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ghost-proofbaby · 9 months

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twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

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21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you.

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen.

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on.

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour?

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time.

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through.

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened?

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s.

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now.

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks.

Eddie’s phone number.

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone.

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it.

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant.

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out?

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer.

EDDIE: Excuse me?

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone.

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them.

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers.

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh.

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke?

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that.

EDDIE: Debatable.

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two.

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke.

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant?

This time, he plays along.

EDDIE: I don't know, what?

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight.

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom.

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny.

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD.

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face.

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do.

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me.

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out.

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying.

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are.

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings.

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him.

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you.

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful.

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene.

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.”

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him.

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.”

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?”

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.”

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you.

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains.

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent.

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips.

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,” you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

He didn’t believe you.

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.”

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb.

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.”

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.”

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.”

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.”

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.”

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated.

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.”

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs.

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.”

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.”

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.”

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists.

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him.

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught.

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you.

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?”

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?”

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.”

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move.

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred.

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip.

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him.

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to.

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts.

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now.

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy.

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them.

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking.

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly.

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in.

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down.

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks.

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers.

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?”

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you.

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?”

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance.

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply.

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.”

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on.

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack.

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on.

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.”

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin.

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning.

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory.

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember.

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control.

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him.

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you.

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it.

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days.

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.”

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.”

“Yeah? Only for me?”

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him.

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned.

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?”

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.”

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.”

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down.

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said.

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.”

“Why?”

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release.

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.”

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed.

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.”

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need.

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed.

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain.

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers.

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.”

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!”

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat.

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him.

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm.

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said.

Loved you.

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done.

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #if it's bad do not tell me #stranger things

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makoodles · 1 year

Text

tìtunu | tsu'tey (part 3 | nsfw)

pairing: tsu'tey x human fem reader

word count: 12k words (oops)

warnings: alien courting rituals, misunderstandings, oral sex (fem receiving), size difference, p in v sex (get some, big boy!)

summary: Perhaps the Sky People had injured him beyond repair when they had hurt him and pushed him from their enormous metal bird.

That is the only reason he can think of to explain why the one person who has captured his thoughts so wholly is you, the little human demon that is constantly lurking around the Omaticaya camp.

(in which Tsu'tey doesn't consider the cultural differences when it comes to human x navi courting, but is very determined anyway)

read it on ao3

aaaaand i actually got the third part finished early, so i figured i'd just upload it! please peep the rating change (we're officially getting porn in this chapter lmao x).

also! i totally forgot that na'vi also need breathing masks in human spaces, so lets just pretend that their limit for human atmosphere's is WAY higher alright

part one | part two | part three (nsfw) | part four (nsfw) masterlist

You have no idea what’s going on with Tsu’tey, and it’s driving you crazy.

In the beginning, it was crystal clear what he thought of you. Your presence around the village was met with the same curled lips, narrow-eyes, and disdainful scowls that Tsu’tey reserved for all the humans occupying his home planet. You don’t take it personally; you’re only an interloper on Pandora, after all, and you have to work to gain his respect.

You’re not afraid to admit that you have a big fat crush on him. Who wouldn’t?

He’s one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, alien or not. His face is just so pretty, with such big golden eyes and proud features. His wide, toned shoulders and slim narrow waist send your thoughts scattering to the wind when you’re around him. You’ve tried everything to try and capture his attention. You try makeup, you try wearing one of your silly little sundresses (one of the few luxuries you had brought to Pandora), you try flirty jokes. None of it seems to work.

You’re not sure when the dynamic between you really starts to change, but you certainly notice when it does. His stares began to turn less hostile, although no less intense, and some of his sharp edges had begun to soften. He doesn’t snap as often anymore, he doesn’t insult you all that much (nicknames notwithstanding), and he allows you to follow along beside him some days as he carries out his duties in the village. He remains as stoic and inexpressive as ever in your presence, but it’s thrilling for you that he doesn’t simply send you away when you try to spend time with him.

But the real catalyst seems to be the night he had tried to feed you with food cooked from the village’s own cook fire, and you had so rudely vomited it right back up. It was one of the most mortifying moments of your whole life, and you’re certain that he’ll never forgive you for it.

He ignores you for days afterwards, retreating into the village and refusing to come and see you even when you try to seek him out. It’s humiliating, but the cold shoulder doesn’t last for too long. However, what comes after that is even more confusing.

