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cryptidghostgirl · 2 months

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omg omg omg totally new silly idea- human! alastor x human! reader where they meet at a party and go outside for a walk near the pier and the moon is beautiful and… they pull out weapons on each other (specifically Alastor a knife and reader a gun) and thats when they decide to form a partner in crime partnership

And in other to keep appearances they are forced to “fake date”

Mimzy: youve been spending some time with that new girl havent you, is she your gf or smth?” chuckle

Naize 20 yr old smth Alastor trying to think of a response thats not that:...

Mimzy: OMG IS SHE?

Alastor: sureeeeee

And they aren't actually into each other until a lot later into their partnership when they’re chasing some guy and reader gets to them first and just starts going at it “hey man i think hes had enough” “YOU WANT WHAT HES HAVING???” thpe shit

and Alastor has to catch his breath and he lowkey thinks hes dying because his heart starts beating a lot, And he goes again to mimzy for advice cuz i dont think he has anu friends and shes like “oh sweetie…”

And because its quite impossible to not get attached at one point theyre in another chase and reader starts laughing hysterically like “did you see him trying to run away??? lmao” and he goes “I couldnt take my eyes off you” and then just grabs her face and SMOOCH >:)

I think its a good trope- fake dating to actual dating even if its. about. murderers- :3

A/N YOU GUYS COME UP WITH THE BEST REQUESTS JESUS CHRIST!!! Also I promise I will get to the rest of the requests this weekend, I had two exams today so this is the only thing I am gonna post. Sorry.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: uh, murder. Mild gore. Violence. Weapons.

Word Count: 4,460 (I went a little overboard with this one)

Master Lists:

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"I'll walk her home, don't worry Mimzy." Alastor was saying as Y/n pulled her coat over her shoulders.

The noises of the party still raging on filtered into the grand entryway of the house, muffled through the walls. Mimzy shot her two friends a suspicious look.

"It's nothing like that, Mimz." Y/n sighed, straightening the collar of her fur coat, "I just asked cause of all those murders in the news. Kinda freaky, don't you think? I don't really wanna be out alone at night and Al here was kind enough to offer."

Mimzy crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.

"Sure." she teased.

"Mimzy." Alastor sighed in response and she put her hands up in false surrender.

"Sorry! Sorry." she hummed playfully, "I know you two free birds would never."

Alastor rolled his eyes and, turning to Y/n, held out his arm. She took it daintily, a grateful smile on her face. The pair had just met a few hours earlier but had quickly fallen into a casual camaraderie. He lead her from the house, Mimzy calling her goodnights and wishes for their safety after their retreating forms.

It was a mostly quiet walk through the desolate midnight streets of New Orleans. Y/n hummed softly, kicking a can along with the toes of her healed shoes.

"You'll ruin them that way, wont you?" Alastor asked, feigning concern.

Y/n just shrugged.

"They're shoes. Yeah, they're nice but I wont let that stop me from living. Let's stop by the water, it's so pretty tonight."

Alastor turned slightly, looking out at the Mississippi with it's slightly turbid waters reflecting the light of the stars. He tried not to smile, it was like she wanted him to carry out his intended work. She was making it so easy for him.

"Sure."

They turned towards the rail and Y/n let go of his arm, leaning her elbows against it. She let out a sigh of longing as her eyes tracked the ripples in the surface.

Alastor watched her for a moment, the moon illuminating her features. She was a handsome woman, there was no doubt about it. It had been proved to him tenfold by the amount of prospective partners she had turned down dances with at the party in favor of drinking with him at the bar. That was not what Alastor was interested in, however. Once he was sure she was distracted, once he was sure she had no intent to take her eyes from the glowing river, he looked down. Moving his coat slightly to the side, his hand quickly found its way to the hilt of the knife he had stashed in his waistband for just such an occasion.

He pulled it out, the weight familiar, almost comforting in a sense, in his hand. There was a click. He looked up, the blade pointed to its intended target.

Y/n was facing him now, a wry smile on her face. One foot in front of the other, she took a step forward. The muzzle of the gun, the cocking of which had been the source of the noise which had drawn his attention, just a few centimeters from his chest. The tip of his knife hovered indefinitely by the open center of her coat. He chuckled in amusement, eyebrows raised.

"I thought there were a few more bodies in the news than there should have been. A gun? Really?"

Y/n shrugged.

"I'm little. I don't have the privilege of being able to overpower my victims like you."

Alastor hummed softly. A slight breeze picked up, playing with the edges of their hair.

"What a shame."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"I don't think so. It works well enough."

"Those machines are inelegant, they are detached."

"And you prefer a sense of intimacy to be involved in all your escapades?"

Alastor removed the knife, holding it up to his eyes. He turned the blade over in his hand, examining it closely. Following suit, Y/n let her hand fall to her side, the gun still cocked should an occasion arise to use it.

"I have an idea." he suddenly announced.

"Oh?" Y/n asked.

She took a step back, returning to the water's edge. Alastor followed, leaning over the railing beside her. They watched one another closely, weapons still clutched loosely in their hands.

"Yep."

"You gonna tell me what it is or am I gonna have to guess?" Y/n teased after a moment, breaking the oddly comfortable silence that had fallen after Alastor's last words.

"There have been a few times, of late, where I've come a bit... uncomfortably close to being seen."

"Getting lazy." Y/n hummed, "Or maybe just cocky."

"It seems like you could use a hand, someone with brute strength in case anything goes wrong."

She scoffed, smiling just the slightest bit.

"Are you proposing we work together?"

"You're the one who said it, not me."

Y/n shook her head slightly, amused.

"How would I know you wouldn't just turn on me? End up killing me or decide not to step in if I needed help?"

"And how would I know that you wouldn't rat me out? Alert someone to where I was and what I was doing rather than telling me someone was coming? It's called trust, Y/n."

Y/n thought it over, fiddling with the gun in her grip as she did so. Alastor watched, seeing the gears turning in her mind through the light of her eyes.

"Fine." she said at last, un-cocking the gun and holding a hand out to him, "You've got yourself a deal."

Alastor smiled, slipping the knife back into his belt before grasping her hand in his. It was chilled by the air of the January night enveloping them.

"Deal."

Y/n quickly learned Alastor's preferred demographic. He had a penchant for angry men, drunks. Y/n had been a one off, a spur of the moment opportunity he had thought to take hold of. Alastor had not been like that for her. Y/n's preferred victims were also men. Anyone that showed any pressing interest in her, anyone who tried to take her home for the night, always ended up six feet under. For both, murder was a way of processing their personal experiences and traumas.

As a result of their deal, Y/n and Alastor began to spend more time together. They had to learn one another's intricacies, their ways of thinking, their nature of being. It was a necessity if anything was actually going to work. They both had rather busy work schedules, Alastor as a radio broadcaster with his very own show and Y/n as a seamstress at a local dress shop. Because of this, more often than not, the only time they had to get to know one another was through shared meals. Both of them had to eat, needed a lunch break or dinner. It was just what worked. Because of their slightly shared demographic of victim, they ended up in bars together quite frequently as well.

It was in one of these meet ups that they ran into their first difficulty. Y/n was sitting across a table from him outside a cafe, lazily sipping on a coffee as she perused the missing persons list in a newspaper. The newspaper was old, they were exchanging information about who was responsible for what. Working together didn't just mean knowing one another as they were now, but their histories as well.

They should have known not to sit in such a public place. Both had many connections in the city due to their jobs, though few friends. It just so happened on that day that the one true friend they did have in common was walking down the very street they sat on.

"Alastor?" Mimzy exclaimed, catching sight of his familiar face and moving towards their table.

Y/n folded the newspaper, placing it on the table as she turned towards the sound. Mimzy came to a stop, her brow furrowing in mild confusion as she saw her friend was not in fact alone.

"And Y/n, fancy meeting you two here."

"Pull up a chair, Mimz." Y/n smiled and Mimzy obeyed.

Swinging a spare chair from a nearby table, she quickly joined them.

"I haven't seen you two since the party! How have you been."

"Fine, fine." Alastor hummed and Y/n nodded her assent.

"And whats this with you two getting coffee?" Mimzy asked, a teasing smile slipping onto her face as Alastor took a sip of his own drink, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all Mimz." Y/n shook her head, a slight smile on her face, "It's always a pleasure to see you."

"You sure this isn't a date or something? I mean, with the way you two left and everything... having coffee alone..."

Alastor nearly choked on his drink. Y/n and Mimzy turned to him as he put a hand to his chest, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me." he said and Mimzy's grin widened.

"Oh this is totally a date."

"No!" Alastor exclaimed, exchanging a fervent glance with Y/n across the table.

She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. Without words, she told him to handle it. Alastor sighed.

"Are you sure?" Mimzy asked, a suggestive tone to her voice.

"I... uh..." Alastor stuttered, his brain working in overdrive to think of anything else. It came up empty, "Fine. Yes. We're... we're on a date."

"You caught us." Y/n chimed in and Mimzy turned to her.

"Oh my stars! You two.... I shoulda guessed you'd get on like a house on fire. Shame I can't invite you to any more of my singles parties though Y/n, you are a riot."

Singles parties. A hunting ground. Y/n smiled.

"No, no, Mimz. We're not exclusive or anything."

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly at the revelation as Alastor shot Y/n a look across the table. Dating was going to be hard for them to sell but swingers too? What was she thinking.

"Really? How exotic." Mimzy hummed in thought.

"We're all going to hell anyways so, why not." Y/n shrugged.

"Oh you." Mimzy laughed, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder as she got to her feet, "Well, I won't keep you love birds any longer. I'll see you next week for the next party then?"

"We'll see." Alastor hummed placidly.

Once Mimzy had gone, he rounded on Y/n.

"Swingers?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the whole 'we're dating' thing." Y/n sighed, picking the newspaper back up and resuming the task at hand, "I just made it easier for us."

"It will utterly destroy my reputation if this gets out you know."

Y/n shot him a look over the top of the paper.

"Al, you got a lot more to worry about than pretending to be a swinger in terms of your reputation. Now, Marcus Alcost? Six four, buff, scar on his left forearm? Brown hair?"

"Blue eyes?"

"Umm... yeah."

"Yep, that was me."

"Nice. Musta been a tough one to take down."

Alastor would track men, following them out as they left the establishments in the small hours of the morning with the intent of returning to their families. He would stalk them, corner them, lead them in. Y/n would stand watch, alerting him at the first sign of trouble.

The moment she heard footsteps, chatter, Y/n would duck in. Grabbing Alastor by the arm, she would whisk him off in some random direction, having consistently used the time she was on lookout to scout for escape routes.

They had had a few close calls, one or two times he had had to press her up against a wall and pretend to kiss her to avoid prying eyes. They always had a good laugh after something like that. Mostly, things worked out well. They each had survived on their own for years at this point. They knew what they were doing, adding another person into the mix just made it a tad easier.

Y/n, on the other hand, didn't need to track her victims down, they did that work for her. She would dress up all pretty and the moment someone asked to take her home or something of the like, would agree. Then she'd pull them into some ally or another under the guise of not wanting to wait a second longer and attack. Alastor would stand behind her, arms crossed menacingly as she carried out her work. He threatened so she could perform and she never had any trouble thanks to him.

That was, until one night about a year into their little partnership. As the time had passed, their relationship had grown. They still held the ruse of dating up before anyone who asked why it was they each spent so much time with the other but, a real friendship had begun to blossom between them as well. As it turns out, they had a lot more in common than just a tendency to commit brutal murders. Y/n knew Alastor well by now, better than anyone else most likely, and he knew her as well. That was how he could tell something was wrong.

Y/n had given Alastor the usual signal from across the bar and he had settled his tab. As he followed the pair, Y/n and the tall man whose hand she held, Alastor had noticed something was off. Normally by this point Y/n was stumbling around, pretending to be drunk and ditzy. She was doing this very thing now but in a more halted and jagged way. The man she was with seemed more believably drunk than she was, swaying this way and that. Her movements were uncharacteristically harsh as she pulled the man into the ally about a block ahead of him.

Alastor picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. He reached the ally and turned down it, expecting to see Y/n flirting with the man or with her gun out already. Instead, he was met with something entirely different.

At the back of the ally lay the huddled mass of the man. On top of him was Y/n. The thuds of her knuckles against his face was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. She hit him, again and again. Alastor stood there, stunned.

"Dear, whatever is the matter?" he asked at last, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Y/n."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see the splatters of blood now, on the ground around them and the wall behind. The thuds included the occasional squelch, the crack of a bone.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"You'll ruin your hands for work tomorrow if you keep at this."

Still, she ignored him. There was a sickening crunch. Sighing, he approached.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see it now, the man's mutilated face. Part of his skull looked like it had caved in. He had stopped moving long ago.

"Y/n, dear," Alastor tentatively reached out a hand towards her shoulder as he spoke, "don't you think he has had enough?"

Y/n whipped around to him, her eyes wild and her bloody raw knuckles raised. He froze, his hand hovering above her shoulder. There was blood everywhere. It soaked the sleeves of her collard shirt, it dripped from her fingers, it decorated her face and her bared teeth.

"What, you fucking want some too?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage, begging for escape. It wasn't fear, it couldn't be. He could take this girl down in ten seconds flat, blood hungry as she was.

Y/n's eyes, sharp with violence, softened slightly as she saw his reaction. She let her hands fall, resting them on the man's chest.

"He tried to drug me." she revealed, turning her eyes back to her mess, her masterpiece.

"He what?"

