#i feel like I’ll get to my old level if I write some more
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More than friends
Osamu Miya x fem! Reader
Warnings: NSFW, dry humping, alcohol
Words: ~3.7 k
About: A night drinking with Atsumu and Osamu leads to an unexpected ending~
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“C’mn, just do it.“
“Shut it, Tsumu. I’m not gonna do it.“
You silently watch Atsumu laughing even louder than before and Osamu rolling his eyes with a huff. The three of you are seated comfortably in the spacious living room of the twins, a few empty bottles of beer between you, as well as a clear bottle of strong alcohol.
“You’re not doing the dare? Not even telling y/n what it was?“
“No, I’m not. Just keep quiet for once, will ya?“
Atsumu’s smug grin doesn’t falter for a second when he downs another shot and reluctantly gets on his feet. Osamu scoffs at his childish behavior and ignores his existence completely.
“I’m gonna go to bed. Got a practice scheduled early with Bokkun tomorrow. See ya.“
Atsumu waves in your direction and smacks Osamu’s shoulder before he abruptly leaves, his shoulders slightly swaying with each drunken step that he takes before you finally hear the door to his room closing. You doubt that he will make it to practice early tomorrow, and you take a mental note to send a text to Bokuto, warning him that he shouldn’t wait for the blonde setter.
However, right now you’re painfully aware of the situation that you now find yourself in. Your hand tightens around the bottle of beer that you’re holding, your gaze now flickering between the table and Osamu, quickly taking in his appearance. His hair is messy from the way he‘s been running through it ever since you three gathered to drink, his broad shoulders almost threaten to rip the tight black dress shirt that clings to his body, and his spread legs almost invite you to sit in between them. He doesn’t look at you either, his gaze absently focusing the wall behind you, and you feel the weird atmosphere like a heavy weight on your shoulders.
You clear your throat and try to overcome this moment of awkwardness, but it doesn’t seem to work.
Talking with Atsumu is easy. He’s always rambling about something, laughing, or talking about a certain Omi-omi that seems to annoy him very much.
Talking with Osamu on the other hand… He makes you nervous. He makes you blush, he makes your heart flutter, he makes you wonder about more.
“So… what’s the big deal? Why wouldn’t you do the dare?“
He groans and his eyes focus on you again. There is something about his gaze that never fails to send a shiver down your spine. He often has sleepy and heavy-lidded eyes, but when he directly looks at you and puts all of his focus on you- that‘s when your heart always stops a beat. This man will surely be the death of yours.
“You don’t wanna know. Trust me.“
“C’mon, don’t be a party popper. It can’t be that bad if it’s Atsumu’s idea.“
“You’re wrong. It is that bad because it's Atsumu’s idea.“
His lips curl into a smile and he looks down to your empty shot glass, clearly trying to change the subject, which only intrigues you more about it. “You want another?“
“Sure. Tell me about the dare first though.“ You grin and hand him the small shot glass, and he groans again, his head falling back in playful annoyance before he takes the glass out of your hand and starts pouring the clear liquid into it and then into his own.
“I just wanna make clear that it was Atsumu’s idea. He wanted me to kiss you. Told ya, it was stupid.“
The way he doesn’t even hesitate to say it, his voice not even trembling nor is his gaze nervously flickering. He nonchalantly states this without giving it a second thought- and it feels like he just punched you.
“Oh. Okay.“ You force a laugh out of your mouth, a laugh that sounds forced and fake and cringe, even to your ears.
You’re absolutely sure that kissing Osamu would be great. However, not that you would ever get the chance to try. He rolls his eyes and simply hands you the full shot glass, his hand not touching yours for even a single second, like you’d burn him through physical contact.
“Don’t think about it please.“
“Okay.“ You take the full shot glass out of his hand and down it without a second thought. He does the same with his shot, and you admire his side profile for a brief second before your gaze starts to roam through the room again.
It’s silent.
Very much silent.
Your own breathing sounds too loud in the quiet room and you nervously grab your beer once again and take a few sips, but Osamu doesn’t move. You can’t look at him though, your gaze now trained to your own hands. You feel somehow rejected, even though you didn’t say anything. Did the mere thought of him kissing you seem so absurd to him? Sure, you both never really showed that kind of interest in particular, but you thought some of your conversations resembled some kind of flirting, and the way he always looked at you never failed to send butterflies to your stomach. Seems like these feelings were completely one-sided though.
A few more moments of silents later that are barely manageable and you decide to call it a day.
“I’m gonna go too. It’s getting pretty late. See ya.“
You force a smile on your face, a smile that you hope looks neutral and not like you’re trying to get the hell out of the apartment, but you’re caught off-guard when he blinks in an irritated way.
“Already? You know you can stay as long as you want. You can sleep on the couch if ya want to.“ He nods towards the luxurious couch in the living room, the one that feels like heaven whenever you slept on it, but now you just want to escape out of the suffocating atmosphere. Every second in his presence just makes the situation more tense.
“No, it’s fine. Really.“ You abruptly get on your feet and quickly take some of the empty glasses and bottles in your hands, not wanting to leave him to clean up the whole mess you three created.
„It’s fine, y/n. I can clean up later.“ Osamu’s voice behind your back is accompanied with the sound of rustling glasses and bottles, and you know that he probably took the remaining dishes with him.
“I can’t leave you with such a mess. I’m sure Atsumu will be too hungover to help you tomorrow, so I don’t mind giving you a hand right now.“ You quickly place the last few dirty glasses in the sink and hurry towards the front door.
You’re sure that Osamu can quickly get rid of the remaining mess, so you basically run towards the front door before he can confront you about your strange behavior.
“Y/n!“
“Hmm?“ You just managed to pull on your coat and turn around- only to find Osamu right in front of you. You take a step back in surprise, but he follows you, one big stride and your back is pressed against the front door, and Osamu is towering in front of you. Your bodies are not touching, there is still some space between the two of you, yet, his sudden approaching sends even more heat to your cheeks, that have probably been burning red ever since you started to drink.
“Ya don’t have to rush.“
His dialect is thick now, his voice somewhat quiet. His eyes are focused on yours, and you forget to breathe for a second- when he looks at you as intently as he does, studying every single of your reactions, and it feels like he casts a spell on you that makes your heart beat faster. He looks so insanely handsome in the dimmed light, his disheveled hair falling into his face, the black strands healthy and smooth after he had stopped dyeing his hair a few years ago. It makes you want to touch them, to brush the hair out of his face to see his eyes better, to bury your hands into his hair, to grab his broad shoulders and press your chest against his-
“I’m not rushing. It’s just late, you know.“ You force another polite smile on your face, a smile that doesn't feel convincing at all judging from his reaction.
“Okay.“ He hesitantly nods after studying your face for another second and takes a small step back, just enough for you to be able to open the door. When you take a step towards his direction though, he suddenly grabs your wrist and pulls you towards him, with enough force to have you stumbling the single step, but his free arm quickly wraps around your hip and keeps you from falling.
You’re too shocked to say something, you probably look like a fish out of the water with your mouth wide open and your widened eyes, yet he doesn’t release you nor lets go of you. You’re painfully aware of the small distance between the two of you- or rather: the non-existent distance, and you feel your heart racing in your chest with your body pressed against his. His hand around your wrist is warm, his grip tight, yet gentle- but your brain just fails completely at understanding what’s going on.
He leans down and suddenly releases your wrist to cup your chin, tilting your face until your eyes directly meet- and that’s when you forget how to breathe. Your body feels stiff and hot while you’re being pressed against him, and you subconsciously bring your hands to his chest to create some distance between the two of you, but he doesn’t even budge the slightest bit.
“Are ya upset? That I didn’t kiss ya?”
“What- what are you talking about?” You wiggle in his grip, but he doesn’t falter for a second. He brings his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips when he’s talking again, his voice deeper this time, more attractive.
“What would you have done if I kissed ya? Tell me, y/n.” You pause with your movements, staying completely frozen and unable to move.
“I- I don’t know.” Your breath come shallow, you feel like there is not enough oxygen coming to your brain and leaving you in a hazy and hot state- and it’s hot, oh, so hot, the way his gaze flickers to your lips and then to your eyes again.
“Wanna find out then?”
Your fingers curl into his shirt, but you’re not pushing him away. You can barely focus when he comes even closer, so close that his lips are slightly touching yours, and you involuntarily close your eyes and lean forward, just a little bit to close the distance between the two of you.
His hand on your hip freezes for a second, now it’s his body that seems surprisingly stiff, now that you simply decided to kiss Osamu Miya- but he quickly regains composure and initiates a deeper kiss- still soft and delicate, his hand gingerly cupping your cheek and tilting your face to kiss you in a deeper angle. Your lips move against his, the addicting feeling of him kissing you so tenderly slowly creating a feeling of hunger in your body. Your heart rate goes through the roof for sure, but you don’t care. Not when he’s kissing you like that, when he is holding you like you would break if he just applied too much pressure. “Samu-“ you gasp when he pulls back to let you both breathe, his forehead resting against yours, and his hand now moving to your lower back to hold you steady.
“Y/n,” he whispers against your lips and takes a deep breath. You’re barely able to comprehend what’s going on, and you feel your body trembling in his hold, yet you still don’t move back.
Osamu Miya just kissed you, and it was great. So great that you want more kisses- more of him, that you’re growing greedy for more.
“Would you have kissed me back in front of Tsumu?”
“Can we please not talk about your twin brother now?” You huff at his words, not believing that he has the nerve to talk about that when you’re still in his arms, growing hotter every second- probably also due to the thick winter coat you’re still wearing.
“I need to take off the coat, Samu. Or leave- what do you want me to do now?”
You look directly in his eyes while you say the words, knowing fully well that your words carry a second meaning. Does he want you to stay? Did the kiss mean something to him? Or did he just want to proof something to himself?
“I’m fine with whatever you decide. You can leave, or you can stay. You can sleep on the couch, or sleep with me. I’m following your pace, y/n.”
“I-“ you’re caught off-guard at his words, barely able to realize that he let go of you and just stands there without touching you, patiently waiting for your answer.
“I want to stay.”
“Okay.” He nods with a small smile, quickly stepping closer and helping you out of the coat like a true gentleman.
“Thanks.” You smile back, excitement but also nervousness making you shiver, but Osamu is quickly by your side again after putting away your coat and takes your hand to lead you to the living room.
“Where do ya wanna sleep? I can get the couch ready in a minute if ya want to.”
“I… I want to sleep with you.” You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, and you hope that you don’t look too flustered while you’re avoiding his gaze, but he squeezes your hand reassuringly and thankfully refrains from replying with a mocking comment.
“Your pace. Tell me when yer uncomfortable. I can always go and sleep on the couch.”
His words are reassuring, and that's what you admire about him. Osamu will always care about your feelings first- that’s just the way he is.
The way to his room is short, it only takes you both a few steps, but his hand holds yours softly until you reach his room.
“Here, I got a shirt for ya.” He hands you a dark, clean shirt from his drawer and nods towards the bathroom, signaling you that you can change there.
“Thank you.”
You quickly come back with his shirt on, a quite comfortable one thankfully, and decide that you will sleep with no pants- not daring to remove them already though. Osamu is already ready to sleep, sitting shirtless on the bed with the blanket covering his lower half, that you assume is only clothed in a pair of boxers. You probably shouldn‘t stare too much, but you can‘t stop your eyes from flickering down to his broad chest and to his strong arms, but he doesn’t seem to mind you eyeing him up.
He raises a brow though and smiles after scanning your figure for a few seconds, and his gaze heats up your cheeks once again. He suddenly nods and flicks a switch next to his bed, and the room immediately darkens. You can barely see his silhouette when you finally sit on the bed after quickly removing your pants.
“I’m just gonna lay here?” You ask, now slightly regretting not being able to see his face. An agreeing hum leaves him, and you quickly slip under the covers next to Osamu. You don‘t dare to move though, your body awkwardly laying on the edge of the bed.
It’s silent for a few moments, and you internally debate whether he has already fallen asleep, or if he’s laying just as stiff as you. His breathing pattern sounds relaxed, but you can’t help but to wish that you were closer to him. Would he mind if you just slipped a little closer?
You carefully inch your body closer to his, trying to cause as few movement and sounds on the bed as possible, but when you accidentally touch his bare arm, you can hear his breath stock. His hand suddenly comes up and grabs your upper arms and before you know what’s happening, you find yourself under him.
“Samu-“ you gasp, but your gasp gets interrupted when you feel his lips against yours. Not in the same way as before- there is nothing soft about it. It’s hungry and needy, his tongue flicking against your lip to urge you to open your mouth for him- which you gladly do with a low moan.
It just feels right. To lay in Osamu’s arms, to have his lips on yours, to feel his bodyweight on top of you- it all feels so intimate and good-
“I like ya. A lot.” He suddenly rasps between your kisses, his voice now thick and clouded with lust, and he kisses you again, deeper with more fever. You deepen the kiss as response, your hands slipping under his shirt and roam to his wide shoulders, feeling his bare skin, feeling how the muscles tense under your touch. You slightly scratch him with your nails- not enough to hurt him, but enough to leave a mark.
“Fuck, yer drivin’ me crazy.” He pulls back and groans against your neck at the sensation of your nails against his back, his hips suddenly bucking into yours, and you arch your back at the feeling of his hardened cock against your clothed pussy.
“Shit, Samu- do that again-“ you gasp, your head thrown back, and you moan his name again when he grinds against you a little harder, the friction sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your legs wrap around his body, spreading you even more for him, and you’re pretty sure that he will be able to feel how wet you are for him even through both of your underwear, yet it only spurs him on further and he props himself up on his elbows and thrusts his hips in a slow rhythm.
“Feels really good, Samu,” you let one of your hands wander to his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every thrust he’s doing, feeling his heartbeat that is just as fast as yours.
“Imagine how good it would feel without clothes. When I- fuck- when I fuck you as hard and long as you want. Make ya nice and wet for me, make ya cum on my tongue, my fingers- and then- thenI would fuck ya with my cock.” You feel your cunt pulsing with every single of his words- fuck- why is Osamu Miya so good at dirty talk? Who would have thought that the ever so calm and collected Osamu would have such a dirty mouth?
“Please, Samu- want to feel you, want you to fuck me.” You whine, desperately rubbing yourself against him, and you hear him curse, you feel him throb in his boxers, but he just goes harder- not faster but harder, as if he wants to force the orgasm out of you by sheer friction against your sensitive clit.
“C’mon, y/n. Be a good girl and show me what ya look like when yer cummin’. Want ya to cum for me now, pretty girl-“ his lips are attached to your neck now, greedily sucking and biting the skin, leaving a few marks for sure- but you don’t care. Not when he’s got you so close to cumming, not when you feel like you could burst any second.
And you do.
A few more thrusts later, and you feel yourself cumming, the friction against your clothed clit enough to send you to heaven, and you grab his shoulders while you scream his name. Your body arches up, your muscles deliciously tensing and contracting, the heat now almost consuming you. So much that you barely realize that he kept on groaning your name and whispers of praises, of how pretty you look when you cum for him, how you’re such a good girl for him, how he wants you to keep cumming just for him- and you do.
You don’t know how much time has passed, when you suddenly realize that he’s cumming too- that his body tenses and he suddenly grabs your shoulders with his body weight almost crushing you, but you don’t mind it. You feel his cock twitching against your core, and a wet sensation and you swear he makes the hottest sounds you have ever heard when he’s groaning your name and moans against your skin.
Both of your chests are heaving heavily, and you barely realize that he rolls to his side and presses you against his chest to avoid crushing you completely. Not that you would have minded that. You wrap your shaky legs around him and push him closer, not caring about the fact that you’re both covered in sweat. His hands rest on your back, his right one rubbing circles on your back and softly caresses your skin under the shirt you’re still wearing, and you contently hum against his chest.
He easily manages to make you feel comfortable and worshiped, to show his affection to you with his little gestures.
“Ya wanna eat somethin’? I have your favorite onigiri in the fridge. Or do ya wanna take a shower? Or a bath?” His chest vibrates against your cheek while he’s talking, and you feel your heart swell with affection at his caring words.
“I’m too worn out for anything. How about breakfast in bed tomorrow and then a bath together?”
He presses a kiss to your temple, and you can basically feel his smile when he answers. “Sounds like a good plan. We also need to talk about “us“ when we get up.”
Your breath stocks for a second at his words, a sudden panic suddenly growing in your chest.
“So… that means there is a “us“ now?”
“I came in my underwear from dry humping ya. In case ya can’t tell, that makes us more than just friends.” You can’t see his face but you know that he’s rolling his eyes while he reassuringly rubs your back and still refuses to let you go.
“More than friends, hum?” You muse, while he keeps on rubbing circles on your back, and you know that he won't let you go tonight- or ever.
“Sounds good.”
#haikyuu fanfiction#smut#osamu x reader#osamu smut#osamu#osamu miya#well#first thing I wrote this year#happy valentine's day#!!! <3#wishing you all a wonderful day!! <3#feels good to write again <3#I'm working already on a few other things!#so I'm sure I'll be able to post more soon <3#i feel like I’ll get to my old level if I write some more#need to practice I’m definitely rusty 🥹🥹
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ミ the mightiest
part 1 | part 2
🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader
🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!
adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!
The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.
It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.
Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.
It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.
Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.
“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.
You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.
“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.
Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.
“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.
He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”
“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.
“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”
Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.
“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”
Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.
“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”
You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.
“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”
There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.
“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”
God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.
“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”
That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.
You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.
And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.
Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.
“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.
You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.
“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”
Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.
“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.
His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.
Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.
If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.
In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.
Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.
And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.
His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.
“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.
It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.
“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.
A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.
“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.
You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.
You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.
He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.
“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.
“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.
Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.
Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”
Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.
“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.
Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.
For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.
“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”
As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.
Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.
You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”
He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”
And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.
“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.
Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.
“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.
But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.
You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.
Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.
Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.
“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”
He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!
“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.
You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.
But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.
As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.
“Problem?”
His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”
You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.
The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.
In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.
In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.
You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.
You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.
Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.
But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.
He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.
God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.
Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.
You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.
“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.
You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”
There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.
“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”
Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.
“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.
“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.
You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.
You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.
Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.
Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.
You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.
“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.
You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.
“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.
Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.
Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.
You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.
"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.
In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.
"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.
The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.
Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.
Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.
“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”
Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”
You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”
Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.
“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”
Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.
When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.
"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.
"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."
You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”
“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.
You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.
But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.
His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.
It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.
You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.
“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.
“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”
“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”
You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”
Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.
If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.
You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.
“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.
You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.
“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.
“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.
“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.
Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.
“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.
He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.
Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.
The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.
Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.
“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”
You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.
“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”
Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.
“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”
Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.
“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”
And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.
And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.
Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.
Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.
“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”
“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.
Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.
This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.
His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.
It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.
You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.
You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.
“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”
He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”
It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.
“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”
Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.
“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”
Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.
“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”
Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?
“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”
Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”
Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”
You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.
“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”
Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.
“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.
“Hey–”
As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.
Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.
Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.
You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.
“Tawtute?”
You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.
“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.
Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”
You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.
You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.
But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.
You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.
Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.
You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.
Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.
There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.
The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.
When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.
“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”
You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.
“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”
“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.
Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.
“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”
“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”
You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.
Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.
You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.
You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.
“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”
You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.
“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.
His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.
“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.
It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?
Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.
“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”
“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.
It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.
“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”
Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”
“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”
Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.
“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.
You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.
“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”
Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.
You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.
“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.
“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”
You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.
“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”
“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.
When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.
Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.
You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.
“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”
“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”
Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.
“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”
The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.
Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.
You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.
You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.
All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.
But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.
“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”
Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.
Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.
Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.
“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.
There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.
“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.
This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.
Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.
You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.
At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.
“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.
He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.
“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.
“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.
You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.
Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.
“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.
“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.
Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.
It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.
Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.
Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.
Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.
He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.
You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.
“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.
Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.
You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.
It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.
Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.
Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.
Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.
You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.
You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.
Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.
Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.
Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.
He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.
Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.
It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.
“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.
“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”
“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”
You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.
“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.
“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”
Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.
“Y-yes.” You say.
Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?
“How would you like me to–”
“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.
Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.
The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.
What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.
“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”
“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”
And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.
Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.
“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"
You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.
Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.
“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.
Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.
“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.
You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.
Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.
“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.
You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.
What the fuck?
#on holidays atm and I’ve been stressing about how to post this 😭 I’ll have part 2 posted in a day or two!#neteyam#neteyam x human#neteyam x reader#avatar x reader#na'vi x human#na’vi x reader#awow#avatar way of water#neteyam fic#fics
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"Only for you, darlin'"
Summary: Cooper heads into town in search for some RadAway for you when he stumbles upon a cute gift (Cooper Howard x fem!reader).
Word count: 1.0K
Warnings: needles, kissing (slightly ig)
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Stalking through the desert, he heads towards the town in search of some RadAway for you, the radiation reaching too high of a level for Cooper to be comfortable with, especially in his presence.
His boots echo through the makeshift tunnel made of old tubing before sunlight peaks out of the other end, exposing the market on the other side, countless signs decorating the stalls. He pulls his hat down slightly in order to cover his irradiated face more, less because some people find it unsettling and more so people don’t recognise he’s a ghoul.
He walks along the stalls, searching for any RadAway and some other supplies that need topping up.
Signs stick out to him yet none offer what he needs until he reaches a store with various niche medical supplies as well as bandages and the like. Walking up to the store, he looks over the small bottles and pills decorating the side but doesn't see anything Stimpaks or RadAway.
“Ay,” He gets the attention of the store owner. “You got any RadAway?” He asks, looking up at the man covered in shredded clothes. He shakes his head before looking down at what looks like an old graphic novel. “You sure? I got plenty of caps.”
“How many?” He asks, accent showing he’s not from around here.
“Plenty.” He reinterrates, shaking his bag causing the rattling of the caps and the man puts the graphic novel down, heading further into the shop before returning with a pouch of liquid with a strip of duct tape on, scraggly writing on it.
“I keep it in the back, people nick this stuff the most. 50 caps.”
Cooper scoffs. “50?” He asks, confusion mixed with annoyance in his voice. “30.”
“45.” He counters. “And I’ll throw in a Stimpak.”
“Fine” Cooper counters and the seller sighs before pushing it towards him whilst Copper pushes the caps on the side. “And you got the good deal there, you should feel lucky I’m willing to pay for this.” He snatches it from the side, rolling his eyes before moving on to finding other items but glad he’s got what he came for.
Strolling through the town, he looks in the store windows, something catching his eye in a junk store. He pushes open the door, a bell ringing making him wonder if it’s a trap but why would there be a trap when someone is trying to sell junk?
“Hey darlin’, feel free to take a look around.” An old woman says, crazy hair covering most of her face making him feel uneasy that he can barely see her eyes. He nods before heading towards the window display, boots hitting the wooden planks underfoot noisily as they creak.
A toy rabbit sits in the window, no more than a foot tall with fluffy ears and a cute nose. He swipes at it, examining it and dusting it off before looking for some sort of price label.
“How much for this?” He turns to face the woman who pushes her glasses up, scrunching her nose as she squints at the item.
“8 caps, but for you 4. Who’s this for?” He pulls out another five caps and drops them on the table before carefully putting the bunny in his bag, making sure it’s tucked in and the clasp is shut properly. He pulls on the latch, checking its security. Secure.
“My girl, she loves bunnies. Thanks.” He grumbles, walking out the store and off to the base again.
He walks back through the desert, kicking the sand as he goes, mumbling to himself and even whistling slightly. He lifts his hand to keep the sun out of his face as the base appears in his field of vision. Base is a strong word for a couple of broken down buildings just by the trees that are more secure than you would think. It provides cover and hides flames when it gets cold.
He can’t help the edges of his lips quirking up at the sight of the base and his girl.
Under an hour later, he returns to the base, stepping through the ‘door’. “Sweetheart?” He yells through the base.
“Cooper, that you?” You ask, sweet voice ringing through the walls.
