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mockerycrow · 11 months

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Love your works! May I please get a "don't worry, i'm not going anywhere." with Ghost? Take your time, I love what you write!

400 Follower Celebration

—“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”— With Ghost

Summary: You’re apart of the 141 and Ghost recently had a near-death experience. You’ve been plagued with nightmares about the situation, but you try to hide it from him, feeling selfish about your night terrors. One night, you’re thoroughly convinced Ghost had actually died.

A/N: THANK YOUUU I KEEP BLUSHING ILY AND TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

[WARNINGS: vomit, detailed nightmares, panic attack, gore, fake-death, angst, hurt/comfort.]

It was always the same nightmare. It was a repeat of that one mission months ago—nearly a year ago by now, where you and your team went to grab some important intel about a new uprising cartel that was showing some dangerous potential. It was a large compound, four floors including the basement, wide rooms with many blind-spots. Using your rifle equipped with a heat signature sensor, you swept room to room, leading your team through the building, putting anyone down who dared fired a bullet at you or your team.

You turn that familiar corner and your heart sinks. You’ve tried many times to change the course of this dream, but no matter how frantically you try to scream about what is waiting on the other side of that door, your mouth refuses to work until Ghost rumbles out, “I’ll take point.” You try to fight every muscle in your body to stop this, but it’s like the dream freezes until you continue down the.. “right path”. Quite literally is a living fucking hell for you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it except do what it wants you to do.

“Roger.” You mutter, backing up behind Ghost instead of staying in front of him and leading him the others. The others are always blank faced soldiers in this nightmare, but you know who is who. You pat his shoulder, aimming over him as you walk down the hall close together, hugging the wall. You’ve been through this so many times, you know to eye the floor and you watch the moment happen—Ghost steps on a pressure plate and—BOOM.

You’re always forced to watch it in slow motion; the wall being blown open right next to Ghost, watching the debris scatter everywhere, scraping yourself up as well as Ghost. He raises his arm to shield his face from whatever is happening, unable to process in time that a man wielding a sharp combat knife is pulling his arm back and comes down with it.

You watch the way the knife so easily slides into his rib cage, and it’s almost like you could hear it penetrating his lung like it did—but this time, the man rips the knife out and does it again and again and again—this has never happened before—Ghost’s falling to the ground, his blood splattering everywhere, fuck, it’s like the guy is trying to gut him—but you can’t move. You have to sit there and watch this man. plunge a knife in and out of Ghost’s chest until he finally decides to stab him deep and yank downwards, spilling his intestines and stomach—yet, his lifeless eyes keep eye contact the entire time.

Your eyes fly open, dizzy from your heart pounding and unable to focus, you throw the blanket off of you and you make your way out of whatever room you’re in—you’re too freaked out to know. Your chest aches and feels like there’s a hundred tons sitting on your rib cage, restricting your breathing. You keep walking until you bump into something and you manage to focus enough to notice it’s the bathroom door. Your hand shakily grabs the doorknob and opens it, and you already feel the vomit traveling up your throat.

You end up bent over the open toilet, body heaving with every exile of the contents of your stomach, which by this time of night is mostly just bile. Your head is spinning and your hands keep shaking and by this point, you really don’t care how clean this bathroom is. You lean your elbows on the toilet rim and hold your head in your hands, trying your best to stifle a sob, even though all you can smell and feel is his blood on your fingertips. Your tears drip down your cheeks and collect at your chin before dripping off.

You keep one arm on the toilet seat to keep your head propped up and the other goes around your stomach, which is twisting painfully inside of your gut, ripping another sob from you. You gag into the toilet, but you’ve already thrown everything you had inside. Your throat and nose burns from the stomach acid, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pain of losing Ghost. You just stood there and watched him get gutted—why do you deserve to grieve when you could have prevented it in the first place? Someone killed the Ghost, and you let it fucking happen.

A large hand sprawls across the flat of your back which is accompanied by a low, gritty voice. Whoever it is says something, but you don’t quite hear them. It’s probably Price, trying to comfort you, trying to say there’s one thing you could’ve done to stop it, but you know there was something you could do, anything you could’ve done.

Price calls your name and you go to shove him away, but his hands wrap around your wrists, and the voice is more insistent. You choke on a sob and shake your head, struggling against him until you hear it—his voice. “Fuck, [Name], can you hear me?” Ghost’s voice. It’s his voice.

No. Your mind is playing tricks on you and you won’t fall for it, you won’t let yourself go through this horrendous grief for a second time. You try to curl up into a ball, wanting to grab at your hair or your clothes, just anything but be here. “Look at me.” His hands grab your face and force your face to look at him and..

It’s him. It’s Ghost.

All of your noises stop for a moment as you stare with wide eyes that are full of unfallen tears, eyes full of grief, all for him. Ghost stares back at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you can see the way his hands are slightly trembling—he’s worried about you. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow when he sees your expression of anguish. “Hey—hey, what happened?” Ghost’s voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he speaks any louder. Your hands come up to his mask and touch it and you burst into a harsh sob again, throwing your arms around him.

Usually, Ghost would hesitate. He would be reluctant to reciprocate such personal touch, such desperation, but he pulls you close into his arms without a second thought. Your hands grab his shirt and you breakdown into his chest, wetting the fabric with your tears. His heart slipped a beat because he’s never seen you like this—has never seen you break down this horribly.

He’d be here when you were ready to talk about it, but for now he’ll stay to hold you until your shoulders stop shaking. Ghost moves to sit on his bottom and you whimper in fear, like he’ll leave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

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netherfeildren · 3 months

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Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you.

She'll still come for you.

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her.

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer.

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature.

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear.

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people.

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega.

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates.

Joel had been one of these people.

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom.

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity.

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand.

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too.

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either.

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit.

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite.

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was.

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father.

He did not want to be an alpha.

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures.

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever.

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized.

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately.

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever.

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all.

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.”

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby.

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside.

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet.

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are.

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want.

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you.

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear.

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence.

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like.

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same.

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched.

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop.

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?”

He could never have forgotten.

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely.

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled.

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting.

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding.

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him.

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older, sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday.

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky.

You want to see the sky every single day.

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him.

You want to know things. You want to know him.

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement.

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him.

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him.

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet.

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for.

“I’m fine,” he says.

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen.

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well.

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long.

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big.

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations.

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even.

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate.

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness.

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping.

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely.

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of.

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you.

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#HSM fic #vic fic #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us AU #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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xxmaxwellxx · 1 month

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Can someone help me find some Sagau fics?

1. Alhaitham begs to see author/writer reader’s work and they’re a little insecure about their writing so they hand over some of their work and panic about what he thinks about it, eventually reader forgets giving to him only for him to publish their work. Reader panics and goes over to his house and kaveh opens the door and reader asks to speak with alhaitham and when they do he’s spewing praises. Edit: found this one! It’s Language Shenanigans by thatdeadaquarius!

2. There’s some kind of written language barrier in teyvat where the reader can’t read there and the characters can’t understand what they write and alhaitham kinda recognized what the reader was writing so he took them to the library and there’s like slang from 2015 carved into stone and it kinda horrifies reader. Edit: here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/thatdeadaquarius/706940879634628608/about-language-brainrot-imagine-writer-creator?source=share

3. Headcannons where the reader is playing shirtless and it flusters the characters, I remember reader going to the character selection and all of them were flustered, blushing and one sqeaked and stuttered through their voiceline

4. Reader stimming by clapping their thighs while playing and the characters are confused and flustered because they think something else is going on, I think xiao was in it and was blushing really hard lol Edit: I couldn’t find this on the master list so here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/fandangotales/698730573789806592/500-followers-event-about-your-prompt-could-you-do?source=share

5. Reader gets isekaied to teyvat and is very flustered by the characters because reader thinks they’re hot, they constantly avoid eye contact with the characters and it makes the characters think that looking at reader is some kind of grave sin, eventually reader bumps into zhongli and they make eye contact and reader blushes really hard and stutters and tries to look away but zhongli thinks something is wrong with reader and goes and fetches a healer only to find out that no, there’s nothing wrong with reader they just think the characters are hot. Edit: It’s a simp in Sagau by hiraya-rawr!

