#i see this as only somewhat of a fix it fic
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I kind of just forgot to finish this fic - whoops!
physical therapy - the final installment
Hob helps him put all his books and things away. It gives his flat slightly more color and life. Dream still feels his lost art as an aching hole in his chest but at least he has this, Hob and these incremental improvements.
When they’re done he orders takeaway, and over his lo mein he mulls on what happened, on what he said. Hob didn’t actually say it back. But it— it’s fine. Even if Hob doesn’t say it aloud, it’s okay. Dream knows that Hob loves him. He shows it. He doesn’t need to say it. Dream’s ex-lover had, after all, said that he loved him frequently. “Come on, you know I love you.” But where had it shown up? That was not love. It was the opposite of love.
So he doesn’t need Hob to say it back, it is enough that he—
“Hey, Dream?” Hob says, interrupting his thought. His smile is warm, successfully banishing any hope of Dream finding his line of thinking again, as sunlight does to shadows. “I love you.”
“You were just thinking that now?” Dream asks weakly.
“Well, yeah. I didn’t say it before. I was too startled that you did.”
Dream supposes he had said it somewhat… fast. He has often been too fast in relationships, but he means it this time, in a different way than before. This love is fast but it’s real. It’s not just infatuation, or, as he’s slowly realizing some of his past relationships may have been, simply desperate bids to feel loved.
“I’m glad you were my physical therapist,” he says, and Hob laughs. I’m glad that we found each other.
“Me, too.” He takes Dream’s hand, the mostly-fixed one. “And I’m glad you got out. That was really brave.”
Dream scoffs. “I do not see how being so afraid could be brave.” He had never felt brave. Only terrified.
“That’s exactly why it was brave,” Hob insists. “You were scared but you didn’t let it stop you. And you didn’t let it stop you from creating art again, either.”
Hob seems to believe it quite fervently. Perhaps… Dream can try to believe it as well. “Maybe,” he concedes.
“Definitely,” Hob says.
Dream decides not to contradict him this time. He just eats his food, and basks in Hob’s company, coming back again and again to the fact that Hob went to get his things for him, defended him. Every time he thinks about it, he feels warm inside.
And later, when he curls up with Hob in bed, he thinks he feels… good. And safe. And maybe hopeful.
—
Several weeks later.
—
Dream has taken to spending more time in Hob’s flat than his own. Though his flat feels slightly more homey with the addition of his books and other things, it’s still not quite right. And he can’t shake the habit of blocking the door when he’s home alone. He still feels safer if he’s in Hob’s space, if Hob is around.
He doesn’t realize Hob knows that until he pushes aside the shelf he’d shoved in front of the door to let Hob in one night, and Hob looks from him to the shelf and back and says, “Are you still doing that?”
“What,” Dream says, eloquently.
“I can hear you,” Hob says, with a sad little smile. “Just didn’t want to make you feel awkward about it.”
“Oh,” says Dream, suddenly embarrassed. He— he should be more confident, shouldn’t he? And yet.
“You can come to my place if you want?” Hob says. “Even if I’m not there. I’ll give you a key.”
Dream goes to turn him down out of hand, he doesn’t need Hob to do that for him—
But. He wants it.
“Hell,” Hob says, and now he’s the one who seems nervous, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “just move in if you want. I like having you there.”
“You,” Dream says slowly, “would let me move in? Already?”
Hob gathers his confidence, taking a deep breath. “Why not? If you want to.”
Why not, indeed.
The more Dream thinks about it, the more he finds he likes the thought. He does not know if he can transition his entire life into Hob’s flat, not yet. Perhaps he’ll maintain his own flat as an art studio, or as a sort of… escape route, for he does not think he can handle having to flee his own home with nowhere to go ever again. But, on a regular basis… he thinks he might like simply being with Hob. It feels easy. Is it alright for it to just feel easy?
“…Okay,” he says, at length, and Hob beams. If he had smiled like that from the beginning, Dream might not have paused to think. He would do anything for that smile.
“Okay!” Hob echoes, still with that beaming smile that makes Dream feel like he’s standing directly in the sun. “I’ll get you a key.”
Dream smiles back, and his smile feels almost as easy as Hob’s.
—
The night after moving the last of Dream’s things in—he has, in fact, maintained his flat as a studio, but has moved everything else—flush with rather too much wine, they find themselves sitting in bed, having made the dubious, intoxicated decision to break out Hob’s barely used finger paints.
Giggling drunkenly, Hob dabs some blue paint on Dream’s forehead. Dream goes cross-eyed trying to look at him.
“You are bringing your meager finger painting skills to bear to paint me now?” he says.
“Is there a more perfect canvas?” Hob traces a star shape onto Dream’s cheek. “Besides. I’m no good with the canvases. You’ve seen it.”
“Your skills lie elsewhere, I think,” Dream agrees, and Hob laughs. “But they are many. However. Since you’ve started this, you should know—” Dream’s lips twitch in amusement like he's about to start laughing over something he knows and Hob doesn’t. "This is not body paint.”
"So? It's just tempera paint, it's not dangerous."
"No," Dream agrees, trailing his fingertips across Hob's chest, "but it is going to stick in your hair."
Fuck.
Dream giggles, then slathers a whole palm full of orange paint across Hob's chest, truly coating his chest hair in it, tracing a heart pattern in its wake. God, he's a menace.
"Oh, no," says Dream, deadpan, "now you will have to soak in the bath for hours to get it all out."
Hob dips his fingertips in the blue glitter paint and smears it over Dream's temple, tangling his fingers in the longest strands of his hair. "Now you'll have to be there with me."
"Horrible," Dream says, giggling again. “How will I survive it?”
Hob draws a heart shape on his chest, then kisses him, getting paint on his mouth. It tastes horrible, but he doesn’t care, because he’s kissing Dream. It’s always a marvel.
Dream curls his hands into Hob’s hair, making it all tacky with paint. He kisses Hob’s cheek, leaving a painted mark. “I think you are a lovely canvas,” he says. “Perhaps the loveliest. Should I paint you? I think you would look gorgeous.”
The thought of Dream’s delicate fingers all over him as he makes his paintings makes Hob shiver. “Paint me all orange? I’m sure it’ll be flattering.”
“Orange, and red, and yellow,” says Dream. “The colors of the sunset.”
Hob feels unexpectedly sentimental about it. “I’d think an artist like you would be using words like ‘ochre.’”
“Unfortunately,” Dream says with utter seriousness, “finger paint does not come in ochre. Though it would certainly complement your skin tone.”
Hob laughs. Resolves to try to find finger paint in ochre just to make Dream smile.
“You’ll just have to make it with the primary colors,” he says.
Dream grins, caught immediately by the paints, and sets to painting Hob how he sees fit. Hob submits to the treatment. Tries to cope with the feeling of Dream’s fingers all over him without having to put the paints aside and initiate another activity entirely.
Later, buzzing with the feeling of Dream touching him and sticky with paint, he finds himself in the bath, Dream lying against his chest and dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair, leaving eddying swirls of orange paint in the water as it slowly washes off. Dream’s own hair is still clumped together with blue glitter.
“This is slower to come out than I even anticipated,” Dream observes, still lightly touching Hob’s chest. “Perhaps next time you might acquire actual body paint.”
“Maybe next time you’ll just make a painting of me instead of painting me,” Hob suggests, chuckling.
“It was your idea,” Dream reminds him.
He lays his cheek on Hob’s shoulder, smearing more of the wet paint. “This was fun. I always enjoy the time I spend with you.”
Hob runs a hand through his hair, dripping water and streams of blue. It’s worth any and all mess to see Dream smile the way he had. “Me too, love.”
“Being with you makes me want to make art again,” Dream says. His lips quirk in amusement. “And not only on you.”
It’s really all Hob had ever wanted.
“I’m glad, sweetheart,” he says, holding Dream close, “I’m so glad.”
—
A few months later.
—
Hob is so proud of Dream for deciding to exhibit some of his art again. Hob’s always thought Dream’s new art was lovely, but he knows Dream didn’t always feel the same way. And still, his new art doesn’t look the same as his old pieces. But he’s putting on an exhibition anyway.
Hob might have taken him out for an embarrassingly extravagant dinner to celebrate the announcement.
Now he’s reaping the rewards—the reward, of course, being gazing at Dream in his formal wear. He looks incredibly elegant in his glittering black suit. It had taken Hob a while to get his mind back online after first seeing him, and he’d had to dip him into a kiss before they left the flat.
Now that they’re actually at the show, he’s managing better to keep his thoughts suitable for a public space, but mainly because he’s more focused on how Dream is feeling. And on keeping any unsavory characters away, should they dare to show up.
But as they stand in the corner of the room, watching the people milling about and studying the paintings, Dream is fidgeting. Shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, rubbing his fingers together. Hob watches him do it for a few minutes before finally saying something.
“Are you worried he’s going to show up? Because I’ll throw him out.”
“I know you will,” Dream says. Still, he keeps watching the room nervously, all the people meandering around, chatting amongst themselves. “It’s not that. It’s… what if they all hate it?”
Hob takes his hand and squeezes it. “Did you used to get nervous before?”
“Sometimes. But I knew, at least, that I felt confident in what I had made. What anyone else thought of it was of less importance.” He looks up at the painting they’re closest to, a large, cool-toned piece. “I still feel sometimes that it is not right, now.”
“Maybe it’s right for now,” Hob says, and Dream looks at him questioningly. “Didn’t most famous artists have seasons? They didn’t always work in the same style for their whole careers.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He sighs. “I am still getting used to it.”
“You also don’t have to sell them, if you don’t want to,” Hob points out. “Remove that whole bit from the equation.”
“I want to know that I can,” says Dream. “That this, as a career, is not hopeless.”
“I’ll buy them,” Hob swears.
“One, that would result in a net of zero money coming in. Two—” his lips twitch up— “you can’t afford me.”
“You’re right, I can’t. You should have tipped your physical therapist, then maybe I could.”
“I’m already sleeping with my physical therapist, now I have to pay you as well?”
“Sex can’t buy paintings, Dream,” Hob says sadly. “Well, unless...”
“Hmm. Perhaps I’ll just do a portrait of you for my next exhibition,” Dream muses. “A nude one.”
“Hell yeah,” Hob says, and Dream, evidently anticipating a no, starts giggling. “Just don’t sell it. Makes me feel weird to think of some random guy with one of my nudes above their mantlepiece.”
“One of your nudes?” Dream asks, raising an eyebrow. “There are others I’m unaware of?”
Hob just winks at him.
Dream studies him, intrigued, for another moment, tongue running over his lower lip. He’s learned what that sort of look does to Hob.
Hob swallows hard. “Could get started on it now?”
Dream chuckles. “Later. For now—” he straightens his shoulders— “I must try to sell this art.”
In the end, Dream did manage to sell a few paintings. Hob didn’t even buy any, though he was tempted to. Even without his interference, Dream left the exhibition flush with cash and, more importantly, pride.
Hob knew he hadn’t really believed he could do it: make art again in the first place, and especially not of a quality that someone would buy. But he’d done it.
He’d insisted on taking Hob out afterwards, rather than the other way around, and now Hob is shepherding a rather drunk Dream back to their flat.
“They actually liked it, Hob,” Dream says, and hiccups. He leans heavily against Hob’s side as Hob tries to maneuver them up the stairs to the flat. “The new art. They liked it.”
“I know, sweetheart, they did,” Hob agrees as he somehow gets them both through the door. He tumbles them into the bedroom and sets Dream down on the bed. Dream flops backwards, lying on his back on the mattress.
“It’s allll because of you,” he slurs, staring up at the ceiling. “You fixed…” he waves his hand vaguely.
Hob gets Dream’s shoes off, and then his own, and crawls into bed beside him. Their nice jackets and shirts crumple but he pays it no mind. “Oh, yeah? What did I fix?”
Sober Dream, he thinks, knows that this wasn’t really Hob’s doing. That no matter what Hob had contributed in terms of rehabilitating his hand, it was Dream who still had to put in the work to get back here. Dream knows that, usually.
Drunk Dream is trying to tell him something different, he thinks.
“All of it,” Dream insists. He lays his limp hand over his heart. “Me.”
“Aw, sweetheart.” Hob leans over him to kiss him. Dream hums in pleasure and twines a hand in his hair, tugging him down.
“I love you,” he mumbles, lips smearing against Hob’s. He sounds so happy. Very, very drunk still, but happy. Hob remembers the caged, nervous Dream he’d first met, who’d barely wanted to let him see his hand. Maybe he has managed to fix something, after all.
“I love you, too, baby,” he says, unexpectedly choked up. Dream cuddles him close, burying his face in Hob’s neck, worming his limbs around him so they’re all tangled up together. Hob holds him like that until he falls asleep, resigning himself to their ruined formal wear, basking in the fact that Dream is happy.
It’s all that matters to him, in the end.
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who are we to fight the alchemy? || Gojo Satoru x Kagome Higurashi (1)
summary: All Kagome wanted to do was go home, after her friends made her go out to go clubbing. As a result, she had no choice but to go through Shibuya, on Halloween night of all nights.
Sometimes, it only takes one person to change everything.
warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, eventual fluff, eventual romance, fix-it fic (kind of), BAMF Kagome Higurashi, Adult Kagome Higurashi
word count: 6.3k
A/N: this is a crossover pairing I've ben obsessed with recently, so here is the first chapter of a story that's all vibes with little plot. I hope you have fun and it can heal other's hearts after all the harm jjk caused all of us!
Also posted on Ao3 and fanfiction.net if you prefer reading on other websites
All Kagome had wanted to do that night was get home. If anything, she was quietly fuming at the thought that she had, again, let Eri, Ayumi and Yuka talk her into going out, only to be met with thorough disappointment and boredom, and she wanted nothing more than to get back to the comfort of her bed.
Upon coming back from the Feudal Era, she had reveled in the feeling of safety, in the fact she no longer had to risk her life or see her friends be gravely injured, in no longer having the weight of the world on her shoulders, in the mundane pleasures of the modern life. Time had gone by since then, though, with the well never letting her through again, and though she had accepted it and moved on, now…
Well. Now, she may or may not be a little… bored.
The modern world had its oddities, too. Though yokai were few and far between, particularly in Tokyo, as the remaining ones preferred the empty forests and mountains, there were creatures roaming the world. They looked somewhat like yokai, but were unintelligent, for the ones she’d seen, strictly malevolent, and, from what she could tell, non-living.
They also instinctively steered clear of her and, as she’d confirmed for herself, they could not resist even the smallest contact with spiritual energy. No need for spiritual arrows, even coming in contact with her was unbearable for the weaker ones. As for the stronger ones, while they also could not withstand her touch, it was still more efficient to use arrows — but not necessary, not in the way it had been with yokai.
She wasn’t sure what these things were. Since becoming a teacher, she’d gotten used to cleaning the high school of them, as they appeared frequently, and discreetly freeing her students of them. After a few years of that, the school had started to feel… purified, with the creatures’ appearance becoming rarer and rarer.
“The atmosphere feels much better in the school, don’t you think, Higurashi?” one of her colleagues had asked her recently. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s gotten much brighter in here, I think. Even the students feel it!”
She’d hummed and smiled, but hadn’t commented on it.
That was one of the more interesting aspects of her life these days. Going clubbing on Halloween night with her high school friends, on the other hand… wasn’t.
She cursed under her breath as she wedged her way through the crowd outside of Shibuya. Maybe she’d have been better off calling a cab, but her small salary as a teacher, paired with the rising cost of life in Tokyo, meant that she’d be feeling the ripple of that for far too long. So, even if just the thought of the sea of human bodies down there exhausted her, she started making her way down, deep into the belly of the station.
She had just reached the top of the stairs to the last level, where she hoped to catch a subway soon enough, when she felt it.
Something was coming down. She lifted her head, only to be, of course, met with nothing but the ceiling. Even without seeing it, she felt its power extending, caging the whole building, and she felt it sealing as it reached the floor. Her breath caught painfully in her throat, heartbeat racing as she glanced around, trying to understand what was happening.
“Yeah, so I told him— Can you hear me? Hey, do you— Hello? Shit, my call cut off,” a young man muttered beside her.
Soon, everyone was echoing the same feeling — calls cutting off, SMS not sending, no Internet, no signal, no signal, no signal.
And Kagome couldn’t see anything, just try to keep breathing through the oppressive feeling.
She hadn’t experienced something like that since the three days she had spent inside the Jewel. The longest, worst days of her life.
She’d never thought she would have to deal with something like that again. But, unable to move, stuck between the bodies of thousands of others, as everyone slowly came to realize that no trains were coming and they couldn’t leave the building, she felt tears well up in her eyes.
I don’t have time for that, she thought, forcing them back and tightening her jaw to keep her lower lip from trembling. There had to be something she could do, and she refused to stand there, weak and useless, as whatever had caused this to happen decided what to do with them.
Except she couldn’t see anything.
She managed to take a few steps more, craning her neck in hope of spotting something others might not be able to see, when she bumped into a broad man.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “if I could just—”
“Listen, lady,” he said, turning around a glaring at her, sweat dripping down his forehead, “no one here can move. So just stay where you are until they fix the issue, alright? No need to try anything. Stay in your goddamn place.”
Then he turned his back on her again, and Kagome stared, blinking slowly.
See, it was in moments like that when she regretted not having a big, strong half-demon with anger issues by her side.
Well, that, and whenever she was making herself ramen.
She hoped he’d found something he liked just as much, in the Feudal Era.
Bumping into the man again — one might say, deliberately pushing him, but Kagome would never —, she slipped through the crowd further, out of reach by the time he turned around to shout at her.
“You bitch!”
Asshole.
There were odd things going on, she realized as she got closer to the trails. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel strong presences, exuding the same energy as the creatures she’d been getting rid off for months, except so much stronger it made it hard to breathe, not unlike Naraku’s miasma — except that she seemed to be the only one to feel it.
The spiritual energy swirled inside her, instinctively wanting to rebel against whatever energy that was — not demonic, nor spiritual… what could it be? — and she pushed it down. She hadn’t let it out fully since the first couple of months of her first year of high school. It brought her unnecessary attention, which she didn’t want to deal with back then, and she had never gotten around to letting it out fully. There had been no need, and her emotions were either to reign in when she didn’t let herself experience everything. With her spiritual energy out, she didn’t have a choice to do that. Still, even when under control, it prickled unpleasantly when that energy infested the air.
“Does anyone know what’s going on?” she asked out loud, to no one in particular.
“No clue, but there are some dudes on the tracks,” a woman answered, somewhere in front of her. “Maybe that’s why the trains aren’t coming? The security should hurry up to get them off if that’s the case, though.”
“Some dudes?” a tall man in a suit scoffed. “There is one man there. Anyway, I heard the security is waiting for someone to come.”
“Who?” Kagome asked, frowning in confusion. She could not imagine how one man was necessary here.
“Gojo Satoru,” he replied with a shrug. “No clue who that is, though. Heard someone saying that.”
Okay. Very odd. Sounded like a trap for that guy, whoever he is, if you asked her, but there wasn’t much she could do about it from where she, and the doors to the tracks were shut close, which left her with another choice.
Going back.
Whatever it was that she felt fall earlier, she could at least try undoing it. If it was similar in nature to the weird energy of the creatures, it wouldn’t last long in front of her anyway.
Problem was, of course, that everyone was trying to leave, and there just wasn’t any space to go. She managed to make around twenty meters before getting stuck again, back at the bottom of the stairs.
This was starting to get annoying. If Inuyasha was there, she’d hop on his shoulders and they’d jump over the crowd. If Kirara was around, she’d fly over the scene and away from here. If Sango was here, well, she’d probably start mowing down the crowd with her Hiraikkotsu.
Kami, she missed her friends.
“What’s he doing up there?” yet another anonymous voice in the crowd asked.
Tilting her head all the way back, Kagome squinted to try and figure out what is was she was seeing.
If her eyes weren’t betraying her, high up there, where she thought the ground floor of Shibuya was, there was a man. Floating in the air.
She’d seen such things before, of course, but these were yokai. That man, though even from where she was she could tell that there was something incredibly powerful about him, was decidedly human.
And, as she slowly realized because the silhouette was growing closer, coming down.
Fast.
Right above her.
Surely, he wasn’t going to…?
Nope, he definitely was. She ducked with a shriek before his shoe came in contact with her face, and watched as he stepped onto some guy’s head instead, then jumping through the crowd before disappearing behind the gates protecting the rails.
Could that be Gojo Satoru? The guy that was supposed to save everyone here? Really?
Well, she supposed having the power to fly was a step in the right direction — no pun intended — but she did wonder if he could be trusted to save them.
Though, again, she once knew a boy with a heart of gold who would have saved everyone here while absolutely stomping all over them and yelling insults at the people under him too, so maybe she shouldn’t be so prompt to judge.
She still couldn’t move, could only crane her neck and try to glimpse what was happening. And things were happening, which made it all the more frustrating. She could hear the screams, as the gates to the tracks opened and people fell down, she could feel the energy’s rise and fall, she could see a blueish aura developing, become stronger. She both heard and felt, deep in her bones, as one of the things that was never really alive died, and it tugged at her heart in a way it never had before. Somewhere, she thought, a leaf had weathered and died.
She couldn’t explain it though, couldn’t explain anything that was going on there — and things only got worse from there.
She��d stayed composed, mostly, as things went crazier, even she didn’t understand a thing. Fear may have been running through her veins, but it was a feeling she was once used to, and she found that that wasn’t the kind of things you just forgot.
As a train started to approach though, slowing down not far from her, fear was replaced by absolute horror.
She could see the souls seeping out of it, contorting, bent into abnormal shapes, sobbing and begging to anyone who could hear them, for freedom.
Souls weren’t things she usually saw. Sometimes, she noticed someone with a very large one, and she wondered what their story was, if it was anything like hers, but for most people, their shapes espoused their bodies perfectly — they were right where they belonged.
She choked a sob, and it was only when she felt the tears slide down her cheeks that she realized she was crying.
She tried to take a step back, bumped against another body, didn’t comprehend the person’s protest.
Her head
spins.
These
are
all
people.
The subway doors opened slowly, and all Kagome could do was watch as the horrible, misshaped humans with the screaming souls poured out, tearing into the other humans who stood in their paths. One of them rushed towards her, and she grabbed onto it, hands tightening onto its shoulders as it tried to bite her face off.
As she was falling, she felt its body shift under her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered quietly to the young woman whose dead body remained in her arms, as her soul was freed. She saw it shiver, taking back its true form, before floating towards the exit of the station — hopefully, it would be free to do so.
Around her, there was nothing but chaos. The humans that were no longer humans ripping into the ones that still were, bodies falling from the upper floors and coming to crash down near her. She didn’t have time to mourn any of those deaths, nor did she have the power to do much, not as she was. She wished that she had her bow and arrows with her, but they were forgotten in a corner of her grandpa’s shed, where she hadn’t stepped foot in months, maybe years.
That meant she had nothing to channel her spiritual energy into. The only choice that left her, she thought as she slowly rose back to her feet, abandoning the woman’s dead body on the floor, was to let her spiritual energy flow out.