The man runs so hot and cold that dealing with him feels like suffering from constant whiplash. One minute he’s ignoring you, the next he’s seeking you out in the forest and sending away the other scientists just so he can make you watch him fish. Then he’s bringing you little gifts and you start to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s actually picked up on your crush on him.

Is it insane to wonder if perhaps he might actually return your interest? You’re desperate enough that you’d accept any sort of interest from him, even if it was just morbid curiosity. It probably doesn’t bode well for your self-respect, but you think that you’d be quite content to be the subject of his experimentation, if that’s what he wanted.

The necklace is what makes you really start to wonder what the fuck is going on.

It’s beautiful, Na’vi in make and design, and it fits you so perfectly that it’s like it’s been made especially for you. You fall in love with it the moment he presents it to you, unable to believe that something so lovely has been crafted with you in mind.

And then, after having been gifted with the jewelry, he lets you touch him more intimately than you’ve touched anyone since you came to Pandora. You can hardly believe your luck – he’s usually so harsh, so firm and unrelenting, that you thought he would crush you like a bug underfoot if you ever dared to touch him so familiarly. But he lets you, encourages you even.

You think you may have blacked out a little from the sheer thrill of touching his velvety blue skin, the firm definition of his pectorals, his narrow waist, and his soft, whip-like tail.

But you must have gone too far, because he had whipped away from you like you were diseased. He had practically fled from you, throwing some lame excuse about seeing you tomorrow as he ran.

It’s humiliating. If you had any sense, you would keep to yourself for a few days after you had groped him so boldly.

And yet, you find yourself wandering the forest just outside the Na’vi settlement the following day.

You’re close enough to the village that Tsu’tey could find you if he wanted, but you also have enough distance to preserve some of your dignity – you really don’t want him to think you’re stalking him. If anyone happens upon you, you can say that you’re gathering samples to study. That’s your job as a xenobotanist here, after all.

As you wander the area close to the village, you catch a glimpse of a group of bladder polyps that poke out of the dirt in regular intervals. Utterly captivated, you sink to your knees for a better look.

They look just like blue rocks, but you know that the Na’vi use them as a food source both for them and for their animals. They’re glowing a much brighter colour than the usual dull blue that you’ve reported on the little glowing plants before, and their bioluminescence is pulsing in slow, soothing intervals.

You are, after all, a professional, and your scientific curiosity outweighs your desire to wander until you ‘accidentally’ stumble across the large, handsome warrior you had become so enamoured with. You shuffle onto your belly, personal mission abandoned, and begin watching the behaviour of the plant life in wide-eyed awe.

Luckily you bring your field kit with you everywhere, and it’s with poorly disguised eagerness that you dig it out from where it’s clipped to the belt on your utility trousers. It’s difficult to get as close a look at the polyps as you’d like thanks to the damned breathing mask, but you’re still able to press your face right up to it as you begin tracing out a rudimentary field sketch.

You’ve never seen the bioluminescence act quite like this, pulsing in a regular sort of rhythm like rolling waves, and you jot down as many notes as you can in a messy, excitable scrawl. After just observing the soft pulsing phosphorescence for a little while, you manoeuvre yourself onto your belly and wrestle your tablet out of your rucksack. Laying flat like this isn’t the most ideal position for you to be in from a security standpoint, but it’s the only way that you can get the angle you want for the video that you want to take.

There’s no telling how long you had been laying there, watching the little plants pulsate with soft light. You think you might fall into some sort of daze, because you lose track of time as you fall into the familiar, comforting routine of documenting the flora’s behaviour. But your peace doesn’t last forever.

You’re not sure what it is that pulls your focus away from your work. It’s not like there’s any sudden noise or real change in your surroundings to catch your attention, but you feel the sudden and unavoidable weight of someone’s gaze resting on your back, and you yank your head up to try and find it, blinking.

For a moment, you wonder if you had imagined it. But then a figure moves in the trees to your left, and your heart lurches as your brain finally processes the appearance of the large, semi-camouflaged form of the Na’vi watching you.

“Tsu’tey!” You blurt, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes.

He’s looking down at you with an odd sort of look on his face, his head tilted to the side as he watches you. He doesn’t look all too impressed to see you laying out on the ground on your belly.

“What are you doing down there, Säsrätx?” He asks, one of his ears twitching.

Säsrätx. It’s one of his many nicknames for you – it means annoyance. It lacks the bite that it used to have. Now, he sounds almost fond. Or maybe that’s just your hopeless optimism hearing things.

