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bby-deerling · 2 months

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sunshine of your love (law x reader nsfw)

law overhears you talking with ikkaku and takes notes ;^)

18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 3.4k masterlist

cw: afab!reader, virgin law, masturbation, oral sex (reader receiving), voyeurism kinda, teasing, law's kinda weird but he means well, friends to lovers, ikkaku is your girliepop, virginity loss, law is cocky, law is also a dork, alcohol consumption, hangovers

tagging: @willowbelle @sanjisjuul @eelnoise @kaizokuniichan @risenwrites @ragethebunny @mirillua @sanjisprincesswifey @atanukileaf

This was all a cruel joke—a way for Ikkaku to silently torture him as punishment for finally giving her a roommate on the submarine after all these years—at least that’s what Law tells himself as he listens to the conversation bleeding through too-thin walls into his bedroom.

The two of you had been drinking fairly heavily judging by the volume of your giggles and the way your words slur as you swap stories of escapades, some good, some bad, but mostly mediocre. Truthfully, he couldn’t care less about what Ikkaku gets up to in that respect, but when you speak, he hangs onto every word; the conversation is filthy, beyond explicit, and he now has a tantalizingly crisp image in his mind of exactly what gets you off and what doesn’t, and as drags his hand down his cock, he convinces himself that despite his lack of experience, he can give you what you crave. Part of him felt terrible for touching himself to something as innocent as you talking with your friend, but when you were describing what you like and don’t like in bed in so much detail, what else was he supposed to do with himself?

A lull in the conversation leads to Ikkaku coming up with some silly hypotheticals. “Alright, here’s one for you—fuck, marry kill: Shachi, Law, and…” she says, pausing for a moment while she thinks of a third option, “Me!” A pair of giggles echo through the wall when you immediately respond with a kill Shachi; if Law weren’t busy picturing you splayed out beneath him, he probably would have let out a snort of amusement too.

“Fuck you, marry Law.” you say decisively. Law lets out a hiss as he wills away the inadvertent image that pops into his head of Ikkaku on top of you, pleasuring you in the way he wishes he could—in the position that he should be in. Marry Law. The words bounce around his brain, driving him wild with the prospect of you not just wanting him once out of passing curiosity, but wanting him all the time. He’s wanted you so much, for so long, in every conceivable way, contriving excuses at every turn to spend more time alone with you, and lo and behold, here you were fantasizing about a life with him in your free time.

“Marry Law?” she balks incredulously, “You’re still on about that? I thought you got over that little crush you had—” Law’s hand stops stroking momentarily as Ikkaku’s words send him reeling. Feelings. You had feelings for him; he had wormed his way into your heart just like you had burrowed into his, and all of a sudden, he’s fisting himself with renewed vigor, propelled by the notion that if he plays his cards right, he’ll have the real thing sooner than he could have ever imagined. Images of you float through his mind as electricity courses through his skin—you by his side, you curled up in his lap while you flip through a novel, you laying face down as he fucks you into the mattress—each one carried the same weight of eroticism as he pictures the near future with you.

“I can’t help it!” you exclaim, far too loudly, but you were much too tipsy to be cognizant of the fact that Law’s bedroom was right next door, and despite his night owl tendencies, it was far too late to be lurking elsewhere on the submarine. “We’ve been spending so much time together and he just turns me into a flustered mess! He looks at me and has this look on his face, and I just—ugh, I need him!” you lament, causing Ikkaku to laugh at your plight and tease you further.

Rambling on, you say much more, about how much you cherish your time together, and wax poetic about how you feel a quiet kinship like him, as if he knows the contents of your soul without having to disclose them, but Law was still focused on the frustrated whimper you had let out when you said you needed him, replaying the words in the back of his mind like a broken record until he spills warm seed all over his hand. Guilt washes over him for disregarding your words of gushing adoration in the moment while his mind was preoccupied elsewhere, but he atones for his disrespect by ruminating on your tipsy ramblings as he drifts off to sleep.

The other half of my soul, you had said with a dreamy sigh—they were the exact same words that roll around his head whenever he thinks of you. Though half asleep, he concocts a half-baked plan to execute in the morning, sleepily setting his alarm to ensure he doesn’t miss his window of opportunity.

Law slips into your bedroom with a glass of water, a couple pieces of toast, and four-hundred milligrams of ibuprofen the moment Ikkaku leaves in the morning. Though he had only gotten a couple hours of sleep, the excitement flowing through his veins as he makes his way towards your room intent on subtly making his feelings known with a small gesture overpowers any exhaustion. Completely covered in your blankets from head to toe, the click of Law’s heeled boots against the floor prompts you to pop your head out from underneath, a dusting of red coating your face.

“For the hangover.” he says plainly as he sets the plate and glass on your nightstand. As you sip on the water, he takes in your lips and messy hair and weighs his options and contemplates taking an additional risk with you beyond simply hanging at your bedside for a bit of light conversation; despite how tipsy you had been last night, you’re now more parts pleasant than irritable and dizzy, and cute as a button as you thank him for going to the trouble of bringing you the light breakfast and medicine.

“It’s no trouble.” he insists, staring at you for a moment before committing to the urge in his core that keeps telling him to sling a teasing remark your way. “Besides since you want to get married so badly, I figured I should start taking better care of you.” he says with a smirk as he sits at the foot of your bed, masking his nerves with an aura of feigned confidence, behaving as if he’s made himself comfortable like this dozens of times.

He observes your reaction carefully, searching for any sign of disgust at him for eavesdropping as you turn red from head to toe; instead, he only finds mortification plaguing your face as your gaze turns downward towards your blankets. “I’m so sorry, Captain—” you squeak out, though before you can apologize further, he stops you, and you become acutely aware of the way he’s leaning in a bit closer to you, his hand nearly grazing the side of your leg.

“Why? Are you taking it back?” he asks; his expression is unintentionally blank as he focuses on analyzing the emotions on your own face. In turn, you find yourself unsure of whether he shared your feelings or was simply teasing you for being so brazen and loose-lipped while drunk.

“Only if you’re uncomfortable—” you start, but your voice falters and halts when his hand rests on your thigh and a devilish smirk graces his face.

“Do I look uncomfortable?” he teases, inching closer as he watches a flood of relief crash over your features, releasing your nerves with a shaky exhale.

You shake your head. “No, Captain.” you reply softly, inwardly cringing at the way you’d used his title out of habit. He lets out an exhale of amusement and gets unbearably close, hovering over you as the tension hangs thick in the small space between you.

“You need to relax.”he whispers softly, “Let me help you with that.” He hesitates for a moment before cautiously pressing his lips to yours. Law freezes for a moment before pulling away, admiring the half-lidded look in your eyes; playfully flirting with you while packaging his words in a coating of plausible deniability came naturally to him—the game of slowly pushing the envelope was fun for him—but kissing you, feeling you, and being on top of you were all novel and exhilarating new sensations that send him into a whirlpool of swirling nerves.

After listening to you complain about past experiences, he doesn’t want to disappoint you—he doesn’t want to fade into the back of your memory as another lousy story to tell.

As he gently coaxes your lips back to his, he runs through the laundry list of bad kissing habits you and Ikkaku had agreed upon last night: don’t clash your teeth against hers, don’t slobber in her mouth, don’t go crazy with the tongue. It seemed simple enough, and to an extent it was, as each muffled noise you make against his lips helps him learn, improve, and plan his next step, but everything from the press of your lips to the swirl of your tongue was so foreign and alien to him that he nearly forgets to take notes on what he likes in the process.

His hand creeps upward to cradle the side of your face—it was something you had said you adore, and the sweet, content noises you let out indicate that you were underselling your affection for the motion, if anything; however, what he doesn’t expect is to feel the flush of warmth that covers his face when you mewl against his mouth. He likes making you vocal, he decides, greedily soaking in each little bit of affection and praise you offer him as he slowly picks you apart.

I love getting my neck kissed so much—bites, licks, all of it. Words from last night echo in his head as he presses his lips in a trail down towards the sensitive column of your neck. The simple touches of his mouth along your skin are enough to make you squirm and whimper softly underneath him, giving him the confidence he secretly needs to sink his teeth into your flesh with an intent to mark you.

“You like that?” he purrs in your ear between nips of his teeth and swirls of his tongue against your neck. “Mhm…” you whine out, causing him to let out a small growl as he sucks at your skin. Satisfied with the bright red mark that would no doubt turn purple later, he lets his hovering hips fall, reattaching his lips to yours as he grinds his clothed cock into where he was approximately sure your core was underneath your sheets, and is gratified when he feels your legs spread slightly so he can feel a bit more of you. Succumbing to a haze of lust, Law is nervous but hungry for more—so much so that he becomes afraid of pushing things too far and pulls himself away so he can get a read on your pulse.

Your gazes lock together as you ask each other a silent question—how far do you want to go? A slight tremble courses though his hands; everything was seemingly happening all at once, but the tension between you had been building for months, and he can’t help but want to let everything spill over in this moment. He’s afraid to ask for too much and scare you off, but he’s filled with so much need that it makes him shake as he stares down at you, your lips still moist and kiss bitten.

“I want you, Law.” you whisper, the words traveling like tiny wisps that linger in the air. With a small sigh of relief, he’s resolved to give himself to you, give everything to you and lays the foundation in his head for a coarse path to reach that goal.

And then he moves your sheets, with the intention of being able to press himself closer to your body, and is thrown for a loop.

“Do you normally sleep without—” he stutters, unable to get the rest of his sentence out as he becomes transfixed on your bare lower half. He can’t resist letting one of his inked hands travel downward and rest along the curve of your hips as he takes in the expanse of bare skin, the tufts of wayward hair above your sex, and the hints of slick arousal that have began to creep along your inner thighs.

“No.” you say with a shake of your head, blushing furiously. Averting your eyes from his, you swallow hard before continuing. “I was… y’know…” you mumble, trailing into nothingness out of embarrassment from your admission, hoping it wouldn’t scare him off. Peeking at his reaction reveals quite the opposite as he gives you a feral grin, gears clicking together as he realized why you were hiding under your blanket when he entered the room.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about me, hm?” he hums teasingly, lips nearly grazing your earlobe. The ghost of a sensation makes you twitch, and he purrs with satisfaction at being able to make you squirm without even touching you. “Do you always think about me when you touch yourself?” he asks, letting his hand wander before resting his thumb on your needy bud, tracing light circles onto it, your words about hating when someone is too rough with it sitting clearly in the front of his mind.

“All the time…” you whisper as your back arches up off the mattress; the soft patterns he traces along your sensitive clit make you whimper for him, and the tone of your needy sounds nearly make Law cum on the spot.

“So do I.” he mumbles, the words distant on account of him being consumed by his task of working you up with his fingers. He contemplates going down on you, haphazardly pushing your shirt aside and kissing his way down your body, paying your tits some extra attention along the way, but he has absolutely no clue what to do beyond the theory of it all. Asking for assistance was out of the question—not when he was trying so hard to impress you enough to convince you to tether yourself to him permanently, not when he is so dead set on making sure you don’t realize that this is his first everything; looking incompetent in front of you was not an option, in any sense of the word.

And so, he takes a deep breath and decides to learn through doing.

Now, face settled between your legs, he was truly out of his element. More overheard guidance from the previous night floods his head. Keep your tongue flat and lick from side to side. Don’t fake a ton of obnoxious noises while you do it. It’s okay to roam a little, but keep your attention on the clit. He cyclically runs through each one of your preferences in his mind as he drags his tongue across your bud, instinctively picking up on the right pressure, the right patterns based on your reactions—it’s like a puzzle for him, though instead of clicking pieces into place or filling out a crossword, he’s slowly turning you into a squirming mess with his mouth. If he were any less drunk on the sensation of making you fervently writhe against him, he’d be thrown off by the way you snap your hips harshly along his tongue, doing more work than he feels you should be doing, but he’s simply awestruck by how pretty you look when you’re so intently focused on getting off. You seem so close, and, desperate to do something to push you over the edge, he grips your thighs tightly, making his best attempt at replicating your description of how much you said you enjoy it.

To his pleasant surprise, it works.

And when you come crashing over the edge, with white-hot intensity, he can’t help but slip his tongue inside you, wanting to feel every bit of your arousal on his tongue and experience the way your walls spasm—he wants to feel you coming apart and study it for future reference. You’re gorgeous, with your knuckles twisting and clutching at your bottom sheet, and your face blooming with heat.

He's been so singularly focused on pleasing you, on proving himself and protecting his ego, that he had put his own needs on the backburner, but seeing you glowing, needy, and all for him makes him unable to wait any longer to have you.

Unbuckling his pants, freeing his cock, and lining himself up with your entrance, he's about to slide his length inside of you, but something makes him instinctively pause; he’s not quite sure what’s making him hesitate, until he remembers.

You like to be teased.

He presses the smallest bit into you before withdrawing, making you let out a sigh of frustration. “You want it?” he coos playfully, smirking down at you when you grind your hips towards him in vain.

“Please, Law… I need it…” you whine, slightly pouting your lips out at him.

Please.

“Then take it.” he whispers lowly as he bottoms out inside of you, hiding his burning face in the crook of your shoulder as he’s flooded with another wave of novel sensations. Pride swells in his chest upon hearing you beg for him, plead for him to take you; the feeling is intoxicating, so much so that he nearly forgets that he doesn’t quite know what to do once he’s fully sheathed inside of you. Flailing for only the briefest of moments, he does the only thing he can think of—stop thinking so much, for once.

He acts on instinct, capturing your lips with his and swiping his tongue along your bottom lip clumsily as he rocks his hips into yours, trying to keep his strokes slow and even to prevent himself from getting too overwhelmed before he even truly starts. Soon enough, he regains his head and gets bolder, using your sounds and reactions as cues to make sure he’s barking up the right tree; the more decisive he is with his movements, the more you respond, and the better he can get a read on you.

But right now, he can’t see your face, opting instead to bury his own into the crook of your neck, scattering any patch of skin he can reach with kisses and love bites as he gives you surer, more intense strokes; just when he thinks he’s ascended to the truest form of a higher plane, completely dissolved into something intangible and forever mixed with you, he feels you do something that drives him even more wild. It’s paradoxical, how much he loves it when you wrap your legs around him; he so badly wants to be caged in by you, an eternal mess of tangled limbs, but the action is so intimate, so comfortable that it sends him spiraling unbearably close to the edge.

“Where do you want me to—” he rasps, unable to spit the rest of his words out as the way he buries himself deep inside you makes him gasp sharply.

“Anywhere.” you reply, the word dipped in layers of lust. He laments his inability to last longer, but the way you fit around his cock like a tight glove combined with the pretty, fucked out look on your face makes him unable to keep his composure.

A slew of whispered curses fall from his lips as he pulls out and spurts ropes of hot cum onto your lower stomach. Mesmerized by the look of his seed spread over your skin as he catches his breath, he takes a few moments to fall back down from space before planting a kiss on your lips.

“Thank you…that was… wow.” you say quietly with a smile, mind still scrambled as he haphazardly wipes you clean with the tissues that sit on your nightstand.

“Thank yourself.” he replies teasingly, pressing kisses along your collarbone as he settles in bed behind you, “You’re the one who gave me the detailed instructions.” His words make your cheeks flush as you nuzzle into his touch, his hands lacking their usual chill as they trace patterns into your skin.

“My other half.” he murmurs gently into your ear, in a hushed tone so quiet that you nearly think you’ve dreamt it.

A soft, lazy smile drifts onto your face. “My other half.” you echo, lacing your fingers with his and pressing a kiss to his knuckles before nodding off back to sleep together.

#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law smut #law smut #law x reader #trafalgar law x you #law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #law x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #one piece scenario #trafalgar law #x reader

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thehighladywrites · 1 month

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— “Okay, but in what way do you love me?”

☀︎ — pairing: tutor/nerd azriel x bimbo/ditzy reader

☀︎ — summary: It’s confession time! Last night you said you like him but over analyzing azriel needs to know exactly what “like” means.

☀︎ — warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, confessions, creampie, fluff, azriel needs clarification even though you are VERY clear

☀︎ — amara’s note: pls enjoy and lemme know what u think💗 also sorry for it being short it’s only bc i’m posting another drabble very soon, and it’s a personal favorite 👀💗

series masterlist

“Why are you staring at me, Az? Is there something on my face?” you ask panicked as you grab your hand mirror on his desk and check your flawless face

Azriel's gaze softens as he speaks, “No, there's nothing on your beautiful face. I just like looking at you. And, I want to ask you something.”

You exhale calmly, pleased with your appearance, as you turn your body towards him, jewelry jangling.

His stomach feels leaden, and he feels nauseous. What if your version of "like" and his version of "like" aren't the same? What if you say you like him, but only in a friendly way?

You are miles out of his league, but he's not complaining. You actually make him happy and mushy when you call and ask him to go on little shopping trips with you, and it’s even better when you let him fuck your brains out from time to time. But he is in love, like deeply fucking in love.

“Okay. Do you recall—remember yesterday when you said you liked me? Do you want to clarify what that means? Why do you like me?”

The question makes you tilt your head in confusion, brows drawing in curiosity as you pull the strawberry-flavored lollipop from your mouth, resulting in a loud pop, lips covered in a thin layer of sticky, red residue.

“Wait, huh? What do you mean, Azzie? I don’t like you, I love you.”

Oh my fucking god, what? Okay, so he was literally about to throw the fuck up but he was a little hesitant to respond. Azriel couldn't help but think about the meaning behind your words. You were always so bubbly and affectionate, even with strangers. Did your "I love you" hold the same weight every time, or was it just another sprinkle of your charm?

“Okay, I hear you but in what way do you love me? Do you mean it as a friend or—?” He questions behind his glasses.

Azriel had, for the first time ever, brought you to his dorm. You were just laying in bed next to him but decided to straddle his lying body, smiling as his hands automatically held your thighs.

“No silly! I loooove you and I want you to be my boyfriend. You’re so hot and sweet and kind and you care about me, like a lot. Always keepin’ me outta trouble and kissing me too. You love me too tho, right?” You gaze down at him, your big doe eyes shimmering with hope, and your glossy bottom lip slightly quivering.

Love you? He was almost insanely obsessed with you. There was something about you that drove him crazy. How could he not love you? He gives you an assuring nod, all of your previous worries disappearing in an instant. “Yeah, I do. I love you too. So much.”

“That’s so adorable, gimme a kiss.” You puckered your lips, the sweet scent of your Burberry Her Elixir filling his senses.

He tries to remove his glasses, but you stop him with a swat. “No, keep ‘em on,” you insist between kisses.

—

To no one’s surprise you were bent over his desk, getting fucked stupid as he made you list what you loved about him.

Maybe it was a little mean since you couldn’t focus, your fuzzy brain filled with pleasure, but Azriel wanted to know anyway.

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

So you did, saying everything you loved about him. Every single detail.

“I love it when you make me breakfast— fuck, and—and when you carry me whenever i want. ‘m so close, az,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum — harder than ever, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him.

“a-azzie,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“you’re so perfect. prettiest girl i’ve laid my fucking eyes on —prettiest pussy ever too. i, sh-shit—” he falls into his own orgasm, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sighs into your neck, fucking his load into you.

“Holy shit,” Azriel mutters before he kisses the back of your head, the biggest trail of cum he’s ever seen leaking out of you when he pulls out.

“I wanna go again, please Az, let—let me ride. I’ll tell you more things I love,” you lock eyes with him over your shoulder, a smirk playing at your lips.

Azriel obviously doesn’t deny. He’s happy someone for once in his life wants to tell him how much they love him. Especially when that someone is his first and last girlfriend💗.

🏷️: @ithan-holstroms-girl @whatdoyxumean @honeybeeboobaa @to-be-written @sidthedollface2 @stasiereads @andrewgarfield2022 @amara-moonlight @thescooby-gang @linoisqt @mischiefmanagers @tortured-artists @dwlyniii @scooobies @harryshoobies69 @caroline-books @kalulakunundrum @meshelleexplosionmurder @danikamariewrites @clairebear08 @redbleedingrose @jeannineee @rowaelinsdaughter @nocasdatsgay @v3lv3tf0x @liati2000 @teenageeggscissorslawyer @impossibelle @stonerpersona @dreamlandreader @djaaaa @callmeblaire @thelov3lybookworm @polli05927 @ahitsalyssa @evergreenlark @thegirlintheshadows101 @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofladydeath @acourtofwhatthefuck @readychilledwine @daycourtofficial @azriels-shadowsinger @sapphicmsmarvel @hungryforbatboys @justasillylittlegoofyguy @luvmoo @emryb @meritxellao @mochibabycakes @artists-ally @azzieslittlebunny @viatorem-maris @berryzxx @riddlesb1tch @sweetshifter

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lovedazai · 1 year

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WHEN YOU LEAVE TO GO ON A LONG, DANGEROUS MISSION

ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo

p.s.! sending hugs + kisses to the lovely anon who requested <3 !! sorry i kinda got carried away :’)

DAZAI

when he’s strategizing and realizes you’re the best suited member of the agency for the mission, his heart drops. he knew being in a relationship with his coworker would come to this eventually, but he’s always been selfish.

he didn't know how he could make it that long without you. he's used to keeping an eye on you, always listening behind his headset, but this time you'd have to be on your own and he hates it.

he pores over the details of the case, forcing the logic to piece together that you’d be okay. he desperately tries to ignore the voice in his head telling him that you’d be taken away from him just like everyone else

it takes every part of him not to cling onto you when he kisses you goodbye. he sends you off with a smile, and it drops as soon as you’re gone, a stiff frown settling in its place.

there’s a noticeable emptiness without you around. his futon, just barely able to fit the two of you wrapped around each other, suddenly feels too big, and he can’t sleep.

instead, he stares at the moon and wonders if you were as restless as him, looking at it too. it made him feel connected to you, even if you weren’t doing the same.

he talks to you about his day as if you were next to him, just to ignore the crippling loneliness he thought he’d starved off for good.

he acts out more than usual, overcompensating for his lack of attention, even if it came in the form of a hard smack to the head from kunikida.

his stomach gurgles angrily at him, and he realizes there isn’t anyone around to make him a proper dinner anymore. he can’t be bothered to cook and falls back into old habits, opening bottles of sake and cans of crab. he knows you’d be mad if you were there, and the thought of you scolding him to take better care of himself makes him smile.

dazai hums as he flips through his suicide book, words familiar enough that he didn’t bother turning on a light to read them. he knew you’d be back home any day now. your message to the agency that you were safe had lifted a weight from him, but he wouldn’t be completely satisfied until you were in his arms again.

he pauses when he hears the lock turn in the door, sitting up with big, blinking eyes. its felt like an eternity without you, it almost feels unreal that you could really be back.

when he sees you in the doorway, he can’t even bare to move. his face breaks out in a lovesick grin, and he opens his arms wide. your suitcase is abandoned in the doorway as you run to him, knocking him back against the soft cushion of his futon.

his hands cradle your head, kissing you everywhere he can reach. “i’m so happy you’re home,” he still isn’t used to saying that word. “i missed you so much it nearly killed me.” his lips are curled into a smile when he nuzzles into your chest. he shakily exhales when you gently scratch against his scalp as he intertwines his legs with yours, pulling himself closer to you.

