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thatdeadaquarius · 5 months

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About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

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iwaasfairy · 1 year

Text

┌─ “ ! „ FLIGHTY

tw. uncle!satoru, incest, age gap, breeding, coercion, dirty talk, praise, brief choking, baby as pet name, some jealousy, degradation, corruption kink, sneaking around wordcount. 6.7k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @antique-remains ♡ thank you so so much for commissioning me and for being absolutely wonderful!! i really hope you enjoy your fic,, i had a blast writing it so i kinda went a little crazy with the word count but! hgdfsy listen i hear gojo satoru i jump into the deep end i hooopppee you enjoy it lovely!!! <33 and thanks a million to the beta readers ilY so much

gojo satoru x fem!reader

The door rattles with a loud noise as you make it two steps down the hall. Two whole steps before long arms wrap under your shoulders and you’re whirled around against an equally lanky body, while your giggles fill the hall. They echo down the old family house, pristine and proper, and give your mother a well deserved moment of rest as she rolls the suitcases inside. “Hey- There’s my favorite little squirt,” his lithe voice hums gleefully when you press a childishly sloppy peck onto his cheek and squish your face to his shoulder, and Satoru barely bothers to give your mom a quick smile before stealing your entire attention away and putting you into his neck with a smile.

“You gotta visit more frequently, nee-san. I gotta show my favorite niece what I’ve learned at monster school, don’t I?”

Your chubby cheeks glow hot as you parrot him. “Monster!”

“Your only niece. And you’re more than welcome to take a few babysitting shifts, Satoru. Lord knows I could use it,” the soft-spoken woman would then chuckle, and leave you to it.

That’s how it was, always. You remember finding the days where snow stuck to the ground and made the house feel so much toastier, the most lovely of all- no excuses, no exceptions. Not that you could give a reason as to why, back then. It was probably because winter meant family time and holidays and presents, and most of all, it meant packing everything up into the car and driving down for New Years. Without fail, a white winter meant Gojo Satoru — and without fail, you’d look towards him like a world faithfully orbits the sun.

You can’t thank Satoru enough for taking his role so gracefully, at the time. When it was still fun.

Now winter means being locked up in your room while that same man parades around a different princess each year, and makes your start to the new entirely unenjoyable. After a good few hours of hearing the drinking and talking grow louder and louder -and then eventually quieter again, you finally dare peak your head around the corner. Because if you’re lucky, uncle Satoru will have no self-control. And the copious amounts of alcohol that festivities require will leave him blissfully unaware of your scowl at the foreign pair of shoes by the door. Your bare feet pad on the floor as you make your way past the soft rumble of the tv, and into the kitchen to pop open your own box of cake, and another bottle of bubbles for yourself.

The frosting sticks to the roof of your mouth three bites in, and makes everything a lot more palatable. The smell of the obnoxious festive scented candles, the deep beats of the slow make-out music reverberating through the walls of his otherwise impeccable apartment. The knowledge that you’re meant to wait out the inevitable turnaround from festive cheer to loud moans down the hall as the countdown hits 0. It’s been this way for years now, and you find yourself wishing spring would come a little faster.

You’d never be so lucky, though. You drop the fork in surprise when long fingers sneak around your neck to squeeze gently at the soft parts of it, and a breath brushes over the shell of your ear. “Boo.” Festive cheer and a softer familiar musk overtakes your senses.

“Satoru, you dick,” you squeak out a little too loudly, halfway to turning when a strong arm wraps around your hips to allow him to slot a little closer to your back. He peers over your head at the cake, breath dusting over your hair. Uncaring, of course, about the level of appropriateness or the way it sends a shiver up your spine.

“Bit early for a late night snack, isn’t it? You could at least have asked your favorite authority figure to join you.” His smile gleams in the low light of the apartment like a million diamonds, white head of hair tousled and bed-head like. The hand on your hip squeezes ever so softly before you shake him off, and cross your arms over your chest in defiance.

“You’re barely an authority, let alone my favorite. Besides, aren’t you kept busy with… Keiko? Kyoko?”

“—Kimiko. Why?” It’s then you make the mistake of looking up into those perfect baby blues through the half-tinted shades, and despite your earlier frostiness, he still searches for a handhold on your shoulder, softly brushing his thumb along the collar of your shirt. He stares like he can see through you, where your heart beats wildly in your chest. You’d dare bet money that sometimes he definitely tries to. But the calculating glances that flick over your face are kept quiet by a faint hum.

“She’s gone home. I thought maybe we could celebrate New Years together this time.” Satoru is always smiling. It crinkles his eyes, seems to ooze out of him like syrup. He’s good at that. At feeling trustworthy. But— “We still have a good twenty minutes until the fireworks. Come celebrate. For me?” There’s no mistaking the way he leans in to nudge your face up and puts on an exaggerated puppy-like pout. Gojo Satoru is anything but trustworthy.

But hard lessons are slow to stick. You find your mouth opening almost like instinct, sugar-coated tongue running over your lips as he waits. “Fine, until after the fireworks. Only ‘til then.” His mouth corners go a little more cat-like when the grin grows further, and he rubs his heavy palm and long fingers over your head with a soft chuckle.

“Right? You’d never leave your poor old, lonely uncle Satoru alone on a special day, right?”

The couch is abandoned for a slower sort of swinging around the living room once the clock starts getting close, and Satoru places another flute of golden bubbles into your hand— grinning as you move to the beat. Try and resist as you may, Satoru has given you much to be thankful for. The heat of his hand back on your head distracts you from the way the drink goes down too quickly, letting him pick your hand into his to pull you closer. “Have you ever slow danced before, pretty girl?”

You don’t get to say anything before you’re in his arms, hands to his chest and quickly sliding down to wrap around him instead, swallowing down the stirring heat that hits when he chuckles. You must be crazy. Must be. Your heart feels like it’s banging in your throat. But Satoru rests his chin on your head into the embrace, and swallows you up into his arms. And your throat burns like a raging fire yet again. It isn’t like that. It isn’t like that. You’re the one making it weird, and you know it. But you can’t help the goosebumps when he presses a kiss to your crown, or when he pauses to look down at you.

Grinning like he’s got the world in his palm, he leans in to almost brush noses with you. “This is kinda romantic, isn’t it?”

“Gojo Satoru,” you immediately feel the warmth flare up on your cheeks and ears, eyes going wide. But the grin is back instantly, and he chuckles.

“Alright, don’t get your panties into a twist.” The air of his breaths dusts over your nose when he stares, and doesn’t look away. “You’re so obvious when you want something. It’s cute.” He’s awfully, disturbingly pretty. However weird it is to notice that about your own mom’s brother… you never were able to lie yourself out of that conclusion.

The clock ticks loudly, counting down. But you can’t tear yourself away, blinking blankly at the way he gives your face a once over, before those eyes find yours. Glittering brilliantly, pulling at your sanity. You did always adore him. The first few fireworks go off loud in the distance, when your own uncle Satoru dips down and kisses you. You freeze. Warm lips and tongue pressing into your mouth- he full-on kisses you and runs a hand along your neck to pull you into him. A muffled squeak makes it’s way out of you, warm tongue getting to taste all of him. You- you don’t stop it. When he pulls back, his mouth lingers over yours, and that devilish mouth whispers, “happy New Year, baby,” without any ‘sorry’s.

The flowers are already starting to bloom in the colorful pots that swing outside the windows when you nurse your own cup of tea, and don’t bother lowering your eyes when bright azures meet your gaze. There’s something there that tingles your tongue, faint memories biting at your conscious, but too swift to grab hold of. You can’t read him anymore. It makes the familiar glint in them feel anxiety inducing. The gaze shifts, and you feel your spine relax. All tall, perfect, unfairly casual grandeur of him goes back to entertaining your cousins and Megumi— and your attention is finally allowed to shift back to your mom.

“Deary me… That child seems like he’ll never grow up,” she softly chimes, turning your way to take your hands, “I bet you’re twice the adult he is.” Her slight frown is one of fondness though, of care and concern; all of which only makes your stomach drop further. Your mom’s so enamored with her tight-knit little dream of a family. She’s completely unaware, too. Of the deadly, treacherous words that your mind whispers to you when it knows no one’s watching. Your mother’s warm smile remains. “If you ever decide you can’t keep up with him anymore, you’re more than welcome to move back home, honey.”

“I know, mom— but I like Tokyo. I like my friends here, and- my job’s here, and I like my job.” Her hand makes an encouraging circle over the back of your hand, and she nods.

Her warm smile doesn’t keep away the cold flare that travels down your back though. “And you also like Satoru, for reasons I still can’t wrap my head around.” Her look over in his direction has you resolutely studying your lap instead, as heat travels back from your chest to your face. “Even when you were little, your uncle ‘Toru could do no wrong. It was infuriating at times…” You try to put on a smile when you feel her eyes return back to you, and let the cup bear the brunt force of your anxiety. “Now I just think it’s sweet. I know I couldn’t deal with his antics anymore, for even a few days.”

“He’s…” You trail off before you can even get started, and let your tongue swipe along your bottom lip to get rid of the pesky memory again. You feel like your moral compass has been compromised. Your stupid little crush was meant to go unacknowledged, and fade. No one was supposed to be any the wiser. Satoru was never meant to do wrong. He’s -what- exactly, you try to ask yourself. Sneaky? Childish? The reason you can’t look your own family in the eye without blushing like a schoolgirl?

Your heart blooms when you catch a glimpse of his smile as the beer bottle brushes his lips, and he finds your shape again across the room.

Before you get a chance to look away, uncle Satoru’s already calling your name again with that sing-songy tone that’s got you hooked; and pulls you out of your seat with a few slow blinks. “There’s my favorite girl.” He swings an arm over your shoulders, and invades your senses yet again. “It’s getting a little too stuffy in here for your liking, hm? Mind if I steal her for a while?” His sister barely gives him the tiniest of eyerolls before waving you both off. And the white-haired force of nature doesn’t even stop to ask you. He knows he’s right.

Before long, the glances of family get captured by other things, and the honorary member of your family gives you a knowing look that you mirror. Not that Satoru would let it stop him if he saw. You only just look away from Megumi’s grimace before you freeze into place. There’s the tiniest of kisses to the skin behind your ear where Satoru whispers in your ear. “I was really missing you, baby.” There’s a heat that spreads all over you as he continues, barely hiding his affections. “Whenever I see you… I just wanna…”

Your eyes go wide when you turn to stare at him, then quickly around at the rest of the guests. Luckily, everyone seems too preoccupied to notice the way he wraps his arm around your waist to steer you towards the front door. “What? I wasn’t done.” he chimes, eyes glinting over like the Chesire cat, “I wanna come annoy you, is what I was going to say.” Alarm bells should go off. You want them to signal your disaster. But no such thing happens, and the way his lips almost drag over your pulse makes your entire body feel like you’re filled with static. “You know uncle Satoru loves you. Step out with me for a bit.”

The miserable drum of rain has no way of drowning out the thoughts in your head. A heat-caused thunderstorm should just be a minor inconvenience, but it feels awfully telling about your current state. The string of messages of Satoru’s latest -what you can now assume is- ex blink back at you as you check the time again, and sink deeper into the couch. The apartment always feels a little too cold when you’re here alone. And sure, you’ve been living here too, but you’ve been on your very best behavior all this time. Taking up only the space he was willing to give.

So you sit in silence as the room gets darker and darker, and instead of checking up on work mails, you let the icy silence of the apartment sit beside you. The messages weren’t exactly frantic, but— the door clicks softly across the room, and the pitter patter of the rain on the skylight grows even more impatient. “Uncle ‘Toru,” you breathe as he drags his wet self in, only to suck your bottom lip into your mouth.

There’s only a few times you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing him like this. One was the first summer his best friend vanished into thin air, a shallow copy of your beloved left behind in its wake— and every few years after that. It drains all the color out of him, squeezes until there’s nothing left.

He looks drunk. He smells drunk too. But you still cross your arms and straighten your back, swallowing. “Ki-chan was worried about you. She says you two broke-”

“She’s right.” Satoru drops his bag by the tv, and unceremoniously kicks off his socks in the middle of the living room, slauntering towards the couch.

“Is that why you’re like this?” Your worry is undermined by a harsh snort and an equally unamused chuckle, before the white-haired man comes to a halt before you.

“Don’t be stupid. You and I both know it’s not.” His eyes are usually like the ocean on a summer day, bright, all-consuming, and peaceful— there’s nothing there when they land on you now. Just the dark, dreary image of a cloudy, uncaring vastness. “Get up, I’m trying to sleep here for the night.”

“I’m not leaving.” You’re not sure if the slight tremble in your voice is self-inflicted, but do your best to bite through the electric tension. “She also said that you’ve been saying all kinds of things that make no sense. Things about— me. And that’s why you guys broke up. She’s worried that you might try to do something to me.” Gojo Satoru is a lot of things. More things than a man with his constitution should be, all in all. Your light breath cuts the tension just enough for you to speak up again, staring up at him from your increasingly vulnerable position on the couch. “Well, will you?”

“Get up.” Before you have another chance to ask more, he takes you by the arm and pulls you up out of the couch in a split second, leaving you stumbling back. “Run off to your room now.” Smart, coherent thoughts leave you. Satoru looks like he’s hurting. Those long, white lashes and blue irises are no longer bright and understanding. They frame a simple look of distaste at the sight of you, and your rapid heartbeat falters. “I said, now.” As your tongue brushes your lips you search for something— anything— to say, but it seems he doesn’t want to let you. With large steps, he walks you back by your collar until your back hits the wall, and you stare up at him.

“Isn’t it bad enough that I already want you? What more do you need?” The cold, still wet touch of his thumb brushing your collarbones tingles down your entire body. “Tell me off. Hit me. Do something.” He’s basically begging now, through hard glares, teeth and a raspy voice. “Tell me off for treating you like this.”

You think you should. But all that you manage to say is a soft plea, eyes searching in the dark. “Uncle Satoru, I- I’m sorry.”

“Baby.”

His grip makes your shirt dig uncomfortably into your neck, but you barely feel it. Instead you raise your hands to cup his face, watching how the furrowed brows straighten out after only a few tight breaths. You mumble out a breath of his name, and allow him to pull you closer to his body until you’re pressed to his chest, face hidden against his collarbones. Until he leads you to look up at him and lets his lips brush over your eyelids, and the tip of your nose. “Your mom would kill me if she knew.”

You know him to be right. And still, you let his mouth meet yours. Meet and claim your tongue, hiking your one thigh up to allow him to melt against you. Rolling his narrow hips just a little too effectively against you. It’s way too much all at once, hot and cold meeting in the dark where his body grinds against you. You shouldn’t… allow any of this, right? But it feels too good to stop. Satoru clearly thinks so too when he grunts your name against your mouth, and his crotch rubs into your center.

It’s not hard to know what he’s thinking about as he drags his lips down the soft of your throat and sucks kisses into the skin. His strong fingers slide under your shirt to anchor at your waist, and leave goosebumps all over. “My pretty girl,” he ends up mumbling as his tongue makes shapes at the base of your throat, “you’re all mine. All fucking mine. Mh- never gonna let anyone have you.” It feels so good. Hearing that, however distorted by the moment— makes you feel like you’re floating. So much so, that it scares you. To think anyone would have such power over you.

Satoru goes in for another kiss, but you end up sliding out of his arms by mere chance, panting and shivering from the wet hands all over you. You take one single deep breath, and rush off down the hall.

When you sit at dinner the next day, rolling your veggies around your plate as you cast him weary glances from under long lashes, Satoru doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even blink out of place once, like the night before was just a dream. You’d really believe the slight ache of a hickey at the base of your throat to be an unlucky bruise, if you couldn’t notice the faint glances your way. After a while, his telltale grin slips back on when you startle at his voice, and he points his fork towards you. “You’re acting weird, you know that?”

“I- I’m acting weird?” Your voice pitches up almost comically, and his gleeful chuckle has your heart racing despite yourself. “W- about yesterday-”

“I’m taking you somewhere tonight.” Though the interruption should annoy you, he looks so content and smug as he stuffs the last of his food into his cheek, that you can only frown. His hand runs through his mess of white hair, noisily smacking his food as if to make a point. When you don’t immediately respond, he nods to himself, before leaning in. “I woke up with the worst headache of my life, I’ll have you know. But I’ve gotten over myself, I promise. And now I just want to hang out with my favorite niece.”

