#he said put that woman in a cinema | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miraclewoozi · 5 months

Text

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey��s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

853 notes · View notes

t-lostinworlds · 7 months

Text

The Grump & The Drunk | Miguel O'Hara

》 PAIRING: miguel o'hara x spider-woman!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x (drunk) sunshine, fluff, humor

》 SUMMARY: You were clingy, feisty with no filter when you're drunk. Miguel had front row seat of it—literally. You're lucky he didn't mind. In fact, he was glad it was him and not anyone else. The thought made him seethe in jealousy even though you technically were not his girl. But he wasn't sure if that still rang true after tonight's drunken confession (or that make-out session).

》 WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, soft!miguel (also emotionally constipated!miguel but what's new), r calls him miggy to tease him, height difference (he's 6'9" he's an effin giant), r thirsts over him in front of his face lol, some innuendos, brief argument about feelings, overall very cute and fluffy.

》 WORD COUNT: 6.1k+

A/N: can anyone guess what movie i watched recently. is anyone surprised that i liked the grump with a side of trauma lmao. ANYWAY. this is the first time i'm writing miguel so pls be nice. wrote this fairly quickly too and it's barely proofread sooo. but i hope you still enjoy it!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

It was late.

Quiet.

Well, for now, at least.

Moments like these were rare to come by, where there wasn't much to do except to let things happen. The multiverse was stable enough not to need any intervention.

It usually was the epitome of the calm before the storm.

Nevertheless, everyone—well, those left at HQ and weren't on stakeout—in the Spider Society took advantage of it.

There was always some sort of activity going on during these types of days. Most of it were small get-togethers in the cafeteria, or perhaps a low-key karaoke in the cinema room. Other times it was much more on the nose.

Right now, there was a party held on the rooftop.

The music was blaring—muffled for him, thanks to his soundproofing—as it jumped from genre to genre depending on who successfully bribed the DJ.

It was rowdy—that he was sure of. What, with the modified alcohol strong enough to affect any Spider-Person as if they weren't enhanced, how could it not be?

Miguel wasn't one for festivities. Not to mention, strobe lights always gave him bad migraines. So after showing face for about ten minutes—he wouldn't have shown up at all but was begged to go by someone he couldn't say no to—he decided to call it a night.

Well, back to his…Spider-Cave.

He was sure there would be copyright issues if that was made official.

But it was dubbed by you so it simply stuck.

You, with bright eyes and a sweet smile as you pleaded for him to come with you to the rooftop even if it was "just a couple minutes, please?"

You, who wore a simple yet gorgeous black dress as you all but dragged him into the elevator, bouncing with excitement because it was going to be your first party here at HQ.

You, who enthusiastically sipped on your Pink Señorita—a margarita with pink lemonade—giddy to feel the buzz of the alcohol after years of being unable to.

You, who was so joyful and uncaring as you danced to your heart's content when your favorite song came on, right in the middle of the floor, shining as bright as the sun as the others revolved around you.

Miguel only watched from the sidelines, his chest aching with longing. So close but out of reach because he couldn't.

He'd only put a damper on your light.

It wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

He couldn't do that to you.

Soft spot.

Miguel had very few of those.

Anyone who dared to give their opinion on his life with the bravery to say it right to his face said one was occupied by you.

Some would even imply that you held the biggest one.

And sure, the first time Lyla scouted you and suggested for you to be recruited into the Spider Society he might've said yes far too quickly than he should've. But that was only because he saw the way you took down a sector of the Maggia all on your own. He was thoroughly impressed.

There were also times when he let you get away with annoying him scot-free. Whether that was teasing, various nicknames, talking his ear out for hours as you refused to leave him alone to do work, and sometimes even pranks. If it were any other person doing the same things you would've done, they would be leaving the premises at least fearing their life.

He also let you spend time around his magic carpet—as you so unoriginally named it. You were constantly testing those copyright issues—quite often to the point that some of your stuff had migrated the space. There were little trinkets scattered around, evidence that you'd been here.

Miguel finally bought a desk chair perfectly suited for his big and tall stature all because you complained about not having anywhere to sit while you were up here with him.

It was more your chair than it was his, to be honest, since you definitely sat on it far more than he had.

Sure, he could've bought an extra one for you but he didn't want to encourage the teasing—that had been nonstop since you waltzed into his life—that he was playing favorites.

He preferred to stand while he worked, anyway.

Fine.

He could kinda see why many people would say he had a soft spot for you.

Speaking of…

Miguel could hear you before he could even see you.

You were giggling to yourself, followed by poor attempts at whispered apologies when you knocked over something or bumped against something else.

It made him worry a little.

Sure, you were too enthusiastic for his liking, all optimism and sunshine despite everything that you had gone through—it harshly contrasted with his personality.

But he wouldn't particularly classify you as clumsy.

He waited for you to call for him, anticipating which way you'd say it this time around. Your most recent one was: "O'Hara, O'Hara, let down your floating chair."

You thought you were really funny with that one.

But silence.

No cheeky way of asking him to let you come up.

Where'd you go?

Suddenly, he heard a very annoyed and frustrated groan, prolonged and all dramatic.

Then, that familiar thwip rang in the air.

You couldn't have been more impatient.

He was aware of exactly where you were, shooting your webs in random directions so long as you hit a column that took you higher and higher. But even if he didn't have his enhanced senses, your constant giggling would give you away.

Yet as loud as you had already been, your shriek was even louder.

Miguel didn't hesitate to jump off the platform.

His heart was pounding as he clocked your falling figure, adrenaline and fear all at once.

You looked dazed in your freefall, unable to comprehend that your cartridges were empty as you kept trying to shoot your webs.

In the nick of time, he caught you by the waist—upside down.

He let out a huge sigh of relief at the same time you turned into heaps of giggles.

"This isn't how I imagined us getting into this position," you snorted as if you weren't dangling a couple of feet above the ground, feet in the air, arms limp and swaying. "Wow…your thigh is bigger than my head!"

Miguel's whole body warmed, not only from your comments but also because you were still in your dress.

Thank fuck it wasn't a loose skirt.

Not that he would ever look. He might be a bit of a grump—temperamental at times, he'll admit—but he was still a gentleman.

Though he was glad you couldn't see the obvious fluster on his face given your current upside-down predicament.

He'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm flipping you around," he said.

"Like a pancake?"

He didn't answer. He simply tossed you into the air, your squeal echoing off the walls. He caught you again but the right way up this time—your hands clinging onto his shoulders, legs around his waist.

Miguel tried not to dwell on your closeness as he shot a web and pulled you both back up.

"You flipped me like a pancake!" you giggled, stumbling onto the platform once you reached it.

What on earth is going on with you?

One look in your eyes, his unspoken question was swiftly answered.

"Widely irresponsible to swing while drunk," he reprimanded, arms crossed over his chest.

You blew a raspberry, waving your hand dismissively. "Am not drunk."

"Then why did I have to save you from falling head-first into the ground?"

"I slipped!"

"You could've just called me to let the platform down."

"And have it take so fucking long?"

Miguel blinked.

Oh you were so drunk.

"I know it's an intimidating tactic or whatever the fuck it is you're doing. Either way, it's a choice, but it doesn't have to be so damn slow, Miggy!"

"I told you to stop calling me that," he said, no heat in his tone. He simply couldn't stand the way his heart did a funny thing whenever he'd hear that nickname slip past your lips.

"Sorry, sir," you said, sarcasm lacing each letter.

Miguel took a deep breath.

"Don't call me that, either," he said, voice an octave deeper.

You rolled your eyes, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Someone's extra grumpy today."

"Night."

"What?"

"It's night."

"Pfft, you know, you should loosen up your suit," you said, waving at all of him. "Maybe the tightness is making you grumpier somehow, suffocating your muscles and everything."

"The tightness of my suit has nothing to do with my mood."

"Could've fooled me," you scoffed, glaring at him from head to toe. "You're probably chafing in weird places and it's making you irritable. I bet—no, I know you're naked underneath because even though I haven't seen you naked I can still see…stuff, many stuff, big stuff, you know, imagination and not leaving any and shit."

"Dios mío," he grumbled in disbelief, rubbing a palm over his warm face. "How drunk are you?"

"Zero percent-o, Miguelito."

He bit back a smile.

"Could've fooled me," he said, raising a brow at you.

"Don't you dare throw my words back at me," you warned, attempting to appear threatening with your chest puffed out, chin raised as you got all up in his face. You slumped with a pout a second later. "You are so fucking tall!"

"And you are so drunk."

"M'not!"

"Uh-huh, sure," he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh I am very sure—Miguel, can you sit down," you complained, brows deeply furrowed as you tried grabbing onto his shoulders, urging him to settle on the chair.

He decided to mess with you a little, planting his feet firmly so you weren't able to budge him even with your enhanced strength.

Your inebriated state wasn't helping your case.

It was the first time he ever got to see you annoyed and he actually found it cute. What, with your brows deeply furrowed and that pout in full play, huffing and puffing as you pushed at his chest with your full body strength, how could he not?

"Miggy sit the fuck down!" you growled.

He resisted the urge to laugh, throwing his hands up as he obliged, "Okay, okay, I'm sitting."

Now, he was the one looking up at you.

Yet you still looked frustrated.

"Is that not any better?" he asked, confused.

"No," you mumbled, glaring down at him, pout still prominent.

The next thing he knew, you were already grabbing onto his shoulders, pushing yourself up the chair.

You sat right on his lap.

Miguel was rarely surprised these days, considering what he did for a living.

But he sure as hell wasn't prepared to have you on top of him.

He could almost feel his brain short-circuit, taking a bit more time and effort for it to get its bearings back into place.

But then, you turned shy, eyes blinking at him all wide with shock as if you didn't know that climbing onto his lap resulted in him and you being so close.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Hello," he murmured, fingers twitching to hold you. He gripped the armrest instead. "Can I ask what exactly it is you're doing?"

"What…was I doing?" you questioned, almost to yourself, scanning the nearly non-existent space between you both before your face lit up. "Oh! I'm trying to talk to you without spraining my neck, genius."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah! You try talking to a six-foot-nine Adonis of a man and see if your neck doesn't hurt after a while."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Adonis, huh?"

"Not like that," you quickly said, voice shyer. "I mean like…huge, muscular, a-and plump."

"Plump?"

"Yeah!" You nodded enthusiastically, pressing your palms right on top his chest, one on each pec. "You've got plump boobs and ass."

He almost choked on air.

"What has gotten into you?" he asked, thoroughly amused.

"You, hopefully."

"Diosito, ayúdame," he muttered, resisting the temptation to take your word for it. You were drunk. You had no idea what you were saying.

Miguel shook his head when you stared at him confused, still slow on your Spanish. Then again, he'd only ever taught you a few phrases so far.

"How many lemonades did you have?" he asked instead.

"Why are you asking me so many questions!" you groaned, head thrown back as dramatically as you could. "It's my turn to ask questions!"

"Fine," he sighed, ignoring the urge to nip at your exposed skin. He heavily disregarded the thoughts that brewed in his head from the way you were innocently squirming on him, trying to get more comfortable, your skirt hiking up in the process.

He was good at keeping his composure, mastered it after years. He could do it for a couple of minutes more.

"Why'd you disappear?" you sighed.

"Too bright. Too loud."

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"You were having fun. Didn't want to spoil your mood," he stated the obvious. "Besides, my absence didn't affect anything."

"But it did," you insisted, bottom lip jutting out. "Was gonna ask you to dance."

His brow rose at that. "And what made you think I'll say yes?"

"You always say yes," you said, shrugging as if it was a known fact to the universe.

If it was you asking? Maybe.

He honestly felt a little glad he left the party early. He wouldn't even dare to imagine the outcome if he was seen out on the dance floor with you.

He would much prefer it with no audience—just you and him.

"I don't always say yes."

You narrowed your eyes, obviously not believing him by one bit.

But you didn't bother to argue.

Instead, you plopped forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders, face pressed against his neck.

Miguel froze.

He honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

Well, he wanted to do so many things at once, he just didn't know if he should—too many boundaries, too dangerous to cross.

A battle between logic and emotions.

You chose for him, though.

"Will you just—" You pulled his arms off the armrest, wrapping it around you instead. "Want cuddles, please."

How could he say no?

And for the first time in a long while, Miguel finally let himself go.

Body relaxing into the seat, he pulled you a little closer, palms rubbing soft patterns on your back as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head.

It had been so long since he'd cuddled with someone, so maybe his judgment was a little skewed. But still, he didn't remember it feeling this lovely—not until now.

Or maybe because it was you.

And if he didn't know any better, he'd say you were purring.

"Comfortable?" he hummed, rubbing the tip of his nose against your crown.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, humming soon after, "I've always wondered just how nice you smell up close."

He couldn't stop the flush that crept up his face.

"You're warm," you whispered, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat.

It made him wonder if you'd been hanging around Spider-Cat too much—or Meows Morales.

He'd rather not think about it.

Instead, he commanded his suit to uncover his hands, one less barrier between his palm and your skin. The fabric of your dress did very little to conceal your warmth as he continued giving you comforting rubs.

It made you bury yourself deeper into his arms as if you could go any further.

"This feels nice," you murmured, voice muffled against him.

He hummed in agreement.

You both settled into a comfortable silence after that.

But if he listened closely, the steady thump of your heartbeat was soft against his ears. He found the sound relaxing, and the minuscule romantic part of him imagined it was syncing with his own.

A peaceful rhythm.

Your soft breaths tickled his skin as you snuggled closer, his smile unabashedly painted on his face.

No one was here to see it, anyway.

After a few more moments of calmness, he assumed you'd already fallen asleep. He was already preparing himself to carry you across universes and back home when you suddenly spoke up,

"Can I touch your fangs?"

He blinked.

"What?"

You shifted, pulling back a little so that you could meet his eyes, face so close your noses almost touched.

"Your fangs," you repeated.

Before he could even respond, your hands were already on his face, one thumb lifting the corner of his lip while your other hand found his chin, holding him still.

"Wanna feel how sharp they are," you muttered, opting to use both hands now to pull his lips and expose his canines.

"Very sharp and dangerous," he chuckled despite himself, gently grabbing your wrists to stop your prodding. "Just take my word for it."

"You're pretty when you smile," you said, beaming and proud as if seeing his fangs was an accomplishment.

He rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself from grinning.

You smiled wider in return.

Holding your hands between you both, he absentmindedly started stroking your palms with his thumb.

It guided your gaze toward it.

"Your hands are naked!" you gasped, grabbing his wrists and bringing his fingers up to your face, wonder and awe in your eyes as if it was the first time you'd seen them without cover—it wasn't.

You'd seen him in casual clothes before.

Miguel couldn't stop his laugh from escaping even if he tried.

"I didn't know you could do that!" you said, fully amazed before your brows furrowed, pout coming back. "Why can't my suit do that? I have to get all naked just to feel my fingers."

He didn't dwell on that picture.

"I'll tweak it for you if you'd like," he said instead.

Your whole face brightened.

"Really? You'd do that?" you giddily gasped, bringing his hands up to press your palms against his like a double high five. The way your hand was much smaller than his made his heart warm.

He interlaced your fingers together. "Really."

"We're going to make a suit together!" you laughed, lovely and sweet. "That's a big big step."

He chuckled, gaze carefully tracing your beautiful features, each curve and divot glowing with happiness. He felt tempted to count every perfectly imperfect mark that littered your skin, wanting to know if it was there naturally, or if there was a story behind it.

It was supposed to be a swift glance.

He didn't mean to settle too long on your lips.

Nor did he plan to get caught.

"Stop staring," you whispered shyly.

"You're right in front of my face," he deflected, eyes back on yours.

"I know but…" You trailed off, shifting slightly, the tips of your noses brushing in the process.

"But?" he softly prodded.

"You're looking at me weird."

"How so?"

"Like…" you started, voice dropping into a whisper as if you were disclosing a secret. "You want to kiss me."

He couldn't even bother to deny the truth.

"I'll stop staring," he hummed, words holding no weight as he never removed his eyes from you.

"No!" you protested, turning flustered a second later, shyer when he smirked.

"I thought it was weird?" he teased.

"'Weird' was the wrong word," you said, scrunching your nose in thought. Adorable. "I meant different."

"How different?"

"I don't know," you admitted, leaning a little closer. "But I like it."

"Oh, do you, now?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, hands finding their way to gently cup his cheeks.

Miguel leaned into your touch with a soft smile. "Now who's staring?"

"It's because I want to kiss you," you admitted shamelessly. Your fingers traced the outline of his lips, your eyes following their path.

Miguel kissed your fingertips.

You leaned down and kissed him.

He gasped, eyes wide in shock.

A split second, they fluttered shut, head tilting, whole body melting as he kissed you back.

He spent countless amounts of time daydreaming about this moment, different scenarios, wondering what you tasted like, how it'd make him feel. But fuck—nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

It was so many things all at once.

Relief, hunger, satisfaction, desperation, fondness, fear, mind stopping, heart beating faster, soft lips, warm skin, so lovely, so sweet, so fucking addicting.

Now that he'd gotten a taste, he couldn't get enough.

Miguel cupped the back of your neck, arm snaking around your waist to keep you steady, close.

Your hand held onto his shoulder, the other finding its way into his hair, your fingers combing through the strands.

He lost any sense of control when you pulled.

Gripping your hips, he teased his tongue against the seam of your lips, slipping it in the second you opened up for him.

He groaned at your taste.

You whimpered in response.

The sound made him want to devour you.

But then you started moving your hips.

It was awakening, in more ways than one.

But the rational part of him prevailed because it was for your sake.

He pulled away, gently grabbing your chin, when you tried going back in.

"Slow down," he rasped, holding your waist and keeping you still. "Estás borracho, corazón."

"You know I don't understand," you breathed out, chest heaving, lips all plump and tempting.

"You're drunk, sweetheart," he clarified.

"I don't care," you whined, squirming.

He cupped your face in both hands.

"I do."

You pouted.

"Don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Don't pout," he sighed.

"I'm not pouting," you denied.

"You are," he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

Your pout only turned more prominent.

The beep of the clock broke him out of his trance.

It was midnight.

Miguel stood up, taking you with him before gently urging you to stand on your own two feet.

"It’s late. You should go," he said monotonously and stepped back.

You frowned.

He looked away.

"Why do you always do this?"

You were frustrated—no, you were getting angry.

He turned his back on you, eyes on the holograms even though there was nothing worth looking at.

"Do what?" he said, acting oblivious.

"Confuse the fuck out of me," you said, loud with frustration. "You act cold and distant one minute and then you're being nice and sweet the next. You keep your distance but then call me all these cute nicknames sometimes—and yes, you say them in Spanish but I asked Lyla about it once and she told me what they meant."

Traitor—thrown under the bus by his own invention.

"But then sometimes you give in and we get closer but the second I chip your walls you push me away," you continued, getting angrier by the second. "I thought things were getting better between us. But now, you won't even fucking look at me even after we just kissed—"

"You kissed me."

"You kissed me back!" you screamed.

It took him by surprise.

You had never raised your voice, much less yelled at anyone.

But honestly? There was no one else who deserved it more than him.

Slowly turning around, his heart sank when he met your tear-filled eyes.

By instinct, he reached out to try and comfort you.

It only made you angrier.

"You're doing it again!" you growled and stepped back, hands balled into fists.

Miguel stopped, hands up in surrender.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he softly said.

"Protect me?" you scoffed. "Or protect yourself?"

"I'm doing what's best for you," he reasoned, wanting nothing more than to wipe your tears away and kick his own ass for making you cry in the first place.

"You don't know that!"

"Maybe," he said, hands dropping to his sides, dejected. "But I know myself.

"Someone like me shouldn't be with someone as pure and as bright as you."

"No one gets to decide who I should and shouldn't be with," you gritted, taking long strides until you were squaring up to him. "No one but me. That's my choice."

Despite your boiling anger, despite the fact that you were glaring at him in a way that should scare him, despite the absolute animosity that lingered in your voice, your next words couldn't have brought the most opposite reaction from him.

"And I want to be with you."

Happiness, warmth, euphoria—the few things that made his heart burst at the seams.

But Miguel shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground, quickly stomping down emotions.

"I'm only going to end up hurting you," he sighed, pacing back and forth as he rubbed a frustrated hand over his warm face.

"I trust you that you won't."

"Well, you shouldn't," he insisted, eyes filled with longing, wanting to pull you close and taste your lips again despite his words saying otherwise. "You deserve so much better."

"If you believe that so fucking much then be better."

With that, you turned on your heel.

So many things flashed before his eyes, one of which was if he let you walk away now, he was going to lose you, for good.

He fucking panicked.

So much so that he jumped—right over your head.

You squeaked in shock when he landed in front of you.

Miguel didn't waste a second.

He grabbed your face and kissed you senseless.

You stumbled back, Miguel quickly webbing the chair, pulling it just in time for you to land on the cushion.

Not once did his lips leave yours.

He was bending over, hands grabbing the backrest, trapping you against it. You cupped his face, a shiver running down his spine when you trailed your hands down his chest.

But then you gently pushed him back.

He ignored the ache in his heart as he pulled away.

Miguel dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your hands in his, placing a kiss on each palm before he pressed it against his cheeks.

"I want to be with you so badly," he confessed, eyes never leaving yours so you could see it—all of him at your mercy.

"But I'm scared," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "I'm terrified that all I'll ever do is fail you, that I will never end up being the man that you deserve."

"How would you know if you won't try?" you said, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones with the sweetest smile. "And I know you think otherwise, but you deserve to be happy, too."

Miguel didn't know what to say.

So he didn't.

He kissed you instead.

It was slow, reassuring, a soft touch of your lips on his, but never less passionate.

He would've opted to deepen it a little more, but then you downright yawned between the kiss.

And here he thought you couldn't get cuter.

"You need sleep," he chuckled.

"I don't wanna go home," you grumbled, burying yourself into his chest. "It's too far."

"My room, then?" he offered.

You quickly nodded. He could almost feel you grinning against his suit.

He kissed your forehead. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Bed?" you gasped, emerging out of your hiding spot to wriggle your brows at him teasingly. "Gosh, take me out to dinner first."

"What am I going to do with you," he grumbled, shaking his head

"Many things, I hope."

He rolled his eyes, pressing the button to let the platform down.

"Miggy, can you give me a piggyback ride?" you asked, pouting for good measure. "I'm tired."

He sighed, turned around and crouched down.

"He doesn't always say yes he said," you giggled.

"Are you getting on or not?"

"Okay, okay, geez." You grabbed his shoulders and hoisted yourself on his back, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Cheek pressed against his shoulder, you grinned. "Always eager to have me ride you, huh?"

His face warmed.

"I'll drop you if you won't stop."

"No you won't."

Miguel loosened his grip.

You yelped, quickly tightening your hold around him.

"You're so mean!"

He chuckled, turning his head as much as he could and puckering up his lips.

You giggled as you gave him a chaste kiss, pressing your cheek in between his shoulder blades with a deep sigh.

"Lyla, please send extra blankets and pillows to my quarters," he said, smiling to himself when you suddenly got heavier on his back.

He was sure you'd already fallen asleep.

Lyla appeared in front of him a second later, her grin far too wide for his liking.

"Not a single word about this to anyone," he interrupted whatever it was she was starting to say. "Please. Just…give us time to figure this out."

"Gotcha, boss," she said. "But for the record, I'm doing it for her."

"Good."

•••

You squinted at the bright glare that roused you from your sleep. You always close the curtains, it was part of your nightly routine. Why did you forget it this time?

Sitting up, you flopped back down with a deep groan.

Your head was pounding.

Hungover.

You didn't miss this part of drinking at all.

After a few moments, you slowly opened your eyes, the ceiling looking too unfamiliar.

Glancing down, the color of the sheets wasn't the sky blue you recently changed it into. As a matter of fact, that bed was much bigger than you were used to.