“i missed you too,” he’s so happy to hear it, his cheeks ache from smiling so hard. “were you okay while i was gone?”

“shhh,” he holds a finger up to your lips, suppressing a shiver when you kiss his fingertips. “that doesn’t matter now, my love! can’t we just enjoy being together again?” he hears you sigh, and he knows you see right through his poor attempt at deflecting, but it doesn’t matter, not when he finally has you in his arms again.

CHUUYA

when he hears the news, he assumes he's going with you. it’s no big deal, he’s actually kind of excited. when mori tells him otherwise, he thinks it’s some kind of joke.

he knows it can’t be helped, but he’s still pissed, thinking of being without you for so long, not knowing if you were safe. he doesn’t even want to think of something bad happening to you, but the thought creeps into his mind, dark and icky.

the last thing he wants is for you to think he doesn’t trust you, so he keeps his anxieties inside, helps you pack, and reluctantly kisses you goodbye. it takes a few muttered “just one more?”s before he finally lets you go.

it takes a while for him to adjust to you being away, and he desperately hopes he never has to get used to it again.

he has to stop himself from grabbing two wine glasses each night when he comes home, putting yours back with a resentful frown.

he hugs your pillow in place of you each night, hoping you come back before your scent leaves.

he lights your favorite candles, plays your favorite songs, finds himself ordering your favorite take-out just to have pieces of you around.

when he finishes a job and comes home with cracked, bleeding knuckles, he bandages them alone, pain so much worse without your kisses to make it better.

chuuya had long since left his spot on the couch, pacing back and forth in his living room. your flight had landed, and it was only a matter of time before you arrived home.

he runs to the door as soon as he hears the knob turn. he doesn’t even let you put your bags down before he’s wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you against him. “i missed you so fuckin’ much.” he presses his lips to yours, practically melting into you when you bury your fingers in his hair. “how are you?” he pulls away, looking you up and down. “are you hurt anywhere?”

you shake your head, giving him that smile he’s missed so much. he picks you up, holding your thighs as your arms circle around his neck, your bags floating behind him with his ability. “what d’you want? bed? bath? i’ll get you anything.”

“just want you.” you mumble into his neck. the answer knocks the air out of him, and he forces himself to take a deep breath, holding you even tighter. he drops the bags in front of the closet, and scoots back against the bed, sitting against the headboard, still cradling you in your arms. you’re already halfway asleep, exhausted from the plane ride home.

“get comfortable,” he presses a kiss to your temple, floating your favorite blanket closer. “‘cause i’m not letting you go again.”

RANPO

he didn’t care much for the details of the mission, until it was decided that you were going.

he’d thrown somewhat of a tantrum, demanding for fukuzawa to change his mind, but he knew it was useless; you were the only one in the agency who could pull it off.

he can’t even brag about how badass his s/o is when it comes at the cost of you leaving him.

when it’s time for you to go, he resists the urge to cling to your leg like a child and beg for you to stay. instead, he hugs you tightly, imprinting the feeling of your body in his. “come back safe,” he whispers, nose nuzzling into your neck. “please.”

he’s especially grumpy when you’re gone. he eats his breakfast by himself with a pout, apartment eerily quiet, food not nearly as good as it was when you cooked it.

he hates how much space there is in your tiny bathroom without your body next to his while he gets ready for work, glaring at your untouched shoes in the genkan on his way out.

and how exactly is he supposed to sleep well when he doesn’t even get a goodnight kiss??

cases thrown to the side for being too boring are now accepted; anything to keep his mind off of you not being around, or worse, you getting hurt.

he still buys your favorite snacks, an accumulating pile on your desk waiting for you when you return (he only eats a few of them)

ranpo knows exactly when you’ll be arriving home. he checks the time persistently, bouncing his feet as it gets closer. he doesn’t even wait for you to get settled; as soon as you’re through the door, he jumps into your arms, wrapping his legs around you like an oversized koala bear. “well?” he looks up at you, not bothering with greetings. “what are you waiting for? you have a lot of kisses to make up for, you know!”

he beams as you scatter kisses across his cheeks, dimpled from his big smile. you place a final one on his lips, putting him down to search through your bag. you say something about foreign snacks, but he can’t pay attention, his childish impatience gnawing at him. he’d been so deprived of your attention, and now that you’re here, you’re already distracted.

he wraps his arms around your back, forehead resting against the middle of your shoulder blades. “don’t leave again,” he says quietly; if it wasn’t for the silence of the room, you might not have heard him. “it’s not fair for me to be alone for so long.”

“i know,” you turn around to face him, and he crawls into your lap as soon as you do, his green eyes wide open. “i missed you.”

he peeks at you through his bangs. “how much?”

“so, so, so much.”

he smiles, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm before he intertwines it with his own. his thoughts of i didn’t know what to do without you are left unsaid. now that you’re back, he swears he isn’t leaving your side again, and there’s plenty of time for him to show you just how much he missed you.

BSD MASTERLIST

#dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #ranpo x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #edogawa ranpo x reader #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #dazai fluff #chuuya fluff #ranpo fluff #bsd fluff #💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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siriuslovebot · 9 months

Text

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 ➸ 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒏˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: more remus x mouse please!!! i adore them!!

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: mentions of insecurity, post full moon remus is a little snappy, the nickname 'mouse', insomnia, crying (this is all quite lighthearted i promise)

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: after remus snaps at the reader one day, some insecurities in their relationship come up.

𝑨/𝑵: hi loves! after the massive outpouring of love i had on mouse, i received this request and knew i absolutely had to write more of remus & mouse. this is written in the same universe, so to speak, but can be read as a standalone if you like. this one isn't nearly as long as the last, but it's just a little something that i wanted to write. if you'd like to see more of this pairing, just let me know and i would be happy to oblige!! as far as the warnings go, there's no real angst or anything just some insecurity on the reader's part. if that bothers you then please skip this one! as always, i hope you enjoy!

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 1.9k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

a slot of light slips through the curtains across the room, the faint moonlight shining directly over your eyes. a tiny huff leaves your lips as you flip the other way; sleep has escaped you for the past hour. you’d awoken, heart pounding, from a nightmare, and have been awake ever since. it’s a wonder you haven’t woken marlene or lily with your quiet grumbling and frustrated sighs.

you curl into your bed, entangling your body in the duvet as you stare at the wall of your dorm. your eyes trace the cracks in the stone, the dim light illuminating their details just enough to distract you. you attempt to count them, hoping maybe it will help lull you to sleep. after what feels like hours, you give up. another annoyed grunt leaves your lips as you flop onto your back to stare at the canopy above your bed.

the problem is: you’ve been suffering from this insomnia for the past week now. ever since the last full moon, you’ve been worried sick. of course you’re used to dealing with remus’s touchy moods around the full moon; you’ve seen how short he can get with other people, how he becomes quieter and more reserved, how he sleeps more than usual. still, he’d never been that way with you, even when he was clearly at the end of his rope mentally and emotionally.

earlier in the week, you’d been excited to share the lesson he missed that morning in care of magical creatures. professor kettleburn covered mokes, displaying their remarkable ability to shrink themselves to near invisibility. it wasn’t unusual for remus to ask you what he missed in class– so you thought it’d be fine to volunteer the information. unfortunately, it seemed he was still on edge after his latest transformation.

you’d taken a seat on the end of his bed, placing a hand on his leg. you greeted him softly, knowing how exhausted he usually felt. he laid there, arm covering his eyes, and said nothing. you took this as an opportunity to begin speaking. there was no response from him for a moment, before he moved his arm, blinking his bleary eyes as he barely sat up.

a sickly-looking expression occupied his features. his sleeve rose a bit and you noticed another fresh wound.

“can you please just… leave me alone?” he said, voice cold, before collapsing back onto the bed. he shook your hand away from his leg and curled into himself.

“are you okay, rem?”

“go. away.” his words were punctuated sharply, turning almost venomous. you flinched, your entire morale crumbling to dust beneath the weight of his words.

your stomach churned, and you cleared your throat. “o–okay,” you mumbled. you were out of his dorm in a flash, your feet carrying you as fast as possible downstairs.

“hey, y/n–” sirius tried to catch your sleeve, but you pushed past him, out of the portrait hole without a word. the tears were brimming already, your throat tightening as you made every effort to get as far away from everyone as possible. you hated how much it could upset you; remus was not mean, and you knew that. he would never hurt your feelings on purpose, and you knew better than to bother him when he wasn’t feeling well. still, it stung.

even worse, you weren’t brave enough to bring it up when he finally returned to classes as normal. as he sat down beside you at breakfast, you wondered if he even remembered it at all. he greeted you amicably and bumped his knee against yours as he settled into his seat. but he didn’t wrap his hand around yours like normal. he wasn’t leaning in to whisper his witty remarks while the others were distracted. remus is not an obviously affectionate man in the first place, but you have grown used to him showing his fondness for you in quiet ways. brushing your hair behind your ear, carrying your books to class, holding doors open for you.

now, moping in your bed, you feel even worse about everything. since that morning, you worried that you annoyed him to the point that he didn’t want you anymore. maybe he just preferred you as a friend. that idea hurt even more. blinking, you try to push the thought out of your head. alas, you are nothing if not an overthinker, and the pestering thought will not go away. your one remedy is exactly the person you don’t want to face.

you realise you are in a predicament; being so obstinate, you don’t want to scurry off to remus’s dorm and pour your heart out after feeling so slighted. on the other hand, you’re afraid that your newfound relationship could fizzle out right beneath your nose. you’ve always heard that communication is key, but revealing your anxieties to remus feels too vulnerable. almost foolish.

ultimately, you decide to choke down your pride. the floor is cold beneath your feet as you slip out of bed. you force your limbs to move across the room, tip-toeing to the door. you wince as a stirring noise comes from across the room, then the sound of marlene’s hoarse voice.

“y/n? y’okay?” her words are slurred with sleep, muffled by her pillow.

“fine, marls. go back to sleep.”

she does just that, her breathing falling back into its steady rhythm. you slip through the small gap in the door, padding downstairs as quietly as possible.

by the time your feet hit the stairs up to the boys dormitories, you’re starting to question your decision. it’s stupid, you think. there’s no way remus would snub you on purpose; surely he would just up and say it if he was no longer interested… right?

it takes every ounce of willpower in your body to force yourself up the stairs. you take them one at a time, breathing deeply to ease the growing anticipation. it’s a wonder no one can hear your pulse quickening, your shaky breaths. standing at the door, you stare at it for a second. you can turn around this second and pretend you were never there. but wouldn’t it only make things worse?

a second passes, and you raise your hand to knock. you stop yourself. it would be rude to knock at this hour; you’d wake all four of the boys slumbering peacefully inside. instead, you hope not to wake anyone as you gently push the door open, peering inside. four forms occupy their beds, their silhouettes rising and falling gently with each breath. the light from outside the window barely illuminates the room enough for you to creep around the mess on the floor. you grit your teeth as one of them mumbles in their sleep; your eyes find james’s form, rolling over lazily in bed. he’s still sleeping, thankfully.

you step over a pile of books on the way to remus’s bed, and try not to startle him. it seems you already have, as his sleepy voice comes muffled from his bed.

“y/n? is something wrong?”

the sound of him calling you y/n sends a pang through you. as much as you complained about being called ‘mouse,’ it made you feel special whenever remus used your childish nickname.

“can’t sleep,” you mumble stupidly, your knee bumping into the edge of his bed. “sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“of course y’did,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “y’weren’t coming in here just to stare at me…” he turns over, his bleary eyes finding yours in the darkness. he lifts the duvet, scooting over to make a spot for you. you climb onto the bed, but hesitate before laying beside him.

“what’s wrong?” he reaches for you, long fingers wrapping around your wrist. his thumb traces the inside of your wrist, gentle against the skin. he doesn’t tug you down, which you would appreciate if it weren’t for the full view he was getting of your upset face.

“are you mad at me?” this whisper is quieter than the last one, if possible. your eyes shine with tears, and remus’s face falls into a heavy frown.

“what are you talking about, m’little mouse?”

your heart seems as if it’s going to explode for a second; you force your gaze away from his face. you can’t stand to watch the way his brows pull together, the way his lips drag down into a frown, the concern softening his warm eyes. a lump the size of the castle has grown in your throat, and you want to hide your face more than anything.

“i just–well, after the last full moon, it just… seemed like you didn’t want to see me anymore. i know it’s a lot to deal with, and i shouldn’t have bothered you–”

“hey,” remus cuts you off, his voice soft. little choking breaths and sobs are interrupting your words, and tears cloud your vision to the point that you can barely see him in the darkness. “you never bother me. c’mere…” he sits up, pulling you into his embrace. he’s warm, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of comfort. it’s astounding just how much he’s soothed you already, your crying quickly calming to dull hiccoughs.

“so you’re not mad?” you breathe, your face tucked into his neck.

he laughs quietly. the sound is barely audible, but you feel the rumble of his chest. “no, mouse.” his lips press against your temple, and you melt into him. you close your eyes, feeling more restful than you have in days. “‘m sorry i was short with you.” he holds you close, cradling your head as you finish calming down.

“can i stay here with you?” you ask, after what feels like forever. you look up at him hopefully, face flushing at the adoring look in his eyes.

“‘course y’can,” he says, moving over even though there’s plenty of room for you already. “poor mouse, you look exhausted.” he brushes your hair out of your face, and you nod weakly.

“i haven’t slept properly for days,” you mutter, tucking yourself into his side as you settle beneath the duvet. one of your hands slips under the hem of his shirt, his skin warm against yours.

“i wish you would’ve said something sooner.”

“i know. i just–” you huff “--i was embarrassed. i didn’t want to scare you off.”

there’s his laugh again, sweet and sleepy. your stomach does a flip.

“oh, it’d be hard to scare me off after i saw you turn into a mouse–”

“rem!” you say, voice sharp despite the quiet. his stomach rumbles with light laughter, and you shake your head.

“okay, sorry,” he says, grinning. “let’s not wake the guys up. think sirius’ll have my head for disturbing his beauty sleep.”

you mumble your agreement, closing your eyes. it’s about time you got at least a few hours of good sleep. the room is quiet for a second, just slow breathing.

then, from james’s corner of the room: “what about my beauty sleep, moony?”

there’s an eruption of giggles from your bed, and you bury your face into remus’s neck to stifle the sound.

“sorry, prongs,” remus says, sheepish.

“yeah, yeah, you old sap. go to sleep, or i’m recounting this whole thing to sirius in the morning.”

“oh, please don’t,” you plead quietly.

there’s a grumble from across the room. then, “what are you gits up blabbering about?” it’s sirius, his voice gruff.

“nothing, pads,” says james. “going to sleep.”

you say nothing, cheeks burning as you settle down, curling against remus’s frame. sleep finally finds you, sweeping you off into a dreamless slumber.

#remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fic #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader fluff #marauders era fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders era #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #the marauders #slb.works #fluff

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alwaysmoncheri · 2 months

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and jason have a complicated relationship, but when you find yourself in a troubling situation, jason just happens to be your emergency contact

𝐜𝐰: female!reader, minimal swearing, sexual assault, cat calling, assault, violence, 1.5k, jason todd x reader

midnights in gotham city smell distinctly of blood. the dark streets are littered with corpses of victims who stain the rubble red. crime is high and murder remains rampant among the homeless people living on the streets. you know walking home alone at this hour alongside the hundreds of criminals that hide in the shadows is a terrible idea. but your shift at the library ran late tonight and you had no other means of transportation, hence the reason why you find yourself alone in a dark alley far from the comfort and safety of your apartment.

the faint footsteps of desperate strangers lurk behind you, the sound echoes through the night, and your skin crawls with anticipation of what’s to follow. nothing good comes from the situation that you’ve found yourself in and that’s what brings you to pull out your phone and tap on the first contact that pops up on your screen.

jason.

your relationship with jason is complicated. like most things in your life you suppose. but jason is the only one who’s almost always by your side. maybe that’s part of what possessed you to click on his name on your phone and bring it up to your ear with trembling fingers.

“hey, sweet—”

“jason, I think i’m being followed.” you breathe out quickly and you don't dare to peek so much as a glance behind you.

“shit. hang on, babe. just—”

jason's voice, laced with urgency, cuts through the tense night as the echo of your footsteps intensifies. the sounds of the desolate alley amplify, creating an eerie symphony of fear and impending danger.

“i’m so scared, jay,” your shaky voice reaches jason, carrying the weight of dread as if it were a tangible thing. in response, jason's voice becomes a soothing anchor, his words a balm to your frayed nerves.

“hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. tell me where you are,” jason's voice, steady and reassuring, breaks through the chaos. your breath catches as you fumble to provide your location, the darkness of the alley making every detail obscure.

“I don’t know, I think in an alley near the corner of 5th and main. I thought it would be quicker. jason, please hurry,” desperation seeps into your words, painting a vivid picture of the peril you find yourself in.

“just hang on, i’m on my way,” jason's promise becomes a lifeline, a lifeline you desperately clutch onto. the plea, "don’t hang up, please don’t hang up," echoes through the phone, the fear of losing that connection palpable.

“I won’t, honey. just keep telling me what’s going on, okay?” jason's voice is a steady stream of reassurance, a counterpoint to the mounting chaos.

your breath quickens as you confess, "there’s multiple, jay."

“multiple what? sweetheart, talk to me,” jason's concern deepens, the gravity of the situation reflected in the intensity of his inquiry.

“people, there’s multiple people. they’re still following me, and I can’t lose them,” your voice quivers, painting a chilling image of the shadows closing in.

“i’m almost there, okay? just hang on a little longer, can you do that for me?” jason’s words are a beacon of hope, urging you to endure the storm just a little while longer.

“they’re getting closer. shit,” panic infuses your voice as the chase intensifies. jason senses the urgency, a quiet determination in his response.

the abrupt cut-off and your distressed cry for help and jason’s call to you, "y/n!?" mark the harrowing turn. the phone, a lifeline moments ago, is silenced by a crushing foot, an audible confirmation of the looming threat.

“looks like your boyfriend isn’t going to make it, gorgeous,” a sinister voice taunts, the malevolence palpable in the dimly lit alley. the struggle intensifies, and your defiant words ring through the night.

“get off of me, you creep!” your voice is a mix of fear and defiance, a visceral response to the encroaching menace.

“watch your tone, sweetie,” a chilling warning hangs in the air as they pin you down. the confrontation takes a dark turn as you spit in their faces, a desperate act of resistance.

“such a shame that’s what you’re using such a pretty mouth for,” a sinister chuckle underscores the dehumanizing intent, leaving a bitter taste in the tense air.

“that’s alright, we don’t want you for your mouth anyway,” a chilling statement, a precursor to unspeakable horrors, hangs over the alley.

in the clash of desperation and violence, the air changes as jason, your vigilante savior, descends upon the scene like a guardian angel emerging from the shadows. the sounds of a fierce struggle ensue, muffled grunts and the scuff of boots on concrete. with a swift, powerful intervention, the men are knocked out and when they loosen their grip you sink to the ground with defeat and despair. you don’t even notice you’re crying until jason gently prys your hands from your face and rubs your tears away with the rough thumb of his leather glove

then, in one swift motion, jason's strong, reassuring arms envelop you, pulling you into an embrace that feels like sanctuary. relief washes over you, grounding you in the reality of his protective presence.

“it's okay, sweetheart. you're safe now,” jason's voice, previously a lifeline over the phone, now echoes directly into your ear, a soothing melody that erases the lingering echoes of fear. his words are a healing balm, mending the wounds of terror inflicted upon your psyche.

the dimly lit alley transforms from a nightmare into a haven under the watchful gaze of your friend. the tension in your shoulders eases, and the erratic beat of your heart gradually steadies as you bask in the warmth of his reassuring touch.

“i've got you, y/n. you're safe,” jason whispers, the warmth of his breath against your ear a soothing balm to the wounds inflicted by fear. the resonance of those words sinking deep into the recesses of your shaken soul. his presence is a shield against the haunting memories of the alley, a reassurance that the nightmare is over.

the shattered phone lies forgotten, a casualty of the struggle, as jason continues to shield you from the residual fear. he tilts your chin up gently, meeting your eyes with an unwavering gaze that speaks volumes of his commitment and protective instinct.

“let's get you home,” jason murmurs, his fingers tenderly brushing away a stray strand of hair from your face. together, you navigate the now-quiet alley, the looming threat replaced by the solid ground beneath your feet and the reassuring touch of the person who faced the darkness on your behalf.

as you approach the familiar comfort of your apartment, jason's protective hold lingers. “are you okay?” he asks, his voice a gentle murmur that eases the residual tension in your body. you nod against his chest, words escaping you as relief and gratitude flood your senses.

the apartment door closes with a muffled thud, shutting out the ominous whispers of the night. jason, ever watchful, guides you towards the bathroom. the soft hum of the overhead light bathes the space in a gentle glow, revealing the porcelain sink and mirror.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror – disheveled, eyes wide with residual fear. without a word, jason turns on the faucet, letting the water flow until it reaches a soothing warmth. his fingers graze yours, urging you to lean over the sink.

the splashing water echoes in the small room as jason's hands cup and scoop, the liquid cascading over your face. the feel of his fingers against your skin is both tender and firm, each touch a cleansing ritual that washes away the remnants of the night.

you glance up into the mirror, meeting jason's eyes. there's an unspoken understanding as his hands move methodically, the cool water providing a refreshing contrast to the heated intensity of the ordeal. the sensation is grounding, a simple act of care that transcends words.

as you straighten up, a vulnerability lingers in your gaze. you turn off the faucet, and the silence hangs in the air. the wet droplets cling to your skin, a tangible reminder of the shared intimacy in this simple act of cleansing. jason's hands linger on your face, his fingers tracing a silent promise. the air in the bathroom holds a charged stillness, the transition from fear to intimacy palpable.

the urgency of the night lingers in your eyes. “stay, jason, please,” the plea escapes your lips, a raw, desperate plea that echoes in the confined space of the bathroom. his gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to shift.

there's a pause, a heartbeat suspended in time, before jason's expression softens. his agreement is wordless, a nod that carries the promise of a shared refuge in the night.

the journey from the bathroom to the bedroom is taken in tandem, the touch of his hand on the small of your back a grounding force. the mattress welcomes you both, and the room is immersed in the soft glow of bedside lamps. the night unfolds with shared breaths and jason's hand finding yours.

