, wiggling until she’s laying on him, tugging at the neck of his shirt so her mouth can reach the skin of his chest.

He has to concentrate, nearly has to hold his breath, but then Ai starts moving, her thigh highs catching on his trousers as she starts to lift her hips up. Tomura places a hand on either hip, pinkies and ring fingers curled inward for safety and pulls her back down.

“Tomura,” Ai gasps, thighs tensing on either side of him, “I thought I was the one setting-” She whimpers when he thrusts again, and stays wordless for a few moments, hands stroking gently up and down his sides. “You feel so good,” she whispers, like she wants to keep the admission secret, like she’s afraid he might stop.

Tomura’s cock twitches and he tilts his chin up, glancing at the ceiling and the rapidly darkening windows. All of them are fogged up, beaded with condensation, and he’s fairly sure the whole car is covered with snow by now. He picks up the pace. He doesn’t care how long they’ll be stuck here any longer, having Ai in his arms, hearing her say such sweet things as she works him over- Tomura is so fucking close.

“Good,” he pants, fingers pressing tightly into her hips as he fucks up into her. “I want to- Ai,” he almost snaps, starting to lose his rhythm. He thinks he should tell her to move, to get off of him or he’s not going to last, but Ai picks up his slack, meeting his every thrust his abdomen is burning with the effort, until his legs are trembling with the force of holding back.

Ai’s mouth finds his neck again, tongue tracing another scar, and then that’s it. Tomura bucks a little too hard, pulling at her hips until he slips out of her and then comes over his own belly. He’s seeing stars and he’s plenty warm, but as soon as Ai is settled back against his still hard cock, he wants more. Ai makes an appreciative noise and doesn’t resist when he takes himself in hand, pressing the head of his cock back into her. “Please?” He asks, breathless and shaking from overstimulation. He wants to squirm underneath her, to thrust back up into her heat.

Ai leans close, and says yes against his mouth. She muffles his groan, tongue against his, hair a curtain as it pools to either side of him, half spilling off of the seat.

This is better than anything he could have dreamed up, than anything he could have put together, mulling over her sly little innuendos and imagining- He could only ever hope to imagine how good this feels. Everywhere she touches feels like it’s hot, like he’s coming back to life after being out in the snow, after months - after years - of barely there touches and aborted gestures of kindness.

“Can’t,” Tomura says between messy kisses, “get enough.” The sight of her on top of him, the way her dress is pushed up to her hips, baring her thigh highs in the perfect way, and the way her hair is a mess, spilling over her shoulders as she sits up- He’s not sure he can come again, not any time soon, but the way she squeezes him, rocking her hips so her clit brushes against his skin.

“Then keep going,” she breathes. Tomura can’t stop staring, at the blush heavy on her cheeks, trailing beneath the neck of her dress, at her parted lips- He loses time, fucking into her until his abdomen and thighs are burning with exertion. Eventually he has to roll them back onto their sides, and something about the angle change must be good because then Ai is falling apart again, whispering his name and leaning her forehead against his chest, hands shaking.

Tomura slows, just enough to keep himself hard, to keep grinding into her and then stops completely so they both can catch their breath.

“Have I?” Ai asks, sounding almost drowsy, eyelashes dark against her pink cheeks. Tomura snorts and then she’s shuddering all over again.

“Have you what?” He asks, only half serious. He knows exactly what she’s getting at, but he wants her to say it, wants her to get riled up one more time.

“Have I proved myself?” She asks, her normal sharpness coloring every word. She still doesn’t open her eyes though, just relaxes against his chest when he laughs a little roughly.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he offers, knowing she’ll want more, that she’ll push for it.

“Humor me then, Tomura,” she groans, muffling her voice into his shirt. The windows are fully covered with snow now, a strange shadowy blue, and now that they’re not moving-

“You proved yourself,” he confesses then, happily pressing in a little closer.

#tomura shigaraki x oc #shigaraki tomura x oc #tomura shigaraki x female oc #shigaraki tomura x female oc #lemon

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cedarmoons · 6 years

Text

They have loved each other for thirty years when she finally decides to ask him to heal her scars.

It happens after Samaira goes to the Devoraks for the weekend, when Blaise is off with Korra and Yosef to study arcane magics at some academy in Drakr, when the house is—for the first time in many years—empty of anyone but them.

“Hmm,” Asra says, when he finds her in the garden, rocking slowly on their swinging sofa. He sprawls beside her, tucking his face against her throat, one hand drawing slowly down her arm, to her waist, to her hip. “What should we do with the kids gone? I have a few ideas.”

