#slitting and winding machine
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Upon the Sands of the Arena: Feyd-Rautha x Reader
A/N: basically reader fights feyd in the arena, my apologies if there are any inaccuracies, i'm dUmB
tw: 18+, smut YAAA, fighting, swearing, i use fire metaphors too much, blood, violence and death (it's in a a gladiatorial arena ffs), creampie, one ass spank, fingering + oral (f receiveing) hella lot of sexual tension, Fighting as Foreplay, feyd sorta has a blood kink but he's just freaky like that, sort of fluffy at the end, hint of voyeurism if you squint really hard, lmk if there's anything else
wc: 4.1k
part 2
The Bene Gesserit are distracted.
If the Kwisatz Haderach was not so near, they would have disposed of you properly. Instead, they sucked you back into their dark web of deceit and occulted plans only to spit you out just as fast, leaving your fate to the blood soaked sands of Giedi Prime’s arenas. You believe that if it were not for the actions of Lady Jessica Atreides and her defiance of the order, they’d pay you more attention.
Not that you’re complaining.
You were trained to flourish in the dark, lurking in the shadows of the deepest of nights, awaiting a time to strike. However, you are not like your mentors, you do not believe in the hoping, the weaving of bloodlines for the production of a distant messiah, nor do you dirty your hands to obey an imperious Reverend Mother.
Truly, you admire Lady Jessica for doing the same as you did - defying the order and thereby splintering from it; all the same, you do not desire what she wants. For she wants power for her son and her unborn daughter, and you want nothing but to be left alone.
In a universe full of yearning for a greater purpose, you want the opposite. Often, you find yourself wishing you were something of nature: not mundane, by any means, but uncontrollable, like the desert winds that sift through the sands of Arrakis simply because. To be like them, without a master, without the endless search for purpose, is freedom.
Instead, you have been branded with the title Bene Gesserit - ex Bene Gesserit now - and you wield too much power for the order to ignore you, even alone. Hence why they incorporated your capture into their plans, engineering it so that you face the Baron’s brutal, bloodthirsty nephew in the arena.
They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill you.
You think they forget that you once were as good as the rest of them. They forget that you still possess the ability to alter the molecules in your blood to resist the drugs they pump into the arena prisoners, and they forget that you trained beside the best in combat.
The arena is where you thrive.
The roar of the crowd is deafening. It excites you, the swell of noise that is thousands of harsh Harkonnen tongues heckling for blood; the stamp of their feet as they cry their na-Baron’s name vibrates through the arena, through the grains of sand beneath your feet, deep and heady like burgundy wine.
Your fingers tighten around the blade given to you, barely sharpened and made of unsanded wood, but solid all the same. It’s all you’ll need against the na-Baron. He is but a cruel man set on fire with exterminable blue flames, and you are Bene Gesserit: defiant of the order or not, it is who and what you are, and it is pure power coursing through your veins - power that answers to you and you only.
The roar of the na-Baron soars over the crowd’s cheering, animalistic and full of fury that makes you wonder what incenses him so much. Something in his past, maybe, something that he only acknowledges in the inner machinations of his cunning mind.
The grate in front of you opens, and you allow yourself a smile as you step out into Giedi Prime’s tortorous ebony sun. High above, you spot the slit of a balcony where the Baron himself reclines, watching his nephew with a benevolent smile and a pipe in his hand, flanked by subservient concubines with bowed heads. All around, the crowd shouts, thunderous, urging their na-Baron to spill blood on the sand, to paint the arena red. It swirls around you like a washed out dream, black and white but simultaneously vivid, the stink of rotting bodies and sun bleached white sand pungent in your nostrils, the occasional pop from the fireworks overhead heavy in your ears.
Rolling your shoulders, you pace a few steps in before sitting down in the sand, cross legged, the backs of your hands against your knees with your blade flat against one of your palms. Pitiless, you watch as the na-Baron slices the throat of the first prisoner that staggers his way, throwing him an enigmatic smile when he glances towards you.
His eyes are cold; calculating. They’re dark, striking against his pale skin as they suck in the light, and hungry too, as if he strives for something he does not quite know, always reaching, always burning for more.
Intriguing.
He circles in on the next prisoner, who meets his end by the same savage knife work as the first, his guts spilled out onto the greedy sand. Insatiable, chest heaving with excitement more than fatigue, the na-Baron turns to you, his final prey - his black teeth are bared in a magnificent, maniacal grin, his footsteps silent as he approaches.
Facing him now, you understand why the Bene Gesserit believed that by crossing the Atreides’ meant-to-be daughter with the Harkonnen’s na-Baron, they would make the Kwisatz Haderach. There’s no doubt in this man’s genetics, in the solid lines of his strength sheathed bones and the sheer virility and ferocity that permeates the air around him - it’s almost elegant, the way he prowls towards you, his stride lilting and laced with power. They picked him well.
Too bad you’ll have to kill him.
If he proves to be obtuse, you’ll have no choice but to slay him in order to save yourself. If he is, however, as cunning as they say, you’ll give him a chance to live - it’d be a shame to end him, actually: something draws you to the rawness of his nature, to the frigidity of the ire in his eyes.
The na-Baron circles closer, his skin like moonlight. He watches you like a hawk, as if he’s the one who’s hunting, ready for his next meal; his eyes flash in the sun, studying you, watching for your tells even as you identify his. Smiling, you drop into a crouch, knife outstretched like a twisted mockery of a peace offering, waiting for him to take the bait and strike.
He cocks his head. ‘It’s rare that I face a woman in the arena.’
‘I’m sure it will still be of pleasure to you, Feyd-Rautha.’
‘I believe it will increase it tenfold, little witch.’
You don’t have time to figure out how he knows you’re Bene Gesserit, because he slashes at you, once down towards your ribs and once back up at your throat. His knife flashes in the sun, reflecting the bloodlust in his eyes as it arcs towards you; light on your feet, you parry both of his blows, dipping in to land your own. He’s strong, which is of less concern to you than his speed. Feyd-Rautha fights as if he’s dancing: not in the aspect that there’s flourish in his bladework - quite the opposite, he keeps his strikes efficient and tight - but in the smooth, hypnotic way that the movements of his body blend seamlessly together.
The crowd screams as he forces you into defence. It’s temporary, though, because he gets reckless, both driven and blinded by his hunger for blood - enough so that you can dart your foot out, hooking it around his ankles and overbalancing him. Sprays of sand are kicked up as he tries to steady himself, and you force him down with the tip of your blade to his pale throat.
A single, sleek drop of scarlet slides down his skin. Unhurriedly, he brings a hand up to catch it before it leaks onto his black armour, lifting it so he can see the blood your knife has shed. His gaze flicks up to you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
‘Huh,’ he remarks, pleasantly surprised.
And then he lashes out, bringing you down into the sand beside him. With the hilt of his knife, he knocks your own out of your hand, and it’s catapulted into the air, spinning end over end and catching the light before it somersaults into the ground a few feet away. The grit plumes up at your face as you scuffle with him, and you hiss, frustrated that the sand does not lend you any more traction.
Rolling you over so fast your head spins, Feyd-Rautha drives his knife down towards your exposed neck. It makes a bolt of panic shoot through you, followed by the deep seated, survival impelled instinct to use the Voice on him, but like hell you’re doing that; honour prevents you, as well as the desire to finish this fight properly. You have no choice but to grab his forearm, slowing his blade’s descent, and a mirthful, rasping noise leaves his chest - a laugh that sets his eyes alight.
And then, the pressure dissolves, falling away. He stands, smirking down at you, the sun like a damning halo around his head. Silence falls over the arena, the anticipation thick in the air as he raises his hand, gesturing somewhere over your shoulder.
‘Go on, little witch, get your knife.’
You sneer, seeing the greed in his eyes, the misguided belief that he’s got you where he wants you. He wants to play, and it delights you.
Taking a few steps in the direction of the knife, you feign acquiescence. You can feel his eyes on your back, can sense the triumph oozing off him, and you let the adrenaline coursing through your veins guide your limbs, twisting you around so you can lunge at him, one hand wrapping around his bare forearm and bending it backwards as you spin him sharply until his back meets your chest. Viciously, you yank his arm further back, and the pain of that combined with your elbow tight around his throat, constricting his airways, is enough to loosen his grip.
A gasp ripples through the crowd as Feyd-Rautha drops his knife. It lodges in the ground beside your foot, and you flick it up with the toe of your boot, your hand darting out to snatch it from the air. The man in your arms bucks and writhes, but you keep your hold on him as you bring the knife to his neck for the second time.
‘Uh oh,’ you sing-song into his ear. ‘What’s happened here?’
He stills in your arms a little. ‘Why don’t you do it?’
‘I fear I’ve grown attached to you during our little fight,’ you hum. ‘It would be a shame to end a specimen like yourself.’
‘You are Bene Gesserit, I’m sure that you have arrangements - ’
‘I may be one, but I do not follow the order,’ you snarl. ‘I spare you because I wish to. Now, Harkonnen, knock the knife from my hand.’
You feel his muscles tense, the hesitation coursing through his body as he determines whether your bid is a trick or not, and then he does as you say, catching it smoothly and spinning to bring it to your throat. Calmly, you stare into his narrowed eyes, the cold caress of the blade harsh against your exposed skin.
‘What’s stopping me from killing you now, little witch?’
You laugh. ‘I trust I’ve piqued your interest sufficiently, na-Baron.’
‘Just Feyd is fine.’
You open your mouth to mock him, but he slices the blade away from your neck, very purposefully nicking you. Blood beads at the seam of the cut, hot and vengeful; he grips the back of your neck, exposing your throat to him, and prickles of pain shoot through you as the wound stretches. Frozen, you wait to see what he’ll do next, heart fluttering in your chest in a way that you know is not fear.
Insouciantly, he licks a long stripe up your skin, his scorching tongue following the trail of crimson his blade left behind. All consuming heat wells up in your stomach when he grins at you, displaying the hint of red coating his obsidian teeth, his eyes igniting the air between you as they dip down to survey your body, your heaving chest.
And then he releases you. You find your knees have gone weak, and you stumble as the guards close around you, grabbing you roughly under the armpits and dragging you out of the arena, your knees making twin tracks in the sand.
Managing a glance behind you, you catch sight of Feyd, his fist held triumphantly in the air as the crowd roars for their na-Baron.
Unsurprisingly, they throw you into a cell. Its walls are made of smooth, dark metal which seem to swallow up any sound that you make - it doesn’t surprise you that Vladimir Harkonnen has a Bene Gesserit proof cell - and the only thing furnishing it is a black blanket on the ground. A servant comes in and treats the shallow cut on your neck, but he refuses to meet your eyes and scurries off as fast as he can, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.
You estimate two hours, maybe three, before Feyd appears in the doorway. His silhouette appears in the small glass window set in the door and pauses; you wonder if he’s considering leaving you there for a little longer, but then the lock disengages with a whoosh and the door slides open.
The air is immediately charged as he strides down the steps, eyes locked on you. With the smooth hiss of hydraulics, the door closes behind him, and he prowls forward, not quite smiling yet - you sense that he’s here to continue what you didn’t finish in the arena, and your back straightens a little as his gaze rakes over your body. He’s taken off his armour, leaving him in the thin black underclothes beneath, and he too has had someone treat the wound in his neck.
‘Your resistance to the drugs is remarkable, little witch. My blade was laced too.’
You raise an eyebrow. ‘I find that matter quite disappointing, actually, that you must face your opponents in the arena when they are half sedated in order to best them.’
He smiles, stepping closer to you until you share air. ‘It’s not just the winning I seek.’
‘Oh, what is it then?’ You ask. ‘Pain?’
Quick as a snake, you strike, letting the thrill of the fight shoot through you yet again as he matches you blow for blow. He looks at you as if he wants to eat you, to taste you - not just your lips or your tongue, but the defiant burn of your lifeblood too, and it makes you want to sink your teeth into him.
Slipping past his guard to catch the front of his shirt, you bunch the material in your hand and tear, baring his well muscled chest to you. The sight of it makes your lips quirk upwards, further so at the sound he makes: a half growl and a half groan as he lunges for you, wonderfully infuriated by the way you dance just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers like water. His eyes are kindled with ardour - for both your blood and your flesh - and when they meet yours, shivers snap down your spine and tug at your stomach.
Feinting to the left, you jab at his neck. Like a scorpion waiting to strike, he grabs your wrist, tugging you towards him; you glance down at his feet, easily predicting that he’s going to sweep your legs out from under you if you let him bring you any closer. Yanking your hand back, you attempt to shake his grip on you, but he refuses to let go.
You slap him across the face.
Hard.
His fingers loosen on you as his head snaps to the side, the noise your palm makes against his chiselled cheek sharp and ringing in the cell. A soft, animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, and when he lifts his chin, his jaw clenched to perfection, the pure lust in his eyes makes you stumble back a step.
Rushing at you, he takes advantage of the heady swoop of desire that messes with your head, slowly backing you against the wall with each punch and kick he throws. Heat roils in his gaze, so intense that when he slams you against the wall, you don’t know whether he’s going to kill you or kiss you - the not-knowing thrills you, sets your bones and soul on fire. One of his hands comes up, his fingertips caressing your throat before he pounces, mercilessly cutting off your air supply.
Leaning into your space, he brings his lips up to your ear. ‘If I’d had my way, little witch, I’d have fucked you right there on the sand, with all of them watching.’
Your head spins, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the lack of oxygen in your lungs or the feeling of his strong thigh pressing between your legs, relentless as he grinds it against your clit. You allow yourself a second to enjoy it before you retaliate, adrenaline seething in your blood.
Burying your nails into his arm, you twist it to the side, unbalancing him and taking him to the floor - his fingers grip your shirt, bringing you down with him. You land on his torso, straddling his hips, and as you do, he snaps his wrists down and rips your shirt from top to bottom down your back. The cool air of the cell sends ripples of goosebumps up your skin, and Feyd’s wide, calloused palms follow their path, surprisingly warm, deceptively gentle.
Bucking his lower body, he flips you over, pinning your hands over head, his long fingers circling your wrists as his hips press heavily into yours. Your eyes flick down to his mouth as he dips his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek; the curve of his lips is soft and almost graceful compared to the rough way he grinds against you, eager for more, yet eager to torture himself with the wait.
Tipping your jaw up, you let your lower lip brush his before you turn your head to the side, denying him. Amusingly, he follows your touch, insistent that you kiss him, but you ease out of his grip and trap him between your arms when he gives chase - a growl sounds low in his chest, one of his hands gripping your thigh, futilely yanking at your trousers as you grapple, rolling over and over on the cell’s floor.
His hand slams down beside your head, stopping your course, his forearm flat against your throat - not quite choking you, but not letting your air supply run free. Feyd’s touch sears your skin in the best way, and you wish to be consumed by the flames.
‘Must I tie you up, little witch?’
His voice is low and rasping, sending shivers up your spine. You don’t answer, instead claiming his lips, welcoming the insistent press of his tongue as you thrust your hips against his, seeking that exquisite friction. Running your hands up his strong back, you hook your elbow around the nape of his neck, locking him to you as he explores the taste of you.
Abruptly, he pulls away, and you open your mouth, protest on your lips until he tugs down your trousers and underwear, tossing them somewhere to the side, his own garments following. You get one good look at him, at his powerful, muscle lined thighs framing your hips and the curve of his leaking cock against his stomach before he swipes his fingers between your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.
When he lowers his face to your heat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a breathless moan slips from you, loaded with anticipation. You can’t stop the louder echo that leaves you when he dips his fingers into cunt, curling them to hit your sweet spot, and your nails claw at his shoulder blades, leaving red trails behind them.
‘That’s it, little witch,’ he croons. ‘Sing for me.’
And sing you do, as he wrings the pleasure from you with his tongue and fingers until your legs tremble and close around his head. He pins your thighs to the floor, holding you open for him as he tastes you, insatiable, pushing you unrelentingly over the edge, again and again until hot tears slide down your cheeks and your voice breaks from crying his name.
Finally, he buries his length inside you. Your eyes roll back at the stretch of it, your pussy fluttering around him; you muffle the moan that rips itself from your chest by biting down on his shoulder. He chuckles as you mewl his name, your back arching as he pulls out, only sheathe himself up to the hilt when he thrusts back in - he’s as drunk on your sounds as you are on his cock: he needs more. More of you, of your delicious sounds and your intoxicating scent and that sweet, sweet cunt of yours.
Feyd fucks like he fights: ruthless, full of passion and lust, remorseless.
Just as you’re about to come around his cock, he pulls out, leaving you scrabbling against the floor, hips futile as they follow his, his name like a plea on your lips. He drinks in your desperation, flipping you over and cracking his palm down hard on your ass before slamming himself back into your weeping pussy, the ragged cry that escapes you like the nectar of the gods on his tongue as he swallows it with a kiss. Gathering your hair in his fist, he pulls your head back, pounding tirelessly into you as he pins you to his solid chest, mouthing at the skin behind your ear.