“thank you.” you whisper to him under the sheets, the warmth of his body next to you radiating into your own, “thank you for protecting me.”

“i’ll always protect you, sweetheart.”

masterlist . jason todd masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

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vampsywrites · 9 months

Text

V — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Fighting, Mentions of blood, Mentions of Injuries, Graphic Violence and Wounds, Suggestive, It gets steamy at the end!

Word Count: 11k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT (soon) >

Weaving the thread under a loop, Neteyam meticulously fastened the neckpiece off and then carefully cut the excess string with his blade. As he held it up to the light, giving it an experimental stretch, the embedded crystals and gems sparkled and glinted beneath the warm honeyed glow of the rising sun, creating a mesmerizing dance of colors.

"Do you think she will like it?" Neteyam asked for what seemed like the hundredth time, his fingers still fiddling around with his work, and his eyes micro-analyzing every stitch and bead.

With a groan, Lo'ak ran a hand down his face.

Exasperated, he turned to Neteyam. "How many times are you going to ask me that? Did you not hear my answer last time? It looks fine."

Ignoring his brother, Neteyam stayed focused on the neckpiece.

"What if she doesn't appreciate Omatikayan weaving?" Neteyam bit his lip, a rugged hand nervously tugging at his braids. "I should have asked her opinion on it… What if these gems aren't the right color for her?"

"Bro, calm down," Lo'ak said, shaking his head. He reached over to gently grab the woven necklace away from Neteyam's fiddling hands, holding it up to examine the intricate detailing more closely.

Neteyam had dedicated the past three months to creating this special gift, pouring his heart and soul into every thread and gemstone. The pattern he had chosen was one only the most skilled weavers of their clan attempted, and Neteyam had executed it flawlessly.

There was not a single sign of a mistake, and the weaving flowed seamlessly, like a river meandering through a pristine forest. The beads adorned the piece like shimmering stars against the sky, their brilliance accentuated by Neteyam's careful polishing. Even to Lo'ak's untrained eye, he could recognize the skill and effort poured into the creation.

"Golden boy and his perfect weaving," Lo'ak whistled, smirking when Neteyam grumbled under his breath from the nickname.

Carefully, he handed the woven neckpiece back to his older brother. "Don't worry. She'll love it."

"Love what?"

As the silhouette of their father loomed over the hut, Neteyam glanced up, surprised by the unexpected visit. Jake stepped into the hut, parting the curtains to the side, and the warm light from the rising sun spilled into the room, casting a comforting glow over their faces.

"Father," Neteyam greeted with respect, setting aside the neckpiece.

"Neteyam," Jake replied warmly, his gaze holding a touch of concern that he didn't bother to conceal.

It was the morning before Neteyam was set to make the trek toward the peak with the other young members of the clan.

Their purpose was clear: to prove their worth and earn their place as adults within the community. However, amidst the group, all eyes were particularly fixed on Neteyam. His journey carried an added weight – the burden of proving himself even more than his peers.

Observing the exchange, Lo'ak locked eyes with Jake, nodding in understanding. He knew what was coming – another heart-to-heart talk between father and son. It seemed like these talks were becoming more frequent lately, and Lo'ak found it tiresome to witness Neteyam's constant overthinking about his upcoming crowning ceremony.

It felt like just yesterday they were dumbass kids climbing trees and exploring the vibrant forest together. Now, with the looming responsibilities of adulthood and leadership, everything felt different.

"Lo'ak, why don't you give us a moment?" Jake suggested, giving his youngest son a knowing smile.

"Finally. Some peace," Lo'ak mumbled to himself, wandering away from the hut to give Neteyam and their father some privacy.

Inside the hut, Neteyam and Jake settled into an intimate silence. The curtains were shut tight but dim light filtered through the gaps in the woven walls, casting soft shadows on their faces, creating a serene atmosphere that encouraged open conversation.

"Things have been hard as of late, huh?" Jake began, his voice gentle and understanding. "Ikinimaya is in a few hours… How are you feeling about the climb?"

Neteyam shrugged, trying to put on a brave front. "Not much," he replied with a smile. "I think I'm more focused on what happens after."

Jake's nod was thoughtful, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the burden that came with leadership. He was no stranger to the weight of such a role, having borne it himself as Eywa's chosen one.

After the ceremony, if Neteyam were to complete the ascent, his crowning ceremony as chief would soon occur. Unlike the Omatikaya, where they usually held separate ceremonies for these milestones, the Iuva'ri followed a different tradition, crowning their chiefs on the same day of their coming of age.

It was a big change for Neteyam, but Jake had confidence in his son's ability to adapt and lead.

"I was just like you back then," Jake grinned, nudging Neteyam. "It's a big moment in your life, and the responsibilities that come with it can be overwhelming. But you've got this. You've grown into a strong and thoughtful man."

Neteyam smiled gratefully at his father's words. "Thanks, Dad," he said softly, feeling a sense of reassurance and comfort wash over him.

As Jake's eyes fell on the necklace in Neteyam's hand, his face softened, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. "Is that for her?" he asked, pointing to the beautifully woven piece.

Neteyam nodded nervously, his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and uncertainty as he held out the carefully crafted gift.

"Yes. I made it," he replied, his voice carrying the timbre of pride mingled with a touch of vulnerability. "What do you think?"

Jake's weathered hands accepted the necklace from his son's outstretched hand, cradling it delicately in his palm. His fingers traced the intricate patterns, each movement a touch of appreciation for the meticulous work that had gone into it.

As the beads slid under his skin, memories of his own courting days resurfaced, painting his thoughts with the vibrant hues of nostalgia. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for the time when he had first encountered Neytiri, their connection as profound and tender as the bond that was now flourishing between Neteyam and his own future mate.

"This is beautiful work," Jake remarked, genuinely impressed by the piece. "She'll love it."

The tension in Neteyam's shoulders eased at his father's genuine praise, a tide of relief sweeping through him.

"I'm glad you think so," he admitted. "I really want this to be special for her."

Jake's expression softened.

"Go on then," he encouraged. He leaned over to hand the necklace back to Neteyam. "She must be waiting for you, boy."

With a grateful smile, Neteyam pocketed the necklace and stood up.

He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool early morning air brushing against his skin. There, he found Lo'ak waiting for him, leaning against the side of the hut.

"What did Dad say?" Lo'ak asked, trying to act nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed his genuine interest. It was clear he was evesdropping but Neteyam decided against bringing it up.

"He thinks she'll love it," Neteyam answered, a hint of relief and satisfaction coloring his words.

Lo'ak rolled his eyes playfully, though a glint of affection was unmistakable in his expression. "Well, then you better not keep her waiting."

Neteyam chuckled, grateful for his support. "I won't. Thanks, baby brother."

With that, Neteyam began his journey to your hut, his heart alternating between racing with anticipation and fluttering with nerves.

The familiar sounds of the mountain village greeted him as he stepped outside—the rustling leaves carried by the breeze, hushed conversations from nearby huts, and the distant chirps of the valley's creatures. It was a soothing symphony that accompanied his walk.

Following a rocky path, he caught sight of the warmth spilling from the oil lamps within your hut. The soft light painted inviting shadows on the walls, offering a sense of comfort.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Neteyam breathed deeply, letting the crisp air anchor him before he entered the hut.

And there you were, seated beside a small stove fire. The joy that lit up your eyes upon seeing him immediately melted away some of his apprehension.

You sat gracefully on a cushion woven from palm threads, encircled by bowls of luminescent paint, each brimming with vibrant hues.

"Ma'Teteyam," you greeted with a soft smile, setting aside the bowl of paint in your hands. "I had hoped you would come soon."

He approached you with a hum, feeling a delightful warmth spread through his chest at the sight of you.

"I wouldn't keep you waiting," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the emotions swirling within him.

As you gestured for him to come closer, Neteyam sat down in front of you, feeling the space between you diminish as you scooted over. You dipped your fingers into one of the polished wooden bowls, and with a tender grace, you began painting delicate patterns on his skin.

Neteyam watched your every move, his breath hitching as your fingertips traced over his flexed muscles. It felt as though he was not just preparing for a ceremony but for a new chapter in his life.

The Na'vi closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to savor the warmth of your touch as you worked on him. The feeling of your fingers on his skin was both intimate and comforting, a silent reassurance that you were by his side, supporting him every step of the way.

His thoughts were momentarily interrupted by your soft voice, breaking the silence that enveloped the hut.

"You have put so much effort to prepare for this day," you said, your eyes locked on his face, "it is an honor to be a part of it."

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with sincerity. "I couldn't imagine sharing this moment with anyone else but you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The painting continued, each stroke of your fingers bringing you closer together, both physically and emotionally. Neteyam found himself mesmerized by your focus, the way you seemed to pour your heart and soul into every delicate detail.

Finally, you finished, and Neteyam admired the beautiful patterns adorning his skin. Your eyes locked again, and the moment hung in the air, heavy with emotion and anticipation. The crackling of the fire and the dancing shadows around you seemed to amplify the intimacy of this shared experience.

As the warmth of the stove fire illuminated your faces, Neteyam leaned in slowly. The world around you seemed to fade away as your lips met in a tender and passionate kiss.

As you parted, Neteyam whispered, "Nga yawne lu oer."

A wide smile spread across your face, and you replied, "Nga yawne lu oer.

Humming, Neteyam's arms wrapped around you, holding you close. With you in his embrace, he felt complete, and the weight of his future responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by a deep sense of purpose and belonging.

The soft crackling of the fire filled the hut with a warm and comforting ambiance, lulling both of you into a comfortable silence. As the flames danced, casting flickering shadows on the woven walls, Neteyam's eyes never left yours, captivated by the tenderness not normally seen in them.

Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his painted cheek, and the affection in your smile made his heart jump with joy.

"I have something for you," you whispered, beginning to draw away from him.

Neteyam reluctantly released his embrace, but his hand lingered on your waist. You chuckled playfully, gently slapping his forearms, urging him to let go.

"I will not be far," you assured him, your eyes locking onto his with affection.

Reluctantly, Neteyam let you go, allowing you the space to retrieve your surprise. You moved towards the cabinets, and he watched with curiosity, wondering what you had in store for him. When you emerged with a fur coat and an axe in hand, his eyebrows raised in intrigue.

"These will help you with your ascent later," you explained.

With a swift movement, you draped the soft fur coat over Neteyam's shoulders, and he immediately felt the warmth of the fabric enveloping him.

The axe you handed him was a well-crafted tool, sturdy and reliable. Its wooden handle fit perfectly in his grip, and the weight was balanced. The crystal blade on it was a striking sight, capturing the firelight and reflecting it back in dazzling purple hues.

"Thank you," he smiled gratefully, his heart brimming with appreciation for your thoughtful gifts. He couldn't help but lean in to press another tender kiss on your forehead.

Nodding at him, you both stood up, your hands guiding him out of the hut. The soft light of the rising sun bathed the mountain village in a gentle glow as you walked together.

"Come," you smile. "The people are waiting."

When a person prepares to become one with your people, experiencing their rebirth, the clan initiates a ceremony. The warriors, adorned with vibrant paint, assemble before the Tsahìk as she prepares them for the ascent.

This final trial, the crucible determining their standing among the Iuva'ri, was a journey. A journey deep into the enigmatic Clouded Peak, a desolate expanse shrouded in snow with perils lurking in every corner.

Victory in this ascent signifies your second birth. Following this achievement, the clan engages in a celebration featuring dance, feasting, and storytelling—a tapestry that weaves bonds. These bonds intertwine them with the people.

This unity is then dedicated to Eywa. It is in that sacred space where a lifelong position among the people is earned, an indelible bond forged forever.

"Tìng mikyun ayoe rutxe nawma ma sa'nok."

As Tsahìk, you stand tall, hosting the sacred coming of age ceremony — The Ascent.

Before you, a line of tall, rugged young men and women stand. Each one carries their own axes and spears, protection for the challenges that lie ahead. Heavy coats rest upon their shoulders, ready to protect them from the biting winds of the ascent.

The presence of Eywa, the Great Mother, is strong and felt in every aspect of the ceremony, infusing the spirits of the young warriors with her guidance. Above, the sky hangs dark and heavy, the wind's mournful song echoing through the trees, creating an aura of solemnity. Illuminating the scene are tall torches lodged in the dirt, casting their flickering glow upon the sacred space.

Just behind you stand the families of the participants, emotions ranging from pride to worry visible as they bear witness to this pivotal moment.

With a solemn grace, you bestow your blessings upon each warrior, marking their foreheads with your painted hand, chanting sacred words as you invoke the great mother's protection and guidance.

"May the Great Mother be with you," you utter. A female warrior before you nods in acknowledgment, her face adorned with a respectful smile.

Moving through the line, you came to Tserat, his face shadowed by conflicting emotions. Unfazed by his glower, you placed your hand upon his chest, offering the same sacred blessing as you did for the others.

"May the Great Mother be with you," you repeated, watching carefully as the red paint stained on his chest. Tserat's head tilted slightly in a small nod, acknowledging the gesture, but his guarded expression remained.

Then, it was Neteyam's turn. As you approached him, your previously stern expression transformed into a genuine, warm smile. The fur coat you had lovingly bestowed upon him was draped over his broad shoulders making his figure appear larger and more imposing. The axe, with its striking purple blade, hung at his side.

As you bestowed your blessing upon him, his hand gently brushed against yours in a fleeting touch, a wordless reassurance passing between you.

"May the Great Mother be with you," you repeated once more. The smile you offered held layers of affection and respect. Neteyam nodded as he felt the warmth of your touch seeping into his very being, strengthening him for the path ahead.

"And to you," he replied, his voice soft.

With the blessings bestowed upon all the warriors, you stepped back and your mother took over. As they followed after her command, the warriors set forth into the mountain, spirits aflame with determination.

Neteyam turned back to you, his eyes locking onto yours once more. Then, with a final nod, he turned away to join the others, his figure blending into the shadows cast by the towering trees. As the last traces of the young warriors disappeared from view, you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon your shoulders.

The village around you was filled with hushed voices and a sense of anticipation, knowing that the destiny of the clan was now in the hands of the brave souls who set forth into the unknown.

"Hold strong, brothers and sisters!"

The peaks of the snowy mountains were a world unto themselves. As the young warriors ascended, they found themselves in a landscape that commanded and tested their physical and mental resilience.

The air, thin and brittle, clawed at their lungs with every inhale, as if the very atmosphere was challenging their presence. The winds, like invisible daggers, sliced through their heavy coats, piercing to the core with their frosty bite. The gusts carried echoes of warnings whispered by the mountains themselves.

The snowy terrain, draped in a pristine white cloak, was a deceptive tapestry of danger. Icy patches lay in ambush, waiting to send even the most seasoned warriors sliding down the steep slopes. The snow, once a soft and powdery expanse, became a battleground as it clung to their legs like quicksand, each step an arduous struggle against the weight of the drifts.

Throughout the ascent, towering rock formations rose like sentinels, casting eerie silhouettes against the darkening sky. Above them, dark and ominous clouds loomed, casting a shadow over the landscape. Visibility was limited, with the peaks shrouded in a thick veil of mist and fog, making it challenging to navigate and discern the safest path.

The ascent was grueling, and Neteyam found himself exerting every ounce of strength to overcome the challenges of the harsh terrain. He trudged forward, his breath visible in the frigid air, while the weight of his heavy coat provided some respite from the biting cold.

Despite the difficulties, Neteyam proved himself to be a skilled and determined climber. He navigated the icy slopes with skill, making steady progress as he ascended higher and higher.

However, even the most skilled climbers could falter in the face of such challenging terrain. It happened in the blink of an eye — a misstep, a patch of ice, and Neteyam's balance was compromised. His foothold gave way, and he found himself sliding down the slope, the cold snow and sharp ice clawing at his skin.

In the midst of his unexpected descent, a frustrated curse escaped his lips. "Fuck."

Tserat, never one to miss an opportunity to taunt him, couldn't help but let out a chuckle at Neteyam's misfortune.

"Forest boy!" Tserat's grin was wide, his amusement evident. "Careful or else you meet Eywa first before you reach the top!"

His comment was met with the amused laughter of some of the other warriors. Shaking his head with a smirk, Tserat turned to the rest of the group, speaking in the Iuvarian dialect, "Did you see that skxawng? He has two left feet."

Neteyam's pride stung, but he quickly composed himself. He shrugged off the snow clinging to his coat, his grip firm on his axe. With a grunt, he steadied himself, using the axe as an anchor to regain his foothold on the treacherous slope.

Finally, Neteyam found his balance and stood straight again. His shadowed eyes met Tserat's with an intensity as if he was silently daring Tserat to push him any further.

Tserat snorted dismissively at the unspoken challenge, opting to avoid further provocation. He turned his attention ahead, recommencing his climb in a brooding silence.

Then, in an abrupt upheaval of the tranquil surroundings, the ear-splitting roar of a formidable beast tore through the air. It emerged from the shadows, its massive form nearly matching the trees that lined the mountain slope, and its powerful muscles rippled beneath its thick, coarse fur.

"It's a Nix'feli!" one of the warriors roared out.

The beast's eyes were a piercing shade of amber, burning with an intense primal fury. Its fur, as white as the snow around it, was mottled with dark patterns, reminiscent of ancient tribal markings. Razor-sharp claws, capable of rending through flesh and bone, extended menacingly from its massive paws. A long, sinuous tail swished through the air, leaving deep impressions in the snow with each movement.

The warriors roared out battle cries as they tightened their grips on their weapons, readying themselves. Each one sought a strategic position, spreading out to encircle the formidable creature. However, unlike the other warriors whose moonlit skin offered them some natural camouflage against the snowy backdrop, Neteyam's dark indigo skin stood out vividly, drawing the beast's attention to him.

With a fearsome roar, the feline launched itself at Neteyam, claws extended, aiming directly at him. The world around him blurred as his instincts took over, and with a graceful leap, he evaded the deadly strike. The beast's claws scraped the air where he had stood just moments before, and the force of its attack sent snow flying in all directions.

"Wiya!" Snarling, Tserat managed to loop a thick rope around the feline's neck, anchoring himself in the snow as he strained to halt the beast's ferocious advance.

Several feet away, Neteyam landed with a heavy thud, scraping against the rocks, but swiftly regained his footing. The axe you had gifted him remained firmly in his hand, but he knew he needed a weapon better suited for this confrontation. With a quick decision, he released his grip on the axe and reached for his bow slung over his shoulders. He felt its reassuring weight in his hand as he notched an arrow and focused his gaze on the beast.

With measured intent, he released the arrow, it's trajectory a deadly precision. The arrow found its mark, embedding itself in the beast's eye, igniting a resonant roar of torment that resounded throughout the mountains.

"Another!" Tserat's grip on the rope grew ironclad, utilizing every ounce of his strength to restrain the writhing feline.

"Hold him steady!" Neteyam hissed, preparing for a second shot.

With another swift release, he unleashed another arrow into the frigid air. The arrow struck deep into the beast's flesh, piercing the creature's lungs.

With a final roar, the Nix'feli succumbed to the wounds it had sustained, collapsing onto the pristine snow. Its once-white coat was now marred by streaks of crimson, a contrast that painted the snowy canvas in vivid shades of red.

The young warriors erupted into cheers, hailing Neteyam's clean kill. They hyped him up with enthusiastic shouts and claps on his back, celebrating the triumph over the formidable feline.

Amidst the cheering, Neteyam's gaze locked with Tserat's once more. The Na'vi was rubbing his rope burned palms, blue skin bruising into a deep purple. Tserat stayed silent for a while, his pride momentarily giving way to a begrudging acknowledgment of Neteyam's abilities.

"Finish him off," Tserat ordered, throwing his rope back into his satchel.

Neteyam nodded in understanding, his heart still pounding with the adrenaline of the encounter. He trudged towards the beast, his blade gripped firmly in his hand. He then knelt beside the fallen creature, whispering words of prayer and gratitude for the life that had been taken.

With a final act of mercy, Neteyam raised his blade and delivered a swift, precise strike to the beast's heart. As the blade pierced through, ending the creature's suffering, a sense of peace seemed to settle upon the snowy mountainside. The once-ferocious feline let out one last exhale, and its fierce amber eyes softened in the moment of passing.

Suddenly, a hand reached out, and Neteyam looked up to see Tserat standing beside him.

"Get up," Tserat murmured gruffly, his voice carrying a strange blend of annoyance and something deeper beneath the surface. "We still have to complete the ascent."

Neteyam nodded and quickly rose to his feet, not at all surprised by the mix of emotions that Tserat's demeanor reflected. He stooped to retrieve his discarded axe, giving it a quick shake to dislodge the clinging snow.

As Neteyam continued his ascent, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The triumph over the beast had been a demonstration of his skills, but it had also brought into focus the responsibilities he was about to embrace. The mantle of leadership was within his grasp, and he couldn't afford to falter.

Hours seemed to pass as they climbed higher, each step bringing them closer to their destination. The world around them became a blend of white and gray, the sky merging with the snowy landscape as they ascended into the clouds.

Finally, as the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden hue across the icy expanse, they reached the peak. A sense of awe and accomplishment washed over them as they gazed out at the breathtaking beauty before them.

Tserat's demeanor softened, his gaze capturing the ethereal view. With a slight nod, he turned to Neteyam, and in his eyes, a begrudging respect simmered.