Ziah hums, pretending to think. “Perhaps we should clean the house,” she suggests, smiling when he groans. “Or reorganize the study’s book collection. Or weed the garden. Or—”

“Or I can take you upstairs and make you forget your own name,” Asra suggests, kissing her throat between each word. Her breath hitches and she tilts her head back. He smiles against her skin and brushes her hair out of the way, lifting his mouth to brush against the curve of her jaw. “Hmm. That sound good?”

She sighs, and his hand moves from her hip to her thigh. His touch, once warm (he is always warm, she finds) is now blistering. She closes her eyes, mouth drying, and whispers, “Asra.”

“Mm?”

“Heal my scars,” she breathes out, heart hammering.

Asra stops and pulls back. She turns her head, staring at him. Out of the corner of her eye, a firefly lights up beside the blooming lavender. She keeps her gaze on his face, visually tracing the smile lines and faint wrinkles that have imprinted themselves into his skin.

“You told me they couldn’t be healed,” he finally says, at length. “Too old, you said. Too painful.” His brows quirk together. “Will it hurt you, if I try again?”

“I do not think so,” she replies. “But... I have been so happy with you, and my scars are nothing but—nothing but unwelcome reminders of old pain. I would like you to try. If you are willing.”

Asra smiles, pushing his spectacles up his nose, and leans in to kiss her, his hand cradling her face, fingers warm at the back of her neck. “Always,” he whispers, when he pulls away. “I’ve wanted to heal those for—years. You have no idea how long. Since I first saw them, really.”

Before she can reply, he stands up, lifting her up into his arms. She yelps, instinctively reaching for him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek against his shoulder. He laughs, the sound youthful and vibrant, and carries her upstairs to their bedroom, where he lowers her gently to her feet and immediately rests his hands at the hem of her shirt, fingertips dipping underneath it.

It is a tentative overture; she will not let it go unanswered. She presses her hands over his, helps him draw her shirt over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up. He kisses her at once, tossing the shirt aside and cradling her face between his hands.

He kisses her like when their courtship was new and foreign—eagerly, with a trace of desperation she can hear in his racing heartbeat. She returns it, hands resting on the soft skin at his waist, and is left panting when he finally breaks the kiss.

“Bed,” he finally says, voice hoarse.

She settles facedown on the bed, dragging her pillow over and tucking it under her body. She rests her cheek on her folded arms, closing her eyes when she feels Asra move her hair over her shoulder. He kisses the worst of her scars and she shudders, back arching under him, an instinctive flinch away that she has not been able to master.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “Easy.”

She huffs a laugh through her nose, but her body still stiffens when Asra touches her back. She buries her face into her pillow and stifles her sigh of relief when he pulls away. She hears him move across the room, hears the pop of a bottle being opened.

When Asra returns, he straddles the backs of her thighs, and his warm hands are covered in slick, cool lotion that smells of rosemary and peppermint. “You’re so tense,” he tells her, quietly. “Let me help?”

She exhales. “Yes.”

Ziah lifts her hand to grab her hair, keeping it out of his way as he begins to work the lotion into her muscles and her scars. Her face is hot—she is acutely aware of the leathery texture of her back, how drastically it differs from the rest of her body—but Asra says nothing, focusing instead on the massage.

He works his magic into his firm touches; the heat of his hands, and the warmed slickness of the lotion, contrasts with the cool soothing sensation of his magic. He works at muscles wound too tight in her back, in her sides, in her neck, even massaging the tops of her arms and her hips.

It is warm in the room, the middle of summer, and his hands are soft against her skin. She does not know when she stops twitching away from his touches, when she finally relaxes into the mattress and keeps her eyes closed—but at some point, she feels Asra kiss her shoulder blade just before she slips off to sleep.

Asra’s words pull her from her light doze; he is rubbing circles into her back with his thumbs, kneading the skin with his knuckles. “Did you hear me, Mizi?” he asks. She opens her eyes, though the world is out of focus for a few moments as she tries to pull herself from sleep’s temptation.

“What was that, love?”

“It’s working,” he says, very softly.

A lump wells in her throat, and heat pricks her eyes. She blinks, once, twice, thrice, and swallows. Her body feels warm and loose, liquid, ready to sink into the mattress. But her mind is grounded, preoccupied with that one image—that she will see her naked back in the mirror, and it will be smooth and freckled just like Asra’s. There will be no pain, no old memories better left forgotten. It will be a back again, and not a symbol.

She cannot imagine it, and yet she lets herself hope anyways.