It had been so long since she’d last done that, though, that she had no idea where to start. She had spent so many years repressing that side of her, only using it to protect her students and loved ones, trying to dismiss the years she’d spent in the Feudal Era, trying to fit in and be normal and forget… How could she let it out again, even if she wanted to?
No choice, though, she repeated to herself, clenching her fists. Another monster jumped on her, and with a gentle touch she set it to rest, doing her best to accompany the body of the old man to the floor. Then came a businessman, and a teenager, and a middle-aged woman with a round face, and Kagome couldn’t figure out what to do, not when they kept coming, and they were all people, all with their own lives, their own loved ones, and her eyes burned, and her heart ached, and she needed it all to—
Stop.
When the world froze, she didn’t understand what was happening.
She saw a dash of white to her left, and realized, slowly, that everyone around her had gone completely and utterly still. Former humans, humans, even the oddly shaped creatures she could spot now that the world had gone quiet. She took a step forward, then another.
Nothing moved, except — except that white bolt, running through the people, piercing through the former humans.
It was the man she’d seen earlier, she realized.
Had she been right about his identity then?
Was he Gojo Satoru?
She walked through a world gone still. She could feel, distantly, something pushing against her mind, trying to get in, but the spiritual energy inside her would never let it. It was an instinctive thing, a refusal, and she knew that whatever was happening outside of her just wasn’t compatible with what was going on inside.
She had so many questions, not even the beginning of an answer, but she let them go, walking slowly in the frozen space, bending down to brush her fingers against the back of former humans to get their bodies to turn back into their rightful form. They deserved to find rest as they had existed.
One of them was a young girl, wearing a Sailor Moon costume. She had to have gone out to have fun tonight — and her life had not only been cut short, but horrifically so, through pains Kagome could not even begin to imagine. She bent down, picking up the magical girl staff that was hung at her waist. It was a silly thing, nothing like Miroku’s staff, but holding it like it was a weapon gave her a little bit of strength.
She needed magic too, tonight.
She walked between an odd young man — who she knew was no man at all — with long grey hair and stitches all over his body and face, and a blue creature with what could best be described as a volcano for a head. She didn’t touch them, knew right away that they were not the same as the ones she had gotten rid of at her high school. She needed more information, and that meant that, at least for now, she would not risk making contact.
Plus, there was something by a pillar that had caught her attention.
Well, it didn’t feel like something. Her eyes told her it was a box, but she picked up nothing from it.
No, not nothing — less than nothing, a void, a black hole, an emptiness in a world where nothing was truly empty. It was off, in the same bizarre, fucked up way this whole situation was off, and once more, she couldn’t figure out what on earth was going on here.
The white bolt appeared again on the stairs on the other side of her, on the opposite side of the place through which he’d left, still tearing through the former humans, finally getting to the last one, a couple meters away from her. He didn’t pay any attention to her, probably assuming she was frozen like the rest. The second the head was torn off, the world switched back on.
Kagome looked at him. There was blood all over his clothes and hands, dripping from a spot on his cheek. The bluest eyes she’d ever seen appeared to shine under white locks of hair that clung to his forehead. He was panting painfully, shoulders slinking down with each exhale, chest rising up and down. He was a handsome man, but that wasn’t what stuck out to her right now. No, she thought of how he looked tired. She thought of how he had just allowed the souls of hundreds, maybe of thousands of those humans to go free, and carried that burden on his shoulders forever now. She thought of all the people that were alive now, thanks to him. She thought of how he’d done it all alone, and her heart ached.
All of her important battles, she’d fought with all of her friends by her side.
His eyes darted to the box, which was sitting between him and her, and all of a sudden, eyes snap open on the box, as the nothingness around it expanded.
The white-haired man’s eyes widened, and he spun around, starting to get away — when another man appeared. Long black hair, traditional clothing, stitches on his forehead, and something so deeply, deeply wrong about him that even after everything she’d seen that night, it still made Kagome’s stomach churn.
“Satoru!” he said cheerfully, confirming Kagome’s suspicions about the man’s identity. “Long time no see.”
The white-haired man froze, and almost right as that happened, the box started to shake.
Kagome’s body moved on instinct. Her gut telling her that something bad was about to happen, her knowledge that she could stop it, her deep conviction the white-haired man deserved to have someone on his side, it all took over, and she couldn't have stopped to think about it if she wanted to.
Just as the box was launching itself forward, she’d stepped in front of it, raising a hand. Her back collided with that of the white-haired man, so she was certain whatever was coming wouldn’t get in contact with him, another unconscious decision. Since she didn’t have anything to channel her energy into, all she could do was raise the Sailor Moon staff she’d grabbed earlier. It wasn’t anything much, but she could still push her energy through there, using it to shape it as she wished to — until she figured how to actually let it out.
“Kekkai!”
Barriers had never been her specialty. Kikyo and Miroku might have excelled at them, but her powers mostly manifested in an offensive way, not defensive. In this case though, she only wanted to shield the two of them, not a whole building, like she’d tried — and failed — to do at her school a few times. This was much more within her capabilities, even with such a small staff as her only tool.
The box shrieked like it was in pain when it hits the barrier, and her spiritual energy started pouring into the barrier, through the staff, as it purified it. A lesser priestess could have been drained in an instant. Kagome? She felt energized. As the power left her body, used as it was intended to, it felt like she finally had room to breathe.
The box fell to the floor, eyes closed again. Defeated, if only for now. Around it, space was back to normal.
Wow. Not too bad for someone who sucked at barriers, huh?
“Are you okay?” she asked, whirling around to look at the man, a hand naturally coming to rest on his shoulder.
She was met with wide blue eyes that seemed to be able to look straight through to her soul. They were cautious, inquisitive, something cold about them, but more than anything, they were curious.
“You’re conscious,” he noted, tilting his head to the side, fascination growing more and more obvious on his face.
Well, yeah, of course she was, she thought at first — until she realized, glancing around them, that all the humans looked frozen in place, bodies slack though they were still standing, mouths open, eyes dull and empty.
Why…?
“A priestess,” the man with the black hair said thoughtfully. “I thought you were all extinct.”
They weren’t, and she knew for a fact that she was far from the last one. Despite that, she doubted that this was an information she should be giving him, so she held her tongue, even if she wanted nothing more than to throw in his face how wrong he was. The white-haired man turned to face him, deliberately placing himself between him and Kagome, as if shielding her from him.
“Now that that’s dealt with,” he said, tone light and breezy, “how about you tell me who you are?”
The man’s eyes remained cold, but the corner of his lips lifted to form a smile — one that appeared quite painful to put up. Kagome wasn’t sure what was going on here, but if she had to guess, she’d say she might have thrown a wrench in that dude’s plans.
Good.
“You know me too well to ask that, Satoru,” he said. His tone was soft.
Satoru scoffed.
“Please. As if I’d be fooled.” His eyes hardened, and Kagome could feel his muscles clenching. He was preparing to throw himself into battle. “My Six Eyes might be telling me you’re Geto Suguru, but my heart and soul know otherwise. Who are you?”
Six Eyes…? Oh, whatever. That seemed pretty low on the list of her priorities right now, actually.
The man started to raise a hand, but let it fall back down to his side.
“Maybe we’ll have that conversation again, at a later time, Satoru,” he said sweetly. “For now, I’m afraid we’ll have to backtrack.”
“Are you kidding me?” the volcano dude hissed, not far from him. “Is that it? Just because some bitch appeared?”
Rude.
“I don’t know who he’s supposed to be,” Kagome said, tiptoeing to try and get closer to Satoru’s ear so he could hear her, “but there’s a presence in his head.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, blue eyes filled with confusion now.
“How can you know that?”
Kami. Why was everyone intent on being so disrespectful to her tonight?
“No time for this, Jogo,” the black haired man — Geto, was it? — chimed. “I would advise you leave while you can.”
Satoru spun back around.
“None of you are leaving this place,” he announced calmly.
In just an instant, he was gone from in front of Kagome, launching himself at both Jogo and Geto, with a speed that made it impossible for her to follow. Her eyes left the fight once it looked to her like he could take both of them at once, and focused instead on the third bystander — the one with the grey hair.
He looked at the fight with vague interest, and she thought he might not be as invested in the result as the others, maybe not as dangerous as the rest — until he walked to one of the frozen humans, a woman with a long dress and short black hair, and she saw the shape of her soul and body change into something that couldn’t be recognized as a human.
When he let go of her, the woman, who looked nothing like a woman now, threw herself into the fight. It took less than a second for Satoru to kill her, but already the grey-haired non-human was moving on to the next one.
Changing these people’s bodily integrity, wounding them so deep in their very essence they couldn’t survive it, all to kill them.
Something started burning within Kagome.
“You’re the one who’s been doing that to those poor souls,” she hissed between her teeth.
He glanced at her, eyes widening as a big smile formed on his lips.
“You can see souls?” he asked, sounding genuinely delighted. “Finally someone who can appreciate what I’m doing!”
“Appreciate?” She was trembling with anger. She felt her spiritual energy banging against the walls of her mind, the ones she didn’t remember how to lower fully, as had been natural to her when she was a teenager, and she could feel them getting ready to collapse. “You destroyed them. All they can hope for now is death. You’re a monster.”
He laughed, light and happy, and his eyes were warm when they focused on her.
“Thank you,” he hummed. “Maybe you’ll appreciate what I’m going to do to you?”
He was in front of her before she could blink.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure Gojo will kill you soon. But before that, I’m going to make you so, so disgusting.”
Both of his hands closed over her face, almost delicately, as if he was cradling a small animal within them.
Almost immediately, she felt him pull on her soul. It wasn’t a new feeling exactly, not to her, though his attempts at shaping it were. She could tell it was expanding, knew, on some level, that in order to fit her body, it was forced to make itself smaller than it was. That was what that old witch had said, too — her soul was much, much larger than usual.
She heard him let out a sound of surprise.
“Oh,” he commented, obviously delighted, “oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you! Maybe I’ll keep you!”
As he pulled at her soul, she could feel his — if you could even call that a soul. She could see all the shapes it had been forced into, found it distended and fragile and about to tear. More than anything, she found it repulsive. It tried, clumsily, to change hers. But she was never going to let anything or anyone else toy with her soul, ever again.
“Get you filthy hands off my soul,” she snarled, wrapping her fingers around his wrists.
She would never have bested him in a purely physical fight, but this wasn’t one, and he was the only one to blame.
He was laughing at first as she forced him back.
Then the laughter turned into screams.
“It burns!” he protested, like a child discovering fire for the first time. “Stop it, it burns!”
She could feel it, too, her spiritual energy piercing through him as easily as a knife through butter. She forced him to his knees, and as he looked up at her, eyes terrified now, she knew he saw it. Her soul, wrapping itself around her in a wide sphere, dwarfing him and his poor excuse of a soul completely.
“That’s… beautiful,” he whispered.
Even then, he couldn’t resist trying to change it, couldn’t help himself. And so, as Kagome called it back to her, felt its warmth as it invested her body completely, she felt no guilt, no shame, not even rage anymore.
She was merely doing what needed to be done. This creature was an anomaly existing to cause chaos. It wasn’t a yokai that played its own part in nature, not a human, not even truly living. A plant warranted more respect than this.
So, through her palms, she pushed her spiritual energy on him, in him, ignored the burning it caused her. Through and through, with no regards for the amount of energy she used, she purified him. There was so much pain inside of him, and she let it pass through her, let it turn back into what it was, just an emotion, just something human that should have always stayed that way, never taken that form.
When she reached the end, all there was left was a sense of relief.
He smiled at her.
“That’s not so bad,” he whispered before vanishing.
Kagome fell to her knees, heaving. It had been years since she’d last used her powers like that. Glancing down at her hands, she saw her palms were red and burnt, and she closed her trembling fingers over them carefully.
It took her long seconds of trying to regulate her breathing and to calm down the energy within her — which was telling her it wanted out, still so much left inside her, no matter how much of it she had just used up — before she realized how quiet the station had gotten.
Glancing up, she saw Satoru approaching her, lips twisted into a annoyed expression.
“Where—” She realized her mouth was painfully dry, swallowed. “Where are…?”
“Geto’s gone,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Used the other one to escape.”
He’d gotten rid of Jogo, which had barely been a work-out, but whatever or whoever was puppeteering his friend’s body had managed to escape him.
Which delayed the moment when he’d kill it. He couldn’t say that thrilled him.
“Now,” he said, ridding himself of those thoughts to crouch in front of her. “Tell me. Who are you?”
She blinked at him.
“Kagome,” she answered. “Kagome Higurashi.”
He studied her. The name was unfamiliar, not any exorcist family he’d ever heard of. On top of that, she didn’t produce any cursed energy. It was almost reminiscent of Fushiguro Toji — except Toji had been a void, and she definitely wasn’t one. Whatever she exuded was warm and gentle.
“You’re not an exorcist,” he said finally.
“Well,” she said, glancing up at the ceiling thoughtfully, “I’ve dealt with ghosts and yokai — demons, if you’d like. So, I guess technically, you could say I am an exorcist…?”
She watched as a wide grin formed on his lips. Reaching up behind him, he wrapped a blindfold around his face, hiding his eyes.
“He called you a priestess, though, didn’t he?” he asked, fiddling behind his head to tie it.
“I guess you could say that too,” she shrugged. It wasn’t like she’d ever spent that much time working at a temple. Really, it was just a title to describe her ability, one she didn’t feel that strongly about. “I’ve been called a miko, too, but— I’m sorry, do you need help with that?”
He stilled his awkward attempts at tying the thing behind his head, examining her — she thought — from behind what looked like a thick blindfold.
Odd. Very odd, in fact, but so low on the list of ‘odd’ she’d dealt with today that it would feel silly to ask about it.
“My oh my,” he said once he’d gotten his bearings back, “is that what you’re into, then? Blindfolding guys you’ve just met?”
Oh God. She might have missed Miroku, but not nearly enough to be happy that this was where he was going right away.
“Now, when you said yokai, were you talking about curses?” he asked, having apparently succeeded with his blindfold.
“What do you mean ‘curses’?” she frowned, mind immediately going to the Wind Tunnel. “I’ve known people who were cursed, but I mostly meant… Well. Yokai.”
“Alright, Kagome,” he said, and her brow furrowed some more at the immediate familiarity. “I’m going to have a lot more questions for you, but I think my people are going to get here soon, and it’s probably better if you’re not here when they get there.”
Ominous. Another question to add to the list.
“What do we say we get out of here?” he asked, shooting her a cocky grin.
“Um. Sure, but how do you— Ah!”
Without a warning, he’d pulled her to her feet and, wrapping a strong arm around her waist, he’d pressed her against him as he— took off, basically. It wasn’t her first time flying, but it still caught her off guard. She wrapped her arms around his neck without giving it a second a thought, almost jumped back when he let out an outraged gasp.
“We’ve just met!” he protested with fake modesty. “Do you always hug strangers?”
She glared, tightening her hold so she didn’t feel like she’d fall down the second he’d let go.
“Do you?”
He let out a light laugh as he flew up. He kept her tightly pressed against his hard chest, arm not once faltering. He might have been a stranger, but for the first time since the beginning of the night, Kagome felt fully safe.
Eventually, they made it out of the building and he distanced himself from it, taking her to a nearby rooftop.
“Alright then,” he said, setting her down. “Call a cab.”
She groaned. After the way she’d spent her evening, it felt very, very unfair to have to live on a teacher’s salary.
He watched her as she reluctantly got her phone out, then sighed while she stared at it.
“Do you want me to call you one?” he asked.
Did she? If he was like Miroku, she’d never hear the end of it. On the other hand, well, she didn’t know what that weird box thing was, but she didn’t think it would have helped him, so…
“So, you’re an exorcist, right?” she questioned, looking at him. “Does that pay well?”
He seemed surprised for a second, then laughed again, throwing his head back as if she’d said the funniest thing ever.
“I can’t complain,” he said, pulling out his phone and pressing a few touches on the screen. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” she sighed. “It was nice meeting you…?”
“Gojo Satoru.” Then he paused, as if for dramatic effect, and his grin widened when she didn’t react. “Well, I’ll be in touch, Ka-go-me,” he said, stretching her name as if he was testing out how it felt on his tongue.
She opened her mouth to ask him a question — she wasn’t even sure which one, there were so many on her ever-growing list, but before she could, he’d raised a hand, and then he’d vanished. She didn’t think he’d run, though, no, he was just— gone. There one second, away the next.
She had no idea what on earth had been tonight.
The news talked about some sort of terror attack in Shibuya that night. She let herself weep then, mourning all the lives that were lost, wishing them a safe travel to the other side, hoping the next life would prove kinder to them.
She knew she would not have that long to get used to those thoughts, to that world that she had only caught glimpses of until then. She knew that whatever had started in Shibuya, this was only the beginning.
Next time, she would need to be ready.
“So you’re saying that Geto Suguru, whose body you refused to have destroyed last year, has come back, possibly as a curse himself, and was responsible for the attack on Shibuya?”
Gojo scratched the back of his head, failed to stifle a yawn.
“It wasn’t Geto Suguru,” he answered with a shrug. ‘A presence in his head’, Kagome had said. Not that he had any clue what it meant, of course. He’d had to look into that, but he couldn’t do that while these old farts kept interrogating him about something none of them could have even hoped to achieve. “Are we done here?”
“We’ll see what the consequences are for your actions, which have endangered all the lives of those living in Tokyo, will be,” the distant voice boomed. “For now, we have one more question.”
On a screen, a camera recording of Kagome appeared.
“This woman. While we lost sight of her, it appeared she was not affected by the use of your domain extension. Who is she?”
Gojo stared at the screen with fake concentration.
“Oh, that’s what I forgot to do! I didn’t ask her that.”
There was heavy silence on the other side.
“We will find her identity,” the voice threatened. “You are only delaying the inevitable.”
“Well, you should tell me once you do! I sure would like to know who she is, too,” Gojo answered with a shrug. “Now, if we’re done here, some of us are actually working hard, and need to rest.”
He waved as he turned his back on the Higher-Ups, moving towards the doors with some wide strides. They didn’t bother answering him, and he didn’t bother looking back. He could have been worried about Kagome, but all they had to go off of was the grainy footage of a damaged surveillance camera. On top of that, even if they tried to find a better picture somewhere, doing that while looking at the footage of Shibuya on Halloween night would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Maybe they’d be able to pull it off eventually, but it would take them time.
He was sure that he would get to her first.
It's been a while since I had as much fun writing a fic as I did this one! I'm super excited for this pairing and I have a ton of ideas for them. This story is really just so I get to write for them before I finish outlining other ideas I have for him that will have a little more plot than this. I hope you liked this, please consider supporting your writer (me, I'm your writer) by reblogging, commenting and/or sending me an ask about it! I thrive on interaction, and also I would LOVE to talk about this pairing. See you in the next chapter!
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk gojo#kagome#inuyasha#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#kagome higurashi#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jujutsu gojo#crossover pairing#crossover ship#crossover au#crossover#rarepair#gojo x kagome#kagome x gojo#kagome higurashi x gojo satoru#inuyasha fanfiction#jjk fanfiction#my writing
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tlou au where everything is the same but from the very start, joel, tess, and ellie are pursued by a mysterious woman with 8 fingers who wants nothing more than to kill ellie
#txt#[andre rousimoff holding his hands out gif] NO ONE ELSE DO THIS before i get to this#. then you can.#tlou#i see this as only somewhat of a fix it fic#because future ellie would probably not be able to save everyone#but i think she might be able to save key characters such as henry and max#although i do imagine this to be. kind of fucking scary#like think of a constantly pursuing predator that you cant figure out how to kill#HAHA like the wolf in puss in boots#i do imagine her to be much much more ruthless#such as the trio turning around only to find like bill missing when they were just talking to him#only to find his body in another room#so it would be like. KIND of a mercy kill. ellie in her broken mind from everything and also the time travel#thinking it would be kinder to kill him before he could find franks body and his note#i think that ellie would probably attempt to kill her younger self at the beginning because shes out of her mind#and then spend the rest of the time restlessly pursuing joel tess and ellie who are doing everything they can to stop her and gain a lead#trying of course to get to joel and make amends and also trying to save people like sam#and then finally TRULY catching up to them in salt lake city#to convince the fireflies to take her instead of younger ellie#ellie williams#ellie miller#anyway. i think all my aus are so good but that probably means nothing when i hardly ever actually write for them
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HAZBIN HOTEL X READER HC #1
Head canon: what it would be like to date them.
characters: Alastor, angel dust, husk, vox
disclaimer: everything i write about these characters might not be accurate to the actual story, please take everything in the fic with a grain of salt, none of this is canon!!
Alastor
he hasnt been in an actual relationship in a while so being close and vulnerable with someone is quite hard for him, especially as someone who associates emotions with weakness.
First off, its safe to say he adores the ground you walk on. He's in love with everything about you, your clothes, the smell of your hair, your sickly sweet voice. his loves it all.
If there was ever a problem you needed fixing, a person you needed taken care of or even a errand you needed to run he would tend to it himself. he would not let you lift a finger.
PDA is a iffy thing for him, he wouldnt do grand big gestures but maybe a hand on the hip or a few words of affirmation.
everyone in the pride ring quickly learned of yours and radio demon's relationship. And no one dared to mess with you, ofcourse there was people who wanted to test their luck but they would have to pay the price later.
his love language is definitely words of affirmation, he will sweet talk the shit out of you. At night when it's just you two in bed, he will have his hands stroking through your hair whilst you rant to him about your day and he'll reply with sweet nothings
"oh darling, i've missed you all evening"
"you looked ravishing today my dear.."
"mm your hair smells amazing, my love"
Angel Dust
Angel is one of, if not, the horniest mother fuckers out there but somehow, he manages to somewhat make a healthy relationship with someone.
you two are seen as "the bad bitch" couple. you're always out together, always getting into dumb shit together. You'll get yelled at by vaggie at early hours in the morning because the two of you where playing a childish game of tag in the hotel halls.
his love language is definitely physical touch, he'll have his arms slung around your waist almost all the time. Kisses are a MUST every 5 minutes, like this boy will NOT part from you. especially in the mornings when you have to leave for work;
"mmnnnnoooooooo...stayyy for five minutes pleasseeeee"
"but sweets..you're soooo warm"
"sweetheart please, you feel so comfy"
yeah good luck with that.
nights with him are VERY eventful, if it wasn't obvious. You two would usually be at it late hours into the night but sometimes, when you two where too exhausted to fuck like rabbits, he would be sprawled across your lap whilst you stroked his fur.
Husk
Despite his harsh tone and uncompromising demeanor, you understood that Husk wasn't trying to be malicious towards you. It was simply his way of communicating, and you knew that his behavior wasn't personal. Even though he could be abrasive at times, you loved him for his rough edges and authentic personality
You and Husk's time together was mostly spent at the bar. You didn't like to drink much, but you loved seeing him work and make cocktails like a pro. You didn't mind that it wasn't considered a typical date, because you liked spending time with him in whatever way he felt most comfortable.