"You did well, golden boy," Tserat admitted, his voice carrying a surprising sincerity as he crossed his arms.

Neteyam's smile radiated a sense of fulfillment. "You held your own too," he replied, a shared understanding bridging the gap between them, if only for a fleeting moment.

Once the weary but triumphant warriors returned to the village, families surged forward to welcome back their sons and daughters, now transformed into full-fledged adults of the clan. Amidst this sea of emotions, Neteyam found himself engulfed in the warm embrace of his family. Their pride and love encircled him, forming a cocoon of unwavering support.

However, he couldn't resist the pull to find you, the one who had been his pillar of support throughout his journey.

Amidst the collective embrace of the village, your figure stood tall. Your eyes, adorned with a glint of pride and affection, were fixed upon him.

A triumphant grin stretched on his lips as he closed the gap between you, his bright golden eyes locking onto yours.

"Sweet girl," his words brushed against your skin in a tender whisper as gentle kiss was planted on your forehead. The touch of his lips sent warmth spreading through your cheeks, and you reciprocated the gesture by pressing a peck to his cheek, the coolness of his skin still clinging from the snowy heights they had scaled.

"You did it, my mighty warrior," your voice held a note of sincere admiration, your hand reaching up to graze the rugged terrain of his jawline. He leaned into your touch, savoring the intimate connection between you amidst the surrounding crowd.

As the celebratory atmosphere gradually settled, your mother, called for all to gather. Neteyam was led to the forefront, his broad shoulders clasped by the palms of her wrinkled hands as she presented him to the entire clan.

"Neteyam Te Sulli Tsyey’ite, son of Toruk Makto, has completed the ascent! He has proven himself in our ways and is now fit to hold the position of Olo'eyktan!"

The announcement was met with thunderous applause and pride from the entire clan. But as Ìumayi's eyes swept over the crowd, they locked onto a particular pair. She caught sight of Tserat, who stood tall and proud among the assembled warriors.

Their gazes lingered for a moment before Ìumayi looked away, making it clear that the challenge for the throne had been expected. She gracefully slipped the fur coat off of Neteyam's shoulders and held it up for all to see.

"I now offer a chance at the throne! If anyone wishes to challenge him, step up!"

For a moment, the air seemed tense, silence falling over the crowd. Then, without a word, the people parted, and a figure stepped forward. It was no surprise to see Tserat stepping into the circle, signature scowl etched into his face.

Ìumayi nodded solemnly, acknowledging the challenge, and Tserat removed his coat, brandishing his blade with confidence. Neteyam, too, unsheathed his weapon.

"Tserat Te Ser'oa Aketo'itan has challenged Neteyam Te Sulli Tsyey’ite for the throne!" Ìumayi announced, her voice carrying authority as she gestured for the crowd to form a bigger circle around the two warriors.

Both Neteyam and Tserat locked eyes, their gazes dark and intense as they approached each other. Neteyam's expression was a portrait of unwavering composure, his eyes never straying from the piercing milky depths of Tserat's gaze. There was a quiet confidence about him.

On the other side, Tserat's lips curved into a grim frown.

His emotions were a storm—respect, undoubtedly, for the great warrior that Neteyam was. But beneath that, an undercurrent of uncertainty swirled like a glint of moonlight caught on the surface of a turbulent sea.

The recent display of Neteyam's strength had commanded his respect, but leadership was a different realm, a realm where hunting prowess, while significant, was just one facet of the mosaic of qualities required. Whether the forest dweller's completion of Ikinimaya made him fit enough to lead their people, was a question that churned in Tserat's mind like a tempest.

The challenge had been thrown, the time for words had faded—only actions remained to define their outcome.

Ìumayi raised her hand, and with a firm voice, she declared, "Begin!"

With a fierce battle cry, Tserat charged at Neteyam, his movements fluid and controlled. He swung his blade in a deadly arc, aiming for Neteyam's midsection. But the Omatikayan was agile and skilled, effortlessly sidestepping the attack.

As Tserat's blade sailed past, Neteyam countered with a swift jab of his own, aimed at Tserat's exposed side.

The sound of metal clashing echoed through the gathering as Tserat managed to block Neteyam's blow just in time. The crowd gasped, watching the intensity of the duel unfold before their eyes.

The clash of their weapons resonated like a symphony of steel meeting steel, each strike executed with unwavering precision and met with a fierce parry.

In the midst of this battle, Tserat's calculated maneuvers began to yield results. With a swift and precise strike, his blade found its mark on Neteyam's side, the sharp point penetrating deep into azure skin.

A searing pain tore through Neteyam's body, eliciting a wince that he fought to suppress. Rivulets of blood flowed down his side, staining the grass beneath him. Tserat's triumphant laughter filled the air as he twisted the knife, eliciting a hiss of pain through Neteyam's gritted teeth.

A knee to Neteyam's abdomen sent him stumbling, his foot catching on an uneven rock. The world seemed to warp and waver as he slid to the ground, the impact jarring his senses and amplifying the pain radiating from his wounded side. Dazed and disoriented for a heartbeat, Neteyam fought to regain his footing, his chest heaving with the effort.

"Get up!" Tserat hissed.

Jaw clenched tight, Neteyam summoned every last ounce of strength, his fingers curling around Tserat's blade. A grimace of pain etched onto his features as he yanked the weapon free from his own flesh.

"Come at me," Neteyam snarled, swiftly getting back to his feet. The blade spun in his free hand before he tossed it. It skittered across the ground and out of the circle, which now left Tserat disarmed.

Unfazed, Tserat moved to tackle him once more, bringing them crashing to the ground with a resounding thud that echoed through the expanse of the circle. The impact jarred both warriors, their bodies absorbing the shock as they grappled on the ground.

Amidst the struggle, Tserat seized the opportunity to deliver a series of powerful blows to Neteyam's face. Each strike landed with force, leaving Neteyam momentarily disoriented.

"Neteyam!" Your voice rang out, an anguished cry of worry cutting through the air as your tail lashed anxiously by your feet. You were poised to rush in, to throw yourself into the fray and intervene in his defense. But before you could act upon your instinct, your mother's firm grip on your arm halted your movements.

A mixture of shock and frustration crossed your features, your eyes widening in protest as you hissed at her.

"Mother—" you protested urgently, your voice edged with a mixture of fear and anger. "This is not a battle anymore! Tserat is turning it into an execution!"

"Let them be," she commanded, her tone unyielding as she met your gaze with a steady and unwavering stare. "This is our way. You cannot intervene."

A low, anguished whimper escaped your lips, a mixture of helplessness and frustration welling up inside you.

Tserat's triumphant sneer was a bitter sight to behold as he seized Neteyam's kuru, lifting him effortlessly from the ground. A kick sent Neteyam's own blade skittering away, leaving him defenseless and exposed to the mercy of his opponent.

The scene was agonizing, a twisting knot of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

"Where is your Olo'eyktan now?" Tserat's jeer echoed in the air, the words heavy with contempt. "This is no chief! Just a misplaced boy! Not fit to lead!"

Yet, Neteyam refused to give up so quickly. He kicked at Tserat's shins, causing the man to fall with a shout of surprise. With Tserat momentarily off balance, Neteyam seized the opportunity, his muscles coiling with determination. He locked Tserat in a chokehold, the strain evident in the tight set of his jaw and the flex of his arms as he pressed his forearm against Tserat's windpipe, causing the man to wheeze and struggle.

The battle raged on, their grunts and cries mixing with the roars of the crowd. The cheers and shouts seemed distant as Neteyam focused solely on the man on top of him. He could already feel Tserat's resistance waning.

“Yield,” Neteyam hissed, the veins on his arms bulging as his muscles strained with the effort, grip unyielding. "You are a mighty warrior! The people need you! Your people need you!"

Tserat hesitated, his breaths shallow and labored. The weight of his choices bore down on him, and in that moment, he saw the truth in Neteyam's words.

Slowly, Tserat's resistance wavered, his strength slipping through his fingers like sand. With a feeble tap against Neteyam's arm, he signaled his surrender, submitting to the man.

The cheers of the crowd echoed around them, celebrating their new leader, their new Olo'eyktan. As celebration filled the air, Ìumayi stepped forward to separate the two warriors, signaling the end of the intense duel.

With a low whine, Neteyam managed to get back on his feet, his body still tense with the pain from the wound in his side. He grimaced, feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingers as he held onto the injured area.

Drawing in heavy breaths, he directed his gaze downward, locking eyes with Tserat for a fleeting moment. Amidst the lingering animosity that had once defined their relationship, a flicker of understanding seemed to pass between them. It was a silent, unspoken acknowledgment of the strength they had both exhibited in this grueling battle.

"You fought well," Neteyam murmured. He extended his hand, a gesture of goodwill meant to bridge the divide between them.

"I know," Tserat scoffed, his pride not entirely diminished by the outcome. His hand slapped Neteyam's aside dismissively, his emotions still raw from the defeat. With a final glance back, he turned away, retreating into the crowd, his head bowed low in an attempt to save face.

Before Neteyam could take a step toward Tserat, a strong yet gentle grip on his side halted him. You were at his side in an instant, your gaze filled with concern as you carefully assessed his injuries. Your hands probed cautiously at the wound on his side, your touch gentle yet deliberate.

The sight before you made your heart clench — a deep gash on his side, his face marred by bruises and smeared with blood. His rugged appearance was in stark contrast to the tender expression in his eyes as he looked down at you.

All of a sudden, the adrenaline that had fueled the battle was now beginning to wane, replaced by the harsh reality of pain. Neteyam's groan cut through the air, his body doubling over in response to the searing ache that pulsed from his injuries.

"Oh, yawne," you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern and care. You moved closer, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him. Your touch was soothing, a balm for the pain he endured. "Come, let us go to our hut."

"Syulang," Neteyam murmured, his brow furrowing as he glanced at you with a touch of worry. His tongue darted out to swipe at the blood on his cut lip, his focus shifting between you and the path ahead. His voice held a note of uncertainty. "But what about the crowning ceremony? Your mother emphasized its importance. A lot."

Your mother and Neteyam's parents approached at that moment. Ìumayi acknowledged his comment with a nod, affirming the tradition.

"Yes. The crowning ceremony must proceed immediately after the ascent," she acknowledged, her gaze dropping to the visible injuries on Neteyam's form. "He will bear his wounds for the time being."

"My son cannot—" Neytiri began, intending to express her concern for his injured form, but you quickly interjected, not willing to let the ceremony take precedence over his well-being.

"I will not let him go through with the ceremony while he is bleeding out," you hissed, your determination clear in your voice and stance. Ears pinned back in frustration, you held your ground. "The traditions will have to be set aside. My mate comes first."

Neytiri regarded you with a surprised look, her gaze lingering on you in newfound admiration. She soon broke into a warm smile, her approval evident. In contrast, your mother seemed on the brink of an argument.

"It is his duty. The people are waiting," she hissed, gesturing to the crowd behind her.

You looked back, noticing that the people had already begun to disperse, making their way to the ceremony site in anticipation of witnessing the ascension of their new Olo'eyktan. And yet, your focus remained unswerving, your thoughts centered solely on Neteyam's well-being.

The idea of him undergoing the ascension ceremony while in his current state was unthinkable to you, and you were resolute in your determination to prioritize him above all else.

"This is a matter for the Tsahìk," you asserted, tail whipping by your feet in anger. "I will not have you ask me of this!"

With a final huff, you turned, guiding Neteyam gently back towards your healing hut.

The elderly woman let out an exasperated hiss, her fingers gripping at her own hair in a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Great Mother, that girl wants to drive me to an early grave."

Frustration evident in her demeanor, your mother marched away. In the midst of this back-and-forth, both Jake and Neytiri observed closely, trusting your instincts and expertise as you led their son toward your hut.

"Eywa has chosen well for Neteyam," Neytiri spoke up, breaking the silence and drawing the attention of her family. With a playful grin, she gestured towards you. "I like her. She is a feisty one."

As you entered the seclusion of your hut, a sense of tranquility settled over you both. You gently helped Neteyam settle onto a soft fur-covered mat, supporting his back against a pile of cushions. His golden eyes locked onto yours, filled with gratitude and affection for your unwavering care.

"It's better you rest, yawne," you said, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "The ceremony can wait. Your well-being is my priority right now."

Neteyam nodded, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, intertwining your fingers. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the battle and the strain of the day's events. "I don't know what I would do without you."

You simply smile and begin to tend to his wound, applying cooling salves and bandages, your gentle touch easing his pain.

The soothing motions of your touch have a profound effect on Neteyam. As the pain begins to lighten, he feels himself drifting into a drowsy state, his body and mind succumbing to much-needed rest. The tension and adrenaline from the battle slowly melt away, replaced by a sense of peace in your presence.

His eyes flutter closed as he leans into your care, finding solace in the knowledge that you are there, looking after him. With each soft touch, he feels the weight of the day's events dissipate, and the warm embrace of your love envelops him like a protective cocoon.

The sounds of the outside world fade away, leaving only the quiet hush of the healing hut. The scent of medicinal herbs and the familiar earthy aroma of the forest soothe his senses and he falls into a deep sleep.

Time seemed to pass in a dream-like haze, and as Neteyam finally awoke, he felt renewed and invigorated. The pain from his wound had significantly subsided, thanks to your skilled touch.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet, the moment for the crowning ceremony had arrived. The air was filled with anticipation and excitement as the Na'vi people gathered at the heart of their sacred spirit tree, where the presence of Eywa was strongest. The rhythmic beat of the drums echoed in harmony with the chants of the crowd.

Neteyam, now adorned in ceremonial attire, walked down the path toward the center of the gathering, the cheers of the people and the resonating drums echoing the rhythm of his heart.

He wore a tunic crafted from soft, supple leather, dyed in earthy tones that blended harmoniously with the surrounding forest. Draped across his chest and shoulders was a fur garment, a poignant reminder of his triumph over the fearsome Nix'feli he had vanquished during his rite of passage. Along its edges, two imposing fangs from the vanquished creature were displayed

As he reached the center of the gathering, where you and Ìumayi awaited, Neteyam knelt before you both, a gesture of respect and reverence for his beloved and his mother. Your eyes gleamed with love and admiration as you gently clasped a necklace over his collarbone, a cherished heirloom that had been passed down through generations of leaders.

Ìumayi, her previous ire now gone, regarded him with a warm and proud smile. Stepping forward gracefully, she lifted her headpiece from her forehead and carefully positioned it upon his head. It was a poignant symbol of the legacy she was entrusting to him, signifying the passing down of her mantle as Olo'eyktan.

"My son," she spoke with a voice of wisdom and love, "You are one of us now. You are to lead the people now."

Neteyam met her gaze, his expression one of deep gratitude and determination. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, accepting the mantle of leadership with humility and determination. As Ìumayi turned back to the crowd, her voice carried through the beats of the drums and the chants of the Na'vi, resonating with authority and pride.

"Come! Let us celebrate!" she declared, her smile infectious, and the gathered Na'vi erupted into joyous cheers, their voices united in celebration of their new chief and the hope for a bright and harmonious future under his leadership.

The celebration was in full swing, with the Na'vi people dancing around the campfire, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony with the rhythmic beats of the music that filled the air. Laughter and joy echoed through the night, as stories of bravery and triumph were shared among the warriors. Neteyam, still adorned in his ceremonial attire, found himself at the center of attention.

"The Nix'feli was like nothing I've seen before," Neteyam recounts as he gestures to the bow slung over his shoulder. "But in the end, it was struck down. AlI from two arrows."

The warriors gathered around him, whistling and poking at the bow in admiration, grinning proudly at their new chief. But amidst the festivities, murmurs spread through the group as Tserat approached, carrying a drink in hand. His gaze was dark, and the tension between him and Neteyam was palpable.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Tserat challenged Neteyam to drink. The crowd looked on eagerly, curious to see how their new chief would respond. Neteyam accepted the challenge and took a hearty swig from the cup, eliciting cheers from the gathered warriors.

Tserat, never one to back down from a challenge, also took a swig from the woven cup, the firelight casting a flickering glow on his face as he did so.

As the night wore on, their conversation took an unexpected turn, veering into a somewhat playful banter between Tserat and Neteyam.

"You know," Tserat slurred, his speech slightly affected by the drinks, "I was almost certain your stubbornness would have gotten you killed during the first trial." He raised his cup to his lips for another gulp, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Neteyam, his senses already dulled by the effect of the potent brew, swayed slightly on the log he was perched upon, managing to maintain his balance only with considerable effort. His response came out in a slurred drawl, eliciting laughter from the men who had gathered around.

"I don't give up easily," he mumbled, a playful smile curving his lips.

In the midst of the good-natured conversation, Neteyam's alcohol-fogged mind seemed to pause, a serious thought managing to cut through the haze. "I have a question," he murmured, his ears twitching as he leaned in slightly.

Tserat leaned forward on the log they shared, the wood creaking softly beneath his weight. His pale eyes bore into Neteyam's expectant ones. "Ask away."

Neteyam took a deep breath, the fogginess in his mind clearing momentarily as he focused.

"In the rite, you ran a knife through my flesh," he spoke in a hushed tone, his words carrying a somber weight. "I, in turn, humiliated you in front of the clan. I took your place. And yet, looking at your eyes now… there's no hatred. Why? Why don't you hate me?"

Tserat's initial response was almost dismissive. He scoffed, tossing his woven cup to the ground, the liquid within spilling onto the dirt.

"Tsk! I did hate you," Tserat admitted, going into a tirade. "I hated you when you entered my village and demanded uturu. I hated you when you took away my position. I felt the sting of rejection, so I acted on those emotions of hatred and look where it led."

Tserat gestured towards the bandages on Neteyam's side, a low laugh rumbling in his chest.

"That is payback," he smirked.

Neteyam, however, wasn't satisfied with this answer. His brows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head. "No, I understand those feelings well. What I mean is—during the battle ritual. When I told you to yield, you did so, and at the end, there was a different look in your eyes."

Tserat's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Yes," he finally responded after a long pause, his fingers drumming on the log's surface.

"And after the battle?" Neteyam pressed, his curiosity unyielding.

Tserat's nostrils flared slightly, his expression caught between annoyance and contemplation.

Wiya... This man. "No. I did not hate you then. I had just thought I was content to have lost to an equal," he replied, a trace of begrudging respect in his tone.

"Content to lose to an equal?" Neteyam repeated, his voice tinged with amusement. "Why me? How did you know I was an equal?"

Tserat laughed heartily, throwing his head back. He then leaned forward to grab a wrap of meat, fangs biting down on it’s leaf covering. "I know you," he said between bites, his demeanor oddly introspective.

Neteyam, still perplexed, shook his head slightly. "There is much you don't know about me. We've barely exchanged words."

“Ah. Words do not reveal much,” Tserat scoffs, leaning back as he pointed two fingers at his milky eyes.

“It’s all in the eyes. They never lie. I saw it in your gaze… One similar to mine," he mused, his fingers reaching out to clasp around Neteyam's shoulder, his gaze unflinching. "I saw you, brother."

A genuine smile tugged at Neteyam's lips, and he reciprocated the gesture by patting Tserat's back. "And I see you.”

Tserat leaned back with a smirk, scarfing down his wrap of meat.

"It's a pity," the man continued, a wistful undertone in his voice. "I could have been a remarkable Olo'eyktan."

Amused by the sentiment, Neteyam chuckled softly, his gaze momentarily distant as he imagined the alternative path that they might have walked. The atmosphere lightened, and Tserat seized the opportunity to grab another drink, the fleeting melancholy replaced by the camaraderie of their exchange.

Noticing the absence of Tsahìk, Tserat's curiosity was stirred. He leaned closer to Neteyam, his shoulders nudging his companion with a teasing grin.

"Where is your mate?" he prodded, his tone playfully taunting. "Leaving her all alone on the day of your ceremony? If I were you, we would be deep in Vitraya Ramunong right now!" he chuckled, earning hollers and laughter from the men around them.

"Do not talk about her like that," Neteyam hissed, shoving at Tserat's shoulder, his protective instincts flaring up.

Undeterred by Neteyam's reaction, Tserat merely raised his brows.

"So, what's the story?" he inquired, his grin unrelenting. "Why aren’t you stuck to her side like a fwampop today?”

A sigh slipped past Neteyam's lips, his gaze momentarily distant as he considered the complexities of the situation. "My sisters have taken her away," he eventually revealed.

Tserat's intrigue was far from satisfied. His brows remained raised, his curiosity persistent. "Why?" he pressed, the question hanging in the air, fueled by genuine interest.

Neteyam's shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, his expression taking on a somewhat guarded quality. He took a sip of his drink, its bittersweet taste momentarily distracting him.

"Omatikayan matters," he replied, the words an attempt to deflect further probing.

In front of the warmth of the Sully's hut, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as Kiri and Tuk prepared you for the upcoming meeting with Neteyam. Kiri's hands were deftly braiding your hair into a classic Omatikayan style, and you couldn't help but pick at one of the braids out of curiosity.

"Interesting," you murmured, examining the beads she threaded into the braid. "Is this how your people did it back home?"

"Yes," Kiri beamed, her hands deftly working on another braid. "It's a classic hairstyle worn by Tsahìk back home. You look stunning with this style."

Her smile turned mischievous as she leaned in to whisper in your ear, dishevelled inky hair falling over her shoulders. "Neteyam will love it."

A bashful smile crept onto your face, and you couldn't help but hide your reddening cheeks with your palm. Kiri's teasing only added to your excitement for the upcoming celebration.

Just then, Tuk barged in with a bunch of woven tops in her arms. You examined the clothes with curiosity, noting how different they were from your usual attire. The tops were loose-fitting and incorporated more elements of the forest, in perfect harmony with the forest people's culture.

Kiri gasped as she noticed one of the tops in Tuk's hands. "Tuk!" she hissed, holding up a dainty lilac top. "This isn't mine! It's mother's!"

Tuk simply sighed, not too concerned about the mix-up. The young girl yanked the top out of her sister's hands and held the it up to your chest, almost as if she were envisioning how it would look on you.

"But she looks so good in it!" Tuk whined, pouting her lips.

You chuckled and gently took the lilac top away from her grabby hands. "It is pretty, but I am not too sure your mother would appreciate if I wore her clothes without permission," you said as you began to fold the woven top back up.

"I would not mind," Neytiri's voice suddenly filled the tent, and you all went quiet, turning to greet the woman.