"Yeah." she sighed, using the back of her hand to push her hair from her eyes, leaving a residue of blood in the wake of the movement, "I caught him, switched the drinks."

Alastor shifted his gaze to the man before falling on Y/n once again. Her face was blank now, all the rage gone.

"He tried to drug me." she said again, her voice hollow.

At last, his hand found its home on her shoulder and she turned to face him once again. Alastor extended his free hand to Y/n. She examined it for a moment before daintily placing one of her own in his and allowing him to help her to her feet. Both her hands now rested in his as they looked back at the remains of the man.

"Well, he's definitely dead."

Alastor let go of Y/n's hands. Now free, he used one of them to turn her face to his. Blood spattered, wide eyed, lips slightly parted -- his heart fought for freedom from his chest once again.

"He deserved it."

Alastor let go of Y/n's chin and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe some of the blood from her face.

"Can you walk me home?"

Normally if she had asked something like that, Alastor would have teased her to no end. Why be scared of the monsters in the dark when she herself was one of them? But her voice had been small, timid. She had avoided his eyes and his fingers tingled at the prospect of her viewing him as protector.

"Of course, my dear."

They did not have another planned meeting until two weeks from that day. Y/n had a big project at work and wouldn't have any spare time because of it. Alastor, normally restless at the idea of having to wait so long to satisfy his bloodlust either by killing or seeing the show of death, was grateful for the respite. He was confused, overwhelmed even, because his strange reactions, the change in his patterns of thought towards the girl, hadn't ended at Y/n's front door.

No, she was haunting him. Like a vengeful ghost, he saw her in his mind. She took up every waking moment, he didn't know what to do. Alastor waited a day and still, it persisted. The skip of his heart, the odd slightly sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of their reunion. He waited three days and it didn't stop. By the time the end of the week rolled around and Alastor still found himself smiling at the prospect of only having to wait another week not to kill but to see Y/n again, he did the unthinkable. It was the only option he could come up with. Besides Y/n, she was the only other person in the world he even half trusted. Alastor called Mimzy.

"Alastor, darling!" she excitedly exclaimed into the phone, "What a surprise! What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, hey Mimzy. Um..." he struggled to find the words, fiddling with the phone cord as he walked to the window, looking down at the street below, "I just... I need your advice about something."

"What is it, hun?" she immediately replied, "Seems its got you in a tizzy, not a lot can do that."

"I... It's about Y/n."

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

"No. Maybe?" he turned from the window, collapsing in his desk chair, "I don't know."

"Spill."

"Well, we... I just.... Mimz, I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well I would hope not, you've been together for almost a year now."

"Yeah well, about that. It may have been a... stretching of the truth? Shall we say?"

"Al." Mimzy warned after a moment's silence, "If you are playing with this gi-"

"No!" he exclaimed, cutting her off and quickly crafting an excuse, "No. It was just to get our parents off our backs. We had a deal. They were both pestering us about when we were gonna get married, you know how it is."

"I thought your dad was dead?"

"My ma though, she really wants to see me settled down."

"I guess that explains the swingers thing." Mimzy sighed, "It didn't really seem in character for either of you. So, whats the matter?"

"I told you, I can't stop thinking about her. It's like... it's like... look, we're not dating, but we're friends, you know? And we were out at a bar together a few nights ago and she just... she did something and when I looked at her, it was like I died."

"That little minx." Mimzy laughed in glee, "What the heck did she do?"

"Just something, okay?"

"I have got to quiz her about this."

"No! Please, no. She'd... probably be embarrassed."

"Mmm... okay...." came Mimzy's doubtful reply, "So what was it you needed help with?"

"Well, that. It was like the breath had left my body entirely. I felt... sick, my chest hurt. It was so strange. I thought it would go away once I got some sleep but it didn't. Every time I think about her, it feels like there is a vice around my heart and I can't stop thinking about her."

"Al, seriously? This is what you're asking me about?"

"Yeah?" he uncertainly replied after a moment.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Mimzy, are you going to help or not?"

She sighed.

"Alastor, you have a crush on her."

A beat.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. Maybe even more."

"I..." his brow furrowed, his breath left his body.

This was bad. This could be dangerous, detrimental even.

"Are you sure?"

"Butterflies in your stomach? Pains in your chest? Can't get her out of your mind? You're even breathless for christ's sake Al. It's textbook first pangs of love."

"Fuck."

Mimzy laughed.

"You're already pretend dating, what harm would asking her to do the real thing with you do? My bet is, she's probably been feeling the same thing about you. That tends to happen in cases like yours, I've seen it before. The whole 'fake love turns real' trope. It's overdone if you ask me."

"Mimzy, this isn't one of your trashy romance novels. This is my life."

"So live it radio man! Go get that girl."

Alastor was nervous, trembling even as he sat at the bar. His glass of whiskey had gone warm on the table as he watched Y/n dancing and having fun in the crowd. This was how it usually went when it was his turn to hunt, she'd have fun and he'd find a target. Once the target left, he'd grab her and they'd move out.

Tonight he was distracted and it showed. The man had nearly given them the slip. With Alastor's knife still sticking out of his shoulder, he had ducked away and started running. Of course that meant Alastor and Y/n had to give chase. They ran after him through the streets of New Orleans as he screamed bloody murder and Y/n's heels clicked definitively on the ground. He was thankful that the hour was late and no one was out and about, thankful the man was so drunk his words came out closer to garbled singing than pleas for help, thankful he was slowed by his consumption.

When they at last caught up with him, Alastor grabbed his second knife from his belt and, taking the man's hurt shoulder in his free hand, buried it deep in the man's back. He fell to the floor, sputtering, coughing up blood. In a few moments he was still. Alastor turned to Y/n, panting.

Her pretty eyes traced a path between murderer and victim a handful of times before a smile broke out onto her face. Before he could really register what was happening, she was doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach.

Alastor watched Y/n, eyebrows raised as they both caught their breath. After about a minute, she straightened up and turned to him, wiping a tear from her eye.

"What?" Alastor asked with a wry smile, "What is so funny about a dead man."

"He..." she broke out into laughter again, "He... the way he ran! And we almost lost him?! Oh my god, Al, that coulda been so bad."

"The way... he ran?"

"He... didn't you see it? Oh my god, it was so funny. Like he was running in a three legged race with an invisible partner." she wheezed.

Alastor felt the heat pooling in his cheeks. Mimzy was right, it was time for him to live his life. A normal existence could coexist with his hobby, Y/n had already proved that to him.

"Didn't you see?" she asked again.

"No." he shook his head, "I was... I was watching you."

"You were... Al, theres no way you were." Y/n scoffed, "No way. If you were watching me, he would have gotten away. If you were watching me, it would meant that you were unconcerned by your oh-so-precious reputation being ruined. If you were watching me, it would mean..."

She trailed off as he took a step closer to her, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Y/n's cheeks flushed pink.

"Alastor."

Her voice was a dying prayer. Reaching a trembling hand up, he laid it on the back of her head, his fingers tangling with her hair as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Alastor closed the gap.

He had been so scared. Scared she would push him away, that she wouldn't kiss back. Even a little bit scared he'd just become the next name on her list of degenerate men she'd killed.

There was a moment, a split second, where his fears were realized. Then, she washed them all away. Hands buried in the lapel of his jacket, she pulled him closer, Y/n leaned in.

They broke apart after a moment, their cheeks flushed and utterly breathless.

"I-"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, Y/n?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"Oh please, I thought we'd moved past that darling."

Y/n smiled, still holding him close. Alastor let his hands fall onto her waist as they swayed slightly under the light of the moon.

"Yes Alastor. I will let you take me on a date."

"We will not be swingers."

Y/n laughed.

"Just had to make that clear."

"No, Alastor. If I am going to get you, I want you all to myself. Now, what are we going to do about that body?"

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 2

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

It’s Dustin who saves Eddie.

He doesn’t try and carry him back to the trailer, nothing like that—if he could manage that on determination alone, then he would, but his throbbing leg has other ideas.

So he stays by Eddie’s side. Throws off his hoodie and starts to rip any piece of his clothing that he can, because he’s come a long way from when he once stuck bandaids on Steve’s beaten up face.

“What… what are you doing?” Eddie says in between gasping breaths.

Dustin would laugh if he wasn’t so scared. “Buying more time,” he echoes. Then he looks Eddie right in the eye and adds, voice wavering, “I’m really fucking sorry in advance.”

He takes a deep breath and presses the material to Eddie’s chest with force.

Eddie screams.

Dustin grits his teeth. Keeps going.

He creates makeshift tourniquets for Eddie’s arms, keeps tearing at his shirt, then takes it off entirely to use as a larger bandage, ignoring the shock of cold against his skin; the only thought in his head is that he has to stop the bleeding.

Eddie’s hand finds his bare shoulder. Squeezes weakly. “Tha’s enough,” he slurs. “D-Dustin, stop.”

And Dustin only does what he says because it doesn’t look like any more blood is soaking through the material. He keeps pressure on the worst of the wounds, tries to keep his elbows locked, as if that will stop his relentless shivering.

And when he looks up, he sees a tear fall from Eddie’s eye, down his temple, into his hair—and Dustin somehow knows that it’s not from pain alone, that Eddie’s crying just because he can see how cold he is.

“M’sorry,” Eddie whispers. “Never meant for… for you to—”

“Shut up,” Dustin says, then hastily amends, “Actually, don’t shut up, just—just stay awake. They’ll be back soon, okay, Steve and Robin and Nancy, and they’ll—”

“Steve,” Eddie agrees. His voice goes up and down, like a little song: “Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“Yeah, he’ll—hey, Eddie, eyes open.”

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie says faintly. “Eyes… oh, forgot to… you were right, H-Henderson, he’s… a badass. S’got pretty eyes, too, like wow. Pretty, pretty…”

And…

Well. That’s a development.

“You can tell me all about Steve’s pretty eyes if you keep yours open.”

And Eddie’s eyes do jolt open at that, like he’s received an electric shock. He groans in mortification.

“Jesus Christ. Didn’t mean to—fuck, feel like I’m drunk, man, I can’t… just kill me.”

Dustin thinks he probably would have found that request funny if Eddie wasn’t saying it through teeth flecked with blood.

Still, he does let out a strangled, hysterical giggle when he says, “I know how to keep you awake now.”

Eddie groans again. “Spare me the—”

“He sings in the shower, like, full blown Elvis impression, all that jazz. And he denies having lucky socks, but he wears the same pair whenever Lucas has a basketball game.”

“Huh?” Eddie says eloquently.

“Pay attention, dude, you need to know what you’re getting into! Oh, he said when he went to see The Fox and the Hound, he cried.”

Eddie chuckles. “That’s… oh, that’s sweet.” He smiles, eyes bright, and Dustin suddenly knows that they’re gonna be okay. “Keep going?”

Dustin does. He talks about how Steve always says, “Two for joy,” even when he sees a singular magpie, because he reasons that the second one is always just hiding. How he eats ice-cream too fast, does a comical hop in place when he inevitably gets brain freeze. That whenever he happens to pick up Dustin from school, he almost always has a Simon and Garfunkel tape playing, sings along to At the Zoo as he turns out of the parking lot.

Dustin doesn’t mention the Farrah Fawcett spray; a promise is a promise.

Eddie seems pretty damn well entertained with what he’s been given, anyway. He keeps smiling, lets out breathy chuckles that give Dustin hope: that he still has enough energy to laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” he says, “I’m so awake, jus’… you just relax.”

And it’s only when Dustin stops talking that he realises his teeth have been chattering the whole time.

Eddie gives an unhappy sounding hum, and his hand comes up to clumsily rub at Dustin’s forearm.

“Your lips are blue.”

“I’m f-fine.”

A sudden desperate yell splits through the air; Dustin didn’t know that Steve could sound quite like that.

“Here!” Dustin shouts as much as he can.

He hears three people running; Steve gets there first.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Steve,” he says, and Dustin’s seen enough movies to think that this could be it, the big moment, or at the very least that Eddie’s about to give another wandering speech on Steve’s eyes.

But instead—

“Steve, Steve,” Eddie repeats, “Dustin’s cold.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says; he’s already taking off his jacket, shoving Dustin into it with this frantic mixture of urgency and care.

Dustin’s shivers get even more pronounced as the jacket’s zipped up, as the warmth from Steve’s body heat hits him.

“Think E-Eddie’s—b-bleeding stopped,” he says, accidentally biting on his tongue thanks to his chattering teeth.

Steve looks over Dustin’s handiwork, eyes shining. “Yeah, you did good,” he says, choked, rubs his hands down Dustin’s forearms more effectually than Eddie had. “You did so good.”

“You must’ve been wearing your socks tonight, Harrington,” Eddie says.

Steve stares at him. It’s only when he starts to laugh that Dustin realises he’s crying at the same time. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Shh, s’okay,” Eddie says. “I cried at th’movie, too, don’ tell anyone. S’not fair what… s’posed to be a happy endin’…”

Steve catches Dustin’s eye, says, deadpan, even with a tear-streaked face, “Doc, I think we’re losing him.”

Dustin whacks him on the arm, because it’s so stupid, it’s so Steve, and, God, they're really gonna be okay.

“Dustin’s th’best doctor,” Eddie chants, “best, best, best…”

“Yeah, he’s a goddamn superhero,” Steve says sincerely.

There’s a look Steve has on his face while he lifts Eddie up, a fleeting softness right before he goes back into planning mode, scanning the trailer park in case of any more threats; where Eddie’s fingers curl around Steve’s neck, and Steve smiles down at him, and…

Dustin would put a bet on Steve thinking Eddie has pretty eyes, too.

