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justporo · 8 months

Note

Hiiii! Could you write some dom astarion headcanons? I can't get the idea out of my head now.

You asked - I shall deliver. This turned into a one-shot though. So, I hope you'll enjoy that as well.

I... I'm not even wasting much more time talking about it, let's just get to the fun!

Tav insists on provoking Astarion, but the vampire just won't be having it.

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You) Warning: Explicit sexual content Wordcount: 2,4k

Lessons Learnt

Astarion and you had come to an agreement some time ago.

The two of you were in a happy, committed relationship – being sweet, loving, romantic, caring about each other deeply. Everything you could dream of. And let’s not forget about the less innocent aspects of you being together: Astarion knew every trick in the book, easily figuring out how to push your every button – and he enjoyed it. Being the one to make you squirm, to make you moan, cry his name in heedless pleasure.

And you were committed to help him work through his trauma and letting him explore what exactly it was he wanted for his life, being with you – and figuring out how to reclaim himself in terms of physical pleasure. Because as he had confirmed to you, he was eager to finally and completely embrace his own desires and pleasures.

So, he had proposed to you to let him be in charge, giving him a kind of control he didn’t have for the last two centuries.

You had been a bit surprised as you hadn’t considered that this might be what he would want from his regained freedom, but it made sense: for all the growth and healing he had already done, he still liked having power – and there was nothing inherently wrong with that. He liked being dominant, being the centre of attention, being the one people couldn’t rip their gaze off, being the one making people scurry to fulfil his desires.

He was not a prey animal – he was the predator.

So, of course you had agreed – quickly realising how much this arrangement played into your own hand as well: no one had ever treated you like this or given you such intense attention. And you’d come to enjoy yourself just as much as the vampire did.

But it still didn’t help you from being bent down over the kitchen table. One of Astarion’s hands pressing both of your wrists to your back while the other had your hair tied around it like a rope and pulled to make your head arch back – in a manner, that was just the right amount of painful to induce more pleasure.

“I’ve had it with you today, you insolent little thing”, Astarion exclaimed angrily and pressed his hips into your behind. You were both fully clothed, but you could feel his massive erection rub against you while he pressed you down harder on the table, causing your boobs to squish against the hard wood and making you moan in desperation.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how you got put in this position, love”, Astarion whispered while he leaned over you now. He pulled your hair to make your head turn slightly sideways so he could easily reach one of your pointy ears and whisper in it. The posture giving you another jolt of delicious friction when his cock pressed harder against your butt clad in leather pants.

“You know exactly how you rile me up when you act like this! Arching your back to make me look at your sweet little tits straining against your shirt, putting your thumb in your mouth to lick something off it, making me wish it was one of my body parts you’d let your tongue work around. And finally, brushing past me while making sure your ass has ample opportunity to rub against my crotch”, he whispers into your ear as if it was merely a sweet nothing. His breath caressing your face and making your hairs stand on end… And the way he put it into words – you were already drenched and desperate for release.

But so was he – you could feel the evidence quite clearly.

But you couldn’t help but giggle despite your dire situation, raising an eyebrow at him, grinning and using what little room for movement you had to rub your butt against him once more, making him groan immediately.

Your triumph was only short-lived when you suddenly got hauled up from the table. “That’s it, you bratty little girl, now I’m going to make you pay”, Astarion hissed as he threw you over his shoulder and immediately made his way up to the bedroom. His grip on your legs was tight – not a allowing a smidge of resistance now. You gulped and hoped that you hadn’t pushed your luck too far.

“We are going to have a little talk now, my sweet, about your naughty behaviour. And if I’m nice I might even help you out of the mess you put yourself in”, the vampire declared through gritted teeth and quickly moved up the last steps to your joint bedroom.

He threw open the door, then put you down in the middle of the room. “Undress”, he simply hissed at you while he turned around again. You obliged, your heart racing in your chest and lust pulsating between your legs.

Astarion grabbed a single chair, put it down in the middle of the room and then sat on it, legs spread, leaned forward, one of his hands braced on his knee while the other arm hung languidly over his other thigh. And that’s how he kept watching you slowly undress, not saying a word, but his red eyes boring holes into you.

You didn’t dare to make a show out of it this time.

Astarion licked his lips while he watched you hungrily, his arousal still very much obvious. When you were done you stood there completely naked with the vampire intensely staring at your naked form – just his glances making you want to squirm. But he drew out the moment – unnecessarily long for your liking.

“Now, come here and sit, pet”, he finally said, releasing you from your limbo. You walked over to him while he didn’t change anything about his posture, still staring at you and devouring you with his ruby eyes. When you were directly in front of him, you weren’t entirely sure of where exactly you were meant to sit.

But Astarion made quick work of grabbing you by the thighs and firmly placing you on one of his knees and dragging you up along his thigh – making sure to tense his muscles so you would get even more friction while grinding against his thigh. You immediately moaned loudly and threw your head back at the sensation of your core rubbing against his body. You could feel his muscles, the texture of his leather pants, your own slickness turning it into a mess quickly. Your hands had immediately went on his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself on him. And you could also feel his tension there, under your fingers. By no means were you alone in these feelings of desperate, carnal lust.

Astarion’s fingers firmly held on to your hips – so hard there were clear indents where he almost clawed at your skin to hold you down tightly.

“Don’t act coy now, Tav, go on – I’m giving you all the opportunity to writhe and rub yourself against me now”, Astarion said to you, his eyes still glowing angrily – but hunger and pleasure taking over more and more. The usage of your name suddenly turning you on more in this moment than any other pet name could have done.

You stared at him a moment longer, not exactly sure how the situation had derailed to him making you ride his thigh completely naked so quickly.

“Move!”, he snarled when you didn’t get to work. The word snapping of his tongue like a whiplash while he forcefully moved your hips to grind against his leg again, making you whimper.

You started slowly – sliding back and forth over his thigh while feeling how slippery his pant leg had gotten quickly. Your hands curled into the vampire’s shoulder muscles, earning you a single groan. But other than that, he simply kept holding onto you, enjoying the show.

“Harder!”, Astarion ordered harshly after some time and pressed you down harder with the firm grip of his hands on your hips. You gulped and obliged.

Really getting into it now: the feeling of friction and just the thought of what exactly was happening turning you feral while you gripped onto his shoulders. The vampire lifted one of his hands off your side and grabbed your chin, thumb stroking over your bottom lip. “Open up, love”, he cooed at you now to which you happily obliged. He put his thumb into your mouth and let you start to suck on it.

You really started to lose all shame as you kept grinding his leg, now moaning loudly with every move, your head rolling back and arching your back – desperately wishing for Astarion to also give some attention to your breasts that ached with arousal.

But that was exactly the wrong thing to do. His hand moved to your side again and Astarion’s grip on your hips tightened so much you weren’t able to get in even the slightest bit of movement.

“It’s not fun now, is it?”, the vampire angrily snarled at you while holding you immobile. You whimpered helplessly, overcome with lust and the desperate wish for release.

“I’m sorry”, you whispered breathlessly – your body helplessly shivering with unresolved tension.

“Promise you’ll be good and I might consider letting you have the release your craving”, Astarion whispered slowly, his eyes boring into you.

“I’ll be good, I promise”, you immediately answered, desperately wanting to please him so he might do the same for you.

“Good“, Astarion cooed and started to grin hungrily at you – in a way that made you immediately wonder if it was actually.

He lifted you up while he stood up from his seat. He walked over to your giant bed and almost threw you onto it.

As you moved to position yourself on the bed, you saw how the vampire undressed himself while looking at you. Pulling his shirt over his head, muscles tensing and softening with the movement. You hungrily licked your lips, immediately feeling the fire burning inside you again. You let your gaze wander deeper, seeing the outline of his arousal straining against his pants – and of course the slick patch you had left on his pant leg.

When he pulled his pants down and finally freed his hardness you audibly gasped – wanting him inside of you in a way that was nothing but carnal need. You’d never get used to knowing that you were the one making him this way.

Astarion prowled over to the bed, basking in your wordless admiration and eagerly staring back at your naked body – the swell of your tits and your hardened nipples, the tensed lines on your stomach, the sheen of wetness glistening between your legs.

He climbed on top of you, immediately immobilising you with his body weight. Your legs happily spread to welcome him and wrapped around his slender hips. His cock quickly found its way to your slick core and languidly created friction against it.

You moaned, your mouth falling open at the thought of how you’d finally get what you wanted.

Astarion licked his lips and grinned which bared his fangs to you. He slowly kept rolling his hips to let his hardness slide against your cunt. You let your hands start to wander over his shoulders and back.

“I know you just made a promise to me, my heart, of which I’m sure you’re eager to keep. But let’s make sure, why don’t we”, he purred and grabbed your one hand, then the other with his while using his other arm to hold himself up over you.

And with a swift movement he was holding both your wrists captive again and pushed them down on the mattress right over your head. His grip was strong, but you didn’t even want to rebel against him right now. You were mindlessly enjoying yourself being held captive by this vampire, once again realising and being grateful that he showed you time and time again how he not only embraced his own desires and pleasures, but also teaching you to embrace yours.

“I’ll be nice now and release you from your peril, my love, since I am such a gracious lover”, he promised you while looking at you through his lashes. He shifted his hips and with one swift movement filled you to the brim.

You couldn’t help yourself and cried out his name. He threw his head back and laughed seductively. “Hm yes, keep calling my name, love, make sure the whole Upper City knows who it is that makes you scream”, he whispered and started to fuck you.

The time for teasing and making each other wait was over now. He thrust into you while holding you captive, hitting deep inside of you. You writhed against him, desperately trying to get more friction while his movements grew more and more raggedly. So did his breaths as he kept staring at you losing yourself beneath him.

“Come for me, Tav”, he ordered breathlessly, and you didn’t need another word of encouragement. Just the sound of your name from his lips while his voice almost broke pushed you over the edge, your core clenching and pulsing around him hard – again and again.

You screamed his name once more while shaking with your orgasm and struggling against his hold while he followed closely behind, hoarsely groaning and still moving through your joint ecstasy.

When the fire had dwindled down to a pleasant glow and you were both just looking at each other with wide eyes and open mouths while breathing heavily, Astarion slid out of you and released you out of his grasp.

He rolled on his back and softly grabbed you to make you roll over too, so you were laying on his chest. The vampire immediately started rubbing circles on your back with one hand, while the other stroked your hair. “All good?”, he asked while cocking his head. You nodded and smiled at him in response but were just too exhausted to use your words. You wrapped your arms around him and tangled your legs with his to really snuggle up to him. Pleasant warmth filled the both of you while you kept just laying there.

“Now, have you learnt your lesson?”, Astarion asked after a while, just a tiny bit teasingly. “Hmm”, you replied “maybe I will need a refresher on that from time to time.”

Astarion laughed at that and embraced you even harder: “It would be my pleasure.”

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed, all you naughty little gremlins. Now, off I go, I have to do some very Astarion-unrelated stuff.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers

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is-the-snake-video-cute · 11 months

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If you’d like, can you share some info about a reptile you don’t often get an excuse to talk about? :D

I'd love to talk a bit about Gila monsters! I don't think I have on this blog before. :)

Gila monsters are probably the most well-known venomous lizards. And they're precious.

Unlike venomous snakes, their venom glands are located ata the base of their jaws, and the venom ducts don't go all the way up inside their teeth. Instead, they have teeny blood vessels inside their lower teeth that propel the venom out through grooves in their teeth.

Check out this setup. That is so cool!

They're also a rare example of a venomous reptile who most modern herpetologists agree evolved their venom for defensive use, not for hunting! Their venom isn't fatal to healthy people, and it's not really useful with their prey since they eat a lot of small mammals and eggs, but it is allegedly extremely painful.

I've never met anyone who's been bitten by one, because that's genuinely a hard thing to accomplish. They're reluctant to bite and they'll give you ample warning by opening their mouth and hissing first. The few times I've interacted with them they've been so slow and polite in disposition that it made me feel a little silly wearing protective equipment.

Their distinctive bumpy scale texture isn't just the scales - they actually have teeny little bony deposits, called osteoderms, that fill out those bumps. This is great for extra protection!

Cool, right?

Their venom has proven to be really great when used as an ingredient in drugs made to treat some types of diabetes. Awesome!

When they walk, they look so, so silly.

Like, you go, little guy.

I cannot independently verify the authenticity of this well-known quotation, but I want to leave this with one of the funniest things I have ever read. Supposedly written by a Dr. Ward for the Arizona Graphic in 1899:

"I have never been called to attend a case of Gila monster bite, and I don't want to be. I think a man who is fool enough to get bitten by a Gila monster ought to die. The creature is so sluggish and slow of movement that the victim of its bite is compelled to help largely in order to get bitten."

Absolutely obsessed.

#not a rating #lizards #gila monsters

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teyums · 1 year

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love realization #10 with “you’re so pretty...” “and you are drunk.” for Neteyam I just know you’ll EAT

stoppp you’re gonna make me blush omg!! i was so excited for someone to request this one eeee 🤭 first commission for the party! wc: 873

Neteyam x fem!na’vi reader

prompt: “you’re so pretty” “and you’re drunk” drunk flirty prompts #4

warnings: none!

Neteyam knew better. Honesty, he did. What kind of idiot challenges Lo’ak, of all people, to a drinking contest?

“Loser does the other’s chores for two weeks.”

“Oh, you’re on baby bro.”

It was lighthearted, at first. Realization quickly setting in that a celebration within the village like this was something that didn’t come around often; a chance for them to kick their feet up with zero worries of responsibility even rarer. And the large bonfire roaring in the middle of the common grounds, embers crackling amidst the steady hum of cheerfully sparked conversations, solidified that fact.

Couples, brothers, sisters, all sat around, enjoying each other’s company while the children had long ran off with their peers, eagerly urged by their parents to wear themselves out for the night with repetitive games of tag.

It was clear this was a time to relax, something that was usually unknown to the eldest sully. But a quick glance over at his parents, giggling and huddled up, served as ample reassurance. And with each swig from the leather bota bag Lo’ak had shoved into his hands just moments prior, he felt himself relaxing more and more.

You’re seated on a fallen log beside the swaying figures of the two sully boys, a little ways in the distance from the lively dancing bodies of fellow na’vi. It’s probably been going on for fifteen minutes now, the repetitive shoving and roughhousing between the brothers as they place their bets higher and higher on who can drink the most of the strong liquid. Your forehead almost aches from the amount of times your palm has smacked it.

Neteyam holds a weary hand up, nodding deeply and laggardly waving the limb in his brother’s direction as he urges himself to continue. “Alright, *hiccup* I… I got this. Just *hiccup* give me a second.” The statement comes out slurred and choppy, his free hand balanced on his knee to keep himself from falling over as he reaches out with the other to take the flask from Lo’ak’s hands— or struggles to, rather.

“Alright, that’s enough.” You quickly chime in at the sight of Neteyam’s dizzied state, leisurely leaning forward to snatch the bottle of fermented fruit from the hands of his challenger. Your movements were far from rushed, but Neteyam couldn’t have caught up with you even if he wanted to. “Congratulations, Lo’ak. You win.”

It’s painfully delayed, Neteyam’s reaction, that is.

“Wait, wait-“

But it’s too late, you’ve already dumped the remains of the liquid out in the bush behind you, and Neteyam tosses his hands up in the air in regards to you waving his white flag before he could even agree to it.

“Fuck yeah!” Lo’ak is quick to shoot up on his feet, a little too quickly, seeing as he stumbles a bit before catching himself. “Have fun scooping ikran shit, big bro.” His words are spoken at a teylu’s pace, a heavy hand lifting to his forehead as he signs a mock salute to his tipsy sibling.

You watch Lo’ak wobble away with a shake of your head, knowing he’s probably off to go challenge yet another victim to a game he’s never lost. A laugh was set to leave your lips, until you heard Neteyam groan and felt his body slump over into your lap.

His unfiltered weight is heavy in your hold, but you let him, nonetheless. He lazily shifts from his side to lay on his back, his head cradled in your open palm as you stare down at him with a quirked brow.

“God, why is everything spinning?” His eyes pinch shut and he drags his hands down his face before they move to rest over the steady rise and fall of his stomach.

“Maybe because you’re an idiot and tried to out drink your brother. Do you not remember how badly you lost to him last time? You couldn’t get out of bed for two days.” You tease.

His lids peel open and they narrow to glare at you for as long as he can keep up the offended act.

But with the way your hair cascades over your shoulders and frames your face, your eyes twinkling with amusement as you look down at him, he can’t pretend for long. His resolve crumbles in seconds, the slightly fuzzy image of you causing a goofy smile to spread along his flushed lips.

Your head tilts quizzically at his sudden change in expression and you go to tuck a strand behind your ear. “What are you smiling at?”

His lashes flutter and he gives you a sluggish shrug of his shoulders, pearly canines peeking through his boyish grin as his fingers reach to twirl a lock of your hair. And when he speaks, his words drag on much longer than they’re supposed to.

“You’re so pretty… Have I ever told you that?”

The sound of a hiccup cutting through his confession has your eyes rolling towards the stars, possibly to distract you from the fact that your face is heating up.

“And you’re drunk. Very, very drunk.” You giggle, gently brushing your fingers over the wispy baby hairs that peek from his hairline.

He hums, though it’s clear he’s not listening with the way his heavy eyelids fall closed in response to your touch. With a turn of his cheek, his head nuzzles against your thighs and closer to you, the soft graze of the tip of his nose below your navel nearly ticklish.

“I want you… want you, to be my girlfriend. Will you be my girlfriend?” He drawls with a smack of his lips.

His arms wind around your waist, letting you know that he’s definitely about to pass out and trap you where you’re sat until he stirs from the drunken coma.

You sigh at that, and your forehead thanks you for showing mercy when you restrain yourself from smacking your palm to it again as you respond to the dozing man in your lap.

“We’ve been mated for two years, Neteyam.”

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated 💗

©teyums 2023

#— teyums’ 2k party #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic #neteyam imagine #neteyam oneshot #avatar way of water #avatar twow #avatar 2 #neteyam

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angelisverba · 1 year

Text

kryptonite

in which y/n smokes weed (sometimes) and she thinks her dealer is super cute, and harry always gives her a little extra because she’s sweet

word count: 8.2k

pairing: plug!h and y/n

warning: if you are uncomfortable with the use of drugs, please do not continue reading!! i DO NOT want to see any messages in my inbox that talk of ‘glamourizing’ this drug. if you don’t like it-> don’t read it. mentions of bullying, peer pressure,

author’s notes: the second and final part to this fic will be posted next week, feb. 02 at 8am pst.

* * * * * * *

Harry hated parties.

Admittedly, they were a third of his source of income, but unless it wasn’t a gathering exclusively composed of his close circle, he didn’t want anything to do with it. They were too loud and sticky, messy and smelly. Red solo-cups littered at every available corner, half filled with Coca-cola, vodka, and the occasional sad, cigarette butt. Scantily clad girls and ‘discreet’ boys that didn’t know how to read body language that clearly screamed ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED!’. It just all got his nerves because half the time he knew they were only using him to get reduced prices on the marijuana he spent ample time on growing.