Husk is not used to receiving compliments, as he didn't often receive them in his past life. When you complimented him, it caught him off guard and he was surprised. But he eventually learned to appreciate it, and it even made him feel a little sentimental.
Despite the difficulty, you were able to help Husk realize that you genuinely cared about him. He had been used to being surrounded by dishonesty and hypocrisy, but you were always sincere and real. He held you in high regard, as you were the only source of light in his life, and he didn't want to lose you.
vox
You were known as a strong and independent person who didn't need assistance from others. You knew how to stand up for yourself, despite being harsh and tough at times. Despite your exterior, no one was aware of the soft spot in your heart that Vox's affection and touch alone could melt away your severity.
He appreciated seeing your affectionate side, as it felt special and intimate, like a shared secret between the two of you. He knew you valued your privacy, and he respected it by never sharing photos or other details on social media. He didn't want to betray your trust.
You were often feared and respected when you were with Vox. People found it hard to believe that someone as intimidating as yourself could have a tender, caring side that was kept hidden from most. Vox was glad that he was the only one who got to see that side of you. He didn't want to share something so special and personal with anyone else.
Quite often, he would call you on the phone, knowing that sweet words could be just as effective as a kiss. He enjoyed hearing how your voice softened from its usual seriousness to a more affectionate tone. He was aware that when he said loving phrases to you, you would blush and smile shyly, and sometimes he even regretted not being able to witness it in person.
"i've missed you today babe.."
"mhm look at my pretty girl/boy!"
#Hazbin Hotel#Hazbin Hotel x Reader#Hazbin Hotel headcanons#Alastor#Alastor x Reader#Vox#Vox x Reader#Hazbin Hotel oneshots#Husk#Husk x Reader#angel dust#angel dust x reader#vivziepop\
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Light On - single mom/neighbors fic
Simon Riley/female reader
“Are you sure it’s not too cold?”
“It’s fine.” You glance down at Emmaline in the stroller, wrapped up in a blanket over her little winter jacket, fuzzy wool hat pulled down around her ears. “It’s not nearly chilly enough to be concerned. She’s probably overdressed, to be honest. In Norway, they leave babies outside to sleep in much colder temperatures.”
“Why?” He keeps pace beside you, strolling along the park’s walking path leisurely, trying to keep his heart rate normal every time your hip bumps his thigh, or you nudge him with your elbow.
“It helps their immune system, I think. Exposes them to the germs in their environment, allows them to build resistance, or something. Plus, the climate there is naturally cold? So, I think it helps acclimatize them. Pretty sure some people say they sleep better.”
“That’s… brave of them.” He doesn’t know what else to say, he can’t imagine trusting the world enough to leave a baby, leave Emma, outside to sleep.
“It’s different, I guess, when you have a ‘village’,” you use air quotes around the word village, and regret flashes across your eyes. “when you trust your community. Rely on them.” He doesn’t expect the longing that rings in your voice, the doleful, twisted tone of loss, a mournful sentiment that has him nearly pulling up short, slowing to a stop to tilt his head in consideration, his eyes above the mask zeroed in on yours until you’re giving him a meek smile and shrug. “Anyway,”
“Sweet-“
“I feel like we’re always talking about me or Emma. How about you? How was your week?” You pause, something occurring to you, pushing your lips forward with curiosity. “I know you said you travel for work, but I don’t think you ever told me what you did?” Shit. He’s not ready for this. He tries to recall how he practiced it with Johnny, the words that they agreed upon, the approach he would take.
“Ye gotta make it sound at least somewhat normal, LT. Make her feel safe about it.”
“’m not goin’ lie to her.”
“It’s not lyin’. Just, use the official language. The propaganda stuff, y’know.”
He knows what he’s supposed to say, the lengthy spiel about ‘managing global conflict’ and ‘identifying and neutralizing domestic and global threats’, the words Johnny had suggested, but instead, what comes out is; “I’m uh, in the military. In a multi-national spec ops task force that focuses on counter terrorism. We operate from of a base just outside the city.” The park bustles around the three of you, runners and walkers circumventing where you’ve slowed to a crawl on the crushed gravel path, families tugging at one another, boys and girls hopping with excitement over promises from their parents.
“That’s… interesting.” You say the words slowly, like you’re mulling them over, considering them. “Is it dangerous?”
“Only sometimes.” You raise an eyebrow like you don’t believe him, skepticism plain as day, and he concedes. “It’s not a desk job, but I’m very good at it.” He wants to reassure you, desperate to keep the hope alive that’s been building in his heart for you, needs you to feel safe with him. The water is in sight now, ducks and swans floating on top of the glass like surface, waiting for their offerings that come from so many that frequent their little lake, every day. You motion to an empty bench, turning the stroller in it’s direction, his breath still caught in his chest, lack oxygen starting to make him feel woozy. Say something. Say anything.
“Emmaline’s dad had a dangerous job too.” You unbuckle her from the stroller, cradling her in your lap as you nestle into one end of the bench, eyes fixed on the group of ducks closest to the shore. “And he was good at it.”
“Is that how you lost him?” He concludes softly, the question as gentle as he can voice it. You don’t look at him, but he can see the change in your face, tears welling at the corners of your eyes, posture curling over your baby.
You only nod, but it’s enough. Enough for him to slide a little closer, pressing the outside of his leg to yours. Enough that your free hand wanders, fingers brushing against the fabric of his jeans, your face lifting from the water to his with a question.
“Can you hold her? While I get the biscuits?”
“Of course.” You shift her into his arms, and he straightens her so that she’s sitting up against his chest, crook of his arm supporting her head, other hand flush with her belly. You rummage inside the bag that’s shoved under the stroller, Emma’s backpack, and she coos at you from Simon’s arms. “Is that your mum?” He murmurs, and she gurgles something in response, a happy string of sounds that has his heart warming inside his chest. “Yeah, that’s her huh?” You straighten, bag in your hand, watching him and Emma, sad expression turning beatific, bittersweet smile pulling at your lips.
“Come on.” You don’t reach for the baby, instead motioning for Simon to follow you, trusting him to carry her down behind you, to hold her as you as break up the little pieces of biscuit. “I promised her some ducks.”
#peaches writes#light on#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader
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God i want a dark!dr.kry fic soo bad. I read your most recent silas fic and I thought it was so good i ATE IT UP
Things you shouldn't see
Doctor!yandere x reader
Summary: you've finally realized what type of man Dr Kry is, and what he is capable of doing.
Warnings: murder, bruises, yandere, poison etc.
Word count: 2.3k
Your crying hurts him, it really does, but he can’t be soft. Not now. You had tried to escape again. If he hadn’t come back in time to catch you in the door, God knows what could have happened to you.
“Please, please don’t”, you sob as he cuffs your wrists to the bed’s railing with belt-looking leather. “Please, I’m sorry.”
“Spare your voice, Y/N”, he tells you sharply. “Begging and pleading won’t work — you're not a child. You put yourself in this situation, didn’t you? How about we take some adult consequences?” He fixes the last buckle. “Too tight?”
You don't answer, you only cry. Dr Kry grabs your chin softly to direct your attention back to him.
“Y/N, listen to me”, he says sternly. “Are the restraints too tight? Yes or no? Don’t lie.”
“No”, you sob.
“Good. You know why I’m doing this, right? I don’t think it’s funny.”
“I didn’t mean to-”
“Stop with the bullshit, Y/N. I caught you in the damn door, Y/N.” He sighs frustratedly and runs a hand through his blonde hair. “I can’t let this slip. You almost escaped from me once, remember? I’m not letting that happen again. I’m going to go get you dinner and you are going to get yourself together until I’m back, okay?”
You nod slightly. When he's exited the room, you break out into sobs again. Have to get them out of your system before he returns. You hate him. Hate him so much.
He's back ten minutes later with two cardboard boxes filled with food. He looks somewhat pleased that you're not crying anymore. He stands by his desk.
“You don't understand that I want what's best for you”, Dr Kry says while opening the plastic lids. “If you did, you wouldn't try to do stupid stuff like this.”
“Turn it off”, you say through gritted teeth.
He glances at the air purifier, already knowing what you’re talking about.
“No, I will not”, he says simply.
“You're killing me!”
Dr Kry scoffs and dumps your foodbox on your legs.
“If I wanted you dead, Y/N, you'd already be in the mortuary”, he says and rolls over to you on his stool. “But as you can tell by your current status in your room, I don't.”
He picks up the fork and holds a bite of potato to your lips. You refuse to open your mouth.
“Are we doing this?” he asks with raised eyebrows. “Do I need to be mean?”
“Please don’t”, you whisper, scared.
“You don’t want me to be mean?”
You shake your head quickly.
“Good, me neither”, Dr Kry says. “Glad that we can agree on something. Open your mouth now.”
You open your mouth enough for him to put in the fork in your mouth. Dr Kry notices how you fight back the tears and sighs in defeat.
“If you really want to cry, then do it”, he says quietly.
It’s a trick. He actually doesn’t want you to cry, and you know that. But the tear that runs down your cheek can’t be brought back. You flinch when his hand brushes against your cheek to wipe it softly. He holds another fork of potato and meat to your mouth. You grimace slightly.
“Just eat and you’ll get to sleep”, Dr Kry promises you.
“Turn it off”, you whisper. “Please.”
Dr Kry sighs and walks over to the air purifier, turning it off. The soft buzzing finally, finally stopped. Dr Kry can tell that you relax in your restraints.
“Thank you”, you whisper without looking at him.
“I’ll have to turn it on again”, he says.
“Why?”
“Because it keeps you where I want you. It’s much easier than keeping you cuffed to the bed like this.”
You tug at the restraints, as if you suddenly remember that you’re wearing them. Dr Kry’s hand shoots out over your right wrist.
“Stop”, he says. “Don’t do that. I don’t like to see bruises on you. Just let it be. Give in, alright?”
You glance down at his large hand and grow cold. Could he break your wrist? Could he actually hurt you if he really wanted to? Without tools, without medicine and drugs?
“Open your mouth”, Dr Kry and removes his hand to give you the fork full of food.
This time, you open your mouth without fuss. He smiles, pleased.
“Have I fucked up for myself now?” you mumble without looking at him.
“Just a tad bit”, Dr Kry smiles and wipes some sauce of your lips with his thumb. “But it's nothing that we can't restore.”
She had seen it, and although she tried to convince herself that she was overthinking, she couldn't bring herself to admit that everything was okay with Dr Kry’s patient — or Dr Kry for that matter. There has always been something with him that has rubbed her the wrong way. He's always been polite and helpful, but she thinks that it's a facade. There is something he's hiding, she can tell that there's a certain darkness in his eyes. And the fact that they never see, hear or get any reports about his patient — despite being here for so long — worries her.
One day, she decides to sneak inside. You’re lying in the hospital bed, sleeping soundly. But other than that, the room is empty. The woman notices how your wrists are … cuffed to the side of the bed. She sneaks over to you and carefully shakes your shoulder. You open your eyes slowly, and then dart them open. In pure fear, you start to tug at the restraints.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the woman shrieks. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”
“Who are you?!” you gasp. “Where’s Dr Kry?!”
“I don’t know, please be quiet, I’m not going to hurt you.”
You eventually start to calm down.
“Why are you cuffed to the bed?” the woman asks carefully, feeling a shiver run down her spine. “What has he done to you?”
“Please help me”, you beg.
“I saw that you tried to leave the room before … and that he snatched you back.”
“I-I will.”
“Please help me, I’m begging you, he’s killing me!” you nod at the air purifier. “He’s poisoned it! You have to help me!”
She is just about to unbuckle the leather strands keeping you to the bed when the door opens. You meet eyes with Dr Kry and feel how your entire body goes numb.
Shit.
His eyes glare at the woman as he slowly closes the door behind him, locking it shut.
“Can I help you?” he asks coldly. “What are you doing with my patient?”
The woman spins around and stutters in fear.
“Who allowed you to come in here?” Dr Kry asks, sounding suspicious — and extremely angry, although he tries to hide it. “Speak up!”
“I-I …”, the woman stutters.
Dr Kry walks closer. You’ve never seen his body language this … territorial before. It’s almost animalistic.
“What have they told you?” he asks the woman.
“Nothing!” the woman shrieks.
With one quick glance at you, he scoffs with a small, cold smile on his face.
“I wouldn’t believe anything they say, ma’am”, he says amusedly, although you’re sure that he’s angry like a bee. “They’re sick, they’re not thinking clearly. Seems like we have to talk after this.”
“Don’t be angry at them”, the woman says, finally collecting herself. “You are the one abusing your position. You should be the one who’s getting yelled at!”
“Oh, I’m not mad at my patient. How could I? If they don’t know what’s good for themselves, how could I ever expect them to know when to speak …” He gave you a warning look, “... and when to shut up?” He looked back at the woman. “They’re sick, after all.”
“Why are you keeping them prisoner?”
Dr Kry puts his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “I’m not keeping anyone prisoner. Did they tell you that?”
“You’ve poisoned the air purifier.”
“Why would I ever do that?” he laughs. “That’s absurd! You don’t think I have other things to do? A real job?” He takes a step closer. He’s almost reaching her by now. “Listen, my patient has been reading a lot of fantasy stories while being emitted here, and they must have spun their head out of control. Being in a hospital for as long as they have, all alone, must mess with ones head a bit. Don’t worry about it.”
He has slammed it over the nurse’s head, striking her to the floor. You fight against the restraints, but they’re as stuck as stone. Dr Kry continues to hit the poor nurse with the metal pipe, causing blood to splatter over the walls — and you. You can’t breathe when the red liquid lands on your face, too horrified to even move. The screams from the woman turns into moans of pain, then sobs, then silence. Dr Kry huffs and gets up from the ground, letting go of the metal pipe that clinks against the floor. His white coat and blue overalls are drenched in blood, and his face is covered in red. You’re shivering in your bed and meet his eyes with wide open eyes.
Dr Kry walks over to his desk. You can tell how he picks up a metal pipe used for the IV-stand you use every now and then.
“No!” you scream, but it’s too late.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t want you to see that”, he pants lowly.
Sobs start to exit your body. Dr Kry hurries over to you, sinking down on his knees by the bed, almost lying his upper body into yours.
“I’m sorry, little one”, he whispers and cups your cheeks.
“Don’t touch me!” you try to scream while doing your best to turn your head away, but his strong grip is forcing you to stay still, forces you to look at him.
“I didn’t want you to see that”, he repeats. “Why did she have to come and but into our business, hm? Oh, please don’t blame yourself for her death. It’s not your fault.”
He notices how you’re trying to rip your head away from him.
“I know that you’re afraid”, he says. “It was not your fault, okay? I don’t blame you, I could never blame you, you know that.” He wipes your tears. “Please, don’t cry. I’m not going to do it again.”
You’re unsure if you’ve ever sobbed this harshly before in your life. The cries ripple through your body, forcing your chest to lift with every sob. It hurts, like an unwelcomed workout. Dr Kry holds your face against his chest, hushing as he hugs your head close to him. You can feel how fast his heart is beating, and it makes you nauseous.
“Let’s get you cleaned up”, Dr Kry says and unbuckles you.
You hesitate getting out of bed, glancing careful down at the dead body bleeding out on the floor. Dr Kry hurries to pick you up in his arms and walk into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and places you down in the tub. Carefully, he removes your hospital gown and turns on the shower. You refuse to look his way.
“Listen, Y/N”, he says and sinks down outside the tub. “There are things you shouldn’t see … and this was one of them. I don’t want you to think of me as a monster. I’m a realist, okay?”
“Is that what you’re going to do to me if I try to leave again?” you cry.
“No! Don’t even say such nonsense. That’s absurd. How could you ever think that?”
You find it ironic that he grows offended. He starts to wash off the blood from your face with the gentle stream of the shower.
He takes one of your wrists in hand and lets his thumb run over the deep mark from the leather.
“I told you not to fight against it”, he whispers with a sigh. “We’ll have to put bandage on that.”
Dr Kry continues to wash the blood off of you and his own hands. You follow the red water down the drain.
He puts the shower head back on the hanger and tells you to wait there until he comes back. You hug your knees close to your chest and watch how he disappears out of the bathroom. You can hear how he starts to clean up the body outside the closed door. This is what happens to the people who believe you. Those that trust Dr Kry’s words about you being too sick to function, and start to hallucinate, are no help … but those that are never get far enough.
You shiver from cold air hitting your wet, naked body and bring your knees even closer to you. There’s a new form of silence in the room, a silence that eats you up from the inside … and yet, silence had never been this loud before. You would be able to hear a needle drop to the floor on the other side of the hospital.
It had taken wells to gather the courage to try to run away again, and it had been shattered in the moment of two seconds. Your hope had been sparked again when you saw the nurse, and knew that she was one of the few that actually believed you.
You turn your face down into your knees and cry in realization that you’ll never get to leave the hospital as long as Dr Kry is around. In time, the poisoned air purifier will have killed you … but you’re unsure that you’ll get to leave the hospital even then.
I’m going to die.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere drabbles#yandere oc x you#yandere mafia#yandere fics#yandere oc x reader#yandere stories#yandere female#female yandere
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Hahaha okay rant about this amazing fanfic (you probably heard of this one already but still)
So whenever it comes to explaining and writing under my posts I just get lazy but I need to push through this cuz I need to talk
So the fanarts were made for the lmk fanfiction sunbreak, that a lot of you (probably mostly shadowpeach shippers) had read, and it is amazing, I read trough it as fast as my brain let me and as you can see it has pleasantly scratched my brain so much so that I even (attempted) to make fanart for it
Ngl if I wasn't a major pussy I would try to illustrate the whole thing or make covers for each chapter but Im unable to work on something more than 2 hours and I would want those to look good, but good looking art (if I don't mess up) takes 6 hours ughh--- annoying much---
Anyways I'm not good with literature but man is this fix a masterpiece *chefs kiss* its everything its amazing, I was unable to put it down once I started it
Okay i dont think I have the brain capacity to explain how much I worship the writer of this masterpiece @ladygreenfrisbee , so i'm just going to talk about the drawings a tad
So first picture with Red Son and MK its sort of like an au in the fic where the whole lbd plot is somehow nonexistent and after Macaque gets to his sisters domain they settle down and raise the kids together without much of an issue aside from assassinations keep happening and trying not to get in trouble with the heavens
Id like to think that Gongzhu still wouldn't let the court tailors to put any form of red or gold on MKs outfits and only allowed the yellow after when MK was old enough to declare that yellow was his favorite color, but even now she would insist on some form of purple and shadow motives to let others know who the mother is
We also got baby MK and toddler Red Son and sassy LIF and Mac
Third pic with the lion: I don't know what it was or why but I just love general Song so much--- he's a major dickhead but sgvshshsevkdididhr (actually I kinda love all the original characters in this one, from the generals to the old lady in the beginning of the book, (gosh I also wanna draw some scenes from those chapters I loved how Mac and she interacted hshsjsj))
so chapter 34 was probably my favorite so far I re read it about two more times cuz it was amazing to see Macaque being the schemer he is and try to piss of Song lol
Last picture: its a sketch/a wip or whatever (probably not going to finish it but im still putting it there cuz its somewhat decent looking)
Its the part where Wukong remembered of Macaque finally finding him and asking for him to come back to flower fruit mountain.
I tried to make Macaque look more unhinged on this one but since I didn't finish it I dont think its that noticable so fuck that but I also gave him a halo like the saints to symbolise his suffering and what not (thought it looked cool and fitting think whatever you want about it lol)
And that all ((((hollly mother))))
If you read this trough, thank you and congrats👏👏
#clown does art#lego monkey kid#lmk sunbreak#sunbreak#shadowpeach#lmk macaque#six eared macaque#lmk mk#lmk red son#fanfiction#lmk#lmk pif#princess iron fan
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Charming Killer: 2
┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑
Pairing: Neteyam x reader
PART ONE PART THREE
Summary: Neteyam confronts his fears of the scientists compound in his attempts to reach you. He’s all over you the second he see’s you and while you don’t really know what he’s saying it doesn’t fail to have an effect on you.
Warnings: I basically turned him into a cat unintentionally.
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: I did not proof read this very well cause I was working on multiple fics then realised I had nothing to post! She’s as good as it gets rn kids sorry.
┕━»•» 🌺 «•«━━━━━┙
A week had passed since Neteyam had dropped you off at the laboratories on the outskirts of his village, and a lot had happened since then.
After Neteyam left, you were escorted into the premises by Max, who turned you over to Norm for fixing.
Norm had patched your arm up with gauze paired with a paste made from the wilds of Pandora, and he was delighted to finally put a face to the voice he had been hearing through the comlink for over a year.
The consensus from everyone was that you had been lucky Neteyam had found you. The bullet hadn't passed through your lower arm, and with a quick extraction, you were on the road to healing, surrounded by the reasonably happy group of rebel scientists you had been feeding information to from the compounds of the RDA these past months.
As your arm healed, you grew closer to Max and helped him run the station as much as he would let you when you weren't meant to be resting. This still left a lot of time in the day, so you started to shadow either Max or Norm and tried asking as much as possible about the Na'vi people as you learned the trades needed to keep the station afloat.
You had built up a routine for day-to-day life, and while it was boring, helping the native people and their planet is what you had risked your life for. It's why you wouldn't see Earth again, and it's why you were here.
The mundane work was mostly upkeeping the lab from weather and fixing any technical issues you were qualified for. Still, occasionally, Norm would let you discern things he had brought back from outside while he had been in his avatar. It made your heart sink as you knew that no matter what, you couldn't go back out there with the threat of everything being nearly twice as significant as you and twice as deadly.
Norm was actively showing off his hobby of teaching now, and it felt awkward to have this heavy feeling in your chest while Norm looked like a kid in a candy store as he held up the flower to you and pointed out the different attributes and what they were used for with a pair of tweezers.
You nodded and occasionally asked questions, but this quiet learning moment was interrupted when Max tore into the room with sweat running across his forehead. He must have sprinted across the entire compound.
"We have an issue", he finally managed to gasp out, and you immediately turned to Norm, who, as swiftly as he could, placed down the flower onto the sterilized tray behind him and set off after Max with you in tow.
"What's the matter?" Norm nervously asked as his eyes darted around, seeing the rest of the human residents were somewhat uneasily watching you three nearly sprint to the opening hatch that led to the vast plains of Pandora.
"Y/n, you've got a guest", Max coughed out with an awkward laugh as your eyes widened in curiosity.
Your trio rushed to reach the containment hallway, which was the only barrier between your oxygenated environment and the deadly poisonous gasses of the alien planet.
All of you were entirely out of breath once you approached the spot, and you could feel your arm cry out as you stepped inside the room just outside of the airlock.
Your eyes widened in happiness as you saw your savior awkwardly taking a device that was attached to his side and bringing it to his face. Neteyam took a deep breath with his eyes shut before his eyes fluttered open again and immediately found you a few feet in front of him.