When you don’t immediately explain, he frowns. “You will get yourself killed, alone in the forest like this.”

That rankles a little. You’re aware that you don’t look like much now, considering that you’re just over half his height and covered in mud from laying on the ground, but you’re capable of handling yourself. You’ve been working with Pandoran flora for nearly two years now, after all.

You frown, a little offended. “I’m studying the plants.”

When you point at the bladder polyps at your feet, he follows your finger and his expression turns a little scathing. He doesn’t appear very impressed with your work.

“That is rawp.” He says, eyeing the mud stains down your front. “It grows from animal waste.”

You freeze. “What?”

Mortification settles like a thick cloud over you. This is just fucking typical. First you vomit in front of him, then you grope him and make him uncomfortable, and now you show up in front of him covered in shit. This is just perfect.

“Oh god,” You whisper, pulling at your standard-issue tank top as your body grows hot and prickly with embarrassment.

You want to sink into the ground, to hide yourself from his intense golden eyes, but that humiliation wars with professional curiosity and the thrill of learning something new.

“So it uses manure as a direct food source?” Your fingers twitch towards your journal so you can record the information. “That’s rare, even for a halophyte! And it’s edible, right?”

Tsu’tey’s expression flickers for a second, before falling into scowling disapproval. “Vrrtep, stand up out of the dirt.”

You hardly hear him, too busy peering at the roots of the polyps. “What are the root systems like?”

Before you can get properly absorbed in your observations, two large hands enclose around your upper arms and you yelp loudly as you’re tugged to your feet. He is easily twice your size, and the casual display of strength sends a thrill of excitement rushing through you and leaves you breathless as you’re set on your feet.

You stare at him like a total moron now that you’re standing in front of him again. God, he’s so tall, so strong and pretty, and his little white luminescent freckles are glowing in the shade of the forest.

“You are dirty.” He mutters, reaching out tug at your soiled top.

Your toes curl in your shoes. “Um- yeah. Sorry.”

His eyes fall on your neck, still adorned with the choker-like necklace he had given you only the day before. His expression flickers, and his hand drifts from your top to your jewellery, tracing over the woven plant fibres.

Your breath catches as you watch him right back, captivated by the strong curves of his face and the sweet little glowing dots all over him. You lean forward without conscious thought, relishing the feeling of his huge hand tracing around your throat and chest.

But just as you’re beginning to get excited, he hastily removes his hand.

“Come with me.” He says, his voice low and calm and rumbly. “I will show you my hut, and clean you up.”

Your heart leaps, and you nod immediately. God, how could you refuse him that? He’s inviting you back to his house so he can clean you up. You can only pray that he’s giving you the signals that you think he is, and that you’re not reading too much into things.

Unlike the last few times you’ve followed Tsu’tey around the forest, padding along behind him as he bizarrely keeps his back entirely and firmly turned to you, this time he reaches out and takes a hold of your arm. He keeps his grip firm but light, not enough to hurt but enough to guide you firmly and keep you by his side.

As you stagger along at his side, your brain gets stuck on the heat of his very large hand on your arm. He’s so strong and so much bigger than you, and you feel supremely stupid for the way that you’re blushing. You absolutely hate yourself for the places that your thoughts are currently jumping to.

You’re so busy eyeing the way his very long fingers curl around your arm that you don’t look where you’re going, and end up tripping over one of the large roots that stick out of the ground. If not for his hold on you, you likely would have fallen on your face.

He says something in Na’vi that sounds like a curse, and then grabs at your other arm with his free hand before you hit the ground. Using both hands, he hauls you up with an ease that makes your stomach quiver.

“You are like blind talioang, crashing around and making noise like a fool,” He says. Though his words are harsh, his tone sounds almost amused. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” You stay, sounding distinctly strangled. “I’m good.”

He hums in acknowledgement, and doesn’t pull his hands away from you. His thumb strokes over your upper arm in a movement that seems absent-minded, but sends your hopes soaring. That’s an incredibly familiar gesture, right? That can’t just be platonic, surely?

You have to snap back into yourself, trying to regain some sense. You’re hot and sweaty and frazzled from the jungle air, and he’s just found you laying in animal shit. He is definitely not looking at you with any sexy undertones right now, as much as you’d like him to be. The kindness of his gesture in bringing you back to clean you up should be enough for you.