At least, he would if he could stand up.

When Steve clocks his leg, his jaw works a couple of times before he speaks. “Hey, Robin, Nance?” He raises his voice, looking to some point in the distance. “Could you—help Dustin up, I’ve—uh, kinda got my hands full.”

His tone is light, but his chin trembles just a bit, like he might break down at the thought that he can’t carry Dustin out of here, too.

“Okay, c’mon superhero,” Robin says, suddenly by Dustin’s side; she counts down, and then Dustin’s being carefully lifted up, an arm flung around Nancy, too.

“I’m okay,” Dustin feels the need to say. Robin and Nancy are out of breath, and he can’t help noticing the vivid red marks around their necks.

“Yeah, you will be,” Robin corrects.

“Is—is Eddie—?”

“Look, he’s right in front,” Nancy says. “Steve’s got him.” She lowers her voice and when she says, “You were really brave, you know,” Dustin has to swallow a lump in his throat: for a moment feels thirteen years old, her hand in his at the Snow Ball.

And she’s right; Eddie is right in front. Dustin can see him trailing a hand up and down Steve’s arm, slow and soothing, and he’s talking, just too far away to be heard.

For a few steps, Dustin thinks that Eddie must be spilling more of what he’s learned, regurgitating the anecdotes.

But then Robin and Nancy pull him a little closer. And he can read Eddie’s lips.

He’s okay, Eddie is saying, looking away from Steve’s face to find where Dustin is. He’s right behind us, sweetheart. He’s okay.

#dustin henderson fic #eddie and dustin #steve and dustin #steddie with dustin’s pov #henderfam #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #steve harrington #eddie munson #i couldn’t resist the music reference it’s a song i love but wasn’t coming up in nbtdad ❤️#dustin and nancy

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rafescurtainbangz · 4 months

Text

Professor Cameron - Rafe Cameron One Shot +18

Minor DNI

Based off a prompt by @geniousbh :

Rafe x female reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut & language

Fingering, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, pet names, squirting, overstimulation, breeding kink, praise kink, ownership kink, creampie, cum play, older Rafe

Lightly edited

3.1K

Taglist ♡ @imyourdaninow

Enjoy! 💕✨

"I'm so close to a C," you grumble, eyes rolling as you hold yet another Econ test between your fingers; D+ scrolled in blood-red ink. "Another fuckin' D."

"A D+, actually," your friend teases, tapping the top.

"Well, would you look at that?" You sass, readjusting yourself from your slumped state, eyes drifting ahead, matching Professor Cameron's. He represses a smile, running his palm against his lips.

"Do they do extra credit in college?" You whine, leaning into your friend, resting your head on her shoulder as you continue to sulk.

"Professor C? No fuckin' way; the guy's a hard ass."

"I don't think that's true," You look his way again, just missing his eyes. "He looks sweet," you whisper.

"He's hot as fuck," she adds, making your cheeks flush pink. "Is he married? I don't see a ring." She studies him a little further, trying to get a better look.

"Why does it matter?" You ask, narrowing your gaze on him.

"Meh. It doesn't, but it makes it easier. You said you wanted extra credit, sunshine." She wiggles her eyebrows, elbowing you playfully.

"Just tell me what you're getting at," you huff. "Class is almost over, and I need to figure this shit out."

"Jesus Christ, babe. You want extra credit. He's not married. And he already looks at you like he wants to devour you."

"Eat me?"

"If that's what you're into, or you could suck him off, I suppose," she giggles as you let out a little gasp. "Ugh... Stop clutching your pearls. If he was lookin' at me like that, he'd be blowin' my back out every day of the week."

"So, you really think he likes me?" Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you turn in his direction. He's not looking at me...

"Just give it a second," your friend breathes.

Professor Cameron thumbs through the remaining stack of tests, handing another small pile to his teacher's assistant before snagging his school bag and coffee cup. Your stomach floods with butterflies as he matches your gaze, walking toward the lecture hall steps.

"Just fucking do it," she groans. "Even if you don't get the extra credit, at least you'll get somethin' out of it."

"Something?"

"Dick... Seriously. What the fuck, girl?"

"Stop bein' mean," you whine. 'What if he doesn't want me?"

"Sure," she laughs.

********

You walk down the hallway, heading toward the faculty offices. Wandering slowly as you skim the name plaques, searching for his.

Professor Rafe Cameron

Rafe? You bite back a nervous smile. I've never met a "Rafe" before. You lift your fist, giving the door a soft knock.

"Come in," he calls from behind it. You twist the handle; Rafe's blue eye expands slightly, along with his smile. It quickly fades. Maybe he doesn't want me here. Maybe I need to go.

"I'm sorry. I... Well, I didn't make an appointment," you babble, twirling your hair nervously.

"No - No. It's alright," he assures, the corners of his lips curling as he says the words. "Take a seat. Please." He gestures to the leather chair across from his large desk. You walk over taking a seat, smoothing your little skirt before matching his eyes. He addresses you by Miss, surprising you when he uses your last name, falling from his lips with ease. You're taken aback, frazzled at the moment that he knows you by name, out of a lecture hall full of students.

I'm clearly not an exceptional student. There are students with perfect scores in my class. Maybe he's just thoughtful. Maybe he remembers everyone's names.

"Are you alright?" He asks as he leans back in his chair slightly, adjusting in his seat.

"Umm... Just a little nervous," you let out a flighty laugh as he gives you his full attention.

"I don't bite," he smiles, crossing his arm across his broad chest. You watch as his linen shirt stretches across his strong arms. You study him a little more, taking in his features. You've never gotten to see him this close: perfectly quaffed locks, just the right amount of stubble on his chiseled jaw. He's loosened his tie since you saw him last, Rafe's top button drawn open as well, a peek of a gold chain matching his ring-adorned fingers. He guides your attention back to his eyes, using your first name this time, making your heart race.

"So, is there anything I can help you with?" He asks you again with a softer tone, just trying to pull any sort of answer out of you.

"Sorry... Umm. I'm not doing very well in your class. I just - I'm not used to doing so poorly." His eyes soften on yours as you continue to spin your sob story. "I seem to do well on my papers, but, I do really bad on my tests."

His lips tug to the side, brows knitting tight. "Well, that's because I grade your papers," he hums as he turns his swivel chair toward his computer, pulling up the gradebook. "My T.A. is on a little bit of a power trip this semester. And it does not help that you're stunning. Think someone's a little jealous," he chuckles. You feel heat spread across your cheeks as you take in his compliment. "We'll see if we can work something out."

Professor Cameron matches your smile, lingering a little while before returning to his screen. "Alright..." He takes a deep breath, squinting slightly before taking out some black glasses. "Let's see what we're workin' with." He scans the numbers, writing down a few things on a little Post-It note. "So it looks like lesson 5, 6, and 8 tests were all D's." You nod your head in acknowledgment. "Well, you can retake these if you'd like. And, I can regrade them for you; skip the middleman."

"Really?" You bubble.

"'Course," he breathes. "There's no reason those tests should be that low given what you know. I'm very impressed with your written work."

"Yeah?" You expel a sigh of relief.

"Yeah... I would bet that you could finish the course with at least a B."

"Wow, Professor Cameron. Thank you so much. At least... So, I could maybe get an A?" You smile, sweetening your tone, just playing around, doing your best to lighten the mood.

"Maybe," he chuckles, relaxing back in his chair. "I don't see why not. And we can always talk about extra credit if you'd like."

"Extra credit? That would be really nice, Professor Cameron." Your eyes fall to his thigh; two thick fingers moving ever so slightly, tracing the sleek black material, making your mind wander as you think about what he could do with his hands, if he was rough or gentle. He looks like he'd be rough.

"Yeah, extra credit," he hums; you follow his gaze, eyes lost in your cleavage, hidden slightly by your oversized jean jacket.

"What can I do for you, Professor Cameron," the words leave your lips before you can think them through. "F-For extra credit, that is," you recover quickly your cheeks shifting from a pretty blush to a deep red hue.

He fights off a smile, rapping his ringed finger against the wood desk a few times."Whatever you're comfortable with," he breathes. Rafe raises his hand, brushing away his smile just as he did in the classroom. This time, more of a smirk.

Whatever I'm comfortable with... He wants me to? Maybe?

Grabbing your jean jacket, you pull it off your shoulders, exposing your pink top, black lace peeking out."I'll do whatever it takes to get an "A," Professor Cameron."

"You will, now?" he sighs, sinking in his seat slightly, widening his thighs, making himself a little more comfortable. "You sure about that?"

"Mhmm," you breathe as you lean in closer, giving him a better view of your breasts. He lets out a sinful laugh, loosening his tie a little more than before, his icy blue eyes darkening along with yours.

"And, you'd do anything it takes to get that "A." Huh?" He mumbles as you work the satin straps over your shoulders, letting it fall around your waist.

"Anything."

"Shit," he draws out the word, snatching his glasses off his face before rising in his seat. He's tall, far taller from this angle, towering over you as he walks around the desk, designer dress shoes shuffling along the floor.

"Are you married, Professor Cameron?"

"Nah... I'm not. I'm single. And, you can call me Rafe if you'd like," he rasps, pawing his tie the rest of the way off. "Are you single? Anyone taking care of you."

"Just me," you whisper, your innocent eyes set on his.

"Just me. Huh?" He echoes. You nod as he grips the armrests of your swivel chair, towing you closer. "These boys not cuttin' it for you, princess?" You shake your head 'no'. You can see the print of Rafe's long, thick cock; pressing against his slacks. "I'm gonna take care of you." He takes hold of your chin with a heavy hand.

"Okay, Ra-" He steals your words, claiming your lips against his. Rafe catches your moan in his mouth, answering with his own. You let out a little gasp as he lifts you to your feet, bringing you closer. The two of you work on what little clothing remains between sloppy kisses, tearing it off each other's bodies until all that's left are his black boxer briefs.

Rafe groans as his rough fingers glide down your smooth skin, tracing the small of your waist, massaging and pressing your breasts together as his eyes roll back. He lifts you effortlessly, taking you into his strong arms. You hold on tight as Rafe swipes his palm across the desk, making the items tumble to the floor. He lays you on top, lips barely losing contact, kissing you roughly.

Your hands drift down his chest, journeying lower and lower. You rake your hands back up, feeling his muscles, resting on his chest, feeling his heart pound underneath. You dig your nails into his skin, making him hiss out a breath.

You feel the chill of his rings against your hot skin as he squeezes your tits, shoving them together. "Jesus fuck, baby girl," he mutters, locking down on your nipple, swirling and flicking, leaving you a whimpering mess. "You look good... So fuckin' good," he groans, running two thick fingers between your thighs, skimming your slit. "How are you so wet?" He growls.

You take in his scent, rich and delicious, amplified by the warmth of his bare skin. You reach for him desperately, pulling him to your lips as he rocks into you, thrusting languidly, stroking your aching pussy with his clothed cock. His gold chain sways, with each roll of his hips brushing against your cleavage.

"Please," you whimper, desperate for more.

"Want me to eat your pussy, angel? Hmm? Bend you over my desk?"

"Yes, Rafe. Fuck," you whimper.

He lowers himself between your legs, looping his arms under your thighs, pulling you toward his face. Rafe spreads your legs, kissing you deeply, marking you in a way that'll surely leave a bruise, teasing you as his digits slip closer. You take a grip on his sandy-blonde hair, pulling him nearer as you buck your hips, craving more friction between the two of you. Rafe breathes warmly against your clit, making you melt into the table.

"Rafe-" You beg, your words turning into a breathy cry as he plunges his tongue deeply, drawing out slowly, licking a line to your clit that has your body quaking. He sucks your bud, releasing you with a pop. Doing it again and again, leaving your thighs trembling uncontrollably. He brushes his tongue side to side on your clit, making your vision blur.

Rafe slings your legs over his broad shoulders, working deeper than before. You grip the edge of the desk; teeth clenched, muscles firing hot as you hold back your cries of pleasure. "Cum for me..." He grunts, driving his fingers into you as you nod rapidly.

"Y-Yeah," you shudder, chasing your climax as he pounds into your dripping cunt.

"Do it." Rafe curls his fingers inside of you, tension snapping as you moan his name. "Fuck... Say it again. Say my name again," he groans, looking down at you in a drunken haze as he works you through your orgasm.

"Rafe," you breathe. He slips between your legs, cleaning the mess he made with his tongue.

This - This is a man. Sure, I've been with plenty of boys, but this is divine. I can tell that he knows what he's doing: how to kiss, how to touch a woman. I need him. All of him.

"Tastes so fuckin' good," he mumbles. "Anything?" He asks again as he tugs at the elastic of his boxers.

"Anything," you mewl.

"Need to be inside you," he mutters as he pulls his boxers off his body. "You want that. Don't you?"

"Yes."

He gives you a few experimental thrusts, watching you jolt in your sensitivity every time his rock-hard cock nudges your clit. You look at the slight space between the two of you, letting out a desperate moan, yearning to be filled. Rafe's long, thick dick curved toward his stomach, glistening with precum, smudging against his tight stomach with each rut.

"Fuck me," you plead.

You let out a gasp as he stuffs his cock in your pussy; hips flush with your ass, balls deep; pushing even further. "R-Rafe..." You whimper, tears running down your cheeks as you feel the pressure in your guts.

"Goddamn..." He grunts. "You're so fuckin' tight. Shit - Pussy feels so good."

"You're so big," you whimper as you press your hand against your tummy.