As Feyd spills his warm seed inside you, you wonder if the Bene Gesserit were actually distracted, or if that was what they wanted you to think as they crossed bloodlines, even despite your defiance of their order.
You flop onto the blanket as Feyd eases himself out of your spasming cunt. Your head is fuzzy, warm, and a dumb smile pulls at your lips.
Feyd chuckles. ‘I have not broken you, have I, little witch?’
You send him a look half as fierce as it should be. ‘Barely. You have merely sated me - for now.’
He laughs again, lying next to you on the blankets. His body is angled towards you, but he doesn’t reach out - that he lay down beside you is surprising to you in the first place, but you seize the opportunity and curl up in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin. Slowly, his fingers card through your hair, and you close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the moment of softness from the bloodthirsty na-Baron of House Harkonnen.
Reaching out, you grab the blanket and fold it over the two of you - he rolls over so that he lies with his head resting on your chest. His lips brush the skin between your breasts, and you're struck by the glimpse of vulnerability that Feyd allows you to witness; this is not by accident, this is a gift from him, a way of silently telling you that he has come as close to trusting you as he could ever come to trusting someone.
Silent, you bask there in the afterglow, eyes half closed. At some point, you seek Feyd’s lips, and he obliges you, lazily exploring your mouth in a way he did not get a chance to do before, sighing contentedly as you trace the lines your nails carved along the grooves of his broad back. Eventually, you pull away, staring into his eyes where the embers of the fire that had blazed in them still glow with the heat of it. You need to go.
Gently, your breath mingling with his, you kiss his cheek, your lips gliding against his skin before you get up, briefly laughing at the wobbly nature of your legs before gathering your clothes and dressing as best as you can, considering he ripped your shirt all the way down the back.
When you glance over your shoulder, he’s propped himself up on his elbows; the blanket has slipped down to reveal most of his moon coloured stomach, and he regards you with mirth mixed with something like respect.
You pause in the doorway. You can tell he’s letting you leave.
A smile plays on his lips.
‘We’ll meet again, little witch.’
It’s not a question, nor a whimsy. It’s a promise.
#feyd rautha#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha smut#austin butler#austin butler smut#dune#dune two#dune part two#dune 2#dune part 2#dune ii#dune part ii#feyd smut#feyd rautha fic#feyd rautha fanfiction#feyd-rautha#dune fanfiction#dune smut#atreides#house harkonnen#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x reader#feyd x you#feyd rautha x you#dune x you#feyd oneshot#bene gesserit#feyd x bene gesserit#feyd rautha x bene gesserit reader
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psst! hi! are you willing to do a scenario where (civilian or soldier (your pick)) reader tries to run away and hide from yan!Ghost/konig
Failed Escape
Pairing: Yan!König x reader & Yan!Ghost x reader
Cw: smut, DUB-CON/NON-CON, spanking, fingering, kidnapping, training/mind break??, isolation, tell me if I missed any.
Cw: 0.9k
König
Yan!König was meticulous in the location of your home, it was well-thought out and planned months prior to your taking. It’s a secluded cottage in the Austrian alps, between two imposingly beautiful mountains covered in green flora and cute wildflowers. A few fawns and deers would skip around your grounds, grazing on the fires and hydrated grass of your garden. It’s miles away from civilization, unpaved roads marking the way to the closest highway and other cottages within a mile or two.
Yan!König who doesn’t bother to install extreme measures to your home because you’re housebroken, trained into loving you house and fearing to run. It doesn’t matter if you’re a normal civilian or a trained specialist, his sheer size made it impossible to run or defend against. But if you did try to run, ignoring all the blaring, red flags that bellowed in your mind about stepping outside the white-fenced walls, you’d wish you could outrun him.
Yan!König’s ruthless in his punishment. If he caught you before you crossed the fence, he’d be more lenient with you. He would strip you down to your panties and lay you on his lap, hand striking your ass. He’d coo when you cried, his warm thumb rubbing soothing circles over your red cheeks, fingers dipping into your leaky cunt, his large digits hitting your spongy wall while you squirmed, his elbow digging into your back to hold you down.
“Look at how wet you are, Maus, you like this don’t you? You like being spanked, ja?”
If he caught you outside, your short legs failing to outrun him, König would be meaner, cruel even with his punishment. He has you tied and blindfolded in the cold and humid basement, bringing his gloved hand down on your naked slit. His slaps left your cunt slick and swollen, and you a crying and overwhelmed while he bullied his hard cock into you, fucking the anger and frustrations away.
“It hurts, Maus? This is your punishment, take it!”
Yan!König will have to spend additional time training you, utilising the wide arrange of tools in his well-equipped basement to help him train you. From different types of whips to metal and padded hand-cuffs, and from various sizes of dildos that fit the pre-programmed machine to a manual of torturous knots and binds to hold a person. König has all and everything to ensure that you’d be reeducated in ways of living and manners.
Yan!König doesn’t do this because he enjoyed it - perhaps a lie with the sadistic glint in his eyes - he does it because he needed you to understand how much he cared about you, how much your life with him was a blessing and how much you could be happy with him. If only your training stuck.
Ghost
Yan!Ghost wouldn’t let you catch a glance of the world outside the four walls of your prison. He has locks drilled into the front and back door, some could be unlocked by a key and others by numbered and lettered combinations. He had every wind bolted shut with the occasional sliding windows for fresh air if you needed it, but they were all too small to squeeze through and too high for you to reach with anything but on the tips of your toes.
Yan!Ghost didn’t buy a house in some remote area of the British Isle, he found a rustic house in a calm and safe neighbourhood in Manchester, a pretty two-story home with a basement and newly-painted white fences around the house. Most neighbours were quiet and kept to themselves, it was another thing he made sure of before turning this place into a safehouse for both of you. He kept the house’s layout, but reworked the basement, building a third bedroom with a small kitchenette, a hotel-like living room and an even smaller bathroom fitting a single person at a time.
Yan!Ghost who stopped you before you can reach the door, his bone-breaking hold on your wrist, wrenching you away from the hallway before throwing you onto the couch. He was fuming, face red with rage and narrowed eyes, his tall, imposing figure seemingly bigger and damning as he loomed over you with clenched fists. He might’ve been cruel and demeaning, possessive in an erratic and sporadic way, but he’d never lift a hand against you. Simon wouldn’t stoop as low as his father did to control his life. Granted, he used degradation and intimidation, but never physical violence.
“What ‘ave I told you, love?”
Yan!Ghost would force you back into the basement, imposing all the rules and regulations he had when he first took you, his words became the law and his hands the chains. He might let you have a few freedoms in your prison, but he would always be watching, either from the numerous cameras he installed in in the basement and around the house to keep and eye on you at all times, or from his seat beside you, an arm around your waist and his face buried under your head.
Yan!Ghost suffered just as much as you were in these moments, having to subjugate both of you to this torture he played in the early days. Listening to you cry and bemoan your life before meeting him made his heart chip away while he shushed your pains, cradling you as he carded his fingers through your locks. Watching you flinch and stuttered when he approached you, his trembling hands inches from your shaking figure, red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks staring back at him while he tried coaxing you back into his hands to sooth your cries. It hurts how much you tried to escape his love and care, he was the perfect lover: gentle and patient.
“Why can’t you love me? Aren’t I enough?”
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs
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os ventos do amor ᡣ𐭩 ー haitani rindou
the five times rindou shows you he loves you (tries) & the one time he finally tells you about it.
( the winds of love ) friends with benefits + colleagues au, mdni
一 · in his kitchen (prequel)
The first time Rindou tries showing you he loves you, you're busy slurping noodles in his kitchen, and he's creasing his brows ironing your stupid little blouse in his tiny laundry room.
"Need some help?" You tease from the table after swallowing.
Usually you'd let him do it himself in peace, with no mocking, as per his own request to iron your clothes for you whenever you stay the night. But he's been at it for the past 20 minutes now just ironing one stupid blouse, and you're starting to grow impatient, because he'd promised to share this bowl of ramen with you but it's almost finished now.
Your voice echoes in the living area and he doesn't reply, but you know he heard you. You put down the chopsticks and sigh, "you know, I could've done it myself. No need for the trou-"
"Here."
You cock your head to the side and you see him, finally, out of the laundry room, with some sweat beading on his forehead and he's padding towards you, holding out your white blouse to you by its hanger.
He's still frowning when he stops before you at the dining table and you can feel his deject before he even says his next words:
"It's a stubborn crease, 'n I coulda done better. But I don't wanna burn through your shirt." He hands you your blouse and you immediately soften at it, fingers gently running over the said crease and you can tell he's done his best ー he did a great job, because if it were up to you, you would've chosen to give up halfway through.
"And sorry I ripped your skirt. I'll buy you a new one this weekend." He apologises through a mouthful of ramen and you reach a thumb up to wipe away some soup dripping down his chin.
Your eyes flicker to the said skirt sitting on the edge of his couch ー a black linen pencil skirt with a little slit running up your knee is now a big slit running up your hip, and the sight makes you want to laugh. You'd stripped it off and threw it there upon entering his house ー a little angry and upset that he'd ripped through your favourite skirt to wear for work out of eagerness to fuck you in the backseat of his car without getting you both home first, and he'd offered to iron your shirt for the next day out of guilt.
And now you're left in nothing but your undies, still not yet showered (you're waiting for him together), and you notice it's a little red on the tip of his ears. But your fury has died out long ago and seeing him like this ー somewhat embarrassed and you think he's kind of stupid for apologising because deep down you know he knows you don't mind at all, but he still says it anyway ー makes you want to grab him by his cheeks and place a fat smooch on his lips. But you don't, and you continue to watch as he swiftly finishes up the noodles before turning to wash the dishes.
"...Thank you, Rin." He doesn't see it but you're smiling when you say it to him ー shy, rosy lips a little pursed, the apple of your cheeks rose high, and he resists the urge to turn around and cup your cheeks with soapy hands.
"Whatever. 'N the noodles were disgusting. Remind me to never buy it again."
"Okay."
二 · in the office
The second time is when you catch him in the printer room the next morning.
He's photocopying documents by the printer, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and he has one hand manning the machine with the other supporting his body. His fingernails tap beats against the hard surface as he waits for the next batch of documents to finish printing.
Rindou doesn't notice your presence and you don't make yourself known either, choosing to watch him by the door as he makes quick work of counting and organising and stapling together freshly printed documents while making sure they're all in the correct order for the team meeting later ー and you think it's so bad of you to be ogling at his exposed arms with indecent thoughts of doing many things to him floating in your mind as his muscles flex under the light with his every move.
But you don't let your thoughts consume you, and he looks up at you ー now standing beside him with your arms tucked behind your body and a cheeky smile planted on your face.
Rindou focuses back on his work, obviously in a rush to complete everything, but he still acknowledges you nonetheless.
"You're up to something." He sighs while stacking together the stapled documents.
You feint a pout.
"...'M not." (He interpreted this as "I am.")
Rindou has never once told you this but he always thought that you had somewhat of a close resemblance to a cat. A very annoying Siamese cat that behaved like his previous one, constantly following him around and begging him for attention while also pretending like it isn't.
But it's nothing new. Rindou had come to a conclusion a while ago that you like to keep him guessing, and you particularly enjoy acting nonchalant when it's so obvious to him right now that you want something, anything that can keep you going for the day.
"What, you want a kiss or somethin'?"
"...Kinda,"
Bingo.
"But I want to use the machine more than I want a kiss."
He smirks, though he doesn't give it to you just yet, and you begin to count and prepare your own documents in silent when he doesn't reply. (You think he's ignoring you and it's awkward.)
But Rindou doesn't step away even when he's finished and you're confused. And unlike yourself, he doesn't have a knack for keeping you guessing. He speaks before you have the chance to ask.
"How many?" He grabs at your papers and lays them face-down on the machine before closing the shutter. His thumb hovers over the screen, eyes unwavering against your own as he waits for your reply.
"Um, ten copies." Your smile slowly widens when he finally presses 'print' and steps back for you to take over. He doesn't collect his documents to leave, however, and you raise your brows in confusion when he moves to close the door gently (and locking it, too) before shutting the blinds altogether.
"What're you doin'? Aren't you in a rush?" You question.
He shrugs and makes his way over to you.
"I've got time," he says it while trapping you against the machine with his two arms, lips quickly hovering against your own and you can smell a hint of the peppermint gum he likes to chew on from time to time.
"The machine's all yours," he licks at your bottom lip, "and now, for your kiss..."
I've always got time for you.
You think it's a great thing that the printer room doesn't have a CCTV.
三 · at the mall (shopping for your skirt)
Rindou has a good eye for things. You knew it the moment he'd picked out a pair of Daiso's reindeer-printed socks for you as your Secret Santa a few Christmases ago.
(You've always liked reindeers, but Rindou simply bought it for you because he didn't know what you liked.
You'd jumped in happiness the moment you opened your present and Rindou thought you were actually the prettiest girl alive.
You'd pounced on him in excitement, yelling out your gratefulness for everyone in the party to hear.
He'd decided that he wanted you then.)
So you're in Aeon browsing through skirts without him even though you came out here together. You don't know where he is, and you've given up on looking for him after phoning him a few times and wandering around like a lost child looking for its parent.
But you hear a cough behind you and you turn around, only to be greeted by the sight of a really pretty dress hanging from his finger.
You admire it from top to bottom ー a really nice coral pink dress with large hibiscuses printed all over with a little slit running up the thigh ー and Rindou moves it closer to you.
"Whatchu think of this?" He asks, nervous eyes a little dodgy against your mischievous ones, and you smile a little when taking the hook off his finger.
"I wanted a skirt, not a dress." You comment, obviously poking fun at him and Rindou immediately reddens like a tomato. "Forget it, then."
He reaches a hand out to snatch it from your own but you take a step back away, clutching the dress to your chest tight.
"Didn't say I don't want it, though." You jut your chin out and he snorts.
"I need to make a call," he fishes his card out from his wallet and hands it to you. You grip on the flat plastic tight, afraid of losing it while also in shock because why did he hand you his card? He's acting like you're both a married couple now.
"Text me when you're finished." And he shuffles away with his phone pressed to his ear.
四 · during the phone call with his brother
"Yo, Aniki." Rindou greets the moment his brother picks up the phone. After eight rings, what the hell is this idiot even doing?
"What?" The older man answers from the other line, phone tucked between the shoulder and his ear while he's rushing to prepare his daughter's dinner.
"You busy?" The younger boy asks. He shuffles his weight from heel to toe while standing in front of a wall full of different mugs and bowls at the home appliances department.
Pink is nice. She likes pink. Or should I get red? It's almost Valent-
"Uncle Rin-rin!" His niece's voice booms through the speaker, cutting Ran off and Rindou immediately smiles at it. "Hi, sweetie."
And Ran takes over the phone again. "What's up? Speak before I hang up. I'm a very busy man." Rindou resists the urge to snort at it ー he has a favour to ask, after all.
"How do you..." The younger pauses, oddly feeling a little too nervous to continue. Though it is his own brother on the other line that he knows although very annoying, he would still be there to help, Rindou finds it a little embarrassing to be asking him about this. He's never done this before, and he's not very big on asking his brother for favours too, and Ran is surprised at the sudden question shot that's been left hanging.
He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. He knows Ran will never let this go if he asks, but he decides to screw his ego because in the end, it is for you.
"How do you, um," he taps his foot on the ground.
...Fuck it.
"How do you chase a girl? Or something like that. Whatever it is."
"...Chase a girl? What girl- Oh. The one you've been sleeping with."
"What the fuck? Not in front of my niece, dude."
"Relax, I put her down a while ago."
"You're fucking annoying, you know that?"
Ran only laughs boisterously at Rindou's annoyance, but he doesn't leave his brother hanging.
He's always here for him, no matter what.
"So what're you thinking? Any options?" Ran asks. Rindou grabs at a white mug with pink flowers painted on it before replying. "Mugs."
"Mugs? Like for drinking, mugs? You're not serious, Rindou? You're buying mugs to chase a girl, are you insane?"
The younger clicks his tongue and puts the porcelain back on the shelf albeit a little harshly. "Why else do you think I'm asking you, asshole? Just tell me what to buy. I really don't know."
"I can't tell you what to buy for a girl you're chasing, dude. And I don't even know what she likes. What does she like? You tell me."
He ponders for a moment. "Dresses. Pink stuff." His mind travels back to the night you first met, at work, as clerks, when you'd included your hobbies into your introduction and one of it was gardening. "And like, flowers."
"Then just get her flowers, you already have your answer." Ran deadpans from the other line, but Rindou only hisses. "Yeah, but I already got her a pink dress with flowers printed on it. What else?"
"I'm talking about actual flowers. You can get them anywhere, and most importantly, never fails to make a pretty girl smile. She already likes flowers anyway."
"...'Kay, thanks. You're useful for once."
"Fuck off." Ran clicks his tongue. "...And red tulips, if I may suggest. And remember, tell me how it goes-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."