6. archons reading readers fanfiction. It somehow got into book form and has been circulating to the archons, I remember zhongli sitting behind the desk at the funeral parlor and being so focused on reading that he didn’t notice reader coming in and reader snatches the book from him only to be horrified because he was reading fanfic they wrote and him being like “is this another universe creator?”

7. The archons reading imposter au fanfic, I remember ei reading it and sobbing because she would never do something like that to the creator and zhongli says he would never kill reader because he’s worshipped them for years and why wouldn’t he recognize the creator???

8. Headcannons where The characters get isekaied into readers world. I remember reader walking into their office and finding the characters and thinking they’re cosplayers so the reader yells to their secretary thinking it’s a joke only for them to be real, I’m pretty sure scaramouche was in this one

9. The reader being isekaied into teyvat and thinking it’s a dream so they go to the dawn winery and gets drunk and accidentally cuts themselves to reveal gold blood, cue everyone freaking out and when diluc comes in for his shift the reader is sobbing asking why he hasn’t come home yet. Edit: Here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/hiraya-rawr/677068166680166400/diluc-drunk-creator-reader-creator-reader-waking?source=share

10. Headcannons where Reader likes to play glider chicken with them. They think their god is going to kill them only for them to pull out a glider last second and if the reader does it to much it becomes a tradition or something. Edit: I looked through their master list and I couldn’t find the name so here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/fandangotales/698541977190449152/i-have-a-request-for-the-500-follower-event-if?source=share

11. Venti sleeps with reader in their world and when reader is isekaied to teyvat. venti’s upset because the social standards are different and in teyvat if you sleep together that basically means you’re married so he’s upset because I think reader started flirting with the others? The last part is a little foggy but I remember venti being upset because he thought they were exclusive and reader is just like ‘wat?’

12. Reader being isekaied to teyvat and albedo keeping them at his house. They live with albedo and Klee and they only get discovered because they went out for a picnic or something and someone discovers reader and albedo is brought back and is to be punished but reader stops them from punishing them

13. Characters being isekaied to readers world and having nsfw thoughts about everyday items, this one is a little fuzzy so I can’t remember the details but one of them having nsfw thoughts about a spoon and thinking about readers saliva and other doing their laundry and wanking it over the washing machine. Edit: found this one! It’s Reverse isekai, Childe and Heizou in reader's home (MATURE CONTENT). By fandangotales!

14. Reader gets isekaied to teyvat with a gun and shows the characters how to use it

15. Sagau reader helps wanderer/kuni. It’s where reader goes out to his house to help him and at night when they’re in their futons he gets a boner and reader decides to help him in other ways

#fanfic #fanfic finder #genshin sagau #sagau #sagau cult au #sagau x reader #self aware genshin #sentient genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader

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onejellyfishplease · 4 months

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my entry for @bambiraptorx 's dtiys!!! had a lot of fun with this one! great practice for drawing Draxum <3

Congrats on 500+ followers! you deserve every last one of them!!

have a lovely day!

also, if you dont mind me being a little sappy, I have always loved your art and fics!! I remember really freaking out when you followed me back, i couldn't believe it!!! you're so cool! and its been just amazing getting to know you more!

you are an awesome and extremely talented individual and I am obsessed with all of your fics and aus, each one is hilarious and intriguing in their own right and i love how you write all of the turtles and draxum, all their interactions are so fun to read.

#bambis dtiys #sending so much love your way!!!!#rottmnt #rottmnt leo #bambiraptorx #rottmnt draxum #dtiys

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yuri-is-online · 3 months

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To the Reader, My Tenderest Freak of Freaks

Hello, I am Yuri. This is a side blog for my writing, currently there are only Twisted Wonderland fics here, but I intend to post original work here in the future~

Rules for requests can be found here.

(Twisted Wonderland)

Long Fic

When He Sees Me: Azul Ashengrotto (x)

The Tower Stairs: Rollo Flamme (x)

Misc.

"Do Be Gentle With Me" (Jade Leech) (suggestive) (x)

First Rule of Mountain Lovers Club (x)

Random Rollo Headcannons (x)

Eel Wedding (Jade Leech) (x)

Boys Being Jealous of Grim (x)

What, Are You in Love With Me? (Ace) (x)

One-Shots

Well Maybe the Octopus was Being a Dick! (Pt. 1) (x)

Well Maybe the Octopus was Being a Dick! (Pt. 2) (x)

Shades of You (Jade Leech x Yuu) (x)

Cute, Right? (Floyd Leech x Yuu) (suggestive) (x)

Why So Rude? (Everyone x Yuu) (x)

Sled Ride Together With Yuu (Jade Leech x Yuu) (x)

Out With the Old (Heartsabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle x Yuu) (x)

And in With the New (Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, and Diasomnia x Yuu) (x)

It's Not Going Away (First Years x Yuu) (x)

You, I, and the Wall (Octavinelle x Yuu) (x)

Missed Connection Section of the NRC Gazette (Floyd, Leona, and Ruggie x Yuu) (x)

Plead the Fifth (Riddle, Floyd, Azul, Jack, Lilia, and Ace x Yuu) (x)

Consider the Shrimp (Jade Leech x Yuu) (x)

You May Now Kiss the Shrimp (Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu) (x)

The Most Romantic of All Arts (Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu) (x)

Soft Toxic Whispers (Jade Leech x Yuu) (x)

Ortho Decorates for Christmas (x)

Daytime TV Dreaming (A Fyuuture Kid AU Drabble ft. Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle) (x)

The Moon Is Beautiful Tonight (Octavinelle and Scarabia) (x)

Why Can't I Be Your Spouse? (Leech Twins) (x)

Summer is in Your Eyes (Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle) (x)

Birthday One-Shots

Oh No You Don't (Ruggie Bucchi) (x)

A Step Behind the Curtain (x)

Bitch the Pot (x)

Series

Follower Milestones

300 Follower Celebration (So So Shojo)

500 Follower Celebration (Invitation to the Masquerade)

800 Follower Thank You (Seven Plus One Happy Haunts)

MMO AU

Landing Page

A Fyuuture Kid AU

What happened to Yuu? (x)

What happened to the Main Cast? (x)

Daytime TV Dreaming (Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle) (x)

Soap Operatic Symphony (Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, and Diasomnia) (x)

Fyuuture kid dunks on Ace (x)

Ace! Fyuuture kid hc (x)

Why is Azul's Fyuutre kid afraid of him? (x)

General Fyuuture kid facts + Riddle! kid hc (x)

Yutu and Yuu (x)

What does Yutu look like! (x)

Some of Yutu's happy memories of Yuu (x)

Floyd! Fyuuture kid hc (x) (bonus)

Uncle Jade with Floyd's kid (x)

Cater! Fyuuture kid hc (x)

More Ace! Yutu dunking on him and Riddle! Yutu has a nightmere (x)

Jade! Fyuuture kid hc (x)

Ruggie! Fyutture kid hc (x)

Soulbound AU

inspiration taken from this post by tiyon, please check out their soulmate au here

rules

first post

Idia and Leona thinking about Yuu coming to TWST just for them

adding some angst

Ace and Deuce in denial

Aceyuu "Rewrite the Stars"

What if Yuu was Cursed?

Family Day

The Quiet Part (Azul, Jade, and Trey x Yuu) (x)

Out of the Bag (Jamil, Ace, and Idia x Yuu) (x)

Without Saying (Floyd and Ruggie x Yuu) (x)

There's Mud in Your Eye (Leona and Deuce x Yuu) (x)

And Your Name Is?