A few scientists below him tried to advise him of a few safety briefings in Na'vi so he didn't go around smacking things over. Still, he completely turned a blind eye to them and he stepped over the woman who yelled out for him to come back. Neteyam happily ignored her as he shuffled towards your more petite figure with a grin. Norm and Max backed up immediately as the giant man came towards them.
Neteyam placed a hand on the roof to steady himself before he lowered himself to speak with you face to face. You smiled as his bright yellow eyes connected with yours, enjoying the familiar connection after so long apart.
"Neteyam!" You yelled out and leaped forward to give him a polite hug of endearment around his waist. Your touch immediately knocked the air out of him, forcing him to pick up the device again and lift the clear plastic mask to his mouth in order to get more of his indigenous air into his lungs.
After you pulled back, he responded by saying your name to you with a quirk in his ears as a sound in one of the distant labs caught his sense's attention.
You laughed merrily and then turned around to see that everyone was eyeing you both with astonishment. Perhaps being so friendly with the Na'vi had been a bit odd, but he had saved your life after all, and how were you supposed to know that this was the first time any of the scientists had seen Neteyam allow a sky person other than Spider to touch him? Even though on several occasions it was quite literally life or death.
"Uh, can you guys give us the room?" Max called to the other two foreign researchers in the room in hazmat suits.
They wasted no time in nodding and taking off, shutting the metal door behind them with the selected password to prevent any outbreaks. None of the regulars were used to seeing this son of Jake Sully's, and it was clear they were more than happy to steer clear from the hunter.
The silence that followed the departure was unnerving, and you felt the tension in the room spike as you spotted Neteyam's deadly longbow laid across the table behind him, probably at the demands of the other two who had greeted him at the door.
"So, uh, why are you here?" You asked, feeling the duo pair of eyeballs burning into the back of your head intensify as you continued speaking to Neteyam.
He understood your words and replied in Na'vi, which made you purse your lips as you nodded your head to show you had heard him before awkwardly turning to Norm, motioning for him to tell you what the boy had said.
Norm stuttered over his words for a minute before he replicated the sentence in English.
"He said he missed you and asked if that was a good enough reason", Norm's delivery lacked the mischievous twinkle in Neteyam's eye, but you paired the two together and grinned.
The warrior obviously had a sense of humor when lives weren't at stake, and it made you happy to learn more about the young man. He gazed around the room for a second before he seemed to register Max and Norm's presence, making himself nod at them respectfully before he returned to stare back at your body.
You were utterly at a loss for what to say. The angry man who had first seen you in the woods not long ago was banished from sight, and in his place was this smiley man that still had the means to kill you but had sought you out to simply say hello.
His eyes sparked, and he turned to his hip, digging his hand into a burlap sack he had attached there before he produced his closed fist and held it to you, watching your face peek in interest as his tail flickered madly behind him, hitting the metal walls.
You couldn't help the engrossment you felt, so just as Max was calling out for you to be careful, you pressed your significantly smaller hand into Neteyam's, and in response, he let his hand unfurl to present you with a gift.
It was a red stone that looked like a moving body of water had tumbled it for a long time. The rock shone under the heavy-duty lights above you, and with a timid move, you reached forward and picked it up from his hands, smiling as you thanked him for the gift.
He watched you admire it in your hands as you held it up to the light and stared at it in wonder. Neteyam could get used to amazing you like this.
He leaned one hand on his knee and the other on the floor to steady himself as he gazed at you with wide pupils that tried to take in all of your beauty.
You held the gift to your chest and bowed your head at him, delighting as he copied you without hesitation.
His smile faltered and transformed into an embarrassed throat clearing as his ears fluttered backward. He took his eyes off your figure and stared at the ceiling as his nose sniffed at the air as it had done upon his first meeting with you.
You thought back to the invasive manhandling he had done to you, and in response, you felt a heavy blush consume your face. You bashfully looked at the stone in your hand to avoid Neteyam seeing your face and reading your movements. You turned the beautiful blood-red stone over a few times before slipping it into your pocket and letting the weight drag the fabric of your pants.
Neteyam eyed the individuals behind you with a frown but chose to disregard them. He pressed himself closer to the ground to whisper something to you. He placed his head in front of your plunged face, which was determined not to look up to his eyes, and he softly mumbled something that made your blush deepen.
"Smell you?" His articulation was terrible, but the words still translated to you either way.
If he was being honest, the only reason he hadn't swept you up into his arms the second he saw you was because of the audience he was facing, but your fragrance was once again outpowering his freewill. He desperately needed to feel the fizz you activated in him before he went feral and ripped your clothes off to smell every inch of you.
You glanced behind yourself at Norm and Max, who were both still at a loss for words, but it seemed they were becoming more accepting of your friendship as you spent long minutes basking in one another's presence.
You swallowed nervously but nodded your consent to his touching.
His ears revived back up as he smiled smugly. He adjusted his body so he was sitting crossed-legged in front of you, his knees pressed against the sides of the short hallway, but he didn't care, instead, he focused on your facial expression as you very slightly looked to your left, allowing him a view of your neck.
He slowly inched towards you, giving you plenty of time to pull back and change your mind, but when you didn't, he moved forward, brushed his nose against your bare neck and rejoiced at the fact you still smelt just as strong as you did in his dreams.
He was nearly salivating at the scent, and he selfishly pushed himself deeper into your neck, letting his face push you around slightly while his body shivered at the properties of your touch.
He was doing everything he could not to let his hands roam around your body and investigate where you smelt sweetest, but his euphoric daydreaming was ruined by the sound of Max speaking to you in English.
When you answered back, he felt a sharp electric zap of possessiveness power through him. You were his mate, you weren't meant to be speaking to other men, and you were certainly not told to talk to other single men.
Neteyam growled something over your shoulder to Max and then picked you up gently and rose you to his body so he could set you on his lap. He placed your back against his chest and let his hands entrap your waist to ensure you kept still.
You yelped a little as you suddenly felt your feet leave the ground. Then you let out an 'oof' as Neteyam sat you on his thigh, allowing you to face the other men in the room as he mindlessly returned to bury his head into your neck, forcing your head to an unnatural angle as you nervously chuckled.
"Friendly guy, huh?" You asked the science geeks, but they were both looking at each other with scandalized stares, both more shocked than you had ever seen.
Neteyam’s grip on your waist tightened as he found a hotspot of sweat that was pooling in your neck. The sweet aroma nearly knocked him out with the jolt of pleasure it sent directly to his brain.
Max's jaw dropped while Norm let out an unbelieving chuckle, pointing to your two entangled bodies with an open hand and then back to Max as if to ask what was happening. If it was a competition between who was more aghast, you weren't sure who won.
"This isn't uh...this isn't a greeting used for friends y/n", Max tried to explain while beating around the bush as Norm was still unable to form a single word in English or Na'vi.
Your brow creased in confusion, but then you felt canines gently nip at your neck, and you squeaked as your hand flew up and grabbed onto Neteyam's forearm before you growled out his name in anger at his unchecked drunken actions.
Neteyam's hot breath fanned your neck as he grumbled out another line that nobody had translated to you yet, which worked to push you closer to the edge of frustration.
"What is he saying?" You asked as you squirmed away from his touch, only to have him drag you back into him and gently kiss your neck, making you scream as you let go of your motor functions and thrashed him off.
He pulled his head back with a scowl before once again he said something and let one hand off your waist so he could lightly pull your head back by your hair, allowing him access to freely rub his cheek around your jugular. You choked out at his harsh movements, but neither Norm nor Max seemed too concerned for your safety.
He rubbed his skin against your neck, and for a second, you swore you heard the deep rumbling of a purr thundering across the hallway, but Neteyam quickly cut it off with an embarrassed cough.
"He's uh, well, he's saying a lot", Max was even more flustered than you as he turned to Norm and nodded for him to take over the translation.
"He's trying to tell us to stay away, he's trying to scent you", Norm found his voice, and if you couldn't see the shock and slightly affronted stare he was holding with you through Neteyam's braids, you would have almost thought you were back in the lab and he was explaining the biology of the flower to again.
"Well, can you tell the knucklehead to knock it off?" You huffed with a provoked tinge to your voice as Neteyam let your hair go and returned to his original spot in the crook of your neck.
You would never admit it, not even on your deathbed, but the touch was welcome as his warm skin brushed against you and sent ravenous desire through your soul. The fact you had your colleagues standing in front of you as Neteyam touched you so intimately was really the only problem.
"Do you want us to lose a limb?" Norm tried to joke, but you didn't appreciate his humor.
The feeling of a hot, wet, velvety tongue being dragged from the base of your neck to your jaw made you whine, and the two older men's eyes snapped to Neteyam as you finally decided you had enough of being humiliated.
You ripped yourself from his grip and snapped your head to stare at him angrily, but he only chuckled and his deep voice rumbled through your core as another line came from his mouth. You had no idea what he said, but his hooded eyes and loving smirk tightened your core with a lustful tug.
You spun around again and let your rage spill over.
"Somebody better tell me what he's saying right now before I go crazy!" You yelled. Neteyam let his hands depart from your body and gave you the room to jump from his grip so you could stand with your back to him.
Norm stuck his hands up in mock surrender and shook his head.
"I'm not translating that one", he leaned over and smacked Max on the back for support.
The older man choked on his breath and stumbled to find the right words as Neteyam hungrily eyed your back in front of him.
"He's calling you his muntxa...his mate", Max looked fortified at his words and instantly dropped your gaze as you felt yourself cease entirely to exist.
You turned sharply towards Neteyam, and suddenly the gift, the smelling and the scenting all made sense. You could feel everything in you turn red with blush as you started wildly shaking your head and waving your hands above your head in an 'x' shape which yanked his wandering eyes back to your face.
"No muntxa! No thank you! Find a pretty Na'vi woman, okay? I'm not interested!" You shouted each word louder as if somehow he would be able to understand you if your speech became more pronounced.
"That's not how it works, you can't just turn him down" Norm tried to explain from behind you with an amused huff as Neteyam stared at your outburst in confusion.
He understood most of what you said, but why would you turn him down if you were his mate? There was no questioning that you were his because everything about you was made to draw him in, but it was clear you weren't happy.
His tail paused midair behind him, and he brought it forwards, testing how angry you were by letting the tip of the limb lay by your foot.
You stared down at his tail in curiosity. You let its presence leave your mind as you turned around and asked what exactly you had to do in order to get Neteyam to understand that you couldn't have been his mate because you weren't even the same species. But then you felt the whip-like extremity slowly curl its tip around your ankle.
You went to kick it off, but the tail only slithered further up until it was snugly wrapped around your thigh.
Neteyam's heart sang out as you looked down at the tail without movement, and while in reality, you were too shocked to move, he took it as acceptance and let his large hands creep over to gently grab you again.
"No, Neteyam!" You sternly yelled as his fingers barely grasped your waist.
He let out a long groan as if he were a child being denied a treat by his mother. He couldn't possibly see what the issue was. He pulled his tail back and spoke directly to the human men for the first time since his arrival.
"Why is she so mad, huh? Tell her I'm a good choice for a mate", he couldn't wrap his head around your stubborn unwillingness to let his hands roam where they pleased, and your denial was starting to vex him.
You listened closely as Max translated the interaction between Neteyam and Norm while they spoke to each other in Na'vi.
"It's not that she think's you're a bad choice, she just doesn-", Neteyam's impatience cut off Norm.
"Good, then she can be my mate", he truly saw no issue and was at a loss as to why you weren't all over him in the same manner.
Sure, you were human, and maybe it was odd, but over the week he had been apart from you, he had never felt so lonely, and that loneliness had fueled his courage to take his first steps into the laboratory. He wanted to see you and maybe even take you outside if that was what you wanted, but it was clear you were still getting used to him for now.
"Neteyam, she doesn't know anything about--", Norm was beginning to irritate him, and Neteyam looked over to you as he spoke his following words.
"I will teach her, she will learn", Neteyam didn't care if you didn't know anything. It wasn't of any issue to him.
He would have to protect you with everything he had to keep you safe outside. He wanted you close, and saving you would keep him busy, just how he wanted to be.
Neteyam left the conversation with Norm, much to the scientist's annoyance, and shuffled closer to you, forcing you to stare up at Neteyam as he stared down at you.
"If you want me to leave, I'll leave, but I won't ever come back and you won't see me again", his words were empty, and he knew it, but his hopes were that you wouldn't catch onto his poker face and you would answer in his favor.
Norm took a turn translating for you with a sigh as he knew that Neteyam was lying. The bond between mates was too much to abandon, and while Neteyam had clearly found his points of interest in you, it seemed to be that you hadn't latched onto any intoxicating part of him as quickly.
Your face fell into sadness at the idea of never seeing him again, but you drew your lips closed in thought, trying to debate what exactly to say.
Neteyam took your silence coldly and scoffed as he shook his head in doubt before he turned to leave, but you quickly jumped up and grabbed onto the end of his braid that had nearly smacked you in the face with his momentum.
"Don't leave!" You cried out while the men behind you gasped and quickly called out for you to drop the end of the knot, which you promptly acted in compliance with.
It was Neteyam's turn to freeze at your touch. You could feel that you had done something wrong, so you went to apologize, but when Neteyam's eyes met yours, it was as if he had love hearts in place of his eyes.
He went back to ignoring Max and Norm's attendance as he pushed himself to the floor and gently approached you with open hands so he could snatch you back up and return to his favorite place; your neck.
He didn't stick around long though, and after a quick fill-up of his addiction, he replaced you. He turned to Max to toss a comment at him before he stood up and jogged over to his bow before he swiftly departed as you called out to him, letting out apology after apology in fear it was your touch that had scared him off.
"I'm sorry! Look, I didn't know! Come back here! Ugh, you can't keep your hands off me when I tell you off, and then you won't come near me when I say I'm sorry? What is with you?" You yelled out, but nothing could stop the man as he ducked his head out of the door and set off to close the airlock behind himself.
"I'm confused, what did I do?" You cried out as you spun around, seeking answers, but Max only chuckled at you as he took his glasses off to wipe them on his lab coat.
"He's not mad, he said he has to go hunting for you, it's a Na'vi courting ritual, they bring you as much as they think you're worth in food", he acted as if this was a regular thing to say while you just shook your head in bemusement.
"He realizes I probably can't eat half the stuff out there, right?" You craned your neck to see the young man had already turned tail and was nowhere to be found.
"We'll have to see because there is no doubt he's coming back for you."
:Series 𝗧𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁:
@faatxma, @nao-cchi @ellabellabus07, @neteyamforlife @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @heesoftiefreak @lixiesbrowniess @eringaitskill @islamovice17 @sassy-persona @mashiromochi @jkeluv @uwu-i-purple-you
#x reader#neteyam headcanons#neteyam imagine#neteyam x reader#neteyam#avatar 2#awow#awow neteyam#awow x reader#pandora#awow fanfic#way of water#neteyam x y/n#avatar way of water#female reader#fluff
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ignorance is bliss ficlet II l.williamson x reader
my angry cinnamon roll gf’s 🤭
feel free to read the proper full fic that this is a spin off from here
ignorance is bliss ficlet II l.williamson x reader
"did she say she wasn't coming?" lia asked again with a frown as you shrugged hopelessly, just as clueless to your girlfriends absence from training as the rest of the team, leah now almost an hour late and not answering anyone's calls.
"no she was already up and getting ready when i left, she seemed fine?" you explained, having left before your girlfriend to get a coffee with lotte who had then driven the two of you to training, leahs unusual absence causing a pit of worry to form in the bottom of your stomach.
"oh thank god here she is hold on.” you breathed a sigh of relief as her contact flashed on your screen.
“may i please be excused quickly jonas? its leah." you asked softly, wincing as you interrupted the briefing and felt everyone’s eyes watching on as you hurried out of the room, accepting the call.
"leah where the hell are you? you're late and you're never late! in fact you are always on my case about making us late to things." you rambled, stepping outside and holding the phone to your ear.
"yeah uh, i sort of…ran into some car trouble on the way there." leah replied in a strange tone of voice making you frown. "car trouble? whats happened? are you alright?" you questioned quickly with growing concern, leaning against the wall behind you as your mind raced with all the worst case scenarios.
"well..." leah trailed off and you waited patiently for an answer but there wasn't one. "well? just spit it out lee, as long as you're safe we can fix whatever happened, a car is only something material babe." you assured her softly, feeling your chest tighten with nerves at her obvious hesitation to come clean.
"no no it wasn't an accident or anything I um, well I-" leah danced around her words and you felt your patience thinning, bouncing on the balls of your feet.
"isortoflostmylicensecauseigotdonespeedingagainandineedyoutocomeandpickmeup." your girlfriend word vomited so fast you couldn't make out a single word of what she was saying. "what? slower please lee." you pinched at the bridge of your nose, exhaling deeply.
"i sort of lost my license cause i got done speeding again and i need you to come and pick me up…please." leah repeated and your eyes widened as you finally understood, the silence on your side of the line causing leahs stomach to twist into knots.
"please don't be mad i know you're always onto me about it and i really think this is the thing i needed to learn my lesson but- hey are you laughing at me?" leah frowned as you doubled over, resting a hand on your knee as you were indeed laughing at the predicement.
"oi its not funny! i can't drive for three months now!" leah shouted and you could almost hear the stroppy pout which would be forming on the older girls lips.
"it is funny because i did in fact warn you of this time and time again and you never listened. i told you so!" you sung out with a grin, leah somewhat relieved you weren't upset with her but also not appreciating that your amusement was at her expense.
"too bad i wasn't there to flirt your way out of it huh?" you smiled smugly, rewarded with an annoyed huff and a half understood grumbled insult.
"sorry what was that? you're going to walk to training? wonderful i'll see you soon!" you teased, leah yelling out a hasty apology and practically begging you not hang up, something which was more than rare from your normally over confident girlfriend.
"please come get me! i'm stranded and it's really embarrassing, what if someone recognises me?" leah whined and you rolled your eyes that of course that was her biggest concern right now.
"why don't you just sit in the car then while you wait?" you sighed with a small smile, the silence on the other end telling you all you needed to know.
"oh leah....you didn't. not again!"
"stop leah'ing me, you sound like my mum!"
"oh i can't wait to tell your mum about this."
"don't you fucking dare!"
this was not a one off occasion. leah determined to buy the most tricked out car she could had spared no expense on the bells and whistles, though one of these had time and time again meant she’d locked her keys inside the insanely posh vehicle.
"baby i warned you when you bought that stupidly expensive car that the self locking feature would bite you in the ass."
"now is so not the time for an i told you so. just come and pick me up!"
"come pick you up..."
"right now?"
"leah!"
"sorry. please please please come pick me up gorgeous. i love you?"
"i'll get someone to drive me now. you know you could just get an uber leah."
"what did i say about leah'ing me!"
~
"there she is." you pointed out your girlfriend with a grin as katie slowed down a little, leah sat on the curb with her hoodie pulled over her head, clearly attempting to hide herself but the glaringly obvious red and blue arsenal tracksuit did her no favors.
"she looks like that kid who runs away from home gets about five minutes down the road and calls for their parents to come pick them up!" beth laughed at your girlfriends sour expression as you pulled beside her, though you'd note that to the others in the back all pointing and teasing her.
"you had to bring a crowd?" leah grumbled, standing to her feet and crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at beth and laura in the back who were pulling faces at her.
"what’s to say other than we all just had to witness the miracle for ourselves!" katie beamed as you leaned over and whispered something quickly in her ear, the irish woman nodding subtly with a smirk.
"go on then speed demon in ya hop!" katie teased, leah reaching for the door handle as she suddenly jerked the car forward and away from her, the four of you grinning as leahs jaw tightened.
“come on leah, in we get!” laura called out much like you would encourage a dog to return to its owner, which was not lost on leah who gave the younger girl a frighteningly filthy look.
"come on woman we haven't got all day you know!" beth tapped at her wrist mocking the time as once again leah reached for the door and katie moved the car forward slightly, sending the four of you into hysterics like naughty school kids at the back of the bus.
"nah you know what fuck this! i'm walking." your girlfriend fumed, kicking at the back of katies car and storming off down the road. you were quick to unbuckle yourself, jumping out and racing off after her as the girls all called out for her to get in the car.
"baby, get in the car." you grabbed her hand, looking at her with an amused smile as the taller blonde simply glared back at you wordlessly as you wrapped yourself around her in a hug, her arms remaining stoic by her side as she refused to engage in it.
"relax the face, relax the face." you cooed sarcastically and stroked at her forehead and cheeks trying to smooth away the deep frown lines as the defender smacked your hands away but you saw a hint of a smile grace her features as you stole a quick kiss and tugged her back with you towards the car.
leahs frown deepened as she was met with slow claps and she slid in the back beside laura, flipping them all off and sinking down into her seat.
"good news mccabe. as my work wife you have now been promoted and unlocked a new daily task. driving us to training!" you grinned as the irish woman rolled her eyes playfully.
"only if you caress my thigh and hold my hand like you do with blondie darlin." katie smirked at leah through the rear view mirror as you agreed, reaching out to accept her offered hand, intertwing your digits over the middle console.
"mccabe if you'd like to ever walk again i'd suggest you not touch her, or else i may have to accidentally studs up tackle you in every single drill." leah warned seriously, katie only grinning and bringing your intertwined hands up to her mouth, kissing your knuckles as you sarcastically swooned and leah huffed.
"now now don't worry, i'm sure vivs happy to share." beth teased, holding her hand up toward leah expecting her to kiss it as the blonde simply shot her a murderous look and smacked it away.
this was going to be a long three months.
#woso x reader#woso#woso fanfics#woso imagine#engwnt#woso blurbs#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#awfc x reader#awfc
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dedication | young!miguel o'hara x reader
❛ pairing | young geneticist!miguel o'hara x scientist!reader
❛ type | oneshot, explicit.
❛ summary | alchemax is a dangerous place to work. miguel's new assistant may be over her head. maybe he can help her, though.
❛ tags | virgin reader, f!reader, shitty science, plot heavy, loose canon references, literary liberties, loss of virginity, overprotective Miguel o'hara, jealous miguel o'hara, some objectification, workplace politics, aftercare (as requested), corruption (is it tho?), bc what bc, Spanish is not translated, young!miguel, heel-foot fetish, somewhat romantic.
❛ fulfilled request | can we please have a miguel x virgin reader and he didn’t even know until he was already putting it in?? And then voila his corruption kink unexpectedly growS? @a--dedicated--fangirl
❛ sy’s notes | miguel sort of works on that whole corruption aspect throughout this fic, but i wanted to meld these two ideas together to create a reader who is entirely dedicated to Miguel. This piece was a bit long for me.
“Miguel, your new assistant is here.”
On paper, you’re an excellent candidate for the genetics program.
An excellent GPA, renowned company internships, decent publications, and a diverse upbringing. It was all good. Great, even. But as the head of the genetics program at Alchemax, he has a little thing called priorities. Interviewing everyone himself was low on the rung of shit he felt like he should be doing. There was, however, one little, itty bitty, tiny problem with bringing you on board.
“Dr. O’Hara? ¿Estas bien?”