Tsu’tey’s tree hut is, as it happens, located in one of the enormous trees just at the edge of the village. The Omaticaya have built their temporary settlement around the Well of Souls, their houses located high up in the foliage and branches of the forest above them. It is impressive engineering and craftsmanship, and you stare up at the wooden structures with awe as you approach.

However, a problem reveals itself to you as you get close to the tree where Tsu’tey’s home has been built.

“How do we get up to it?” You ask, tilting your head all the way to stare up at the canopy of trees over your head.

At the question, Tsu’tey goes still. In fact he seems to freeze entirely, his muscles tensing and his back going ram-rod straight. The reaction is a little unnerving – you wonder if the question was offensive somehow.

“I-” He begins, and then breaks off. His brow is furrowed, and he looks from you to his hut overhead with a look of dawning frustration mixed with an odd sense of horror. “I had not considered this.”

“Considered what?”

“How you would get up.” His ears twitch as he glares up at the tree as though it’s personally offended him. His head snaps back to you, his tail lashing around his ankles. “I will fix this.”

“Oh,” You blink, surprised by his consideration. There’s no real reason he should be that concerned about you being able to get you to his house, but you find yourself smiling at his kindness all the same. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It is not worry,” He says firmly, bending down so that he is looking you straight in the eye. His expression is solemn and intense. “It is a promise. I will fix this.”

“Okay.” You say. It sounds as though you’ve just been punched in the stomach. God, does he even know how he sounds right now?

He’s so damn intense, but you decide to take a chance. You swallow thickly, and make a suggestion that you pray isn’t going to get you punched.

“I could, um…” You begin haltingly, “You could probably lift me up, right? You’re pretty big, and strong, and-” He turns to look at you, his expression as carefully neutral as ever, and you falter. “Or- you know what, that’s a terrible idea, never mi-”

You don’t even get to finish. Tsu’tey steps forward and reaches for you, and in a movement that sends your head spinning he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. You let out a startled squeal and grab at his shoulders, clutching at his neck as he steps forward and begins to haul himself up the tree.

You had meant that he could carry you piggy-back-style, not in a fireman’s carry, but you can’t find it within yourself to complain. You’re a little preoccupied with the flexing muscles in his back and the bulge of his biceps, and when one of his large hands wraps around your upper thigh under your ass to keep you steady you damn near jolt right out of his arms..

By the time he reaches the upper branches where his hut has been built, you feel as though you’re about to squirm right out of your skin. His hand is so big and warm and rough, and though he’s just trying to make sure that you don’t fall off his shoulder to your death, you can’t help but imagine his hands on you in other, more intimate situations.

By the time he reaches the upper branches where his hut is and sets you back down on your feet, you feel as though you’re about to lose your mind. You’ve never necessarily had a size kink before, but right now you feel as though you’re going insane.

You half-stagger as you attempt to keep your balance now that you’re standing, and Tsu’tey places his hand at the base of your spine to steady you. You flush with embarrassed heat, and look up at his face – he looks as implacably indifferent as ever, which makes you wonder if you’re imagining the tension between the two of you.

“Come,” He murmurs, reaching for your hand so he can tug you into the enclosed space of his hut. “I have something for you.”

You perk up at that, excited. “Another gift?”

Finally, his expression shifts to something other than neutral calm. He looks pleased, a little smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Yes.” He says simply.

You beam, delighted. The Na’vi as a people seem to have a culture that revolves around gift-giving. You can’t count the amount of little flowers and cute rocks that you’ve been given from the Na’vi children that run around, and you happily save everything you receive. But the gifts from Tsu’tey are so thoughtful, and mean so much more than any of the other little trinkets you receive from the children.

When you step into the woven reed-like lean-to, you pause. The inside of Tsu’tey’s home is nothing like what you had expected. The Na’vi are usually fans of wide-open spaces and open skies, and their homes are usually open-plan and sparse inside due to all their spare time being spent outdoors. But Tsu’tey’s home is cosy, the floors and walls cushioned with spongey leaves and woven mats.

From the ceiling, bioluminescent flowers and plantlife hang in bunches like tiny little fairy lights, and your mouth drops open admiringly as you step in and gaze around. There are gaps in the woven walls, allowing for an airy atmosphere and a beautiful view of the forest and the village below. The whole place is beautiful.

You turn back to Tsu’tey, and you’re startled to find that he’s already watching you. He’s barely even blinking, watching every expression on your face with near-frightening intensity. It looks as though he’s waiting on you to say something, and you realise that you should be polite and compliment his home.