“It is?” she breathes. Her voice is high and rough.

“Yeah.” She hears the smile in his voice, feels more magic sink into her skin. She does not feel anything—no itching as skin pulls back together, as the gouges in her back shrink and change and fade—but Asra’s breath is short, sharp, relieved above all. “You’re—it’s—I love you so much.”

There is a thickness in her throat that she cannot swallow; a dryness in her mouth she cannot banish. She licks her lips, shifting her arms under her pillow, hands gripping her forearms. She closes her eyes, breaths stuttering as Asra’s hands pass over her back once more, firmly, rubbing the tension from her body until her muscles relax under his touch.

It is only a little while longer that she hears his harsh exhale, feels him swing his leg over her hips, climbing off of her. He leans forward, hands on her arms, to press a kiss to her shoulder.

“Done,” he whispers against her skin.

Ziah turns her head at once, looking at him. His eyes are wet in the gas lamp light, but he smiles at her—no, beams, eyes crinkling into delighted slits of lepidolite, cheeks wrinkling and dimpling in his joy. Tears prick her eyes and she sits up, hardly daring to breathe as she gets off the bed and goes straight to the mirror.

Keeping her hair gathered over her shoulder, she turns and regards her back in her reflection. Her gaze catches on the softness of her body—the crease of skin between ribs and waist, the outward curve of her belly—before roving to the curve of her spine, shadowed against her back.

Her naked back, bare of any markings except the shine of the lotion Asra had used.

There are no gouges. No scars. No evidence of what she had suffered, lived through, endured. No longer is there a ghost embedded within her skin, leashing her to the past. Though she had broken its chains of skittishness and isolation, after years—decades—of effort, it still had had some sway over her.

No longer.

She is free.

Her breath shakes, and she looks to Asra, still sitting on the bed. She blinks, and tears run down her cheeks, hugging the curve of her jaw before falling warm onto her collar. She lowers her arms, and Asra lifts a hand out to her, a silent beckoning.

Come here. I will not hurt you; you are safe and loved, with me.

Her beautiful love, her world, with whom she had saved a city; with whom she has raised fourteen children; with whom she has shared a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful life.

“I love you,” she whispers. Asra’s smile widens, and a tear falls from his glassy eyes. Ziah swallows. “I love you so much, Asra.”

“I love you, too, Mizi.”

The tremble that runs through her is gentle, ripples of water that run over the still surface of her naked body. She swallows, unable to look away from him, even as she imprints against her eyelids the image of her naked, beautifully bare back.

“Come here,” Asra whispers. “Please.”

He keeps his hand outstretched, and she goes to him, without hesitation or worry or self-consciousness.

I am coming. You will not hurt me; I am safe and loved and with you. This I know to be true, my love, my soul, my heart.

She goes to him, finally free, and is drawn into the warmth of his arms where she belongs—where she has always belonged.

#im in a Everything I Write Sucks mood and im tryna OVERCOME IT!!#the arcana #ziah #asra x mc #fic #kidfic rp verse

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james-baeder · 6 years

Text

Promnesia (for @elizabethkween)

The smell that the blast left in its wake would plague him for the rest of his days. Every morning it would be the first thing he smelled as he wakes up. Dust and loss and earth and pain and smoke and longing and gas and. No Lizzy.

The old building was the perfect place for the sadistic torturer to base his operations. It was nondescript, on the edge of town but not in the middle of nowhere. It was dirty and had lots of rooms to hide the grizzly aftermaths of his crimes.

He didn’t want Elizabeth to lead the charge. But with five missing girls in the wind, he really couldn’t stop her.

The last agent had barely cleared the threshold when the explosion had rocked the building. Glass had shattered from the hundreds of windows to land at his feet. The deathly silence that followed was only disturbed by the ringing in his ears and the persistent desperate voice in his head: no no no no no!

He stood rooted to the spot for what felt like days, swaying, nauseous. But nobody came out. Only smoke poured from the building. Number 68 had taken another girl from this world. His girl.

He doesn’t recall deciding to move, or how fast he got to the car. He can barely remember where Dembe had parked. All he’d felt was the overwhelming, sucking, hollow in his chest. The last time she... He’d at least seen her, held her as she seemingly greeted the world. Don’t go. Please, don’t go. But there was no such solace this time. His last image of her - seeing her looking reassuringly over her shoulder at him, and then nothing. And then she was gone.