He tried, as a general rule, to limit his reluctant, brooding attendance to parties he knew would only consist of Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and the handful of other friends that just wanted to have a good time and a nice snuggle on a cramped couch that rumbled with intoxicated laughter. He liked being in a crowd he knew, it was much more intimate, less pressure-filled. He didn’t have to maintain that ‘polite’ air that was socially required in an atmosphere of people he didn’t know. No niceties or complimentary. When it was just him and his friends, all of that ‘quiet’ and ‘please, thank you’ shit wasn’t necessary. He could jump straight to his affectionate, giggly, sprawling-all-over-everyone’s-lap self, and no one would question it because they know it’s what he preferred.

But, at a big house party like the one where he was at, where everyone knew him as The One Guy Who Sells The Good Shit, Harry had to pretend to be polite and quiet and small, and adopt an overall stiff persona that made him prickly and cold. This wasn’t him. He didn’t like this, and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his very convincing friend Mitch, who noticed that business was slow and assured him that he was bound to 1) ‘sell a shit-ton’ and 2) gather a handful of new clients once they realized that what he had to dispense was pretty good quality for a subjectively cheap price.

Mitch had been right, of course.

The small black backpack of goodies that Harry had brought to this inconspicuous function had been empty in less than two hours, and he’d repeated his number enough times that it started to feel forgein on his tongue. Once or twice, a few girls had flashed him what could be called ‘bedroom eyes’, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his rocks off. When he came with a purpose to sell, any need, want, or hope for sex flew out of the window because then he ran the risk of girls thinking their ‘connection’ entitled them to some sort of discount on weed, and he didn’t particularly fancy ruining his post-coitous bliss with the awkward exchange of rejection that followed their questions.

Plus, it made him feel used.

A good three hours have passed, and he’s about to tell Mitch he’s ready to leave when his line of sight is snagged on the diamond image- no, a beautifully deceiving mirage, because there’s no way this girl is real. Not when she looks like a ditzy sprite, a walking mermaid, a glimmering fairy, a heart-wrenching siren, and any other bewitching, ethereal creatures that stole men’s souls upon the first breath they took in their presence. She looked like one of his psychedelic hallucinations that whispered sweet things to him and played with the ends of his hair when he’s in the lull of shrooms, brought to life. Grounded, real, and three-dimensional, not just in the airy, green-leafed recesses of his muddled mind.

This pretty little enchantment that caught his eye had floated into the room on two clumsy, shoddy-sneaker covered feet that extended from bambi-like legs with knees that were almost comically knocking against one another. She walked slanted, her shoulder pressed against her friend’s, whom Harry might have been able to recognize as Sarah if he spared his gaze, but that was impossible. So, he thought to himself, this is how magnets work? Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to dislocate his line of sight from the socket it had carved itself into. Her cheeks, rounded with laughter and smiles, were dusted with the telling, glimmering sheen created by alcohol, and her eyes were bright, shiny, and starry from the handful of lamps that lit the living room. The slope of her waist, semi-shrouded deliciously from the billowy fabric of her powder blue summer dress (he couldn’t fucking believe she was wearing a dress when it was windy outside. Did she not care for her health?) and it made him think of the marvelous illusions created from marble. He was fond of going to museums and staring- for hours, at times- at statues of women draped in silk that were replicated with such precision, it was almost as if the wind was right there, rippling against the tantalizing figure of the unidentified female, so much so that an man was inspired to share his tortured vision. In solid form, nonetheless.

It made him wonder what the artist could see in real life. What they envisioned the model to be like underneath the heavenly fibers that twisted and turned restlessly with running air, preventing a clear grasp on the body underneath. Spurred to the point of such desolation, left with a hunger to resurrect what their mind’s eye consumed in physical format to live on forever and torment anyone else who looked.

He understood then. Understood that hunger and want for more.

She spun prettily like one of those ceramic ballerinas in a golden music box owned by children of important people, and that damn dress was both too loose and too free, moving around her with a protective fluidity from hungry, lovelorn wolves like him. He can’t hear her clearly because he’s too far away, but the snippets of her laugh that his ears manage to funnel down to his eardrums sound like a fairy’s tinkle.

She is a dream. Head thrown back before she replies with such enthusiasm and a strange half-lucidity that it has him leaning in to try and hear the drunken words that escape her soundless lips. He’s stuck in a moment of frozen time with her and only her. There’s a pinch behind his sternum when her head moves in his direction, and a strong titanic-worthy sink when she stops before even reaching his gaze. The words of some pop song from the early 2000’s skim cheesily through the background of his brain like a lonesome draft. Where have you been all my life?

Tunnel vision, he believes it might be called.

Next to him, Mitch bumps his shoulder, shattering his dangerously sharp focus with mumbled words that Harry doesn’t quite register with complete comprehension because they sound warped, as if they were spoken through a thick layer of glass or from underwater.

“What?” He blinks, his eyes stuck on her but his head rotated enough to the side that his friend knows he’s listening. He’s afraid that if he stops looking, or even blinks, she'll evaporate into thin air and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she really was a mythical being conjured from his second-hand high.

Mitch clears his throat and hides a knowing twitch of his mouth beneath the rim of his drink, “I said her name is y/n.”

Harry, distracted and oblivious, is unaware that Mitch caught on to the focus of his attention, asks, “Who?”

This time, he can’t help but huff a chuckle, “This girl, H. Her name is y/n. She just started working with Sarah. Sarah says she keeps to herself, but there’s been a bit of… bullying, so she invited her out for a good time.”

“Bullying?” A faucet of anger opens in his major arteries and replaces his blood with a river of internalized rage. Bullying? Bullying her? His head whips around with enough speed to crack the vertebrae in his neck, and his thick brows furrowed with a fierce expression that would scare anyone that looked at him then (Mitch being exempt because he knew there would be no harm coming from that look). “What do y’mean bullying?” He spits the word out like it tastes foul.

Mitch takes another sip from the red solo cup, taking time to compose his face before continuing casually, “yeah. Y/n’s new, sweet, and quiet. Sarah says the others at work think that she’s their personal coffee runner or something. She tries to help her when she can, but she's not always around ‘cause of meetings or whatever.”

Harry sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, twisting again to observe y/n with mooney eyes, bitterness still simmering within him at the treatment she receives at her workplace. Especially when the smile he was so fortunate to witness made him taste caramel and honey and peach nectar and all of the sweet treats that traversed through his esophagus when the munchies hit. It warmed him to finally have a lovely name to attach to a lovely name.

Y/n. It settled nicely in his inner monologue, and he wanted to speak it. Test it on his tongue to see if it molded his lips as nicely as he imagined it would. It fit her, he thought. Y/n. Weirdly, Harry itched to throw it casually in a conversation with her. An exclamation. A wheezed whisper in the middle of a breathless laugh. In a greeting. In a goodbye. To grab her attention. To console. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her but he wanted, badly, for this party to transform into one of the more comfortable ones he had with his friends. For her to sit next to him on the couch his arm around the space behind her as she leaned into him unconsciously as the conversation continued. To grab her bicep in a nervous giggle when he stumbled after one too many. To share a bowl of chips with her (lime was his favorite, but he would eat barbecue flavored ones- his least favorite- if they were hers).

“Whose-”a burp, “motorcycle is blocking the driveway?!”

A clearly drunk male slurred from the front of the house, an arm raised as he swayed in a half-assed attempt to grab everyone’s attention, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the carpet and Harry winced, half from being startled and half from the suddenly stiffness that came with several pairs of eyes landing his way.

“Sorry, mate. That would be me.” He raised a finger in the air and bent at the waist to deposit his unfinished drink on a low black coffee table by his knees. He shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth and turning to Mitch with his shoulders lifting with the beginnings of a hug, “‘was just gonna leave, anyway.”

“Early night, H?” Mitch mumbled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek while embracing his friend, the ghost of a laugh lingering in his nasal passage. Harry’s cheeks turned a light pink and his nostrils flared in his attempt to hide his smile.

“Yup.” Harry returned the kiss, his nose digging onto the scruff of Mitch’s cheek, tickling him. Stepping back from their show of affection, he patted his palms against his thigh to make sure he had his phone and keys, and tugged the strap of the small backpack on his shoulder to verify it’s presence.

Mitch resumed his leaning position against the door frame, hand in his pocket, “alright. Text me when you get home.”

“‘Course.” Sparing one last glance in the charming sprite’s direction as he said his final goodbye, he was devastated to find that she had, in fact, disappeared, just as he’d feared.

He almost stayed to find her and watch over y/n like some sort of guardian angel, but he didn’t have the guts to go up to her. He hadn’t even finished one drink, so liquid courage wasn’t there to help him, not when he had to ride his motorcycle home. He almost asked Mitch to keep an eye on her for him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah was with her, and therefore he’s already watching her.

And from the comforting, yet teasing, twinkle in his friend’s eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. He knew that he was well on his way to cracking his head open over his heels.

Their friendship had always been one of little words.

******

Harry’s been delivering weed for a while now.

What started as a side hustle to obtain much needed income when times were tough developed into an interesting near full-time job with amazing results and benefits (he got to smoke weed for free now, since he grew it himself, but there was always that whole ‘don’t get high off your own supply’ rule, so he did limit himself). He had thought that he would have trouble attaining customers, but word spread like wildfire amongst his close circle of friends, which all happened to be free spirited individuals that harnessed the powers of nature, and then their friends, trusted friends, and so on and so forth.

It got to a point where he needed a separate phone for dealing alone because the ‘rush hour’ would meddle with his personal texts, leading to frequent ‘wrong person’ texts, and he traded his crappy car for a decent motorcycle so he could get to drop-off locations quicker. The added ‘badass’ effect also stroked his ego, so it was a wonderful bonus.

But the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of something like, let’s say… an episode of Hannibal with a warm bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap always came in the same frustrating amounts.

Like now.

The Netflix screen pauses on Mads Mikkelsen’s face, spouting some bullshit about a tea cup, when his phone dings with a new notification. The sound is a specifically selected ‘ding!’ that is different from his personal phone so it’s easier to differentiate the purpose of the incoming message, and a rumbling groan vibrates from the back of his throat. Throwing his head back against his beat up, brown leather couch, Harry slams his hand around him until his ringed fingers click against the sleek device, and it automatically lights up as he brings it up to his face.

Unknown Number: Hi! Mitch gave me this number and said I’d be able to buy some pre-rolls?

Fucking Mitch. He often passes the number off to his buddies at the record store he works at. The dude started typing again, and the grey bubble with three dots wiggles at the bottom corner of the new text chat. Harry waited.

Unknown Number: If it’s too late for you, I understand.

It was, in fact, too late for him. But, money was money. He technically wasn’t doing anything important, so he would go and deliver to this-

Unknown Number: My name is y/n, by the way :D

Not a dude.

Fuck.

Not a dude.

The popcorn went flying off his chest and spilled all over the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Fuck. Y/n? Y/n with a smiley face. The girl from the party? His heart came to a stuttering stop, screeching like tired on asphalt breaking at a high speed as he came to the realization. The girl has haunted him like a stubborn will ‘o wisp for the past week was texting him. Albeit, it is for a service, but it was still something. The marijuana aspect of his situation didn’t bother him. He sold and consumed, it would be hypocritical of him if it did. Besides, she was an adult. She could do what she liked.

His jaw is on the floor, his eyes popping out of his head and he can’t believe what’s happening to him at that moment. He’d kiss Mitch on the mouth next time he saw him. It’s not until he sees the grey bubbles appear and disappear quickly again that he remembers the normal, usual response to this kind of situation is to type back. With trembling fingers, he pressed on keys, tapped on the backspace button, and repeated those motions several times because he had no idea what he was supposed to say- no, what was right to say to her. He had a standard response when it came to people who wanted to buy from him, but sending her prewritten message in his notes app that consisted of a short, perfunctory greeting followed by a menu-structured list of what he had available that day and their prices. There was no way in hell he’d send that to her.

Harry: Hello! It’s not too late for me to deliver. What can I help you with?

Unknown Number: Mitch mentioned that you offered a 2 for $35 deal?

Unknown Number: Is that still available?

Harry did offer a two-joint for thirty five bucks deal. Pre-rolled joints in cherry rolling paper about as long as his middle finger to the halfway point of his palm, semi-thickly packed with a hybrid blend of the two Mary-Jane plants (Sativa and Indica, none of that Maui Wowie, Blue Dream, or other strains; he liked to keep it simple) he had in a specially insulated box in the garage attached to the house he rented. It was his most popular sell; decent amount, excellent high, excellent trip. But… two? Was she smoking with someone else? Or was she saving one for a later time? He didn’t think she was the type to smoke two at once, but then again he didn’t know her, so her reasons were unclear to him.

However, if he arrived at her location and she was with someone (a male, specifically) his night would be ruined, because then that would mean that any marginal chance that he had with her was out of the question. And he couldn’t ask her right away because they hadn’t even properly met yet, and that would be weird and rude. That didn’t help his overthinking tendencies, and in a matter of seconds, Harry was sitting at the edge of his couch, popcorn crunching underneath his butt as a frown settled on his handsome features. Jaw set, lips puckered in contemplation with a pinch between his drawn eyebrows that casted shadows over his emerald eyes. He looked menacing, and his smattering collection of tattoos didn’t help either.

Or his motorcycle.

Or the intimidating stigma that came with his title of ‘plug’.

Stubborn as he was, this look of ‘don��t fucking talk to me’ would stay with him for the rest of the night, all because he couldn’t restrain himself from coming to incorrect conclusions. He didn’t know if y/n had a boyfriend, if she was with a friend, or if she would even be interest in him, but the sour thoughts that she did have a boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in a ‘lowlife’ drug dealer loomed over him like a murky, stormy, thundering clouds.

He sent his response and changed her contact name.

Harry: I do!

Harry: Did you want to see the rest of the menu or are you set?

He knew he was being short with her. His messages were missing their customary smiley faces, the extra exclamation marks, the occasional x’s and o’s. He didn’t even type with capitalized letters, but in order to refrain from diving even further into this hole of hope, he decided that the change in his style of grammar would help him become emotionally distant. He just couldn’t bring himself to add them while he was in a stubborn, self-induced slump. While he looked angry, glittery butterflies beat their cellophane wings inside his ribcage and shook magical glitter onto his intestines, making them warm and queasy.

Y/n: I think that’ll be all for tonight

The causal mention of ‘for tonight’ gives him hope. That implied there would be other nights, and even though he’s currently grumpy because relationships are fucking complicated, he wanted to see her again and again.

Harry: Send your address, please.

She sends her location.

Harry: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

Since he’s already half dressed in black jeans and a white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt from his earlier afternoon deliveries, he only has to part the crystal bead curtain in the doorframe of his living room to grab the leather jacket hanging from a bright yellow coat rack besides his door, and the backpack that he left in a slump besides his shoes (already packed with goods). He doesn’t think twice about the popcorn that’s scattered all over his floor and couch or that the Netflix “are you still there?” screen blinks black when he picks up his keys from the hook next to his door.

The garage opened when he pressed the button inside the kitchen hall, and he stepped out through the side door leading to the space where he kept his motorcycle. The owners before him had left a shit-load of junk that had taken up most of the space, and with their permission, he sold and threw most of it away. For the most part, it was empty. A bench, some boxes, and the white-refrigerator like rectangular box underneath the worktable along with his ride were the only things in there.

Grumbling and pouting like a petulant child, Harry clipped on his black helmet, flipped the visor down with two slender fingers, and dropped the backpack into the compartment attached to the backseat. A button on his keys closed the garage door behind him as he kicked aside the stand and swerved with a screech onto the road, the night air wrapping around bare throat as he cut through at a higher velocity than was surely legal on a residential street, but he didn’t see it as a crime when the heart was involved. He could picture himself explaining to the officer that pulled hi over in a hypothetical situation, that he was on his way to deliver drugs to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and the officer nodding solemnly at his noble cause.

Totally realistic.

Cars honked when he cut them off abruptly, and he gathered stares from the handful of people that were still wandering along the streets, spilling out at random intervals from bars. He had to cut through bits of the city to get to where she lived, and the three red lights that stalled his perusal were lucky that they were government property or else he would have damaged them in a severe fit of impatient rage. He tapped the tips of his shit-colored vans against the road and clenched his ringed fingers around the handlebars, engine roaring with pending release. He should have grabbed leather gloves, he thinks, if not to impress her, then at least to keep his fingers warm because it was an especially chilly night.

Harry’s pulling up to a brick building in exactly fifteen minutes. There’s fire escape ladders trickling down the side, and cement stairs leading up to a brown oak door with a thin window pane slightly left ajar while a burning yellow light seeps in a long bar across the steps like a satin ribbon. Several windows are bright with light from the inside, and the spare streetlamps that cast a spotlight on the sidewalk make the street unsettling, like someone is hiding in the shadows extending from tree trunks. Harry doesn’t like it one bit, and he hopes y/n isn’t walking these streets by herself at night.

He’s simultaneously taking his helmet off and reaching for his phone in his back pocket when he hears her small peep coming from the door.

“Hi!”

And then, she’s all he can see, hear, think. She’s just as absorbing and hypnotizing as the first time he saw her, even though she’s standing in what is clearly pajamas. A long, sage knitted sweater that ends at the tips of her fingers and just above her knees, making her look like a leafy blob. Black sweatpants that are just as loose and baggy shadow the faint silhouette of her legs. Y/n is fiddling with her fingers, picking whatever color nail polish paints her nails (Harry can’t see because he’s too far away) and it makes him want to soothe her hands with his own. She’s tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and she probably doesn’t even realize that her eyebrows are furrowed and the bunch on her brow-bone casts comic-like shadows across her pretty little face.

Stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say other than ‘hello’ but he thinks that’s lame, he clears his throat and says, “how’d you know I was here?”

“Your… uhm- your motorcycle,” she points with a finger to the machinery beneath his bum. He’s leaning against it, not wanting to intimidate her by crowding her space in a dark-ish place but he doesn’t realize it actually makes him look very intimidating and ‘bad-boy’ looking. Especially with the leather jacket, “was kinda loud.”

“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgement, because at that last corner he had purposefully revved the engine more than necessary. To impress her or to sate his devilish tendencies, was unclear. The space between his collarbones feels like it’s inflating and deflating with every rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t know where his ‘game’ is. He feels lame, at a loss for how to act around an angel when he was nowhere near her level. Hell, did this count as corruption of her innocence? He was selling her drugs for fuck’s sake.

At this realization, a heavy, sticky, nasty weight slathers itself all over his back and it can only be described as guilt. Should he be selling her weed? Should he even be morally conscious at this point? He sells weed to teenagers when he’s sure they aren’t narcs, but this wasn’t some zit-faced twerp.

This was y/n.