五 · aftercare with you
Remember when I said that Rindou wanted you the moment you'd hugged him in excitement after seeing some lame reindeer-printed socks wrapped up nicely in a little box tied with a pink ribbon on top?
Yeah. He'd wanted you since then. But instead of starting off as friends from colleagues before getting to know you better and then asking you out on a date when he feels the time is right ー like a normal, sane person ー the both of you had gotten into a mutual agreement of becoming friends with benefits.
You don't remember exactly when it started, how it started, who initiated it, and neither does he, but you don't really care. Not when he's busy rubbing soft circles on the bruise forming on your hips for some comfort while he pecks you again and again on your forehead as you slowly fall asleep beneath him. He'd lost focus for a bit and gripped you a little harsher than he should've, but you really don't mind, yet he still feels bad.
And Rindou thinks you're prettiest like this ー neck and chest painted in hickeys that he'd sucked (out of adoration), eyelids droopy with your bags a little red from the tears of bliss you'd shed, and the back of yours fingers are gently caressing his left cheek. Your room smells of sex and lemongrass and a quiet 'sleepy?' is all he asks when your eyes finally close.
You hum out a lazy response of 'yes' before moving the same hand down to rest it on his nape, playing with the ends of his mullet a little, and you push him down to rest on your chest.
It's heartwarming. It feels intimate. And despite your abnormal relationship title with the man, you don't reject the sudden swell of your heart and neither does he.
So he presses a soft kiss to the top of your left boob ー right where your beating heart resides ー and you hug your legs a little tighter around his waist. It's nothing sexual and you both know it. It was all just to bring him closer to you, for you to feel more of his warmth in the coldness of your bedroom paired with the chill of February.
"Sleep then." He assures, voice gentle and lulling, and you smile a little at it.
Rindou is always softer at times like this, you realise ー when he'd fucked the life out of you after a particularly long day, when he'd made you moaned out melodies that he swore belonged to heaven, when he'd spent hours between your legs lapping up everything you have to give him.
Though you don't let yourself go at his words, and he watches amusedly as you try your hardest to fight back dear sleep in his arms. You don't think you're ready to sleep yet. Something feels out of place, oddly, even though you're sure you have completed everything that was in your checklist today.
Laundry, washing the dishes, prepping for Monday's meeting... You've done it all, and yet you still can't pinpoint what it is that is missing.
Until he moves up to silently place a warm kiss on your neck ー where your pulse beats against his lips ー and he realises his life hasn't really started until recently, until the day he'd met you and he thought you were such a breathtaking girl. Colours had burst into his world and your smile was the first thing that had lightened up.
And while you're happily drowning in his attention, Rindou silently wonders if the two of you were perhaps lovers in your past lives.
He wonders if you'd be willing to catch him. To be there, holding your arms out and yelling to him that you're here and to not worry; for him to just fall into your arms and he'd be safe ー you'll catch him.
Because he is falling. Hard. And he doesn't know how to tell you about it. He hopes that for the past few days his gestures were enough to tell you a portion of his love...
Just a portion, though. Because he wants to tell you the rest when he finally gets to call you his. Under the moonlight, at dinner with his brother and his family, before his parents at their graves every anniversary, or in front of your dog that's pawing at your door asking to be finally let in... Whatever it is, he wants to show the world that he loves you.
So when you smile sweetly up at him as he grows hard against your thigh ー a silly little love boner that you must've thought was just him getting horny to you massaging his sore backー Rindou's become a little more certain that the two of you must've met one way or another in the previous lifetimes and have fallen in love with each other when you gently trail a finger down his abdomen, before finally wrapping a hand around him.
Rindou wonders what it'd feel like to be yours in this lifetime.
And he gives in to your touches. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and lets you play with him as you please.
He thinks it's kind of cute that even as friends with benefits, you've already engraved a piece of yourself onto him.
Like the extra sets of pencil skirts and blouses that you leave hanging in his wardrobe in case of last minute plans that he swears are a hassle to iron because he can never get the creases right. But he never complains, and he would always offer to iron your clothes each time you stay over at his house. Or even when you don't. Because he would always find your stuff sitting in the basket when he's doing his laundry. And he'd have to iron them neat for you, before hanging it up in his wardrobe for you to wear the next time you stay the night.
Or like your toothbrushes hanging next to each other on the wall in his bathroom ー pink and purple facing each other by their bristles because you'd insisted out of the blue on a random Monday morning, at the start of your "relationship", with foamy toothpaste in your mouth and your hair poking out in every different direction it can go.
And sometimes your shoes bring him joy too, whenever he would get up to check on the door while you're falling asleep in his bed and he'd spot how your black pumps are always somehow scattered messily next to his own neat dress shoes by the entrance, and he'd have to squat down and rearrange them nicely.
He looks back up at you with ragged breaths and a coil in his abdomen that's threatening to break anytime soon. You're still giving him the same smile that drives him nuts every single time, and he leans in closer to give you a little kiss on the lips that you very much love.
And Rindou comes to a sudden realisation that he wants to tell you he loves you now. He needs you to know that he's all yours. You're his sweetheart.
So he does what he thinks is right ー what he feels is right. He reaches over your body, towards the marble vase on your nightstand that your mother had gifted you as a housewarming present, and he picks a fresh flower out of it after careful consideration. You don't move from your spot, only trying to kiss whatever skin of his that your lips can reach from your position ー his shoulder, his bicep, his arm, his neck... And a familiar smaller-sized tulip appears before your eyes. You raise your brows a little at it.
"Pretty fuckin' girl," is all he murmurs before pushing himself into you.
"I'm all yours." He whispers.
A peaceful winter night and Rindou fucks you again in missionary with so much love bubbling in his chest and a red tulip tucked behind your ear.
终 · during breakfast together
"Do you want eggs?"
"Sure."
"Okay."
You kick your feet and watch from the bar as he cooks you both breakfast in your kitchen. You're covered in one of his shirts that he'd left sitting on the back of your chair, your tired eyes scans over his half-tattooed back covered in scratch marks, and you feel oddly proud to be the one to have done all that.
But you know it is not right. And you're not stupid ー you're aware of the things he's been doing these days, and if you were a forgetful fool you would've missed the rule you made with him at the start of your intimacy.
Never catch feelings for each other.
...But you were no forgetful fool, and the ache in your heart is too painful for you to ignore. You'd seen the way he looked at you last night ー the way he'd fucked you like you were the finest thing personally handcrafted by the hands of God. And because you treasure your friendship, you know you shouldn't be doing this to him. You think he's a good person, and you want to remain friends with him.
But you don't want to let him go.
"Hey, Rindou." You call out. He's in the midst of scrambling your eggs with butter when you do so. "Yeah?"
"Rindou," he hums again.
Ever so patient, but I have to break your heart.
"...We should end things, Rindou-kun."
Saturday morning and it feels as though his world is falling apart from your simple sentence. Like you've ripped apart his beating heart that pounds solely for you and threw it on the ground.
You are so cruel.
So much for all that last night, he thinks. So he turns around after hurriedly switching off the gas. The wooden spatula covered in eggs is still in his hands when he faces you in agony and you want to break down and cry.
You feel like a villain. The evilest villain of them all.
"Why? Was I too rough on you last night? I- Or were we too open about it? Tell me." He's worried. He's so worried that it almost makes you want to crumble into pieces.
Purples flicker between your own and your lips wobble. You grip the hem of his shirt tight in your hands and look down.
"Please, tell me." He pushes again, so you decide to tell him truthfully.
Be a big girl, don't cry. You've survived 25 years of life, cutting things off with your FWB should be easy.
"...I've caught feelings."
Except it's not.
A lone tear makes its way down your cheek and you wipe it away quick. "Sorry, I broke the rule. I caught feelings and I- I don't think it's right for us to continue this any further." Your voice cracks with every word you speak and it makes you want to cry even further, because he's not saying anything.
And despite the strong stance you've presented to him, Rindou knows you're putting on an act for him. So he puts down the spatula and shuffles to you. He stops before you and tilts your chin up with his finger.
You'd half-expected him to be upset about this as much as you are, because you know the feeling's mutual, but you respect the rule of your relationship more and you don't think it's right to continue on.
Except he isn't, and he's so fucking smug about it.
Rindou's got a huge grin on his face when you look up at him. Hair a little messy, a hickey on his jaw, and you're sobbing into his arms now.
"You like me." He states.
You kick him a little and continue to cry.
"You like me, huh?" He repeats again.
Rindou has an arm wrapped securely around your waist with the other hand smoothing the back of your head as he shushes you gently, rocking you both side to side and you hit him a little on the chest.
"Do you think this is funny? It's not funny. I'm being serious." So you try pushing him away in hiccups but he only laughs as you struggle against his strength.
"Why do you wanna end things?"
"As I've said, I broke the rule. It's not right anymore."
He snorts at your reasoning. "You know, rules are always meant to be broken."
"So you don't respect me enough to follow my rule?" You're trying to pick a fight but he doesn't quite buy into it, choosing to kiss your forehead instead as you continue to wiggle your way out of his hold.
"I've never been one to follow the rules anyway." Rindou mutters against your hair as he presses another kiss to your crown. You're too endearing to let go, he thinks, and he holds you anymore tighter to himself at that.
"And who said if it's right or wrong? Screw rights and wrongs. We both like each other, the feeling's mutual. There's no point in letting each other go." He wipes your tears away with his palm and cups your cheeks with them. "I know you don't wanna let me go."
You swat his chest again at that and he only laughs harder at your reaction. He thinks you're the most precious thing in life. In his life. In the universe. You're the most precious thing ever.
"I like you a whole lot, you know." Smooch. "More than you'll ever know." Another smooch. "Let me be yours."
You pout as you look into his eyes. Purple orbs sucking you in deep and you have no choice but to fall. Purple orbs that tells you these arms will catch you if you do. And another kiss to your soul that tells you everything you need to know.
"Okay."
You'll catch each other.
"I love you."
You're already catching each other.
😅😅😅😅😅 been mia for so long bc i've been working on this. Its been in my drafts for soooo long LOL and this was supposed to be a valentines day special but i didnt make it in time cus i was bz sleeping.. but i hope you guys like this a lot ^^ listen to the playlist if u have time! And i tried a new layout too i hope it looks nice.
Reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for reading <3
© HAI7ANI ON TUMBLR / DO NOT STEAL
#寫作#rindou x reader#rindou haitani x reader#haitani rindou x reader#rindou haitani#haitani rindou#rindou smut#tokyo revengers x reader#tokrev x reader#tokyo revengers fluff#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo revengers#haitani brothers
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Text
— falling asleep (in your arms)
pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader
warnings: angst, mentions of blood and death (it's mostly fluff tho)
summary: the best rest you could ever get was always by her side
word count: 3.3k
Wednesday tapped her foot against the lacquered floor impatiently as she stood next to the door of the resident oni’s room, waiting for the girl to come out. She didn’t have a phone, nor did she wear a wristwatch – she didn’t like the aesthetic is all – but her gut told her that it had already been past breakfast time.
Fixing the strap of the black backpack on her shoulder, Wednesday turned to finally knock at the door, doing so especially loudly. When she didn’t hear footsteps, she decided to invite herself in, turning the handle with a swift hand and looking around, annoyed.
The windows were half – open, letting the sounds of birds chirping outside in. Books were scattered across the desk that stood against the wall, the leaves of the small bonsai tree moving in tune with the gusts of wind entering the room and gently worrying the curtains.
Wednesday’s gaze landed on a big lump of blankets laying on the bed, quiet snores coming from under the layers.
Wonderful. She was still in bed.
“(Y/n). Wake up.” The ravenette called out sternly.
No answer came.
“You’re going to be late for class if you don’t get up this instant, (Y/n).” Wednesday warned, her voice gaining volume.
Still no answer.
“I’m not letting you copy my notes. You better wake up right now.”
This time a groan came from the lump resting on the bed, and the demon buried under the warm layers turned on her side, a clawed hand coming out to hang over the edge.
“Tell Weems I ate someone and got arrested.” (Y/n) grumbled, her voice heavy with sleepiness.
“She’ll drop everything to go bail you out.” The ravenette objected, crossing her arms as she walked up to stand over the demon, watching her sleepy face emerge from the sea of comforters.
“Fuck, no she won’t…”
Wednesday sighed, looking down at (Y/n) sternly, “Stop being so immature. Get up or I’m leaving without you.”
“Five more minutes, maybe?” The demon girl asked, her signature slitted puppy eyes making Wednesday frown.
“No, (Y/n),” she replied firmly, refusing to let the cute act get ahold of her, “You’re already running late. We need to get to class.”
(Y/n) scoffed, hiding her face in her pillow resentfully, “Is this what Enid has to go through every morning? No wonder her attendance’s been perfect since the day you came.” She grumbled, voice muffled.
Wednesday rolled her eyes. This was so stupid.
“Fine. Five more minutes and not a second more.”
(Y/n) lifted her face up again, and this time her toothy mouth was adorned by a happy grin. Scooching a bit away from the edge of the bed closer to the wall, her clawed palm patted the empty space, wordlessly inviting the smaller girl to join.
Wednesday’s shoulders sagged, and, leaving her backpack by the edge of the bed and taking of her shoes, she got into the bed, instantly getting smothered by the taller girl wrapping her arms around her shoulders and burying her face into her jet – black hair.
The oni’s frame was emitting heat, and the demon was purring up a storm – Wednesday could feel the vibrations resonate in (Y/n)’s chest, and the feeling had a somewhat calming effect on the gloomy girl.
It was always like this. Why was Wednesday always giving in? She supposed it had something to do with the warm feelings she had for the irresponsible oni demon.
With a small huff the ravenette wrapped her arms around the taller girl’s middle, resting her cheek on the purring demon’s chest, the sound like a powerful machine engine this close.
Five more minutes.
Flipping through the yellow pages of the huge book, Wednesday’s eyes trailed over the written words in hopes of finding something that would lead her closer to the truth in her investigation. The bestiary was a thick old book with a brown leather cover, no doubt touched and used by a myriad of people before her, and getting her hands on such a relic was surely worth something.
So there she was, in the dead of the night, sitting in the library with one of the only people she could trust at the academy – (Y/n). The demon was reluctant to join at first, but agreed ultimately, not wanting the girl to go down all alone if she was caught sneaking around past curfew. (Y/n) doubted she could be of use to Wednesday in the matter of intelligence and mystery solving, but at least she could keep her company.
Wednesday turned another page, and her eyes widened. There it was, painted with a light hand of a master artist, back slouched and eyes bulging – the hyde.
“(Y/n), look,” she pulled at the sleeve of the demon girl sitting next to her, not tearing her gaze away from the book, “I found it.”
The oni hummed, having been uncharacteristically quiet for the past half an hour, and shuffled by the smaller girl’s side. Wednesday felt weight on her shoulder, but still didn’t look up at her companion.
Focusing on the small amount of information given, she squinted, her finger tracing over the sentences as she read. The language was complicated, but not enough to confuse the great Wednesday Addams.
“He has a master,” she murmured under her breath, slowly digesting the new discovery, “That means, whoever they are, the master has awakened the hyde from his subconsciousness and is giving out orders...” Wednesday raised her head up to look at the taller girl, “Do oni demons also need some kind of an awakening for their true forms, too?”
Wednesday stared at the other girl, unblinking.
She was... asleep.
Leaning against the ravenette’s shoulder snuggly, (Y/n) had her arms folded on her chest, and, breathing evenly, the oni girl snored away. Her eyebrows were furrowed, an evidence of a dream she was most likely seeing, and on her tusked mouth was a small frown.
Wednesday sighed. Her eyes traced over the demon's expression, then she turned back to the book, reaching her hand to tangle her manicured fingers in the demon's (h/c) hair, scratching at her scalp and hoping to ease the girl's worried slumber.
This oni demon could certainly use an awakening. But she'd let it slide for now.
Early morning sunlight shone through the slit between the thick beige curtains right onto (Y/n)’s face. The demon scrunched her nose in irritation as her eyes slowly pried open, squinting immediately. She brought a hand up to cover her face, then slowly sat up, rubbing at her tired lids. The clock on her bedside table read 5:12 – too early to be up. The (h/c) – haired demon yawned, stretching her long limbs over her head, and the oni’s movements were almost enough to wake up the small lump sleeping next to her.
Almost.
(Y/n)’s gaze slid down to where Wednesday laid beside her, the ravenette’s hands that were previously wrapped around the demon’s clawed palm now clutching the bedsheets, and the oni watched her chest rise and fall slowly with every breath she took. (Y/n) was content with watching the gloomy girl sleep soundly, her small body curled up against the demon’s. She’s never seen Wednesday so peaceful and relaxed, the sight a complete adoration, making her heart swell with warmth.
Unable to hold herself back any longer, (Y/n) leaned down to press a gentle smooch to the girl’s freckled cheekbone. She lingered there for a few moments, then her lips trailed lower, aiming at Wednesday’s chin, then up to her nose and the corner of her left eyelid. When she was done peppering her face with kisses, she pulled away, smiling softly. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t enough to wake the dead - asleep girl up, so (Y/n) made the choice to lay back down on her side, resting her head in her palm to watch Wednesday sleep.