“‘Course it’s me.” He grins to himself, following your voice.
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me come with you.” You say before being interrupted by a cough. After moments of coughing, Cooper rubs your back and once you start speaking, he reaches into his bag.
“Did you get a Stim-” You start but he passes it to you with a brief kiss to the cheek. “Thanks.” You smile before looking down at the Stimpak wrapped in a cloth. Taking it out, your eyes are immediately on the needle, you take a pause and deep breath before injecting it into your thigh.
Letting out a breath, you drop the used Stimpak and look back to Cooper who wears a smirk, holding back a laugh.
“What are you laughing about?” You cock an eyebrow.
“You ain’t scared of no mutants, no raiders, nothing but needles.” He chuckles, his accent prominent. “It’s cute.” He says before remembering the bunny toy in his bag. “I got you something in town.” He says, rootling through his bag.
“More RadAway?” You ask, knowing his paranoia about you getting too much radiation when being around him.
“Yeah, but I got you something else too.” He pulls the bunny out of his bag. “Now I know it ain’t much, but I saw it and thought you’d like it…” He presents the bunny, quickly brushing off some of the sand from the journey.
“Aww.” You can help but coo at the cute bunny, taking it off of him and holding it gently, picking up one of the ears and letting it flop back down. “You didn’t spend too much on it, did you?” You look back over to him.
“Y’know it’s rude to ask about someone’s finances, sweetheart.” He teases. “Besides, the lady gave it to me for cheap, probably knew I was getting it for my girl.”
“Probably knew you were a softie.” You tease.
“Only for you, darlin’.” He picks up your hand and leans down, kissing it playfully.
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AN: I can't believe I haven't posted anything for over three months… sorry I've had exams and extra and it's just been stressful so hopefully I can get a bit more on track.
I hope you enjoyed reading!
#fanfic#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x yn#cooper howard fanfiction#cooper howard x y/n#fanfiction#fluff#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x y/n#the ghoul x yn#the ghoul x you#fallout#the ghoul fanfiction#the ghoul fanfic#fallout x reader#fallout x y/n#fallout x yn#fallout x you#cooper howard#cooper howard x you#cooper howard fanfic
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i know requests are closed and im sorry but i need this so i dont forget 💖 actor!toji looking at edits on live and hes like “so yall see me like this” and the fans go wild
actor!toji on live!
okay i’ll make an exception once.
𝜗𝜚 actor!toji (x implied gn!reader)
sfw, crack, tiktok (bc that’s it’s own warning), suggestive, horny toji fans, toji has reading glasses, petnames (‘kid’) he’s a little rude but when is he not :), old man toji <3
〆(・∀・) : me after not writing abt actor toji for like a month 😊🤗
masterlists
actor toji masterlist
*
“hey, everybody,” toji said, waving to camera as if he didn’t fumble and struggle in front of his fans for the past ten minutes trying to get his phone to stand up securely. he looks cute, dressed in a navy blue hoodie with nothing underneath and his dark hair was a messy mop atop his head.
now he just sits in his chair at his dining room table, watching the viewer count rise and rise to absolutely ridiculous numbers.
“fourty thousan-fifty thou-sixty thousand?! didn’t know i had so many fans..jesus christ…”
honestly, toji had no idea what he was doing and he was a tiny bit nervous. this was his first ever “live” (something that he did not know even existed until you told him) and he had no idea how to entertain his fans or what they really wanted. but they seem pleased with him just staring at the camera in confusion and admiring his handsome face.
toji proceeds to read some of the comments in the rapid moving chat of chaos. here, starts the beginning of his own demise.
many comments are sweet, kind, praising him for his talent and acting skills, some were just spamming their country flags and names, a rare male fan is asking to see his guns collection, others asking about his upcoming projects but the majority of them are…not exactly PG in the slightest.
toji’s eyes could bulge out of damn skull at some of the explicitly and complete shamelessness of his fans. he knew they found him attractive, but this was a whole other level of depravity.
“what the fuck…” toji whispers in awe, mouth agape as his eyes scan through the chat, his eyes being fed with the most desperate and thirsty comments he has even read, “you guys are sumthin’ else…”
his one sentence just pours fuel on the, already blazing and large, fire, the chat moving so fast that is starts to lag.
“why’d i even speak..”
he actually takes time to read each comment that he can see (and stomach) and one of them catches his eye.
“watch your edits on tiktok? i have edits? what’s an edit?”
the chat blows up even more, commenters begging and begging him to watch these…edits.
“alright, alright, i’ll watch these “edits”,” toji says to the camera, before pulling out another phone, one that is clearly quite old, jagged edges and a cracked camera, a raggedy phone case and just overall not in the best condition it could be in.
“‘what is that ancient ass device’ eh? this is my main phone,” he replies to a comment, showing his phone to the camera to his fans can see, “‘s fine, works perfectly. and it’s not “ancient”. it’s actually a nokia. pft, dumbass kids.”
toji can feel himself being flamed in the chat. even more so when he pulls out his reading glasses.
“yeah, ‘m fuckin’ old. jesus.”
he squints, scrolling on his beaten up phone with his index finger, “y’know, ion even really use tiktok, i only got it so _____ can send me videos of whatever the fuck. i swear, that kid sends me a million videos per day..” toji sighs, smiling at the thought of you, “ahh, they’re just so dumb.”
toji, after a long time of searching through trial and error and directions from his fans, eventually finds the search page of tiktok.
“alright, what’d i type in then? just ‘toji’? ‘toji fushiguro’?” he looks for answers in the chat, but find himself getting frustrated at the lack of actual responses to his question. he tuts, “i’m just gonna search ‘toji fushiguro edits’ and see what happens.”
he does just that and the results are…very interesting.
right in front of his very eyes are miles and miles of edits of himself, created by his fans, their depravity exposed for him to see, some of who were probably watching him at this very moment.
“jeeeeesus christ. ‘dunno what i even expected, honestly,” he scrolls through them, audios changing constantly as he does so, his eyes wide and wondering, “i’m actually impressed…”
toji pressed on one, and he watches it, the edit flashing in the reflection of his glasses as he watches. his open mouth slowly turns into a smirk of amusement and all out disbelief, the audio of the video being something about… ‘needing someone older’?
“so you guys see me like this?” he asked, expression incredulous and he breathes out a small chuckle, “buncha little fuckin’ freaks.”
the chat seems to like that. a lot.
his chat is once again flooded with comments from hell…hell for people driven purely by lust, that is.
toji huffs, “how old is this person anyway?”
he seemingly clicks on the account and reads their username. well, almost.
“‘tojis little cu-woah!” he almost drops his phone out of his hand, jaw on the floor, “how old are you! sixteen?! toji looks to the camera, eyebrows furrowed before slamming his phone on the table and pointing at his fans through the screen, “go do your homework! and be in bed by nine. actually, no scratch that, eight! christ…sixteen years old, oh my god…”
he continues to mutter to himself, completely baffled at how some of his fans are so young and just so…out of their minds. his skin crawls at the thought of a sixteen year old liking him in such a way.
toji shivers, “god, where are your parents?” he questions and continues to search through the edits, before finding one that looks safe, innocent and PG.
he was proven wrong however, when the audio was a woman rapping about being put in full nelsons-
“okay, that’s enough!” he slams his phone down again on the table, “i’ve seen enough,” and then he reaches for the camera, not even caring about his viewers. he mutters a, “crazy fuckin’ kids” before abruptly ending his “live” and going to take a nap.
*
the next day, you have sent him over ten videos on tiktok, all of them being edits of him from the day of the live, most of them containing the clip of when he called his fans, quote, a “buncha little fuckin’ freaks” unquote.
toji sighs at them, secretly entertained that you must be watching these deviant edits of him too.
*
〆(・∀・) : no i have not forgotten abt actor toji
taglist: @tiredslepz | @hayatslife | @shxyxyxxxx | @snowprincesa1 | @laylasbunbunny | @mimiemie | @ncentic | @rosesored | @imover-18 | @gintokhi | @suzuperstarr | @lostgxrlblog | @jallie10 | @nnsav | @bunnyx-sakura | @bubbabobabubbles | @ladytamayolover | @keiva1000 | @morgyyyyyyy | @studiecoherence | @earth2fae | ce-namonreads | @ib4ryuguji | @hisjaegerist | @basiloverthyme | @sweet-kiwi | @sayitowshi | @iovemytoru | @thecompletechaosmaster | @sugutoad | @inumakiiz | @uzxotic | @1meshugge1 | @kunikuzushisbeloved (sorry some could not be tagged for some reason </3)
#actor!toji#toji x reader#toji x you#toji x y/n#toji x self insert#toji fluff#toji crack#toji fushigro x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro x you#toji fushiguro x self insert#toji fushiguro x y/n#toji fushiguro fluff#toji zenin x reader#toji zenin x you#fushiguro toji x reader#fushiguro toji x you
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If you are taking request, could you write an enemies to lovers with ajax? Like, expand on what you wrote in his post?
Do me a favour (Ajax Petropolus x Reader)
Pairing: Ajax Petropolus x Fem reader
Warnings: SMUT, sub Ajax, making out, mentions of getting high, thigh riding. Reader is judgy and bitchy. I wanted to hit her halfway. Reader is a vampire, but it’s mentioned like two times. Kind of an enemies to lovers, except Ajax refuses to get into it. And yes, I stand by thinking this boy has got to have somewhat initiative because did you see the date he got to the Rave’n? AGED UP CHARACTERS.
A/N: I really wanted to subvert the trope of enemies to lovers when it comes to smut. We usually get angry sex and the character domming the reader hard, and it’s cool, I like it, but I thought combining these two requests could be nice. Man, drunk me is wordy.
Requested: Yes, expansion in headcanons and Subby Ajax. I tried my best with the second.
“Oh, my god! Ajax is like! So cute, you guys! He is so tall and dreamy, and the way he puts his arms around me…!” Enid blabbered. You gave Wednesday a look, rolling your eyes. Wednesday glowered, which, considering she had like three facial expressions (Murderous rage, homicidal maniac and neutral serial killer, as you had affectionately named them) was just about an agreement.
“I don’t get what you see in him.” You said, laying back on her bed and doing some pretty hard gymnastics to keep painting your nails without messing up the covers. “He is just so…” It was not your intention to offend your friend by saying the guy she was dating was lame, but that was what came to mind.
Ajax was pretty normal, the only thing he had going on was the fact he was a stoner and tall. You didn’t approve of the first, and there were plenty of guys with the second on Nevermore. The bar was too low, really. He had a bland personality and wasn’t a great student either. It wasn’t like there was anything to dislike because he was the most boring boy on earth. Ugh, it was always the prettiest girls like Enid with the most dull boys.
“Me either. He’s just so…” Wednesday said, clearly trying to find a word that described her feelings. Then, with a shudder of disgust, she said the word. “Normal.”
You couldn’t agree more, but didn’t say anything, so Enid didn’t get upset. Besides, your dislike of Ajax was totally baseless because he treated Enid like a goddess. You kept quiet. Until Wednesday came to get you in the middle of the night because Ajax and her had broken up.
“She is… Emotional.” Wednesday explained to you. Her facial expression was definitely bordering dangerous levels of murderous rage. “I don’t know how to help, I already offered to bring her his head on a platter, the old Perseus style.”
“That's racist.” You said to her, frowning. “I’m in.”
“Go see her, please.” And so, that meant you made your way to the dorm, with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, Wednesday fretting uncomfortably around you. You held Enid until she fell asleep, her body wrecking with sobs.
“We are killing this asshole.” You muttered to her, adjusting your sunglasses as you exited the room.
“I’ll get the sword, you go for the mirror.” And that’s how it got started. Every time you found yourself near Ajax, you sniffled in disgust. Wednesday glowered in a menacing fashion, both of you shielding Enid from him. You couldn’t help it. Your reaction was visceral. When you saw the face Enid made when she looked at him, eyes lowering to her shoes, something tugged in your stomach. This mediocre guy had crushed your friend’s heart, and Enid was too kind to say anything to him, even going so far as telling you to stop glowering at him.
The breakup took a toll on her. Before, she was practically glowing, but now even her bright-colored clothes and makeup seemed to lose their shimmer. The first weeks were hard, but after a month she seemed to be over it. You remembered, though. Your opinion of Ajax had hit a new low, and so, you avoided him like the plague. It wasn’t really notorious because you weren’t his biggest fan before.
Two whole months after the fact, you sat down to lunch with the girls and your smile froze on your face. In the table in front of yours, Ajax was sitting down with Xavier, eyes glued to Enid’s back. You could only tell because you were sitting in front of her. Maybe it was a fluke? You waited a bit, but he wasn’t stopping. He even made eye contact with you, giving a tiny smile. The nerve of this guy!
“Oh my god, the guy can’t stop staring.” You whispered to Wednesday, when Enid was distracted with her phone. “Maybe he wants to get back with her?”
“We’ll nip that in the bud.” She turned to face him and gave him her most homicidal grin. Ajax quickly averted his gaze, looking properly cowered.
“Wednesday! Y/N!” Enid snapped her fingers playfully. “What are you two looking at?”
“Nothing.” You quickly said, but it was too late, she was already turning around.
“You guys have to stop with the whole hating Ajax thing. We have been texting and decided we want to be friends!” Enid chastised, clapping happily. Wednesday blinked. You knew her well enough to know that when Enid talked, she listened. And so, having lost your biggest ally, you had to let it go.
“Fine.” You grumbled. “As long as I don’t have to talk to him that much…” Oh, Ajax might have won this battle, but you would win the war. You lifted your head, catching him staring once again. You waited until he met your eyes, just so you could give him a smile and a cheeky wave, popping your fangs a little and almost making him spit out the water he was drinking.
You had to give it to him, the little shit was always one step ahead of you. That’s what you realized when you got called into the principal’s office just so they could tell you got a new job. Apparently you were to tutor Ajax in Botanic, a class in which you were surpassed both by Bianca and Wednesday in terms of skill. The excuse had been that Wednesday didn’t have the people skills necessary and Bianca refused, citing schedule conflicts. Besides, Ajax had asked Bianca before, and when she said no, he prompted your name to the principal.
You walked straight to him when you got out of the meeting, face so hot from your fit of temper, you could feel smoke coming out of your ears. You had tried saying no, but the principal wasn’t having it. They had explained one tutor had already refused, and you didn’t have schedule conflicts like her. You weren’t getting out of it.
“What game do you think you are playing?” You asked him, and he had the nerve to look confused. Xavier gave you a weird look. You ignored him too, eyes attached to Ajax. “You asked the principal for me to tutor you. Why?”
“Umm… because I suck at Botanic and you don’t?” Ajax peered at you, a small smile on his lips. Xavier snickered. You paid him no mind.
“Fine.” You eyed him, distrust clear in your face. "Meet me tomorrow in the library. We’ll go over the material for this week. Three o’clock.” You walked away, looking over your shoulder as you did so. Might be showing weakness, but you trusted him only as far as you could throw him.
“That went over well.” Xavier whistled, looking at your retreating form.
“Oh, I will win her over, you just watch.” Ajax punched him in the arm. “Maybe then she will smile at me.”
“Keep dreaming, Ajax. Girl has it out for you since you and Enid…” Xavier started saying, quickly trailing off when Ajax got a dopey look in his eyes.
“Yeah, but that only shows she is loyal. I like it.” Ajax defended you.
“You are delusional.”
The next day found you sitting in the library with some diagrams you had printed and a copy of your notes, ordered by date. You had two different practice tests because you were the kind of person who went all out. You took your education very seriously.
Ajax was right on time, looking for you in the different tables until you waved him over. He was holding two coffee cups, looking a little awkward out of uniform. He was in a hoodie and a nice pair of jeans. Not like you were paying attention or anything.
“Here. I got you a latte.” He said, sliding it over to you. You kept your expression closed off, not wanting to betray your real thoughts.
“Thank you. It was nice of you.” You deadpanned.
“Oh, tough crowd, aren’t you?” Ajax didn’t seem deterred in the very least. You grabbed the latte, eyes going wide when you sipped it and realized it was just the way you usually took it.
“Oh, so you are a talker. I don’t like it.” You slid a pen and one of the tests towards him. You were taking your questions to the grave. “Solve this, just to know where we are.”
He kept quiet, slowly filling out the test. Ajax’s brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pursed, a hint of teeth appearing sometimes when he bit his pencil. Without anything else to do, you kept watch of him. You noted with interest the way he didn’t seem to hesitate on filling up the diagrams, easily identifying the parts of plants you had picked on purpose because they were the hardest to do.
You went to grab the sheet at the same time Ajax was going to hand it to you, quickly, too quickly. Your hand ended up brushing his, and a confused, sinking feeling took place on your stomach. Were you imagining it, or there had been a spark? You pulled the sheet out of his grasp, desperate to stop this strange feeling, and wincing when the sudden move made it so you cut yourself with the paper.
You lifted your index finger to your mouth, sucking the blood from it. Your fangs went down automatically at the smell of blood, uncaring it was your own.
“Fuck.”
“Are you okay?” Ajax eyes darted from your finger, to your mouth, to your eyes. In that specific order. When you met them, unafraid, he scratched his neck, cheeks going red and quickly averted his gaze. You smirked. Was he afraid of you? Good.
“I’m fine. Give me five to check this, and we will talk about weak areas.” You stated. The test was pretty good for someone who claimed to need tutoring. Ajax was passing, even with a good grade. That made you tilt your head a little. The few errors you could see were pretty easy to fix, and weird compared to his level of compression of the rest of the subject.
You felt watched, weirdly enough. But every time you lifted your eyes, Ajax was staring at his phone or at the table, eyes never stopping on you. It was unsettling. What did he want?
You made up your mind when you got to the end of the practice test. You would call him bluff.
The tutoring session kept going, with you on your best behavior. You gave him the second practice test for homework and decided to meet again on Friday.
“Okay, I can work with this. You see the first question here, you got this one wrong. Not only that, but you said Nightshades’s properties included being poisonous, when it’s actually the contrary.” You blatantly lied. The lie was so evident, Ajax should jump to correct you with the level of knowledge he had displayed. But interesting enough, he didn’t. He kept his eyes politely trained on the first question, right where you were underlining with your pen. You were going to get to the bottom of this, you decided then. What could he possibly be gaining with this? “Oh, sorry, it was a slip of the tongue, I meant to circle the fifth question, forget what I said. You were right.”
To that tutoring session, Ajax showed up with a box of your favorite candy, munching on them and offering you one casually.
“Oh, I love these!” You smiled at him, in a truly involuntary way. You quickly cleared your throat, focusing on the homework. “So, page six…”
Ajax smiled at you, looking far too happy for someone who was about to be assigned additional homework on top of what he already had.
“Here.” He pressed the bag of candy against your hand. “Have them, I don’t like them much.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Why did you get them, then?”
“They were on sale.” Ajax quickly answered.
“At the vending machine?” You perched yourself on the chair, searching his face for any sign of deceit. As usual, he avoided your eyes. But you were unable to tell if it was from his nervousness about his powers or because he was lying.
“Does it matter?”
“Why are you giving me things?” You asked, rubbing at the bridge of your nose. A headache was starting, you could tell. “First the coffee, now the candy…”
“Umm, maybe because you are doing me a huge favor by cutting your study hours to help me pass?” Ajax offered, looking sheepish.
“You don’t need me for that.” You muttered, but humored him and started going over the errors on his homework, getting more sure with each one that this guy was smarter than he looked.
You didn't understand why you didn’t put a stop to it right then. You kept repeating to yourself you weren’t sure Ajax was faking his weakness in the subject, you needed more evidence. But thing was, you could just ask Wednesday to get you the evidence and call it a day anytime. And yet, you kept going back to him. You tried to rationalize it, saying it had been a while since a boy showed interest in you, that you liked the attention. You also said that the principal was making you do this, that it wasn’t like you went back to him every week out of your own accord. But you had also started to look for him out of tutoring, smiling at him in the hallways, making small talk when he was near. Something was wrong with you.
Why did your heart flutter every time he pressed a tiny trinket in your hand? Why didn’t you pull away, why did you smile at him?
You were unable to keep denying the truth when, under the pretense of fixing his tie in the middle of a tutoring session, you placed your hand on his chest. Ajax always wore his uniform messily, and it drove you up the wall. This time, something about the way his tie was messily knotted called to you, something told you to fix it for him.
Ajax didn’t pull away, transfixed by the way your fingers grabbed at the item. You unknotted it, going on your tip toes to take it off, lacing it over your neck and tied a Windsor, before placing it over his head and adjusting it. Your hands lingered, adjusting the knot, once, twice times too many.
You looked up, lips parted. For the first time in a while, you made eye contact. But this time, you were the one who blushed and looked away.
“I… I… I got to go.” You grabbed at your backpack, almost running out of the library.
“Y/N, wait…” Ajax called out. You didn’t listen. You were too preoccupied with your newly discovered feelings. You had a crush on Ajax. No. That didn't sound right. This wasn’t a crush. It was something worse. You were in love with Ajax. The plainest, most undeserving of Enid, boy in the school.
Your feet took you to your friend's room, without needing to think about it. You knew the school like the back of your hand, and right now, you needed something only Wednesday could give you. Cold, hard truth.
You knocked on the door, frantic, hoping Enid was somewhere else. She could never find out about this, it would mean destroying your friendship. God, why? Under this new light, your conduct looked terrible. Enid would think you had been trying to break them up from the start. No, she could never find out. You needed to fix this.
“Y/N.” Wednesday said, from her place in front of the writing machine. “What do you want? You sounded pretty desperate.” You looked for Thing, assuming he must have been the one to open you the door, giving him a little wave. He responded to it, and you smiled a little, before starting to pick at your nail beds.
“I might need some cognitive recalibration, Wednesday. Could you slap me, please?” You asked, and Wednesday rolled her eyes.
“What has brought on this fit of dramatics? Surely, Enid is better prepared than me to deal with it?” Wednesday rose, all elegance.
“I fucked up. I’m in love with Ajax.” Wednesday raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Plainest boy on earth? Turns out he can really turn on the charm offensive, it was really insidious, he got inside my head, with his stupid jokes, and stupid smile and perfect eyes…” You groaned in frustration. “Ugh, see? Please, slap me, and let’s see if it goes away because I won’t fuck up my friendship with Enid over a boy, especially if he is plainest that white bread, untoasted.”
“I think it is a bit late for that.” Wednesday said, looking behind you. You turned, heart beating wildly.
“Enid!” You screeched. The werewolf looked impassible, expression blank. This girl had been the first friend you had made at Nevermore, in your orientation on freshman year, when you had been terrified by strangers and jumpy at every sudden move, overwhelmed by your recently awakened senses. Enid had approached you then, kind and gentle, making sure of not scaring you, and befriended you swiftly. She had helped you grow into your powers, and become more confident in yourself. You owed her everything you had. If you had to choose, your heart would break, but you would force yourself to forget Ajax. You would rather be heartbroken than without her. You loved her like a sister, and so, if she asked you to help her get back with him, you would.
“Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to, I swear I won’t ever look at him again, hell, if you want me to stop tutoring him I will, I never wanted this, you have to believe me, when you guys were together I was trying to break you up, but not from why you think it is! I didn’t want him then, I don’t want him now!” You begged, tears prickling at your eyes, not noticing how a tiny smile started to make its way on the other girl’s face. You would have kept blabbering, totally uncontrolled, if not for the interruption.
“Y/N.” Enid said, and your jaw clicked with how fast your mouth shut itself. “I was the one who broke up with him.”
You opened and closed your mouth, looking at Wednesday, who looked as dumbfounded as you were.
“But… But… You cried so much… And we gave him so much shit!”
“Don’t be mad at me, okay?” Enid raised her hands in surrender, looking between Wednesday and you. “I felt terrible because I had a crush on someone else! That’s why we broke up! I was just too scared to tell you guys.”
