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yutasbellybuttonpiercing · 10 months

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slowly, i'm going down

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pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay 😞

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

#mingi smut #ateez mingi smut #song mingi smut #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez song mingi #kpop #smut #kpop smut #fem reader #ateez x reader #mingi x reader

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leisures-writes · 10 months

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in which you’re the only one for peter and miguel. ( alt title — love. )

who? — yan! peter b. parker x fem! reader x yan! miguel o’hara.

general warnings! — dc written by a 17 year old! dni if uncomfortable with any themes written or with a minor writing! yandere / obsessive behavior towards the reader ( i do not condone yandere / obessive behavior at all. ) and non canon to the across the spider verse movie!

nsfw warnings? — oral ( f. receiving ), pet names, degrading / condescending praise, praise, finger sucking (m. receiving ), implied overstimulation, implied breeding kink, poly relationship, eager switch / sub & slightly mean / condescending dom dynamic ( peter b. parker & miguel o’hara ).

note! — by clicking read more, you’re agreeing to read dc or nsfw. part two’s coming in maybe a month! my atsv / general tag list is open along with my requests! or enjoy my peter b parker fic! please like, comment and reblog. <3

heavy puffs escape your mouth as you writhe in his grasp.

“f - fuck, peter! pete, stop! i - i can’t!”

his mouth was persistent, licking your clit and dipping into your entrance, desperate for your slick — his lifeline. your protests didn’t register in peter’s mind until miguel pauses, yanking peter away from your aching cunt.

“slow down.”

the words were snarled, barely understandable from being pushed from gritted teeth —fangs, which shone in the light. peter gripped your thighs, nuzzling the inner thigh area as an apology, placing kisses and soft bites, marking the area.

“oh, sweetheart. you look so pretty for us, right, peter?”

“mhm.”

peter hums against you. the sensation of soft lips on you made you even more wet, your thighs trying to shut with no avail. the motion drew both’s attention. miguel smiles down at you, the expression more of a sneer as his fingers swipe at your arousal. keeping eye contact with you, the older spider-man offered the fingers to peter, who sucked on them greedily, the slurping noise lewd and loud.

the action made your head spin, mouth agape as you see his pink tongue dart around the pointer, seemingly repeating the same actions that happened to you mere minutes ago.

“good girl.”

the praise bestowed onto you from miguel was always sparse but it didn’t matter to your pleasure addled mind. in fact, it was one of the many things that miguel seemed to know — how to push your buttons at the right time.

peter hums contently, releasing miguel’s fingers with a pop.

“tastes good.. but i want more.” peter’s whiny declaration drew yelp from your throat, trying to squirm away from the threat of another orgasm.

“no no no more please.” you chant desperately, begging to miguel with tears in your eyes, voice breaking. smiling sympathetically at you, miguel strokes your head, eyes heavy lidded. you knew better than to believe his stupidly honey words and soft touches with those eyes — the same damn eyes he gave you as you protested being anywhere near his friends ( where they friends or merely coworkers? ) but the gesture was so nice, so soothing and reminded you of before.

and so, you lean into the touch, a whimper escaping you as peter kisses a calf that was slung over his shoulder.

“but, darling, peter hasn’t had his fill. you wouldn’t want to make him sad, would you?” there was a hum from said male before miguel continued on. “and i enjoy seeing you like this — laid out before me, whiny, needy. you’re such a good little whore for us, you know?”

despair fills your eyes, fills your tears that he wipes away with a grin.

“don’t worry, my love. we’ll take good care of you. you’re going to be carrying our children one day, after all.”

#yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #yandere atsv x reader #yandere atsv #yandere peter b parker #yandere peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x reader #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x reader x peter b parker #miguel o’hara x reader smut #peter b parker x reader smut #—rey writes!#—rey’s miguel fic #—rey’s peter b fic #—rey’s atsv!

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 8 months

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my palms ran red turning over jagged rocks, thought i'd find some kind of sign; you pressed your mouth to my wound, weren't your bloody lips sign enough?

qh43 x reader: you really have to stop meeting like this.

(warnings: mostly plot, but also blasphemous filth (yes, we're back on the smut train), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), fingering, hair pulling (i haven't changed), choking (i really haven't changed), descriptions of self-doubt and shame and all my typical stuff. mostly tension building (10k words worth), general debauchery. please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: hockey season will be here before we know it, my favorites. for now, have this very, very long and drawn out story about one qh43 character who is just a self-indulgent mish-mash of tropes i like (car mechanic, country club, tutoree, etc) and another who is just a lovely personification of anxiety and insecurity. but, what else is new? you all know i tend to make my female characters a bit sad, and my quinn characters a little sad, too. don't worry, though, this one has a happy ending. obviously there's a lot of plot i ask you to take for granted. if something doesn't make sense, don't tell anyone. no, nobody talks like this, but maybe they should, okay? regardless, i hope the world is being kind to you. i hope you are being kind to yourself. let's do a takeaway, today, for old time's sake: sometimes we take an axe to a good thing just to prove to ourselves that we were right - that we're prone to bad things, and look, here's proof! put your axes down, favorites. enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. know i think of you often and fondly. until i next get a bout of inspiration, go canucks. please tell me what you think, it makes me so, so happy. i did not proofread. gif is not mine. sending everything beautiful to you and your snakes. love always.)

like most all-consuming things, it started with something insignificant.

if your tail light had never gone out during the summer before your third year at university, perhaps none of it would have ever happened. part of you wanted to believe that some determined power would have guided the two of you together no matter what, but most of you thought the powers of the world to be nonchalant at best, hostile at worst.

regardless, your right tail light went out a few weeks before school started, and despite your intense unwillingness to spend money on your car, your mom insisted that you get it fixed.

"that family auto shop will do it quickly," she suggested, "the one a few streets down from school."

so here you were, standing uncomfortably in the lobby of the mechanic's, less than soothed by the harsh noises that echoed through the small garage.

you cleared your throat, attempting to get the attention of the teenage receptionist, probably the daughter or cousin of the owner, currently on her phone.

she looked up immediately, smiled wide, full of braces and friendliness. "sorry," she said, only a little guilty to be caught on her phone. "how can i help you?"

you smiled right back at her, immediately put at ease by her presence. "my mom called earlier," you said. you went to continue, but were enthusiastically cut off.

"miss tail light!" she exclaimed, to which you laughed and nodded. "have a seat," she urged, "quinn should be out in a minute, and that's a quick fix."

you nodded and sat down, then crossed your legs as you waited, bouncing one foot against your other calf. you looked at your hands, twisted one ring around your finger.

"you're the tail light?" a low voice called from the lobby entrance, forcing your gaze up from your hands to meet a pair of eyes that somehow swam with both steel and uncertainty.

this newcomer, quinn, supposedly, confirmed by the embroidered patch on his breast pocket, seemed to be immediately off-put by your matching gaze, as he shoved his wide hands in the pockets of his coveralls and blinked several times, a bit too fast.

his confusing mannerisms, combined with his curious combination of handsomeness and beauty, forced a small smile to your face as you stood up.

he really was pretty like you had never quite seen before, tall but not menacingly so, broad across the chest in a way that just looked warm, his coveralls hanging off of him, drawing attention to his frame, his thighs, his arms.

his hair was messy, curling only slightly at the tops of his ears, his cheekbones and jawline so, so sharp, but his nose and mouth softly curved.

you cleared your throat again when you realized you were probably staring.

"i suppose i am," you said, answering his question, approaching him and the door, by extension.

he gave a forced nod before turning to leave, urging a fluid reaction from the muscles in his neck and shoulders, which you pretended not to notice as you walked behind him.

in a choppy, sudden motion, he made to hold the door open for you, arm extended but gaze averted.

"thank you, quinn," you said, trying out his name, surprised to find how natural it felt on your tongue, something like a hymn a past-life you must have sang with unmatched conviction.

he seemed just as surprised as you, practically tripped over his own feet before quickly recovering. you bit your lip to stifle a laugh.

"should only take a second," he said as he crouched down next to your car, his voice a bit rougher than before, pulling a couple of tools and bulbs from his many pockets.

"take your time," you said, sitting down nearby as he got to work, and you meant it, feeling a somewhat shameful urge to just watch him. just look at him.

you fumbled to distract yourself, settling on looking interested in your phone. in reality, it took real effort to keep your eyes down, away from him, when you felt as if he emitted some kind of magnetic force suited only to you.

it felt like an eternity, but it took all of ten minutes, a couple swift motions, and he was done, rising again to his full height and turning to face you.

you allowed yourself to meet his eyes and it felt like a heaving exhale. "all done?" you asked, rising as well, willing brightness into your voice.

he nodded in affirmation, and you could have pouted. a man of few words, it seemed, and how you wished he would give you a few more.

he wiped his hands with a rag, and you refused to let your eyes follow the motion. "so i should pay..." you started.

he nodded towards the lobby. "you can pay with bean," he said, gruff.

you grinned right at him, and anyone else would have seen his gaze soften from stone to molten rock. "bean?" you asked.

the slightest smile took over his mouth. "my cousin," he said, slowly, "at reception."

you hummed, comforted by his sudden ease. "well then," you said, "i'll go check out with your cousin bean."

"i'll walk you," he blurted out, a blush coming to tint the tops of his ears in a positively dreamy sort of way.

so you walked the several steps back to the lobby together, the silence so comfortable you could have sighed, fallen asleep wrapped up in it.

already you felt some sense of loss creeping in, knowing you were probably never going to see him again, knowing this was all you were going to get. just a couple of glances and words and blushes, that's as far as this would go. and it made a lot of sense, but logical reason grew over your hazy, momentary crush like ivy on a brick building.

he held the door open for you again, and as you walked past him this time you looked up into his eyes. stone and steel and ivy.

you thanked him again.

"quinn?" came that delightfully girlish voice from behind the desk, this time intensely confused. "what are you doing?"

he stood in the door frame, his swallow almost cartoonish. "just making sure she checks out okay," he mumbled, not quite looking anyone in the face.

the girl smiled so wide, you could see she had chosen to make her braces purple last time she visited the orthodontist. "you've never done that before, is all," she observed with all the subtlety of a volcanic eruption.

was that pink tint creeping past his ears to his neck, now?

"do it plenty," he muttered, less than convincing and more to himself than anyone else.

the girl shot you a knowing look before turning to her cousin again. "if you say so," she relented. "miss tail light is in good hands with me, now, so you're all set, mr. random acts of kindness."

quinn muttered something under his breath before making to leave, embarrassment still flushing just under his collar.

the knowledge that this was it, this was all this would ever be, that's what made you reach a hand out to lightly grasp his forearm, stopping him where he stood.

you swore some kind of divine warmth rose to meet your hand.

he looked down at where your fingers met his arm before meeting your gaze. molten, yet again. he didn't move, didn't dare to scare off your touch.

"thank you again, quinn," you said, just to him.

a pause charged by meaning sparked between you both.

maybe some minuscule fraction of your heart feared he would push you away and roll his eyes, mumble something about personal space. or maybe that disgust would flood his lovely gaze, and he would say something much meaner.

you should never have touched him, you scolded yourself, stupid, desperate, foolish girl. you began to lift your hand away when his rough voice became a whisper, just for you.

"anything, doll," he said. and then he walked away, leaving his words to rattle around in your head like the whirring noises around the garage.

you paid, laughed playfully with the young receptionist as she insisted she had never seen her cousin so embarrassed, and especially not so bashful.

"i'm sure that's not true," you said, trying in vain to force your sky-rocketing hopes back to earth.

"oh, it is," she said as you made to leave, giving you a big smile and a wave as you bid her goodbye.

as you drove back home, those tendrils of reason crept back again, began to suffocate the dreamy romance that had settled like a glittery mist in your head.

you gave a single exhale, breathing out any unrealistic expectations. you'd probably never see him again, you admitted to yourself, and you tried to convince yourself that you were fine with it.

and so you let the image of steel and stone and ivy become a phantom in the back of your mind, along with the scorching solidity of his forearm underneath your delicate palm.

you'd never see him again, you believed.

in theory, you knew you could have had one of your friends find him on social media, it probably wouldn't have been too hard. a first name, an occupation, they'd tracked down fleeting flings and past crushes with much less information to go off of before.

but you didn't like the idea of interference, much preferred the way he looked in your memory to the fear that he would be someone very different online, that he would be someone different than the person that now existed exclusively in your head.

you were never supposed to see him again, and yet you did, and just as you had almost forgotten the way his shoulders moved when he walked, too.

three weeks later, just before you went back to school, you were eating dinner outside with your family at the country club they belonged to. you had been there maybe twice in the last couple of years, as your mom worked long hours and your dad only really used his membership for golf.

now, though, sitting outside, overlooking the course, in the pleasant air of the late summer, you were glad you were here, enjoying these last few moments with your family before you began your third year.

you were laughing at a joke your mom had made when you heard someone close by call out, "that's my marker, quinn!"

something distant fluttered in your stomach as you registered the name, tried so hard to not care if it was him or not. trying so, so hard to not care, but you cared so much it felt as if you might have willed him into existence yourself, wanted him enough that even the uninterested powers were forced to relent with a bored sigh.

so, in truth, you knew it was him even before you turned and focused on the hole just below the patio.

you knew it was him, and yet you were wholly unprepared for the way your head spun when you registered his familiar figure.

as if compelled by your gaze, or by something else worth worshipping, he turned, too, and there you were, staring at each other. did he recognize you the way you did him? the way you recognize your first lover's cologne? the way you recognize what's waiting behind a door with a scalding doorknob?

but then he took a hand off of his club and gave a timid wave, and you felt your body relax as you waved back. he paused for a moment as if in thought, then motioned towards him, silently asking you to come down.

"who is that?" your mother asked, not critical, only curious.

"my mechanic," you answered, "be right back, promise."

so, even though it was probably (definitely) against the rules, you made your way down to the impeccably cut grass, holding your shoes in one shaky hand.

you waved again as you approached him at the edge of the green, his friends gathered closer to the hole, talking animatedly amongst themselves.

he tilted his head and gave you a small smile, which gave you wings. a smile, and you hadn't even done anything!

"hi, quinn," you said, getting your first good look at him up close, and this time not in coveralls. this time in a polo that brought out his eyes and shorts that had you straining not to stare at his thighs.

"doll," he greeted, that ghost of a smile still on his full lips. "thought that was you."

heavy uncertainty suddenly settled between the both of you. what were you supposed to say? what was he supposed to say? what do you do with time that feels stolen?

"didn't think i'd see you again," you landed on, then physically cringed at yourself. "not that i was thinking about you, or anything," you added, then pursed your lips in a line.

awesome save.

he let out a laugh, though, and it shook his shoulders and lit up his face in a way that made it impossible to regret your rambling.

his laugh made him look human in a way he hadn't really, before, at the garage. it stripped back all the flowery expectations your imagination had buried him in and set him down here, in front of you, a real person.

a real person, who, in this summery light, was much more unabashed and generous with his smiles. his eyes had a softness to them that you hadn't noticed before.

"i wish you had, then," he said, in that deep, low, voice with a confidence that didn't quite suit him, like he was just trying it on.

it almost made you drop your shoes, regardless.

"yeah?" you asked, tilting your head and letting your satisfaction drench your face like sunset light.

he gave a little nod.