This wasn't your room.

In fact, this wasn't your world.

"What did I do?" you whispered, glancing at the nightstand. You saw the tall glass of water first, then the few pills of aspirin.

It was the framed picture that made you realize where you were.

This was Miguel's room.

Memories from last night came rushing in like a train, using your brain as railroad tracks which made your headache worse.

You quickly gulped down the water and meds, throwing the blankets off of you only to flush at the discovery.

Boxer shorts and a huge jacket—you were wearing his clothes.

Stumbling into the en suite, your heart warmed at the extra toothbrush that was already waiting for you.

You quickly made yourself as presentable as possible before making your way to the only place you knew he would be at this time of day.

First to clock in, last to clock out.

The platform was already down when you got there.

It was as if he was waiting for you.

"Morning, sleepy head," Miguel greeted without looking away from the screens.

"Good morning," you responded shyly. You picked at the hem of his jacket, second-guessing your choice of not changing out of it.

You honestly didn't know where to even begin.

As if sensing your discomfort, he turned his chair to face you.

Something flashed in his eyes for a brief moment, something primal as he regarded your figure. It was gone the next second you might as well have imagined it.

"Come here," he murmured, reaching out both hands for you to take.

Walking over to him, you slipped your hands into his, the platform beginning its ascend once you did.

You gasped in surprise when he suddenly pulled you onto his lap.

He placed your hands on his shoulders, his strong fingers curling around your waist.

You couldn't look him far too long in the eyes.

It felt like you'd combust if you did.

"What, now you're shy?" he teased, smirking freely. It was a good improvement, but you didn't know if your heart could take it having him smile at you like that. "You didn't seem to have a problem with this last night."

"Don't remind me," you groaned, hiding your face between your hands.

Miguel chuckled.

God this was so new.

It felt like you were drunk all over again—no sense of what was real and what was all in your head.

But with the soft squeeze on your waist, and the gentle fingers circling around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face, you knew this was as real as it was going to get.

"What else do you remember?" he asked, thumbs drawing random shapes on the insides of your wrist.

You scrunched up your face. "Everything?"

He hummed, leaning a little closer to nudge the tip of your nose with his, urging you to keep your eyes on him.

"I have no idea how to do this…relationship thing. It's been a while," he started, a faint blush on his cheeks that made him so much more endearing. "But I'm willing to try this—with you."

Your heart grew ten times its size, you were sure of it.

"Yeah?"

He nodded, kissing your knuckles. "If you'll let me."

"We'll figure it out together," you said, holding his face in your hands with a smile.

"I'd like that," he whispered, grin turning cheeky. "On one condition."

"What?" Your brows furrowed.

"Morning kisses are mandatory."

You let out a hearty laugh, sound quick to turn into giggles when Miguel pressed his lips against yours.

It didn't take long for things to get heated.

You were picking up right where you left off last night, a little further given that alcohol wasn't in the equation anymore.

Yet with the way Miguel's hands were roaming your body, grabbing and groping whatever he could reach, tongue hot and heavy as it slipped past your lips, his deep groans vibrating against your palms as you rested it on his chest, his kisses moving their way onto the warm skin on your neck, softly nipping, tongue soothing—it was far more dizzying than any modified alcohol and then some.

It was a familiar voice that broke you off this time.

"Ahem! Uh, hello, I'm here!" It echoed from below. "The baby, too, by the way. So make sure you're…uhm, decent when you bring that thing down."

Miguel pulled away with an annoyed groan, eyes landing on the floating figure that appeared behind you.

If he could kill Lyla with one look—

"What?" she exclaimed. "I didn't say anything!"

"She didn't! You guys just weren't particularly…quiet," Peter B. defended on her behalf, chuckling. "And this place has the worst echo."

"Yeah, that's your fault," you whispered against his lips, pecking him one last time before getting off his lap.

He wasn't particularly happy about that either.

You pushed the button before he could say anything, the platform descending, smiling at him all innocent.

"I'm not done with you," he warned, voice deep with lust it made your whole body tingle.

"I'm counting on it." You winked, hopping off the platform before he could even respond.

Mayday landed in your arms before you could take a step.

"Hi, beautiful girl!" you greeted cheerfully, her chubby cheeks lifting as she giggled at you. "

"I wouldn't rush it," you heard Peter say.

"What?" Miguel gritted, still so annoyed.

"I know you're thinking about having a baby with her."

You bit back a laugh.

The utter silence from Miguel made it so much harder.

"You know nothing," he grumbled.

"Maybe," Peter chuckled, patting him on the back. "About time you made your move though."

Miguel grumbled something incoherent and turned back towards the screen.

Still, you caught the smile he was trying to hide.

It made you warm and fuzzy inside.

You walked over to him with Mayday in your arms. "Say hi to Uncle Miggy!"

Always your best accomplice, Mayday made grabby hands at him, blubbering, "Middy! Middy!"

Miguel sighed, carefully taking Mayday from you, before giving her a soft smile—the only other person he wasn't grumpy to. "Hello, peanut."

She giggled in response, climbing onto his shoulders, settling on them with her arms above his head. She always loved being so tall.

Miguel shot you a glare then, no heat to it at all. If anything, it was filled with pure fondness.

You grinned at him.

"You're a bad influence," he whispered to you.

"I don't think I am, Middy," you teased, standing on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his lips.

The way he suddenly turned flustered was adorable.

And when Mayday made a yucky sound, and Peter B. laughed, you knew your work of teasing him for the day was done.

"Come on, bub, let's go get you ice cream," you called, the little girl giggling in delight before jumping into your arms. You sent Miguel a wink before leaving him to deal with his beloved friend's teasing. Peter was practically waiting for this moment.

Many people regretted what they had done while drunk, especially when it involved something embarrassing.

Not you.

You regret nothing at all.

✫*｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading lovely! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated!

✉ NO TAGLIST: go follow @t-lostinlibrary and turn on notifications to get updated on my works!

© t-lostinworlds, 2023 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

#tg&td #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara one shot #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara x female reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara reader insert #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #spider-man: across the spider-verse #atsv #my writing

634 notes · View notes

hotvintagepoll · 1 month

Text

Propaganda

María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.

Frances Farmer (Among the Living)— has multiple songs written about her, a mentally ill icon, sexy as fuck and a feminist icon

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

María Félix:

She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.

"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz

María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.

#frances farmer #maría félix #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman

123 notes · View notes

igotanidea · 1 year

Text

Rom-com, doubts and older brother complex : Dick Grayson x sister!reader

„Hey you, how was the movie?” Dick grinned with the brightest smile upon seeing his sister back from the cinema. Said sister however was far from being happy. “Y/N?”

“Yes? I mean, yes, sure, hi Dickie. It was fine, I guess.”

“Oh no.” he muttered

“What?”

“You got that face.”

“What face?!” involuntarily she glanced at the mirror just to check whether her older brother was serious or just trying to prank her.

“Please tell me you are not psychoanalyzing the movie.”

“Psycho…..? What? Me? Pfff, never.” She scoffed

“Mhm. Sure.”

“I’m sorry, what is your problem here, Grayson?” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance. “Honestly I came home hoping for some peace and quiet and I feel so attacked right now.”

“Are you doing this… what was it called….?” Dick scratched his head searching for the right word “watcher insert!”

“IT’S READER INSERT!”

“Well, it was a movie, so definitely watcher insert. And you practically admitted you do.”

“I DID NOT SAY A THING LIKE THAT!”

“You didn’t have to. Like I said, you got that face.” He shrugged, absolutely not convinced and unimpressed by her yelling.

“Ugh! You are insufferable!”

“Part of my charm, you know that. Now come on, come sit here and tell me what got you spinning, huh? As a big brother…..”

“Please, spare me the talk about oldest sibling and all the duties that come with it. I can handle my own shit.” She hesitantly perched on the armrest of the sofa, but Dick was not satisfied with that and grabbed her by the waist pulling next to him.

“Come on, sis, don’t be stubborn” he pinched her stomach getting a slap on the hand in exchange “that hurt.”

“Serves you well!”

“Ok, I’ll stop. Jokes aside. Get out of that head of yours and walk me through it ‘cause I don’t get it. You went to the movie theatre to have some fun ….unlike someone we know….. and came back stuck in thinking and, let me put it simply, melancholic. Not really a normal reaction after a young adult movie. It’s young adult, right?” he frowned

“You got that one right.” She sighed “I … I don’t really know. I mean, this movie was as cliché as possible and only confirm my belief that it’s not for me.”

“How come?”

“You know… nice girl, A-grade student, not knowing the bad side of life changes the surrounding, most likely moves out of the small town. And in the city, she meets a guy, a well-known trouble-maker and more often than not, a womanizer. Of course, she swears she wants nothing to do with him but after an hour or so, couple of fights and few misunderstanding they end up together, most likely in a X-rated scene. And after another half hour, some family drama or demons from the past emerges, but all ends well and you get those fucking singing birds, shining sun, doves and all that shit. I’m so too old for that. And I think I’m starting to get bored with such films.”

“Are you?” he looked at her carefully, voice turning soft not to startle her.

“Yes.” She made a face at him

“Y/n. You say you hate it, but …”

“Don’t you dare say it!” she jumped on the couch and jabbed his chest “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“I won’t. I’ll leave that to you. Come on, say it out loud so we can process that. No one else is here.”

“I’m sorry, since when are you my therapist?”

“Since Bruce provided all his kids with trauma and forgot to equip them with the specialist to fix it. Say it.”

“I wish I have a cliché love story.” She looked down and hid face in hands because of the embarrassment. “But I’m not exactly a material for it.”

“Why not?” Dick asked, grabbing her hands and making him look at her ‘is it because you have four vigilante brothers? That can go well in a movie.” He grinned “I bet Bruce would love a cinematic work of art about himself. Can you imagine the movie “Batman?” Two and a half hours of him brooding on the screen and saving Gotham, all while looking like a sad, tormented cat” he laughed and waved his hands around

“I got this at the manor whenever I want. And when I don’t want as well. So hard pass on that movie, thanks. Jason would love it though. It would give him an opportunity to point out everything wrong with Bruce. And Tim…”

“Nice try, but stop getting off the track. Why do you think you can’t have a love story?”

“Cause I can’t define myself.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Dick’s eyes widened in disbelief “you think you need to put a tag on yourself? My lovely, crazy, irrational, foolish sister…”

“Look Dick, I’m a mess, all right? I can do hundred different things, but cannot excel in one. I start so many projects I don’t finish. I am disorganized, got plenty ideas per minute and it’s extremely hard to keep up with me. I'm stubborn, hot-headed and always need to do things my own way. ”

“So?” he shrugged

“What do you mean by so?" Y/N frowned "I don’t have routine, and apparently I’m supposed to. I’m not the best version of myself, I hate motivational quotes and I’m not sophisticated or elegant or even close to it. Shit, I hate dresses and skirts, my make-up is limited to the most basic one and I don't feel like I'm woman enough.”

“Ok, stop right there.” He cut her off “that last one is bullshit and as for the rest, why in the world would you think that eliminates you?”

“I… It just does.”

“Why?” he insisted

“will you stop this interrogation! Let me remind you, you are not a cop anymore!”

“Old habits die hard.” He blew a raspberry.

“Be a brother Dick. Sock me for wasting your time or hug me, just don’t do this….”

“Do you need a hug?” he asked opening his arms

“Yes, please” she mumbled, diving into his arms and hiding face in his shirt, smelling that familar scent. “This feels nice.”

“Told ya! Oldest brother. Now, since we are taking the comforting approach to the problem… all the things you mentioned are those what makes you, you. All right, pumpkin?” he bopped her nose “you could adopt someone else’s lifestyle, but would you feel better then? Doing all those things that does not seem like they are yours?”

“No…” she muttered

“See? You just keep doing your thing, ok? Cause when you do something that makes you happy, even if it seems like you’re a mess, you’re just glowing and that is what makes you special, you know.”

“Example?”

“You were writing, last night, and you had that focus and spark in your eyes. Nothing but you and your ideas, put in words on the sheet. You were just beaming. That was you. You don’t need to put a tag on yourself, believe me. It's not a competition or anything.“

"Really?" she pulled back and eyed him, raising one eyebrow "'cause you are absolutely not the one who would join The Bachelor, right?"

"That's irrelevant..." as much as he did not like it, her words made him blush a bit. (did she find that application form he hid under the bed?!)

"Let's agree to disagree" she grinned "I'll importune you for explanation on that matter later. And since we're on the subject, what about....?"

“Do you think me the role model on relationship advice?” he smirked, but a bit of sadness crept in “I made a lot of mistakes and speaking from experience, I can tell you just can’t hurry that. Just keep your mind open?”

"Did you just admit defeat in the romance matter, Dickie?" she mocked.

"Romance? Hell no! Just long-term relation..."

"Don't worry, big brother" she his his shoulder playfully "you keep my secret safe, I keep yours. But still, that’s the worst advice I ever got.”

“Maybe…” he tickled her tummy making poor girl squeal “think Damian would have better one?”

“He’s younger than me, sure as hell I’m not gonna ask him!”

“I’m serious, sis. Once you figure out who you are inside, even if it’s a bit complicated and come to terms with it, everything will fall in place.”

“Still the worst advice ever, but thank you for trying, Dickhead.”

“Doing my best for my little princess.”

“Ugh! Stop calling me that name!”

“You used to like it.”

“I was 7 years old!!”

“All right, fine, hold the fire” Dick raised his hands in surrender “Gosh, for someone who got so much fire inside, you suffer from too little self-value.”

“Four vigilante brothers can do that to a girl.”

“Y/N? I need you to promise me one thing.”

“Shoot.”

“When you get in a relationship you will let me act like big protective brother.”

“You may have to wait a while, but sure, it that’s your dream…”

“How about I play that role in a Nightiwng suit?”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY GRAYSON!”

#batboys x reader #batboys x batsis #batfamily x reader #batsis #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #robin dc #batboys x y/n #batboys x you #batfam x you #batfam #batfamily #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x batsis #nightwing x reader #nightwing x batsis

587 notes · View notes

arabzian · 9 months

Text

DATING TEEN NANAMI

tags: blowjob, fingering, fluff, the reader has a really bad reputation…

- he wasn't sure he was your type, but he still had the courage to take a chance.

- after his piano lesson, he realized that he'd been thinking about you the whole time and decided that tomorrow he'd come and talk to you

- you had a kind of bad reputation in high school, but that never stopped him from seeing what a good person you were

- "hey.." he said as you ate alone in the cafeteria. "I was wondering... would you be free tonight?"

- at first you didn't believe him, you thought he was just trying to humiliate you

- in the end, nanami was actually an extremely thoughtful and kind person

- he ordered you fast-food and you ate in his car, laughing and talking about everything

- he took the opportunity to tell you about the crush he'd had on you all this time - he's so shy, it made you soft.

- in the car, you listened to each other's musical styles: nanami made you listen to rock, you were open to every musical style and it's true that rock was pretty good

- you played him your favorite artist and he surprisingly liked it, even adding it to his playlist

- nanami and you had been dating for a long time, and if there's one thing true about those rumors, it's that you sucked dick so well...

- you loved giving him blowjobs, nanami was really big and thick

- you sucked him when he drove, when he showered, in the morning before he even woke up...

- your mouth around his dick woke him up every morning, the sensation was so incredible and beautiful that he'd grab your head when it was time to cum.

- after a while, nanami would even start to move his hips in your mouth.

- sometimes he'd fuck your pussy, and when it was time to cum, he'd do it in your mouth

- what he liked most of all was that you went at your own pace: sometimes you licked his tip like a little kitten, sometimes you gave him deep throats until the shape of his dick showed through your throat, sometimes you liked to tease him by licking his length until he begged you to put it all in

- nanami didn't feel he deserved to be sucked by such a pretty woman as you

- one evening while you were kissing, you started to give him oral sex and he took the opportunity to finger you

- hearing you moan as you sucked him off made him ejaculate in two minutes.

- he loved you more than anything in the world, your pretty eyes fluttering as you sucked him, the satisfaction on your face when you heard him moan, you were so beautiful

- you're nanami's one and only weakness, he's in love with you and loves you more than you love him

- He works on the side and absolutely every cent of his salary goes to you

- when he sees a trendy item of clothing or make-up on tiktok, he buys it directly to you

- when you go out, he pays

- he pays for your manicures because he loves to see your pretty hands masturbate him

- you should never be ashamed to ask him for something, even the most embarrassing or painful thing he'll agree to do for you

- he came to see Barbie at the cinema with you, dressed in pink like you and enjoyed the film

- he loved to see you smile and laugh throughout the film

- nanami has changed since he's been with you, he's more smiley and social with others

- when he hears someone talk badly about you at school, it automatically ends in a fight

- you were certainly someone with a strong libido but you had never cheated on him, you only had relations with him so the others had no right to speak so badly of you

- you loved being tied up while nanami did whatever he wanted with you

- every part of your body had been covered with his semen

- now he was going in and out of your mouth while you were completely tied up

- he was so fast and excited that he didn't even know how many times he'd ejaculated in your mouth

- you just had your mouth open, your jaw and your breasts dripping with semen

- you'd lost all sense of time and so had he

- "wait..." he withdrew from you and threw you onto the bed. "I swear I'm going to get you pregnant."

- you didn't know what he was talking about, he was currently holding you by the hips and moving violently in and out of your pussy.

- "namin.." you moaned. "let me go.."

- he heard nothing and continued to abuse your poor little pussy while you moaned so loudly that all the neighbors knew you were being fucked.

- you're beautiful..." he said, pausing for a few seconds. He gently caressed your belly, where the shape of his dick was perfectly visible.

- you tried to catch your breath but he bends you over, taking you by behind

- the room were loaded by your moans and lewd sounds of his dick hitting all your spots

- "if I get you pregnant here, everybody will know that you are mine"

- he was fucking you so good that you said yes at everything he said to you

- your brain was numb, you tried to hold the bed’s sheets like you can while he was breaking you in half

- once he came into your pussy, he whispered all smiling "here it goes.."

- he pulled off his dick, you went on all-fours to suck him with all the strength left in your body.

- "good girl." He praised while his cum was still dripping from your pussy

- you loved him so so much, nanami loves aftercares so he brings you a water bottle and some snack for you

- he cuddles with you while caressing your hair

- he felt so blessed to be your boyfriend

(yes everytime I do hcs with him, it contains blowjob bc I love this man ok? I want to give him the sloppiest head ever🫣)

#nanami kento #nanami kento headcanons #nanami kento smut #nanami headcanons #nanami kento imagine #nanami x reader #nanami smut #black reader

334 notes · View notes

lithiumfae · 10 months

Text

✰ Charlie From The Cinema Club ✰

i don’t give any description of reader other than her being a woman, i just added this pic because he looks like such a little loser in it 😭 enjoy <3. the smut felt kinda rushed, sorry :( hoping to hear feedback i’m nervous!!!!!

tags: friends to lovers, ooc robbie??????, sub coded charlie, smut, oral sex.

cw: charlie being kind of a 🚩 (he’s like a crazy obsessed bf), all in all alarming behavior if he were to be a real person. so if you’re uncomfortable w that don’t read <3 it’s nothing too bad though don’t worry, just feel like i needed to say that.

💫 — @quicksilversg1rl @roryculkinsgf @doddernix @milsthouqhts

The cliche of being the new girl came with all that one could expect; the questioning glances from curious people couldn’t wait to see if their first impression was indeed accurate, along with the rumors about the “real” reason she moved towns, and of course which clique was going to take her in.

The cinema club was always looking for new members but the old members tried to steer clear from engaging with anyone that seemed like they had the potential to screw things up. For various reasons but mainly because even though they were a level under the glee club, they were quite selective. Not just anyone was allowed to enter their carefully crafted ecosystem.

Voice traveled fast after she arrived at Woodsboro. The news reaches Charlie’s ears a few days before the school year started. Robbie acting as more of a member of the gossip club also known as the cheerleaders than the cinema club, called him an uneventful Tuesday night.

“Fresh meat,” he said.

Immediately Charlie wanted to laugh. Robbie tended to pretend like he was an expert when it came to women, like he knew how to get girls when that couldn’t be furthest from reality.

“Fresh meat,” Charlie mocked him, making his voice sound nasally. “It’s a girl man, she’s not gonna be too interested in whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

“What? Like you’re a fucking pussy magnet or something.”

“At least I don’t try and fail to get some,” the bickering continued.

Robbie insulted him some more before sighing.

✄

English class.

Having been sentenced by his undying love for Kirby to sit in front of her for years, he found himself yet again listening to her flirting with God knows who via phone call. Jill sat next to him, smiling at her and wiggling her eyebrows to match Kirby's smirk.

He was in the middle of letting out the most eye watering yawn of his life when he felt Jill slap his arm to get his attention.

“What is he doing?”

Robbie being the he in question.

Apparently he was indeed planning on getting with the new girl, if it wasn’t obvious by the way he managed to be the first one to help her find the only fucking classroom with a red door. The little fucker. He hadn’t mentioned the new girl looking like someone dragged her straight out of a fucking– vogue or whatever magazine that’s got the pretty girls on their pages.

They locked eyes and Robbie lifted one hand pointing at Charlie.

“Yo, move.”

What the fuck?

Was their friendship lacking that solid base that made Robbie willing to kick him to the curb just to impress a pretty girl?

“I can just sit in the back…”

“No it’s okay. I’ll take Robbie’s seat,” because fuck him really. He moved his things feeling a bit jittery knowing she was looking at him while he gathered everything.

✄

After a couple weeks of sticking to her like a piece of chewed up gum, Robbie had somehow managed to convince her to join the Cinema Club. It took a lot of begging on his part and Charlie was sure she accepted out of pure pity. Whatever the reason was, now he saw her in class and at club meetings.

Even though Charlie thought Robbie’s approach was rather pathetic, honestly the guy was trying too hard, he couldn’t help but put a little more effort in his looks when he knew her eyes were going to be on him.

One day as they waited for the others to fill the room she asked him, “did you put something on it?” As she looked at his hair.

“Uh– This– yeah! I saw this video of a dude putting like, mousse or something,” he responded. “He said it helped with curls… made them fluffy… yeah.”

“Looks bouncy,” and oh god, he could have died at that very moment.

He cleared his throat trying to ignore the few seconds of silence. She smiled and added, “Do you like your hair long? I noticed Robbie keeps it really short.”

“Yeah he’s lazy like that,” he smiled too when he heard her laugh.

Charlie saw her stand up and start walking to the desk he was resting against. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Yes.”

She grabbed the bag on her shoulder and reached inside it pulling out a piece of paper. “Robbie gave me a list of movies to watch so I wouldn’t be lost when you guys talked about them,” she paused. “But I don’t know where to find them so I was wondering if you could help me with that. I don’t want to ask Robbie in case he gets the wrong idea since we spend so much time together already.”

“Umm, yeah, yeah. I can do that,” he would be a fucking fool if he rejected such an opportunity. He reached a hand to get her to pass him the list, “I think I have most of these at home…” he could feel her gaze on the side of his face. “I could, bring them tomorr– or you could go back to my place after school to pick them up,” she didn’t respond immediately and he realized what it had sounded like. “Not like that! Just– you know…”

“No I know, you’re not Robbie,” and she giggled, fucking giggled. She was teasing him. “Okay Charlie, wait for me after school then.”

✄

She looked out of place in his room.

Like if someone was playing house with only one Barbie and the rest of the things in his room were all from the Transformers universe. Not that Charlie was even slightly similar to Optimus Prime, he resembled a littlest pet shop figurine. If he were to be honest with himself.

“Sit anywhere,” Charlie suggested feeling jittery. She walked to his bed and sat down as she watched him rummage through the pile by his speakers.