God, she loved mornings like this. Waking up next to Wednesday brought her day a reason.
“I can feel you staring at me.” Came the smaller girl’s deadpan voice suddenly, her mouth moving, but eyes still remaining closed.
“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” (Y/n) grinned, a clawed finger coming to get some stray disheveled hair out of her pretty pale face. Wednesday’s nose scrunched at the tickling feeling, and she opened her eyes to look at the demon.
“What time is it?” She asked.
“Too early to worry. You should sleep a bit more.”
“We’ll miss breakfast.”
“No, we won’t. There’s still some time left,” the oni assured, resting her palm on Wednesday’s cheek, her thumb smoothing over the skin there, “Have I ever told you how pretty you look in the morning? You ought to let sunlight graze your features more often, despite how much you claim to loathe it.”
She watched Wednesday’s face heat up, and the gloomy girl frowned, turning on her side and away from the other, “Goodnight, (Y/n).”
The demon chuckled, moving closer to the embarrassed heap of covers that was her girlfriend, then wrapped a hand over her waist, her lips ghosting over Wednesday’s ear, and, as she spoke, her blunt tusks tickled, making goosebumps rise up the ravenette’s neck, “I wonder if there’s something I could do to set your mood for the day...”
“Goodnight, (Y/n).”
Desperately trying to keep herself upright, (Y/n) walked through the dark forest, her clawed fingers digging into the tree trunks and leaving marks as she stumbled. She was tired – but victorious, and, slowly making her way through the woods and back to the academy, the demon left behind a mauled body of her enemy she had to fight just a few moments ago – the hyde.
(Y/n) didn’t think she’d stumble upon Tyler, but she was glad it was her who did.
“Where is she, Galpin.”
“Oh, you didn’t hear? Addams is dead. She was no longer needed,” the young man chuckled, stepping closer into the demon’s face, but barely even intimidating her, “And you’re next.”
“Fuck,” (Y/n) choked, raising her fist to her suddenly wet eyes to wipe the tears away, “You better be a fucking liar above else, you worthless piece of shit. Or I’ll come back and finish you off.” She cursed, talking to herself in the haze of worry clouding her mind.
Decency the last thing on her mind, the oni stepped on the dirty ground, half – naked, covered in blood and exhausted, but her heart ached and the only thing able to soothe it would be seeing Wednesday, alive and well, pressing her closer and letting the weight and the warmth of her body ground (Y/n). Then she’d let her guard down, let her shoulders sag and eyes close.
(Y/n)’s grip turned white on the chipped stone walls when she walked up to the building, looking around the burned school grounds. The wind blew, chilling the oni to the bone, but did nothing to stop her.
She had to find Wednesday. Somewhere deep inside her guts she had a feeling the ravenette was still alive. The hope was small, like a weak flame burning in her chest, but she refused to let it die.
(Y/n) stopped in her tracks, hanging her head to take a few deep breaths. Then she looked up, and her slitted eyes widened.
There, standing in the middle of the yard with a broken blade in her hand, was the small black – haired girl. Her breath heavy, hair disheveled and a small trail of blood was running down her face.
The demon’s naked feet hurt as she stepped onto the stony surface of the quad, burned down and destroyed, but her legs refused to carry her further anymore.
“Wednesday.”
The ravenette turned at the sound of her name, and her eyes widened.
“(Y/n).”
Throwing her sword away, she ran up to the taller girl, just in time to wrap her arms around her middle when the demon felt her knees buckle. Burying her face in the oni’s chest, not caring about the sticky blood smearing across her cheek, she squeezed her eyes closed.
“You’re okay.” (Y/n) mumbled, her arms encircling Wednesday’s waist, her lips pressing against her hair with a shaky sigh, and the lump in her throat was impossible to fight anymore.
“Don’t cry, mio cuore,” Wednesday murmured, looking up and raising a gentle palm to wipe the tears that rolled down the demon’s cheeks freely, mixing with blood and pouring down her dirty chin, “It’s over now.”
Her grey eyes trailed down to the demon’s bloodied frame, worry swirling in the dark pools, “Are you hurt?”
The demon shook her head, a watery grin on her tusked mouth, “It’s not mine,” she assured, pressing her hand against Wednesday’s where it rested on her cheek, “Tyler told me you were...”
“It’s a long story,” the ravenette shushed the demon, not wanting to unnerve her further, “But I’m okay now.”
(Y/n)’s pointed ear flicked when she caught an unfamiliar sound. She lifted her face, turning her head to find the source of the noise, and her eyes widened.
A click of a gun hammer.
The demon’s lip raised threateningly, baring her blunt tusks at the woman stepping into the quad. Holding a revolver in a shaky but firm grip was Thornhill – well, that’s what she was known as to (Y/n), but now she could tell whatever had happened at the academy during her absence was, undoubtedly, her fault. The bloody gash on Wednesday's forehead, too.
“I heard you butchered Tyler, (Y/n),” the teacher raised her eyebrows, smiling in a way that made the demon want to rip her throat out, “To be expected from an animal like you... But here’s the thing – animals are always hunted. While you can defeat a monster weaker than you, you can’t go against a hunter.”
Pressing her palm into Wednesday’s shoulder, (Y/n) pulled the smaller girl behind herself, growling menacingly, slitted (e/c) eyes glistening under the angrily furrowed eyebrows.
“You know... You are the victor after all,” Thornhill shrugged, as if completely unfazed by the intimidating display of demonic wrath in front of her, “That’s how it’s done in the wild, isn’t it? You won, and for that I’ll grant you mercy... If you step away from Addams. What do you say? You’ll get to live the eternity you were always so afraid of instead of exchanging it for a life of a mere outcast girl.”
“It’ll take more than a flimsy gun to take me down, Thornhill,” the angered oni growled, huffing a small cloud of steam out of her flared nostrils, “Your pet wasn’t enough, and you won’t be, either. Leave while you still have legs to walk on.”
“(Y/n), stop it. It’s not you she wants.” Wednesday said worriedly, moving to stand beside (Y/n), but the demon raised her arm up in front of the ravenette, not letting her step away from behind her.
The red – haired woman chuckled, her grip on the gun tightening, “Oh. Well. Too bad then, (Y/n). I always told you – you keep letting your emotions get in the way of right decisions.”
A shot rang through the yard, and Wednesday gasped, but the taller girl in front of her didn’t budge. A pool of dark red seeped through the demon’s haori, and she grinned at the woman in front of her, “Nice try.”
“Don’t worry. This was just a warning shot.” Thornhill tilted her head and pulled the trigger again.
Blood trickled down the demon girl’s stomach, and a small sputter of the crimson liquid left her mouth, turning the oni’s tusked grin bloody. Thornhill’s eyes widened, and she fired another bullet at (Y/n), hitting her in the shoulder. Blood spilled and skin broke, but she remained unrelenting, standing in front of Wednesday like a guarding brick wall.
“Why won’t you just die?!”
Suddenly there came a quiet buzzing sound, and a small bee landed on the barrel of the gun in the teacher’s hand. Then, the noise came louder, and a huge swarm of fluffy insects flew into the quad, clouding around the woman, making her shout and fire at the bees with no success. Turning her head, Wednesday saw Eugene walk up to her, holding his hand out and guiding the swarm.
(Y/n) could barely hold herself up anymore – she felt her knees buckle, back slouching, as if an invisible weight was pressing her down, and the oni’s mouth started to fill up with crimson liquid, making her choke and fall to her knees. She felt small hands grasp at her middle, trying to soften her fall, and as her back landed on someone's lap, (Y/n)’s half – lidded eyes met Wednesday’s.
“(Y/n). It’s just a few gunshot wounds. Why aren’t you regenerating.” The ravenette deadpanned, trying her best to keep her voice from wavering. But the demon was silent – she opened her mouth, and no sound came as she tried to greedily catch some air into her aching lungs.
“(Y/n), are you listening? You have one job. Pull yourself together and regenerate. Stop slacking off like you always do!”
Wednesday’s hands shook as she pressed her pale palms into the wound in the demon’s chest, desperately trying to stop the never-ending flow of blood. A clawed hand laid on top of hers, and (Y/n) coughed, furrowing her brows at the awful pain.
“Think I’ve... spent all the energy. Not enough to heal.” She wheezed, squeezing her eyes closed.
“Then make it enough, (Y/n),” Wednesday demanded shakily, hand moving to hold the demon’s face, leaving a scarlet imprint on her cheek, “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Don’t fall asleep, (Y/n). You aren’t done. Please.”
“Hurts so fucking bad,” the oni complained, but opened her lids in obedience, (e/c) orbs finding the face of the smaller girl above her, “This is... my first time feeling like this. I don’t like getting shot.”
“No one likes getting shot, you idiot.”
(Y/n) chuckled, and the sound quickly got overtaken by a violent coughing fit.
“You can’t die, (Y/n). You’re a demon, you’re supposed to live for centuries, damn you!” Wednesday felt her eyes water, a sob stuck in her throat, “I-If you die, I’ll go straight to whatever circle of hell you end up in to drag you out and then kill you myself!”
“Sorry, little raven,” the demon apologized quietly, “I wouldn’t have it any other way... You know you look way better in black than me.”
A single wet drop landed on (Y/n)’s collarbone, then another on her neck. The demon’s eyes widened – the small ravenette above her was crying. Her bottom lip shook, and she closed her eyes, bringing the oni’s bloodied palm to her cheek, leaning her face against the cold limb that was always so warm before.
“You can’t leave me. You promised you won’t.”
(Y/n) grunted. There were black spots dancing in her vision, but her misty (e/c) eyes refused to give up their focus on the girl above her. The picture was blurred and hazy, and she felt like there was a heavy stone plate lying over her chest, but the distraught look on Wednesday’s face hurt more than any wound ever could.
“You should’ve seen Galpin, though,” the demon grinned, delirious from the blood loss, “I almost ripped the guy to shreds. I would’ve done the world a favor by killing him, but I didn’t for... some reason. I think I’m getting soft. Because of you,” she coughed, voice turning raspier, “It’s always been like that for me. Learning to kill. Learning to conquer. But with you I think... I found a different purpose.”
(Y/n) leaned into the touch of Wednesday's palm, soft as a pillow, the most comfortable and tranquil of all places she could ever find herself in.
“I’m so tired, ‘Nes. You think I deserve to rest now?”
#wednesday#wednesday x fem!reader#wednesday addams x y/n#wednesday x female reader#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday netflix#wednesday x reader#wednesday 2022#netflix wednesday#wednesday addams#wednesday x you#wednesday imagine#wednesday the series#imagine#female reader
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I love how our fangirl is all "fifth older brother, try my stew," "fifth older brother, you are so hot can I cling" etc etc etc and you'd think she's the usual naive spoiled princess. And then she sees his mansion on fire, the guards made corpses, and a bunch of armored assassins waiting for him to come out of the flames. AND SHE BUSTS OUT A SLINGSHOTS WITH SCORPIONS:
And then starts slitting throats more efficiently than any hired killer.
But of course she's outnumbered and while good, she can't take on a squad alone. And she's about to be killed, she's still freaking out not about herself but Zhan Beiye.
HELLOOOOOO THE CONSUMMATE KILLER IS HEREEEEEE! This is such an unabashedly shoujo entrance, complete with shooting angles and his own wind machine. I am with fangirl, stanning in open glee.
They are surrounded by killers yet take time out for this and I adore the fact! He's death on very very long legs but he refuses to yank his hand out of hers strongly enough. Heh.
Omg ahahhaha
And then he proceeds to cutting through the entire squad like wheat. And you know, he's found himself a right woman because I swear she's swooning harder with each kill.
What I really loved in this scene is his face as she indignantly rushes to his defense. Because it is so so clear that long before he realized he was in love with her, he utterly was. I mean - just look at his face - he's had so many family members and others betray him, to have someone indignant on his behalf (and someone of equal rank, and a beautiful woman, not one of the soldiers who follows him) must be vvvv soothing.
I love this bit...
My OTP, ladies and gentlemen.
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CHAPTER 2
2.9k Words
A/N: Bold letters are spoken in Na'vi by the characters.
Normal letters are spoken in English by the characters.
It all happened in a blink of an eye, faced a corner you looked at the tree diamondoid creatures standing right in front of you. You hissed at them showing your fangs as they held their guns up to your face. If they wanted to they would have already ended your life in a second but load and hold, thanks for your quick hands, you've got one of them underneath your knife, close to their neck.
You never let your guard down, and if they tried to do something funny, you wouldn't hesitate to slit his throat. Gaging and growling he begged his friends to shoot the native, "F-Fuck sake!" He yelled feeling the blade touch his skin. "Shoot her already!"
Your eyes darted over to the female soldier who slowly pressed her necklace around the neck, something Jake would use to communicate with his own family and you when you guys were out on a mission.
The female then opened her mouth and whispered something you didn't catch on to but heard a familiar voice in between the lines with alerted your ears to spike upwards. Your tongue ran through your teeth as the name of the man you were looking for escaped her lips.
A shot of adrenaline spread across your body as you brought the guy underneath you closer to you, hardening the grip around the knife. The enemy looked at you confused the moment you began to speak in their language, trying to negotiate.
"I'll say this once," You began, "I'll let your friend go if you bring me Miles Quaritch,"
A silence fell down on you as the blue-halfbreeds looked at one another trying to see if they heard right. Not receiving a direct response you pressed the blade on the guy's neck and left a small cut, not big enough to kill him but enough so that blood would run down, "I will not repeat myself!" You shouted sending a sign that you were not playing around.
"Alright there, hold on sweetheart," The woman spoke and again reached her hand around the necklace speaking into it. It didn't really take that long after as she order the other two who stood beside her to lower their weapons. Having her hands out and the weapon away from her she asked you politely to cooperate.
Still skeptical and alert you waited until the coast felt clear, you brought the blade away from the guy and pushed him forward with your leg. The team didn't hesitate on taking their guns back onto their hands as they began escorting you.
"Ach!" You hissed the one wearing some type of black glasses over his eyes as he tied your hands tightly behind your back.
"Where leaving!" The woman said and began to walk and the following behind her. Your ears flicked to the side as your Ikran screamed from afar, a clearly obvious call for you.
Your eyes darted up to the sky knowing well that you won't come back to him, at least not now. Before everything that just went down you had left him resting on a cliff not so far from here, he'd deserved it for the long journey you two had for the past two days searching for Spider. Now all he had to do was to rest and regain his strength back before you reunite with him again, this time carrying double the weight.
The guy you cut looked back at you with such disgust, his ears folded back almost hitting the ground. You snarled your nose and kept your head up, eyeing him. "Crazy, bitch..." He murmured turning his face back to the center.
Minuted passed before a loud noise came from above bringing a wave of wind down to where you stood. It was a helicopter, a very common transport the sky-people would use to navigate through the forest, their banshee of some sort.
The halfbreed with the glasses wrapped his arm around you and brought you closer to him as a rope came falling down from the flying machine. You wanted to hit him for even daring to touch you when suddenly you felt your weight being pushed upwards. Helping you up to the helicopter the man gently placed you down and told you to hold still or else you'd fall down.
You were annoyed as you weren't really used to being told what to do, but being the first time in one of these things you had no other choice but to listen. For support, the man held his long foot in front of you as he sat close to the door, you held yourself tight in your seat as the helicopter began to move.
Closing your eyes together you prayed for the great mother for protection, both on you and Spider.
There wasn't that much time for you left, sooner or later you'll finally have him in your arms, but in the means time, you had to stay strong as the step before that would be a challenge. It was time to meet Miles Quaritch, the leader of the sky-people, you'll see him eye to eye.
The trip didn't really last that long as you guys finally arrived at the destination, peaking over at the guy with the glasses you noticed that there was no forest anymore but stone-like buildings, all in the same color, metal, and all sorts of things that were just so depressing to the eye.
After the great war, you'd for sure thought that it would have been the last time the sky-people would have set a foot on your home, but no, they had the audacity to come back, which made you furious. It was as if all of those who fought in that war fought for nothing, the lives that were cut short, everything in vain.
Clenching your jaw tightly and taking a deep breath was a way to calm down the boiling anger within you as the helicopter landed on the ground. Observing the enemy base you noticed a couple of small sky-people looking over towards your direction with bewildered looks on their faces, which in a way amused you, perhaps this was the first time they actually settled eye on a real Na'vi.
Bringing you inside the stone-like building the squad leads you to a hallway with rooms to the left, stoping in front of one of them, the woman on the team went up and pressed her hand on a box which opened the transparent door.
Your eyes wandered around observing the surroundings, a small room tall enough for your big frame, the door was just a tiny bit smaller as you needed to crouch down to enter the room. The one guy with the glasses brought something out for you.
Looking down at what seemed to be a mask of some sort he explained calmly how to use it, before placing it down on the table next to you.