“Only niece,” you end up parroting, clenching and unclenching your hands into your skirt. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Call me ‘uncle ‘Toru’ again, and I’ll tell you.” You never tell him no.

As you walk through the hall with slow steps, the light falls like broken petals through the paper walls and casts everything in a hazy glow. For all your protests, uncle Satoru follows close behind, chirping all kinds of encouragements, giggling most of the way through. The lazy patterns he draws on your shoulders with his thumbs, or the brief brushes of his nose along your cheek, kisses behind your jaw— it all should make you feel a lot guiltier than it does. Instead you’re just wound up, skin tingling with every touch the longer it lasts.

“Are you gonna tell me why we’re here now?”

He hums that melodic agreement, before pointing you towards the rather familiar door at the right. “If you go in there, I will.” At your slight frown, he only presses on. “I promise. Come on, trust your favorite uncle.”

“You’re not my favorite.”

His voice grows low as his lips brush your ear, and those strong arms start gliding down the sides of your back. “Liar.” The kiss that is pressed to your pulse is slower this time, humming in your throat and making you swallow your words. His mind hasn’t changed after you ran out. Instead of focusing on that- on him, you reach for the door and slide it open, finding your and Satoru’s room barely changed at all. His hands come to press at the sides of your hips, long fingers trekking all over the skin he can reach. “I’ve been thinking for a while now…” His playful voice dips a little lower, and your breathing grows slower and slower. “I always meant it when I said you were my favorite... but-”

“But it’s a little different now, hm, pretty girl? When did you change so much?” Those hands that start sliding up along your thighs to hike your skirt up to your belly, and though you try to keep it down with a little breath, he denies it. “You don’t like it? That I wanna see all of you?” The little hum to your soft throat makes you feel like you’re charged to the brim, crackling each time he moves. It’s unbearable, and yet, you couldn’t move a muscle if you tried. “Tell me that I’m a bad guy.”

You can’t focus on anything. His nimble fingers toy with the edge of your panties, and the puff of his breath sends a shiver down your neck. “W-why’d you take me to our old- ah- place?” Satoru doesn’t wait for you to catch up before the frilly fabric drags along your thighs. Your awfully wet underwear lands around your feet, and he leans in to nudge your face to his. Kissing you over your shoulder as his body covers you from behind, and his waist pushes up against you. His tongue steals your attention away from his hands just long enough to lose track of them before they’re on your tits, squeezing them and making your cunt clench in anticipation.

“Because I wanted to prove something.” He rolls his clothed waist against your ass and makes that awful feeling even worse, forcing a whimper out of you. And that mind-numbing fucking laughter returns before his hands start moving to your center. You’re not sure if you want to push him away or ride his fingers with the slow drag of rough fingertips along the inside of your legs— not that it’s up to you anyway. “You’re no longer that good girl that’d idolize uncle Satoru, right? You’ve started thinking about other things when I’m around, hm?”

Fingers slide through the embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs with another noise from him, pressing his hardening cock harder against you and grinding it against you- and you have to fight the urge to just get face down on the floor for him. “F-fuck, baby, you’re already dripping all over my hand. Does uncle ‘Toru turn you on?” Two prodding digits slide into your clenching hole as he grins against your cheek, and his free hand meanly pinches a nipple. “C’mon, tell me. Tell me how much you like me.”

“Mh-ack, I- li-like you.” He goes to pull his hand back but you reach for it, and push it back inside to have his hand palm rubbing up against your clit. “A lot, I like you a lot! Please.” The curl of his long fingers inside you is enough to have you shaking, leaning back against his chest with one shoulder, and hanging onto his wrist. It doesn’t take much to have him smiling into the hickey he’s sucking under your jaw, and fighting back your resistance just enough to start pushing another finger inside. The slight ache is almost instantly replaced with the pleasure of having your clenching pussy filled so full. Everything blurs a little when you reach back for him for support, and his strong hand fucks smoothly in and out of you. “Mhm, ah, ah, I love my uncle Satoru. Sa. To. Ru.” Slick runs down your leg and makes his entire hand sticky, and he hums in agreement.

“That’s a good little niece. Love riding my fingers like this? You’re shaking, baby.” He knows what it does to you, must’ve known for a while, when his voice is pressed to your skin— it leaves you a mess. You try to respond, but your tongue gets all tangled, and you can only whimper and nod as his fingers fuck right into the spot you need them to. Your back curls against him as your legs get shakier, and your poor clit is grinded against his palm until you can’t focus on anything else. It feels so good. Good, good, good, good~ You want to keep riding his fingers forever.

“Lay down for me,” he rasps when you really start rubbing back against his hand, pussy so messy and full and your lips glossy with spit— and you almost cry when he starts pulling back.

“No, no no nonono, uncle Satoru, please. I’m close,” you squeak, only to allow him to push you down by your shoulder and watch as he slots his fingers between pink lips. “Hm- I- can I cum? Please?” Your thighs rub together as you lay down, and Satoru kneels before you to pry them open wide enough to fit his shoulders between.

“Shh, lift your ass,” he quickly chants, getting comfortable between your legs as his hands pry you open, “let me taste my favorite pussy the way I want.” His devilish mouth is on you before you can register it, hot and instantly too much. Your puffy clit is laved in licks and sucks that hit the spot just right, and every nerve end fires in a way that no one else could ever accomplish. His hums and the brilliant glint of his eyes as he watches you tear up and moan, lifting your ass closer to his face as his tongue licks and fucks your dripping pussy. He laughs when eating you out so good your eyes cross, before latching his mouth around your overstimulated nub for real, and sucking the light out of your vision.

Your legs shake before you’re clenching them around his head with a long, high-pitches whimper and a string of moans that roll through your body— and Satoru just keeps going, until you’re twitching and you try to push him away. Your breathing is rapid and shallow as you blink the black spots on your vision away and loosen the grip you have on his hair, but your legs still shake as he brushes his thumb over your pussy without pity. “That’s one. Wanna see how many more I can get you to?”

“No,” you immediately squeak, making his smug grin grow even wider. “I wanna… first, wanna have you- i-inside.” Admitting it is different than thinking it. And you’ve thought it, too much to count- but it still heats your cheeks and ears upon seeing the way Satoru’s lashes flutter a little, and he pushes his pants down to take his flushed cock out.

“Yeah? You want your uncle Satoru’s big cock inside you?” His hand wraps around his thick length with a little hiss, sliding his hand over the swollen, dark pink tip as you watch. “Say it properly, and I’ll give it to you.” You roll onto your side to yank your shirt up over your tits, and impatiently shake your ass as you whine out a noise that barely seems to register as you. But you can’t help it. The buzz from your orgasm only made your belly hotter, slicking up your legs and ass and dripping for him- as he sits up on his knees so slide his pants down further.

“Satoru~ please.” His hand moves up and down a few times as he raises a brow, and knocks away your hand when you try to touch yourself. “Please, please, puh-lease~” Your voice cracks when you lay back instead, and knead your tit as you try to pull him closer by wrapping your legs around him. “I want to have- uncle ‘Toru’s cock. I want to have my own uncle’s cock, I love my uncle- and I want- to be his personal pussy to use~” Tears spring up in the corners of your eyes, so you close them. “Now please just put it in. I’ve waited long enough-”

A little chuckle breaks up your begging before he kisses you deep and greedily, and suddenly the hot head of his cock pushes up against your sopping entrance. “Want it so bad you gotta cry about it? Poor baby.” He just about pushes in the slightest bit, and takes a slow breath to stare into your eyes. Pretty. So fucking pretty, all of him. “Sorry I made you wait. Uncle will fill this little niece's pussy up, don’t worry.” Then he pushes in with a slow press on your tummy that makes you blink back tears, as his heavy, hot cock breaks you open a little further, along with your sanity.

The smack when he bottoms out is a brief relief, before he pulls back and uses those strong legs to start really fucking into you, nose to nose. “Letting your own family fuck your greedy pussy like this, look at you. I’m a bad influence, hm?” The weight of him, the brushing of his pelvic bone to your clit, the grip on your thigh and brushing of your tits and every brief brush of his lips over yours is enough to have that coil pull back so tight in your stomach too quickly. You dig your nails into his muscular back as each pap of his balls smacking against your slick-covered ass rings out in the room, and the white-haired man hums. “Uncle Satoru’s your favorite, say it. That you’ll beg for my cock until you go hoarse.”

He presses his nose to your temple, and pants against you- fucking with a rhythm that’s taking the breath out of you. You’re already going to cum again. “Say that you want uncle Satoru’s kids filling up your belly, ahg- go on— mhm, that tight, t-tight fucking pussy.”

“Yes, yes, I want my uncle’s cum inside! My favorite uncle’s ruining my pussy!” you squeak, and then cry out against his neck. “I’m gonna cum again, uncle ‘Toru. G-gonna- agh-ughn- p-please don’t stop.” The thrusts get even deeper if that’s at all possible, lifting your one leg up to grind the head of his cock against your cervix with the position he’s got you in, and goes to cup your pussy. And even that slight touch is enough to have your vision going black and white, head blanking as another orgasm rolls over you and locks your leg around his hips— but the fucking doesn’t stop even then. “Agh-mygodI-ah, ahgh-nh. Uncle Satoru.”

It’s too much, you’re entirely too hot and sweat is rolling down your temple and his chest, but his cock still drives home over and over again like he’s willing to break you in half. You don’t want him to ever stop. “Hearing that filth coming out of your mouth- ugh, mhm, makes me want to keep fucking you forever. For eternity.” His waist bumps your overstimulated clit each time he bottoms out, ring of white around the base of his cock before he throws his head back and moans out your name. “You can’t ever let anyone know how much uncle Satoru loves fucking his little niece, okay? F-fuck. How much I love ruining that little attitude of yours.”

Your both knees are pushes to your shoulders as he moves up, pulling out just a second to fuck between the sloppy lips of your pussy. “Been wanting to fuck you since you moved in. Can’t help but get hard when you’re around. Bad uncle ‘Toru, right?” The head of his cock is so swollen and flushed and dripping with your mixed juices, and he stares at you through narrowed, perfect eyes as he pushes back in and watches his cock disappear into the hot clutch of your pussy, swallowing it up like a whore. His lip is pulled between his teeth as he groans, and fucks harder and faster into you like you’re barely a toy. “But I don’t care. Uncle’s gonna fuck this pussy every day from now on. My pussy. Mine.”

You can feel him in your throat with the way he pounds your pussy until you’re raw, squeezing your throat between his long fingers as his heavy balls hit you. And his mouth covers yours, tongues back together and spit messily covering your chin by the end of it. You don’t think eternity will be enough.

There’s some kind of failsafe inside every human, isn’t there? And yours is simply malfunctioning at the wrong times.

The woman hanging off his arm is lovely. Mina, you think it is. She’s smart and pretty and accomplished, and her hair has that perfect commercial shine as it bounces around her shoulders. And Satoru is laying on the sweetness thick, from what you can make out between the giggles and shiny smiles. Underneath the obnoxious shades hiding his pearly gaze from direct view as he makes quick work of scanning the beach. It sits in your stomach with an uncomfortable rumble. Even though you know… It’s for show. It’s all just for show.

You do your best not to frown when he looks back over his shoulder for a second to drag his eyes over you. “We should play beach volleyball!”

And a soft chuckle from the person by your side agrees when you can’t be bothered to. “You got it!” The blond is smart enough to give you a softly encouraging grin that makes you feel vindicated in your exasperation, before you stick up your own thumb. You have no intention of watching Satoru leave hot handprints all over her skin. The young man beside you clearly notices your hesitation, because he smoothes a palm down your spine to straighten you up a little, before blowing out a long breath that makes you smile. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll keep him busy if you’d rather lay in the shade for a little longer.”

Kenji’s fingers softly brush along the small of your back, then teasingly slips them under the knot of your bikini, as his mouth comes to hover over your ear. “Or we could sneak away for a little bit and…”

“And get caught for indecent exposure?” you giggle over your shoulder instead of letting him kiss you, and grab for one of the books that had gone untouched earlier in the day to tap it on his head. “We can’t,” you breathe with a smile, and watch as he takes that as a challenge. Really, you’re not one for fighting fire with fire. That’s Satoru’s play, and you don’t have any intention of mistreating anyone. But … the adoring gazes and personal attention does make the whole ordeal a lot easier to stomach. So easy even, that you’re down in the toasty sand with him above and your chest rising and falling rapidly for a few blissful seconds, before the volleyball hits the both of you on the sides.

Your eyes snap over to the head of white hair when he clears his throat, and holds his hands up in mock apology. Serene, picture-perfect smile plastered on his handsome face. You click your tongue, and you can’t hold back the angry echo of his name in your head as he walks up. “Sorry, sorry, my bad! You guys coming or what?” This whole song and dance is just— so frustrating. Despite your best effort to keep it in, a slight tick in your brow still makes its way onto your face.

“You guys start without me,” you breathe after a few seconds of staring Satoru down, allowing Kenji to pull you up from the sand to dust you off. “I’m going to go grab the sunscreen and the coolers from the car.” Kenji makes an attempt to stand, but you wave it off in favor of putting some space between you and the tallest as his crystal eyes drill holes through you. “No, I got it. Thanks though.”

By the time Satoru’s “girlfriend” walks up and slips underneath his arm, he raises a brow your way, and the glitter in his eyes makes you convinced that he knows just as well as you do. You do your best to ignore him — them, but you can still feel the sting of him appraising you through those stupid shades. Asshole. You swing your hips as you walk away, kicking up sand every time your slippers bounce up.

At least the short walk allows for a moment to cool off, and collect your thoughts. There’s no sense in getting fed up. He’ll just get home and start cracking jokes like always, pretending like he didn’t do something wrong in the first place. Nevertheless, you allow yourself only a short sigh and admittance of defeat in the little game you play as you click the trunk closed again.

Before you turn and walk into a solid chest, almost scaring you skittering back against the hot surface of the car. Large hands descend on you, one to wrap around your waist and the other covering your mouth- before he leans down further into your space. “So, so grumpy all the time.” Uncle Satoru’s rough handpalm slides down to grab a handful of your ass before he lowers his face to yours into a languid kiss, tongue tasting vaguely like strawberry as he drags it over yours with a hum. “Stop trying to make me jealous.”

“I’m— I’m not! And ‘m not grumpy. I just don’t want to see you,” you end up breathing out, wrapping your arms instinctively around his broad shoulders when those long fingers start toying with your pussy through the awfully flimsy fabric. “Satoruuu~”

His chuckle is matched with the impatient way he rubs two fingers up and down along your slit, and slides his other hand down your smooth stomach to start peeling it all off. “Call me uncle Satoru, c’mon baby. You know what I like.”

You barely have a chance to place your hand over your mouth to keep quiet as he noses your bikini top out of the way to drag his pink tongue languidly over your puffy bud— and those baby blues find you through wispy, white lashes. “Uncle ‘Toru, unc-cle ‘Ru— You’re gonna get us caught.” He sucks part of it into his mouth and leaves a mean mark with his teeth, before grinning.

“Hmm. I don’t care.”

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #tw.incest #tw.age gap #tw.breeding #tw.coercion #tw.dark content #tw.creampie #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.gojo

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syneilesis · 4 months

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[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lad rafayel #lad qi yu #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace qi yu #fic #my fic #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #lad rafayel x reader #lad qi yu x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace spoilers #it's near midnight again i shall now sleep

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cyxnidx · 6 months

Text

GONNA BREED YOU.

KINKTOBER FESTIVAL : DAY 9 → ITTO ARATAKI.

prompt: g'na put a pretty baby in you.

pairing: itto x afab!reader

rating: nsfw/smut

content warning(s): breeding, rough sex if you squint, unprotected sex

a/n: breeding kink go bbrrrrrrrrrr, nsfw under the cut!

"you alright there?" itto questioned, breathing heavy as he slowly slid his dick into you, inch by inch.

he knew he was stretching you - regardless of how long he fingered you, ate you out and made you cum. but at least it made things a little easier.

you nod slowly, tears rolling down your cheeks at the burning sensation of his stretch.

"i know sweetheart, i know.." he kisses your tears. "just a little more, okay?"

with a few more soft thrusts, itto was able to bottom out, softly bullying himself into your plush cunt.

feeling you clench around his cock, body writhing as you struggled to adjust for the first time had itto's imagination running wild.

though, he resisted his urges. for your sake, he'd ignored them for a while. ensuring your comfort, he grabbed a pillow and placed it under your waist.

in hopes of making things a bit better for you.