That shirt-- is not meant to hold those-- His brain was left field, glimpsing at them. A slightly sheer button-up revealed the outline of your bustier and its inability to conceal your body. They should have been illegal. He was pretty sure they were illicit in the handbook on his table. He should really read that again. Maybe then he wouldn’t be salivating over something as simple as a co-worker-- He needed to get out of the lab. The bleached walls tightened around him, the space smaller than he remembered. He was going to get caught.
Realistically, the lab was full of witty people. Many of them were witty men with subpar looks and stupider dicks. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. Not only because your lips were plump, painted petal-pink, and kissable or because the depth of your sultry eyes went straight in the dick. No, but because that would be improper of a man of his stature to tell one of the only women in his care that she was too gorgeous for the job you were clearly qualified for.
“Sí, coño,” He fixed his glasses, crooked on his broad nose. He stood up from his desk and grabbed his lab coat, swirling it around his broad shoulders. If he wasn’t mistaken, you tracked the movement with your eyes. “Do you want a cafecito? Miss…”
You told him your name. He mulled it over on his tongue, lathing it in a gentle acknowledgment. Cemented it in a place he wouldn't forget. You tinked your head to the side, your lashes fluttering when he cleared his throat. Great, just shocking--
“After you,” he headed for the door. He held it open for you, plastering his back to the wood. It didn't matter. You slid by closer than he’d prefer, your hand catching on his belt buckle with muttered apologies. This wasn’t going to end well.
Cafecito is an excellent excuse to pull his dumbass together.
It also calms his nerves, centers his mind, and allows him to compartmentalize. Whether or not you could hold your own wasn’t his issue, his issue was the necessity of someone he could trust. Ugly, beautiful-- so long as they were efficient, Miguel would make due. The cafeteria was a large and clean space. The many tables were crowded with wrap-around stations for poorly crafted, misery-inducing meals. Miguel paid and took a seat at a creaky table. One where he could see the door open, shut, and keep an eye on the comings and goings of meager scientists and annoying managers.
“You’ll be working with me.”
You pursed your lips around the warm cup of coffee, taking a ginger sip. He noted your lipstick stain that remained as you pushed the cup toward the middle of the table you shared with him. This damn suit vest was stifling. He gave you a long, slow look, tilting his head to the fact that you’d not drunk anything. It’d be rude to acknowledge.
“Delgado told me,” you smiled warmly. “He said you’re a genius. I don’t know that I believe in geniuses.”
Hmph. Delgado, things fell into place. That sycophant knew what he liked. He also knew that Miguel was better than him, always was, and always would be. Miguel offered you a slick smile, convinced he could assure you otherwise if he needed to. “Delgado says a lot of things. I’m surprised he gave you to me.”
“Why is that, O’Hara?” the way his name slipped off your tongue was a hot sin. If only he believed in a god. His eyelids shifted over his eyes, heavy-lidded and dark.
“You’re beautiful. He likes to collect beautiful things,” Miguel tried, curious. Your nails clicked in succession over the table. A repetitive click, click, click. He would be annoyed too if he were no more than a ploy. A distraction. Miguel wasn’t sure that it wasn’t working. His eyes flickered down, catching one of your palms curling into a tight fist, tension rolling through your fingers and up your arms. “He knows I do too.”
You leaned in, close enough that he could spot the unique freckles spread out in a crescent moon beneath a layer of makeup on your face. Beautiful. “I’m not here to belong to you, O’Hara. I hope you know that.”
He was off to a great, fantastic start.
“Understood.” Miguel leaned back in his chair, a smirk creeping up his lips. Or, believe that you believed that. You spared him any more mincing comments. Appeased by his suggestion, you brought your drink back to your lips.
“Good. What are we sequencing?”
“Me.”
You swallowed. “You? You can’t be--”
Mhm, he stared, lips pressed tightly together. “You’ll code my DNA. Then we’ll splice it.”
"With what?"
"You'll see."
“Is this your little,” you swirled your finger in a circle. “Pet project?”
Unfortunately not, he would have liked to say. That information was confidential, and though you worked on the project, there were levels to his willingness to involve you in the delicate flow of workplace politics. Still, you might make a healthy distraction from his work. Miguel took a swig of his cafecito, boring into the black substance.
“Something like that.”
Having a pretty assistant means things don’t always get done according to schedule. Not quickly enough, not by far. There is a time limit to everything at Alchemax. The quicker, the better. Thus this project demanded more hours of his time. The project was spliced between the work required of him by superiors and you, your quirks, and your preferences.
Miguel has learned a great many things about you in a short amount of time. You don’t appreciate misplaced pet names. You actually can’t handle coffee because of the caffeine or the sugar. He also learns things about himself. How little he likes when Delgado comes to check on progress because he isn’t actually checking on shit. He's checking you out.
He likes to weasel his nasty fingers around the door, peering in to try and find out what specimen he’s actually working on. Miguel was much too smart for that. His beady eyes caught Miguel over your shoulder, mumbling up to him about a new finding in tests you ran earlier that day. Your face mask twirled around your index finger, finally free and at a documentation workspace.
Funny, because he clearly redacts information from your well-recorded notes on the daily. You refuse to include less.
“Hey Mike,” he said. “How are things… Oh hey, you. You settling in, honey? Mike treating you ok? I can discipline him for you.”
“As if you could,” Miguel huffed.
But Delgado spying on you, the way you record progress by pouting out your lips, shifting between paper and your lab reports, was intolerable. Because... well, he has sensitive information on there. Your nose scrunches in distaste, but you bow your head just slightly as a hello. He might be his supervisor, but Miguel doesn’t need one to know why this asshole is in his lab turning his smarmy brown eyes over the way you sit: one leg over the other. You seem to realize it too, trailing your eyes over his gaudy suit to Miguel’s sinewy hand on your shoulder.
“Stop being a creep,” Miguel complained, “She has actual work to do.”
“Actual work? As opposed to--“
“Yes, what you do.” Miguel spat out. You eschewed a giggle, turning your face over a pristine white lab jacket that thankfully, you had no qualms in wearing. Otherwise, he might not finish any work in the lab at all.
“I supervise--
“You’re still talking but we’re not listening,” Miguel waved him off, plucking up papers by your side. Your eyes snap up to Miguel’s deep chocolate eyes hidden behind the thin frame of his metal glasses, waiting for a proper response. “Goodbye, Aaron.”
Miguel walks to the door, locks it with a click, and returns to your side. You glance at his white lab coat, fluttering around his tapered waist. He loves the way your eyes look at him with a soft, inviting expression, beseeching him to come to sit by your side as he always did. “Not a fan of Delgado, I take it.”
“Are you?” Miguel sits with his legs spread, his fingers threading through his thick brown hair. You set your papers down, swiveled toward him. The wheels of your rolling chair squeak on either side of his thick, black boots. His eye catches your thick thighs, squashed between your midi skirt, its atrocious slip causing him discomfort. His hand leaves his thick hair, dropping in unison side by side.
“I can’t stand being called honey, Mike.”
“Shut up.”
The days proceed similarly. Days filled with brushing past him as he slides in samples and reagents. He might lose a sample, clattering on the floor, and you always rush to help him clean up. Lunch together, because no matter how late he eats, you’re there beside him. Then as night falls, you stay until he has finished whatever he needs to do.
“Time to eat something,” you slipped into his office. The clock ticked past midnight. Miguel flicked through handwritten pages of information that did not need to be recorded in computer files. You watched his eyes scan over the ink on the page, acknowledging you with a grumpy grunt. Not now, not when he was so close to finishing the last section of the project.
“Empanada,” you turned his palm over, placing the flaky pastry in his hand. Caramelized apple. He loved a good apple empanada. He watched as you walked over to the coffee maker, drawing him a warm cafecito just how he liked it. Miguel dropped his pen, stretching out his aching spine.
“Gracias. From where?”
“I made them,” you set down the cup a little harder than intended. The surface rippled, throwing hot coffee drips onto his pages. His eyes flickered up from the pages to your eyes. Without thinking, he blathers:
“That so?” A pause. “Don’t you have a man?”
“Miguel. With this sequencing project, you’re the only man in my life. Shut up and eat the empanada.”
“Huh. Good. I like that.” He swallowed the empanada with a bob of his head, his tongue lathing over his teeth for any more of the sweet sugar. He stood up, finding your expression soft, drawn out by a sense of longing that he couldn’t imagine he saw.
“You like my sad love life?”
Yes.
“No, we have a company event. A ball,” Miguel chided, his tone gentling as he slipped away from his desk, abandoning his steamy coffee on his desk. He backed out of the doorway, “It’s all Stone’s politics. You know how these things are. I have to go. Come with me.”
“Is that a request or an order?”
“A date.”
I’d love to. Your words were the only thing that made tonight bearable. Slinking his tanned skin into a dark blue suit that cinched everything too tight was… unbearable. It clung to his skin like a second skin and choked off his air. But it might be worth it to see your face-- just maybe. He tracked the fluttering tails of fish behind bulletproof glass, following them as they fluttered away into their rock. He wished he could too.
“Miguel?”
“You’re here,” he turned around, dropping the champagne he idly held in his hand. It went forgotten by his boot as you called his name again. His gaze fixed on yours, the slinky navy blue dress caused his heart to thrum through his chest, chasing the sight of your body at his feet, picking shards of glass up with the aid of a worker, apologizing profusely for the mess. A soft puff of breath slipped from his lips as you stood back up, gripping your purse a little harder in your hands. He ran his hand over his jaw, drawing himself back to his senses.
“Miggy,” he husked out. “Call me Miggy.”
“You look handsome, Miggy,” his name felt unreal on your lips until he felt the pressure on his elbow. Your soft hands slunk around his, cradling him for some security in the face of the large doors. He shook himself back to his senses. Right, there was a reason he was here. “But shouldn’t we go?”
He should have-- but did he want to? No, not really. He didn’t want to see Stone’s greasy face, let Aaron take a peek at how you looked dolled up, or any of the rest of these fuckers. What he wanted was something else entirely.
“Listen.” Miguel stopped, his other hand coming to the jeweled bracelet on your wrist. The doors to the ballroom lapsed, groups of older men filtering in and out with their pieces of the night: doting wives, longing husbands, and partners that their wives or husbands probably didn’t know about. “Don’t wander off from me. They’re all snakes. All of them.”
“Even you?”
“Hermosa,” you didn’t leer at him. “I’m the least of your worries.”
He wasn’t wrong. The ballroom was dolled up in lush fabrics, fine china, and a copious amount of food as it was every year. Miguel found the attempt to distract from what really went on behind closed doors at Alchemax a bit cloying. This year the music was at least tolerable. It filtered out into the ballroom in a syrupy melodies driven on by the soft, promises of rich men for the exchange of sex. For much of the night, he could stomach the various men poking and prodding at him about his impending research. So long as you were here.
“Miggy,” you breathed, a hot puff of air against his ear. He leaned down, his hand atop of yours. “Will you dance with me?”
Dance? Miguel had two left feet-- it’s why he was a geneticist. For all the work you did on his behalf in the lab, including this very night, he owed you the benefit of whatever you wanted. He searched out a quiet area, one where the only disruption could be the stream of moonlight in through a window. You preferred it over the wall of vivacious men and over-powdered women. He preferred it over the atrocity of his footwork.
“It’s not much of a date,” Miguel’s hand slid around yours. He encompassed your small palm with his large hand, the other gliding across the soft, exposed skin of your back. You swayed with him, side to side. He was an awful dancer, but there was something endearing about that. He saw it in your eyes, the glimmer of curiosity, gliding your dark heels against the inside of his foot. Damn, he still sucked.
“No,” you agreed, shifting to take the lead. He followed your steps. Right, back, left, up. Maybe he stepped on your long dress once or twice, too. Shock, he cursed again, stepping over your foot.
“You’re remarkably bad at this.” You settled your head on his chest, letting your box steps fade into little more than the shifting of your hips.
“I know. Let’s just-- sway?”
“Swaying is good.”
“O’Hara,” boomed Stone. But of course— peace couldn’t last forever. Like a bullet through the chest, a voice caused him to turn in startle. His tan cheeks flushed with warmth, feeling cut off from the cover of others. He was dressed in the most gaudy of clothes that almost seemed to match the crooked expression on his pale face. No matter how many times he tried to fix it, it always looked… wrong.
Stone’s hands came together, clapping multiple times to force the crowd of politicians, scientists, and bought-in participants to fade away. His voice caused Miguel to growl, a low rumbly noise that you soothed with your breasts pushing gingerly against his arm. He could do it. He could handle this pompous little shit-- “And who is this beauty? A new girlfriend, perhaps? Fiance? O’Hara could do with a wife. Settle him down, y’know.”
Miguel huffed out of his nostrils. “This is my lab partner,” he cleared his throat, leaning forward. “For… the project.”
“Her? A lab partner? Ha!”
Shock. He didn’t have to look at you to know you were insulted. Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing out the tension as you smiled through the interaction, taking over for Miguel. “We have measurable results.”
“That’s what I like to hear, sweet thing. Now, Miguel, Aaron has found a test subject…”
“I’ll interview them.”
“No need! I--”
“Excuse me, Mr. Stone. I’ll let you two talk,” you slipped away, your heels clicking off into the busy crowd. Stone was talking. Miguel knew he should listen closely. His half-formed plan to see what the future held for his research was wafting into the air, wisps of it in his ear. Tomorrow-- test-- can you? Panic blinded his senses. He could find you nowhere in the room, and even if he did, would he be too late?
“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine, it’s… excuse me.”
The issue with falling for someone was the scythe of his fear. His position was inherently risky. No matter how many groups of people he cut through trying to find you, you weren’t there. No tiny little appetizers of shrimp on half a skewer. No booze, because your head would swim. Not near the bathrooms, either. He rushed down the steps when he found you, just before the large iron gates, staring up at the stars peppering the sky.
At your feet, Aaron. His drunken fingers trying and failing to guide the strap off of your ankle. You, of course, sat there staring dumbly down at his failed attempts to do something as simple as fix your damn heel.
“I’ll take it from here.” Miguel booted Aaron out of the way. Who, with his sloppy sloshed curses, tried to win a fight with him. He eventually won out. Aaron slunk away, somewhere up the steps. Miguel wasn’t counting. “You didn’t listen.”
“Hm?”
Miguel loosened both straps, sliding his open palm under your foot for one then the other. You gazed at him, sliding the black heels off your feet, tutting his tongue at the blistered back of your feet.
“I told you not to wander off.”
“I just wanted to see the stars. Besides, it was just Aaron.”
“It’s never just Aaron. It’s Aaron and Stone.” Miguel’s eyebrows pushed against one another, recording your failure to listen. You crossed one leg over the other, sliding your toes over his silk tie, kept beneath a vest. He knelt before you, searching your eyes for the right answer. “You don’t know… what you’re getting into. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“I don’t need you to. I can take care of myself, Miguel. Please don’t--” you sighed. “Don’t be like them.”
He knew what you meant. Like Aaron, peeling off your shoes at the sign of discomfort because you were a pretty woman. Or Stone, who couldn’t comprehend your value as a scientist. Those who doubted you because of your color, gender, or a mixture of the two. His mouth twisted in frustration. He was in deep. Whatever you desired, he wanted to give. It came at a price.
“Are you mine,” the words came out stiff, “or theirs?”
“Miggy,” you turned the word over on your tongue, willing him to stand down. His dark eyes settled on yours, unmoving. “Why do I have to pick?”
“You can’t have both. You’ll have to choose. One day.”
Your mind worked. He knew from the way you pursed your lip out, then in, puncturing its pillowy surface with your teeth. You shifted your gaze to the water, the stream coursing down the unfeeling stone. Miguel's fingers ran across your inner thigh, causing you to gaze down at him. The steps of others on the other side of the fountain, fading into the depths of the night caused you to break his gaze. Miguel offered you his hand, fitting the shoes under his other arm as he walked toward the valet. You took his hand and interlaced your fingers.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” you said, though the words felt thready and thin, nary a whisper. Something in the undercurrent of your voice concerned him. A thread that needed to be snipped, convinced of the vileness of the city-- of who you worked for.
He doesn’t make mistakes.
But he left the project code on his desk. It should have been there, yet, the corpse of a decrepit, awful creature withered on the lab floor proved otherwise. Someone had taken it because he was distracted. As a result, someone lost their life... even if it was Stone's doing.
Now, scouring through his papers, his hands tremored like a common drug addict. He supposed he was one, a druggie, tremoring like a shot hungry, Rapture crazed--
“Miggy?”
He snapped around. His gaze melded your figure into one beautiful blurb, even with the glasses on his broad nose. It was your voice, coded in something close to concern. Miguel ran his hands through his hair, long strands falling messily over his eyes and cheekbones. He flattened his hands out atop his head.
“What are you looking for?”
“The notes,” he weathered a breath. He doddered about the room, throwing a stack of paper onto the floor. They crumpled over the floor, mixed projects, notes on the specimen, but none were his. “Where are my notes?”
“You’re sick,” your voice broke gently, as if speaking them alone helped. A horrid crack of laughter slipped from his throat, drawing into a long lament as he repeated the words after you. Sick, you said, he was sick. If being sick was the least of his issues, he would have been a happy man. Your steps rang into his ear, heavier than before, painful and loud. He crumpled onto the couch in his office, his hands cupping them. Your soft hands coursed over his chest, unbuttoning his starched button-up and sliding it down his muscular upper arms. “This might hurt.”
No kidding, needles always hurt. But the instantaneous relief that flooded his system overrode the momentary pain. As your fuzzy figure came into focus, he recognized the drug that you set aside.
“You didn’t--”
“You were right, Miggy, about the-- Mr. Sims.” Miguel gazed at you, leafing through novels of notes with trembling hands. He cursed himself for subjecting you to seeing that. Not quite human, not quite... The twisted look on the poor man’s face. What months of research with one another had offered. He would fix it. He knew the research was on point. It was the application that was lacking.
“I have a copy of your notes,” you murmured as if someone could hear. They likely could. “¿Ay, puñeta, dónde está? Ah! Here, here it is. Your… profile.”
“You kept it,” he glanced down at the hastily scribbled note attached to the clip. ‘Miguel’s profile’ alongside a soft pink heart. He stopped your hands from thumbing through another leaflet. His eyes traced the dry ink of the heart. His thumb moved to stroke it, catching the sight of bubbling tears welling over in your eyes out of the corner of his eye. The tears slid down your full cheeks, triggering his discomfort to well up in his stomach. Miguel shifted closer, flicking fat droplets off your slight jaw.
“Hermosa,” Miguel shifted his head, cocking his eyebrow. “¿Que te pasa?”
“I should have listened to you Miggy,” you began, inhaling air forcefully through your nostrils. Breathe, you murmured. Miguel's soft hand cupped the back of your neck like a collar. You were happy to be collared by his hand, it felt safe.
His eyes narrowed, thumb caressing the loose strands of hair at your nape. “You should have. You know I'll take care of you."
You nodded.
"You have to be fully dedicated to me.”
“I am.”
“Show me.” You fluttered your eyes, the gears of your mind working to understand what he meant. His hand fell away to trace the bow of your black blouse. He tugged on the knot, slipping the bow loose and running his fingers over your exposed cleavage below. “Take off the blouse.”
Was it necessary? Some might have said no-- but sex, in its connective nature-- was the ultimate dedication. At the end of it all, that's what he craved: your eyes, your actions, all born with him in mind. With trembling fingers, you untucked your shirt from your black slacks. Miguel sat back, tracking the soft lace of your balconette bra teasing his eye. You loitered for a minute too long, enough for him to lift his thick eyebrow.
“Don’t stop now,” he said. Your knees knocked together, slipping the shirt over and off your torso before draping it on the arm of his couch. Your bra followed quickly after, slipping out of the twisted straps. You skimmed your hands over your breasts, holding them for comfort.
"No." Miguel flicked his fingers, motioning for your hands to move from your thick nipples. You pushed your breasts together, allowing him to marvel at them a second longer. “Que maravilla... You have no idea how long I’ve waited. Go on, take off the rest now.”
You suckled in breath, sliding the button of your pants loose. Then the zipper, its cloth scratching your thighs on its way to pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them, joining them too with your shirt. Miguel sat up, running his calloused fingers over the side of your hip and waist. His thumbs hooked in your panties, drawing them down over your pussy, a moist spot on your panties connecting a small string of wetness to your pussy. His palm slid between your thighs, pinned by your thighs pressed together, whether out of an innate need for more pressure or shyness to show him how wet you were. Hm. Miguel melded your ass, striking your skin with his large palm, it jiggled.
“Miggy,” you breathed, shy and intimidated. “I have to tell you something…”
“Lay down,” he told you.
“But Miggy, what if someone…” Your eyes darted away from his, chewing on his cheek as you slid back down beside him. You settled on the couch, your legs thrown over his thighs. The couch was stiff, hard against your neck. You stole a haughty glimpse at his face, focused entirely on coursing his palms over your calves and thighs, then back down to your slight toes. He ground your feet over his stiff cock, obscured by the fabric of his slacks. He felt big-- bigger than you could have imagined from the look on your face.
“¡Basta!” Miguel growled, “No one is going to come in. Let me see you.”
You flushed.
“You want me to…” you glanced down, your curls were soft to the touch.
“Touch yourself for me.”
With your heart strumming in your chest, you shifted your hand down, spreading your lips, soft and wet. You were so wonderfully shy to follow his orders, the pads of your fingers rubbing along your outer lips, massaging them warm and swollen. You buried your eyes into your other arm, dragging up and down, over and over. A delightful sigh greeted his ear, ensuring that though you were too embarrassed to look at him, you loved it. He allowed it for now-- because he was a gracious, forgiving man.
“Shock,” Miguel shuffled at the button and zipper of his pants, freeing himself from his slacks. He spat into his palm, stroking over his fleshy length, squishing his cock against your foot. Your toes curled over his cockhead, engrossed in Miguel’s rumbling pants, the soft pleasure that bloomed from his chest. Your eyes trained on his lips, the slight breath suckled between his teeth. Your fingers glazed over your stiff clit, pausing as though you needed his permission, just how he wanted it. Your sweet submission.
His eyebrow perked. “You can touch it.”
“Oh,” you glanced down, tracing the way Miguel fisted himself, swirling up to his cockhead, along fat veins and the bubble of salty fluid on his tip. His permission seemed to spur something else in you, flicking your swollen clit to the sound of his pleasured growling, your own pleasure growing in tandem with his.
“¡Ya!” he annunciated, watching as you failed to stop. All at once he stopped his ministrations. A sigh escaped his chest as he pushed himself up, smacking your hand away from your puffy cunt. His cock bobbed between your bodies. You wanted to touch it, but couldn’t.
"Wait," you cried out. His cock twitched as he lowered his hips down, drawing sweet lubricant on his cock, stroking your pussy. He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a warm kiss. He dipped his hand down, his cockhead prodding and poking, dipping lower with the aid of his hand.