Clearly noticing your hands behind your back the guy turned around and freed them, for a moment there you thought those ugly cuffs would finally let your wrist breathe to only be disappointed as he cuffed them back again, this time with your hands in front of you.
You gave the guy a 'wtf' look on your face as he proceeded to explain how to use the breathing maks again. Having focused on the tiny thing you hadn't noticed that the doors had shut close, locking you inside. You turned your head around and saw how everyone except the guy with the glasses started to leave.
Normally you'd run up to the door and start banging, demanding them to let you out but this was a choice you had made for yourself. Of course, it was a bit alarming to you but not in a threatening way. Either way, you had made it inside the enemy territory and were now closer to Spider.
He had to be in here somewhere, you just knew that his smell wasn't really that far away from you, he was close. In the means of that time, an escape plan must be made for the two of you to get out of here safely, without any disturbance of some sort.
You just have to take down the leader of this place, and with him down everything else with go with ease. At any moment now, the demon Miles Quaritch will walk right in, you just had to stay calm and collected till then. A smile crossed your face as the thought of feeding him to your Ikran wasn't such a bad idea, after all, he deserved a good meal.
Walking around the room waiting patiently at the Colonel you hadn't noticed that he was far closer than you thought, in fact, he was watching you from a big screen since you got here. And if he had to be honest with himself he was disappointed when he first settled his eyes on you.
Hearing from what Z-Dog (the female avatar) was reporting earlier today, that they had a 'bluebird' on the line, he 100% thought that she was talking about Mrs.Sully, Jake's chick. And when he heard that she was asking for him only doubled that number. A native, sneaking around near the base was not something you saw every day, normally they would stay away, of course, it had to be her.
As far as Quaritch knew she was the only female Na'vi he knew. Whatever triggered her to come to them must have been linked to Spider, he was with the Sully kids after all. But he had to drop all of that when the native, his squad had taken in appeared to be somebody else. He had no idea who this female was, a complete mystery as she didn't appear in any part of his memories.
Annoyed, Quaritch reached over the table and took his oversized cup of coffee, and took a sip, leaving a very bitter taste behind. What could she possibly want from them?
General Admore had been patient enough to let her stay for interrogation, it wasn't that easy to convince her but mentioning that it could help them find the Sullys the general acceptance, and with that kept Quaritch alerted. In the end, it was a win for him, as she could be a secret key to find ingJake Sully and taking him down.
So not wasting another minute Quaritch placed the cup down and headed over to the cell, Lyle followed him close behind as they approached Mansk who was guarding the cell. Noticing the Colonel's presence, Manks turned around and opened the door for them, Quaritch and Lyle walked in.
You snapped your head around and noticed two tall figures walkin' in, a distinguish smell roaming from them, you stepped back a bit. One of them stood close to the door with his weapon close to his body, ready to shoot if you made a move. Your eyes then settled on the figure who stood in front of you, looking at him from head to toe.
"My eyes are up here sweetheart," He beamed a smile seeing as you were checking him out, "it appears you've requested my presence," he drawls placing both hands on his hips.
Your ears subconsciously peak upwards and your tail stopped swinging, realization hitting you slowly. With lips pressed together, he raises his eyebrows and tilted his head closer to you, "and, to whom may I have the honor?"
You arched your back straight and pushed your chest out, looking at him eye to eye with your tale flicking behind you, "I am not here to waste time," you began, "you have something I want."
"And what could that be?" He asked ears perking upwards.
"Dispose me free and tell your men to leave, I want you right now, alone," You declared.
The man who stood behind him snorted out a laugh after hearing what you'd just said. Not breaking contact with the Colonel you awaited his response to you, his yellow orbs looking at you up and down.
He wasn't sure if you were standing there joking but by the means of your emotionless face, he took it as if you were serious. But if he had to puzzle up your words maybe you weren't exactly meaning that, you didn't come all the way over here to request such a thing...or did you?
Quaritch held his hand up and ordered his men to leave them alone. The man shoot a wink toward the Colonel as he made his way out of the room, the door closed behind him. Quaritch reached down to his belt and pulled out his breathing mask, inhaling before talking to you. "Alright," He began, "you've got me here so you better speak up or else I might get bored."
Walking around the table you slowly made your way up to him, stopping where there was a respectful space between you. His eyes darted down to your eyes as you looked at him, trying your best to look intimidating. "You listen to me carefully, Miles Quaritch" You spoke, trying your best to pronounce his weird last name. "In this instance, you give me back what belongs to me, okay?"
"Sweetheart I am no mind reader," He replied with a smug look on his face, "you have to be clearer with your words here,"
"You think I'm stupid, ey? His smell is all over you, I can sent it."
Quaritch's smirk lowered down as his face changed expression, his mind going directly to Spider. "The kid?" He asked and noticed your ears flicker, revealing to him that it was exactly what you were thinking, "Interesting..."
You growled at him dangerously as the patient was starting to leave your body. Quaritch raised his hand up, "Whoa, hold on there hot stuff," He halted trying to sound civil "no need to go all na'vi in here, alright."
"I don't think I have to repeat myself Miles Quaritch!" You hissed, tail curled back to your spine.
"I understand. Not everybody likes to work overtime, " He lowered his hand and stood tall, "Did Jake Sully send you?"
You didn't say anything and let your eyes speak for your behalf as they narrowed down. "You came alone," Quartich folded his arms together, "that's brave."
You rolled your eyes and inhaled from the breathing mask. Quartich stood there and thought for a second as an idea popped into his head. Now he didn't have the full picture of how you made it to Hell's gate but your reasons were all that he needed as an opportunity for a negotiation settled. To even speak to you in a civil way he had to influence General Admore.
"Let me suggest a proposition," Quaritch began, "I give you the kid in exchange for your knowledge."
Your eyes turned back to him, 'knowledge? What does he mean?' you thought to yourself as you let him continue.
"As you can see, the situation is tough and my team and I need somebody to teach us the Na'vi way, to navigate and understand the mighty being called Eyw-aa. No one here really knows the ins and outs of the forest, trust me the kid has offered a tiny bit of information, but it's not gonna be enough," he said looking at you with big eyes, "and who not to teach us best than a true na'vi. "Do you understand?"
Your temple wrinkled hearing the bad pronunciation as he spoke your language, cringing at how bad it sounded, you proceeded to correct him which happened unintentionally.
A peal of laughter escaped the colonel's lips, as you corrected him, "I believe that we've come to an agreement, so, do we have a deal?" Quaritch reached his hand out to you, wanting to shake hands.
You couldn't believe that you'd even accept such a request, originally you were a teacher teaching young hunters to the path of adulthood, that was your job (teaching Quaritch and his team wouldn't be any different, tho...).
Taking that deal won't be such a bad idea, after all, having a moment to think it through was actually a good idea. You'll both have Spider and an easy exit out from here, it was perfect!
A scoff left your lips as you glared up at the Colonel, "The forest will eat you up before you know. None of you would last a day."
Quaritch smiled, his tail swinging behind him, "Then it's a deal."
To be continued.
Start l Chapter 1 l Chapter 3
Tags: @belos-simp69
#na'vi avatar#avatar 2#avatar miles quaritch#avatar the way of water#avatar james cameron#miles quaritch#recom miles quaritch#miles quaritch x reader#colonel miles quaritch#colonel quaritch#navi quaritch#original character#james cameron#like a tattoo#fanfiction#avatar fanfiction#james cameron avatar#avatar#avatar fanart#atwow#y/n
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lifting him/her out of excitement + first kisses [Gentle Affection Collections]
Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo Satoru X Sorcerer Reader
[Gentle Affection Collections]
Request 29 & 9 [ List is Here ]
—lifting him/her out of excitement & first kisses
Notes & Warning: shouting/screaming, teasing, slight swearing to a higher-up, complaining about job compensations, PDA, teenage years-time skip as sorcerers; Word Count: 1.4k
"I had fun writing this one, so much I wanna drown in this and forget October 31st is fast approaching. Anyways, hope you like this one!" —Grey,
Redemancy
"Has someone ever told you, your lips are so pretty?"
Satoru stood still. It was at that moment that the rustling trees went silent. The sound of your oolong tea can drop the vending machine dulled. It was his heart that pounded crazily, the mental crazy like one.
"Really? You like my lips?" He laughed like usual, but inside his brain was rolling, beating, and groping at the deepest floors of his brain for words to keep him talking. "I like you too!"
Your hands halted from opening the can drink and raised a brow at his strange words. Amused at the pink tone rushing at the tips of his ears.
As if sanity entered his brain, Satoru froze for a second and laughed. A constipated laugh. Stupid Satoru! What the fuck is he talking about?
"I like your lips too! Do you use lip gloss? I use lip balm."
"No, I just bite them like this." You slowly bite your lower lips looking into his eyes through the slit of those dark glasses.
"Oh I see, next time I'll also—" Satoru inhaled a deep breath, shifting on his feet. He tries to tear off his eyes the way your lips look so tender and full against your teeth. It was bothering him so much that he could feel his uniform get so hot despite the chilly autumn winds.
"Also what?" You whispered, stepping forward.
"A-also do that." He stammered and look at your rose-red lips. Why do you have to look so innocent and be such a vixen at the same time? It was as if your smile isn't enough to make him crazy, but that pretty mouth of yours will only make him frustratingly crushing madly into you.
You could only laugh and start walking to your classroom. Ever since that day, complimenting Gojo Satoru became a tradition. It was a one-sentence remark every time you see him turning to banter and turning to long hours in each other's company and turning to weekend work rendezvous.
It's not that he's lacking praise. Good graces he grew up on those words. Flattery, words of gab, to sarcasm masked in flowery words. At this point in his life, he would be a billionaire if he got a yen on every praise he heard.
But yours are different. Perhaps it's the way you see the bags in his eyes, or simply telling him how pretty he is when he smiles. The way you look at him and find the best in his worst.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Gakuganji is a GEZEERRRRRRRRR!"
You screamed on Tokyo Bay with your hearts out and laugh. Satoru, behind you, smirked and slid his hand into the pockets of his pants. There are not much of people in the bay, others have gone home and others are passing by for some fresh night air. Like the two of you.
"You should shout too, it feels great." You turned around and inhaled as if you just didn't holler like a madman.
"If I shout here, the people in Yokohama will hear me." His lips pursed to the other side of the Bay.
"So what? They don't know us anyway. They'll just think we're two drunk crackheads venting on the world for being such an ass." You sighed and pulled him to the edge of the railing. "Now c'mon! Don't tell me Gojo Satoru is shy to shout. I'll show you how it's down."
You confidently cleared your throat and inhaled a long air then cup your hands on the sides of your mouth.
"I DESERVE 13TH AND 14TH MONTH PAY YOU STINGY OLD MENNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"
Satoru held your hand before you could finish your shout.
"I LOVE YOU Y/N!!!"
"W-what?" You almost choked on your saliva.
"I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU SINCE HIGH SCHOOL YOU DENSE DUMMY!" he smirked at your dropping jaws.
"Wait! What are you talking about? Hey!" You pulled back a chuckling Satoru from the railing.
"FOR THE THIRD TIME IN CASE YOU'RE NOT LISTENING I LOVE YOU JUST SO YOU KNOW!!!"
"I already know! Stop that! Satoru!" You gasp. This gotta be one of those pranks he pulls on you from time to time.
"I'm being real here. I do love you, dummy." He faced your befuddled face. You're torn between frowning, laughing, and confusion that you could only contort your face into a strange expression of bewilderment. "Say something."
"W-what do you want me to say?" You stammered.
"I like your hair, I wish I could comb it for you every day until it turns gray and white. Then we'll have the same hair. I like your eyes, the way they smile, and the way they flare in anger. You've never hidden the way you feel. I love running my forefinger on the bridge of your nose, the way your nose scrunched up makes me wanna hug you so tight. The way your cheeks blush, the way your lips smile, the way you pout, the way you cry. The way you run like a cat when you see a cockroach—oww!!
He rubbed the spot you punch.
"What I'm saying is I love you. And I'm serious about this. More serious than lining hours for my purple yam mochi."
"You can't compare me to a Mochi!"
"I love you for seeing the best in me when I'm at the lowest and on the top." This time Satoru sealed it seriously.
"That's just normal," you huffed, turning your heels and walking away.
He wasn't expecting anything. Satoru sighed as he watch you walk away. He doesn't know if he should punch himself or pat himself. Maybe he should've chosen a better place. His arms instinctually opened and a force collided with him. The sweet scent of jasmine filled his senses.
"That was normal. Seeing you in the good and bad days." You whispered. Your arms wrap around his neck and rest your chin on his shoulder. "I'm not blind. Not to you at the very least."
You stand on your toes and cupped Satoru's face. Looking straight into his eyes. You can't stop the pulling smile on your lips. Not when you've dreamed of this time countless nights, wishing he could love you like the way you do.
"I love you too. I was just fine loving you from afar, but stupid me." Your heart ached as you pull his glasses down ad stared into his pretty ocean eyes. "I never thought it would be this comforting to feel you so close, so warm, and knowing you see me too the way I do towards you Satoru."
Tongue-tied. he could only listen. He was really stupid! He should've shouted years ago.
"Satoru! My goodness!" You gasp feeling your feet leave the ground and sensed the gust of wind swirl around you—or this time it was you who went round and round until Satoru pulled you to his chest, laughing at his foolishness all those years and finally getting you. "You're crazy!" You yelped, feeling your legs dangle over the ground, afraid of falling you wrap them around his waist and hang on him like a koala.
"I love you." He breathes.
"I know."
Satoru pouted at your answer.
You cupped his face, leaning forward for a feather-light kiss over his supple lips. It was so soft that it felt just like a sweet cotton candy that melts away in a touch. A greedy lip chased after you before you could withdraw and kissed you passionately, sweetly, adoringly.
"If there were people out here, I'd never do that." You rested your forehead on his and inhaled dear oxygen.
"Doing what? Screaming?" Satoru grinned.
"Kissing." You huffed. Realizing that your legs are still wrapped around his waist, you detangled yourself from Satoru's body, embarrassment finally sinking into you. "Let me down."
"No way~"
"Satoru!"
"You know they say, 'love is a heavy burden'?" Satoru grunted and heaved your ass up his hips. "Well, you are heavy. But let's go back like this 'kay?"
"Let me down! I don't love you anymore."
"And she flushed our 15 minutes relationship down the drain." Satoru dramatically sighed and walk on the pavement of the bay back to the direction of the hotel. "Poor old bachelor like me, getting dumped so heartlessly." The drama queen in him shedding crocodile tears.
"If you have no shame, well I have, get me down, you oaf!"
"I LOVE YOU Y/NNNNNNNHMPPHHHH!" You're so cute like this. Satoru laughed as you covered his mouth with your palms, glaring at him threateningly while your cheeks blushing rose dust.
"Shut up! Ain't working on me."
—GreyCaelum,
PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME
Check out the Masterlist for more
All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned image(s) and song(s) used belongs to their respective owner(s)
General Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gumidreams @tender-rosiey
#[gentle affection collections]#gojo satoru x reader#teenage gojo satoru#teenage reader#gojo satoru fluff#jujutsu kaisen imagines#gojo satoru#jjk fluff#gojo satoru imagines#gojo x reader fluff#gojo satoru x you#gojo x yn#gojo satoru fanfic#jujutsu kaisen#greycaelum#gojo satoru x y/n
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[Part 6 of 6] "Rescue Me": Being the Story of an Angel, a Demon, and the Second Coming (Fan fiction based on Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett)
Part VI: The Truth About Forgiveness
AZ Fell and Co Bookshop, Soho, London -- The Day the World Didn't End
Aziraphale had miracled away all the books and such stacked in the small flat on the second floor of the bookshop before he and Crowley even cleared the bookshop doorway. Since an angel didn't actually need to sleep -- though Aziraphale himself had become familiar with the practice over the millennia and knew Crowley was quite fond of it -- the small living space hadn't been used since Jim -- pardon, Gabriel -- left for parts unknown with Beelzebub, just a little over six months ago. Now, with the space cleared, he tightened his grip on Crowley's forearm and hip, helping his injured love into the room and over to the bed. Crowley groaned in pain as Aziraphale helped him recline on the bed, immediately drawing the angel's attention.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, my love," he murmured, miracling a bowl of clean water and a cloth to the table beside the bed. Lifting the soaked cloth from the bowl, he wrung it out and smoothed the fresh, earthly water over Crowley's injury, washing away the remnants of holy water clinging to his wound and keeping his injury from healing. The whole time, Aziraphale kept up a running murmur of soothing words. "I'm here, Anthony. I love you, and I'm right here."
"A-angel?" Crowley's voice was weak -- weaker than Aziraphale had ever heard it before -- and tore at the angel's heart with the plea in it.
"I'm here, love." He clasped Crowley's flailing hand, bringing it to his lips before pressing it back to Crowley's abdomen with a small pat. "I'm right here."