He wanted to curl into a little ball and squeal because of how he could feel her gaze burning into his back muscles.

Charlie heard his bed squeak when she moved to find a more comfortable position. “Have you watched all those movies?” She asked, pointing in his direction.

“The ones here,” he patted the pile he was taking CDs from. “The ones I haven’t, are here,” he pointed to the other pile to the right.

“How many movies have you watched?”

“Like, ever?” She nodded. “I don’t know, like, around two hundred? I think?”

“That’s crazy Charlie, Robbie said he’s watched like a thousand.”

Well fuck Robbie.

He forced a laugh, “to be fair Robbie’s got like, a problem or something. I mean, a thousand really?”

As she stood up from the bed she replied, “I’m so relieved you have the movies I need,” and Charlie felt like exploding all over the room when she kneeled beside him on the floor. “I don’t want to be out of the loop,” she smelled like fucking flowers and… sex? No. Too raunchy of a word for a girl like her. Flowers and something alluring. Fucking pheromones.

‘s gotta be.

He was brought back from the brief mind fog he was experiencing when he heard her murmur a “mhm?”

Charlie stared at her with his mouth open for a second, “I’m sorry?”

“Can you hurry? I need to go home in a minute” she smiled. “Sorry.”

“‘s cool,” he reached to the side to grab a random tote bag he could find. “Strict parents?”

“Kinda yeah. I mean it’s only me and my dad so he’s super protective of me.” She moved to help him put the CDs and tapes in the bag, “especially around this time of year when it gets dark early.”

“Lots of creeps hanging around,” he teased her. “I’m joking, probably just Robbie live streaming again. Though I’m not sure what’s worse, a murderer or Robbie.”

She hit his arm while smiling, “he’s not that bad.” She paused. “He’s very nice to me, not creepy at all. He's just… you know, a teenage boy I guess.”

“Yeah.”

“And so are you,” she said as she looked him in the eyes.

A beat of silence. “… and so am I,” he quickly stood up and clapped once. “A teenage boy that will walk you home if you want him to, though.”

Her hand lifted in the air inviting Charlie to help her stand up. “Okay,” she smiled again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

He had never been totally normal in the head, never quite correctly wired.

When he was four he had a stuffed whale he took everywhere with him. They ate breakfast together, it sat on the sink while his mom gave him a bath. He was so attached to it that when the stuffed animal needed to be washed, Charlie cried until his mom let him skip school so he could sit in front of the washing machine and wait for it to be done.

That would serve as a taste of the type of person he would become in the future. Now a senior in high school the only fitting transition from his stuffed whale to a more grown up fixation had to be the girl who was everything he wanted in a woman.

She was gorgeous and she seemed to enjoy spending time with him.

Ever since the day he walked her home Charlie felt on edge. No reasonable explanation to make him feel such an emotion other than the mutual mention they shared every time they had a conversation.

One of his redeeming qualities was his ability to know when the delusions were clouding his judgment. Being self aware comes in handy when one happens to be a social reject. So he knew he wasn’t making it up, he wasn’t imagining it. He wasn’t imagining the way she would let her fingers fiddle with the collar of his shirt as if it was an unconscious action, or how she had wiped a stray eyelash off his face.

The signs were there.

The doubt made its appearance when he asked himself if she was doing it because she did in fact find him attractive or if all the attention she gave him was part of some big plan to humiliate him. After all, he had fallen victim to something similar in the past.

He would set himself on fire if a pretty girl asked him to so he had to be careful.

It was exciting to think she could actually be interested in him. And maybe it was a long shot but fuck, if it didn’t feel good to hope for the best.

If he were to expand on the self aware side of his personality, he would be forced to admit he was quite the obsessive guy. He liked Kirby for years on end, nothing she did or said to him could make him kill his undying love for her. He used to lay in bed and imagine what perfume she liked to wear the most, he would fantasize about how soft her lips would feel against his. He knew what she loved and hated. She liked her hair short and neat, she liked making fun of scary movies and she specially sporty guys with a tan. In short, she hated everything Charlie was so he never bothered.

But he would really fucking love it if this time around things played out differently.

She was not Kirby.

She didn’t make him feel like a tiny ratty chihuahua begging his master for attention. She seemed him out. She asked him questions about whatever shitty movie Robbie told her to watch.

One could think someone treating him like a human and not a bed bug would make him finally snap out of it, that he would stop acting so needy. On the contrary, this girl seemed to have revitalized his psycho tendencies with a spark fueled by pungent desperation.

After about two weeks of befriending her he had started dreaming about her, not wet dreams, he wouldn’t even think about disrespecting her in that way. But every night before going to bed he gets under the covers with a smile plastered on his otherwise blank face, eager to indulge in the mostly harmless pleasure that is to escape to dreamland to experience what he desires the most.

He saw himself doing mundane things.

He takes her to get her done, then they go buy food to have a picnic. They sit on a blanket as they eat fruit, he looks down at her knees and he sees her pants stained green by the grass that surrounds them. They laugh and they kiss, they giggle in each others arms

Some nights he dreams of her running her hands through his hair, he feels the warmth of her fingers on his scalp. In his dreams he doesn’t fear waking up and forgetting what everything felt like, he can allow himself that small pleasure. In his dreams he writes a letter and he reads it to her. When he wakes up he wishes humans were capable of reading while dreaming that way he could replicate said letter. Maybe the words written down contain the key to make her love him.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Word travels fast, but it travels even faster when you have a camera surgically attached to your temple.

The entire day, Robbie had been acting weird, and staring at Charlie, whenever the latter opened his mouth. And because Charlie is a bit of an empath himself, he instantly knew his infatuation had been noticed by his best friend.

“Fuck is wrong with you man,” Robbie confronted him.

Ever the coward, Charlie moved to the side trying to walk closer to the classroom door.

“Charlie.”

“Dude we’re gonna be late.”

There’s not gonna be a club if I kill you right now,” Robbie looked down at him. “Let 's talk.”

“Talk about what?” Asked Charlie, choosing to play dumb.

Robbie furrowed his eyebrows and snorted before looking around in disbelief. “Well I don’t know, maybe we should talk about how you’re trying to steal my girl.”

“What girl Robbie?”

“You knew, you fucking knew about it. I called dibs.”

Now it was Charlie’s turn to snort, “dude. How old are we? Five?” He paused. “She just– I don’t know, she’s fun and she doesn’t look like she wants to die when I talk to her. What was I supposed to do?”

“You’ve liked Kirby for years! Why the change?”

“Robbie it’s not that serious, lower your voice,” people were starting to stare. He saw a couple of girls stop by a locker clearly pretending to look for something just to eavesdrop. “It’s not like she’s with you right now…”

The other boys, through his hands in the air, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I didn’t like– steal her from you or anything,” he grabbed Robbie’s shoulder and smiled. “Maybe I’m just her type man, nothing wrong with you,” he tried to make the joke land but as his friend blinked at him a beat slower that usual he felt a bit more anxious.

“You weren’t Kirby’s type and you’re her type?”

“…Robbie I was joking,” said Charlie with an awkward laugh. His eyes darted around taking notice of the increasing number of people around them.

“Well I’m not fucking joking,” he got closer to his face. “Stay away, I’m being serious.”

So Charlie was left to deal with the stares and the scratchy throat he got every time he felt embarrassed or humiliated.

The encounter was brief but it left him buzzing the rest of the day, people briefly glanced at him with a little smile on their faces as if they knew something he didn’t. As if he wasn’t present when it all went down.

And honestly fuck Robbie for feeling so fucking entitled. What if he liked her knowing Robbie wanted to get with her too? Out of everyone that lived in Woodsboro the one that was the most deserving of having her was Charlie. Nobody else had taken the time to memorize shit about her. They don’t know anything about her.

Charlie does.

In record time he had learned more about her than anyone in her life, that he was sure of. Because Charlie took people seriously.

So who did Robbie think he was?

All his life he had to settle for the bare minimum when it came to girls and the amount of attention they let him enjoy. Even fucking Jill, the only ever girlfriend he’s ever had, kept him as a secret because she was probably embarrassed to be seen with Charlie from the cinema club. In the past after their breakup, he dealt with a lot of anger whenever he started thinking about their relationship. He would wonder how big of a loser Jill thought him to be if she was comfortable letting him interact with Kirby even after knowing that for years he harbored a crush for her. It’s like she knew there was not a chance of him ever cheating. Or maybe she thought Kirby would never look at him twice. Whatever it was, Jill didn’t take him seriously.

There seemed to exist a pattern of people seeing Charlie as a filler character in one of those cringy Disney romance movies. The comic relief if you will.

No one ever made outright mean comments about his appearance or the things he liked, but that wasn’t because they respected him, it had more to do with the fact that his peers saw him as the silly guy. That silly guy you know, the one that wasn’t even worth ridiculing.

He was under the impression that he had found a friend in Robbie. They cheered each other up whenever the way people ignored them became too much. They both liked the same geeky stuff. But he was willing to let go of him if it meant he had a chance with the girl of his dreams.

What the fuck would Robbie even do with a girl like her. He then remembered him saying how annoying it was when girls put that sticky stuff on their lips.

As if he has ever kissed a girl, the fucking virgin.

She was always wearing makeup, she wasn’t the girl for Robbie. He could never learn how to properly be hers. On the other hand, Charlie already was. In body and soul.

So honestly, fuck Robbie for thinking showing his teeth and growling like a rabid dog would be enough to get Charlie to back off.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

He saw her at the end of the school day as he was putting his things in his backpack. She poked her head past the door frame.

“Hey,” Charlie greeted her.

“Hi. Already heard all about what happened,” she said, making a face.

“… yeah. Robbie’s always been a bit of a diva.”

She walked into the room at a slow pace.

“I feel like you were collateral damage. This morning he waited for me outside the school because wanted to talk,” her face looked kinda funny with how serious she was. So unlike her. “Would you believe me if I told you he professed his undying love for me.”

Charlie continues packing his belongings to look like he didn’t care. “How romantic.”

“It was really weird because he was live streaming the whole time.”

“That’s Robbie for you,” he jokingly said.

“Did he do the sa–”

“Oh no, no. He wasn’t live streaming when he tried to bite my neck open.” Charlie heard her laugh and he looked at her. She looked too guilty for someone that hadn’t done anything wrong. For what reason? He wondered. He hoped she wasn’t feeling guilty for rejecting Robbie. “It’s okay he didn’t do anything too bad. I just think he got the wrong idea, you know.”

“Mmm.”

“Because we’re not like that, Robbie’s just fucking crazy.”

He stared at her for a second longer, he noticed she had that snarky little smirk on her face once again. Once again he wasn’t allowed in the running inside joke she was always cheesing about.

“My dad told me to invite you over tonight.”

And she had the nerve to act like that wasn’t a wild thing to say.

“What?”

She laughed, “last weekend we watched two of the movies you recommended and he really likes them. I told him you’re a friend.

He is.

Charlie felt like Hulk Hogan, fight after fight coming his way. Letting Robbie yell at him in front of everyone was light work, but to risk his life by meeting her overprotective dad was a completely different way of self harm.

“I mean… why though.”

“I don’t know Charlie, maybe he was impressed by your taste in movies, you both have the same old man interests.”

“I also told him you were the same friend that walked me home the other day,” she bumped him with her shoulder.

“Did he call me a good boy for doing that?” He joked.

“Something like that,” she lifted a hand to grab a strand of his hair and she lightly pulled. “Come on, it’ll be fun and wholesome or whatever.”

He already knew he was going to accept but he was a little busy freaking out about what to wear or how to do his hair to voice out his answer. Sure his personality was great and he wasn’t sleazy like most guys his age but he was aware that his looks were completely the opposite of what a father would want for his daughter.

He was already thinking that far ahead.

Should he flat iron his hair? Wear a sweater vest?

“Is he gonna fucking shoot me or what?” He tries for a joke, adding an awkward giggle.

“Don’t make it weird silly,” she smiled. “We can watch a movie in my room after dinner.”

And okay, Charlie was what you would call socially inept but even his baby brain was able to pick up blatant offers such as that one.

“With your dad?”

“… no Charlie.”

He watches her exit the classroom leaving him to panic in the confines of his mind. He made his way to his house on autopilot.

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

At first he fully intended to put his hair in a ponytail, he was set on looking as pristine as a seventeen year old boy could look. But as he stares at himself in the mirror the more he realized how a guy that wore a ponytail was definitely not her type.

It made him look like a food delivery guy anyway.

He opted for his usual hairdo. The famous “book that has been read halfway through” Parted down the middle. A button down and khakis, sneakers on his feet.

While he ties his shoelaces he kept thinking back to when he walked her home.

He could see her dads silhouette from afar, he was being illuminated by the lights on the porch. Dude not only sounded scary he was also built like a fucking tank. So Charlie only walked her as far as his faint heart would allow it. Close enough so her dad could see she didn’t walk home alone but not close enough that Charlie could see his face.

He was now wondering if that had been a good choice. What if he gave off cowardly vibes. Which would be a correct assumption but not one Charlie would like to make.

Those few hours before he made his way to her house he moved around in his room like a ghost on debt. His palms clammy.

The final product was the usual Charlie get up plus cologne. Because no man is respectable if he doesn’t smell like a car air freshener personified.

Her dad said a total of five sentences to him the entire evening, but Charlie didn’t sense bad vibes or anything of the sort so he wasn’t too nervous. The only thing that felt mildly threatening were the slaps on the back the man gave him every time Charlie said something a bit funny. His spine and ribs threatened to fall apart after every slap. But hey, he did call him son at least once. A win is a win.

The girl seemed to be a fucking witch or something. It was like she had swapped here dad for a humanoid alien because soon after dinner she had reminded him of the groceries he needed to buy for the birthday party of one of his colleagues at work (Charlie wasn’t entirely sure, he was too busy staring at her tomato sauce stained lips), and her had just stood up and left. He left them home alone.

He dared leave his beautiful teenager daughter home alone with a dude that even knew the perfume she wore. Granted he wasn’t aware of said fact, but still.

Charlie counted his blessings.

She walked her dad to the door and he left after telling her to lock the door until he came back. Charlie would try to make an analogy about him leaving his daughter trapped with a lion inside the house if it wasn’t for the fact that he felt like the prey.

When she came back he was sitting on the couch with his hands under his thighs.

“…so.”

“…so,” she mocked him with a silly voice. “Charlie, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

She waved her hand signaling him to scoot over to make space for her to sit down. “Are you and Jill still together?”

“Wha– what the fuck– who told you about Jill?”

“Is that a yes?”

He stood up from the couch as if it was burning him, he knew his failed relationship with Jill was going to come back and bite him in the ass. “No, what? We– not… anymore.”

“Okay, calm down Charlie,” she was quick to smile and pull him by the arm. “Just that it would be really awkward if I had been imagining it all.”

Imagining what.

“Imagining what,” he repeated out loud.

“Imagining us flirting like middle school kids for like the past, two weeks?”

He wasn’t sure if he was about to pee or explode all over the living room. He had a plan and timelines to follow until he was ready for his feelings to be out in the open like this.

“Ah… Th– I’m not with Jill anymore.”

She pulled at his arm again and he sat back down. “I’m sorry, just that I’m trying to figure out if you were secretly a player all along.”

He laughed. “Definitely not a player.”

“Robbie told me.”

“Man fuck Robbie,” he paused. “I could tell you so many things about Robbie.”

She moved even closer to him and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Charlie I don’t care about Robbie,” she made another move on him and grabbed his sweaty hand. “Don’t think too much about it, I orchestrated this whole fucking thing just to get my dad out of the house tonight.”

He looked down at his lap. “I’m so confused right now.”

“How long do you think it takes someone to buy groceries and birthday balloons?”

“I’m a virgin.”

“Charlie I know!”

“You know?”

She giggled as she tucked one of her legs under herself, touching Charlie’s thigh with hers. “Look at you Charlie, of course I know.”

“Did Robbie–?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, yeah.”

She hadn’t let go of his hand so she dragged him with her when she laid back on the couch. He awkwardly tried to get comfortable in between her legs.

Looking down at her he wondered if all the trials and tribulations he had endured were needed to be able to see such a woman gazing up at him. Her hands always seemed to find themselves worrying with his untamed hair, she was pushing it back, away from his face.

“I don’t mind it,” she said.

“Huh?”

“I don’t care that you’re a virgin, it’s kind of charming actually.”

If it was said by anyone else he would have taken it as mocking, but she had never looked down at him for stuttering or sometimes avoiding eye contact.

“I’m about to be really charming. I don’t know what the fuck to do,” he noticed her eyelids sparkled under the pendant lamp hanging over them. She was so dreamy he would believe her if she told him they naturally did that and that it wasn’t make up.

“As long as you don’t think about Jill while kissing me…” she teased him.

He hovered his lips over hers before whispering, “never.”

They kissed and it wasn’t something cheesy and corny like you hear kisses be described in the movies, no sparkles or fireworks being set off. Instead Charlie felt hot all over and he had to cut the kiss short to take a deep breath. He noticed her moving her gaze all over his face.

“Again?”

“Yes please.” He replied.

He was supporting his weight on his forearms and she had one of her hands on his shoulder while the other one rested on the side of his neck. They kissed again and he was so aware of everything happening at the moment, he tried not to breathe too much on her face, he didn’t want his arms to give out and to squish her. Too much happening all at once, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He felt the corners of her lips curving up when she noticed him pulling away for a second to catch his breath. If it wasn’t for the suffocating heat that was located in his pants he would describe the make out session as overall quite wholesome.

Next time he pulled away she held his face with both her hands, “you’re all red.”

“Oh yeah, it happens.”

“When you kiss Jill?”

He tried not to laugh but he couldn’t hold his smile so he retaliated by tickling her. He dived in again with more confidence now that their lips had warmed up against each another. His arms not being used to exercise or effort of any kind were starting to go numb so he moved to lay on his side. She was quick to get comfortable and mirrored his position all without stopping their kissing.

Feeling the tiniest bit bolder, Charlie grabbed her thigh and made her position it over his waist. He wanted her to consume him whole. The hair on his hairline was starting to stick to his forehead, and of course she noticed this.

“Are you hot?”

“A little yeah.”

Her hands pulled at the collar of his button down, “take it off.” She helped him slide it down his back and she threw it under the coffee table, the rush of it all made him laugh. “Not that I don’t like this but I really want to get to the good part.”

“Th– yeah, yeah. Cool. Okay.”

Whenever he felt uncertain about something he chose to copy what others around him were doing, the same thing was happening at that moment. He rose up with her and he watched her slip her clothes off.

She started by standing up and unbuttoning her pants and sliding them down her thighs, he watched her as she rushed to get rid of them. When she noticed he wasn’t moving she looked at him and said, “come on Charlie. You want me to undress you too? Like a little baby?”

“Yeah, no, sorry.”

She softly laughed and helped him with his pants anyway. And god, Charlie could have burst into flames from the sheer panic and excitement he felt when her hands made contact with the skin on his legs.

“I don’t– fuck I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do,” he lamely tried to excuse himself.

She seemed to ignore his words and didn’t bother to acknowledge them, she stood in front of him almost completely naked– she had kept her bra and her flowy blouse. As he paused for a second to take in the sight in front of him he let himself put his panic aside. He had gotten this far so she was clearly into him, he doubted his lack of experience was going to be a turn off.

Taking advantage of the moment of confidence he reached to touch her waist weakly pulling her towards him.

She moved to straddle him, “I know, I don’t care.”

They kissed again but this time around she moved from his lips all the way down his body. Her hands found his cock before her lips reached it.

“Woah– what, wait you don’t have to.”

“I kinda do, I don’t have lube. Do you?”

“Of course not, sorry.”

And fuck, during all the time he had known her he had never dared fantasize about her in any sexual scenario so he had nothing to compare to what he was seeing. She stopped for a second to just look at him. The view was downright sinful. Her precious face looked all different types of beautiful. Innocent, her eyes seemed glossy and alert. Expectant, for what was to come. And aroused, for what she was about to do.

“Don’t pull my hair,” she said.

And he wasn’t even thinking about doing it, how could he, when it was her job to pull his. The only one allowed to mess up anyone’s hair was her.

Instead he rested his arms on the backrest of the sofa. It felt programmed, the way he threw his head back the moment he felt the suffocating heat around his cock. He almost closed his legs on instinct.

“Ah–!” He moaned.

He knew she was only doing this to get him wet enough so they could fuck but he hoped she’d let him experience these feelings again sometime in the future. His own hand around his cock didn’t feel even remotely similar to the engulfing pleasure he felt all over his body, he thought nobody could compare to his own hands, after all who knew him better than himself? Oh but how wrong he was.

Attempting to regain some composure he tried to distract his mind by looking around the room, then down his body. The little makeup she was wearing on her lips was smeared down his chest and the marks disappeared before they reached where her lips currently were.

A failed attempt it was.

Her wet lips and the sounds they were making around him made him feel the pleasure from the tips of his hair down to his toes, it was strange and unlike anything he had ever felt.

She squeezed one of his knees before pulling him out of her mouth and going back to straddle him.

“I’m scared my dad is gonna knock on the door any moment now,” she said before coughing and when he looked at her lips he saw there was spit all around them so he wiped it with his thumb. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

And for a moment she looked the tiniest bit embarrassed, Charlie wasn’t going to let that happen.

“It’s been forever for me you know,” she laughed and went in for a kiss but she stopped before their lips connected. “What?”

“Guys don’t like to kiss after you blow them.”

And that made no fucking sense to him, what. “Just kiss me, I’m scared, if you don’t kiss me I’ll die,” he joked.

“I like you a lot Charlie.”

He giggled like a fool so he covered his face with his hand. “Yeah.”

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

For the first round she rode him because he could not, for the love of god, get the hang of it quick enough. He lasted for all of five minutes. With his ears still ringing from his orgasm he almost had a heart attack when they heard someone yelling outside.

Thanks to whatever higher power there was, it wasn’t her dad doing a war cry getting ready to kill Charlie.

“Neighbors,” she said, laughing in his face.

“Stop laughing. My dick almost went inside my body.”

Her loud laugh made his ears hurt a little but the joy he was feeling drowned any existing annoyance. “That would be bad because how would you fuck me again before my dad gets home?”

“What? Like, now?”

“Yes, now dummy,” she laid her back on the couch before she continued, “but I’m exhausted, let’s do it like this.”

“Okay… kinda like what you did but, like this. Okay. Yeah. I can do it.”

It was simple really. It was nothing but a change of angles. Yes.

They were both equally as sweaty but unlike Charlie she looked alluring with the small droplets of perspiration littering the expanse of her chest. He couldn’t help himself, his head lowered over the apex of one of her breasts. A bit shy at first, he left a peck there. Her skin felt feverish.

Her soft moan encouraged him to indulge in his desire to keep doing that for a bit longer but on her other breast. This time he licked her nipple and like clockwork her fingers rushed to tangle themselves in his hair.

“Fuck.”

“This okay?” He whispered. She hummed letting him know her answer was positive so he continued. He only let up when the skin around her nipples looked pinkish and closer to painful than tender.

“Wrap your legs around me, help me,” she obliged, drawing him closer to her. He went in for a kiss to get rid of the nerves he felt right before sliding inside her.

They moaned in unison. Waiting to get his confidence back he let himself stare at her yet again.

“What?” She asked, moving her head to the side, as if to avoid his gaze.

“You’re just really fucking pretty. I haven’t had the time to freak out,” at his words she looked back at him and she caressed his face with her hand. Before adding to what he had said he grabbed one of her knees to start moving, “I’m so happy.”

It all felt so domestic, the chatter while he lazily thrusted, the way they were smiling at each other, he loved it.

They didn’t talk for a brief while.

Charlie had a lot more control like this, now both of his hands were resting on the back of her thighs and he was thrusting with more of a rhythm. The sounds both of their bodies combined made were so flustering, wet and arousing. His cock had never felt quite like this, he honestly thought he could go for hours if it wasn’t for the impending doom of her dad’s arrival.