“It’s so beautiful here,” You say earnestly, offering him a smile. “Wow. You must have spent forever decorating! It’s incredible.”

Tsu’tey relaxes, tension leaking out of his shoulders so obviously that it’s almost comical. His tail is raised and his ears are high and alert – not for the first time, you wish you were able to interpret Na’vi body language.

“You like it.” He says quietly. He sounds pleased, which makes you flustered in return – it’s terribly flattering that your opinion matters so much to him.

“Oh, I love it!” You’re probably hamming it up a little at this point, but sue you. You’re all alone with a huge sexy blue alien that has been touching you in a potentially suggestive manner, and you’ve already humiliated yourself several times in front of him. You don’t think you can be blamed for trying to redeem yourself a little here.

Tsu’tey’s ears twitch again, and his expression seems to lighten a little. He still looks pretty serious and scowly, but his eyes are softer now.

His home is only made up of one room, and most of the space is taken up by what looks almost like a bed, but it’s not like the usual hammock-type pieces that the Omaticaya usually sleep in. This piece is made from plant fibres, just like most things that the tribe uses, and it looks almost like a makeshift mattress. It’s huge, bigger than even a big guy like Tsu’tey would need, and it looks impossibly soft. You stare at it curiously. Why would Tsu’tey use something like that? He’s always struck you as somewhat of a traditionalist.

Tsu’tey is still watching you, so you tear your eyes away from the bed and smile bashfully at him.

“Um.. could I get cleaned up?” You ask. You’re beginning to get seriously self-conscious in your soiled clothes – even through your exo-mask you can smell the animal waste.

He hums. “Demanding thing.”

It doesn’t sound like a complaint – if anything, his mouth is twitching. He turns and makes his way towards the bed structure, leaving you flustered and embarrassed. There’s something laying on the bed; you only notice it when he pulls it carefully up into his hands and turns around to present it to you.

At first, you think it is tendrils from one of the purple plants you’ve seen in the forest. But then you look closer and realise that the tendrils are beaded, and the full thing begins to take shape. He’s offering you clothes. Na’vi clothes.

It would be rude not to take them, so you accept them and peer closer at the fabric. It is very pretty, a soft lilac colour, but you can’t imagine how on earth it’s meant to go on you. There don’t appear to be any straps. The loincloth is simpler, more similar to Tsu’tey’s, but you feel yourself growing warm just at the thought of changing into this in front of the big man in front of you.

He’s still watching you closely, looking for any reaction, and you really don’t want to disappoint him. For some reason, you feel that it’s incredibly important to react correctly right now.

“Thank you.” You say politely, before fidgeting a little. “Um..”

You wait a moment, before realising that he’s not going to turn around. Why would he? The Na’vi do not share the same sense of self-consciousness about their bodies or nudity that humans have, and no doubt he would be confused if you asked him to look away.

You clear your throat, and push your inhibitions aside. He’s not going to care – to him, it’s just a strange alien body in front of him.

You start with your cargos. Wriggling your way out of them, you leave them on the floor as you slip into the loincloth material. You leave your panties on for comfort and a little added security. To your surprise, the loincloth fits perfectly.

Next comes your soiled tank top, and you pull that overhead and drop it to the floor with the trousers. You hesitate a moment before unclipping your bra and adding that to the pile too, but that’s as far as you get on your own.

You look back to Tsu’tey a little nervously. He’s still watching you, though he has stepped back and sunk down to sit on his hunkers near the bed. Even hunkering like that, he’s as tall as you. It feels like being watched by a large predator, and you feel blood rush to your head as you raise your arms nervously to cover your breasts.

“Could you help me put this on?” You whisper. It’s loud in the thick atmosphere that lays between you, and for the first time you notice the way his hands are gripping his thighs.

He doesn’t answer verbally. Instead he beckons you over, and you step mincingly closer before handing the chest covering back to him.

“There are no straps.” You laugh a little breathlessly, fighting to sound casual. “I can’t figure it out.”

Tsu’tey’s big hands are beginning to feel familiar to you, and you can’t figure out whether you want to relax into him or tense from the electrifying touch. You hold your breath as he reaches out and begins to fix the tendrils over your breasts and around your neck.

His touch feels positively searing. You have to keep fighting to remind yourself that this is non-sexual for him – he’s just doing you a favour by helping you out with the clothes. You don’t want to be an absolute freak by making it weird.