He doesn’t pack anything, he doesn’t greet Dembe, he does not inform anyone on the task force. He just leaves. It takes him three days to track down number 67. He kills 18 people in that time, some with his gun, some with his knife, most with his hands. It takes him 7 hours to kill the blacklister, to dismember him, piece by piece, to make him feel the agony that flows through his very being. He’s sure he didn’t come close. He leaves the knife sticking out of his heart for the FBI to find. Anonymous tip left for Agent Donald Ressler.

He leaves again. Not to Cape May this time, but to the mountains. Where the weather might match the iciness in his heart, perhaps even overcome it.

The nights pass in agony. Scotch is his only companion and it leaves him restless, unable to sleep. Tossing, and turning, and sweating, and swearing, and crying. Images of her dying over and over and over. Slumped in the chair at the Stewmaker’s cabin, the victim of a stray bullet, in the ambulance, with him clawing at her, unable to do anything but watch as the world takes away the one good thing. His life, his heart. The silent cavern of that building. Collapsing.

During the day he talks to her, tells her how much he loves her and wants her and needs her. Staring out of the kitchen window at the vast, white abyss he imagines her hearing him. Smiling at him as she did before walking straight to her death. He doesn’t know how to live like this. His heart feels misshapen.

The days become one long blur of tears and ache and longing. He doesn’t know how long he’s there for. His clothes smell terrible and his beard is longer than it has been in years. His steady supply of scotch is running out. She’s there with him every day, and he doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse.

When he opens the door to Dembe, he’s sure he must be dreaming. The man looks cold and murderous and he doesn’t know what to tell him.

He doesn’t have time to ruminate on the appropriate words to apologise in before Dembe is telling him all sorts of stories. He thinks he must be lying to him, trying to get him to go back with him. To finish the blacklist with him but he can’t. Dembe. I can’t.

Dembe tells him that he doesn’t understand. That she lives. That he was fooled, yet again. This time not by the people he loved and trusted, but by his own heart and paranoia. Dembe tells him she’s alive and he walks out into the snow without hesitation.

On the plane he calls every member on the taskforce to confirm what Dembe is telling him. He asks all of them the same questions, listening intently to their answers, making sure it’s the truth and not some rehearsed drivel in order to get him back. He thinks he believes them. Aram had cried in relief on the phone.

He’s taken to an apartment he does not recognise, but Dembe assures him its safe. It has all been taken care of, my friend. The house is quiet, and it feels like he’s back there, outside that old building, waiting for any sight of her, suffocating in her absence.

She’s in the kitchen. Right there in front of him and he knows she’s real because she’s broken and imperfect, a crutch resting perilously on the counter next to where she’s making eggs. A bandage stretching down her neck and disappearing under the dress shirt she’s wearing.

And like before, he doesn’t know how he gets there, all he knows is her back pressed to his chest, his face in her hair, his arms around her - feeling her breathing and her heartbeat against his palm and her talking. Oh, she’s talking to him. Oh God, Red? Red, ow, hi, please, ouch. You have to let me go.

So he does, quickly, snatching his hands back, and stepping away from her. Will he never stop hurting her? But she’s already on her way to him, and she’s slow, the crutch under her arm helping her limp along, a bruise on her forehead, and one to match on her jaw. She’s smiling, so much better than the last time he saw her, and this time he stays still, holds his arms out until she folds herself into him. Softly, softly. And he cradles her, fingertips light on her skin, kissing her head. Softly, softly.

There are words of apology, too many to count, in the few days that follow. There’s a single kiss, when she’s on the brink of sleep, two days after he arrives. She whispers that she’s missed him and he tells her she has no idea and she tips his chin down to her and catches his bottom lip so perfectly between hers that his breath stutters in his throat for the entire duration of the kiss.

He helps her dress in the mornings, a fresh dress shirt for each day. Standing behind her with his arms around her, just like that day he found her here, to help button the shirt. A hairline fracture on her shoulder preventing her from doing it property herself. When she tells him that Oh Dembe helped before you got here, he tries not to let the jealousy overtake his bruised and battered heart, instead thanking him the next time he visits.

He helps with her hair, trying out a different style every time. She likes his braids the most, watching him intently in the mirror, perhaps in hope of copying him one day when he’s not there to assist. She needs to keep her hair out of her face so they can change the dressing on her neck every morning, but he also suspects that she likes the feeling of his hands in her hair - having seen the goosebumps on her neck and shoulders, and the way she’ll close her eyes sometimes as he’s brushing it. He leaves a kiss on top of her head every morning to let her know he’s done.

He helps with the food and she’s grateful, always insisting on drying the dishes that he washes.

