Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6736120.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      League_of_Legends
  Relationship:
      Syndra/Zed
  Character:
      Syndra_(League_of_Legends), Zed_(League_of_Legends)
  Additional Tags:
      Public_Sex, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-03 Words: 2061
****** Unstoppable ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     How easy it was to command them and their fixed little morals — just
     the act of making love to her boyfriend had them doubling over in
     their tracks and scurrying past like it’s a trainwreck they didn’t
     want to be caught bystander to.
     (She needs a release, she needs to make a statement, she always needs
     his little dose of freedom and power, however fleeting. Shameless
     Syndra/Zed smut I wrote for a Modern!AU I got with some people)
Notes
     A piece written for a High School/Modern AU formulated by me and some
     friends, set in fictional American 'Runeterra City' and written from
     Syndra's perspective.
     For some basic context, Syndra in this AU was a child of recovering
     drug-addicts taken from her parents at a young age due to authorities
     believing them incapable of raising her and put in a restrictive,
     conservative foster home. Embittered by the situation she's grown
     into a struggling, spiteful teenager who cherishes freedom and some
     agency in her life, as well holds as a whole lot of spite for the
     system. Zed is a classmate, another problem kid from her neighborhood
     whose violent anger issues burned whatever bridges he'd once had with
     a former circle of friends (especially Shen, his once friend and the
     son of his despised therapist) and left him in a lonely state of
     wrath and loathing. The two found each other, at the very least.
They’re out of cigarettes, and that’s usually their cue to head back. But
Syndra isn’t ready to go.
“Zed wait.”
( He stands up anyway, too focussed on smothering the used cigarette butt
beneath his sneaker, like he’s making a point to tread the life from the grass
)
( Of course. )
The central park was the Administrative Division of Ionia’s evergreen pride and
joy and as of late, their refuge of choice. When their rage against the system
became too much to contain in the very prison that kindled it ( her home ),
they’d come here, they’d stamp on fresh grass, they’d deface the dainty little
picket signs urging them not to, and they’d find a park bench by the footpath
and sit there and smoke the whole pack through side by side as the sun set and
the thinning crowd of parkgoers passed by, affording them their ire and their
uneasy glances and even their spit. All for being who they were. Being Syndra
and Zed.
Today it was his idea to come here, and her problem. Her half-yearly inspection
day, when the woman from child services would come by and tally up her tardies
and run her drug test and remind her of her convictions, tell her in a peppered
voice that didn’t even pretend to believe its own bullshit that they were
sympathetic to her situation, but that her derelict conduct wasn’t the answer,
that in her current state she was on a path to nowhere and the world’s sympathy
would run dry before long. And then her screaming — at the bitch from child
services and her foster mother and later herself — that she already knew that,
what did she know better ( suffer better ) than that this world would never
show her mercy. She’d needed him to bring her here, to help her find the shred
of the freedom she needed to even hope to sleep tonight. But they’d been here
hours and done everything they always did and she still felt trapped and
frightened and helpless and wrathful. And the sun had set and they were out of
cigarettes.
“I don’t want to go back yet.”
He looks down at her ( she’s kneeling on the bench, her nails digging furiously
at the flesh of her own knee ) and without a word sits himself back down at her
side. His eyes ask the question instead ( “then what?” ) because he’s out of
ideas. So is she, she doesn’t know what she wants, just that she wasn’t ready
to go home. But having him around couldn’t hurt.
He’s done smoking so he’s trying to fix his surgical mask( anything to distract
himself from how helpless he feels, probably ) but before he can she lulls her
head onto his shoulder, presses her lips against his scarred cheek and rests
her palm against the firmness of his chest, feeling the strength of his
heartbeat. In silence he follows, he dips his nose against her scalp (she
almost feels bad. she stinks of bleach)slides his arms around her ( it’s all he
can think to do, to help, and he does it in an instant) and she lets him hold
her for a long moment. And already, she feels a little better. Forget
terrorizing the district park, he reallywas the best comfort she had.
Maybe he was right, maybe there was nothing left to do here and they ought just
go back and do what they always did when they’d run dry their other options for
release ( fuck ) because what better did she have than him. The thought grips
her and she slides her palm down the length of his chest, the tips of her
fingers dipping beneath his waist. She notes the swelling in his jeans (he
exhales when she touches him ), that he’s on the same page as her ( he always
is )and for the first time all evening, she’s smirking so slightly. A wisp of
night air streaks past her, and she comes to a better realization. A scandal.
Did she even have to go home? ( she’s unstoppable. )
“Do you want to..?” she looks up at him, and the words flutter hoarse from her
lips ( voice still battered from her outburst at home) but they’re nonetheless
heavy with her eagerness and a budding lust and the heel of her palm’s still
therebetween his legs. All she needed was his word ( and she knew he’d give
it).
“Here?” of course there’s no judgment in his tone, no indication he thought her
mad, it’s a mere question to ensure that he’d heard right and hadn’t lost her
words to the park’s ambient, that the hungerdawning on his face now that the
idea was implanted in his mind too wasn’t getting ahead of itself.
“What thefuck’s it matter?”
He laughs. She loved the way Zed laughed because he had the laugh of a man who
wanted to ravage the world( ravage her)and it only thins her patience more —
she lets him pull her over his lap, straddled with her legs to his either side,
thighs raking at rough denim and knees buckled against the head of the park
bench.