“Oh.” You sat down on one of the beds. “Oh.”
“Ajax has already forgiven me.” Enid sat next to you, passing an arm over your shoulders. “You can have him if you like, I know you genuinely weren’t trying to break us up, so you could steal him from me, you know? You were looking out for me.” Then, she turned to look at Wednesday, eyes full of love. “You both were.”
It was too much. You promptly started bawling your eyes out, relieved. Enid hugged you and Wednesday placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder. You cried even harder.
“Oh, stop it.” She said, pinching you hard on the arm and making you yelp. “There, a reality check. If you want that plain boy, even if I can fathom why, you can have him. Enid already authorized it, and he trails after you like a lovesick puppy. That must be enough to put an end to your dramatics.”
“Wednesday!” Enid exclaimed. “That was rude.”
You started laughing uncontrollably. Everything was going to be fine. You just had to deal with Ajax, but that could wait until tomorrow.
The next day, you woke up with a pep in your step. You did your hair and make up, putting on your nicest outfit. After breakfast, you sought Ajax out. He was sitting with Xavier on the grass near the woods, headphones on. Xavier was drawing something and leveled you with an unimpressed glance. You ignored him.
“Ajax.” You smiled. “Walk with me?” He looked adorable this morning, in a light blue hoodie with a matching beanie. The butterflies in your stomach started making their appearance once more. Ajax quickly found his feet, and started following you.
Once you got far enough so that Xavier wasn’t in hearing distance, you turned.
“You wanted my attention, didn't you?” Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, and you couldn’t help but wring your hands in front of you. Remembering that was the signature gesture of the house elves in the Harry Potter franchise, you quickly dropped it, hands coming nervously to brush at the sides of your jeans. You didn’t want to look like a house elf, you wanted Ajax to think you were cool.
“What?” Ajax asked, blinking at you. “What are you talking about?”
You kept walking, this time by his side.
“You didn’t have a need for a tutor in Botanic, Ajax. Your grades are almost as good as mine.” This piece of information had come from Wednesday, who, for someone who hated gossip, knew her fair amount of it. Maybe Enid was rubbing on her.
“Where are we going?” Ajax deflected, looking away from you.
“My room.” You answered, even when you could feel the blush that was starting to form on your cheeks. “You wanted my attention.”
“I did.” He admitted, blushing. Then, looking like he was about to faint, he made eye contact with you. “What are we…?”
“We are going to have a talk about valuing people’s time and then, if you are good, we might make out.” You could feel your blush go darker, and you closed your eyes, remembering Enid’s advice. Be bold. Be blunt. Ajax wouldn’t know subtlety even if it hit him in the face. She should know what she was talking about because she had dated him. Hesitantly, your hand went to grab his. Ajax’s fingers opened, accepting yours, sliding in between them. His hand was warm, and a little sweaty. You found it so endearing, you wanted to kiss him. Ugh, was love supposed to feel like this? You trusted Wednesday, you did, and so, you were pretty sure Ajax liked you back. But still, you were nervous.
“Wait, so you like me? You are not…mad?” Ajax turns to face you, hesitantly grabbing your other hand.
“Would you prefer I was mad?” You ask him, carefully schooling your expression.
“I just wanted you to smile at me.” Ajax nervously ran his thumb across your wrist. “You smiled at everyone, but never me. You didn’t like me. ”
“Oh, I didn't want to like you, you infuriating, clueless, handsome, stupid boy.” Ajax looks confused, and you can’t stand his kicked puppy look anymore. So, you press a kiss to his lips, just so he gets it. Ajax parts his lips a bit, allowing you entry, and his hands drop yours, choosing instead to go and circle your waist. You let him pull you closer, so you are flush along his body. You have kissed some people before, from clumsy first kisses to passionate making out just for the sake of it. But this, this has to be the best kiss you have ever had.
“Come on, dorm” You say, unable to stop kissing him. It’s a miracle you managed without a teacher catching you, unable to keep your hands off each other. At first, it's only you, Ajax much more hesitant. But then, when he catches on you want him and that he is allowed to touch you back, his hands are everywhere.
This is what you will say after. You have no clue how things escalated, how one kiss turned into a dozen, how you ended up with that hickey in your neck. How you end up on your back, Ajax’s hip bones digging into your upper thigh, with the way he is kissing and sucking your neck like he was the vampire out of the two of you.
No clue how, or why, he lifts his head, pretty blush on his face and says, “Umm, sorry, can you…?” Ajax wets his lips, suddenly self-conscious. “Umm, maybe, move your leg, sorry. It will go away.”
You don’t get it at first, until you zero exactly into what the weight against your thigh is.
“Can I?” You tease, unable to not do it. Ajax looks too damn good with that blush on, you want it to stay as long as possible. He is sweet, too, leaving all choices in your hands. You had been the one setting the pace, begging him to kiss you everywhere. You like it. It’s a heady feeling, having all this power at your fingertips, but also a responsibility. Ajax is trusting you with his body. “Which direction?” You ask, suddenly serious.
“Excuse me?” Ajax is getting redder by the minute. You can’t help but smile. You want him to feel good, he worked so hard at winning you over, waiting patiently for you to met him halfway. Ajax deserves something nice.
“Away or forward?” You say, pressing your thigh more against his erection, just so he knows what you mean. “I’m cool with whatever.”
“Oh. Forward, maybe? If you want?” He asks, eyes closing. You pass your arms beneath his armpits, locking them behind his back and pulling him back to you. You press a kiss to his jaw, open-mouthed. It’s cute he is into hickeys so much, you think, hearing his whimper. His heart beats wildly, pulse fluttering in your grasp. He smells good, and your gums itch with the urge to bite him, to own him, to make him yours.
“What do you want, Ajax?” You kiss his neck next, dragging your teeth along the carotid. He shivers, but you don’t receive any kind of response. “You just have to say the word.”
“Forward, please.” And you aren’t so cruel as to make him beg, head over heels as you are for him, so you press your thigh lightly against his erection. You intend to take him apart with light touches, playing the long game. But Ajax doesn’t agree. His hips rut against your thigh, harshly, hungrily.
“Greedy.” You mutter, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, rub yourself on my thigh, baby boy.” You encourage him, one of your hands dropping to his hips to help him settle into a rhythm and not only desperate, jerky movements.
Ajax shakes, whimpers once again, face going to hide in the crook of your neck. You scratch at his nape, surprised when something cold touches the tips of your finger. A tiny, bifid tongue. His snakes.
You keep your cool, closing your eyes just in case. You will mention it after when Ajax settles down. Determined, you press your thigh a little harder, pulling his face out of your neck, blindly searching for his mouth, pressing kisses all over his face.
When you finally find it, you bite on his lower lip, lightly. Not enough to draw blood, but you have caught him staring at your fangs once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking, when he thought you hated him. Maybe he would like it, you have a hunch about it. And you weren’t wrong because Ajax gives a little shout, hips pushing once, twice, thrice and freezes. His body goes taut, you can feel it against yours and so, you are careful as to not press too much. You don't intend to hurt him, after all. Not yet. You would love to see the face he makes when he comes, but you would rather not end up stoned.
“Shit. Sorry. How embarrassing…” Ajax sounds disappointed in himself, and you don’t want that. Never. In your mind’s eye, you can see his kicked puppy look, how the blush on his cheeks would make its way down his neck. You don’t want his eyes to go all sad, you know your heart would break at his face. It’s for purely selfish reasons, you think to yourself, and smile blindingly.
“That was the hottest thing ever. “ You say, eyes still closed, looking for his cheek, so you can press a kiss there. “Got, like, dozens of fantasy material.”
“Why do you have your eyes closed?” He asks, hand stroking your cheek lightly and steering you back to his mouth. You press a kiss there, too. You can tell Ajax is worried, but he seems unable to contain himself, and he smiles into the kiss. “Did my snakes do…”
“One of them licked me, by your neck. Just in case, I’m not scared or anything, but it would have been hard to explain to the nurse how this happened.” You say, and Ajax laughs. You two would be busted, totally. Your dorm mom would have your head, and probably you would have to speak to the principal. You hear him shuffle around, likely adjusting the beanie.
“You can look now.” His eyes are full of regret, and you want to get rid of the sadness there by any means necessary. “Sorry again.”
“Was cute, you know? Maybe they were curious.” You smile at him, lightly scratching his back. Just like a puppy, Ajax melts against you, offering more of his back to scratch. You don’t know what drug you took, but you smile, again. You just can’t help yourself.
“Aren’t you scared of them?” He hesitates, pulling his face out of your shoulder.
“Ajax, I bit your neck and lips, and I am a vampire. Were you scared?” You ask back, biting your lip a little. You were pretty sure he liked it, judging by his reactions, but you knew having a vampire’s teeth against your throat might be off-putting for some more rational people.
“No, but…” You shush him, placing your index finger against his lips. Ajax playfully bites it, but his eyes are on yours the whole time.
“Unlike dying out of blood loss, stoning is temporary. It’s cool.” You say.
“Cool.” He mutters, but he doesn’t go back to his place near your shoulder. “So…I am… We are…” Ajax can’t find the words, but you know what he is asking.
“Yes, now come here, I wanna cuddle.” You pull him on top of you once more, wrapping your legs around his waist. Ajax just slumps and you sigh happily. This was precisely what you wanted.
#wednesday 2022#wednesday netflix#my writing#ajax petropolus x reader#wednesday addams#xavier thorpe#enid sinclair#ajax petropulus x y/n#ajax petropulus x you#ajax petropolis x reader#ajax x you#ajax smut#ajax fluff#ajax petropulus imagines#ajax petropolus#ajax petropulus smut
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cherry pie.
pairings. louis partridge x fem!reader
summary. reader never would have thought about getting high until she seems to have lost all her morals in one night with a boy she had never met before.
warnings. swearing, underage drinking and smoking
ricky rocks. YALL PLEASEEE bare with me. you can probably tell this is an older story because of the format, but just disregard the first half, i know it’s the lower end of my writing. it kinda gets better 😬 (edit: this story is so mid, i’m just trying to clear my drafts)
the room danced with colors, so many colors and shades you seemed to have never seen before. unfamiliar with their cause and purpose, unsure why you couldn’t touch them; it frightened you with the way they moved around, the way they twirled around your head like little ballerinas.
you swallowed, dropping your head back against the grungy brown couch sat in the corner of one of the back rooms of connor’s house, a boy you found yourself calling on day after day for the past two months for fun, and by fun you meant sex.
but tonight, you hadn’t seen the boy for what you could count as hours. there were other things on his mind rather than a high off their ass you. other pretty girls with less clothing on their bodies and longer hair that was paid more attention to than your own.
you couldn’t care less at that point in time as you felt so deep in a haze, nothing could pull your attention. nothing, until the seat next to you sunk in from the pressure of bodyweight and another high body, seeing the same things you were seeing, feeling the same things you were feeling.
he just had it more under control.
“you going to stare at the ceiling all day, love?”
you rolled your head to meet the eyes of a crazed blonde with matching brown eyes. delight swirled in his irises while he looked at you with also dazed eyes, almost ceased shut from swelling of the high. you looked amazed right back at him despite sober you would have been disturbed, never seeing a person so out of their mind.
“who are you?” you stared at him, shocked.
“your new boyfriend,” he wiggled his eyebrows, jumping and readjusting himself up against you, his arm now slinging up and over you shoulders. a new kind of energy swelling through his chest, “i say we go on a date.”
he stared in front of him focused full hearty, as if visualizing something at that moment. you squinted, looking to where he was looking as if trying to see what he was seeing, but not enough weed could put you on his level.
“i say, we leave right now, get some pie, maybe some coke. whatever you like sweetheart, i’ll give it to ya.”
“I think your sweetheart wants some space, jake,” your eyes looked from the boy who sat next to you, jake, to the boy who now stood before the two of you, an unimpressed look on his face. his arm reached out to jake, practically yanking him from your side. “alright pal, let’s go for a walk.”
you watched jake stumble into him, “but louis, she’s pretty.”
louis glanced back over his shoulder as he begun to pull jake away from the couch and toward the door, now really coming to your attention. his eyes raked you up and down before smirking a little bit, nodding to himself, “sure man, she is.”
he begun to walk away with jake wrapped around his shoulder before you got up fast almost tripping over your feet, not wanting them to go, “wait, i want a pie.”
he looked back at you and your disoriented self. your shoulders were slung low, making you smaller than you actually were. your hair was all staticky, hanging above your head like a crown, and your eyes; dilated and filled with innocence.
he smirked, looking you up one more time before nodding you over, cuing you to follow after him, his arm still holding jake to his toes.
the boy’s car was blue. louis’ car was blue. it was one of those old, nice, restored cars that must have been worth thousands. the interior had light brown leather seating that made noise every time you shifted and readjusted yourself due to the old springs lying beneath. it made you giggle as you sat next to him in the front seat, jake lying in the back due to him not being just high, but rather cross faded. louis had apparently found him completely plastered out of his mind once he had first arrived at the party, leading him to hand jake a blunt to finalize his out-this-world experience. it wasn’t smart, but it kept louis entertained to say the least.
louis had glanced at you multiple times as he drove through the silent streets. he seemed eager or maybe even a little irritated as he watched you bounce around, lacking the ability to sit still as your eyes darted everywhere, from street lights to stop signs to anything that’d fully occupied your vision.
“have you ever been high before?” he asked, stopped at a stop light with red lights shading upon both your faces.
“nope,” your eyes wandered across the ceiling of his car. you ran your fingers along the soft carpeted interior—strange, but very stimulating and soft—making you feel all fuzzy inside of satisfaction. “louis, i love you car.”
he chuckles lowly, directing his eyes back to the road, “a lot of people do,” his lips were turned upwards into a slight smirk. it made the fuzzy feeling in your stomach turn warm as there was something very satisfying about just the way he looked. “we’re here.”
your eyes flick to the front of you where your visions bursts with neon lights beaming from the large “diner” sign pinned against the small vintage looking building. you're quick to slip out of the car to the euphoric sight.
“y/n!"
you stopped in your tracks at the sound of your name, glancing over your shoulder where your eyes immediately find a group of boys congregating together with one single boy appointed to attention to you.
louis.
"hold on. give me a minute, guys," you watch louis from five feet away, brush his friends off despite the yearning looks of amusement on all of their faces, looking between the both of you. he’s far from bothered or just doesn’t notice; brushing them off before meeting you to where you stood.
it was a wednesday after school. the sweet sound of louis’ voice and sight of his captivating face was the last thing you thought you’d come across. it must’ve been a mutual feeling with the way he looked you up and down, all winded looking.
"you're a hard person to find."
"you've been looking for me?"
"of course," he has a cigarette in his mouth.
"I almost didn't think you were real."
"of course i'm real, sweetheart," he grins harder at you. "that fucked up, were you?"
you snort. if not being able to remember half of what took place that night counted for being fucked up, you took the trophy.
"well, alright. i'll take that as you had a pretty good night."
"one of the best."
“good,” he grins, “that’s a rare occasion for girls like you.”
“girls like me?” you scoff, arching a brow. his sentence could easily be something taken for offence, but the lighthearted tone to his voice only proved he was looking to mess with you.
“yes,” he laughs with you. “usually drinking is the only thing you’d catch a teenage girl doing for non-sober purposes.”
you nod, agreeing, because he wasn’t wrong, “i’ve had a fair amount of experience with alcohol and let me just say, i’ll be steering clear of that for a while.”
“ah,” he tips forward on his feet in amusement. “i could’ve guessed you’re a wild one with your liquor, y/l/n. make some questionable choices.”
you feel your face heat up in thought, “i won’t say you’re wrong.”
louis lets out a small huff of laughter, before pausing all movement. he stares at you for a moment with narrow brows, as if trying his best to read you, “you ever wanna smoke with me, just let me know, alright?” he patted your back before suddenly walking past and away from you. your back was to him now but you could hear pat pat pat of his feet in the grass.
you frown, your eyes finding the cracks of the sidewalk as you think of how brief and unusual that was. you feel a large hole in your chest of unfulfillment.
“louis, wait,” you shifted around rather quickly as a reality hit you, but you didn’t make any moves to chase after him. he turned as well as if waiting for it. “you uh, you didn’t tell connor i was with you guys, did you?”
yikes.
that’s not what he wanted to hear.
louis pinched the bud of his cigarette, nodding to himself, thinking contently to his answer before exhaling, a thick cloud of white swirling out into the air before your eyes. you feel dazed, still high from the days before, filled with such naïve joy and lost thoughts of things you couldn’t remember now.
he threw his cigarette on the ground, eyes meeting yours again, only they were hard now and filled with no light heartedness like all times before. and his voice wasn’t soft or full of amusement either but dry as he stared you dead in the eyes, “why, he your boyfriend?”
your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your eyes not meeting his for a while until after you thought about your answer. and it was an easy answer, no, but it was never something you’d ever consider a question.
“no, no he’s not.”
“you sure about that?”
“not my type,” you smile slightly, examining louis’ pale cheekbones and facial features, the cold of the weather turning his complexion slowly red. your eyes drag to reach his red chapped lips.
him, he was your type.
“enough of your type for you to fuck him,” he gave you a pointed look as if he had caught you in the act of something, and almost immediately your cheeks burned, like you were caught for something you knew you shouldn’t have been doing.
you didn't understand why or how he knew. louis was someone you didn't know at all and what you and connor did was something you didn't tell anyone.
"you're surprised?"
"yes."
"why do you care what he knows, let alone fuck him?" he doesn't say anything more on how he knows like you hoped he would. "if he's not your type?"
you bite into your bottom lip, wincing because you didn't know the answer to it, "I don't."
"but you do," he slightly smiles but it's only out of annoyance as his voice catches up to cut you off on your lie. "I think you do, y/n. and you just don't want him to know we kissed."
"your mouth tastes like cherry."
"so does yours."
fuck.
"no, louis..." you wince, immediately regretting stopping him. "that's not what I meant. he doesn't mean anything to me."
he scoffs, "funny."
he doesn't believe you. not even close.
"you know he has label on you."
"a what?" you frown immediately, taking a step forward out of instinct.
“i’m a fool to think you’d ever stop liking him,” he holds his face, running his fingers along the sharp lines of his jawbone as he thinks about his idiotic hope that’d you so fastly fall for him as you did with connor. “foolish to think you’d drop him over one night.”
you’re even more confused now, “it was one night, louis.”
“you act like there isn’t the possibility that i’ve known you even before that night, y/n,” he has a smile that comes on his face but it isn’t something genuine. it’s annoyed. “your jerkoff of a boyfriend isn’t as secretive about you as you think.”
“he’s not my boyfriend.”
he scoffs, “you keep saying that.”
“because it’s true.”
“do you know what he says about you?”
“obviously not, louis,” four steps forward, four steps closer. “you keep speaking of ‘labels’ and whatever, but why don’t you just say it. what does he say about me that is so crazy?”
he didn’t expect the sudden brief and assertiveness you pull with your movement and words. it knocks him into a slight revelation as all he can do is stare at you and breathing, memorizing this side of you.
“did he say i was a whore?” that was the only possible thing that you could think of at that moment that could be so bad. “he tell you i was a slut?”
it’s silent. you watch him think and the way he unintentionally avoids your hard stare with the thought process.
“ask him yourself.”
**
“has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes.”
you feel your face burn upon the comment. everything in your body felt as if was about to burst upon the simple company of louis. even though it had to of been hours since connor’s house, and the diner, and even dropping jake off at his own home, you still felt out of your mind in the best way possible. all of your sense were still high, but your vision was fuzzy and you felt lag in your movement.
how were you still high?
“you have,” you felt yourself giggle, to which he smiles with a tip of his head, watching you.
“cute,” his fingers rubbed against his mouth in thought before reaching to you. you felt yourself inhale sharply at his sudden movement and hold your breath once they reached their destination; raking through your hair. “how does he do that to you?”
“what?”
“nothing,” he shook his head, still twisting his fingers through soft strands of your hair. you feel yourself relax, watching him and the way he seemed so focused on just you. “you’re just very pretty, y/n.”
you feel your eyes slightly widen, but his face doesn’t shift at all. he’s calm, while you feel your entire body burst once more into heat. you’re itching to move, you can’t just sit still in that burning warmth beneath his stare. you feel yourself move, leaning forward on your knees so your lips meet louis’.
louis smiles against the pressure of your lips against his--he almost forgets to kiss you back because of it.
almost.
his hands rack up and down the front of your body, lightly pressing into the hold he had around your rib cage, as if willing to crush you beneath his grasp as long as that meant you wouldn’t leave. this contact isn’t enough even for you. you want to feel him all over and the heavy hands holding your body isn’t enough.
you’re on his lap now, one of your hands holding the top of his shoulder while the other claps his cheek. louis feels as if his own body is about to burst beneath you... this is all he has wanted, for a while, and now that he’s got it, he feels it’ll destroy him. you’re ignorant to his feelings, but you feel just as feverish with your heart thump-thumping within your chest, as if speaking to his.
“your mouth tastes like cherry,” your chest is heaving up and down as you pull away, your wide stare boring into his own eyes with something of delirium.
he’s smiling wide, tipping his head back against his seat to see your face better, “so does yours.”
now you smile, “i like you louis.”
he almost groans, rolling his head side to side at the sound of those precious words, “you’re killing me,” he pulls the sentence straight out of his mouth like it was sarcastic, but he meant it, “say it again,” he wanted it.
“i like you,” you repeat, this time his hand is on your cheek. “please kiss me.”
oh, jeez.
he stares, breathless, “okay.”
***
it was a week after your fallout with louis and you couldn’t think about anything other than that. you felt a sudden emptiness and need for something that you barely even had; louis.
every little micro interaction you had with him ran through your mind like a record, over and over till you felt you were going to throw yourself off a cliff. and it wasn’t just the connor comment--which was something you really, really couldn’t stop thinking about--but the seemingly quick liking he had taken to you.
it had caught you off guard, but the more you thought about it, the more curious you became as to the whole thing; which was what led you here; connor’s house, on a friday night where he was once again throwing.
“what have you been saying about me?” you stood in front of him, connor, your vision narrowed as you stared at him, examining him as if his whole existence was strange.
“what?” his confusion was genuine as this question was rather abrupt and you made no attempt to make introductions.
“you know louis partridge?”
connor looks between you and the people he currently stood with, confusion still reeking his features, “yes..?”
“what have you been telling him about me?”
“you want to talk about this somewhere else?”
“i want a straight answer,” you feel his hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you away from his crowd without an answer from you.
“which i can give you if you weren’t so vague... why are you talking to partridge?”
“you got a problem?”
the two of you are stopped in front of a boy; jake.
“no, man, i think we’re good,” connor pays him no mind, side stepping him fast with you still in grip, continuing to interrogate you. you ignore connor, watching jake the whole way you’re being pulled while he watches you. you feel as if the boy isn’t real, like he was someone you had made up when you were high, but there he was, staring just as shocked, but equally skeptical as you were pulled further and further from him.
“are you listening to me, y/n?”
“what?”
“i asked you what you were on about?” you’re now in an empty corner, secluded away from the rest of the party. “haven’t seen you in days and you’re on a tangent about a boy you barely know, what’s going on?”
you finally focus on him, barely processing the words he was putting in your ears, but you didn’t have to in order to hear the fake sympathy and concern.
“how do you know louis?”
he shurgs, “see him every time i throw. gotta get to know my usuals.”
“yeah, and how well have you gotten to know him?”
he shakes his head, feeling attacked, “why?”
“because i think it’s my right to know what you’ve been saying about me to him and whoever else,” the seal of your calmness breaks as you extend an arm out, ready to scold him for anything he was about to say.
his expression drops in return, knowing any attempt to make you calm and make the situation subtle was out of his hands. connor knew you well enough to know you were too far into your frustration to calm you down.
“what’re you talking about?”
but that didn’t mean he had to comply.