Crowley's eyes flickered open, the beautiful golden color nearly swamped by midnight slits of his pupils. His hand sought Aziraphale's again, clasping onto his wrist and bringing the captive hand to his face, nuzzling against it as he hoarsely muttered, "Y-you forgave me."
"Hush, my dear," Aziraphale soothed, sliding his hand up to thread through the soft strands of Crowley's red hair. "I was wrong to do that. You, my love, have done nothing in need of forgiving."
"And yours, angel," Crowley nearly purred, arching his neck to get closer to Aziraphale's touch, his voice growing stronger with every pass of the angel's stroking hand, "is the only forgiveness I've ever craved. I'm so sorry I pushed it away. I was foolish, and so afraid..."
Aziraphale leaned in to brush a kiss against Crowley's brow as the demon's voice faded off. "Sleep, now, love. Rest and heal. I will be just downstairs, if you need me."
He started to rise, but Crowley's long fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. Pausing, he looked back down at his demon, to find Crowley's golden eyes fixed on him.
"Stay," Crowley rasped, his voice still hoarse and painful. "Just until I fall asleep?"
Aziraphale's heart clenched, and he regained his seat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to trail his fingers over Crowley's face. "Of course, dear one."
He stayed where he was, lightly stroking Crowley's face and humming a comforting, angelic lullaby, until Crowley's eyes closed and his body relaxed into the grasp of healing sleep. Once he was sure Crowley was asleep, he rose carefully from the edge of the bed and moved quietly about the room, seeing to his demon's comfort before he left, pulling the door carefully shut behind him. Crowley would sleep for a while, now, but he would heal.
Aziraphale smiled to himself as he drew a breath of familiar air, untainted by the machinations that had kept Crowley and himself apart for so long.
"Never again, my sweet Anthony," he murmured to the closed door, then made his way down the winding wrought-iron stairs to the ground floor, where his desk was no doubt overrunning with tasks needing done.
******
Crowley came awake with the sense of having slept long and deeply. How long, and how deeply, he had no idea. After all, he'd once slept an entire century away, simply because he could. His eyes flickered open, and he stared in confusion at the deeply golden-yellow walls and ceiling. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, except that it certainly wasn't his flat in Mayfair.
Slowly, recognition dawned on him. He was in the upstairs flat of the bookshop. Why he was there, he still hadn't quite put his finger on, but he expected it'd come back to him eventually. He recalled having strange dreams, the likes of which he hadn't had since his imbibing of laudanum back in 1827. Drying out in Hell had been beyond terrifying, but the poison-induced trips up until that point had been even worse.
Had he taken laudanum again? Nah. He'd definitely remember if he had, mostly because he swore to himself he never would again.
Puzzling over the fleeting memories of watching Uriel turn to ash in his grip, of snaking his hellfire along that bastard Metatron's body, of Michael's scream that felt so real but had to be just a dream, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He stared down at his feet in confusion, then over at the boots he was no longer wearing, sitting neatly on the floor beside the bed. He couldn't remember taking them off.
Shaking his head, he moved to rise, and stumbled, falling back to the edge of the bed as dull pain sliced through his right side. Glancing down, he realized he was trussed up in bandages -- ones that had been expertly applied, as if by a healer's hand...
"Angel," the word sighed from him, and he shook his head, easing more carefully from the bed and padding across the floor toward the door. He snagged the white shirt -- several sizes larger than his sparse frame and completely the wrong color for him -- hung carefully over the back of an old-fashioned rocking chair in the corner and donned it. Then, with a grimace of distaste, he snapped his fingers, the material turning instantly black and shrinking as close to his body as he dared with the bandaging.
Much better.
He still had to figure out what happened. Only trickles and flashes of it came to him as he wound his way down the circular wrought-iron staircase to the ground floor. Somewhere in amidst these books, his angel was no doubt buried in a book.
Sure enough, as he cleared the nearest row of shelves -- surreptitiously rearranging a few of the books as he went, just because his angel's reaction to books out of place always amused him -- he found Aziraphale seated at his desk beneath the eastern window, his attention on a stack of loose papers scattered about him as he made notes on the pages. A slow smirk crept over Crowley's face, and he propped himself against one of the nearby pillars, legs crossed at the ankles, and just watched for long moments.
"You should be resting." Aziraphale's voice pierced the quiet, though he spoke softly and never looked up from his task. "Your injury is still mending."
"What the Heaven happened, angel?"
Aziraphale slowly put down his pen and turned toward Crowley, looking at him over the top of his reading spectacles. The concern on his angel's face dug around under Crowley's breastbone. He didn't like the feeling of worrying his angel. "You really don't recall?"
Crowley made his way across the space between them, easing himself to sit on the arm of Aziraphale's chair, soaking in the warmth of his angel's body against his side and hip. "I had what I thought were hallucinations. Guessing they weren't. Fighting in Heaven?"
"Most assuredly not hallucinations," Aziraphale agreed, turning himself slightly and lifting one hand to rest it on Crowley's knee. The demon practically purred. How long had he been craving these simple touches? Too bloody long. He intended to soak them up for as long as he possibly could.
"So I did hear God talking to you?"
His angel stirred uneasily, a light flush crawling up his neck. "Might have done."
"And you telling Her where She could stick any attempt to stop you from healing me? Did I imagine that?"
He delighted in watching his angel flush to the roots of his pale blond hair, even as Aziraphale glanced away. "Ah, yes, well..."
"Angel," he dropped the pretense and all kidding, now that he knew without a doubt he hadn't dreamt a moment of what happened. He skimmed his fingers along one flush cheek, urging Aziraphale to look up at him. "I can't even begin to thank you. For all of it."
"No need to thank me at all, dear one," Aziraphale murmured gently, meeting his unshaded gaze in the way no other being in all of existence had ever done -- head-on and unafraid. "None whatsoever."
Sensing Aziraphale still needed time to come to grips with what he'd done in Heaven, Crowley stroked his cheek one last time, then moved his hand to cover his angel's where it still rested on his knee and glanced around the bookshop. "Seems the shop weathered everything okay. Everyone all right?"
"Far as I can tell," Aziraphale noted with a smile. "Not certain Sergeant Shadwell will ever be the same, this time around. From what I've been told, his mind might have snapped. Still, only time will tell."
"How sad," Crowley deadpanned.
"Crowley," Aziraphale admonished. "Behave yourself."
"I'm a demon, angel," he pressed a swift kiss to the top of Aziraphale's head and eased back to his feet. "I don't know how."
"I don't believe you."
Crowley flashed him a wicked grin and tossed him back his own words from six months before. "Wait and see."
With a glance out at the street -- wonder of wonders, the Bentley appeared unscathed, as well, though there was a three-wheeled car on its roof a short distance away, looking like a dead, light blue turtle -- Crowley sauntered toward the front door to peek outside at the street corner. Nothing much looked destroyed, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the inky smears decorating the alleyway across from the shop, on the corner of the café, were. Looked a lot like something that had once been demonic. He still had a stain very like that -- named Ligur -- in the carpet of his flat.
As he moved to step away from the door, a folded slip of paper in the mail slot caught his eye. Freeing it, he unfolded the page and scanned its contents. "Hey, angel?"
"Hmm?"
"You're not planning to go back to Heaven any time soon, are you?"
"Never," Aziraphale called, his voice tinged with gentle humor. "I thought you heard my conversation with the Almighty."
"So who's running things up there, then?"
"Saraqael, technically. Level-headed, and I daresay they learned a thing or two, in recent days. Muriel, too -- they're going to be a regular envoy between Earth and Heaven, in case they need my help. I think Heaven's in good hands, at last."
Crowley suppressed the clutch of relief in his chest just to hear Aziraphale wasn't leaving again. He sauntered back over to sprawl carelessly -- albeit with a flinch as his wounded side protested -- on the settee. He didn't ask about Hell. He couldn't care less what went on down there, so long as they stayed away from him and his angel. Not like Aziraphale was likely to know much about Hell, anyway. He watched his angel silently for a long moment, just soaking in the peace, before he ventured another question.
"How long was I asleep?"
Aziraphale peered over the edge of his reading spectacles at him. "Not nearly long enough. About a week." The angel's gaze focused on the paper Crowley held, next. "What do you have there?"
"Found it in the mail slot. Maggie has terrible spelling." A smirk played at his lips and he waggled his eyebrows playfully at his angel. "The company you keep, angel."
Aziraphale ignored him. "Oh? What's the matter, now?"
"She and Nina have invited us, along with the others, to a 'Not the End of the World' party. Can't imagine whose idea that was." Crowley levered himself off the settee and crossed the space between them, to drop the note onto the pile of papers already littering the angel's desk. He flicked his gaze over them, and tsk-ed lightly. "Agnes Nutter? Don't tell me you're still set on playing with fire, angel."
"Not a bit," Aziraphale tensed slightly. "I was merely curious if these predictions ended up as true as before."
"And?" Crowley swung around to settle himself against the edge of Aziraphale's desk, facing his angel.
"That woman must have been touched by the Almighty, Herself. Speaking of... I assume it wasn't lost on you, what She said about you... about us."
Crowley dropped forward, planting his hands on either arm of the chair, trapping his angel in as he leaned further in, until their foreheads touched as he slowly enunciated, "Not. A. Word."
And, with that, he closed the final distance, until their lips met in the slow, sweet kiss he'd waited an eternity to know. For the first time since he fell, Crowley felt truly redeemed.
THE END
NOTE FROM ESTHER:
Thank you all for taking the time to read my fanfic! I appreciate it. Looking forward to a Season 3, and seeing just how far off I was, with this. (won't change anything... I loved every minute of writing this!)
Thank you to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett both for giving us all something capable of inspiring so much!
For anyone who found this at random and isn't already part of the GOfandom, and wants to know more, you can head on over to Amazon.com and search "Good Omens" to find the book (in several different formats -- my favorite at the moment is the full-cast reading of the book. Best of both worlds! :)...) and the Amazon Original series for Good Omens.
#good omens 3#good omens fandom#azicrow#aziraphale#ineffable spouses#go2#aziraphale x crowley#aziracrow#good omens s2#ineffable husbands#crowley#ace romance fanfic
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The ship shook violently, as I suddenly became aware of the searing pain across my chest, a headache soon filled my mind as it went into overdrive and then. Calm. As I always did, I checked my body. Nothing broken, just a couple of ribs. Blood streamed down my ears, as I quickly figured what happened.
We'd been hit, a laser striking the side of the vessel causing it to crash... The sound of wind whistling its way down the halls, we had 32 crew. 9 humans including myself in that 32...
A hand reached for a needle, with pins coursing through her body as it began to freeze up. Pushing past the function, she stabbed herself with the EpiPen.
Blood flushed through her system, as everything ran into overdrive. Heart pounding, she forced herself to slow down as she staggered her way down the hall. Gripping her diaphragm as she leaned into a door with her bag of drugs.
Sam lay on the bed, frozen as he processed what just happened. Then pain in his leg, as a bag was thrown into him.
"oi. Dick sucker, go wake up the others. I'm gonna. Fucking. I'm gonna go close the fucking hole." He barely managed to mumble his thanks as she walked out.
BZZT. BZZZT. BZZT.
Her sister called her stupid. Bringing a bag of EpiPens, a small fusion reactor and some bits and bobs of tech. Wearing a face mask, she fused the metal together, every so often swearing as she walked up and down covering the holes with spare doors, plates, panels. Anything that wouldn't let out oxygen when they got off the ground. Which would probably take weeks, then something caught her ear.
Something coughed, tall and lanky with a dark deer complexion, the engineer of the ship swore as he dragged himself towards the engine room.
"Uhh. What?"
"engine. Explode. Gotta. Off."
The man thing lost his strength, legs probably broken I shrugged and opened the door.
I dragged the deer man into the med bay, dragging the delirious doctor with me as I threw him into a pod. Bacta tanks, suspend the person and healing liquid helps relax the body speeding up healing. Shoving a strawberry into his mouth, the girl woke up. Spitting the strawberry like a pepper, because that's what it was in her biology.
"GAH. WHAT?" She turned to look at me, as I burped.
"I'm going into a tank. You need to turn it on before the adrenaline wears off. Ok?" I helped myself into the tank, as everything went dark.
The shadow realm. A place of darkness and evil, a well of black magic. Figures move around me as I stand over Tartarus. The deepest part of the pit, linked up to here and comes to what can only be described as a pit of tar. Tying my hair back, slitting my wrists I dive down.
"MOTHER FUCKER." I shouted in reflex, spitting out phlegm as the captain looks at me.
"... What?"
"we crashed."
"I mean. Yeah."
"but we're not dead."
"That can happen."
"... And our communicators are out."
The orc like woman took a seat. Probably having a breakdown. The slime nurse woman looked at me.
"she's uh. Been doing that for a while now."
"how many people injured right now?"
"like lethal? Uhhh. 1, but they're. Well."
He closed the tube, turning the machine on.
BOOM
I flinched, reaching for my knife as he paused.
"oh right. We need the engine for power but we. Uh. Couldn't do it without breaking it, so..."
"... I get it. But damn."
I turned to the captain, her head in hands as she appeared to be breaking down.
"so. I'm just gonna..."
I reached forward, taking her card.
I wandered the ship, soon finding a group appearing unsure what to do.
"Good morning."
"... Ah. Human Eleanor..."
He trailed off, the goblin like alien losing his train of thought as I looked around.
"Alright. Fuck this. Warg. Hey. WARG."
The goblin snapped to attention.
"yes?"
"Can you clean up the halls?"
"i- the ship."
"WARG. Stop thinking, clean the halls. We can't have more accidents, so make sure we can walk through the halls without getting hurt."
The goblin hesitated, pausing as he nodded.
"clean the halls."
"RI-RI HEY. YO. YOU AWAKE?"
I jostled the chef awake, the squid cousin to Dina the doctor snapping awake.
"uh- what?"
"how much food we got?"
"I- err."
"how long can we last with the food and water we have?"
"umm. Eight months? But-"
"ok. And if we ration it?"
"... Half a year?"
"great. Can you preserve what we have, make it last longer and organise the kitchen?"
"but-"
"Stop thinking about it, your job now is preserve and organise ok?"
I met Sam and John, the pair arguing as they always did.
"OI. DICK SUCKERS. GET OUT THE SHIP, RUN ANALYSIS AND FORM A PERIMETER AROUND US. BUILD A CAMPSITE!"
The gays looked at me, each other before shrugging and moving off.
It took three hours, three hours of organising and sending people to do things, at some point I'd handed out radios for people to call where they where, who they were and whatever they wanted to say. Most of the aliens were in a daze, with the other seven humans either trying to figure something out or arguing on what to do.
"Anthony. Find Wargo and figure out how to fix this ship. Liam, quit your bitching and go make a farm or something. Pashi, go with Tina and get everyone in the right headspace. Here's a radio, get them into the cafeteria. Saw, go out and help John and Sam. Onion, come with me to the cafeteria."
The others broke off, as the captain began gaining her senses.
"the ship-
"Shut up. We're going to the cafeteria."
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SEVEN DEVILS - Jack Harlow (I)
Context: “See, I was dead when I woke up this morning. I'll be dead before the day is done.”
Genre: Fantasy Series
Word Count: 2.1k
Pairings: Priest!Jack Harlow X Witch!Fem!Reader
Warnings: n/a
A/N: Hello everyone! Some of you may or may not know but fantasy is one of my favorite genres to write. I've written so many unshared pieces, many untold stories about fantasy stories of many things. So when I got this idea, I decided I wanted to act on it immediately.
With that said, this story is based around witchcraft. I want to fully disclose that details in this story do not represent the art of the craft and are simply creations from my own mind. The title represents the name of the song I got inspiration from, which is Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine. Please do not take the title as an association with witchcraft because that isn't what it is.
This is a part of a series. Click here for Part 2!
Masterlist ☽☾
☽ ☾
The moonlight casted a ring of spotlight into the forest, trees standing tall, blocking out intruders. Claps and cheers bounced amongst the bark, long skirts and flowing shirts spinning. The fire burned loud, the crackling adding to the music.
You stood amongst your sisters, cheering for the full moon, a Supermoon! A moon manifested and full of energy and life, given by the Moon Goddess. You’d always found the sight so beautiful, standing outside the cheers, paying close attention to the moon and the movements in the trees.
The hold the distraction had on you didn’t allow you to notice your actual sister step beside you, hair blowing in the wind, black as onyx, long like Rapunzel.
“You know, if someone were to try and murder you, they’d be successful.” She spoke, forcing you to jump, not noticing her rapid appearance.
“Don’t scare me like that!”
“Don’t be so naive.”
“You have some nerve.”
“I know, I got it from you.”
The two of you looked at one another before bursting into giggles.
You and your little sister shared a bond like no other. When your Priest of a father died, you lost the protection he placed the two of you under as the children of a witch.
How ironic. A witch and a priest. Married. And had children.
Who would have thought?
Your mother had taught you her ways in silence, many days in the basement your father had installed a hidden door for. Spells, herbs, crystals, charms. Everything a witch could desire.