"c'mon, huggy!" one of his friends called. what do you do with time that feels stolen?

he looked back at them and his jaw clenched, for a second.

you knew you had to be the one to walk away, or it would haunt you like some ancestral debt.

"maybe i'll see you again, then, quinn," you said, your tone not conveying the desperate hope you felt.

he looked you up and down, amusement alight in his eyes. it seemed his nervous demeanor existed only in his coveralls. "you willing to take your chances on a 'maybe,' doll?"

were you?

you silently begged those distant forces to prove your hopes were not futile, but you didn't really believe that. you were headed to school in just two days, and who knows where he was headed, this mysterious mechanic who liked to golf and had eyes like a deity.

you knew you were on stolen time, and that this, again, was as far as this would ever go.

"we're going!" his friends called.

"i hope i see you again, quinn," you amended, already feeling a sense of loss again. but you had to be the one to walk away, so you began to.

his face was unreadable, some mixture of disappointment and interest and knowing.

"think about me some more this time, yeah? until you see me again?"

your smile glowed. "if 'm honest, quinn, that'll be hard," you said, thinking about how he had been a constant in your mind for the last couple of weeks. you leaned into your flirtatious side since you were both moving apart. it was always easiest when you were on the way out.

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "try extra hard for me, would you, doll?"

and for a moment, time seemed to ooze like amber. a blink felt like eternity, like you were both suspended in an hourglass.

"promise," you said. it came out like a whisper, but it felt like you screamed it across an open expanse.

and so you parted ways a second time, practically daring the universe to stop you from meeting again.

do whatever you want, universe, you seemed to say, i don't care! i'm fine with the story ending here!

oh, sweetheart, the universe seemed to say, yawning, barely looking at you, then why do you clutch at the book until your fingers bleed?

you could have scowled.

and, just as he wanted, and just as you were afraid of, he was there, in the back of your mind, for several weeks into the school year.

everything started smoothly. you were happy to see your friends again, to be living with them. classes started well. you went out when you wanted to. you began your regular job, tutoring other students in classes you had already taken. it was nice to see the students you had helped out last year, to continue helping them.

teachers referred you to help students who were struggling in their classes all the time, so it wasn't anything significant when one set up a time for you to meet at the library with someone who wasn't quite getting intro to calculus.

it was significant, however, when you opened up the reserved study room door to see quinn sitting at the table, textbooks out in front of him.

so significant, actually, that it genuinely scared you. "jesus," you muttered, exhaling and placing a calming hand over your heart.

he looked up when he heard the door open, and you were frozen in place.

this is what you wanted, right? the universe probably asked, bored. now will you leave me alone?

"i was not expecting you," you admitted, willing your heart back to beating normally.

you couldn't read him, yet again. and yet again, you felt as if you had wanted him hard enough that even the fibers of the universe were annoyed enough to comply.

ugh, they probably said to each other, just give that desperate fool what she wants! i'm tired of hearing her pleas!

but you could have sighed at how beautiful he looked, this time different again - sweatpants and a t-shirt and messy hair. soft looking and sleepy after a day of class and whatever else.

"yeah?" he asked, although he hadn't expected you either. he wasn't shocked the way you were, though. only pleasantness played across his full features. "who were you expecting?"

not you, you wanted to say. things just don't work out like this for me. "i didn't know you went here," you said, simply.

"i didn't know you were a tutor," he replied, leaning back in his chair.

i didn't know your smile gets lopsided when you're tired, you thought to yourself. you could never forget that, now.

"safe to say we know very little about each other, doll," he added, as if he could hear your thoughts.

and he was right - you hadn't asked him anything about himself the last two times you saw him, and he didn't know anything about you. how easy would it have been at the course to say you were going to the local university in a couple of days. why had you not?

why had you relinquished control so easily?

it practically pained you to think about that, just as it was practically painful to look at his face head on, eyes weary with sleep yet bright with amusement, so you decided to solve both of those problems.

"well," you said, sliding into the seat next to him at the table, excruciatingly aware of your closeness, "what do you know about derivatives?"

he gave a huff of a laugh. "probably even less," he said.

you gave him a smile and started to go over your notes with him. the more you spoke, and the deeper you got into the topic, the easier it was to be close to him.

you were still hyperaware of his warmth, his presence, his beauty, his being, but you could do this. getting lost in your purpose here instead of getting lost in him.

after about an hour of you explaining derivatives, you looking at your notes, and him looking at you, you shut your textbook.

"i think that's good for a first session, hm?" you asked, turning to face him and hugging one knee to your chest.

he held your gaze as if studying your face. it felt like being center stage, under a white hot spotlight.

he spread his legs out and reached his arms up, stretching after sitting in the same position for a while. you had to look down at your hands.

"five more minutes?" he asked like a kid begging for an extended bedtime. only now he was asking for more time with you.

you scrunched up your nose, which made him smile, a bit. "can i ask you a question, quinn?" you asked. "since we don't know anything about each other."

"only if i get one, too," he answered.

you thought carefully, flexed your hand on your knee as your gaze met his sleepy one. "it's not that late," you started, "why are you so tired?"

he laughed again, making your chest sing. "busy day," he answered, "had two classes, practice, and a lift."

and as he elaborated you added to the carefully protected vault in your mind of information you knew about him. he played hockey for the team here, he was a defensemen, he was always busy.

"my turn," he said after he was done, low like a secret.

you nodded, forced away the flush his tone alone was able to pull from you.

"did you keep your promise?" he asked.

of everything he could have said, you were least expecting that. of course you knew what promise he was referring to immediately. of course it felt like something abominable to tell him the truth.

suddenly the space between the two of you felt much too little, much too dangerous. so small that you could see each of his eyelashes, he could see the way your eyes dropped to his mouth for a second.

there was something in his eyes that surprised you, though. there was a trace of those nerves you had seen in him that first day - that instability and uncertainty. he wanted you to say yes, you realized. he wanted it so, so much.

"of course i did, quinn," you soothed, leaning forward onto your knee just a bit. it was always easiest on the way out. "did you have any doubts?"

did he let out a breath? his silence spoke for him. still, you had to be the one to walk away. you couldn't afford any more ghosts.

"same time next week?" you asked, gathering your things.

"not gonna leave it to chance this time, doll?" he asked, getting his things together too, but in a lazy sort of way. his hands moved slowly, reluctantly.

you tried not to stare at them.

you gave him a last look before you left.

"do you want to leave it to chance?" you asked, genuinely.

ugh, chance seemed to say, can't you just do it yourself?

his molten gaze dripped over you like honey. "no," he decided, "no, i wouldn't say that's at the top of my wishlist."

you didn't ask what was.

so, each tuesday night, you tutored him in calculus. and each tuesday night, you learned more about him, and he learned more about you.

you learned about how he got into auto mechanics (he never grew out of his childhood truck phase), why he liked golf (really just an excuse to talk with his friends for a couple of hours), what was so special about hockey (it felt like he could see things that others just couldn't). his favorite candy (sour skittles), his favorite color gatorade (red), his favorite t-shirt (a worn in concert shirt from high school).

but you also learned that he got shy when you complimented him, that he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek when he was about to say something that made you blush, that he got more confident as he got to know you.

his nerves only came out when he grew unsure, and you did your best to make him so, so sure.

and he did get to know you. how you got into your major (data analysis was the family business), why you applied yourself so vigorously in your classes (you didn't know any other way), all about your close friends and family. your favorite soda (cherry coke zero), your favorite frat (pike, only because a couple of your friends were dating brothers there, and they had the goofiest themes), your favorite snack (pretzel goldfish).

he was nothing if not observant, too, so he noticed that you had a special smile for when he got a question right, and that you only wore your hair up when you were extra tired, and that, towards the end of the session, when you were caught off guard, you would lean a little closer to him without realizing.

that was his favorite. when you would lean into his space, just a little more, as if you were pulled towards him by a magnetic force.

and each session, you made him a little more confident, and he made you blush a little bit more. until you both felt utterly comfortable with each other, like you had known each other for ages.

well, as comfortable as you could feel with a person who made you feel like every inch of your skin was on fire. as comfortable as you could feel with someone whose voice made your throat go dry, whose hands made you stutter, whose mannerisms made your stomach flutter.

one tuesday night, late into a session where he had told you he had passed his quiz with flying colors, he twisted his pen in his hand.

"you know, doll," he started, "you should come to a game sometime."

you looked up. "one of your games?" you asked, searching his steely eyes for meaning.

his lip quirked. "yes, one of my games."

here, he might as well have said, have a little more of me.

"unless you don't want to," he added to your silence. "which would also be fine. i don't want to force-"

you stopped him with a hand on his forearm, transporting you both back to that first day. did you imagine him relaxing into your touch, this time?

"i'd love to come," you said, looking him square in the face.

"good," he replied, content.

but nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you that friday night, standing with your friends in the student section of the rink you had never been to.

"how have we never been to a hockey game?" one of them asked, looking around at the crowd.

"basketball's just better," another said, although, to be fair, she was on the club basketball team. "what the hell is icing, anyways?"

"we never had a reason to, i guess," your best friend said in a teasing tone. you shot her a look, to which she raised her hands in surrender. "hey, no judgement," she said, and you laughed.

as soon as quinn was on the ice, though, he had your complete and undivided attention. he skated with a mesmerizing fluidity, hit with a concrete, undeniable kind of force. and he was right - he did see things no one else could see, made connections that you, nor anyone on the ice, could predict until they were already completed.

he was all over the ice, all over this space, he was everywhere. and you were transfixed.

walking back to the house with your friends, they noticed. of course they did.

"oh god, i know that look," one said.

"this is gonna be trouble," another added. was this trouble? was trouble when everything someone did felt like some great treasure you had discovered? was trouble this kind of fire, of comfort, of excitement, of rest?

you shook your head. "calm down, guys," you said. "it's not that serious."

"right," someone said. you didn't believe yourself, either.

"what did you think of the game?" he asked the following tuesday after you had covered enough material to be satisfied.

you were so close to him now, it probably would have been easier to just share a chair. so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, could all but feel his chest against your back.

"what did i think of the game?" you repeated lazily.

you could hear his smile in his voice. "yes, doll."

you hummed. how honest could you be, here? what could you get away with?

and maybe it was your closeness to him that made you bold. maybe it was the heat you saw in his eyes that had you leaning your head on his shoulder and looking up at him. you felt his breath rumble through him and into you.

the air sparked.

"thought you were incredible, quinn," you said honestly. "like nothing i've ever seen."

his exhale was shaky as he peered down at you. "yeah?" he asked.

"mhm," you hummed, your body buzzing with his contact, the most you had ever had. something unspoken settled between you like dust.

"you would come again, then?" he asked, hopeful but drowsy.

you couldn't help but smile, a bit, gaze up at him through your lashes. "think i'd have a hard time saying no to you, if 'm honest."

something like wonder misted across his heated gaze. "i like knowing you're there," he said. "like knowing you're thinking about me."

dangerous desire swirled around the two of you, melting your gaze and blurring the lines.

things don't work out like this for you, a voice said, bitter and mocking, drawing the lines up again, sturdy and menacing.

you cleared your throat, lifted your head from his shoulder. if you could look at him, you would have seen that uncertainty swimming in his eyes again, along with something like hurt.

but you couldn't look at him. at the drowsy slouch of his shoulders, the rugged line of his jaw, the glossy want that practically dripped down his face like starry tears.

i'm always thinking about you, you wanted to tell him. i'm sorry.

but you gathered your things, stood up. "i should go."

he was silent for a moment, looked you up and down, gave a small sigh. "okay, doll," he conceded. "on one condition."

you scrunched up your nose in confusion.

"you agree to come golfing with me tomorrow," he said in a completely satisfied tone. "then, you can go."

a million excuses flooded onto your tongue.

"i'm busy tomorrow," you tried, your voice coming out tight.

he waved that off lazily. "me too," he said, something like a smirk growing on his pink lips. "but we're both free at four, so let's plan on that. next?"

you sputtered.

"but i don't know how to golf," you tried.

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. trouble.

"don't worry, doll," he offered. "i'll go real slow for you."

you flushed, almost walked into the doorframe, quickly decided you needed to leave immediately, if you wanted to maintain any level of mystery or dignity.

"fine," you said, already on your way out. it felt like flames were nipping at your heels, biting at your nose. "i'll come."

his smirk deepened, a different look on him. "don't put up much of a fight, do you, doll?"

"i'm leaving," you choked as you walked out, turning to face him one final time. "what if i just didn't want to come?"

he seemed to ponder this for a moment. "i think," he started, "if you really didn't want to come, it wouldn't make you blush like this to say so."

he didn't ask you to think about him, but by the look on his face, you knew he could tell he didn't have to.

so, the following day, you found yourself on the course with quinn.

a terrible, terrible idea, really.

especially considering the want that filled his gaze when he first saw you, catching on your legs before returning up to your eyes.

"showed up for me, did you, doll?" he asked, a hope you recognized tinting his voice a shimmery pink.

you rolled your eyes, but smiled. "you knew i would."

"thank you anyways," he replied, and his genuineness, his honesty, his straightforwardness, it all made you melt. made you want to know what his smile felt like against your neck, what his hands felt like in your hair.

so, as you both made to tee off, you turned to him. "can you help me with my swing, please?"

his gaze softened. liquid steel. "sure, doll," he said, then lined up next to you and explained his way through it.

you bit your lip. "i'm a hands on learner," you said, which was a lie. "i think i need you closer." that part wasn't.

he didn't adopt a cocky smirk, like so many would have. he didn't lean into your act, didn't pounce on the opportunity to show his superiority. he only approached you from behind and reached his arms around you to grip your driver with you, his hands on top of yours, warm and rough.

you could feel each breath he took in your back, felt the solid plane of his chest on your shoulder blades.

"close enough?" he all but whispered into the space between your neck and your shoulder.

something sinful must have possessed you then. "for now," you breathed out.

he went through a swing with you, slow and fluid. you weren't paying attention, not really, but how could you, when he was just so, so close? was this dazed sensation, was that what he felt when you touched him, that first day? or later, in your study room?

but, of course, the swing was soon over, and he reluctantly retreated off to the side.

"your turn, doll," he said.

you took a breath to shake the phantom of his embrace away, then teed off - beautifully straight and hard, arcing through the air like a physics textbook problem.

you looked at him to find a knowing, teasing look on his face. he ran a hand through his hair, displacing the curling ends as he gave a quick laugh.

you smiled. "call me a natural," you offered, shrugging.

"oh yeah?" he said, tilting his head. "how about i call you a liar?"

you leaned forward onto the end of your driver, grin widening. "how about i call you gullible?"

he shook his head, let out a playful scoff. "like you'd ever have to trick me into touching you."

the rest of the round went by quickly, both of your guards down, lost in conversation and high on each other. too soon, it was over.

it was this realization that urged you to act uncharacteristically - in that, you acted according to what you truly felt.

"can i see you tomorrow?" you asked him as he loaded your clubs into the trunk of your car. you didn't cringe as much as you would have a few weeks ago.

he wiped his hands on his shorts, looked at you with something that looked like relief. "think i'd have a hard time saying no to you," he parroted. his ability to remember things about you warmed you from the inside out.