“your new choice in men is obviously not working out for you. even they know i’m the best you’ll ever have.”
“what?” your head drops forward, taken aback at the sudden escalation connor had taken to his approach in words. “what the fuck are you on about?”
he smirks, pushing the red solo cup he had up to his lips, glancing around before looking back down to you, “why else do you think he lied to you about whatever it is you’re asking?”
“i can’t believe this,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “pull yourself out of that goddamn lie before you make yourself look even more like a fool. what have you been saying about me?”
“i find it best you don’t lie about this one, mate. you have an audience of witnesses,” there’s a hand on your back and a voice intervening.
the two of you focus to louis who suddenly stands behind you, daring connor to push it. the boy looks confounded looking between you, louis, and the crowd of boys behind him. he doesn’t know what to do within the corner he had backed himself into.
“whatever, this is my own fucking party. i don’t need to do shit,” he shoves past all of you. you all watch him storm away, not looking back, leaving you all to yourselves in the dust.
“let’s talk,” louis says immediately the moment you look up to him, nodding off in a random direction.
you slowly nod, following him.
“i didn’t think you’d actually ask him.”
a laugh gets caught in the back of your throat, shaking your head at the ignorance as he opens the passenger door to his car for you, “yeah?”
“yeah,” he slides into his own side of the car. “but then again, what would i know about you?”
“a lot, apparently. more than i would guess,” you lean your head against the palm of your hand, staring at him carefully. “you gonna tell me what he said now?”
louis looks hesitant, not even looking at you anymore as he thinks on how to answer. he doesn’t want to answer, it’s that simple, but he owes it to you to give you something sense he was the one who told you in the first place.
“when i met connor, he talked about you a lot. a lot for someone i barely saw. it was like every party he had something new to say or nothing new at all. as long as it was you he was talking about,” he smiles to himself, thinking of all the bragging and praising he had put into you, all for connor to just... “you were like a prize to him, y/n--until you weren’t. he called you easy, but you were his. he said he could walk you like a dog because he was the only guy you thought of.”
you feel rage and annoyance fume in the base of your chest as he speaks. he can see it form in your eyes, take over any look of calmness or subtlety from before. you make a move to push yourself back and out the door but louis is quick to grab your arm, pulling you right back to him, only closer.
“hold on there, cowgirl,” your almost in his lap. “you’re better than that.”
“am i?” you’re squirming, almost pulling from the grasp his grasp if it weren’t for how warm he made you feel.
“yeah,” he’s smiling at you. “why waste any more of your time with him anyways when you could just be here with me?”
you couldn’t help but fall victim to the pulling sensation on your lips to smile at him. you feel that fuzzy feeling creep up into your stomach at his stare like the first time you were both alone in his car and suddenly all your anger at connor melts away.
“only if you offer me cherry pie.”
@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @remuslupinluvr @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @p-prettysour @sweeth0lland @heyitsmeimdead @ishwiya @thehuntress09 @Anushi @ss-tipton @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @thedeadlythoughts @amourtentiaa @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @sunsetcurving @225786As @lukewearingbeanies @voiddtrinity @kiramdd @oliviasrodrighoe @s8xwz @highkeygolden @kitkat-mini @anicon_bby @itzstacie @spencybear @Msvrgs914 @whoreforsophialillis @w0nderr @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @alexmercer-reginaldpeters @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @dayanaralight @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @hizziestial @whoreforpsychopaths @sunsetcurve-95 @siriusspuppyy @mxsmwndr @youdontlikethatdoyoucupcake @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @xivilivix @morganaah @eichenhouseproperty @confusedchildstuff22 @alliechickens @moonlighy @ancientimes @gabeisinluv @thelaststraw3 @i44nishi @navyabhatnagar @iluvt4ylorswift @liltimmyst @falcvns @alexxavicry @grxcisxhy-wp @esposadomd
#louis partridge#louis partridge x reader#louis patridge icons#peter pan x reader#peter pan imagine#peter pan#the lost girls#enola x tewksbury#enola holmes#tewkesbury x reader#louis partridge imagine#sid vicious#millie bobby brown#fanfic#fanfiction#fluff
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Hello :) if your requests are still open:
This is my first time requesting something so please ignore this if I‘m doing something wrong.
I saw the 150 Random Writing Prompts and was thinking of a jealous Hunter smut. (Or Echo, if you find it more fitting)
With
143.: “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”
And if it’s ok ( I could not decide, sorry)
97.: if you interrupt me one more time— so help me god”
93.: say you want me, and i’m yours.”
Thanks 🙏🏻 You are an awesome writer!✨
Thank you so much for the request, anon! You did nothing wrong at all! I was able to work in all three, but I’m incapable of writing anything short, so this is kinda long - oops. Hope you like it! <3
Bonus point if you spot the Taylor Swift lyric I managed to weave in!
Green Doesn’t Suit You
With the whole squad safely back on Pabu, you settle into a comfortable civilian life. But the yearly Celestialis festival, said to bring good fortune for the next year to those who attend, brings with it something you never thought you’d have.
Pairing: Hunter x f!reader
Word count: 6.5k
Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!
Warnings: jealousy, friends to lovers, pet names, old lady shoving her oar in, Omega is a fantastic wing-woman, confessions of love, first kiss together, squint for possessiveness, being (lovingly) manhandled, first time together, oral (f!receiving), unprotected PiV, dirty talk, soft aftercare, all the fluffy feels.
The air was stifling, not only from the heat outside but the warmth emanating from both ovens in the kitchen of your new home on Pabu.
The house had been a gift – the fanciest gift you’d ever received – from Shep and the other island residents. A thank you for all the hard work you, the boys, and Omega had put into rebuilding their island after the freak tsunami.
All seven of you, living together in a space infinitely bigger than the Marauder or your old barracks. It was heaven.
“We still need to get those tanks moved.” Omega grumbled, grabbing a clean tray and loading it with the latest batch of cooled cookies you’d made. In the sitting room, just visible through the kitchen doorway, were two bacta tanks. Where Phee had managed to procure them from was still a mystery, but they’d saved Crosshair and Tech’s lives after you, Hunter, Echo, and Wrecker had stormed Mount Tantiss to rescue Omega and the twins. The brothers had been worse for wear – it was still a miracle Tech had survived his fall.
“I’ll speak to Phee in the morning.” You added it to your mental list, skirting around an open cabinet door.
Today was the Celestialis festival, where Pabu’s residents came together to wish for good fortune for the year ahead. Once Shep and the island’s organising committee had caught wind of how good your baking skills were, they’d pulled you into the fray. For weeks, you’d been planning and purchasing ingredients and trying different recipes. And for the last few days, you’d been baking all hours of day and night – with varying levels of assistance from Omega and her brothers.
Four years ago, when the war had broken out, you’d signed up as a civilian handler. Fresh out of college and with nothing lined up, it had seemed like a good idea. While other handlers stayed on Kamino and supported their squads from a distance, the moment you’d read the files for Clone Force 99, you’d known that you’d need to be at their side constantly. They had a habit of veering off track, and handling that from afar would only give you a permanent migraine. So, after signing a hefty waiver with the Kaminoans, you’d been handed some armour, a blaster, and directions to the hangar.
Three years, you’d fought alongside them, learning the best ways to manage them and their unique skill set, building bonds and friendships far deeper and more meaningful than anything you’d ever had before. This last year, since Order 66, had brought its own challenges, too, but it has also brought you Omega.
Grabbing another tray from a cupboard, you pass it over to the young girl, watching as she loads it up with more cookies. Sweat beads on the nape of your neck, and you sigh, lifting your hair to try and get some air to it.
Omega, forever perceptive, abandons the cookies to help tie your hair back. From a small pot on the counter, she goes to grab a hairband, but at the last minute, you redirect her to the strip of fabric that sits nearby, the two of you sharing a look.
It’s another hour before you’re ready to leave for the festival. The boys had headed out mid-afternoon to help set up, taking their dressier clothes with them to spare themselves the walk back to the house and to not get in your way as you finished up. As infuriating and stubborn as they could all be at times, their thoughtfulness was unparalleled.
Dragging wagons laden with treats up to the central plaza, you and Omega work quickly to lay out all the goodies on the tables Shep had set aside for you. You hoped there would be enough for everyone, especially as other food was on offer, too. Stepping back from the tables, you take a deep breath.
“Finally left the kitchen, eh?” Echo teases as he approaches, the rest of the boys in tow. He’d tried to help as best as he could over the last few days, but baking with one hand had been less than ideal. Ultimately, he’d sat at the kitchen table and kept you going with conversation and caff breaks. And he’d chased Hunter off a few times when that keen nose of his had brought him sniffing around for treats to ‘sample.’
You watch as Omega passes a star-shaped cookie over to Wrecker, and the delight on the big man’s face as he devours it fills you with pride. “If I step foot in that kitchen again at any point in the next two weeks, please shoot me.” You joke, the corners of your lips curling into a smile.
“Deal.” Crosshair teases, toothpick sliding to the other side of his mouth as he reaches for a Roonan lemon cookie. His appetite hadn’t returned much since his rescue from Mount Tantiss and time in the bacta tank, but he was trying to eat a little more each day so you wouldn’t worry about him.
“Hey!” You protest playfully, the boys chuckling as Crosshair takes a small bite, throwing you a wink. Light conversation flows between you all, broken up by the occasional island resident swinging by for some treats. The music starts, and more residents arrive, joining the festival’s spirit, dancing together and laughing.
Hunter can’t keep his eyes off you. For the last four years, he’s seen you in blacks and armour, with the recent addition of sweatpants around the house, and yet now you’re in a dress. A light and airy thing with delicate straps that cross over your shoulders, the fabric cinched in at your waist to accentuate the soft curves of your body. He’s sure it’s the same shade of aqua that paints his pauldrons, too. The thought has a strange sensation sweeping through his gut.
The sound of someone calling your name snatches his attention and drags his thoughts back to the present. As you turn towards the person calling for you, he can’t help but steal the opportunity to admire you. Eyes raking up your bare legs, across your hips and ass that he’s imagined grasping many times, over the smooth plane of your back to the curve of your neck and then…
The entire galaxy might as well cease to exist as his mind goes blank.
Wide brown eyes lock onto the scrap of red fabric keeping your hair up, and that strange sensation in his gut slams into him again. There, holding your hair up, is one of his spare bandanas.
His heart races, thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. A torrent of emotions surges within him. He wants to reach out to you, to pull you close and finally tell you how much you mean to him, but he holds himself back. He can't bear the thought of you not returning the sentiment. Maybe it had just been an accident. Maybe his bandana had been the closest thing available.
In the silence of his thoughts, he missed you excusing yourself to talk with one of the island’s elderly residents, who’d been calling you over.
“Smooth.” Crosshair deadpans, gaze flicking to Hunter as they watch you go, the rest of their siblings distracted by the food and music.
The slink of his brother’s voice pulls Hunter from his thoughts, and he frowns in Crosshair’s direction. “What?” He asks. They’d worked hard to reconcile ever since Crosshair had been deemed stable enough to leave the bacta tank – they’d broached difficult topics and mended a few bridges as they worked towards getting back to what they’d had before the Order had been given. It was slow and, at times, painful, but neither of them was willing to give up on each other again.
“You were staring at her like she’s pure aurodium. Not that I blame you…” Hawkish eyes slide towards Hunter, a smirk tugging at Crosshair’s lips as he watches his brother’s jaw clench and his head tilt, a hardness settling across his features.
Crosshair lets out a low chuckle, enjoying the slight rise he’d secured. “Green doesn’t suit you, vod.” He tosses the comment before snatching up a few more of your baked treats, striding away in search of a quiet place to perch. Crowds still bothered him, but he didn’t want to avoid the gathering altogether and feel like even more of an outcast.
Across the plaza, you’d reached Mrs. Magiere. The elderly lady had lived on the island for years and had slowly convinced her family to move across the galaxy and join her. She wandered the island around lunchtime, and you’d often crossed paths, sharing polite conversation.
Beside her stood an unfamiliar man. “There you are, dear. I want to introduce you to my grandson, Dax.” Mrs. Magiere reached for your hand, drawing you closer.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Dax.” You offered the man a smile. He was a little taller than you, with a slender build, perfectly coifed brown hair and piercing green eyes.
Dax tries to keep his gaze on your face, but his eyes betray him for a moment as he takes all of you in. You’re quite lovely, he must admit. “And you. My grandmother speaks very fondly of you.” He replies.
Mrs. Magiere looks between you both with glee. “Why don’t you two go and dance? My old bones can’t keep up anymore.” One of her hands finds your lower back, and she gives you a gentle nudge towards Dax.
Warmth sweeps across your cheeks caught off guard and a little uncomfortable, but Dax offers you a reassuring smile and his hand. Not wanting to cause a scene or upset anyone, you take it, letting him lead you towards the plaza’s centre where couples and families are dancing. He stops en route, snagging a delicate pink flower from one of the blossoming vines nearby. With careful hands, he slides it into your hair, leaning back to admire you.
“And here I thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful.” The compliment comes naturally to Dax as he retakes your hand, leading you to a small available spot amongst the dancing island residents.
The warmth in your cheeks grows, and all you can offer Dax is a small smile as he twirls you into his arms once you are amongst the crowd. Laughing softly, you let him lead, the few dance classes you’d taken at college helping you keep up with him.
“You did a wonderful job with the baked goods.” Dax lays another compliment on you, enjoying your bashful smile.
It felt good to be appreciated for all your hard work preparing for this evening, especially by those outside of your little family. “Thank you. What did you like the most?”
Turmoil rolls through Dax. Truth told, he hadn’t sampled any of the treats you’d so lovingly prepared, but he knew it was essential to compliment you. “The oat ones were delicious.” He takes a stab in the dark.
Your smile falters briefly before you fix it back into place. “I’m glad.” You lie in return, not pointing out that you hadn’t made oat cookies.
Standing off at the side of the plaza, it took no time for Hunter to find you amongst the crowd. Over the years, he’d memorised the sound of your heartbeat and the delicate whisper of your voice as the light breeze carried it to him. His eyes found you, and his brows furrowed as he watched you gracefully twirl in the arms of another man, a torrent of emotions churning within him. Jealousy, like a venomous snake, coiled around his heart, injecting poison into his every thought.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. The woman he loved, whose smile could light up his darkest days, was now smiling at someone else. Insecurity gnawed at him, an unpleasant feeling he thought he’d long buried during his cadet days.
He longed to be the one guiding you across the dance floor, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the galaxy. The realisation that someone else was experiencing that privilege grated on him.
“I don’t like him.” Omega’s voice snapped Hunter from his spiralling thoughts, and he glanced down to see her standing at his side, her own eyes watching you and the unfamiliar man dance.
“Hm, neither do I.” Hunter comments, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you twirl again.
It was no secret to Omega how much you and Hunter loved one another, and she was getting tired of neither of you doing anything about it. “Then, why don’t you go dance with her?” She asked, injecting as much innocence into her voice as she could muster, wide eyes turning up to look at her brother.
Hunter sighed. Omega had a point – he could quickly end this torture.
“Mind if I cut in?” The smoky rasp of Hunter’s voice interrupted your dance, and you turned towards him, offering him a bright smile.
The smile Dax had been wearing dissipated, a faint clench to his jaw as he shook his head while the music changed to something softer. “Not at all.” He lied, taking his hands from you. His grandmother had told him about the man who’d interrupted, with half of his face shrouded in darkness, and had warned him that you were close. Not willing to go easily, Dax lifted one of your hands to his lips, holding your gaze as he pressed a kiss to the back of it before stepping away a small distance. He’d wait nearby for another turn.
Your bright smile turned a little uneasy as Dax pressed a kiss to your hand, but relief had your shoulders sagging as Hunter stepped forward, sliding one arm around your waist to pull you close, your hand resting on his shoulder. He took your other hand with his free one, fingers interlacing. “Thank you for the save.” You murmured gratefully, knowing that with his hearing, you didn’t need to raise your voice to be heard above the music.
“Always.” Hunter’s answer leaves no room for doubt as he gently leads, moving you both in a slow sway. He can’t help but revel in your closeness. Every touch, every brush of your hand against his, feels electrifying, making his heart race with desire. Your warm body is pressed to his, his senses overwhelmed with you.
Warmth and security flood your body with the press of Hunter’s hand on your lower back, igniting a desire to be even closer. The rest of the galaxy can’t reach you here, tucked safely in his arms, and for a moment, you allow yourself to forget about everything that’s happened over the last four years – all the pain and bloodshed, all the horrors and tears. Through it all, Hunter has been a steady presence.
As you sift through the good memories, certain moments stand out. There was that day at the lake on Kintan, where the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The two of you had sat side by side, another successful mission under your belt, your laughter dancing in the air. You remember stealing glances at him, the way the sunlight had caught in his eyes, adding more warmth than you thought possible to those endless pools of brown.
Then there were the late-night conversations while you were deep in hyperspace, where you’d lose track of time, sharing dreams, fears, and secrets. Hunter’s voice, soft yet determined, painted a vivid picture of what he wanted from life after the war.
You could only hope those wants had changed.
Hunter drew his senses in, letting the crowd in the plaza fade into the background as he focused on you, the steadiness of your heartbeat, the feel of your hand in his and your bodies pressed together, and the subtle change to your scent. “You smell different.” He comments, curious eyes finding yours.
“If anyone else said that to me, I’d stomp on their foot.” You laugh, a little caught off guard by the statement. “I…” You trail off, the warmth that had faded from your cheeks now returning. “I stopped wearing perfume while knee-deep in the war, but now we’re out the other side of it. I thought I might try it again.” You admit, head dipping bashfully, before worry laces through you. “Is it too much? I aimed for something I hoped wouldn’t bother you and your senses.”
Lips parting at your answer, Hunter blinks with disbelief. Here you were in a sweet little dress, one of his bandanas keeping your hair up, and now you’d dropped on him that you were wearing a perfume picked out with his heightened senses in mind. He groans, desire churning through his veins. “Are you trying to turn me on, or are you really just that oblivious?”
Freezing, you think for a moment that you’ve misheard him. “What?” You question softly.
Hunter realises his mistake, but it’s too damn late to take the words back.
In the following pause, neither of you moving, simply staring at one another, Dax spots his opportunity and steps forward. “Can I cut back in?”
Hunter has to actively stop himself from grunting in frustration at the interruption. “We’re not done.” He tells him politely, making sure to keep his eyes on you. He knows he has to say something to you. “Cyar’ika, I…”
Dax huffs, finding it unfair that this man had swooped in and stolen you mid-dance and refused to let him back in. “Look, bud-“
Something snaps in Hunter, and his head whips to the side, eyes narrowing at the man you’d been dancing with. “If you interrupt me one more time, so help the Maker…” He growls out the threat, no longer caring that he’s being rude. This was too important. You were too important.
Your jaw drops, and you watch in disbelief as Hunter threatens Dax. Your heart races, and for a moment, the tension in the air is palpable. Dax, a bit taken aback by Hunter’s sudden intensity, raises his hands in a placating gesture.
“Whoa, whoa, man.” Dax stammers, realising he’s pushed Hunter’s patience to the limit. He steps back, allowing some space between him and the seething clone.
Hunter takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, regaining his composure. He turns back to you, his eyes softening as he tries to find the right words. "Cyar'ika, I'm sorry. It’s just... I need to talk to you.”
Your heart still races, but now it’s not just from the tension between the two men. You look into Hunter’s eyes searchingly. “What is it?” you ask, your voice filled with concern.
Keeping hold of your hand, Hunter leads you away from the crowd, finding a quiet corner of the plaza where you can talk in peace. The silence lingers for a few minutes as he struggles to find the right words, scrubbing his free hand over his face, having never anticipated this moment would come.
Unable to bear seeing him so stressed, you step closer, resting a hand against his chest. His heart thuds heavy under your palm. “H…” You breathe the little nickname you’d given him shortly after joining them all those years ago, which breaks him out of his funk.
“You’re a kaleidoscope of everything beautiful in this galaxy.” He blurts out, catching you off guard. “Your kindness, the way you listen, how you look after everyone around you — you’ve had me captivated since the day you waltzed onto the Marauder like you owned the damn thing and introduced yourself. And now, it’s terrifying to think of my life without you in it.” Once the words start, he can’t stop them.
“And I know we’ve been friends for years, and I value that more than anything in the galaxy. But seeing him dance with you and thinking of him doing it again…” Hunter huffs, trying desperately not to get worked up. “I mean, cyar’ika, the colour…” He gestures to your dress with his free hand. “And you’re using my bandana to keep your hair up, and you picked out a perfume with me in mind...” He trails off, knowing he’s shared so much that he can’t return from it, but Maker does it feel good to get the weight off his shoulders.
A small smile weaves onto your lips, even though you know you shouldn’t be happy, given the man you love is clearly stressed. “What if I told you none of it was accidental?” You murmur, your hand on his chest smoothing across the firm plane of muscle. “That you didn’t misplace your right pauldron the other week – I borrowed it to colour match. And I purposefully asked Omega to use your bandana earlier when she was tying up my hair.” You confess, eyes darting up to watch as surprise paints itself on his handsome features.
“You know, I’ve spent countless nights replaying moments in my head, wondering if you ever picked up on how my heart races when you’re near or how I can’t keep my eyes off you when we’re together. I didn’t want to make things awkward or ask for something neither of us could give in the middle of a war. But we’ve made it out the other side, so…” It’s your turn to trail off.
Your words hung in the air, and Hunter’s heart began to race, his body swirling with so many emotions it was difficult to grasp onto any of them. A rush of warmth surged through him, from the tips of his fingers to the depths of his soul. Gazing into your eyes, all he finds is pure, unwavering honesty. Your sincerity was a balm to his fears.
Hunter’s silence unnerves you, but you’re not backing out now. Not when the promise of something so much sweeter is tantalisingly close. “Say you want me, and I’m yours.” You whisper.
Hunter’s gaze never wavers from yours, and a flicker of relief crosses his eyes as he realises that this isn’t a cruel joke or an illusion. It’s real. The tension between you seems to crackle with anticipation as he takes a deep breath, finally finding the words he’s been searching for. “I’ve wanted you since the day you walked onto the Marauder.” He admits softly, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “I’ve tried to be strong, to protect you and the rest of the squad, to not let my feelings get the better of me. But I can’t deny it any longer. I want you with every beat of my heart, every breath I take.”
His confession sends a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the intensity of his desire in the way he holds you and the way he looks at you. There’s no turning back now.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Hunter leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The world around you fades into obscurity, and it’s just the two of you finally giving in to the magnetic pull that has existed between you for so long. The kiss is a promise, a declaration of all the unspoken feelings and desires built up over the years.
As your lips parted, Hunter rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged with emotion. “I want you, and I’m yours.” He whispers, his voice filled with love and longing.
A radiant smile spreads across your face, and you reply, “I’m yours too, Hunter. Always.”
His smile matches your own as he pulls back a little, though his fingers remain on your face, now stroking across your jawline. “Want to get out of here?”
Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you nod. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Hunter’s eyes twinkle with excitement and relief as he takes your hand and leads you away from the plaza, slipping down side streets towards your home. As you walk hand in hand, you can feel the electric connection between you two, a spark that has finally ignited into a full-blown flame.
Halfway there, Hunter pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist as he tucks you against the side of a building, his lips finding yours. His kisses are hungry, filled with longing and desire, as if he’s been waiting forever for this moment. And in truth, he feels like he has.
As the kiss breaks, your laughter echoes in the stillness of the night, smile as bright as the stars above as he disentangles from you, drawing you out of the shadows and back towards the house. As you reach the front door, he stops, his free hand moving to your hair, plucking the flower from Dax free. Carelessly, he drops it to the floor.
“Hunter!” You exclaim, watching the delicate bloom hit the pebbled path beneath your feet.