If it weren’t for the fact that Tsu’tey’s large hands keep brushing your tits, you might be a little bit more interested in the way the tendrils that make up the top adhere to your skin. As it is, all you can do is stare at him like a total moron. He is so close like this, allowing you to gaze at his face and take in all the details you’ve never noticed before.

“There.” He says quietly, and his breath ghosts over your skin. “That is better.”

The garments hardly offer you any coverage at all, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks as he drops his gaze down the length of your body to examine how it fits you.

You clear your throat and step back before you do something terribly stupid like lean forward to kiss him. You’re terribly flustered, and you have no idea what to do with your hands. The worst part is that no matter how embarrassed you get, Tsu’tey remains completely calm and unflappable with his cool expression.

You’re hyper-aware of the fact that you had literally been rolling in shit, so you move to your utility trousers and begin rooting around in some of the enormous pockets. It’s embarrassing that you’re so aware of how you smell, but you dig out the small bottle of body spray you’ve been carrying around everywhere with you. It’s sweet vanilla scented, and it’s probably a pretty pathetic attempt to make yourself appear more attractive to him, but you’re really grasping at straws here. You spritz it quickly on your neck before turning back to him. The sweet smell makes you feel a little more confident, and you face him with a little smile.

“It’s very pretty,” You say, stroking over the velvety soft material of the loincloth around your waist.

Tsu’tey looks smug, but only for a moment. Then his expression turns confused, and his nose wrinkles.

“What is that?” He asks.

“What?”

He leans forward, and you stare up at him with big, hopeful eyes as he comes close to you. “You smell… strange.”

You blink. “Oh. Sorry, I just- I sprayed perfume.” Your smile turns hopeful. “Do you like it?”

His eyes are so big and so golden, it feels as though you could just fall right into them and get lost forever. God, you’re down so bad.

“No.” His nose wrinkles. “I do not like it.”

“Oh.” You say again. Your stomach sinks a little – you’re beginning to feel like a total idiot. You can’t even get it off now that you’ve sprayed it on yourself. Fuck, it’s like all you can do is continuously sabotage yourself.

Tsu’tey takes a single step back, and for a wild moment you panic thinking that you now smell so repulsive to him that he’s attempting to escape. As it turns out though, he’s only stepping back so that he can take a look at you in the thin top and tiny loincloth. You’re practically nude – the top is little more than a decorative nipple cover, and the loincloth seems to have been fashioned for someone your size from half a regular loincloth. You probably look ridiculous, and you feel mortifyingly exposed under his intense gaze.

“Do I look like a Na’vi?” You joke in an attempt to cover your awkwardness. You even hold your arms out like you’re showing off your new outfit, despite how naked you feel.

“No, ma’yawntutsyìp.” Tsu’tey says with a snort, fixing one last strand of your top before withdrawing his hand. “You are too odd-looking for that.”

Oh.

You are unfamiliar with the word he’s just called you, but the second half of what he’s said has your stomach plummeting to your feet.

You feel your smile freeze on your face. “Oh! Right!”

Oh shit, you’ve never felt like such a fucking idiot before in your life. How stupid of you. Why would you even ask that, what were you expecting him to say in response?

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing at you. He must have noticed your change in demeanour, but judging by his big eyes and the flick of his ears he can’t figure out why your mood has changed.

You feel like an idiot, so you just force a smile. It probably just looks like a grimace, so you hurriedly clear your throat.

“Thank you very much for the clothes.” You say. “And for showing me your home. Um. It’s all very lovely and very kind of you. But I should go now.”

Tsu’tey has been listening to you carefully, but his brow collapses into a frown when you finish speaking.

“I did not mean to-” He begins, and his voice has taken on an odd sort of tone of contrition. For some reason that’s even more mortifying than everything else, and you rush to cut him off.

“It’s fine!” You say quickly. “No worries, really! I just- I should be getting back.”

Tsu’tey hesitates, his gaze dropping from your face to the necklace around your throat, before clenching his jaw and nodding.

“Very well.” He says, a little stiffly. “I will take you back.”

The new science outpost is pretty janky in comparison to the state of the art technology that had made up Hell’s Gate, but it’s home all the same and the other scientists there watch your comings and goings with the tired exasperation of a vaguely disapproving auntie or uncle. It’s difficult to find any real privacy, so they end up aware of your interests whether you want them to be or not. That just so happens to include any embarrassing crushes.

The outpost itself is just one long prefabricated building, sectioned inside with steel walls into laboratories and workspaces, and a large open area for living. In an attempt to achieve some level of personal privacy, most people have erected makeshift curtain walls and hung them from the ceiling to section their bunks off from the rest of the space.