He rubs and strokes and massages the impressions the explosion left on her skin. Tracing the scars with a fingertip, palming the bruises on her legs, rubbing the small of her back. You always know how to make me feel better.

He never asks how she survives. He doesn’t want either of them to relive that day, preferring instead to tug her a little bit closer into his side, keeping her there while he can.

He almost misses it. He’s gently draping the soft material of the button up over her shoulders, marveling at her soft skin, the way it looks in contrast with the light blue material. It’s when he brushes her hair aside with his hand that he notices the angry red peeking out from under the soon to be changed bandage. He asks if she’s been taking her antibiotics as she should and she says yes Red, you’re there to make sure, every time and he’s worried.

The doctor tells her to take it easy, and sends them on their way with another, stronger prescription but he’s still worried.

He fluffs her pillows and makes her tea to take the antibiotics with. He’s seen infection take down larger men than her. He rubs her feet and refuses to leave her out of his sight, hiring a woman to cook and clean for them. He reads to her with her feet in his lap, they watch movies with her head on his chest. They sleep, and he holds her. Softly, softly.

The infection disappears but not his worry. It seems like every day that passes with her like this seems too good to be true. As if he’s going to jerk awake in that cabin and be alone and without her again. She can sense it, he knows she can. She looks at him with those eyes as if she knows every single thing he’s ever thought. But she can’t possibly--

He’s doing her hair in a daze when she asks him to look at her, slips out of his grasp and turns to face him, knees cradled between his own. She tells him that he seems far away from here, from her. That she wants him back. She takes his hands.

He tells her that he’s right here with her, every step of the way. This is where he wants to be.

She tells him that she knows that, that he’s been incredible, that she never really wants to leave this space they’ve carved out for themselves.

He tells her that he feels the same, that he can hardly bear to leave this all behind, and he swallows thickly and she notices.

She cups his face and kisses him just as sweetly as she did that night those few weeks ago. He doesn’t freeze this time, and allows himself to be taken by her. His eyes close, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and he lets himself feel her. This is real, nothing he could make up could ever feel this good. The soft skin of her thighs under his hands, the sighs and the moans washing over him, soothing him, her impossibly perfect lips kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.

She tells him that she loves him. That she’s here. That she’s not leaving.

He says I love you. I’m here. I’m not leaving.

And he doesn’t. And she doesn’t.

#lizzington #my fic #i hope you like it #the rest under the cut

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crystalwyrm · 7 years

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Summary: When Elisa nearly drowns in the tank, the scientists’ experiment decides to teach her to swim.

Based on The Shape Of Water (2017) movie.

I’m so pumped about this movie that I decided to write six pages of pure fanfiction. Enjoy!

Cold seeped into her bones like edges of broken glass. Sharp pain pierced her skin like little pin-pricks. The water pressure pushed down on her, making her head pound. Holding her head towards the fading light above, she choked out a scream beneath the water’s unforgiving grip. She reached for the surface with determination, but with every stroke she attempted she became weaker and weaker.

She was going to die. Elisa was going to die and she couldn’t do anything about it except struggle against the current. Air bubbled up from her mouth and the pain that was soaking into her bones crept towards her chest. It felt like something heavy binded her, as if someone was giving her one of the most tightest hugs in her life.

It pressed against her until all she could feel was a blankness. Her heart beat erratically against her ribcage. Elisa stopped her struggling when the hope of making it to the surface left like the oxygen that escaped her lungs. Her movements became slower and she clenched her eyes shut.

The water suddenly felt like a warm blanket around her. The current calmed for just a moment and at that moment she was fine. But as she inhaled water rushed into her lungs once before and she attempted to cough. It was pain. The water that was made for her to live was the cause of her death.

With that, she sunk to the bottom. It wasn’t extremely deep nor was it bright. It was dark, everything around her vision expressing itself as huge shadows that followed slow circles and lines. They became fuzzier and fuzzier and her world continued to warm. The light of bulbs from above shimmered softly and Elisa felt hopelessness well up in her chest. She couldn’t end like this, could she?

A faint glimmer of a shadow crossed her fading sight. It was death, Elisa thought with disdain. This was not at all what she wanted. But how stupid could one be to take this job and not know how to swim? Too close to the edge and she had fallen in and sunk like a stone.

Tentative fingertips traced her arms and she faintly recognized it as her imagination playing with her. How horrible was this? But she was quick to accept it. She didn’t know what death looked like, after all.

But death’s fingers grasped her arms tightly and pulled her against a cold, reptilian body. She faintly felt the water rushing past her. Was Elisa going to heaven? Was she dead? Or was she still dying? It felt like she was on laughing gas; like that feeling of floating.