“MiggyI’mavirgin,” you said all at once, his cockhead nudged against your entrance. Miguel’s head about snapped as he looked up, eyes popped wide open in disbelief. Before he could quite form a coherent thought, your hands shot out to grip his suit vest, stopping him where he was.
“¿Qué dejiste? Say that again?”
“I haven’t… I haven't had sex,” you murmured. He hadn’t put it together. Your shyness, the awkward way you shuffled around, loosening your bra and hiding your perfect breasts from his eyes. The words were finally out in the open but didn't register.
"A..." Miguel fisted his cock, once, then twice, shifting back to kneel before you. Your eyes fell on his muscular thighs, the way his hand fisted his dick. “You’re a virgin?”
“I’m too old for this,” you mumbled, hiding your eyes with your palms. Miguel shifted to cast aside your hands from your eyes, his muscular body caging you underneath, looking for an explanation. “I just. Between school, work, I never had time.”
Not that he was complaining.
"No boyfriend?"
You shook your head. He couldn't believe his luck. Not only were you gorgeous, but you were untouched. His, completely and fully. He liked it better that way-- to be the first memory smeared in your head. So that when you looked back on this moment, right now, it would forever be marked by his face.
"It's mine," he blurted out all at once. "I want your first to be mine."
His hand dropped down to your cunt. The pad of his middle finger worked at your entrance as though he were exploring the truth of your statement, stretching you with the aid of his fingers. You were tight, it had to be true.
You nodded, face buried deep in your arm. It didn’t take but moments for him to draw his hand back, suckling the lubricant from his fingertips. You distantly registered his words, “Damn it, you... you don't know what you do to me.”
Before you could say a word more, Miguel positioned the head of his dick against your slippery virgin hole. You clenched, glancing down between your bodies again, as you had a dozen times, anxiously waiting. Miguel hushed you, the repetitive shushing of his lips soothing you into complacency, forcing your muscles to relax. “It might hurt. But the pain won’t last,” he assured you.
He rolled his hips forward. His sharp exhale shook with every centimeter that gave way. Your walls were forced apart, suffocating you on the shock of adjusting to having someone, no not someone, Miguel-- your Miguel, sinking into your tense body. He throbbed, twitching in your body. His hands fisted in the aged couch, catching the breath in his chest.
“Ay, Miggy,” your nails dug into his shirt, loose around his firm muscles. “Miggy, no puedo,”
“You can, you’re so good, eres tan buena,” Miguel swept your lips between his, taking the moment of your surprise to bury himself further, swallowed by your cunt that resisted his intrusion. Your lips fluttered in the kiss, keened out a cry. The pain of his dick, forcing its way through your passage is quelled by the knowledge that he’s here, with you, his girth forcing you apart, stretching you apart, seating himself flush against your womb. His voice was caramelized, sugared over, and so good. “Look at how well you’re taking me already.”
“Coño, that’s a tight pussy,” He slid his hips back, the warm sensation of his withdrawal pulling free before shoving back in, a cry shoving forth from your lips, filling his office and the connected lab with your cries. He might have heard someone draw the door open, his hips driving back in, centered on the magnificent groans that stuttered free from your chest with Miguel’s careful thrusts. You keened his name, a repetitious Miggy, Miggy, Miggy-- it was Aaron, probably. He recognized the way his feet drug on the floor.
He hoped he didn’t just hear it. He hoped he saw it too, the way his balls slapped against your ass, the mess of blood soaking the already unhygienic couch, the way his cock pulsed. You were blissed out, so full and well of him like no one else ever had-- because you were his, and his alone. It wasn’t just sex. It was more than that. From Aaron, whose shuffled steps fell out of his office, to any other little bitch in the office who had their own gain.
“Damn,” Miguel shifted back, hooking his hand around your thigh to drag you back onto his dick. He swirled his thumb against your stiff clit, whirling it around in one circle, then another, and by the third your knees knocked together, bearing down on his cock to hold him still. “I can’t--” you stuttered out, I can’t--”
“You’re going to,” he hissed. “You’re going to cum right here, right now, split open on my dick.”
With another circle, you croaked an ugly cry, a terrible, ugly cry that Miguel couldn’t find any more beautiful as your body buzzed around him, tightening and squeezing your already tight cunt around him. Blissful pleasure radiated there, riding his dick for the friction against your virgin walls, your thoughts fading into a realm of insistent pleasure, where thoughts were space mush.
Miguel withstood the pressure on his cock, clamping his hand down on your hip. His thrusts stuttered, filling your belly with whip after whip with his full hot cum. Your body twitched in the throes of his orgasm. He tracked his eyes down to your body, withdrawing with a bubbly pop of his dick from your abused hole, the intermingling of cum and virginal blood dribbling down your cheeks.
Your gaze tracked Miguel, pressing his lips toward yours one more time. You shifted on the couch, legs pathetically tremoring. Miguel chuckled and walked toward his electric kettle, papers crunching underneath his feet, “Don’t bother moving. Not that you could, anyway.”
He warmed a warm cloth with hot water, testing its temperature on his palm before sitting beside your crumpled legs, spreading your legs to clean his mess and sooth the abrasive way he took you. He spread your lips, ensuring you were clean before he would flip the cloth, dropping it on top of your vulva.
“You know you’re mine,” he asked, though it came out as a statement. With another cloth, Miguel cleaned his soft cock of the mess, exhaustion of the sex and what was to come returning to his gentle, deep voice.
“Sí,” you answered.
“And you’d do anything for me. Only me.”
The words were laced with something more than a suggestion, but an affirmation of your loyalty. Your love. You pushed yourself up, hanging off his arm after he tucked himself into his pants. “Para siempre.”
He leaned down, plucking the bundle with his sequenced DNA information. Your eyes coursed the information on the page, darting up to his tired eyes. You wanted to ask why or what he knew. Miguel knew it didn't matter. You were his now, from the top of your head to the bottom of your gorgeous toes. You trusted him fully. As you should. With the empty vial of Rapture sitting beside him, forgotten, he spared you a mincing smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Good. Let's fix our project.”
#miguel ohara oneshot#miguel o'hara oneshot#miguel o'hara x you#miguel x reader#miguel ohara x reader#spider 2099 imagine#across the spiderverse imagine#atsv imagines#atsv imagine#spider 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara/reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara smut
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spoilt - yandere alhaitham x reader x yandere kaveh (4.7k)
alhaitham has a lesson to teach.
cw: not sfw, minors dni. yandere, but of the 'softer' variety - reader is happy with their lot as 'pet' of alhaitham and kaveh, this is mostly a smut fic. pet reader. blowjobs, cunnilingus, piv sex, fingering. reader is afab but no gendered pronouns are used.
this was a commissioned work.
It starts with a simple sentence.
Alhaitham, over dinner, where you sit prettily and primly and properly at his feet, saying it to Kaveh with a laser focus when the architect tries to lean down to you and feed you a piece of his dessert. Alhaitham doesn’t speak off-handedly; he watches you demur the sugary piece of crystallized fruit between Kaveh’s fingertips (you think you see a flash of satisfaction in his eyes), and then he says with all of the weight that his words always bear;
“You spoil them. It’s not good for them.”
Kaveh had looked at Alhaitham for a moment, and then you. His lip had jutted out, obstinately, as he’d replied to Alhaitham in an almost-injured voice.
“I think they deserve to be spoiled. Just because you don’t--”
Alhaitham sighs, and reaches down to gently rest his hand atop of your head.
“The nature of training a pet,” Alhaitham reminds Kaveh, “means not always giving in to every whim. I know you are a bleeding heart, Kaveh, but this really is what’s best for them--”
“Well,” Kaveh shoots back, burning passionate and bright. “Why don’t you ask them what they’d prefer? If they want to be spoiled? If they want to be taken care of and coddled and adored or if they want what you provide them instead--”
“Fine.” Alhaitham’s tone doesn’t change; his face hardly so much as twitches. The hand atop of your head moves, to cup your chin and tilt your face towards him so that he can make eye contact with you.
Alhaitham is big on eye contact; he’s big on manners and eye contact and earning the things you want. You do not mind so much - at least he is easy to understand. Though occasionally callous, you know where you stand with Alhaitham. His lack of thinking over-emotionally means you understand his decisions, even if you may not agree with them.
(Though you’ve become somewhat desensitized to your new life, there are still certain things that gnaw at your soul; a longing for freedom, a desire to see your friends and family again, a hundred things you left unfinished before Alhaitham decided you would be better served if your place was beside him. These are things, though, that the piece of crystallized zaytun peach that Kaveh is trying to tempt you with would not fix. Spoiling you and indulging you will fix nothing, and you prefer to remain obedient to Alhaitham if only to make your existence here easier.)
( . . . And, too, because sometimes seeing the silver-haired scholar with the bright eyes makes your insides churn and your face grow hot and your words come out wrong. You get the same reaction when Kaveh’s gaze lingers on you, but he’s so much easier to understand you sometimes manage to keep yourself in check somewhat easier. Somewhat.)
“What would you prefer?” Alhaitham asks you, his tone just a touch softer - barely imperceptible, but for a man like Alhaitham . . . You notice all of the little inflections.
“I--” Your voice comes out a little dry, a little high - squeak more than word. You can feel your cheeks heating. “Wh-whatever you think is best--”
Kaveh scoffs. Alhaitham’s lips twitch at the corners. His hand slides down your chin to gently tug at the collar you wear; dark green leather (Alhaitham’s choice), that Kaveh had once snuck out in the night and embossed the imprint of Padisarahs upon. Alhaitham’s finger hooks carefully into the O-ring that rests in the hollow of your throat, and he tugs hard enough that you feel a tell-tale twist of want between your thighs and a soft gasp escapes your parted lips.
“How about,” Alhaitham murmurs, and his voice has gotten dark. “We retire into the bedroom and remind dear Kaveh exactly how our little pet ought to be treated?”
The words in combination with the way his finger is hooked into your collar makes your breath go short; your lashes flutter. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, as you softly respond to him again;
“A-anything you want.”
“Good,” Alhaitham does not praise lightly; so you take this little word and lock it into that part of your heart that remembers everything he says to you, that cherishes the ‘well dones’ and the ‘that’s rights’ that he sometimes feels fit to give you. Alhaitham stands, not letting go of his grip on your collar, but at least making sure he rises slow enough that you have time to get shakily to your own feet from your obedient knelt position. “Come on.” He begins to walk slowly and deliberately towards his bedroom - as he does, he turns his head to the side to look at the architect, still looking a little nonplussed by the turn of events.
“Well?” Alhaitham asks. “Are you coming?”
-
Once in the bedroom, Alhaitham bids you get back onto your knees and be patient as you wait for him. You do exactly that, knees sinking into the plush carpeting, and Alhaitham rewards you with a gentle pat on your head as he moves a chair close to the bed.
“Sit there,” Alhaitham tells Kaveh, who crosses the room with a hint of unease - despite the bulge in his trousers at what exactly Alhaitham has promised to show him in this room. Alhaitham’s lip curls into a small, secretive smile again. “Don’t look so worried, Kaveh. I told you. This is just a demonstration . . . I’m just going to remind you how to properly handle a pet.”
Kaveh doesn’t reply, just takes a single shuddering breath. Alhaitham looks at you with his eyes softer - he always is soft, when it comes to sex. Punishment is not pleasurable for him or you. Your insides buzz with excitement, the space between your thighs growing hot and wet and damp.
“Take off your clothes,” Alhaitham says to you, not unkindly. In the house, you wear only your collar, and a thin robe that comes to just above your knees - no use for fine fabrics when you are a pet, and when both of them prefer you out of them. Kaveh has occasionally embroidered patterns around collars and sleeves for you, and you treasure those too - even Alhaitham says nothing about it. You do not bother wearing underwear. The fabric falls from your body, pooling around your knelt figure; you do not even need to stand up to disrobe. “Good pet.”
You fair shine at the praise, your face breaking into a smile, and Kaveh sighs wistfully to look at you.
“See?” Alhaitham says mildly. “You reap the rewards of my thorough training just as much, don’t you?”
“I . . . p-perhaps . . .”
“Look at you,” Alhaitham murmurs, gently cupping the soft fullness of your cheek in his hand as he looks down at you with all of the hunger of a wolf. “You’re lovely.”
You look at him, pleasure shining on your face, and his lips stay curled into that handsome smile.
“You’re going to show Kaveh exactly how much you like being a pet,” Alhaitham says to you, voice slow and quiet. “With your mouth. Do you understand? Show me you understand.”
You open your mouth obediently, tongue flat, showing Alhaitham exactly where you would like him to guide his aching cock. And as he reaches for the placket of his trousers, as his deft fingers work the buttons open, you see that his cock is indeed aching - thick, the tip reddened, veins pulsing under the brush of his fingertips.
“Are you watching, Kaveh?” Alhaitham asks mildly, as you shift your weight from knee to knee and continue to look at Alhaitham with a mix of trepidation and desire. “See? You must be firm with them. Keep your mouth open.”
You have not closed it, but at Alhaitham’s command you strain your jaw wider, so that your lips stretch as far apart as you can. Alhaitham makes a soft noise of approval, and then slowly guides his cock into your mouth. For a moment, he lets the heavy weight of it rest upon your tongue; you can feel the taste of him, a little musky but masculine and familiar, flood your senses.
“It’s better to start off slowly,” Alhaitham intones - you allow yourself a brief moment of disobedience, just so that your eyes can flitter to Kaveh to see how he is reacting. The architect looks beautiful - his cheeks are pink, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes blown wide as he takes in the scene before him. He looks at once like he wants to argue his point with Alhaitham (you know the two do enjoy verbal sparring), and at once like he does not want to say a single syllable and risk breaking the spell of what is happening before him.
Also very visible where Kaveh is sat is how the fabric of his trousers strains at the crotch; his own cock longing to be released from the confines of the fabric.
Alhaitham rests a hand atop of your head as he waits for you to follow his instruction - and, as he has bade, you slowly suck on the length of his cock that’s been slotted into your mouth. You slowly trace the place where head meets shaft, gently tease his frenulum with the very tip of your tongue until he leaks more and more precome into your mouth and he sighs in pleasure, fingers tightening where they rest.
“A little faster,” he tells you, and you obediently bob your head along his cock this time - obediently run your tongue quicker through the slit of his cock.
Alhaitham is firm and commanding, but he is not cruel - he controls the pace he wants you to work your mouth and your tongue over his cock with the hand upon your head, but he does not do anything so declasse as simply hold you in place and fuck your throat. He believes in firm discipline - and as you are so well-behaved, as you squeak and go warm and nervous when he looks at you and gives you attention - you have no reason, most of the time, to find yourself on the ‘discipline’ side.
So you let him guide the way your mouth slides over his cock - let him set the pace of his hips, let him sigh and breathe out through gritted teeth. You feel his cock jump in your mouth as you do it and you use all of the tricks he has ever taught you in order to please him - the flourish of your tongue, the swirl over his head, the brief moment where you get your throat to relax and take him deeper than he’s expecting.
And you win his pleasure. His smile, his eyes soft, his deep groan. You win the feel of his hips losing their composure, the smooth rhythm disrupted with a jolt or two, shaky, until suddenly he is speaking;
“Stay still--”
And his cock is twitching in your mouth and your senses are flooded with the salty, musky taste of his release as he shoots ropes of his pearly come against your tongue. He’s breathing heavy now, waiting for a moment for the aftershocks of his orgasm to recede - but when they do, and he pulls back, he fixes you with that firm but not unpleasant stare.
(It’s a stare like he can see every thought you have - a stare like he knows you body and soul).
“Show me,” Alhaitham commands, and you shyly open your mouth to reveal the milky mess of his come on your tongue. “And show him, too.” He gestures towards Kaveh - hot all over, you keep your mouth open as you meet Kaveh’s golden eyes, and the architect looks like he wants to devour you whole.
“Alright,” Alhaitham says, after you’ve held his release upon your tongue a few beats longer. “You can swallow it now.”
You gulp, the taste of his come still lingering upon your tastebuds - but that is not important, as Alhaitham takes firm hold of your arms and helps you up, and as he carefully maneuvers you onto the bed. As he positions your ass upon the edge, your back propped up with pillows. He looks at Kaveh as he says;
“Now they deserve a reward; now they’ve done something for it. Now,” and he looks at you and smiles, “now, you deserve some pleasure of your own.”
Sparks of excitement race up your spine as Alhaitham gracefully gets onto his own knees, this time.
It’s hardly the first time Alhaitham has done this - he’s surprisingly generous with his mouth, though you do indeed only have this happen when you have done something to please him - but you still cannot help the thrill of pleasure that zaps up your spine at the light kiss he gives your sex, before his tongue darts out to tease at your clit.
Your fingers clutch at the bedsheets; Alhaitham has not said that you can pull at his hair, so you do not. Alhaitham takes a moment in between kisses to throw some words towards Kaveh;
“See? A little reward, when earned, is far better than just getting spoilt and learning to expect it. See how grateful they are? How pretty their face looks when I do this?”
He kisses at your clit again, before sliding his tongue down your folds to tease at your entrance. Your hips arch without you even thinking about it, a whimpering noise of embarrassment and pleasure escaping from your throat in a squeak that makes Alhaitham chuckle against your wet sex. The vibrations send more waves of pleasure careening through you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth come in whimpering little entreaties.
They are nothing compared to the noises that keep coming from between your thighs; the wet sound of Alhaitham’s tongue, dragging through your own slick as you pump more and more of it out and onto his face. The occasional groan of pleasure as Alhaitham drinks you in.
He takes one more break, to rasp;
“And it’s not as if one doesn’t get anything out of this reward for themselves--”
Before he buries his face back between your thighs, this time with a vengeance.
Through every lick and suck and stroke, you can feel that familiar knot of tension low between your thighs begin to tighten and coil. Every stroke of his tongue feels like him pulling at the threads, making the knot more and more complicated - and more and more of a relief when it will finally be pulled, breaking and untangling. You find your hips writhing, more noises falling from your lips.
When did you first feel this pounding between your thighs? It pounds in time with your heartbeat, your own need the only thing you can properly think about. You might have been here, at Alhaitham’s mercy, for hours. Time does not feel like a tangible thing, with Alhaitham’s tongue working you over so sweetly.
You’re close. You can feel it - the way the threads of your arousal are humming, like too-tense strings on an instrument, moments away from snapping. Alhaitham’s tongue has just gotten faster, dancing over your clit, coaxing forth that all-knowing, all-consuming pleasure that will put an end to the desperate humming of your heart--
And he stops.
He ceases.
He pulls back, and the only stimulation you get is a warm exhale against your throbbing clit - your strings remain unsnapped, your knot still as tight and inescapable as ever. You sob aloud.
“P-please--” You whisper out, your mind hazy - all you can think of is how close that you were to your own orgasm, and how cruelly Alhaitham had snatched away your moment of victory. “Alhaitham--”
“Now,” Alhaitham murmurs to you, again not unkindly, his breath warm against your heated core. “You know better than that, darling. Be well-behaved, and you get what you want.”
Alhaitham pulls his face out from between your thighs to face Kaveh again. His chin and mouth glimmer with your slick, but on his proud and fine face it looks almost regal.
“You see?” Alhaitham asks Kaveh. “It’s far better if a pet learns to associate their pleasure with their master’s pleasure, or they might get greedy and entitled.” He looks back at you and smiles at you, but there is a hint of danger glinting in his eye. “Now. Darling. Tell me what it is you want.”
You want to cry out and beat your fists and stamp your feet - you want to come. You want Alhaitham to put his mouth between your thighs again, to feel his tongue hungrily lap against your clit and tease at your entrance and let you shake and shiver and moan as you come on his face.
But that is not how a proper pet behaves.
A proper pet knows their pleasure comes with their master’s pleasure; knows that once he has gotten what he wants, they too will get what they want.
“Please,” you whisper again, through lowered lashes and in a soft, shaking voice that you know appeals to both men. Kaveh lets out a soft, shuddering groan. “Please. Please fuck me.”
Alhaitham leans in and gives the soft, full flesh of your inner thigh a nip, speaks to you with his voice a low growl.
“Say it more prettily for me, now. Remember your manners.” You take a deep breath, the pounding ache of tension that has not yet been released between your thighs dulling your thoughts and every other sense you have. A tear squeezes itself out of your eye, rolling down the plump fullness of your cheek as your voice breaks in desperation and you ask;
“Please, Alhaitham. Will you please fuck me?”
“Good pet,” Alhaitham praises, and he presses a kiss over the spot he just bit at, before he carefully rises to his knees. Already anticipating what it is that’s about to happen, you wiggle yourself a little further up the bed to facilitate Alhaitham getting between your thighs and fucking the thoughts out of you - but to your surprise, Alhaitham turns to Kaveh.
“Do you see?” He asks. “How much they like it? How well-behaved they are? Do you agree that my theory has merit?”
Kaveh, his cheeks still pink, his eyes not moving from where you are laid out on the bed like a delicious feast waiting to be devoured.
“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet and hoarse with wanting. Alhaitham smiles and reaches for the architect, gently patting him on the cheek.
“Well, then,” he says. “I think you ought to show me what you’ve learned, don’t you?” Green eyes flick over to your form, joining the golden gaze. “You fuck them this time. Of course, I’ll give you a little help - a guiding hand - but . . . It’s time to put my instruction into practice.”
“I-- yes,” Kaveh practically stumbles over himself to accept the offer, and before you can quite parse what’s happening Kaveh is shedding his own clothes - linens and cottons and silks, finely patterned and prettily coloured falling to the ground to join your own shed clothes.
(Alhaitham, of course, has retained all of his clothes - even with his placket undone, his cock exposed to the air, there is something kingly about him. Self-assured. Confident.)
Kaveh’s a little clumsy with it all - his cock bobs against his stomach, thinner than Alhaitham’s but longer, pretty as the architect himself. He’s on the bed before you can breathe, cock smearing pre-come over the soft fullness of your thigh.
“Patience,” Alhaitham says, as he takes a seat in the chair that Kaveh has just vacated. “Let them come to you for the kiss.”
Kaveh manages to stop himself from whining, but it seems to take a tremendous effort - he hovers above you, his lips swollen, and you do indeed lean forward to press a kiss upon his mouth. He cannot hold himself back after that; his mouth on yours is devouring. Alhaitham keeps up a calm stream of advice and commentary;
“Remember who is in charge,” he says. “Tell them off if they bite; you get to lead the way.” You do not bite at Kaveh’s lower lip (you, of course, know who is in charge), but Kaveh takes inspiration from Alhaitham’s advice and his teeth nip teasingly at your own lower lip until you gasp, sighing into his mouth.
Alhaitham makes a low hum of approval.
“Good,” he says. “Now, remember - your pleasure is paramount. Of course, they may come - but not until after you. A good pet wouldn’t want to have their fun until they’re certain that their master has had his.”
You are a good pet.
You reach between yours and Kaveh’s sweat-slicked bodies to find his cock - it pulses and jumps at the touch of your palm, warm upon it. You guide him to the space between your thighs, slick with a mixture of both of your wanting. Kaveh’s eyes flutter as you take him slowly inside of you - as your sex envelopes first his head, and then his shaft, inch by aching inch.