"you still okay?" itto questioned again, kissing down your neck to your collarbone and trailing to your chest.

the feeling of his cock nestled deep in you made you feel full - almost overwhelmed in a way.

for a while, the closest you've gotten with itto as far as sex went, was simply you receiving head or him fingering you. or even mutual masturbation.

and for a while, you understood why he never actually fucked you during the masturbation between you two. he was big - it wasn't a surprise, but it was intimidating first-hand.

but, it only made you even more curious for the experience. you were sure it'd be a bit painful, but apart from the pain, what else was there to be so afraid of?

after addressing your concerns with itto.. it was needless to say he was onboard. though, he was still worrisome regardless.

"want me to move?" he questioned, somewhat getting needy. he looked at you softly, red eyes looking at you with adoration.

you nod, watching him reposition himself. his larger hands gripped your waist softly, yet firmly, as he slowly drew himself out and back in.

he watched your expression closely as you watched his dick reappear for a moments time before delving back into your cunt.

your head fell back as you exhaled from the feeling of being full again.

itto pulled your body closer to his, upping his pace by a little bit. "this good?"

"faster," you tell him lowly. "jus' a little."

his eyes soften at your request, following through. a smile grew when he felt you clench around him, pretty noises flowing from your mouth.

your mind began to spiral, sometimes wondering how you went from such a soft, caring moment to him plowing your body into the mattress.

face pushed into a pillow, you practically screamed as he plowed his cock deep into your poor cunt, hitting a specific spot that sent you into orbit each and every time.

and with each orgasm you had, you got louder and louder.

he flipped your body over, your back against the mattress as he continued to fuck you through your next orgasm.

you'd lost count of how many there were.

"gonna cum.." itto huffed quietly, just loud enough for you to hear him.

your eyes brightened at the confession.

though, you quickly frowned when you felt him begin to pull out. clenching over him, you noticed he stopped abruptly at the feeling.

"no.." itto mumbled, hands shaking around your waist. "baby, loosen up for me," he told you, looking at you expectantly.

you shook your head, arms reaching for his face. you brought his face close to yours and softly kissed him.

"baby, m' gonna cum," he whined, straining himself with all his might not to cum.

"cum in me," you tell him, wrapping your legs around his hips. "cum inside."

you could swear the way itto looked at you changed the moment you said that. it almost looked like a primal drive had taken over.

and before you knew it, he was pounding into you once again. he looked at you intently before throwing his head back from pleasure as he approached his climax.

looking back down at you, pink flushed his cheeks as his eyes took in your figure. "g'na put a pretty baby in you.." he huffed, moving one of his hands onto your belly, pressing lightly. "you'd look so pretty.."

his pupils were blown out, breath beginning to get uneven as his thrusts got lazy and lost rhythm.

biting into your shoulder, he muffled his groans as he continued to drive himself to his orgasm.

seconds later, you felt a new warmth inside you, paired with itto's mindless babbling.

fucking his cum into you, itto mumbled sweet nothings into your ear, filling you to the brim with his essence and yours combined.

it took him a while to recuperate, finally looking you in the eye again. his pupils went back to normal and his breathing steadied.

kissing over your collarbone, he thanked you for allowing him to cum inside you.

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absolute-flaming-trash · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 721

Warnings: Kidnapped reader, Captive reader, Forced relationship

Out of all the holiday seasons that came and went during the year, this one was your favourite by far.

Not for the festivities or the brash, obnoxious yet oddly endearing holiday traditions that made their way over from the Western world. Those certainly had their place, yes, but you loved it for an entirely different reason.

The lights.

Colours of every shade, limited only by imagination, were strung up on buildings all across the city - wrapped around the rails of balconies and other anchor points like luminescent vines. Trees that lined the streets were specifically decorated with white and blue, mimicking the ice and snow around them and making the scene seem just that much brighter.

It made it all seem so ethereal. How enchanting such a simple thing could make a night otherwise illuminated only by lights belonging to office buildings and private homes. It was almost enough to make you forget why you had the view you did. Who you shared it with.

You didn’t want to go back inside the hotel room yet. Even with some protection from the balcony, the cold bit at your skin making gooseflesh pepper your skin. Your toes had gone numb ages ago, but you couldn’t yet tear yourself away.

In the distance, someone was playing carols over a loudspeaker. The sound made your lips quirk up ever so slightly and you closed your eyes to take it in for a moment. While classical music was all but ruined for you by this point, there was something about the orchestral version of songs that still managed to make you feel… home. Nostalgia stirring in your chest for something that would never be the same again. A place that never existed anymore.

Such a moment was interrupted by warmth wrapping itself around you from behind, hands encircling your waist and reminding you just how thin your nightgown really was.

Your silent wish that he wouldn’t speak and simply look at the view with you was quickly crushed when you felt his hot breath right next to your ear.

“Twas noontide of summer,” Chrollo began, “and mid-time of night; and stars, in their orbits, shone pale ‘ore the night.”

“Must you always do that?” You asked, cutting his recitation off before he could complete it fully. A beat of silence followed, one long enough that the temptation to reopen your eyes to look at him pulled at your subconscious, but you pushed it back.

You felt one of his hands leave your waist in favor of your arm, the goosebumps disappearing under the warmth of his palm. Part of you wondered if he delighted in the little ways your body betrayed you when it came to him. What he provided.

“Do what, my dear?”

“Make it worse.”

There was another beat of silence as Chrollo’s fingers tightened around your bicep in a light squeeze. You opened your eyes that time, the lights coming back into view, but this time it felt different.

Tainted.

He squeezed your arm again.

“You’re cold. Come back in, there are plenty of blankets for you.”

A frown threatened to tug at your lips, but you hid it well. At least you thought you did. If there was one bright side to being the object of Chrollo’s affection, it was learning the skill of hiding what you truly felt.

Not like it mattered much, anyway.

“Do I have to?”

Another squeeze on your arm. Firmer. Non-negotiable.

“You’ll catch cold.”

A surprising reason, you thought. With how much he lingered and leered, you figured he’d delight in any occasion that would result in you depending upon and relying on him more.

Attempting to think about any other reason as to why he wouldn’t want for something like that only served to give you a headache, so you nodded once - turning your body to face his.

“Excellent.” You could hear the pleasantry in his tone hidden underneath his otherwise deadpan expression. The hand on your arm slid off to reopen the balcony door while the other moved to the small of your back, guiding you back inside.

The warmth from the room that greeted you was ironic in a way. Most defined the winter night air as biting. Harsh, even.

Yet the supposed reprieve of the indoors had never felt less welcoming.

#riri writes #Chrollo #Chrollo x Reader #HxH #Hunter x Hunter #Chrollo Lucilfer #Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader #Yandere x Reader #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw captivity #tw forced relationship

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respectissexy · 3 months

Text

Just an update on where all the Bad Kids are at as of Episode 3. Roughly in order from least to most fucked, as I see it (rankings highly debatable and likely to change as things unfold.)

Riz cannot afford to pay for college, but is in a pretty good position to get scholarships, at least for himself; he is very worried about keeping his party together.

Fabian is Unsupervised. He cannot figure out how his Fantasy SmartHome works, though it’s likely he will pick it up with time. He has double-majored in two physically demanding classes (Fighter and Dance Bard) and is also committed to being Captain of the Bloodrush team. He also volunteered his home to be the Party House for the cool kids this year, even though any amount of partying is likely to put problematic levels of strain on his body.

Gorgug’s van is fucked. He is not being permitted to double major in Barbarian and Artificer at school and may be forced to choose one or the other. His parents are involved with a local music festival that seems to have encountered significant legal and financial challenges; it seems likely they have either been embezzled from or accused of embezzlement themselves.

Adaine also cannot afford to pay for college, and additionally cannot afford the material components to perform the spells for her Wizard classes, which include things like several barrels of diamonds.

Fig is on the verge of being expelled because she won’t attend her classes. Her sophomore album is late and she owes her record label a significant amount of money. There is some kind of curdled darkness within her that seems to have given her Gilear’s luck. Also, she is wanted by the FBI. Kristen is on the verge of being expelled because she let her previous god die and failed sophomore year. Her abusive parents are back in her orbit via her little brother being at school. Her current god is suuuuuper pissed at her, so pissed in fact that she brought back last season’s Big Bad. She has decided this would be a good time to run for Class President.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high junior year spoilers

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gingerjolover · 3 months

Note

Imagine taking Julien as your plus 1 to a winter wedding, imagine the (loosely) matching festive outfits and the warm lights against her lighter her up, super festive super sweet holiday jb

this could send me into orbit actually plus one!jb is such a vibe

are we talking plus one like yall have not been dating for very long but you got a plus one so you're brining your gf

or like its your friend whos getting married or maybe a family member and you and jb have been together a while so she is also invited

i think either way, im getting strong vibes like from the wedding the boys performed at

i feel like since its a winter wedding its giving dark clothes, maybe red or dark green, obvi not white but something festive but not over the top

and julien is like, "I'll get a matching tie❤️" so whatever color your dress or outfit is, julien is matching you

and julien doesn't like Christmas but loves the winter (idk if this is canon but it is to me) and so a winter wedding is so her vibe

if its outdoors there's lights all around and trees wrapped up and the dancefloor is under a huge tent and maybe there's fake snow and greenery everywhere

and julien is living for it and you take so many pics and vids or julien just looking at her surroundings because the reflections in her big brown baby cow eyes.... i could pass out actually

look i mentioned this in the one smut fit but i don't think julien is like totally sober i think she has drinks on occasions, and we'll say for consistency sake that shes very excited at the festive drinks and foods, the two of you perusing around the venue

finds every mistletoe and kisses you under it

also takes a ton of photos of you in your outfit

the pic y'all get with the couple is sooo cute, you and JB on either side of the couple, both smiling and color coordinated

probably plays a lot of Christmas or holiday music at the reception (in combination with bangers)

but i just imagine you and julien slow dancing to a slow Christmas song or like julien bopping around with your friends or family

julien gives me "children love me and want me to play with them all the time" vibes at family gatherings

so your cousins or maybe like the kids at the wedding LOVE julien and they are all dancing together

if it's a kid-free wedding then you know julien is just having the time of her life dancing to fucking pitbull or something with your friends

julien is so genuinely sweet and fun and kind and the best to be around at an event like a wedding (and all the time) so you are just so happy you brought her

and its one of the only times julien is all for the holiday-ness of the season, so she enjoys herself

i might add more to this later??

#anon cutie #julien baker x reader #boygenius x reader #jb at a winter wedding chefs kiss anon #gingybread's holidaze

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slut4teyam · 1 year

Note

Neteyam following kiris bsf just to fuck her nice and deep, then spots her flirting with another guy so he reminds her who does it best?

Provoke Me (pt.1)

(Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x F!Omaticaya Reader)

minors dni!

!This is a 2 part story, read Part 2!

Genre: mainly smut, extremely slight angst

Warnings: dom!neteyam, cock palming, slight breast play, p in v, swearing, dirty talk, missionary (please tell me if theres any i've missed!)

Backstory: Y/n and Kiri were born in the same year, shortly after the destruction of home tree. They were raised in the clans base on the Hallelujah mountains, always playing together. They have been best friends ever since birth, which led y/n to become close with the Sully's. Y/n had a huge crush on Kiri's brother; Neteyam, ever since she saw him, and would ramble on about how hot he was. Kiri always rolled her eyes, but knew your feelings were mutual since she decided to tease her brother about it after she caught him staring at you, which led to him confess his feelings for you to Kiri. However, Kiri was a good secret keeper, so she hadn't told both sides about the opposites feelings, and she didn't feel she had to. Y/n and Neteyam would always flirt, and catch each other staring at one another, it was obvious. On another regular day, you decided to wear your newly made, revealing top to grab Kiri from the Sully's tent. What you don't realize until later on, when you were alone in the forest with Neteyam, was that it had turned him on.

Neteyam and Reader are aged up to 19+ years old!! (Other characters except for Tuk too! Tuk is 12 here, don't be weird)

"Mother, have you finished sewing together the top I wanted?" you ask as you approach your mother, sitting outside of your tent, sewing together pieces of fabric and nature.

"Yes, it's right here," your mother puts down the loincloth she's currently working on to grab your already made top. "Why though? This is a bit revealing, more for festivities I'd say." she questions.

"I promised Kiri I'd wear it once it was done, she really wanted to see it!" you exclaimed as you took the piece from your mothers hands, quickly re-entering your tent to get dressed up. Your mother chuckled, mumbling "whatever you want to do" as she returned back to her work at hand.

You put on your top, and looked down to see if you liked the way it looked (no mirror thingzz). Your eyes lit up as you smiled, LOVING the way the top looked on you. It was made of the beautiful purple flowers of Pandora, covering mostly only your nipples, and wrapping around your upper body. Pleased with the way it looked, you gathered your things and exited your tent, thanking your mother before heading over to the Sully's tent to grab Kiri.

slight time skip, at the Sully tent

You enter the Sully's tent through their make-shift door, created by beads. "How have you been, y/n?" Neytiri asks, greeting you with her beautiful smile. "I'm doing good, how about you Neytiri?" you reply, looking around the tent to find Kiri. You saw Jake teaching Lo'ak how to use human weapons called guns, and Neteyam sharpening his knife, before you noticed Kiri sitting with Tuk, talking. You waved your hand over to them, and they smiled before standing up and approaching you. "Y/n!" Tuk screamed while running to you, embracing you in a hug shortly after. "Hi Tuk," you replied, hugging her back. "Hey Kiri," you add on, but she was too busy orbiting around you and checking out your new top. "You must wear this on my birthday celebration, it is beautiful!" Kiri speaks, although you couldn't focus much on her comment because of the eyes you felt on your skin. The eyes of a specific male that had momentarily stopped sharpening the knife in his hands; Neteyam. He was taking you in, with his eyes going from down to up, where it stayed on your partially revealed breasts. You felt your cheeks heat up at his deep gaze, as you quickly looked away, back at Kiri.

"Me and y/n will be leaving, mother." Kiri told Neytiri before receiving a nod from her. Kiri tugged on your arm as you both left the tent.

slight time skip

You and Kiri were at the grassy area of the forest that Kiri loved because she could feel the heartbeat of Eywa. Your best friend was laying down, as you sat leaning back on your arms, looking up at the sky covered by trees. You could only think about Neteyam after this morning, which led you to interrupt your current one-sided conversation with Kiri. "Tell me more about Neteyam."

Kiri rolled her eyes as she thought of things she hadn't already told you about. "Hmm," she started, "he gets jealous SO easily, one time he was..." Kiri started rambling on, but you zoned out shortly after the word 'jealous' was said. You were thinking of ways you could use that to your advantage. Your thoughts and Kiri's talking was interrupted with Jake's voice coming from her neckpiece.

"Your grandma came by, I know you had questions to her about herbal healing." you heard Jakes voice say. "Okay, I'm returning now." Kiri replied while standing up, which lead you to stand up as well. She looked at you apologetically, but before she could say anything you cut her off. "I should probably start heading home to help my mother with dinner ingredients anyways, the sun is going to start setting soon."

You and Kiri said your goodbyes as you both left, going opposite directions. You thought you knew a shortcut to your house, but that was proven wrong as the forest never seemed to end, declaring you lost. "Stupid dumbfuck, how can someone get lost in the forest they grew up in?" you lecture yourself, stopping in your tracks as you hear a familiar chuckle coming from behind you. You turn around and immediately understand the familiarity. Neteyam was leaning against a tree, chuckling with a mocking look on his face.

"Are you following me?" you ask, frowning at his mocking behavior. "Maybe instead of getting all angry, you should be happy. It looks to me like I'm your only way out of here." he replies as he crosses his arms. He had a point. Even though you didn't mind spending the night being one with the forest, you were scared your mother would be worried sick.

"Fine, help me out?" you said, quickly walking closer to him. "Not so fast," he smirked. You frowned with confused eyes staring into his, which held a deep gaze now. He walked closer to you, towering over you. You couldn't back away, and the answer for it was simple; you didn't want to. You broke eye contact for a short period of time, but his right index finger lifted your chin up, making you meet his gaze again.

"You come to my tent, wearing that slutty top you have on right now," he looks down at your breasts, "leave me in this state," he takes your right hand with his left and palms himself, making you feel his hard on before continuing, "and expect me to lead you back home without resolving it?" he chuckles. You gulp, only your eyes being able to stare down as he continuously palms himself with your hand. Heat shoots down between your thighs as you feel how big he is, how hard he is, leading you to shut them together.