"You okay? Takin' me so well..."

"Yeah. M'fine. Feels so fucking good."

"Been hopin' you'd walk in my office since the first day I saw you." He brushes your tears away with his thumbs as he kisses your lips, dick buried deep. "Who woulda thought you be such a slut for your professor. Huh?"

BANG. BANG.

"Hey, Rafe. Are you free?" His colleague yells from outside the door, causing the two of you to freeze. Rafe snares your hips, holding you in place. He draws a finger to his lips, demanding your silence.

"Wanted to see if you could look over something for me."

Rafe grinds his hips slowly, not wanting to stop, cupping your breast in his hand. He leans down, giving you a soft bite, eyes focused on yours.

"Rafe?" The male tries again, making Rafe roll his eyes in annoyance. You watch as the shadow shifts underneath the door, walking away.

"Fuck, that was close," he breathes, kissing his way up your stomach. "Come over tonight?"

"You want me to come over to your house?" You whisper as you smile against his lips.

"Need to fuck you in a bed. Want you to ride me. You want that "A." Yeah?" He asks, his voice deep and dark.

"Yes, Professor Cameron," you smile as you flutter your lashes, your angelic tone contrasting his wicked one entirely.

"You're a pretty little thing. Fuck. You're gorgeous," he praises as his swollen tip presses against your entrance, stretching you slightly, making your lips part in a soft "o." He groans as he nudges himself a little further, rocking into you nice and slow, teasing you with the first few inches and his fat cockhead.

"Rafe... Pl-" Your plea turns into a gasp as he pushes himself inside, bottoming you out completely. Your back arches off the desk, nipples grazing his chest.

Rafe thrusts at a rapid pace, skin striking skin. Knocking you deep in your core. "Such a good girl f'me," he grunts, punctuating each word with a rough thrust leaving you trembling.

You let out a moan that has him rushing to silence you, sealing your mouth with his broad palm, each muffled sound more fucked out than the last.

"You're killin' me," he mutters against your neck. "Gonna let you be real loud tonight. Alright? Gotta big fuckin' house. You can scream as loud as you want." His hand works between your thighs, brushing quickly against your clit; making you dig your nails into his shoulder blades."If I move my hand, are you gonna be a good little whore? Keep that mouth nice and quiet, f'me?"

"Yeah-"

"If you can't, I can stuff it full for you. Keep you real fuckin' quiet."

"N-No. Wanna cum... Fuck, I'm gonna-" His focus falls to the sound of your body gushing, squirting onto his cock and thighs as he continues to pound you into the wooden desk.

Your body clutches him, muscles pulsing. "That's it, baby. Fuckin' squeeze me." He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, trying his best to thrust. Rafe doesn't give you orders, simply forcing you right where he wants you. Gripping your hips, turning you a moment later, lifting your ass in the air as you take a hold of the desk. You look over your shoulder, watching as he winds up to smack your ass. Stopping himself with a smirk and a raspy laugh. "I'm gonna ruin you tonight." His voice sends chills down your spine. Rafe grips your skin tightly, bunching it up in his hand as he coaxes his dick back in.

He ruts his hips deeply, fingertips driving into the fat of your ass as his hips clap against your skin. "Rafe," you blubber, trying your best to steady yourself on whatever you can grab. You can feel his tip kiss your G-spot with each stroke, working incredibly deep.

"Almost there... Want you to cum with me," he groans.

"Let me cum. I can't-"

"You will..."

"Please-"

"M'gonna cum, baby," he grunts, hand weaving into your hair. He yanks it back, pulling your orgasm out with it, blanketing your mouth as he silences your cries. You flutter wildly around his cock as he fills you to the brim with his climax. Rafe draws out slowly, letting your releases drip from your cunt; rolling down your inner thigh. He grips his cock in his fist, collecting your shared release, swirling his tip around your entrance before stuffing it deep inside again.

"Goddamn," he mumbles. Swiveling his hips slowly, jagged breaths are heard as he continues to move, completely overstimulated but loving the feeling too much to quit. "Mmm... You're gonna ride me tonight. Bounce on me; tits in fuckin' face. This wet fuckin' pussy is mine..." He moans, already desperate for more, as he palms your soft skin.

You reach for air, doing your best to catch your breath, riding a euphoric high. "Shit... Did I get an A, Professor Cameron?" You laugh breathily.

"A" fuckin' plus, princess."

Part 2 in my masterlist 🩷

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baby-dr1ver · 6 months

Text

max and his size kink

warnings: physical descriptions of someone small, semi smut

a/n: as a bigger girl I feel there isn't enough representation for us when it comes to size kinks so, I'll be doing another one of these.

Just thunk a thought about Max

A size kink to him isn’t just that he’s taller than you. No no no no. it’s that he’s literally bigger than you. He’s so broad and compared to your tiny frame. He’s got those huge arms that wrap around your neck when he’s got you on your tummy. Your chin lay on his elbow as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “Taking me so good baby, my little baby.”

Or when he has you against the wall, pounding in you with everything he has and you just can’t keep up with him. Your legs begging to give out but Max will scoop you up against his big strong hips that you can feel flex with every sharp movement he makes. He’d cradle your face in just one of his hands and forces you to keep your eyes on him. Oh he’d squish your cheeks so your lips puckered and spit right in-

Speaking of hands, Max loves to see the comparison of your hands. He’d line them up and see how much wider his palm was compared to yours, or how much longer his fingers were. So much so that he’d force you to your knees to get him off. Loves seeing your small hands around his thick cock, how you’d have to use two hands because your one couldn’t around it all the way.

Max loves to shove his fingers in your mouth at any given chance. Sometimes he’ll just cup your face gently, just admiring you for a second to let your head get fuzzy and then oh! Look at that, he’s two fingers deep in your throat and your taking it like the goodest girl. And he’s smiling at you with those big lips that are just so good to bite on, making you melt into a god damn puddle of arousal, and could make you do anything.

Or oh fuck those thighs. Jesus christ he could take out anyone with those things. They’re like pythons ready to attack. He knows this, of course he does, and he’s so fucking cocky about it. When your watching him getting interviewed, he’ll keep his legs spread open to get you worked up. Reminding you of all the times he had you between his thighs, or on top of them. He could spot that look of lust for him a mile away knowing he’d have you riding his big thighs for hours until you couldn’t feel your legs anymore.

Or maybe, and hear me out…just sitting there between them. Like when he’s sitting on the couch and suddenly everything is just fuzzy. He’d been doting on you all day and you just have the urge to sit between his legs and lay your head on his thigh. He’d love to see the look of adoration on your face as you just, watched him. Max would also love when he’d be on sim and you’d somehow find a way to sit between his thighs. Theres very little room to begin with but somehow you manage.

Max just loves how much bigger he his than you.

kinktober <3

#formula one #formula one x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reade #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #red bull racing #formula one imagine

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sugarcoatedstarkey · 5 months

Text

Interrupted- Drew Starkey

Request by @wpdailyminimeta! I have actually saved a few of her requests so there will be more 💜

Summary - Drew comes home from work, getting interrupted while riding him.

Warnings - Sexual Intercourse, oral, choking, language. 18+

Drew has been away filming for 6 weeks; this was his first consecutive 4 days off since he started, it had been tough on the both of you. He was on the first flight home the moment filming stopped. He surprised you as you lounged on the couch reading a book, the sound of his key in the lock had you sprinting to the door, throwing your body onto his, his arm gripped you tightly to his body while juggling his luggage with his free hand.

“God, I bloody missed you” you mumbled against his lips, dropping his bag on the floor, slamming the door closed with his foot. He walked the two of you over to the couch, laying you down against the cushion. His body hovered over yours, you chased his lips pushing yourself up on your elbows. “I missed you” he smiled as you mouth caught his lower lip, grazing your teeth against his lip and pulled him down against you.

“I will ask you all about filming but right now I really need your cock” you announced, giving him your best puppy eyes. His chest vibrated against yours as he laughed loudly at your honesty. “Drew!” you whined, kissing down his jaw and sucking at the skin of his neck. Your legs wrap around his waist pulling his groin against yours. “My needy little baby” he whispered, grinding his hips into yours.

You whine when he pulls away, watching him intently as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, your fingers danced across his chest and down to his abs. Looping your fingers into his belt hoops and smashing your lips to his, your tongues meshed together messily as his hand slid under your t shirt, a delighted groan escapes him when his fingers meet your bare breast.

He slid down your body, pushing your t-shirt up until it sat under your chin. His lips kissed your stomach slowly, eyes never leaving yours as he made his way up your body. Covering your hard nipples with his mouth, sucking harshly. “Missed your mouth” you mumbled, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he worked on both your breasts. “What else?” he questioned, he helps you pull your shirt off and begins pulling your shorts down your legs along with your panties.

“Your fingers... missed your fingers” you groans, gasping when he pushes your knees apart, exposing your soaked core. He all but growls at the sight of your crying cunt, he squeezes your thighs and slides his hand towards your pussy. Your body jolts from the cushion when he runs a finger through your folds, a cry leaves your lips. “And?”.

“fuck… Drew… I- I missed your tongue” you stutter, his eyes meet yours and he dips his body low. You gnaw on your lower lip to hide your moan, watching intently as he drops his tongue and takes a rough lick between your lips. “fuck” He growls, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against his tongue.

His movements are ruthless, he devours your pussy like it’s his last meal. His nose nudges at your swollen clit as his tongue teases your opening, his mouth moves away from your hole up towards your clit and sucking harshly. Your body arches from the couch, pushing the back of your head into the cushions. His hand slides from your hip up to your stomach to push you back down, your fingers claw at his arm. “Jesus Christ! OH GOD!!”.

“Not god baby, just me” he mumbles pushing two fingers deep inside of you, you cry out from the intrusion, but your hips have a mind of their own and buck against him. “Please Drew, I need you” you beg, pushing at the top of his head as your orgasm begins to spread from your toes. “Cum first” he orders, he doesn’t let up his movements.

His tongue sucks and his fingers fuck you roughly, your nails scratch harshly at his scalp. Hips bouncing of the couch chasing the high. Your toes curl and eyes squeeze shut, pleasure floods your veins, and a sweat develops on your skin. “HOLY SHIT… YE-YES!”.

“That’s it baby girl, come all over these fingers” He whispers, lapping up the arousal that flows out of you. He doesn’t let up his movements until your body falls back onto the couch and shivers violently from the orgasm. “Such a good girl, taste so fucking good” he states, with hooded eyes you watch as his sucks on his fingers, cleaning himself up.

“I missed you so damn much” you choked, pushing him to sit against the couch and straddling him. You didn’t even realise he had removed his pants, hard girthy cock laying against his stomach. His eyes followed your every movement, your thumb rubbing the precum around his pink tip. “Missed this cock the most though” you giggled, sucking on the pad of your thumb tasting the saltiness of him.

“Yeah? I bet you did… my good girl probably touched herself thinking about it inside her sweet tight cunt” He growled, stomach clenching when your fingers wrapped around his shaft. You give him soft tugs, his mouth dropping open and head falling back. “Mhmm, used my vibrator thinking about how your cock has me choking and sobbing every time it’s inside me” You whisper into his ear, kissing along his cheek and hovering over his lips.

His eyes are dark and hooded, his hand reaches between you and engulfs your throat. Squeezing harshly, bringing your lips to his. He bites your lower lip and pulls on it softly, your voice is stuck in your throat, but you so badly want to tell him what a good boy he is. “Sit on my cock now” he ordered; his free hand holds the base of his cock.

The grip on your throat is strong enough to stop you from looking between the both of you, he lets you guide your hips up. The tip of his cock nudges at your opening, he doesn’t let you move though. Teasing your opening with his tip. “I want you to go slow” he states, his eyes are looking at where your about to meet. You nod your head, and he lets you drop down; your legs shake as you force yourself to move slowly.

“fuck… how is it possible you feel tighter” He groans, his cock throbs as you move down. Your pussy eats him as slow as you can go until he’s buried deep inside of you. “don’t move”.

Your brain feels fuzzy, walls pulsating around him as you force yourself to stay still. “please” you whine, you clench around him, and he grips your throat tighter. “Okay baby, show me how much you missed me” He whispers, kissing your lips again. His fingers don’t leave your throat though, squeezing every time you clench around him. You’re bouncing on him hard, your pussy wept for him soaking him with your arousal.

Breathy moans and curse words bounce of the walls of the living room. “Faster y/n” Drew orders, he drops his fingers from your throat and grips your hips. He is helping you bouncer faster; your tits bounce wildly but he’s watching your face. Loving the way, it screws up when your getting closer to climax. He notices the spec of blood that seeps from the small cut on your lower lip that you must have just done. His palm holds your face, pointing you to look down at him.

Your eyes are half closed and your mouth open, his thumb brushes your lower lip to rid the blood. His lips chase yours and your tongues explore one another’s. “I-I’m close” You mumble, the familiar sensation chases you ruthlessly. He nods his head and pushes himself deeper, toying with your clit he helps you reach that high. “You first” he groans, his own orgasm spreads through his lower stomach.

Your so close that when the door to the house opens and your best friend steps through the threshold in complete shock of the two of you, you don’t even stop your movements. She let's out a shriek and you look at her and roll your eyes, looking back at Drew when goes to stop you and glare down at him.

“I am sorry but I’m not stopping so get out or I will kill you” You state, Drew stares at you partially shocked and turned on. His fingers grip you hard when he feels your walls flutter around him and presses his forehead into your chest.