She taught you how to craft your own grimoire, and make wands out of sticks.
“Wands are a good way to control your energy. When you’re older, you’ll be able to cast spells with the flick of your fingers.”
She taught you how to dress, how to make clothes with slits for pockets, for crystals and trinkets. And how to hide daggers in your boots for protection.
She also made you necklaces, that would dazzle in moonlight, charged with energy for protection.
She taught you how to manipulate your own energy, and eventually others, you and your sister making your father cook your favorite meal instead of the chili he always cooked on Sundays.
By day, you were children of the Lord.
But by night you were witches of the Moon.
That was, until your mother passed.
You hadn’t known what had come over her, though you were sure she was either hexed or poisoned, she fell ill. And within 11 days, she had passed.
It happened so fast, too sudden, too soon.
The funeral wasn’t up to par, as the town had always been suspicious of your family. Sometimes you’d find people spitting on her grave, to which you made sure to make their lives a living hell, adding small amounts of spices to the Pie-In-A-Jar your family was known for to cause chaos in their lives.
Sometimes you lost customers.
Sometimes you didn’t.
It was worth it.
Your family didn’t deserve that.
She didn’t deserve that.
☽ ☾
You watched as your father’s light dulled until it was almost out, your father’s candle on the fireplace dim, beside the two of yours; your mother's stopped short.
It went from spending a night or two at the Church to not coming home at all, the only time seeing him being on days when you went to church, which had also been cut short, since he hadn’t been home to force you to every session.
He made sure you were taken care of however, baskets of food sent to your home every day, jars of jam, and homemade honey from the neighbor down the way.
It wasn’t until one day when the clouds took over, and the rain never stopped it’s harsh downpour, that you found that your father had died.
The people of the church said he had slipped and fallen in a hole, broke his skull.
You didn’t believe a damn word.
Even when he was buried next to your mother, you didn’t believe anything.
And everything went back to normal within the weeks after. No real change.
Expect for the fact that your mother’s grave was no longer spat on.
Even in death, your father protected her. However, he couldn’t protect the two of you.
The food still came. And your neighbor always made the effort to stop by, helping the two of you out when needed.
You were thankful for Mrs. Margaret.
She was the only good thing the two of you had left.
☽ ☾
You were brought back to the moments in front of you by the sound of movement in the trees, the cheers and music coming to a silent chill, you could almost hear a pin drop. Slowly, you moved from your position, looking at the other sister of your coven as well as your actual sister, fear in her eyes.
You eyed the two necklaces your mother had given you, noticing the obvious change in color, the glass now onyx.
“Everyone flee. Now.”
Your coven sisters looked at you, and with a silent nod of their head, they took for the trees, most of them clumping in groups to make it safely home.
You looked at your sister, her feet rooted in the ground like a tree.
“Diana….”
“Sister…”
“Go with Mary and her sisters. I’ll come for you in the morning.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’re not. You’re letting me handle my own.”
“But-“
You turned to her and took her face in your palms, kissing her warm, flushed cheeks.
“You’ll see me in the morning.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
The two of you knitted your hands together in a symbol, watching as light gleamed between the flesh. Looking at you once more, she disappeared, catching up with Mary in no time.
You stood there in silence, whipping your head around to find the source of the movement you heard before.
Swiftly, you moved to the fire, putting it out with a zap of your fingers. Color began to spark between the digits, strong gleams of purple bouncing between your palms.
“Whoever's there, I suggest you make an entrance now.” You spoke loud and clear, voice echoing amongst the trees, the wind beginning to pick up.
Slowly, a figure emerged from the trees, a shadow almost, stepping into the light of the moon.
He was tall, the moon casting a shadow onto his back, projecting his image before your eyes. Curls of warm blonde and light orange topped his head, his face shaven to perfection, silhouette dressed in a long trench coat, perfect for the mild, chilly weather.
Every step he took towards you, you took two steps back, the wind rustling louder and louder, trees whipping and whispering.
“I’d advise you not to step any closer.” You spoke loud, feeling your eyes beginning to shimmer. You didn’t know if he could tell from this distance, but from what you were projecting, he would have to feel intimidated.
“I mean no harm. There’s no need to raise defenses.”
“You were snooping around my friends and sister in the woods. That screams harm.”
"Just trying to learn my way around here."
“In the dark? Very questionable.”
“Could say the same about you.”
“… I’m not going to go back and forth with you.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to trust my word. I mean no harm.” You could feel the electricity in your fingers flicker, thoughts ping-ponging in your head.
Something told you to stand down, to let it go.
So you did.
The color slowly faded from your palms as you withdrew from your magic, the electricity in the air flattering.
You stepped closer to the man, looking up at his face, taking in every beautiful detail.
The pink blush of his lips, to the crisp blue of his eyes. The flush on his face he had from the chill in the air, his hair tussled from the wind blowing.
He was stunning.
But something about him was off.
And you couldn’t pick up on it.
You could feel your heart pounding as you ran your fingers over his face, which he melted into. Slowly you moved your hand until you had a firm press of your thumb on his forehead, your eyes sparking in purple. You watched as your eye color matched his, a mantra falling from your lips.
“You will not remember what you saw.”
“I will not remember what I saw.”
“Only our conversation.”
“Only our conversation.”
“And ask no questions.”
“And will ask no questions.”
“About the gathering in the woods.”
“About the gathering in the woods.”
You withdrew your fingers as the light retracted from both your eyes, the man’s body giving a shiver.
“Where…. Where did our conversation leave off? I’m sorry. I think I zoned out.”
“It’s okay! I was telling you why I was in the woods.”
“Oh, yeah. which was for?”
“The moon. Isn’t she pretty?” You pointed to the sky, the moon gleaming strongly in the light. You basked in its energy, allowing it to soak into your skin.
“It’s… uh, she? She’s very pretty.” You turned to look at him, catching him staring directly at you. You smiled and returned your glance to the moon.
“My mom always believed the moon to be a she. When my sister and I were children, she told us the story of how the Sun and Moon separated. She said…”
“The Sun and the Moon ruled the skies together, as they were one with one another. They loved one another.
However, soon, creatures of the day would fight creatures of the night, so the two would have to separate.
The Moon, however, couldn’t stand to not see the Sun for that long, so every 30th day, the Sun would cast on the Moon, to light up the sky, for all to see in her full glory. And sometimes they would unite as one, to spend a few moments together before returning to the cycle of day and night.”
“It was my mother’s tradition to come out and watch the Moon every night on her 30th Day.” You spoke softly, looking at the ground.
Suddenly, you felt smooth fingertips on your chin, and your head was moved up slowly.
“Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She was.” You smiled, to which the handsome stranger returned.
“Oh! I never introduced myself. I can be an ass sometimes,” You giggled at his derogatory term, catching his glance. “I’m Jack.”
“I’m Y/N.”
“Y/N…. What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman..” He spoke as he kissed your fingertips that were now resting in his hand, his palms warm.
It was then that you noticed how chilly it actually was, goosebumps spreading across your skin.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.” Swiftly, Jack graced you with his long Jacket, the fabric warm, falling close to your feet.
“You don’t have to Jack...”
“It’s my pleasure,” He winked before popping the next question.
“Can I walk you home? It’s getting late, and I wouldn’t want a woman like you walking home in the dark forest.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You raised your eyebrow at his statement, folding your arms over your chest.
“Nothing! Well, I don’t doubt you're a strong woman. Could probably kick some real ass out here. I just, I wouldn’t like to see you walking home alone. Okay?”
“Okay.” You spoke before taking your fingers in his, slightly pulling him in the direction of your home.
The two of you walked for what felt like a long time, fingers still intertwined. You hadn’t expected that much of a stranger, let alone being this close to him. But for some reason, you felt comfortable with Jack.
You felt safe.
“This is it.” You stopped outside your mid-size home, a garden attached to the side.
“Can I offer you some tea? To return the favor.”
“No, I'm alright.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind, I-“
“It’s okay Y/N. I’ll see you around okay? Have a goodnight.” And he walked off, heading towards the small town you called your home.
“Goodnight.”
-
Tags ♡︎
@heavyhitterheaux
@vegan4jack
@velvetstreets
@harlowsbby
@harlowcomehome
@raelorns21
@harlowthot
@hoodharlow
@lcandothisallday
@pianoisland
@inluvwithladybug
@softtcurse
#jack harlow#jack harlow x reader#jack harlow imagine#jack harlow fan fic#jack harlow fanfiction#jack harlow fic#jack harlow blurb#jack harlow fantasy#jack harlow x y/n#jack harlow x you
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in the dark
wc: 5267
au: firewatch au
ch: xavier, benji
His sister is in the trees.
Xavier can see her. But not reach her. He keeps running, thin branches whipping across his face and arms, little cuts welling black beads of blood. His breath puffs in front of him, as if it’s winter but it’s not. It’s spring—it’s the cusp of Summer. He’s barefoot, and the rocks cut his feet. This isn’t real, it can’t be real, none of it makes sense. But his sister is in the trees. He thinks.
“Tess!” He yells, stumbling through wet underbrush. His bare soles slide across leaves and dirt, the blood making it even more slick and sticky. His chest burns, his veins throbbing. It’s the beginning of night, when the sun parts the trees and makes it look like a forest fire. Everything smells like rot. Everything decays around him.
And Tess smiles between the trees. Every glance of her she smiles wider, until there’s blood round the corners of her lips, splitting skin, too many teeth. She smiles and her eyes crinkle with it, until they’re just slits in a pale, freckled face. Black and angry. Her arms are too long, her hands spider like as they wrap around tree trunks she hides behind. There’s divots from her nails. Xavier screams her name again, trying to reach her. But he never does.
He’s not even sure it’s her. How could it be?
Tess would never leave him alone in the dark.
—
Xavier wakes with a gasp. It’s so violent that he’s already sitting, legs swinging from the bed, hands to his face. He breathes heavily, heaving shoulders and pained sides. Sweat soaks his red hair and flattens it to his skull. It pools at his lower back, under his arms, along his collarbone. Xavier pats around himself, as if searching for an injury. As if the dream could have hurt him. Memories of his sisters ever yawning smile, torn skin, multiplying teeth make him nauseas enough that he quickly leans over to put his head between his knees.
A beat passes, where he stays just like that. Wind chimes that the last firewatch put up ring pleasantly, mingle with morning bird song outside the cracked window.
“Nasty,” Xavier whispers to himself, hands cradling the back of his neck. The unrest in his stomach calms enough that he unfolds and flops backward onto the mediocre twin mattresses. “Should I call Tess?”
Talking to yourself is one of the first symptoms someone isn’t of sound mind—that’s what he’d been taught in his safety training. But Xavier’s only been at his cottage, underneath his lookout tower for a few days. He’d arrived at the beginning of the week and spent an entire day unpacking—another day just trying to set up all the equipment they’d sent him with. The last firewatch—the man who’d put up those adorable little chimes—had taken his own wood axe to the radio.
Xavier wonders if he’d started talking to himself three days into isolation too.
Routine is a balm against an unwell mind. Something else he’d been taught; not that he agreed with or even liked the phrasing. Unwell mind. It makes him snort as he pulls himself from the bed, pads around the cottage to dress himself and start the meager coffee machine they’d supplied. He wasn’t even really a coffee drinker, but along with slightly offensive idioms about keeping yourself well, he’d been told he would walk away from this job with a new caffeine addiction.
Tess was in the back of his head saying, better than your last addiction. Which was fair. If not doing nothing to make Xavier feel less insane.
It was the dreams.
Xavier’s only been at his post for four days now, and all four days, he’s had those fucking dreams. Not just of Tess, but something in the woods. Something in the woods. Some. One? Not an object, but a manifestation of—a creature or—someone. Haunting the leafy sage atmosphere like a ghost.
“Or a monster,” Xavier quips to himself as he pours black coffee into a mug. He decides to dump at least three spoonfuls of sugar into it and then he makes the same breakfast he’s made the last few days. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich on bread he’d let thaw from the storage the first night he’d arrived.
Routine, unfortunately, was what he was going to have to build. So he did.
Xavier finishes the sandwich. Then he stretches, full body, until he’s limber and loose. Then he lays on the ground and does fifty crunches. He rolls over onto his stomach and then does fifty push ups. He alternates planking on his hands and then on his elbows for sixty second intervals. He hops up to do fifty five pull ups from the bar he’d brought with him and stuck in the closet door frame—just because pull ups were his favorite. He washes the plate and the knife he’d used for his breakfast.
Xavier stands in the middle of the cottage and finally realizes that he has to go outside.
—
The dreams had made him scared of the woods. But once he was in it, that fear melted away.
He shrugs his pack up onto his shoulder as it slips down once more. He parts branches gently with his hands, careful not to disturb the nature too much. He fishes a map from his pocket, even though he’s already memorized it. Something about putting his finger to the little blue line makes him feel good. He glances behind him at the little blue cottage as it becomes smaller and smaller. The lookout tower that it’s directly beneath however, never gets smaller. If anything, it becomes more and more imposing the farther Xavier gets from it—being able to see it, knowing he’ll be sitting in that tower, staring at all this forest.
He continues on.
“Bug spray,” he says aloud, to remind himself. He swats at a fat mosquito that makes an audible thwapping sound against his open palm. “Lymes disease,” he ponders idly as a reminder to thoroughly check for ticks once he’s back at the cottage.
Xavier’s father had laughed when he’d talked about his posting. You’re a fisherman in a forest, he’d said in his loud, raspy baritone. Technically, no one in his family had been a fishermen since his great grandfather, but James Wolffe still clung to some sort of pride about all that. Sailed in the summer time, had taught Xavier all he knew about the water. He wasn’t drawn to the forest, landlocked as he is now. It’s just—well, it was good money. It was good money, if you could stand the loneliness. And Xavier needed the money.
He needed…he needed to pay Tess back.
The woods thin. The ground beneath him gets rocky, the soil harder. Xavier’s breath catches as he finds the river.
Trees line either side of it, but it’s a sizable stretch of water that breaks apart the land. An old, rotting trunk is half fallen, nearly a bridge on either side. A large slate of rock sits at the edge, as if it was created for someone to wander onto and rest. The water bubbles happily, currents helped along by churning miniature falls. He lets his head fall back on his shoulders, inhaling the smell deeply, arms akimbo for a moment as he soaks it in.
It’s doesn’t look deep, but Xavier knows water can be deceptive. Still, he tosses his pack onto the shelf of rock and begins to strip. He’d worn trunks underneath, a short blue thing that he didn’t really care too much about. The sun warms his skin instantly, along his shoulders and arms and bare chest. He won’t be out long enough for sunscreen, at least he hopes not because he doesn’t pause to slather any on. Like he can’t help himself, he crashes into the water.
Then he falls back into it with a slap as his back meets the river. And then, Xavier floats contently.
“Is it considered swimming, if you’re just floating?”
No one answers him. Xavier stares at the blue sky above him, crisp in its morning glory. Lazy clouds slide by, hiding him from sunlight every once in a while. His eyes dilate and contrast each and every time until he decides to close them. The water laps at his ears; occasionally it’s all birds and forest and then it’s his muffled heartbeat. Back and forth, back and forth. His limbs go limp and weightless and the only thing keeping Xavier above water is that innate ability to float he’d learned as a child—that all the Wolffe’s had learned as children, growing up in Massachusetts.
Oh, stop. You can’t be scared of sharks in a swimming pool, Xavier.
He smiles at the childhood fear, but he doesn’t know why it comes to him at that moment. Tess pulls him along into the deep end of the community pool, where the teenagers swim. And Xavier cries, because every time he closes his eyes, he sees Bruce from Jaws.
Sharks can’t breathe in chlorine. Only saltwater.
“Bull sharks can live in freshwater,” Xavier mumbles to himself, nearly asleep underneath the clouds and sun. Just like his little river. The thought makes a childish spike of fear hurt his heart, makes his eyes snap open, his hands dipping into the water to touch the smooth stones below him. Too shallow for a shark, surely. A stupid line of thinking, anyway—there were no bull sharks in this God damn river. Why was he trying to scare himself? Xavier swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Tess’ hand drags him further and further into the deep end of the pool, her girlfriend laughing high pitched, their friends buzzed from the weed he’d caught them smoking just outside the fence.
No, Tess, don’t make me, I’m scared—
“Fucking idiot.” He can’t help indulging the child in his heart by sitting up in the river—he turns to kneeling, the water rippling at his chest. He glances toward the small falls, where a shark surely can’t survive, and then down further along the river bed where it opens even wider into faster churning current. His heart beats against the side of his throat, his breathing fast. Xavier runs an oddly shaky hand through his hair, wetting it further.
“Fucking idiot,” something whispers in his ear, close enough that he can feel their breath, making a scream rip from his throat. Xavier whirls to catch whoever is behind him, scrambling along the cool river stones, splashing—that attracts sharks—and yelping loudly, terror making him cold and useless.