“Can I– Can I go faster please?” He waited for her to nod before putting more of his weight on his hands to be able to fuck her with more force.

He slid in and out in a frenzy, he felt like he would die if he stopped to take a breather, the sound of her loud moans were not helping at all. Now he couldn’t stop staring at her pussy and the way it glistened with their combined slick, the sight was sure to plague his mind in the days to come.

He never thought he would be allowed to fuck the girl he had been obsessing over for weeks. He no longer would have to imagine what her skin smelled like, or how she would move her lips when they made out. He knew now. This was the equivalent of having your third eye open.

“Fuck Charlie!”

“Yeah baby?” He laughed. “Can I call you that?”

“You can call me anything I don’t fucking care, just keep fucking me.”

He paused for a second before replying, “then, can I call you mine?”

She stopped mid moan to laugh out loud and squeeze his cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Ah, Ah–” his pants filled the room.

“Charlie I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop.”

His thrusts were becoming weak due to the fatigue in his legs so he went back to supporting his weight on his knees. “Can you turn aro–” before he finished his sentence she was already moving. And fuck, her face was pretty to look at but her ass was going to haunt his dreams until the day he died.

“Come on, fuck me.”

And even though Charlie was a virgin, painfully so, he always preferred to watch shitty porn if the couples in the videos were doing it doggystyle. Something about being able to grab a woman’s hips with more strength aroused him more than anything.

He made quick work of sliding back inside her and this time he didn’t wait for her signal to start moving. For just a moment he let himself forget all about being Prince Charming and he allowed the more animalistic and primal side of him to come outside to play. His hips collided with her plush ass making loud sounds, the unmistakable singsong of just two passionate lovers blinded by the suffocating heat of their linked bodies.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ah! Charlie!”

“I know,” his voice came out whiny and desperate in tone. He wasn’t sure who was going to be the first one to let the tears flow down their cheeks. He felt like sobbing because of the overwhelming pleasure and other more innocent feelings in his heart. “Fuck I think I love you, what the fuck.”

His words seemed to make way for her pending orgasm from minutes ago before they changed positions. Her torso lifted up away from the couch and bumped into Charlie’s chest.

The sudden movement along with the cold feeling on his legs made him look down once again, he saw her leaking on his legs. Good god. “Sorry,” she tried to apologize when she noticed him with his head down.

“You keep on getting better huh?” Charlie rested his forehead on her shoulder. “You’re so fucking sexy, I’m going insane.”

They took a few seconds to catch their breath. She weakly massaged his scalp with her fingers. Charlie lifted his head from her shoulder to ask for a kiss.

“Pull out.”

“Mmm…” he groaned.

“Don’t be dumb, pull out so I can jerk you off. My dad’s been away for like an hour now,” He groaned again just to be funny. “Come on.

The sound her pussy made when he pulled out was nothing short of obscene. They were all sticky and sweaty. A mixture of bodily fluids that if it had been anyone else, Charlie wouldn’t have wanted them to touch his still hard cock.

She chose to sit on the carpet between his legs, the exhaustion was starting to catch up to her as well as she rested her face on her knees.

“It kinda hurts,” he said.

“Let’s make it stop then, yeah baby?”

At that he didn’t even bother voicing out his response, he just stared at her with her mouth open like he was trying to catch flies.

This time she didn’t need to add saliva to make the glide more pleasant, her juices had already taken care of that. Her hand closed around him and he felt like a virgin all over again, he was never going to get used to all her body parts touching him.

It didn’t take long before he lost control of his limbs, he was hunched over, gripping the couch cushions to keep himself from touching her as he didn’t want to bother her in any way.

“Ah– gonna cum,” he whined, his voice going higher than usual.

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my fist?” He nodded like a dumb puppy. “Go on then. Don’t want my dad to find us like this right?”

“No baby, no. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” The tip of his cock was a painful red shade almost purple, he had been hard for far too long. “Ah– Please, it hurts.”

“I’m not doing anything to stop you.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, fuck,” one of his hands was hanging in the air, clenching on nothing. She saw it and linked their hands together. He was looking at her so intently waiting for her to get the words he was trying to say, he nodded, his eyes glossy with tear.

“Wanna kiss me?”

“Uh-huh,” he dumbly said, nodding again. And as they kissed for the hundredth time that night she sped up the speed of her other hand.

His cum slid down her closed fist and he felt the tears he was holding in slide down his cheeks, wetting her face too in the process. She kept kissing him until he had stopped whining and panting so desperately.

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

“Dad is gonna think an earthquake hit while he was gone,” she joked once they had parted.

Confused Charlie asked, “huh?”

“Look around, everything is messy. And my hands are all dirty.”

“Not only our hands, we’re all sweaty.”

“Right but we don’t have time to shower,” she pushed his sweaty and tangled hair away from his face. “So you’re gonna put your clothes back on and pretend nothing happened, like a good boy. Yeah?”

“…yeah,” he replied after a pause. “Like a good boy.”

“And I’m gonna do the same and wipe my hands clean with a napkin.”

It was like she had flipped a switch. In a quick moment she had changed back to the sweet girl he knew. Gone was the sex goddess he saw while cumming his brains out.

He did what she told him to do and also fixed the cushions on the couch. He watched her move around the living room like a working bee. Moving things here and there. He closed his eyes for a few minutes and when he opened them again she was standing in front of him holding a hair brush for him to grab.

“You look like you were electrocuted,” it was kind of silly the way he was back to feeling self conscious the moment he was fully clothed again. Like the angel she was, she noticed him looking a bit embarrassed so she added, “it’s cute Charlie.”

He smiled.

“Just that you can’t look like that when my dad is right outside the door.”

“What!?”

His scalp was on fire because of how quick and rough he brushed his hair to get it tangle free, all the while she laughed at him on her way to the door. Charlie discreetly whipped his face with his sleeve, just in case.

Her dad walked inside the house holding bags and bags of groceries. Charlie felt like making a run for it and just pushing the man aside to escape. For some stupid reason he felt like her dad somehow knew what they were getting up to while he was gone.

Once her dad carried all the groceries inside the house he put them on the kitchen counter and shouted, “Kids?”

Charlie almost pooped his heart out.

“Why are the windows open?”

Charlie looked at her in panic, she ignored him choosing instead to walk to the kitchen. “There was a cockroach flying around and Charlie helped me get rid of it. Huge thing. Really, I almost cried dad.

And the man laughed as he spoke loudly for Charlie to hear, “thanks kid, this girl is terrified of those. You’re a lifesaver.”

“… yes sir. Anytime… anytime.”

#charlie walker #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker x you #scream 4 #rory culkin

401 notes · View notes

ginsakatoki · 2 years

Note

Heeeey, welcome to DMC fandom! Can I request general relationship headcanons for DMC boys? Just some fluffy stuff, like what kind of dates they are into, what kind of partner each of them are, into PDA or not, etc. But it's all up to you :)

Thanks in advance!

Hey there! I’ve actually been lurking in the fandom for a couple of years and only recently decided to write about it. Thank you for this request and enjoy!

gif by @rainbow-cadenza

• I mentioned in a previous headcanon of mine that despite his loud personality, Dante is actually a shy lover. By this I mean: at first Dante will take quite a long time to acknowledge and address his feelings and even more to actually ask you out. You’ll need to be patient with him because he’ll shamelessly flirt as a joke but get flustered if you flirt back. Or expect you to understand that if he is standing next you in a specific way, he’s flirting for real and not joking.

Expert at not taking the hint. He’s used to people and things wanting to kill him so there is no way you’re interested in him that way, right?

He’s a weird unblended mix of an experienced womanizer and a teenager that has no idea what he’s doing.

It will be awkward at first not gonna lie.

When you manage to become a couple though, it becomes much much easier. All of a sudden all those weird moments and interactions vanish and the relationship starts flowing like you’ve always been by each other’s side.

Dante would want to go out on a date at least once or twice a week. He’s one of those guys that pretend not to want to be around their S/O all the time, but actually do. (He acts like a sad puppy when he doesn’t).

That said, due to his lack of money, he would prefer simple dates over anything else. A walk in the park, window shopping or cheap dates like cinema and bowling.

He’s a sucker for mundane things. His life is full of adrenaline rushes and violence so he truly cherishes the few moments of daily life he gets. This, however, doesn’t mean he’ll just settle for calm activities. He would definetely drag you to an amusement park at least once to go on rollercoasters.

If you don’t handle scary stuff well, be ready because he’ll force you to go to haunted houses or watch horror movies just so you can cling to him and tease you about it.

He’s a really fun partner to be with and he feels more like a friend you can go on adventures with than a safe home to return to.

He’s very protective of his loved ones so if you were ever in a pinch, he would come help you out any way he can. He’s not very book smart though, so you might not want him to help you with your studies.

His love language is physical touch so he loves, and i mean, loves PDA. He doesn’t care if other people are staring, let them be. If he wants to kiss you, he will. If he wants a hug, he’ll get it. No questions asked.

When walking in public he always has his arm around your shoulders, hips or holding your hands. He wants to feel you by his side, especially since he never knows whether it might be your last.

When holding hands, he runs small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. It feels very intimate to him.

He adores kisses. Mouth, forehead, cheeks, neck, hands, wherever. He loves it.

Speaking of kisses, he is very intense when he kisses you. His lips will blend on yours stealing your breath away and he’s greedy, so he’ll always ask for more.

"Just one more… No no that didn’t count, one more"

Cuddles on the sofa are a must. He is a literal human heater so he’ll gladly warm you up in winter.

If you tend to have cold hands or feet he will warm them up for you but you have to warn him first.

That one time you put your cold feet on his legs without telling him first he literally screamed.

gif by @CAPCOM

Vergil is a cold and diffident man. It will take him a long time to trust you and if he develops feelings for you, he’ll be in denial for the longest time. When he accepts his feelings, however, he won’t act on them and would consequently become grumpier with everyone. There would be a huge contradiction between what he feels and his behavior.

He might look at you like he wants to kill you and be thinking that you look very pretty with the clothes you’re wearing, for example.

His inner struggle wouldn’t really be caused by a disgust for feelings rather his intrusive thoughts take control and start sabotaging him. For example he might believe that no one would ever love him so he isn’t allowed to love anyone. Or that he doesn’t deserve happiness because of all the pain he’s inflicted on others.

He would start ignoring you and crave your presence. If he saw you at Devil May Cry, he would go the other way but stay close enough to be able to see you.

Things would change if you asked him if he hates you. It is obvious to him that the answer is no and that his behavior is clearly misguiding you so he would try to be around you more.

Communication about feelings with Vergil is complicated so it seems unlikely that he’d confess them and get into a relationship. It’s more likely for you two to slowly get closer to each other until you both realize you’ve been acting like a couple without explicitly saying so.

It starts with Vergil always be around for one reason or the other.

“That seems heavy, I’ll take it for you.”

“I just had a commission nearby, that’s all.”

“Didn’t know you would be here” “Vergil… I work here”.

He gets so flustered it’s cute. He turns away immediately though, so you never truly see him blush.

Like Dante, he likes mundane life so he loves walking around the city with you, going to theatres and museums and, obviously, visiting libraries and bookshops.

He doesn’t speak much but he listens to everything you say and remembers every little thing. There’s a book you mentioned you like? He reads it and tells you his opinion. There’s an event you keep forgetting about? He reminds you of it, and so on.

His love language is complicated to pinpoint. I’m pretty sure he loves physical touch but, being the touch starved man he is, too much of it would make him short circuit. Same with words of affirmations. He grew up surrounded by hate so loving words are new to him, they would make him feel vulnerable and he hates that.

It would take a lot of trust and time but he would learn to love cuddle time on the sofa or on the bed. He would even find comfort in laying on you and hearing your heartbeat.

Vergil as a partner would show his vulnerability to you and you only once he truly trusts you as in: he will allow himself to cry in your presence, but don’t expect him to allow you to see him cry. He will hide his face on your shoulder or keep his back turned on you.

Besides his hurtful past and his feelings, Vergil worships you. You see in his eyes how much he cares for you, suddenly his grey eyes don’t seem so cold anymore. His touches are very light and delicate like he’s afraid to hurt you.

Not his kisses. He usually has a lot of self control around you, but when he kisses you it all vanishes. They’re deep and passionate, like he’s trying to merge his soul to yours, and will hold you impossibly close. Because they’re so intense, kisses with Vergil aren’t that common and they definitely don’t happen in public.

PDA is a big no for Vergil. What’s between you two is no concern for other people and, as such, it must stay indoors. He will allow you to hold his hand or circle your arm around his but he won’t initiate.

Overall Vergil is a man you’ll need a lot of patience with but he will make sure you feel as loved as he feels.

gif by @BlinchixOfRivia (Tenor)

Out of the three Nero is the most normal when it comes to relationships. If he’s interested he will show it, spend time with you and ask you out on a date. He’s pretty straightforward and honest so you really won’t have problems understanding if he likes you or not.

He’s had experience in relationships before with his ex-girlfriend Kyrie (they’re still on good terms) so he knows how to act around a lover and is not the least worried about his feelings.

Despite acting and looking like a punk, Nero has a clean and mostly sorted out inner world. He has his good amount of issues, obviously, but at least he isn’t as emotionally constipated as his father and uncle.

When in love, Nero smiles and laughs much more than usual which makes his interest pretty obvious.

He has a specific tone he only uses with his S/O and I think that’s beautiful. It’s not really a puppy or lovesick one but his normally gruff voice becomes gentler and his words soft-spoken.

Nero would most likely enjoy going on interactive dates like cinema, concerts, skating or paintball.

Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT go to watch horror movies with this man. He might be a devil hunter but he’s terrified of ghosts. He will scream the girliest scream you’ll ever hear and tell everyone it was you.

Dates with Nero are pretty frequent and spontaneous, but he’d like to go on a fancy date either once every two weeks or once a month. He likes eating good food and wants to spoil his partner.

During normal dates he probably takes the two of you to eat at Taco Bell or something.

He’s not exactly romantic or one for cliches so you’ll never see him serenade you or buy you flowers, but he’ll always show he cares in his way. For example he will always bring you a snack at work or help you clean your apartment.

His love languages are acts of service and quality time. He isn’t the best with words and physical touch is pretty neutral to him.

He doesn’t mind PDA, he’ll honestly go with the flow. If you like PDA he will drap an arm around your shoulders, hold you close to him and occasionally kiss your forehead. If you don’t, he’ll just hold your hand or pinky finger.

Inside jokes. A lot of inside jokes. People might say something about shoes and you’d start laughing for apparently no reason after throwing a look at each other.

He gives the best hugs, whenever you’re sad or not feeling well he just grabs you and hugs the problem away. You’re actually surprised by how well it seems to work everytime.

Being in a relationship with Nero means having Nico tease you all day, all week. They’re a 2 for 1 deal. You might be casually speaking or joking that she would come out from nowhere and tell you to go get a room.

Arguments with Nero happen pretty often because he has a short temper. However you found a nice way to end them quickly: pillow fights. Whenever you see that you’re having a disagreement you both grab a pillow and start hitting the other while stating out one of the reasons you are right. The one who wins the pillow fight, wins the argument.

Obviously, if it’s about an important matter, you’ll be responsible and talk it out as calmly as possible.

Some people see your relationship as childlike or teenage-like but it’s really healthy and it works for you, plus they don’t know how serious both of you can be about it.

Kisses with Nero are always surrounded by giggles, for some reason. You have so much fun with each other that even kisses can’t seem to be serious.

One of your favorite activities together is playing videogames. You once showed him Mario Kart and now he’s obsessed. Every Sunday you must have a Mario Kart tournament or he will get grumpy.

You’re the only person he doesn’t mind losing to.

Thank you for reading this, let me know what you think about it! I ended up writing a lot about this lol.

950 notes · View notes

sciderman · 10 days

Note

Sci ngl i assumed you were a cis gay dude back when i was obsessively reading your spiderpool stuff as a teenager. I’m a gay trans man and your comics always felt like a warm hug, truly my comfort doom scrolling — so it’s kinda nice to find out we’re more similar than id thought

bless you anon!! it's a pleasure having you, and i'm so, so glad my comics can be a cozy comfort for you!! kissing you so sweetly

you know, it's kind of funny, i've had an overwhelming response of people who've said they've just assumed i was male by the vibes i radiate and i'm not entirely sure what it means. i'm know you all mean it very reaffirmingly but it leaves me with a lot of questions. like, questions that i want to do further research into.

is there a masculine dialect? like how there are regional dialects? is that a thing? i kind of want to study this now. can you tell someone's gender by the way they talk like you can tell where they're from? that is so cool if it's true. how do you type like a man. what should i look for? i don't know if i've ever assumed someone's gender by the way they type. i just look at their bio and it usually says. and i kind of don't think about it when i type. i type like me. but – i think maybe i pick up the way that i talk from the media i consume (comic books) which is kind of overpoweringly male. overpoweringly populated by male characters, and written by men, y'know.

i think the way i type here on @sciderman is probably softer and more femme than the way i write on the ask-blog. on the blog when i'm answering things as Mod i kind of intentionally mimic the tone-of-voice that marvel editors use. that's an intentional choice. so - when you read what i write here it's closer to my real voice, but over on ask-spiderpool i'm putting on an act. i try to sound like a marvel editor. i call you all True Believers! it's all a persona. i think one of the things that's my strength in writing is falling into voices - i think i could be an excellent ghostwriter, if i needed to be. so very crafty at mimicry.

as a kid i always, always always would mimic the characters i liked from the movies we watched whenever i came out of the cinema. i remember doing that all the time. and it was always boys. (except frenchie from grease. she was my one female gender icon. god everyone hated me for that one. i loved doing the voice. wanted to be her so bad. wanted the pink hair. everything.)

you know,, even now The Very First thing anyone asks me when they meet me is where my accent is from, because nobody believes i'm native to london. it happened today (twice). the way i talk is a little weird. my response,, off the bat,, it's because i watched too many cartoons growing up. so,, i guess maybe i idolised too many masculine role models, and probably didn't have enough female role models. i liked the boy movies better than the girl ones. i spent more time with my dad than i did with my mom. my mom wasn't a good role model. dad says that's probably why i didn't want to be a woman. i didn't have a good role model. (sorry mom). (he's right). all kinds of variables here. i kind of want to do research into it. also i should talk to a therapist.

#sci speaks #i remember talking to someone about wade's gender feelings and how they're a result of trauma with his mother's death etc etc and.#they said it was bad of me to write that. like it's a cliché and he doesn't need trauma to feel that way. and i think that's true. but.#trauma does impact things like this.#it's just a sad truth. some quirky little bits of your identity probably do come out of some freudian thing. some childhood trauma.#some detail about your relationship with your parents.#shut UP freud stop being right about things. you suck!!!!

44 notes · View notes

agendabymooner · 9 months

Text

cinema ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc) — mdni

“it’s you. don’t know why but it feels so right for me.”

summary: a breakup can lead to a loss of a part of one’s identity, and sylvie and max were alright with that. (1)(2)(3)(4)

content warning: use of explicit language, mention of mental health issues and lack of sleeping, light smut/suggestive content (i can’t write for shit), mentions of loss of virginity, mention of past!ofc x the weeknd (toxic breakup, cheating storyline), chatfic + fic, mature content under the cut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

note: yo girl is going to the 2024 canadian gp 😩 there will also be a charles leclerc piece otw but i just need to put out my cracked out thoughts into it. also, i can’t write smut so there will not be any extremely graphic details in this chapter. this doesn't mean that i am encouraging people to read it at their own risk so MINORS DNI :)

masterlist

september 2016

Everyone in the Red Bull area knew the reason why Sylvie was often found crying in Daniel Ricciardo’s drivers room during her breaks. Well, everyone but Sylvie. She lived to blame herself for the downfall of what she thought was a great relationship.

They were reaching the sixth month and if it hadn’t been for Abel’s cheating, then maybe— MAYBE Sylvie would continue to pursue what she had with him.

Everyone thought Abel was a fool. Sylvie hadn’t done anything but be a good person, a loyal girlfriend. Why did he let another woman warm the bed that they shared?

Because she spent more time with Max than she had with him. That’s what he said. When she found him in his flat and asked what the hell was going on, Abel yelled at her for not going home. He screamed that she was doing it first with her “fucking best friend.” He didn’t even know the rough past between the two; he only knew Max’s name and had seen their childhood photos. So much for someone who had been dating her for five months.

Instead of fighting back, she cried. Her feet stood there as her sobs became a plea to let her inside once he kicked her out. She looked so pathetic.

It didn’t stop her from working, though, and Christian Horner couldn’t be more wrong when he previously said that she wasn’t emotionally prepared for work.

Her work kept her mind occupied throughout the Hungary race. From sending emails back and forth with her model agency to attending sponsor dinners, her mind never stopped running until she was able to get some sleep.

Because truthfully, she really wasn’t able to sleep. She only relied on chamomile tea then pretended that she was refreshed from the night before.

Her family had tried to get some word out of her about the break up, but she refused to say anymore. Toto did say that Abel had a bad aura within him, yet Sylvie knew that her in-law wasn’t about to tell her that “I told you so.” Stevie definitely called Abel out on his bullshit one night when she came across him at a bar in LA. Tilly merely comforted her without a word. Other than that, Sylvie never said anything about it— her eyes were focused on the racing team and the drivers.

The night before the race, she found Max standing in front of her hotel room. Her bloodshot eyes were evidence of her sadness and exhaustion, but it wasn’t as if she could easily close the door on him to hide it away. He was persistent and would most likely bring Lando here if it means that he would be able to get in.

The Dutchman stood there with a tray of macarons and another tray with cups of tea. “Chamomile,” it said on both tea bags. His accent was laced with concern as he spoke, “I know you haven’t had the greatest weekend yet. I had to beg my PR manager to find me a pastry shop for these.”

And so they sat on the love seat quietly, Easy A playing on the television while they both munched on the last two strawberry macaroons and sipped on their tea.

“He blamed me, you know?” Sylvie chuckled bitterly, her eyes still trained on Emma Stone’s makeover scene as the character continued ripping fabrics off in rage. I should do that, she told herself. She could see in her peripheral vision that Max looked at her, leaving her to say, “Said I spent too much time with you. That I slept with you first.”

“Blue—“ Max tried to speak, but she continued regardless.

“Which is kind of rich of him,” Sylvie shook her head, reaching out on the tray to eat the matcha flavoured macaron next. She bit on it and said, “Considering that I never had slept with anyone I spend my time with. Let alone sleep with anyone.”

“I don’t recall sleeping with anyone, too,” Max made things lighter as he joked, “I would have remembered otherwise.”

“Man,” Sylvie sighed and slumped against the loveseat, “had I known that men would be like that, then I would’ve ditched him immediately.”

Sylvie knew that whatever she did with Max the moment he came inside the hotel room made her realize her worth. What was it about her childhood friend that made her think the other way?

Everyone did say they were connected one way or another. She didn’t know how and he didn’t know either; but everyone insisted they were soulmates. One soul in two different bodies. She knew him as much as he knew her. She always had similar thoughts and feelings shared with him, and not once did he ever go against that idea. He pushed her, in fact.

“Not men,” Max laughed quietly, “boys. Men learn. Boys are still in the process of doing so.”

“Didn’t you just hit puberty two months ago?” She joked.

“Didn’t you?” He bit back with a smile.

She laughed along, shaking her head once more. They fell silent as Sylvie stared at his eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen it up close. But god, they sure looked prettier than they did before Abel had broken up with her.

“Would it be,” she stammered, leaving the man next to him scowling as he goaded her into speaking. She cleared her throat and sighed. “Would it be okay to ask… if I can… ah, shit. Never mind. It sounds bollocks if I continue on.”