You spend the next several days hiding out in your own little curtained off bed bunk, trying to smother your mortification under your pillows. The other scientists exchange knowing glances (it’s not as though your crush on Tsu’tey was a secret), but mercifully they’ve decided to leave you alone. You spend days wallowing in self-pity as you attempt to stitch together the scraps of your dignity. You only emerge from your curtained off little living area to get food or use the bathroom and shower before scurrying back into the safety of your private area. You can’t escape the feeling that the other inhabitants of the science outpost find your embarrassment terribly funny.

It’s difficult not to feel discouraged. You’ve been trying so hard to drop hints and send out tentative feelers in an attempt to determine how receptive Tsu’tey may be to your feelings, yet you find yourself at a total loss.

You had really thought he was interested when he started giving you all those little gifts and bringing you foraging and fishing with him, and you had been certain that he meant something by giving you the pretty necklace that you now never took off, but now you’re just not sure. You’ve embarrassed yourself so many times in front of him, and he thinks you’re weird looking, so why would one of the most handsome, brave, and skilled warriors in the clan be in any way interested in a Sky Person like you?

And yet he’s gotten so touchy recently! You groan into your pillow – you have to wonder if perhaps you’re reading too much into things just because you want him to be interested in you.

On the fourth day of your self-imposed exile in your bed, you hear your name called by one of the older botanists who’s working out in the main laboratory. You elect to pretend you didn’t hear her. You hope that perhaps she’ll give up if you don’t answer immediately.

It doesn’t work. In fact, she simply calls your name again, louder this time. Oddly, she sounds a little bit more frantic this time, too.

“What?” You shout back, voice muffled by your pillow.

“Come here! He says he won’t leave until-”

The scientist’s voice is cut off by a louder, deeper, familiar voice.

You shoot up in bed, nearly knocking the laptop playing comfortingly old human films right onto the floor. That sounds like- but there’s no way-

“Wait!” Comes another scientist’s frantic voice. It sounds like Norm. “You can’t just-!”

The curtain that sections your own makeshift space from the rest of the living area is pulled back with such force that the whole wire fixing it to the ceiling snaps and it all goes tumbling to the floor. Standing there (although standing may not be entirely accurate considering he is hunched over almost comically in order to fit inside the space) is Tsu’tey.

You nearly scream. You’re just laying around in your unmade, messy bed in nothing but an enormous t-shirt and an old pair of underwear, your hair is a mess, and you’re pretty sure there’s crumbs all over the mattress. This is most certainly not the sexy, attractive image you would like him to have of you.

“What the fuck-!” You start to yell, panicked.

Norm is standing just behind Tsu’tey, glancing from you to the huge Na’vi man with an expression that suggests he would like nothing more than to disappear. Without his Avatar’s body, he looks hopelessly tiny next to Tsu’tey.

“Will I- should I go and get Jake-?” He asks uncertainly, darting a look in your direction.

“No.” Tsu’tey snaps with such force that Norm looks as though he’s about to get bowled over. “No Jakesully.”

“Got it.” Norm squeaks.

Tsu’tey turns to you again, his expression collapsed into a visibly frustrated scowl. “You will talk to me.”

You swallow thickly. You’re pretty sure he’s furious with you, but damn. He looks so good like this, all scowly and strong and pretty. The cramped interior of the science outpost makes him look even bigger, and your eyes are stupidly drawn to the contours of his chest and abs.

“Got it.” You echo Norm, though even more pathetically.

Norm wavers where he’s standing. “Right. You’ve got this sorted, then?”

“Uh.” You say, a little hesitantly. “Yeah. I got this.”

Tsu’tey turns his scowl on Norm, and it intensifies tenfold. “Leave.”

Norm doesn’t wait to be told twice. He practically scampers away, and after he disappears from sight you can hear the heavy, pressurized door to the living area whoosh shut. In the ensuing silence, you can hear him yelling at everyone to get out. You realise he’s clearing everyone out of the outpost; your stomach gives a nervous sort of tremble at the thought.

Tsu’tey steps forward, still looming over despite the way he’s hunching, and you scramble to get out of bed and straighten out your oversized t-shirt.

“I- I’m sorry, it’s a mess in here-” You blabber. Ridiculously, you find yourself attempting to make your bed.

“Sit.” Tsu’tey intones, and your legs practically buckle beneath you without conscious thought as you take a seat on the edge of your mattress.