"Neytiri," you spoke, pressing your fingers to your forehead and stretching it out in a gesture of respect. "I see you."

Neytiri nodded in acknowledgment and gently ushered Kiri away, taking her position in front of you. Her hands delicately held the woven top as she assessed it's appearance. The shift in atmosphere was palpable, and you couldn't help but sense an undercurrent of unspoken thoughts between you two.

The garment in Neytiri's hands, a woven top made of delicate lilac tendrils, was glittered with the shimmer of intricately woven gems. The weaving was intricate, elegant, and er... it left little to the imagination.

Neytiri's eyes appraised the woven creation, her fingers brushing over the patterns as if tracing memories. Her thoughts were a mystery, her feelings hidden beneath a veil of composure. These months of silent interactions had cast shadows of uncertainty, and you couldn't help but wonder how she truly felt about you marrying her son.

"This will look beautiful on you," Neytiri smiled warmly, seemingly approving of your choice. "Come and put it on. I wore this on my mating ceremony too."

With Kiri’s help, Neytiri slipped the woven top onto you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of honor wearing something with such personal significance to her.

"Beautiful," Neytiri affirmed, her smile radiant as she looked at you, her gaze holding a newfound warmth.

You returned the smile, feeling grateful for her acceptance. "Thank you."

Neytiri merely hummed as her focus shifted to your hair. With each twist and weave, she transformed your locks into an intricate masterpiece, her fingers moving with a practiced rhythm.

As she braided, her attention was drawn to a nearby pile of vibrant flowers. With an sense of which blossoms would harmonize best with your appearance, she delicately plucked a few yellow ones from the pile, their vibrant petals woven into your tresses.

“There,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through your braids. The subtle sound of beads brushing against each other accompanied the delicate sweep of her fingers. “You are ready.”

"Come on! I thought you could climb faster than this!" you playfully teased Neteyam, your laughter carrying through the night air as you both ascended the side of the hill. The moon hung overhead like a silver lantern, casting a soft glow on your surroundings. It was a clear night, the stars scattered across the sky like precious jewels.

Your fingers brushed against the rough texture of the rock as you found footholds, your muscles working in sync as you effortlessly moved upward. Neteyam was close behind, his own movements fluid and sure.

The air was cool against your skin, carrying the scent of the earth and the distant sounds of the ongoing crowning celebration. One that both of you had slipped away from in favor of some solitude.

You reached the top first and hauled yourself up, feeling the rush of accomplishment. But before you could fully revel in your victory, Neteyam, with his impressive agility, soared over the peak and hauled himself over. Running after you, he tugged at your tail, using it to pull you into his strong arms.

"Neteyam!" you laughed, the surprise of his actions quickly turning into delight as he showered you with kisses along your neck and cheek. In that moment of affection, you couldn't resist turning your head to capture his lips in a short, sweet kiss.

Neteyam smiled against your lips, the love in his actions unmistakable. With a tender touch, he then tucked his hands under your knees and shoulders, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. The muscles of his arms flexed, the strength in his embrace a reassurance of his protection of you.

"Where to?" Neteyam's voice was a soft murmur, his eyes locked onto yours as he waited for your instruction. You pointed toward a rocky path ahead, leading the way with a silent gesture.

Following your direction, Neteyam carried you along the path. It led you to a cave at the peak, a hidden gem adorned with the soft glow of radiant plants and flowers. The bioluminescent flora painted the space with an otherworldly light, casting a gentle, colorful illumination that danced across your skin. The air was tinged with the sweet fragrance of the herbs.

As Neteyam carried you into the cave, the glow intensified. The walls seemed to breathe with life, the colors shifting and changing in a mesmerizing display. The space felt like a sanctuary, a haven of beauty and tranquility that mirrored the depth of your connection.

“What is this place?” he questioned, wide eyes looking around in awe.

You snuggled against him, feeling a sense of belonging in his embrace.

"It is Vitraya Ramunong," you whispered, your voice filled with reverence. "The Tree of Souls."

Oh.

Neteyam's dark gaze shifted to you, his tongue running along his bottom lip. The intentions of you taking him here were crystal clear. Faintly, you could feel his nails digging deep into your skin and you bit back a smile.

As Neteyam walked further into the cave, he gently set you down to your feet. You started to walk away, but his firm grip on your hips stopped you, pulling you back against his strong front.

"Don't run away from me now," he murmured, his breath caressing your neck, sending delightful shivers down your spine. He turned you around with a tender touch, and his hand traced up the curve of your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his intense, loving eyes.

And then, your lips met in a soft, sweet kiss. You could feel the depth of his emotions in the way his lips moved against yours, as if each kiss conveyed a thousand unspoken words.

As Neteyam pulled away slightly, his thumb lingered over your bottom lip, leaving you yearning for more of his affectionate touch. His other hand glided over your chest and now wrapped around your throat, but not with any intention of harm. It was a gentle gesture, one that made you feel cherished and protected. His thumb caressed the skin of your neck, golden gaze pouring over the stripes that lay there, admiring every inch of you.

"I have something for you," he finally murmured. He released his hold on you and reached into his pocket, retrieving the necklace he had crafted for you.

"Oh…Ma'Neteyam," you gasped, taking in every detail of the stunning gift.

Earthy brown tones formed the base, woven with intricate patterns and beads that told a story of his cultural roots—the Omatikayan style so unmistakably his. Yet, there was more to this gift than just his own heritage. Interspersed within the intricate weave were glimmers of polished crystal, a delicate incorporation of your own roots, a seamless merging of your two worlds.

As he clasped the necklace around your neck, his touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment as he secured the knots. Tears welled up in your eyes. You could feel the beads and twine, cool against your skin, its weight a comforting reminder of his presence and affection.

“I hope it’s enough,” he murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability as his hand traced the contours of the necklace, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “I… I don’t really know—”

With a soft click of your tongue, you silenced his self-doubt, your fingertips tenderly pressing against his lips. A gentle affirmation without words.

“It is enough," you reassured him. The corners of your lips lifted slightly, a soft smile that radiated your appreciation for his gesture. "It is more than enough."

Neteyam's own smile was a reflection of the relief that washed over him. He cupped your cheeks in his large, calloused hands, his touch both tender and possessive.

The warmth of his palms against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious contrast of roughness and gentleness. Gently, he tilted your head up, exposing your neck to his hungry eyes. Neteyam drank in the sight of the necklace—his necklace sat prettily across your skin, tongue curling around the point of a fang.

You, in turn, stared back up at him, emotions layed bare. As you fluttered your eyes, your thick lashes batted against your plump, flushed cheeks. The curve of the beads in your hair caught the ambient light of the cave, each bead gleaming like a star in the night sky. His eyes traced the path of those beads, capturing the radiance they added to your appearance.

And as his gaze drifted down to the attire Neytiri had allowed you to wear, his eyes recognized the intricate details of Omatikayan weaving that adorned your form. The woven tendrils of the top cascaded gently around your chest, its lilac hues blending harmoniously with the natural tinge of your skin. The top itself was a work of art, its design thoughtfully crafted to highlight your figure in the most flattering way.

Eywa. You drove him mad.

Unable to hold himself any longer, Neteyam guided the both of you down until you were kneeling in front of each other, the soft glow of the flora casting dancing shadows on your entwined figures. He pulled you into his lap, the heat of his body pressing against you, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As he pulled you in closer, the texture of his inky braids brushed along your bare collarbones, accompanied by the warm sensation of his large palms resting against your flushed skin. His tail curled over your thigh, its gentle glide against your soft flesh forming a loose, comforting embrace that brought a rush of intimacy between you.

You couldn't help but stiffen slightly as you suddenly felt the tail trail up your thigh and wrap itself around your hips, flicking against the band of your loincloth. With shaky inhale, you returned your gaze to Neteyam's.

"Tsaheylu," he whispered, the word a delicate breath that carried a promise meant only for you, a secret shared in the quiet of that sacred space. His eyes held a mixture of hope and vulnerability as he waited for your response.

Speechless, you froze up in surprise, lips drawing flat, Neteyam's expression briefly twisted with a pang of dread, as if he feared you would reject him.

“Please, baby,” he begged, his voice a soft plea that held a world of longing.

With a deliberate slowness, his arm extended behind him, retrieving his kuru from where it rested. His fingers curled around the base, and the muscles in his bicep tensed with the weight of anticipation.

The purple tendrils of the kuru glowed with a soft luminescence, their ethereal light casting enchanting reflections against the cave's walls.

Your own fingers moved in response, mimicking his gesture, finding the familiar texture of your kuru. With a gentle pull, you brought the braid over your shoulder, its presence a reassuring weight against your hand.

The tendrils of both seemed to come alive, a dance of ephemeral energy unfolding before your eyes. They swayed like the intertwined branches of the sacred tree. Then, as if drawn together by a force, the tendrils began to weave, intertwining in a mesmerizing display of unity.

As the tendrils merged and embraced, an extraordinary rush of emotion surged through you both. It was as if a floodgate had opened, allowing a tide of feelings to wash over your senses. Electric energy pulsed through your bodies, as if the very essence of your beings was reaching out to connect, to become entwined.

"Fuck," Neteyam grit his teeth, burying his head into your chest. Shaking, your hands flew up to his bare back, palms pressed against the hard muscle and nails scratching at the surface of his skin.

In this shared moment, your heartbeats resonated as one, a rhythm of unity that pulsed through your chests. Breaths synchronized, you felt a deep bond. The barrage of emotions you both felt was overwhelming yet exhilarating, like a river of sensations flowing between you.

“Syulang…” With a shaky gasp, Neteyam leaned up and met your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, his lips pressing against yours as if he had been waiting to taste you his entire life. He explored your mouth with his tongue, memorizing every curve and crevice, before gently sucking on your lower lip. You couldn't help but gasp in response, caught by the intensity of the moment.

Everything between you was heightened—the passion, the desire, the longing. Every touch, every glance, every shared heartbeat carried a weight that spoke of the depth of your feelings. The cave around you seemed to pulse with your shared energy as if you felt Eywa herself acknowledge the bond you had formed.

As you parted from the kiss, your eyes locked once more with Neteyam's, and you could see the raw desire and emotion swirling in his gaze. He appeared almost feral, his pupils wide with overwhelming passion, not missing a single twitch or movement in the intimate exchange between you both.

Unable to resist the pull, he pressed against you, causing you to fall back onto the cave floor, beads clicking as your hair spilled all around you. Crawling on top of you, Neteyam’s lips immediately chased yours once more in a primal hunger.

Lost in each other's touch, the world around you faded away, leaving only the echoing sounds of your breaths and the beating of your hearts, united as one in the sacred bond of Tsaheylu.

Amidst the lively celebration of Neteyam’s crowning ceremony, the music and laughter continued to weave a vibrant tapestry of joy. Jake and Neytiri found themselves seated together, basking in the warm ambiance of the party. The flickering flames from the central bonfire added to the enchantment of the night, casting a soft glow on their faces.

‘We are mated before Eywa, Ma’Neteyam’ your voice echoes in his mind. ‘I am with you forever now.’

Nearly a year had passed since they made the difficult decision to leave their clan. The abandonment of their home had left a wound which still carried a weight that was far from forgotten. The wound left behind by that loss was raw and gaping, still in the process of healing. However, here at Iuva’ri, they had been granted a fresh start. It was a place where they could breathe, live, and forge new connections without the constant shadow of war looming over them.

In the midst of the joy, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as Tuk rushed into the gathering, her tears glistening on her cheeks. Both Jake and Neytiri were quick to notice her distress, and they exchanged concerned glances before rushing to her side.

"Tuk?" Jake's voice held genuine worry as he gently wiped away her tears. "What's wrong, babygirl?"

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT (soon) >

Between gasps, Tuk managed to speak through her tears, "It's Kiri!"

______________________________________

teehee congrats on the new husband pookies<33 Neytiri is our mother now

If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :(Also, if any new people want to be tagged - please send me an ask in my inbox or reblog instead! Bc the sea of comments are too much across all the posts :,)

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ode2rin · 9 months

Text

“what would you do without me?!”

he knows it's a joke.

from the way you say it, your voice carries a light teasing tone, feigning irritation, contrasted by the upward tug of your lips - anyone can tell it's a joke.

joke or not, gojo satoru, your lover, will never willingly entertain the thought of a life without you - even for a minute.

but still, he gives it a thought, not needing more than three seconds to realize he definitely knows the answer.

i’d be done for.

he chuckles softly at his plain-speaking thought, trying to play it off as if he's merely laughing at himself for his culinary mishaps. “well, i guess i'd starve to death or burn myself and the entire place down attempting to cook.”

you laugh along, not sensing the underlying truth in his words.

but gojo can't shake off the haunting possibility that your joke opened a door in his heart and mind. damn, it's a joke – for heaven's sake. he needs to act like it is one.

except that one day, it might not be just a joke anymore.

and god, may it have mercy, because nothing will ever terrify him more than the thought of losing you.

being the honored one will carry no meaningful weight at the brink of losing you. it will be empty words – because when he had you, honor was to have you in his arms, and being the chosen one meant being loved by you. consequently, without you means to lose himself and everything.

there was a time in his life when gojo satoru was painfully convinced that there was nothing more left to lose in him. in the chaos of his world as the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, he had lost everything.

until you. you happened. and suddenly, he had everything to lose.

everything he can lose is here, cooking in his kitchen, humming to a familiar tune while making breakfast exactly like how he wants it.

so, you can’t blame him. you can’t take it out on him to ponder too much on a silly joke.

“why are you standing there looking at me like that? it’s okay, i forgive you for wasting six eggs.”

“i said i’m sorry! don’t worry, i’m going to make it up to you with dinner tonight,” he declares with a wink, hoping his playful charm masks the depth of his thoughts.

“dinner… like food?”

“wh- of course?! baby, what were you even thinking?!”

“you winked! what was i supposed to think?!”

“is this who i am to you, my love?!”

“oh shut up, satoru!”

gojo’s playful gaze lingers on your flustered face, taking in every detail, every nuance of your being. and he can't help but wonder how you manage to hold his heart in the palm of your hand without even realizing it.

he can't be without you. not now, not ever.

fate is never kind to anyone, but if by chance it takes pity, let it be on him. of all, he deserves that pity, does he not?

because to answer your silly joke, he’d be utterly and infinitely done for without you.

note. i just... love him these days.

#☁️ my ode to you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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maximumsunshine · 2 years

Text

I have a good disability accommodation story.

I use a medium sized backpack instead of an over the shoulder bag, because chronic pain has my shoulders all jacked up and when really carrying it I need to distribute the weight. I pass as femme so it's essentially a purse (which I'll call it) that holds like my cash and cards and keys but also my epipens and inhaler and other medical essentials.

I took my 10yo to the art museum today. About 20 minutes into our visit I was told they have a bag policy and while my bag was essentially small enough i could keep it, they need it by my side so I'm not knocking it into shit via it being on my back. Some people just aren't aware of their surroundings sometimes, blanket policy. Cool i get it. They really just needed me to single shoulder it. So I did. But like another 10 minutes in despite switching between shoulders, I just couldn't. Disability just made it impossible. So back on my back it went i was just really really careful.

Of course I was approached again though by someone new. I patiently and politely explained I knew and understood the rule but disability made it so I couldn't single shoulder my bag, I really did need to distribute the weight.

And she was like, welp ok we'll just get you a sticker for your bag so security camera guy will know you're an exception to the rule I'll be right back. 2 minutes later she was back with a shiny sticker and that was that.

In a museum full of priceless art I get the bag size and how you carry it (people really do be backing into a monet with their fucking backpacks) rules. But they were happy to accommodate me without me laying out my medical history. I didn't have to explain why my shoulders are fucked up. I didn't give them the details of last weeks especially bad pinched nerve. I simply said i was disabled. I don't even think i needed to offer up the part about distributing the weight. I just offered that bit up freely so it made general sense to them. And they gave me a reasonable accommodation and stickered me so i could explore and not be stopped every 5 feet. And in return i did actually work really hard to mind my bag in relation to the art around it.

I just really appreciate when the world goes right!

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natsaffection · 3 months

Note

hey, love 💕

i was thinking about the my sweet baby universe again(i love it so much 🥹) and could you write something like baby goes to nat's office for a surprise visit on their anniversary or something like that, but she's only wearing lingerie under her coat (or maybe just full naked, it's your call 🫣) and i feel like nats reaction would be vert enjoyable hehehe 🤭. anyways, i think you'd make a great fic, thanks honey ;)

Happy anniversary.

Sugar Mommy!Natasha x Sugar Baby!Reader

MINORS DNI 18+!

Warnings: Age gap! (N= 37 R= 21), thigh riding, Mommy kink, begging, fingering, slight overstimulation

Word count: 1,6 k

A/n: for the extra feeling, listen to Dead Man's Arms by Bishop Briggs when the smut starts, its heavenly. 🫂

In the soft glow of the morning light, you stirred from your sleep, stretching beneath the cozy blankets. Groggily, you opened your eyes to find Natasha's side of the bed empty. A hint of disappointment flickered, thinking Natasha might have forgotten the significance of the day.

But as you sat up, you noticed a delicate note lying on Natasha's bedside table. Curiosity was piqued and you eagerly unfolded the paper. In Natasha's elegant handwriting, the note read: "Happy anniversary, my love."

A hint of warmth spread through your chest and a bright smile graced your face. It was a simple but profound gesture, an acknowledgment that, while Natasha was still navigating the nuances of relationships, she had taken a moment to acknowledge and celebrate her love.

Joy simmered within you as you imagined Natasha at work, carrying the weight of her responsibilities and still finding a moment to express her affection. The anniversary had started on a sweet note, setting the tone for the surprises that awaited them and confirming the depth of their connection.

As you entered the living room, you were met with a breathtaking sight - every surface was decorated with an abundance of flowers, delicate roses and soft petals. The air was filled with the sweet scent of love and effort. You stood there in a daze and watched the romantic spectacle unfolding before them.

With careful steps, you continued into the kitchen, where another heartwarming surprise awaited you. The table was set with an enchanting breakfast spread - freshly baked pastries, assorted fruits and a pot of steaming coffee. A note with Natasha's distinctive handwriting caught your attention.

„Y/n, Every detail is a tribute to us. Enjoy the surprises and know that my heart belongs to you, today and always.”

Overcome with emotion, you turned around to see Maria, the maid, quietly taking care of her duties. “Did you do all that?” you asked incredulously.

Maria shook her head with a warm smile. “No, Ms. Romanoff was up all night making sure everything was perfect for your anniversary. She wanted today to be special for you.”

You felt a rush of gratitude and joy. The thoughtful gestures, the romantic atmosphere and the effort Natasha had made to create a magical morning touched you deeply. You enjoyed breakfast with a heart full of love, knowing that every bite was a taste of the affection with which Natasha had made your anniversary unforgettable.

Inspired by Natasha's romantic gestures in the morning, you felt a wave of excitement to return the love. As you thought about ideas for a surprise, a mischievous thought came to mind - one that would add a dash of spice to the day..

As the minutes passed, you carefully planned the surprise, carefully choosing a sexy ensemble that you knew would make Natasha's heart beat faster. The anticipation grew, and with every second that passed, You couldn't help but grin at the joy you were about to unleash.

In the beating heart of the city, you strolled the busy streets to find the perfect surprise for Natasha on her special day. The charming lingerie boutique beckoned and you entered, greeted by a selection of delicate lace and seductive fabrics.

The saleswoman with a strong sense of elegance guided you through the boutique's offerings. Soft whispers of satin, intricate lace patterns and the promise of seduction filled the air. Feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation, you began selecting pieces that fit the celebration you had envisioned.

In the locker room, the atmosphere became more intimate. Soft lighting highlighted the details of the lingerie, and as you tried on different ensembles, the mirror reflected a journey of self-discovery. The delicate lace hugged your curves and each piece told a story of sensuality and sophistication.

As you admired the reflection, the anticipation of surprising Natasha grew. The salesperson, recognizing the significance of the occasion, offered words of encouragement and added expert advice on the art of seduction to the experience.

Once back home, the chosen ensemble adorned your figure, with each piece carefully chosen to create a captivating appeal. The underwear, a secret beneath her elegant coat, promised a moment of passion and connection with Natasha. Once you were satisfied with the sight, you threw a nice coat around yourself and made your way to her office.

When you arrived, Natash's assistant took you straight to her and as you entered her office with an innocent smile, you closed the door with a soft click. The soft click of the door drew Natasha's attention away from the stacks of paperwork.

“Y/n! what are you doing here?” You are trying to keep your composure, but feeling a tinge of nervousness, "I just wanted to add a little... spark to your day."

Natasha, astute as ever, noticed the subtle signs. Your slight trembling and a tell-tale blush adorning your cheeks. A knowing grin played on Natasha's lips. “Ah, you’re trying to surprise me, aren’t you?”

You, surprised by Natasha's perspicacity, stammered, "Well, I... I thought it would be a fun way to celebrate our anniversary..“

Natasha enjoyed you nervous state and leaned back in her chair, her eyes filled with playful mischief. “Come here, darling. Let’s see what delightful surprise you have in store.”

As you approached and slowly took off the coat, Natasha's eyes lit up with anticipation. The atmosphere in the room changed, filled with the promise of a celebration that combined the sweetness of their love with the spicy surprises of their desires.

Natasha's eyes widened, a hint of surprise, before a seductive grin appeared. “Well, this is a wonderful distraction,” she remarked, her gaze lingering on your enticing ensemble.

Playing the innocence card, you approached the desk and ran your fingers over Natasha's stressed-out paperwork. “Happy anniversary, Natasha,” you cooed, shy smiling giving away your secret intentions.

Natasha's stress was momentarily forgotten and she leaned back in her chair, fascinated by the sparkle in your eyes.

"I've been craving something more than just paperwork all day." You grinned and slid a hand down Natasha's thigh, your closeness becoming more intense. "How about a different kind of...stress relief?"

Your mind becomes clouded with a lustful haze that blinds your insecurities when you can utter the next word without an ounce of resistance. "How about I make you feel good this time?“

It wasn't until the words left your mouth that you realized what you had said and the shock hitting both of your faces at the same time. You regret it and consider pulling away completely, but before you can, a sneer appears on her lips again. "That's not how it works, Malysh." Her arm quickly wraps around your waist and moves you so that you're standing between her legs.