“We don’t hide things anymore, Mustang,” he teased her, “remember? We agreed on it.”

“So if I were to ask if you want to… do… it…”

Now he was rendered silent. She wanted the world to swallow her the moment she found him staring at her. He was frozen, and she felt her body burning in embarrassment as she wished to leave the place. This was her bloody room, she couldn’t get out of here.

“I- I-“ he stuttered, his cheeks heating up as he asked, “You want to do it?”

“I’ve always wondered what it's like,” she murmured quietly. “I tried imagining doing it with him but… he never seemed to have that kind of intention to… I don’t know… pay attention to my wants.”

“Pretty foolish of that dickhead,” Max scoffed. “If he only wants to use you, then it’s a great thing that you knew better than that.”

“But seriously—“ he continued, “Sylvie, look at me in the eyes and tell me you want me to do it with you.”

“I do,” she admitted meekly, staring at him while she said so before she turned away. “I don’t think I can do it with someone else. If they’re the same as him then I don’t know… and you’re not him or anyone. So…”

“Okay,” he nodded understandingly. He backed away for a second before catching his breath and murmured, “Okay… I’ll make sure you and I aren’t hurt. And- and, I’ll make sure you have the best time.”

And the best time, it was. It was the first time Sylvie slept in a few days. It was also the first time she shared an intimate moment with someone. Someone being Max Emilian Verstappen.

Anyone experienced with two eyes would point out that everything that happened was done rather clumsily. It probably didn’t help that Max had to trip and knock on Dan’s door to ask for a condom, but it was better to be embarrassed than sorry, he supposed.

Sylvie could remember herself wiping the smudged mascara off her face and removing her top to put on the black corset top that she had on her suitcase, keeping her black wide legged sweatpants on while he went out to “say hi to Dan for a minute.” She didn’t need to put on a makeup. It wasn’t really that special, was it? No. It certainly was, she just didn’t want to spook Max especially when his eyes widened just as he walked in on her putting on a lip balm with nothing but her bra and sweatpants on.

He couldn’t deny anything that night, especially to himself. The moment his tongue swiped over her lips, he nearly groaned in satisfaction at the minty flavour of her chapstick. A hint of strawberry came with it, finding himself caging her against the marble sink as she desperately held him… by the arms and his mouth.

Both of them were clueless, not knowing how to maneuver around one another the moment Max settled her down to her (upgraded) king-sized bed. For a moment, he wondered how she had managed to get herself a large room — knowing that the hotel room booked for him and Danny were smaller than hers — but her wandering hands sent his thoughts away when her palm landed on his sweatpants, eliciting a sigh from him.

Too many questions of, “Is this okay” and “are you alright” were exchanged— both of them unsure if either of them were comfortable or smart enough to be doing this. But one thing that they knew for sure was they wouldn’t be able to forget that night. It wasn’t the just pleasure that made it too memorable— but rather their experience with one another that made it too… good to forget. Sylvie and Max could care less about reaching the highs and lows when all they could think about was that they’ve done it with one another.

She could remember waking up to him kissing her forehead as he spoke in Dutch, telling her that they would talk sometime during the day before he left the room. She pretended to be asleep, but the whisper of his voice made her heart beat faster as if he hadn’t just called her love.

For someone who “hated” Max, Sylvie trusted him for taking a part of her and allowed him to ruin other men for her. She was sure that Max was her standard now. She couldn’t imagine doing the most intimate things with someone who didn’t have the same values and personality as him.

God, Max ruined her. But it wasn’t as if Sylvie was complaining about it. She embraced that idea, in fact.

125 notes · View notes

privateanxieties · 1 year

Text

hold me down, hold me fierce

Summary: You and Peter show up for a blind screening of a horror movie at your local cinema. It leaves you both shaken, but Peter seems to have taken it a bit harder than you.

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x female Reader; hurt/comfort, protective Peter & reader, fluff.

Words: no idea, estimate ~1K

----------------------------

Horror isn’t the ideal date night genre, something both you and Peter agree on. At most, it could be an excuse to curl up into him whenever tension rises even if you aren’t particularly affected. However, your friends have been incessantly talking up the special event taking place at your local movie theatre. For seven days straight, Cinemagic is supposed to be showing only the infamous crown jewels of horror. None of the soft stuff, as your longtime college friend put it. You were intrigued and apprehensive simultaneously, because while horror isn’t the thing you’d call high cinema, it has, on occasion, left you pondering aspects of life that other genres normally didn’t.

You reasoned you could just walk out if the experience blows. So, on the last day of the event, you purchased two tickets for a random screening. As part of the mystique, you would only find out which movie you were to see upon being seated - the first mistake.

Unsurprisingly, Peter didn’t take much convincing, despite not being a horror fan either. He was thinking along the same lines you were - you could just have a cuddle and maybe sneak some kisses to distract yourselves if the movie sucked. And you tried, you really did. But your friend wasn’t kidding when she said no soft stuff.

Brutal. Violent. Demoralizing. Creeping into your skull and making a home to invite you into later, when you were to seek sleep, and instead offer torment.

You didn’t much curl into Peter throughout. He didn’t try to either. At some point between a horrendous suicide and the systematic torture of a young woman in captivity, you both got up and left. Peter almost scared you half to death by abruptly standing up from his seat and taking your hand, leading you out of the theatre without so much as a word.

And it’s been quiet between you since. Peter hasn’t let go of you - he pulled you into his side and kissed your temple softly, walking back to your shared apartment just as quietly as he left the cinema. Not that you’re in the talkative mood either, the sounds and sights from the film still incredibly fresh. Somewhere along the fifteen blocks to your home, you realize you’ve both been shaken by the experience in ways you couldn’t have anticipated.

It’s just torture porn, you try to reason so you can shake some of your pre-movie self back to life. But, somewhere in your mind you know better. These things do happen to people; every day, someone is having the worst day of their life and wishing they were dead. It’s hard to let go of the thoughts clamoring to provide nightmares later tonight, and keeping quiet certainly won’t help. However, when you look at Peter, still locked in his embrace, you realize he’s taking this worse than you. You’ve grown to read him well over the two years you’ve been together. He’s much deeper down the spiral than you are, and the way his fingers are locked on to your waist is a good indicator of his distress. He’s typically much more careful with his strength.

You open your mouth to say something, but then notice you’ve arrived at your building. Peter opens the door for you without letting go, and not even when you enter the apartment does he loosen up.

“Peter,” you try softness, but it just seems to break a dam. He wraps himself around you with a deep inhale, lifting you in his arms and burying his face in your neck.

And at once, you realize how much of a mistake this was on your part. You brought Peter to a screening of a brutal film with no regard for the things he must see during the nights he spends trying to make the city safer. You didn’t think to look into this before, or to drop the idea altogether. You didn’t think to look out for his mental well-being.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought us to - “

“Shh... Just let me hold you.”

The sound of his muffled voice, small and vulnerable like you’ve never heard it, is enough to make tears spring forth that you let fall without giving any indication of it. Peter carries you into the bedroom, laying you both down and clutching you to his chest, throwing one leg over both of yours. You get the feeling he’s trying to swallow you up, or cover as much of you with his body as possible, and this one act makes you understand what must be going through his head.

“We’re ok,” you whisper to him, wishing you could reach up and run your fingers through his hair, but both your arms are trapped in his hold, your right hand over his racing heart.

“You’re here. With me.”

You’re surprised for a second, but his words make sense in the context of what you experienced tonight. You were both emotionally scrambled, but in quite different ways. Your perception of what you saw is much more abstract, related to the real world in terms of horrible news and tragedies that sometimes reach the airwaves or get made into a documentary. Peter, on the other hand, bears witness to horrible things all the time. It’s never this bad, you know that - but it’s not hard to imagine he’d have memories that could produce similar frights.

“I’m here. With you. Always.”

You let another minute pass before the pressing guilt eating at you comes forward.

“I’m really sorry, baby. I didn’t know. I should’ve thought about you, and I should’ve looked into it. You see enough of this in the suit, you didn’t need to have this too.”

Peter’s arms loosen around you the slightest bit, and he meets your eyes after touching his forehead to yours.

“That’s what you think I’m upset about?” he whispers hoarsely, like he’d cried without tears.

“Then what?” you whisper back, frowning.

There’s a semblance of a smile on his face, hollow and tired.

“Let’s just forget about it, alright? I don’t want to think about it anymore. Just wanna be here with you.”

Peter presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding you tighter and pulling the comforter higher over you both. You let the silence settle as the minutes go by, wanting nothing more than to drop the matter and provide the safety Peter seems to be asking from you. It’s only when you feel him relax, breaths slowing and hold loosening, that your mind finally grasps the true meaning of his words, and you’re both touched and horrified.

Peter wasn’t seeking your comfort for his distress at far-away things. He was trying to get close to you, to shield you entirely from unseen horrors. Or, rather, previously unseen horrors. Even in his sleep, he hasn’t shifted one bit from his position. He wasn’t trying to make himself feel safe - he was trying to keep you safe. Safe from the apparitions on the screen in a dark room, safe from the dread inducing possibilities, safe from whatever his mind conjured up that could only be soothed by coiling himself around you.

You sigh into the silence of the bedroom you share with your impossibly precious lover, remaining awake for as long as you can to murmur sweet reassurances between gentle kisses. In the morning, you’ll both feel lighter. A small piece of Peter’s soul was shown to you tonight, lighting a fire in your own that would dare chase away any nightmare, any fear. You stay awake for another hour, happy to wipe away the small frown that keeps forming between his brows every now and then, until sleep overtakes you in your love’s embrace.

- fin -

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #hurt/comfort #andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!spiderman x reader #blurb

780 notes · View notes

teyamsatan · 1 year

Text

The Archer | Chapter IV: Peace

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Summary: Adapting to the Metkayina is harder on you than you thought it would be. Friction develops as both you and Neteyam's seeds of resentment for each other start to grow. Gideon discovers a secret in the forest that will change his purpose.

Pairings: Neteyam x Avatar!Reader, Lo'ak x Tsireya

Word Count: 11.8k words

Warnings/notes: smut(18+, minors DNI!), angst, mentions of death, blood, violence, cursing, SPOILERS for ATWOW

A/N: This chapter has probably been the hardest thing I have ever written - still finding writing the film whilst somehow finding a way to make it feel new and fit with the story extremely difficult. I tried to fit a lot of the Metkayina storyline in this chapter, but still have a long way to go, and so this will probably be a couple more chapters than I had originally planned. It was nice to reimagine the movie to fit the reader in, and I hope you enjoy reading about what I think went on behind the scenes we did get to see 🥰 Next chapter is when everything picks up and becomes angst-central, so enjoy this aptly named instalment x

Also, Lima Charlie means Loud and Clear, for everyone like me that was confused in the cinema x

Series masterlist (x)

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Give you my wild, give you a child

Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other

Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother

Is it enough if I can never give you peace?

Neteyam woke up naturally with the sun, something he has always been able to do. Whether willing or not, he has always been an early riser, ready to make the best of each day given to him by the grace of Eywa. It was strange sharing a tent with his family again, but he did enjoy hearing all the soft rhythmic breaths and the slight snore coming from his father. His attention swiftly turned to you, and he watched as you slumbered peacefully, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Your mouth was slightly agape and there were strands of hair fallen over your stunning face, that Neteyam reached over and moved. Atan..

He didn’t think you were ready to get up yet, so he gently removed himself from your loose grasp, trying not to wake everybody up as he did. His gaze shifted to a little blister pack, you said it was called, and his mood worsened instantly at the sight of the pills, those damned pills.

“What are these?” Neteyam picked up the little pill pack you took everywhere with you and the pills you took every day since you have become an Avatar just a couple weeks ago. “Is it for the virus?”

Neteyam watched intently as your gaze shifted from his, busying yourself with something else as the morning comfort faded away. You moved swiftly from the warmth of your new mate’s body and the sheets you were wrapped in all night, and went to your desk, where you struggled with your hair, untangling the pieces that were flowing freely down your back. You didn’t look at him as you answered.

“No, they’re not for the virus.”

Slight panic rose in Neteyam’s chest thinking of what these could mean. Were you sick again? Did the remnants of the disease in your human body transfer alongside your consciousness?

“Atan, you are starting to scare me. Just tell me what they are.”

You sighed and put down your brush, staring at the hands now tugging at each other in your lap.

“They’re birth control pills.”

“What are birth control pills?”

“They are pills so that you don’t get pregnant.”

There was a distinct pause in Neteyam’s mind, where his entire brain just stopped functioning for a little while. Neteyam knew that Mo’at has certain herbs and potions for situations where a pregnancy is wildly outside of what is appropriate, or for when the woman’s life is at risk, but neither situation seemed to apply here, and Neteyam couldn’t help the sudden pain and anger that seemed to rise in his chest.

“Why?”

You were picking at your nails cuticles so badly they were all bleeding and Neteyam found himself putting his hands over yours to stop it, the thought of the pain you were putting yourself through eating at him, above everything else.

“Atan… Just tell me. You’re my mate… and beyond that, you’re my best friend, my soulmate. I want to know.”

“I don’t want to have a baby. Not yet. I am still a baby myself, learning to take my first steps in this new world, in this new body - this new life. I have so much to learn, so much to live, so much I want to experience for myself first. I have been stuck in a lab for 18 years. I have been in pain and hurting and suffering my whole life. I am finally getting better, but there is still so much I need to do, so much growth I need to go through myself before I can take care of another being.”

“I also just don’t want to share you. Is that so bad?”

Neteyam thought about it long and hard, and felt the anger subsiding slowly. It made sense to him, although unnatural, but you are human. You don’t think about things the same way, and he has always tried to bear that in mind. And to be completely truthful, he wasn’t ready to be a father yet, either. He just got you. You had a lifetime to be a family, but once you have your first child, it will never be just the two of you again, and Neteyam also wanted to be selfish in his desire to keep you just for himself for now.

It’s been almost a year since that happened, and although most of his feelings remained the same, through time, a seed of hurt and pain was planted every time he saw you hurry off from his embrace in order to make sure you don’t miss any pill whatsoever. A hint of anger dwells in his soul every time you forget it and the subsequent terror that envelops your being, like the thought of having his baby was inconceivable to you, it was horrifying to you. Neteyam didn’t think he wanted a baby, but he definitely didn’t like how much you didn’t seem to want his baby. Neteyam knew he was being irrational, and the much more logical explanation was that, just like you have mentioned multiple times before, you were just not ready to be a mother yet, and it had nothing to do with him. But he couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that ate at him each time, regardless how much he tried.

He was so deep in thought, sitting with his legs in the water at the edge of the marui, that he didn’t even notice Kiri making her way outside until she placed a hand on him, making him jump slightly, which elicited a small laugh from his baby sister. He rolled his eyes, then sighed quietly.

“What is wrong, brother?”

“Soon, it will be one year since she and I mated”, Neteyam said, gazing at you, still sleeping peacefully in the tent.

“And that upsets you how?”

“It doesn’t upset me. I am so happy, happier I’ve ever been. Her and I, we’ve spent our whole life loving each other, exchanging longing looks and secret moments, I almost lost hope that she would ever be mine. For so long, I thought what I felt for her was impossible, what I wanted was wrong. And now she’s here.”

“I still fail to see the problem.”

Neteyam didn’t know if he should say this out loud. He hasn’t even thought it to himself, and he was now going to confess to another person, to his baby sister? He didn’t want to burden her with his issues.

“You’re right, there’s no problem.”

“Brother, you are the worst liar. Just tell me.”

“I feel like we are not in the same place sometimes. I feel I’ve grown, I feel like our relationship is in one stage, and I feel like she feels our relationship is a few steps behind.”

“I find that hard to believe. You two are the most connected people I have ever met. Sometimes it feels like you are constantly linked through Tsaheylu. It’s a little freaky, if I’m being honest. Have you talked to her about it?”

Neteyam finally removed his eyes from your form, looking at the water he was stirring with his feet and the fish that were swimming peacefully around him.

“I’ll take that as a no. Don’t you think you should? Before you jump to conclusions and drive yourself crazy?”

Neteyam saw memories flash across his mind’s eye, of you holding Tuk tightly as you slept in your tent and you teaching her and protecting her, and of the pills that haunted his dreams, and with a sigh, got up and decided it would be better to go for a quick walk.

Kiri rolled her eyes at her stubborn, closed-off older brother, and said “You haven’t grown if you still feel the need to keep everything inside and not communicate with the person you love most in the world. Also, do something special for the anniversary.”

“Already on it. Thanks, baby sis.”

Neteyam came back a little after everyone else was ready to get on with their days. His eyes immediately went to yours, and he saw you had a concerned expression on your face, eyeing him curiously. What’s wrong? You might as well have been screaming the words to him, they were so clear in his mind. He gave you a small smile, and shrugged minutely. Just a weird day. You scanned his face for more information, and he felt a small blush make its way to his face under the scrutiny of your gaze. You could read him like a book, could read most people like a book, and Neteyam always found your ability to see into people’s souls a little intimidating. He couldn’t keep secrets from you, and right now, there was one he kind of wanted to.

“Ok, Sullys fall in.” Neteyam heard his dad calling out to them all, and when he saw Lo’ak wandering around the marui aimlessly, he pulled him to his knees forcefully.

“Remember? Family meeting.”

His baby sisters both looked a little despondent - Kiri was still in a foul mood from the move and this whole ordeal and Tuk looked sad. Neteyam’s heart tugged at the sight, and then did some more when you pulled her closed to you and placed her in your lap.

“Ok, take a knee, let’s go.”

Jake looked only at him and Lo’ak as he spoke - figures.

“Now, I need you kids on your best behaviour. I mean it. Learn fast, pull your weight.” His eyes fell on Lo’ak. “Don’t cause trouble. Got it?” Neteyam chuckled at the specific need to address only Lo’ak, and he grabbed his baby brother’s neck affectionately, pulling at it. Lo’ak hissed in his brother’s direction and Neteyam let go, a little hurt at the overly defensive action.

You were nervous about today, you realised. Firstly, your mate seemed off. You were worried about him, in light of everything you two have been through in the past week, and you were hoping this whole situation wasn’t affecting him too much. You hoped being in the water, being together for the first time in a while with no looming threat of death and violence, of humans killing everything you hold dear, would ease his anxiety. Secondly, you weren’t looking forward to this, to being in this village with people who looked at you like you were a demon, where the spiritual leader hates you. It reminded you so much of your childhood, and how the Omatikaya eyed you down with disgust plastered all over their faces, with fear, with anger. You were not looking forward to reliving these experiences.

You were comforted slightly by the feeling of Tuk in your lap, and you were slowly running your hands up and down her arms when you felt slight shaking from her part. A small whimper escaped her lips, which made you painfully alert.

“I want to go home.” Your heart broke at her words, and tears filled your eyes as you took in her trembling voice and hunched body, almost as if she was trying to make herself smaller.

Jake took her hand in his and gently played with it as he spoke. “Tuk, this is our home now.”

He turned to face the rest of his family. “Now, we’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna get through this if we have each other’s backs.”

You were holding Tuk tightly in your arms, letting her cry it out in your lap.

“What does your father always say?” You heard Neytiri say in a calming tone, which brought comfort to your worried disposition.

“Sullys stick together.”

You met the girl, who you now knew is named Tsireya, and her brother, the annoying Ao’nung, at the edge of the village. You exchanged a few awkward interactions, taking in how Lo’ak withdrew in himself at the mere sight of your new beautiful friend, and laughed softly, poking him in the ribs, and much like his earlier interaction with Neteyam, you were met with an annoyed hiss. You laughed louder now - you were going to enjoy this.

The two siblings and their friend Rot’xo gracefully dove in the water, followed by Neteyam and Lo’ak. You, Kiri and Tuk were last, and you jumped in holding hands, trying to remember to hold your breath so as to not drown. You were not the best swimmer, and your anxiety built up at the thought of the struggle ahead of you.

Every feeling you had, every thought melted away instantly, the second your eyes took in the spectacle around you. A whole underwater world appeared in front you, and you struggled keeping your mouth closed, feeling the need to open it to showcase the shock you were experiencing. The most beautiful views you have ever seen, the most wondrous creatures and plants, plankton and coral, colourful and bright, unique and dazzling, taking your breath away if you had any to spare. You looked over at Neteyam, who had a similar expression on his face, and when your eyes met, you smiled at each other, as well as you could underwater. So the water did help. Good.

You glanced over at Kiri, who dove much further than any of you, and was fully immersed in the experience, touching all the fish that naturally seemed to gravitate towards her. You watch as the Metkayina kids swam deeper and deeper down, their tails undulating in the water and propelling them forward, an evolutionary advantage you lacked, and with the heartbeat you could feel painfully in your ears, you made your way to the surface. You gasped for air when your body found it again, trying to make up for the oxygen deprivation you experienced while in the water.

Soon enough, Neteyam, Lo’ak and Tuk joined you, trying desperately to catch their own breaths. You felt Neteyam’s hand reaching for yours under the water, and you felt happy his mood seems to have improved significantly in just the span of a couple hours.

“Bro, let’s go.” Lo’ak nudged you and went back in the water, and you and your mate exchanged an amused look. “Someone’s in looove.” You said laughing. Neteyam shook his head lightly, but smiled at your childishness. You took as deep a breath as you possibly could, and, still holding on to Neteyam’s hand, you both submerged, trying to actually go deeper in the water as opposed to just staring in awe until your lungs feel like they were exploding.

It didn’t take long for the need to resurface to become necessary, and you found yourself once again grasping for air trying to settle your breath. You saw Tsireya, Ao’nung and Rot’xo return from their deep dive, and with a gentle voice, Tsireya spoke, and her voice calmed you instantly. You were wondering if it had the same effect on your baby brother. You doubted it.

“Are you alright?”

A squeaky voice came from behind you. “You’re too fast!! Wait for us!!”

“Just breathe…breathe.”

An aggravating voice broke through Tsireya’s calm one, and you felt the twinge of annoyance taking over you as Ao’nung spoke in a mocking tone. “You are not good divers…maybe good at swinging through trees…” A smack in the head coming from his sister was duly appreciated, or you would have done it yourself if it hadn’t happened.

“We don’t speak this finger talk, guys. we don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I will teach you.”

Gideon was still in shock, still unable to process what he was told hours ago, in the dead of night, by a kid he’d rather never have met, if he was being honest. One of them is yours. One of them is yours. One of them is yours.

His own. His kid. How was that even possible? Jo wasn’t pregnant, was she? He thought all the kids were Sully’s, they are all blue. Did they manage to make you an Avatar? He thought that was impossible.

He had so many questions and not a single answer. It was driving him mad. It was killing him, not knowing. It would be long until he would be able to be alone with Spider again, and he had to know something. He had to find out anything. He made his way to one of the security rooms, where a few men in a uniform were attentively watching the many screens displayed in front of them. God, what a fucking boring job, Gideon thought.

“Morning, guys. I was sent by General Ardmore to review the footage from the train attack. If you can pull those up, that’d be great.”

“Right away, sir.”

He watched as the footage from all angles played on different screens, and he took his time rummaging through its entirety, focusing on one at a time. He recognised Jake and his wife, and winced as he saw the damage they were inflicting on the humans piloting the helos. In certain angles, he saw the pilots and gunners being shot down from a great distance, and saw fleetingly a girl on a white banshee, shooting a sniper rifle. His heart stopped in his chest. None of the other people were shooting a gun, outside from Jake, who was a marine. Everyone else was using bow and arrows. He can faintly make out the girl’s features, and he recognises her from the woods. She was the one by which they figured out they were Sully’s. She had 5 fingers and eyebrows, like an Avatar, and a mean aim. He watched in wonder as this kid shot gunner after gunner head and chest only, and felt a swell of pride overtake him.

Could it be? Could this possibly be true? Could this be his daughter?