"meet me at the sig nu party tomorrow?" you asked hopefully. "maybe you can meet some of my friends?"

he looked truly touched. "some of the guys are going already since we don't have a morning lift on friday," he said, "so you could meet some of them, too, if you want."

you nodded, flushed with expectation. "see you then," you said, making to get in your car. "and yes, i'll think about you."

his smile as you shut your door was something of dreams.

sigma nu was not one of your favorite frats. their basement was especially dirty looking, their brothers were on the sketchier side, and the never seemed to have enough alcohol to make it through the night.

but one of your friends was talking to one of the brothers, who also played club basketball. so you and the rest of your group were going for moral support. and also because no one else was throwing. it was only a thursday.

you were nervous. you had only just begun to accept that you were really, really into quinn, and you had only just begun to accept that he might, possibly, probably, be just as into you.

it still didn't make much logical sense to you. when had it ever been so simple?

don't talk about logical sense around me, chance would say, that bitch knows what she did.

when you first saw quinn across the crowded room, chance and logical sense and all those divine powers, they all melted away.

it was just him. his hair was messy and his gaze was relaxed and the lights made it look like his face was glowing as he laughed with his friends.

but the crowd got the better of you, for a little while. you danced with your friends, politely escaped several "so, what's your major?" conversations, and actually spent a while talking to your friend's new talking stage.

as you laughed at something, you were internally surprised. this guy seemed perfect for your friend - they shared so many interests, and he was able to laugh at himself easily, which was something that was at the top of her priority list.

after a while of learning enough about him to approve of him graduating from the talking stage, you looked up. of course your gaze was immediately drawn to quinn, closer than you had seen him last.

closer, and yet farther than he had ever been, because he was leaning against the wall, talking to another girl.

you couldn't really see the girl, but it wouldn't have really mattered. it wasn't about her. she was just a girl talking to a guy at a party. a guy who was, in all technical senses, single and available.

it was more so about him, and how close he was to her, how he leaned down to hear her, meaning she could probably smell his all-but-worn-off cologne.

your grip tightened on your red cup as you swallowed.

before, quinn had only ever been yours, because even when you doubted that he could ever return your feelings, he had never given you concrete evidence that he was interested in anyone else. so even though he hadn't been yours, he had been almost yours, probably going to be yours, or something like that.

but here he was, giving you concrete proof that he existed to others, too, that other people could be interested in him and he could be interested back.

and of course that had always been the case. how could you have been so narcissistic? of course people would foster crushes on him, like you did, and of course he was bound to reciprocate eventually, to someone.

you had let yourself believe that you were the center of the world for a moment, of his world, and you hated that.

so, honestly, it was barely even about quinn. this struggle, this was about you.

but if you stripped back everything external, oh, how downright jealous you felt right then.

so jealous that you had to leave, that you couldn't watch anymore. when you got home, you shut the door and exhaled.

what did i tell you? that bitter voice said, things just don't work out that way for you.

you could have growled, now, at how lazy, how self-centered that sounded.

don't look at me, chance would have said, hands raised in surrender, this was all you.

he was just talking to another girl, logical reason would say, that doesn't mean he's not interested in you. you have what, a couple months of history?

and of course reason would be right. of course, you knew, deep down, you didn't have to let this consume you.

but now a tendril of doubt had woven its way into your heart. if you had been so misled by your own ego before, how could you tell if any of it was real? how could you trust yourself to know if this wasn't much more to you than it was to him?

time. you needed some time.

thankfully, that was doable. you went home for break on friday after class, and planned to stay there for the week.

so you stayed home, caught up with your parents, ignored his numerous texts.

it hurt to do so, but you told yourself you needed some distance.

which wasn't that hard, considering he was playing a series of games across the country. you still put on his games though, which your parents noticed.

"didn't even know we got this channel," you dad observed one night as you watched quinn stickhandle around a sloppy winger.

"when did you get into hockey?" you mom asked, never critical. "we could go see a game sometime, if you want."

you started to settle down a bit, really enjoyed the time at home. before you knew it, though, break was almost over.

"sweetheart," you mom called to you on your second to last day, "would you mind taking the car in?"

you were skeptical. "why?"

"they just called," she explained, "said we're due for an urgent oil change."

you thought it was weird that they would call for that, but quinn was supposedly still away, so you figured it wouldn't be that much of an issue.

"sure," you responded. "i'll bring it in now."

you knew it was a trap as soon as you opened your car door at the garage.

the young receptionist approached you quickly with a guilty smile.

"hi, miss bean," you said, trying to gauge what she was about to say.

"look," she rushed, "i didn't want to, and i'm thought the plan was stupid, and i'm sure you're ignoring him for good reason-"

you sighed, knowing what was coming. having walked right into it. "i'm not, really," you stopped her, then felt the need to clarify. "it's not really a good reason."

"what is it, then?" that low voice asked from your side, and everyone else disappeared.

just him, standing there, looking the same as you had last seen him, but so, so different.

the same, because he was just as lovely as you last recalled. was it insensitive to say that he wore his weariness beautifully?

so different, because he just looked so tired. his coveralls did little to hide the slight slouch in his shoulders. a subtle stubble now shadowed his face, making his jaw sharper. and his eyes. that steely stone that had occupied your mind all this time - it was cracking, desperate for something to hang on to.

"just needed some distance," you mustered. you were jarred by his appearance, by being close to him again, just the two of you.

"yeah?" he looked you up and down, that desperate disappointment now running down your figure. there was no malice in his tone. "why, doll? so you can say you were right?" you could have hissed. "so you can go on knowing everything went exactly as you told yourself it would?"

things like this don't work out for you. who had been telling you that, again?

you sucked on your teeth, had no idea what to say. what do you say to someone that sees right through you? the pause settled like sludge. "i thought you were away," you eventually whispered, ignoring his question.

he ran a hand through his hair, let all his grief flood into his eyes. "and i thought it would be a lot harder for you to forget me," he said, "so i guess we're both at a loss."

you took a step forward, then stopped yourself, almost dizzy. "you actually think i would forget you?" you breathed, practically choking on your words.

he scoffed. "what was i supposed to think?" he rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. "i think everything is going well when you ask me to come to this party, then you spend the whole time talking to some other guy-"

your brow furrowed before you understood. "my friend's new boyfriend," you interrupted. to his confusion, you clarified. "i was talking to my friend's boyfriend."

he blinked, registered this information, appeared a bit lighter. "regardless," he sighed, "you were supposed to be talking to me, doll."

"hold on," you said, the memory of jealousy seeping into your bloodstream, "you were talking to someone else, too, quinn." you crossed your arms, images flashing in your mind of him leaning down, his ear much too close to her lips. "and i don't think that was your friend's girlfriend, unless they're trying out an open relationship."

"i just-" he gave a frustrated gesture, looked down at his feet for a moment.

"you what?" you pressed.

he sighed, now flushed. "i just wanted you to look at me."

you both were silent for a beat as you processed his words. you exhaled, took a few steps until you were right in front of him. his eyes flickered down to your mouth, took the long way back up.

you took his face in your hands, his stubble rough under your palms. you knew you didn't imagine the way he softened into you touch.

"surely by now you know you're all i think about," you said, an offering. like some sacrifice at a long-abandoned altar, so terribly desperate, shamefully honest.

so terrible, the way he grabbed at your hip, pulled you forward, against him. so desperate, the way his other hand twisted into your hair.

so shameful, how he captured your lips with his, all brute emotion, sleepy resignation, a million pleas of "look at me" answered with "i never looked away."

so honest, how he just barely whimpered into your mouth when you tightened your grasp on his jaw, kissed him harder. he pulled so slightly on your hair, you slid a hand down to his chest, gathered the collar of his coveralls in your first, trying to get him impossibly closer.

here, you both were practically screaming, here, have some more of me.

someone whistled across the garage. you pulled away from each other with a jump, having gotten a little carried away. quinn flushed on the tips of his ears and shot the culprit a look, which made you let out a light laugh into his chest.

the little rumble made him look down at you, wrap his arms around your waist and clasp them on the small of your back.

you stayed like that for a moment, just looking at each other. stone, molten.

"i have this thing next week," he said eventually, barely anything more than a rasp. "a formal for the team."

you nodded, reached up, twisted a strand of his hair around your finger.

"come with me," he asked, soft. "please."

you didn't have to think about it. "yes."

and so, about a week later, you found yourself at the hockey formal, an event you hadn't known existed a couple of months ago.

the past week had been blissful, but frustrating - you both were so busy, you with schoolwork and tutoring, him with the team. so much so that you could barely see each other outside of your scheduled tutoring session.

needless to say, you were very much looking forward to a weekend away with him. a whole night, just for the two of you.

and the whole night was wonderful. you were introduced to his teammates, saw a new side of him, heard his laugh so many times it made your head spin.

it was all just so easy. even the mess ups, the uncertainty, the silences, those were easy too, because they were with him.

when he stuttered over telling you how beautiful you looked - easy.

when you didn't know how to introduce yourself to his friends, so you just said you were "quinn's..." and then faded out, unsure - that was easy, because you weren't even really lying. your laugh was instinctual, and everyone else's was, too.

when he asked you to dance, reaching his hand out to you, there had never been an easier yes.

you danced with all the beautiful awkwardness of two people who weren't quite sure what they were yet - weren't quite sure how far they could go. there was not a question of how you both felt, but how slow were you taking this?

how slow could you bear?

every touch felt electric, like a gentle flame ignited whereever his hands had been. you felt a shiver erupt when his hand grasped your waist as you both moved together to a simple rhythm.

so up close and personal, you could smell his worn cologne, feel the warmth from his chest.

he gave you a sly smile, something close to a smirk. "okay, doll?"

you bit your lip, peered up at him through your lashes. "you just look so lovely, quinn," you told him, squeezed his hand, gave him a flushed smile. "it's distracting."

he pulled you a little closer, so that your chests were almost touching as you moved across the floor. "yeah?" he asked, his smile lazy, almost shy. "love a suit, do you?"

you tilted your head, met his gaze entirely and absolutely. oh, how much, how deeply you wanted. hadn't your want seemed to fray the fibers of the universe before?

babe, they seemed to remind you, we never cared.

then who was i praying to? you could have asked.

and they would have only shared a look, laughed like two girls at a sleepover.

well, who answered? they would have responded.

what you did do is give a slight shake of your head. "not the suit," you said. "you're distracting."

you watched his eyes become hooded, felt the underlying heat ignite between you. his grip on your waist tightened. "careful, doll," he breathed out, a warning, a plea.

"don't wanna be," you replied. there was a moment of understanding, a pause of anticipation.

"how slow do you want to take this?" almost drowsy with desire, his voice was slow, rough, only for you. "you know i'd go so slow for you, right, doll?"

you nodded. "i know," you assured him, "but i don't want you to."

you thought you heard him mutter a fuck before he was pulling you from the floor, out of the elaborate event room, upstairs to your room at the hotel. everything was a blur as his hand clasped around yours. a desperate escape, fleeing from everything, everyone except him.

and then the door was shutting and he was pushing you up against it, a hand on your hip and the other on your jaw as his lips met yours in a heated kiss that was every bit as desperate, as longing, and terrible and horrible and shameful as the first one.

you were both too far gone to hold back any longer.

you tangled your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, felt the curls between your fingers.

he tasted like mint and salt and something earthy.

kissing him felt like barbed wire made of gold, flowery rust, somehow the most violent act you had ever committed, yet also the most gentle.

like removing your heart with a cookie cutter, offering it to him on a painted porcelain plate.

you moaned into his mouth, he hissed just a bit as you pulled at his hair.

he pushed his hips up against yours, hiked your leg up around his thigh, making you gasp at the hardness you found across his front.

"more," you murmured against his lips, felt his sly smirk grow against yours.

he moved his hand from your hip to slide up your dress, glide his fingertips along your inner thigh, just barely skirt across your folds. "like this, doll? so wet for me already," he asked, his voice gravelly. "this must be enough then, yeah?"

you shook your head, moved your hips to try to get some friction.

"no?" he said, obviously teasing, "greedy girl, hm? wants even more?" he brought his other hand to your mouth, pressed his thumb against your bottom lip, smirked when you closed your lips around him without a second thought. "what do you say?"

"please," you whined around his hand, in a voice you barely recognized. "please, quinn."

he answered you by dragging his fingers through your folds once before pushing two into you, slow and deep, making you arch your back up off of the door.

"fuck, so tight," he rasped.

you whimpered against his thumb, closed your eyes as you felt his hand move from your mouth to your throat.

"open up, doll," he demanded. "look at me."

you obliged with effort, wrapped an arm around his neck for support, another one bracing the door as he increased his pace, pushing his fingers in and out of you, grazing your clit each time.

your nails dug into his neck as you lost yourself in the sensation, barely registering the way he groaned at the delicious shot of pain.

"this enough, doll?" he cooed, annoyingly smug at how audibly wet you were.

you vigorously shook your head, so desperate to get him to keep going. "no," you pleaded, "fuck, please, quinn, don't stop."

he tightened his hand around your throat just a little, only barely squeezing as he flattened his other palm against your clit, making you moan loudly. "must be ready for me then, yeah?"

you fisted his dress shirt in your hand, pushed yourself off of the door and pulled him onto the bed. "please, need more of you," you begged, nothing more than a prayer, "fuck, want you so bad."

something lovely flooded his gaze as he moved his clothes aside, pulled himself out as you further hiked up your dress.

he spat into his hand, pumped himself up and down in a way that made your mouth water.

you were practically pouting. "please, fuck me, quinn," you said, pathetic and just so fine with it, "'s all i've been thinking about."

and you knew you had said something magical when he groaned and tugged you towards him by the undersides of your thighs, his grip hot and rough, a working man's grip.

"shit," he hissed as he ran his cock up and down your folds once, twice, collecting your wetness there, "'d never say no to you."

you whined when he first pushed into you, so, so deep that you swore you could feel him in the palms of your hands, feel him rattling around in your teeth, behind your eyes.

he moaned like a sinner, clutched at the flesh of your hips so tightly you knew his fingerprints would be left behind later.

as he began to thrust in and out of you, his rhythm hard and even, both of you could barely form words, so lost in the feeling of each other, finally as physically close as you could be.

"fuck," he bit out eventually, his rhythm picking up speed, "so tight, doll. so wet for me, hm?"

you nodded, clenched around him, reached one of your hands forward to rub at your clit, increasing the pressure quickly building inside of you.

he choked out a grunt at the sight of you touching yourself, only making you squeeze him harder. "feels so good, quinn," you whined, "so deep inside me."

he moved one hand up to your calf, hoisted one of your legs up to change his angle, thrusted down into you in a way that hit a dizzying spot inside of you. he kept going, bringing you both closer every minute.

"shit, feel so perfect," he bit out at some point. "made for me, hm?" he asked as you rubbed your clit faster. "squeezing me so perfect, yeah?"

you hummed something like affirmation, your breathing becoming ragged as he hit that spot over and over, his chest rising and falling, his thrusts becoming broken and messy.

"fuck, quinn," you moaned, "fuck, 'm so close."

he groaned. "gonna cum for me, doll?" he asked, letting your calf rest on his shoulder as his hand travelled down to apply only the slightest pressure to your lower stomach.

the sensation, that unique pressure making you feel him impossibly deeper, sent you soaring right to the edge.