Something dark shines in his eyes, sending a thrill through you. “The only things in your hair should be my bandana,” his hand reaches for your ponytail, giving it a gentle tug as he leans in, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Or my hands.”
Breath catching, Hunter’s lips meet yours for a passionate kiss. The front door is pushed open, and you’re guided inside, steady hands grasping at your hips as he kicks the door shut behind you both.
Heart thudding as both of Hunter’s hands cup your face; you sink into his touch as his tongue slides between your lips, tasting you. He leads you up the stairs, refusing to break the kiss for even a moment as you reach his room. One hand leaves your face to push the bedroom door shut, and a moment later, you’re pressed up against it, Hunter’s body pining you in place, an arm resting on the door above your head, caging you in. That earlier sense of safety creeps back through you.
Tearing his lips from yours, Hunter’s chest heaves with each breath, a fire licking its way through his veins as you both open your eyes, gazing at one another for a split second. His head dips, mouth leaving a trail of delicate kisses along your throat, groaning as you tilt to give him better access, the prettiest moan sliding from your lips as he laves a kiss to the juncture where your shoulder and neck meet, following it with a quick, gentle nip.
Knees shaking, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one until you can push the fabric off his body. The rough pads of his fingers drag across your bare thighs, breath stuttering as the hem of your dress meets his grasp. He breaks contact just long enough to lean back and lift the garment over your head, letting it fall to the floor.
“Fuck…” Hunter curses quietly, eyes roving over your exposed body, the curves and dips of your frame, the swell of your bare breasts. A needy groan escapes him as he realises your panties match the dress, too.
Before self-consciousness can creep in, he’s dragging you to the bed with a hungry kiss, pushing you back onto it, kiss breaking as your back meets the soft mattress. For a moment, you both pause, drinking the other in. There’s a wildness in Hunter’s eyes you’ve never seen before, a warmth in your cheeks at how his eyes devour you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times – while sparring or coming out of the fresher, changing, or patching up wounds, but now you can look.
His broad shoulders taper to his narrow waist, and his tanned, toned skin begs to be touched. Half of him is shrouded in black ink, and a burning desire to drag your nails over the ridges of his abs has you licking your lips.
Hunter’s not faring much better, either. The sight of you sprawled on his bed in nothing but a scrap of aqua fabric, lips kiss-swollen, his bandana still in your hair, and your gorgeous tits exposed has him itching to fuck you on every surface, to fill the room with the scent of your arousal and make you scream his name over and over again. “Don’t mind me, just enjoying the view.” Hunter breaks the momentary silence, reaching down to palm himself through his pants.
The action draws your gaze downwards, and you watch delightfully as the man you love gives himself a stroke through the fabric.
Hunter’s nostrils flare, picking up on how the simple action drew more of your heady scent from between your thighs. At the foot of the bed, he slowly sinks down onto his knees, eyes never once leaving you. If you smell that delicious, he can only imagine how you’ll taste.
Propped up on your forearms, you watch as Hunter sinks down between your thighs, those warm brown eyes focused solely on you. Fingers skim up your calves, feather-light, gently pressing your legs wider as they reach your knees. His head turns inwards, gazes breaking as he presses soft kisses to your thighs, tongue leaving small, slow licks in their wake. He takes his time savouring you, savouring the moment.
Lips brush across the juncture between your thigh and hip, sucking small marks against your skin before Hunter buries his face against your clothed pussy, eyes shut as he presses his nose against your clit, inhaling deeply. Your scent pulls a low growl from him, the vibrations making you gasp. “So wet already. I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” Hunter vows, tongue pressing forward to lick across the damp fabric of your panties, making your breath stutter at the contact as your head thunks back down onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut.
Fingers prying the material down your legs, Hunter dives back between your thighs, dragging the flat of his tongue through your soaked folds, delighting in the way your hips buck and you cry out. He was right; you taste even more delicious than you smell, and he groans at your tang on his tongue.
Drawing your legs over his shoulders, he settles in, licking long, broad strokes across your pussy, familiarising himself with you. His senses home in on you, mind cataloguing every slight noise you make, every jerk of your hips, the way your breath quickens when his tongue skirts oh so close to your entrance and then circles around your clit.
Needy little whines escape you, every nerve in your body alight as Hunter teases you, lips and tongue exploring you, his nose bumping against your clit to send sparks of desire surging through you. Warmth pools in your belly, and it only grows as the wet warmth of his tongue presses against your entrance, dipping in. “Hunter…” You moan out his name, fingers burrowing into his hair as you cant your hips, grinding against his face.
Pride blooms in Hunter’s chest at your response, and he keeps going a little longer before he flicks his tongue up and across your clit, the sounds of your cries of delight like music to his ears. Hands grasping at your thighs, he presses your legs up, almost folding you in half as his tongue sweeps side to side, teasing his way back down your pussy as he has greater access.
The change in angle makes you moan, free hand clawing at the sheets while your hips rock, chasing the delight of his mouth. A light suck on your clit makes you gasp, the warmth in your belly building with every swipe of his talented tongue. Dragging his tongue around the edge of your folds, he draws an arch, skirting around the top of your clit again. “Hunter, please.” You crack, desperate for him.
You feel him smile against you, releasing one of your thighs, fingers roaming up your body until his tattooed hand gently squeezes one of your breasts. His mouth is relentless, tongue finding your clit, firmly moving side to side over the sensitive bud as those talented fingers of his tweak your pebbled nipple.
The warmth crescendos, spilling over, and you cry out his name as your release slams into you, making your body shudder, gasping for breath at its intensity.
Hunter works you through the high, and as you whine at the overstimulation, his mouth leaves you, fingers letting go of your nipple to smooth over the soft skin of your breast. “Beautiful.” He whispers reverently, tongue darting out to lick his lips and drink up the taste of you as he watches you come down from the high, your heavy-lidded eyes opening to meet his gaze.
With your hand in his hair, you guide him up your body, small hums of delight leaving you as he peppers kisses across your stomach and chest, laving little licks across your breasts as he drags you further up the bed. He breaks away for a second, using one hand to remove his belt and shuck off his pants.
You watch as he strips completely, acres of tanned skin finally revealed. As he ditches his boxers, his hard cock springs free, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips, thighs parting a little wider. You relish the low groan the action pulls from him before he takes himself in hand, fist sliding along his shaft for a few pumps. He’s average in length but thicker than you expected - anticipation coils through you.
He prowls up the bed, settling above you, letting a little of his weight rest against you. Dark eyes meet yours, and you can’t hold back your smile, fingers reaching up to trace along his face. Drawing his head down, you steal a kiss, letting the moment build as your eyes flutter shut, tongues brushing together. Hunter shifts above you, resting his weight on one hand while the other dips between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his cock as he teases the velvety head through your soaked folds. Achingly slowly, he presses forward, your lips parting as you let out a soft moan at the stretch as he eases into you inch by inch.
“That’s it, cyar’ika. Maker, you’re so pretty, taking all of me like a good girl.” He whispers against your lips, enjoying how your breathing changes and your heart races at his words. You feel like heaven as he bottoms out, hips flush against you, chests pressed together as his hand moves back to the side of your head, redistributing his weight.
The stretch as Hunter fills you is exquisite, and your eyes open to gaze up at him in awe that this is happening – that this incredible man is yours. The first slow roll of his hips has your head tilting backwards, a breathy sigh filling the room.
The pace builds, your hands reaching for him, dragging up his back and down his flanks, nails scraping along flushed skin, making him grunt at the combination of pleasure and pain. Desire coils through you, building with every thrust of his hips, every drag of his cock as he pulls out to the tip and pushes back in. He leans down to kiss you, demanding tongue sliding between your lips to taste you.
“You’re so good for me, so fucking good around me. Made for me.” Hunter growls and the sound of your bodies meeting creates a background of white noise. “Won’t last long, baby. You feel too good. Fucking dreamed of this.” He adds, supporting his weight with one hand again, thrusts never faltering as he reaches down to grasp one of your legs, hauling it up. He presses a kiss to your ankle before he pushes your leg towards your chest, the change in angle enabling him to thrust into you even deeper.
Eyes falling shut once again as he drives you closer to the edge, you whine and whimper as his cock repeatedly rubs against your g-spot. The hand he’d used to pry your leg up moves to your breast, fingers tweaking your pebbled nipple again before he gently squeezes. Your name falls from his lips, raspy alongside his command. “Come for me.”
Between his hands, cock, and voice, you’re powerless to resist. Fingers scrambling at his body for purchase, your back arches as you cry out his name, desire bubbling over into a rush of euphoria that sweeps through your body and momentarily renders you speechless. Tremors wrack through you, toes curling as you desperately pant for breath, hazy eyes opening to look up at him.
Feeling you come apart, watching you fall into pleasure beneath him, was more than Hunter could’ve ever asked for. You were beautiful every day, but lost in the throes of an orgasm he’d given you? You were divine. He could feel the pressure building, feel himself teetering on that edge.
“Where?” The roughness of Hunter’s voice caresses you, warm puffs of his breath tickling your ear from where he’s bent down to bring you both even closer, caging you under him as his thrusts grow sloppy, muscles taut under your hands.
“In me, please.” You whisper back, and the deep moan he lets out will forever be seared into your mind.
Hunter gives a few final thrusts before he presses in as deep as he can, a guttural sound leaving him as his eyes screwed shut, thighs shaking as he hits his own peak, the pressure evaporating into molten bliss as he gives you everything. Slowly, the pleasure pulls back, like the tide, and he swallows thickly as his eyes open, breath catching at the sight of you.
You’re gazing up at him like he hung all the stars in the galaxy, indescribable love woven through your features. Carefully, he lowers your raised leg, fingers rubbing to return some of the feeling as his lips meet yours with a tenderness that could only come from years of shared moments, mouths moving in perfect harmony, a slow, sensuous exploration of one another.
Hand sliding to your waist, Hunter holds you still as he gently eases himself out of you, shifting to lay on his side, drawing you against his chest.
You nestle into his embrace. Your fingers trace the contours of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The years of laughter and tears, the countless shared experiences, and the trust built over time have all culminated in this moment.
Hunter presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and you can feel the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. He draws lazy circles on your back, a comforting motion that brings you a sense of security and belonging.
With your bodies pressed together, you both revel in the aftermath of your lovemaking. The room is filled with a peaceful stillness, and you listen to the soft melody of your combined breaths, knowing that this love is the anchor that holds you both steady in a still-turbulent galaxy.
#Soarings Ask Box#the bad batch x reader#sergeant hunter x reader#hunter x reader#hunter x you#the bad batch hunter x you#sergeant hunter#hunter bad batch#hunter the bad batch#star wars the bad batch#the bad batch#tbb hunter x reader#star wars clone wars
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Don’t Worry Your Pretty Little Head
Pairing: Peter Ballard x Afab Fem! Reader - 001 x Afab Fem! Reader
Requested: request for smut prompts 8 28 29 33 with Peter Ballard or Jamie, whichever you think is more fitting! i love ur writing <3 hope ur doing well
Summary: An exhausted, overworked reader is forced to stay on shift over night. Can Peter convince her to take a break?
Warnings: Smut, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Oral (Fem Recieving), Impact Play (Pussy Spanking), Extreme Overstimulation, Dumbification, Praise Kink (LMK if I missed anything.)
A/N: I feel like a whore... that’s all
Prompts:
8. “Suck on my fingers baby.”
28. “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”
29. “Your thighs are shaking so much.”
33. “Just relax for me sweet girl, I’ll make you feel good.”
⚠️ This fic is 18+ so minors DNI ⚠️
———————
You aren’t supposed to be here.
You’re supposed to be at home on your couch, eating a microwaved TV dinner and watching sitcom reruns on your old, barely working television, much like you normally do after your shifts are over. But no. You’re stuck at your shitty job overnight.
Because your boss physically will not let you leave.
If you didn’t work for a top secret government facility, you would definitely be concerned about the legalities of this situation. However, because you do, you have to deal with these types of things no questions asked. Hawkins National Laboratory is not a place anyone should cross, or they might end up six feet underground with nobody looking for them.
There had been a fight earlier in the day involving two of the children, which meant quite a bit of paper work needed to be done. Normally it would be split up between the two nurses who were on duty at the time, because otherwise it would take way too long to complete.
But unfortunately for you, your secondary nurse came up with some stupid excuse to leave early, complaining of an upset stomach and nausea. Funnily enough, at lunch she’d been talking about going out with friends tonight and “getting wasted.”
You could see right through her lies, but much to your dismay, Dr. Martin Brenner could not. For someone who claims to be so intelligent, he can be real thick in the head sometimes.
He had sent the other nurse home with a wave of his hand, before turning to you with an annoyed, “You are not to leave this building until that paperwork is complete. Am I understood?”
You opened your mouth to tell him that was unattainable for you, but your office door was shut in your face before you could even make a sound.
That was five hours ago, and everyone else had since gone home, give or take a couple night guards and the overnight orderly. After hours, the level of staff significantly dwindles down to just those who are here for security purposes.
So here you are, typing away on your computer, mindlessly entering file after file into the system. Your eyes hurt from staring at the screen for so long, your fingers ache from the never ending typing and writing you’ve been doing, and your brain is absolutely fried.
You had hoped you could get it all done in time to leave and get at least a few hours of sleep, but that was proving to be impossible. You just want take a break from all this thinking and go home. Home to your warm, comfy bed.
You can’t help but close your eyes, longing to be wrapped up in your cozy sheets with nothing else in the world to worry about. Your head resting on the cold side of your pillow as the fireplace crackles next to you. You don’t even realize your fingers have remained pressed down on the keyboard until a hand gently clasps your shoulder.
“I may not be an expert darling, but I don’t think this is quite the information they’re looking for.”
Your eyes shoot open and you jump slightly at the sound of the voice. You glance over your shoulder to see your friend Peter in all his glory, staring down at you in nothing but amusement. You can’t help but stare back, eyes tracing his every - perfectly sculpted - feature. It’s almost unfair to you how beautiful he is; some days you even find yourself feeling jealous. The rest of the time though, you’re swooning.
As cheesy as it may sound, it’s the truth. It might be the way he speaks to with such tenderness, or maybe the way he gently touches you; one of his hands always placed on the small of your back, on your shoulder, or sometimes even in your hair when he feels like playing with it. Your favorite though?
Anytime you’re even a little nervous, he doesn’t hesitate to grasp your hand into his. It makes you flustered every time without fail, though he finds it endearing.
He always makes the same face when he’s amused with you too, a smirk resting on his lips and his eyes lighting up while he teases you about your bright pink cheeks. Much like the same face he’s making at you right now.
Oh, wait.
“Sorry, what’d you say?”
His smirk grows, and he huffs out a small laugh. One of his hands moves to brush the hair from your face, while the other reaches over, gently pulling your finger from where it had been pressing down on one of the keys.
Your brows furrow as you turn back towards your computer, seeing the screen filled with nothing but the letter “P.” You can’t help but groan, dropping your head into your crossed arms. Peter chuckles, sitting down on the table next to the computer, watching your utter misery.
“I thought you only work day shift.” You say, muffled.
“I don’t know where you got that idea from. I work plenty of night shifts.” You can’t help but raise your head, staring at him, dumbfounded. “How the fuck do you do it? This is hell.”
He huffs out a sigh, his amusement now being mixed with pity as he studies your features. You look exhausted. Hair that was once neatly tucked away into your bun has now fallen messily, and your eyes have formed dark circles under them, only highlighting how tired you must be.
“I heard what happened. Brenner told me to ‘key an eye on you’ in fact.”
Your face falls into one of disbelief, “You’re kidding.” He shakes his head, and you roll your eyes, repeatedly pressing the backspace button on the keyboard, “This is so stupid. It’s already almost midnight, and I’m only halfway through this stuff. My mind is fried Peter. It hurts to think.”
He watches you for another moment as you type away maniacally, entering the correct information into the system this time.
“You know…” he reaches over, placing one of his hands gently over yours, causing you to look at him, “It doesn’t hurt to take a break once in a while.”
You think about it for a second, and only a second, before shaking your head and continuing to type, “I can’t, I have to get this done. I want to actually get some sleep tonight.”
He frowns, but doesn’t say anything else as he leans back to watch you work.
You continue typing for another few minutes, completely zoning out as you enter in file after file. You expect Peter to leave you to your devices, but he does just the opposite. He stays right where he is, eyes focused on you. Normally you don’t mind comfortable silences, they’re usually pretty peaceful, but this is anything but that.
At some point, it becomes harder to focus on the work before you. You become hyper aware of how his eyes burn through you, and can practically feel them watching your every move, raking up and down your body.
You chew on your lip in an attempt to ignore him and keep working. And if you just so happen to be pressing your thighs together, you can only hope that he doesn’t take notice.
Except he does.
“Something wrong sweetheart?” He asks, a teasing edge in his tone. You try to ignore him but he stands to face you, and you bite your lip even harder.
Finally, you look up at him, your eyes meeting his devilishly blue ones. He’s still got that stupid smirk on that stupidly handsome face with his stupidly perfect hair and-
Goddammit.
“Stop it.”
He raises an eyebrow, playing dumb, “Stop what?” He knows exactly what he’s doing.
You huff and shake your head, eyes rolling as you turn back towards the computer, “You know what.”
He hums, pausing for a moment before he leans down, lips inches from your ear, “Why?” He whispers, and dear god you’re about to collapse in this god forsaken desk chair, “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”
Your breath hitches, and your eyes pinch shut. You can’t help but dig your fingernails into your palms in an effort to ground yourself. If only you could get it together, because this really isn’t the best time or place for this to be happening to you. You find yourself rubbing your thighs together again, not even caring if he notices this time.
You try to say his name in an attempt to be firm with him, to warn him to stop.
“Peter…”
You fucking whimper it.
He wastes no time, spinning the desk chair so you’re facing him. He places his hands on both armrests as he leans over you, effectively trapping you in.
“Oh sweetheart…” He cooes at you, head tilting in mock sympathy, and you can feel your resolve slipping away, “Why don’t we take a little break hm?”
You turn your head back towards the computer for a moment, that tiny little part of you fighting so hard to stay focused, “I…I don’t-”
He gently grips your chin, tilting your head back to face him, and god, if you aren’t the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Your pupils are so unbelievably dilated, your cheeks are flushed a deep shade of red, and your bottom lip is plump from your consistent biting.
With the way your hair messily falls into your face and your chest heaves with stuttered breaths, he wants nothing more than to spread you out on a table, and have his way with you until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. He trails his hand up slightly to cup your cheek, thumb gently stroking over your brow bone.
“I bet that brain of yours is so tired isn’t it? All those thoughts running through your head- they’re just too much for you to handle aren’t they?”
Your legs are trembling and your head is spinning. The way he’s speaking is so new to you, but it has you ready to drop to your knees in front of him. He’s not too far off either; you’re so tired and your brain hurts. You need a break. You need-
“You need someone to make them all go away don’t you?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
You inhale sharply, his words going straight to your core. Your mouth opens and closes as you try to pry a response from your muddled thoughts, slightly resembling a fish out of water. You give up eventually, opting to let out a desperate whine instead. You can’t decide what’s more distracting- the ache between your legs or the way his hand cradles your face.
His thumb moves to trace over your bottom lip, while a mocking pout settles on his own, “Poor thing, so tired and dumb that she can’t even form a proper sentence.”
He���s right, he’s so unbelievably right. Which is why you don’t even realize that you’ve wrapped your lips around his thumb and are gently sucking on it. His eyes are filled with pure hunger as he watches you with parted lips of his own.
He gently pulls his thumb out from between your lips, not even giving you a chance to whine before replacing it with both his middle and pointer finger. You continue to look up at him, mindlessly sucking on both digits and letting yourself feel utterly blissful.
“That’s it,” he praises, “suck on my fingers baby.”
You hum in response, closing your eyes as you circle your tongue around them, hollowing out your cheeks. He lets you have your fun for another moment or two, mesmerized by the way you’ve become an absolute mess for him, before slipping his fingers out from your mouth and admiring how the drool slips down your chin.
You whine pathetically as he does so, and he cooes in response, “Shhh, c’mon pretty girl.” He takes your hand, helping you stand from your chair and guiding you over to one of the nursing cots. As he sets you down, he tries to pull away for a moment, but you don’t let him. You grip the front of his crisp white shirt between your fingers and pull him towards you, clashing your lips against his.
He huffs out a laugh against your lips, mumbling, “greedy little thing,” in between kisses. And he’s right, you are greedy, and aching, and desperate to feel him, and only him. You’re entire body is filled to the brim with nothing but desire.
Peter climbs onto the cot, hovering over you as his lips slowly make their way down your jawline, your neck, and your chest. He leaves nothing but endless hickeys in his wake as you come completely undone beneath him. He fumbles with the buttons of your shirt and the clasp of your bra, prying them both off of you, one after the other.
If you had been told five hours ago that you would be here by the end of the night, you would’ve laughed and slammed the door in that person’s face. But yet, here you are, brainless, desperate, and completely at the mercy of Peter, while his lips explore every visible inch of skin on your body.
He practically drools as the sight of your breasts, fondling them in his hands. You can’t help but moan when he attaches his lips to one of your nipples, suckling on it gently while he pinches the other one. He switches back and forth, both for his and your own pleasure. His eyes flick up to your face, watching you writhe in desperation underneath him. His cock is so painfully hard in his pants, but that’s the least of his worries right now, only wanting to hear your pretty little moans as he makes you feel good.
“That’s it darling. Don’t think, just feel. I’ll make it all feel better.”
His lips continue their attack on your skin, making their way down your tummy and to the hem of your skirt. He gently pushes your legs up, and his hands are quick to slide the bottom of the skirt up to your waist, revealing your baby pink panties.
“Oh baby…” He moans at the sight, watching as your hole pulses and flutters underneath the soaked, translucent fabric. His eyes flick up to your face once more, seeing just how fucked out you look, without him even touching you yet, “Look at how messy you are.”
He’s honestly half a second away from devouring your perfect little cunt before your sweet voice fills his ears, pausing his movements entirely.
“P-Peter…” you stutter, nervously. It might be the only word you can physically form right now, but that isn’t stopping you from expressing concern.
You aren’t a virgin, but this type of situation is new to you. Your mind has never been so clouded. It’s not that it doesn’t feel good, because, god does it feel good, you just haven’t experienced such vulnerability before. So you can’t help the way your hands tremble while his face is inches from your exposed pussy.
It takes no more than two seconds for his hand to reach up and grasp yours, squeezing reassuringly, “I got you. I’m right here.” he soothes, and you release a slow breath. He never fails to calm your nerves.
“That’s it,” he smiles, feeling your hand slowly stop trembling in his grasp, “Just relax for me sweet girl, I’ll make you feel good.” You squeeze his hand in return and he can’t help but place a gentle kiss to your inner thigh,
“If you want me to stop at any point, I will. Just say the word. Do you understand?” You nod dumbly in response, only to yelp as his other hand comes down hard against your cunt, spanking it.
“I need you to use your words for this one darling,” he chides, cupping his hand over your drooling cunt in an effort to soothe the pain, “C’mon, you can do it.”
It takes you longer that you care to admit, and you struggle for a moment or two, desperately trying to form enough words in your head for a valid response. Your chest heaves as another pathetic whimper escapes your lips, prompting another slap to your core.
Your whole body jerks this time, forcing out a desperate cry of, “Y-Yes s-sir!”
And if he wasn’t salivating at the mouth before, he certainly is now. He moans in response, thumb circling your clit over your panties, before sliding them to the side.
“Good fucking girl.”
He leans in and places a sweet kiss to your cunt, as if apologizing for striking it. You shudder at that first contact. It sends a shock through you, hyper sensitive with want. He takes your clit between his lips and sucks very gently. Your head is thrown back immediately as he provides you the relief you’ve been needing.