You hear a grumble and the door close and you’re immediately coming hard and fast, your orgasm is so intense your vision all but blacks out and you’re screaming above him. Strings of curse words spew from your lips; buzzing goes off in your ear drums. You’re trembling above him when he reaches his own orgasm and shoots his load deep inside of you, you can’t breathe or speak.

It's silent for a few moments while you both regain your breaths. “Missed me that much hey?” Drew jokes, kissing your shoulder. Both your chests rise and fall harshly, and you let out a strained laugh. “Yeah, I did”.

“Do you think we traumatised her?” He questioned, looking back towards the front door with a smile on his face. You let out a loud chuckle and shake your head. “Babe, this isn’t the first time she’s walked in on us.” You admit, his eyes widen at your words. “it’s better I don’t tell you”.

“Yeah, don’t tell him!’ Your best friends’ yells from behind the door and you look back down at Drew with a sheepish smile. “What! She’s my best friend”. It’s all but forgotten when your lips meet his again and your sure his cock is hardening inside of you. “Round two?”.

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filthygob · 2 years

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yk how when everything is going wrong we say shit like "i hope i get hit by a car"? yeah well last week was shit... and i kept saying that, after every single shit thing that happened, the only thing left on the list is to get hit by a car. then last sunday we got into a small car accident and i was pissed.

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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴

the deets — in which you, a quiet healer in the tribe, have the biggest crush on the upcoming leader. sometimes you think the feelings could be mutual. until one night in the glowing forest shatters that.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — like 7.6k (jesus h. christ)

the tags — idiots-to-lovers (it's teyam, he's the dummy), childhood friends-to-lovers, one-sided pining (reader is a softie).

the warnings — language, a lil kithy kithy, neteyam's emotionally constipated, but he redeems himself! reader's kind of a pushover, but it comes full circle!

the notes — first post for avatar & i'm really excited but a lil nervous bc like ??? i haven't written fanfic in SO long. i imagine neteyam & reader to be a few years older in this fic (eighteen or nineteen), but at the same time the circumstances could fit their current age as well. finally, this is written in a heinous blend of second / third. don't know how to explain, but i think it flows okay? if you like it please leave a request or let's have a chat! (also barely proofread oops).

YOU AND NETEYAM HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN DISTANT ORBIT. Many would argue the two of you are cut from the same cloth; quiet, noble, mature, but you couldn't feel even more disconnected from the tribe's golden boy even if a chasm would crack the earth between you.

It's why you think it's silly that you'd develop such a yearning, your heart thudding like a war drum every time his amber eyes flit to yours. There's never any weight to his gaze, just fleeting glances among frequent observation, but you can't help but stare.

It doesn't help that his youngest siblings cling to you like a second and third skin, chattering excitedly about whatever piques their immediate interest. You just listen and hum your acknowledgements, a comfort to the two as you move through your studies.

Oftentimes he's sent to fetch his siblings, clearing his throat outside of the tent's flaps to announce himself, then wiggling a few fingers through the opening before peering in.

He's always in a hurry, never biting when you offer him opportunities to linger. You understand, how busy it can be when the whole clan begins to rely on you. So you bask in the short-lived moments in his space, skin scented with salt and the tang of the foliage.

But there are moments when you truly think he sees you. When you cross paths during clan meals, and the smallest of smiles twitches in his lips when you cut fruit and he's the first you offer to. When it's time to train to shoot your bows and he adjusts your form with a brief brush of his fingers on your elbow. When all of the older healers are unavailable and he shyly peeks his head into your tent for a quick patch up.

Nevermind the small tells stored in your short-term, but the little slivers of time when you were both growing into yourselves. When you were seven and he'd carried you to the elders when you hurt yourself. When some of the older kids in the clan would pick on you for keeping to yourself and he'd tell them that it was unbecoming and cowardly to pick on someone weaker than them. When he picked a flower during a group excursion into the deep depths of the forest and stuck the glowing stem in your satchel.

You had fallen so hard for Neteyam and your only hope is that he'd be at the end of the fall to catch you.

“You're not listening, ________!” Tuk whines and you look up from the scrolls you unfurled from the basket moments before she walked in.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I have a lot on my mind.”

There's a small giggle from somewhere else in the tent and you peer from Tuk to Kiri who beads an anklet on her own.

“Yeah, like big brother,” Tuk teases, turning her attention back to her own beadwork.

Kiri's face splits into a grin.

“You've been lost in thought a lot more recently,” she observes. “Could Tuk be correct?”

You don't bother to deny it, the obvious flush in your cheeks a dead giveaway. Kiri's always been perceptive and the more you fight her on it, the longer she'll draw it out.

“I think it's worth a shot,” Kiri says. “Neteyam’s always had a soft spot for you.”

It's a million degrees hotter in the tent.

“You don't have to do that,” you say quietly, slouching in your seat.

“Do what?” Kiri challenges.

“Pretend I have a chance.”

Kiri makes a face.

“You do!” she argues. “Neteyam's just shy.”

You're silent for a moment, fingers twitching over a tear in the scroll. You want to believe her, tell her that you think it could be worth a shot, too. But you scent him before you hear him, and then you hear him before you see him.

Four blue fingers wiggle in the tent's opening before Neteyam is poking his head inside.

“Tuk? Kiri?” his voice rumbles. “Ready?”

Kiri glances at you as she stands to her feet and begins gathering her things. Her eyebrows do a little dance, eyes widening as she tilts her head discreetly to her brother.

“I'll see you,” you say quietly, patting Tuk on the back of her leg as she drops her finished anklet in your lap and giggles at you.

You follow their movements as they exit the tent through where Neteyam holds the flap open for them patiently.

He simply lifts a hand as a silent greeting and you wait until they're out of sight and earshot to expel the breath you'd been holding and slump down on your pillow.

In hindsight, you should have been more careful. Neteyam was a skillful hunter, the tribe's best warrior after his father. It's only normal that he'd be in the dense forest when you were plucking flowers and herbs for your salves, speaking quietly to Eywa about your concerns.

“Please, Great Mother,” you whisper, the woodsprites caressing the skin of your arms. "Please give me a sign, any form of motivation to be brave about my feelings."

The grass below your toes lights up and tickles the pads of your fingers as you pluck the glowing flowers.

There's a trail of them, purple and pink, and you pluck and pluck and pluck until you're led to the mouth of a clearing.

Something salty and tangy circles your figure and like usual, you scent him before you see him. When your gaze latches onto his lithe figure, you grin a little, lips parting to announce yourself. This must be your sign, of how vast and great the forests are surrounding your looming home tree, it must be fate that you stumble upon him at this hour.

But his name dies on your tongue when he shifts and you see the silhouette of another pressed to his side.

It's another Omaticaya girl, pretty and tall. You'd know her anywhere, the waves of her thick hair, the tinkle of her dainty laugh. But she is fierce all the same, far from perfect, but gritty enough that it doesn't matter.

Te'feyra draws a bow and one of Neteyam's hands come up to adjust her front grasp, fingers closing over hers and the arrow.

“Steady hands to make up for the recoil,” he says softly and your heart is in your throat.

He's engulfing her as she takes her aim and sends the arrow flying through the air.

Somewhere unknown to you, the arrow sticks its landing and Te'feyra jumps excitedly, pressing her lips to Neteyam's briefly.

You back away from the clearing, eyes burning as you fist the flowers so hard they wilt in your hands. A twig snaps underneath your weight and from your distance, you see the glow of Neteyam and Te'feyra's eyes through the brush.

You take off running without a single word, and despite your stomach tearing itself to ribbons, you thank Eywa for the clarity.

“Something's wrong,” Kiri says to you days later.

Instead of the tent, you two are sitting on opposing branches of a thick tree, observing the flora and fauna of your corner of the forest. You decide that you need some time away from the bustle of the clan's circle and venture off into the opposite side of the woods.

“Why do you say?” you wonder, scribbling onto one of your scrolls.

“You're naturally quiet, I get that, but the past few days, I feel like I've been in the presence of the dead,” she sighs, staring down at you from the branch above. “And Ewya's given me the feeling that all may not be well with you.”

You lick your teeth, then roll your lips nervously.

“I told you Neteyam didn't like me,” you admit.

Kiri's eyebrows furrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw him,” you sigh, fiddling with your pen. “In the forest with Te'feyra. She kissed him.”

Kiri curses under her breath.

“This is stupid,” she huffs. “He's just being stupid. Neteyam likes you and I'm going to prove it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Kiri's already jumping down from the branches of the tree and dragging you with her through the darkening forest.

“Kiri, this isn't necessary,” you finally pipe up. “It's okay if the feeling isn't mutual, I never expected it to be.”

Kiri stops in her tracks and her pinched face softens, braids swinging by the set of her jaw.

“________, we all grew up together,” she says softly. “I know my brother, and I know you. You two belong together, I feel it.”

You swallow around nothing, allowing her to drag you through the forest and back into the clan's main circle.

“Hey, Kiri! ________, where are you two headed off to in such a rush?” one of the elders calls from where they're working on tools.

Kiri smiles politely.

“Very important business,” she replies quickly, fingers tightening around your wrist to pull you across the grass.

You stop in front of their family's hometree and Kiri guides you through vines and steep inclines before pausing in front of their family's tent.

Lo'ak's voice sounds from within, whiny and irritated.

“Bro, are you being serious right now?” he squeaks and Neteyam grunts, obviously bored.

“Frankly, Lo'ak this has nothing to do with you,” he says.

“Dude, yes it does,” Lo'ak argues. “You've inadvertently involved everyone in this affair because you won't get your head out of your ass for three seconds and just admit that you like her.”

“I don't like, ________,” he says simply and Kiri freezes in front of you.

You chew the inside of your cheek, fingers twitching in Kiri's loosened hold.

“Who are you trying to convince?” Lo'ak moans. “You're really going to commit to Te'feyra even though you have no interest in her?”

“Te'feyra is a great huntress,” Neteyam says simply. “She's well-loved, a strong leader. What's there not to like?”

“________ is all of those things,” Lo'ak says. “She's a talented healer, always patches you up when you get yourself in trouble. The clan loves her, Tuk and Kiri love her, Mom and Dad love her.”

“The clan barely knows that ________ exists,” Neteyam says and you wince.

Kiri makes a move to infiltrate the heated conversation, but you put a hand on her shoulder and shake your head.

“Dude, that's low,” Lo'ak scoffs in disbelief.

“________ is a sweet girl, but she's weak. She's hollow and does what she's told. I wouldn't want to spend my life bonded to someone so passive,” Neteyam says plainly and Lo'ak lets out an exasperated hiss.

“You're kidding right? ________ is amazing,” Lo'ak challenges. “She's quiet, but she's caring. She's resilient and intelligent and anyone would be lucky to be bonded to someone like her, your stupid ass included.”

“Maybe you should focus more on training for your rite rather than trying to play matchmaker,” Neteyam says, showing the first signs of annoyance.

“You just won't admit that for the first time you're scared,” Lo'ak finally says.

Everything seems to still and Lo'ak presses on.

“Everyone loves you, you're the clan's golden child and you can do no wrong. You like ________ so much, but you're afraid that you'll let her down,” Lo'ak says fiercely. “But you don't realize that being a pussy about your feelings is the ultimate let down!”

“You'd know a lot about being a let down, wouldn't you,” Neteyam grumbles.

There's a split second of silence before Neteyam lets out a loud grunt of pain. The flap to their tent flies open and Lo'ak freezes before you and Kiri.

His eyes meet yours and his gaze softens before stalking past.

Neteyam stands stunned in the middle of the tent, lip bruised and bleeding. His gaze swings to the arch way, face falling when he finds you standing behind his younger sister.

“Wanna go swimming?” Tuk asks you the next evening, after dinner.

You smile down at her weakly, heart melting when she pets your hand. You can't deny her, nodding gently as you stand from where you're sitting on the outer circle of the scattered clan.

“Carry me?” she asks sweetly.

You heave her up with a grunt and she grins at you, playing with one of the braids in your hair. Her small fingers caress the skin of your cheek and you blink when she ghosts over your eyelid.

“Pretty,” she whispers, head nestling on your shoulder.

“I think you're prettier,” you tell her, readjusting her growing form as you walk through the brush, towards the rush of the waterfall.

You don't realize that there's a set of eyes on you, watching as you disappear through the trees with Tuk.

The cliff that houses the waterfall towers above you two in a semicircle, the water rippling gently as Tuk squirms from your grasp and splashes through the shallow pool.

“Stay close, Tuk,” you coo, toes wiggling through the pebbles washed up on the tiny shore.

“I've been practicing!” Tuk tells you. “Wanna see how long I can hold my breath under water?”

“Stay in shallow waters,” you advise her, wading into the pool until you're waist deep.

Tuk dramatically inhales and then sinks down under the surface. Something cracks in the distance and you glance around, met with the stillness of the forest and the chirp of bugs.

When you turn your attention back to Tuk, you smile fondly as you wait for her to emerge, counting the seconds diligently to report to her chubby cheeks.

Fifteen pass, then thirty. Your smile begins to fade as your arms feel around in the water around you.

“Tuk?” you call out, chest tightening when you're met with the subtle rush of the glittering cascade from the waterfall up above.

You push forward in the water until your chin touches the surface.

“Tuktirey!” you shout, thrashing around the pool, searching for her tiny frame through the illumination. “Tuk!”

Your toes lose purchase as the water deepens and you begin to panic without the youngest Sully in sight. You turn when you hear a splash, Tuk giggling on the shore.

Your stomach churns hard and Tuk's face falls when she sees your panicked expression.