Jade, Leona, Riddle (x)

Ace and Malleus (x)

Sebek, Silver, and Idia (x)

Deuce, Azul, Floyd (x)

Time Loop Angst

Original Ask (Vil, Azul, and Malleus) (x)

The Rains Have Ceased (Riddle, Cater, and Idia) (x)

Another Beautiful Day (First Years) (x)

Theory Posting

A Pocket Full of Posies and Rollo's Hankie (x)

Octavinelle and Loneliness (x)

Sometimes the Wallpaper is Just Yellow: A Heartslabyul Color Analysis (x)

You Simple Vile Monstrosity: Rook and the Flowers of Evil (x)

#pinned post #masterlist #housekeeping

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lovelyiida · 4 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬.

KATSUKI BAKUGO X SECRETARY READER

A 500 FOLLOWERS SERIES!

❥ SYNOPSIS: as the years went by, bakugo realized that he was the last to get married. the days grew cold and the nights turned lonely. bakugo wants to marry, but he doesn't really feel like falling in love. at least he has his trustee secretary!

❥: CHAPTERS

❥ WARNINGS: implied fem reader, aged-up! Pro-hero MHA characters over the age of 27, vulgar language, suggestive wording and content

❥ MASTERLIST

❥ JOIN TAG LIST!

WORDS: 4.8K

CHAPTER 6: PASS THE SALT

“You know what they say about secretaries..."

"A what?"

The revelation hit like an unfathomable wave, leaving Katsuki in utter shock and embarrassment. His words slipped out uncontrollably, and he hung his head low, attempting to collect himself before facing his parents' reactions.

With just a grunt escaping him, the blonde struggled to conjure up a somewhat plausible response. "Just… don't freak out. I've been meaning to say this for a while now, just couldn't find the time."

Deep into his face, palms buried, he rubbed his eyes, attempting to shake himself from the grave he had unwittingly dug.

"How long have you guys been dating? I mean, we're happy, right?" Bakugo's father sought assurance from his wife, but all he received was a long stare.

"Um, I've known her for a while, I guess—"

"Ya' guess? What's that supposed to mean?" Mitsuki interjected, a little disheveled from the news, trying her hardest to take things step by step.

"Please, let him speak," his father interjected.

Another loud pause set into motion, catching Katsuki off guard as he had not anticipated bringing up the topic of you that day. "We were talking, then we started to hang out, started to go out, and the rest was history—"

"What happened to not having time to do anything, since you're, y'know… putting our safety first?" Mitsuki quipped at the hero.

"I can still go out and find love; I'm not some sad and lonely prick!" Katsuki yelled. "If it makes you feel any better, she's my secretary. Still ass-deep in my work."

Katsuki's response earned a scoff from his mother. "I just don't understand why you couldn't tell us about this, of all things. These matters are very important. You didn't even ask for our blessing, Katsuki," she said.

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was hurt, almost feeling a sense of betrayal. One of the most important moments of her son's life has passed and she wasn't a part of it.

"I want to meet her," she says, Katsuki's breath hitches.

Katsuki swallowed hard, the weight of the situation sinking in. He lifted his head, meeting his mother's gaze, and nodded hesitantly.

"Yeah, uh. I'll bring her over sometime soon. You can meet her, ask whatever the hell you want," he mumbled, trying to keep the conversation under control.

Mitsuki folded her arms, a mix of concern and curiosity etched across her face. "You better not be hiding anything else, Katsuki. We're your parents; we deserve to know what's going on in your life."

Bakugo's father, still trying to process the information, chimed in with a more composed tone. "Son, we just want to understand and be a part of your life. If you're serious about her, then we should support you. But communication is key. You can't just shut us out."

Katsuki sighed, "Yeah, I get it. I messed up, I'll tell her you wanna talk"

His mother's expression softened slightly, though traces of concern lingered. "Good. We're not here to judge; we just want what's best for you."

The tension in the room began to ease as the family started to navigate this unexpected revelation. As the married couple soon go their separate ways, Katsuki storms out of the house. Heading to his car, he jumps in with force.

"Fuck, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?" Looking out towards the distance he lays back into the seat with a drafted sigh. The blonde thinks hard about the decision he's made. He didn't want to rope you into the situation though he didn't have a choice. The old bats wouldn't get off his case (Katsuki self-sabotages quite often).

How the hell is he gonna break this down to you?

"He went to see his mom and dad?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

The redhead nods nervously, his hand reaching over to fiddle with the closest plant in range. The room falls into an awkward silence, and you find yourself shrugging in response. "Okay? I just don't understand why he couldn't tell me that..."

A thought crosses your mind, "It would've saved me a lot of trouble," you muse to yourself.

"It was so sudden, Ms. L/n, we had no idea—" Riot's explanation gets cut short by the sudden buzz of his phone. With a jolt, he quickly grabs it and stares at the screen. His eyes scan the messages with vigor as he quietly reads the words to himself. You can't help but be curious, "Is that Dynamight?" you ask.

The redhead's eyes shoot up to you for a split second, and then he continues reading. With a quick sigh, he places his phone down and puts his hand up against his temples, squeezing with firm resolve. "Uh... yeah, that was him."

Concern flickers in your eyes as you press further, "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah! everything's fine; it's just Monday, y'know?" he says with an offputting chuckle. Your eyes narrow at him for a split second before scanning the room to check the clock.

"Well, thank you for your kindness, Mr. Riot, but I should get going. I have a meeting with my queen-sized bed." You chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. Giving the office cat one more affectionate pet, you rise out of your seat with ease and turn towards the door.

"Wait!"

Red Riot's voice booms through the room, causing you (and the cat) to jolt in surprise. "Dynamight's on his way; he really needs to see you," he says quickly. As you blink to process the information he just shared, you can't help but let out a defeated sigh. "So close," you whisper to yourself. Releasing the doorknob, you turn around, putting on your best business-coded smile.

"Sure, just tell him I'll be in his office." Turning back around, you head out the door and walk through the proclaimed hero's office. It's striking to see how night and day the two offices are. The aesthetics shift from sleek and black to relaxed and colorful.

Even the attitudes of the workers differ; they actually seem like they want (or at least don't mind) to do their job. The atmosphere is palpably different, and you find yourself absorbing the contrasting energies as you navigate through the hero's domain.

As you traverse back to the boss's office, you smoothly enter his main office, somewhat savoring the familiar ambiance as you feel a little bittersweet about being back at the office. You begin to unpack your things and get straight into work.

One hour passes, the minutes ticking away in a rhythmic dance.

Two hours pass, each moment blending into the next, creating a seamless continuum.

Three hours pass; you tiredly watch the passage of time marked by the silent ticking of the clock on the wall. A rather substantial chunk of time has passed since Red Riot mentioned that Dynamight was on his way. And you're mad as hell.

You completed everything you needed to an hour ago and decided to sit and wait just for good measure.

But now, impatience gnaws at you. Huffing, you quickly gather your things and head out of the office. Taking the elevator down to the parking garage, you aimlessly walk towards the chauffeur, the air heavy with anticipation as you slip into the sleek vehicle.

You know you're not exactly allowed to use the chauffeur, but fatigue has settled into your bones, and you simply don't feel like dealing with the hassle of taking a cab back home. As the chauffeur skillfully maneuvers through the city's nocturnal labyrinth, you find solace in the gentle hum of the engine.

Finally dropped off at your apartment, you collapse into the welcoming embrace of your bed.

Another couple of hours have passed since you left work. Glancing at the clock, a sense of worry creeps in as 10 pm emerges. "Must've been a serious conversation," you ponder. Out of habit, you pull out your phone and mindlessly text your boss.

TO: Dynamight (BOSS)

Riot told me where you were.

Next time… just tell me not to come in.