“O-oh Peter…”
His tongue laps at your clit before flicking it through your folds, and looking up at you through his lashes. He loves how you’re reacting as he borderline makes out with your soaked cunt. Your moans fill the air as you take what he gives you, and Peter can’t be more grateful that the nursing rooms are sound proof, your pretty little noises being for his ears only. He dips his tongue down to your weepy hole, circling it around the entrance to taste you.
“So wet for me,” he mumbles against you. You whimper, hole fluttering at how good he’s making you feel, “You taste like heaven.”
He pulls back to lightly blow on your cunt, his saliva cooling in the air. He chuckles as he watches you twitch, licking another strip over your clit and blowing on it again. You whine and shift underneath him, your hips involuntary bucking. He smirks, shushing you gently, before dipping back in to taste you.
Your back arches off of the bed while he sucks and laps at you, upper body rising and falling violently on the bed. It’s almost like he’s been starved for weeks, and your cunt is the only thing that can satiate his hunger. He savors every taste of you, like he’s never eaten anything more luscious.
You hardly even notice when he pauses to remove your panties entirely, slipping them up your legs and placing them in his back pocket.
His tongue dips inside of you while he circles your nub with his thumb. Your hips buck to meet his face and you can’t help but grind into his tongue, feeling the coil in your lower stomach beginning to tighten. Your desperate little moans and gasps fill the room as his tongue plunges inside you. Your paperwork is long forgotten at this point as your thoughts empty out of your head, being replaced with just…
Peter
A small part of you registers the fact that he’s still holding your hand as he eats you out. He’s bringing you to new heights of pleasure, reducing you to nothing but a sobbing thing beneath him, all while holding your hand to let you know your safe. To let you know he’s taking care of you.
That thought alone has your toes curling, and another pathetic cry leaves your lips.
He can tell you’re getting close, based on the intensity of your moans and the way your muscles begin to pulse. He maneuvers so his mouth is back to suckling on your clit, and one of his fingers is circling your entrance. He eyes you above him, watching your mouth part in utter ecstasy as he slides his middle finger inside of you.
You’re far gone – so far gone.
He hardly gets a chance to relish in how tight your perfect little hole is before you’re pushed over the edge, completely coming undone around him.
Choked out moans and pants fill the air, and you cum so hard around his finger it makes you lurch forward, entire body shaking. "Shh, shh,” he hushes you, "There you go. Good girl.”
He pumps his finger in and out of you, working you through your orgasm. Your body collapses back against the bed as you attempt to catch your breath, but Peter has other plans. He releases his grip on your hand, wasting no time attaching his lips to your clit once again, sucking on it with much more intensity this time.
A surprised whine escapes your lips and your back arches, legs trying to close around his head. You’re too sensitive, but he doesn’t care, arm moving to rest across your hips, holding your thighs apart to keep your legs opened, your cunt bared.
“A-Ah!” You cry out, unable to stop the way your legs are trembling. Your hands quickly find their way into his hair, needing something to desperately cling to. His finger continues to pump in and out of you as he devours your poor little cunt. Tears prick at your eyes from how fucking good it feels.
He teases a second finger at the entrance of your leaking hole, before easily plunging it in beside the first one. The stretch feels amazing, and it’s the first thing you’re able to actually vocalize since before he even started eating your cunt.
“God, fuck- feels so good- feels so fucking good Peter…need more.”
He hums around your clit, the vibrations shooting throughout your whole cunt, and your eyes roll back into your head. You can feel him teasing a third finger against your hole and you grind down into it, needing to feel more of him. He obliges, thrusting it into you along with his other two fingers, stretching you out deliciously around them.
Slowly, the sensitivity of it all begins to burn away as your next orgasm approaches once more. It builds up much quicker than before with the way his fingers fuck you open, bringing you right to the edge.
“Oh- oh fuck I-I’m gonna cum…”
You can’t help but look down at him, watching as he licks and sucks on your clit, moaning into you to let you know just how much he’s enjoying it. He eyes look up to meet yours and god he looks so good like this, hair tousled, eyes wild with desire, and his mouth coated in your slick as he suckles on your clit.
The coil within your stomach snaps as you look at him, and you’re pushed over the edge once again. Your grind your pussy down into him as you ride out the high once more, letting him work you through it.
Your slick drips down his hand as your hole clenches around him, and he pulls away from you, placing gentle kisses up and down your trembling inner thighs as you come back down.
You pant, sweat dripping down your forehead as you lay back, feeling completely blissful and floaty. Peter’s definitely done a good job at emptying your head of any and all thoughts that weren’t of him, because you’re so unbelievably fucked out.
“Your thighs are shaking so much.” His voice echoes through your head, as he runs his free hand over them, feeling them tremble from even the slightest touch.
He gives you a few more seconds to rest before a dark chuckles escapes him, and he curls his fingers inside of you deliciously. A strangled gasp fills the air and your whole body twitches when he leans back down, licking a strip from just above your hole, up to your clit. You struggle to form words of protest, already feeling twice as sensitive as last time.
“N-no! Can’t Peter- I can’t!” You sob, tears finally breaking free and rolling down your cheeks.
He lays his head to the side, resting it on your inner thigh. He pulls his fingers out for a moment, using one of them to rim your hole as he looks up at you in mock sympathy.
“Ohhh but I think you can. I think this sweet little pussy of yours can give me one more yeah?” He teases, and you shake your head, squirming, “So that’s what you’re going to give me.” He dives back in, mercilessly attacking your overstimulated cunt.
Thrashing would be the best word to define you right now, hands leaving his hair and finding anchors on the sweat-soaked sheets of the cot beneath you. Your head turns into the nearest pillows in an effort to not sound like you’re being murdered, mascara running and wisps of hair flying and soft laughs that go through your entire soul as Peter watches your struggle. As he enables it.
He returns to those sloppy kisses that let him get a taste of you. Your muscles clench and your hips lift off the bed entirely as his tongue works you out. His lips on your clit and his dispersed praises and those rough licks on your cunt like you’re laid out before him like a meal, which honestly isn’t too far off.
You can’t stop shifting, not with the pain that bubbles in your stomach from your third building orgasm. It’s intense. It’s sensitive. It hurts. You tear at the sheets, then back to his hair, blubbering like an absolute child about it. Your third orgasm approaches so quickly that it’s painful. You’re a sobbing, wild, mess beneath Peter, and he’s absolutely relishing in it.
“P-Peter…” you sob weakly, his name once again being the only word you can piece together in your fucked out little brain. It hurts so bad but it feels so good at the same time, and your senses feel like they’re dialed to 11.
“Shhh,” he places a gentle kiss right above your clit, gently stroking your thigh with the thumb of his free hand, offering you a slight reprieve, “C’mon, you can do it.”
All of a sudden his fingers are pumping into you at an impossibly intense rate, and he’s licking and sucking on your cunt like his life depends on it. Your head is thrown back, and your eyes roll into your head as he walks no, —drags—your orgasm from you with determined fists, leaving nothing in his wake.
You’re seeing hallucinations. You have to be. Colors flying across a canvas of pure white, neon dots and black floaters that have you convinced you may have died and come back to life. Your body- your muscles and sinew and bones and soul shake with the fervor of it. Convulse, really.
Peter sighs as he rises, almost like he’s just had the most refreshing glass of water after hours exercise, yet you feel like the exerted one, twitching from aftershocks and tremors. He slips his fingers from your hole, licking them clean as he admires the aftermath of his attack on your poor cunt.
You’re red, swollen, pulsing, and slickened with sweat and cum and spit. It’s a little beautiful, the way your cum is leaking out of your entrance and onto the sheets. He dips down once more, swiping his tongue against your hole for one final taste of you, and your whole body convulses, a desperate sob ripping from your lips.
“Shhh sweetheart,” he shushes, “No more, I promise. You did so good for me.”
You can hardly even hear him, your mind a thousand miles away. You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine, and your whole body is tingling. Peter climbs up the cot until he’s laying on his side above you, stroking the sweaty hair from your face. You hum in content as his sweet words and praises begin to flood into your ears, bringing you back to the present.
“There she is,” he places a kiss to your hair line, thumb stroking your jaw, “Feeling okay?” You nod still feeling floaty.
“Feels good…” You hum, and he chuckles.
“I’d hope so. It wasn’t too much for you was it?” You shake your head, easing his concern slightly. You pry your eyes open to meet his, smiling at him.
“No. It was perfect Peter, thank you…” you lean up to kiss him again, and he returns it, hand gently cradling your face. The two of you lay back down in the bed, and you rest your head on his chest. His arms find their way around you as he lets you calm down in his arms, the trembling of your body not having fully stopped yet.
It isn’t until you’re half asleep that you remember the paperwork, shooting up and scaring the hell out of Peter. The idea of doing it all, now that you’re even more exhausted, brings you to tears again. But this time, not so happy ones.
“Hey, hey don’t worry about it.” Peter’s arms wrap around your waist, cradling you from behind, “You don’t have to finish the paperwork sweetheart.”
You hiccup, shaking your head, “But Brenner’s gonna be pissed if I don’t and there’s nobody else to get it done because Miranda wanted to go out and get drunk and-”
“Listen to me,” his lips rest up against the shell of your ear, speaking to you like he would the children when they’re scared or upset. He knows that your hypersensitive and floaty state of mind is only adding on to your levels of stress, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about the paperwork. I’m going to get you all cleaned up okay? And I’ll talk with Brenner in the morning, come up with something.”
You turn to look at him, all doe eyed and puzzled, “How do you know he’ll listen to you?”
Peter smiles in return as if he knows something that you don’t, and wipes the tears away before placing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “He always does…I think I’m his favorite,” you roll your eyes, letting the comment go over your head as you grumble about wishing you were the favorite employee. A smirk takes over his face at your blatant naivety.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it baby, now c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” And you oblige, letting him take care of you. He manages find some rags, wetting them and wiping the sweat and tears from your face. He uses another to clean the mess between your legs, gently shushing you when you whine in discomfort. He helps you back into your clothes, aside from your ruined panties, before you both curl up in one of the unused cots for the night.
And the next morning, if any of the other orderlies notice him holding your hand on your way out of your office, well, they don’t say a word.
———
Requested by: @hbaramas
#fiction#imagines#stranger things#writers#humor#henry creel#peter ballard#001 stranger things#peter ballard smut#peter ballard fluff#cunninglingis#oops sorry#peter ballard x reader#peter ballard x you#001 x reader#001 x y/n#henry creel smut#pure filth#overstim kink#dumbification
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Can you do platonic fanfiction with 42!Miles Morales and little sister reader (like 5/6 year old)? Maybe he found out she was bullied in her school for always carrying a rabbit plushie around the school lol. Thank you!!
I'll Always Protect You
Characters: E42!Miles Morales x Sister!Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: (Requested) Thanks boo 💜
A/N: I tried writing as a child, hope I did it well lol
Warnings: Bullying
For as long as you could remember you always had Mr. Bun-Bun with you. He was your emotional support animal, kinda. He was there for you when you had to get a haircut because gum was in your hair, twisted your ankle, and when your Dad died.
But some people at school found it weird that you were still so attached to your stuffed and were not shy about making their opinions known to you.
“Where’s Mr. Bun-Bun?” Miles asked you as he picked you up from school.
“Oh, um I didn’t bring him today,” you responded quickly and took his hand.
He looks down at you with a raised eyebrow, “Why not? He's dirty or somethin’?”
You shake your head, “No I just felt like leaving him. That's all.”
He looks down at you with suspicion, “And that's all? No other reason?”
Anger rises in you at the continued questioning. Why couldn't he just drop it? That stubbornness was annoying quality of his. You dropped his hand and walked a few steps in front of him.
“Oh so now you wanna be like that?” Miles asks and you could hear the laughter in his voice.
You get lifted in the air not long after and twirled around all over the place. You stumble a little when he places you on the ground from all the spinning. You couldn’t stop laughing though.
And this is why you love your brother so much. Even when you were just angry at him, he still somehow made you laugh till your face and stomach hurt.
“Now, you gonna tell me what got you frowning like that?” He asked you. “I’ll buy you a whole pint of strawberry ice cream if you tell me.”
Now this had gotten your attention, you swore you could already taste the strawberry icecream. And would it be so bad to tell Miles? If you do then maybe the kids would stop.
“Okay, well some kids at school are being pretty mean to me,” admitted.
Miles went down on his knees so you guys were at eye level, “Mean how?”
“Like they would call me names and stuff because I still carry Mr. Bun-Bun around. They say I’m a baby.” You told him and sniffed a bit. It was painful to talk about but this is Miles, your big brother. He would protect you.
“How long has this been going on?” He asked.
“Um for a month I think. It’s fuzzy.” You responded.
He wraps you in a hug and puts his head on top of yours, “Okay, it’s gonna be all okay, all right. Now listen up, number one, you should’ve told me this when they first started being mean to you.”
He breaks the hug and makes you look into his eyes (did he always have that tired look in his eyes?), “I will fix this okay. I’ll tell Uncle Aaron and Mom about this and they will get this all situated.”
You nod your head along to what he was saying, you were starting to feel better about the situation with the promise that it will end.
“And one more thing,” he continued, “do not let anyone tell you how to live your life, you hear me? Because at the end of the day, you will have to live with the consequences of your actions, not them.”
You nod along to his words, understanding the gravity of them. You were still hungry though, “Can I get my ice cream now?”
Miles’ eyes widened and he gives you a surprised laugh, “You truly are something else you know that?” But he he grabs your hand and takes you to the grocery store anyway.
He truly is the best big brother you could’ve ever asked for.
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Can you write a snippet of Quaritch following through with his version of “an old school ass whipping”
Nothing too serious because I don’t think he’d abuse Spider but I do think he’d be the type of parent to resort to physical discipline if pushed enough.
In the exchange between him and Spider, Spider does not seemed alarmed with fear and is actually a little cheeky. I think he’s used to adults just letting him get away with things.
I think it’s be interesting to read Spider’s reaction to an adult/authority figure disciplining him (whether physical or some other punishment) for not following instructions rather than just checking to see if he has not been harmed.
It doesn’t have to relate to him running off which is where Quaritch uses the threat. It could be anything.
Wish granted!✨
TW; none
Arrow to the heart
.
“UGH! Did y’all ever even wash these before??”
“Not since they were put here.” Miles responded nonchalantly, reading the latest report off his holotable as he lay in the bunk opposite of the shower entrance.
“This is disgusting.” Spider grimaced, his back aching from labour.
It must have been about seven hours since the dreadful words of an incoming punishment were spoken, yet it felt more like an eternity as Spider was been tasked to clean the floor of every room in the recom barracks with only a rag and soap. If hell existed — this had to be it.
“How…” The boy breathed, letting his arms rest minutely, slumped on the foamy tiles. For once, he was thankful to be forced into an ugly shirt and camo-pants. “How much do I have left?”
“A lot less if you didn’t yap all the time.” Miles, yet again, responded without giving his son prisoner as much as a look.
“No, seriously. How many rooms?”
The recom let out a heavy sigh, as if he was the one hunched over the tiles with rubber gloves. “Five. You’ll do toilets next.”
Spider groaned in misery, before taking a deep breath to steady himself and keep working. Maybe Miles would eventually get tired of seeing him like this and let it go.
“Oh, and don’t think I’ll let you off easy. You’ll be scrubbing these floors until you’re done with them all. No breaks.”
Socorro snapped his head towards him. “Are you crazy!? These are avatar-sized! The place is big as fuck! I’ll be stuck here until morning!”
“Then you’ll have to quit talking and get back go work.”
Spider growled. “This is child abuse.”
“You wanna take me to court?”
The blonde’s growls turned to a hiss as he got back to the task, fuming. What the hell was this old bastard’s deal?
“All this…” Spider grumbled as he slid the soapy rag over the floor. “Just for me calling you an asshole…”
“Oh no.” Miles snapped, his keen ears catching Socorro’s low mumbling form across the room. “All this is for you saying that shit in front of my superiors. You crossed a line. I could let your attitude slide in the forest, but not in public. You will not put me in a spot like that again. Got that?”
“Yes sir.”
“No you didn’t. Keep scrubbing.” Miles commanded, going back to reading. “How in lord’s name did those lab rats even tolerate you?”
With no warning, these last words hit Spider like an arrow to the chest. Out of nowhere, he got a strong urge to take that damned rag and strangle the colonel with it. “I was very well-fucking-behaved, thank you.” He spat.
“You? Behaving?” Quaritch smirked, raising a brow. “Nonsense.”
“You think you know me? That you got me all figured out?”
“You’re not as mysterious as you wanna be, kid.” The recom side-eyed him. “You’re an audacious, lazy brat who was never taught manners because those traitors had no patience to raise a proper man.”
Spider laughed in disbelief. “Oh. Really?”
“I didn’t say you could stop. Quit whining, or I’ll assign the B-squad’s barracks as well.”
“Wh-NO!” The boy barked, standing and throwing the wet rag in the bucket. “We’re NOT done!”
Miles rolled his eyes. On some level, he could feel that this outburst was coming, but held out hope that they’d skip Spider’s desperate self-affirmations. He’ll let him talk it out and add onto the punishment after the rant is over, which was the only reason why he didn’t plan on tunning the kid out.
No other reason at all.
“You think I’m like this at home? I’m not! I worked day in an out at hell’s gate and then high camp, to help those I care about and keep hem safe!” He raised his voice. “I’ve always tried to be quiet, stay out of the way, keep to myself! The rest of those ankle-biters didn’t come close!” He stepped closer to the stone-faced colonel. “I’ve always did my best, alright?!”
His voice wavered, and Quaritch’s ears flicked down instinctively. Was the kid getting emotional? “If you were so damn good then why the hell had no-one scrambled to get you back yet?”
His implication hung in the air, simple and clear; that it was Spider’s fault that there was yet not a single rescue attempt made.
Another arrow to the heart.
“You know why.” Socorro spat.
“No I don’t. We’ve spent so much time squatting in the mud miles from Bridgehead yet no one has come looking fo you.”
Spider’s breath hitched.
“Maybe, get this…” Quaritch stood. “You’d be favoured more if you were less of a pain in the ass.”
Of course, the recom did not believe his words. Not fully, but he needed to deliver the punishment in a way his ward would remember. Spider was overdue for a reality check.
Except…the cheer pain in Socorro’s eyes in response to his words suggested otherwise. Quaritch was suddenly rooted in place, pinned under his gaze.
“How…how dare you.” He spoke, his voice shaking. “I was good. I did all I could and then more.” Water began pooling in his big eyes. “I did everything. I was useful, convenient, invisible!” His hands balled into fists. “I did everything they asked! I was at their beck and call! Always!”
Miles felt his heart sink with every sentence. Shit. Alright. Perhaps he overdid it with the cutting words.
“I never complained! I learned to treat my own cuts and bruises! Learned to power through the broken bones! I’ve never been a burden!!!” He screamed.
After weeks, months of staying tight-lipped about his past, all this new information threw Miles’s mind into a spin.
“Spider—”
“You wanna know why I called you an asshole in front of those corporates!? Because you’re a fucking monster!!!” But Socorro could not longer be stopped. “You threaten and hurt and kill and it never bothers you, so why the FUCK should I respect you!?!” He sniffed, throwing off his gloves. “All you’ve ever done is screw me over! It’s YOUR fault no one cared how good I was or that I’m gone, because I’ll always carry YOUR blood. FUCK YOU!” He roared, before sobbing and storming out of the barracks, leaving Miles to stew in what he had just heard.
He looked at the wet rag lying on the tiles, the silence deafening and his tail limp.
Damn it.
Why did his heart ache so?
#atwow#avatar spider#spider socorro#avatar 2#avatar way of water#avatar#spider avatar#atwow spider#avatar quaritch#Quaritch avatar#atwow quaritch#recom quaritch#miles quaritch#atwow recoms#avatar 2 fanfic
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Hold My Beer
Pairing: Brief Rumlow X Reader, Biker!Bucky X Reader
Summary: Your old best friend is tired of seeing you in the arms of another. Especially one who doesn’t treat you right. So he’s gonna do something about that.
Warnings: Language, violence (minor), infidelity, breaking up, allusions to smut, biker!bucky,
Word Count: 1.1k
A/n: 100% inspired by the Aaron Pritchett song lol. This is kinda short but it’s something I wanna just kinda toss into the void lol. I do think I’ll be writing more for this particular AU!Bucky in the future, I’m just waiting for some inspiration to strike.
Kinda short so no tags lol my bad. Love you all so much❤️❤️❤️
~*~
Steel blue eyes are zeroed in on a couple by the bar.
His focus is on the man.
More specifically, the way he’s practically ignoring the beautiful woman by his side.
“You good, Buck?” Steve asks from beside him, nudging his friend lightly with his elbow.
The brunet hums, his brows drawing together as he watches the man at the bar ogle different woman, while his girl sits with a frown on her pretty face.
“Yeah, m’fine. I just... gimme one second,” he murmurs, pushing to his feet and walking away from his booth, beer still held tightly in his grasp.
The blond watches his friend as he approaches the couple at the bar, beyond confused.
This particular couple has been in the brunet’s bar a couple times, the man causing trouble more often than not, and it’s no secret that he’s less than faithful to his woman.
To you.
You sit beside your boyfriend, brows pulled together as you watch him eye a woman across the bar.
It hurts your pride to have him do this in front of you, but he’s already had a few drinks and you know better than to try and argue with him when he’s been drinking.
“Hey, could you hold my beer for a sec, buddy?” A voice asks.
You blink yourself out of your thoughts and look up at the man standing before yourself and Brock, brows rising to your hairline.
None other than Bucky Barnes stands before you.
Solid six feet and five inches of thick muscle towers over your boyfriend, and you can’t help the grin that threatens to pull at your lips.
Brock’s always hated Bucky, and you can’t really blame him.
Your bestfriend-turned stranger is attractive enough to get a nun to sin, and he’s never been shy when it comes to flirting with you. Especially after seeing you cry over the piece of shit sitting next to you.
Bucky’s hatred for Brock Rumlow isn’t hidden at all, and he doesn’t care who knows. You’re too good a woman to be treated the way he treats you, and Bucky’s determined to make you realize that.
He's got a tame beard covering the lower half of his face and his eyes are the warmest icy blue you’ve ever seen, mischief glowing in them. Light freckles dust across his cheeks like stars in the night sky, and his lips are pink and plump.
You follow his gaze to your boyfriend, and Brock looks just as confused as you feel.
“I uh... why? What do you want?” He asks while slowly reaching out to hold Bucky’s beer.
“’Cause your woman needs a kiss, and a boy like you ain’t gonna satisfy her.” With that, Bucky leans in and presses his lips against yours.
He’s kissed you many times before, and you’ve always brushed it off as him being a touchy friend, though you know it’s more than that.
And this is proof.
Because this isn’t a kiss you give your friend.
You sit still for a long moment, shock freezing you before you peck Bucky back and tug away, terrified at what Brock’s reaction’s going to be and warm inside at the intense feeling of Bucky’s lips on yours.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?!” Brock shouts, moving to hop off the barstool only to be held in place by one of Bucky’s thick tattooed arms.
He shoves the smaller man back in his seat and levels him with a glare.
“You’d better not drop my fuckin’ beer,” he whispers dangerously, his true biker roots coming out on display.
Brock grinds his teeth together and turns his steely glare on you.
“You see? You ask why I hate when you would see him! It's cause I know you’re a slut who can’t control herself.”
His words bite a little, but they don’t hurt nearly as much as Bucky’s fist connecting with his face.
The bar goes quiet as Brock grabs at his nose, glaring at the biker.
“See, you’ve made a few mistakes here tonight. The first was showing your face. The second, was not paying enough attention to your girl. The third, was disrespecting your girl when she deserves the world. And the fourth...” Bucky leans down, his eyes hard and full of hatred, “you spilled my beer.”
You’ve been with Brock Rumlow for an embarrassing amount of time, and never have you ever seen him look so tiny and terrified.