“Tuk, I-I can't swim well!” you cry out, legs flailing as you splash through the water. You try to dig your toes in the earth below, but you're just shy of the mark.

Tuk looks scared on the shore, fidgeting as she looks around desperately.

“You're too deep, ________!” Tuk whines, voice laced with tears.

Your legs ache, head lolling under the water for a moment before you emerge with a splutter.

“Get– Go get help!” you instruct her, feeling your calves begin to burn as you try to keep yourself afloat. You don't know how long you'll be able to tread water. “I'll be okay, little one. Hurry!”

Tuk turns, picking up her satchel as she makes way for the path you took. When she's out of sight, you fall slack, chest heaving as you try to use your skinny arms to paddle at the water.

Meanwhile, Tuktirey runs through the forest, tears spilling down her rounded cheeks as she trips over sprawling roots and nudges low-hanging vines from the pathway.

She skids to a stop when Neteyam, who had finally worked up the nerve to excuse himself from dinner, comes into view.

He turns when he hears her wailing, face scrunching when he registers his youngest sibling's anguish.

“Tuk, wha—”

She grabs at his hands, tugging him towards the path to the waterfall.

“________ needs help!” she cries. “She can't swim!”

Neteyam's ears prick at the mention of your name, scooping up his youngest sibling in his arms before breaking into a sprint through the brush of the brightening forest. The woodsprites begin to emerge and he barrels into the clearing of the waterfall breathlessly.

It's still, like it's been untouched and his heart hammers nervously in his chest, eyes searching the pool for any sign of you.

He's setting Tuk down quickly before splash desperately into the water.

“_______!” he calls.

He ducks underneath the surface, eyes open wide as he searches for you. And there you are, body slack as you sink slowly to the bottom of the rocky pool.

He dives forward, lungs burning as he cuts through the waters with lean arms. His fingers circle one of your wrists, the other hand winding around your waist as he propels you two up above the water. He chokes on a breath, hand coming up to touch your face.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes shut as Neteyam holds you close.

“Neteyam!” Te'feyra calls from the shore, having followed him after being rebuffed during dinner.

Kiri and Lo'ak are close behind, eyes wide when they see their eldest brother wading quickly through the waters with your unconscious form in his arms.

“Neteyam,” Te'feyra repeats, hand coming to grasp his bicep.

“Not now,” he grunts, tugging his arm from her grasp to march through the brush of the forest.

Woodsprites surround you two as he takes you back to the village, a silent plea to the Great Mother not to take you away weighing heavy on his lips.

You awake to a shining sun and a wet towel on your head. You squint against the beaming light and sit up abruptly as the prior night dawns you like a swift strike to the gut.

“Whoa, wait, slow down,” a thick voice rumbles.

You scent him before you see him.

Neteyam's hands are on you, guiding you back to rest on the pile of pillows that had propped you up before.

You shoot up again anyways.

“Where's Tuk?” you ask anxiously.

“Tuk's fine,” Neteyam says. “She's eating breakfast with Kiri and Mom.”

You lean back in relief, eyes squeezing shut as you wheeze out a sigh.

His hands are on you again, gentle, warm as he takes the towel from your forehead and wipes your face to refresh you.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, hesitantly.

You pause a moment, but then nod.

“Yeah,” you affirm hoarsely. “M'fine.”

Neteyam just stares at you, yellow eyes unblinking and you know this isn't like one of those fleeting moments. He sees you and it makes your gut churn hard.

“I'll be okay here,” you say quietly. “You may have...someone, you know, waiting for you.”

Te'feyra's name is a silent implication and Neteyam doesn't look amused.

“I told them I would look after you until you're fully well,” he counters, wringing the towel into a bowl that sits next to the mound of blankets your rest on.

You fiddle with your fingers, fully disheartened because even in times like these, he remains the diligent leader-in-training that he is.

The air in the tent is think and you can't breathe.

“I'd like some air,” you whisper, crawling from the soft mat to climb to your feet shakily.

“You need to rest,” Neteyam says crossly, seemingly annoyed at your persistence to put as much distance as you can between the two of you.

You don't respond and finally he seems to burst.

“You can't swim and yet you still went after Tuk,” he calls after you like an accusation. “Why?”

You pause.

“Tuk is like a sister to me,” you say quietly. “I would never let anything happen to her.”

You make a move to exit the tent, but Neteyam's voice stops you in your tracks.

“You could have died,” he says quietly, and you can't place the emotion in his voice.

“I'd do it again,” you admit, craning your neck to face him. “I'm not that weak.”

Neteyam's face falls and you duck from the tent.

Neteyam becomes restless after that moment. He loses his focus, agility taking a hit as he hunts one on one with his father.

He goes to shoot another arrow, but Jake stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Neteyam, I know I can be hard on you,” he starts. “But I’m always here.”

“Yes sir,” Neteyam nods.

“Something’s bothering you,” Jake observes. “You’re not yourself. You’re losing focus.”

Neteyam swallows.

“Sorry, sir,” he says, head hanging.

His braids form a curtain around his face and Jake gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“Son?”

Neteyam swallows again, head tilting up to look is dad in the face.

“I don’t want to be with Te’feyra,” he admits quietly.

Jake's lips twitch.

“Well I could have told you that,” Jake scoffs, the corner of his lips twitching into a soft smile. “You look about as dead as a washed up fish when she’s around.”

Neteyam recalls the kiss she’d given him nights ago and how he'd internally recoiled, body stiff under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Why are you sorry?” Jake prods.

“Because I know Te’feyra is who the clan wants me to be with, who is my most suitable match,” he says. “I just— I don't want to let you down.”

Jake gives him an impish grin.

“Neteyam, let me give you a word of advice. There are things in this world that are suited well for each other; you and Te'feyra are one of those things. But your heart and your mind are the two most powerful things about you,” he says. “You will not be punished for giving into your heart.”

Neteyam thinks of you. He thinks of your face, the lines of your timid smile, the idents that dimple your cheeks. He thinks of your touch when he's wounded, gentle and expert, warm against his skin. He thinks of your voice, airy, soft, a low rasp.

He thinks of when he'd called you weak. Of your face, wounded and hurt. He's stricken in this moment as he realizes that strength doesn't have to be audacious. It can be quiet, small acts that become mighty.

Tuk had told him about the waterfall, how she'd wanted to pull your leg a little. You'd accepted your fate if Ewya deemed it time, you'd even sent the youngest away in the chance you wouldn't surface.

You were far from weak. Your strength ran nearly as deep as the roots of Ewya herself, yet you'd taken the criticism in stride. Let Neteyam paint you as a coward, a pushover with no spine.

“I think there’s someone you need to clear the air with,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “She should be in her tent.”

Neteyam's hands are clammy. It's been nearly a week since he'd last seen you. You'd reserved to spending time inside of your tent to brush up on your studies and refine your work. He'd catch glimpses of you, but you were used to blending in the background and Neteyam's used to overlooking you.

Was he being presumptuous? Maybe you only admired him as a warrior. Or perhaps it was a duty to the clan to revere him. He feels sick to his stomach thinking of confronting you. But Lo'ak wouldn't try to convince him of his own feelings if it wasn't mutual, would he?

And when had the feelings become mutual? He's recently began to think that perhaps he'd always liked you because you were the only one who didn't actively vie for his affection. Who only saw him as Neteyam, an equal, not Neteyam, the Olo’eyktan's son.

Maybe it was whenever he'd see you wandering in the forest during his hunting trips, murmuring to yourself as you picked herbs and flowers for you studies. Or maybe when he'd spot you still high on the branches of the lofty trees with a tablet of paper and ink. Maybe it was when you'd smile at him shyly when he'd adjust your form during archery and it'd melt his insides. Or when you two were little and he'd plucked flowers for everyone and you were the only one who'd smiled at it sticking out of your satchel.

If he recalls correctly, it's pressed to a scroll hanging in your tent and that alone makes his heart race.

Maybe you two are inevitable and he'd only prolonged it because of his own fears.

“Neteyam!”

Te’feyra steps in his line of sight, standing before him and the hometree that houses your tent. He glances away when she stops in front of him.

“Te’feyra,” he greets cordially.

“I haven't seen you since the incident with ________,” she says. “Are you alright?”

Neteyam nods.

“Never better,” he says simply.

“After dinner we should–”

He spots you, satchel thrown over your shoulder. You glance his way momentarily, but scurry in the direction of your tent when you lock eyes with him.

“If you will excuse me, please,” he says politely, extricating himself from Te’feyra to follow after you.

He catches up to you right outside of your tent.

“________!” he calls.

You freeze almost imperceptibly, but continue on your way, climbing the flattened incline spiraling around the center of the hometree.

“________,” he murmurs, fist closing around your skinny bicep.

You jolt to a stop, golden eyes razor sharp as you glance down at him. Your fist is wrapped tight around the strap of the satchel, knuckles stretched taut.

“Neteyam,” you reply softly. “Yes?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but finds that his tongue weighs heavy behind his lips.

“If you seek help, there are elders available for healing,” you inform him, making a move to remove your arm from his grasp.

He instinctively tightens his grasp and you shift uncomfortably.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quietly, pulling away. “I just want to speak with you.”

A few beats pass as you blink at him.

“Well?”

“Oh,” he swallows. “Can I come in?”

You turn to face the flap of your tent before craning your long neck over your shoulder to nod.

“Sure,” you agree, holding the hide open to let him in.

You step in after him, table scattered with mixtures of finely-pounded dust, scrolls of research and bundles of materials.

You set your satchel down and begin unloading your finds from you excursion.

Meanwhile, Neteyam paces nervously, trailing the circumference of your tent, eyes flitting every which way to take in every piece of you.

A thick silence envelops you and you clear your throat when the satchel is empty.

“You wanted to talk?” you ask, watching as he stops in front of a scrolled tacked to one of the beams.

It's the pressed flower he'd given to you all that time ago as children. It's central in the room, catching the sun so beautifully and Neteyam uses this as the last bit of courage he needs to continue.

“You kept it,” he says, voice shaky.

“Of course,” you say simply, picking through your different finds. “You gave it to me.”

Neteyam turns, looks you head on and he feels his resolve crumbling.

“You like me,” he says bluntly, afraid that if he beats around the bush, he'll cop out.

“Everyone does,” you deflect.

Neteyam's jaw locks.

“No, ________, you like me,” he repeats.

You feel small, sorting the petals by color, fingers nimble against the soft grain of the wooden tabletop.

“Presumptuous,” you hum, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

“________,” he presses.

You bite your lip, tears clouding your vision as your fingers begin to trembling through the sorting. He's being so unfair and he doesn't even know it.

“Why?” you ask shakily.

“What do you mean why?” Neteyam counters, voice taking on the same edge he did with his brother days prior and he'd interrogated him about you.

“Why are you doing this?” you croak, and he hears the tears in your voice.

He's across the floor before you can blink.

“Are you crying?” he asks, shocked.

“Why do you want me to say it so badly?” you choke, poor petals strangled in your vibrating fist. “Is it not enough? To know that I yearn for you silently? That everyone pities me because my heart belongs to someone who's already spoken for?”

Neteyam is stunned.

“I like you, Neteyam. I always have,” you say, voice raw with emotion. “It's my biggest defeat to say I always will. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your eyes are tinged red and his throat feels stuffed with cotton.

“I've always admired you,” you say quietly, between hiccuping breaths. “But I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

Neteyam winces, every word he’d practiced earlier, completely obliterated from his short term. He knows he should just tell you, tell you that his heart yearns for yours, too. That he'd been too blinded by his impending duty to feel the full effects of what a first love could be like.

“You should go,” you say when he's silent.

You brush your tears away and pat your cheeks dry with the back of your hands as you carefully set the wilted flowers the the edge of the table.

“I–”

“Neteyam, spare me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” he finally says.

Your eyebrows furrow, eyes swollen as you gaze at him unjaded. Who he believed to be so stoic and passive now baring every possible inch to him.

“You're–”

“I don't want to be with Te'feyra,” he finally spits, fists clenched. “I won't be with her.”

Your gaze softens, lips parting to ask what's gotten into him, but he cuts you off.

“You,” he answers firmly, before the question clings in the air. “It’s you. I want to be with you.”

"Stop," you whisper, shaking your head furiously. You take a step away from where he's quickly closing in on you. “Don't–”

He pauses mid-stride and the expression on his handsome face is absolutely devastating. His chest rises and falls shakily and you take a moment to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before,” he says desperately, “I was scared and didn't fully realize it, but I do now.”

“That’s unfair,” you hiccup. “This isn't just on your terms. You can’t— you can’t just tell me you like me and expect me to be with you.”

These passing moments are the most he’s ever heard you speak, and he’s afraid that he's severely underestimated you. It doesn’t taste so sweet now that he’s faced with the reality of things.

“You will be the future leader of this clan,” you continue. “That is a great responsibility that you've prepared for your entire life. Who you decide to be with is a permanent fixture that cannot be undone.”

“I know, I know,” he assures you.

“You find it in your heart pity me, Neteyam,” you breathe quietly. “But do you really want to be bonded to someone passive and weak?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you've squared your shoulders, stomach caving and expanding with a deep breath. You turn to your prior task.

“You should go,” you repeat. “Duty calls.”

“What do you mean you need help?” Kiri asks incredulously, eyes widened at her older brother.

“________,” Neteyam says. “She's icing me out.��

Kiri's face melts in relief and she scoffs a laugh.

“Do you blame her?”

“Kiri!” he pleads.