Placing the phone down, you continue watching mind-numbing daytime TV reruns. "I wonder if he thinks I'm some joke," you say aloud. Anger quietly simmers in your stomach as you shift your feet around, attempting to find comfort in the folds of your bed.

Not even five minutes later, Dynamight answers your text.

Picking up your phone, your eyes widen at his text.

FROM: Dynamight (BOSS)

outside

we need to talk.

Oh, this is serious…

Jolting out of your bed, a rush of adrenaline propels you to the window, where you cautiously peek outside. There he is, waiting at your door. Surprisingly, he looks a tad bit nervous, perhaps uneasy?

Shutting your blinds, you slip on your house shoes and stomp towards the door. Opening it with a swift motion, you look at the hero. He meets your gaze, appearing tired and somewhat defeated as you begin to let loose on him.

"You need to be more considerate of people's time and what they're going through! Do you even know what I went through today? Well, I ended up in your buddy's office today, okay—"

"Please, L/n… just let me in," the blonde's voice rasps at you. Blinking, you notice how unfazed he looks as you stop your scolding. Quietly cursing under your breath, you hold the door open for him to come in.

As the blonde enters your place, he takes off his shoes and sits at the dining room table. Your boss's demeanor today is unusual compared to how you've seen him before. He looks almost vulnerable to you.

"You want anything to drink?" you say quietly. The blonde rolls his neck and then looks you in the eyes. "Got beer?" he says. You quietly nod and go into the kitchen to get him a beer.

"Get yourself one too; you're gonna need it," he says, the last part just below a whisper. You hum in agreement and grab the beers. Sliding one to him, he grabs it and cracks it open with vigor.

You watch as your boss quickly gulps down the contents, as you only take a small swig. Placing your drink down you look at him concerned.

"What did you need to talk about?" you say softly.

"Um… listen," you watch as the blonde shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He lets out a deep sigh, placing his hands into his pockets, and his head hangs low.

"So, I talked to my parents today—"

"I know that—"

"I was talkin' to them, you know… how parents are. They get on your ass when they need to, and they were definitely on mine. My mom said some things, and I got upset. I started to blabber a whole bunch of shit for no reason—"

"I'm having a hard time figuring out what the issue is. So you're being held accountable?" you say, confused. You watch as he clenches his fist and closes his eyes, trying his absolute hardest not to explode in anger right then and there.

"As… I began to ramble, I brought you up, and I told my parents that you're my girlfriend… we're engaged." He says defeatedly, a long pause of silence goes by as you stare at your boss, absolutely dumbfounded.

What?

"WHAT!"

Jumping up from your seat, you start to pace around the kitchen in anger. "I can't even look at you right now— are you serious?" you turn towards him, eyes wide, and lips turned upward in anger.

"C'mon, it's not that serious—"

"Not that serious? Are you messing with me?" you say outraged.

"L/n, please just sit down so we can talk this out—"

"Talk this out? No, I don't wanna say anything to you. God, how could you do this? It's like I'm not even a person to you; like I'm just a toy that you continuously beat against a hardwood table over, and over, and over—"

"L/n!" Dynamight's voice roars over yours, and you flinch at the sound. The rhythmic sound of your breaths huffing is the only sound that penetrates through the air.

"Okay, fine. We can talk, but I'm not sitting down," you say sternly, which makes the blonde roll his eyes. You hear him mumble a quiet "whatever," which almost sets you right back into another frenzy.

Fighting the urge to escalate, you take a deep breath and continue to pace, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"My parents want to meet you tomorrow, is that okay?" he dares to ask. You wanted to say something witty, something that would tick him off, but you started to go into deep thought.

"Give him a taste of how he's treated you, Y/n; the time is now."

Turning to face him, you look at him with no emotion. "Okay, that's fine," you say. This throws your boss off guard, "uh, are you sure? You seemed pretty against it literally three seconds ago—"

"No… I think it's fine. I know we talked about taking things slow, but it's whatever," you say defeatedly. You watch as the blond takes his hands out of his pockets and places a box out and in front of you.

"You'll need this," he says.

Eyes tracing down from his hand and onto the box, your stomach drops to your ass in a heartbeat.

An engagement ring.

"I'm not forcing you to put it on right now, but just have it on before I see you tomorrow," he says. You aimlessly nod, eyes still glued to the ring. You hear your boss stand from his chair with a screech and walk towards you.

"You don't need to memorize my favorite color or whatever the heck—just be present and actually act as if you're interested, please?" he pleads with you. You hum with a silent nod.

"I'll let myself out," the hero mumbles.

After a few moments, you hear the door close and the sound of his car speeding off into the night. The room is left in silence, filled with the weight of unexpected developments and the promise of an imminent meeting with Dynamight's parents.

Sitting back down at the table, you grab the velvet box. Opening it, you can't help but let out a gasp. The ring is absolutely beautiful, looking way too expensive to be just a regular engagement ring. Taking it out of the box, you can't help but marvel at its beauty.

"I always thought later in my life I would be proposed to a little bit differently…" you chuckle to yourself, unable to help feeling a little bittersweet at the moment you're currently experiencing. The unexpected turn of events, coupled with the striking beauty of the ring, creates a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

Sighing, you place your head down on the table, feeling the cold wood press against your skin. Closing your eyes, you didn't know what to think or feel—you were just there.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you look so… fancy?"

Currently sitting inside your "fiancé's" car, you're being berated once more for no exact reason. "I just thought that since I'm meeting your parents and all that I would dress nice," you say unbothered as you fix up your makeup in the passenger mirror.

"Plus, I bought this a year ago; m'not letting it collect dust."

You hear the blonde let out a drawn-out sigh, before you knew it, you felt a surprisingly soft hand wrap around your wrist. Looking over, you see him stare at the ring on your finger.

Swallowing your spit, you look over at his hand.

No ring.

"And where's your ring?" you say sternly. "It's right here," he mumbles as he reaches into his armrest. "I was gonna put it on but… I didn't know which finger to put the stupid thing on," he says.

You chuckle at his words as you grab the box from his hand and open it. He chose a pretty nice ring for himself also. Taking the ring out of the holder, you grab his hand and slowly slip the ring on.

"There," you speak softly.

"Thanks," the hero mumbles before quickly snatching his hand away from your grasp and placing them on the steering wheel. Quickly driving off.

Looking at the sights, you see the transitions from the bustling, busy city life to a quiet suburban city. You watch as the hero drives around the town, memorizing every turn and every stop.

Sometimes he would tell you a story about him from childhood whenever he would see a certain park or store. It was nice.

But that "nice" feeling in your body soon turned into anxiety as you watch the car turn down a neighborhood road. The neighborhood is nice, beautiful homes with nicely trimmed grass. This is a place you'd see yourself growing up in if your family actually had the money to.

As the car slows to a stop, you park outside the home of your boss's parents. Swallowing your spit, you nervously play with your ring before looking up at the blonde.

"Hey," he says, and you lift your eyebrows in response.

“Call me Katsuki.”

Your eyes widen at the thought of already starting a first-name basis. "Okay, you can call me Y/n," you say. Katsuki nods at your words, "nice name" he mumbles (he's too bashful to be authentically nice).

"Thanks, you have a nice name too," you say.

"Thanks."

A beat passes before you then watch the blonde hop out of the car and walk over to your side. Opening your door, he holds out his hand for you. Looking at his hand for a moment, you press your lips into a line before grabbing it softly.

Interlacing your fingers with the pro-hero, you didn't know what waves of emotions were going through you at the moment. You felt like a high school girl going on her first date.

You notice once more how soft his hands were. Who knew hands that were known to brutally fight against evil and maintain justice and peace in the city were so...soft.

Taking your other hand and placing it on his arm, the both of you walk side by side to the front door. As Katsuki rings the doorbell, you squeeze his hand.

"You'll be fine."