"feel you squeezing me," he breathed out, his own voice tight and rough, his chest and stomach flexing as he fought off his own orgasm. "cum for me, doll, yeah? wanna feel you cum on my cock." he squinted with effort. "be good for me, hm?"

and his words sent you spiraling, a wave of pleasure finally crashing, clenching and spasming around him in a way that triggered his own high.

he moaned as he came, his breathing labored as you both collapsed back onto the hotel bed.

effort and satisfaction glowed on your faces, realized desire settling along his cheekbones and on the cupid's bow of your mouth.

there were several moments of easy silence in the warm air, his hand throw lazily around your middle, one of yours resting on his chest.

"can i ask you for something?" you said eventually, looking up at him with tired eyes full of possibility.

"anything, doll," he said, and you remembered back to that first day, in the garage. how easy it was, now, to remember it fondly.

"can i have a kiss, please?" you asked, almost shy, more so gentle.

a smile already played across his mouth. "especially that," he said, eager to comply with your request.

he leaned down to press a fluttering, beautiful kiss to your lips.

well i definitely didn't see this coming, chance stage-whispered to logical reason behind her hand.

i don't really deal with this lovey-dovey kind of stuff, logical reason said, not my thing.

all the divine powers and the fibers of the universe and such, they were silent. perhaps they always had been. perhaps this was much too far out of their jurisdiction.

perhaps it was just none of their business.

fin.

846 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 1 year

Text

Dendro NA: 101 (Yandere!Alhaitham/Reader)

a/n: “ansy weren’t you going to write faceless!ayato and music composer!tighnari” well yes but things happened so now here we are. I’m dedicating this fic to crying anon since they’re the person that gave me an idea of an "what if Alhaitham had an elf!darling?" after this fic. The beginning reads like an enemies-to-lovers fic with a slice of crack where nothing goes wrong but trust me it’s not lmao

unreliable synopsis: After Alhaitham forged your signature, you're now forced to become the Acting Grand Sage’s assistant. It's even more annoying when he nearly visited your house all drugged up. Seriously, when will he learn to respect his seniors?

CW: yandere themes, noncon touching, aphrodisiacs, possessiveness, so much bickering, and the reader slanders dendro for plot reasons.

Pulcinella, The Rooster, came to visit early in the morning.

“Pups, please… Stop turning my apartment upside down and just tell me what you want.”

It was unexpected how the old man barged into your “unconquerable mess of an apartment” with the intent to celebrate your newfound job at the Haravatat. Mayor Pulcinella isn’t your direct grandfather, but he is your grandfather’s brother. The fact that you are connected to him is a well-known secret (as absurd an oxymoron as that may sound) in the College of Engineering and Technology at the Akademiya. Because of the collectivist mentality that characterized your family, every last pointy-eared relative you are aware of is blatantly nosy and annoying. The "mayor" is much more so.

Pulcinella did come to extend his congratulations, with a generous batch of cookies even, but he had an objective in mind. His way of showing that he cares is usually in the form of letters but he stands right in front of you now. You can only imagine how difficult it is for someone in his position to take a leave of absence this far since Port Ormos is so far away from home and it takes days for mail to arrive here.

Your grandfather is obstinate. Terrifying so since you recognize that expression on his face all too well. Although you are unsure of what he needs from you, you do know that you want him out. Immediately.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone, child.” He scowled, jabbing your briefcases with his wooden cane. “I’m not leaving until I find it.”

That "Rooster" moniker belongs to him without a doubt. Your belongings were seized by the elf-like a bird's beak. He prodded the dreadful equation-filled sheets hanging on your wall and snatched a few trinkets on your work table. Good lord. Pulcinella made so much noise that if you weren’t already planning on starting your day, you would’ve been incredibly cranky when he knocked on your door.

“For Her Majesty’s sake– just what are you trying to find, grandpups?”

He turned to look at you.

Not mad, but disappointed– sad, even.

“An engagement ring. Evidence that you’re dating that fool, Alhaitham.”

You groaned.

“Him again?! Motherf—”

Pulcinella quirked his eyebrow at your outburst, “hmm?”

You chuckled nervously, “ah, sorry, I just… It’s nothing.”

No, it was not “nothing.” That bastard ruined a lot of things for you, including your vision. You didn’t want a dendro vision. You were praying for Rex Lapis every night even after his death but somehow being involved with Alhaitham strayed your path to gaining the “grass fertilizer tool” as you loved to call it. Sure, there’s little evidence that he’s the reason behind the fact that you got a dendro vision instead of geo but that doesn’t change the fact that you want to crush him between your palms like a writhe scarab. Especially after he enlisted you as his scribe-disciple without your consent. What a complete scumbag.

Oh, to quit the Akademiya only to be forced to go back again…

But of course, your grandpups don’t know anything about this and you have ZERO intentions of letting him in on your business. If he knows, then ALL of Snezhnayan elves know.

“I’ve heard from your mother that you’ve gone lovesick and left the Akademiya,” Pulcinella spoke in a slow somber tone. “And falling recklessly in love and gaining a dendro vision does not sound like you at all.”

Eww. Lovesick? Hell no.

If it weren’t for this man, you would’ve graduated as a fully pledged civil engineer next year. If he wasn’t such a great scribe, no, forger, your signature wouldn’t be on that damn contract.

That man seriously has no respect for his seniors.

Nevertheless, it was too late to do anything. You just have to accept the consequences of your inaction. Additionally, if you're going to take this "new job," you might as well act as if you adore it.

Hooray! Don’t you love working for Alhaitham? Isn’t it fun to discard your 4 years of studying? Oh, what joy! You definitely did not burn your eyebrows out trying to ace FIFTY Kshahrewar mock tests!!!–

“Talk to me, poppet.” He continued, eyebrows knitted. His wrinkly hands reached to gently hold yours. Suddenly, you remembered that he is still family. That this was the same old major that your young self boasted their miniature construction toys to.

“I’m worried that something might’ve happened. And my dear, health is not the absence of disease or infirmity, it is also–”

“The complete state of physical, mental, AND social wellbeing. Yes. I know, Pups. You nearly forced me to study medicine.” You groaned and palmed your forehead, weak but playful.

He chuckled heartily.

The old man’s rather soft with you compared to his other grandchildren. If he wasn’t, you’d likely find yourself as Il Dottore’s new assistant.

Although most people would find working for a harbinger, especially The Doctor, to be a complete nightmare, you concluded that being Alhaitham's slave was the epitome of "overrated garbage," and you despise the scribe so much you can't even remember his appearance. Sure, Layla’s jealous that you’re essentially set for life by being a scribe assistant but at least Dottore gives his assistants a hefty pay (discounting his crimes against humanity…)

You’re not proud to call Alhaitham your boss. That stupid #093c0d face doesn’t make your 2 million mora salary worth the trouble. He needs to pay for your mental health insurance–

“Are you alright, poppet? You’re looking at me like you would with one of your test slimes.”

You exhaled deeply, “sorry, I suddenly thought of a hex code #093c0d person.”

Pulcinella closed his eyes.

“A dark green shade?”

“That’s right.”

“...”

With an unreadable yet deliberate face, Pulcinella fixed his gaze on you. Your unique perspective on others didn't seem to disturb your grandpups the way it did your parents. He is one of the select few who is aware of how you assign people's personalities through colors. Pulcinella raised his glasses further up before giving a sage-like nod. The moment he crossed his arms, you knew he understood what you were trying to express.

“So it’s a lover’s quarrel.”

“Yes, exactly.”

…

“Wait, what– NO!!! Pups, please stop assuming shit– things!!!”

Never mind— he is SO far off.

Why is he convinced that you’re dating that prick? What the hell did your mom tell him?!

“I heard that, poppet. And do not misunderstand, I think this is a good thing.”

Your uncle-grandfather cupped your cheeks and squished them between his fingers. Perhaps this is what people consider a wholesome grandpa-grandchild dynamic– but social norms should’ve also labeled this as domestic violence. His pinching hurts. Your clipped groans made him grin wider.

“After all, this means that you have seen his flaws and true character. What better way to break a couple up than a genuine argument?”

“PWUUUPS!!!”

Pulcinella pulled his hands away.

“I felt distraught when I heard you have given up your pursuit of civil engineering and chose a career in the Haravatat,” he sighed and took off his hat, holding it against his chest. “I was rooting for you, dear. I had faith in your aspirations. Even Lord Capitano found it upsetting to learn that the future engineer I frequently boasted about had become a lesser Lord Kusanali underling.”

You squirmed and rubbed your cheeks, staring at the ground.

Lord Capitano was not someone you often interacted with, but you knew that he had an eye for talent– and he sought after yours. Perhaps this is your ego talking, but it felt like even he believed you’re best suited for an engineering course too. Other than your grandpups and subsequently his recruit, Ajax, Lord Capitano was one of the Fatuis you respected.

Alhaitham truly crushed your dreams.

“I know, Pups…”

“You know what to do, right?”

You nodded solemnly, before looking him dead in the eye. Pulcinella can see your determination clear as day.

You breathed in.

“I’m going to commit arson.”

He patted your back, smiling.

“That’s my grandchild!”

Pulcinella tip-toed and ruffled your hair.

“Alright, this old man had given up. Just show grandpups where the ring is.”

“Her majesty the Tsaritsa’s sake– I already told you Pups– ALHAITHAM AND I ARE NOT DATING!!!”

It was an exceptionally hot evening in Sumeru City despite being far from the desert. You should be inside your apartment right now, studying the Dendro Vision book Alhaitham gave you but you’d rather be where you are now. It’s about to get warmer, yet you’d dare argue that both you and master architect Kaveh’s headache can compete with its 38°C average temperature.

“C’mon, please?”

“No, I’m not helping you burn Alhaitham’s house down.”

“What?! Why not?!”

“Damnit, (Y/n)– BECAUSE I LIVE THERE!!!”

“Oh, right.”

You flopped back to your seat, eyes rolling back, deflated.

Kaveh cried out in pain while lowering his head to the table. He somewhat resembled a dried-out raisin. He had a drinking binge the night before, so this isn't because he's not a morning person. Although you expressed regret for knocking on his (Alhaitham's) door, the architect never misses a chance to rant about his housemate. Kaveh's pain wasn't even close to how much he detested Alhaitham. Now here you both are, sitting outside Lambad’s Tavern like morons because you both forgot to bring your wallets.

Not a sight you’d expect from a master-of-all-trades (ex-)engineering student and a genius architect.

“Damn it…” You whined. “What else am I supposed to do now?”

“Await until Focalors passes her judgment,” he answered hoarsely.

In other words: curl up and die, probably.

“Yeah… Yeah, that sounds viable. Let me just go to Fontaine real quick– oh wait, I can’t, because some dumbass scribe paid the corps to keep me from reaching the borders.”

Kaveh chuckled, still caressing his headache, not caring how his messy and unwashed locks covered his eyes. You’d be surprised if he told you he didn’t just get out of bed. He appeared like he was ready to sleep for all eternity, or more accurately, Kaveh’s starting to look eerily similar to Layla. In terms of colors though, he’d still be a #ffda29 and not a #003153.

He sneered, “did the sun always look this bright, powerful, and oh-so hateful?”

“It wouldn’t look like that if you didn’t down the pitcher I left on the table last night, Kaveh.”

You both turned to look at the voice– rather, the abyss. Alhaitham stood behind you. Or at least, you think it’s him.

Okay, here’s the deal: you hate remembering his face.

You handle your memory much like a student would a personal bookshelf– you’ll occasionally take out the information you no longer wish to retain in favor of more useful and relevant ones. As a creature with longevity, an elf should be picky when it comes to memories. You believe your approach is in the same vein as Pulcinella disposing of “less valuable assets’' without hesitation. If there’s no point in having it, why carry the baggage? But there are at least two facts that you can easily recall about Alhaitham: it’s his voice and the color #093c0d.

In other words, he’s just a talking dark green slime in your eyes.

Which he considers a major step up, by the way. You went from ignoring him to recognizing his voice, to associating him with one color. That’s quite a development. A pathetically slow progression, but still a positive one.

“THERE YOU ARE, ALHAITHAM, YOU PRI–”

The man swiftly dodged his slap by crouching down. He honestly didn’t have to put in the effort when Kaveh’s attacks were sluggish.

“–CK! WHY’D YOU LABEL THE ALCOHOL AS WATER?!”

Tons of passersby stared at Kaveh as he flailed around, but they were quick to look away. It’s no longer a secret that he lives with the scribe. Everyone in Sumeru City knows about his tactless antics and none are deaf when it comes to his loud gripes about his housemate. Even so, you went up to him to soothe his worries and restore his reputation because not everyone understands he's not a bad person.

Alhaitham scoffed, glaring.

“I didn’t. The label said "Fire-Water.””

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?!”

“Fire-water? Oh.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you connected the two dots.

That beverage from Snezhnaya is notorious for having a high alcohol content and is only known in Mondstadt as the drink Master Ragnvindr forbade exports of. As a quote-unquote "wine connoisseur," you were invited to one of his parties. Fortunately, you were able to warn Diluc of how potent it is firsthand– Kaveh? Not so much.

You snorted.

“Yeah, Kaveh, I hate to take Alhaitham’s side on this but this one is on you, friend.”

The blonde’s eyes widened, betrayed.

“HAH?!”

“Need I remind you that fire-water is an alcoholic beverage, Kaveh.” Alhaitham waved his hand, emphasizing his condescending tone. “Maybe if you listened to me instead of ranting about my work ethic, you would’ve known that I received it as a gift from a Fatui Harbinger.”

Your ears perked up. “From a Harbinger?”

Alhaitham smirked but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Hmm. I’m certain that you know him, assistant (L/n). His name is Pulcinella,” the scribe said. “He left me a note. He said he wishes that I drink to my heart’s content as a thank-you gift for hiring his grandchild. I wasn’t aware you have a kind grandfather.”

You smiled back, crookedly.

No. No, your uncle-grandfather DEFINITELY wanted to see Alhaitham in pain. He didn’t even bother giving him a bottle– he gave him a fucking leftover pitcher.

Alhaitham took your arm. Unfortunately, he’s taller than you with muscle strength you can’t compete with. You squirmed but resistance was futile. Doesn’t mean you can’t bite his arm off–

“Assistant (L/n)–”

You gritted your teeth. “Don’t touch me, sir.”

Alhaitham paused, processing how much emphasis you put into pronouncing the word “sir.”

“–I’ll be taking you away now.” He looked down on your friend and scoffed. “Kaveh, do try your best to not be a burden to Mx. (L/n) again.”

Kaveh clutched his head, still in pain.

Sorry, Kaveh. That drink and beating headache were not meant for you in the slightest. You made a mental note to make it up to him, but not today. You have a lot on your plate right now.

“Idiot. They’re the one that invited me here!”

“True–”

“I quite frankly don’t care,” Alhaitham spat coldly.

“From now on, refrain from having conversations with my assistant. Unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

“Do you remember the approximate damage multipliers an aggravate reaction causes?”

“Nope.”

“Tch. I just discussed this, I can’t believe you already forgot.”

“You think I forgot? Haha, hell no. I didn’t forget, I just wasn’t paying any attention.”

Alhaitham dragged you down a secluded area in the rainforests with a sword in hand. Quite frankly, you hoped he brought his weapon to kill you, but you’re well aware of what this is about.