"I think we can make a deal." he tilts his head to the side, his eyes not leaving yours before speaking in his raspy voice. "You let me fuck you here, nice and deep, and then I help you out of this place."

You consider it, it would be a win-win for you. Getting fucked by your best friends brother, who is also your crush, and then getting to go home like none of it ever happened. You feel your now wet loincloth brush against your inner thighs as you smirk at the thought, looking back into his eyes. "Might as well undress me." you say confidently, receiving a smirk from the male in front of you before he slams his lips onto yours, starting to kiss you.

He grabs you by your ass and squeezes, as you hold onto his shoulders, your right hand slowly making its way to his neck while your left goes down to his chest. His right hand roams up to your right breast, sliding under your purple top, ripping it apart as he squeezes your nipple with his index and middle finger. You moan at the sudden action coming from his cold hands, and his tongue enters your now open mouth. You fight for dominance, but quickly lose as his left hand roams up to your throat to lightly choke you.

"Are you wet?" he asks between making out with you, his right hand untying his loincloth as his left remains on your waist. "Mhm" you manage to moan out while nodding, opening your eyes as you look down at his hands at work. "Good, you wouldn't be able to take me in if you weren't." he replies as he finally takes his loincloth off and tosses it to the side. You gulp at the sight of his hard cock, dripping with pre-cum. You were scared it still wouldn't fit, even with you soaking wet.

"You like what you see?" he smirked, looking down from his cock back up to your eyes still staring down. You nod as your hands impatiently lead to your loincloth, untying it off of yourself. Neteyam watches your every move, licking his lips once you toss the piece of cloth aside. You didn't need to remove your top, as he had already ripped it open with his hand.

"Lay down and open your legs baby. Wide." he commands, and you oblige. You slowly sit down before plopping onto your elbows, not breaking eye contact, as you teasingly open your legs wide. Neteyam looks down at your wet cunt, licking his lips as he sits down on his knees, pulling you closer to him by your hips. He pumps his cock a couple of times with his hand, as he places himself in front of your entrance. You let out a soft moan as he pounds into you slowly, his speed increasing with every thrust.

"Fuck Neteyam" you moan out, trying to grab the forest grounds but failing. He notices and leans over you, "Grab my back baby." You do as you're told, scratching his back with your nails when his speed becomes fast. Very fast. You're a moaning mess, as tears you didn't realize had formed flowed down from your eyes. Neteyam held your left thigh with his right hand, placing your leg over his right shoulder to pound in deeper. Your eyes rolled back as he hits parts of your insides you never knew of. Neteyam bit his lower lip with the new sensation of exploring your depths, while his eyes rolled back into his head too.

You managed to somewhat gather yourself as you opened your eyes, looking at his face. His expression was so sexy, a bitten lower lip and closed eyes, and he kept pounding into you. You lead your right hand to the back of his head, pulling him in to kiss him. His eyes remained shut as he kissed you back. He spoke in between the kiss, "This is what you do to me, you make me go feral." he said before kissing you again. You moaned into his mouth as you felt your climax approaching, and you were sure he did too, because you clenched hard around him. "Fuck, don't clench around me like that, makes me wanna cum inside." Neteyam confirmed, feeling close too. "Whats stopping you.." you moaned as you kissed his now swollen lower lip.

You heard him whisper fuck, as he grabbed your other thigh and put it on his other shoulder. He was hitting right onto your G-spot, and you were so close. "Yes Neteyam yes right there!" you managed to scream out, leading your hands to his hair and tugging on it lightly. "I'm so close 'teyam, yes yes yes continue, right there!" you screamed out again, your walls clenching onto him tighter than ever. "Me too princess, just keep clenching around me like that." he grunts out, thrusting in faster than ever. "Im coming!" you manage to scream out as your clenched walls relax, releasing all over Neteyams cock. He thrusts in a couple of more times until his cock twitches and he releases in you. He continues his thrusts, riding out his high.

His tired body plops onto yours, as his hands wrap around your waist. He places soft kisses on your collarbones while you tangle your hands in his hair. Both of you are a panting mess, and he pulls out of you slowly after you manage to calm your breathing. You kiss his cheek before he stands up, holding out a hand to help you stand up as well. You take his hand, and go to grab your loincloth once you've stood up. You cover the parts of your top thats ripped with your hands.

You don't talk while getting dressed, and the only conversation after that is him leading you out of the forest to your house. "Thank you" you speak, smiling and looking into his eyes while breaking the awkward silence. He doesn't look up into your eyes, nor does he smile. He only responds "You're welcome." before leaving to go to his own tent. Your stomach drops, getting upset over his odd behavior, considering you just had sex.

You enter your tent, seeing your mother eating alone. She looks over at you as you walk in, and she doesn't fail to notice your ripped top. Your mother speaks as she stands up, "What happened? You're late and your top is all ripped up."

You quickly go over to your stack of clothes and pick out another top to wear. "I encountered a wild Prolemuris (Pandorian monkey basically), it ripped off my top while I was fighting it." you replied as your mother nodded understandingly, not comprehending the fact that it was a lie.

Omgg second request!! I write LONG when I write, so this had to be a 2 part story :( but I'm not going to make you wait, the second part is already published. I hope you enjoyyy and send in more requests :D

See you in part 2!

-dero

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dancingtotuyo · 4 months

Text

Kryptonite | Dave York x Reader | One Shot

Rating: EXPLICIT/Mature

Summary: Running into Dave York changes your life and unleashes a new part of yourself.

Inspired by Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Tags: dark!Dave York, infidelity, Germany, song fic

Warnings: infidelity, violence and descriptions of violence, death (not Dave or reader), descriptions of blood, murder, self defense, explicit smut (p in v), oral sex (both m & f receiving), heavy groping, choking, smacking/hitting in a sexual manner, knife play, power dynamics, use of “daddy” in a sexual manner (minimal), consensual sex, possible dub con, cream pie

Notes: I wrote this one for the LOML @janaispunk for Christmas 🫶, though you won’t find it filled with Christmas festivities! Huge shout out to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to my ideas, reading through it, and being an overall huge encourager!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PAY EXTRA ATTENTION TO WARNINGS ON THIS ONE

Words: 7160

THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND DARK THEMES. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT

“I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind.”

Dave York isn’t a bad guy. If one were to give him a chance, he would explain how he’s actually one of the good guys. He’s simply standing up for those who have been wronged by the fucked up system that abandoned the ones who do the dirty work. It’s all conjecture. How he rationalizes it all away. How he lets himself sleep at night, and go home to his wife and beautiful daughters. He does this for them. He isn’t a bad guy.

Yet, even he starts to see through his bullshit. He won’t admit it, but it’s getting harder to sleep at night. Tonight is one of those nights. That’s how he finds himself wandering the streets of a German city he can’t remember the name of.

The air is just verging on chilly, the breeze whipping at his typically well-kempt hair. He usually keeps to the shadows when he’s managing his side business, worried about being picked up on a camera, but it’s late now. He keeps out of the street lights, the stars shielded by the light pollution.

He inhales deeply. This time tomorrow he’ll be on a flight back to the States and slide into bed next to his wife. He’ll wake up, make lunch for the girls, and take them to school. The perfect all-American family. Dave loves them. His girls are his world. He is doing this for them. Every smile and giggle makes this all worth it. Alice and Molly deserve the world. Sometimes, he wonders if his wife knows. Carol hasn’t said anything, but sometimes he catches her just staring at him. Logic says she just loves him. How many times early on in their life together had he done the same thing? How long has it been since he looked at her with that awe?

If he’s honest, Dave doesn’t give his marriage much thought anymore. It’s something that’s just there like two planets orbiting each other but never intersecting. It’s something that’s just part of the persona of Dave York. The version of him his friends and family know. He is starting to wonder if that man still exists. He’s found himself feeling freer during his “work trips” than he does at home.

If it weren’t for his girls…

Dave can’t finish the thought as he collides with a woman in a blue dress and billowing feather boas wrapped around her neck. You.

“Oh shit!” Dave’s hands shoot out, steadying your form, one on each shoulder.

You let out a soft snort quickly covering it with a giggle. “Oh my god.” You try to sober but fail before another giggle takes over. You buzz with the carefree energy of someone a couple drinks into the evening but not wasted.

Any words forming in Dave’s head die there. Your eyes sparkle with mischief. Your smile leaves him stunned. He’s seen his fair share of women even as a married man, but never crossed the boundary of infidelity. Dave doesn’t label what is about to happen as infidelity because right now he isn’t Dave York from Arlington, Virginia, father to two and husband. Right now, he’s Dave York private gun for hire, or Patrick Smith born in Pennsylvania if you looked at his passport.

“I’m sorry,” you say. Dave’s hands don’t move from your shoulders. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Dave flashes a smile, the same one he used to pick up Carol years ago, but she’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I should be more aware of my surroundings. Especially with such a beautiful woman about.”

Your cheeks flush with heat. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s not from the alcohol in your system. Dave has never been above sweet-talking to get his way during his time with the agency. “You’re American.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Dave winks. You laugh. Dave swears he could listen to that sound every day if given the chance. “But are you with anyone? It’s late. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out here all alone.”

You tilt your head to the side, life glowing in your eyes. Whether you’re always like this or it’s all alcohol-induced, Dave doesn’t know, but he wants to find out. He needs to know.

“And I’m supposed to trust you, Mr. America.”

He chuckles, looking up at the sky for a moment before bringing his gaze back to you. He can’t stop taking you in. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his stifling life. He smiles, the first time he’s felt fully himself in possibly years. “My name is Dave.”

You glance between his hand and his face, sussing out if he is trustworthy. He seems so, comes across as genuine. He’s a bit older than you, but handsome nonetheless with big brown eyes and the sincerity of a well-raised child.

You inhale deeply, choosing to be a little wreckless for once and jump head first into something. What’s the worst that could happen? You take his hand.

“I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.”

It’s probably a stupid choice, but Dave gives you his number. His real number. He doesn't have enough time to see you again before he leaves Germany and he isn’t ready to let this go yet. He escorts you safely to your apartment, chatting idly over the 10-minute walk and the 30 minutes you spend on the front stoop. As he goes to leave, you stand on tiptoes, pressing your lips against his. In return, he pushes you against the front door, hands roaming up your sternum. You giggle at him like a smitten schoolgirl and hand him your phone.

Dave has a second number. He could’ve given you that one. He probably should have, but he wants easier access. He risks it. Dave is not a careless man, but he leans into the easiness of it in the moment. He kisses you again before leaving, much more chastely this time. He promises to see you next time he’s in town. He tells you he does business in Germany often. It won’t be long.

His veins buzzed with electricity the whole walk back to his apartment, his body alive in a way that feels almost supernatural. As he crosses the threshold, his phone pings with a text from an unknown number. Dave knows who it is before he looks at the text.

Over the next two weeks, Dave finds himself instantly reaching for his phone with each ping. The time difference is a pain in the ass but sometimes works in Dave’s favor. Like when Carol is sound asleep and you’re wide awake across the sea.

When the call comes through from a contact that they’re ready to move in on a target in Germany, Dave almost jumps up in celebration. He’s never hit the tarmac with his bags packed so fast. He tacks on a couple extra days to visit you.

Those extra days can’t come soon enough. He always prides himself on his ability to compartmentalize. He can tune out the rest of the world, get a job done with the precision of the assassin he is, and return to life as if nothing happened, but this time, he finds himself rushing through the process, eager to get to the finish line, eager to get to you.

However, when the night of the hit comes, he slips right into Dave York The Killer, cold, heartless, robotic. The crew is smaller this trip, the target not as high profile, but still a big payout. He forces himself to stay steady, forces himself not to speed through his progressions. The team doesn’t notice a difference in him. He takes that as a good sign. The target is asleep, alone, thank god.

Dave slides the knife into the victim’s chest. He’s lying if he says he doesn’t find a particular beauty in it. The firm pressure, the slice of the knife, the crimson blood. It’s always a rush, the planning, the practice, the kill, and Dave enjoys it all. This particular hit sends an extra rush of pleasure through his veins.

He takes the train to get to you, fighting the urge to show up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Dave York is not a patient man, but he somehow manages, pacing his hotel room still as he buzzes with the high of the night’s hit and the excitement of seeing you in the morning. You recommended meeting at a small cafe, but as Dave lays awake with the sun peeking through the curtains, he decides to surprise you at the apartment.

Dave has to force himself not to rush, which seems to be becoming a theme with him. He makes himself a cup of coffee in the hotel room and sits down drinking every drop until he can’t stand to wait any longer, leaving his hotel 30 minutes before he needs to.

Dave could’ve taken time to enjoy the city in daylight. He spends so much of his time in these destinations under the cover of darkness, missing the beauty, but he doesn't. He wants to believe he keeps to his training, keeping an eye out for someone following him and staying out of the view of cameras, but the truth is, he’s completely unaware of it all. His sole purpose is to get to you.

When your apartment building comes into view, he finally slows, aware of how early he is. Hell, he’s supposed to meet you there.

One of your curtains is open, giving him a faraway view into your apartment. Dave has fully accepted that he’s verging into creep territory, but he doesn’t care. It’s been two weeks since he’s laid eyes on you. That’s two weeks too long for him.

He holds his breath, waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of you, patience dwindling within a few minutes of waiting. The anticipation grows into anxiety. Did he come to the wrong building? That’s impossible. Dave never forgets places, even if he did, he would never forget yours. Are you home? Did you forget? He studies the window searching for any evidence of life. Has something happened to you? Oh god, has someone connected the two of you? Figured out his whole facade? He has half a mind to break down the door and go in guns blazing.

His phone pings. It’s the only thing that could break his concentration. Your name pops up, granting him instant relief.

See you in 20?

He smiles, glancing back up toward the window. You are okay. Everything is okay because Dave is a smart man. He knows how to cover his tracks, and you are a sacred treasure he wants to keep all to himself. He will hide you away, protect you from it all.

He catches the subtle flutter of the curtains. The world around him becomes nonexistent as his full attention is pulled toward the window. She moves into view, head whipping around as you search for a specific item. He smiles, all of the anxiety leaving his body.

Instead of responding via text, he hits the call button. The dial tone plays against his ear. She moves out of view, no doubt searching for her cell.

“Hello?”

A smile overtakes his face. Dave can’t remember the last time one did so effortlessly. “Look out your window, Darling.”

His voice sits low in his chest, sending shivers through your body. You pull back the curtain. Dave waves down below. “Are you stalking me now?”

“It’s not stalking if you showed me where you live.”

You bite back your smile, heat gathering in your cheeks. “We were supposed to meet there.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“Give me two minutes.” You say and the line goes dead.

Dave watches you zip away from the window. The swinging of the curtains is the only indication you were ever there. His chest tightens as he waits. Dave York considers himself a patient man, but he checks his watch for the 5th time in two minutes.

Then your door swings open. You come barreling toward him, a smile plastered to your face. It’s contagious as Dave chuckles, spinning you around like an episode of The Bachelor. His lips are warm against your cheek. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine as your feet plant on the ground. Dave’s warm brown eyes meet yours. “How can you miss someone you’ve hardly seen?”

“How can someone not miss you?” He laughs, fingers weaving with yours.

“You lie, Dave.”

“I could never lie to you.” He winks.

Dave holds your hand all the way to the cafe. He pays for your meal. He’s engaging, charming, making conversation, desperate to know everything he can about you. You’ve never felt such intention from another person.

After the cafe, you walk through town, hand in hand in broad daylight. The conversation continues to flow as naturally as a river. Dave is captivated. There’s no other word for it. He wants you. He never wants to leave. He thinks he may need you for survival.

You steer your steps toward your apartment. There’s a time and a place for subtlety. Today is not that. Dave picks up on it, catching the dilation of your pupils, feeling the shift between you.

But when you make it to the door, Dave plays the gentleman, asking when he can see you again. You cut him off with a kiss, tongue quickly delving into his mouth. His large hands plant solidly on your hips. You pull him inside. Dave remains respectful, but commanding. You eagerly submit to him. He stays the night.

“After all I knew it had to be something to do with you.”

Dave is losing it. One might argue that’s a bad thing. He’s not so sure as his mind is overrun with flashes of you. He’s quick to check his phone each time it dings. He knows better than to assign you a specific tone, but he wants to, even knows which one he would choose.