Gideon stalked off as soon as he finished getting the information he wanted, and moved on to the lab where he knew Spider was being tortured for information. He had to put an end to this, now.

He heard the screams before he made his way in the room, and with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, he entered. General Ardmore was standing on a platform and watching as the poor kid wailed in agony. He didn’t pay much attention to it, going straight for Quaritch, who was also watching, an unreadable expression on his face. He didn’t think he was enjoying this either. This was his son, after all. No louder than a whisper, Gideon approached Quaritch. “We need to put an end to this.”

The commander turned his head in Gideon’s direction, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “Why would we do that?”

“Because you know as well as I do that this is fucked up. This is your fucking son, Quaritch.” Gideon saw a flash of guilt and sadness pass over his face, and he was surprised to find out Quaritch did indeed have a heart, albeit a small, tiny, inconsequential heart, but there nonetheless.

Feeling empowered by the silent confirmation, Gideon went to the machine and pushed the big glaring button that meant the stop of the torturous process. His general turned around with a feral look on her face. Crazy bitch, Gideon thought.

“General, we can use this kid. This kid’s been with the Sullys for 19 years. He has lived amongst the Na’vi, he knows his way around, knows everything about Pandora, about the Omatikaya. He’s loyal, he won’t give them up. But maybe if we try the…personal approach,” he said, looking at Quaritch, standing limply on his left, “we might get better results. He can teach us the ways, the language, he can help us integrate better in the environment, so we can travel the Hallelujah mountains easier, and find them faster.”

Gideon saw the she-devil processing his words carefully, and he knew he won. He was one step closer to his daughter, and nothing was going to stop him from finding the truth.

You watched as Ao’nung stepped forward and clicked his tongue rapidly in the direction of the open sea, and you watched in amazement as a few beautiful sea creatures made their way to him, circling all of you docilely. Your gaze fell on your mate, who was holding his baby sister up in his arms, the chiseled muscles of his limbs on full display, and between the way your ovaries throbbed at the sight of him being so paternal, so protective over the child, and the sight of his incredible body, you were just about a puddle of desire, grateful to be surrounded by water for once.

“These are ilu.” The Metkayina boy’s voice pulled you out of your indecent musings, and you tried to focus, tried to learn. “If you want to live here, you have to ride.”

After hours and hours of pure torture, you were ready to admit to yourself you hated this, and you sucked at it, which probably contributed to that feeling. Turns out riding the equivalent of a baby ikran underwater and being thrashed around every few seconds because you didn’t have the lower body strength to hold onto it was not fun, and by eclipse, you were tired, wet, grumpy and definitely ready to call it a day. You were at least a little happy to know that the two Sully boys didn’t fare any better, but you were a little jealous of Kiri and Tuk, who seemed to fit in right away, and they were already riding their ilu to your family’s marui for the night.

You could see Neytiri and Jake chatting over the fire, smiles on both their faces, and you felt a wave of contentment envelop you at the sight. Maybe you could all begin to heal, in the midst of this untouched, tropical beauty, far away from the threat that was plaguing you in the forest. Maybe you can learn to live without fear again, or for the first time in your life.

You were walking towards the tent when you felt a soft hand wrap around your waist, pulling you snugly against a strong, taut body. Neteyam’s breath fanned across the side on your face as he whispered lowly in your ears, sending pulses of electrical current down the column on your spine.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, needy and full of desire, and your stomach filled with messy, energetic butterflies. “Wherever you want me to?”

“Good girl.”

You walked all the way through the village and towards the forest, and called for your ikran, that you spent a little quality time with - the whole ilu business made you realise how much you loved Neyn, and how irreplaceable to you she’ll always be. She was feeling a bit down, you could tell when you bonded, and you knew she also missed her home, just like you all did. You gave her a few treats, some fish you managed to get a hold of on the way here, and you were off. Eclipse rides with your mate was one of your favourite ways to spend your nights, but whatever you were about to do would definitely always be the top contender. Nevertheless, the bliss of the open air against your face, the races and the laughs as you bumped into each other, the feeling of the wind taking your breath away, the thrill of the power coursing through your veins as you went so fast the whole world blurred around you - nothing would ever compare.

You sighted a small island - island is probably a generous term for this patch of sand with one lone tree adorning it, and you both landed on it, Seze a few seconds before Neyn.

“And the master wins… again.” He says cockily, with a mischievous smile as he dismounts and reaches for you, and you jump from your banshee straight into his arms. He catches you, as he always does, and his hands find your ass as your legs wrap around him.

“I let you win.” You look at his beautiful face and you laughed when you saw him giving you a look that you assumed was the equivalent of raising his eyebrow at you.

“What’s your punishment for this face, huh? Whenever I do it, you tell me I need to be taught a lesson.”

He pretended to think about it for a second.

“Huh, I think either way you’re the one getting punished.”

You smacked his arm playfully and feigned indignation.

You loved when he was playful. It happened rarely, as he has always been a serious, no-nonsense kind of a guy, but when it did, there was no one who shone brighter, no one whose eyes sparkled more, no one who made the world more beautiful. He put you down on the ground gently, and his soft lips found your forehead. It was such a simple gesture, but so intimate, so heartwarming that your heart picked up pace in your chest. “I love you.”

“I love you more, Atan. I need you to remember that, cause it won’t feel like that in the next couple hours.”

Your mouth flooded with saliva at his words, and the warmth in your chest swiftly moved in between your thighs and you remember that it’s been a while since you were alone, a while since you felt his hands and mouth on you, in you, the only place they belonged.

He took the blanket he always kept on Seze and spread it on the warm, soft sand, and motioned for you to lay on it, which you were more than happy to do.

He slowly started removing his adornments, much easier job now, having left the Omatikaya jewellery and cummerbund behind, leaving him in only his loincloth and the bracelet he refused to ever take off. He saw your breath quicken laying on the blanket and you parted your legs for him, like on command. “Now…before we were rudely interrupted by Lo’ak in our tent, I was asking you to be quiet for me. I think I’d like to see that now. Do you think you can keep quiet for me, baby girl?” The look you gave him drove him feral, and his loincloth was hurting him, painful against his hard-on, twitching wildly, begging to be set free, begging to feel you - to fill you. He slowly got on top of you, planting kisses on your body, purposefully avoiding your needy core.

“Neteyam…”

“Shh, Atan, what did I just say?”

He removed his mouth from your body and came face to face with you. “I said we have to find a way to keep you quiet. How is this for a way? You don’t keep that beautiful mouth shut, I stop.” He laughed at the way you squirmed underneath him, raising your pelvis trying to get some release, any sort of friction, but he skilfully avoided you, and continued his onslaught, lips and tongue all over your beautiful body, that he couldn’t wait fuck until you were crying with your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

“So fucking unfair.”

“All in good time, my love.”

Torturously, he made his way to your belly button, and slowly descended, taking both of your legs and placing them on top of his shoulders, until he could feel your heels on his back. You were too far gone to see anything around you, so fucking desperate you were sure you were ripping the blanket by how tightly you were coiling it around you hand. This was torture, agonising torture, and you felt your ass dripping in juices from how wet you were. You wanted to scream, you wanted to let this island, the village, the whole world know what he was doing to you, how wild the feelings you were experiencing ran. You wanted to cry out his name in pleasured moans , falling from your tongue like a litany, like a prayer to never stop, to never take away this feeling.

He saw how desperate you were by how hardly you were biting down your lip, so hard he was sure he could see blood, even in the dark. His poor Atan, so damn needy. He would have to make it up to you.

You moaned loudly when he inserted two fingers in your drenched core, and left them there, unmoving and cruel.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Just move, please. Please.” You started grinding against his fingers, trying to get your own release. He removed his fingers and looked at you sternly. “Do you know what happens to bad girls, Atan?”

You panted wildly but said nothing, refusing to look at him. He rose from the position he was in and faced you again, opening you mouth with the two fingers he had in you and pushing them down you throat. You sucked on them, loving the taste of yourself on him, wishing it was his dick instead. You licked his digits clean and it was his turn to moan, to which you raised an eyebrow. “Unfair!”

“All’s fair in love and war, baby girl. You taught me that.”

He removed his fingers from your mouth and was trailing them down your throat and chest, until he reached your nipples, that immediately hardened upon contact. He flicked them in between his fingers and placed his mouth on one, sucking and licking til they were sore, after which he moved to the other. You were bruised now, hickeys all over your body except in the one place you wanted. Your eyes were glossy with unshed tears, and he knew the need was becoming too overwhelming for you to bear.

“I think you’ve suffered enough. I need to fuck you now.” He plunged three fingers back in your desperate core, and he started pushing in and out of you with slow, languid motions, knowing exactly which spot to hit to make you see stars all around you. His mouth then followed, sucking and licking masterfully at your clit, unrelenting in his attempts to ruin you. You tried so hard to keep quiet, and you were doing so well, only the lewd sounds of his onslaught could be heard, sloppy and hot and you came all around his fingers and mouth, biting hard into your arm til blood came out to keep silent.

“That’s my good girl.” He licked the cum dripping over his fingers and moaned at the taste.

“You should taste yourself again, Atan, you taste unreal.”

“Only if it’s licking it off your cock.” He growled at you like an animal, and you could hear the loincloth ripping at the stitches as he pulled on it with such ferocity it would be scary if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

“You are such a little slut, aren’t you? Always wanting to suck my dick, you like milking me dry, don’t you, Atan?” He pistoned in you with enough strength you let out a pained cry, and there was no warming up, no slow burn, no building anticipation about the way he fucked into you until you felt he was going to break through your cervix. You still tried to keep quiet, the sounds of skin on skin slapping and his balls hitting the underside of your ass over and over the only ones you could hear and it was maddening, the pace, his look, the way his biceps were bulging to allow him to keep this ruthless pace, the way his abs contracted over and over to get him deeper and deeper in you, the way he lowered his mouth on yours and licked the blood from your bottom lip that was dripping from when you bit into it, it was all too much, and you felt yourself nearing that second orgasm, desperate for his cock to fill you up.

“That’s it, baby girl. Come all over my cock, let me see what a good girl you are. Let me hear you, Atan.”

At his permission, you came so hard you felt like you were going to pass out, loud shrilly moans escaping your lips with no concern for his previous command anymore, or the thought of anyone hearing you. Let them hear, let everyone hear how well you were being fucked on a nightly basis.

He removed himself from your still throbbing heat, and didn’t give you time to come down from the high, as he scooped you up from the blanket and took your place.

“Come on, baby, sit on my face. I want to come in your mouth.”

“Neteyam, I can’t..”

“Yes, you can, baby. Come on, let me make you feel good.”

You did as you were told, and gasped when your pussy made contact with his mouth, and his tongue immediately found your insides, fucking you with it like you didn’t just cry in pleasure from your last mind-numbing orgasm. You reciprocated though, licking his cock from balls to tip, loving the taste of you on him. You sucked on him like he was your favourite lollipop, which he was, teasing and licking the slit of his tip, taking him all in and moving your head up and down while pumping the base with your hands. He moaned loudly in you, the vibration making you clench around his tongue. You started grinding aggressively on his face while he fucked your mouth and you felt thick spurts of cum sliding down your throat as you cried out from the overwhelming sensation, slightly overstimulated, but deeply satisfied. You licked the last drops of cum from the tip, smiling as you felt him do the same with you. You learned in time that nothing gets wasted on Pandora.

It took Kiri and Tuk no time at all to learn the ways of the Metkayina, and you wish you could say the same about yourself, but in reality, you were struggling - a lot. It was taking a toll on your mental health, as you have never struggled with learning anything new your entire life. You prided yourself on your intelligence and self-sufficiency, on your prowess to always excel at any new tasks. You were trying to give yourself some grace, as you have only learnt to swim properly in the last year, and even then, you were doing it mostly as a fun post-training activity with Neteyam, never as a serious endeavour.

On a positive note, you and Tsireya bonded over your love for the ocean, pretty jewellery - she commented on multiple occasions on the bracelet adorning your arm, which lead into a deep discussion into the best places to find shells and stones fit for a Metkayina warrior, that she was sure you would be in no time -, your maternal care for Tuk and your mutual admiration for a certain Omatikaya troublemaker. You were over the moon to observe the pure, puppy love developing in between your favourite brother and this beautiful, caring, smart and gentle girl, who looked at Lo’ak like the sun rose in his eyes, just like you told him someday someone would.

“Breathe in…” Tsireya says in a calming tone, as she follows her own command. “And breathe out. Imagine flickering a flame. You must slow down your heartbeat.” You watched as she placed both her hands on Lo’ak’s body, and you could tell he was hyperventilating inside just by the look on his face.

“Breathe in. Breathe from down here.” She instructs with her hand on his torso. “Breathe out slowly.”

It was taking all the effort of your being to not start laughing at your baby brother, who was staring at his newfound flame like she was the only person in the world.

“Lo’ak. Your heartbeat is fast. Try to focus.”

“Sorry.” he says meekly, and you couldn’t stop yourself - a small chuckle that you tried to no avail to mask as a cough. You turned your face towards your mate, who was also snickering silently, and you both reached for each other’s hands, gleefully reminiscing about your own beginnings.

“What’s this?” Tsireya liked to come by your marui, she did so often, even when there was no one else around but you. You found yourself alone a lot more often these days, as Jake was training with the Olo’eyktan, Neytiri with Ronal, the rest of the siblings were always out in the water, and you found it hard sometimes to find your place in this new life, in this new world. In time, you and Netetam spent less and less time together - he was working hard, as he always was, to make sure he was doing well and pulling his weight. You felt a bit jealous over the fact that you no longer felt important to the kids, especially to Tuk, who now spends most of her time with the Metkayina girl, going as far as to adopt her way of dressing. It’s been a while since you and Lo’ak were alone and bonded over your many shared interests, as all his attention was now swiftly placed on the girl sitting in front of you. Between all of that, your hardships adapting to the new environment and feeling the gaping hole that the forest and leaving Norm and Max left in you, you ended up alone a lot, in this Marui that you learnt every square inch of.

Your gaze turned towards what she was pointed at, and fell on your guitar. “It’s called a guitar. It plays music.” You smiled at her. You liked Tsireya, and didn’t feel any resentment towards her, despite what the darkest parts of your being told you. She had a kind soul, a brave heart. And if there was anyone to replace you in Lo’ak and Kiri and Tuk’s heart, you were happy it was her.

“Can you show me?”

“Sure I can, but only if you ask me in English.” That was one of the things you have liked the most about being here - your daily English and Sign Language lessons with Tsireya. She taught you, you taught her, and it was the only thing you felt good at, so you always looked forward to it.

“Can…” you encouraged her with your expression, urging her to go on. “..you…see…me?”

“Show.” She smiled apologetically, a small blush colouring her cheeks.

“That’s great, Tsireya! You’re getting better every day.”

You picked up the guitar and tuned it quickly, and then played a familiar tune, humming mindlessly as your fingers glided across the strings.

“You have a beautiful voice. You should sing more, you should sing during our communal dinners.”

You smiled a small, sorrowful smile. You used to do that in the clan all the time - your clan. You wondered if this would ever feel the same.

“Why are you so intent on learning English? I mean, you have no real use for it.” You knew the answer as you asked, but you were curious to see her fumbling for an explanation outside of ‘I’m desperately in love with a boy who is half human and speaks English every day with you’.

It was just as amusing as you imagined it, and you felt a little bad for how hard she was blushing as she was picking at nothing on her loincloth. “It just seems useful, with all the humans that are plaguing our planet.”

“That makes sense… you can also just admit you like Lo’ak, you know?” You placed a hand on hers, trying to get her to stop messing with her clothes. “He likes you too, you know?”

You smiled widely at her doe-eyed expression, so overcome with happiness, your mood shifted instantly to one of hope, that at least something good came of all of this.

Gideon watched as Spider and Quaritch made their way to the helicopter they were all huddled in, and he felt grateful that the kid didn’t have to suffer anymore. As soon as he was inside, he immediately gripped the gun posted in the door, and Gideon reached over and pushed him on the seat.

“Woah, hold on there, hot shot.”

Quaritch was not far behind, and when he entered, he grabbed his son by the arm and spoke to him. “You listen up. There’s a tracker built in that mask. We hit the ground and you take off, I’ll have you back in two minutes and give you an old-school ass whipping. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Avatars landed in the midst of the forest, huddled together to listen for instructions from their commander.

“Ok, listen up. Jake Sully’s gone underground. Don’t matter. Wherever he is, we’ll find him… and his batshit crazy wife too. To do so, we go Na'vi. Full tilt all the way. That means we eat Na’vi, we ride Na’vi, think Na’vi.”

“And that starts with speaking the language.” Gideon knew a little more Na’vi than most soldiers, having learnt it in time from his beautiful Jo. He knew enough to know Quaritch was butchering it, and badly. He heard Spider snicker mockingly.

“Is that what you call speaking Na’vi?” Spider continued, but Gideon didn’t pick up what he was saying.

“Alright, smart guy. You just went from being our monkey mascot to official interpreter.”

It’s been a few weeks since you have arrived in Awa’atlu, and things were slowly moving forward. You were getting slowly - very slowly - better at this whole water thing. This morning, you decided to leave Neteyam alone with his parents for a while, thinking it would be beneficial for them all to spend some time together, outside of military training and practice. You and Kiri settled on going to the beach and just enjoying the clear warm water and endless sandy shores. You loved spending time with Kiri, and you felt guilty that it’s been a long time since you were just the two of you, alone together, talking about everything and nothing, just being in each other’s presence enough to fill endless amounts of time. You always felt connected to her, and you had a lot in common, which has always brought you two together. You used to spend many an hour just discussing your mothers, going through footage of them both, trying to understand the biology as children, just so you can feel closer to them, feel like they weren’t gone.

You were laying together on the sand, laughing at something she said, when she became a little more serious and turned her gaze to you.

“How are you? Like really?”

You were a little taken aback by her line of questioning, and the sudden shift in the mood of the conversation. You thought about it for a second.

“I don’t know, to be honest. There’s just a lot going on, a lot of new to adjust to. But then again, we are all going through the same things, so I can’t complain.”

“Well, we are not all going through the same thing. It’s only one of us whose father rose from the dead and is now attacking us. Well, actually…” Her voice faded when she realised, and a small tears fell down her cheek, before she quickly brushed it away with her hand.

“I’m sorry about Spider, Kiri. I know how much he means to you. But I think you shouldn’t be too worried. He’s a tough kid, this knucklehead brother of ours, and he’s going to be back with us in no time.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you think you’ll ever reach out to your dad?”

You scoffed, resigning yourself to drawing little figures in the sand. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. And I don’t think there’s any point. He’s always been dead to me, why change anything now?”

Kiri rolled her eyes at your stubbornness, but to be fair, he couldn’t blame you for not wanting to relive a part of your traumatic human life.

“Let’s go in the water.”

You were both just looking at the sand in the water, her - just because she liked it, you because you needed to get better at breathing underwater and fast. She was laughing as she watched you struggle and you almost drowned, but then continued for a while, enjoying yourselves until turquoise feet came into your line of sight. You brought your head out of the water and saw Ao’nung and Rot’xo, as well as two other Metkayina boys you have never met before.

“What? What’d you say?” Said Kiri innocently. Neither of you heard whatever it was they said just a few seconds ago, but based on their mocking tones and faces, you assumed you were about to get very angry.

“I said, are you some kind of a freak?”

You hissed, barring your much larger canines at the people in front of you, placing a protective arm in front of your baby sister.

“No…” Kiri continued, trying to move away from them, but they were unrelenting, following you across the beach.

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re not even real Na’vi. I mean, look at these hands. Look at them.”

You pushed the boy as he reached for your hands, and Lo’ak’s voice broke through all the noise, bringing all the attention to him.

“Back off, fish lips.” He walked until he was so close to Ao’nung, he started backing away to maintain the distance between them, but continued laughing and insulting your appearance.

“Oh, another four-fingered freak.”

They all got impossibly close to you, starting to touch your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a blue form moving quickly towards you, and you knew instantly who it was, and you were now worried for the men currently harassing you. Neteyam put his body in between yours and the Metkayina’s, aggressively pushing Ao’nung away. God, he was hot. You were a lucky girl, you thought to yourself, smirking at the new development.

“Back. Off. Now.” A flash of fear crossed Ao’nung’s face, and with his stupid smile wiped off, he brought his arms out in defeat, backing slowly away from all of you.

“Smart choice.” Neteyam was fuming, you noted by his tone and voice, but he maintained his calm demeanour, always choosing to try the non-violent way first, if possible.

He looked at each one of the boys individually, before he continued. “From now on, I need you to respect my family.” He placed a gentle hand on Kiri’s shoulder, silently telling her to leave, and he did the same to Lo’ak, who kept looking back at the perpetrators. Your eyes locked and you thanked him silently, to which he gave a soft smile, before clicking his tongue in Kiri’s direction, asking you to follow. As you did, you notice Lo’ak falling behind, until his body was fully turned away from you and the rest of his siblings.

“Lo’ak.” You snarled in his direction, knowing all too well where this was headed.

“Don’t worry, sis. I got this.”

Those words have literally not once not made you worry.

He made his way back to where all the boys were, and stopped only when he was in front of the Olo’eyktan’s son.

“ I know this hand is funny.” He says, bring his hand into view, twisting it around to show it from every angle. He points his pinky, raising it even closer to Ao’nung’s face. “Look, I’m a freak. Alien.”

“But it can do something really cool. Watch. First, I ball it up really tight like this, ok? And then -“ you watched as Lo’ak punched him straight in the nose, and then twice more, in the chin and cheek. “It’s called a punch, bitch. Don’t ever touch my sisters again.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes at Lo’ak, but were a little impressed with his technique, that you knew Jake would be proud of under normal circumstances. A full-blown brawl emerged, a tangled mess of limbs and tails, and you saw Neteyam scratch his face and huff in amusement, joining in to stand up for his brother. In any other conditions, you would be mad about this, mad about Lo’ak’s immaturity and Neteyam’s interference, that you knew would cost him a big scolding from the Sully patriarch, but you couldn’t help the little smirk and swell of pride that overtook your being, watching your two men trash the four Metkayina boys, watch them get what they deserved for the weeks of incessant bullying. You and Kiri both started laughing, just watching and enjoying the show, before you felt like it had gotten far enough, at which point, you decided to break it apart, and take your family home.

Neteyam watched his dad’s body go stiff as soon as his eyes landed on his two sons, who were bleeding and bruised, and knew he was in for the ass-kicking on a lifetime. He felt mildly comforted by your being, knowing his father never lost it as much anymore when you were around. As you entered the marui, you instantly went to your medical bag, and left them to their own devices.

“What was the one thing I asked? The one thing?”

“Stay out of trouble.”

“Stay out of trouble!”

“It was my fault.” Neteyam put his hands up in defence, positioning his body between his father and baby brother’s. He heard a low growl coming from where you where, and he saw his dad look over to you, taking in all the information he was receiving.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. You have got to stop taking the hit for this knucklehead.”

“Look, dad, Ao’nung was picking on them. Called them freaks.”

Their dad stopped in his tracks, eyeing them intently, then sighed deeply. He knew then the fight was over. Jake Sully could stand a lot, but disrespect to his own family, especially his daughters, will not be tolerated.

“Is this true?” He saw his eyes go back to where you were, and Neteyam watched as you made your way back to them with supplies in hand.

“Yes, it’s true. Jake, they have been bullying us for weeks. I don’t care about myself, but it’s getting to Kiri. They had it coming.”

“You’re not helping.” Jake rolled his eyes at his new daughter, but couldn’t hide a ghost of a smile.

“Go apologise to Ao’nung.”

“He’s the chief’s son, do you understand?”

“I don’t care how you do it, just go make peace. Just go.”