This is a lesson straight out of a page of “Dendro Vision Qualifications 101: Normal Attack Patterns.” The Acting Grand Sage thinks that you should have at least enough fighting proficiency for you to start formally working for him. As for you? You think this whole charade is utterly meaningless.

Sometimes, you truly do wish you were born as a rock instead. Maybe then you would be able to perform the “gray-rock method” whenever Alhaitham starts his drivel about dendro visions. You bet you’d make a pretty good tombstone for your dead childhood friend if you were a rock. Being a rock is probably the nicest thing to be. You get to be something created from the Geo element– the element and vision you desired. And not dendro.

Anything but lame old dendro.

This is so stupid. You wanted a geo vision, damn it. What on earth did you do to make Rex Lapis spite you, and what kinda breakthrough did you accomplish to gain the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s favor instead?!

If only you got something that isn’t the same as Alhaitham’s vision. Maybe if you got an electro vision you’d be learning how to brandish a lance with the General Mahamatra instead. Unlike most people, you enjoy being in his prolonged company and dry jokes. You’ve exchanged letters with Cyno multiple times– but your friend’s on-the-spot puns are 10x funnier than the things he writes down. Of course, that’s only because his earnest delivery sells it.

“In this fighting stance, you can perform up to 4 consecutive attacks, dishing out dendro damage approximately every 2 seconds interval–”

You held up your Eye of Perception.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll use this vision.”

“–charge attacks on the other hand require a hefty amount of stami–”

You yawned, halting Alhaitham in the middle of his “lecture.”

There’s a reason why you chose an Eye of Perception, and that’s because, unlike most catalysts, it procures physical damage as well. With someone as petty as you, it’s only natural that you’d brandish a weapon that doesn’t rely too much on dendro reactions.

“Yeah, I’ll just hit the enemy with my catalyst. Like, aim and shoot, or maybe I’ll just go with blunt force. This eye of perception looks like it’s made of metal, it can probably dish out some physical damage–”

Alhaitham shifted forward. Your gentle yet insouciant voice forced him out of his momentum.

“(Y/n).”

“...Yes, sir?”

His gaze sharpened.

“Pay attention.”

You snorted. Was he trying to intimidate you?

You, an elf who lived longer than him? How arrogant. It was becoming clearer why Alhaitham never once had a girlfriend or boyfriend. Or maybe a genuine friend in general. His senior who happens to also be his housemate does not count.

“No thanks.” You laughed to yourself, barely containing your amusement. “I think I’m doing fine.”

“What do you expect will happen if you don’t listen to my instructions? Your unfailing indifference sickens me.” He sheathed his sword back. “Do I have to spell everything out? You’ll get injured in combat. You won’t be able to defend yourself from fungi, eremites, and other enemies on the prowl. All for what? Useless pride? Grow up. Accept that you got a dendro vision and be done with it.”

“Tch…” You know how you feel, but you do not have the strength to say it out loud.

What an impossible task. He’s telling you– the most stubborn person you know– to give up on your goals? Inconceivable. You bet he sees the mediocre majority as nothing more than defective pawns, and you’re well aware you belong in that lowly category.

To him, grief may as well be easy as breathing. For you, years had gone by and you could still hear their voice. The scribe knows nothing about tributes for the dead.

Your old childhood friend beckons you back to the chasm. His voice comes once the dark rears in, reverbing his desperate pleas for a fitting grave. It’s a voice that twists around your chest like a knife. You can’t get their faces out of your memetic bookshelf, but it’s not as if you’re willing to dispose of them.

You didn’t want a dendro vision.

You wanted a geo vision to construct mausoleums for your dead friends.

Alhaitham scowled.

“Fine. We’ll resume our lesson next week.”

He bumped into your shoulder as he walked by. For a split second, you’re reminded that your superior had longer eyelashes than you do. And it made the gesture more annoying.

Strange.

Alhaitham wouldn’t normally let you off so easily…

Maybe he’s busy?

“If you’re so insistent on only utilizing physical attacks, be my guest. Next time, I will not back down a single step.” Alhaitham walked away with heavy feet, stamping the dirt with his heels.

The consequences of your actions began to sink in. You may have lived longer than Alhaitham, but needless to say, he had more experience in combat.

Admittedly, you may have done yourself a disservice by acting out… You huffed.

No, no way.

“What could possibly go wrong? He’s just a feeble scholar!”

Unsurprisingly, Alhaitham was not, in fact, a feeble scholar.

Thankfully you have the Eye of Perception at your disposal because the moment he found you walking towards Devantaka Mountain the following week, the bastard went for your jugular.

“What the fuck, Alhaitham?!”

You fired a single shot, aimed higher this time knowing that he would attempt to evade. Much like his actions with Kaveh last time, Alhaitham was quick to dodge that projectile. His timing is impeccable as he activated his vision.

#ff0e0e starts blaring in your line of sight. You’ve always trusted these colors— your instincts.

You’re in danger.

“Tch!”

You almost didn’t recognize that it was him. If he wasn’t breathing heavily, you would've mistaken him for an assassin. Alhaitham never made any unnecessary movements. His slashes were not done with the intent of harming you, but shepherding you to an appropriate trap. Your knee scraped against the grass and minuscule rocks. Prioritizing distance over attacks was a wrong move– he’s faster than anticipated. You gasped sharply as the scribe pinned you against a tree trunk–

… His scent caught your attention.

“A cicin mage’s perfume…?” You mumbled, eyes wide.

That didn’t seem right. Their perfume usually doesn’t smell this unpleasant and metallic.

Your ears drooped down as you realized this Alhaitham did not attack because he’s a lunatic, no. That malodorous stench was akin to a grandmother’s bittersweet husk.

This Alhaitham was under the influence of aphrodisiacs, and it is not something you can fault him for.

“What– What on earth happened?”

He twisted your arm slightly, not enough that’ll make you scream but just rough for a tiny yelp–

and that’s how he boldly claimed your lips.

You froze in horror, letting him take advantage of your plight. Alhaitham pulled away, panting slightly.

“F-Fuck…”

Alhaitham moaned as he slipped his tongue back inside. You tried to stop him but you yelped the moment his hand groped your thigh. His breath fanned your flustered skin as he moved to slither his arms around your waist, closing the already small distance between you two.

You weakly pulled back. The rainforest had never felt this humid before.

Something is truly off about his scent.

“L-Let go!!!” You hissed and punched his chest, completely forgetting your catalyst in your panic. “What the hell is wrong with you?!?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

He didn’t listen despite your physical protests. Alhaitham disgustingly crooned down and sloppily dabbed wet kisses down your neck. His saliva dripped over his shoulder, coating you in hopes that it would leave his trace.

It felt wrong. You felt dirty– like you were kissing an actual #093c0d slime.

“P-Please…” He whispered, his voice dropping dangerously weak and vulnerable. “H-Help me, (Y/n)…”

Your face flushed as you wiped the saliva that connected you both from your lips.

You’ve never heard Alhaitham beg before.

Is this really him?

His fistful grip on your clothes grew taut as desperation colored his knuckles white. You had never seen Alhaitham lose his cool the way he does now, and the broken sight in his eyes made you uneasy and uncertain.

He looked pathetic.

“Haitham, your…” your hand supported his neck and he hungrily leaned in to feel your touch. “Your heartbeat is loud.”

“I know,” he whimpered.

You bit your lip. You could sense his pulse going faster.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been kissed– or first anything. You’ve had your fair share of “soulmates” and “flings”, but those happened decades ago. Before you were mastering engineering, you were a freelance artist who’d had many affairs with humans and elves alike out of the undiagnosed emptiness that was grief. Up until Faruzan made you start a new leaf, you indulged in numerous vices, including wine and one-night stands. She was the closest a human could hope to understand the loneliness an elf would have.

Both your appearance give the illusion of youth, but your bones are held together by flesh older than this man. She would undoubtedly be angry with you as soon as she learns that you enabled Alhaitham's small rendezvous.

“Alhaitham, I’m more than a decade years older than you–” you squirmed.

“But I want you,” he groaned.

Those words felt so different when he was the one who said them. Nearly sinister.

“I know,” you said, but your voice doesn’t match the confidence you were meant to exude. “But this isn’t you, this is your hormones doing the talking. Where did the cicin mage attack you?”

“Between Pardis Dhyai and Yashna Monument”

“Between WHAT?!” You gawked. “That’s miles away from here!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does!!!”

You yanked his shirt. It’s thin, yet surprisingly durable. The strength of the fabric is not what made you unnerved, but his stare.

He gazed at you as if you were his lifeline— as if you were the only thing that allowed him to breathe. Alhaitham’s hot breaths were shallow, fanning your face as you took note of how red his face, neck, and ears were. You noticed how he struggled to gulp— struggled to keep his composure. His bedroom eyes had not once diverted their attention away from you.

“It doesn't matter how far I ran. You were the one I wanted to see. You were the face that came to mind after getting poisoned."

You pretended not to hear that.

“Alhaitham, we need to get you to Tighnari.”

“He can’t help me.”

“The forest watcher can most certainly help you more than me.”

“You don’t know that.”

You don't want to hear him talk anymore, to be honest. You're horrified by how weak and inaudible his voice sounded.

“Why did you come to Avidya Forest all the way from there? Why not head straight to the city?”

“So many questions…” He irritably spat. “Just stop talking and kis–”

“I refuse,” you glared. “Why were you heading towards Port Ormos? Did you think I was going to help you get over this mess out of the goodness of my heart?”

Did he forget how much you loathe him?

“No. No, of course not.”

He chuckled, full of self-loathing.

“I know you hate me, (Y/n). I would hate myself too.”

You raised an eyebrow. Of course, he’s self-aware— you just didn’t expect him to say that out loud.

Alhaitham continued, “but I’m not the one at fault here.”

Defeated, he rested his head on your shoulder. To avoid having you look at his expression, Alhaitham cupped your back, running fingers through your scalp so that you may only look forward. His body pressed against yours firmly. There’s no possible way for you not to be wholly aware of how warm he was and how fast his heart was beating.

It was distracting to know how much the poison affected someone like Alhaitham, whom you thought was damn near untouchable.

Awkwardly, you returned the favor and played with his hair. Alhaitham gasped softly, making you shiver as you realized how sensitive you are to his breathing from this position.

“And who would that be?” You asked quietly. “If your pride won’t let you seek Tighnari’s aid then since you’re here you might as well tell me everything, starting from the very beginning.”

“T-That won’t be necessary.”

“If we want to rule out who your true assailant is, then yes it is,” you answered. “I think this is what you call the process of elimination.”

Suddenly, he pulled away from you with his arms stretched out. Alhaitham still kept you pinned on the tree, but there’s more space for you now to move and see his face.

Ah, you’ve nearly forgotten again.

Alhaitham has green-orange eyes.

“No need.”

He clicked his tongue.

“It was Pulcinella. Your grandfather sent a cicin mage in an attempt to seduce and assassinate me.”

… Oh.

You should’ve guessed. You really should’ve guessed that he was behind all this.

Instinctively, you tried to cover your mouth from shock, but he quickly grabbed them and pressed them back to the tree behind you again. He tightened his hold once more, making you wince.

“I didn’t mind at first because your grandfather reminded me of my own grandmother,” Alhaitham gritted his teeth. “Pulcinella—”

He bit his bottom lip, his seafoam eyes looking unstable and royally pissed.

“He’s not after me because of my position as the Acting Grand Sage. H-He was merely looking after you. His expression was one I recognized. It's a grandfather's love. I may not show empathy as frequently as my housemate would like, but at least I am conscious of how important family is. I don’t want you to have to arrange your grandparent’s funeral like I did.”

You’re not unaware of who Alhaitham’s grandmother was. At one point, you had befriended her back when she was out on a mission to acquire 1,000 books. To think that you’ll meet her grandson for the first time in college and that you’ll end up in a situation like this… you’re sure she would’ve never condoned any of this. She wouldn’t appreciate that her grandson was trying to fuck the elf that helped her build her small library.

This is wrong.

Everything about this is wrong. From the age gap to the work power distance– it’s vile–

You want to vomit.

“So— s-so what did you do?”

“I didn’t want to kill your grandfather in retaliation.”

“Yes, you’ve established that. You don’t usually beat around the bush— go back to being the Alhaitham I know and just get straight to the point, damn it!”

“I ended up tracking all of his people in Sumeru down.”

He chuckled lowly.

Your heart started racing as well.

If his heart was beating out of excitement, yours were out of a rational fear that you wouldn’t get out of this unscathed and mentally sound.

“It’s laughable how his lackeys were so incompetent. If they listened to my lectures at all, they would’ve known how to defend themselves.”

“What… What the hell are you talking about?”

There was nowhere to run. You’re trapped unless Alhaitham lets go of both your wrists. Your dilated eyes surveyed the woodland, but you weren't confident that, should the occasion arise, your shaky knees could put some distance between you and the scribe.

“Didn’t you notice? They were stalking us from the moment I was teaching you how to use your vision last week, and likely even before that.”

His face drew near and you strained your neck to hopefully maintain at least a hair of distance between both of your lips.

Alhaitham closed his eyes.

“Did you honestly think I’d postpone our practice due to your mild complaining? Don’t you understand how excruciating it is to be away from you for a week?”

He pressed his forehead against yours.

“But I had to do it. For us.”

“Where… Where were you when you were gone? What did you do to them?”

You didn’t want to ask.

You already know the answer.

“When will you start thinking before you speak?”

With fears renewed, your body felt small underneath his gaze. He’s not even looking at you— his piercing green eyes weren’t even looking directly at your soul. You turned away and gazed at his left shoulder— shrieking.

Never in your 100+ years of life did you feel so stupid. Only now did you realize that it wasn’t just a cicin mage’s perfume you smelled earlier.

There was blood all over his coat.

“Stop screaming, (Y/n). I’ve finished the job and it’s high time you reward me, wouldn’t you agree?”

#ansy-writes #yandere alhaitham #alhaitham #al haitham #yandere al haitham x reader #yandere alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere oneshots #male yandere #x reader fanfiction #yandere male lead #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact

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ofsappho · 10 months

Text

Summertime Sadness (part 1)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Later’s better than never… right?

Ten years ago, Simon and you met at the same therapeutic boarding school. You fought, he said some shit, he left. He thought he’d never see you again.

Until one day, a hospital calls and informs him that you’ve listed him as your emergency contact.

(title from the song by Lana Del Rey)

Tags: mental illness, abuse, addiction, self harm, suicidality/suicidal ideation/suicide attempts, angsty shit in general, Ghost being very mean as a fucked up 17 year old boy

There’s an old battered flip phone he hides in the back of his locker wherever he’s deployed. Ghost doesn’t turn it on all that often. Everyone who knows the number is dead.

But sometimes he does, just to stare at the contacts and click through the photos and remember what it was like to talk to them.

Today is one of those days.

He can only take so much talk from his team about families, friends, dogs waiting back home, and pretty girls before feeling the urge to break things.

So he excuses himself to hide in the bathroom like a fucking pussy and takes the phone with him. Simon can pretend he’s waiting for his own phone call from people who love him for a few minutes. Then he promises himself that he’ll put it away and not touch it for another six months.

It takes forever to power on. It’s still janky from the last time Ghost threw it at a wall, it seems.

One (1) missed call.

…What?

They left a voicemail.

His fingers shake as he listens to it.