His team is building quite the reputation in the gun for hire business. They’re turning down jobs, having to play the cautious game of balancing their time between murder and families. They can’t arouse suspicions. They take turns staying stateside, sending in different crews depending on the job and need. Dave accepts every job within a quick train ride of you. He goes on each one. Sometimes it’s just him. Those are the easiest. He doesn’t even need to tell the team. It makes it easy to slip in, add more red to his ledger, and run to you with his hands dripping, metaphorically of course.

He can never stay more than the weekend, usually no more than a night, but you take every moment. He’s a drug you crave, an addiction you can’t kick. In fact, you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter if you never get more than a stolen night here and there, you’ll take whatever you can get running your hands over his toned muscles, tracing the scars littered over his body, some new and red, some old and faded.

It gives him an air of danger that sends a rush through you each time, like there’s darkness embedded in each scar and it seeps into you. The feeling should unnerve you. It doesn’t.

You want to ask, but you bite your tongue. They seem almost glaring compared to the person you know. Dave is sweet and gentle. The most violence you’ve seen in him is the intense fly hunt you went on last weekend as it buzzed intently around the two of you on the couch. You wonder about the stories behind each nonetheless. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

He leaves again. He always does with the promise of returning soon. He can’t give you a date. He never can. His phone rings as he walks out the door. You catch the flash of a couple on his screen and a woman’s name drops from his lips. He doesn’t know you see it. Carol.

“But still your secrets I will keep”

You’re drenched. Sweat gathers across your naked skin. Dave thrusts into your dripping pussy, cock soaked in your juices. Your moans marry together, echoing off the walls of your apartment at 2 o'clock on a Thursday afternoon.

You called out of work when he appeared on your doorstep without a warning. He seemed broody, crashing his lips onto yours with more force than you were used to, setting your body ablaze in a new way.

Dave’s hips snap into yours with greater force than usual, his grip a little tighter, but it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expect it to. You like it, this rough side, the way his large hand pins both your arms to the mattress. “You’re taking me so good, Darling. Like a good little girl.”

His words strike a chord within you. Your walls tighten around him. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers run through your sopping folds, flicking at your clit with skill and precision. Your back arches. You feel like you need to crawl out of your skin. “I’m almost there.”

“I know, baby.” He keeps pace, pushing you closer and closer.

The invisible line snaps as waves of pleasure roll over your body. Dave keeps going, so close to his own release. He’s relentless, prolonging your own orgasm.

“I want to finish inside you. Fill you up like a dirty little whore.” Your cunt clenches around him. You’re not sure why his words affect you the way they do, but you love it. He moans. “Please, Darling.”

“Yes,” You hiss, feeling as if your orgasm has started over. “Please, fill me up.”

“Fuck!” Dave thrusts into you. Once. Twice. And then he buries himself into you, filling you with every drop he has.

Once the high settles to a mild thrum and you’ve cleaned up, you sit on the bed, fresh sheets below you, watching Dave as he gathers his things off your dresser. The sex was different this time, good, mind altering.

Dave has yet to put a shirt on. There’s a scar along his back that disappears beneath the waistband on his jeans. You’ve seen it before. You know all his scars, and you’re gathering his secrets too.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” Dave says, back still turned to you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he turns to you, with worried eyes. You saw a piece of him today that no one has seen before. Of that, you have no doubt.

“No, I liked it.” A small smirk quirks your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying some new things.” Heat pools in your belly again. That same darkness flashes in Dave’s eyes. You want to pull it out and learn it.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

He pulls on his shirt, turning his phone back on. Your heart drops, popping the bubble. “You can’t stay.”

Dave sighs. You catch the guilt hanging off of him. “I’m sorry, Darling.”

“It’s okay…”

Dave bites his lip. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I-”

“I know you’re married.” It rolls off your lips without a second thought. You’re not sure where it comes from.

Dave’s face pales, tongue going dry as sandpaper. “Darling-”

“And I don’t care.”

The color fills his face again as he steps over to you. “How do you know?”

You shrug, laying back on the bed. “She called you when you were leaving last time. I did my research, Dave York.”

Dave isn’t sure what to think. In his line of work, it’s scary to know you found him on the internet. It’s a safety issue. If something ever happened to Molly and Alice… but he’s trusted you with much more than anyone else.

“You mean it? You don’t care?” He searches your eyes for any doubt, but finds none.

“You’re the one traveling across the ocean to see me. I also think you’re not just ‘working for the government’.”

There’s a deep growl low in his throat. He oozes evil like your favorite book to movie villain, sending shivers through your body. He cups your neck, using force to pull your lips to his. It’s hot and needy like he didn’t just spend the afternoon buried inside of you. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth, fighting with yours. He grabs your ass kneading it in his palms.

Then, he pulls away, voice gravely in your ear. “One of these days I’m going to tell you every single evil thing I’ve done, and you’re going to like it.”

You gasp, toes curling. He keeps eye contact with you, searching for any sign that you might reject him for it. You don’t ask. You don’t scoff. You believe him. You’ve seen the slivers of evil before, felt them. You’re beginning to wonder if they’ve seeped into you too.

Then he’s gone, disappearing like a ghost.

“I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.”

Adrenaline pumps through your veins. Your heart pounds in your ear. You can’t tell much in the dark, except there’s a man in your apartment, clad in black, and it’s not Dave.

You clutch the kitchen knife to your chest, thankful for Dave’s obsession with keeping things sharp. His boots are steady on your hardwood floors, leaving you to wonder if you’re safe huddled in the corner, or if you should sneak up behind him. Dave taught you to attack only if you are sure you can land a debilitating blow by surprise. You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not an assassin. You’re pretty sure Dave is.

Then, you see your chance. A small opportunity where you know you’ll be hidden in the darkness, not exposed by the open window. You know which floor boards to avoid.

You expect it to go by in a blur, but your mind feels clear. The exposed point on his neck calls to you like a beacon. The artery. He’ll bleed out before he knows what’s happening. Dave’s voice echoes in your head.

Your knife sinks into his neck, slicing skin and tissue like it’s softened butter. You pull the knife out, it drips with crimson blood. He tumbles forward, your lamp shattering into a million tiny pieces as he falls forward.

“You bitch!” He manages to his feet, blood spurting out of his neck. He tries to cover it with his hand, but he’s already losing color in his face. He stumbles toward you. You easily step out of his path, sinking the knife into his chest cavity. It’s more difficult, but you know when you hit his lung.

You watch him fall to the floor, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon as he coughs and sputters. He’s trying to speak, but can’t. You cock your head to the side, watching it happen, watching the life drain from his eyes, listening to his final breaths. You did that. You took down a man bigger than yourself with two quick blows, without hesitation.

You can feel the thick, red blood dripping off your fingers, soaking into your clothes.Your chest heaves. The knife clatters to the floor. You turn your hands over. You should want this off of you, scratching at the skin to remove it. Instead, you just stare in awe.

Dave appears, heart racing as he takes in the scene. He was gone for only a few hours. A quick job in a neighboring town. “Darling?”

You don’t respond, still inspecting your coated hands. He puts a hand on your shoulder, desperate to know that you’re okay. You jump, eyes blow wide.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I woke up and he was here… I just- I did what you taught me.”

Your eyes focus on him. He’s in weird clothes- tactical gear. He probably killed someone tonight too.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes snap back down to your hands. Are you okay? You don’t remember getting hit or knocked over, just the steel blade sinking into flesh over and over and over.

“Darling, look at me!” His hand wraps around your neck and your back hits the wall.

Your eyes snap to him. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the deafening silence that coats your apartment. His eyes are dark. Darker than you ever remember seeing them. You think, maybe, there’s a hint of cruelty floating in them.

“You’re okay.” His eyes scan over you to assure himself as well. He reminds himself that blood is not yours.

Your eyes drift back toward the body. The body that used to house a person with a life and family and-

“Look at me.” Dave’s voice is commanding, forcing obedience. The other side of him is coming out. This is not the Dave you know. It’s the one you’ve caught glimpses of. The one he told you about. This Dave is a monster. A monster you should run from.

“You did nothing wrong. He would’ve killed you.” His hand presses into your neck again. “You did the right thing.”

You thought this moment would break you, losing your Dave, but this Dave is yours too. You thought the monster would scare you. It’s everything you’ve ever stood against, but you want the monster.

A thrill shoots through you, unlocking a deep urge. The world should be blurry, hazing like the TV shows when someone experiences a trauma, but it’s buzzing around you instead. Your senses feel heightened.

Dave says your name. You look up at him. Time stands still. He knows you know. It’s a question of if you will accept it. You shouldn’t. You’re too good for him. He shouldn’t tarnish you, but he catches that look. It’s everything he feels after a kill. The adrenaline rush, the buzz of life through your veins. Maybe he didn’t tarnish you. Maybe he unlocked something in you. Your bloodied hands tangle in his thick hair as he surges forward lips colliding with yours.

This is wrong, so wrong. Another man’s blood is literally on your hands as they tangle in Dave’s hair. You should be disgusted with yourself. This is wicked. You’ve run from the wickedness your entire life. Now you feel like you should have embraced it. He bites your lip, so hard there’s a metallic taste in your mouth. It only spurs you on. A familiar ache grows in your core. Your teeth nash against his, meeting each of his tortuous movements.

His hand squeezes your neck just enough to make your head go dizzy. You should hate this. You should despise this, but your cunt clenches again. “You like that don’t you?”

He loosens his hold, the blood rushing back quickly. It’s a new rush, crashing over the edges of your heightened senses. You feel as if every nerve ending in your body is on fire and you never want it to stop.

His rough voice presses to your ear as he caresses your exposed neck reminding you how fragile your own life is. “The little slut likes when I get rough.”

You whimper at his words, your underwear growing wetter with each passing second. His knee presses between your thigh, granting some tension to your aching core. You move your hips against it. “Not so fast, Darling.” He tightens his grip on your neck, pressing you further against the wall. “You think just because you killed him you’re in charge now?”

Another whimper falls from your lips. An involuntary tear seascapes the corner of your eyes, beginning its descent. Dave’s eyes flicker to it, head cocking to the side. His eyes look different- wild verging on insane. You should be scared, but it’s still Dave. You trust him. Then his tongue is against your cheek, wiping it away with a long, slow swipe. Your nipples pearl under your thin nightshirt.

He whispers in your ear. “I'm in charge. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good.”

He produces a knife out of thin air. It’s one you’ve seen before. He’s sharpened it at your kitchen counter. He brushes the tip along your collarbone. Your eyes track its every movement. It’s not enough to cut you, but enough that you can feel how sharp it is. Your heart thuds harder, but your hips move against his knee of their own accord.

He clicks his tongue, forcing the knife down in a single swift movement. You cry out, expecting to feel pain, only to find your chest exposed and your nightshirt torn down the middle. He hand gropes your breast, squeezing it like a stress ball. A gasp falls from your lips as his finger runs over your nipple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

By your neck, he leads you in front of him to the bathroom. He kicks the door shut, pressing you against it. He produces the knife again, running it through your pajama shorts. The scraps fall to the floor, leaving you in the delicate lace pair of underwear you wore in anticipation of Dave’s arrival.

His tongue clicks appreciatively. The tip of the knife traces over the lace. You whimper, eyes falling closed. He falls to his knees.

“So pretty.” Dave presses his mouth to your clothes cunt. He works his tongue over the thin fabric, pulling it between his teeth. It’s just enough to tease and not enough to provide relief.

“Dave.” It comes out so hoarse you don’t recognize your own voice.

He grins up at you, pulling the knife through your underwear with a rehearsed flick of his wrist. They join your shorts on the floor. You’re bared to him while Dave is fully clothed.

You catch the blood in his hair, splattered on his clothes. It’s drying on your skin now. You know you should be repulsed by it, but the thought of what you did still makes you buzz to life.

“Stay right there.” He eases to his feet. “I mean it. Don’t move.”

He turns on the shower, pushing the hot water all the way. As steam starts to fill the room, Dave removes his clothing item by item. He’s not making a show of it per se, but he is commanding, concise. He pulls another knife from his belt and sets it on the counter. Your breath catches and he makes eye contact. A whisper of a smirk plays on his lips. “Standing so still for me, darling.” You squeeze your legs together, feeling the familiar squelching between your vaginal lips.

You eye the knife a moment longer, biting your lip. Something about it calls out your name. You’re not sure if you should grab it and find the nearest person to plunge it into or if you want Dave to use it with you, on you.

Dave catches the glimmer in your eyes as you eye it. A newfound excitement tugs in his belly. A whole new world is opening before him. One where he doesn’t have to hide all this shit from you, one where you might enjoy it too. You’re not shutting down after killing that man, his body cooling on your living room floor. You liked it. He likes it.

He kicks off his boots and socks. His pants follow. Your eyes travel over his body. The scars make sense now. You still don’t know what Dave does, but you know it’s bad. There’s a small band across his ankle that houses another knife. You should hate him for all of this, kick him to the curb. Instead, your cunt is soaking, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted him more.

He chuckles as you eye the knife on his ankle. It’s the only thing he wears other than his briefs now. His dick bulges, usually pulling your attention, put you can’t pull your eyes away from the knife.

Pulling off his underwear, Dave comes back over to you, pressing his body against yours. His teeth scrape over the veins of your neck and he bites down on your earlobe as his hand tangles in your hair.

You release a soft yell. You barely recognize the man in front of you, but it doesn’t matter.

He grips your thigh, hiking it over his hip, running his dick through your sopping cunt.

“You like my knives, Darling?”

You nod as pleasure plays like a movie across your body.

He gips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” It barely comes out.

His brows raise in amusement. “Would you like me to use them?”

“You won’t hurt me.” You say it as a statement.

Flashes of his softer side show before he clamps them down. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes.” It’s almost a yell.

Without hesitation, he grabs the knife off the vanity, pressing it to your neck. “On your knees.”

You obey coming face to face with his hard cock. The knife stays against your delicate flesh.

“You know what to do, baby.”

Again, you obey, taking it into your mouth. The knife is cool against your neck, the only reminder it’s still there. You don’t know how it never pierces your flesh either by dumb luck or expert skill.

Dave’s hips thrust forward, almost triggering your gag reflex. Tears fall from your eyes. Curses sputter from Dave’s lips as he uses your mouth. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You breathe from your nose, forcing yourself to nod.

“Shit!” Dave curses, pulling out of your mouth. “I’m going to paint that pretty pussy of yours.”

Your cunt clenches as a small moan tumbles from your lips. He chuckles, hand closing around your neck once more as he ushers you into the shower.

The water is hot, burning against your skin as if it might melt your skin off. Dave holds you under the water. Your breath catches as your body screams out. The water beneath you runs red as the blood washes from your skin.

Your back hits the cool tile wall granting relief from the scalding water. He lathers soap over the parts of your body still stained red, fingers occasionally brushing under your breasts, tweaking nipples.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Even covered in blood.”

You whimper again, senses overloaded from the trauma, the rush, the teasing. “Dave, please.”

“Please what? You have to use your words, Doll.”

Your walls constrict again, desperate to be around something. Your arms and legs are heavy with need. He’s never used that term with you before. It should be degrading. It is, but it sets another wave of pleasure. You wonder if it’s possible to orgasm virtually untouched. If it is, you’re close.

“Fuck me.”

His tongue clicks as he floats around yours, almost taunting you. He grabs your boob, hard enough it should hurt. It does a little, but pleasure overrides the pain.

“Ask nicely, Doll.”

His finger trails over your collarbone traveling between your breasts and down across your hip. Your thighs squeeze. His palm slips around as he grabs the back of your thigh, kneading it.

“I said.” His words come out like a punch. Concise. Almost sharp. “Ask. Nicely.” He pushes your thigh over his waist, forcing your supportive leg to your tiptoes.

You feel his cock near your entrance, brushing your pussy lips. You moan, hips bucking. He pushes against your neck, running your head into the tiles behind you. “You little slut. You think you can just take it.”

You gasp. “Please.”

“What do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me, Daddy.” It tumbles out of your lips before your brain catches up.

He thrusts his cock into you, sheathing himself fully, hitting the deepest parts of you. Then he’s gone, making you feel empty but only for a second until he enters you again. His hand squeezes tighter around your neck. You come for air as he continuously splits you apart thrust by thrust, pulling out almost fully each time.

Your moans are loud, drowned out by the steaming shower. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Dave pays you little mind, shows little care as he continues with a brutality you’ve never encountered, a brutality that only makes you soak his cock. He doesn’t slow. You don’t want him to. He never touches your clit, but you're propelling forward, chasing that high in a way you never have.