The pain of her chest tripled when she was broken from the water. Everything was still dark as she felt something faintly pounding on her breasts and ribs. She felt like she was choking on her own breath. Watery breath filled her lungs but then rushed to her throat and she was suddenly vomiting everything up.

Trembling on thin arms, Elisa grasped the stone steps of the enclosure. The water was a few feet away. It looked dark, almost as if the hatred of it before was cross with losing its victim. Flopping away from the substances she had just vomited up, Elisa greedily gulped down oxygen. It felt so good to breath air instead of villainous water.

A soft keen aroused the space around the two, breaking the silence and heavy breathes. Elisa opened her eyes tiredly. Rolling over and crouching on the step, she watched as her savior swam nervously in place. He floated there, half of his head above the water to where his eyes watched her with such emotion that she swore he was more human than not.

Sitting up, she slowly signed toward him a thank you. His eyes, the shade of emeralds, followed her hands before flicking his eyes to her face. His face slowly rose from the surface before broad shoulders and a bit of his chest became visible. Elisa stayed quiet, her hands frozen in front of her chest. His body was covered in dark colors. There were greens and shaded blues and dark brown that encroached on black. His fins fluttered with a soft yellow that followed to a light green at the tips. Scales enclosed his form, forming a protective sheath over sensitive flesh beneath. Her eyes roamed over healing scars and her heart lurched painfully at the knowledge of them. There were burns from the jabbing shock treatments the scientists would experiment on him. Everything they did seemed out of enjoyment, and that made her grow sick. Her gaze traced the thick collar around his neck and she desperately wished she could save him the way he did for her.

Something resembling a smile flashed across his face and Elisa bit on her lip. Droplets of water fell against her face as the fishman approached cautiously. She sat up just a little, watching as he swept through the water before resting on the small platform.

They sat there together for a few moments, staring at each other before his hands started to move. She caught just a few words. Teach, life, and you was what she understood. She pursed her lips, looking down towards the water. What was he trying to say?

His hands started to move in the same motions before taking a step back. She watched him for a bit longer, trying to decipher what the creature was trying to bring across. Life? Teaching life? Wait, was he…?

He waved his hands at her, motioning for her to come into the water. Eyes widening with shock, she opened her mouth. Silence came from her, and she quickly signed to him before remembering that he was still learning how to use ASL.

I can’t or I’ll drown. The fins flicked against his face with something resembling annoyance and he signed back to her. Teach… teach you. Now?

Oh, so that’s what he wanted to do. Her savior; the fishman; the experiment, wanted to teach her to swim. But what if someone walked in on them? She could get into major trouble talking to the creature, much less actually getting into the pool. But then again, she could have drowned and nobody was around to see.

Turning towards the clock she checked the time.There was roughly an hour before the rest of the crew rejoined her. She had had overnight cleaning, after all.

But what the scientist said to her about the creature rang in her head. “He isn’t a human, Elisa. He is a monster; an animal. Do you think he has feelings? That he was made in the lord’s image? He is a creature and will hurt you if you get too close.”

What if he was wrong, though? He had saved her from the water’s icy grasp. And the thing was, he hadn’t needed to! The fishman had made a decision to help her and even went to pounding on her chest to make her cough up the water.

For once in Elisa’s life, she threw caution into the wind. If this fishman wanted to hurt her, he could have torn her apart down in the water.

What about my clothes? She asked herself, frowning as she looked down at herself. Her outfit was completely soaked, and she was still shivering slightly.

Would she be able to swim in that chilled water?

Well, as long as she kept an eye on the clock and hung up her clothes somewhere to dry…

After doing so and hanging her clothes, Elisa nervously touched her toes into the water. She merely had a bra and her underwear on. Her cheeks felt red and her body warm, unlike the water. She stood at the platform, the water gently licking at her toes.

Across from her, her savior swam back and forth almost excitedly before meeting her at the platform. He took a moment to observe her new form without clothes. Elisa held her breath as he sniffed at her, the room suddenly silent. Webbed hands gently touched her waist and she jumped at how cold his flesh was.

He pulled back and began to sign. You are soft and warm? Unlike I. Elisa smiled softly before sitting down on the platform. The water was cold, but she was slowly getting used to it’s soft jabs of numbness.

Yes, unlike you. I am a human and quite warm-blooded. She answered back, making sure to slow her pace to make sure he caught all of it.

A soft purr surprised her before a hand gently took her wrist. Teach. He signed with his free hand.