A few seconds of silence pass and she’s just staring at him, her lips rolling like there are words she's holding in and Harry staring at her with a closed-off expression, thick chocolate eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration because he’s memorizing every curve of her face to look back on when she wasn’t with him anymore. It’s after her first intake of breath with her mouth open that he snaps out of it and twists hurriedly to yank out the pink baggie with shiny red cherries printed on them. His current special, though he saved the decorated packaging for his closer group of friends because he knew it made them happy and he loved seeing that smile on their faces, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (and secretly he hopes it might put a dent on his irrational guilt).

“Here are y’cherry joints,” he holds it out, pinched between two fingers and his lips are a hard line as his heart beats out of his chest because- oh, god} she’s stepping closer and she smells really good and-

“‘Kay, uhm…” She takes the bag from him and mentally, Harry curses because she chooses to cup the underside of the bag and that wipes all chances of their fingers accidentally touching. She won’t meet his eyes, she’s shifty on her feet, and he doesn’t know how to tell her not to be nervous without sounding like a creep, “I’ve n-never done this before, and Mitch didn’t say if you took cash or Venmo so I brought my phone and wallet because I wasn’t sure which one you preferred.”

His heart goes through the life cycle of a dandelion. It blooms, yellow with happiness and new life breathed into his seedling soul by the sound of her voice, and transforms into the wispy tufts that fly away, ditzy and twirling from her sweet breath. All the while she holds him in her hand, smiling.

But all of these feelings are hidden away under his mask of self-preservation, writhing and squirming like worms. He gives away nothing, his eyes looking a little dead even though the in-between space where his head meets with the nape of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he remains stiff and lazily posed against his motorcycle because he’s sure if he didn’t have that support his knees would knock together and sound like the cue ball hitting a winning shot in an empty pool hall.

Carding his hand through his unruly curls, he realizes that he should’ve styles his hair before leaving the house or foregone the helmet entirely, not caring about dying because first official impressions should be killer, and the extra harsh cut in his British drawl when he rasps, “cash is fine,” has to do with his own annoyance.

Y/n is flustered, evidence of that clearly sprawled all over her cheeks and base of her throat which he can see even in the darkness. She lifts the front end of her sweater with a paw-hand and Harry’s insides explode. Her phone and folded dollar bills are squeezed between the band of her bottoms and bare skin of her stomach. For just a second, the beautiful second in which she plucks the money from her body, he catches sight of a white, lacy bra-band that looks glorious while backdropped by the plane of her abdomen. He discovers the meaning of life and death, and wishes for a bit of both because this is torture.

The back of his mouth is drier than the sahara desert. Two tender fingers give him Holy ten and five dollar bills, and her angelic voice sings, “thank you,” when he takes it from her like a beggar.

Harry is an asshole because he can’t even respond with words only a hum of ‘mhm’ before swinging his leg over his ride and muttering a half-hearted, choked, ‘see you’ before roaring away.

****

He tries to invalidate his rapidly growing crush. Truly. He wants to brush it off his shoulder like dust because it’s annoying and distracting to constantly think about her, but nothing works.

In retrospect, he was even psychologically rude about it, trying- and failing- to find negative qualities about her or flaws in her appearance, but his fawning heart wouldn’t allow such disrespect to the receiver of it’s pesky little affections. The worst he could come up with was that her eyes looked as if some snot-nosed, uncoordinated, messy little kid had shaken an entire bottle of glitter onto a piece of copy paper and called it a day. And that her voice was soothing enough to coax that same child into comfortable, cow-jumping-over-moons dreams.

He wishes he were that hypothetical child rocked to sleep by her lulling voice because by the way things were going, he’s having a pretty hard time getting a wink of sleep because every time his phone vibrates he snaps straight up like his spine is locked and obsessively searched his phone for her name. And he’s tried putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ but it only makes it worse because what if he texts her and he doesn’t see it because he’s sleeping?

All of the customers that came after her, during his period of constant surveillance over his ‘trap phone’ received the best delivery times and the snarkiest attitude he’s ever had to offer. The morning sun isn’t as bright as it used to be and the moon is dimmer than usual because nothing can compare to her. He misses her terribly and it’s stupid because he doesn’t even know her and she probably thinks he’s a jerk because he acts like such a dick.

Mitch thinks it's funny that he’s so twisted about a girl. ‘A’ girl because even though he was high when he spilled his secret to his friend, he doesn’t think he could stand a potential breach of his privacy in the case that Sarah found out.

“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” Harry said.

“Do something about it,” Mitch said.

And well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can reach out to her to ask her if she wants to buy more weed. That would seem greedy and insensitive on his part; a money hungry dealer. He’s already in a limbo of moral dilemmas that shouldn’t exist in the first place and he doesn’t want to complicate it by any form of shady communication.

His dilemma, however, was solved by whatever divine being that dared to bear witness to his nonsensical pleas to the ether. It seemed as though she favored the night and dark for her ‘picking up’, because the delightful ding! came at the thirty minute mark of his tossing and turning.

With the sheets rumpled around his waist and his templed damp with faint beads of perspiration, Harry straightened in the same way he has for the past month, only the tedious exhaustion of it not being her was begging to gnaw at him. Was this what it felt like to be paranoid? Snapping alert at every single indication of a phone because you think it’s the IRS- or the girl who infects your mind, in his case- calling to demand a service?

Preparing for disappointment again, Harry picked up the phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden change in light.

Y/n: Hello, Harry! This is y/n. You delivered to me last month? Are you available for delivery at the moment?

There is a muted thud as his phone slips out of his shocked hands and lands on the rumpled duvet. A thundering set of drums replaces his beating heart and his jaw remains slack because it has lost the ability to close. The perspiration on his hairline transfers to the cave of his hands. For weeks he’s been in a constant state of glum, waiting for her next text, and now that he has it the only thing going through his mind is oh my god, oh my god.

Still, through his haze he manages to reply with,

Harry: Hi!

Harry: Yes, I remember, and yes, I’m available

What he really wanted to say, and what he should have sent was, how could anyone forget you? You haunt me day and night. But that was a little obsessive, and probably would have scared her off before they even got anywhere.

Harry: Would you like to see what I have available?

Y/n: Please :D !

The pre-written list of items he has available changed this week. He’s added some chocolate edibles, brownies, and gummy bears that he picked up for a cheaper, wholesale price at the dispensary he frequents, and it makes him wonder if she’ll dare to buy them. He had one a few days ago at Mitch’s place with Sarah and has a smashing time. He couldn’t stop petting their cat, Texas, because the feel of her brown fur between his fingers was heavenly.

Grey bubbles appear and disappear several times along with his intake of oxygen before a long text appears, listing everything she wants from his makeshift ‘menu’ and… it’s a lot. The last time he received an order like this it was for a frat party that one of Mitch’s coworker’s friend’s brother referred him to, and it took him an entire week of rolling and baking to get his inventory back up. His kitchen smelled like weed-butter for a solid month.

Harry: Give me a moment to make sure I can sell you everything. Pretty large order…

The chipped black paint on his nails became a dark blur as his fingers typed, deleted, and typed uncertain words over and over again before finally settling on a sentence that was… neutral and didn’t send the wrong meaning. Usually, with his customers he was a mixture of blunt and friendly, but y/n wasn’t just a customer, and it made everything ten times harder.

Y/n: I’ll take whatever you have, please! Take your time, I don’t mean to stress you out

If she said please one more time, Harry was sure that he would become a liquid, coagulated version of himself among the mess of his blankets.

Jerking his ankles free of the fabric snake that snared him to a useless bed, he clambered off, knuckling at his tired eyes and shivering as the cool, still air of his room wrapped itself around the warmth of his body. Reaching into his closet for the first things he finds, a dark green hoodie and grey sweatpants, Harry yawns and dramatically stretched with his arms way above his head, hoping that the movement would push out the feeling of loneliness that was beginning to take purchase between his ribs, right underneath his heart.

Another late night, another delivery. He wished there was someone in his bed to call him back. Please don’t go, they’d say, the bed is cold without you in it. A warm hand trailing like a ghost against his thigh as he walked away, and a sleepy smile or groan of displeasure as his goodbye. He might not stay in the bed, but he would be happy- no, elated, to know that he would be coming back to someone.

The grow light of his makeshift greenhouse tinted his skin purple as he rummaged through all of his pre-rolled and pre-packaged items, his phone at his side as he checked off everything she has asked for.

9 of the Cherry Deals

6 of the citrus-infused pre-rolls

4 lavender-infused

10 brownies

And 2 8ths

In total, it came out to 28 joints.

Which is… well, a lot for just one person, or two, or three (unless you’re Snoop Dog or something). Packing everything up into four separate paper bags, and then a larger white bag so that she isn't filling with all of the smaller ones, he types out another cold text.

Harry: Okay I have everything.

Harry: Send the address, please.

She sends the address, and Harry follows the same routine as the last time, nearly eating shit as he flew out into his garage. Excitement bubbles in his guts at the same increment and volume of his motorcycle’s initial purr. Flipping open the back compartment he usually stores things in, he realizes that there is no way it’s all going to fit inside, so he turns on his heels to grab a backpack from inside and then he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes. The smooth, grey floor is cold against the arches of his bare feet, and his brows furrow at his own insolence. Had he been so wrapped up in… everything that he didn’t put on shoes?

Rolling his eyes at his own actions- and feeling a little embarrassed that he’d let it happen- Harry returned to his home and snatched up the first pair of fashionable compatible shoes within his reach (green converse the same shade of his sweater) and the backpack to place the white bag in ( a little redundant, but he didn’t think holding it while he rode would be a good idea). Rushing back to the garage, he hoped that he wouldn’t come up empty with words like he had the time before.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

***

He was right about it being a party.

At least three minutes before he was flipping down his kickstand, the thundering bass of some rap song (he thinks he can hear ASAP Rocky, but he’s not too sure) shakes the streets and the trees. It’s a house party in a building that was too big to fit into the word ‘house’, but yet too small to fit in ‘mansion’. Toilet paper and trash litters the front yard while couples make out and loners smoke cigarettes, or maybe joints, out on the generous porch. Sports cars and beat up rides pack the driveway and most of the street in front of the house, so it makes it really difficult to station his motorcycle in an area where he has a clear view of who’s coming in and out of the house, and therefore, really hard to spot y/n.

That is until-

“Hi, Harry!”

She’s sitting down on the curb with her arms around her legs and her chin on top of her legs, looking… scared. Her eyes were blown open like a newborn doe, and the sprawl of her limbs as she unravels from her sitting position to a wobbly stand mimics the shaky, knocking knees of a filly that is learning how to walk for the first time. Her voice is even headier than it was the last time he heard it, like windchimes in the spring chill.

Harry’s eyes roam over her with no attempt to conceal his blatant appreciation for the fuzzy sweater falling down to her mid-thigh. They seem to have become a pattern with her. This time, it’s a baby blue crew neck and a pair of jeans, and y/n’s has tried to tie her hair up into a bun at the back of her hair but spiky pieces stick out the back and tendrils swap her ears, making her look like a soft, smudge-y dream.

“Hello,” he says softly, not needing to clear his throat this time. He steps forward a bit, so he can hear her better (or at least that’s what he tells himself), “s’good to see you again.” Harry’s words are louder and more amicable than the last time he greeted her, and his lips part in a crooked friendly smile which she returned with the same tentativeness. There’s something off about her this time around. She’s pulling at her sleeves and shifting her feet, glancing over her shoulder as soon as she’s standing straight and her eyes won’t stand still on Harry’s figure for more than a few, burning seconds.

“It’s good to see you, too! I hope I’m not waking you up every time I text, though,” an exhaled laugh left her lips, and she dropped her gaze down to her shoes. Y/n rocked on her feet, once and then twice. “I think I’ve… I’ve made a habit of texting you late at night.”

And he blushes, “I- uhm… I was having a hard time sleeping, so you didn’t wake me. It’s fine.”

If only she knew that he was having a hard time sleeping because his subconscious was a bothered brat over not seeing her again. Pleading words of requests to ask her never to stop texting him were dancing on the tip of his tongue, banging against his barricaded lips and begging to come out. However, he didn’t think such daring words were fitting with their barely budding relationship. They were pitiful and needy, like a puppy, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to present that image.

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, checked over her shoulder again and then looked him in the eyes and said, “are you okay?”

“M’fine, yeah. Just got a lot of you on my mind at the moment,” he says. It makes y/n furrow her brows and tilt her head at him like a little cat, only then that he realize what he has said, “Things! Got a lot of things on my mind. Sorry,” he clears his throat, looks away while hanging his helmet on the handle of his ride. “Haven’t been sleepin’ much.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks,” y/n pouts. Pouts at him. And he just blinks. Doesn’t smile or laugh.

“S’alrigh’. Y’got quite a large order this time. Havin’ a party?” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to slap his palm against his forehead. He probably sounded stupid, given there was clearly a raging party going on in the house behind her. Of course she was having a party, what he should’ve said what ‘what are y’celebrating?’ or ‘are you here alone?’. Like the ‘do you have a date?’ kind of alone.

“You got it right? Thank you. And… something like that, I guess. I’m a bit nervous, honestly, because I’ve never…” She shrugs, looking away from him and back to the house.

“Never been to a party like this?” He’s confused. Surely he can’t mean that she’s never smoked before? Right? Because if that were the case, then what did she do with the weed he gave her last time? And what was she doing at a party were they were on this much drugs.

“No! No, no, I’ve never… smoked before.” She’s adamant in shaking her head. Her hands too, splayed wide like jazz hands.

“Y’never smoked before? What about last time?” Harry hates how it sounds as though he’s accusing her, but he can’t seem to control the way his words are coming out of his mouth, not around her, and it’s making him look like a dick. What he wants to do is smile and tease her, to find some way to ask her if she would like to share a joint with him without sounding too sleazy.

Shaking her head, “those were for my roommate and his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart pitter-patters in his chest, his mouth in a straight line, and although there’s an abundance of emotions elbowing against the other in his chest, he shows none of them.

“Yeah,” awkwardly, she shifts her weight from heel to heel, arms crossed before reaching into her pocket and bringing out a folded wad of cash. “$540, right?”

“That’s right, but…” C’mon man, he scolds himself, pull it fucking together. This is a concerning situation. Surely she can’t be buying this much this time and not plan on participating. “Are you gonna be a’right?”

Worrying her lips between her teeth, she lets out a deep breath before answering. Smiling and nodding as she answers as if she wants to convince herself, “I think so. How hard can it be?”

“Pretty hard if it’s y’first time, sweetheart,” Harry forces himself to smile a little, but instead it looks as though he’s grimacing. “Will y’friends walk y’through it?”

Y/n looks back at the house again, and shuffles her feet. She’s got a sad little look in her eye, droopy and shy. Great. He was making her uncomfortable. “They’re n-not really my friends,” she says, “but I guess so.”

What? “What?” The word is sharp in his mouth. What the fuck was she doing, then? Hanging with people that she didn’t look all that enthused to be with, buying their weed, standing out here all alone?

“They’re not-”

A male comes out of the house, red solo cup in hand, and he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He’s waving a hand in the air, trying to flag y/n down Harry assumes, and he’s offended for her. Harry’s brows furrow and his hands curl into fists behind his back. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? What the fuck is he drinking and why is he being so disrespectful interrupting their conversation this way? All for some weed?

Now on the last step, the guy shouts, “Y/n, what’s taking so long?”

The poor girl jumps, startled, and her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’ll be in soon!” Y/n shoves the money at him, frazzled, and takes the paper bag from his hands. “Here's $560, Harry. The rest is a tip. You can count it if you’d like!”

“It’s alright, here you-” she’s already bounding away from him, but he doesn’t want her to go, and somehow, he finds the will to call her back. He just wanted her to look at him once more, because she wasn’t even inside yet, but he missed her gaze. “Y/n!”

She stops, and he gets exactly what he wants. Her attention. “Yes?”

Harry swings a leg over his motorcycle and gets ready to leave before he does anything stupid like… like trying to hold her hand or something. Who knows, he lost his ability to act his age around her. “Have a water bottle at your side,” he’s mumbling almost, “and don’t take too much in on your first try. Exhale and don’t freak out when y’start coughing. Or embarrassed. It’ll be okay. And… and do y’best to relax.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

And y/n smiles at him.

It’s small, and it’s meek the way a feral kitten approaches a human with food. Scared, and rightfully so, because Harry wants to scoop her up and take her home.

“Of course. Have a safe night.”

She nods and walks away with another piece of his heart in her hands.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles fanfic

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loaksky · 11 months

Text

— 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 [𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦] | ii

the lowdown — the one where neteyam is dangerously close to losing; but maybe you two are meant to be.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader, brief reader x oc (for plot purposes heh)

the word count — 4.4k

the tags & warnings — language, even more emotional constipation, mentions of blood & injury, childhood friends(?)2l, unrequited love, arguably too much back n forth.

the notes — after forever & a day, here is the second installment to btg! thank you everyone for your patience, & i hope you enjoy! (proofread, but not well oops).

part one | masterlist

It becomes apparent to Neteyam that you’re not going to make this easy for him.

Regardless of the soundness of his declaration that afternoon in the forest, despite poking and prodding at the fissure in the facade you wore like an armor, you weren’t budging and Neteyam was growing far too restless and too impatient with the state of things.

It comes as a surprise to nearly all of the clan. The leader’s son was usually always so composed, always stiff-spined and unblinking when it came to the matters of his heart and matters pertaining to you. Now he’s like a pup constantly nosing at your leg, like a baby loud and unapologetic in their cries for attention.

He can’t help it. Not when the tether you have on him has no slack.

And, Ewya, these past few weeks shaded by your shadow have given him ample opportunity to see you in your entirety. To admire how beautiful you’ve grown since you were kids, painfully so. Because you’re not only beautiful outwardly, a mix of soft planes and sharp angles, but your mind and soul are so radiant, Neteyam doesn’t know what to make of himself.

“Maitan,” Neytiri’s voice is firm, but gentle, as Neteyam makes his first move of the morning for the flap of the tent’s exit.

He pauses, throws a look over his shoulder, then comes full stop when he sees the purse of his mother’s lips, the furrow between her brows. It’s like looking in a mirror and his shoulders fall slack.

“Yes?” He clears his throat, then straightens.

“Maybe…” She seems to choose her words carefully. “Maybe you should give it time to breathe.”

Neteyam doesn’t answer, wants to play dumb, because if he gives his full acknowledgement, he’ll have to admit that things aren’t getting any better between the two of you despite his valiant efforts.

He manages a hum before Neytiri continues.

“The last time we spoke about this situation, I know we made it seem like you didn’t have much of a choice in your selection feast,” Neytiri says. “But perhaps things change, and maybe you and ________ are no longer Eywa’s will.”

The thought makes Neteyam physically recoil. Makes the bile rise in his throat.

He’d been so against the two of you at first, didn’t even want to think of the idea of a future with you, but now his heart’s molding to form around the shape of you and he doesn’t think he’d have it any other way.

Especially not now that he’s forced himself in your proximity, has watched you function in your element, seen that you’re far from the peculiar girl he’d spent so much of his childhood running away from.