There’s a long, tinny beep. “Hi, Mr. Riley, I’m…” A woman says in a rushed, businesslike manner. “I’m one of the nurses at-“ Ghost hears a bustle of background noise; faint murmurs, emergency sirens, doors sliding open and shut. “…Hospital. I’m calling because a friend of yours,” The nurse says your name. A name he hasn’t thought about in years. “…Put you down as her emergency contact when we admitted her to our psychiatric inpatient ward. Unfortunately, she did not provide us with anyone else. Please give me a call back at this number if you’d like to speak with her.” Click.

Ghost starts packing an overnight bag before he even realizes it.

Then he’s on a plane.

TEN YEARS AGO

“I hate you.”

You’re crying as you run after him in the forest. He speeds up, trying to lose you in the trees. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Simon. I’ll never bring it up again.” Snot covers your upper lip and your eyes are bright with tears.

He hates this fucking place. He hates this fucking school, the kilometers of wilderness separating him from his life because the fucking shrinks think he’s crazy. He hates you for trying to keep him here.

And just when Simon was about to fly the coop, you spilled the beans. “Leave me the fuck alone. Never, ever, ever talk to me again,” He barks, stopping abruptly and turning to loom over you.

When you reach for his hand, he slaps you away. “But you promised you wouldn’t leave-“ You end up on the ground, the pine needles biting into your bare knees as if Simon shoved you.

That makes him angrier. You’re too soft for a world like this. You’re practically begging for someone to hurt you again, someone like him, with your vulnerability and open, bleeding heart. Well, he’ll fucking oblige. You’re not strong like you think you are. You’re the weakest person he knows, and weakness is something Simon could never respect.

“I lied. I fucking lied, you dumb bitch. Didn’t you realize it?” Simon snarls, wishing desperately he’d never let you befriend him on his first day at this therapeutic program.

You're sunshine and innocence and friendship bracelets, the kind of girl who will always be a victim because this world devours little girls like you. Simon is nothing like you. Simon is a survivor. A warrior. Simon is steel where you are china.

Your American accent is almost as unbearable as your pathetic weeping. “…What?” Your bottom lip wobbles.

Hopefully this will teach you a lesson about tattling. Nobody likes a snitch. “Forever doesn’t fucking exist. You were the only tolerable person in this shithole, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be friends forever. What are you, a fucking infant? God, you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass.” If anything, Simon is letting you off easy. You told the counselor things Simon told you in confidence about his dad because you were ‘afraid for his safety.’

But you just don’t get it. Simon can’t spend another day here. And the longer he stays, the angrier his dad will get. You just earned him another week of shit and black eyes.

“Newsflash. People lie. Everyone’s been lying to you. Nobody likes you, not even your mum. And I can’t stand you. You were useful, but I don’t need you anymore. I’m better,” Simon hisses as cruelly as he can, using every blade in his arsenal to cut at the sensitive parts of you where he knows you’ll bleed. Just like you did when you told.

You’re only stuck in this place because your mum left you here. You don’t have anyone, not like he does. He has Tommy and his mum. He has a future. You’ve got absolutely fucking nothing.

“I was just trying to help.”

“I’m getting out of here. I don’t need your help. I’d tell you to keep it, but it wouldn’t even help you.” Simon pauses. You’ve stopped crying. Good. A crying fox is easy prey for the hunting dogs. “They won't believe you. And you wanna know why?” It feels good to be the hunter instead of the fox for once. You make excellent prey.

“‘Cause I told them the truth. That you’re an obsessed freak who’s hyper fixated on me and you’d do anything to keep me here. That you’re a sick, compulsive liar and that you’re the one who’s a danger to herself, not me.”

You fall silent. Finally, blessed silence. You look up at Simon with glazed eyes and a still tongue. He feels better. Good, even.

“Goodbye. I hope I never see you again,” Simon says flatly.

TODAY

You picked a good place to get yourself locked up in. This is one of the nicest hospitals Ghost has been in recently. Shiny floors, no dirt caking the walls. New York City puts Kabul and Moscow to shame.

He’s wearing a plain black balaclava. Nothing identifying or particularly memorable. This is going to be a short visit. Ghost will see what you want and then leave. That’s it.

You look tired, exhausted to the very bone.

None of the shiny pinkness that drew Ghost to you in the beginning when you were fifteen and he was seventeen. None of the glow, the round cheeks, the wide doe eyes.

There’s dark circles chiseled into your face, so dark he almost thinks they’re bruises. A couple of IV bags run through a drip hidden under bandages covering your arms from wrist to elbow. Your eyes are as quiet as you are. A couple of marbles would be more lively. You look almost like a doll forgotten in a corner.

The nurse gave Ghost the run-down as she guided him to your bed. Police picked you up on a bridge trying to off yourself. Your fifth time this year. Unless you show some real improvement, the doctors will recommend an indefinite hospitalization.

You’ve been busy in the decade of his absence. Multiple addictions, more attempts than he can count, and some small stints in jail. A list of disorders he wouldn’t know how to pronounce. And nobody left to call.

Is this his fault?

When Ghost rounds the corner, you smile like he should be proud of you. “You came,” You say.

I have absolutely no business starting a new fic. Absolutely none. Idk. I have brainrot. No clue when this will be updated. But here, have it.

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helvegen-s · 3 days

Text

Rage, rage | five

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: nothing that I can think of, just some fluff and nimue and azriel bantering

Two days had passed since Nimue had been there, in that house, in that city.

She spent the day inside her room, in silence, talking to herself or to The Voice, when that entity deigned to honor her with its presence. She wondered how it was able to overcome the magical guards that surrounded the entire house, how it got there without alerting Rhysand or any of the others.

Food simply materialized on a small desk in the room assigned to her. Clothing too.

Sometimes she heard the others talking through the walls: she heard them gathered in the living room discussing strategies or plans; she heard Feyre crying at night, lamenting the fate of her sisters and the guilt that consumed her; she heard Cassian and the blonde female, Morrigan, talking in the living room about trivial matters.

What she didn't hear was that dull noise on the other side of the bond. She hadn't heard the voice or the steps of this Azriel fellow. She hadn't smelled his scent, of cedar and mist, the same scent she had smelled on the dead spies her father had sent to Prythian.

In her head, she had begun to imagine stories about each of them. Her own observant nature had told her that Cassian must be some kind of warrior, a commander or general in Rhysand's army; Morrigan, on the other hand, must be involved in politics, as her contributions in those small meetings she heard on the other side of the house were purely rational and theoretical observations, worthy of a brilliant mind; Azriel, she assumed, would be a spy, hence that distinctive aura surrounding him, and the fact that her father's dead spies were imbued in his scent and that of his pretty dagger.

She spends her days like this, locked in with her own thoughts.

Until the third day, when someone knocks on her door. Sitting in a small armchair, Nimue simply waits for whoever it is to decide to come in: it's not her house, she has no right to prohibit anyone from entering.

When the door opens, the petite figure of Feyre slips into the room, closing the door behind her. They both look at each other, in silence, Feyre standing by the door and Nimue sitting in front of her.

Nimue knows she has nothing to say, however, Feyre seems to be struggling to find the right words.

"You're not our prisoner, you know that, right?" Nimue nods, but says nothing more. "You're free to roam the house, go out, and do whatever you do in your free time. We're not your jailers."

"I know, this is what I do in my free time," and with her hand, she simply gestures around, towards nothing. Because that's what she does in her free time: nothing. It's either train or wait for something to happen, nothing more. "I've considered it would be best to stay here. My presence is not welcomed in this house, and I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. I know it's not a good time."

Nimue didn't want to tell her that she heard her cry at night, but nevertheless, Feyre's gaze was filled with understanding.

"It's not a good time, you're right, but you've helped us to make it not even worse. Don't judge them by how they treat you, they're a bit short-sighted. That's what happens when you've been living the same life for five hundred years," a small laugh escaped Feyre's lips, and Nimue couldn't help but smile herself. There was something about that woman that softened her heart, like Ferlan, the old cook who told her stories. "They'll accept you, sooner or later. Give them time."

Feyre directed her a smile so warm and friendly that for a moment, Nimue felt breathless.

How sad it was, to shrink in her place at such a small act of kindness, because in her life she had never known such a thing.

Nimue nodded, trying to return the woman's smile.

"Come with me."

She was surprised, but she obeyed and stood up. The brunette woman walked through the halls of the house, with Nimue trailing behind. She pointed out each room; to the right, a beautiful office; to the left, a smaller second living room; downstairs the kitchen and the living room where she had already been, and a little further down the hall, a huge library.

Nimue couldn't wipe the constant look of amazement off her face: yes, she had seen libraries, offices, kitchens, living rooms. But nowhere had she felt that warmth emanating from the walls, that sweet smell, a mixture of all the scents of those who inhabited it.

She felt Feyre's eyes on her, with an amused expression on her face.

"You have the same look as a child who has tried candies for the first time."

Nimue frowned, tearing her gaze away from the shelves full of books to look at the brunette, puzzled.

"What is a candies?"

Feyre placed a hand on her chest, letting out a small cry of indignation. With her hands outstretched, she loudly asked for some candy and they immediately materialized in her palms.

Nimue looked at them as if she were looking at a six-legged horse: balls of all colors, with shiny wrappers and all kinds of scents. She took one and opened it, imitating Feyre, who popped one into her mouth without hesitation.

When the princess put it in her mouth, she could swear she had never tasted anything so delicious in her life. Yes, the food at her Palace was good, but that... That was a whole new world.

As she savored it and let it roll around in her mouth, she reached out her hands into the air.

"More," she said aloud. Feyre let out a genuine laugh that, once again, softened her heart. "More, please. I've never tasted anything so delicious in my life, I want more."

Candies began to sprout from the palms of her own hands, overflowing and falling to the ground. Before she knew it, a small pile of candies and many more things had formed at her feet: there were lollipops, spiral-shaped candies, candy canes. There were even small buns appearing at her feet and in her hands.

Feyre couldn't stop laughing. The innocence and naturalness of the princess had fallen upon her like sunlight, after being immersed in her own shadows for the past few days.

"The house really likes you, it's not willing to please everyone like this."

"I know," said Nimue, "sometimes I feel like it's trying to talk to me. It's such ancient magic, it must be a very special spirit."

A last and enormous bun appeared in her hands, as if the house itself were appreciating Nimue's acknowledgment.

She looked up at Feyre, with a silly smile she couldn't wipe off her face. It even hurt her face, as she couldn't remember if she had ever smiled so much in her life.

"Come, let's go outside."

Feyre took her hand, and while Nimue took one last bite of the bun, they left behind that small pile of sweets. She glanced back, and in a low voice, she thanked the house again.

Before she knew it, Feyre had pushed her out into the same courtyard where they had landed days ago, just after escaping from Hybern.

The sun was high in the sky, and Nimue had to squint to see anything. She found herself in the same situation as three days ago, completely overwhelmed by the light, the sounds, the smells, the vastness of the sky above her.

She took in as much air as her lungs would allow, and allowed herself to enjoy it all: the blue sky, the cool breeze coming from the mountains, the smell of the sea and salt that reminded her so much of home, when the sea breeze would sneak through her windows.

Twenty years locked away. And now, she felt that not even a whole lifetime would be enough to see it all, to feel it all.

She still held Feyre's hand, who couldn't stop watching her by her side.

"I believe you. I see in you a scared child who has managed to escape the clutches of an evil man," she said, carefully and in a low voice. Nimue felt a breath of fresh air, which tangled in her hair and danced around her face. "I choose to trust you because I see goodness and light in you, fighting to do something good."

Nimue brought a hand to her face: she found that, once again, she was crying.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, for your trust. I understand what it's like to be in your place, I would also be suspicious of me. But I will prove to you that I can be useful to win this war."

Feyre nodded and smiled.

"I hope you'll be useful to us for much more than just the war."

And then Nimue felt it.

After three days of dead silence, something in her chest began to vibrate again.

She looked up at the sky to see two winged shadows approaching them. Instinctively, she covered Feyre with her body, prepared for anything.

Azriel and Cassian landed carefully on the courtyard, under Nimue's watchful gaze. Those wings were something impressive.

"What are you doing here alone with her, Feyre?" Azriel asked. He walked threateningly towards the two females, and Nimue felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, like a cat ready to attack. "It's not safe, she should be under surveillance."

"Azriel-"

"I'm right here, don't talk about me like a dog," Nimue interrupted, taking a step forward. Azriel was tall, yes, but so was she. Face to face, she didn't feel the least bit intimidated by him, and she even realized how surprised the male was by the indifference she felt towards his intimidation. Nimue smiled. "That thing of spreading your wings like a bird and seeming bigger might work with others, not with me."

She didn't know what prompted her to act like that with the winged male. Perhaps it was his anger, which through the bond infected her with that anger and rage that left her seeing red.

Azriel growled.

"Give me one reason to trust you. Then, I'll let you roam freely around my house and my city."

"I saved your life. Shall I remind you?" Nimue takes another step forward, getting so close to him that she can see the tiny specks of dark brown in his amber eyes. "If I hadn't taken you out of there, who knows what my father would have done to you. I also remind you that it was me who pulled the arrow out of your chest without poisoning you."

"But something tells me you're doing that to win our favor and trust. Who says you're not a spy for your father? Only a fool would trust you."

"Hey, I trust her," Feyre says. She and Cassian look at each other, not knowing what to do.

They don't fully understand the situation either. Azriel had always been cautious and foresighted, slow to trust people and always suspicious of others' intentions. However, there was something about Nimue... They couldn't quite put their finger on it, but it was a kind of blind trust.

Azriel ignores Feyre and continues accusing and accusing.

"What I really can't wrap my head around is how we've never known anything about you. My spies have been in the Court of the King of Hybern for years and I've never heard a whisper about a princess. If you're so powerful and important, explain to me how not a single person on the other side of the sea knows of your existence."

"Maybe you're not as good at your job as you claim to be."

Azriel feels like he's about to explode, now more than ever.

He has to fight against all his impulses not to kill her on the spot. But at the same time, there's something in him that dies just imagining her bleeding.

His own mind contradicts him, and he feels like he's going to split in two. So before any of that happens, he lets out one last growl and leaves, flapping his wings and causing a gust of wind that tousles Nimue's hair.

There they stand, Feyre, Cassian, and Nimue, watching Azriel enter the house.

They look at each other, not knowing what to say, and the princess feels her heart racing.

It was so complicated, dealing with all those pure and unfiltered emotions that came to her from the other side of the bond...

Cassian snorts and then smiles at the two females.

"Would you like some tea?"

Nimue furrows her brows and looks at Feyre, then at Cassian.

"What is a tea?”

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @annblvd @annamariereads16

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #cassian #rhysand

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novlr · 1 month

Note

Hi, can you write a paragraph about rain? Can you also give tips on describing nature? Thank you.

Rain can evoke a range of emotions and associations, from the childlike joy of splashing in puddles to the melancholy of grey skies mirroring a character’s mood. But while we’ve all experienced stormy weather, capturing its essence on the page can be surprisingly tricky. Here are some tips to help you write about rain in a way that will make a splash with your readers. (You can also adapt this advice to almost any nature description, but we will try to put out a separate post on more general nature advice at a later date.)

How does it look?

Use vivid adjectives to describe how the rain looks at different times of day and in different conditions.