The pitch of your voice steps up. The spasm starts in your stomach traveling down to your core as you flutter around Dave’s cock. Your supporting leg shakes. Still, he never eases up, working you through your orgasm.

It hits you like a punch to the gut, a scream piercing the air. Your scream. Dave doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stutter. He keeps pace, chasing his own release.

With each thrust, you yell. You hear the squelching of your sopping cunt against his dick over the roar of the shower. His continuous movements extend your release until he finally buries himself inside you, coating your pussy with his cum. “Such a perfect little doll for me.”

You let out a final whimper as he pulls around, dropping your leg. Your knees buckle. You barely keep yourself upright, legs tingling and shaking.

Dave kisses your cheek. The softness causes a sense of whiplash. He glances over your body, making sure the blood is cleared from your skin and hair. He rinses the blood from his hair as your brain slowly returns to the world. You expect to be exhausted, and you are, but there’s still that low buzz deep within your body.

You killed a man. You took a life. You should feel bad. There’s a fucking body in your living room, but all you can think about is the rush. You liked it. Watching Dave, you wonder if he feels the same way. There’s no doubt to you that he’s taken lives before. You wonder if he knows how many.

The water stops. Dave dries you off with the soft bath towel. He helps you into his soft white t-shirt and tucks you into bed.

“I need to make a call.” He kisses your head and shuts himself in your bathroom. You hear him on the phone, but his words are muffled by the door.

You lay on your back, sheets cool against your hot skin. Staring at the ceiling, you can still feel the blood dripping from your hands, hear the piercing of the knife. You heart rate picks up. What would it be like to do that again? Would you feel the same rush of adrenaline? Would it feel better?

Dave comes out, tossing his cell on the nightstand and sliding under the covers. His hand covers yours.

“What about…?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

You don’t ask. He probably knows people. His fingers drift over your cheeks and jaw. They skim lower, following the same path down your neck as your arteries. They feel cool against your skin, drawing patterns where you anticipate bruises tomorrow.

“Did I hurt you?”

He’s almost back to the Dave you know, soft and kind, but you still catch the edges of his dark side. He’s more of a blend now. You think you might be getting the real, true Dave now.

“No,” you shake your head. There was pain. You’ll be sore tomorrow, sport a few scrapes and bruises, but it doesn’t feel like he hurt you.

Dave kisses your forehead, fingers tracing your collarbone now. A question forms in your head, gnawing at the corners of your brain.

“Dave?”

“Hmmm?” He sees distracted, entranced as he follows his hand over your skin, skimming the tops of your breasts. Your nipples tighten making you curl your toes with a familiar tug of desire. How are you ready to go again after that?

“What if I liked it?”

His eyebrow quirks. “The sex?” he pinches your hardened nipple making you gasp.

“All of it?”

His palm stops. The pitch of his voice deepens. “All of it?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

“Use your words, Doll.” He cups your breath, teasing your nipple more. His breath is hot in your ear. “Tell me what you like.”

“I-” Can you really say this out loud? Will it blacken your soul? Or is it already charred and damned.

“Tell me.” He smacks your chest like a parent might smack their child’s hand away from an electrical outlet.

Your pussy clenches as you squeeze your legs together. He smacks your other breast in the same manner. You gasp, practically yelling out your answer. “Killing him.”

The air stands still. For a second, you expect a look of disgust to cross Dave’s face. Instead, a smirk grows. “You liked that?”

You nod, not able to say anything else. Dave climbs on top of you, kicking away the covers. He pushes his hand up your sternum, kneading your breast before running it back down. He repeats the motion, rotating between the two. Moans grow in your chest. He bites your earlobe.

“Did you like the way the knife slid into him?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dave growls in your ear.

“Yes, Daddy,” you repeat between moans. Your sopping hole drips onto the sheets below you. Dave’s motions steadily grow in intensity.

“Did my doll like the way her body felt alive? Like you absorbed that bastard's energy.”

Tears drop from your eyes. You want him again. You need him again. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Does my doll want to do it again?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You practically scream. You should be ashamed of the answer. You should be ashamed that there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in your being.

“Fuck,” Dave says, shoving your legs apart. He pushes his cock inside you again. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure you will.”

Dave moves inside you. It’s not as violent, not as torturous as earlier, but it’s just as satisfying. The promise of more ignites a fire inside of you.

Dave takes you to the brink, pushing you until you pass out from exhaustion, spent, used, and sated.

“I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might.”

When you wake up the next morning, the body is gone. The lamp you broke is replaced and a new area rug is delicately placed in your apartment. Not a speck or splatter of blood can be found anywhere. Dave stands in the kitchen gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He cooks eggs on the stovetop and a steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter.

You wrap your arms around him. He hums. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, heart beating against your palm. “I like the rug.”

“Me too.”

“Kryptonite”

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dark!dave york #dark!fic #pedro pascal #the equalizer 2

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kpopfanfictrash · 1 year

Text

Snow Falls Collaboration

Three couples. One town named Snow Falls. Too much fun to handle? Only time will tell as you join us for three heartwarming holiday stories. Prepare to laugh, cry and possibly chuck your phone across the room out of happiness (or frustration). This holiday season, enjoy chaos and cheer from @suga-kookiemonster , @underthejoon and @kpopfanfictrash!

all is bright by @suga-kookiemonster

Pairing⇢ Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Summary⇢ the last year hasn't been the kindest to you, but you're trying really hard not to let that ruin the holidays, since christmas has always been such a Big Deal in your hometown. still, it's difficult to be festive when not too long ago, your high school sweetheart dumped you and turned your world on its head. enter jungkook – the shy, scrawny boy you haven't seen since graduation who is now apparently a lot less shy and way less scrawny man. when a chance encounter throws you back into each other's orbit, it doesn't take long for you to wonder if he's just the person you need to help regain your holiday spirit.

Not Another Holiday Romance by @kpopfanfictrash

Pairing⇢ Kim Namjoon x Reader

Summary⇢ You, a perpetually alone (and utterly cynical) movie director, are sent to the town of Snow Falls, Middle-of-Nowhere for your latest film assignment. Stuck in holiday hell until the new year, you’re determined to get in and get out with minimal damage to your Grinch reputation. That is, until a ridiculously gorgeous (and young?!) town historian is assigned to help with your film. Suddenly, you find yourself the heroine of one of those corny romances you direct – and are discovering they might not be so corny after all.

Evergreen Acres by @underthejoon

Pairing⇢ Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary⇢ You've heard the old adage "don't look a gift horse in the mouth" more than a time or two. This time, however, you may just heed it. The town of Snow Falls isn't exactly the first place you'd choose for yourself. But desperate times call for desperate measures and desperate you are, indeed. Starting over is never easy, but with small town hospitality, new friendships and the attentions of a soft-spoken cowboy, this may just be the perfect place to set down roots.

Happy Holidays, all!

#bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts au #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic

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thatdeadaquarius · 2 months

Note

HELP I JUST HAD A THOUGH

WHAT IF

What if....

Blunt reader became a harbinger

I have NO idea how that would go but im here for the crack lol

I BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE-

(and to use this gif more importantly they're all so hot here lol)

Sun: Reader (you/they/them), Blunt Language AU :D

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, crack treated srsly (yes im using ao3 tags atp)

Stars: Harbingers!

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: none known & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

SO thought I’d update anyone missing out bc of the new year but-

I made this silly thing called Blunt Language AU, that was my 1st post for this blog/fandom actually! :D

I’ll link it here, but TLDR: it’s just our modern speech sounding “ancient” to the Teyvatians, who speak really flowery/fluffy/lots of context in comparison!

That’s all you rlly need to know to read this I think, so enjoy! :)

☆

u fall into Genshin Impact, and Snezhnaya is where you land first type of energy lol

weird golden star falling from the sky? that sounds like a prophecy the Tsaritsa knows abt alright

so they sent Childe, one of the friendliest (if not The Friendliest) Harbinger, to see if it was a valid claim you’d finally descended,

and ofc as soon as the redhead heard you try and talk to him, he knew the claims by the small village nearby (who had taken u in from the cold weather/taken care of you) were legit

pantalone did manage to squeeze some examples of what you’d possibly sound like into his head before he left so while Childe personally has a tough time talking to you, it doesn't mean he’s not willing to try!! >:)

he mostly just kept asking questions forever until he understood what you meant, and as soon he got u were asking abt the Tsaritsa, the other Harbingers, himself, even how to get Sneznayan-made clothes lol

he was like: 👀👀👀???!!!!

it wasn't so much recruitment at first as it was “omg the exalted one wishes to learn abt us, the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers? abt me?? well would your highness like to come to our palace perchance???!!!!”

= have u ever been seduced and worshipped by a god and her country?? would you like to- ??? ← Childe actually

and with that convinces you to come straight to the Harbingers/Tsaritsa’s very home

No, you’re not just spoiled.

No, you’re not just pampered.

You are cosseted and coveted.

The Tsaritsa makes her first in person appearance to the people in decades to personally announce your return, and to get a festival going to literally parade you into the capital lol

And tbh it was kind of shocking how quickly the people of Snezhnaya are able to whip out the party supplies, within days of traveling via horses/sleds/carriage/trains all kinds of transportation, u arrived at the capital in full swing of a parade for you

The Tsaritsa herself in what looks like a genshin-ified kokoshnik, the elaborate headress draped with a veil so thin it looks like frost covering her face,

flocked on either side by her harbingers in full (kinda goth) ceremonial outfits waiting on your arrival too

needless to say you are properly smitten intimidated

and you stay nervous around them for the first few days or so,

that is before you run into the weekly, what you would call “family dinner nights”, but they call “dinner reports”…

in which Childe, the only one you’d been comfortable enough around to be a bit more genuine to, and surprisingly the only one to quickly adapt to your speech after traveling with you for days, would translate for you what tf you were saying to them vs. what everyone at the table was saying to you/around you

you would also like to propose other titles for these weekly dinner meetings you’re invited to, aka “family feud dinner night/family fight night/harbinger on harbinger hate night/fruit on fruit crimes, if you will” 💀

the Tsaritsa is just peacefully talking to you abt any and everything, bc ofc Pierro’s on her right, and ur on her left

(she and Pierro are surprisingly soft spoken, very polite, and able to say something interesting/take an interest in whatever subject you all end up on)

u don't think you've ever been more comfortable and on such equal footing around ppl sm older than you (what are older ppl to you, but to them ur literally fucking eldritch with how ancient u are, and u can tell with how they treat u like it lmao)

hard cut back to the rest of the table:

an argument that just gets louder and louder has broken out between Childe, Dottore, La Signora, and Pantalone abt who should get free time with you first/get to do smth with you first as you get over ur adjustment period here, Childe has taken his butter knife to throw and just barely missed Dottore’s eye, and it is now embedded in the back of his fancy chair (the servants placing down dinner courses just move abt w/the most bored expressions on their faces)

(u send half the table if this group gets out of hand and u just: “Please shut the fuck up, each of ur comebacks take 30 minutes and it’s killing me” 💀 bc they're the most likely to understand u too, even Pierro/Capitano/Pulcinella chuckle a little, and u think the Tsaritsa smirked under her veil)

ur honestly too scared to see what Scarmouche, Sandrone, and Arlecchino are arguing about, because they're arguing so silently further down the table. They have murder in their eyes.

Columbina and Capitano are having a peaceful collab over weapons, armor, and clothing to offer you, Pulcinella is close enough to both participate in that convo and in you, Pierro, and the Tsaritsa’s convos too

by the 2nd week you've decided to choose chaos, and get them to play board games together sometimes (they cant all make it all the time, tbh u don't know if u can handle that either) but groups of them will play at a time

u remembered early on what a dick Dottore was, and sentenced asked if he’d like to play this new board game called “Monopoly” from ur world with Childe, Pantalone, Pierro, Arlecchino, La Signora, and Scaramouche all together :)

(so what ur trying to bring khaenri’ah part 2 down on his head as punishment?? u owe scara and collei that at least)

Columbina is more than happy to help get you Harbinger-like clothes to wear since ur so interested in the style!! (yes yesss get converted, she already has a title picked out for you)

she also giggles anytime u talk abt whether u like an outfit or not, bc u just “no thank you I’d rather wear a trash bag than that shirt, but lets try another?”

meanwhile the tailors in the background u could literally edit them to one of those videos where it just zooms in on their faces with a vine boom of shock

like Pierro, ur unranked, just above the other Harbingers really, as it wouldn't do to make you the 12th Harbinger or smth

the names they gave you being, “The Playwright” or “The Renaissance” or even “Drammaturgo”

(pls anyone who speaks Italian correct if I'm wrong ToT )

ok but the first time, unsurprisingly, one of them got snappy with you, likely Scara I would think,

Scaramouche, pissy: “And what shall we do if it appears our almighty god is perhaps a descender who is entirely human? Why I dare say you’d be transgressing on privileges that were never yours to begin with!”

Every other Harbinger, the Tsaritsa herself, the servants, the frost on the walls: 😶😦😨😶‍🌫️

You, unbothered, still eating and fully expecting this moment: “I don't want to hear it from someone who has god-mommy issues. You shouldn’t have an opinion about me, ur biased.”

yeah, so obviously, they’re emotionally all attached now whether they know it or not, and this was of course the moment they realized they're god would fit in so perfectly here

(the other nations are going to have to pry you from Snezhnaya from their cold dead hands, esp since u now have legal deniability to visit bc ur technically a Harbinger, only commanded by her majesty lol)

(Scaramouche, Arlecchino, and Sandrone were fighting about who gets the room nearest to your quarters lol)

(Capitano won, somehow??)

☆

sorry ive been slow lately guys, been just trying to work on alllll the fics these past weeks/days/however long its been??

anyway had the shift from hell last week so wish me luck with work this week if u see this 😭

hope u enjoyed this old ask/crack treated srsly post orah!! :D

Safe Travels,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@kiyomi-uchiha777

#genshin sagau #genshin isekai #sagau #genshin imagines #my asks #aqua asks #genshin impact sagau #genshin x reader #gender neutral reader #genshin impact #genshin sagau isekai #so many tags #when will my suffering end #will i post eldritch part 2 first #or will i post player possessions chp 3 first #who knows #orah my beloved <33

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nova--spark · 5 months

Text

Earth 101 : A Manual for the Visiting Cybertronian

Chapter Three : Human Holidays Part 1

As a part of most human religions, there are special days celebrated all across planet Earth in accordance to the beliefs of their people.

A number of these holidays have similarities to our own Cybertronian holidays, as their emphasis tends to be that of showing appreciation for the people around them, or for the sacrifices of those that came before them.

A great many interviews were done with our human allies, many of various cultures and backgrounds so that this guide could have many for us to understand.

As the human calendar hosts several holidays within its ranks, this chapter will be divided as to not exceed the word limit and attention span of the reader who may be going over this guide.

We shall begin with the month of January, and will continue in the order of months onward!

Within the month of January, there are a small number of holidays that Earth celebrates.

January 1st is dedicated as ‘New Year’s Day’, a ‘Year’ being what Earths calls a Vorn, but lasts only a singular Orbital Cycle. This particular holiday is celebrated as the beginning of the year, and the day prior, is spent awake till the last minute of that year, then celebration ensues as the New Year begins!

Well, at least the new year for most Western countries, or at least, those who celebrate it on what I believe sources call the ‘Roman Calendar’.

January 6th is dedicated to a Latin American known as ‘Three Kings Day’, and is also known as the last and 12th night of the Christmas holidays [to be expanded upon later in this chapter]. This holiday is celebrated with exchanges of gifts between families, as well as the sharing and consumption of a special type of holiday sweet known as a ‘Rosca de Reyes’, which appears to have plastic toys of human offspring inside, in a bizarre human tradition of finding it.

However it would appear often the humans do NOT wish to find these toys and chose to instead hide them in their mouth, rest of their food, or even swallow them.

Editor’s Note: Apparently swallowing these bizarre toys is rare but is still a baffling choice.

Chinese New Year is also celebrated within the month of January and at times in February, and is the beginning of the lunar new year, a cultural difference. These celebrations can last several days, entailing wonderful parades, festivals, family gatherings, gift exchanges, and many many wondrous traditions which are meant to bring in good luck for the new year to come. The ending of these celebrations are sent off with a beautiful lantern festival, which I hope perhaps I may witness.