You’re everything but. You’re almost detrimentally kind, so soft and gentle to the moon and its creatures. And you work hard, dedicate every waking moment to serving your people despite no longer claiming any commitments to marrying into the tsahik’s position. You heal, and you mend, and you fix everything that’s broken, and Neteyam’s forced to watch on the sidelines as you stonewall him.

“Eywa’s will or not, I…” The words are nearly as weighty as his mother’s gaze. “I choose her.”

Neytiri blinks, then blows out a long breath.

“Neteyam, it’s important to realize that a selection feast is not one-sided,” she says. “She must choose you just as much as you do her.”

It’s something he’s been having to grapple with the past few weeks, the uncertainty of things. Your love for him had been a sure thing at the beginning, but now Neteyam’s not so reassured.

“She does, she will.”

He realizes he sounds like he’s convincing himself.

“Her parents have expressed their desire to withdraw from the preparations of your union,” Neytiri says.

The news is rather stale, but still leaves an awful taste in Neteyam’s mouth.

“They want to arrange for a new suitor.”

But that, that’s news to him.

You’re right where he expects you to be, in his grandmother’s tent with Mo’at herself and Kiri, testing a few trials of salve for the new round of candidates trying for their iknimaya.

You’re no longer bandaged up, just sporting a raised scar. The navy blue skin is tough, fused and blends with a few of your stripes, but Neteyam knows it’s there. Has felt and rewrapped the wound so many times that brushing over it with his fingertips is like muscle memory.

But now that you’re healed, practically as good as new, you don’t let him close. He doesn’t know what you feel like, has nearly forgotten the sensation of your hands on his skin.

“Teyam,” Kiri greets happily when she clocks her older brother.

He sees your eyes close in defeat, shoulders deflating because you just want one day of peace.

“Can I borrow ________?” he asks.

You answer before Mo’at does.

“We are very busy,” is all you say, but Neteyam won’t take no for an answer.

Your name leaves his lips firmly, like there’s no room for argument and you finally look up from your task to meet his stony gaze.

For a moment, his expression is familiar, makes you wonder what you’d done to piss him off this time around. But as you stand to your feet to shuffle out of the tent for some privacy, his hand ghosts the small of your back.

“What?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

Neteyam doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Your parents are trying to marry you off,” he breathes.

You blink.

“I sought this out on my own accord,” you reveal, gaze bored as you watch his face morph into horror.

“You what?” he splutters.

“Just because we are no longer promised to each other doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to companionship,” you say harshly. “I have a duty to my parents to start a new generation.”

The thought of you with someone else makes him sick. Doesn’t even know who’ll claim you as his, but thinks the most violent and ill thoughts of whoever will put their hands on you.

“So you’ll just spend forever with some asshole you barely know?”

Neteyam’s being crass, but he can’t help it. Not when this is the closest he’s felt to losing.

You shift uncomfortably, anger shuttering over your features as your arms tighten over your chest.

“You’re awful, you know that?” you whisper. “You spent so much of our adolescence and young adulthood pushing me away and treating me so horribly.”

Neteyam sighs shakily.

“I know, I know,” he swallows. “And I’m sorry, you have to know that. I just—”

“You what, Neteyam?” you bite. “You’re so used to getting what you want, to everyone fawning over you and doting on you because you’re the olo’eyktan’s son that it feels like shit now that someone doesn’t?”

That one stings.

“Don’t you think you’re being unfair?” you ask, voice watery. “You said that you’d forfeit your responsibilities as the future leader of our people if it meant not having to be with me. Do you remember that?”

He does, all too well. Recalls the shattered look on your face when the words left his lips.

“You were so disgusted by the idea of having to spend forever with me that you were willing to give up everything you worked for in life to avoid that chance,” you spit. “That’s all I think of when I see you, you know. That I’d been so in love with you and the idea of loving you, but you’d rather be nothing than have to accept that.”

Neteyam shakes his head vehemently.

“Don’t.”

“Leave it alone,” you nearly beg. “Leave me alone.”

Neteyam decides to abide, but a greater force must have the cruelest sense of humor. Or perhaps the elders scheme. Because Neteyam is being hurtled into your proximity despite his best efforts to give you space.

Be it opposing teams in the training circle, adjoined scavenger groups in the forest, you’re so close yet so far. The berth between you and Neteyam grows until he can no longer close the distance.

From afar, he’s forced to notice things he’d been too stubborn to realize. Forced to realize that his grandmother wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned him that there were many young warriors vying for your attention.

At first it’d been comical, watching the way they tripped over themselves to try to catch your attention. The way they’d linger, empty conversations and little trinkets. Neteyam found it laughable until you started accepting the advances. He’d been so absorbed in his duties, in turning a blind eye to you, that he hadn’t realized just how many people were waiting for a shot.

It makes the bitterness brew, knowing that if something doesn’t give, the possibilities of you spending forever with someone who isn’t him increases with every passing moment.

But the look on your face outside of Mo’at’s quarters is burned in his brain, tears that brimmed your sunny eyes lodging a lump in his throat.

A storm roils inside of him that can be felt by everyone near and far, casts such a heavy weight with every space he enters.

You have to feel it too, the yearn. There isn’t a way you’ve been able to cast years worth of pining and wanting to the side so easily. God, is this how you’d felt this entire time? Had it always—

“Alright, you’re done,” Jake grunts.

Neteyam’s drawn from his thoughts, glances down at the spearhead that’s been whittled down to practically nothing. It’s the fifth in his pile and his father looks cross.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, fingers loosening.

Jake sucks in a deep breath before prying the tools from his eldest’s hands.

“Just take a breather,” he says. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

Neteyam nods once, hesitantly, then concedes, withdrawing from his task to make for anything else that will get his mind off of you.

He’s about halfway to the stream when an elder stops him in his tracks.

“Where are you headed?”

He hangs his head in defeat.

“Off to clear my head,” is all he says in return.

“Care to help with preparations for this evening’s meal?” the elder asks.

He wants to say no, hasn’t helped with dinner preparations in who knows how long. He’d always been too busy with other duties, with learning about the ins and outs of tending to the clan, but the elder is smiling hopefully and Neteyam’s always had a hard time saying no.

“Sure,” he replies. “What do you need help with?”

“The fish,” she says. “Need to filet them.”

He hums in response, thinks it’ll just be him and the elder descaling the village’s catch and fileting them for roasting, but he stalls when he enters the clearing and finds you with your back to him, hunched over a basket.

It’s the closest he’s gotten in days, an aching mix of him keeping his distance and you avoiding him leaving him relying on personal recollections to map your features in his head. He feels like he’s intruding, like maybe he should make an excuse to break away, but you’re peering over your shoulder at the rustling of the leaves and he’s frozen in his spot.

Your shoulders tense, turning your attention back to your task at hand as the elder nudges Neteyam forward and he skids to a seat a few feet away from you.

“I have to retrieve another basket,” she announces, and you both miss the knowing look on her face.

You hum and Neteyam’s looking over his shoulder wide-eyed as the older woman retreats to leave the two of you with many baskets of fish.

He can’t help but sneak glances at you as he begins his work, fingers working over the slender catch like muscle memory.

The silence is tangible, thick like a woolen blanket and pierceable.

He’s flying through his basket, already on his fourth while you still fiddle with the same one you’d been working on since he sat down.

“You’ve always been good at this,” you say quietly, and Neteyam blinks hard at the sound.

He hadn’t expected you to break the silence.

“Maybe you’ve always been bad,” he says, huffing a little laugh as he glances at you again.

“Yeah, maybe,” you whisper.

The memory seems like it was yesterday, when the two of you were nine and you’d revealed your intentions to spend forever with him.

Another uncomfortably long stretch of silence passes with nothing but your nervous breathing and the rush of the river when he finally bites the bullet and turns towards you.

He shifts closer, hands closing over yours. You’re trembling, he realizes, and he squeezes.

“Why are we doing this?” he asks gently.

The implication of his words are weighty.

Your throat bobs.

“You know why,” you say softly.

“I don’t,” he tells you. “I really messed up, I know that, but you can’t convince me that there’s nothing here anymore.”

His fingertips ghost underneath your collarbone, right over your heart.

The look on your face is anguished.

“I know you’ve been patient with me,” he sighs shakily. “It took me way too long to realize that you’re it for me and I’m sorry.”

You’re taking in a shuddering breath and something tells Neteyam to hold on extra tight this time around.

“I’ve given you every part of me,” you say resolutely. “And you..you—”

You don’t even finish your statement, just look up at him with your round eyes and the reality of it all seems to settle like a disgusting feeling he can’t shake.

He’s willing to wait for you twice, thrice as long as you’ve waited for him, but he sees the exhaustion written on your face. Sees what a toll loving him has taken on you regardless of any healing you’ve endured physically and emotionally.

“This is my last time asking,” he whispers. “Promise. Just—think about it. Regardless of your decision, I’ll…I’ll understand.”

True to his word, Neteyam stays away. Gives you all the space you need by throwing himself headfirst into spearheading the next round of warriors’ iknimaya training. And you take advantage of it; think to yourself that the longer you take to put a final end to this all, the longer you can cling to the remnants of your first love.

It agonizes you, thinking of diverging paths with Neteyam, of being with someone else when you know fully well that the hold that Neteyam has on your heart is ironclad.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself, no matter what solace you search for in another, it will always be him.

But there are people counting on you, counting on him, and with each passing eclipse, your duties to the clan grow far heavier. Dancing around this is becoming tedious, so you take the plunge.

It’s why you finally give into Raime, a quiet boy in the village. He’s two years your senior, the most accomplished hunter in his lot, and he’d been the first to express his interest in you when you’d told your parents you wanted to search for new suitors.

It’d been rocky, tumultuous, at first, but he’d been understanding. He’d known about you and Neteyam, had admitted that he knew the feeling of wanting all too well.

“...and Mo’at was so angry that—”

You stop because Raime hasn’t stopped smiling at you since you started speaking and your cheeks are warm.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he assures quietly, eyes glancing back down at his task at hand.

Ironically, the two of you are huddled in the clearing near the river, skinning the village’s catch and preparing for the evening’s meal. Like always, your fingers are fumbling and Eywa must have a funny sense of humor because Raime skins, guts, and cleans like he does it in his sleep.

He notices the silent struggle, corner of his lips quirking up higher as you fruitlessly move a stray hair away from your face with the back of your wrist.

He rinses his hands in the river, dries them on his loincloth. You notice his fingers in your periphery, but he’s stopping himself.

You look up, see his hands near your face, and your throat bobs.

“Can I?” he asks gently.

You don’t know what he’s asking permission for, but you nod nonetheless, heart going soft and stomach frenzied because you’d never known such a tender kindness from a man in all your pining.

Raime’s fingertips are gentle against your temple, threading his fingers through your hair softly to tuck the stubborn strands out of your face.

“Thanks,” you hiccup, searching his chiseled features.

He hums and you tuck your chin, trying to hide the blooms of purple over the apples of your cheeks.

His weight shifts closer, fingers ghosting over yours as he settles like a guide.

“Head to tail,” he says softly. “Knife over the rib cage, not through it.”

The bones easily lift and you let out a triumphant breath, smile growing as he pulls the next fish and walks you through it hand-over-hand.

You’re too engrossed with the foreign feeling of affection, with allowing yourself to melt into a new beginning, that you don’t even realize the eyes that have spotted you.

Neteyam had been waiting patiently for your decision, but nestled among the foliage, he sees the soft grin on your lips, the dent of your dimpled cheeks, and he gets his answer.

Raime is a man of few words, Neteyam comes to find out. He’s got him cornered, right before eclipse a few evenings later, and the look in his eye is a warning.

“Be good to her,” Neteyam says, voice calm like the eye of a storm. “You’ll pay if you’re anything but.”

Raime doesn’t protest, doesn’t argue, because he knows with far too much familiarity what the nuances are between the two of you. Knows that your hearts are still bound by the most stubborn of threads whether he likes it or not.

So all he does is nod, throat visibly bobbing.

And for Neteyam, well, it would do.

You decide against a selection feast. Because Raime holds little status in the clan and you no longer train to lead, you both agree that you’ll come together as one on your own terms.

Toeing a relationship with Raime is simple, easy. But things seem a little too quiet, too good to be true. You’re used to the chaos, the storm that thunders when loving someone, and while you don’t think you love him quite yet, you think that like all things, you could learn to.

The two of you idle near the hometree, picking herbs, laughing about younger villagers’ antics, the hunts he participates in, among other things when you catch the whispers.

Did you hear about olo’eyktan’s son?

Your ears twitch.

How unfortunate.

Self-consciousness pricks the back of your brain momentarily as you strain to hear what the gossip’s all about. Raime doesn’t seem to notice that your attention is divided, still laughing quietly about a particular villager’s plight with training.

Think he’ll be okay?

Who knows, heard the fall was pretty bad.

Your brows furrow, brain shifting gears to the younger son. Neteyam was too careful, too cautious. But Lo’ak, on the other hand, was careless, daring.

You want to settle on the idea that Lo’ak’s gone off and hurt himself, but then you see Kiri off in the distance, eyes wild and searching.

When you two lock eyes, she’s crossing the trodden path hurriedly.

“Kiri–”

“Please,” she breathes desperately. “It’s Neteyam.”

Neteyam’s injuries make your heart squeeze. He’s bruised, blood mottled under the surface of his wounded skin, and he’s broken his arm.

You’d heard the conversation before you entered the tent. Despite being hurt, Jake was laying it on thick.

“What the hell were you thinking!” Jake’s voice echos.

“Just needed to clear my head.” Neteyam’s voice was scratchy, weak.

“After what happened to ________, you know there’s absolutely no flying or traveling alone! Especially not as far out as you did!” his father chides. “You could have died, Neteyam!”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“This really impedes on your duties, you know that?” Jake bites. “You–”

“I’m sorry,” Neteyam repeats again, voice a hoarse whisper.

He sleeps now, the smallest of furrows between his brow bones. His broken arm is wrapped tightly, resting over his stomach as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

His parents had left you with him after your quiet request for a moment, but you don’t wake him.

Instead, you’re digging through your satchel, finding the solidified salve wrapped in the center of a balmy leaf. You wedge off a piece, warming it between your palms as you work over shallow wounds and purpling contusions.

Your heart had pounded so hard in your chest hours prior when Kiri had told you that Neteyam was hurt. It made you absolutely sick to your stomach, body wracked with nerves as you followed her frantic strides.

As you kneel before him now, working softly over his skin, you realize that letting this go isn’t as easy as you thought it was going to be. It’s further solidified when your eyes burn and you’re surprised to blink back tears.

“Wow,” you whisper shakily to yourself, knuckling away the tears in annoyance as your chin tilts towards the apex of the tent to stop them from falling.

The salve is still warm in your hands when you feel a set of fingers ghost over yours.

Your gaze snaps to Neteyam who watches you with sleepy eyes, hooded and struggling to stay awake.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you swallow. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” he says softly. “A lot better.”

You nod simply, hope he doesn’t notice that you’re trying not to cry, but Neteyam’s learned to read you so well over the last few months. Comes with the territory when you’ve been orbiting the same person for years.

“You’re crying,” he observes hoarsely. “Why?”

The corners of your lips twitch downwards, the familiar burn behind the bridge of your nose forcing more tears.

“I’m not,” you argue weakly.

Neteyam looks shocked, making a move to sit up.

Your hands are on his shoulders, gently restraining him as you shake your head quickly.

“You need to rest,” you warble.

“Why are you…are you…”

“You scared me,” you say weakly. “I thought–”

You hiccup and his face softens.

“Hey, I’m fine,” he assures you. “I’m good.”

You bite the inside of your lip, smooth the rest of the salve over his uninjured arm, and his nose twitches at the scent. It’d been the same one his grandmother had slathered over his cuts and bruises; the one you’d made especially for him.

Despite knowing you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Raime, it makes something triumphant settle in the pit of his stomach knowing you still carry around something you’d made thinking of him.

But he doesn’t say a word, keeps the comment to himself. Instead he watches you with bated breath.

Then you surprise him, forehead meeting the firm planes of his stomach. His expression twists, uninjured hand ghosting over the back of your head momentarily before resting the full weight over your loosened braids.

“Wha–”

“I can’t do it,” you whisper, voice muffled against his skin.

“Do what?” he croaks.

“Be with him.”

He stills.

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows, waiting for your next words with anticipation.

“I can’t help it, Neteyam,” you sigh shakily. “Not when it comes to you.”

He knows what you’re trying to say, but he can’t bring himself to act on it without hearing the words with the utmost clarity. Needs the confirmation that you’re done fighting it.

When he doesn’t say anything, only presses his fingertips through the roots of your hair, you crack.

“It will always be like this,” you whisper. “No matter how much distance there is, it’ll...”

You push away gently to glance at his face.

“It’ll always be you.”

Neteyam can’t help the smile that grows.

“If I…” you swallow. “If I give in, you have all of me.”

“Only way I’d ever want it,” Neteyam says, trying to tamp down the hope ebbing into his voice.

“But would you be able to say the same?” you challenge quietly. “It only takes once.”

He sits up despite the sharp look you give him, traps your fingers in his uninjured hand and presses your palm to his chest. You feel it, his heart, fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird under the skin.

“Promise,” he murmurs, wincing when the skin over a particularly imposing wound stretches too taut. “I’m all yours, ________. I meant what I said. Union or no union, it’s you and me.”

A shiver rips down your spine as you nod, teary-eyed. You move to press your face to his chest, but his fingers skim your jaw, cupping the back of your neck as he brings your lips to his.

You’d imagined this moment a million and one times and even if the moment is fleeting, you feel the weight of things solidify around you.

Neteyam’s kiss is bruising, like parting means letting you go for the final time.

You only do when you feel something wet brush your jaw, breaking away momentarily to ghost the fingers not trapped against his chest over your cheek.

The most minute of furrows twitch across your features before you realize that Neteyam is crying, yellow eyes rimmed red and watery.

“Sorry,” he whispers, swiping the back of his wrist over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart softens, melting, as your thumb brushes over the carve of his cheekbones.

“It’s okay,” you assure him quietly, and the expression on your face is devastating. It’s like you’ve morphed back into the girl who pined and yearned. It makes his gut twist with guilt. “We’ll be okay.”

He nods hesitantly, hand coming around your wrist as he presses his cheek further into the cradle of your palm.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, such silly human words he’d heard his father mutter to his mother time and time again. But in the moment it feels right.

“I love you,” he says gently.

You blink hard, spine rigid. Can’t help the smile that threatens to crack your full lips.

“I love you,” you assure him.

And from the other side of the tent’s flap, both Neteyam’s parents and yours catch whispers of the rekindling of a dying flame. Your mother, always in your corner, murmurs soundly with a relieved grin.