Mention the angle the rain is falling at. Is it falling straight down? Angled? or even sideways?

Describe the size and shape of the raindrops – are they small and needle-like or large and heavy?

Note if the rain is clear or if it’s tinged grey or yellow from pollution.

Does the rain form puddles, streams, or mini-rivers as it flows?

Describe any ripples, splashes, or concentric circles the rain makes when hitting surfaces.

How does it sound?

Use onomatopoeia like “pitter-patter,” “tapping,” “drumming,” “plinking,” or “hissing” to mimic the sound.

Show the surfaces the rain hits and how that changes the noise — a “clattering” on windows, a “thumping” on the roof, a “plopping” in puddles

Describe the overall volume, from a soft “murmuring” or “whispering” to a loud “pounding” or “roaring”.

Note any variations or patterns in the sound, like a steady drone vs. syncopated rhythms.

How does the sound fill a space? Does it echo? Reverberate? Or is it dampened and muffled?

Describe how the noise of the rain interacts with other ambient sounds in the scene.

How does it feel and smell?

Describe the temperature of the rain and how it feels on the skin. Is it cool and refreshing or shockingly cold?

Describe the tactile sensations, like wetness, dripping, soaking, or chilly dampness.

Note how the rain changes the air, making it humid, misty, or heavy and saturated.

Describe the smell of the rain, which can be clean and fresh, dusty, earthy, or laden with ozone.

Describe how it feels to be out in the rain — are characters getting drenched to the bone or finding shelter?

Use metaphors to compare the feeling to other sensations, like tears on the face or a massage.

What mood and atmosphere does it evoke?

Use the rain to set the overall tone and mood you want to evoke, from gloomy and sad to peaceful and cleansing.

Show how the rain affects the setting, like making colours more vivid or obscuring things with mist.

Describe how the lighting changes, with skies darkening or a glistening sheen over everything.

Describe how the rain makes characters feel emotionally as well as physically.

Use the rain as a symbol or metaphor to mirror the characters’ mental states or the themes of the story.

Show how the rain transforms the world, slowing things down or washing things away, and how characters react to that.

Positive story descriptions

Rain can bring a sense of renewal, growth, and life to the world.

There is a cosy feeling of being inside looking out at the rain, safe and warm.

Rain can make everything glisten and gleam in the light, looking fresh and new.

Show the soothing, hypnotic quality of the rhythmic patter of raindrops.

Rain can be invigorating, energising, and joyful.

Rain can symbolise a fresh start, washing away the old to begin a new chapter.

Negative story descriptions

Rain can create a sense of melancholy, isolation, or loneliness

Rain can be an obstacle or hindrance, slowing characters down or forcing them to change plans.

There is a chilling, bone-deep cold that comes from being soaked in the rain.

Describe the bleak, colourless world that seems to exist when the sky is endlessly grey and stormy.

Show how the rain can feel oppressive, like a heavy weight pushing down on everything.

Describe how the rain can make the world feel dreary, soggy, and depressing, sapping energy and vitality.

Helpful vocabulary

Use words like deluge, downpour, torrent, cloudburst, hammering, lashing, pelting, battering, or thrumming to describe heavy, intense rain.

Try terms like drizzle, mist, sprinkle, shower for lighter rain.

Describe rain-soaked things as drenched, saturated, sodden, waterlogged.

Describe how rain dimples or stipples surfaces.

Gutters may babble, gush, trickle or overflow with rain.

Puddles can slosh, ripple, or reflect like mirrors.

Raindrops may bead up, roll, or slide down windows, leaves and other surfaces.

Adjectives like windswept, blustery, driving, relentless, or unceasing can evoke a storm.

The air may feel close, clammy, sticky, or muggy from humidity.

Petrichor is the earthy scent released when rain falls on dry soil.

Slickers, macs, wellies, brollies, and goloshes are rain gear that can add character details.

After a storm, the world may seem scoured, quenched, drenched, or newly baptised.

117 notes · View notes

ughgoaway · 26 days

Text

you're just a stranger I know everything about.

Content warnings; sadness lol, confrontation, crying, a few Taylor references because I am unbearable, swearing, shouting, and just general angst. (no happy ending either oops)

a/n; day 1 of the matty 35 celebration! and what better way to start it than with some teacher au angst?? I know my birthdays always have an air of melancholy, so I feel like this is appropriate. I fear this is rushed and SO bad, but eh, too late now!! anyway, enjoy! maybe? if you can?

word count; 3.5k ish

(this fic is an extension from the "don't you think of me?" universe, which you can read here.)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The text sits on your phone. Every time the screen starts to dim, you tap it to keep it illuminated, yet you don't reply. You can't. Every muscle in your body feels frozen except that one finger.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You watched the phone dim, but the name of the contact seemed to stay just as bright, even when the light is as low as it can be, “Matty. DO NOT TEXT.” glows on your screen. The warning was added against your will after a few too many drunk almost-phone calls.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It’s an hour later when the phone dies. You knew it was coming, watching the percentage of charge drop slowly. You got the 15% warning. Then the 5%. But still, you did the same thing until the screen finally went black.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You don't need the phone to be lit up to remember what the message said anyway. You’d read it a thousand times over already. You’d analysed it, broken it down, performed autopsies on every single word, each letter was scorched into your brain.

“Hey y/n, long time no talk.

I hope you got my letter, if you didn't read it, that's okay. You already know everything I said. You always knew me better than I did.

Anyway, I know this is a long shot, but it's my birthday party next week, and I just can't imagine celebrating without you there. All I can think about is my last birthday, me and you in Hawaii. I don't expect it to be like that, but I would love it if you came. Even if you just had one drink, we don't have to talk. You can wave at me across the room and stay far, far away. Treat me like I've got the plague for all I care, but just come, please.

Give an old man his birthday wish?

See you there, maybe. I hope so, anyway.

Matty x”

You want to do the same to the text that you did to his letter, burn it to a crisp. But that doesn't exactly seem feasible, considering your phone was £500, and probably not flammable. plus, you had blisters on your fingers for weeks after the letter, and you dont know if it's worth it again.

But you can't deny that the blisters were oddly comforting. Reminding you what you did every time something brushed your digits, that he was gone, and you had the power. The ball was in your court, and you intended it to stay there.

And it was there for months. But Matty ruined that by sending that message, he got the power back whether he intended to or not. And it was made even worse by him telling Charli, and her endless phone calls begging you to come.

You’re so good at telling her its not going to happpen, and every message that comes in gets a firm “no.” or just gets point-blank ignored. She begs, saying that she needs a friend there and that she'll even let you choose a few songs for George’s DJ playlist. But you stay strong, shaking your head and sighing, insisting you've moved on, that chapter of your life is closed, and you'd like to keep it that way.

So you can't help but wonder how you ended up dressed up on a Saturday night standing outside of Matty’s house, bottle of wine gripped in your shaking hands and the distinct noise of your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk towards the house you've done everything you can to forget.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

As soon as you walk in, you can tell the house is different from how you left it. Obviously, the strobe lights and birthday balloons were new, but even ignoring those, the whole space felt wrong. Even more unforgiving and cold, which was impressive considering every inch was covered with people, dancing and chatting. Still, a lifeless air hung around.

Your eyes darted around, finding the places that you used to occupy. The painting you bought Matty no longer hangs on the wall, replaced by yet another award. You can't help but feel bitter when you see the poster celebrating the album full of songs about you. The spot where your mug used to sit on the counter was empty, but the dark stained ring of coffee remained, forcing you to fight a small smile. maybe he hadn't completely erased you, even if he tried.

People recognise you immediately, and they don't hide their shock well. They might think that they do, smoothly recovering from their initial surprise, but they don't. You see their wide eyes and disbelieving glances, each person acting like you're a ghost haunting the house you once lived in.

You play pretend along with them, smiling as best you can and answering all their questions.

"How's work?"

"How have you been?"

"you seen any good films lately?"

but, you both know you're dancing around the one question they really want to be answered.

why the fuck were you here?

Eventually, the people stop coming, and Charli finds you, plying you with drinks and half-slurred thanks as she begs you to stay for just 5 more minutes. You agree, only because you have yet to catch a glimpse of the birthday boy, and that made everything just bearable.

You quickly regret that decision when you see him not even a minute later, standing by George in the DJ booth smoking a cigarette and laughing in that contagious way he always did. High pitched giggles and his head thrown back.

But he doesn't see you, so it's still okay. You can hang on a few seconds more. Your chest might be tightening with every moment, but you're not suffocating yet.

However, when a tall blonde girl walks over and starts making out with him, it suddenly starts to feel like the room is on fire, and you’re choking on the invisible smoke. The burn of the flames starts to feel all too real when he pulls away from her, though, and his eyes find yours as if they're magnetised together.

The realisation falls over his face immediately, dropping his hand from around her waist and trying desperately to weave through the crowd surrounding him. You don't stay to see if he breaks through the sea of people, already rushing out as fast as you can, forcing your cup into a stranger's hand and moving as fast as your legs can take you.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

“y/n, stop.” You hear Matty’s voice behind you as you storm out his front door, but you don't turn. It sounds muffled, like you're being pulled underwater, and someone is screaming at you to get up. But the waves keep on pulling you deeper, and his voice becomes more faint with every step you take.

Yet, as soon as the cold air fills your lungs and his skin finally touches yours, you're pulled out. You spin around as soon as his fingers graze your shoulder, acting like even his touch is painful as you wrench away.

It was finally here, the time you were dreading. The time when it was just you, him, and everything that remained unsaid.

His eyes held yours as the silence of the night surrounded you, and you couldn't help but study him like you always did. He looked different. Not better or worse, just different. The colourful lights in the house had been hiding his features.

He had more lines on his face, deeper ones on his forehead, but the ones around his mouth had lightened, his smile lines fading. You could still tell even when it was slicked back with heavy gel that more grey streaks danced through his curls.

His eyes were the same, though. Always so telling, so revealing. If you wanted to know exactly what Matty Healy was thinking, look in his eyes. They spoke more than he did. Which sounds absurd if you’d ever had a conversation with him, but you'd bet your life on it.

You almost start to soften at the sight of him, old memories flooding back. Flashes of warm sun and hot kisses, filthy sex followed by soft breakfasts in bed. But then he speaks. Why do men always do that? Just as you're thinking about saying something and trying defusing the situation, they open their stupid mouth.

“Where are you going?” he asks softly, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in oxygen, his lungs fighting to catch up.

“Home, Matty. I shouldn't have come. I don't even know why you invited me.” You try to spin and walk away, to finally move on. But of course, Matty’s voice drags you back under once again, and the same water fills your lungs.

“stay, please. i dont know why i invited you either, but I did. I didn't expect you to come. I just-” Matty stutters as he speaks as if his brain can't catch up with his mouth, things pour out that he doesn't mean. And he knows it. It's crystal clear as soon as his wide eyes shoot open, processing what he had really just said.

He didn't expect you to come? He put you through all this and didn't think you'd show up? What was the point then? Was it just to hurt you? Did he just want to see if he could? to see if his name popping up would have the same effect it always did, make you come running to him?

Your body moves without thinking, turning to face Matty with fires burning in your eyes, "You didn't think I would come? Then why the fuck did you even invite me, Matty?! to flaunt your new girlfriend? to try and "win" the breakup? Well congratulations, you've fucking won. I'm sure that model hanging off your arm is just perfect for you.” sarcasm drips from your every word, burning Matty like acid rain.

“No! It's not like that. I don't know. I think- I think I was just scared we’d never be in the same place again. That I would love you for the rest of my life, but I’d never see you again.” his voice softens as he speaks, and you almost want to give in, to crumble at his gentle tone and warm eyes. But he can't still love you, it seems impossible when you go back and see the destruction he left behind.

“That's what a breakup is, Matty. And did you ever think about me? About what I want? I can't help but think that maybe that would've been better. If being in the same room as you means feeling like this, I don't ever want to see you again.” You spit back angrily.

Matty's nostrils flare before he speaks, and you can see the anger building inside him. It takes a lot to get Matty to shout, but you can tell with every second you're making him inch closer. And you don't know why that makes you feel so good, but if you're honest, you don't want to know.

You want to keep going, keep pushing. You want him to act like he did that night. You needed to see it again. You needed to know he couldn't ever forget the night you're forced to remember.

“y/n, I don't- I just don't know what to say to you. What do you want from me? Do you want me to say that saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do? That it ripped my heart out of my chest? That it fucking destroyed me? It did. Of course it did, you always made me feel everything. Losing you was no different.” You heard the way Matty’s voice cracked the more he spoke, but you ignored it. If he wanted to pull the dagger out of your heart, it was his job to deal with the bleeding.

“It didn't feel that hard when you stopped coming home at night. Or when you were fucking screaming at me. Or even that night when you walked out the door, you made it look pretty fucking easy that night. Because that's how it was Matty, you left. So don't come to me bitching and whining that it destroyed you. It's your fault. All of this is your fault.” you feel your voice wavering, but you suck in another breath, refusing to let him see you weaken, to see that wall you built start to break down.

“I deserved a better goodbye, Matty. If the goodbye you gave me hurt, the one I deserved would have fucking killed you.” You poke Matty in the chest harshly, pushing him back on his unsteady feet.

Streetlights flicker above you, the severe light dancing across Matty’s features. As long as you can remember, this light was busted, flicking on and off at will. It used to annoy you, distract you at night when the light poured through the curtains of Matty's bedroom.

Tonight, however, you loved it. No one could hide what they were really feeling under the harsh yellow glow. It seemed to pull every emotion to the surface of your face, illuminating even the darkest parts you wanted to hide.

So it was easy to spot when anger reared its ugly head in Matty. This time, he doesn't push it back. He physically can't.

He needs you to know that it did kill him to say goodbye, and that you can see that. he needs to understand how you can’t you see that he's the shell of the man he once was as he stands here?

“I apologised to you. I know you got my letter. Thanks for the response, by the way, a great way for us to get closure for whatever the fuck this was.” venom drips from every word that falls from his lips, and you have to fight to hide the smirk brewing on your face.

Finally. Finally, he was angry. He was pissed off. This is what you needed. You need the big fight, the final breakdown. Just one more time, you tell yourself, just one more screaming match, and you can move on.

A scoff involuntarily is ripped from your chest, as if you can't believe the utter bullshit coming from the man across from you. “I'm sorry, you think you deserve a response? What would I say in it, “Oh Matty, I'm so sorry! You're so right. Please let me come over so we can fuck all night!!” I know I'm not your usual airhead type, but you have to think more of me than that”

Your voice is high and piercing as you speak, and you know it. It always was when you started to get riled up. However, in this moment, you didn't care. You just needed something to happen, for him to get just as annoyed as you've been for fucking months.

“You don't think I deserved anything, though? Not even an acknowledgement?” his incredulous eyes met yours, begging you to take everything back and say you're sorry too, that it wasn't just his fault, even if he knew that wasn't true.

“Why should I? You never acknowledged my feelings. I don't think you asked me how I felt in the last month of our relationship.” Wet tears start brewing at your lashline. You want to fight them falling. But you can't, your resolve weakening with every second he stands in front of you.

“you know, that night we broke up, I realised something. you hadn't said you loved me in weeks. I said it every morning. But you'd hum back, or nod, or hug me. But you never actually said it.” Matty tries to cut in, and you already know what he wants to say. But you don't let him, powering through his half started words and desperate eyes.