February is next and is host to an equally beautiful amount of holidays.

Valentine’s Day is a holiday which humans celebrate on the 14th of the month, and is dedicated to the romantic bonds they have with their courted or with their conjux endura, which is known on Earth by the terms of boyfriend/girlfriend/partner and wife/husband/spouse.

Romantic moments are shared on outings of various kinds, and gifts may range from treats like human made sweets, flowers, jewelry and all manner of gift from low cost to expensive.

However, it would appear that non-courted or single humans still celebrate this day, choosing to instead celebrate their bonds of friendship, and Amica, even familial bonds with their Caretakers and siblings.

Such a holiday to celebrate loved ones in all their forms in a sparkwarming sight, and many a Cybertronian has adopted this holiday into their own lifestyle, myself included.

March is host to many a religious celebration, of which I feel that I must not cover at this time, as so to not disrespect the customs which I am currently not well informed of.

However, I may indeed speak of the holiday known of as Saint Patrick’s Day, celebrated on March 17th, which according to a human liaison, entails quite heavily of drinking the human equivalent of high grade Energon throughout the day and well into the night. It originates from the land known as Ireland, if records are correctly noted.

It is celebrated with various parades and also entails of celebrating a creature known as a ‘leprechaun’.

Editor’s note: I have been informed the creature mentioned is not real, and is in fact, just a mythological being in human folklore. I was quite concerned indeed to hear of a mischievous creature smaller than a Mini-Con who apparently carries around a pot of gold.

April is a month which has a rather interesting set of holidays.

April 1st is regarded as April Fool’s Day. As it appears, this human holiday is celebrated by the playing of tricks, pranks and other mischievous acts big and small, and they are done all in good fun. It is a quite enjoyed holiday as it appears practical jokes of this form are often taken well by most humans, though some do not like to do them and do not participate.

It is here I must pause and implore you, my dearest reader of this manual, that Commander Ultra Magnus warns any mech and femme looking to participate in this holiday must abide by certain rules.

We do not want a repeat of last orbital-cycle’s incident where the Wreckers somehow welded a large quantity of the base's furnishings onto the ceilings.

We are still not quite sure how this was achieved and would rather it not be recreated this cycle, as we are still struggling to remove the remaining welded furnishings.

Any pranks of this caliber and their culprits will have to undergo a formal reprimand and undergo a seminar about proper protocol in accordance.

Also in the month of April, is the celebration of Easter, commonly celebrated on a Sunday and is known as a religious holiday in origin.

However, with the passing of time, different traditions have also taken hold, and is now commonly celebrated as a coming of the Spring season.

Families will often hide what are known as eggs, candied, plastic or even hollowed animal eggs filled in with various goodies ranging from miniature toys, confetti paper, and small treats and sugar confections for human sparklings to enjoy. These treasure eggs are often painted in various bright colors, patterns and more, and are collected in equally colorful and delightful baskets.

This celebration is often times connected to the Terran animal known as the rabbit, who in many Terran religions is known to be a symbol of the coming spring and life.

That said, though the holiday of Easter is known to have the ‘Easter Bunny’, these creatures do not in face lay eggs of any kind, and is a common misconception.

Once again, dear reader, we take this time to inform you that there is indeed no such creature as an anthropomorphic rabbit, the Easter Bunny is often just a human disguised as a large rabbit for the pure enjoyment of the children celebrating this holiday.

Do not attempt to chase, capture, trap, or in any other way bring harm to said figure should you come across one, as they are harmless and just humans having a bit of entertainment.

This rabbit disguise is used often when hiding the treasure eggs, and so we implore you do not disturb the adult human’s task of doing so.

Lastly, we strongly suggest that any and all mechs do not by any means attempt to disguise themselves as said Easter Bunny, as we do not need a repeat of the last time someone tried to transform whilst wearing said suit.

We sincerely hope your knowledge of Terran holidays has been expanded with this initial dive to the many many celebrations throughout the Terran orbital-cycle!

Any and all queries regarding further analysis and explanation of these holidays and their origins are to be related to the human archivists and liaisons in our ranks who may give differing explanations but nonetheless enlightening.

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #maccadam #maccadams #tf prime #tf bayverse #tf rid 2015 #tf rid15 #earth 101 : a manual for the visiting cybertronian #nova writings #nova notes

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angelisgonnastartchangingurls · 1 month

Text

robbie, on a saturday

annie's late spring was pretty nice, all things considered. robbie was just sort of living in her apartment, which they'd never really planned on or agreed to, but annie was grateful for his presence. he cooked, he cleaned, he slept in her bed. the presence of another body there was nice for her. for the last year, she'd spent more or less equal time at ryan's apartment, and so being home all the time was jarring. and would have been crushingly lonely.

she and robbie went out with jim and julia a lot, funny little group dates that more often than not ended with sex. julia was the star around which these events orbited, as she was the one who fucked everyone else. typically, julia and annie had sex first while the boys watched, and then jim and robbie took turns on each of julia's ends. after that, she and annie sometimes resumed their festivities.

it was wonderful to be so sexually active with julia for a sustained period. annie had always thought her best friend was beautiful. she had gorgeous wavy dirty blonde hair, and a lithe, yoga-addled body. she and annie were somewhat contrasted -- julia's skin took naturally to the sun, whereas annie was pale and milky and burned easily. julia's hair was cut at her shoulders; annie's long dark hair was halfway down her back. annie had bright hazel eyes behind her glasses and big white teeth; julia had a crooked smile and tired, dark eyes. annie was taller and had bigger tits. julia had her perfect bush, and annie was still shaved smooth.

annie liked kissing julia. she was such a good kisser. she also believed herself to be getting much better at eating pussy -- julia's moans backed up her claims.

she and robbie didn't really talk about the fact that they were now regularly watching each other have sex. annie had watched very intently the first time robbie had pushed his cock into julia's cunt, and had seen him looking at her tits and her pussy, sometimes with his cock in hand, stroking it and keeping it active for julia. sometimes, julia and annie made out just moments after robbie had cum in julia's mouth. annie was well aware of what she was tasting.

but when they were around the apartment alone together, they were becoming extremely casual. they changed in front of each other, and other times lounged around mostly nude. one afternoon robbie joined annie in the bath. that was kind of fun and sweet. they had a good talk.

one night, a night when julia and jim had other plans, robbie told annie as they went to be that he was going to jerk off. "okay," she said, and positioned herself up on her pillow to watch. he let her, getting himself hard to a picture of his ex gf on his phone -- but then putting it down to just close his eyes and stroke. annie watched him cum on himself and cooed approvingly. he cleaned himself up with his shirt and tossed it aside and went to bed.

in the morning, annie woke him up using her vibrator on herself.

"you keep your panties on?" he said.

"for this one, yes, it's too intense otherwise" annie gasped.

"sounds like it."

"holy FUCK" annie laughed, her legs reddening as she came. she put her vibrator down and yanked her panties down to her knees, letting her pussy cool off.

robbie had his dick out now and was stroking it.

"you know post-nut clarity?" annie said. "my male patients tell me about that."

"you don't experience that?" he said.

"no," annie said. "cumming just makes me hornier in the moment."

"hot," robbie said.

annie laughed. "no, it's awful. i feel like i need to go stick an ice cube in my pussy."

"if you do that i wanna see it," robbie said.

annie got up and dropped her panties and walked to the kitchen to the ice dispenser. she came back to the bedroom with a little moon-shaped cylinder of ice and stood at the end of the bed in front of robbie and his dick and pushed the ice inside herself. she bit her lip.

"how does it feel? he asked.

"fucking good," she giggled. her knees buckled and she nearly fell over. she had a hand over herself, holding it in. the melting water ran through her fingers. "it's melting so fast," she giggled.

"can i feel it?" robbie said. he sat up, not jacking off anymore but still hard. annie moved her hand and was surprised to feel his hand go right between her legs, touching not quite inside her, but pushing the flat of his fingers against her ice-cold labia. "that's so weird," he said.

he took his hand away and the remainder of the ice slipped out to the floor. they both laughed.

that afternoon, jonah came over to fuck. before he arrived, annie put a buttplug in as a nice surprise for him -- one he quite appreciated.

robbie was out and about so jonah and annie went at it on the couch. she was on her hands and knees getting fucked when robbie came in with groceries. "don't stop," annie told jonah. "hi, robbie."

"oh hey," he said, laughing. "what are you guys up to?"

"you know, just hanging out," annie said, her tits bouncing hard.

jonah came on her chest and the retired to the bedroom for another round. annie went to the kitchen to see what robbie bought while cleaning herself off. "do you have a buttplug in?" he asked her.

"yeah," annie said. she turned around and spread her ass to show him.

"cool," he said. "i've never actually seen one in real life before."

"you haven't snooped in my sex toy drawer?" she asked.

"no," he said.

"why not!?" annie said, laughing.

"do you think your patients ever imagine you're like this?" robbie asked. "like, you're in your office in a cardigan, if they knew you were like, walking around naked all the time, fucking all over, using a buttplug, shaving your pussy, would it blow their minds?"

"i hope not," she said. "i hope they think about it so much that it wouldn't surprise them at all."

on sunday their dad came over. he liked that robbie was staying there too, and didn't seem to think it was weird that whenever he showed up, annie was typically in panties and rarely more than that. today, she was on her way to the shower when he arrived, and therefore was fully nude. when annie came back out, towel around her waist, she said, "I love having my men here." her dad put his hand on the small of her bare back. it felt nice.

"you sound like mom," robbie said.

"yeah but when was the last time mom just walked around with her tits out?" annie offered.

"like the last time i was there?" robbie said.

"really?" annie was shocked. "i haven't seen mom naked like since i was a toddler."

"it was probably more like around the time your tits got bigger than hers," her dad said. "that was when she stopped walking around naked. but yeah, when you're not at home, she's pretty free."

"huh," annie said. she looked at robbie. "what's her bush like?"

"trimmed, tight, controlled."

"sounds like everything else in that area," annie said. her dad laughed.

"i'm hotter though, right?" annie said. her dad looked at her and raised an eyebrow. she dropped her towel.

"of course, honey," he said.

"thank you!" annie chirped.

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gamebird · 2 months

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A post about my Murderbot Diaries fanfics

A lot of my TMBD fanfiction links together. Someone called it the 'Gamebird Cinematic Universe'. So you'll see events referenced across fics, backstory fleshed out, and missing scenes filled in, with the information spread out across a lot of stories. I also ship Murderbot and Gurathin, but not within the canon timeline. Thus, there are a lot of fics where that hasn't happened yet, or where they are not both present.

I've put them all together in a single series for convenience, and broken out the ones that are separate AUs or unrelated one-shots.

Gamebird Cinematic Universe stories in (mostly) chronological order:

After Hacking - This is pre-ASR, a series of stories that track Murderbot's growing personhood and abilities during the 4 years after it hacks its governor module to before the events of All Systems Red. Each installment is around 1,000 words and they are all designed as stand-alone stories.

It's Only a Cleaning Process - Murderbot enjoys a particularly thorough cleaning process that can definitely be interpreted sexually. Murderbot declines to interpret it that way.

Two Ships, Passing in the Night - ART shows off for another ship. Seth is not amused.

Ratthi's Proposition - At the start of the ASR survey, Ratthi propositions Gurathin. This is an event referred to in various other fics.

[ASR happens here]

Rogue Trends - This is a data analyst digging into the circumstances behind Murderbot going rogue, and what happened to the other SecUnits that were in Ganaka Pit. It was my first TMBD fic and is much acclaimed.

Gurathin's Side of the Story - A retelling of ASR, ES, and other portions from Gurathin's point of view, along with key elements of his backstory. There is a little MB/G in it (occasional badly-veiled one-sided yearning; Murderbot doesn't know or care, as per canon).

BATNA - This recounts Mensah's captivity in Exit Strategy.

Things SecUnit Will Never Know - Missing scene at the end of Exit Strategy, tells the story of how the group restored Murderbot's brain after the gunship collapse.

Trust Fall - Set in the flashback scene of Network Effect - Overse and Arada argue about being cut out of the need-to-know list regarding the assassination attempt on Dr. Mensah.

Resignation - This is an elaboration of this line from Network Effect: Since I'd decided to stay (temporarily) on Preservation Station, Dr. Mensah had asked me to go places with her seven times. Six of those times were just relatively short boring meetings on ships in orbit or in dock. The seventh was when she had asked me to go down to the local planet's surface with her., telling the story of Mensah's slow crumble after the events of BATNA.

The Skinny - Murderbot sends a letter to Bharadwaj about the ways SecUnits are misused on contract. This would be in Network Effect, after the festival and before the water planet survey. This was another of my very early TMBD fics.

A Funeral for Killware - At the end of Network Effect, before System Collapse, those in orbit over the Adamantine Colony have an observance for those who were lost.

Retrieval - Three retrieves one of its fallen fellows.

Tarrathi - Tarik and Ratthi get together in System Collapse, missing scene fic.

The Talk - Perihelion's crew talk to it about how it met Murderbot. Or try to.

[post System Collapse, nebulous undefined mission with ART; in other words: canon that hasn't been published yet]

Repeat Deletion Protocol - Back on Preservation, SecUnit confronts Ratthi about a suspicious situation with one of Ratthi's partners, only to discover this isn't the first time it's confronted Ratthi about this.

De-constructed Feelings - Ratthi realizes/discovers Gurathin's past with constructs, and his present feelings toward one construct in particular. Gurathin swears him to secrecy, because he intends to take this secret to his grave. After all, Murderbot has no interest in him whatsoever and that's fine.

Skulk - This consists of the origin story for a rogue Combat SecUnit named Skulk, and then an adventure with Murderbot, Ratthi, and Gurathin.

Murderathin - This follows immediately after the end of the Skulk series and is my attempt to separate the MB/Gurathin material from the non-MB/G stuff so those readers who want to avoid shippy stuff can do so. Upon leaving the planet Skulk was on, Murderbot confronts Gurathin about certain feelings it has unexpectedly detected from him. This is where Gurathin's Side of the Story is told, although the events of it (ASR, ES, etc.) happen earlier.

[Young Gurathin section not in chronological order]

What is Love? - A late-teens Gurathin explores his sexual interests with a standard ComfortUnit in the Corporation Rim. Even back then, he wonders if there is more behind those eyes, or if he's just seeing what he wishes was there.

To Like or Not to Like - This is Gurathin in his mid-20s (I headcanon him around 50 in ASR) with a ComfortUnit. Nothing sexual or romantic this time, just two beings trying to understand one another and themselves.

[Back to chronological order]

Depends on Viewpoint - Gurathin and Bharadwaj discuss differences between the Corporation Rim and Preservation.

Other series:

Last Client Standing - ASR, but GrayCris attacks PresAux first instead of DeltFall. This is disastrous. Murderbot is only able to save Gurathin. They escape, eventually, returning to Preservation where there is grieving and therapy, with a hopeful ending.

TMBD Metas and Headcanons - What it says on the tin. Most of these are analyses of canon, but a few are my headcanons for ComfortUnits, Combat SecUnits, and Preservation.

Other stuff (one-shots or nearly so):

Freeze Response - Murderbot tries to figure out where a little girl went. Few words, many kudos.

SexUnit - Two versions of the same outline, one with Murderbot, one with an OC SecUnit. Both are used for sex. This is rape.

Two Peas in a Pod - Murderbot and Gurathin work together to retrieve two gestational units that have been locked in cryofreeze pods. Although both MB and Gurathin are in this fic, it isn't shippy in any romantic way. Barely even platonic.

Imagine Dragons - Murderbot tries to guard Gurathin from hostile fauna. I don't think this is particularly shippy. I think Murderbot would act the same way with any of its clients.

Personalized Security Services - Murderbot and Mensah fuck. This is not rape.

If Hostile One Had Bit Ratthi Instead of Bharadwaj in ASR - Just what it says on the tin.

Just a Piece - A man and an obliging SecUnit fuck. This is not rape.

Preservation Alliance, Politics, and World-Building - This is included in the Meta series, but is important enough for me to call it out individually. It's the background for nearly everything I've written in TMBD that has a setting in Preservation. It tells about languages, planets, and cultures.

There are also some drabbles and a couple longer one-shots I didn't count. You can find them in my AO3 works list. I have participated in two collaborative writing events, one Counting Down (combined PresAux and Perihelion crew get contaminated by alien remnants while planetside and have to fight off a CR sanitation team) and the other is Enemies, Closer (MB/G/ART/Echo). The first is not shippy in the least; the second is all shipping all the time.