You silently nod before hearing the door unlock. As the door swings open, you're met with a man with brunette hair and glasses who looks exactly like your fiancé. Thus, none other than his father, of course.

"Oh, hello!" he says pleasantly with a soft smile. Unraveling yourself from Katsuki's grasp, you reach out to shake. "Hi, Mr..." your brain paused for a moment.

"Bakugo, Mr. Bakugo, dear," he says with a chuckle. Shaking his hand, he gives you a firm shake before letting you go. You smile as you revert to resting your hands at your center.

"Or you could call me Dad, or Mr. Dad—"

"Please, old man," Katsuki groans. This earns a quiet chuckle out of you.

"Please come in," he says awkwardly, motioning you to follow. As you step into the house, you can't help but quietly speak as you feel the warm touch of Katsuki's hand ghosting around your waist.

As the both of you settle in, you can't help but look at every corner of the house. The modern home was everything you thought it would be. Sleek design yet a homey color palette; you wish this was your childhood home.

Your eyes grazed over framed photographs capturing moments of joy from the pro-hero's childhood. A part of you still didn't believe you were seeing the things you were seeing today.

As you move through the house, Katsuki's father engages in casual conversation, sharing anecdotes and stories about their family. The initial nervousness begins to subside as you find yourself being drawn into the easygoing charm of the Bakugo family.

The living room, adorned with plush furniture and warm hues, invites you to take a seat. Katsuki, still by your side, maintains a protective presence that brings a sense of comfort.

"Dinner will be ready soon. Why don't you make yourselves comfortable?" Mr. Bakugo suggests with a warm smile, leaving you and Katsuki alone for a moment.

The two of you find a spot on the couch, and as you sit together, the air is filled with a mix of anticipation and the gentle hum of family life. Katsuki's hand finds yours again, offering silent reassurance amidst the subtle excitement of the evening.

"He's nice," you mumble softly at Katsuki, which earns a humorous scoff from him. "Yeah, he's too nice, maybe he actually took his meds today," the blonde says. You silently mouth an "oh" before looking around the room some more.

Suddenly, you catch a glimpse of Katsuki's mother in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal. She also looks just like him; you watch as her eyes match up with yours. Before you could politely bow or smile, her eyes were off of you.

Looking back down into your hands, Katsuki immediately tells that something is off. "Hey, don't mind the old hag; she's just in her feelings." You breathe in, trying to register your emotions and the "old hag" quip.

"Yeah, but I mean, she has every right to act the way she's acting. If I didn't know my son was getting married—let alone had a girlfriend until it's basically time for them to say their vows—I would feel a type of way as well."

Katsuki rolls his eyes as he attempts to place his hand on your thigh. But you turn away from him with a frown. Before the blonde could say anything else, "Mr. Dad" comes walking through.

"Hey, kids, the food is ready," he says with a smile.

You nod before looking back at Katsuki. As the both of you walk towards the dining table, Katsuki pulls out your chair and helps you sit down. As you settle down, you hear a quiet scoff in the distance. Already gathering that scoff was owned by his mother.

Looking down, you stare at the food placed before you. The aroma wafts through the air, and you can't help but smile. "Wow, this looks amazing! I haven't had a home-cooked meal in so long, thank you."

"No need." Looking up, you notice another figure sitting on the opposite side of the table. "Hello, Mrs. Bakugo," you say with a soft bow.

Nothing in return.

Looking over at Katsuki, you could sharpen a dozen kitchen sets with the look he just gave his own mother. The tension in the room becomes palpable, and you find yourself navigating the delicate balance of emotions while trying to enjoy the anticipated family dinner.

As the family gathers around the table, you notice the strained atmosphere between Katsuki and his mother. The unspoken tension hangs in the air, creating an undercurrent that makes you tread carefully with each bite.

You exchange glances with Katsuki, silently acknowledging the situation of family dynamics. Despite the awkwardness, you decide to break the ice by engaging in conversation with Mr. Bakugo.

"So, how did the two of you meet?" he asks. Looking over at Katsuki stuffing his face with rice, you look back over at his father with a bashful smile.

"We met at work; I'm his secretary," you say with a chuckle. Katsuki's dad lets out a chuckle along with you. You also notice that his mother is chuckling too. As she looks into your eyes with a mischievous smile, her eyes glaze over at her husband.

"You know what they say about secretaries…"

"Which is?" you look over at Katsuki, throwing mental daggers at his mother. She swallows her food and chuckles, "I'm just saying! Clearly, you have a type."

"Keep pushin' me; old dirty hag," Katsuki spits venom with every word that comes out of his mouth. Your eyes widen at the vulgarity of the words he chose. Placing your hand above your mouth in shock.

"Or what? Little bastard—"

"Okay!" Mr. Bakugo yells out.

All eyes snap towards him.

"Mitsuki, do you have any other questions for Y/n?" he says anxiously.

A moment of silence passes before she speaks again.

"Where are you from?" she asks.

"I'm from (hometown)," you respond.

"Education?"

"I'm a college graduate in hero analysis and communications."

"How old are you?"

"27, ma'am…28 in (birth month)."

"How many kids are you willing to have with my son?" she suddenly asks. This makes Katsuki and his father choke on their food, sending you aback, and a warmth grows on your cheeks.

"Oh, what? It's not like they haven't had sex before!" she argues.

"Well—"

"Well, what? You're celibate?" She questions; you look over at Katsuki before quietly nodding. "Oh wow, I guess he's really in it for the long haul." Mitsuki sips her drink before going on another brigade of questions for you.

By the end of dinner, things were…okay? You believe you made a good impression on Mr. Bakugo. His mother, on the other hand, was a whole different case.

Soon, you and Katsuki were in the kitchen washing dishes while the older couple sat on the couch to converse. The clinking of dishes serves as a backdrop to the muffled conversation in the living room. The warmth of the water and the shared task provide a brief respite from the earlier intensity.

As you scrub a plate, Katsuki breaks the silence. "Sorry about that, she can be a real pain in the ass."

You look over at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's okay, I can handle it. Besides, I'm getting to know your family."

He grumbles in response, his usual tough exterior softening for a moment. The rhythmic sound of washing dishes continues, and you can't help but feel a sense of unity, even in the midst of familial complexities.

"It's not okay; she's never acted like that towards a guest ever, and it's you of all people," he says. You can tell through the tone of his voice that he's genuinely upset. You watch closely as he washes off some scum from a knife with his fingers.

"You didn't deserve that—god, she can be such a bitch—ah, shit!" Katsuki curses as he holds out his finger. He didn't realize, through his fit of anger, that he'd cut his finger.

Your eyes widen at the sight.

"What's going on in there?" You hear Mitsuki yell out.

"K-Katsuki?" You stumble with your words.

"Damn it, sorry," he mumbles.

"I'm fine, there's a first aid kit under the sink."

Quickly grabbing the kit, you come to his aid. Carefully bandaging up his finger. "Katsuki, I promise I've gone through worse. This is only a nib in the bud," you reassure him.

Finishing up the bandage, you place the first aid kit back under the sink. Looking back up at the blonde, you softly smile, placing your hand on his arm before glancing back over.

As you look over, you see Mitsuki staring into your soul, but this time neither of you breaks contact. "Did you guys want to stay for dessert?" Katsuki's father follows up.

The both of you look over at him, and you begin to speak, "Um—"

"Nah, early patrol and an interview tomorrow," Katuski speaks as he sneaks an arm around your waist. "Mm, yeah. That also translates to a lot of paperwork and notes for me," you attempt to make a joke to lighten the air.

This earns a chuckle from the father, "Well, let us lead you out."

As the four of you head towards the door, you watch Katsuki from the corner of your eye get a pat on the back from his father and a thumbs-up, mouthing "I like her" before he slips away from him.

Before leaving, the both of you turn and bow. "It was nice seeing you both for the first time. I hope to come here more often; the food was great."