“Eywa makes no mistakes.”

an — do i lowkey hate this, yes lmao, but i will go absolutely nuts if i don’t get this out sdfjksdfaj, love you all <3

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @junieswrlds , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @neteyamo , @fanboyluvr , @mazemymirror , @theycallmesia , @girlpostingsposts, @athenachu , @hiya-itsamber , @morks-watermelon , @sanfransolomitatm , @lovedbychoi

#neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam fic #neteyam angst #neteyam fluff #neteyam #atwow #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar the movie #avatar

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bettyfrommars · 3 months

Text

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 3: Crimson and Clover

Eddie x fem!Reader & Steve x older!OC

masterlist playlist

18+MDNI, not too many warnings for this part just mention of losing a parent, hint to an abusive relationship, alcohol consumption, tons of awkward flirting, eventual smut, but very much a slow burn. Steve is in his mid-late 20's, aunt Kim is mid 30's to early 40's, or whatever age you are, dear reader.

wc: 4.5k

Summary: Hello! We're getting to know a bit more about the character dynamics, listening to some of Eddie's thoughts, and catching a glimpse at a third possible romance on the horizon. Preparing us for the wild ride that starts in the next chapter.

Songs for this chapter: Under the Milky Way/The Church Edge of a Broken Heart/Vixen Seek and Destroy/Metallica

The shores of the resort were thick the next day with people who worshiped the sun, playfully kicking at the water in their bathing suits, stretched out in their lounge chairs, glistening in layers of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil.

You, on the other hand, were still fully clothed, covered in SPF, under one of the big umbrella’s the resort offered with your headphones on to drown out the sound of the screaming children. Your dad was in the shade next to you, absorbed in a book, while aunt Kim caught some rays on her backside in a black one-piece that was high at the hip, flipping through an issue of People magazine. It was the Summer of Love issue celebrating the 1960’s with the Beatles on the front and the quote: “It’s 20 years later, do you know where your love beads are?”

“Don’t you want to get in the water, Bird?” Your aunt cooed politely, adjusting her big sunglasses on her face.

You shook your head, pulling your headphones down. “I think I’ve developed a phobia of public watering holes.”

“Suit yourself,” she sat up and brushed herself off. “I think I’ll take a quick dip.”

“Watch out for sharks,” you quipped, earning the weight of a magazine being thrown at your hip.

“This has been enough excitement for me,” your dad cleared his throat, placing a bookmark to save his spot, standing from his chair, knees popping. “I think I’ll head in, get some writing done before dinner.”

“Later dad,” you mumbled, wishing you had an excuse to hide in a room by yourself all day.

Once he was gone, Kim took a drink out of her water bottle and heaved a sigh. “I wish the two of you would give this place a chance. Look at that lake!” She stretched her arm out, pointing. “It’s breathtaking.”

You gazed out at the expanse of the cheery, vacation scene, bursting with melancholy. “Mom would’ve loved this place,” you choked on the last word, not sure where that fresh pang of emotion had come from.

Kim chewed the inside of her cheek, equally adrift in reverie, when a body stepped up to block the sun, putting her in its shadow. “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

The body belonged to Steve, and he was shirtless, in a pair of navy-blue Staff swim trunks, short and slightly snug against his hairy thighs, and flip flops. His lips were glossy, and even though he wore sunglasses, he had to shield his face with his hand, squinting against the sun so hard that his top lip curled.

Kim tried to speak so fast she coughed, wondering if she looked too frumpy in the suit she had on. What was she thinking? He had to be a good 10 years younger than her, no way he was interested in—

“Kim, right?” He aimed a finger gun at her, but then he struggled a bit with your name, snapping his fingers to ignite recollection.

“And you’re Steve,” Kim's eyes couldn’t help but land on the silver chain nestled in his ample chest hair. “Did you, um, are you working on your tan?”

It took him a second to catch what she was referring to, and then he smirked, pulling a crumpled polo from his back pocket. “I jumped in to cover lifeguard duty for a buddy of mine,” and then he shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and so did she. “If you ever need a swimming lesson, I’m your guy.”

“You’re a swim instructor too?” Kim asked, impressed. Steve put his hands on his hips, accentuating broad shoulder muscles.

“Nah,” he shrugged, tucking his chin. “But I’d do my best.”

You dropped your gaze to the sketchbook you’d been doodling in, trying to pretend like you weren’t listening. From the headphones around your neck, the song Under the Milky Way by The Church played and a handful of kids ran by you giggling, dusting sand onto your blanket.

Steve wished you a good afternoon just before he excused himself, seemingly headed back to the pool area. You thought he’d been on his way somewhere else, but you were mistaken.

“I think he likes you,” you swirled a few doodles, raising an eyebrow.

“Noooo,” Kim gave a long protest, adjusting the straps of her bathing suit. “He works here, it’s his job to be friendly.

“Yeah? Is it his job to keep checking over his shoulder at you as he walks away?”

Kim peeked just as the man in question tripped over his own feet. Regaining his balance, he waved and said, “I’m okay,” and then proceeded to put his shirt back on as he approached the lifeguard station.

It was your turn to stiffen and feel tingly all over when you spotted Eddie strolling down the sidewalk from the main house, wearing a tool belt loose at his hips to accompany his denim and staff shirt attire.

From the way he knocked that Lance guy out with one punch the other night, you wondered if his hand hurt. Adjusting yourself, you wet your lips, as if he’d spot you or something, which was impossible from that distance. He cut in front of the fenced pool area, heading for the outdoor bar that had a thatched roof like you’d see at a tropical beach. For the first time that day, you noticed that Chrissy was working the area, carting fancy drinks around to the guests at the pool. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she turned from what she was doing to talk to him.

She dipped her chin a few times in answer to whatever questions he was asking, and then he squeezed her arm affectionately before taking off again.

“Do you want anything from the bar?” You got to your feet, dropping your Walkman to the towel.

Kim cocked her head, considering the question. “Is it too early for alcohol?”

Eddie was back on the path, his back to you as he got further away, but your attention was on Chrissy mixing cocktails in a metal shaker.

“I can see if they have mimosas?” You weren’t thirsty, really, but you were curious.

Kim decided on a bloody mary and asked you to put it on her tab, slipping you a few bucks for a tip.

The smile Chrissy gave you as you approached was polite, but it did not reach her eyes. “What can I get for ya?”

You told her, fumbling over your words a bit, and then waited on one of the five stools for her to make your drinks. She scooped ice into a Styrofoam cup and tossed in a jigger of alcohol. You noticed a gold, heart shaped locket around her neck with something engraved on the front.

“Is it true you used to play with Vixen?” You asked, in awe.

Chrissy’s face fell and she paused to stare at you. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, um, Joyce, she, well—sounded like she was proud of you.”

Chrissy went back to work. “That was a long time ago, back when life was good.”

“It’s not good now?” You were intruding, and you knew it, but still, you couldn’t help yourself.

Chrissy scoffed. “You could say that. Lemon in your tea?”

You nodded, wondering if there was anything you could say or do to cheer her up.

“How long have you and Eddie been together?”

She frowned down at what she was doing. “Eddie’s not my boyfriend,” she corrected. “He’s like a brother to me. Known him since I was a kid.”

“Oh I see,” you pressed your lips together, trying not to appear relieved at that news.

There was a lull of silence as she finished up and you felt compelled to fill it. “I saw you play with the house band last night. I think you’re really talented.”

You could hear the click of her molars gnashing together when she placed both drinks in front of you. “Playing lame cover songs for a no-name house band is the best I can do with my life right now. Music is the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

You used some of your own cash to give her an even bigger tip and scooped up your drinks.

“Hey, wait,” Chrissy called after you. She rubbed her forehead and tried to smile. “Listen, I’m sorry that I’m, that I’m being such a bitch,” she shrugged. “It’s been a shit couple days.”

You shook your head, cold drinks sweating in your hands, about to tell her that you understood, but the two of you were interrupted.

“Bird, there you are,” you froze at the sound of Troy’s voice. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the amenities.”

Troy had a green and white tennis outfit on with a racket in his hand, and you caught the way Chrissy tensed and quickly turned away at his entrance. She folded the tip you’d left and put it in the front pocket of her apron. He came up close to you—too close, invading your bubble—and so you shuffled back, bumping into one of the stools.

“The staff is treating you well, I hope?” He leaned against the tiki bar, and it was not lost on you that Chrissy pretended to be so busy she didn’t notice him.

“Just about to bring this to my aunt,” you lifted the red drink with the celery stick sticking out of it. You glanced at Chrissy, but she went to the other side of the bar to help someone else. “The service here is impeccable,” you said, loud enough for her to hear.

You headed out and he kept up, sticking by your side. “I’ll walk with you,” he winked.

“Great,” your smile was a tight, thin line.

—-------

Eddie bent at the waist to sip from the stone drinking fountain near one of the utility sheds and splashed water on his face a few times, combing wet fingers through his hair so that his bangs were off his forehead. He worked the cool water around the back of his neck, wondering if he had a sunburn. He loved Indiana for the fall colors and the long winters, but the summer? The summer heat could go fuck itself.

Water was still dripping from his chin and nose when Steve walked up, sunlight through the leaves making patterns on his face.

“Did Robin mention we need to borrow your van tomorrow night?” Steve bent down to take a sip from the fountain after he asked it.

Eddie pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, exposing his stomach and trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. “As long as you don’t bring it back on empty. What’s wrong with your car?”

“We need to pick up a bunch of Robin’s stuff from her ex’s house,” Steve raised his brows high, locking them in place. “Girl is a bit of a psycho, I don’t want Robbie to go alone.

Over Steve’s shoulder, he caught sight of you making your way back to the umbrella with Troy by your side and he hoped that you were smart enough to know that guy was a piece of shit.

“I work late tomorrow, but I’ll help you unload when you get back,” the tip of Eddie’s tongue rested at the corner of his mouth, eyes darting to you again. You weren’t some goddess from the cover of a hotrod magazine, or one of the metal babes who always tried to go down on him when he used to play shows with his old band, but yet, without knowing anything about you, the sight of you made his heart jump into his throat.

“Nah, we got it,” Steve talked as the two started walking. “It’s just a mattress and a chair and some clothes I think. I told her just to let them go, but it's the principle I suppose.”

“I get it man, believe me,” Eddie once drove three states just to get a rare Scorpions concert tee back from an ex who stomped his heart.

“Hey,” Eddie caught Steve before he headed off in the other direction. “Jam at the Hideout tonight?”

They bumped fists. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—-------

The movie Casablanca was the offering at the outdoor theater that night, and respective families cuddled on the lawn on their various blankets and camp chairs under cover of generous tree branches. Halfway through, you excused yourself from your aunt’s company to find the restroom, and that was when you spotted Chrissy and Troy having what appeared to be a heated conversion at the curve of the sidewalk near the rose garden. You ducked behind a tree just as Humphrey Bogart said one of his infamous lines on the screen.

Since everyone’s attention was occupied elsewhere, no one but you saw the way Chrissy pointed in Troy’s face, only for him to snatch her wrist in a way that made you gasp. She yanked her arm away and turned on her heel, but then he caught up and lunged in front of her. Whatever he said to her then calmed things down for a moment, she stopped trying to break free, and then he cupped her face as if he were about to kiss her, but she shoved away again. That time, he let her go. Hands balled into fists in his pockets, head down, he stormed off in the opposite direction, toward you.

You stood very still, hoping to be mistaken for the thick trunk of the tree, and thankfully, it worked. You came around to glare at his backside, but then trotted after Chrissy. She was long gone, walking as fast as her feet could carry her along the treeline, and you didn’t think she’d appreciate you screaming her name at the top of your lungs in front of the other guests.

It was pure luck that made you take notice of something shiny on the ground, a pile of glistening gold on the sidewalk.

It was a necklace, a heart locket to be exact, much like the one you’d noticed around Chrissy’s neck earlier that day. You ran your thumb over the engraving on the front and let the delicate chain drag along the back of your hand.

You were sure that it belonged to Chrissy, the clasp must’ve broken during the struggle with Troy. You had to get it back to her somehow.

—-------

“Where are you going?” Your dad asked as you sailed through the living room on your way to the door later that evening. He looked at his wristwatch. “It’s almost 11.”

You’d planned on him being in bed already. “I, well, I ahh—” you scrambled for an excuse, something that wasn’t “I’m going off the property to where people fight and get drunk and listen to metal”. You were 21 and technically, by the law of the land, could do anything you wanted, but anyone who has ever traveled with family is familiar with the tendency to be treated like a child infinitely. He loved you, he worried about you, and you didn’t want him to stay up all night pacing, so, you lied.

“There’s a meteor shower tonight, and a bunch of the guests are watching from the boat docks,” god, you hoped he wouldn’t fact check you on that.

He shuffled some saltines absently out of a tin. “You’re still coming on the boat with us tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you beamed, clenching the front of your jean jacket closed to hide the revealing shirt you wore underneath.

You raced down the porch steps once you were able, dashing into the night with Chrissy’s necklace safe in your pocket.

—-----

A guy in a Black Sabbath shirt and a drastic mullet with hair down his shoulders moved out of the way for you as you crossed the bridge, and then you had to stand there and take a breath. Robin wasn’t with you and you hadn’t been invited to the Hideout this time, maybe they wouldn’t want you? Surely you could find Chrissy at work the next day and give her the necklace then? Fuck it, you were almost there.

You could hear the shrill feedback from a guitar and then someone speaking into a microphone. Was that Eddie’s voice? Your heart raced. People cheered at whatever was said, and then the drum beat kicked in a few times, followed by guitar riffs, and a woman’s voice singing the Vixen intro to Edge of a Broken Heart.

“I can't believe I could have been so blind

But love is strange

I thought about it for a long long time

But the truth remains”

You could feel the music in your chest. Was that Chrissy? Perhaps it was the “band practice” Robin told you about, but the music didn’t sound at all like what you’d expect to hear from the conservative house band. The sliding door was open once you were in view, with people mingling outside, and you dodged around them, sucking in a plume of secondhand smoke from a passerby.

Slithering through a few more bodies, you stepped right over the spot where Lance had gone down the night before, and then you had the perfect view of Chrissy exercising her impressive pipes on the microphone under a few ropes of tiny, pale string lights.

Steve was on bass, hair flopping in his face, his mouth holding an “O” shape as he played. He had on a thin white tee that was soaked through with sweat on the front atop belted blue jeans. Eddie arched back, exposing his throat, his fingers deftly working the strings on his smoke black Warlock guitar. He had a Bark at the Moon shirt on with wide, ripped out arm holes exposing the tattoo work on his ribs. His hair hung in his face when he bent over to play, a frown of concentration knitting his brows together.

Chrissy jabbed her fist in the air for the chorus and the crowd screamed it:

“I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

I don't wanna fall, I don't wanna crawl

I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

Don't you wonder why I gotta say goodbye”

She commanded the stage, playing guitar as she sang. You were too absorbed to realize that you had made your way forward and were right there front and center when Eddie glanced up.

He wasn’t expecting to see you, so he did a dramatic double take, nostrils flaring the moment your eyes connected. Why couldn’t you just stay away?

A smile teased at the corners of your mouth, but faded to an unsure lip bite when he averted his gaze, scowl deepening. He ignored you for the rest of the song.

When it was over, there were cheers and whistles all around. The drummer with the mop of tawny hair twirled one of their drumsticks in the air with a flourish and caught it, clapping the high hat. Voices murmured around you as people fell back into conversation while they had a break from the volume of the amps, and you shuffled to the side, following Chrissy as she took her guitar off and held it by the fretboard. She had on a cropped shirt with her shorts, golden hair loose and wild around her shoulders, her short fingernails painted black. There were a few old, wooden apple box crates stacked on top of each other to act as a makeshift table, and she grabbed the neck of the beer that was waiting there to take a sip.

Eddie continued to play, wailing on the guitar with precision, while Steve and the drummer followed his lead to the tune of Seek and Destroy by Metallica.

You tapped Chrissy on the shoulder, and she jumped. “Oh shit, you scared me,” she said, spinning around. She checked around as if she were expecting to see someone else there. “Where’s Robin? Is she with you?”

“No, I, just a sec—” you dug around in the front pocket of your jacket, panicking for a moment that you forgot to bring the locket with you. “I found this on the sidewalk, and I thought maybe you dropped it?”

Chrissy gasped at the sight of it and her eyes began to water. “How did you–?” A sob caught in her throat, and she reached out to gently take it from you. She shook her head in disbelief. “I looked everywhere, I thought it was gone forever, I—”

“I thought that was you!” It was Robin, bobbing on the balls of her feet as she came up to nudge your shoulder. But then, her attention turned to Chrissy and her face tensed with concern. “What happened, why are you crying?”

“No, no,” Chrissy sniffed and opened her fist to show Robin the piece of jewelry. “It’s my grandmother’s locket I told you about. Bird found it.”

Robin bent to get a closer look and the two women knocked their heads together, sharing a laugh. “The clasp is broken though,” Chrissy mused. “It must’ve come off when—” she swallowed, deciding not to finish that sentence. “I’ll take it into town to get it fixed this weekend.”

“Give it here, I’ll fix it for you,” Robin volunteered. “Not only can I unclog a toilet, but I’m also pretty crafty.”

“Y-you’d do that for me?” She asked as she was passing it over.

“Of course,” Robin chuckled. “I’d do anything for y—I mean, what are friends for right?”

Chrissy turned her attention back to thank you properly when Steve pushed in between the other two girls and slung his arms around their shoulders. “What's going on?”

Robin cringed. “Gross, Dingus, you’re all sweaty,” to which he shook his head and droplets from his hair flew everywhere, making the girls scream and push him off.

The three of them got into conversation about something and you sank back against the corrugated metal wall to observe. You hadn’t noticed the music stopped but the drummer was in the crowd having a beer and just as you were on your toes trying to find Eddie, a warm body sank in next to you.

“Hey,” Eddie said.

You looked just in time to catch his gaze traveling down your body, but then he was quick to lift his beer to his mouth and pretended to be watching the crowd.

“Hey,” you returned, suddenly full sentences and conversation felt so foreign. You were acutely aware that there was plenty of space along the wall, but he was pressed close, bare arm touching yours.

“They let you stay out this late on a school night?” He grinned against the aluminum rim, amusing himself. He had a second beer in his other hand, and he passed it to you.

“Ha. Ha.”

He had one knee bent with his foot on the wall while the other leg stretched long to show the heavily scuffed toe of his black boot.

You shuddered despite the heat. “So, how long have you and Chrissy been playing music together?”

He hummed, shifting so that his bicep rubbed against you, squinting one eye shut in thought, tilting his head back. “Been something like a decade now, I think? Feels longer. Feels like I’m 60 years old some days.”

“How old are you though?” You swallowed so hard your throat clicked. “45? 50?”

He leaned into you, hard enough to push you over if your feet weren’t planted, his hair skimming your shoulder. “Close enough,” he paused to say something else, but then puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

He wanted to ask how long you’d been playing the cello, but how would he even know you did without admitting he’d watched you that night from the street like a stalker? “Do you think you’re gonna stick around, watch us play some more?”

“I could,” you were about to add something super cheesy like, “if you want me to,” but opted for nonchalant. “I love watching Chrissy play.”