Without warning, she pushed your body against her thighs and a soft gasp escaped your mouth. “Be a good girl for me and let me do it.” She looks up at you and her arm moves around your waist again. Your clit begins to rub against her thigh, and Natasha's moved her legs just the same to show you how to move your hips.

Her hands grasp your waist, holding you tight and giving you stability. Not only the feeling of your pleasure as you rub against her thighs, but the way Natasha maintains control and dominance even when she's beneath you sends you completely into subspace.

Her other hand works on your breast, her fingers massaging the flesh with gentle pinches before she takes it into her mouth. You can't look away from her, and neither can Natasha, even though your cheeks are very flushed and inflamed. The eye contact you share as you ride her thighs while she sucks on your breasts will put you in a trance you won't be able to break.

But soon you have no choice but to close your eyes. It doesn't come from desire, but from need. Because your orgasm threatens to erupt within you on a scale that neither of you were prepared for.

Her mouth opens as her tongue licks your breasts, and it all begins before you reach your climax.

Her hips buck against yours and her moans echo through the silent room, loud enough for the staff to hear, but you don't care as the pleasure rings high in your ears. "Good girl."

You were still in a trance when Natasha picked you up and placed you on her table. She grabbed your legs and spread them in front of her, “Don’t make a sound, Y/n, or I’ll stop, do you understand me?”

You nodded eagerly, your skin tingling as Natasha slowly slid her tongue from your thigh down to your pussy. You arched into the touch, squeezing your eyes shut again as Natasha's thumb slowly swiped over your clit.

“Nnngh.” You try to stay silent, holding your palm over your mouth. Another of her fingers rubbed your clit and this time she pushed inside.

Shortly afterwards, Natasha picked up speed and thrust into you again and again. Her arm moves up to your head to hold you tighter, “I-It feels so good!” you whimper into your hand.

„Oh, I know..“ Natasha smiled and pressed her thumb lightly against your clit, rubbing eagerly, circles against the smooth, throbbing bud. You felt the pleasure building inside you again, an unimaginable heat and pressure deep in your stomach that was aching to be released.

The thumb on your clit stoked the heat into an inferno and you felt your control suddenly slip and your voice become high and desperate again. “Oh God, Mommy! Ah, it's too much! I’m going to – I’m going to–” you babbled, clinging tightly to Natasha’s free arm.

Natasha’s voice was soft, urging you to your climax again with gentle movements and touches, “It’s okay, let it out. Come for me.“ You gasp. “Oh, fuck!” The heat in your stomach exploded throughout your body and you climaxed a second and final time.

Natasha gently ran her fingers through your hair and cooed softly to you as your climax passed, leaving you shaking and exhausted. “Thank you for the perfect anniversary my love.”

#natasha x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

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queenimmadolla · 11 months

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Tattoo Artist!Eddie Munson x Apprentice!Reader)

Summary: . . . After deciding you were meant for more than what life had in store for you, you gave into the siren call of the city─well a city. But when city life finally eats away at your bank account and your main source of income isn't reliable, you take on an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop where your boss is the six-foot something, tattoo covered Eddie Munson who quickly and unwisely becomes intrigued by you. Nothing romantic can come from it, lest you risk it being torn apart by your past, his lover and yourself.

Entire Work Warnings: 18+ (smut will take place in later chapters), swearing, financial problems, mentions of loss, escorts/call girls, age gap (Eddie is 36, reader is 25), financial shaming, slut shaming, implied sexual harassment, bimbo!reader (she may not be book smart but she knows the score) angst, self-sabotage.

a/n: based on my initial post and elements of Breakfast at Tiffany's. next chapters will be significantly juicer, this was just something to get us going. this is dedicated to @munsonology, happy birthday and I hope this year was a good one! and a very gratitude filled thank you to my dear friend, @kitmon, for continuing to be an an amazing beta! hope you guys like it so far ♡ (attempting the keep reading feature, fingers crossed)

word count: 5k

“They don’t bite.” “Hmn?” Came your absent-minded reply, eyes cutting from the harpy, evil in her eyes and blood soaking her talons, to the man flipping through the red binder you’d been carrying around you in the Indianapolis heat.

Sweat evaporated off your skin, giving away to goosebumps in the air conditioned shop, a much welcome relief to the borderline unbearable heatwave settling over the city streets, something that can be found in every nook and cranny. You’d been navigating your way throughout the city since before dawn broke, eager to get your fill of it while the streets were quiet and a decent temperature. It had been almost chilly this morning, your thick strapped tank top and daisy dukes—that you normally wouldn’t allow yourself to be caught dead in—leaving most of your skin exposed, with no direct sunlight to warm it. Now that the sun was out, you were on fire out there.

“The artwork.” He glanced at the framed harpy drawing along the wall, the one you’d been staring at, one of many framed depictions of gruesome and mythical looking creatures. “I don’t blame you though, that one isn’t particularly my favorite. Pretty badass, though. Heh.” “Oh,” You shook your head, the oversized shades adorning your face sliding down the bridge of your nose, “No, I’m not afraid of it. I like it. It must have taken forever though.”

You turned your attention to her again, admiring how realistic her feathers appeared. Painstakingly detailed and whoever was walking around the city with her on their body surely endured a generous amount of pain to get her.

And a large hole in their wallet.

“It took a ton of sessions, for sure. My boy did it a couple years ago.” The man, Argyle, as he’d introduced himself when you’d first walked into the shop, flipped his long black hair over his shoulder before he flipped to the next page of your portfolio. He let out a sound of appreciation as he leaned his weight on his elbow, hand resting over his mouth.

“This is good! This is really good!”

You lifted your chin to peer at the drawing he was fascinated with. Ah.

It was a drawing of the skeletal Grim Reaper, cloaked in a black robe and scythe clutched in one hand while his boney middle fingers stretched his eye socket holes down in an obvious taunt. A tongue, black and tendril like, lulled out of his mouth.

You thought it was pretty good, too. The idea for it had struck you at a party, you’d been hiding from an annoying suitor and ducked into an office room, doodling to your heart's content once you grew past your boredom.

You grinned, a feeling of giddiness beginning to bubble inside you.

“Listen, the DM’s out right now, running some errands. He should be back soon, can I hold onto this?” Argyle asked, gripping the sides of the binder and raising it as if you didn’t already know he was referring to your portfolio, “I think he’ll be pretty impressed with your stuff.” You fidgeted with your fingers, giddiness giving away to nerves once more. “Really? You think so?” Hope was something you hadn’t felt in a while; you’d been through exactly fourteen tattoo shops throughout the city, most of which you’d been rebuffed from before they so much as flipped open your portfolio, having already decided your particular aesthetic didn’t fit their image. They hadn’t verbalized as much, but you knew. You glanced down at your pink boots, already such a stark contrast to the black beams beneath your feet.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if you hadn’t made a wager with yourself, you could only go home once you’d accomplished your task of getting one of the shop owners to actually look at your work. While Argyle had made it clear he wasn’t the head honcho, he’d be passing it along.

“Yeah, man! This is some pretty legit stuff! I’ve been tatting, myself, for a couple years now, and I’m good–don’t wanna flex or nothing but I’m really good. Only it took a couple of years for me to actually get this good, you know? And I’m not even talking about on skin. You haven’t tattooed anyone before, right?” You thought back to when you had mentioned your art skill to a brief...something, he’d been intoxicated enough on expensive wine and your sangria kisses to encourage you to use the tattoo kit one of your friends had re-gifted you after her interest in the subject waned. You’d never particularly imagined yourself etching into people’s skin before, not even when she’d given you the supplies because she’d seen some of your doodles.

Thanks to her, a suit and tie you no longer spoke to, who made more money than you’ll ever see, was walking around with a secret under his briefs: a pair of shiny cherries on his left ass cheek.

It was no loss to you. Sure, he made money. Just not nearly enough for you to tolerate how aggressive he’d been with his affections as soon as he was sloshed. You’d given him the tattoo with his drunk pals cheering him on, went out to a very high standard club, then promptly ditched him the moment you were out of his sight. You hadn’t answered the door when he came pounding on it the next morning and the morning after that.

You’d originally had no intentions of using the tattoo equipment, until that encounter. It had planted a seed, an idea that may get you out of what you had to do to survive. Tattooing hadn’t been a passion, and it still wasn’t quite one but you needed money and you had talent.

“No,” You lied with a shake of your head, “I haven’t.”

“That’ll change soon,” he laughed, closing your binder as he leaned further over the glass counter. Your gaze briefly flickered to the jewelry it housed.

“You got a number we can reach you at?”

You’d scrawled the number of your landline down on the back of one of their business cards before Argyle could rethink his decision to pass your work along.

“Hopefully, we’ll see you soon!” He called out as you retreated towards the door.

God, I hope so.

The thought of a somewhat stable job that could help the pitiful state of your checking and savings account was the only thing powering you through your long walk home. You couldn’t risk a cab, that would mean you’d have no fare money for tonight, and who knows if you’d have to make a speedy exit?

You’d learned. Eventually.

Forty-five minutes later, you entered your apartment, sagging back against the door as you dropped your bag and kicked your shoes off, unconcerned as to where exactly they’d landed.

Sweat glistened over your skin, and unlike in that last tattoo shop, there was no air conditioning to cool you. You and Sid saved that for special occasions.

Instead, you opened the large window to the fire escape, obnoxious sounds of the city you called home filling the apartment.

It wasn’t much, but it was better. Next came the matter of your clothes, stuck in the most uncomfortable of ways to your flesh. Your tank top was peeled off and thrown over the couch, daisy dukes abandoned near the entryway of the small kitchen on your way to the bathroom.

A quick glance was spared behind you, taking in the state of your shared home. It was a mess and not even remotely surprising. The place was barely furnished with the essentials, all of which were secondhand: a couch, a coffee table with a sheet over it to hide the stains, one shelving unit, a rug and tapestries hung artfully on the walls for deception. They made the place look more put together than it was, but you’d love it even if it were still barren. A roof over your head in the city meant you didn’t have to return to the past you’d clawed your way out of..

The only thing worth much was the framed photo on the kitchen counter, and that was only in sentimental value. You and Sid, arms around each other’s shoulders as you sat in a booth at a shitty diner you’d tried upon first moving to the city. They’d taken your photo for being the 600th customer and tacked it to the wall.

You’d stolen it and had no regrets because you got to keep your memory and ended up getting food poisoning.

With a shrug, you entered the bathroom for a much needed scrub down and some disassociating. Your mess could wait.

─

Eddie was not in a great mood when he walked into the shop.

His jacket was clutched in a sweaty palm, rings twisting around the flesh of his fingers and his bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead, all the result of the walk from his fucking car to the shop door.

“Grumpy?” Argyle asked, amused with the clear annoyance on his face.

Eddie sneered, standing under the vent for a minute to cool down, “Triple digits. Triple fucking digits out there, man. You could shove a thermometer up the devil’s asshole and it’d be cooler than that.”

Once he’d solidified, he stalked past the front desk, threw his jacket onto the counter and picked up a stack of mail.

“Did I miss anything?” Eddie asked as he flipped through the envelopes, mostly junk.

“A couple of walk-ins. Nothing too major there, handled them myself. Simple stuff, one wanted a goldfish. Not like a detailed one, like how you’d try and draw a goldfish cracker. We did have a few who wanted a couple of advance pieces, got ‘em booked for consultations with Johnny boy and Rob.”

“Nice,” Eddie chuckled under his breath at the mental image of the goldfish tattoo, most likely an act of affection. Tattooing people who wanted to permanently carry reminders of their children was one of Eddie’s favorites to do, partially because of the sentiment but mostly because the drawings were amusing.

He’d just finished tossing out the junk mail when he reached for his jacket to hang it up properly and discovered it had been concealing something.

“What’s this?” Eddie asked as he lifted the slim red binder. Looked relatively new.

“Huh?” Argyle glanced up from the sketch he was working on, recognition flashing across his face, “Oh, yeah! We got a prospective new hire, someone dropped off their portfolio.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh as his jacket was tossed aside yet again. He had nothing against other tattoo artists, but the last one he’d hired that hadn’t come from his friend group ended up nearly destroying the group.

Henry had been charming, good at his job and charismatic. Turns out, he’d also been a master manipulator and had a particularly abhorrent temper. Tensions had been high, heads were butting and fights had occurred—with a permanent reminder in the wall near the front entrance where a large hole had been punched through. Henry had to go.

Eddie wasn’t looking to repeat the situation.

“I think we’re good on artists around here–and put a reminder on the calendar for me to patch that damn crater up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing the artist isn’t a tattoo artist. Yet. I’d look at that portfolio first before making any decisions, if I were you. I think you’re gonna see the beginnings of something goooooood, and dude, you’ll be killing our fun if you fix it. Do you know how many glory hole jokes we tell?” Eddie ignored the latter half of Argyle’s statement, reluctantly flipping the portfolio open to the first page and annoyance began to associate itself with him once more.

A body, in a state of decomposition greeted him. But it wasn’t maggots or rotting flesh involved. Flowers grew out of the crevices, with moss and mushrooms over her skin. A lot of fine line work.

The next page was home to a bird-like creature with the body of a lion, a Griffin. Done in American Traditional.

A skinny, demonic looking goat with horns and legs long enough to belong to a horse, clouded eyes and wyvern wings was on the page after that. The Jersey Devil. Someone knew their Cryptids.

The portfolio contained a vast amount of drawings from horror depictions to more aesthetically pleasing visions; the hydra, skeletons, dragons, goddesses, respectable attempts at the modern Renaissance pieces, and even a couple of Barbie references, ranging in a variety of tattoo styles.

Eddie closed the portfolio and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, scowling.

That long haired doofus was right. This was beyond good work. But if they weren’t a tattoo artist, there wasn’t much Eddie could do with them. Drawing on paper is a much more different experience than skin. Mistakes can be erased on paper, the sketch done over again. Can’t do the same on flesh.

It’s intimidating.

They’d have to start off slow, like he had. Trained under a watchful eye, an expert who’d guide them with experienced hands. He was sure Jonathan and Robin would be eager to have an apprentice.

But before Eddie would even begin to entertain the idea of an apprentice in his shop, he’d have to see exactly what it was he was working with.

“Leave a number?” He asked without looking at Argyle because he knew he’d see nothing but a smug expression.

“Yup.”

“See if you can get him back in the shop tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I have a session for the rest of the day, remember?”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot.” Argyle’s grin was sheepish as he read off the calendar. “Stacy Peterson called. Car troubles. Unable to make it to appointment with Eddie. Rescheduled. Heh. So…you also missed that.”

“I’ll strangle you later, just get him in here then.”

Argyle opened his mouth, then closed it as an expression that said I know something you don’t crossed his strong features. “Righty-O, boss. I’ll give him a call.”

You’d been lounging in the bathtub, hair up and out of the way, eyeing the grooves of the shower tile. They were a permanent taunt, stained dark no matter how hard you and Sid scrubbed and you hated the sight of them.

People with money didn't have to stare at them, able to afford to have them professionally cleaned or the shower wall—the entire bathroom renovated.

Someday, that would be you.

You sunk further into the water, toeing at the faucet when the shrill sound of the landline filled your more than humble home. The thought of simply letting it ring played in your head until you remembered the tattoo shop you’d visited last.

Hastily rising from the tub, water was splashed along the floor while you did a terrible job of drying off and ran naked the rest of the way to the living room, almost slipping as you did.

The receiver was yanked off its post, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Dudette? Argyle calling, dunno if you remember me from earlier…”

“Yeah! From the tattoo shop, right?”

“Right-O! Listen, The Dungeon Master is in and he wants to see if you can get down here to show him what you got. Possible?”

“Yeah, it’ll be no problem!” You’d have to run most of the way but street traffic around this time wasn’t that bad so you wouldn’t have to fight your way through bodies.

“Cool, cool, cool. And between you and me, this is pretty much the interview process. Good luck, dudette, and may the force be with your tattie skills. I’ll see you when you get here!”

As soon as you’d hung up, you ran to your room to get dressed. You didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it wasn’t high on your list of priorities considering you and Sid practically shared one. Another tank top was selected—to mitigate sweating on your way to your interview—along with a gifted pink thong and matching bra. You’d snagged your Daisy Dukes from the floor on your way out, shimmied them on, grabbed your small bag and keys and headed out.

The selection of attire was a good one, the heat was still stupidly unbearable and heavy. You’d need to wash off again tonight. You’d managed to make it to the shop in under twenty-five minutes, having ignored all the looks you’d received as you hurried along the streets and the feeling of the air conditioner on your skin was a welcome one when you made your way back into the shop.

Argyle greeted you with a bright grin from his place behind the counter, throwing up his hands, “You made it! One sec.”

Then he turned his upper body to call into an area you couldn’t quite see into, “Oh, Eddie boy! Your prospect has arrived.”

You hadn’t cared to entertain ideas on what your potential boss could look like, all you were concerned about was the position and getting your foot in the door. Even if you had tried to imagine him, nothing could have prepared you for the actual sight of him when he emerged.

He was big, tall and cloaked in black, despite the heat of the city. He wore what you figured had once been a black t-shirt but was now lacking sleeves and a proper neck hem to be considered a makeshift tank. His pants were shiny leather and also tight, hugging the muscles of his thighs, and he sported a dark pair of pointed boots.

He wasn’t particularly muscular enough to be the body builder type, but it looked like he could probably pick another grown man up with ease. His skin had a light tan to it, barely anything really, just like everyone else, he obviously couldn’t escape the sun. It was littered with intricate tattoos, weaving up his arms—a few you could tell disappeared under his shirt—and his neck.

The word freak was permanently etched in black ink along his temple and over his eyebrow. Two silver balls decorated his other eyebrow.

Leaning up against the back wall like that, arms crossed to make the muscles of his arms bulge slightly and oozing confidence, he looked like the personification of some really good sex.

But he wasn’t what you were seeking out and you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure.

Eddie was caught completely off guard, trying to school his shock and keep his composure.

When he’d seen that portfolio, he was expecting someone with jagged edges, piercings galore and more than just a couple of tattoos to be behind it and standing in the entryway of his shop.

Someone who looked like their art.

You…didn’t. With your little pink cowboy boots, tank top that accentuated your figure and shorts so small, they should’ve been considered a form of underwear, you didn’t look at all similar to what Eddie was expecting. Not even if he closed his eyes.

You didn’t waste time, quickly introducing yourself as you stepped up to the front desk and Eddie pulled himself from his stupor, closing the distance to shake your palm. Smaller than his (though most were) and slightly sweaty, no doubt due to that god forsaken heat outside.

Eddie could see bits of your hair sticking to your skin, little beads of sweat prickling over your exposed collarbone and trailing down, down between your─

“Thank you for taking the time to even look at my portfolio! I really appreciate it.”

Eddie blinked hard, clearing his throat before smirking to pretend he hadn’t been drawn in by your chest.

What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden?

He’d had plenty of beautiful clients, he’d tattooed nice asses, tits, pubic regions, thighs, all the beautiful areas. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before.

Hell, Eddie had been thoroughly busy with a pair, held them in his hands before he came into the shop.

Professionalism, he reminded himself.

“Not a problem, what I see—saw was pretty impressive,” Nice save, Eddie, you dick. He cursed himself, “You adapt well to different styles.”

“Thanks!” You chirped, excitement filling you at the praise. It was so nice to hear positive feedback about your work instead of being sent out of a shop before they so much as opened your binder. “I like to experiment with different styles, see what it is that people like so much about them and honestly, it’s mostly because I haven’t quite found my art style just yet.”

Hence your range, you were constantly expanding with your art because you hadn’t found one style you wanted to make yours yet. Or maybe you had and just didn’t know it yet. Whatever.

Eddie and Argyle exchanged a look before he stepped back and nodded in the direction he came, “Why don’t you follow me? Show me what you can do?”

You didn’t hesitate, stepping past the front desk.

There was more artwork lining the short hall he took you down until you arrived at another room, obviously one meant for actual tattooing as there was a tattoo chair in the middle of the room.

On one of the counters, was an area already prepped for you. A tattoo gun, some ink, and some obviously fake skin that rested on top of a disposable sheet cloth, along with some gloves.

“Argyle tells me you haven’t worked on skin before.”

Sure you haven’t.

“Not a whole lot of people lining up to get tattooed by someone with no experience,” you shrugged, following him over to the counter he was leaning up against.

“You’re hanging around the wrong crowd then.” He joked and you let out a small laugh.

He had no idea how right he was.

“The first tattoos I ever got were from inexperienced people. This one,” he gestured to a Wyvern on the back of his arm, “I got my junior year of high school from a waitress at a bar I always snuck into.”

“And this one,” he yanked the tattered collar of his shirt down to expose more ink, but the one he was referring to was a spider, “I got my first senior year from someone I did…business with.”

First senior year? Eddie was proving to be an interesting character.

“But enough about me,” Eddie released his shirt, allowing it to hide the artwork depicted on his chest, “let’s get down to business.”

Before he could even explain what everything was, you dropped your purse onto the counter nearby, pulling a small box of unopened gloves from it.

“You mind?” You asked, fingers poised to rip it open.

“Go for it,” He shrugged. Gloves were gloves, so long as they were uncontaminated he didn’t mind.

You tore into them and Eddie was still somehow surprised to see they were pink. Clearly his black ones weren’t your style.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked as you pulled the gloves on. Eddie watched you, intrigued as you finished assembling the tattoo gun without his help and opened the ink pack.

“Sure,” He mused, eyeing you skeptically. Hadn’t tattooed anyone but you were clearly familiar with it. Interesting.

“Did your tattoos hurt?”

Eddie waited until after you’d started the tattoo gun and got into working on the fake flesh. Apparently you already had an idea in mind.

“A bit of an amateur question, you don’t have one?”

“Nope.” You confirmed, paying him no mind as you leaned forward, gaze focused solely on your task, “I kind of want one but I’m not in any particular rush, you know?”

Eddie made a sound of agreement, at a brief loss of words as you arched your back, ass sticking out and he became painfully aware you were wearing a hot pink thong, the tails of it peaking out past the top of your denim shorts. He should’ve offered you a seat but you didn’t seem all that bothered with standing.

No, that was apparently his foil, because he was incredibly bothered by you standing, especially with your ass out like that; when it made his pants tighten considerably in his crotch region.