“Now, you’re gonna hold my beer and watch my jacket while I take your girl up dancing, and then you’re gonna head on home and you’re gonna clear your shit outta her apartment, you’re gonna delete yourself from her life, and you’re never gonna even think about going near her again, or else it’ll be me you’re dealing with, got it?”
Brock opens his mouth to snark back, but a glance around the bar at all the bikers wearing jackets that match Bucky's has him keeping his mouth shut.
“Alright, good talk. Thanks man!” Bucky calls, grabbing your hand and tugging you off of your stool.
You stumble after him, still in shock at the exchange that just occurred.
“Buck, what the Hell was that?!” You demand, flattening your palms against his chest when he pulls you against him.
“I’ve sat and watched that prick treat you like garbage for two and a half years, (Y/n). I’m not doing it anymore. You deserve so much better and I'm tired of pretending that I’m okay seeing you with him.”
You blink up at him in shock and shake your head, “Bucky, you can’t just end my relationship like that. Brock and I need to talk about things.”
He scoffs and wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you closer and kissing your forehead.
“I just did, sweetheart. You’re gonna come to my place tonight, we’re gonna talk and drink and maybe get a little... friendly, just like we used to, and then tomorrow I’m gonna bring you back to your apartment and if that asshole hasn't cleaned all of his shit out, there’s gonna be Hell to pay.”
You take a deep breath and look over your shoulder to where Brock is sitting. Steve’s by his side, arms crossed over his chest and a grin on his handsome face when he catches your gaze.
“C’mon, baby. You gonna dance with me like we used to or do you wanna go straight to my place and have me bend you over the counter and eat that pretty pussy like the good old days?”
A shiver races down your spine, shaking the guilt from your stomach as you look up into his ever-blue eyes.
“I... we can go to your place,” you whisper, smiling shyly when he grins triumphantly.
He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips while one of his hands trails down to your ass, grabbing a handful of it then letting go only to smack it roughly.
“That’s my girl.”
#bucky x reader#biker!bucky x reader#biker!bucky#biker!Steve#biker!Steve x reader#biker au#biker bucky x reader#biker bucky au#biker!bucky au#Bucky Barnes x reader#bucky x reader biker au
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Love Aged Like Fine Wine
Harry is drunk and lost not too far from home, and there's only one person he wants to call to rescue him.
A/N: Hello everyone 👋🏼 it has been a loooong time since I posted anything on Tumblr, and I was admittedly reluctant to do so. However, I reblogged the lovely Sarah's (@harry-on-broadway) fic challenge the other day and it inspired me, and I would be doing a disservice to write the whole thing and never look at it again, especially since I quite like it. SO, I give you my first one shot in over a year. Bear with me, I'm a bit rusty... Special mention as always to Miss Liz (@all-things-fic) for reading and validating me.
I'm using prompts 14 & 19.
Trigger Warnings: Absolutely nothing (apart from the odd f word)
Word Count: 6533
~~~
“What do you want, Harry?”
An offended scoff was his initial response. “Not a very nice way t’greet y’best friend.”
He was right, it wasn’t. “You’re not my best friend.”
“Ouch. Though’ we were besties ‘n now y’makin’ me feel sad.”
Harry was slurring more than he usually did. I feared if he tried to say obviously, ‘overshly’ would turn into a soft, deep single syllable alike to the word ‘shush’. It wasn’t particularly late to warrant his level of drunkenness. Especially on a Tuesday evening. Chewsday, if you will.
“Harsh truths are easier to take when you’re drunk.” I said, shrugging as if he could see the action.
“Why’re y’bein’ so ‘orrible?” He whined.
“Why are you calling me pissed as a fart at 8:45 on a Tuesday night and ruining my bath time?”
“‘S there some space lef’ in the bathtub?”
“Don’t make it weird.” I grimaced. “What’s going on?”
He produced an incoherent mumble. I heard the rain get heavier, both on the phone call and outside my house.
“What was that?”
“M’st…”
“Aye?” I asked, my face surely a bewildered picture.
“I’m lost.” He huffed, agitated.
I sat up in the bath, water and suds sloshing around me. “Lost?”
“Yes.”
“W-,” words failed me, and I barked out a sharp laugh. “How are you lost?”
“How does anyone else get lost?” He said, stroppy.
“Wow, you really are drunk.”
He hummed, but it was a defeated noise. “C’ya come ‘n get me?”
“How am I supposed to come and get you if you don’t know where you are?”
“Well I was only at The Holly Bush.”
I laughed twice as hard that time. Put in perspective, The Holly Bush is no more than a ten minute walk from Harry’s house. “How long have you been walking?”
“‘Bout ‘alf an hour.” He muttered.
Now I was really howling, like a hyena on laughing gas. “Jesus Christ, Harry!”
“‘S not funny!”
“On the contrary, years of comedy begs to differ.”
He practically cried my name down the phone. “‘M really tired ‘n cold ‘n… weh,” I think he meant wet, “please come get me.”
I took a deep breath and mourned my premature bath. “Fine. But do not move from wherever you are.”
“Won’t.”
I stood up and watched water and soap suds cascade down my body with a pout. “What can you see?”
“Er…” a pause followed, I assumed for his vacant thoughts. “‘S like a lot of trees.”
I rolled my eyes. “That could literally be any part of the Heath, mate. Say more words.”
“I can’t see shit! It’s dark and it’s pissing it down!”
“Don’t get arsey or you can stay there and drown in rain water.” I warned him. “Find a road sign. Or a street name.”
He grunted. After no more than fifteen seconds he produced, “Platt’s Lane.”
“Alright, I know where that is. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Thank you.” He said. At least I think that’s what he said.
I murmured a little, “Sure,” and then hung up.
I dressed quickly in the easiest clothes I could find - a pair of tie-dye jogging bottoms, an old t-shirt and a crewneck over the top. I pulled on the first pair of trainers I could find and ran out to my car whilst fighting the rain. I also took a towel with me. My hair was still in the bun I’d put it up in for my bath.
It was really battering it down now - it was loud inside the car and the windows were steamed up. It was even louder when I turned the air conditioning on to defog the windows.
Once I could see outside the front and back windows I finally made my way to find Harry. I still mourned my bath as I drove - I missed how warm it was and how comfortable I had been. Now I was out in the cold and wet to rescue my drunken idiot friend.
It didn’t take me very long to find said drunken idiotic friend. He was sitting on a yellow grit box under some trees at the junction of Platt’s Lane and West Heath Road. He was soaking, shoulders slumped and looking at the floor. I pulled up as close to him as possible and leaned over to push the door open.
“Get in, you moron!” I called.
Harry looked up at the sound of my voice. He leapt to his feet almost immediately after, and staggered his way over to my little car. He nearly tripped over twice on his way, and he hit his head as he sat down.
“Fucking hell.” I muttered. “Look at the state of you.”
He grumbled, readjusting his sodden jacket, and then looked right at me. His hair was drenched, water dripping from his neck down his arms and chest, and his forehead down his nose and cheeks.
“Here,” I threw the towel at him. “You’re gonna make my car smell.”
“‘S tha’ the wors’ a’ya problems?” He asked, a snide tone laced in his mushy words.
“I wish it was.”
I pulled off again as Harry began to attempt to dry himself off, although I feared a towel would do very little to help him. Fortunately we were only a mere five minute drive from his house anyway. He probably could have walked home faster if he were sober.
It was a relatively quiet drive since Harry spent most of it rubbing my towel over every available inch of his body. He did however sing along to the one song he heard playing, but he didn’t quite have the same masterful tone as usual. He even seemed quite timid.
I parked as close as possible to his front door and shut the engine off.
“Where are your keys, H?”
He gave me a dopey blink and then looked down at himself, double chin appearing accompanied with a pouty lower lip. “Dunno. On me somewhere.”
I sighed and unclipped my seatbelt, then reached over to him to feel through each of his pockets for his house keys. Of course I found them in the hardest one to reach on the inside of his jacket. He giggled while I did, like a child being tickled. I smacked him on the arm before I got out of the car.
I ran up to the front door and unlocked it, opening it so that my paralytic companion could be jettisoned inside his home as quickly as possible without getting more wet.
“Come on, then,” I said as I opened the passenger door, my shoulders hunched because the rain felt weird on my neck.
Harry practically fell out of the car at my instruction, so I lifted him up and placed his arm around my shoulder so I could manage his weight better. I kicked the car door shut behind us and walked him to the door. I realised on our little walk how unfit I was.
“‘M sorry.” He mumbled.
“It’s fine.” I said, my voice tight. It was only strained because he was heavy and I was weak.
“Didn’t even think I drank tha’ much, was only few whiskeys.”
Only a few could range anything between 3 and 30. I didn’t chide him for that. “It’s alright, Harry. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.” I meant that genuinely and not as a threat I’d be getting that level of drunk in the future just to call him to rescue me.
“Would.” He insisted.
I awkwardly held onto him as we got inside, twisting at an awkward angle to close the door and keep any more rain from getting in. Harry felt like dead weight against me.
“Ready to get upstairs?”
His affirming nod was the surest action I’d seen from him this far.
“Alright,” I took a deep breath, “let’s go.”
I made sure we navigated the stairs one at a time, because I had visions of him tripping up and cracking his head open if he tried to do anything by himself. And now, in the warmth of his massive home and up this close to him, the boy reeked of stale beer and sweat. I didn’t want to ask what he’d been doing in The Holly Bush for him to get that bad. I hadn’t seen him that wasted in a very long time.
“Meant it, y’know.” He slurred.
We were only halfway up the stairs and all I could hear was my own panting. Admittedly I was surprised he hadn’t passed out yet.
“Meant what?” I heaved, and pushed him up the next step.
“I w’ do the same f’you.”
“I know you would.”
“Don’t even have t’ be drunk.”
“Right.”
We stopped for a minute, not at anyone’s request but Harry didn’t seem to want to move. I looked at him as he did me, and he produced this hazy-eyed, closed-lip smile.
His woolly but content expression made me laugh. “I think it’s bed time for you, mate.”
He groaned. “Don’t call me ‘mate’.”
I frowned. “Alright. Sorry.”
When we finally reached the top of the stairs, Harry collapsed on me by way of a hug. We were standing in the middle of the hallway, his entire body somehow wrapped around mine. I was suffocating in the smell of a brewery.
“Don’t leave me.” He begged.
“I’m not… Need to get you to bed somehow.”
He pulled his head back to look at me, eyes heavy. “You can take me to bed.”
“That’s what I just said.”
He nodded repeatedly like a bobble-head figure.
I made a face, perturbed, and nudged him in the direction of his bedroom. He nearly fell over as he turned around, and ended up palming the wall the rest of the way. I kept a hand on his back just in case.
As soon as he saw his bed he was climbing onto it, still fully clothed and in his muddy trainers.
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, reaching after him like he was a toddler, “Harry, take your shoes off.”
He laughed maniacally into his bed sheets, the muffled sound disturbing.
I huffed with a scowl and did it myself. His vans were dripping wet so I took them to the radiator and left them on top to dry. I made sure the radiator was turned on, too. The last thing Harry Styles needed was the flu again.
He was sitting up now, watching me with a warm expression. I ignored it.
“Need to take your clothes off or you’ll get a cold.”
“Yes, Miss.” He was beaming now.
The attempt at taking his t-shirt off was painful, and I ended up having to help him.
“Jeans too.”
I knew that would be more agonising to watch than the t-shirt, and I didn’t want to have to look at his bare chest for too long, so I went for a walk to the closest bathroom to get another towel. His jeans were still around his knees when I got back.
“Jesus Christ.” I said through gritted teeth, and freed his jeans from around his ankles. They were a heavy kind of damp and thudded when I put them on the floor.
“‘S cold.” He commented, staring up at me.
“I’ve just put the radiator on.” I told him, and handed him the towel. “I’ll find you some clean pants.”
I left him to dry his no doubt tacky chest and legs while I searched through his drawers for some clean underwear. I threw them at him once I’d located them.
“Where’s your laundry basket?”
“Wardrobe.” He said, voice getting gruff.
I collected his dirty clothes from off the floor again and wandered into the walk-in wardrobe attached to his bedroom. I stared at it for a while, not just because it was ginormous but also because I couldn’t believe the amount of crap in it. It was bulging with clothes - some I hadn’t seen him wear for years and others I hadn’t seen him wear at all. Ever.
I dropped the clothes in my hand onto the overflowing basket in one of the cupboards, hating to do so because it was just adding to more chores. And then I realised that this was not my house and I would not be responsible for washing any of his clothes.
“Harry, do you want something to wear in bed if you’re cold?”
He never answered.
I peered into the bedroom to see he’d already tucked himself into bed.
“I guess not.” I muttered.
I stood next to his bed and watched him for a minute. His eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly but I couldn’t work out if he was actually asleep or just pretending to be. His eyelids looked shiny and delicate and his cheeks were dusted pink - a combination of his inebriation and being outside in the cold for so long. I could hear the radiator chugging and it was definitely warmer than it had been when we arrived.
Without thinking, still staring at him while possibly passed out like a lunatic creep, I wrapped my index finger around one of his curls and moved it out of his face.
He giggled suddenly, catching my wrist. “That tickled.”
I smacked his hand away. “I thought you were asleep, you absolute git!”
“Not yet.”
I rolled my eyes and scowled at him. “I’m goin’ home. Seeing you in bed is making me want mine.”
“Can always share mine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scoffed, and made a move to leave. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
“Aye, wait!” He shouted at me.
“What?”
“I don’t want you t’ leave yet.”
“Well, I’m exhausted, and you’re about to pass out on me anyway.”
He said something that was complete and utter incoherent nonsense.
“I don’t know what you just said but I’m not changing my mind.”
He whined my name again and reached for my hand. “Please stay bit longer? Like havin’ y’here, havin’ y’around.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but I still want my own bed.”
“Please?”
“No.” I stood my ground, but I took a step closer and pinched his cheek. “But I’ll come back tomorrow after work if that makes you feel better.”
“Feel better if y’stayed wi’ me now.”
“Well that’s not going to happen. Just call me if you need anything.”
“Need y’now. Need y’all the time.”
“Stop being daft.”
“‘M not bein’ daft - I mean it.”
“You are being daft. Just go to sleep - I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise.”
He stressed my name and sat up. “Y’not listenin’ to me. ‘M bein’ proper serious - I want ya t’ stay wi’ me. I need y’here.”
“No, what you need is sleep.”
He scowled at me.
“I’m going to go and get you a pint of water and a paracetamol and then I’m going home. And that’s the last we’re gonna say on this, end of.”
I left the room and found my way to the kitchen, though admittedly I did get lost on my way there since I’d only been here once before and it was a considerable amount of time ago. I did as promised and got him a pint of water and found some paracetamol in a drawer full of miscellaneous items close to the sink.
I couldn’t fathom why Harry was so needy, insobriety aside. We were friends, yes, and had been for some time, but we weren’t that close. Or perhaps we were and I just refused to admit it due to his increasing popularity and the fact that being perceived near him in the public eye terrified me. I was perfectly happy with my mundane job and my mundane life. I appreciated Harry for what he was - a friend -, and didn’t expect anything more or less from that level of our relationship. Nor had I ever, and it surprised me that he suddenly did.
Perhaps I was overthinking it all. That was likely.
I returned to Harry’s room to find him out of bed in just his pants.
“What are you doing?” I asked, putting the water and the tablets on his bedside table, trying to avoid looking at his chest.
“Need the loo.” He said without hesitation, and marched past me.
I sighed, watching after him until he was safely in the bathroom with the door closed, and then I perched on the edge of his bed with my head in my hands.
I was irritated, yes. I knew I shouldn’t be as irritated as I was, but I couldn’t help it. This was not the evening I had planned for myself. I was supposed to have an early night and go to work in the morning with a clear head and no bags under my eyes. Now I was going to look like the walking dead, and feel like it too.
I stood up again when Harry reappeared. I watched him stagger and sway across the corridor and it made me nervous. He tripped once and nearly smacked his face against the doorframe.
“Fucking hell, Harry.” I said, panicked, and reached forward to steady him.
He laughed, more a giggle of that from a small girl. “I’m so drunk.”
“I know you are. That’s why you need to get into bed.”
“I will, jus’ one more thing before I do,”
I thought he was going to start running riot around the house and I was going to have to chase after him, like a dog owner with a tyrannical pooch. But instead, he just wrapped his arms around my middle and shoved his face into the crook of my neck. His body was warm and it felt strange being this close to him when he had so little clothes on.
I let out a long breath, reciprocating it this time. “You’re a twat.”
He hummed when I stroked my hand over his damp hair. “Not very nice.”
“And yet still true.”
He grunted, but never moved a muscle. A moment of silence passed before he said anything else. “Thank you f’ comin’ to rescue me.”
“Sure, anytime.” I didn’t mean that. Or maybe I did, but I’d be bitter about it if it became a recurrence because I couldn’t stand to disappoint people who meant a lot to me.
He let me go, and I thought that was finally going to be the end of it. Instead, he took my face, quite harshly, between both of his hands until my cheeks squished. His gaze was dopey and warm again, but somehow different to last time. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Harry, that hurts.”
He ignored me. “I love you.” It sounded more like ‘ah luff you’ but that wasn’t relevant in the moment.
“Yeah, I love you too, now let go.” I was trying to pull his hands away but apparently he was still physically stronger than me even that drunk.
“No,” he shook his head at me and then brought what felt like my entire body against his chest. “I mean I really love you.”
I couldn’t see anything. I felt us begin to fall sideways, but with his strength I had absolutely no control over where we were going.
“Harry!” I screamed, still trying to fight him with no luck.
I think we hit the bed because the landing was softer than anticipated and Harry didn’t wince or flinch. That could also be attributed to the levels of alcohol in his body. He was probably majoritively quite numb.
“Y’like, my favourite person.” He said, voice much quieter now, and I could feel his nose in my hair. My face was pushed into his chest. “Want y’around all time. Rubbish a’ showin’ it but I miss y’when ‘m nor’ at home. ‘N I don’t mean everyone, I mean jus’ you.”
I was listening to him with baited breath. I’d never really been on the receiving end of ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’ - I was usually the one talking and making a fool of myself. Once I told my sister’s boyfriend (at the time) what I really thought of him in front of our entire family after keeping my mouth shut for so long. They broke up the next day and she came to live with me for a month. I felt almost paralysed now listening to Harry.
“Mus’ think ‘m nuts ‘cause I’ve never said anythin’ before, bur’m scared. You’re a scary woman.”
I tried not to take offence to that, even though it was likely true. I had tried for the longest time to give off a very ambiguous aura. I didn’t want anyone to know me, least not the real me. I liked the illusion of being dead inside even if I was far from it.
“Loved y’ for so long now I can’ ‘ide it anymore.” He was really slurring now and words were about to fail him. Somehow, he was still holding onto me. “‘M like tha’ 1975 song.” I wanted to ask which one, but I didn’t have to. He proceeded to sing the words, “I’m in love with you.”
Just once he sang them, maybe slightly off pitch but it still sounded good. Not sure it would hold up to any of his previous performances, but I’d take it.
I didn’t know what to say. I was in a state of shock to be honest and the thought of moving terrified me. But then his grip around me loosened, and he let out a singular loud snore.
I pulled back, horrified, to see his sleeping face - mouth wide open. Another snore was released. “You are fucking joking.”
I sat up, his limp body falling away from me. I smacked his arm in the hopes of waking him, but he never flinched. “Harry,” I said, hitting him again.
Still no movement.
“Oi.” Smack.
Nothing.
I didn’t know what to do. Who does that? Who makes an admission like that and then falls asleep? And why did it have to be this boy? I was speechless, and when I finally managed to clamber off the bed I was also useless.
I stared at him with a look of bewilderment, as he lay there passed out on his unmade bed, mouth agape and naked besides his white y-fronts. It was then that the reality of what he’d said hit me, and I started to cry.
I wasn’t angry or upset - I was overwhelmed. Drunkenly, Harry had just told me he loved me. Then immediately passed out. Now I was left with my own feelings and his and no one to talk to about it. What was I supposed to do?
I desperately wanted to leave and get some sleep, but I also couldn’t help but think that would be morally inappropriate. Leaving a friend alone while dangerously intoxicated was how 50% of all murder documentaries started. Not that Harry was likely to get killed by an intruder in his mansion complete with security fortress. But he might accidentally fall down the stairs or choke on his own vomit.
And yet, the idea of staying in this massive and unfamiliar house to process all those thoughts made me even more hysterical. The idea alone provoked a loud sob, and I quickly covered my mouth because it was such a horrendous sound.
I made my decision that instant. I put Harry properly into bed with all of my remaining strength, covered him with his duvet, and then I fled from his house like a bat out of hell. On my way out, I took his spare keys with me.
I barely slept that night. My head was swimming and even though I couldn’t keep my eyes open, my brain was in overdrive. That, and the cat was sleeping on my chest and purring right in my face. His whiskers tickled my nose.
I found myself thinking about the early stages of mine and Harry’s association.
I couldn’t have called him a friend when we first met because I hated him. I don’t think that feeling was ever reciprocated on his part but I couldn’t ever stand to be in the same room as him. Why? Because I felt the need to constantly contradict societal comments and beliefs. The world - at least people in my world - deemed him a golden boy who never did any wrong. I was convinced it wasn’t the case. My downfall was my lack of determination to prove it.
We met through mutual friends, as these things always seemed to happen. I couldn’t even remember which friend it was - neither me nor Harry talked to them anymore. But one day he was just there, and periodically from then onward he continued to show up. I couldn’t even remember when it was, but it was before he cut all his hair off. One Direction’s last few remaining days, perhaps? Anyway, he was suddenly omnipresent and came with an abundance of attention and it infuriated me.
I remember once, Harry confronted me on my obvious dislike for him. That was our first encounter collectively with ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’. I can’t remember exactly what I said but I wasn’t very nice and I remember the Bambi look in his eyes when I walked away from him. After that he was notably absent for some time. If I asked him about it now I’m not sure how honest he’d be about it. He was lucky enough to be able to claim work absences for long periods of time - I imagined he’d use that excuse. How truthful that would be, I didn’t know.
Our reconciliation came after that. He saw me alone in the nearby shop and asked me to join him for a coffee. I couldn’t really say no - it was a Sunday afternoon and I was only going back home to vegetate for the rest of the day. I think it was spring - I probably would’ve just read a book and gone to bed early. We spent the next 3 hours in Ginger & White, and after we got kicked out of there we went up to The Holly Bush, ironically.
I saw a different side to Harry that night, and I always put it down to having him to myself. There was no one else there with us apart from the locals in the pub who wouldn’t bat an eyelid. It was just us, and he was unapologetically himself, as was I. We suddenly had an entirely new perception of one another - a higher level of understanding. On that random Sunday evening alone, I came to appreciate Harry for just being Harry. I saw who he really was, and I liked him.
From then on, I enjoyed his company. It became a regular thing - an afternoon doing something random together, just the two of us. And it ranged from simple coffee shop talks to entire day trips out of London. I realised then that what we’d basically been doing was dating for about 5 years with no physical contact.
I laughed out loud, disturbing the cat. He ran off and left me alone.
We’d had our own intimate relationships with other people outside of our friendship, which I guess is why I’d never thought about it that way before. He also seemed to do that with multiple other people - I wasn’t the only one. Was I?
I never had to apologise for the night I was rude to him. I always wondered why, and I always berated myself for not saying I was sorry. I’d admitted I was wrong about him a long time ago, but only to myself. It seemed a bit too late to do it now, but I assumed he’d forgiven me. I could’ve been wrong.
I think I finally fell asleep around 4am. My alarm for work went off just 3 hours later and I burst into tears as soon as I realised the situation I was in. I called into work sick and went straight back to sleep.