“Hello? Let me at least clean their wounds first. Lo’ak!” But it was too late, as with a shake of his head, Lo’ak was gone. You turned your head to his father, with a cross expression marring your features.

“I know you’re unhappy, but there’s rule of conduct that has to be followed. You are Na’vi now, it’s time you learn.”

You rolled your eyes, but said no more. You motioned for Neteyam to follow you outside, and he did, before turning back around when he heard his dad’s voice.

“Hey…so what’d the other guys look like?”

Neteyam smirked. “Worse.”

“That’s good.”

“A lot worse.”

With a small smile, his father pointed at where you stood. “Get out of here. And keep an eye on your brother.”

You felt intense annoyance overtake your being as you were patching up Neteyam yet again, for - yet again - another one of Lo’ak’s reckless decisions. You said a silent prayer to Eywa that at least this time it wasn’t as serious, but still, it brought back many painful memories and many unresolved issues within you. You found yourself angry yet again, at your baby brother, at your mate, at your surrogate dad, who all were happy to let Neteyam take the fall for everything. You’d hoped with the Olo’eyktan pressure out of the way, things would change. You hoped that he would finally be safe, finally yours to keep, so you can shake off this feeling that you were going to lose him and move on - move forward, start a family in time. But he wasn’t ready. It was made clear to you again today, like it has been many times before.

“Atan…”

You didn’t want to bring it up yet again, this conversation you have had one too many times, so you continued cleaning his wounds, mostly found on his face. His lip was bleeding, and he licked the blood off which he regretted when you smacked him across the arm.

“Stop that. Let me clean it.”

“Let’s go for a swim, just you and me? I feel like we don’t get that much time to ourselves anymore.”

You sighed as you continued patching him up, feeling tears swimming in your eyes. You chewed on your bottom lip mindlessly, trying to ignore all the feelings of inadequacy that have been plaguing you for weeks, trying to ignore how your heart sank at the thought of the home you left behind, that you couldn’t seem to forget as easily as everyone else did.

“Life was easier when swimming just meant splashing around in the river of our clearing and you carrying me around like I was a doll pushed away by the current.”

“It was, but this can be easier, too. You just have to want it, Atan. You are not a doll anymore, but a rock - unwieldy and unmoving against the current. You have to remember what it’s like to just let yourself go with it, and see where it takes you. I miss home too, so much I will never be able to express into words. But I also want to make the best out of a bad situation. So let’s go, just you and me, let’s swim. Let’s flow with the current.”

“I always thought I was the philosophical one.”

“You’re the science-y one, and I still have some aces up my sleeve.” He winked at you with his boyish smile you loved so much, and you knew he was right. You could be making more of an effort.

“Fine…”

You were happy you went with him. Turns out swimming just for the sake of swimming and not trying to compete or not make a fool of yourself was liberating you and making you perform better, and in no time, you managed to break your own - albeit unimpressive - breathing record. You both called for an ilu, and just enjoyed yourself, admiring the beauty all around you, admiring each other, tumbling and doing acrobatics on the back of your new marine friends. You both came up for air at the same time, and he had an awe-struck look to him, and you felt blood rush to your cheeks at how he was staring you down.

“See, Atan? You’re annoyingly good at everything you do, you just needed a good teacher.” You both laughed at his comments, and you raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Are you saying Tsireya’s not a good teacher?”

“No, I think Tsireya’s a great teacher. You just need a… more assertive presence.”

“Is that so?” You say with the same expression on your face.

He growls lowly. “Let’s go back in before I show everyone in this village things they will never be able to unsee.”

You were actually impressed with yourself by eclipse, as you have made more progress in one day than you have in weeks. Tired, but content, you made your way out of the water, your mate close behind you, when Ao’nung came by in a hurry, panting - fear clear on his features.

“… I…”

“Just spill it, what did you do?”

“It was supposed to be funny…”

“What was supposed to be funny, dumbass?”

“I think Lo’ak’s in danger.”

Both you and Neteyam came to a halt, breaths hitched as you took in the boy’s words. Neteyam’s face immediately changed to one you knew well, one that Ao’nung cowered at, one that was forged in time by years of being the future Olo’eyktan.

“What. Did. You. Do?” He spoke lowly, purposefully, enunciating every word.

“He came to apologise, but he did it as a joke, so we took him to Three Brothers and left him there. We thought he’d be back in no time, but it’s been hours and his ilu came back missing part of its fin. It was supposed to be funny.”

You hissed at the same time Neteyam snarled in his direction, moving his body towards his and taking him by his queue roughly. You could see Ao’nung being pushed towards the village, and you considered just calling Neyn and looking for him yourself. It was dark, and even Lo’ak wasn’t this irresponsible. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, fear overcoming you at the thought of your baby brother in danger. You couldn’t imagine how your mate was feeling.

You made your way to your tent, where Neytiri and Jake were.

“Tell them. Tell them what you told me.”

You got on Neyn as soon as Jake gave permission and left alongside Metkayina that would cover the water, while you would look from above. It took a while, but you eventually spotted him, making his way… on top of a huge animal, the biggest you have ever seen. A tulkun - you recognised in awe. It was beautiful, and leaving of trail of mystical glow in the darkness surrounding them. You whistled from on top of your ikran, and watched Lo’ak’s face shoot upwards, a big smile at your sight.

You made Neyn lower you towards where he was floating peacefully, and you watched as Lo’ak said goodbye and ushered his new friend away.

“Need a lift, lil bro?”

You stretched your arm out for him and he took it, getting on your banshee and settling in behind you.

“Expected to see you half dead washed on some stoney shore, not chilling on the back of a tulkun. Want to catch me up?”

“I’m going to kill those assholes.”

“No, you won’t. Still the chief’s son, no matter what a bunch of jerks they are. They’re just bullies, which probably means they have their own shit going on that they are overcompensating for. So tell me.”

“I was attacked by a fucking akula, and he almost got me, but the tulkun saved my life. He was impaled by some sort of metal hook, and I helped him, and we bonded. It was great, Angel. Best thing I have ever done.”

You smiled a little at your brother and his pet name for you, that you were surprised he was still using, endlessly relieved to hear and see him - alive and kicking.

“Why would you go with them, Lo’ak? You know you’re not allowed to go past the reef. Why must you always knock so loudly on death’s door?”

“I was just trying to do what dad told me, just trying to bond with these kids.”

“Bullshit. Maybe you can feed that to the family, but not to me. What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t know, Angel. When he told me, I instantly said no, but then he teased that he’s asking the wrong brother, and… I don’t know. Whenever someone compares me to Neteyam, it triggers something in me, a blind rage that I can’t walk away from. I’m -“

His train of thought was interrupted by a big horn announcing his return, and you saw the village in an uproar, waiting for your arrival. The last thought on your mind is that you and Lo’ak will forever be bound together by your daddy issues.

You landed on a wooden platform, in front of Neteyam and Jake, as well as Tonowari and his family. Jake rushed to his son’s side, checking for injuries, as Lo’ak angrily kept his gaze onto Ao’nung, ready to pounce on him at the earliest opportunity.

“Let’s have a look at you.” Jake said worriedly, trying to also defuse the tense situation unfolding in front of him.

“He’s fine, he’s fine. Just a few scratches.”

Neytiri made her way through the crowd and rushed to her son’s side, gasping while she took him in. “I pray for the strength that I will not PLUCK the eyeballs out of my youngest son.” You saw her ears flatten in fury, mirroring his own submissive ones, so pushed back they were getting lost in his hair.

“No! My son knows better than to take him outside the reef. The blame is his.” You saw a wince make its way on the Olo’eyktan’s son’s face, and you felt a small ping of sadness at the sight - it reminded you a lot of Lo’ak and how he is treated by Jake. It seems you found a reason for Ao'nung's need to bully others.

Relived, Jake took you both and started making his way home. “No. This was not Ao’nung’s fault. This was my idea. Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it.” Oh, baby brother…

“Sorry.”

Jake sighed looking at Tonowari, and started walking away. “I got this.”

As you walked away, hand tightly in Neteyam’s, Lo’ak turned to face his family. “Dad, you told me to make friends with these kids. That’s all I was trying t-“

“I don’t want to hear it. You brought shame to this family.”

A low guttural snarl made its way out of you without your consent or control. You hated how Jake treated Lo’ak, hated how this was the exact reason Lo’ak always acted out, what then got Neteyam involved and endangered. Jake looked at you out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing about your little outburst.

“Can I go now?”

“Any more trouble you get a knot in your tail. Do you read me?”

“Yes, sir. Lima Charlie.” You saw Lo’ak walk away, and you wanted to follow him, wanted to talk him down, but you were interrupted when both the parents turned to you and Neteyam.

“Where were you?” Neytiri says, a stern look on her face.

“Yeah, what happened to keeping an eye on your brother?”

You nose flared and your teeth bared at the unfairness of it all. You couldn’t believe either of them, and you could believe Neteyam even less when all he said was a quiet “Sorry, sir.”

Neteyam and his mum walked ahead when Jake pulled on your arm, keeping you in place.

“You have something to say, kid? It seems you’re very vocal about your opinions today.”

“Oh, there’s a lot I have to say. But I’m too pretty to have to live by myself in the forest when you kick me out of the marui.”

“That’s never stopped you before. What, you think I’m too harsh?”

“On your adolescent son who looks at you like the universe was born in your eyes and does everything he does to gain some respect, some recognition, some love, and all he gets in return is constant ass chewing and disappointed stares? Yeah, a little.”

Jake removed his hand from you and took a step back. His widened eyes took a second to recover, and a hard look replaced it when he found his composure at last.

“Lo’ak will live because of me. Because he won’t have to make the same mistakes I did, because I can stop him from being just like I was at his age.”

“I think all you’re doing is pushing him into those mistakes without realising. Look, I have hated my dad my whole life. I just don’t want Lo’ak to hate you, because unlike my dad, I love you. And I love him. And neither of you will make it in one piece if you keep going like this. You’re going to push him so far he will never recover, and you’ll hate yourself when that happens. And by that time, it’ll be too late to fix it. You still have time to fix this.”

You turned around and walked away, and hoped in silence their relationship has a better chance of surviving than yours and your father’s did.

Gideon landed in the forest that housed the Omatikaya on the back of his new banshee, a beautiful beast that he felt more connected to than to most people he’s ever met. It was surreal and a little scary, feeling another being’s heartbeat, breathing, emotions. He could tell when the banshee was anxious, or scared, or elated. He could feel it all. In return, Ikran (not the most original name, Gideon can admit) could sense his emotions, how frightened he was when he first connected their queues together, how free he felt on his first flight, how anxious he is feeling right now, having to rummage through the forest for a sign of the people he is meant to kill. They all spread out, hoping to cover more ground this way, and so he was left alone, with his thoughts that plagued him without interruption.

The forest was lush and brimming with life, and Gideon stopped to admire it for a while, to feel the beauty that surrounds him. He was close to the village, close to the labs that were now just empty, lifeless metal crates and he couldn’t help wonder how many times Jo passed the exact spot he was currently on, how many times his daughter did. He’s learnt a couple more things in the weeks that have passed, a small bond forming between him and the blonde kid with a big mouth and an equally big heart.

Your name was something him and Jo have discussed before, on one starry-night escapade, laying on the Pandoran grass that was dangerous for both of them, while making plans for the future.

“And if we have a daughter, I think we should name her after that crazy aunt of yours - what was her name again?”

“You want to name my daughter after my crazy aunt?”

“Well, yeah, she was good crazy, driven crazy, smart-ass crazy, cat-lady crazy, and that’s exactly what I want my daughter to be.”

“My Jo, you are weird.”

“You love it.”

“I do love it, you crazy girl.”

He couldn’t believe that he had a daughter. A 19 year old daughter, who grew up completely without him, whose presence in her life is non-existent at best, tortured and messy in most-probable reality. Gideon didn’t know how he died - didn’t know if he ended up executing his orders or following his heart and he felt guilty either way. He was betraying one family or the other, no matter the choice.

As he was walking through the wilderness surrounding him, he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a small clearing, full of scattered light that left pleasing forms on the ground. He was stunned when his gaze landed on two exo suits, like the ones the RDA still used. Residue from the battle that transpired almost two decades ago, no doubt. He was surprised to find out the RDA just left these here, surely they could be used for spare parts. As he was walking towards one of them, he reached for his radio in order to call it in and have someone pick it up, when he saw the name on it, that was covered in vines. BARLOWE. His hand dropped instantly, reaching instead to break down the creepers to see better. So this is how it all ended. There was no body that Gideon could reasonably see anywhere, so he assumed he died somewhere else, alone on this planet where no one could find him, no one could mourn him.

He took the screen on the exo suit in his hands, that looked a little less dusty and disheveled than the rest of the suit, and fiddled with it until he could hear it start up. The last few moments of his life would play out in front of his eyes, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face it.

In his viewpoint stood Weinfleet, reloading his gun and pointing with his exo-hand.

“Captain, I think if we go through this clearing, we should be closing in on the tree of souls in about 3 clicks.”

“You’re right. But I don’t think we should do it.”

Lyle looked stunned, and he stopped whatever he was doing to turn around and look and where Gideon stood. “Barlowe, what are you talking about?”

“This is wrong, Lyle. You know it, I know it, everyone here fucking knows it. And if you don’t, you’re even a bigger psychopath than I thought you were. We have to go back.”

“I’m not fucking going anywhere, Captain. These freaks are going to kill all of us if they get their way. Someone has to stop them.”

Gideon saw himself pick up his gun and point it at the bald man he knew too well. “Are you disobeying direct orders, lieutenant?”

“You’re not my squad leader, Captain. And I have orders from above.”

The last thing Gideon saw was the ugly fight that ensued and that resulted in both of them needing to evacuate their suits. The last shot of the camera was Weinfleet hurrying to him with a knife.

Gideon Barlowe could count on one hand the amount of times he had been left speechless in his life, and most of them ironically happened in the last few weeks. There were so many shocks to his system, he felt he would short-circuit in time, nothing left of him but fragments of a soul no one would be able to upcycle.

Betrayed by his own squad. What a shit way to go. Although, he assumed he had betrayed them first - it was at least consolation to know he didn’t go to the planes of eternal life with his last act being genocide of innocent people. He had chosen right. He had chosen to sacrifice himself for the good of this planet, that was a lot more beautiful than his own, for his soul that was maybe not as broken as he had thought, for his love who lived and raised a daughter 10 years after his passing. He had done the right thing.

He continued walking to a tree, where he spotted something that he couldn’t quite place. He now had to count on both hands, cause there he was - again - too stunned to speak. There was a skeleton in the natural nook made by the roots of the tree, and Gideon reached his hand in between the flowers and vines covering it to pick up a rock and a necklace he quickly recognised as his own dog tag. The rock was decorated with shapes and patterns, typical of the Na’vi, and in the middle, was writing carved on the surface.

“You won’t be forgotten, dad. Thank you.”

Gideon held the rock so tightly his knuckles were pale blue, almost white. He wiped the tear that fell down his face and swore he would make himself worthy of your gratitude.

Taglist (thank you ily x) @changing7 @erenjaegerwifee @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @winchestertitties @puffb4ll @rebeccao03 @ultimatebluff @cottoncandy23 @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @n3t3y4msm4t3 @loquatious-josephi-krakousky @eternallyvenus @fresh-new-yoik-watah @lu-the-ghost-reader @@miawastakens @mm0thie @fanboyluvr

319 notes · View notes

tinydeskwriter · 1 year

Text

CINEMA {Chapter I}

A/n: Someone wrote a lovely comment describing y/n and harry as “ ex lovers with unconditional love that never truly go out of style trope” which is now my very favorite way to describe it, unfortunately, my careless self deleted the comment while trying to delete my own reply—because I post it without being finished (tumblr doing me dirty)— so I dedicate this to her/him/they (?), thank you for the amazing comment.

Thank you to everyone that replied to my desperate need of help to choose Y/n ‘s ex-boyfriend…

I honestly hope not to disappoint you guys with this first chapter, I just wanted to give a first glimpse of Harry and Y/n’s ‘friendship’ dynamic. Also, it’s almost Harry’s birthday!!

Cinema | Previous Part 1.Boyfriends

Harry holds the door open with one hand, as he hold a cup carrier with four coffee drinks in the other—Luis is arriving soon, and Rebekah must already be somewhere in the house with Y/n—, he doesn’t know most of the people passing by him, from the group of fifteen+ he recognizes Chrystal, Y/n lawyer—who in more than one occasion back when they’re dating, managed to get out of circulation invasive paparazzi shots of the young couple—and Monica, her publicist since 2012, Rebekah was right behind them, escorting them all to the door.

Rebekah is their age, pixie hair, New York accent, always in flowy blouses and high waist jeans, Y/n’s PA, friend and confidante.

“Good morning H, I am going to take this, thank you.” The woman took her usual order and went back inside, turning back a few steps in, “She’s in the music room.”

“Thank you Bekah.” He said closing the door behind himself and taking the opposite direction from the PA.

The music room was one of Y/n favorite places in her house, a large space with two walls made of glass overlooking the pool, with a view of the city and the park. It’s where she keeps her prized Concert Grand Piano in custom Sycamore wood adorned with a gold leaf mural of London’s skyline around the entire case of the piano, a twenty-first birthday gift by Harry—which her boyfriend at the time saw as competition and got her a 61’ Rolls Royce Silver Cloud II in an auction.

Y/n’s enviable guitar and vinyl collections occupied the two inner walls, the only sitting furniture in the room—other than the piano bench—was the Bellini U-shaped couch from the 70’s in burnt orange velvet and Gucci throw pillows. The piece de resistance was the Brionvega RR126 Y/n inherited from her grandfather.

He found her laying in the couch reading what seemed to be a script.

She looked completely fine for someone who just sold 50% of what she called ‘her first born’, Harry was honestly expected a little bit of nostalgia or melancholia from his little love.

“Got you coffee.” He put the cup in her hand and kissed the top of her head as a greeting before sitting down next to her, his own coffee in hand.

Y/n hadn’t even took her eyes out of the pages.

“How are you feeling?”The question finally made her put the script down on her lap, and sip her coffee before looking at him.

“I feel like I just sold half of my soul to the devil for $500million dollars.” She said deadpanned.

Harry looked at her with furrowed brows.

“So why sell?” He asked slightly confused.

Y/n had started Muse unpretentiously, her goal was simply to offer to the costumers something that lacked in the market: an all-inclusive, vegan, high quality and affordable priced make-up and skincare line. Muse became a beauty empire that included even daily/basic lingerie and loungewear in 69 sizes and 15 nude colors—going by Y/n’s philosophy that basic doesn’t need to be ugly, ‘nude tones’ meant different shades from beige and pretty stuff should fit everyone.

It was her passion project.

“I don’t have the hours in a day for everything I need to do, and I want to have a life, I want to be able to dedicate myself to relationships.” She said honestly. “LVMH is the same parent company that owns half of Fenty Beauty, they are the only ones that agreed to my terms, I get creative control and veto vote, the company philosophy stays the same, I am getting a female CEO of my choice, and Muse gets global distribution, we’re going to be available at Sephora, Harvey Nichols, Boots, Ulta at a even more affordable price.”

Harry nodded. She has handing over some control of her company to have more control of her life. It was almost poetic in a sense.

“And what is this about?”the 'Adore You' crooner points to the script on the youngest's lap, he knew her well enough to know when he need to change the subject.

“Robert Eggers’ new project...but first...”She stops, looking seriously at Harry, “how was it with Olivia?”

Harry and Olivia had agreed to meet that morning to discuss their relationship.

Olivia apparently felt that tempers had run out, and that everything had been left very much up in the air.

Y/n didn't even know what was going on between the two until her former director called Harry the night before while they were getting ready for dinner, and even then she had only managed to get Harry out of the fact that they had had a fight before he came to her aid.

She had a suspicion there was trouble in paradise after Harry spent the third night in a row sharing a bed with her without his girlfriend's interference.

The man sigh, close his eyes and rest his head against the back of the couch.

“Was it that bad?” Y/n watches Harry closely.

Y/n honestly didn't like Olivia, and it wasn't even because the older one was dating Harry—which she personally found unethical and unprofessional, the kind of thing that causes a stain in someone’s career, specially with the whole scandal surrounding it.

The former Angel could write an entire essay about all her reasons to dislike Olivia Wilde, but in short it would resume to Olivia was simply an amalgamation of the kind of person Y/n looked down on in the industry: ambitious personality, fake character, and acting according to convenience.

She would never mistreat the woman or say a word against her in front of Harry, but that didn't mean she approved of their romance.

And Y/n knew Olivia didn't like her either, she could see it in the older woman's catlike eyes, her years in the fashion industry made her perceptive of those kind of things.

Olivia tolerated her for Harry, and had unwillingly offered the role of Violet to her under pressure from Warner Executives who saw Y/n as yet another money grab for the film—like Harry, she had a fanbase and more Instagram followers than the entire cast put together—and which she only accepted at Florence and Harry's request.

“We talked, we agreed that after our fight it's best to take some time off from each other, I have the tour, she still has to sort it out with Jason regarding the kids, we'll keep in touch, but we'll have a more definitive conversation when this leg of the tour is over to know where we stand.” He told her everything in one breath.

“And how do you feel about that?” The woman take a sip of her coffee.

Harry sighs again, running his hands through his hair in an anxious gesture

“I honestly don't know.” He confess. “I care about Olivia…”

“But you don’t love her…”Y/n completed. “That’s tough.” She nodded. “Do you think it’s a matter of time? Like, you can come to love her?”

“Yeah, sure…”He don’t look so sure. “Olivia is cool, she’s so intelligent and eloquent…” Y/n wide her eyes a little, condescending and pretentious fit Olivia better in her opinion. “If I am honest, our relationship hasn’t been a thought in my head for three days, this kinda of says something…”

“This actually screams something.” She said against her coffee, only to get a disapproving look from Harry. “H, you mistook the excitement of the honeymoon phase for something else and you stepped heavy footed into the relationship, I mean you moved her in three months after you guys started to date, we all told you it was too soon…”

“She needed a place to stay, things with Jason were though.” Harry defended his actions.

“And why is that?” The question was rhetorical, followed by a humorless laugh. “H, I love you, but you’re too good for this world.”

Harry looks at her with his brow frown. “Why?”

“My Love, everyone knows she broke up with Jason after you guys blurred the line, Florence told me that Jason and her acted pretty couple-ish the times he took the kids to visit, and that only changed after you started to spend too much time in her trailer.” Y/n told him what her and the girls had debated so many times before in their slumber parties over copious amounts of tequila. “Even Gemma agrees, and she’s like completely against talking about peoples life.”

The man stayed silent for a moment, absorbing what he had heard.

There was only one thing he wanted to know after hearing her thoughts.

“You never said anything against the relationship before.” It wasn’t even a question

“Because I want you happy, and you seemed happy with Olivia, that’s all I care about, it doesn’t matter if I don’t like the woman,” she answers with honesty. “I would never criticize your taste in women, the same way you never criticized my bad choices in men.” She jokes to lighten the mood.

Harry chuckles, eyes closing and dimples showing.

The musician stopped criticizing Y/n’s boyfriends after the second time she got back with Abel after he got together with Selena while they’re on a break—he did wrote her na album as na apology. He kept quiet about Charlie—needy, jealous Charlie—, and bit his tongue with Jack—flirting, handsome Jack, even Harry would have to admit the younger man knew how to be charming—.

He liked Jack less than he liked Abel.

And he had despised Abel because they got together not long after their break up, and Harry was still hung up on her, regretting his decision to end their relationship. But it was too late, Abel swapped her off her foot the minute their break-up was announced, taking her on a first date in Dubai just months later, the beginning of their whirlwind, world wide romance that just ended for good in 2019.