He was getting hard.

Eddie was mortified, stiffening (go figure) as he attempted to calm himself, eyes darting away from your ass to stare at one of the cabinets. Of course this had to happen to him on the day he chose to wear a pair of pants that left little to the imagination should the boy downstairs start acting up.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

“Hurts, depending on the area, which I’m sure you already know. The tattoos on my back and my thighs hurt pretty bad. Forearms were a bitch, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The ones on my wrists and hands were the worst, pain wise, in my opinion. Obviously it didn't stop me, but those tend to be areas with a lot of bones, veins and very little muscle, so it’s expected.”

You hummed in response and his gaze briefly flittered over to you before his cock pulsed and he tore it away again, grateful your attention wasn’t on him.

The remainder of the ‘session’ was spent in relative silence with the music playing through the speakers installed throughout the shop, keeping it from being awkward. Eddie had just managed to will his erection away when you finished, setting down the gun before you pulled your gloves off.

“What do you think?” You asked, still admiring your work and Eddie peered around you to assess it.

A wyvern, similar to the one on his arm but done in a fine line style.

He chuckled, amused with your reference and you fought valiantly with yourself not to grin. You were trying to impress him, sticking with a subject he liked enough to make it a part of him permanently, but you hadn’t imitated the style of it to keep from downright copying and to showcase your ability to adapt.

“That’s pretty good,” And it was, not a whole lot of people could get lines that perfect or seem as confident in their abilities on their first try. Still, Eddie could tell you’d have some ways to go before you were ready to be on your own, “but you can do better.”

You tried not to frown, “Oh.”

Eddie smirked and you finally turned to face him, apprehension on your face.

“Don’t look so down. After some time around here, watching us work, you’ll be ready. The apprenticeship will fly by in no time.”

“Wait—you mean—you want me?!”

“I’d be stupid not to.”

You let out a squeal and threw yourself at him, giving him a quick squeeze before your brain caught up to your body and you pulled away.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just so excited.”

Eddie cleared his throat, shifting his body away from you and rasped out, “Argyle will have the paperwork for you to fill out.”

“Got it,” You grabbed your bag and was just about to head out of the room when Eddie called your name, “Huh?”

“Be back at the same time tomorrow. You’ll be practicing on real skin.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Me.”

Something in you bubbled with excitement and nerves.

You nodded once and then left the room to see Argyle for your paperwork.

“So?????” Argyle asked once you’d approached him, a sullen look on your face.

You couldn’t keep the act up, beaming as you practically bounced, “I’ll be seeing you around more often now!”

He whooped, extending an arm out for a high-five which you reciprocated.

“You are gonna love it here, Dudette. Just wait until you meet everyone! First, we gotta start on your employment.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched him go through a filing cabinet.

“Wait—this is paid?”

“Yeah! We’re not big on slave labor here.”

Score for you! You had a feeling you wouldn’t be clocking a ton of hours but every single penny counted, especially considering how hard of a time you had actually building a savings account.

Argyle had walked you through the paperwork, where to sign, what things meant and since the shop was getting ready to close up you’d simply just bring the completed paperwork back with you tomorrow.

The door chimed behind you and you turned to see who could be coming in at the last minute, eyes widening at the voluptuous woman before you. Her hair was long and jet black, skin pale (apparently one person in this city was capable of defying the sun) and make-up done so elegantly it reminded you of actresses from the silver screen era. Her dress was simple, black and hugged her curves exceptionally well. You could tell it was worth more than everything in your apartment combined and you’d feel bad about it if you also couldn’t tell she was older than you.

You’d have time to get there.

“Hey, Deidre.”

“Hello, Argyle.” She gave the both of you a dazzling smile as she removed her sunglasses and walked right past Argyle, down the hall you’d come from.

He didn’t even look surprised and paid her no real attention.

“We’ll see you soon?”

“Damn straight.”

Argyle let out another cheer as you walked out the door with high spirits. Not even the nasty, hot air could get you down.

You’d climbed up the stone steps until you reached the sidewalk and glanced behind you at the neon sign depicting the name of the tattoo shop you’d now be working at.

“Welcome to The Dungeon,” You mumbled to yourself with a smile.

You turned back to the sidewalk, staring down at the pathway you’d have to take before you thought better of it, sticking your fingers into your mouth to give a sharp whistle.

It caught the attention of a cab driver down the street, and you gave him your address when he’d pulled up and you’d hopped in, ready to prepare for tonight's plans. You deserved a little break, after all, you were one step closer to securing the future of your dreams.

Eddie sagged against the counter once you’d left the room, scowling down at the bulge that had reappeared in his pants when you’d hugged him.

Why his body was suddenly acting like he was a horny teenager again, he had no idea.

He wasn’t about to do anything about it, though. Not when you’d be hanging around the shop for the foreseeable future. Eddie didn’t get involved with his employees. He’d worked in a couple of shops where he’d witnessed that occur and it always ended in a mess. Not a good kind.

He busied himself with cleaning up, tossing away the supplies you’d used and storing your first piece of work. It’d be nice for you to look back at once your apprenticeship was over. When Eddie had nothing else to clean, he sighed and rubbed at his eyelids.

Platonic. Professional. God, if he couldn’t keep his dick in check, he’d be in a world of trouble. You’d be trouble.

“Need a hand?”

Eddie snapped around, relieved to see it was just Deidre. Explaining why he had a boner to anyone else wasn’t something he was keen on doing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be telling her exactly why, either.

Taking her up on her offer, however, was something he would eagerly do.

“Are you offering yours?”

She laughed, setting her purse down on the counter where your bag had been just a few minutes ago, and walked right up to Eddie, her body pressed against his and grinding onto him as the older woman slid her arms around his shoulders.

“Mmm, not just my hand.”

All Eddie knew next was the taste of her red lipstick.

#tattoo artist!eddie munson x apprentice!reader #tattoo artist!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #he's older than me so im counting it #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #bimbo!reader #eddie munson x bimbo!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Between the Lines

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covetyou · 7 months

Text

my bright future's behind me

joel miller x f!reader

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), anal sex, rimming, anal douching*, oil as lube, oral (f receiving), mild spanking, masturbation (f), praise kink, brief sex toys mention, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.8k chapter summary: The line between wanting to help your father and wanting to see Joel again blurs, and you find yourself at a familiar door asking for help. You know what's in store for you this time... don't you?

*NO DETAIL reader is given brief instruction on how to do it, and agrees to. no description of the actual event.

A/N: it's lengthier than I intened, but I really enjoyed writing about this in detail okay, let a girl have some fun. Like yeah, our reader is living in a hellish apocalyptic society and is an anal virgin going to a drug dealer to pay a debt with some serious dubcon vibes, but that man is going to be soft and gentle (ish?) af with her butthole and make her enjoy the hell out of it, okay? okay. let's go.

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song: anything but(t) by Hozier dividers: @saradika

Five weeks ago, heavy feet had carried you away from Joel's door in a daze.

You'd spent the first day waiting for your fathers pain medication to kick in. You spent the next getting him up and ready to go find work again. It was like watching a newborn deer finding its first footing; once he was up, a few stumbles and he was off, throwing himself back into work. He'd even picked up his medication himself at the end of the second week - you'd offered to go for him, but he declined. You deserved the rest, he'd said.

He'd come back, pills in hand, proclaiming how much of a "nice man" Joel Miller was. You didn't disagree.

You spent that night, fingers buried in yourself, whispering Joel's name into the dark as you clenched around fingers too small to feel satisfying.

Every night since then you remembered the look of Joel through the haze of the orgasm he'd slapped out of you. The weight of his cock, glistening head leaking precum as he rutted against you, the pressure of being filled over and over. His face, mouth agape, eyes glued to where you joined, mesmerized.

You came every time, whether it was to the thought of the first push of his cock into you, the firm, repetitive slap of his hand against your bare pussy, or his cum spattering across your naked body.

You didn't just grind pillows any more. Not all the time anyway. You bit into them, hard, stifling moans that you didn't dare let echo around the bare confines of your room. You made yourself writhe in sheets on a bed that felt too small, fingers stuffed to the knuckle, unable to reach the depths you craved. You'd even tried spanking yourself, desperate to chase that zinging feeling he'd given your pussy that day.

Weeks had gone by, and you'd spent every one using your own hands to chase the feeling of Joel Miller between your legs.

And now, an opportunity to grab those feelings presented to you all over again and, although your father was in pain, a part of you you'd kept hidden for weeks was glad for it. Five weeks to the day, and you were stood outside of Joel's apartment once again.

You knew what to expect now, you thought. You'd done this before, it was familiar. He was familiar. You knew how he moved, the sound of his voice, the look on his face when he came.

So, arm raised and feeling braver than you had any right to feel, you knock on Joel Miller's door for the second time.

A moment passes. Then another. You hear nothing beyond the door, and think about turning to leave, when there's a sudden click of the latch and the door flies open.

You'd psyched yourself up all day, but standing here you come to the stark realization that you're not ready to see him again at all. You shrink at the expanse of him.

His eyebrows raise as he leans toward the door frame. His dark eyes look you up and down and you stand there like an idiot, staring at him like you've never seen a man before.

"Can't say I expected to see you again so soon," he says, ticking his head to the side, inviting you in.

You walk past him, he doesn't move from the door way again, and you squeeze into his home.

The door snaps shut behind him, his feet thudding on the floor as he walks up behind you. You stay facing into his living room, staring at a deep scratch on the dining table he'd placed his whisky glass on five weeks ago.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart," he says, and you can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. He knew it was a stupid question. There was no other reason why you'd be here.

"My dad. He needs more. He's bad again and we can't..." you trail off, your poverty unspoken but understood.

Your eyes are locked on the table, you're trying not to clench your hands into fists. You weren't nervous this morning when you'd made up your mind, and now, trapped in this room with him your blood hummed with nerves, anticipation, fear, arousal. It was a cocktail you weren't familiar with and it was making you lightheaded.

Joel's footsteps thud again and you hear the nearby open and close of a cupboard door. He rounds back, appearing in front of you holding another familiar packet. He shakes it and you hear the rattle of pills.

"You ain't got any debt to pay off this time, sweetheart. You can take these right now and owe me... or you can pay me off right now."

You were waiting for this, but even so his offer makes your breath stop and your heart pound. You weren't just expecting it, you were wanting it, and you had a feeling he knew and his offer just proved that. He may as well have said do you want me or not. Your answer would be the same.

"What'll it be?" he says, extending the pill packet out with two thick fingers.

You take a deep breath. "I can... I can do right now. I-if that's okay?"

You can practically see the gotcha flash across his eyes.

"S'more than okay, sweetheart," he says, pocketing the pills with a smirk and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"You know the drill - show me."

You begin to undress for him, stripping off your jacket and simple dress you'd worn to accommodate the dwindling summer heat. You'd worn your best underwear this time, the black cotton bra, faded to dark grey over the years, actually lifted you and showed off the valley between your tits. Equally faded black panties sat high over your hips.

He watches you like someone would have watched a boring TV show years ago - almost disinterested, but watching anyway. You remove your bra, freeing your breasts and dropping it to the floor. Hands come to your hips to shimmy your panties down your legs when he suddenly moves toward you. You stop immediately. He walks past you, around you, circling like a vulture, assessing your nearly bare body. He's so close you can feel the heat radiate off of him, but he doesn't lay a finger on you.

He completes another half circle, stopping when he's directly behind you. He can see the way the skant fabric of your panties parts the cleft of your ass.

"Take 'em off," his deep voice comes from behind you, closer than you'd expected.

You bend - perhaps more than you usually would - and pull your panties down your legs, pulling them past your knees and stepping out of them as you rise.

Warm hands smooth down the plush of your hips and to the swell of your ass, gripping and lifting your cheeks briefly before releasing. Both hands smack back onto your ass before he speaks again.

"It's a damn shame I never got to do this last time."

He kneads your ass some more, the feel of his massive hands foreign, all things considered. He'd touched you in ways no one ever had, in ways that had you reeling and dreaming of them still weeks later, and yet he had barely ever really touched you. He touched your thighs and your wet cunt, he'd tasted you and been inside you, but his hands had barely ventured further than that. You were unkissed, relatively untouched, and totally, utterly, fucked.

You steady yourself just as he withdraws, leaving your skin burning for him to touch you again.

"C'mon, bedroom. Got somethin' for you." You hear a smirk in his voice. You don't think the grin has left his face since you got here.

Once in his room, he pulls open a drawer on the large dresser. You peer inside. Colorful shapes fill it - you know these things, you've seen them before, but not in a long time. The last you'd seen being your own as you frantically stuffed underwear into a bag, ready to leave your home during the first evacuation at the end of the world.

The man is a god damned a sex toy collector.

"Why do you have all that?" Fuck. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. If there's anything you shouldn't do, it's question a strange man about his sex toy collection.

He leans toward you, whispering in mock conspiracy, "I use 'em on sweet girls who come to see me when they can't pay."

He pulls out an unfamiliar object. You had seen the other things in the drawer before, but you'd never seen this.

"You know what this is?"

It looks like a fucking mutant turkey baster.

You shake your head.

"It's an anal douche, sweetheart." He trails a finger down your arm, the skin pimpling in its wake.

"You never seen one before, let alone used one, huh?"

You shake your head again. Your body immediately set on fire with the mention of it. He'd ghosted a finger over your asshole last time and promised you that he'd have it next time. Now, here you were. Next time. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get off from those exact words, if you hadn't tried touching yourself in the same way, going further and breaching yourself with a spit slicked finger, stopping barely a fingernail in, embarrassed even by yourself in the dark.

"You're gonna fill that up. Put that nozzle right in your pretty little asshole. Squeeze," he says softly, squeezing your arm. "Hold it in there for a little bit, and then you go push it out. Okay?"

You stare at him in dumbfounded silence - you'd never heard of this before and felt naive. One hand comes up and clasps your jaw, snapping your mouth shut, as he forces your head into a nod. He hands you the douche, and you take it. It's soft, but the nozzle is hard and unyielding.

"Good. Now you're gonna do that till the water runs clear, you got that? Don't want no messes." He moves to your side, looking between your face and your ass. Your face heats as his calloused hand smooths over your ass, giving another light slap to one of your cheeks.

You don't know what makes you do it, but you start talking. Rambling. Maybe panic at the unfamiliar had taken over, the nerves too much to bare, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"Or we could do the same as last time! I could even -" he cuts you off.

"You'll do this. Don't want anythin' else. Way I see it, I'm the one callin' the shots here. Of course, if you'd like me to do it for you..."

"What?!" you yelp in shock, your embarassement growing threefold. "No, no, please I-"

A dark laugh escapes his lips, he was fucking with you. "Didn't think so. Now, go on. You don't want to make a mess, do you?" You feel your cheeks heat with the preemptive embarrassment of that happening.

"I-I'll do it," you stutter, nodding your head once and looking down at your feet, willing the heat in your face to go away. You wanted what this led to, at least you thought you did. You'd thought about it enough, at least.

A kiss presses into your hair, the unfamiliar action melting your bones, sending you soaring. "Good girl."

A slap to your ass brings you back into the room.

"Get to it then, sweetheart. I'll be waiting outside. I want you clean, so no rushing."

The warmth of him moves away from you, back into the living room. You follow, watching, and he gestures to a partially open door next to his bedroom. You didn't pay attention to it last time, fear and tunnel vision blinding you to most of the details of his home.

You enter, close the door behind you, and take a shaky breath as you lean against the cool door.

You can do this. You just hope to fuck he doesn't hear a thing.

Joel is lounging on his couch reading a worn book when you exit the bathroom 15 minutes later.

"All good?" he says, not bothering to look up.

"Mhm," you nod. You didn't trust yourself with words and honestly, you had no real clue. You'd never done any of this before. You'd had thoughts, sure, but you were not familiar with any of it in practice.

He's up and moving toward you in an instant, the book thrown to his dining table as he passes it. You think you can see a growing hardness in his pants as he walks.

He looms over you, tracing gentle shapes over the bare skin of your upper arm, watching your nipples harden and a shudder run down your spine.

"Let's get you someplace more comfortable," he says with a softness to his voice that doesn't meet his eyes. His eyes are dark and molten.

He leads you back to his room and deposits you at the end of his bed once again. You stand awkwardly, hands and feet flexed in an attempt to push away your nerves. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything.

"I've never-" you start.

"Oh, I know you've never had anything back here," he says, coming to stroke down your back and over the curve of your backside. "If you did you wouldn'ta jumped away from me last time."

Any humiliation that was bubbling beneath the surface floats away as he strokes gently over your hips and ass. The roughness of his hands against your soft skin makes your pussy thrum. If you were being honest, you'd turned up to his door wet and ready. By this point you were positively dripping.

"Have you ever..." you say breathlessly, closing your eyes. He laughs, it's raspy and deep, the sound of it sending another trickle from your pussy despite the anxious feeling in your belly.

"You ain't even the first I've ass fucked this week, sweetheart."

With that, he wordlessly moves you into place, turning you to face his bed, legs slightly parted. A hand comes between your shoulders to he push you down, making you hinge at the hips to bend over. Joel steps back, leaving you there nude, bent over his bed, and alone.

"Spread yourself for me."

You let out a shaky breath you didn't realised you'd been holding and reach behind you, gripping one plush ass cheek in each hand as you spread yourself for him. He approaches again, only to grip the meat of your ass with his massive hands to spread you wider, exposing both your holes completely to his gaze.

You slam your hands down on the bedsheets to steady yourself, the sound of blood rushing through your ears as you think of how much he's staring and where he's staring. Someone didn't tell your pussy this was meant to be embarrassing though, and you feel your heartbeat in your cunt.

Strong hands knead at you, pulling you apart and pressing you together over and over. You can hear Joel's breath get deeper behind you, enjoying the sight of your ass being manhandled.

Turning, you look around and up at him. His eyes are transfixed, and he's nodding gently, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you in from every possible angle.

"Fuck yeah," he murmurs, looking up at you as he notices your stare. "Beautiful ass, sweetheart. You gonna let me play with it?"

You already want to moan. As if you fucking wouldn't let him play with it now.

You bite your lip and nod at him.

"Ain't I lucky," he grins, before crouching behind you. You feel a nip of his teeth on your ass cheek, then the same on the other. Your breath catches when you feel his tongue dip down into your folds, catching your clit and swiping upwards through the wetness of your pussy, pushing in briefly to taste you. He does it again, and again, and again. You're moaning softly with each swipe, his tongue moving closer to your ass with each lick. You're pouting, trying not to whine, when he pulls away just before he touches your tight ring.

"Someone's enjoying this," he mutters into your ass, soft lips placing another kiss to your cheek as he circles a finger around your dripping cunt.

Fuck yes I am.

You hear him laugh behind you, the puff of air from his nose fluttering across your spread holes. Your eyes go wide, realizing you'd been so lost in it all that you'd said it out loud.

He moves away from you completely, reaching to drag pillows down his bed. A tap to your ass prompts you to move.

"Get comfortable, sweetheart, might be a while."

Draping yourself over his pillows, you get to your knees and rest your forearms on the bed. He's moving around behind you when you duck your head lightly, trying to be discreet as you breathe in the rich scent of him from his pillow. The smell of him fills your lungs, leaving no space for nervousness now.

The bed shifts as Joel climbs on behind you, a hand stroking up your thigh. You can't help but sigh. You were really enjoying this - your dad and your 'reason' for coming here long forgotten.

Hands pull you apart once again, and he's back to kissing across both your cheeks. He returns to where he's spread you, and you feel the scruff on his chin scratch against your ass, another huff of his breath, and then a warm, wet tongue is finally licking over your asshole.

Your toes curl as he licks you in gentle circles, tasting you. You'd never felt anything like it, the sensation strange and not exactly as exhilarating as you were expecting. And then he moans and you finally get it.

"Oh."

He wiggles his tongue gently into your tight hole, not quite breaching you but adding a pressure that has you pushing back into him slightly, willing him on. A broad lick and a kiss to your hole later and he's pulling away again. He keeps pulling away but you're desperate for him to continue.

"Good girl. Stay nice and relaxed just like that for me, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper into his pillow.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart," he says, stroking a finger up and down over your asshole.

There's a small snick behind you, and the finger stroking you pulls your cheek to the side.

A dribble of something cold, thick, and wet trickles over your asshole, and drips down to your cunt. You flinch and wiggle at the feeling, but a hand clamps down around your calf, keeping you in place.

"What's that," you gasp.

Hand on your calf keeping you steady, you hear another snick behind you. A finger traces the trail the substance took, up from your pussy, spreading the slickness of it around as he gets to your tight hole.

"Cooking oil. Ain't no lube in the fuckin' apocalypse and I don't wanna go in dry. Tear my dick straight off, and I quite like you havin' two holes instead of just one."

The tip of his thick finger, slick with oil, pushes into your asshole. You take a deep breath and the pressure gives way, allowing his finger to breach you. The hand on your calf releases, and traces up to your ass, squeezing.

This is as much as you'd ever managed with yourself, but with Joel doing it, it feels so much more. The tip of one of his fingers so much thicker than yours, and the oil easing his way so much better than your spit slicked finger.

He wiggles and swirls the finger just inside your hole, and you whimper, toes clenching. This is nothing like his tongue. Something like this shouldn't feel so good, none of it should, but the embarassment is long gone and all you want is more.

The finger pulls from you before he can give you what you want, and you feel more oil being poured onto you.

You arch your back, hoping he'll go right back to what he was doing, and he does. Finger to your asshole, he circles gently once, before pushing in again, not stopping at one knuckle this time.

"Nnngh," you moan, as his finger settles deep into you.

"All the way in all in one, good fuckin' girl."

He pulls out half way before pushing back in, fingering your ass with his index finger and holding you open with the other hand so he can get a clear look at your ass taking his finger.

There's no stretch, just a fullness, and goosebumps prickling over you as he moves in and out. You settle into it after a few more pumps, skin calming as you do.

"How's that feel?" he says. He must have seen you relax back down into his pillows, or felt it as his finger moved inside you more easily.

"S'good," you mumble into his pillow.

"You like my finger in your ass?"

"Mm," you moan, as he picks up the pace, fucking you a little harder with his thick digit.

"Let's get another in you, huh? Sweet pussy would like that too, I can see her twitchin'."