There’s no one there. Just the burbling sound of the river. The birds in the trees. His eyes scan, panicked. They hop everywhere and all it is is fucking green. He shoots to his feet, stumbling, wicking water from his face aggressively.
“Alright?”
“Jesus!” Xavier screams again and this time, his clambering results in him falling backward into the water. He screams more because of it, briefly dunking his head under the river water (hearing his heartbeat louder and louder) before he pops up again. Xavier jerks himself to stand once more and looks at the stranger, on the rock, directly beside his pack.
His first thought is that his knife is in that pack and not on him, so if this stranger wants to kill him, it’ll be a fist fight. His second thought is that if someone’s going to kill him, at least they are very good looking.
“Shouldn’t swim in the river,” the man calls. His voice is a clear ring across the river, sort of like the wind chimes if the chimes were British and sounded like they hadn’t slept in a few days. He has his hands in jacket pockets, denim shorts messily shorn to the thighs, little white strings hanging off here and there. A hole cuts across the thigh as if he’d made a decision to cut there first and then changed his mind. Xavier tries not to stare, but his maybe-killer has a fucking set of legs on him, muscular and defined and hairy. They end in heavy black combat boots that are lazily laced.
He stands with the sun to his back, putting him in shadows, but not enough to obscure him entirely. From what Xavier can see, he’s got facial hair and a handsome curving nose and eyes that match his sleepy tone.
Xavier also realizes then that he hasn’t said anything at all.
“Hi,” he decides on and then cringes at the stupidity of it all. “Uh, no—I’m the firewatch.”
“Makes two of us.”
“What?” Xavier starts, hands brushing back through his wet hair so it’ll stop clinging to his face. The man stares at him so directly, Xavier feels momentarily pinned in the water. His eyes are black, and narrowed and aimed slightly lower than eye level. Xavier’s very suddenly aware he’s in nothing but these stupid blue swim trunks. He makes for the bank of the river, his movements sluggish, his embarrassment making his cheeks a similar color to his hair.
“M’in the third tower. C Tower. You replacing Gresham?”
“You knew him?” Xavier asks with a quick glance up. He steps and then pain suddenly lances up his leg. Xavier gasps, stumbles back, lifting his foot. Dark red blooms in the water, immediate and thick, like spilled wine. “Oh fuck?” He says it like a question, staring at his foot as he lifts it further and blood wells at his heel, where something translucent is half in his flesh.
“Huh.”
“Fuckin’ hell.”
The other firewatch makes for him then. It’s awkward—his dark brown hand cupping underneath Xavier’s calf, arm wrapping around his waist immediately. Xavier feels light headed and not because of the dull pain in his foot or the sudden injury. He knocks the beanie from the strangers head with a too-long arm and black curls lift in the wind, touching his cheek and his chin. Xavier blinks, his skin warming in a way that also has nothing to do with the injury or the earlier humiliation.
“Oops,” Xavier says mindlessly as he’s lowered to the rock by strong, helpful hands. His own shake, the sudden adrenaline of surprise making him twitchy even though it’s not yet started to actually hurt. “Wow. That is—Wow, that’s bad luck. Is that glass? I thought—this park—people aren’t allowed out here.”
“’Course people come out here. Can’t keep people from doin’ what they want. Hold still.”
Xavier watches deft fingers take hold of the glass and yank without any preamble. More blood blooms, dripping onto the rock and making tiny splattered patterns. Fire ignites from his foot up his leg, but he watches in dull amazement as one of his socks is snatched up from the rest of his clothes and quickly tied around his heel. It gets yanked tight enough to put pressure on the little injury.
And then the man steps back and stares at him.
Behind him, his beanie floats down the river and disappears.
“You said you knew Gresham?” Xavier prompts.
“No I didn’t.”
“Well, you said I was replacing him, which means you knew he was in the B tower.”
“Knew that, didn’t know ‘im.’
Xavier attempts to stand and a firm hand pushes him back down. A brief flare of anger makes his face rearrange into a snarl, but the stranger is nonplussed and certainly not intimidated. His hands have returned to the pockets of his jacket and he stands there, taller than Xavier only because he’s standing. He’s toward the sun this time, and his dark brown skin is a golden sort of pretty under it. His eyes are lighter because of it. Xavier’s snarl disappears, replaced with wariness.
“Thank you,” he says slowly, a glance to his now moderately bandaged foot with his own sick.
“Needs a stitch,” the stranger replies gruffly. His eyes stay on Xavier’s chest, as if he’s unwilling to meet eyes.
“Okay.”
There’s nothing but silence then, except for the sounds of the woods. Creaking branches, birds and the wind. The river that stole the mans hat and cut Xavier’s foot bubbling behind them. Xavier feels the sun on his shoulders and the back of his neck and regrets not putting on sunscreen. He stays there on the rock, wondering if he tried to rise again if he’d just be met with that flat, annoyed palm.
The curly haired man grunts, scratches a hand back through that wild untamed mane, glances left and right and then gestures with annoyance. The silence has either unnerved him or frustrated him; Xavier can’t tell because his expression hasn’t changed from it’s pinched and tired slant.
“Benji,” he says. Xavier blinks, for a second not understanding, before it clicks into place that’s his name. Oh, Xavier thinks, slowly starting to smile. That’s a cute name. It feels suiting, but he can’t place why. Benji clears his throat and points to Xavier’s foot. “Can help with that. C Tower is closer.”
“I didn’t realize there was anyone in that tower,” Xavier says as he reaches for his pack. He tugs out a shirt. “I’m Xavier, by the way.” Once its on, sticking in places where his skin is still mostly wet, Benji finally seems to look at him fully. His eyes do a quick, assessing circle—Xavier can’t help but wonder if it’s simply clinical or more. If he’d maybe like it to be a more sort of look. He runs knuckles over his jaw, tilting his head as he stares in turn. That makes Benji look down and away.
“C’mon. Should clean that cut ‘fore it gets infected. Fuck knows whats in the river. Fish shit.”
“Fish shit?” Xavier barks as he starts to stand. Benji is beside him, a hand taking his arm to loop over his shoulders. He reaches for Xavier’s pack, easily swinging it up and carrying the load like it’s not stuffed full.
“Where else fish shittin’ but in the water, mate?”
“There’s perch in this water,” Xavier comments, allowing his weight to shift mostly to this handsome stranger. He doesn’t mind playing damsel in distress a bit—the bottom of his foot does hurt. And besides, he gets the sense that Benji doesn’t actually mind being the knight in cut off jean shorts. They make an awkward duo none the less, as Xavier tries to ensure his heel doesn’t touch the ground.
“Right, and are the perch walkin’ onto the land and shittin’ there? Point stands.”
“I’m not talking about their shit, man. Jesus.” But Xavier laughs and realizes that it feels good to be talking to someone out loud. Not just himself and the forest. “I mean—perch are good for fishing. You fish?”
“No.”
Benji hefts the pack on his shoulder once more, keeps Xavier balanced as they walk the trail toward his looming tower. They’re far separated. A, B and C make a triangular point of protection in the park—but A isn’t occupied. The ranger who had put Xavier in charge said that the cottage was too derelict and spending the money to fix it wasn’t in the budget plans. It wouldn’t be fire season for another month, so it didn’t seem pressing.
But Xavier wonders about the tower now. Why hadn’t anyone told him that C was occupied?
“Did you know I replaced Gresham?”
“No.” There’s awkward silence for a moment. “They radioed me and told me that he was gettin’ evac’d out. Didn’t say he was bein’ replaced.” Benji looks contemplative for a long moment, his handsome features turning solemn. “Was nice, though, ‘cause the men dropped off premium toilet tissue in a supply crate at the same time, so not too mad he lost his marbles.”
Xavier’s laugh echoes loudly in the forest, sending birds careening into the sky, little ‘V’ shaped dots against the clouds and the wide expanse of blue. He thinks he sees Benji look satisfied, but his chin is tucked close to his chest and their height difference makes it too difficult to look properly.
—
“Wow,” Xavier says, as they stand inside the cottage.
“Didn’t know I was goin’ t’have company, yeah?” Benji’s voice is gruff and annoyed as he slings Xavier’s pack onto the table.
The layout is exactly the same. It’s economy sized, meaning small. A bed pushed into the corner (not made up after a nights sleep), a kitchenette modest enough for cooking and not much else. A table to sit at and a closet. There’s no decoration, just like Xavier’s cottage, but Benji has made the little space look well lived in. There’s clothes piling up in the corner, a stack of vinyls on the kitchen counter, a portable and obviously loved record player beside it. A sketchbook is open on the table but Benji crosses to it and snaps it shut and then pushes everything as far to the side as he can.
Xavier sits without asking, in the rickety wooden chair and feels altogether too large for it. His foot has started to hurt worse, tingling and leaden. The sock is luckily black to begin with, so he doesn’t have to see how badly blood has soaked through. His body aches from the shuffling he had to do to get to this tower, even though Benji was helping. He waits patiently as a first aid kit is brought out the closet and popped open on the table.
“Hello, nurse,” he teases in a playful purr as Benji pulls his leg up. Benji snorts—which Xavier is coming to realize might be his way of laughing—and his cheeks darken. The sock is peeled painfully away and tossed to the side, which makes Xavier cringe harder than the feeling of fabric unsticking from his wound.
“S’not as bad as I thought,” Benji comments, tilting Xavier’s heel on his thigh. He pauses to shed his jacket and toss that backward as well. It lands on his bed and Xavier’s mouth feels oddly dry seeing the blankets all tangled as they are. For a brief moment, he pictures Benji laying in it, sunlight streaming in from the window and turning his dark eyes amber. The intrusive thought makes his entire body flush hotly, his hands coming together to twist and turn in front of his chest.
He tries to focus on the painful push of Benji’s fingertips to the cut in his heel. But with the jacket gone, Benji has also revealed far more of himself. Just like the shorts, he’s seen fit to cut the sleeves off his shirt as well, leaving him bare armed. His biceps are corded with muscle, his forearms tautly defined, and he’s just as much body hair as his legs. But truthfully it’s the absolute sprawl of tattoos covering most of him that makes Xavier stare. The shirt also leans open at the collar, like a mouth yawning, and the peek of Benji’s clavicle is enough to make Xavier blush.
“Just gonna use glue, then.”
“Huh?”
“Medical glue—it’s just going to close it up. You’ll be walkin’ on it, anythin’ else will get ripped open. Glue and gauze. S’all I got for you, mate.” But before the glue, Benji pulls out supplies to clean the cut. Xavier settles back on the chair, trying for comfort. “You need somethin’ for it? Don’t have anything harder than Tylenol.”
The warmth in his body drains, replaced by a creeping cold that makes his throat narrow. Xavier’s twisted, tangled hands unlace and he puts them behind his neck. He smiles, but can feel it flickering, feel Benji accessing him more.
“No, I have a high pain tolerance. Swear.” He raises two fingers in mock scout salute. Benji stares at his fingers and then slides those dark eyes back to his face. Xavier pats his own forearm, where his medley of tattoos spans from shoulder to the dogs head on the back of his hand. Benji looks to them, head tilted curiously. He raises the tube of medical glue and softly puts it to the dogs head tattoo on his hand.
“Good boy,” he says simply and Xavier snaps his head to the side to stare out the window instead. He hears the glue uncap and thinks he might hear that tell tale breathing laugh Benji seems to do.
They lapse into silence as Benji takes care of him. Benji’s window overlooks a stretch of the forest, the same as Xavier’s, just in the opposite direction. Never the less, it’s dense and the sun is starting to get lower and lower, descending the woods into an eerie sort of mid afternoon dark. His eye lids droop, his elbow to the table as he rests his chin in his hand and stares. The trees are closer to his window than Xavier’s. The trees. They have little scratch marks in them…
Thoughts of Tess’ long, thin fingers wrapped around bark, digging into trees that weep red sap make him jolt.
“Sorry—that hurt?”
“No,” Xavier answers quickly, breathlessly. “No.” He repeats it, because the marks aren’t there. It’s just craggy bark, nothing more. Xavier flattens a hand to his chest. He’s starting to feel cold, in just the flimsy cotton shirt and his silly blue swim trunks. The adrenaline dump of his wound, the mild blood loss and the introduction of a stranger. The realization that they’d been kept secret from each other—maybe not secret, but they’d not been told the others existence, which felt like a secret. Xavier rubs a hand down his face.
“Since I got here earlier this week, I’ve—I dunno. I’ve been having wicked weird fucking dreams.” He braces for a laugh, or an insult, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Benji dutifully wraps gauze around his heel, in a hypnotizing, practiced motion. Xavier wonders if he has some sort of certification, or maybe he was pursuing a degree in the field, before he decided the loneliness and pay was worth it for this instead. His hands are blunted and broad, strong, with callouses on the palms. Xavier chews the inside of his cheek. He bounces his heel once on Benji’s thigh and makes the man look up at him.
“You having any weird dreams, or am I just not cut out for this?”
“Don’t sleep much,” Benji replies, noncommittally.
“You should make your bed, then, if you’re not using it,” Xavier comments. Benji looks to be holding in a grin, shaking his head, moving Xavier’s foot from his thigh and onto the ground and then sliding the chair back so he can stand. Xavier does as well, leaning his weight on his uninjured foot. The pain is a dull ache that is almost comfortable, considering he’s been living with it for at least an hour now and it’ll likely continue for a day or two. He thinks about asking Benji if he can come back to have him check it out, but he instantly feels too shy. Instead, he reaches for his pack on the table and begins rummaging for the pants he’d worn before his dip in the river.
Their silence isn’t uncomfortable or awkward, the way it might have been before. Benji finds the sock he’d tossed, throwing it into the trash. He washes his hands diligently and puts away his first aid kit. Xavier struggles a bit with the pants, but doesn’t ask for help because he cannot imagine the idea of Benji touching him more than he already has. He notices the radio in the corner of the room. There should be another, all the way in the look out tower. Xavier has the exact same set up.
“Hey, uh,” he motions toward it, making Benji look at him. “If you ever get bored, you could…” he trails off then, shrugging his pack onto his shoulder and nearly colliding with the wall. It makes Benji grin, his cheeks dimpling. Xavier pats at his chest, as if trying to settle his oddly beating heart. He smiles back, his large, wolfish smile.
“I’ll be on channel seven,” Xavier says.
—
He’d never truly understood dark until he’d come to the woods. Xavier was born and bred city. He’d grown up in Boston where lights never turned off. Noise never stopped. Where people were always there; a home full of parents and his siblings, neighbors that were almost too close for comfort. People talking, the cars running all through the night, sirens in the distance.
The woods were silent. They were dark.
Sleep comes to him partially. Like being submerged in the river water again, he feels waterlogged and exhausted. He lays in the twin bed, his feet dangling off the edge, his arms across his stomach. His head tilts toward the window, toward the dark looming trees. His eyes blink as he dozes, in and out, as the marks of his sisters nails appear again and again in the bark. Xavier’s foot throbs dully with his heartbeat, but he’s nearly asleep when he hears a crackle.
Then his name.
“Xavier?”
He bolts upright in the bed, feet colliding with the floor. He howls at the sudden explosion of pain up from his heal. Xavier stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from yelling any louder, his other punching his own pillow. The crackling resumes, the static of the radio loud in the silent night.
“Fuckin’ hell, is this on? Is it working?”
Benji’s voice is distorted, but still clear. His accent makes his words a little jumbled, but it’s endearing. Xavier had liked the mans voice. He’d liked it a lot. He shuffles quickly from his bed, landing in the cozy recliner by the radio. He fumbles for it.
“Benji?” The radio receiver crackles once more.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Xavier glances out the window, to the forest. To the dark. “You?” He’s not about to admit that he’d been half asleep already and that Xavier was actually, frankly, very good at sleeping almost all the time. He’d even fallen asleep standing up once, leaned against a wall.
“I’m up,” he says instead, looking at his gauze wrapped foot. “It’s late.”
“Do you wanna discuss the weather too, then, yeah?”
“Wow, you don’t like my conversation starters? Tell me your deepest secret and biggest mistake, man, if you hate small talk.”
“Suppose it is late,” Benji replies gruffly and it makes Xavier laugh. He wishes they were in person, because Benji had lit up briefly under that laugh the first time. Instead he rubs his fingers across the radio, just for his hands to have something to do. “Where’s your accent from?”
“Boston,” Xavier replies into the radio. He’s grinning and for a moment, he doesn’t mind the dark of his cottage. The night time like a blanket around him. “You?”
“Liverpool.”
And then, the flood gates seem to open and the two of them talk. And talk. And keep talking. Xavier learns about Saha and he talks about Tess; they talk about music and come to the conclusion they both have very different tastes but Xavier wouldn’t mind coming over to listen to some of the records Benji had brought with him. They talk about easy topics and more than once they say a joke at each others expense and the teasing turns to something mildly flirtatious that makes Xavier’s skin prickle and heat at the reminder of Benji’s rough palms. They talk. They talk all night.
And outside, something in the dark grows.
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The tension control of slitting machine is an important factor affecting the winding quality of finished product.
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