#the murderbot diaries #fanfiction #murderathin #lots of stuff that isn't murderathin but I'm tagging so people's filters work

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anon-e-miss · 1 month

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The Thirteenth Bride - 3

It was his liege’s, his Alpha’s knot that triggered Prowl to enter heat. Where his passed heats had been frustrating and uncomfortable, this heat was thrilling. He soared and he burned as his code was satisfied. Jazz filled him, over and over, flooded his gestational tank and his spark both. There was not micrometre of his scorching frame that the Alpha did not claim. Jazz swore Prowl would not leave his berth until he was ensparked and he made a show of his seriousness by tying Prowl to the berth with soft rope. Time lost all meaning as the king bred him. He recharged, he ate, all while trapped on the Alpha’s thick knot. Prowl did not remember when the King bit his node and claimed him with that bite but he sucked it and nibbled at it as he filled Prowl again, making his charge and his code sing louder and louder.

”Uh,” Prowl moaned deliriously as Jazz mouthed his neck and fondled his wells he rutted Prowl from behind.

”These’ll fill as my creation grows in yer belly,” Jazz promised him. “They’ll stay full ‘n leakin’ as my whelp suckles ‘m as another grows in ya. Y’ll give me a dozen hardly bitlets. Y’re too sweet ‘n lush to do anythin’ less.”

Prowl’s code screamed in agreement. It was the biological prerogative for omegas to breed, to whelp and to breed again in a constant cycle of creation. He was made for this, to take his Alphas’s knot and his spend and to bring forth life as a result. Jazz whispered filthy praise as he bred Prowl again and again. Even as his heat faded, mid-cycle, a sure sign his spark had ignited, Jazz kept him tied to the berth posts and bred him again. By the time a medical was called to attend him, a quartex had passed and Prowl could not believe he had spent so much time under and entangled with his king. It was, true, he was exhausted and even a little sore but he was satisfied in a way Prowl did not know he could ever be again. Jazz beamed as the medic declared he had found two newsparks in orbit on Prowl’s spark.

Punch looked pleased with himself as he joined them in order to crown Prowl as his creation’s bride, connecting a chain around Prowl’s softly rounded belly. The chain would grow as his forge expanded. With twins, surely he would be huge in no time at all. He was still a little dazed as Jazz helped him dress. Through the translucent white of his chest plate, Prowl’s stiff, swollen gold nozzles were visible. Under his wrap, he wore no girdle. Instead, his valve was filled with a thick crystal plug that could only be removed by his Alpha’s servo. No Alpha or beta would be able to taint Jazz’s claim to the newsparks in Prowl’s crystal chamber. Jazz sat on his throne with Prowl on his lap as the court feted him. Their young king had heirs in the belly so quickly and they were jubilant. His progenitor had been an elderly mech before he had kindled heirs in Punch and he had died not long after, leaving the kingdom and his heirs vulnerable. It had been their clever omega originator that had seen Jazz and his twin survive to claim the kingdom back from scheming beta regents. When Ricochet returned from fighting in Kalis, thirteen brides would be presented to him and he would rule as co-king to Jazz.

In awe of his good fortune, after a long dark-cycle of festivities, Prowl walked, or wobbled as he was constantly aware of the crystal plug skewered in his valve, to the garden to see how it had faired in his absence. The smile fell from his faceplates as soon and Prowl stepped into the courtyard. He sobbed as he looked about. Every little he had nursed over his time in the harem had been trambled, crush, burnt. He sobbed as he knelt down and picked up a shard of his favour moon quartz. Arms enveloped him and Prowl sobbed against Punch’s chassis. Jazz knelt with him and stroked his back. Pedsteps echoed.

“Find out who did this,” Jazz commanded. All Prowl could do was cry.

The twelve remaining brides were lined up in the Great Hall. They stood silently, helms bowed and faceplates ashen. Though it had been Wildfire’s idea to destroy the garden, the others had either joined in on the destruction or they had stood silently by instead of alerting a guard. All were being sent home in disgrace. Prowl did not know what fates awaited them. Perhaps the dukes and earls of their lands would not care over much that the Torus King scorned them or perhaps their shameful behaviour in the Sanctum Ignacio would see them tonsured. He would never see a single one of them again and that please Prowl enough. Neither would he be forced to amuse their kin when the Thirteen Brides intended for Jazz’s twin as their clans would be barred from representing their kingdoms. It was a relief.

As they were sent away, Wildfire dared enough to look up and glower at Prowl; he glowered back. They had made their berths. Though he mourned the crystals the other brides had destroyed, Prowl took joy in watching the little shard of moonstone Punch had helped him salvage grow stronger every mega-cycle. It would need to be nursed for sometime indoors before it could take its place in the garden again. Prowl knew just where it would go amongst the new crystals Jazz had seen delivered for him. Though Prowl was duty bound to attend to his Alpha’s carnal needs, Jazz encouraged him to take as much time as he wanted in the garden or the library and Prowl believed Jazz was sincere when he said this.

It was not as though Prowl neglected his king, nor Jazz him. With twin newsparks orbiting Prowl’s spark, his frame needed his Alpha’s contributions and Jazz was diligent in this work. Polyhexians believed an originator’s pleasure was paramount when it came to the health of the creations they carried. Prowl’s cheekplates were forever flushed as the clamps over his nozzles, node and door wings teased his sensory grid. Everyone could see and it pleased them that they had a dutiful Alpha for their king. Every time Prowl shivered with arousal, the dangling crystals he wore chimed. Jazz called it sweet music.

Jubilation heralded the return of Jazz’s twin, Ricochet, a full orb before he was due to arrive to take his place on the throne next to Jazz’s. Prowl had been helping Punch, as best as he could, pick omega candidates to be presented after he had settled. It seemed they all displeased Punch in some way. Ricochet was harder to make a match for, he had explained. The portraits of the omegas they poured over were all pretty enough but their profiles all struck Punch as too mannerly for his second creation. Even as he settled on his selections. Punch didn not seem confident in them. He did not just want a fertile broodcarrier for Ricochet, he wanted a lover for him. A mech who would satisfy him in spark, frame and processor, as Prowl did Jazz. It was high praise. Prowl followed Punch to the courtyard when news came that Ricochet’s carriage had arrived. Jazz wrapped his arm around Prowl’s waist as he joined them and waited for Ricochet to appear. At first sight, there was not a great deal of similarity between the twins. That was until Prowl looked past the difference in their colouring and saw the striking similarities of their frame shapes. Ricochet did not immediately rush into the arms of his waiting kin. He reached into the carriage and urged a mech, a Praxian Beta from the carriage.

“Who’s this, Love?” Punch asked.

“My consort,” Ricochet replied. “Barricade.”

“Consort?” Punch asked and Prowl thought of the orna work he had put into finding omegas to suit his creation. He feared an explosion. His framekin’s doorwings hung low.

“Ya always taught me to take responsibility,” Ricochet replied. “I bred’m so I mated ‘m. It’s what ya told me was right to do.”

“That’s right,” Punch declared. “Well, Barricade it’s good to meet ya. I think ya could use a long bath after the journey.”

“That sounds heavenly,” Barricade confessed. Ricochet grinned at him.

“Go on,” Ricochet said. “Ya earned it.”

A bred beta? Prowl went with Punch as he herded Barricade into the palace. They were supposed to be sterile. It was not uncommon for Alphas to take Beta lovers as they all said one need not fear ensparking them. Prowl wondered how often it happened that a Beta proved less than sterile. No Alpha bonded to a Beta in Praxus. Had Barricade been ensparked by one of their kinsmecha, Prowl could not imagine one taking responsibility for their by blow. Omegas were forged to bear sparkling, beta were not. How difficult, how dangerous might this be for Barricade.

“Leave it to Rico to throw a curve ball,” Punch said.

“I’m sorry,” Barricade replied. “I told him this was a mistake.”

“What do ya mean?” Punch asked.

“Mating me,” Barricade replied. “I know he’s supposed to choose from omega brides.”

“Hush,” Punch declared. Prowl watched Barricade’s doorwings droop even lower. “Rico did what I raised’m to do. I didn’t like any o’ those brides for ‘m anyways.”

#valveplug #maccadams #tf prowl #tf jazz #anon-e-miss writes #mechpreg #tf barricade #tf ricochet #the thirteenth bride

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

Keep Me Ablaze

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: it’s here!!!! i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: kissing, swearing, allusions to smut, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Fourteen- We Burn Bad

—-

There is no fire here. There is nothing besides the plants and Eywa, the naturalness of it all. There is no fire here- except for the one in your chest, the small little wildfires you can see in Jake and Neytiri.

She leads you deeper into the forest, her hair unbraided. A yellow flower rests at the back of her head, a matching one behind your ear.

You make it over a bridge, feeling more like a wildfire, more confident. You cross it with ease, convince yourself that it’s not because Jake is behind you. Not because you know he will catch you.

Animals whirl and flutter around, spooked at your arrival, and Neytiri laughs before turning to yours and Jake’s surprised faces.

“Come, come,” she says, tugging on each of you, like she knows the secrets to something special.

She leads you further into the brush of trees, purple-blue hanging down, green forest floor that lights up with your touch.

The hanging tendrils reach out, as if to touch you, and you make the journey easier for them by reaching out yourself. Plant-like, but nothing you have touched before. Newness. Thrill, excitement, confusion all flood your veins like you are the eye of the storm.

“This is a place for prayers to be heard,” Neytiri says, breaking the stillness of the moment. She grabs three tendrils, presses them close to her face. “And sometimes answered.”

You watch as she grabs her queue, everything curling out and the tree lighting up in response. Her eyes close, a sigh escapes her. She looks free. Otherworldly. She doesn’t look like your best friend, not now, not in this moment.

This looks like the girl who brought you whatever your heart desired, you kept you safe, who showed off every skill she had. She had always been trying to show you, you realize now, however subconsciously.

She was always trying to show you she could be good for you. And maybe then she could- when everything was easier. But this is now, this is the moment, and she isn’t good for you. Not now. Not ever again.

“We call these trees Utraya Mokri,” she breathes. She turns back to you and Jake. “The Tree of Voices.” Jake grabs a bundle of the hanging vines, the tendrils. You watch as his muscles flex, as he reaches behind him to grab his queue.

You think back to what he said. How you joked that you would crush him if he tried to carry you- and he said in that body. But he is not in that body now.

He isn’t good for you. Not now, not ever. Grace doesn’t approve of him- you could never be something. Never be anything more than a candle, burning at both ends, never meant to last.

“The voices of your ancestors,” Neytiri explains as you grab your own handful of vines. The tendrils of your queue wrap around it, and you can hear voice, ever so faintly. You can imagine ghostly pale people, stuck behind hospital curtains.

“I can hear them,” Jake says. He is still so new to all of this. All you can do is listen, let the world take over your body.

“They live, Jake. Within Eywa.”

You can hear children laughing. Sisters talking. Women crying.

“You are Omaticaya now,” Neytiri says, placing her hand on Jake’s chest, looking over at you. She looks back at Jake, and her expression is different now. Like she has seen the most beautiful fire in the world and now it is burning out, and she knows she’ll never see something like it again. “You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree.”

You feel like an island with no roots, a moon with no planet to orbit, a fire with no oxygen.

“And you may choose a mate.” She inhales quickly, then turns, an atokirina falling into her palm. “Ninat is the best singer, Jake, and very beautiful. Leyan is strong, Y/N, it was him who stared at you the night of the festival.”

“I don’t want Ninat.”

You do not want Leyan. With each passing moment, the world becomes clear for you, like blinking water out of your eyes after coming up. It is fresh air, a flare of fire. It is Jake and Neytiri, and you love for them that feels like a festering wound in your heart.

Neytiri blows the atokirina away.

“And I don’t think you want Leyan, Y/N.”

When you look at him, eyes wide, his eyes are flicking from you and Neytiri so fast, like he cannot decide who to look at. Like he would rather rip his eyes out and set them upon the two of you. Like he needs to look at the two of you.

You almost want to step closer to Neytiri, let her consume you like a rot, make the strain on Jake’s eyes easier.

“I…” words die in your throat, and Neytiri turns, eyes wide. His voice drops to a whisper, something secret and special.

“You told me that three people can mated.”

He says it almost accusatorially, as if to say “you cannot back out of this. I see into your fire and I know what you want. You want this.”

You want to hear him say it. You imagine yourself as a child, playing games with your Aunt Grace, running around the base while people laughed and yelled.

You are not that girl anymore. You are a wildfire and you will be kept ablaze.

“What are you saying, Jake?” your voice wavers, and you wish it didn’t. You wish you could be strong. But you can’t, not in the face of all this smoke.

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. Your heart stops, drops into your stomach, and you wish hands were there to hold it but it’s wrong. “But these women must choose each other. These women must choose me.”

You cross your arms over your chest, keep your eyes fixed on the ground. You tilt your chin down, like you’re ashamed, and you know this is wrong.

“I love you so bad,” you whisper, nose crinkling and tears ready to fall.

It feels like something is being sealed, some sort of ancient pact, predetermined decision that would always lead you to here. Lead you to them. Lead you to this moment, where all you will do is burn bad.

You are nothing but for them.

“I have chosen for years,” Neytiri mutters, like she is a starved woman staring at the first meal she has seen in a week. When you find the strength to look up, tears in your eyes, want and need and good and bad blending into one, she is looking at you.

She steps forward like it is the only think she can even think about doing, slightly desperate, but confident.

“I want you. I want you, I want you,” she says, like she’s pleading.

“We burn bad,” you say, hands falling to your sides, like you’re reprimanding her.

“We burn together,” she corrects. “Let me have you, Y/N, please let me have you…”

You don’t know when it happened, but she presses so close to you now, her nose brushing yours, forehead pressed against yours. Her hands cup your face and yours settle on your hips, until someone else puts their hands over yours.

You eyes meet Jake. Your lips brush Neytiri.

“We shouldn’t,” you breathe, chin stuck out, breaths so heavy they carry a physicality to them.

Jake shakes his head.

Neytiri presses her lips against yours, hard and fast, almost like you’re kissing a wall. But it’s more about feeling her, about knowing what it means than any possible pleasure.

Yes, it burns, and it burns bad, but you were always meant to burn with them.

—-

You remember names on your lips, a thousand little deaths in your stomach, skin on skin and fire on fire. You remember the soft ground and softer hands, and you remember warrior’s bodies and burning.

“Jake, Jake,” you call, pushing the plastic cage off of you and swinging your legs over the edge, much faster than you should. Your head spins but Jake always falls asleep before you- he is surely hurting his hand with how fast he pushes the wheelchair over to you.

You have to lean against the link pod, hazy and dizzy, until Jake grabs you so softly, your eyes closed. You’re drunk on the moment, on the feel of his fire.

You place your hands on his thighs, letting him have access to your face. He cups it like Neytiri did, like he did earlier that night. He had whispered so many devotions to you like this.

His lips press against your forehead first.

“You’re all fucked out,” he says, fondly. Proud. He knows that he made you this way.

“I want to know… if you taste the same.”

He grins against your forehead, chuckling softly.

“Okay, baby,” he whispers, leaning back. A kiss to your nose next. “Whatever you want, babygirl, whatever you need…”

You hum, and his hand cups the back of your head, and you finally press your lips to yours. You imagine everything you could do like this, everything you could feel. But you have already done all of that in another body.

And he tastes the same, tongue slipping into your mouth, and there’s no battle. He says whatever you want, whatever you need, and right now- you just want to feel him. He tastes like the forest. Like Earth, like home. He tastes like memories and bitterness but it goes down just right.

When he pulls away, tucking hair behind your ear, mumbling about luck and love and perfection, he presses his forehead against yours. You wonder if there is a mark of his lips on your forehead, on your nose. You are sure there are marks all over your Avatar body- but it is so late the two of you are the only ones up.

“Tomorrow,” you promise. “Tomorrow I want you to have me, I want you to make me in your bed like you did on the forest floor.”

He presses his lips to your jawline. “You don’t have to ask, baby, you don’t have to ask…”

You burn bad, but it feels good.

—-

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everything taglist:

@monsterwasstolen @fanboyluvr @artologia-blog1 @tulipatheticee @elvyshiarieko @fluffisalliwant @fluffi19 @jeizllz @myheartfollower @fy-fy-world @minkyyungseokie @ivy-plays @blueberryfailureclinic

#jake sully x neytiri #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader

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