"Anytime Y/n, the pleasure is ours."

As the both of you turn away hand in hand, you're stopped by a gasp of your wrist. "I'd like to give you a couple of words," says Mitsuki.

"Oh—"

"Whatever you say to her, you can say to me," Katsuki says sternly. His mother rolls her eyes, "Oh, please go to the car; I'm not gonna bite her head off!" She complains.

You give Katsuki an assuring glance before letting him go to the car. Facing his mother, you expect the worst. "Yes?" you say.

She lets out a sigh before she speaks, looking at you with almost a pitiful look. “I don’t know if you’re a good fit for my son yet, but I can tell you care for him. And that’s what matters the most.”

She then places her hand to touch yours, lifts your hand, and observes your ring. "Y'know I was staring at this the whole night? I just can't believe it."

Staring down at the ring, you nod your head in agreement.

"Me either."

I HOPE YOU ALL LIKED IT!! THE FIRST HALF OF THIS BOOK IS COMPLETE! ONLY 6 MORE CHAPTERS LEFT!

— lovelyiida

#mha headcanons #lovelyiida #mha #mha imagines #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #bnha insert #mha fanfiction #bakugo x reader

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latoyalestrange · 1 year

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an idea for Sebastian x the MC: MC is on her period and walking with Sebastian when she has a bad cramp, one of those you can’t really ignore and need to sit down for a min and endure the pain. Sebastian’s immediate reaction is thinking she was cursed like Anne because she’s always out fighting goblins. She really doesn’t want to tell him because what teenage girl wants to talk about that with their crush but he’s so worried and won’t drop it. (side note: did teenage boys know about periods in the 1890’s? i deadass have no clue)

omg my mind juices are flowing. what a wonderful idea, anon. thank you for the free labor.

speaking of which, by the time i post this i will most likely have hit 500 followers!! ding ding ding!! why do you guys follow me? i defo do not deserve all the love you guys give me.

another question, how should we celebrate? there are no bad ideas because i have none. anyway, enjoy!

pinky promise

s. sallow x f!reader

summary: normally you keep these things to yourself, or at least to you and your menstruating friends. but one sebastian sees you doubled over in pain, privacy goes out the window. he's so freaked out that you have no choice but to tell him the truth to ease him.

words: 0.6k

warnings: mentions of periods, cramping, angst, hurt/comfort, crying!seb, not edited!

you were just fine moments ago. you were walking with sebastian to the library to study, talking, joking, all of the normal things you would do. he didn't notice you weren't next to him at first. everything was just fine. but suddenly, everything came crashing down when he saw you clutch your side, your face twisting with anguish. he couldn't help it. he immediately saw anne in you, crying out in pain from her curse. everything slowed around him, all he could hear was his own heavy breaths as he stood helplessly in shock. a million thoughts were racing through his mind. he knew you were one to track down the remaining loyalists on your own, but how could he have missed it? you were probably in so much pain but with too much pride to admit it.

most of all, though, he was angry with himself for being unable to protect you. he'd already let it happen to his sister once, he should've taken more precautions. he should've known, he should've stopped it. without wasting another second, he raced to your side, wrapping his arm around you to support you.

"no, no, no, no, no...please don't tell me..." his voice was already breathless and trembling. with your eyes still screwed tightly shut, his words seemed distant, muffled almost. the sharp pain that suddenly surfaced in your abdomen shrouded all your other senses. you couldn't get a word out if you tried, so you just held up your hand, a weak attempt at calming him.

"no, no, i can't--" he didn't even try to hide the tears pooling in his amber eyes. he quickly dropped to his knees in front of you as you knelt over to get a better look at the expression on your face. his hand instinctively cupped your face.

"y/n, please tell me you weren't cursed, please!" he was full-on crying at this point, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks that were now flushed with worry. you were quickly brought back to reality, hearing the pain in his voice. you opened your eyes and instantly felt horrible.

you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as you slowly started to straighten your spine as the cramp faded away. "no, sebastian, i'm fine--"

"no, you're not fine!" he was practically wailing now, gripping onto your robes hopelessly before wrapping his arms around your waist with an almost unbearable grip and hiding his dampened face in your torso. you were fast to rest your hands in his hair, gently patting it to somehow soothe him.

"sebastian, really, i'm okay, i'm just..." you continued running your fingers through his hair as you contemplated the truth. to be frank, this was something you were hoping you didn't have to talk with sebastian about. however, the lingering students in the central hall were already giving the two of you stares, you needed to calm him.

"it's...my time, sebastian." you tried to keep your voice hushed as to not draw more attention, but your wording sent him even further from relaxing.

"your time?!" he shouted incoherently, tears still streaming down his face.

you gasped, realizing your mistake, "no, no! sebastian, it's my time of the month." as if a switch had flipped in his brain, his brow softened immediately as he stared blankly at you.

"oh." he let his arms linger around your waist as he tried slowing his breathing. after a moment, he pulled you closer once more, his cheek flush with your stomach.

"please don't scare me like that again," he mumbled adorably, still holding tightly onto you.

"i--...sure, okay. i'm sorry, sebastian. i didn't mean to scare you, darling." you decided not to argue with him. in that moment, all he needed was love.

"and pinky promise no more ashwinder camps without me," he added, craning his neck to look up at you with puffy eyes. you suppressed a chuckle but still smiled down at him.

"pinky promise."

#sebastian sallow angst #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow headcanon #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy headcannons #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow smut

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kabra-malvada · 2 years

Text

🔥Steam punk Y/N design🔥

My fav doodle lol:

Y'all have no idea how fun it was to design them, wanted to make them buff-ish but I'm not that good at drawing muscles ;; Hope u like it still :3

Also I'm adding this cuz I forgot what tags i used on the og post:

Some info about Steampunk Y/N (I might reckon sum info of the og doodles above):

They love cherry beer.

They come from a small town where they were the local detective, until chief of police Vanessa called them in for assisting in the missing kids cases.

They lost their arm on an accident right before they graduated military academy, but came back at it a year later when Vanessa already graduated. Took a while to get used to robot limb.

Robotic prosthetics are a new niche technology, so is rare to see someone like them on a daily basis.

Very optimistic, but also a realist vibes.

They're looked down upon for being a "Bot freak" by most people. Usually humans.

Met the boys cuz their arms got busted on a shootout when they arrived in town and nobody wanted to help them out, so they had to ask the toymakers to help them.

And that's it for now! I'm working on a little something involving this AU for my 500+ special so follow and stay tuned for when that's ready. I have to polish it as much as I can before showing y'all what I've been working on, won't tell what it is tho. But I wanted to post the design beforehand to give y'all a crumb :3 Likes and rebblogs are really appreciated 💖

#steampunk au #Bronzed dreams and missing toys #BDMT #sun/moon fnaf #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnafsb #sun/moon x reader #fnaf self insert #fnaf x reader #sthu kabra #fan art

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miguel-ohara-lover · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 12 - Siren!Miguel

Prompt list

CW: Nsfw, siren Mig, M!Reader, marking

Note: I’m having a really hard time doing anything today so it might not be that great. I am somewhat proud of it tho and it is very fitting for today since I’m so close to 500 followers :3

Mythical creatures like vampires and werewolves never scared you, even as a child when your older sibling would tell you ghost stories. Perhaps you just grew used to the eerie feeling that the tales gave off.

In turn this made you into quite the brave young man. Nothing seemed to frighten you too much, with the occasional exception of actual real world consequences. You’d just laugh and shake your head at the stories, they couldn’t be real.

So when you found yourself heading to a cave in a remote part of the beach, it wasn’t unusual. There’s nothing scary other than the fact that you walked so far from people. That was until you heard it.

A smooth voice glided through the air and into your ears, entrancing you and willing you forward. That was indeed freaky, it felt like you had lost control of your body, like you were being pulled to the cave.