He nodded a few times, and pushed off the wall, handing you his beer. “Hold this for me?” His silky brown eyes locked onto yours, the tip of his tongue resting between parted lips. “Please?”

There you were, holding Eddie Munson’s beer. He got behind the mic and took his shirt all the way off to wipe his face with it before strapping his guitar on. The next song they did was an original, something that Eddie and Chrissy wrote, and Chrissy came in on backup vocals, while Eddie growled out the lyrics, banging his head every so often. He swiped his bangs from his forehead, wet with perspiration, and his fingers worked like magic along the strings. At one point, he and Chrissy shared the same mic, belting out the words.

He made eye contact with you three times, not that you were counting. Each time longer than the last. When it was over, he came out and took his beer from you, fingers touching as he did so.

“Eddie, I think I—” you were about to let him know you should probably get going, but he’d already turned, chugging the rest of the beer as he went, and then they were right into the next song.

Eddie wasn’t sure why you made him so curious, but the voices in his head were screaming at him to shake it off. Somehow, he’d gone four years without getting involved with a summer person, he’d never even been tempted really. Nothing good could come of it, especially since he’d probably end up being nothing but a vacation fuck for you to brag to your friends about.

He glanced around but couldn’t find you during the song. When he went to check for you at the wall, you were gone.

---

thank you again for the love on this and for reading!

---

taglist: @micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch @ohmeg@marrowfrog00

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #Eddie Munson fic #Dirty Metal Summer #dms updates #Steve Harrington #Eddie munson x fem!reader #dirty dancing au

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sunnycanvas · 1 year

Text

Baldwin iv x Reader Smut

Throne Sex

Warning: Exhibition sex, slight lactation kink, breeding kink and voyeurism

Baldwin iv had felt like happiest man alive. He always wanted to marry someone and have children. He adored his nephew and wished he had his own but sadly Baldwin iv doubted if he is capable of having children. Also not to mention leprosy was thought to be sexually transmitted disease. A punishment from god but that was ridiculous! He never had sexual intercourse with women, he had also never fallen in love before! All his time he dedicated were to his studies, horse riding and swordmanship. How he wished to have a companion. Since he knew he couldn't have children he atleast wanted a wife. No noble man was willing to give their daughters and no woman wanted to marry him also his ministers warned him that it won't be socially acceptable for him to marry since leaporsy was thought to be sexually transmitted. He vowed to live in chastity. He didn't have much of choice anyways. Until he met you. You accepted him . You were aware that his condition won't make it possible to have children with him You were aware of it and accepted him as he is, how rare was it to find someone who genuinely loved him for who he is and didn't judge him as a person who had been cursed by God. Meanwhile you were a person who believed that God loved everyone no matter how they were, you never believed what others told you and made your own judgement, when you learned about leaper king. Your heart pained thinking about poor boy who had to suffer and was harshly being judged. You prayed for the holy land and you prayed for him. When you learned about how he won against saladin in a battle and how much despite his struggle was able to boost morale for his knights you grew to admire him but as you learned more about him you started to fall in love with him. Oh! How you wanted to be his bride and take care of him and be a nice a queen of Jerusalem. Someone who could stay with him and some one whom he could depend on, you requested your father that you wanted to marry the king of Jerusalem.

Your father was shocked "But don't you have ample suitors already some of them king themselves, why would you want to marry a leaper" "God has already shown his divine judgement on him" "He would die anyways within short period of time also you wouldn't have children with him what would be the point in marrying him" you didn't listen but kept pleading your father. Your father was stubborn in his decision so were your other family members. You tried getting help from close relatives but in vain. In desperation you tried contacting distant relatives but alas! The result was same. Except for one ambitious distant relative named Reynold de chatillon who wanted more power decided to use his political power and ended up convincing the king in marrying you. Baldwin iv was beyond enthralled to finally have a wife. To finally have some one whom he could spend his life with he quickly demanded your potrait and when he saw your potrait he was spellbounded . You were beyond beautiful. "A god's gift" he thought . That day he went to church and thanked the gods for giving him support and love. He ensured to get married to you as quickly as possible. He was caught often daydreaming of you. People close to him noticed and started to tease him but he didn't care. He was finally going to have some one as his wife. Before the wedding day he hardly slept. On the wedding day he was happy to finally to marry you. He was shy and you giggled at his shyness. He wanted to break the silence and asked"Where are your parents and siblings my love?" "Also I can't seem to find your relatives here" after hearing this you chocked back your tears and Baldwin iv immediately felt bad. "Nobody came since they don't support this marriage" "My only relative who supported this union couldn't show up". "He said he had his reasons." Baldwin iv internally chewed his cheeks since he suspected he knew what the reason was, Reynold de chatillon was probably at home drinking and celebrating his new found power. Baldwin iv decided not to think of it.

It's not like you are interested in power or throne you are only interested him. Someone who genuinely loves him. He was feeling shy under your gaze and excused himself for drink. He was happily drinking until he overheard his nobles gossiping "Isn't it obvious that this was a power grab move by Reynold de chatillon" "I am suprised that king couldn't realise it" another noble said that "leprosy is probably effecting him badly" "It must have reached his brain as well, he barely pays attention these days" third noble who joined their conversation added "Let's not forget that the king is so weak that he is going to be dominated by his wife" all three of them laughed at this and added how the king was unable to unite barons ever since his sister Sybilla married Guy of Lusignan. Also there were rumours how Raymond iii always secretly wanted the throne but the weak king who banished him knew he needed him so he welcomed him back to court. Baldwin iv was hurt after hearing this conversation. He also felt that about Raymond and banished him from court but remembered that he was only one capable to fend off guy until Baldwin v came of age so he made him regent for his nephew. He once again fell into his insecurity and thought "who would love him" internally. Perhaps you were forced to marry him by his ambitious relative.

He had few more drinks until his face flushed.He was walking staggeringly towards you. Before he reached you his tutor William of tyre stopped him. "You must remember to do your duties tonight" Baldwin iv after hearing this looked at him shocked and said "who would want to perform their duties with a decaying rotten body" his tutored looked at him furious and said "Your grace, you must try to understand that their are no suitable candidates for your crown" "Guy of Lusignan is can't help, your nephew is too young and also you don't have suitable relatives to take your crown as well as a result it is important to do your duty as quickly and effectively and possible or else we will loose this kingdom to your enemies as a result all of us present here will witness you consummate your marriage, by any miracle if your bride happens to be pregnant we will know for sure that it is yours" by now Baldwin iv had tears in his eyes being aware enough about the implication of those words. His tutor realising he made a mistake was about to apologise but he held up his hand to silence him. Immediately his shut his mouth and gave his king congratulations and left. Now Baldwin iv continued walking towards you staggeringly hoping no one would interrupt him this time. He still had hope that you would be different. He also wanted to do his duties as the rightful king of Jerusalem. He loved his country and wanted to retire early but alas! Nobody was capable enough to rule in his place which forced him to remain on throne. He desperately walked towards you seeking your warmth while reminding himself to fulfill his duties as king tonight and try to get you pregnant

You were happily chatting with some noble ladies until you realised that your husband was walking towards you with difficulty. He nearly fell before he reached towards you but quickly grabbed him before he hit the floor. You looked at him worried that made Baldwin iv happy to have some one care for him. Until he heard other nobles mocking and laughing at king for being weak and being dependent on his wife. Baldwin iv was furious. Meanwhile you having no idea what was going decided to check the temperature of king seeing how flushed he was, before you could touch his forehead the king grabbed your hand and stood up. You were confused by his behaviour, suddenly he pulled you closer by waist by another arm and the king started to kiss on front of everyone. Your heart thundered with joy and you forgot about everyone else in room. Baldwin iv noticed his tutor looking at him dissaprovingly but he said "I am the king" "I get to do what I want" "I will rail my bride in front of everyone and you will watch" Some nobles tried to flee the room but he ordered them in low voice"Stay" every one gulped and watched their king. Baldwin iv again started to kiss you but this time roughly and pushed you against the wall. He continued kissing you until he realised that you no longer can breath. Consumed in his drunk lust for you. His hands slowly went down and began playing with your breast you were both shocked and aroused to be fondled by your husband in front of everyone, for some reason you enjoyed it. While playing with your breast your husband whispered "Soon they will be filled with milk and you will be nurturing our babies" "I will watch you while you feed our baby knowing that I was the one who made you give birth to our children". He pulled your gown down enough for your nipples to exposed and started sucking on your nipples. "I wonder what it taste like" you chocked on your moan hearing this. You suddenly came out of your trance and noticed everyone staring at you

You were consumed with embarrassment and Baldwin iv noticed. Feeling jealous that others have you attention he stood up to gaze in your eyes grabbed your jaw. Making you look at him. "Don't you dare pay attention to other men while you are with your lord husband" . He said this time while playing with your pusssy over your clothes. You started moan his name out until you soon realised you were in public and started staring at other men. Baldwin iv hated when you looked at other men while he pleasured you. You were supposed to look at him! He hated loosing control of you in this situation. "Weak king" suddenly a voice echoed in his mind. He was no weak king, he thought. He grabbed you by arms and pulled you towards his throne. He threw you on his lap your ass on lap and making you lay like todder. You sqeaked and Baldwin iv said "this is your punishment for being disobedient to your lord husband" he continued spanking you while others watched astonished at their king. After he was soon done with your spanking he asked "Will you again be disobedient to your lord husband" after hearing this you replied both aroused and embarassed"No my lord". "If you disobey again you will regret it". You swallowed down your moan and replied "Yes my lord". Baldwin iv smilled at you and said "good girl". "Now strip facing me " you were embarrassed to do it in front of everyone but you had no choice and stripped. You were stripping slowly. "Faster we don't have all night" replied Baldwin iv. You quickly stripped in front of him now you were as naked as day you were born. Baldwin iv satisfied commanded "Come closer" you quickly walked towards him so that you don't anger the king. Baldwin iv was satisfied with your obedience. It has been so long he was finally feeling in power again. "Now strip me" your entire body felt heated up at suggestion but since you didn't want to anger the king you started stripping him with your trembling hands. You quickly removed his top.

You were at awe at his beautiful milky white skin. "He is well built man" you thought after seeing his muscles. You wanted to touch him but since you didn't want to anger the king so you decided to go against your wishes. You worked at his pants next and pulled his pants down. Now the king of Jerusalem sat in front of you nude in his throne. You were badly aroused at this point. Your legs trembled and you were leaking at the sight of the nude king sitting in front of you in his throne. Soon your legs gave out and you fell on ground on all fours. "Suck your king" he commanded. Without much hesitance you started you suck his cock. Baldwin iv was grateful that he could feel your mouth and started moaning. Meanwhile the nobles look at them with embarrassment while some women commented how their husband never make them moan like this. Some noble men were embarrassed at hearing their wife's comment. While some were green in envy knowing full were that their wives were lusting after king. Baldwin iv looked at scene in front of him with pride. He truly felt like a king at that moment. It truly felt good to be in control of the situation after so long. He soon moaned and came in your mouth. You happily drank his cum. Baldwin iv adorned how you drank all his cum without wasting a single drop. You truly wanted him. His heart filled with joy when he came to realisation. "Sit on my lap while facing me" he commanded. You quickly sat on his lap with his penis slowly gliding inside your vagina. Without a second warning he started thrusting inside you. He was going so rough! You loved every second of it. He kept on pounding inside your pusssy until he soon came. You moaned Baldwin iv named loudly for the whole whole to hear. You could feel is seeds getting inside your womb. Without giving you time to rest he turned you while sitting on his lap so that you were staring a nobles. He started thrusting you from behind. You moaned and arched your body.

Exposing your breast and vagina stuffed with Baldwin iv's cock. Baldwin iv enjoyed knowing he claimed you in front of everyone and continued thrusting inside of you in front of everyone. He penetrated you with his cock again. You slumped with your back forward and head down showcasing you were tired but Baldwin iv wasn't he soon started thrusting inside you with same position. You wanted to protest but couldn't dare to since you didn't want to disobey your king. After an hour of having sex on throne and cumming several times. You finally had courage to ask "My lord, please show me some mercy it has been an hour" Baldwin iv hearing this he replied "I am sorry love but I can't feel any sensation in penis" you both knew it was a lie. You also knew that Baldwin iv was getting hard again after cumming inside of you every time . "My married life is going to be so fun" Baldwin iv thought while thrusting inside you making you cum again and you begging him for mercy. "This is going to be long night" you all in hall thought as the night continued....

#Kingdom of heaven #baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven 2005 #imagine Baldwin iv #Baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven fanfic

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romanreignseater · 11 months

Text

Our Reflection.

Jey Uso x Black Female Reader

Rating: 18 +

Warning: Probably my dirtiest story yet. It’s just pure filth. Brace yourself.

“Being two beautiful people in a relationship causes us to look in the mirror quite often. So, why not take a chance and fuck in front of it.”

A/N: They need to stop targeting our Bloodline hero, Mr. Main Event Jey Uso. That’s my man and I got his back. Sorry… I’m in my feeling about NOC 😭. Had to write for my him, but I also got a Jimmy fic coming out soon, so stay tuned. Also, I didn’t forget about my Dean fic it’s still coming out as well.

GIF: @jeysuso

“You really think you could guess my Chipotle order?!”

My husband, Jey, smiled through FaceTime. “I feel the vibes right now, like that telepathic shit.”

I couldn’t even contain my laughter at his remark of us being telepathic. “So, what do I want then baby?!”

“Well, obviously you always want me that’s a given.” I rolled my eyes at slick comment and he cheesed real hard.

“Okay then with yo fine ass, what do I want?!”

“I thought I was handsome.” His hand over his heart as if he were hurt. “You’re actually an idiot.” Jey soon began sniffling like he was going to cry, eyes closed and all.

This boy really in the middle of Chipotle actin a fool.

“Okayyy… handsome.” He peeled one eye open and smirked at me lovingly. “What. Do. I. Want?!”

He opened his mouth, giving me a long and very dramatic pause just to say, “I can’t tell you that mama. But, I know you always get chips and guac, so that’s all you need to know.”

This boy better get my burrito.

——————————————————————————

Roughly about two hours later, I began doing my makeup. My girls invited me out to a quick little lunch.

I’ve been waiting for Jey, but my chipotle STILL… had yet to arrive. I wasn’t gonna sit around and not get me something to eat. So, lunch with my girls it was.

Trin was on her way to pick me up, so I had some time to kill. The 28’ inch jet black silky buss down was laid, and the all black outfit was hugging my curves in all the right places. My top had a heart cutout right at my cleavage showcasing my ample breasts and my leggings were definitely holding my ass tight.

As I looked in the mirror, making sure everything was looking right before I continued my makeup. In the mirror I could see Mr. Main Event Jey Uso standing in the doorway admiring me.

Looking down at his reflection, I could see a Chipotle bag in his hand. But, when looking up I could see his bottom lip sheathed behind his teeth.

Turning back around to the mirror continuing my makeup, “Look who decided to show up.”

I could hear Jey’s heavy size 13 feet nearing me. Looking up from my eyeshadow palette, my husband’s big frame could surround my entire body. He stood behind me with his hat on backwards, gold link chain dancing on his neck, Niu Tat crop top, and black cotton Nike shorts.

“And where yo’ ass think you going looking this fine?!”

Jey pressed himself against my backside, and I could feel his heavy member stabbing me in the ass. The bag of food was placed on the counter and Jey’s hands were placed on the counter in front of me, practically trapping me between the both of them.

“I hope you got what I wanted sir.”

I continued doing my eyeshadow and Jey looked at me with utter confusion. He pushed my hair behind my ear and whispered, “You ain’t answer my question.” (Just imagining this is Jey’s voice 😩).

“And I don’t want to, your ass took forever with my food.”

Jey’s lips soon traveled down my neck, kissing, licking, and sucking at it passionately. I completely ignored his gestures, and he could tell his neck kisses weren’t working.

“I got you a burrito, I felt that telepathic shit.”

“That’s cute babe, but I got plans to go eat out anyways.” Turning around I swiped a little eyeshadow on his cheek. I giggle as his face remained stone cold.

“So… who you got these ‘plans’ with?!”

“Nunya.”

Jey’s face changed from a sly and hard stare, to a completely hard stare.

“So you’re telling me… you going out to eat, looking all good, smelling all good, just to make me upset cause I brought your Chipotle late?!”

I paused brush strokes and looked him in his eyes in the mirror. “I still would’ve went out with the girls, even if you brought the Chipotle earlier. So… I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“What I’m gonna tell you is what I’m gonna do to you.” Jey begins to sort of pace around me back and forth. He then walks back behind me and bent my back over the counter slowly.

“What are you doing boy?! I got a lunch to go to.”

My breasts were soon pressed against the counter, and Jey’s knees spread my legs apart. His grip on my back arrived to the back of my neck and my breathing became heavier.

He bent down to my level in front of the mirror, looking me in my eyes and said, “Imma eat this pussy real good, fuck you real hard, you finna eat this burrito, and then I’ll think about letting you go out,”

His commands made me very upset, but also really wet.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but I gotta finish getting ready.” As I tried to get up from my bent position, I couldn’t. Jey’s strength totally overpowered mine and there was really no way I’d get up.

“Yo’ ass ain’t going nowhere.” I yelped as a smack was placed on my ass. A couple more smacks were laid upon my ass and tears began to well up in my eyes.

“Aww, you crying and I didn’t even fuck you yet. And to think yo’ ass was tryna run from this dick. Tsk tsk tsk.” I looked up at him with fury.

Jey’s hands went from the back of my neck to my clothed, pulsing mound. Massaging it ever so gracefully. Goosebumps arose from my arms and Jey chuckled, practically enjoying the reactions I was trying not to give him.

Jey shocked me by ripping my leggings straight down the middle, panties and all.

“JEY!! WHAT THE FUC-.” His large and bear like hands covered my mouth, nearly my entire face. “Shhhhh.” He placed a kiss on top of my head and his fingers traveled from my neck to my cunt.

Rubbing my slick juices all over the entirety of my pussy. “Unhh, oh my g-.” I moaned through his hand, but I soon stopped moaning as Jey paused his ministrations. Looking at him with pure anger, he took his wet fingers into his mouth and sucked on my juices.

“That shit tasty mama.” Even though, he was pissing me off, he was just so irresistible. “I’m about to go to town on that pussy.”

I watched as his head dipped down and he was at level with my pussy. I felt him spread my lips apart and his hot breath cascading it. His thick thumb traced my pussy lips gently and he pressed it against my clit.

“Gotta taste it before I fuck it huh?!” As I tried to get a word out, he dived right in. He spread his mouth over my center. My hand traveled behind and was placed on the back of his head while he went to work. He drooled all over this pretty little pussy, causing me to whimper and whine for him.

Jey slurped on me a little more before bringing his hand up to meet my ass with a stinging slap. I continued to breathe deeply as he was really eating it from the back.