Jack, Harry hated him because he seemed less invested in the relationship than Y/n. He showered her with flowers and gifts and pretty words, but he was always away and it was always Y/n traveling to him. His Little Lovie was a woman in love with love, she always invested herself in the relationships, and was always heartbroken when things didn’t worked out in the end.

They were interrupted by Rebekah holding a lovely flower arrangement in her hands and an apologetic expression on her face. “Y/n…”

The actress turned to where her PA stood in the doorway, the young woman rolled her expressive eyes at the peonies, ranunculus and carnations bouquet.

“Beks…” Y/n sigh. “Just put it in the guest house, will you? Please.” She asked, and the held up her hand, stopping Bekah from leaving the room. “On second thought, it would be sad to let all those beautiful flowers go to waste, see if you can get a van to transport them all to the nearest nursing home.”

The assistant nodded and was already turning to leave the room and start to making calls when this time it was Harry who stopped her.

“Call Jeff, we have a van to transport instruments that you guys can use.”The musician offers.

“Thank you, H.”The young woman said honestly, with a bit of relief showing in her face.

The former couple turned best friends watch her leave the room before going back to their conversation.

“Is he still sending you flowers?” He points to where Bekah disappeared with the flowers.

Y/n just rolls her eyes. “I feel like I can open my own flower shop.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “He’s still blowing my phone.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” Harry takes a sip of his coffee, watching her closely.

“NO!”She says categorically. “I played this back and forth game with Abel, I am not doing it again with Jack.” She sighs. “But I still have to see him at least at the VMA’s, I can’t pull back at the last minute.”

“Shit, I had completely forgot about that.” Sometimes he forgot that she was what the industry called a triple threat: she acts, she dances and she sings, she had already used her voice in three movies.

With her always dating musicians, it was actually an impressive feat that none before Jack had put her vocals on a track—Harry did, but they aren’t dating at the time he recorded her for TPWK.

No one ever thought that ‘Into Your Arms’ would blow up the way it did, it was a romantic—that in some ways reflected Y/n and Jack’s relationship at the time—song, and Tik-Tok and Instagram Reels made it a huge sensation.

“Yeah, we have to perform it on the 11th.” She honestly wished there was a shot of vodka in her coffee. “Let’s talk about nice things now, My Love.” She lifts the nearly forgotten script from her lap pushing it towards him. “I need you to do this with me."

{next part}

Taglist: @slutforcoffein ; @lilsiz ; @pandxthings ;

@ameerakane20 ; @angywritesstuff

#harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x actress!yn #harry styles x model!reader #harry styles x singer!reader

262 notes · View notes

dlrconlicense · 5 months

Text

MY CULTURAL FIRSTS

Louise Brealey: My first kiss with Sherlock’s Benedict Cumberbatch

The actor and writer on taking acid at her first gig, meeting Michael Caine – and the moment she knew the BBC detective drama was going to be huge

Louise Brealey

LEO STAAR

Jake Helm

Sunday November 12 2023, 12.13am GMT, The Sunday Times

First concert I went to

I would like to say an unknown band called Blur in a tiny tent at Reading in 1994, but I accidentally took my first and very much last acid tab off an apprentice plumber called Tony from Swansea and watched the The on the big stage instead. It was all fine until the music started to creep up from the grass right up my legs and I was surrounded by terrifying gargoyles.

First pop-inspired fashion trends I adopted

I’m afraid I was a relentlessly unfashionable child. I was a square and listened to 10cc I’m Not in Love and The Eagles’ Desperado on repeat. I did love Robert Smith [from the Cure] but I didn’t wear enormous jumpers until my twenties.

First time I realised the BBC drama Sherlock was going to be a huge hit

The read-through was electric, which is not normal. Usually, it’s nerve-jangling because everyone is terrified they’re going to be sacked. A few weeks later I was watching the scene where Benedict first stuck his head round the lab door and said to Martin Freeman: “The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street.” And I thought, yes it is. But really, I realised it was going to be huge when I was on early Twitter and the show went off. When Sherlock kissed [my character] Molly I got 60,000 followers in an hour.

Louise Brealey as Molly Hooper, right, and the cast of Sherlock

TODD ANTONY/BBC

First TV show I enjoyed

Like everyone at school I was obsessed by Jim’ll Fix It. I put two letters into one envelope to double my chances. One was to ask to meet John Travolta because I’d seen him star in The Boy in the Plastic Bubble, a film in which he plays this kid that can’t step outside a little plastic tent or he’ll die. The other was asking to meet the pop star Paul Young — I figured I had a better chance with him because he was from Luton. At least I didn’t do what my brother did and write to Jimmy Savile to ask to meet Rolf Harris.

First film I saw at the cinema

The first film I saw on my own at the pictures was Stand by Me at The Point in Milton Keynes. I had seen River Phoenix in the video for Ben E King’s single on Top of the Pops and was utterly love-struck. That was it. River was the only one for me. I still think River was the great acting talent of his generation.

First time I cried at the cinema

Watership Down. That was actually the first film I saw at the cinema. At the Palace in Wellingborough, when I was five or six. It was the first time I had any clue that creatures die. I was very affected by it — I called my next rabbit Bright Eyes.

First actor I admired

Joan Greenwood in Kind Hearts and Coronets. She was the single most beautiful woman I’d ever seen — and I was fascinated by her voice. I also loved Richard Burton’s voice, mainly because he narrated The War of the Worlds, my dad’s favourite album. I wanted to marry Richard Burton so I could listen to him all day long.

First thing I did to embody my new character Deb in Such Brave Girls

I started with her voice. I wanted to use the Northamptonshire accent. It’s the land of my birth and how my whole family talks except for me because I was a scholarship kid at a posh school, and I’ve never worked in it before. And then the clothes — Deb is obsessed with being feminine, so with her costumes it’s often about the cleavage. I think of her as a wily street rat in dangly earrings.

First famous person I met

I didn’t meet anyone famous until my first proper job, which was as a film journalist. The most exciting thing to happen was to go to a film set and sit in Michael Caine’s trailer. He asked: “Would you like to marry me?” I blushed and started stammering at him. And then he politely pushed a little dish of Murray Mints in my direction and I realised that he’d actually said: “Would you like a Murray Mint?”

#Louise Brealey #Such Brave Girls #BBC3 #A24 #Sherlock

50 notes · View notes

rfxiii · 9 months

Text

More random North Yankton Era headcanons-

(TW: referenced drug use, Trevor’s mom)

Michael used to, begrudgingly, invite Trevor and Brad to Tracey and Jimmy’s birthday parties. Those days would be one of the times, few and far in between, that both of them would be on their best behavior. Trevor would try to show up sober, or at least not totally blasted if he couldn’t manage not to get high or drunk. And he and Brad would collaborate on what to buy the kids. Brad was better at picking out things Jimmy would like- video games, action figures, a skateboard one year, and even a small tv with a built in VHS player to have in his room. And Trevor was great at picking out Tracey’s gifts- play set make up, the most current dolls, tea sets, those little dress up sets with princess dresses, and one of those outdoor castle play houses.

When Amanda would make Michael spend alone time with the kids and take them to places like Chuck E Cheese or to go watch children’s movies at the cinema, he would make Trevor and Brad come with him. Trevor would get way too into the games at the little arcades and hog them from the kids. Collectively, Trevor and Brad watched Shrek almost eight separate times and the Rugrats movie at least ten times. Trevor cried during both movies.

Brad disliked Michael because he was jealous of his relationship with Trevor and because of how arrogant and controlling Michael behaved. And Michael disliked Brad because he perceived him as stupid, and he hated how reckless and careless he was during scores. But, that being said, neither of them knew that the other one hated them. They would have occasional snarky arguments, and even got into a drunken fist fight once, but for the most part they were fake as fuck to each others faces. Brad would talk shit about Michael to Trevor, and Michael would talk shit to Lester about Brad.

If Michael hadn’t betrayed them, and Trevor and Brad had left out on their own, they probably would have died after only a couple of years together. Trevor would have spiraled deeper into drug usage to cope with not having Michael around and feeling betrayed by him; he and Brad would have grown more and more violent and reckless until they’d have slipped up on a score and both been put down by police during a shoot out.

When they would all stay together for extended periods of time, they would all go grocery shopping together. Michael would get practical things that would be quick and easy to eat, while Trevor followed him around and loaded up the shopping cart with chips, soda, candy, and other snacks Michael would yell at him about them “not needing”. For every practical thing Michael added to the cart, Trevor would add five impractical ones. The trips that should only last about twenty minutes could last over an hour with the games Trevor would play. More often than not, Brad would go in behind them to pretend he wasn’t with them, grab a few cases of beer, and go back out to the car to drink and wait on them.

Trevor and Brad fucked on more than one occasion. They never talked about it, usually only Trevor was allowed to initiate it, and Trevor always bottomed. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but Brad knew well enough to keep his mouth shut for fear of Trevor getting angry he told anyone. Michael knew too but honestly didn’t want to get into whatever kind of personal business the two were having when he wasn’t around.

Brad and Michael had both met Trevor’s mother on more than one occasion. The first time they met her, she instantly took a liking to Michael and put on a sweet act for him. It honestly fooled Michael into thinking she was just a sweet woman worried about her son's crazy lifestyle….for about five minutes.

It was when the three of them all went to a diner to eat, and Trevor carefully reached around her to grab the salt that Michael realized she was actually the devil. When Trevor barely brushed his mothers shoulder in an attempt to reach around her she reacted instantly by grabbing her fork and stabbing him through the hand, screaming about him being a “wretch” who’d “assault his mother” by pushing into her. Michael’s opinion instantly changed and he quickly came up with an excuse for them to leave.

On the other hand, Trevor’s mother instantly hated Brad. He met her when she’d shown up at the motel he and Trevor were staying at, and when Trevor shuffled over to her and tried to hug her, she hit him so hard it brought him to his knees and made him cry. Brad, of course, saw the whole thing but kept his mouth shut, and because of Trevor’s odd relationship with his mother he knew better than to say anything to him. During the whole time she was speaking with Trevor and stopping by to visit, Brad didn’t speak to her. She later complained to Trevor about how “rude” the company he keeps was because the “big, blond one” wouldn’t even speak to a “kind old woman” such as herself.

#gta v #gta 5 #grand theft auto v #grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #michael townley #brad snider

53 notes · View notes

downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 11 months

Text

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Catalyst

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Catalyst Word Count: 2823 Reader insert: she/her pronouns. She is not American unless you are, just has a previous history in American law enforcement. Warnings: slow-burn romance, mention of crime scene and interrogation, and some more solid fluff Spoilers: none

All his life, Dr. Spencer Reid has been told he is a genius - gifted, different. When you, a new member of the BAU, arrive, he expects the same weirded-out reaction from you as everyone does. But when you don't, and you instead find him interesting, Spencer finds himself forming an attachment to you. And as the years go on, is it really any wonder that he falls for you?

This is one of six times you secretly say I love you to Spencer: the catalyst of newfound feelings.

The next time you dumbfounded him, he almost kissed you.

Ever since you had joined the BAU, you and Spencer had alway had a sweet partnership. But after that night in the office, you had become inseparable. Best friends, to put simply. You stayed late at the office to keep each other company, brought each other coffee and treats, spent free days checking out the new films playing in the cinema.

You had inside jokes, and fought like an old, married couple - a fact the team loved to bring up whenever possible. But you liked it like that. Spencer was your person, and you were his.

And as much as he wowed you everyday, you managed to surprise him on occasions, too.

You were both paired up to interrogate a suspect. You personally didn't believe she was the killer, but Spencer didn't like to base anything from solely his gut. In other words, he was skeptical.

'I didn't kill those women,' your suspect said. 'And even if wanted to kill them, it would be for something more worthwhile than a stupid role.'

'Jealously isn't as far-fetched a reason to kill as you may believe,' Spencer stated to her. 'Particularly in women, the feeling of being threatened or in danger of losing something important to them brings out almost a maternal instinct to protect what they believe to be is theirs.'

'You think all actresses are that low? That shallow?' The young woman was pretty, but her face scrunched up in an ugly manner at the insinuation.

'He doesn't think that at all,' you interjected. 'In fact, he quite likes actresses, don't you buddy?'

Spencer gave you a side eye to which you smiled sickly-sweetly at in return. You were never going to let the Lila fling down any time soon.

You looked back at the young woman, your face returning to empathetic, concerned. She had a wall up, she was wearing a mask. If you wanted answers out of her, you needed to connect with her.

You leaned forward on the table, positioning yourself in front of Spencer so all her focus was on you.

'Anna,' you said softly, like you were speaking to a friend. 'I know you didn't do it. You're different than all those other girls right? You've worked hard to get where you are. Small town girl wanting to make a name for herself in an industry that can be ruthless and heartless as the killer that's still out there. You are classically trained, by-the-book, no shortcuts. I bet you started on the stage of your elementary school, landing the lead role.'

The young woman looked at you with skepticism for a moment, then you saw a crack in her mask as she nodded. 'I was Mary in the Christmas production. But it wasn't until high school when we preformed Shakespeare's The Tempest that I knew this was what I wanted to do with my life.'

Spencer noticed your smile now, how it lifted in a manner that sung of melancholy and fondness.

'"We are such stuff as dreams are made on.",' you said whimsically, and Spencer noted a familiarity that had the words rolling off your tongue with ease. Like it was muscle memory.

'Such a beautiful line, right?' the young woman asked.

'Yes, but, when translated into our modern English, it is quite sad really.' You make eye contact with the young woman and hoped she saw the understanding and slight desperation in your eyes. 'It means that life is an illusion, and a fleeting one at that. I don't necessarily believe in the first part of that, but it is true that life is fleeting. So before you end up the next aspiring actress in our morgue, you've got to tell us everything you know.'

The rest of the interrogation went smoothly. Honestly, it was the easiest one Spencer had ever sat in before. And all the while he had just sat there in awe of you.

'I didn't know you read Shakespeare,' he said randomly as they drove together in a local police SUV to meet with the rest of the team at the new suspect's house.

You scoffed. 'See that's the biggest misconception of Shakespeare. That it can only be read. In fact, it actually shouldn't be just read. It needs to be performed.'

Amusement danced upon Spencer's lips. 'Are you saying you were in a Shakespearean play? Which one? Actually, let me guess. Romeo and Juliet.'

'That's a cliche.'

'Twelfth Night? How about Taming of the Shrew?'

'Why do you want to know so badly?'

'Because I...' It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't quite know why he wanted to know. Only that he knows everything and you were his best friend and he didn't know something about you.

You spared him a sympathetic smile from the driver's seat before returning your eyes to the road. 'If you must know... it was actually The Tempest. It was my high school's production, too. And as much as he irritates me, I grew fascinated with Shakespeare's work after that. It even prompted me to do a unit or two in Shakespearean literature and performance during my uni days.'

You allowed yourself to slip back in time a little to those days, that melancholy and fondness finding its way back into your smile, Spencer noticed.

'Outside of Shakespeare though, I'll admit... I was a theatre kid.'

'No way!' Spencer exclaimed. 'You?'

'Why is it so unbelievable that I used to dress up and spout lines that no one really understood?' you asked, but you weren't offended. Simply amused that you seemed to have stunned the (until now) un-stunnable Dr. Spencer Reid.

'Because... it's just so left of field from anyone else in the team.'

'And is that a bad thing?'

'...not at all,' he said after a moment, and then proceeded to drop the matter entirely. Spencer Reid never forgets anything, he couldn't forget, not with his eidetic memory. But he made extra special care to file that little fact about you away for now.

A few days after returning home from wrapping that case up, you came into work to find your coffee already made on your desk, and beside it was an envelope. Curious, you swiftly opened the envelope and gasped with pure surprise at what you found.

'I thought you might like them,' Spencer said as he approached you, his own coffee in hand. 'The ticket vendor said they were the best seats in the house.'

'Oh my God, Spencer!' You couldn't help yourself, you leapt onto the gangly man like a frog and held him tighter than you'd ever hugged someone before, avoiding spilling Spencer's coffee. You were so excited you even smacked a fat, grateful kiss on his unsuspecting cheek before letting him go. 'Tickets to ASC's production of The Tempest?! How did you even get these, I was told they were all gone.'

'Believe it or not, I have connections everywhere,' Spencer answered a bit too vaguely but you didn't care. 'Even in areas that aren't of my particular expertise. I figured you and a friend could go enjoy it before it finishes up.'

'You mean you're not coming?'

Spencer tried not to read into it too much, but he swore he heard a little hiccup in your question, like you were upset. 'W-Well, I, I, uh, didn't want to assume anything. I mean, y-you might want to take JJ, or Emily-

'Spencer.' It was ridiculous how easy he listened when you said his name, how he dropped everything to listen to what you had to say whenever you did. And his heart faltered when he made eye contact with you and saw joy and hope lighting up your eyes. 'Would you like to come to the show with me?'

And it wasn't any wonder, then, that he replied without hesitation, 'Y-Yeah! All right, s-sure. Would love to.'

'Amazing!' Spencer once again had to juggle his coffee and you as you squeezed all the air out of him in another bone-crushing hug. 'Spencer Reid, you have just made my day.'

It was a week later and the night of the performance. You drove yourself and Spencer two and a half hours straight from Quantico down to Staunton to the American Shakespeare Centre, reciting and recalling your favourite Shakespearean moments the whole trip.

Spencer made the extreme effort to look presentable, pulling out a nice suit set, even replacing his usual casual sneakers with some shiny boots. His hair was slicked back out of his face, with only the slightest stubble on his chin and upper lip.

When you picked him up, you said he looked handsome. He never cared much for his appearance, but that comment warmed his heart slightly, made him sit more upright in his seat.

Once you pulled up and got out of the car, he finally saw you in all your glory. A navy blue dress clung to your frame beautifully; kitten heels cradled your feet as you walked up the stairs to the theatre's entrance; your jewellery brought out the (e/c) in your eyes, even further accentuated by your simple makeup and hair.

Spencer has met Nobel price winners, attorney generals, even spoken with the most psychotic people humanity has to offer. And yet there you stood - ethereal, angelic, striking him silent with just your presence.

'You coming, Boy Wonder?'

You'd reached the top the stairs without him moving a muscle. Embarrassed, he tried to cover it up with a cough as he scrambled to catch up with you. 'Boy Wonder? Where did that come from?'

You shrugged playfully as you hooked your arm through his. 'Just seemed appropriate.'

'I'm twenty-seven, (y/n). I'm hardly a boy.'

'Oh, so would you prefer I call you Batman?'

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'I didn't know you liked DC comics.'

'There's a lot you still don't know about me, Spencer Reid,' you answered, handing over your tickets to the ticket vendor at the door. 'Like how I've always preferred Robin over Batman, anyway.'

You quickly found your seats, and Spencer tried not to acknowledge how tight-knit the seats were pressed together. His thigh pressed lightly against your own, and he couldn't tell if he hated or liked the feeling that suddenly sprouted in his gut.

It distracted him so much that instead of watching the performance, he looked at you. How you reacted to each sonnet, to the entrance of new characters, to the costuming and the music and emotion that filled the room with every word spoken. He watched it all, your joy, your love. Your heart was on your face, and it struck something new and unexplored inside him.

You cried at one point, and physical touch wasn't his forte, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and gave them a reassuring squeeze that he was there. You'd turned to him briefly and nodded, showing that you understood and that you were grateful.

You didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the show.

'Wow,' you breathed out as you exited the theatre, the performance finally done. 'That was...'

'Yeah. I feel the same,' Spencer finished, his hands shoved into his pockets as they walked down the stairs towards the carpark. His hand still burned from your touch, and that unsure feeling in his gut still remained.

'It was just so... magical.'

'I would say impressive, but magical works too, I guess.'

'Says the guy who still goes trick-or-treating on Halloween and believes in ghosts. Don't tell me you don't believe in the supernatural now.'

'I'm not saying I don't believe. I'm just saying that it's impressive that they were able to make fantastical magic seem slightly realistic.'

You playfully shove him, causing you both to fall into laughter. The two different melodies mixing together made Spencer feel lighter than he'd felt in a while. This was different to when you usually hung out. This time, there was no case, no team, nothing but yourselves to worry about.

'It doesn't matter, anyways,' you said, stopping on the steps suddenly. Spencer went down one more before stopping too. You smiled gratefully at him. It was a cool, autumn night, cool enough that your breath danced like ghosts in front of you as you spoke. 'Thank you, Spence. This was a wonderful night. You didn't have to do this.'

'I know,' he said, and it startled him how quiet and soft his voice was. 'I just... I just wanted you to enjoy the stuff you love. You deserve to enjoy the stuff you love.'

His acute eyes fell to your shoulders and noticed the slight shake in them. 'Here.' He wasted no time pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders, pulling it tight to capture the warmth.

You gratefully held onto the jacket, the warmth it captured seeping into your eyes. 'You truly are a wonder, Spencer,' you said, your words dancing in between you two.

He was only the step down now, making you two eye level with one another. He was so close he could see himself in your eyes. He wondered if you could see yourself in his.

'Am I?' he asked, his breath mixing with yours.

'Yeah...'

He felt your warmth, and he suddenly decided that he liked the feeling in his gut. The one that had been driving him crazy all night. The one that had an iron grip on his mind, his heart. The one that pulled him closer to you, to your lips.

His eyes were almost closed and his lips almost on yours. You didn't back away - you didn't want to back away you realised. No matter how hard your heart pounded in your chest. No matter if he was your best friend.

So you leaned in too, and you could just feel the stars and planets align as you tasted his breath-

The front of your heel slipped on the edge of the step, sending you flying forwards into Spencer's chest. His reflexes had improved immensely since joining the BAU, and so he managed to grab hold of you and hold himself up before your momentum could send you both tumbling down the remaining stairs.

You both breathed in heavy gulps of air, steadying both your hearts from what could've happened.

'Nice catch,' you said after a moment, loosening your grip on Spencer only a little.

'Thanks.' He didn't know where to look. You, the ground, his surroundings. It all just felt muddled, as if his whole world had been tilted on its axis.

In a sense, it had.

But he felt your gaze, and he couldn't deny your eyes so he looked at you also. You eyes were blown wide, and the slight catch in your breath had him second guessing himself. Maybe he'd read you wrong after all. He'd never been wrong before, but there was always a first time for everything, he figured.

'(Y/n), look, I-'

Before he could attempt to salvage himself, the irritating ring of his phone went off, breaking the glass dome of solitude you'd' forged together with nothing but words and air.

This forced you apart, awkwardly so, as Spencer readjusted you on his step before letting you go completely and fishing his phone out of his pant pocket. He checked the ID caller: Hotch.

He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear. 'Hotch, what's up?'

'New case,' the unit chief answered without pleasantries. 'I know we're all meant to be off for the weekend but this one is important.'

'Where is it and we'll be there.'

'You're with (Y/n), right? In Staunton?'

'Yeah, why?'

'Head to the local police. We'll meet you there. That's where the case is.'

'Okay. Gotcha.'

Hotch ended the call and then it was just him and you once more. Although instead of the air feeling freeing and warming, Spencer couldn't seem to get enough in his lungs. It was like he was suffocating, having to face you again.

So he slipped into work mode, keeping Hotch's urgency and the new case in the forefront of his mind. 'New case. Here in Staunton. Hotch wants us to head down to the police and meet them there.'

'Right.' You seemed to think the same as him - it's probably why you were best friends to begin with - as the ethereal light in your eyes dimmed with the severity of the new situation. Without another word, you both bee-lined for the car, jumped in, and made your way to the local police station.

But for the rest of the case, Spencer couldn't help but think about that moment with you on the steps. He'd kissed before, of course, even dabbled in flirting despite how little he knew about the craft. He'd never imagined he'd attempt it all on you, however. Not even in his wildest dreams.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #jason gideon #angst #romance #slowburn #friends to lovers #friends to more #aaron hotch hotchner

66 notes · View notes