You had heard tales of sirens previously, but they were just that, tales. Stories made up by men bored on their boats. One in your area was pretty popular though, of a male siren by the name of Miguel. You never believed it before, and part of you desperately didn’t want to start now.

You soon found yourself deep in the darkness of the rocky walls, the only light left being form the entrance far behind you. You could hear the water moving around you, now waist deep, unable to see.

Something almost scaly feeling brushed against your leg. You pulled back, expecting some snake or other reptile. When you looked down you could make out the vague silhouette of something coming out of the water. You squinted, trying to see what it was.

As your eyes adjusted to the dark you could finally see it was a man. A very handsome man… Blush spread across your cheeks, your mind forgetting about how weird this all is for a few moments. Before you could do or say anything he retreated back into the water.

You tried to follow him with your eyes, but couldn’t see into the water with how dark it is. You then felt two hands grab your waist and pull you down. They didn’t pull you under the water, just enough so you were on your knees, your once dry shirt now wet.

“It’s been awhile since anyone so handsome came by~” A smooth voice whispered in your ear, making you blush more. You could feel something large and hard pressed against your clothed ass, knowing what it is almost immediately.

The mysterious stranger moved his hands down, one making its way to your crotch and groping at the bulge in your trunks. You let him slide his hand into the fabric, letting out a small moan as he stroked your cock slowly. He seemed very pleased with that and removed his hand.

You felt him yank your trunks down, your skin now exposed to the water, his cock now against your bare ass. Your own hand brushed against his hip, and that’s when you felt the same scales you felt before. You initially freaked out, thinking you once again touched a reptile of some sort or a fish, but then you felt the scales transition into skin. You slowly realized the reality of this, he was a siren, and most likely the “Miguel” people would talk about.

Your thoughts were cut short when you felt the tip prod at your entrances, replaced quickly by those previous thoughts of how hot this all was. Hey you didn’t mind a random hookup with a stranger, and the mystery of all this was exciting. You let out a low moan as he started to push into you, his hands gently holding your hips as he guided himself.

Miguel was slow at first, letting you adjust to his size once completely inside you. Your cock was hard under the surface, spilling precum into the water already. He kissed along your neck and jawline, being gentle as he started leaving little marks on your skin. He then started to move his hips, thrusting into you at a steady pace.

You covered your mouth with your hand, a desperate attempt to muffle your moans. It felt so good, and he’s so much bigger than any man you had previously been with. His hands moved from your hips and up your torso, feeling your soft skin as his pace quickened slightly. He trances every curve of your body with his fingers, admiring every detail.

His touch drove you crazy, leaving a warm feeling where ever his skin had met yours. He started to thrust harder, slamming into you and encouraging you closer to release. You let out gasps and moans as he did so, feeling a familiar knot form in your gut.

Miguel bit at your neck, as if he were marking you as his. That sent you over the edge, the pain of his teeth mixing with pleasure was too much. He felt you tighten slightly around his cock as you spilled cum into the water, you panting and whimpering as you did so. He loved those sounds, you sounded so desperate to him, so beautiful.

It wasn’t long before he came inside you, feeling your ass with his seed. His thrusts didn’t slow as he fucked his cum deeper into you. You moaned and whined a little in protest, feeling slightly overstimulated from so much pleasure.

He finally pulled out and holds you onto some flat rocks above the water near the entrance. You could see his face better, damn he’s hot. Well, you already knew that but still. Seeing his face in the light was almost enough to get you hard again.

With the added light you could see his tail under the water. It was beautiful, shimmering in the sunlight. How could anyone be afraid of this? He’s gorgeous, and you you definitely be returning to this beach often.

———

Idk if anyone wants to be tagged since it’s an M!Reader but here you go anyway haha

@6thhokageswife @zaunsin @famouscattale @m4dyy @thedevax @migueloharastruelove @queerponcho @lynnxnnyl

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara kinktober #miguel o’hara x male reader

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mikashisus · 3 months

Text

Family Line

”suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.”

— oscar wilde

summary: Chief Justice Neuvillette doesn’t quite understand human emotions. His daughter is the complete opposite, a girl who feels a little too much all at once.

And suddenly, all of Fontaine is experiencing her pain.

pairing: (platonic) father!neuvillette & daughter!reader

content warnings: mentions of su!cide, su!cide attempts, character death

other disclaimers: neuvillette being a bad father but hes trying his best, egeria mentions, mc is fontaine’s it girl, furina trying to act like an older sister but failing, mc is a demigod, mc is half dragon

wc: 2.4k

author's notes: was listening to ‘dead mom’ from the beetlejuice soundtrack and immediately thought to write something based off of it. also based off of family line by conan gray.

trigger warning for su!cide mentions and death mentions. please stay safe!

cross-posted on ao3, written before the events of 4.2!!

All you knew about your mother was that she died in a freak accident 500 years ago. At that time, you were only ten years old.

Ten years too young in your father’s eyes and ten years too old in your mother’s.

Your mother would constantly tell you how honest and wise you were for your age, even going as far as to joke that you would become the new god of wisdom one day. Of course, those were all jokes, and your mother was all lies.

But… there was no denying that you missed her more than anything. She was your safe haven, your shelter, your rock.

As a child, you had a multitude of tantrums. Of course, tantrums were normal in children, but you were special. Your mood swings would decide the weather in Fontaine, which mostly consisted of a downpour followed by incredibly thick fog. Demigod children were not at all common, and your mother knew that. She also knew why the weather was decided by your mood.

She did her best to calm you, sing you a lullaby so that you’d fall asleep and forget about why you were upset. That’s why she was your rock. She stabilized you, knew how to keep your mood under wraps so that you would spare the Fontainian people from another day of pouring rain.

As for your father, he wasn’t in the picture much. Not until your mother passed, that is. You always knew that they weren’t the type to co-parent— that there weren’t really any deep feelings present between them.

Love was trivial to them. You always wondered why they had even gotten together in the first place if they didn’t feel any love towards each other. But you never asked… because, at the time, you were a child and you knew they wouldn’t answer because of that reason alone.

Now, you were old enough to hear the answer. Sadly, your mother was dead, so you couldn’t hear her answer. But your father was alive… and unfortunately for you, he wasn’t a talker. He preferred to leave you in the dark about most things, not seeing a reason to tell you about them if they did not concern you.

And that’s where the problem began.

Your father was emotionless. You often thought of him as a statue. Unfeeling, uncaring, still, and pensive. There was nothing behind those slitted eyes. No trace of sympathy, no trace of remorse. His voice was stern and commanding in the courtroom, and authoritative when it came to you.

Eventually, the rough sound of his voice had become a sound you loathed to hear.

You often wondered why your mother chose him of all people to have a child with. He wasn’t father material, and he definitely did not act like one towards you… but he did take care of the melusines. And that made you angry beyond repair.

You were his own flesh and blood. His only daughter, his pride and joy. Why did he pay you no mind, yet set all of his work aside to aid a melusine? Jealousy burned hot and red through your veins.

Your father was no father at all, and you refused to regard him as such. When a Fontainian you met in the streets would greet you, they’d immediately reduce you down to the “Chief Justice’s Daughter,” a title you loathed greatly. They wouldn’t call you by your name, and it made you all the more angry.

Eventually, you had enough of hearing that name, and refused to leave the Palais Mermonia. If the people would not respect you, then you would not come out to greet them. You stayed locked up in your room for decades, refusing to leave, and not even answering the door when Lady Furina herself came to visit you.

Soon, the people of Fontaine had forgotten what you looked like, but they still told your tale. The tale of a beautiful girl that looked to be in her early twenties, with hair that fell neatly along her shoulders and held the grace and elegance of a princess. A girl that dressed like a princess too, with big blue ballgowns and flowy gold dresses that sparkled in the sun. Jewelry on every wrist, the finest golden earrings, and authentic pearl necklaces. Plump lips laced with lipgloss and eyelashes naturally long and fluttery.