Elisa swallowed and hesitantly scooted to the platform’s edge. Was she really doing this? Could she trust him? A wave of fear settled within her belly. What if he hurt her? She could only imagine him holding her beneath the surface, as if playing with prey.

His hand loosened around her wrist before sliding down to meet her hand. She felt the webbing between his fingers against her fingertips and she looked down at his hand. But his signing took her attention.

I will not hurt you. Elisa debated internally with herself. She could trust him, couldn’t she? He had saved her, for fuck’s sake! Taking a deep breath, she set her hand on his shoulder. It felt cold and slightly slimy beneath her touch. He opened his mouth slightly before closing it as was not sure how to speak, as did her.

Well, here goes nothing, she thought to herself. Elisa slowly slid off of the platform and felt herself dip beneath the water. Terror ripped at her heart as she felt her grip slip from the her companion’s hand and shoulder and she was suddenly engulfed in black.

She struggled against the water but this time those same hands that had touched her pulled her back to the surface. Sputtering, she clung tightly to him. She could have drowned just now!

Elisa shivered, the panic from before quickly welling up in her throat. She felt like screaming out and thrashing against him, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. But his hold on her tightened to where an arm was wrapped around her waist and another holding her head against his shoulder.

His skin felt odd against hers. In the water, he felt slick but slightly warmer than the temperature of the pool. She could feel his fins on his face wave back and forth against the side of her head and she sighed deeply. How was she going to swim when she had no idea where to start?

The hand that was resting on her head massaged down to the back of her neck before tracing her spine to her lower back. She shivered at the gentle touch, her eyes closing at how calming the feeling was as he repeated the motions.

Surprisingly, the silence was much better than what someone’s words could offer her.

The way his body moved easily against hers and against the water was extraordinary, and oddly she felt safe there in this creature’s arms. Once he felt that she was calm enough to learn, he held her against his hip before signing to her.

Move your… lower arms… He looked lost for the word before she corrected him with a strained smile.

Move your legs back and forth. Like I. She could feel the strong swish of his own legs going back in forth in the water. Looking down, she studied his movements and saw just how easily he moved below.

Holding onto his body like a leech, she started to copy his movements and felt herself becoming balanced. It was a relief, and a giddy feeling was bubbling up in her belly and chest.

For the full minute she was swimming in place. Her legs were starting to burn but at least she was being able to not sink to the bottom. She looked down, watching herself move with the water and her eyes crept to his thighs. They were thick and filled with rough scales. His own legs moved with purpose and skill and it appeared like he wasn’t having much trouble staying afloat.

But then again he was a sea monster and closely resembling that of a frog and a fish. He had been living in water his whole life, and the humans had taken him away from his home to experiment on him. Regret and anger churned in her stomach. Elisa desperately wished she could help him but she knew she couldn’t sneak him out without a lot of help.

The movement of his free hand caught her attention and dragged her out of her thoughts. I will let you go now. Move your… your arms back and forth on the surface.

He gently led her to the side of the platform in case that she lost her balance. His hands were tight against her skin and she couldn’t help the flush that paraded across her flesh. The creature only seemed to huff a soft noise in response.

Focusing on what was at hand, Elisa struck her arms out away from her body. Her heart was suddenly back up in her throat and it took a moment to stabilize herself. Taking a few short breaths, Elisa started to move her hands back and forth.

Move your legs while moving arms. Elisa didn’t have the focus to correct him on his signing but instead followed his instructions. His hand left her waist and the absence had her heart fluttering. But the distraction of that she was actually swimming by herself had her pulling away from her feelings. The same giddy feeling that had cooled itself in her belly came back in full force.

She was swimming! The moment before, she could have drowned. But look at her now! Thanks to her fishman, of course. She smiled warmly before testing her balance and tried to swim away from the platform. Her arms and legs were starting to tire. She continued, though. This was so new to her and she didn’t want to end this new freedom. The water, now that she thought about it, was easy to maneuver through. It didn’t pull at her like it had before and it definitely wasn’t as cold as she had thought.

Although now the burning in her thighs and arms was starting to get to her. But Elisa was on a role and she wasn’t up for stopping quite yet. She swam quicker around the enclosure. Her strokes through the water were choppy and ugly, but they were strokes, nonetheless. Once she became prone on the other edge of the pool, she looked over to the fishy man but found that he was not there. Elisa frowned. Where had he gone?

Something slick beneath the water crept up her legs. Eyes going wide, she opened her mouth in an exclamation and launched herself away from what was touching her. A flash of a tentacle monster came across her vision and she nearly screeched. But, she reasoned with herself, it had to be her fishy companion. She was still trying to calm herself down when her head went under and she swallowed a bit of water. Pushing herself above the surface, she started to cough up the water that had slid down her throat.