Kiri stops her movements, falling back on her haunches to meet Neteyam's desperate gaze. It's so unlike him, being uncertain, nervous. He's picked up the habit of fiddling his fingers and Kiri snorts to herself.

“Actions,” she says simply.

“Huh?” he vocalizes.

“Words mean nothing to ________ if your actions don't support them,” she says. “This entire time you've acted so lukewarm towards her. Of course she won't believe you when you decide to acknowledge that you love her.”

Neteyam's throat bobs as he stares down at his sister.

“And how will I do that?” he presses.

Kiri shrugs.

“Not so mighty warrior now, are we?”

As the days progress, you begin to grasp at finally coming to terms with the tattered remains of what's left of you and Neteyam's frayed relationship. Your heart hasn't stonewalled him completely, but the yearning for him has dulled to a slight ache.

His eyes are piercing every moment you share the same vicinity. Kiri would even try to argue you that it's longing, but Neteyam's a slave to his honor and you aren't convinced.

“You should pity the poor boy,” an elder tells you as you cut up ingredients for the evening's dinner.

You pause, fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. You roll your lips together before briefly meeting her gaze, warm under firelight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, clearing your throat.

She laughs, peeling a purple fruit.

“Neteyam,” she says forwardly. “Hasn’t taken his eyes off you in who knows how long. Will you continue to let him suffer?”

You want to argue that it's you who's suffering. That the heart that beats inside the hollow of your ribcage feels like it'll tear in two every time you recall the venom in Neteyam's voice when he'd called you weak.

“I doubt his suffering has anything to do with me,” you say instead. “We are only acquaintances.”

The elder laughs again.

“Is that why he's been pestering the elders for input on how to sway your heart?”

Your head shoots up from where you've focused on the fine cuts of vegetables.

“What?”

“He’s been slacking on his duties, instead poking around the elders and villagers trying to pry information about you,” she says. “Heard him muttering about what kind of flowers you like.”

“It will take more than flowers to sway my heart,” you mumble.

“So you admit that there's something there, hmm?”

Your cheeks heat, caught like a fish in warm waters.

“I–”

“I'd argue that Neteyam’s liked you longer than you've liked him,” the elder says simply.

You bite.

“Why do you say that?”

“He's always asked Eywa for courage, and it seems like she gave you as an answer.”

The elder climbs to her feet, leaving you near the open flame. You open your mouth to call out to her, but the scent of salt and leaves envelops you before you can say anything.

You crane your neck and find Neteyam a few paces from you.

“Do you have a few moments?” he asks politely.

You want to say no, tell him that you'd offered him an infinite amount of moments that he'd spent building bridges between the two of you, but if he's a slave to his honor, you're bound by heart.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, abandoning your task.

He holds his hand out for you to take and your fingers slide across his warm palm as he pulls you to your feet. Once he secures your hold in his, he tugs you along.

You don't know where he's taking you, or what he could possibly want with your time, but you feel a thousand times more nervous than ever now that the tangled web of your feelings drapes the both of you.

After a few moments of rugged silence, climbing through bushes and brush, he punctures the quiet.

“Are you well?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer after a moment. “You?”

“Truthfully?” he responds, pausing to face you. You realize his hand still engulfs yours. “No.”

“No?” you parrot shakily.

“No,” he affirms. “I've been hurting actually.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“You should seek help if you have an ongoing–”

“Here,” he says, the hand still caught in his being guided to lay flat against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering behind his ribcage. “It hurts here.”

You swallow, pulling away from his grasp when you realize his insinuation.

“Don’t,” you warn.

He breathes a shaky sigh before taking a step towards you. He's corded muscle and warmth as his palm comes to cradle your jaw. Your bottom lip twitches as you stare up at him.

“It’s always been you,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your chin as his eyes map every curve of your face. “I think I’ve always known it deep down, but...”

Your hand comes up to meet his, gently prying his touch away.

“Neteyam,” you sigh. “Had the last few days unfolded differently, I don't think you'd been saying this now.”

“Maybe not now,” he agrees. “But one day, I would. I know I would. Because when I recall every fond moment, you’re there. No matter how close to the background you get, you’re always there.”

You look skeptical, and Neteyam knows he's losing you. So he digs in the small knapsack he has slung over his broad shoulders and pulls out something thin.

When he holds it up with shaky fingers, your breath catches in your throat. Strung through the taut brown of tree vine is a line of beads identical to the one that he wears on a braid tucked behind his ear. Upon closer inspection, you notice the blue and purple beads formed to create your favorite flowers.

“Wha—”

“Until you decide you want to be mine,” he says, voice trembling nervously as he takes your arm and gently slides the band up until it fits snuggly around your bicep. “So that you remember I'm always yours.”

Your voice is caught in your throat as he brings your fingers up to his lips.

“I won’t push you,” he says when he realizes your words have evaded you. “But I’ll wait for you.”

“Neteyam–”

He simply smiles at you, golden eyes shy as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. He seems satisfied, triumphant, when you eye the band but make no moves to remove it.

“I’ll wait for you,” he repeats, giving your fingers a squeeze before running off.

“He did what?” Lo’ak shrills a week later.

The younger three Sully's had hunted you down and brought you to the clearing dedicated to archery training.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and elbow to turn your arm to examine the band with wide eyes.

You can’t help but smile gently to yourself, watching the way the sun catches the reflection of the pearlescent beads and reflects them brightly.

“I knew that dummy was planning something,” Kiri grumbles. You bite your lip when she meets your gaze. “Well?”

“Well what?” you ask, arm still in Lo’ak’s grasp.

He twists playfully and your laugh glitters in the air.

"Are you going to put my knucklehead brother out of his misery or what?" Kiri hisses, arm drawing to shoot a arrow that stabs the target about a centimeter too left.

Tuk giggles as she runs up to the target to examine the damage.

“Yeah, please do, he's in love and it's disgusting,” Lo'ak grumbles, still eyeing the cuff.

Your heart skips at the mention of love, cheeks going warm when both Kiri and Lo'ak notice how you've gone quiet. They begin laughing, dealing you playful punches.

“Stop that,” you scold, swatting their hands away. “I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

“Oh, get real!” Kiri huffs. “You are so in love, you know you'll say yes.”

“Please put me out of my misery,” Lo'ak moans. “I'm tired of being his therapist because he's a little bitch.”

“Lo'ak,” you warn, eyes narrowing.

He giggles and Kiri stifles a laugh as you flounder, cheeks blooming under the siblings' teasing.

“You are both so awful,” you say petulantly, arms crossing one over the other. “How are you so sure I’ll return his feelings?”

It's Kiri's turn to groan, eyes rolling.

“Sure enough that I know if I let you in on a little secret, it'll light a fire under your ass,” she says seriously.

Your spine goes rigid, arms loosening as you wait with bated breath.

“Neteyam may choose you, but if you don’t choose him back quickly enough, someone could swoop in and claw that chance from you,” she shrugs.

Te'feyra's name is an ugly insinuation and something green coils its way into the pit of your stomach as you recall the chaste kiss she'd pressed to Neteyam's lips all those nights ago in the forest.

“Gears turning?” Lo'ak lilts.

They definitely are and suddenly you feel small, digging your big toe into the dirt to drag lines through the forest floor. You nod hesitantly, band suddenly tight around your bicep.

In your ruminating, Lo'ak and Kiri pass a knowing glance.

“Well?” Lo'ak prods.

You fidget, rattling with nerves.

“I suppose...”

Lo'ak sighs and his hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the clearing.

“Where are we going?” you squeak.

“To put everyone out of their misery,” Lo'ak huffs.

The forest seems way more alive than usual, glowing so bright it almost overpowers the sun. Woodsprites gather around as Lo'ak nudges you through the thick foliage and you can't help but think about the sweet smile that curled on Neteyam's lips as he assured you that he was yours. All yours.

The fire crackles in the distance and you know that the morning meal is in the works when voices roar quietly meters away.

Neteyam sits near the center, surrounded by elders and the dreaded girl.

Te'feyra's obliterated every single centimeter of space available, nearly melded to his side as the elders talk animatedly over the two.

You want to turn back, uncertainty vice-like, but Lo'ak squeezes your shoulders as a silent plea. Not even a moment passes before Neteyam peels himself away and begins putting distance between them.

When Te'feyra gives him a curious glance, he gives her an uneasy smile.

“Be courageous, ________,” Lo'ak encourages. “You're one of the strongest people I know.”

With a final pat on the back, he pushes you towards the circle and the sudden movement catches everyone's gaze.

“________,” one of the elders calls fondly.

You smile and bow your head, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Hello,” you greet quietly, eyes swooping hesitantly to Neteyam who rises to his feet, already watching you intently.

That's when you notice it, the choker fastened around his throat. The vine is identical to yours, but it's strung with a line of beads that mirror the ones woven into a singular braid at the nape of your neck.

You hadn't realized that he'd noticed it all this time, but it's the ultimate confirmation that Neteyam sees you. And when he notices that you notice, he smiles softly.

The elders notice as well, drawing the link between your arm band and the necklace that Neteyam wears, now that you two stand opposite each other.

“May I borrow Neteyam for a moment?” you ask politely.

The same elder you prepared with the evening prior gleams a wide smile when Neteyam takes a step towards you, fingers brushing delicately with yours.

Te'feyra remains seated, lips twitching as her gaze flits between the two of you.

“By all means,” one of them says. “Take your time.”

You bow your head again, heart thudding when Neteyam's fingers twine with yours and he lets you drag him out of the circle and deeper into the forest.

When you deem that no prying eyes or ears surround you, you stop, Neteyam bumping softly into your back. The hair on the back of your neck bristle when he makes no moves to extricate himself from you, simply moving your braids from your face to reveal the string of beads tucked near the nape of your neck.

“You needed me?” he whispers, fingers still ghosting the skin of shoulder.

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut as you relish the moment. Your fingers are still locked and for a fleeting second, you pretend that it's always been like this, the two of you.

“I am nothing extraordinary,” you start, and Neteyam's fingertips pause at your elbow.

“I'd argue differently,” he responds.

“I value time alone and I get overwhelmed often,” you continue.

“We all have our moments,” is his rebuttal as the hand covering yours squeezes gently.

You sigh.

“I could—”

Neteyam turns you and you're met with the the choker, beads glinting under the light. Your eyes drag up the column of his strong neck, flit past his soft lips and finally lock with his searing gaze.

“You can try all you want to run me off,” Neteyam laughs quietly, cupping your jaw. “But I'm not scared anymore.”

Your expression is skeptical and Neteyam decides to bite the bullet. He's closing in on you and your heart pounds violently in your chest.

“Neteyam,” you whisper weakly, hand coming up to his chest.

He traps your fingers against his heart, lips slotting between yours before you can protest some more.

It's like the forest comes alive around you, grass tickling between your toes as you melt under his touch and lean up into his mouth.

His hands are everywhere at once, branding your cerulean skin as he kisses you like it's your last moments. There's no hesitation, no feeling it out, just his warm breath and his soft lips as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“I'll take you as you are at any moment,” he says breathlessly between kisses. “You just have to say you want me back, ________. Please.”

You nod, nose brushing against his as one of his palms splay at the small of your back and the other grabs your chin, pulling you back to plant another burning kiss on your lips.

“Say it,” he begs.

Your eyes begin to mist as you nod again eagerly, parting for a moment to whisper the words.

“I'm yours,” you hoarse, hands on either side of his neck. “I'm yours if you'll be with me.”

Neteyam simply kisses you again, a satisfied hum rumbling from his built chest.

“Fucking finally,” a whisper sounds from the brush.

A LIL' BONUS

“You think they would have figured it out on their own?” Lo'ak asks, wolfing down his food.

Kiri shrugs, feeding Tuk a piece of fruit from her wooden plate.

“Maybe,” she says, unable to suppress her proud grin. “Maybe not. They're both stupid."

“I think so,” Te'feyra laughs watching you and Neteyam fondly from across the fire. “They were a long time coming.”

an – thank you SO much if you've made it this far! again, leave a request or let's chat hehehe. up next is lo'ak so stay tuned! :)

#neteyam x reader #avatar #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water

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hannieehaee · 6 months

Text

18+ / mdi

content: perv!wonwoo (not super pervy but i tried my best 🫡), smut, f reader, penetrative sex, established relationship (situatuonship is mentioned but idk lets assume they're exclusive just bc i can), he's kinda a dick, etc.

wc: 905

masterlist

streamer!wonwoo perv!wonwoo whose audience believes him to be a golden boy. simply a polite yet charming guy whos into video games, who just so happens to be insanely handsome. his thick rimmed glasses and wavy hair almost covering his eyes, accompanied by those wide shoulders, was able to catch the attention of all of those looking for a pretty face to look at while consuming content from their favorite video games (although many keep their eyes glued to the tiny view of wonwoo on the corner of the screen rather than the game itself).

the people watching him through the screen dont even see the half of it, though, not knowing how much of a perv he is when in real life. not so much a respectful and charming guy, but a degenerate who keeps up the act for appearances. after all, that is how he first got to you a few years back, when you, one of the few who had been a loyal viewer since before his channel blew up, decided that you just HAD to have the pretty nerd rambling about league of legends on stream.

after a few (okay, maybe more than a few) attempts at catching his attention through leaving various suggestive comments, wonwoo finally decided to take a look at your account, noting an instagram linked on your bio. after seeing that the desperate commentator he had taken a liking to seeing always punctual in his streams was a pretty girl in his area, his mind went straight to the gutter, finding his hands moving on their own to send you a message detailing his interest.

a few months later and you found yourself in a months-long situationship with the streamer, having him hit you up almost every other day when he needed 'something warm warm to stick his dick in', as he so nicely put it as he had you sitting on top of him, cockwarming him while he gamed (off-stream, of course).

having a such a well paying stay at home job had many perks, including the ability to take any day off he wanted to fuck you into his bed, somehow managing to never scare you away with his very obvious obsession with your body, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you with little to no regard for the exhaustion you'd feel after a few hours with him. somehow the roles had reversed, with him now being the one to continuously pursue you under the vice of getting under your pants every second he could.