He begins to curl his finger, swirling it around and stretching against your hole. Your skin prickles again and you let out a whine, the fullness and added stretch feeling so good.

The finger retreats again but it's quickly replaced with the feeling of two pushing into your ass, one slipping in just before the second starts to spread your hole further than ever.

You groan deep and low, the sound being pulled from your chest without warning. When he's down to the knuckles of his fist, he holds there, twisting and scissoring them deep in you.

You're breathing heavy, whimpering, as Joel plays with your asshole. At one point you hear the snick of the bottle again and feel his fingers withdraw half way before spreading, creating a valley between them and spreading your asshole open for him, when a drizzle of oil is poured onto them. His spread fingers funnel the oil into your ass, and he pushes them back deep into your needy hole.

Over and over, he pulls his fingers completely from you before punching them in quickly, giving you no time to recover as he watches your hole barely wink closed each time.

"Nice and oiled up now, sweetheart. Just a little more. Wanna see somethin'."

His voice is thick and heavy, loving watching the way your ass is taking his fingers, listening to the whimpers and moans you try to hold back.

He's not touched himself, but you can tell he's rock solid and desperate just from touching you. You lick your lips at the thought of his cock, remembering the faint taste of him he'd smeared on your mouth weeks ago, and you feel more slick drip from you.

It was funny, if you thought about it. The attention to your cunt last time such a stark contrast to the neglect it was receiving now. You didn't mind.

Slicked fingers speed up in your asshole, really fucking you now, your ass jiggling with each thrust of his hand. You let out a high pitched whine, and he fucks you through it, before burying his two digits deep in your ass. He keeps pushing against you, never ending pressure making him feel deeper and deeper than he is. As if reading your mind, his other hand comes down to swipe drips of oil across your clit, using the tips of his fingers to rub in soft circles.

He keeps the pressure in your ass, releasing and pushing rhythmically so it feels like he's fucking you impossibly deep. Another wave of goosebumps cascades over you, and you feel your neglected cunt tremble.

"Joel I - fuck - I'm gonna come. Please, I-" you gasp, holding onto the pillow tighter with one hand but scrambling frantically with the other, not knowing what to do. The pressure is so deep, so foreign, but so incredible. You've never felt like this.

"Fuuuck yeah," he grunts from behind you, pushing his fingers deep in you again. Instead of releasing them, he starts shaking his fist, fingers still buried in your tight asshole. His other hand swipes over your clit in tandem, and you feel it.

The crashing wave of it comes for you, and there's no running. You're consumed by him; nothing but the scent of him in your lungs, and his fingers deep inside you. Moans that only he has ever pulled from you. Nothing else exists. The world falling to shit, caring for your ailing father, the years of loneliness at the end of the world. Gone - chewed up and spit out and gone, all at the hands of Joel Miller.

Before you know it, your thighs and cunt are twitching as an orgasm batters into you, knocking the air out of you with a scream you can't give sound to.

"Comin' from bein' ass fucked, thatta girl. Filthy fuckin' girl," he pulls his fingers from your ass as you still twitch, riding through your orgasm totally empty. A slicked up hand slaps your buttcheek, sending another aftershock through you.

Joel rises to his knees and you hear the tell tale clatter of his buckle through the white noise in your head - you'd long forgotten you were nude and he was not.

You look around to see him stroking his thick cock with an oily hand. You whine, you could come again just from watching. Every nerve in your body is on absolute fire.

He slides his slick hard length up your ass, rutting himself against your crack.

"I'm fucking one of your holes today, sweetheart. Don't have to be this one though, but I'd like it to be."

"I want it," you moan without hesitation.

"That's a good girl," he says, sliding his cock between your cheeks a little quicker. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want."

His solid cock pulls away from you, and he rests a hand on your lower back, pushing down on you gently to hold you still. You feel the tip of his cock drag down through the slick of your pussy before he swipes back upward toward your ass.

Knuckles drag across your ass as he pushes his hips forward, the tip of his cock in line with your hole. A firm press of his thumb to the tip of his cock, and your asshole gives way, letting him slip in.

"Would you look at that," he says, before pulling his thick tip out of your ass. You immediately feel more oil drizzle into your hole, still opened from his slicked head breaching you.

He pushes back in, even easier than before. The stretch of it sends the most ferocious wave of goosebumps over you yet, drawing a babbling moan out of you.

"Jus' look at that," he groans, eyes locked on his cock fucking into your asshole. He fucks his tip in and out of you for a moment, your moans dying down as you adjust to the feeling, before his hips push forward again.

"Fuck, I could just slip all the way in sweetheart," he says, pushing deeper into you. "All the way in." As he says it, he slips his cock further into you with ease, sliding down impossibly far in one smooth thrust.

He stills. You feel so full, so stretched, but you don't feel the weight of his balls against you, or the heat of his warm belly. There must be more to go, but this is already so much. You whimper, almost begging him to pull out, when a hand slips around between your legs and starts lightly caressing your pussy.

"If you want more you're gonna have to ask for it."

"P-please, Joel. I want more."

Finally, he pushes all the way in, his entire dick encased in your oiled heat. He throws his head back with a groan, drowning out your whimpers as he bottoms out, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself.

"Fuuuck."

There's so much of him in you, you try to wiggle forward to relieve the pressure, even with both his hands clamped on your hips.

"Hold still," he shushes you. "Hold still and take it."

You'd do anything he told you right now. You quieten and let him push into you more, his dick twitching in your ass sending a jolt through you. You can feel his balls on your cunt, slicked up from your pussy and the oil covering you.

"Hold that slutty little hole open for me," he growls.

There is no hesitation in you as you reach back with both hands to spread your cheeks for him. Your grip is hindered by the oil, but you hold firmly and pull, spreading yourself and allowing him even deeper into your ass. He was quickly making being spread for him your favorite thing in the world.

He pulls out, leaving just the tip in you once again, before fucking all the way back in in one motion, pushing the air out of you when his pelvis meets your thighs.

Somehow you still hold yourself open, moaning and rocking your hips, and he fucks into you, his large hands on you pulling you toward his cock with each thrust.

Joel's breathing is heavy as he fucks into your ass, grunting softly every so often. He shuffles his legs as they slip away, unable to get purchase on his sheets in the constraints of his jeans.

They slip again and he slams into you, hard, with a growl.

"Fuck," he grunts in frustration and you hear the frantic shuffle of fabric as he pulls his pants down his thighs, his dick still buried in your ass. His belt clatters again, and he quickly pulls out of you. The bed rocks as he moves to discard his jeans, before he climbs back behind you, placing his feet either side of your knees. You try to look around in confusion, but then he lifts your hips, lines himself up, and in one smooth move, he's pushing his entire cock down into you.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, high pitched and desperate.

You let out a keening high pitched scream as he pulls out and slams into you again, and then he's fucking you in earnest.

He's like an animal, grunting as he ruts into you, fucking his cock down deep into you so far you swear you can feel your organs shift.

"That's it, she's likin' it now, huh. She's fuckin' likin' it now," he snarls.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chant with each gasping breath.

Your hands slap down onto the bed, white knuckle gripping the sheets as he pounds into your asshole from above.

"Ohhhh, yes - fuck - yeeaaahhhh," you groan. You can't tell if you're coming, it feels so good that you could be but it doesn't feel the same. You have definitely never felt this before.

"Takin' it so - fuck - fuckin' well, sweetheart," he gasps. "So. fuckin'. well."

He speeds up, pounding faster and faster, his balls smacking against the meat of your ass.

"Gonna come in this fuckin' asshole. Gonna get my cum all up in you."

"Please," you don't know what you're begging for, but his thrusts accelerate and that might just be it. You're screaming around him, his hips stutter, slamming into you. Joel's thighs quiver with the force of his orgasm, rattling the entire bed as he shakes and unloads deep into your ass.

You've deafened yourself. You've maybe came, you can't tell. All you know is your body is on fire and your mouth is dry. You could sob and you don't know anything, you just know it feels so good and so much.

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you lie there, face down, in a daze.

Joel lowers his shaking knees to the bed, still buried in your ass. His grip on your hips relaxes, fingers unconciously soothing you in gentle circles. His breath is heavy, and for a moment you feel him lean over your spent body to press a kiss to your back, before he retreats, pulling out of you and leaving your asshole still full of him.

You don't know how long you're there, ass still in the air, head floating through a million different universes, too fucked out to care you're still naked on Joel's bed.

"C'mon, sweetheart," says Joel, his voice gruff from heavy breathing. "Gotta get you home." You feel his oily hand softly pat you on the thigh, bringing you back to reality.

There's a thump as your clothes hit the bed, and you look around to see him for the first time since he put his dick in your ass. He's fully dressed again already, running a hand through his graying hair, sweat patches blooming on his t-shirt.

You nod at him and sit up - the floaty feeling has escaped your head and is buzzing all through your veins, creating a distance between you and your body. You mindlessly dress yourself, and he watches.

When you stand, your legs are somehow steadier than last time, and you don't even stumble as you pull your panties up the rest of the way.

Joel guides you out of his home, no offer of a hand or a touch to steady you. You slide your feet into abandoned shoes when he unlatches the door and pulls it open. Fishing around in his jean pocket, he pulls out the packet of pills, holding it out for you to take.

You thank him, taking the pills and walking from his apartment. You don't turn, intending to walk away from him before he can close the door on you again.

"I'll make you a deal," he calls out to you. You stop in your tracks. "You keep comin' to collect for your daddy and I'll give you those pills for free."

You frown and turn to look at him. He's standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like you'd just arrived. "That's not free. I won't whore myself for pills."

He lets out a wry laugh, "You already are, sweetheart."

Shaking his head, he closes the door on you once again, leaving you alone in the hallway.

And he still hasn't kissed you.

next part

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rynwritesreid · 4 months

Text

You & Me| Spencer Reid

Request: I would love to have a fluffy smut about Spencer's and my first Anniversary together.

Summary: It’s yours and Spencer’s first anniversary, and you spend the whole day celebrating.

Content: GN (not mentioned gender) but AFAB reader. Tooth rooting fluff. Smut. Oral (reader receiving). P in V. No contraception mentioned. 18+

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

The soft morning sunlight streamed through the curtains casting a warm glow over the room where you and Spencer lay entwined in each other’s arms. Spencer, like always, had found it difficult to fall and then stay asleep, but today it was for an entirely different reason than just his usual his insomnia. He was excited, he felt like a kid on Christmas eve.

As you started to wake up, you were greeted with the inviting aroma of breakfast wafting through the air. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you turned to find Spencer, dressed in his signature cardigan and a hint of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Spencer greeted, his voice carrying a tender warmth.

You couldn’t help but smile in return, “Good morning, Spencer. What’s all of this.”

Spencer motioned toward the tray he had set up on the bedside table. “Happy anniversary,” he said, his eyes sparkling with affection.

“Spencer, you didn’t have to do all of this,” your heart swelling with love for this thoughtful gesture.

"But I wanted to," Spencer replied, his smile widening. "It's our special day, and I wanted to make it memorable."

You sat up in bed, the covers pooling around your waist, and admired the spread before you. The tray was adorned with an assortment of freshly baked pastries, a steaming pot of coffee, and a vase filled with your favourite flowers. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes about the love and care Spencer had for you.

"I can't believe it's been a year already," you murmured, feeling a rush of emotions welling up inside you. Memories of laughter, shared dreams, and countless stolen kisses flooded your mind. Time had flown by so quickly, yet every moment had been etched into your heart.

Spencer moved closer; his warm gaze fixed on you as he reached for your hand. "This year has been the best of my life," he confessed softly. "You've brought so much joy and light into my world, and I can't imagine my life without you."

Tears welled in your eyes as his words washed over you, filling you with a profound sense of warmth and contentment. You squeezed his hand gently, feeling the weight of your love for him in that simple gesture.

"And you've done the same for me," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. "You've shown me what it means to be truly loved, and I am grateful every single day for you."

Spencer leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, sealing the silent promises that lingered between you both.

The kiss spoke volumes, conveying all the unspoken emotions and desires that had built up over the past year. It was a culmination of love, trust, and shared experiences. As the warm embrace deepened, you could feel your heart race, matching the rhythm of Spencer's breath against your lips.

“Spencer, I was going to wait till this evening to show my gift, but I can’t now.”

Spencer pulled away slightly, his eyes filled with curiosity. "What is it? I can't wait to see," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

With a mischievous grin, you reached under the bed and retrieved a small, wrapped box. Handing it to Spencer, you watched as he eagerly tore through the paper, uncovering a beautifully crafted leather-bound journal.

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise and awe as he ran his fingers over the intricate detailing on the cover. "Oh wow, it's stunning," he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. "But why couldn't you wait?"

You chuckled softly, tracing circles on his arm with your fingertips. "Because, handsome, inside that journal are pages filled with all the words I could never say out loud. It's a collection of letters, thoughts, and memories that I've been writing to you throughout the year."

Spencer's eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. "You mean... you've been writing to me this whole time?"

You nodded, a shy smile gracing your lips. "Yes, every time something significant happened, every time I wanted to express my love or share my thoughts with you, I wrote it down in that journal. It's a way for me to show you just how deeply I feel for you, even when I struggle to find the right words."

Spencer's gaze never left the journal, his fingers tracing the embossed designs on the cover. "I can't believe you've done this," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

You leaned in, planting a soft kiss on Spencer's cheek. "It's just a small token of my love for you," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. "I hope it brings you as much joy as you bring me every single day."

Spencer turned to you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Thank you," he breathed, his voice catching with emotion. "This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received."

You smiled, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. Seeing Spencer's reaction filled your heart with a sense of fulfilment and reassurance. It was moments like these that reinforced the deep connection you shared, reminding you of the strength and beauty of your love.

The rest of day you spent cuddled up with Spencer, watching your favourite films, eating the rest of the food he had cooked, and just basking in the love you both had for each other. You couldn’t believe that you had been dating this man for a year, he was truly and utterly perfect in every way.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow through the curtains, you found yourself lost in thoughts of how fortunate you were to have Spencer by your side. The year had been filled with countless moments of joy, laughter, and growth, all woven together by the threads of your love.

You leaned into Spencer's side, his arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulders as you both watched the colours dance across the sky. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, a testament to the deep connection you shared. Words seemed unnecessary in moments like these, where every touch and glance spoke volumes.

"I can't believe how lucky I am," Spencer murmured, breaking the silence. "To have found someone who understands me so completely."

He turned towards, his free arm lifting up your chin lightly as he looked into your eyes. His gaze held a mixture of adoration and vulnerability, baring his soul to you in that very moment. You felt your heart skip a beat as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek.

You didn’t have a chance to speak before Spencer’s lips met yours in a tender and passionate kiss. Time seemed to stand still as the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment. His lips moved against yours with a delicate fervour, conveying all the love and intensity that words could never capture.

You didn’t want this kiss to end, you wanted to savour every second, every touch, every taste. As the kiss deepened, your hands instinctively reached up to cradle Spencer's face, pulling him closer and losing yourself in the intoxicating passion that surged between you.

The room around you vanished, replaced by a realm where only the two of you existed. It was a world where time ceased to exist, and everything was distilled into this singular moment of pure connection and love. The outside world could wait – there was nothing more important than the embrace you shared.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Spencer's voice was barely a whisper against your lips, his words sending shivers down your spine. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, as if you were the only person in the universe deserving of such adoration.

You smiled, feeling a surge of warmth and love wash over you. "And you, Spencer, are the most incredible person I've ever known," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. "You bring so much light into my life, and I am forever grateful for you."

Spencer's eyes shimmered with emotion as he held you closer, his touch grounding you in the present moment. "I will spend the rest of my life cherishing and loving you," he vowed softly, his words laced with determination.

His lips once again met yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss. The taste of his love lingered on your lips, as if imprinting itself in your very soul.

Spencer’s hands started roaming your body, tracing the curves and lines that he knew so well. He felt the familiar warmth and comfort that came with being close to you, with knowing that you loved him just as deeply as he loved you.

You leaned back slightly, your eyes locking with his as he continued to explore your body with gentle touches.

As his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses in their wake, you let out a small gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Spencer," you breathed, the desire to return his affection growing stronger with every passing moment.

With a wicked grin, Spencer lowered his gaze to your lips once more. "Don't worry, Y/N. I've got all night," he promised, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You returned his grin, your eyes locked with his as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the toned chest that you've grown to adore. Your fingers traced the lines of his abs, feeling the muscles flex under your touch.

He removed your shirt as well, revealing your own toned body to him. His eyes raked over your form, drinking in every detail, sending a jolt of desire coursing through you.

He lowered his head to your neck, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw, down to your collarbone. Your breath hitched as he continued his path, his lips moving to your chest.

You arched your back, your fingers threading through his hair as he continued his exploration. He kissed below your breasts, his hand wandering down your stomach and pausing just above your waistband. You could feel his touch through the fabric, and your heart raced with anticipation.

His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin just below your waistband, causing a shiver to run down your spine. He hooked his fingers into your pants, slowly pulling them down your slender hips, revealing your skin to him.

His eyes widened, taking in your bare skin, the sight of your desire for him evident. Your breath hitched as he continued to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and awe. His lips met the bare skin of your stomach, a soft kiss leaving a trail of warmth on your skin.

You let out a soft sigh, your eyes never leaving his as he continued his journey down your body, his touch sending shivers of desire coursing through you. His slow, deliberate movements spoke volumes about the intimacy and care he had for you.

You could feel every part of your body coming alive, your skin tingling with anticipation as his lips trailed further down, his fingers leaving your waistband and exploring the sensitive skin just above your waistband.

Your breath hitched as he slowly pulled down your pants, revealing your most intimate parts to him. You felt a mixture of vulnerability and excitement, knowing that he would be discovering the most intimate part of you.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and reverence. You could see the love and care he had for you reflected in his gaze, making your heart skip a beat.

"I can't believe how much I want you right now," you breathed, your eyes locked with his as he continued to explore your body with gentle touches.

His eyes met yours, filled with a hunger and desire that mirrored your own. "I am yours, and you are mine, Y/N. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you."

He lowered his lips to your stomach, his tongue tracing the line of your hip bone. You arched your back, your fingers threading through his hair as you let out a soft moan.

His lips continued down, kissing, and nibbling at your inner thighs, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation. Your heart raced with anticipation as his lips brushed against your inner thigh, his tongue tracing the soft skin there.

As his lips continued to move lower, your breath hitched, and your fingers tightening in his hair. His touch was gentle yet insistent, leaving no denial for the surging desire growing in you.

Your heart raced as his lips finally brushed against your clit, and you felt a rush of warmth between your legs. You cried out softly, your body arching into his embrace.

"Oh, Spencer," you gasped, your head falling back in pleasure as his tongue skilfully explored your most sensitive spots. His fingers moved in rhythm with his lips, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You could feel your arousal building, your breath catching in your throat as the intensity of the sensations increased. Your fingers clenched in Spencer's hair, pulling him closer, urging him on, wanting him to continue.

Spencer's tongue danced across your clit, the intensity of his touch sending shivers up your spine. Your body trembled, your breathing shallow and ragged, as you felt yourself slowly sliding towards the edge.

You could feel the pleasure building within you, an electric current that started in your core and spread throughout your entire being. Your body shook, writhing beneath his touch, as the anticipation of your climax grew stronger with each passing second.

Spencer's fingers continued their rhythmic dance, his tongue working in harmony with his fingers, as if they were a perfectly synchronised duo crafted to bring you to the highest of heights. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, ringing out in the air like a song only the two of you could sing together.

He pulled away though, “I don’t think you know how badly I want to be inside you right now Y/N.” His voice was a low growl in your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the desire pulsating through you, matching his every move. You whimpered softly, feeling your need for him grow stronger with every passing moment.

"I don't want you to wait any longer, Spencer," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. You could feel your body pulsating with anticipation, aching to be filled by him.

His gaze locked with yours, his eyes filled with a burning desire that mirrored your own. "Then let me give you what you want, Y/N," he promised, his voice a low rumble that made your skin tingle.

He positioned himself over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he guided himself inside your body. Your breath hitched, feeling the pressure building up, the anticipation of the moment causing your heart to race. He entered you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he filled you completely. You gasped, your body trembling with pleasure, your heart pounding with excitement.

"Spencer," you whispered, your breath catching as he began to move inside you. His movements were slow and deliberate, his body pressing against yours, his hips moving in perfect rhythm. You could feel his desire for you in every thrust, every touch, every kiss.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours, his hands running over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your heart raced with passion, your body responding to his every touch, every movement.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes filled with a love and desire that couldn't be denied. You felt it too, the love you had for him, the need to be with him, the need to be one with him.

"I love you too, Spencer," you murmured, your voice catching in your throat as he began to move faster, his rhythm increasing, his body pressing against yours, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your breath hitched, your body arching into his, responding to his every touch, every movement, matching his every thrust, his every kiss. The pleasure built, the anticipation grew, the desire intensified, and you could feel yourself sliding towards a peak that would leave you breathless.

You felt as though you were flying, as if you were in another world completely. Every touch, every kiss, every movement felt like a new discovery, a new adventure. It was as if you were experiencing a new kind of love, a new kind of connection, that you'd never felt before.

As his thrusts grew more frenzied, so did your breaths, growing shallow and quick. You could feel the pleasure building within you, an electric current that started in your core and spread throughout your entire being. Your body shook, writhing beneath his touch, as the anticipation of your climax grew stronger with each passing second.

And then it hit you. It was like a tidal wave of pleasure, crashing over you like the ocean waves at the shore. Your body trembled, your breathing shallow and ragged, as you felt the pleasure building within you.

He increased his tempo, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, his lips never leaving yours. You felt as though you were floating, every touch, every movement, every kiss sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

And then you felt it. Your body shuddered, and your breath hitched, as you were swept up in an orgasm that seemed to go on forever. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, and you could feel your body spasming, shaking in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm you had ever experienced.

Spencer's body trembled alongside yours, his eyes locked on yours, as he groaned out his own pleasure. His thrusts slowed, and he pulled away, collapsing onto your chest, his heart pounding in sync with yours.

You lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, your bodies still shaking with the remnants of your orgasm. You could feel the love and care he had for you, reflected in his eyes and in the way he held you.

"I love you so much," you whispered, your voice soft and filled with emotion.

"I love you more," he whispered back, his voice hoarse from the passion of the moment.

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