A soft whimper sounded behind her and she felt hands once again on her hips. She was instantly balanced. She almost felt embarrassed at how hard it was for her to stay above the water’s surface. And, lord! How he had scared her!

She was gently pulled against his broad chest and they were moving. Thankfully, the two remained above the surface. His hand was splayed flat against her bare belly, the cartilage from between his fingers fluttered against her flesh as he dragged her through the water. The other was stretched out and guiding them to the platform. He seemed to act slightly bashful with his eyes cast away from her, almost as if he felt slightly guilty for scaring her. Elisa sighed, a hand gently resting on his chest while the other went to his back. She could feel the muscle beneath his flesh clenching and unclenching as he moved.

His hands were suddenly on her hips and he turned her around. Swallowing nervously, Elisa looked up to his eyes. They were the beautiful color of a shaded emerald, flecks of black and gold floating among the iris. Her face was reddening; she was sure of it. He started to learn towards her face and her eyes started to widen. Oh, lord, was he going to…?

His fins fluttered warmly and he pressed his forehead against hers. His mouth stayed away from hers, but she found the moment exhilarating and affectionate with slight relief. They stayed like that for a few moments before he separated and lifted her onto the platform.

When his hands were free, he moved to communicate. I will teach you more. Not now; later. Elisa smiled, holding her breath and gave an almost excited nod. Her feet swung in the water and he teasingly gripped one of her toes. His other hand ran up the expanse of her foot and slowly up her leg. He never went above her knee, which made her comfortable.

She hesitantly reached out, watching to make sure he was not going to try and bite her, and stroked the top of his head. The fins on either side of his head, which held pointy little barbs, were fluttering at the soft touch he was receiving. Elisa never really thought about how affection-starved this poor creature was.

He pushed his face against her palm, her heart breaking and pulsing with sympathy at the same time. She brushed her thumb against his cheek. Her smile was warm and particularly loving, her eyes speaking in emotion. She wished she could speak to him like an actual human being. But it seemed that he didn’t necessarily mind.

She could feel and hear the purr that rumbled up from his throat as he loosened his grip on her leg. She continued to run her hand over the expanse of his head and stroked the back of his neck, massaging the muscle and skull there. They stayed like that for a few moments.

While she moved away to grab her clothes, he whimpered in a low tone. Elisa shushed him gently, although it only made him swish the water gently with his finned hands.

I need to go home, little guppy. I’ll be back tomorrow. She smiled reassuringly. He dipped back into the water to where his face was half hid in the water. He watched her slide her cleaning outfit back on before disappearing completely below the water.

Elisa sighed softly before slipping her shoes on and leaving the room. Her heart stuck there and she could feel the empty desperation that remained in her chest. She wanted to help, but how could she without others in on it?

Freezing, she huffed as she realized that she had forgotten about the mess she had left on the steps. Turning back around, she hurried to grab the mop and bucket before returning to the room. Her eyes drifted across the pool, but the only sign of life were ripples on the surface. Other than that, her friend did not appear.

She bit her lip in guilt before getting to work. It was gross to clean her own vomit up. The smell wasn’t horrible, thankfully, but it seemed to swish around if there was too much gunk on the mop. She had to constantly rinse it out in the bucket.

She kept glancing towards the pool but there was no sign of the sea monster. It took her a good minute to clean it up before she headed back to the supply room.

Dumping the nasty water into the drain, Elisa couldn’t help but stare as it swirled into the hole. Her fishy little friend was so warm and kind to her.

Although at times he could become hostile, the moment they had shared just now was so different from how he acted with the others. Smiling thoughtfully, she walked to the fridge, took an egg and peeled it.

Walking back to the chamber with the experiment, Elisa watched the water’s surface. It was how she had left it before with no fishman to see. He seemed so bipolar at times. But she supposed he had the excuse to be.

Sighing softly, she set the egg on the edge of the step highest of them. She peered into the pool but couldn’t see the creature that dwelled beneath the water. At least he would enjoy the snack after she left.

Exiting the building, she looked up at it just once more before making her way home to think about what he’d teach her next.

#The Shape Of Water #Elisa #Fishman #The Experiment #Elisa/Fishman #Shape Of Water #Near-Drowning #Near Drowning #Drowning #Swimming #Swimming Lessons #Swim #SFW #Furry #Because c'mon guys this has a fish man and a human #Monster/Human #Fanfiction

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