After a few shaky breaths, your words start pouring again, “You treated saying “I love you” just like how you treated saying sorry. Like it would kill you to even think it. You've still never properly apologised for how you treated me, never said it to my face. But when we were together, I found myself saying sorry thousands of times over for feeling anything. I felt guilty for being pissed off at you, like I was doing something wrong. But I had every right to be! You had become a man I didn't even recognise, and for some reason, I still loved you, even when I shouldn't have. But at the time, I didn't see that. All I saw was you hurting. And because all I do is care, I wanted to stay. To stay for you, for us. Our family.”

Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes. The harsh wind blowing between you whistling through the street. Your eyes can't be dragged away from Matty’s, tears falling freely between the two of you.

And suddenly, you don't want him to be angry any more, you don't want this all to happen. You wish you could go back, never come here. But time doesn't work like that, so you’re stuck with tears pouring down your face as you stare at the man you once thought was the love of your life.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Matty whispers, and you could see the desperation on his face, wet eyes tracing your every feature.

In that moment, he didn't know what he wanted your answer to be.

If you said no, it would kill him. Every ember of hope smouldering inside him would be burnt out, never to be relit.

But if you said yes, he doesn't know if he can let go. If you say you still feel anything for him, he knows he’ll be looking for you in every universe until he finds the one where you stay.

“I won't ever not love you, Matty. No matter how many times I tell myself I've moved on or that my life is better without you in it. I will always love you, and that's fucking agonising.” you sniffle as you speak, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How did you go from screaming at each other to professing your everlasting love?

Matty wants nothing more in that moment than to start begging you to come back, telling you how you can make it work, to talk about what he would do to get you back. But he knows he shouldn't, so he doesn't.

“Annie still thinks about you all the time you know,” Matty says, and your chest hurts from the whiplash of this conversation, jumping between memories of your old life so fast its almost unbearable. But you knew Matty. He needed to jump around to stay sane, so you jumped with him.

“I know, I remember you saying in the letter that she stopped asking when I was coming back. Is that true?” your voice drops again, as if you were sharing secrets at a sleepover.

“I thought it would be easier when she stopped asking, maybe then I'd not spend every waking hour thinking of you. But when the day came, it wasn't easier. It was like watching you leave right in front of me all over again. It brought me back to walking into the house for the first time after you left, looking at the empty space and trying to figure out how to fill it. Annie was filling it by asking about you, but suddenly she wasn't, and that glaring hole in my life was back." Matty's voice breaks as he speaks, but he clears his throat and tries to ignore it.

"I realised then that I'll never not think about you. Even if no one talks about you. Even if I never see you again, I'll still think of you.” Matty sucks in a shaky breath as soon as the words stop pouring out of him. His lungs seemed like they were sticking together with every word he said, and it felt like death. But he couldn't stop the rush of words, so he let the death surround him.

“Tell her I said hi” you reply meekly, not sure what to say in response to Matty’s outpour.

“I won't” matty says, forcing a half smile and chuckle that you half-heartedly return.

Once again, the blanket of silence surrounds the two of you, enveloping you in a way that feels all too familiar. So you break it, not letting yourself fall back into old patterns.

"i just dont understand how it all happened so quickly. how did you go from a stranger to the love of my life, only then to become someone I wish was a stranger all over again?" You whisper, your shaking hands coming to cup Matty's wet cheeks as you step closer. His hands wrap around your waist instantly, pulling you in and holding you so tight it almost hurts.

Silence hangs between the two of you. But its no longer painful or awkward, stilted or angry. It was a silence of acceptance, an acknowledgement that this had to be the final goodbye. There was no erasing the past, the demons that followed the two of you couldn't be ignored. So you were done, this was it.

Eventually, you pull away, and your face hovers in front of Matty’s for a few beats too long. You want to give him a final kiss, a proper goodbye. and you swear you can almost feel his lips against yours, taste the salty tears that would fall from your eyes. You don't, though. Your hands drop from his wet cheeks, and you walk away.

Every fibre inside you wants to turn around and go back to him. It feels impossible to face the future with the person you planned to spend it with standing 10 steps behind. But you do, moving forward and trying not to mourn the life you know you can never get back.

#starting off the celebration strong #by bringing the mood down #my fav activity #sorry if this is bad! angst is fun but HARD #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic #matty healy angst #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 angst #teacher au!#Matty35

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gatitties · 3 months

Text

Dear friend

─Dio x fem!reader (Platonic) [Phantom Blood]

─Summary: You find yourself tied to the infamous Dio Brando, creating a strange relationship despite being complete opposites.

─Warnings: occ and a little angst i think¿, Dio is soft in this one

I was a little delulu while watching jojo's and listening to sad music late at night led me to write this 😔🤌🏻

Dio Brando's life was not good in general, condemned to live in misery since he was born, with the only source of love and hope dying little by little, his mother was the only thing that kept him sane during his childhood, once his mother's life vanished in just a breath, he thought he would never feel what he used to call humanity again. His father could not be considered human, after all he had monstrous and condemnable actions, being only scum deserving of the most painful death.

He thought that he would be condemned in a spiral of darkness and filth, that his only goal in life would be to wait for his father's death and take over the fortune of the Joestar family once they adopted him, then another ray of light broke his dark shell, where his heart bled with pain, where the most sensitive part of the human being was hidden, even from him, who thought that nothing could give him back that lost humanity.

Dio was making some money as usual, betting a couple of coins to win more in that filthy bar, the carefree conversations and fights were a dull noise to him at this point, but the explosions, the burning smell and the screaming of someone in the kitchen wasn't something that happened often, that was the first time he saw you.

You ran out of the kitchen with teary eyes, coughing from the smoke you had inhaled, some parts of your clothes were burned, your cheeks were red from the heat and the embarrassment of being scolded by your boss while everyone watched, although you recovered soon when you were sent to do anything other than cook, it definitely wasn't your strong point.

Neither was waiting tables since you tripped over your own feet several times, your balance betrayed you at the worst moments and your hands seemed to be made of butter, but you remained firm with your optimistic attitude, that, and you needed the money, you were not going to leave this job nor would you allow such a quick dismissal.

Dio thought you were stupid to say the least, clumsy, distracted, inept… but for some reason he couldn't take his eyes off your figure when you were juggling to leave the beers on the table next to him, he couldn't figure out if you were purposely ignoring the lustful gazes of some depraved people or were you really that ignorant of your surroundings, he found it endearing in a way.

"Hey you, pay attention to the damn game!"

He grimaced, fed up with the man, he made his final move, winning and enraging the guy he was playing against, he threw the coins across the table, but before Dio could grab them his face was smashed into the plate of hot food making a thud that stopped the sound throughout the bar for a second.

It happened before he could react, he was planning to hit that old geezer to break his nose, but someone had gotten ahead of him, before he realized it, a burnt frying pan hit the bastard's face, causing blood to drip from his mouth, some teeth shooting out from its place.

"Don't waste food, you stuck-up idiot!"

Your expression changed to a frown, although everyone ignored your outburst, it wasn't the first time you hit someone for doing something that bothered you, but coming from a family with limited resources made you appreciate every little thing, you were a brave fool, you could mess with the most dangerous person on the entire face of the earth just for standing up for your values and ideals, and that, that's what caught Dio Brando's attention.

He didn't really look for interactions with you, you only caused him a slight curiosity, but there were many people just as stupid as you, living a miserable life, accepting their fate without aspiring to much more, but destiny seemed to want to intertwine your paths, that, or he just began to notice your presence more once he noticed you.

Of course, you also began to notice him more, it's not every day you find people with such striking appearance in the suburbs you used to frequent, especially people your age, and especially those who move through the darkness like you.

You accepted all kinds of assignments, even if they were dangerous, you always had luck on your side and a handful of sharp or blunt objects, aim was the only thing that probably stands out about your physical abilities along with stealth, you had learned to move like a rat, dark alleys, damp sewers… you knew every nook and cranny of this city by heart.

And that was how your first real interaction happened, you were both hired to do some smuggling for a good amount of money, you had worked in pairs before, but meeting the person you were strangely seeing everywhere lately was strange, you weren't going to turn down the job anyway, money is money.

What started with some ups and downs in your relationship was how curt Dio was, his harsh comments and lack of empathy made you frown, you scolded him occasionally for being so impolite and rude, not only to you but to other people who didn't deserved it. It was a tug of war between the two, complete opposites attracting each other.

When the relationship began to heat up, or rather when the remains of goodness that remained in a broken child made a little hole in his bleeding heart, it was when you took care of a drunken Dio, you found him raving, beating to death some poor devils who had decided to mess with him that night, you would have suffered the same fate if you hadn't been lucky enough that before he hit you he tripped on a rock, hitting his head. You took it from there and helped him without asking for anything in return, which caused him to distance himself for a few weeks after coming back looking different.

"What's wrong with you? Huh?"

You pointed accusingly at the blonde, who slapped your finger away from his face, letting out some complaints.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh don't try to play that with me, the time working with you was enough to be able to see through you, ah, I know, did you find a partner!?"

His eyebrow twitched at your new explosion of emotions, grabbing your head to keep your body still as you started to surround him asking a bunch of questions about his supposed partner.

"No."

"Aww" you deflated at his harsh response, recovering immediately "Anyway, seriously, there's something weird about you, I can see it in your eyes."

You moved a little closer to his face once he released you, looking directly into his captivating crimson eyes, although in truth you were just looking at your reflection on his gaze, sticking out your tongue as if you were posing for a photo, he looked in disbelief, you were too stupid and he didn't understand why, why after leaving those suburbs did he return? Why did he keep visiting you if he no longer needed you for anything? Why did he come back after moving to a better life? His mind couldn't understand it, but his heart won this battle and he let the only good feelings guide him towards your clumsy person.

"Whatever makes you sleep better."

He found himself enjoying your presence, your voice, your silly thoughts, your insignificant emotions more than usual, he found another source of light that illuminated the cracks in his shattered heart, minimally healing his inner child, and in turn, he repudiated every inch of your being, so kind and pure for someone like him, were you ignoring his evil nature or were you really that naive to not notice all the red flags around him? He didn't know it, but he would prefer that it stay like this for a while longer, all of his plans were moving forward and you weren't part of them.

You silently observe the sunset, the warm colors gradually disappearing as you lean against the half-broken cement wall, this building used to be your meeting point for the assignments you had together. You look back at Dio, who is unusually thoughtful, you also immerse yourself in your own thoughts, you were conscious, conscious of everything that Dio was and will be, you only needed some information that he let escape between the lines and his behavior of greatness to know that your friend was someone evil, someone who wouldn't think for a second about ending someone's life if they were a threat, you knew it and yet… Was it selfish to want to maintain this friendship? Even knowing that he wasn't someone to admire? Someone who repudiated half the world? That didn't agree with most of your values? Well, you were human, and selfishness is one of the facets that characterizes humanity, you never asked for much in your life, you wanted to grant yourself this whim despite everything.

"I don't know what will happen from now on, but thank you for all these years, I never thought I could have this kind of connection with someone."

Your neck almost broke from the speed at which you moved it to look at Dio, who was facing away from you, there was no way he had said that, expressing so many emotions and feelings like never before, were you dreaming? Was this some kind of alternate reality? Your eyes began to water because of his words, yes, you were a sentimental softie.

"That's so nice Dio, you should say that more often, instead of 'shut up bitch' or 'you suck'!"

You jumped on his back like a baby koala, sniffling on his shoulder while he froze for a second, trying to shake off your crying form, you seemed as fragile as a twig at that moment but you clung to him like a damn leech. He took you off of him after a couple of minutes, unexpectedly his arms surrounded your figure, seeing you buried in a mass of muscles for the first time, you were going to make a stupid comment, but for once you decided to shut your big mouth, passing your arms through his back.

No one dared to say anything, well, the look he gave you after he separated from you was a silent threat so that you wouldn't say anything about this moment of weakness he had, after all Dio has no weaknesses, he is superior to everyone.

Certainly, everything changed from that day, the relationship cooled because he disappeared from your life, you understood that the change in lifestyle was what caused it and if in a certain part it was true, you wanted to check that he was doing it right, it wasn't the case when you discovered that he was trying to kill Mr. Joestar, who welcomed him with open arms.

Your heart squeezed at the information, you knew that your friend was not a saint, you knew that he was a horrible person with others, but you remained selfish in your decision not to see him as human scum, to continue loving him like any other person. Your thoughts didn't last long though, at least not with the new version of him.

You were scared when you found him in your room one night, in the darkest corner, staring as if you were a prey, you could see his agitated breath coming out like smoke from a chimney, his eyes were still the same, but they scared you.

"Has the cat eaten your tongue? It's me, Dio! I don't think you've forgotten about me, I haven't, dear friend."

"You're not- you're not my friend…"

Your words came out shaky, the lump in your throat growing the closer the blonde got, this had to be a bad dream, you had heard that your friend had died after trying to kill Jonathan Joestar, although his body was not found among the rubble of the mansion, this couldn't be true.

"No? Maybe you're just confused, I'm still me, I've discovered a new way of living! I don't need that bullshit humanity, a longer lasting, stronger way of life! I am my best version."

You grabbed the lamp on your nightstand, making him smile at your fear, he knew you used to throw random things when you were angry or scared.

"You are not Dio! You are not the Dio that I know… your look is no longer the same, even when it was mischievous and evil before, it contained that shine of hope."

"Hope? That's pathetic, but you're lucky, I'm giving you the opportunity to live with dignity as a superior being! Just for being you, my only friend."

A hand covered your mouth, knowing that you would scream when he was next to you in the blink of an eye, he laughed at your reaction, resting his chin on the curve between your shoulder and neck, he grimaced as he felt you licking his hand, at least you were still stupidly brave to do that.

"Well? Will you agree to reign over all those filthy humans? You can live forever, without worries like money, no more shitty jobs."

You closed your eyes tightly in a last attempt to wake up if this was a dream, accepting that it wasn't, you moved away from his body, almost falling off the bed, you turned your body slightly to face him directly, oh that certain look of yours, it made him smile.

"I'm sorry, but the Dio I know is dead, and I refuse to accept a deal from a stranger."

He began to laugh lightly without taking his eyes off you, in another blink his imposing figure caught you, feeling again the mass of muscles imprisoning you between chest and biceps, your face pressed to his heart made you listen to the calm rhythm of it.

"I didn't expect anything less from someone as stupid and clumsy as you, I honestly knew that you were going to reject eternal youth, it's a real shame… but coming here was more of a whim."

His grip loosened a little, he rested his head on top of yours, closing his eyes for a few seconds, taking in as much of your scent as he could and it was gone as quickly as it came, you were barely able to react as the heat around you disappeared in a fraction of second, you looked with doubt at the open window, noticing how he was watching you from somewhere, you frowned, still with your lamp in your hand you threw it out the window, closed it as quickly as you could, you got under the sheets as if you were going to scare away the monsters of the night, closing your eyes although with a small smile when you heard the moan of Dio, who had been hit by your impeccable shot.

If you weren't his dear friend, you would have been three meters underground for a long time.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #jjba part 1 #phantom blood #dio brando #DIO #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #platonic reader #platonic jjba #dio x reader #dio x platonic reader #sfw #phantom blood x reader

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