He feasted wholeheartedly on me, not stopping. This pussy belonged to him all day, everyday, whenever he wanted it, and he damn sure was getting it now. My legs shook as I felt the pressure build up. “Unhhhh, I’m cumming Jey.”

“Cum for daddy mama.” His saliva drooled from my ass to my clit, making even more of a mess. Just absolutely tonguing me down to the max. I came all over his tongue and I shook with pleasure. But, I soon screamed as he didn’t stop.

The overstimulation was getting to me, and I knew I was going to burst. My ears to deaf the other sounds, the only thing I could hear was the gushy noises coming from his filthy mouth.

“Oh my god, I’M CUMMING AGAIN!!”

“Go on baby.” My pussy lips quivered as Jey continually made out with it sloppily. I reached my high and squirted all over Jey’s face.

I had an out of body experience as Jey rubbed me through out the rest of my orgasm. My ass gained a couple more abusive smacks and Jey’s shorts were dropping.

Lifting my head up and arching my back for me, Jey told me his exact plans. “I’m for real about to get balls deep in my shit, ya understand me?!” My eyes lowered and breath staggered as I tried my best to look at him in his eyes.

“Ya understand me princess?!”

Gulping, I accept his orders. “Yes daddy.”

“Don’t be running now.”

I couldn’t really make no promises of that, cause if he got to hitting that spot; which I knew he would, it would be a wrap.

His swollen mushroom tip glided against my cunt savagely, spreading my juices all over his tip. Jey soon pressed his tan brown dick in, gently massaging my walls instantly.

He smacked my ass once more. “That ass juicy just like that pussy.”

“Just fuck me boy.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He pushed my chest deeper into the counter, getting in a few solid strokes of that monster dick before gradually picking up speed. He starts stroking me so good, and the pleasure is near unbearable. “Okay baby, stop I’m cumming.”

“Already?! I barely started and I’m having fun.”

My little manicured hands were placed upon his rock hard abs trying to get him to stop. “I’m serious STOP!!” My pussy was getting obliterated and Jey had yet to stop. I began squirting all over his cock and my whole body began to convulse.

“Damn girl… I was about to get my leg up on the counter so I could really hit that shit.” My breath was sucked out of my lungs and my heart felt like it had just stopped. Jey held onto the sides of my stomach and waited for my breathing to calm down.

“You better be ready now, cause ain’t no stopping.”

He placed his length back into my cunt, stretching my walls to accommodate his meaty girth. My head was soon lifted and held in place as Jey fixed my vision to him and him only in the mirror.

“I know how much you like to look in the mirror, Imma really give you something to look at.”

Jey’s foot was placed on the counter right beside me and my head nearly fell, but he was quick to catch it. My toes curled and my brows furrowed. “Daddy, you’re so deep.”

“I know baby.”

He plunged into my cunt so devilishly, “It feels like you’re in my stomach.”

Jey plunged forward so his stomach was placed against my back. He cupped my cheeks, “I know, cause I am in your guts.”

His strokes just absolutely brutal, grabbing my hair, and smacking my ass digging off in my pussy. Balls sticking and slapping against my clit, providing an entire new sensation.

Pounding my g-spot like there was no tomorrow. Both of us moaning and watching one another reflections in the mirror. I watched Jey’s stomach tensed admiring my thickness spreading me all the way out, my cunt tightening as he slid in and out of me with ease.

“That pussy so wet baby, that shit talking to me huh?!”

“Yes daddy all for you.”

“I know that’s right.”

My body went limp and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. My knees threaten to give out, but Jey’s vice like grip on my hips lead me to continue to stand upright. “I’m cumming so hard daddy, you’re fucking the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, let the neighbors know my name mama. Scream for me.”

With a loud cry, I squirted all over his length, nearly pushing it out. Jey began to chuckle as he sped up his pace, clutching my ass cheeks for dear life. Moaning sweetly as he released heavy spurt after heavy spurt into the warmth of my sweet little pussy. Pulling out with one final smack to my ass, his cum dribbled out of my hole onto my clit.

Grabbing my cheeks harshly, he kissed me sloppily. Spit all over my lips and around my mouth. “I love you baby.”

“I love you too boy.”

As we looked into each others eyes, we could hear the loud banging of the front door.

“Y/N!! GET YO ASS DOWN HERE!! Are you coming or not?!”

“Tell Trin you already did.”

Rolling my eyes once more at my husband, but his big smile got me every time.

——————————————————————————

THE END.

MY TAG SQUAD: @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @nayys-world @mzv11 @babybatlover @vogueyonce @harmshake @harlem11680 @seeingstarks @thewarlordsworld @alyyaanna @southerngirl41 @christinabae @pitlissa22 @thealliasylum @fame-ass-ers @iluvthebloodline @jeyusos-girl @ah-fin3sse @solosikoasgf @msbigredmachine @rollinsland @angelicflower2020

#jey uso #jey uso x reader #jey uso fanfic #jey uso smut #jey uso imagines

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traeumenvonbuechern · 1 year

Text

🐉 Dragon Books To Read If You Liked "Fourth Wing" by Rebecca Yarros 🐉

The dragon romantasy "Fourth Wing" by Rebecca Yarros has taken over the bookish community, so I wanted to give you some recommendations on what to read after you finished it.

Dragonfall by L.R. Lam

Long ago, humans betrayed dragons, stealing their magic and banishing them to a dying world. Centuries later, their descendants worship dragons as gods. But the 'gods' remember, and they do not forgive. Since they were orphaned, Arcady has scraped a living thieving on the streets of Vatra, dreaming of life among the nobility - and revenge. When the chance arises to steal a powerful artefact from the bones of the Plaguebringer, the most hated person in Lumet history, they jump at it, for its magic holds the key to their dreams. But the spell has unintended consequences, and drags Everen - the last male dragon, who was once foretold to save his kind - into the human world. Trapped, and disguised as a human, Everen soon realises that the key to his destiny, and to regaining his true power, lies in Arcady. All he needs to do is convince one little thief to bond with him completely - body, mind, and soul - and then kill them . . . Yet the closer the two become, the greater the risk both their worlds will shatter.

To Shape a Dragon's Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose

A young Indigenous woman enters a colonizer-run dragon academy—and quickly finds herself at odds with the “approved” way of doing things—in the first book of this brilliant new fantasy series. The remote island of Masquapaug has not seen a dragon in many generations—until fifteen-year-old Anequs finds a dragon’s egg and bonds with its hatchling. Her people are delighted, for all remember the tales of the days when dragons lived among them and danced away the storms of autumn, enabling the people to thrive. To them, Anequs is revered as Nampeshiweisit—a person in a unique relationship with a dragon. Unfortunately for Anequs, the Anglish conquerors of her land have different opinions. They have a very specific idea of how a dragon should be raised, and who should be doing the raising—and Anequs does not meet any of their requirements. Only with great reluctance do they allow Anequs to enroll in a proper Anglish dragon school on the mainland. If she cannot succeed there, her dragon will be killed. For a girl with no formal schooling, a non-Anglish upbringing, and a very different understanding of the history of her land, challenges abound—both socially and academically. But Anequs is smart, determined, and resolved to learn what she needs to help her dragon, even if it means teaching herself. The one thing she refuses to do, however, is become the meek Anglish miss that everyone expects. Anequs and her dragon may be coming of age, but they’re also coming to power, and that brings an important realization: the world needs changing—and they might just be the ones to do it.

She Who Earned Her Wings by Vaela Denarr & Micah Iannandrea

One does not learn to fly without taking a leap. And one has to fall to be caught. Nomi is a young druid finally taking the chance to spread her wings and leave her home. To see the world and discover its magic, beauty… and maybe love. Calia is a dragon on the hunt for angels, trying to square an old debt. That, and to get Laura, her desired bondmate, to finally return to her side, where she belongs. Nomi immediately catches the eye of the powerful dragons. Calia entices her with honeyed words and a skillful tongue. On the other hand, Laura, much smaller but equally intimidating, takes it upon herself to protect her. Despite the warnings, Nomi can’t help being drawn to Calia's charm, her power, her fangs… and the hidden gentleness in her eyes. She promises danger where Laura promises safety, and Nomi is torn between the two. Luckily there is a convenient cult out for the dragons’ heads, providing Nomi with ample distraction and at least one dragon egg to steal, hatch, and raise by herself. Perfectly normal things for a young transgender druid to get involved in! In the clutches of dragons, battling dark forces from beyond the stars, Nomi faces the questions of who she is and who she wants to be. Whether she deserves the love offered to her, and what it truly takes to earn her wings...

#fourth wing #the empyrean #rebecca yarros #dragonfall #l.r. lam #to shape a dragon's breath #moniquill blackgoose #she who earned her wings #vaela denarr #micah iannandrea #dragon books #trans books #queer books #fantasy books #booklr #bookblr

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planet-dusk · 1 year

Text

authorized personnel only ∘ s.cb

your boyfriend is an ass man, and tonight you have a surprise in store for him.

⛓️ PAIRING :: seo changbin x f!reader

⛓️ GENRE :: smut

⛓️ WORD COUNT :: 2k

⛓️ WARNINGS :: first time, anal play, protected anal sex, toy usage (butt plugs), fingering, both soft and rough sex, choking (headlock), mc is called baby, love, doll

⛓️ NOTE :: 18+ minors dni. the characters don't represent real people. this is fiction for entertainment purposes only. fictional smut is not a reflection of real life; always communicate with your partner and practice consensual and safe sex ‹33

❗ don't edit, copy, translate, repost or otherwise steal my content.

SKZ MASTERLIST

To say Changbin loves your ass is an understatement.

He can’t keep his hands to himself. He’s rubbing and squeezing the ample flesh whenever he gets the chance. And you? You feed into his growing obsession with every calculated sway of your hips, having figured out this shortcut a long time ago. The destination: his face, your thighs shaking as you ride out your third orgasm of the night.

But not today. Today you have other plans.

“What’s this?”

Changbin's fingers brush over your clothed slit and come to a halt at the feeling of something solid hidden underneath your damp panties.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you whisper against his lips. “I think we should give it a try…”

The giddy grin on his face is nothing short of infectious. “Are you serious?”

“I’m ready.”

The words sound a lot less confident now you’re saying them out loud. You and Changbin bought an anal training kit several weeks ago and you’ve spent plenty a night testing it out. The first time you wore one of the plugs while he fucked you he’d almost blown his load as soon as he slid inside. It’d made you even more eager, wanting to see him lose his composure fully.

On the nights Changbin's away you imagine it’s his cock stretching your tight hole instead, vibrator pressed against your clit to take the edge off the slight burn. You’ve been working your way up through the set until you could comfortably take the largest plug. Almost as big as him.

Despite it, there’s a nervous feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. What if he doesn’t fit? What if —

“Please, baby.” Changbin’s gravelly voice interrupts your train of thought. “You can’t just say things like that and not expect me to tear off your clothes.”

The desperation on his face makes you giggle, some of your nerves bleeding away. “Who says I don’t want you to?”

“Clothes off. Now.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice, nearly ripping your underwear in his haste to help undress you. He gets rid of his own pants and his thick cock springs free against his stomach, already hard and leaking. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Do you want to be on top?” Changbin asks. “Set the pace?”

You shake your head. As the more experienced one you want him to take the lead on this. “I trust you to be gentle.”

“Lie down on your back, then. I want to see your face so I can check in on you.”

You smile at his concern and do as told, expecting him to remove the butt plug. His fingers trace your slit instead before one briefly dips inside your hole, earning a startled gasp from you.

“You’re so wet.” He sounds surprised. Awe-struck. Your face burns. “Need me to fuck your ass that bad?”

You do. You’d never thought you’d be into it but his enthusiasm is contagious. Changbin’s always been vocal about how much he loves fucking you on all fours, your ass up in the air for him to play with. He’d started out teasingly. Tentative. Circling your tight hole with his fingers or tongue during foreplay. At first it’d felt foreign but the odd sensation had quickly morphed into pleasure and spurred on by your appreciative whimpers he’d become bolder, until one night he’d pushed his thumb past your rim while his cock filled your needy cunt.

You’d never felt so full. Drool had gathered on the sheets, a direct result of how deep he was fucking you into the mattress. His praise had been reduced to clipped sentences telling you how tight you felt — how he could feel every ridge and outline of his cock through the thin wall separating it from his fingers. That alone had been enough to make you cum, blinding white behind your eyelids as he continued to move his thumb in tandem with his hips.

Before you knew it his anal fixation had become a mutual obsession. He’ll finger your ass while his tongue works your clit, enjoying how your neglected cunt drips and clenches around nothing. It’s a strange sensation — feeling full and empty at the same time. On other nights he’ll bury his face between your cheeks until you’re grinding back on his tongue with trembling legs.

But his fingers and tongue aren’t enough anymore. You need to feel all of him.

“Do you want me to beg for it? Please, daddy, fuck my ass.” You tug on his bicep and give him a sickly-sweet smile.

“You’re ruining the mood.” He scrunches his nose and you laugh.

Then he moves his hand back to the apex of your thighs, pinching your clit between his fingers and all thought flies out of the window.

“I need you nice and relaxed first,” he coos, swallowing your moans with his own mouth.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart under his expert touch. Still floaty and sluggish you watch him reach for the condoms and lube.

“Tell me how it feels, okay, baby?” He gently removes the plug and lines up his cock with your gaping hole. “I need you to tell me to go slow or stop if it hurts.”

You nod. You’ve gone quiet now some of your initial nervousness has returned. Anticipation builds in your gut and you’re thankful for Changbin’s hand rubbing soothing circles on the back of your thigh.

“Breathe for me, love.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and he pushes the flared head in slowly. Then he stills. He’s nearing the thickest part of him and you gasp at the fullness. He’s so much bigger than anything you’ve felt before, but there’s only the slight burn you’ve grown accustomed to. The pressure feels familiar now, in a way that has you craving more.

“Everything okay?” Changbin studies your face for any discomfort and when you give him a small nod he pushes in another inch. You can see he’s struggling to hold himself back, brow furrowed and the fingers on your thigh now pressing dents into the flesh.

“Please fuck me, Binnie.”

It's a real plea this time, and judging by his face he didn’t expect it. His expression morphs from surprise into something darker. You appreciate him being careful, but right now you need him to fucking move.

“Y/N —”

You’ve never heard him let out such a deep, guttural growl. It has your empty cunt flutter around thin air. There’s a second where he appears to brace himself. Then Changbin drives his hips flush against your ass, forcing all the air out of your lungs with a single thrust. Your thighs are caught between his body and your chest and you moan when he bottoms out, filling you up completely.

“So fucking tight,” Changbin rasps. His head spins. He's waited so long for this moment and now he gets to watch his cock sink into your tight hole, the muscle stretching around him and struggling to accommodate him. “You feel amazing.”

“Changbin, o my god…” Your jaw slacks, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he finally starts moving. He’s right — it feels amazing. Better than you thought it’d feel, his thick cock stretching you out and his fingers playing with your pussy like he’s done so many times before. The knot in your stomach tightens unexpectedly fast and you have to hold onto his strong arms to anchor yourself. It only takes a few grazes of his thumb on your clit before you unravel with a loud sob.

“This fast?” Changbin lets out a satisfied chuckle. “Maybe I should only fuck you in the ass from now on.”

You’re not even sure if you’d mind and you’re unable to protest when your brain’s this fuzzy and he’s tapping your clit playfully. His thrusts are deep and slow, still with a hint of lingering caution, a protective hand resting on the back of your thigh.

You want to see him break.

“Can you go harder?” Your hands grab at his shoulders, “Please, if you want. I can take it.”

Changbin pulls out instead, smirking at your whimpered protest. “And they say I’m the needy one.” He looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Turn around. On all fours. Anything for you, baby.”

You scramble to get into position, a valiant attempt which fails as soon as he breaches you again. Your arms tremble and give away under your own bodyweight, landing you face down into the pillows.

Changbin helps you up and wraps an arm around your neck. His chest is pressed against your back and his thick biceps forces your chin up, the pressure on your throat dizzying.

“Is this what you wanted all along? For me to fuck you rough and hard?”

You croak out a choked-off yes and then you’re pressed into the mattress again. Changbin drapes his body on top of yours. His arm is still wrapped around your neck as much as the new position allows while his other tightens on your hip. Your legs have given out now too so you let him manhandle you until he’s found the right angle to pound into you from behind.

The pace he sets is punishing, wet slaps of skin slick with arousal and lube every time his hips bump into yours. It’s electrifying. You’re drooling all over his forearm now and he loosens his hold to make sure you can breathe.

Between the thrusts and low grunts Changbin’s running his mouth, the first crack in his exterior. You’re surprised he’s lasted this long.

“Look at you, baby. You’re taking me so well… Letting me fuck your ass like this, such a good doll for me, my pretty little thing. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you? As long as I fuck you full of cock. You’re so desperate you don’t even care which hole I use… I’ll use them all… which one do you want me to use next, your mouth or that pretty cunt of yours?”

“Want — want you,” is all you manage to moan out, far beyond the point of coherent answers. He’s grinding his cock so deep into you it’s almost as if you can feel him in your guts, a pleasurable sort of pressure unlike anything you’ve felt before.

Judging by the low chuckle next to your ear your reply seems to satisfy him. “You’re making such a mess, love. Bet you’re so wet you’re soaking the sheets.” He slides his arm out from underneath you and tangles his fingers into your hair. “Drooling all over my arm, too. My needy girl. Fuck, I wish I could do this all night.”

There’s a tinge of desperation to his voice now and you know he’s close.

“Wanted this for so long — can’t believe we’re doing this,” he pants. “I’m not going to last much longer.”

You urge him on by angling your hips up and he slows down, cursing loudly at the sight and sitting back so you can work yourself over his cock. His hands are all over your ass, brushing and kneading the soft flesh.

He lets out a low groan. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

You turn your head to watch him over your shoulder, catching his blown-out gaze when he manages to drag it away from your ass for a second. Seeing him fucked out like this lights another fire deep in your core and you push back on him, tight against his pubic bone, then pulling away again until the head of his cock threatens to slip out.

You repeat your slow movements, determined to watch him crumble.

“The things you do to me…” His eyes flutter shut and he clutches your hips, his cock twitching, “you — baby, I’m —”

Changbin tenses and his body curls on top of yours, flattening you against the mattress. He falls to his side and pulls you with him. His arms wrap tight around you.

“That was amazing,” he breathes against your nape, still sounding a bit dazed.

“It really was,” you crane your neck around so you can see him. His full lips form a cute pout to give you a soft peck and you giggle into the kiss. “And to answer your question — mouth.”

Changbin chuckles, pulling you impossibly closer into his arms and nuzzling his face into your shoulder with a small huff and a smile. “You’re insatiable.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #skz hard hours #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #changbin smut #changbin x reader #;skz longfic

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hauntedhokage · 2 months

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Nanami Kento/F!Reader

summary: Nanami makes a request of Gojo to use his connections to arrange his marriage. He just wasn’t expecting to develop a crush on the person arranging his marriage.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: inexplicit references to sexual content

note: I had a very different intention for how this would flow but this is not it. oh well.