“You’re beautiful,” Kaveh says, and he smiles down at you and it feels like the sun is warm and shining upon you.
“You set the pace,” Alhaitham says, and Kaveh presses a kiss to your forehead even as he adjusts his own hips, finding the most comfortable angle. You swallow back whines and moans that bubble up in your throat, easily and happily letting the architect follow the Scribe’s orders as he finds the perfect angle, gets used to the feel of your sex clinging hot and tight and wet around him.
He wraps his hands around the softness of your thighs, dragging them to cling to his hips, his fingers sinking into the plush flesh. You let him, because he is in charge - and when he urges you to hold on, to let him fuck into you exactly the way he wants to, you obey.
Kaveh’s pace is almost frantic - you have no idea how long it has been since Alhaitham began all of this, but he fucks into you like he is a man who has been denied human companionship for years, not hours. His fingers find your hips and cling to them - slide over your chest, tug at your nipples, feel you in every way that a person can feel you. He always looks at you with that same expression; adoration, like he is looking at something beautiful. It does not stop him adjusting you to the perfect angle, the perfect everything - but you feel adored.
His cock hits a spot inside of you that makes you sigh, a curve to his length that leans the other way to Alhaitham’s and explores a different (but no less thrilling) part of you. Your earlier tension returns in a pleasant heat, fingers tugging expertly at those strings within you.
Alhaitham has gone quieter, now; content to watch you. His breathing in the room is almost as loud as Kaveh’s (you chance a glance at him, at one point, and he is rubbing the front of his trousers over his re-buttoned placket, watching the way Kaveh sinks into you. You try to reposition yourself so that he has a better view and he murmurs ‘good pet’ under his breath. Kaveh is too far gone to notice).
The wet sounds of Kaveh’s clock plunging in and out of you echo around the room. The muscles in Kaveh’s abdomen jump with every thrust; his chest heaving with the effort. You stare at him as his hips lose their place in the rhythm, as they stutter - your own breath intermingles with his, two lots of panting, two lots of whimpering and whining. They dance together in the air.
Oh, oh, oh.
You’re so close.
So, so close - Kaveh whines, sweat beading on his hairline, his eyes so dark and deep they are like staring into pools of molten gold, and--
He comes inside of you, cock jolting, the angle allowing him to fill you so deeply you can barely breathe with rope after rope of his release. You whine as his cock spasms and jerks, and he grinds his hips into you in search of eking out every drop of sensation, but it is not quite enough. You do not come, and Kaveh is pulling out.
Alhaitham is suddenly by the bed.
“Now who’s the one not spoiling them?” Alhaitham asks, with one raised eyebrow. “The poor thing didn’t even get to come.”
“I didn’t--”
Alhaitham reaches between you both, his clever fingers immediately finding the space between your thighs, still swollen and slick. Kaveh, not to be outdone (and only now realising that your release did not come in twain with his own), slides two of his fingers inside the space his cock just vacated, uncaring that all he is doing as he begins to fuck you on those two slender fingers is fucking his come right back inside of you.
“Making promises you do not fulfill is bad form for a pet owner,” Alhaitham says, his eyes moving from Kaveh to you. “They remember, you see. It is only right to tell them the truth, in order to foster trust--”
Alhaitham’s thumb is rubbing over your clit with a slow but firm pressure, much like the man himself. Those two denied orgasms come rushing back up, filling you with a crackling, building pressure.
You sob as you feel it threatening to overwhelm, only just managing to fit yourself into any kind of human language.
Still. You are a good pet, and a good pet would never forget their manners.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you--”
You’re babbling; you can’t concentrate, not with Kaveh’s slender fingers inside of you and Alhaitham’s thumb rubbing slow inexorable circles over your clit, not with your body screaming out for release - and all at once, that great dam inside of you seems to break and waves rush over you like the ocean and the shore. You fair sob with the over-stimulation of it all, as your body seems to break into glittering shards and then fit itself back together again in time with your panting heartbeat.
“Good,” Alhaitham is murmuring against one ear. “That’s right. There’s a good pet.”
“You’re so beautiful,” Kaveh, his voice still half slurred with his own orgasm, is whispering into your other. “Oh, you’re so beautiful when you come--”
They guide you through it, with those stroking fingers and gentle words and soft touches. It’s one of the softest times you ever see Alhaitham; when you turn to look at him with a needy look in your eye (asking for his approval the way a dog seeks praise from its master), he smiles and leans forward to press a kiss upon your sweat-soaked forehead.
“I think you can sleep in the bed with me tonight, hmm?” He asks. You have a bed - a comfortable enough one, at the foot of Alhaitham’s own, though yours is rather lower to the ground and more befitting a pet than a human being. You have long since stopped thinking of these things. Your life is your life, and Alhaitham and Kaveh are not cruel masters - if nothing else, the pleasure still singing in your bones proves that.
Your lip wobbles, though. You reach for Kaveh, your fingers finding his arm.
“I want to sleep with both of you,” you say, your voice a little petulant. It’s true; they are both your masters, are they not? You see no reason to have to choose between the two of them. Kaveh laughs softly, and Alhaitham heaves a sigh.
Even through the sigh, you can see there is a fond smile on his face.
“Don’t go getting too much of a brat, now,” Alhaitham chides you, but then he turns his gaze on Kaveh and his lips twitch at the corners again. “Alright; what say you, Kaveh? Will you come and sleep on their other side?”
Kaveh smiles back.
“Ah, I’m not sure,” he replies. “I fear that would fall in the realm of spoiling our dear little pet--”
“Perhaps,” Alhaitham says mildly, “and just perhaps, mind you - perhaps a little spoiling, now and then, might be good for them.”
When you drift off to sleep that night, both of your masters sandwiching you between them, you cannot help but feel the luckiest and the most spoilt pet in the whole of Teyvat.
#writing#not sfw text#commissioned work#yandere alhaitham#yandere kaveh#yandere genshin impact#dub con for ts
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Since there are a lot of new people on tumblr these days, I'm going to start this whole thing off by saying that this is my personal blog and while this blog does have AO3 in the name, this is in no way official or affiliated with whatever OTW might have to say on this subject.
Yes, I've seen the reddit post about the GPT-3 bot scraping AO3. Yes, I'm aware that Sudowrite.com are using the data from that bot to generate text.
A few things I've learned as I've looked into this:
1. Bot scraping is legal. If a website is publicly available on the web (does not require a user to login in order to see its contents), then they don't have grounds to try to stop a bot from doing what anyone can do. Here's an article by the Electronic Frontier Foundation about why this is the case and also why it could be considered (on balance) a good thing . For example, scraping websites helps academics and journalists do their work.
2. Elon Musk doesn't own GPT-3. He's listed as one of the founders of OpenAI, the group who created GPT-3, but he resigned in 2018. He could still be a donor, but he has no official capacity in the organization.
3. Sudowrites is a tool that generates text, but it is a writing assistant not an AI author. It can not structure a story and develop a plot independently. It can not do research. It is meant to assist a human author by giving them prompts or ideas, helping them find a word or a phrase. But anything created solely by the bot would be at least somewhat incoherent and also in danger of committing plagiarism. For more information, I recommend this article.
What does this all mean? First of all, just because it's legal doesn't mean you have to like it. I'm not a fan of it, myself. but I also know that Google scrapes AO3 in order to provide search results for fans trying to find fic so I've kind of resigned myself to it.
Second of all, there's nothing AO3 or the OTW can do about it, really. There's a technical fix they can implement to prevent scraping by one particular bot (the one mentioned in the reddit article), but that's about it.
You, as an author on AO3, could lock your works to the Archive (restrict access to only logged in users). This might or might not protect your works from scraping. I don't know enough about these bots to give you an answer one way or the other. This feels gross. I understand that. I feel it too. Do what you need to do to feel better.
The original reddit post author states that they contacted the OTW Board, so there's no need for you to write in to AO3 Support. They're already aware of the situation.
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we seek revenge
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ neteyam x reader (past), neytiri x reader (platonic), tbh mostly just a spider hate fic, if you like spider you’re prolly not gonna like this lol
Time doesn't seem to heal the wound of losing you mate, and when the sky people return and you learn the truth, no one can stop you from seeking revenge. Set a year after the events of ATWOW.
word count: 1700
a/n: pov you and neytiri form a spider hate club and beat his ass (sort of)
Even a year later, every breath you took without Neteyam felt like eternal punishment. Every moment you felt the loss of your mate and every step you took without him was only a reminder that you would never feel whole again. Every day, you suffered and mourned the pair you could have been and the life you could have lived, and every night you prayed that Eywa would bring him back or take you with him. But it was never that simple.
And so, you busied yourself with the daily tasks of the Metkayina, your head held high and your face unwavering. At least you had Neytiri, who never seemed to leave your side since her son's death. You mourned, suffered, and cried together, and as time passed, you helped each other get back on your feet and brave the world. To her, you were one final living piece of her son, his other half and the one he loved most, and she couldn't help but love you in turn. She had become like a mother to you, and whilst you knew you would never be able to replace Neteyam, your shared memories of him brought you closer together. And obviously, you bore the whole Sully family in your heart, but you and Neytiri had developed a special bond through the pain you shared and the rage you held for the sky demons that had so mercilessly killed the one you loved.
Another thing you shared with Neytiri was the wariness you felt towards Spider, who Jake had wholly accepted into the family following Neteyam's death. You had grown up around him, but being nothing more than a regular Omatikaya with almost no interaction with humans, you never were the most comfortable with him. The emotion had only doubled after his 'father' brought about the war that killed your beloved. Those around you started accepting him, but you kept your distance, as did Neytiri. You couldn't find it in your hearts to forgive him.
“(Y/N)! Come swim with us!"
The voice broke your train of thought, and you looked up from the bracelet you were weaving. From where you sat next to Neytiri, your eyes found Kiri waving at you from amongst the group of Na'vi youths splashing about in the water. You noticed Spider was there too, practically clinging to her side like a pathetic dog. You tried not to roll your eyes.
"No thank you, Kiri," You answered loud enough for her to hear, trying your hardest to mask the venom in your voice, "Later."
A sad pout graced her face for a mere second, and you knew what was coming. You usually rejected her offers, and she would rarely take no for an answer, opting instead to drag you into the group and make it so that you had no choice but to participate. Sometimes she would even send Tuk to guilt trip you into joining with those adorable eyes of hers, knowing you could never say no to Tuk.
You knew Kiri meant well; she simply saw you pull away and didn't want you to feel left out. Lucky for you, this time she was distracted by Rotxo pulling her tail, and she forgot all about her usual routine of demanding you to join. Better this way. You wouldn't have enjoyed yourself anyway.
Neytiri looked up from the arrow she was crafting, a somewhat curious look on her face. She spoke quietly, deliberately to keep the conversation private from possible overhearers, "I don't see you with those your age lately," her fingers continued crafting, but her focus was still on you, awaiting an answer. Finally, when your gaze didn't shift from where it was fixed onto your hands, she continued, "I cannot be your only friend."
You sighed softly, eyes brimming with tears that you were afraid would spill if you met her gaze, "I do not... want to see him," you knew she knew who you meant from the way you spat out the word as if it was poison on your tongue, "it hurts too much."
You finally bit the bullet and looked up at her, only to find her gaze looking off into the distance, following the human boy you were referring to. Her features twisted into anger as if in the process of a hiss, "He shouldn't be here. He should be with his kind."
"I agree," you started, but didn't know what else to say. There was nothing you could do.
Neytiri hesitated for a second but eventually uttered the words you had a feeling swirled through her mind every day, "I... cannot help but blame him. He is not just a child. He is a demon's child. He will bring nothing but trouble... But I cannot bring it up with anyone but you."
You could tell from how she spoke that she had had this conversation before. You wondered if this was a frequent argument she had with Jake, who was so adamant about accepting Spider into their family.
"I don't understand how they can so easily accept him. I know he is not responsible for his father's actions, but…." you trailed off at a loss for words. But what? You weren't sure where you were going with this. And with Spider so close by, you were hesitant to confess the hatred you held for him simply due to his heritage out loud.
Neytiri understood though. She always did.
She dropped the arrow she was crafting from her hand and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into her side to comfort you, "You are not alone. I see you."
You leaned into her motherly touch, revelling in the comfort she provided, "I see you."
-
But comfort never seemed to last for your kind. The sky people returned, led by the man that didn't seem to die. Your people fought his soldiers bravely, some winning, some losing, but you could safely say you had done more damage to them than they had to you.
"How many times do we have to kill you!" You heard Jake hiss from somewhere, but you were too preoccupied with fighting off the armed soldier in front of you. With a final swift move, you drove your dagger into the avatar soldier's neck, your fangs bared in a hiss as blood sprayed across your face. Briskly, you sheathed your blade into its scabbard and let the body drop, turning back to the dying battle. The sky people were retreating. They were cowards and had finally realised they were severely underprepared. They would be back, they always were, but you revelled in the fact that you didn't die at their hand today.
One of them remained, however. To everyone's shock, Quaritch in the flesh had shown up. He stood proudly with a gun pointed at Jake - Jake pointing one back - knowing that the mere fact that he was alive was rubbing salt in the wound. His return brought back memories of your previous battle with him, and you snarled; eyes focused on the conniving man that stood before you. A thick metal cable fell from the sky behind him, undoubtedly how he would make his escape into the helicopter above. You wouldn't allow it.
As you advanced, you heard Jake hiss again, "How are you alive?"
Quaritch only smirked, attaching himself to the cable, "The answer is simple, Jake. I am, and always will be, better than you," His gaze left Jake and switched to someone far behind you all, and he winked. "Thanks for the save, kid."
…What?
Your blood froze and your muscles tensed, barely registering the sound of the Colonel escaping. It felt like the world had stilled; everyone around you was frozen and unable to breathe as they processed the words that had been spoken mere seconds ago.
You could barely process the faces that surrounded you as you slowly turned, following the direction of where the Colonel had been looking. You should have known.
The world around you disappeared, voices echoing as you could barely hear them over the sound of your own heartbeat. All you knew was the pure anger rushing through your veins and the pathetic human boy standing a few meters away in your line of sight. His eyes met yours. You had never seen such pure, primal terror in anyone's eyes before.
"What did he mean?" You seethed, voice muted as your features twisted in anger. You began taking steps towards Spider, which seemed to trigger Kiri into holding you back.
"(Y/N), wait," She grabbed your arm to try to hold you back, muttering something about how you should relax and how it could have been a misunderstanding, but you snatched your arm back. You knew what you heard.
"Speak!" You screamed, making Spider flinch. He remained quiet, seemingly unable to defend himself, "You saved that man?"
"I.." Spider began taking a step back but came to a sudden halt as he heard the subtle sound of the pull of a bow. Your gaze flickered behind him for just a second, and you saw Neytiri with an arrow pointed straight at his head, a snarl as equally vicious as yours on her face.
"Neytiri, no!" "Mother, please don't hurt him!"
You and Neytiri barely registered the voices.
You took another step forward, your figure towering over Spider.
"That man is responsible for Neteyam's death," Your voice shook and your tail flicked behind you with anger as you spoke - everyone seemed to fall quiet, "And you saved him?"
Spider had the intelligence to keep quiet, at least. Unfortunately, what he didn't have was the courage to look you in the eye.
"Look at me when I speak to you!" You screamed, startling Spider. His head tilted up, and his fearful eyes met yours. His face was scrunched with pain and guilt, but it meant nothing to you. "He went back for you! He wanted to save you! He died because of you!"
You unsheathed your dagger, the dry blood on its sharp blade a symbol of the fate the boy in front of you would face.
"And you will die because of me."
-
a/n: If we don’t get a scene of Neytiri killing Spider’s ass in Avatar 3 I will sue
p.s I made an ask box request things pls and ty
#neteyam x reader#neteyam x y/n#avatar x reader#neytiri x reader#avatar the way of water#my fics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
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Sleep Deprivation
Relationship: Hunter x Reader
Summary: In the search for Omega, Hunter struggles to sleep and needs a push to get some rest.
Warnings/Tags: Sleep Deprivation, Angst, Comfort, uhhh I think that’s everything
Word Count: 1.2k
Notes: The first 3 episodes have me in a chokehold, I wanna see Hunter happy again - Here’s a super short angsty lil comfort fic for Hunter set just before the beginning of episode 2 🫶🫶 Apologies for any grammatical errors!
Every noise in the Marauder seemed louder with just the three of you in it. Any hum, beep, and sigh seems to be amplified, even Gonkys small movements seemed to echo through the empty space just as loud as Wreckers snores.
Though, it’s not the only change. The ship seems too big now, and it’s hard to remember a time where it was so over-occupied that you would all fight over who got to sleep in a bunk for the night, and who had to use a sleep mat on the floor. Durasteel walls that previously made you all feel like fish packed together in a can, now seemed to stretch out impossibly, making it seem that you were planets away from the ships other two occupants.
Currently you’re sat in the co-pilot chair, preoccupied with your glitchy datapad, attempting to send an encrypted message to Echo for any updates from the clone network. You’re biting down on a sigh at how you wished Tech were here to fix it for you when Wrecker nudges your foot with his own.
You look up, puzzled at the man but your silent question is answered by the attempted jerk of his head. Behind you both sits Hunter, staring abysmally at the control board of flashing lights with his fist tightened around a horn from Roland Durand. The lights cast a harsh shadow on his features and your lips can’t help but work themselves into a frown at the dark circles beneath his eyes.
It had been well over 24 hours since he last slept.
Glitchy datapad now abandoned, you give a quick nod in thanks to Wrecker, before leaving the cockpit to approach Hunter. His chair doesn’t turn, and despite his enhanced senses and the lack of noise in the ship to cover your steps in any way, he gives no indication that he’s heard you. You follow his line of sight to both Tech’s goggles and Lula, both of the items bringing a pain to your chest.
“Hunter?” You press your hand to his armored shoulder, and he finally turns to look at you, slightly startled and you can’t even recall a time that you’ve ever caught him so off guard. Now that he’s facing you, the exhaustion is evident in more than just the dark circles under his eyes, his body seems to slump against the support of the chair in some sort of emotional defeat.
He’s been running himself into the ground over the last few days in pursuit of the Pyke needed in order to get the lead you had all been after, but at least you and Wrecker still managed to somewhat take care of your basic needs of sleep and rations.
Before you can speak, he turns back towards the controls, as if sensing what you were going to say about the neglect to his sleep schedule.
“Tech made this all seem… easy.” Gloved hands gesture to the console of flashing lights, his throat bobbing with a dry swallow as he shakes his head. “All of it takes me twice as long as it took him.”
Hunters hand pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way he does when he has an oncoming headache and your hand presses to the unarmoured section between his shoulder and neck, an area that is usually covered by his scarf. At the touch, his eyes close and lips part with a soft release of breath.
He needs to sleep.
“Come to bed, Hunter.” The whisper echoes through the too-quiet ship, amplified like every other noise, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to refuse. He doesn’t speak, but gives a slight nod of his head, and brushes your hand away to stand and begin removing his armor as he follows you on the way to your shared bunk.
After so long of racing to be the first one on the Marauder after a mission to secure your own bunk for a night, there was some sad irony in the fact that you now couldn’t sleep alone. Following the loss of Tech, and the painful absences of Omega and Echo, all attempts to adjust to the atmosphere of loneliness on the ship were almost painful.
At the start, you think you barely managed a standard 8 hours across 3 full day cycles, let alone in one night, and your restlessness didn’t go unnoticed by Hunter, who had probably slept even less than you. On the fourth night of staring at the ceiling and trying to muffle your quiet crying in the too-silent ship, he had abandoned his bunk beneath you and climbed into your own. His arms allowed you the comfort of not grieving alone that night, and almost every night since.
At some point, it delved into more than simply finding comfort in each other so you could both sleep, sending you far enough past the line of friends for Wrecker to tease you both in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere in the Marauder.
Now only wearing the lower half of his blacks, Hunter lifts himself into the shared top bunk, and offers you a hand up, immediately pulling you into him once you’re safely up. In the small confines of the bunk, you’re entirely pressed to his firm body, yet he still holds you tightly against his bare chest as if fearing you’d slip away the moment his eyes closed.
He’s pulled the thin blanket over you both, but with the heat of his body it’s more than enough to keep you warm. “We’ll get her back.” You murmur against Hunters chest in assurance as one of his hands pulls your leg across his own, entangling the two of you together.
You feel his hand twitch against you, “It’s been a long time, and we still don’t know where she is, the only lead we can get right now is by handing over a Pyke to the Durand family.” His voice is heavy with exhaustion and you crane your neck up, lifting yourself from his chest to place your hand on his stubble covered jaw, forcing him to look at you.
“We’ll get her back, Hunter, but you need to sleep.” You lean in to press a kiss to the lips that seem to have set themselves into an ever present frown since that day on Ord Mantell.
Hunters hand presses to your face to mirror your own, his other arm tightening around your waist protectively as he kisses you back. Even when you pull away and rest your head back on his chest, his fingers continue to trace slow patterns on your waist, still refusing to let you go as he gives in to his tiredness.
You wait for his breathing to slow, ensuring he’s asleep before you allow yourself to close your eyes and follow him. In the night, you dream of living together in a house on Pabu, where the only echoing noise is Omegas laugh, where there are no empty spaces to make you feel lonely, and where Hunter can finally rest.
#the bad batch season 3#the bad batch#bad batch season 3 spoilers#bad batch hunter#tbb hunter#bad batch hunter x reader#hunter tbb x reader#angst with a happy ending
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Hello! feel free to skip this request if it makes you uncomfortable, but I just came up with what I think is a really funny concept. What if it is an Alastor x Reader (romantic or platonic) where the reader is watching a show like Euphoria, which has a lot of sex scenes and stuff. The reader isn't watching it for them, they just happen to be an important part of the show. Alastor walks in on the reader watching it and is just like 0-0.... and the reader is just like "I swear I can explain!!!"
Hmm... What if instead of a show, they were reading a book?
Deceiving Cover
Small Oneshot
Alastor X/& Reader
Warnings ⚠
⚠ implied/suggestive-book, italics = thoughts, red " " is reading, flustered deer man ⚠
(Romantic or Platonic)
You were the book worm of the hotel.
Always with a different book every few weeks. So often that the Princess offered you to take care of the library in the hotel.
At first you declined, but then accepted it after realizing that no one really goes into the library. It would be quiet, peaceful, and you could take naps in there if needed.
Or that is what you thought at least.
.
It was a cold, foggy night.
The fog was so thick outside that a demon could barely see their hand in front of their face.
Alastor took a quick stroll around the hotel, the other residents having been asleep in their rooms hours ago. The Radio Demon hummed as he made sure all was well.
Only making a stop once he noticed a light coming from the library.
What demon could be awake at this hour?
He used his shadows to travel into the page scented room, quietly emerging behind the demon sitting on the couch, covered in a soft blanket and holding a book.
Still in the shadows, he went around to see the late night reader and cover of the book.