How much more sleep I had was uncertain. It felt like only 2 hours, but it could’ve been more. Since I wasn’t working, I decided to get a McDonald’s after showering. Mostly for Harry rather than me, although I’m sure he’d make a comment about it.
I used the key I’d stolen last night to let myself in and went straight up to his bedroom with the McDonald’s in my right hand. Except I didn’t make it to his bedroom, because I found him on the bathroom floor next to the toilet, on his front with his cheek pressed to the tile floor.
“Harry…?”
He moaned, limply raising his hand and dropping it again immediately.
I moved into the room, leaving the McDonald’s in the hall because the smell would not go well with the pre-existing one in the room. It seemed Harry had vomited since I left. I sat on my knees beside him and stroked a finger through his curls, similar to how I had done last night.
“Are you alright?”
“Not really.” He said, voice whiny.
“No, I’m not surprised. I brought you some breakfast.”
He managed to lift his head and look towards me. I pointed at the hallway and he followed where my finger suggested.
“What is it?”
“McDonald’s.”
He screwed his face up. “You know I don’t eat meat.”
“Yes, that’s why I got you a Fillet-O-Fish. And mozzarella sticks.”
“Not very healthy.”
“Well, boiled eggs and avocado doesn’t make for very exciting hangover food if you ask me.”
He blew a breath out so that his lips wobbled. “True.”
“You gonna sit up and eat it?”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Come on, then,”
I took his arm and helped pull him to a sitting position. He sat against the bathtub and rolled his head back, mouth open and breathing heavy. I left his food in his lap and sat opposite him with my back against the wall.
“This is probably one of the worst hangovers I’ve had in a long time.” He said, grimacing into the paper bag. At least he could form complete words this morning.
“How much do you remember?”
He laughed once. “Not much. I remember calling you, and waiting for you to come get me. I remember when you turned up, but that’s about it. I don’t remember getting home.”
I swallowed thickly. That meant he probably didn’t remember telling me he was in love with me. Or rather, singing it.
“Next thing I’ve woke up in my pants about to vomit.”
“I think you were the most drunk I’ve ever seen you.”
He paused before he took a bite out of his fillet burger. “Really?”
“Hands down. You fell over nearly three times. And you wouldn’t let me go home.”
“Oh, I’m not surprised by that. I’m a very clingy drunk.”
“I was aware of that before last night.” I muttered. “Who were you with?”
“Tom and Tyler.”
“Ah, one of those evenings, was it?
“Yeah, didn’t expect it to be quite that bad, though. Was only going for one.”
“That’s how they all start.”
“Mm, I should know better.”
“Yes you should.”
He laughed around his mouthful and then swallowed it. “This was a good call, thank you.”
“No problem. Although I have to say I did not expect to watch you eat it on the bathroom floor.”
“I know. Feel like a uni student.”
“I don’t think uni students have bathrooms this big.”
He smiled, but didn’t say anything while his mouth was full. “Think I’m gonna have a shower, if you don’t mind?”
I shrugged. “Your house.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes in jest. “Will you hang around a bit while I do?”
“Sure. I’ll put some coffee on.”
“Cool.” He grinned.
He shoved the empty box into the paper bag and screwed it up. I took the rubbish off him once we were standing again and left him alone to shower.
I did as I said I would and made him a coffee, and then helped myself to a glass of water and an apple out of the fruit bowl on his counter. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. He seemed to be behaving normally, so I was certain he’d forgotten his admission, but that worried me because I was now going to have to admit that I knew. And I still wasn’t entirely sure how I felt.
When Harry did reappear he was fully clothed and looked a lot fresher than he had done before. His hair was damp but beginning to curl and his complexion had a bit more life to it.
“Feel better?”
“Loads better, thank you.”
“That’s good.” I said with a pressed smile. I pushed his coffee towards him.
“Cheers. Where’s yours?” He asked with a subtle frown as he took a sip out of his mug. He made an approving sound. “That’s good.”
“You know, I don’t actually like coffee.”
His frown deepened. “You have coffee all the time.”
“No, I have a mocha.”
“That’s still got coffee in it.”
“Yes, but the hot chocolate kind of makes it a fake coffee. A coffee for people who don’t like coffee.”
“Right.” He chuckled. “I had a thought upstairs just now… why aren’t you at work?”
“Because I barely slept.”
He looked concerned. “You better not have stayed really late because of me. Should’ve kicked me in the crotch and told me to get over myself.”
“Oh believe me, I tried to leave you here to go to bed, H. But I actually got back at an acceptable hour, that wasn’t the problem.”
“Just a bad night?”
I hummed. “No, I still blame you.”
“Why?” He asked, leaning his hip against the counter side.
I looked at the kitchen top and pursed my lips. “You… you told me something that gave me a lot to think about.”
“I didn’t give you some rubbish music samples, did I?”
I snorted. “I wish. Might’ve helped me sleep.”
“What then? I can’t remember anything.”
After a charged silence, I let out a long sigh. “You told me you love me. You said you love me, and then gave this little speech about missing me. And not just as friends - you said like The 1975’s song, I’m in love with you. But you sang that part, and then immediately fell asleep.”
When I met Harry’s gaze again he was staring at me, and biting his cheek. Neither of us said anything for a while. I was hoping he’d say something. Or perhaps me repeating what he said last night meant he felt like he didn’t need to say anymore.
I cocked my head. “Did you mean it?”
He stood taller, inhaling as his gaze became glassy. “Yeah. Yeah of course I did. Well, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, obviously. But I meant it, although I didn’t mean to tell you in that way… you know, while utterly shit faced.”
“You were completely shit faced.”
“Yeah… no, that’s not how I planned on telling you.”
“Was there a different plan?”
“Maybe…” He turned his nose up and scratched the back of his head. “If I told you what it was you’d hate it-,”
“You don’t know that.” I retorted.
He raised a judgemental brow at me. “Er, yes I do.”
I laughed and put my head on the table. “Whatever.”
“Anyway,” he huffed, but it had a lightheartedness to it, “of course I fucking meant it. Been living with it for ages - it’s all had time to brew. Aged like a fine wine.”
I started laughing, and then I felt his arms wrap around my chest. I was pulled up by him to stand straighter, and he rested his chin on my shoulder. His back was against my front and it felt quite nice. I don’t think we’d ever stood like that before.
“Your love has aged like a fine wine?”
“Sounds right cheap when you say it like that.”
“You said it. That is literally what you said.” I was still laughing.
“I know.” He whimpered.
I twisted my head to look at him, but he’d hidden his face. “You’re gonna have to bear with me.”
“In what way?”
“Well, this is a lot for me. I’m still… processing it, and I don’t know how I feel. You’re my friend and I love you, of course I do. Just…”
“Not in love with me yet.” He concluded.
“Yet.” I sniggered.
“I’ll remain optimistic, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
He giggled, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Take your time. Preferably not forever though, ‘cause… the biological clock is ticking.”
I snorted again. “Reel it in.”
“Sorry.” He hummed and squeezed my shoulders tightly. “I am going to have a movie day on the sofa. Do you want to stay?”
“For that I do, fuck yeah.”
“Sweet… go and make yourself comfy. I’ll get the snacks.”
He bumped my hip with his when I passed him so I kicked him back. He gave a childish laugh, and I shook my head at him, but I found as I wandered into his overcompensating living room that I had this giddy feeling in my stomach I’d never felt with him before.
What was I, the most stubborn woman on Earth, going to do?
~
“What d’you want, H?”
“Not a very charming greeting.” He groused.
I pouted. “You’re interrupting my bath time.”
“Is there some space left in the bathtub?”
I smirked and sank lower into the water. “For you? Never.”
“Hey!”
“Always,” I laughed around my correction, “I meant always.”
“That’s more like it.” He chuckled. “I was calling because I think it might be my turn to get dinner. So what do you fancy?”
“Well, you, obviously.”
“Obviously.” His matter-of-fact tone matched mine. I could imagine him nodding his head. “How about a chippy?”
“Oh, fuck yeah. My usual please.”
“Curry sauce too?”
“Wouldn’t be my usual without it.”
“Just checking. So, I will be knocking on your door within the next hour. Make the most of that bath ‘cause I’m coming.”
“Cool. See you in a bit.”
“Bye-bye.”
“Love you!” I shouted before he could put the phone down.
He was quiet for a minute. “Blimey. Don’t need to shout it, darlin’.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Just in case you forgot.”
“I could never. But I love you more. See you shortly.”
“Okay, bye-bye. Love you most.”
“No!” He shouted, but I cut him off before he could refute it more.
I felt smug. I let out a satisfied sigh and laid my head back against the edge of the tub.
I had taken my time in coming around to Harry’s admission, but he was incredibly patient with me and I was always grateful for that. It had been little over a year since his little bender, and I felt really good about everything. We felt really good about everything.
Our relationship seemed to only be moving up at a pace we were both happy with, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. All we had to do was keep it that way, and I had every confidence we could.
~~~
If you read this far, thank you <3
Come Talk To Me
#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harryonbroadwayficchallenge#harry styles writing#harry styles one shot#harry styles ff#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles imagine#harry styles imagines#harry styles angst imagine#harry styles angst imagines#harry styles fluff imagine#harry styles fluff imagines#i forgot how much i fucking hate writing tags on the bottom of posts#this is endless
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hello loser babies! this is my first time back on tumblr ever since i initially made this a dear evan hansen fan acc 7 years ago,,,
anyway o.o
i have been STARVING for some huskerdust rp to fuel my overwhelming brainrot for those two <333 so if there are any writers here who are interested… don’t be afraid to shoot me a message!
but first- please read below!
here I’ll provide some brief info that might be helpful in deciding whether or not we’d be compatible roleplaying partners :) v v v
nice to meet ya :3 my name is dream! I am 20 years old, so please be mindful of this before interacting.
when it comes to writing, my style ranges between literate to advanced literate (3-5+ paragraphs) and I’d like someone who meets that same level. I like to include a lot of inward feelings, background information, and other details in my responses, that way the rp is more immersive and holds more emotion to keep it interesting.
as for characters, I would be playing angel dust! I’m searching for anyone who feels comfortable and has experience playing as husk :)
with plots, I am very happy to brainstorm, and I promise I will do my best to put effort into coming up with an idea together that we can both enjoy and have fun with (and cry over if it gets angsty </3 ). I’m open to AU’s, plots that are more canon-adjacent, and even NSFW prompts. Though, if any kind of smut is to take place in our rp, you must be 18 or older. I will not be catching a case, no thank you.
feel free to DM me either here, or on discord (caspup#9228) letting me know that you came from tumblr. I look forward to writing with you!
#huskerdust#hazbin hotel#angel dust#husk#angelhusk#hazbin angel dust#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel angel dust#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin rp#hazbin hotel rp#huskerdust rp#angelhusk rp
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Hiii can I send in a request for daemon? Maybe him and the reader having a fight and he says something hurtful in the heat of the moment and makes reader accidentally cry? He feels super sad and tries to make it up to her? With a happy ending please :)
I SWEAR IT
- daemon’s harsh words almost break the one thing he wishes to remain intact (daemon targaryen x fem!reader, angst to fluff, he’s probably out of character but we’ll ignore that)
a/n - i love angst to fluff so much, and i definitely feel like the trope fits daemon (though he’s more of an angsty than fluffy character), so this was very fun to write. i hope you enjoy!! <3
“You can’t just take off whenever you feel like it, Daemon! The kids need you, I need you, your family needs you. When you go storming off, I’m left with all of your responsibility and more. Are we not enough for you?” You cry. Your voice is loud enough to echo through the hall, and you know all the servants are listening. You can’t bring yourself to care. He’s being so arrogant, so selfish right now that you feel tears budding up in your eyes. Why can’t he just see that he needs to actually be present in the life of his wife and children?
He scoffs. “All you do is nag, woman. I’ll be home when I want to and anywhere else when I don’t want to be home.”
“Nag? You think I’m nagging you like some terrible wet nurse? I am your wife. Just listen to what I’m saying, husband.” He shakes his head. He can feel a headache pounding in his head and his hair is still wet from the rain outside.
“I can’t do this right now. God, I wish I never married someone as uptight as you.” He spits, tone laced with venom. He adds something in a whisper, something you can barely hear but hurts worse than anything else. “She never would have treated me this way.”
You’re silent for just a moment, thoughts swimming through your mind. He brought up his mistress. A woman you hoped you would never hear of again.
You know you haven’t been the perfect, doting wife, but him saying he wishes he never married you while also comparing you to his ex-lover is too much to handle. You slide to the floor.
The dam breaks and all the pent up sobs come tumbling out of you. You’re choking on your own breath, desperately grabbing at the cold stone beneath your collapsed knees to try to get some sense of stability. Tears soak the soft linen of your dress, and Daemon doesn’t know what to do.
He knows he’s gone too far. He always does. Something just snaps in him when he’s arguing, something guttural and vicious and mean. He says whatever he can to hurt the other party, but today, that has backfired hard.
He loves you more than life itself, and that’s a lot to say for someone who seems to care only for himself. He looms over you, presence dark and sad and boiling with emotion.
“Love?” He asks, tone soft.
You continue to stare only at the floor.
“Leave me.” Your voice is quivering and wracked with sobbing gasps. “I don’t wish to be around you.”
You feel like you’ve been punched in the face and squeezed out like an old rag at the same time.
Daemon gets down on your level, rough hands reaching for your face.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean for it to hurt you in that way.” It takes a lot for him to own up to his mistakes- a lot more than the normal person would think, so when you look at him incredulously he thinks his heart might shatter. He’s not the most gentle man, and he knows it. He’s not the best man either. He took you for granted and discarded you, something he will regret for the rest of his life.
“You didn’t mean it? That reeks of bullshit, Daemon, and you know it. Just get out before I truly come to my senses.” You feel angry, yes, but the true emotion pulling you down is pure sadness. You tried so very hard to be what he wants, but nothing ever worked. Now you’re losing what little grip you have left on him.
He holds your chin between his forefinger and thumb, gently pulling you towards him. “I promise. I said those horrible things in the heat of the moment, and they hold no truth about your character.” You almost believe him.
“Yes, but you prefer her character, do you not?” He hates how miserable you look.
“I do not. She’s in the past, and you are my future.” He brushes the new tears from the corners of your eyes. “I love you. I am a flawed man, through and through, but I love you. The day of our marriage was the happiest of my life, and I will fight for our relationship until the end of time.”
Your eyes are swirling with emotion, and when he gently kisses your forehead, you feel like you’re about to explode. He lets you.
You sink into his arms, allowing yourself to be held and comforted and reassured by the least sympathetic man in the seven kingdoms.
“I will make it up to you, my love. I swear it.”
Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!
#solar eclipse.#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon x reader#daemon x you#daemon targaryen#prince daemon targaryen#hotd#hotd fanfic#hotd x you#hotd x reader#house of the dragon
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Okay, so I can’t believe I’m writing this, the Maribat/Daminette fandom has me by the throat so, here we are
There are a lot of fics where Damian comes to Paris and they click and he gets the Black cat miraculous for various reasons, and also a lot where Marinette goes to Gotham with generally the same outcomes, but what about a fic where Damian and his class go on a trip to Paris before Hawkmoth first attacks.
Like, he’s 13 and forced into this trip because the fam wants him to experience more than just being a vigilante and he hates it. His school has a program with Marinette’s, so at the beginning of the year they pack up and plan to spend two weeks in Paris.
This trip just so happens to coincide with when Master Fu is looking for his new Ladybug and Black Cat (y’all see where I’m going with this?)
In this Au, Adrien makes it to the school sooner and misses Master Fu because he’s testing Marinette. Adrien still gets to go to school, because he deserves happiness, but he’s able to get there the first day, and so avoids the whole gum thing that make Marinette hate him, but also sees what Chloe does to Marinette which really changes his initial perspective of school. He would definitely be a temp hero later, but he gets to enjoy being a normal rebellious teen.
Anyway, so Adrien Misses Fu, so who’s going to be the Cat? Well, Damian’s school pulls up at the same time Adrien would have.
The class stops to do a head count and give the general speech of why they’re there in front of the school and Damian’s planning on slipping away because he’s 13 and thinks this is all a waste of his time. He thinks that if he can make it back to the hotel without anyone noticing he’ll be able to make an argument that they forgot him and that he should be allowed to go home (can you see where I’m taking my inspiration from?). Unfortunately for him, Fu sees this and does his test (the fall). All his classmates don’t do anything because they’re from Gotham and are suspicious of everything (and also it’s Paris and they don’t want to be scammed) and the teachers don’t notice. Damian, however, does notice. He considers leaving anyway because it’s not his problem, but he’s been Robin for almost 3 or 4 years at this point and, contrary to what some people might say, has grown a lot. He would feel guilty and maybe even a little unworthy of Robin if he didn’t stop for 2 seconds to help this old man up.
It goes quite similarly to how it did with Adrien, he helps Fu up, but gets caught and can no longer run away from the class.
Basically, this au is a “what if Damian was The Black Cat from the start?”
I have a lot more ideas, but here’s just a few:
Damian isn’t Chat Noir, but I haven’t looked up any cat related names that he could be yet.
As the cat, Damian acts a lot more fun than he normally would allow himself. He’s not Chat Noir level, but this is the first time in his life where literally no one knows who he is and is monitoring his behavior, nor does he have anyone’s expectations on him for who he should be.
He’s initially annoyed with Ladybug, because she’s so clearly untrained, unconfident, and unprepared, but then she comes up with the plan that shows what she could be capable of, and the speech and he might have a crush, but brushes it off as grudgingly respecting her
He 100% plans on training her and their partnership is more equal than what the show portrays it as, because one of my main problems with the actual show is that chat noir, despite being her partner is often shoved aside and given the sidekick role
Damian doesn’t tell his family what’s happening. As far as they’re aware, Paris is fine. Normally he would have, but he had no time until after the fight and he really enjoyed being the cat that he’s like “I’ll tell them later” which keeps being pushed back.
At the end of the trip he somehow talks his family into letting him actually transfer to Paris so he can stay as the cat
He is baffled that this works, but they are all so happy that he’s taking an interest in something other than Robin and Superheroing that they jump on letting him before realizing that it means he’s gonna be in Paris for months.
Dick is sad about this later, so is Bruce and Alfred and the others, but he’s the most vocal about it.
Damian is also baffled that they haven’t figured out what’s going on by now and as everyday passes he gets more and more annoyed by the fact that his so called family of detectives have realized that he’s decided if they can’t figure it out, he’s not telling them.
He has not figured out that magic is preventing knowledge of this from leaving Paris and even if it didn’t, Magic is protecting his identity.
He acts annoyed by Plagg, but he actually loves him so much
His cat outfit is still fun with the ears and tail, but it’s a lot more elaborate and has a utility belt and a lot of hidden things
In fact, because it’s so elaborate, Marinette’s boring suit only stays for the first time she transforms. Once the fight finishes her little fashion designer brain can’t stop thinking about it and comes up with a new design after consulting Tikki.
Of course, she only has the idea of the costume down, because by the time they finalize it, she sees the news and has her depression moment, so the first time she wears it is when she saves Alya.
Due to this first change, her outfit would constantly be changing throughout her time as Ladybug, as she learns more about fighting and what she’s comfortable with, as well as what’s actually possible with magic and the miraculous.
By the end of the year her firs are going to be crazy (wait till she finds out she can change her actual eyes (both color and the pupils and-) hair colors and length)
She will eventually bully Damian into making some changes but he’s generally happy with the first design.
They also know each others identities a lot sooner because Damian actually knows the benefits and his cold logic is able to cut through a lot of her anxiety.
It still doesn’t happen until at least the second season tho.
Y’all I have so much more, but this is getting long and I’ve got things to do so tell me if u want more or feel free to add your own ideas!!!
#batman#batfam#dc#mlb#mlb fandom#mlb marinette#mlb x dc#mlbxdc#dc x mlb#marinette dupain cheng#miraculous ladybug#miraculous#miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir#au#miraculous au#dc au#damian wayne#dc damian wayne#robin#dc robin
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In honor of 100 followers (I know, I’m being dramatic af, whateverrrrr) I’m making a poll to see if you guys want me to release some more fanfics! Spoiler… they’re all with Jungkook… oops. 🥲
Below you will find a cover photo for each and a brief explanation of each! (Each of these are stories I have in my drafts so… already have them ready to release for the first few chapters!)
❥Cry: Jungkook is your ex boyfriend who refuses to let you go. Your relationship ended messy and hurtful, but he regrets it so much. You remained friends, because you both still love each other despite what happened. But Jungkook never wanted to be friends. Never planned on staying friends. He wants you back badly, and he always will.
❥ It may sound toxic but this one is actually very sweet, there is some emotional shit involved, but imagine Seven MV Jungkook… that’s the kind of persistent he is. He just wants you to let him love you again, 7 days a week, forever and ever. 🥺
❥ This one was inspired by the song Cry by Cigarettes After Sex, so… be warned LMAO. My specialty is making myself cry when I write, and you too! 😃
❥(Platonic) Boyfriend: Just two besties who totally don’t want to fuck and totally don’t like each other… You and Jungkook have been best friends since your early college days. You have always been close… maybe a little too close. Your friendship often gets mistaken for a relationship or something more because of how close you are. There are no boundaries between you two; you’re constantly touching each other, have seen each other naked, and talk about sex as if it’s the weather. But you’ve never crossed that line… you both swear it’s platonic! Neither of you even like dating, so why the fuck would you date each other? (You’re both very fucking delusional.)
❥If you are tired of me making you cry, this is probably more of your speed LOL. This story does have some emotional stuff but it is no where near the level of emotion Bloom holds. It will be very fluffy and steamy, has a bit of jealousy, and you are both very in denial about each other. Jungkook in this story is a lot like a golden retriever, but also he’s a little shit. You both struggle with commitment in this story because of different reasons (apparently I like writing about people with commitment issues?), but refuse to acknowledge what the real issue is…
❥This story is also very inspired by a song called Jennie by Studio Killers, it was viral for some time on tiktok. Give it a listen! As you can tell music inspires me a lot lol. The cover photo above isn’t the official one I’ll be using, not sure where I want to go with it yet, but does give you the vibes.
❥Metamorphosis: Celeste is a single mom who had to grow up way too fast. She never planned for her life to be this way, she swore she’d get married and have a beautiful family forever… but the stars didn’t align that way. Now at the age of 24, she’s struggling to make ends meet while taking care of her 5 year old daughter Nabi, and the cherry on top is how bad her mental health has gotten. But she’s trying her best, and loves her daughter more than anything. She swore she would never even look at another man after her ex… but one night, she does something very uncharacteristic in a desperate attempt to feel something… and Jeon Jungkook, completely starts fucking her world up.
❥Full disclaimer, this is an emotional story JUST like Bloom. Lots of references to butterflies and stars, you’ll understand more as you read. Jungkook is also a sweetheart in this story (when isn’t he?), but he has a fuckboy persona. Keep in mind the word persona… in reality, he’s just as afraid of woman as Celeste is of men. They both have similar traumas in the story without even knowing it.
❥It will be very angsty and emotional, but also wholesome. I decided to go the OC route in this one because I don’t know if a lot of people could relate to rhe MC. But, I am more than happy to make it a JK x Reader story as well!! Just leave a comment if you’d rather it be like that. The cover photo seems simple but has SO much meaning behind the story… notice how there are 3 butterflies? Anyway… 😇
❥Focus on Bloom: If you haven’t already, check out my story Bloom on my page! If you guys are really loving that, I am more than happy to focus on it. But also wanted to see if anyone would be interested in anything else I have saved in my drafts. I can always release the other stories at a later time if you guys want me to focus on Bloom. The cover photo was the original photo I made when I wrote the first chapter. 😅
#bts#jeon jungkook#jungkook fanfic#18+ only#bts fanfction#bts fanfic#bts imagines#bts smut#jungkook#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x oc#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x original character
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