[ao3 link] [masterlist] [nanami masterlist] [ko-fi + commissions]

He was already starting to regret this. The house he was brought to was lavish, well maintained and belonging to an owner who took excellent care of the property. Someone from Gojo’s circles outside of Jujutsu Tech and not someone he’d rub elbows with commonly. In all fairness, they weren’t people Nanami wanted to rub elbows with either, but he felt it was natural to be nervous in a house this nice. Just how lucrative was this business anyway?

“Gojo, where did you bring me?”

“I said I’d bring you to the best in the world, didn’t I?” He did say that, but this was Satoru Gojo. There was always a joke or a loophole, Nanami learned to expect that. “This is where the best in the world lives and works - but only for her favorite clients.”

Just how many people had Gojo brought here that he’d become a favorite? Or was he really a favorite? Again, this was Satoru Gojo.

“When you said you had a proposition for me, I thought I’d finally get the big fish engaged.” The teasing tone pulled his attention to the staircase, and he rose an eyebrow at the sight of a woman who seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place from where. “Who’s this?”

“Kento Nanami. A grade one sorcerer in need of a lady friend.”

“Why can’t you ever give me a proper introduction?” Nanami asks, following behind Gojo when his coworker moves to follow you into a room off to the side of the staircase.

You’re standing at a bookcase, opening and flipping through various notebooks until you find what you’re looking for, and Nanami notices that the notebook has Gojo’s name on the front of it when you turn to face them. Based on the size of the notebook and how worn it was, you do a lot of work with Gojo. Both men sit at the desk but you opt to continue standing as you flip through pages, and Nanami takes the time to observe how neat your office was. Art prints on the walls, a couple certificates, and two swords that he could feel the cursed energy radiating off of. Imbued with strong cursed energy, he’d assume you’d had a heavenly pact if he hadn’t already felt the fountain of energy you contained. It felt different from Gojo, it was warmer - much more comforting.

“Kento Nanami,” you mumble, writing in the notebook and only once barely glancing up from the page to see him watching you intently. “You’ve got a technique, right?”

“Seven-to-three. It’s a ratio technique.”

“So someone interested in math might be a plus. Height?”

And he’s forthcoming with the answers to your questions - sometimes having to correct Gojo’s incorrect answers - and he hates that Gojo is getting so much detailed information about himself that was so delicately tucked away. Things about him that would be used against him, as if Nanami asking Gojo about how to have his own marriage arranged wasn’t fuel enough for relentless teasing from the so-called strongest sorcerer.

“Is there a type of woman you’re most interested in?”

“Intelligent, patience, and being competent in a kitchen is a bonus but not required. I’m more than capable of cooking for myself.”

“You want a spouse who can keep herself occupied, I’m sure. Employed?”

“Unnecessary. I have an ample salary to care for two.”

“Appearance?”

“That’s irrelevant to me. What is most important is what lies beneath.”

That had you looking up from the notebook, pen halting only for a moment before you recovered and crossed something out before writing something else. Gojo was shocked enough for the entire room, you didn’t have anything else to add.

It’s only another twenty minutes and a couple pictures with requests for others where he looks less constipated before you’re walking them to the front door of your home while explaining next steps to Nanami. He’d expect to hear from you in a couple days with a date and time to look at profiles of prospective brides that you pulled based on the information you got from him today and estimated compatibility scores.

Gojo is left with a demand that he deal with the Zen’in clan who had been in contact with you regarding Megumi’s future plans for marriage that were none of your business. It seemed you had the same opinion of the clan that Gojo did, which wasn’t surprising but was definitely interesting. He'd have expected your work to not interfere with the dealings of the clans, but he supposed the jujutsu world was always dancing around the wishes of the clans.

“How do you know her?”

“We worked together a few years back on a special grade that had popped up while she was in Tokyo running errands. She doesn’t do a lot of sorcerer work, but she’ll gear up if her services are requested. Mostly she gets paid good money to arrange marriages for people like us.”

“But not you?”

“I’m too busy for a spouse. You’ve got strict hours and a real want for someone to come home to, better suited for marriage than someone like me.”

Everyone eventually resigned themselves to their fate. Maybe in a few years Gojo will change his mind, slow down in his work and let himself accept what he knew they all wanted deep down: a way to escape from the harsh reality that was the world of jujutsu. For now, that wasn’t an issue for Nanami to make his own so he wasn’t going to allow this to slide for the time being.

“Y’know I’m sure Shoko would let you take her out on a date - for practice, of course.”

Nanami pretends to not have heard the suggestion. Shoko had much more important things to do than go on pretend dates with him.

Two weeks pass before he’s sitting in your home again. This time not in your office, but outside on your back patio enjoying a tea and light snacks while going through the stacks of folders produced with potential marriage candidates. You preferred pen and paper to digital record keeping, printed photographs on glossy paper or the occasional polaroid carefully fastened to the folder with a paperclip. Some records were so extensive that an actual binder was required rather than just a folder, whether that was by your design or the client’s he’d yet to figure out.

There were two loaded binders, three thick folders, and two thinner ones stacked on the side of the table, and he dreads needing to look through them all. Arranging a marriage seemed much more simple when he floated the idea past Gojo - it didn’t feel like he’d need to be so involved. He could learn to live with and care for anybody as would be his responsibility as a husband - the responsibility he was signing up for by requesting a marriage to be arranged.

The seven potential candidates you’d selected had the highest compatibility scores from your own assessment of his wants and theirs. All in his preferred age range, some with their natural hair color others with artificially colored hair, even their sexual experience was provided in some detail.

“Your research is extensive,” he comments while reading through the first file. Her name was Yui, first born daughter to a farmer and his wife (who was a former sorcerer) with three younger siblings but no training in jujutsu but the ability to see curses and potential for a cursed technique to have been inherited. Artificial blonde, went to university to study journalism and writes for a gossip magazine with freelance projects on the side.

Key consideration: terrified of the sight of blood. That note has him closing the folder and setting it to the side to create his own discard pile.

“The world of jujutsu is a picky and particular one. The clans go off of technique, fertility, and strength which makes it easy. Those who don’t have clans arranging or go outside of their clans want much more freedom of choice, and things to choose from.”

“Has someone really turned down a candidate because of their sexual experience?”

“More often than you’d think, in both directions. Why didn’t you like Yui?”

“Being afraid of the sight of blood doesn’t seem to fit right with my profession.” As expected, you write that down in your notebook while your free hand idly stirs your tea.

“Reckless in combat?”

“No, but I’m not untouchable like Gojo is. Accidents happen, I’d hate to spur my spouse into terror because a bloody shirt was in the washing machine.

You nod, this time lifting one of the small finger sandwiches to your lips as you continue to write. He looks into the next folder, surprised to see this candidate was a sorcerer from overseas looking to move to Tokyo. Céline from Paris, grade two sorcerer without a cursed technique. Her mission record was attached, and Nanami raises an eyebrow at the fact that she’d never completed a mission on her own. That was intriguing, and the notes that followed regarding the reason for denial to be promoted to grade one made it clear why she’d never finished a mission on her own: she was reckless and endangered herself and her colleagues on every mission.

With moving to Tokyo, she doesn’t want to give up being a sorcerer. Ideally would continue down this career path until plans to have children were made and solidified.

With that, Nanami moves Céline into the discard pile as well. He had no interest in a spouse who was recklessly endangering herself and planned on continuing to do so until pregnancy forced her to stop. He wasn’t even certain that he wanted children, and it seemed like she did eventually which was not going to be satisfactory for her.

The other five files meet the same fate, neatly stacked on the other side of the table while you continue to take notes. You’d added about three more pages on notes while watching him read through files and provide commentary when asked, which showed just how observant you were. This was a profession you excelled at for a reason.

“Are you normally this picky, Mr. Nanami? This is just a review to see if you want to meet these ladies, not propose on the spot.”

“I don’t want to waste their time or my own if I don’t believe there will be a connection after the meeting. If I don't see a future, why bother?”

“Should I just let you read through my entire filing cabinet on prospects to see if there’s anyone you like?” You were teasing him, that was clear and made him feel just a bit better about shutting down all of your preliminary choices. But perhaps you expected him to do that, if the additional set of four folders you pulled from the bag sitting on your left meant anything. You truly watched everything that he did.

“That shouldn’t be necessary. You spent the last hour psychoanalyzing me with intentionally incompatible brides for a reason, did you not?”

“Not intentionally incompatible, just incidentally. Everyone is open to options until they have the options, that’s where the pickiness sets in. Everyone has lines they’d prefer not to cross, I needed to find yours to better asses potential partners.”

“What are mine?”

“The most basic one is consistent mutual inconvenience or concern”

You go on to explain how that spiderwebs into a few other different lines that created his personal boundaries for selecting a wife (and, really, any personal acquaintance). Consistent mutual inconvenience, like him needing to hide a key risk of his profession for a wife terrified of the sight of blood while the wife would need to constantly emotionally prepare for the day where she made contact with the sight of his blood, was not a strong foundation for a relationship. Arranged or not, there needed to be levels of trust and comfortability that could be built, and that comfortability would never be built upon a foundation of fear. That mutual inconvenience webbed into concern, like always being worried that your spouse’s reckless behavior would get themselves killed but they have no desire to quit their job or change their ways would just create exhaustion in the relationship and that wouldn’t be healthy for the marriage.

If asked, he was definitely reading the words on the paper in his hands and not too captivated by every word that left your mouth to even remember the woman’s name on the page. He had a type, and you were sitting right across from him. It was a shame you weren’t an option.

A month passes and you’ve finally gotten him to agree to meet with a prospective bride. He had a condition and that was that he got to debrief with you immediately after to share his thoughts and feelings, and you agreed to it without hesitation. Of course Gojo was paying for every minute of your time that Nanami used, so agreeing was a natural decision, but part of him hoped it was a desire to spend that time with him and hear his opinions as more than just a client.

The prospective bride was named Sayuri. She, like you, had graduated from Jujutsu High’s Kyoto campus and she also, like you, had retired from working as a sorcerer. But with a full stop due to an injury that rendered her cursed technique inoperable, leaving random missions off the table for her own health.

He appreciated a woman who knew her physical limits, and you looked so proud when he told her that to her face. He was trying, and he was glad that you saw that too, but he knew he’d take the wind out of your sails when he told you that he didn’t see himself with Sayuri for more than just a couple dinner dates. She was nice, truly a lovely girl, but her opinions on teenagers were far too negative while he greatly enjoyed the time he got to spend with the Jujutsu High students (even if they weren’t aware that he enjoyed being around them). As much as they could irritate him, he learned a lot from them but that was a notion that Sayuri just couldn’t accept. He couldn’t accept her as a bride if she would be uncomfortable with Yuuji or Maki stopping in for a visit every now and again.

Nanami is only slightly disappointed in himself when you deflate at the news. But you also seem more determined to find him a bride, and that brings him relief that you didn’t think he was a lost cause just yet. He would hate to feel as though he’d wasted your time, that was clearly a precious commodity to yourself and other people who desired your services.

“It’s almost like you prefer spending time with me rather than any other women,” you comment off-handedly before leaving, something he knew you meant that as a tease but he dared not tell you it was an accurate assumption. He wanted you to want to continue to be around him, this crush of his would go away once he’d found a suitable arrangement.

You start to consume his thoughts, the worst part is that he’d been traveling for missions so he hadn’t seen you in weeks. Every day he’s checking his phone for a message from you, his email for new scans of your notes on a prospective spouse, any indication that you were thinking of him just as much as he was thinking of you. It was disgustingly unprofessional to be so distracted, especially when you were simply doing your job that Gojo was paying you to do. To think that you had any sort of feeling for him would be presumptuous, preposterous, and downright idiotic.

But you never said anything about having a partner of your own, and that gives him a hope that he’s not sure he should have. How could he maintain an air of professionalism when in the back of his head he’s wondering if there was a flavor attached to the glossy shine decorating your lips?

He lets himself get distracted during his first mission back in Tokyo. The curse wasn’t even a particularly strong one, just annoying, and he let himself get distracted by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He usually put his phone on do-not-disturb when he was on a mission, this time he did not and he had a growing red stain on his shirt to pay for that error. If it was just a text, that’d be one thing. Unfortunately for him it was a call, the vibration strong against his thigh and enough to skew his focus long enough to miss the way the curse lunged at him. Poor performance on his part.

He was just going to go home after this, enjoy a shower in his own personal bathroom and then check in at the school in the morning. Sleep in his own bed and enjoy being home after six weeks of hotels (as nice as they were).

Then he checked his phone, listened to the voicemail that you had left and how excited you sounded to have found the one for him.

He tells the cab driver your address before he even considers going to the school to see Shoko to have his injury treated. He’d rather be dead in an alley than be in the school infirmary for the night, the concrete was definitely going to be more comfortable than the bed there.

He doesn’t even know what he’d say to you when he knocks on your door. He doesn’t know how you’d react, but he feels better when you open the door and bring him in with just one look at his disheveled state and bring him up the stairs. In all the visits he’d made to your home, this was the first time he’d been up the stairs.

“What happened?” you ask softly once he’s in your master bathroom, and he sighs as he sits on your toilet per your instruction. The first aid kit is pulled from under the sink, but his attempt to unbutton his shirt is thwarted when you start to do it for him. “Talk to me, Kento.”

“I got distracted while fighting a curse.”

“Distracted? That doesn’t sound like you.” You sound worried, and that makes him feel better about being here. Less imposing, at the very least. “But I guess you’ve been going nonstop for a few weeks. Must’ve been a big distraction.”

“I was only momentarily distracted. A mistake that won’t be repeated.”

“I’m sure,” you murmur, your hands carefully cleaning around the wound in his side. “Y’know, Shoko would be a better doctor considering she actually is one.”

“I can leave, if-”

“No.” Your hand on his chest stops him from trying to stand. “I’d rather you stay, honestly.”

He relaxes at that, letting his head fall back against the wall with his eyes closed as you continue to work. It wasn’t life threatening by any means, and you were being very gentle with him as you worked to clean up the blood so you could better look at it.

“Why me, though?”

“I didn’t think much about it. I considered where I felt safe, and you were the first to come to mind.” It’s a vulnerable answer, an honesty he wasn’t prepared to share so openly but you were safe. Always had been. Even with your analyzing gaze and the way you managed to carefully pick apart his guarded exterior, you still felt safe for him. But the way your brow furrowed when he looked down raised a concern. “Is there an issue?”

“No, no issue. You bled a fair amount but that made it look worse than it actually is. You’ll survive until the morning, and Shoko can patch you up properly then.” And he feels the gauze on his skin, your hands applying decent pressure to keep it in place as you start to wrap the bandaging to keep the gauze in place throughout the night. Then your touch is gone, and he sees you standing while carefully removing the gloves that were now stained with his blood. “Pain meds?”

“Please.” He’s letting you pull him to stand, his shirt is now ruined and not worth keeping on but it’d be rude for him to walk around without some sort of covering. This feels indecent when his relationship with you was supposed to be strictly business, like he’s crossing a boundary that wasn’t meant to be crossed - a boundary that he supposed he had crossed when he came to you instead of calling Shoko. He didn’t even know if you had medical training aside from the basic first aid all sorcerers are taught.

“I make you feel safe, huh?”

“You know almost everything about me. More than any of my colleagues who I trust with my life know.” He hears your thoughtful hum in response to his statement, watching as your fingers carefully roll one of the buttons of his undone shirt between them. “So, yes, I feel very safe with you. I enjoy the time we spend together.”

And he doesn’t register how it happens, all he knows is that his lips are on yours and your hands are now gripping his shirt to keep him close while his hands hold your face close to his. Your legs hit the footboard of your bed frame, something that halts him for only a moment before he’s carefully helping you over it while your hands push his shirt off of his shoulders.

This was not what he had intended when he showed up on your doorstep unannounced and bleeding, but now he knows your lips taste like strawberry and the flavor of your gloss lingers long after you’ve removed it. He knows that you’re not afraid of taking what it is you need, that you had wanted him just as badly as he had wanted you.

But after he’s come down from the moment he lets his brain take over and his anxiety flares. You were supposed to be finding him a suitable spouse, yet here he was in your bed - how could that possibly end? Would you want to help him after he crossed this boundary? Did you want him to stay here with you tonight? Probably not, even if you were sleeping soundly with your head on his arm. So he pulls himself away from you as soon as he’s sure you won’t wake, knowing that he caught sight of a guest bedroom down the hall close to the stairs. He’d sleep there, then make breakfast in the morning. Simple recovery of a situation that he hoped wouldn’t crumble in his hands.

If you’d been upset by his choice not to sleep in your bed, you don’t show it. The following morning you only greet him with breakfast and let him know that you enjoyed yourself and hoped that he did the same. He left your home to go back to the Jujutsu Tech campus with a kiss on the cheek and mug of coffee to go, with a promise that he'd be in touch to properly go over the notes you'd sent him.

Then it was back to business.

Only that business involved more overnight visits, ones where he stayed by your side through the night and went through the motions of the morning with you. Breakfast and coffee, then you both were off to perform your respective jobs. It was odd, sleeping with you then the next day receiving texts about potential candidates. Part of him admired your ability to maintain sight of the goal, the other part wished you’d tell him that you wanted to be with him instead of some random person seeking a husband. He’d miss the intimacy you shared when he finally settled for someone he could live with for the rest of his life - when that would happen, he wasn’t sure.

He just knew it wouldn’t be any time soon. He didn’t want to settle just yet.

“I found another candidate for you to review,” you mention one evening, your fingers lazily carding through his hair as he relaxes against you. A disinterested hum is all he can bother to respond with, knowing that he was going to find a reason to reject the proposition. He knew what he wanted, and you unfortunately weren’t an option.

“Would you marry me, Kento?” He’s surprised to hear you ask such a question, lifting his head from where it rests on your chest to see you watching him with a soft smile. “I’m running out of candidates for you to turn down.”

“I didn’t think you were an option,” he murmurs, watching as your shoulders shrug against the mattress. Clearly you didn’t realize that you were an option either until recently.

“Originally I wasn’t. But now we’ve had sex multiple times, I’m not sure either of us would move on easily.”

Sound logic, he knew he wouldn’t be able to move on at all. Not for months, at a minimum - he really liked you a lot. “Besides, you’re very picky.”

“Do you want to be my wife?”

“I think we would have a very comfortable marriage. Mutually beneficial in many ways. The major bonus is we already like each other.” Again, your logic is sound and he knows that you know that. Why wouldn’t he want to marry you? This was exactly what he was hoping for and thought was unattainable. But you’re smiling up at him, your hand gently caressing his cheek as he watches you for any sign of uncertainty and finds none. “Do you want to be my husband?”

And he knows that he’d be honored to be your husband. You could take care of yourself, but would let him take care of you when needed. You were intelligent, independent, able to act when needed, and understood his work as a sorcerer intimately so you didn’t fear the potential consequences of his career.

You truly would be the perfect wife, the only downside was that he’d have to thank Gojo for bringing him into your life.

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