It was then he realized it was his companion, the soft spoken demon who always held a book wherever they went. Glancing down, he saw that the book in their hands had a picture of poisonous plants.
Poisons and Care.. Well, this sounds interesting~ He thought with a grin and moved to look over their shoulder.
They had flipped the page that they finished reading and leaned closer into the book, making him have to lean in as well.
He read..
"..on the desk. Hand gliding up her thigh, fingers edging their way under the seducing red garters on her plush skin. His other hand sliding up her stomach, gently caressing the side of her ribs as it got closer to her brea- "
The deer demon ripped himself away, feeling a blush come up on his cheeks. Hiding his face with his hand as he turned his back on the literature.
He didn't notice that he made such a racket, or that he got out of the shadows.
"Alastor?"
Glancing back, he can see them sitting up confused.
"What are you doing up so late?", they asked.
Moving his hand, he cleared his throat and fixed his suit.
"Forgive me.. I was just making sure that everything in the hotel was spick and span.", the deer said, still not making eye contact. "I'll let you go back to your...late night reading."
Noticing his odd demeanor, they glanced back and forth between him and the book, putting two and two together.
"Oh, oh my-!", they covered their mouth quickly before resting their hand back on the couch. "Um.. I don't know how much you read but this isn't just some smut filled thing.", they looked away. "This is..somewhat important to the plot and character development. Though it could just imply what happened.", they laughed nervously.
"I-", he cleared his throat again and straightened up. "I'll take your word for it."
His ears were pinned back as he made with way out of the room.
"Don't stay up too late dear.", Alastor said before bidding them a good night.
.
You waved as he left, staying still for a moment before sliding down from the couch and onto the floor with a groan, covering your face with the book.
I won't be able to look at him for at least two weeks..
Another noise of embarrassment left you.
*reading ahem a fic* I will not say which one that inspired this.
~Seline, the person.
Taglist@
@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @+?
ML II Alastor🎙
#x reader#gn reader#fanfic#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#platonic? romantic?#the radio demon#the radio demon alastor#radio demon#implied/suggestive#implied and suggestive
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You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F! Reader - Part 8
a/n: heyy loves! if you’ve stuck around for all 8 parts, thank you SOOO much. writing this series and receiving so many kind comments and love has really made the past month and a half so enjoyable. i cant believe i’m concluding my first fic already!! it’s been so fun and i definitely want to write more. shoutout to my friend @avessss who encouraged me to start posting even though i was really nervous. i couldn’t have done it without her 💕 but anyways enjoy the last chapter! not sure when i will post next but until then… message me, give suggestions, etc!! love you all SOO much 💌
word count: 4.6k words
masterlist
playlist
warnings: MDNI 18+, afab reader, smut, oral (reader receiving), p in v, making out, language, angst for like one second, FLUFF, mentions of alcohol, not proofread
“A pint, please. Thanks.” You smile at the bartender as you slide forward five pounds. You stand and wait patiently, leaning against the bar as he shuffles away to go fill up a tall glass of beer.
You hear your name being said from next to you. You turn to see a familiar girl with olive skin and long, silky black hair. Your brain takes a few seconds to compute who it is.
“Sasha! Hey,” You grin and she smiles brightly. “Hi. I didn’t know if it was you or not,” She chuckles and you stand there awkwardly, not sure of what to say.
“How’s life?” She asks. “Uhh, good. Can’t complain.” You shrug as the bartender slides you the beer across the counter. You take a sip as she nods.
“Same here. Just a little terrified of the fact that we are going to be seniors in a year,” She runs a hand through her hair with a sigh. “Me too, girl.” You nod in agreement.
“How was your summer?” Sasha asks. You let out a sigh unintentionally before fixing your facial expression.
“It was… good,” You nod slowly, almost trying to convince yourself. “I don’t know if you know but…There’s a rumor going around that you and Farleigh had somewhat of a summer fling,” She winces after she says this.
“Oh God,” You press a hand to your forehead and shake your head. “Who told you that?” You groan.
“I’m assuming it came from Felix. I’m not sure, but I just wanted to tell you…” She places a hand on your shoulder comfortingly. “If you ever need to talk or anything like that, let me know.” She says, her English accent soft and elegant.
She seems almost too nice. You’ve never seen Sasha like this, so it’s hard to believe.
“Thank you.” You dip your head and take another sip of beer. “I know I was never the nicest to you and we were never close, but I’m here for you.” Her hand falls from your shoulder gently.
“I think I was honestly just threatened by you,” She continues. You jerk your head towards her quickly and furrow your eyebrows.
“What? Why?” You scoff as if it’s absurd. “I always had this… gut feeling that he was in love with you or something. He would talk about you nonstop, about how much you annoyed him and how much he ‘hated you.’ I knew better,” She shakes her head.
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry,” You feel bad, suddenly. Like you were the cause of their relationship problems.
“But that whole thing is over now,” You wave your hand dismissively. “He’s an asshole, isn’t he?” You both giggle at her words.
“He is. I can see why you broke up with him,” You nod, feeling no remorse for talking about Farleigh this way. It’s all true. But you also know Sasha had a lot to do with the shitty parts of their relationship.
“I’ll see you around, yeah?” She grins and holds up her hand, giving a tiny wave. “Yeah. See you,” You watch her walk away before turning back to your drink, grabbing it and heading to find an empty table.
You sigh, leaning down and fishing your textbook out of your bag. You still have four chapters to read before tomorrow. The first term of your junior year is kicking your ass, even though it’s only October.
Sooner or later, you see Felix walking through the entrance of the pub. You immediately crane your neck to search for any signs of Farleigh, since he usually follows Felix around. But thankfully, he’s not anywhere to be found.
You turn your attention back to your textbook, and when you glance back up, Felix is sitting across from you.
“Hey.” He smiles and you notice the cigarette between his fingers. “Hi. How are you?” You reply, not exactly in the mood to talk to him right now.
“Oh, you know. Just drowning in work,” He sighs and leans back in his chair, throwing his head back slightly.
“You and me both,” You chuckle lightly and close your textbook, knowing you won’t get anything read so long as Felix is here. He leans forward again and takes a drag from his cigarette.
“So…” He starts, trailing off. You raise your eyebrows. “So?”
“Are you and Farleigh ever going to make up?” He asks suddenly. You cough, surprised by the abrupt question.
“No.” You shake your head. “Don’t even try it, Felix.” You roll your eyes and he groans. “Please, we don’t even get to hang out much anymore because you’re avoiding him,” He whines.
“Then just… arrange a time to hang out with me when Farleigh isn’t there.” You grimace at the feeling of his name in your mouth. Felix facepalms. “C’mon. Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but…”
“It sounds like you think you know what happened.” You narrow your eyes and he seems confused. “What?” He tilts his head.
“Lola told me you’re spreading rumors. Like, that Farleigh and I had some fling over the summer,” You explain, and he glances down like he’s been caught, before looking back up with amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“What, you thought no one would hear you two fucking at one in the morning? You guys were so loud, it’s like you wanted to be caught,” He chuckles and shakes his head. Your face burns beet red with embarrassment.
“I don’t judge you for it. I just didn’t expect it,” He says. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean you go telling everyone about it,” You reply.
“I didn’t mean to. I told one person in confidence.” Felix says. “You know you can’t trust these people to keep things to themselves,” You shake your head in disappointment.
“Okay, I’m sorry. But I think Farleigh really wants to talk to you.” He says, his tone persuasive and you immediately cringe.
“I’m not talking to him. Nothing will come of it,” You finish off your beer and set the glass on the table decisively.
“I just don’t want our friendship to be messed up because of this.” He says, sounding a bit sad. You look back up to him and see him glancing down at his lap.
“We’re good. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” It comes off harsher than you meant it to, but Felix doesn’t seem to mind. “I can’t just forgive and forget, you know?”
He nods. “Yeah. Alright, then. Just consider talking to him. I’ll see you later, mate.” He drums his fingers on the table before standing up and walking to the bar. You sigh and decide to pack up your things after checking your watch and seeing the time. It’s getting late.
You stand up and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. You walk out of the pub and down the cobbled streets while looking around and just observing the several groups of students, chatting loudly or laughing. The chilly autumn breeze tosses around crimson and golden leaves.
You go over your plans for the remainder of tonight in your head. You’re going to get back to your dorm, take a shower, then get the rest of your work done. That is, if you don’t procrastinate like you usually do.
You enter your dorm building and then stop in your tracks when you see him standing there, at the bottom of the stairs. It’s like you have a full body reaction to him standing in front of you, sending a chill down your spine and making your stomach churn. He doesn’t speak, he just stares at you. You step forward, walking up the stairs and completely ignoring him. “Can we please talk?” Farleigh calls your name.
“No, we can’t.” You respond, your tone harsh and bitter. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs behind you and you increase your pace, trying to get to your door and unlock it before he can catch up to you. But it’s no use, he’s already standing there behind you.
“Please. Just let me talk to you,” He begs. You shake your head. “Farleigh, I already know how this is going to go. You don’t talk.” You can’t even stand to look at him, even addressing him is difficult after all these months of not speaking.
“I’m going to talk. I swear. Please,” He pleads. “Fine,” You groan with exasperation as you unlock your door, although you’re sort of curious as to what he’s going to say.
He closes the door behind him and you go to sit on the edge of your bed after setting your things down and kicking off your shoes, looking at him expectantly. “Okay, talk.”
“I’m sorry. For everything.” Farleigh says, and it surprisingly sounds sincere. “I’m sorry for being a dick to you all these years. And those things I said at Saltburn, I didn’t mean any of it.” His voice is quiet and he looks down at the ground as he speaks. You blink a few times and take a moment to respond.
“Why would you say those things if you never meant them?” You ask, your own voice timid as you remember all the harsh and cruel words he said to you that one night.
“Did you mean it when you said you hated me and you wished we never met?” He fires back. You bite the inside of your cheek and avoid his gaze as regret washes over you. “...I never said–”
“Yes you did.” It’s silent and the tension in the air is palpable. It seems like you’re both waiting for who is going to speak next, but you aren’t exactly sure what to say.
“I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to apologize when you’ve literally hated me since the day we first met,” You chuckle sarcastically and shake your head. He falls silent, and when you glance back up to him, he looks nervous, like something’s on the tip of his tongue.
“That’s not… exactly true.” He mutters. “I never hated you. I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. That night at Saltburn, when Felix introduced us to each other. I saw you and I just felt… Something just came over me. I’d never felt it before. I mean, I was so captivated by you. I couldn’t sleep that night because I was thinking about you every second. And I was scared. I was so scared. So I was mean to you.”
He lets out a breath after his confession and you stare at him in disbelief. You’re barely processing anything he’s saying. Is this real? You feel like you should pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.
“And Felix never kept his friends around for long, so I knew I couldn’t get attached to you. I thought you were just passing by and that I would never see you again. But when you came back the next summer, then the next, and then you got into Oxford, I knew I was fucked.
“I just kept pushing my feelings down and instead of dealing with them, I was just… a bitch. I was trying to push you away and I was hoping that would get rid of my feelings. But it didn’t. And I regret it so, so much. I wasted all this time and I was being so stupid. I was just scared of love. I was scared of loving you.”
You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you can hear your heart pounding in your chest. You swear you can see tears in his own eyes.
“What about Sasha?” You ask when you finally gather yourself. “Really? You don’t know why I dated Sasha?” He chuckles a bit like it should be obvious. You shake your head no.
“I just needed someone to distract me. I got with all those people to fill the void. I mean, Sasha and I’s relationship was purely based off of sex. And every single time, I pictured that it was you instead of Sasha. I would close my eyes and imagine it was you. I think that was the only way I was able to get off,” He laughs. Your eyes widen at his words and your stomach flips. So that was why he was always moaning like a bitch?
“So when we finally… I freaked out. It was getting too real, and so I pushed you away again. And I said some shitty things.” You blink and a few tears fall. You don’t even know how to describe how you’re feeling right now. So many emotions are building inside of you, and they’re so dense and heavy, you’re not sure how to comprehend them.
“I’m so, so fucking sorry.” Farleigh seems to notice that you’re crying. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m a fucking idiot,”
Before you know it you’re off of your bed, crashing into him and sobbing against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, locking you in a tight embrace and enveloping you in his warmth. Your shoulders shake as you feel all the emotions pouring out of you. He holds you like he’s never going to let go. You don’t want him to let go. Ever.
“I’m so sorry,” He whispers your name into your hair. “I’ll never do that to you again.” He continues muttering these things to you as you let him hold you, melting into the hug.
You look up at him and his brown eyes are illuminated with affection. Something about him is different. He’s softer, unlike his usual cold and teasing personality.
He gently moves some hair out of your face and kisses your forehead, causing you to blush and smile softly.
“Why did we waste so much time when we could have been together?” You ask timidly, more of a rhetorical question. He sighs and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Cause we’re stupid,” He chuckles and you let out a quiet laugh. “It doesn’t matter now. We have the rest of our lives to make up for it,” He grins down at you and you smile against his hand that cups your face. He leans down and you tilt your head up to meet his lips. The kiss you share is slow and sensual, like you’re both trying to savor each other for as long as possible, like you’re making up for all those years of fabricated hatred. You can’t deny that you missed his lips and the way that he kisses, the way his tongue licks into your mouth. He pulls away after a minute.
“But I still feel like I need to make it up to you,” Farleigh’s expression changes and his voice lowers to that familiar deep and gravelly sound. You can see the lust in his eyes and you feel butterflies swarming in your stomach.
“What should I do for you, baby?” His hands snake down to your hips as he lowers himself slowly to the ground until he’s on his knees. Your heart races and you feel chills racing across your skin.
He looks up at you and you swear your knees almost give out from underneath you just at the sight. “Far..” You giggle shyly and feel your face burn red.
His fingers fiddle with the waistband of your skirt, almost teasing you and waiting until you ask him to take it off. But after a moment he’s pulling it down gently, and you step out of it gingerly and nudge it to the side with your foot.
He groans and his hands roam up and down your thighs. “You’re so perfect,” He mumbles as he hooks your lace panties under his fingers and pulls them down as well, almost hurriedly this time like he’s just that eager to eat you out until you’re sobbing for him.
Without any warning or time to prepare, his mouth is already on you, tasting you passionately with his tongue and moaning, the vibrations going straight to your core.
You moan breathlessly, your hand reaching down to tangle in his curly hair for something to ground you, and he seems to like this. He keeps letting out these small, needy whines like he’s the one getting devoured.
Every swirl and flick of his tongue has you whimpering like you’re in pain, your legs feeling unstable and weak. He sucks on your clit and you feel two of his fingers already inching their way inside, curling inside of you deliciously. It’s all too much and your breath has turned into short, high-pitched, desperate huffs.
“Please- Shit, Farleigh,” The third finger he inserts draws a long moan out of you. You don’t care if your neighbors hear you. You’re too lost in the pleasure that he’s giving you, with no drawbacks or regret looming in the future. When you think about how he just confessed his love for you, it only brings you closer to the edge of your beautiful release.
He laps up your slick, his tongue getting dangerously close to your entrance. You gasp for air as his fingers leave, only to be replaced by his tongue. You whine at the new feeling of his tongue deep inside of you, his thumb circling your clit. You feel your climax approaching, threatening to make you crumble and beg for mercy.
A deep and guttural groan leaves him as he continues fucking you with his tongue. “Far, I’m close-“ Your hand twists in his hair and you roll your hips against his face absentmindedly, almost like you’re stuck in a trance.
His tongue slips out of you, his nose nudging against your clit. Then, you’re gone. You feel like you’re floating, like you’re the only two people in the world right now, all your thoughts disappearing as that divine ecstasy shoots through your veins and melts your muscles and your bones.
He stands back up and takes you into his strong arms, cradling you as he brings you over to your bed, with occasional kisses along the way. You both pull away to tear off your clothes. You hurriedly pull off your sweater and your bra and toss them aside, hearing them land somewhere on the floor. Farleigh takes his own shirt off and his jeans, revealing that beautiful body you’ve subconsciously been dreaming of.
“Lay down,” You tell him with some sort of newfound confidence. You’ve never been on top before, but right now you want to pay him back and give him all that you have to offer.
“Mmm,” He hums in response, laying down on your small, twin-sized bed. You climb onto the bed and straddle him, feeling slightly nervous as his hands rest on your hips. You keep your hands on his chest as you grind your hips down onto him, feeling the form of him through his boxers.
He’s rock hard, and it only encourages you to continue to grind against him, rolling your hips smoothly and slowly. He whimpers and grips your hips harder, biting his lip. “Fuck, baby,” He moans, his hips bucking up slightly to meet yours.
You can’t wait anymore. You reach down and maintain eye contact as you slowly pull down his boxers, shuffling them down his legs.
It’s definitely intimidating, but you’re determined to ride him. He looks up at you. “Is this okay?” He asks, his hands returning to your hips. You nod. “Yeah,” You reply before rising up on your knees and adjusting yourself before sinking down onto him.
You wince at the delicious pain as your teeth sink into the plush of your bottom lip, his hands guiding you further down his length. A string of curses leave his lips once his whole cock is inside of you. He definitely missed this.
You place your hands on his chest again as you begin to drag your hips back and forth. He whimpers and whispers your name like a prayer. “That’s it, fuck-“ His grasp on your hips tighten and you can already guess that you’ll have bruises.
You rock your hips back and forth, creating a better pace for the two of you as he thrusts up into you. That pained look crosses his face again as you make eye contact. You’re completely enthralled by the sight of each other, a sheen of sweat forming on both of your foreheads. Your head falls back once you finally find the perfect angle that brings you such satisfaction, your jaw going slack. “Baby,” He begs, breathing heavily.
You feel yourself growing tired from the fast rhythm, and you slow down, still circling your hips on top of him. He seems to sense that you’re growing fatigued, so he flips the two of you over, switching your places. You’re dizzy and caught off guard, but you focus on his eyes as he takes over, slowly thrusting into you with long strokes.
Farleigh reaches down to grab your hand, intertwining your fingers together and holding on tightly. He lowers his head to pepper kisses across your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. He brushes some hair out of your face.
“I love you,” He mutters, his nose rubbing against yours. Your eyes widen at his words and your heart skips a beat. You squeeze his hand weakly and grin.
“I love you too,” You whisper back, feeling tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you so much,” You tell him, and he lets his head fall into the crook of your neck as he moans desperately, his thrusts faltering. Your other hand rests on the top of his head, stroking his curls. You both finish at the same time, whispering each other’s names and more confessions of love. It’s meaningful, beautiful, and sweet. Something you’ve craved but never experienced. That is, until now.
He collapses next to you and eventually pulls out of you, causing you to grunt just a bit. You lay there, your legs entangled with his and his arms around you protectively. He pulls the sheets over the two of you and continues to kiss you slowly with so much passion and affection.
Farleigh pulls away and swipes the tears off your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. You take his hand in yours once again and press your forehead against his.
“I could get used to this,” You whisper with a cheeky grin. He laughs softly. “Really?” He responds sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.
“Really.” You giggle quietly and he presses another kiss to your cheek. “I would consider spending the rest of my life with you,” He shrugs nonchalantly and you can’t seem to stop smiling. You don’t think you’ve ever been this happy in your life.
“You’d consider it? Woah, thanks,” You say with fake awe, gasping. “I’ve been considering it for a while, actually,” He mutters, running his fingers through your hair. “Have you?” You whisper, suddenly feeling sleepy. Everytime he holds you like this, it puts you right to sleep. You feel so safe and loved in his arms.
“Mhm.” His other hand rests on the small of your back and you feel your eyelids growing heavy. “I love you, Farleigh,” You whisper. “I love you too.” He replies, and with that, you drift off to sleep, with no cares or worries in the world, now that you’ve finally solved your problems with Farleigh. You’re so glad you gave him a second chance.
The next morning you wake up to Farleigh pulling you closer to him, nuzzling his head in your chest and groaning. You yawn and glance over to your bedside table, checking the time on your alarm clock. 9:42 AM.
Shit. You forgot about your class. It started at 9:30. Oh well. You groan and let your head fall back onto the pillow, rubbing your forehead.You pat Farleigh’s head, his curls sticking out at awkward angles but still managing to look cute.
You shiver and reach down to pull the duvet over yourself. He stirs at your movement and eventually, his dark brown eyes open.
A grin immediately appears on his face as he looks at you, taking in your appearance. Thank God you hadn’t worn makeup the day before. You were in your natural state, besides the messy hair. He traces his finger along your jawline and you smile, tilting your head.
“Good morning,” He wraps you up in his arms again, desperate to be close to you. His voice is deep and raspy. You’ll never get tired of his morning voice.
“Morning,” You reply, snuggling up to him and breathing in his scent. He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back soothingly.
“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt about waking up next to you?” Farleigh asks. You giggle quietly. “Well, your wish came true,” You reply with a quick raise of your brows.
Suddenly, you remember what Lola said that one night at Saltburn as you think about you and Farleigh’s relationship over the years.
“Lola told me something a few months ago,” You start. “Mmm, and what was that?” He responds.
You inhale slowly. “She said that you were looking for me one morning and you came by our dorm, and you seemed very worried about me,” You smile at the thought, knowing what you know now.
“Oh. Yeah, I remember that. I was always worried sick about you. Whether you got home after a night out, if you drank too much, if some guy took advantage of you…” He trails off and sighs.
“Really?!” You ask, gazing up at him in shock. “You’re so confusing,” You let out a breathy laugh and shake your head.
“Do you remember our first night at Oxford? The very first party we went to?” He asks. You nod. He fiddles with a strand of your hair.
“After our little… argument, I stayed away from you the rest of the night. But then it was getting late, and I couldn’t find you, and I didn’t know if you knew the way back to your dorm. When I went into the bathroom I found you passed out on the floor. Black out drunk.” He explains, his voice soft.
“Anyone could have found you, or taken advantage of you. So I picked you up and carried you back to your dorm and tucked you into your bed.” Your eyes widen as your brain registers his words. Lola never told you about that.
“And when we were talking that night on the steps outside at Saltburn when we couldn’t sleep, the first summer you were there, you fell asleep on my shoulder. So I carried you up to your room.”
It’s silent for a minute as you process this. Was it a common theme for Farleigh to carry you to your bed when you were passed out?
“I never knew you cared that much.” You whisper, reaching up to play with one of his curls. “I don’t think I knew, either.” He mumbles.
You kiss him, slowly and gently, smiling against his lips. He grins, breaking the kiss, before holding the back of your head and guiding you back to him.
And you really believe that in this moment, you could die happy. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. The hot August nights, the freezing December mornings, the summer days under cerulean skies. The good days and the bad days. You can’t even remember how it felt to hate Farleigh. Every single trace of dislike for him is gone, erased completely from your heart. All that’s left is a love too strong to comprehend.
taglist: @isla-finke-blog @ibimbogrl @drunkmysticsquirrel @alonia-olivia @novemilady @saltburnsworld @florkt @i-love-ptv @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha
#farleigh start#saltburn#farleigh start x reader#farleigh x reader#farleigh x you#farleigh saltburn#farleigh smut#Spotify
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