The people loved you… even if they did not see you as more than the Chief Justice’s daughter. You were not your own person. All the smiles you wore for the people were fake. All those dresses you wore were just for show. They didn’t know that you and your father did not speak regularly, and they did not know that your relationship with him was rocky like a raging sea.

It did not help that the two of you were polar opposites. He was a man of little words and even littler emotion. And you, his daughter, were the complete opposite. You felt a little too much all at once— as if a dam was being broken.

Now, you stood in his office, listening as he discussed cordial matters with Lady Furina— who just so happened to be your older sister… your older half sister. Your family was complicated.

Your sister with whom you did not mesh well with ended her meeting with a dramatic sentiment, something not so different from how she usually presented herself. As she passed you, her heterochromatic eyes met yours briefly, before the doors to the office slammed shut behind her.

Now it was only you and your father left in the room. The ticking of the clock on the opposite wall seemed to grow louder each second that the two of you sat in silence. Tension hung thickly in the air, and you were waiting quite impatiently for him to break it.

Finally, after about five minutes of a pen scratching on paper, your father looked up to meet your eyes. You instinctively shrank under his gaze; the piercing, slitted pupils made you uneasy whenever you stared at them for too long. He folded his gloved hands neatly on the table and let out a sigh before he spoke.

“Your mother’s death wasn’t just hard on you, (name).”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. Not this talk again. You’ve had this talk with him many a times before, but all of those times, you refused to hear what he had to say. The subject was touchy for you, and he had known that… yet he continued to bring it up.

“It was hard to recover from—“

“You’re such a liar,” you couldn’t help but spit out, the words finally being said after centuries of you holding them back. “You never cared about mom. You never cared about me— you don’t care about me.” The accusation was harsh, you knew that, but you stood by what you said.

Neuvillette stared at you in shock and disbelief— the most emotion you’ve seen on him in your whole life. You were inclined to believe that maybe he had actually cared… but that thought was fleeting, just like his incredulous expression.

“You know very well that that isn’t true,” he spoke in a whisper, his tone defensive. “I cared deeply for your mother… I care deeply for you. You out of everyone should believe that—“

“How can I when you were never in my life until she passed?” you hissed, feeling the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. Eyes that resembled his much too closely. You always hated your eyes because of that common similarity. It was why you couldn’t look in mirrors. “You didn’t even make an effort as a father. In fact, you’re hardly even a father at all.”

It seemed as if your words had struck a chord within him, as the look in Neuvillette’s eyes suddenly turned to one of hurt, with an underlying guilt present. He opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but closed it a moment later.

You were undoubtedly right. He hadn’t done a thing. He hadn’t acted like a father at all— hadn’t even tried. Instead, he tended to his duties as Chief Justice and left the parenting to your older sister, who tried her best to raise you, but you wanted nothing to do with her whatsoever.

“…I suppose you’re right.” He sounded defeated.

You held no remorse. You got up and began to leave, fed up with both this conversation, and his bullshit.

“(name)—”

You ignored him as you slammed the door to his office shut and rushed upstairs to your room, where you collapsed onto your bed and let the tears flow.

As you cried, a downpour began outside your window. It was raining again… courtesy of both you and your father’s collective sadness. You had known for a long time why it rained when he was feeling down, and why it happened to you as well.

The secret behind your father’s origins was well known to you. Your mother had told you the story when you were very young. Neuvillette was a dragon— a dragon sovereign to be specific. One of Teyvat’s original lifeforms.

And you, as his daughter, had the power of such a strong elemental lifeform coursing through your veins. As a result of such inherited power, it rained when you cried.

Lifting your head to gaze out the window at the sour weather, you caught a glimpse of the picture sitting on your nightstand. An old, old portrait drawn of you, your mother (Egeria), Focalors, and Neuvillette. The whole family.

Rage burned hot in your veins, and you shot up from your bed to retrieve the portrait. Without thinking, you threw it to the floor and stomped on it, letting your emotions get the better of you. The rain outside got worse, speeding up into a thunderstorm as you threw open the doors to your balcony.

The bloodcurdling, painful scream that erupted from the back of your throat went unheard amidst the downpour, and you couldn’t care less about your soaked gown. Grasping onto the railing, you hung your head.

“I miss you so much, mom… and father doesn’t care. I wish you were here— I wish I could speak to you…” you screwed your eyes shut, a few centuries’ worth of memories flooding through your mind.

Everything, all of it, made you so undeniably frustrated and upset. You missed your mother, you missed her soothing voice and comforting lullabies. You missed the way she’d tuck you in at night and tell you tales of creatures of the deep. You missed her cooking and the way she’d spoil you with sweet treats. You missed her kind heart and playful nature, the way she’d chase you down the hall and swoop you up into her arms and twirl you around. You missed the fancy balls she’d hold for your birthday, each one more impressive and extravagant than the last. You missed the way she treated her people with the utmost love and care, and how she always told you to treat humans with complete kindness and compassion.

And most importantly, you missed being her daughter.

You almost slipped as you climbed onto the railing, thoughts of your mother still running rampant in your mind.

“I want to join you, mother…”

Without thinking again, you took a step, and your body felt weightless… but only for a second. You felt a tug on your arm; something was stopping you from falling.

As you looked up and met eyes with your savior, you broke down into another fit of sobs. Focalors was holding onto you for dear life, her hands trembling and her eyes holding a terrified look. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died on her tongue because of her fear.

Fear of losing you.

Another hand joined the fray, the blurry outline of Neuvillette appearing in your vision. You shook your head, attempting to pry your arm from their clutches. At your movement, Neuvillette rushed forward in one fast motion, grabbing onto you with both hands.

With a successful effort, the two of them pulled you back onto the balcony, with which you sat blankly for a few minutes. There was a deep ringing in your ears as your mind felt foggy. Had you really almost…

Focalors pounced onto you almost immediately, her heart pounding against her chest as she shook with tears of her own. Her hold on you was so tight, making it hard for you to breathe. It hadn’t registered in her mind just yet that she had almost just lost a sister.

Once it did, she hugged you tighter and cried into your shoulder.

Neuvillette stared down at the two of you, horror still laced in his slitted pupils as he gave you some space. As soon as you met his gaze, tears of his own began to flow down his cheeks.

You didn’t want to believe that the man you had known to show no emotion was currently crying, and so instead, you blamed it on the rain. Yes… it was just the rain falling down his face.

He leapt forward to capture you both in a tight hug, his soft sobs sounding like loud hammering in your ears.

“I’m sorry I failed you both,” he muttered in between cries, screwing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to realize how badly I’ve treated you… I hope you will forgive me one day.”

He hugged you both tighter, and as you made eye contact with Focalors and heard the fast beating of your father’s heart against your ear, you broke down into another fit of sobs.

You clung onto him like a life vest, letting out 500 years worth of pent up sadness and anger. You’ve longed for the day your father would show you any type of affection. And now, you were finally receiving it.

“Forgive me, my daughters,” he muttered again, kissing your forehead and then Focalors’. “I will be better. I will make up for lost time… I promise.”

As he vowed to be a better father, you suddenly felt as if your mother’s arms were wrapping around you in a warm embrace again, and the downpour of rain suddenly felt comforting rather than stinging.

Your mother’s soft voice entered your ears, her words but a whisper among the hollering rain.

Everything will be okay.

author’s notes: i might go back and add more onto this another time, but i think this’ll do for now.

furina is the mc’s half sister, and therefore is not blood related to neuvillette, but he still considers her his daughter regardless.

pls lmk what u thought of this & if u’d like for me to make this into a multi-chapter fic with a better outline. i love receiving comments on my works!

masterlist!

#genshin #genshin impact #angst #neuvillette #furina #fontaine #hurt/comfort #focalors #platonic #genshin x reader

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