"n-nonu fuck. slow down, i-" you whined as he senselessly bounced you up and down on his dick, rhythm completely lost a few rounds ago.

he practically growled at your complaint, "you asked for this when you showed up wearing that tiny excuse for a skirt while i was on stream."

"you asked me over-"

"for moral support, baby. not for you to parade yourself around me knowing i wouldnt be able to hold back from taking this pussy," he breathed out, angling you slightly differently, now causing you to whine even louder at your clit being stimulated by the friction.

"does your audience know how m- agh fuck. how much of a perv you are? leaving mid stream to get your dick wet?"

your brattiness causes him to disconnect your bodies, flipping yours over to put you on your hands and elbows and ramming himself into you with no warning.

"be thankful i'm fucking you of all people baby. be thankful this pussy has such a grip on me to get you on my bed every night," he sped up as he spoke filth into your ears.

wonwoo had a special way of making you feel like an object, something which you only enjoyed when it came to him. despite being such a fucking perv, you enjoyed the dynamic you had built, allowing him to play with your body however he saw fit as long as he made you cum. and jesus christ, did he.

"fuck," you felt the end coming near and began to push yourself back against him, grinding into him as much as you could despite his clammy hands having such a tight hold on your hips.

"im gonna make you cream all around me and then im gonna fill you up. okay, baby? then im gonna go back on stream while you keep my bed w- ah fuck. warm for me. if you're a good girl for me, i'll fuck you to sleep afterwards," he rasped out, losing his rhythm even further as he neared his own high.

a few more harsh thrusts later and you were creaming around him, tightening up so much that he, too, reached his peak, filling you up and letting go of your hips, causing you to fall flat against the mattress.

"fuck. baby, never show up like that here again. i almost died," he breathed out as he tried to do a decent job at cleaning you up a bit and tucking you under the covers.

despite his perverted treatment of your body, wonwoo was always sweet to you when his mind wasnt filled with sex (which admittedly wasnt often).

"you act as if i forced you to fuck me," you retaliate despite knowing you did wear that skirt with a specific purpose in mind.

"just shut up and go to sleep, baby. you'll need your energy back soon."

n/a: this is ass im rlly bad at writing men who r not obsessed with their s/o im sorry </33

#seventeen #svt #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt smut #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo x reader

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kissitbttr · 10 months

Note

miguel getting mad because you keep waking him up.

i’d think that he won’t get mad mad. because he loves his darling too much to make her upset🥹

he sighs in frustration as his eyes become wide eyed open. can’t seem to fall asleep anymore now that you keep poking him everywhere.

“what is it this time, baby?” he calls you by one of your favorite pet names although he feels rather annoyed at you for disturbing his peace. “it’s close to 1 am. go to sleep.”

he tries to tell you as calmly as possible, obviously irritated but not to the point where he’d snap at you. he’s too much of a gentleman to do that.

you prop yourself on of your elbows, the strap of your midnight blue dress slips a bit. “do you love me, miggy?”

he frowns, turning around to look at you. “you woke me up for that shit?”

with a small pout, you pretend to look sad. eyes casting down to your fingers. “i didn’t hear a yes…”

“dios mío” he mutters, palms running over his tired face as his head shakes at your childish—but cute—behavior. “yes of course i love you, mi amor. i’d tear down the sky and would fucking kill for you. why are you even asking me a stupid question?”

you shrug your shoulders as you smile. feeling your cheeks warm at his response. “nothing, solo me preguntaba.”

“okay, anything else?”

the smile disappears from your face as a frown soon replaced it. “why the fuck do you sound like that? am I annoying to you?”

“Jesus Christ, woman! I do not sound annoyed” he whispers yell, finding it hard to believe that the two of you are basically arguing about this in the middle of the night,

“nunca podrías molestarme, mi vida” his cold fingers reaching up to graze lightly against your soft cheek, internally relieve that you quickly melt into his touch. “you will most definitely be the death of me but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

your heart tugs at that, softly biting the inside of your cheek to hold back the smile that’s itching to make an appearance.

“i love you, Miguel.” you respond. “you’re it for me. i just know it.”

he grins widely, folding his arm behind his head as he admires every single detail of your beauty. your pretty eyes, your nose, your gorgeous gorgeous smile that could make anyone fall into their knees. the way your hair falls perfectly against your shoulder.

you’re it for him too. he believes that.

“i love you more, darling” he whispers softly. “now can we get back to sleep? I’m really really exhausted.”

you nod, moving a bit closer to his body and making yourself comfortable. “of course, baby. I’m sorry for waking you.” you rest your head against his bare chest, fingers tracing circles on it because you know how much he loves it,

he shakes his head in disapproval. “nothing to apologize, mi amor. now go to sleep.” he kisses the crown of your head as you slowly fall into a deep sleep. soft heavy breathing of yours is the only thing that fills up the room that night,

miguel feels his heart is full. a grateful smile seems to never leave his face as he hold his woman close to him.

soon as he realizes you’re finally asleep, Miguel turns his head towards the bedside table, hand reaching out behind a lamp as he blindly searches for one of the most important thing in his life that will change his future.

a small sigh of relief escapes his mouth as he finally grasps it in his palm. the small red velvet box that he has been hiding for months.

he carefully flicks it open and the beautiful encrusted diamond ring is secured. not a single scratch or defect is yet to graze it.

Miguel tends to imagine what it’s like to have a family with you. because the two of you have talked about it before, and no one is more excited and eager than he is.

he carefully sets it back to its hidden place after closing it back. a place where he knows for sure you won’t find it.

he really can’t wait to marry you.

#anon #answered #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o’hara fluff

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nanaslutt · 6 months

Note

gojo's first time meeting you and instantly noticing your freckles. like nothing other than your freckles, not even the clothes you're wearing rn or your hair or eyes.

freckles.

and im absolutely sure geto would be so fed up with gojo ranting about how he wants to kiss every single one of them.

oh my god this is so cute???????? this reminds me of gojos cannon reaction to seeing geto for the first time and thinking “bangs” lol

contains: fem transfer student!reader, 3rd year satosugu, geto choosing to stay at jujutsu tech au, the boys are both 19 here, Geto has morals, gojo uhhhhhh, crackkk, fluff, perv!gojo, masturbation, caught masturbating, fantasizing

note: the toji fic will b posted later tonight or tmrw morn :p

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Freckles………

If you looked close enough you might be able to see the white orbs floating around Gojo’s head,

“Uhhh, sorry is there something on my face” you spoke up when he didn’t say anything after you introduced yourself.

Satoru getting jolted out of his trance when suguru landed a mean smack on the back of his head, pouting at his dark haired bestfriend.

“Sorry about him,” geto apologized on his behalf, “he can be quite oblivious to how his actions affect other people.” suguru grit behind his teeth, looking out the corner of his eye to see satoru shooting daggers at him.

“Asshole…” the white haired man mumbled under his breath, looking up from under his white lashes, gaze set back on your face, watching you rub the back of your neck, saying something to geto.

Words leaving your mouth sounding muffled as his gaze dropped to your neck, noticing that the brown spots trailed further and further down the length of your neck, even traveling under the collar of your shirt, where the cloth obstructed his view.

Lip twitching up breifly at his annoyance, wanting to see just how far the freckles really went.

“Right satoru?” Suguru laughed, both of you directing your attention to the albino, “god da-“ smacking him harder once more on the back of his head, sending him his body curling in on himself on the ground and groaning, “manners satoru jesus christ.” suguru smacks a heavy hand over his face at gojos antics.

—

Gojo let his head fall of the edge of sugurus bed, silky hair falling around his ears, suguru laying against the headboard, flipping through some magazine, sugurus low-fi playlist playing softly in the backround.

“God….did you see how her frek-“ Geto swiftly cutting him off by kicking his foot into his shin, “satoru i swear to god if you say one more thing about her fucking freckles i’m going to cut out your tongue.” he spat, not looking up from his magazine.

For days after your first meeting he would not shut up about how cute he found your freckles.

Learning when you wore a skimpy tank top when sparing with shoko, that the cute spots not only covered your pretty face, but your arms and hands too.

Watching the light hit your skin as your body moved swiftly, shirt lifting when you flipped and twisted yourself, seeing the freckles and moles scattered across your tummy.

Shirt barely having lifted for a couple milliseconds, but he didn’t have good eyesight for nothing. Gojo quickly memorizing the placement of the dots and engraving it in his brain.

Brain practically short circuiting when the sun was beating down on the school a little too how one day, meaning he got to see you in shorts.

short, skimpy, tight, shorts.

It was like you wanted him to look, leaning over the counter, knees perched on the stool and elbows on the counter, cradling your soft cheeks in your hands as you spoke to shoko over the table.

Twisting your hips on the swivel stool, making the fabric of your shorts raise, letting him see even more brown spots on the insides of your thighs from his place on the couch behind you.

“torruuu,” geto caught him off gaurd, whispering into the shell of his ear, “quit bein a fucking perv.” turning to look at the not so friendly looking smile plastered on the dark haired mans face. ugh. buzzkill.

Taking them back to the present, “I know I knowww, you hate beauty we get it..” gojo drawled, sticking his tongue out and rolling his eyes. Lucky the bed blocked geto’s view of gojo’s face from here, as he probably would’ve hit him.

“I just cannot stop thinking about kissing her cute little face, maybe her neck..” pausing for a second, getting too absolved in his words, “below her neck…” he whispered.

“Satoru, stop telling me about your perverted fantasies about our new classmate, please.” letting the magazine drop into his lap as he finally let himself look down at the man.

Geto quickly noticing the extremely obvious tent in his pants. “You have 2 seconds to get you and your boner off my bed or your not gonna like it.” geto growled.

Gojo let his body slide of the bed backwards headfirst into the hardwood floor. “You hate meeeee,” he dragged out his words dramatically, “You hate my happinesssss” he continued, geto closing his eyes and shook his head, feeling a headache come on at his antics.

“I hate your penis.” Geto corrected. “She has a mind of her own, it’s not my faul,” gojo defended, sprawling his limbs out on the floor.

“Did you just refer to your dick as ‘she’?” Geto asked, needing to clarify the insanity gojo was spouting, leaning over the end of his bed to get a better look at the white haired freak.

“Well yeah,” he stated like it was obvious, “cant be a ‘him’, that would be gay.”

Geto blinked at him, glancing at the ceiling to center himself before he looked back at the man on the floor. Leaning back out of view, he picked up the magazine, throwing it straight at gojos crotch. Of course now of all times when geto decided to assault him, he had his infinity on.

“Oh that would’ve hurt so bad,” gojo closed his lanky legs together, covering his crotch with his hands. “I cant believe you really went for my nads.” gojo bit his lip in offense, faux crying at getos meaness.

Geto just rolled his eyes in response, flopping back into the bed, folding his hands over his chest as he was left entertain-less.

—

When the two of you finally exchanged numbers, he used the opportunity to ask to take a picture together; for your profile picture of course!

Definitely not because he wanted to stare at the picture by himself for hours; pinching the screen between his fingers, zooming in and out of on the photo as he now could really map out each and every one of your freckles.

Blushing when his brain compared them to the constellations, how romantic he thought.

What happened next was… less romantic.

Phone laid out on the bed underneath him while his hand laid next to it, bracing himself as he hovered above it, other hand rapidly stroking his cock.

Staring into your eyes unabashedly, no geto around to tell him off as he engraved whatever piece of your face he wanted into his brain permanently.

Squeezing over the tip when he looked at how big his hand looked compared to your shoulder, palm resting on it in the photo.

Twitching at the mole placed perfectly on your cleavage, getting a great view of the crack between your breasts from the high angle he held the phone at. Mentally patting himself on the back for that.

He had zoomed in onto your half of the photo, not wanting to look at himself while he masturbated.

Mouth watering with the urge to press his lips against every single one of your freckles. Imagining you giggling and blushing while he tickled your face with his soft lips making him dizzy.

Gojo imagined your hand instead of his, wrapped tightly around his cock. He imagined pressing his length against your plush lips, rubbing the tip over them, feeling your tongue dart out and lick his tip.

Groaning out your name when he came, abs clenching when ropes of cum spurted out of his dick, and all over the sheets underneath him.

Grimacing when he watched some of it land on his phone screen; disgust being slightly overpowered by how erotic your pixelated face looked with his cum decorating it.

“Satoru did you take my charger again? Swear i’m gonna kill you-“ Suguru cut himself short when he slid satoru’s door open, taking in the scene in front of him.

Geto wasn’t able to fully see his phone, but he knew full well what his jerk off material was.

Satoru gave him a dopey grin, practically seeing smoke emit from atop getos head as he slammed the door shut, kicking his foot against the wood and yelling out, “cant believe i’m best friends with such a pervert!” down the hallway, voice getting quieter the further he got away from gojos room.

Satoru didn’t care though, gazing back at his phone, picking it up in his palm before using his thumb to smear the cum over your smiling lips lewdly.

He absolutely needed to get his hands on you, and he would make sure he did.

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