He’s already fumbling with his jeans button but she slaps his hands away
because he’s too slowfor what she wants and she releases him herself, fingers
beginning to quake with anticipation as they brushed along his. She can’t wait
another moment, she raises her hips and dips her hand beneath her skirt,
nudging aside that last cumbersome strip of fabric that divided them — she
lowers herself with a long, crying gasp that she doesn’t bother contain because
she doesn’t give a fuck who’s around to hear it.
He grunts and goes to smother it in another kiss but she’s so overwhelmed by
him she’s tipped her head back and he can’t meet her lips. He pecks and slips
at her chin, her neck( he can’t get any grip, not when she’s already coated in
sweat)instead and she’s holding the back of his head, grabbing at tufts of his
spiky hair with her eyes blaring into the stars — she feels so wondrous, like
every inch of rage and spite for this wretched world she’d carried within in
her all evening had been banished to those heavens and the void they always
left behind to be filled with hellish spirals of self-hate was filled by
himinstead. And he felt as he always did, strongand warm and thereto share her
rancour, to indulge it like this, his hands now kneading at the small of her
back through her tank top(she could already feel the bruises forming, and she
loved that, his indiscriminate roughness, the way that nothing encumbered his
strength not even their intimacy)and pushing her closer to him.
She meets his gaze and he’s got hungry eyes as she starts to swivel her hips
and meet him in his skiddy kisses and his thrusts and it’s all familiar motions
to them but the haze is heavier and hotter than ever as this time their sweat
is trapped beneath their clothes, chilled only for a moment at a time by the
occasional sweeps of night breeze. But she wouldn’t have it any other way, and
she loses herself in the euphoria and the heat and the dull ache and him and
she doesn’t know how long she’s been doing that when the patter of footsteps on
the path she now had her back turned against alerts her that they had company,
steps that come to a deliberate, stunned slow as their owner realizes what
they’d walked into. Her skirt curtained the physical scandal but there was
still little mistaking what they were doing from their movements alone, their
hard ragged breathing - she lets her moans spill out with full, emblazoned
force so to send any shred of doubt remaining straight to the fire.
This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? People’s(the whole world’s )outrage, how
fucking easy it was to command them and their fixed little morals, just the act
of making love to her boyfriend had them doubling over in their tracks and
scurrying past like it’s a trainwreck they didn’t want to be caught bystander
to. That thought threatened to tip her over the edge, and from just one more
agitated ( oh how he shared in her thrill ) thrust she’s tearing at his hair
and blinded by sensation and squealing out to the stars that lit them. It’s so
much, too much (she slips off him ) but she feels like she’s floating (even as
her balance gives and she lets him lie her atop the glossy bench and beneath
him, rejoin with her and continue - after all, he’s not done and she’d never
deny him the release they bothcraved so similarly, so desperately), like she’s
never known rage and only ever bliss and that was all she had wanted that
night.
“Fuck...Syndra…”
“Zed...ah...you’re...so..”
—heavy, he’s heavy and his weight’s more imposing than it had ever been now
that his bones were crushing hers into wood with gaps in it rather than a
mattress and the texture of his jacket and his jeans is rougher than his bare
skin but she ravished it. The rocking heat of him and continuing ebb of her own
climax and the forming bruises and the wind were bringing mist to her eyes, but
she was smiling - one hand tenderly tracing at the scars that framed his mouth,
the other hand scratching down the back of his coarse leather jacket. She
raises her legs and twists and squeezes her thighs around the back of his,
tight, and giggles as he let out that spluttering grunt he always gave when she
did that. He quickens, fucking her with all he had and suddenly they’re gasping
in unison all over again, and she can’t hear the footsteps over them and it’s
almost a surprise to hear a middle-aged woman’s tirade cut through the air—
“Oi! Stop that, you realize this is public property you—”
—it’s a flurry of the usual buzzwords “indecent” “criminal” “degenerates” a
comment about how they were probably addicts, another on how they were good for
nothing, a threat to call the police. She responds with a single arm (the one
not clawing at the back of his neck ) extended to the night sky, middle finger
pointing higher still and she hears the scoff and the retreat of their
spectator and it pleases her but nothing excites her more than how Zeddidn’t
slow down through any of it, whether he didn’t notice or better yet didn’t
care, that his hands were still grasping at her cheek and her chest and that
his hips were still crashing into hers and nothing stops them until as suddenly
and with as much fervor as if lightning had struck that park and struck him, he
shudders and he groans and it’s done.
She brushes beads of sweat from his brow with the tips of her fingers as he
finishes, tipping her head back and pushing her lips out to kiss him yet again,
though this time it’s more like she’s catching his face as he collapses onto
her, shivering as he spills into her. She holds him in the moonlight in a
silence only punctured by their gasps, for who knew how long until they’ve
found the strength to sit back up and replace what little sweat-drenched attire
they’d unhinged. The park is empty, they’re watched only by starlight and dim
street lamps. They were alone now. She wonders exactly how many people saw, if
the police were en route. But none of that mattered to her anymore.
“Ah...whew…”
It’s all she can muster for that moment. She feels ache and the exhaustion and
the sweat cascade over her body, but it’s a pleasant thing, she’s all but
forgotten the pain she’d come here to run from. She feels so freeshe’d cry if
that didn’t seem so pathetic.So instead she sits there, leaning back into him,
draping her arms around his shoulders. She looks at him( and he stares back at
her — this boy, let him fuck her dry on a park bench and he’d still watch her
with unquenchable desire. she adored that ), a dazed, unchained smile tugging
at her lips.
“Lets go home.”
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