You thought that Tsu’tey would be even angrier once he was alone with you, but the opposite appears to be true. He has relaxed slightly, and his expression has shifted a little further towards confused frustration. He comes to a stop just in front of your bed, settling into a crouch at your feet. Even crouching, he is taller than you, and you swallow thickly as you stare back at him.

“You are difficult," he begins with a frown. “And confusing. I do not mind this – it pleases me, on some level. I do not mind that you are demanding. I am capable of pleasing my mate, and I will show you this. But you must tell me what exactly to do to please you. I am not used to Sky People.”

That absolutely blindsides you, and you let out a strange wheezing gasp of disbelief. Mate? Please you? What the fuck is going on? What is he talking about?

He continues before you can demand an explanation. “You have not returned to the village in many days. Have I upset you?”

“I-” you choke, grasping onto one part of what he’s said and disregarding the parts that you’re having trouble understanding. “Difficult? Confusing? I’ve been- I’ve practically been making a fool of myself trying to get your attention!”

His expression changes. “My attention?”

“I’ve been-” Ridiculously, your voice wobbles. “God, this is all just so embarrassing. All I wanted to do was spend time with you. I wanted you to like me. I’ve been trying to make myself look pretty with make-up, I've been trying to wear my nice clothes, but none of it has worked! You hate my perfume, you think I look gross-”

“No!” He jolts forward so rapidly that you startle, shuffling closer to the bed so that he’s eye-level with you.

You take a breath, watching him carefully as he reaches out to lay his hand on the necklace that sits above your collarbones.

“I do not think this.” His voice is rough and low, his eyes fervent as he watches you like he’s begging you to listen to him. “I swear, I do not.”

“You-” Oh fuck, now you’re snivelling like an absolute loser. “You think I’m weird-looking, you said so-”

“No.” Tsu’tey responds. His voice has turned strained and a little frenetic, and he reaches out to grasp your jaw in his enormous hand so he can turn your face to look at him directly. “You are- I think you are lovely. Yuey, ma’yawntutsyìp.”

His hand nearly encompasses your whole face, and you lean into him reflexively as you blink the tears from your eyes. God, you don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s ridiculous, and you’re terrified that Tsu’tey will think you’re a total idiot.

When a single tear overflows and streaks down your cheek, Tsu’tey jolts forward yet again as he places one knee on the bed and climbs up. He’s huge, almost twice your height and width, and yet he’s so gentle as he cups your face and wipes desperately at the tear track. The two of you are pressed close together in the tiny space of your bed, and the proximity makes your breath catch in your chest.

“Ma’muntxatu,” He murmurs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. He translates, “My mate. I am meant to care for you. Why would you hide yourself from me instead of telling me you were feeling this way?”

Your brain just about grinds to a full halt. This is the second time he’s mentioned the word mate – what the fuck is going on? You stare up at him, almost afraid to ask what he’s talking about in case you ruin the moment.

“I-” You gape at him, bewildered.

“I understand the Sky People have different customs,” Tsu’tey says seriously; his expression suggests he doesn’t regard these customs very highly. “But here, mates share their burdens.”

“Mates.” You repeat with a gasp, head spinning. Is that what’s happening here?

He hums, and his soft, velvety nose nuzzles at your temple. Despite his size, he handles you with such care that you feel like something delicate to be treasured.

“I do think that you are unusual looking,” He murmurs, his voice so low that it rumbles right into your chest. “But I also find you attractive. You think I would have put effort into courting someone I did not desire?”

Courting. Slowly, all of your interactions over the last few weeks begin to reframe themselves in your head. The little gifts, the hunting, the walks, the increasingly bold touches. The necklace. You had thought that he might perhaps be nudging you to show subtle interest – you had never considered there may be something deeper, such as an alien courting ritual.

And yet, it’s not the mate part that your mind has gotten stuck on. “You desire me?”

He groans, and the sound rumbles through your chest and down into your stomach. “Of course.”

When his hand comes to settle on your necklace again, you swear you nearly combust. He’s done this several times since he had gifted the piece of jewellery to you, but this time the connotations of the touch steal your breath away. His hand is so big that it overlaps the necklace and frames your throat, and you stare up at him with your lips softly parted.

You realise that this is the first time you’ve been in front of Tsu’tey without your exo-pack. He can breathe your air for far longer than you can breathe his, and now your bare faces are almost touching.

You give into the desire that’s been hounding you for months now, and lean forward to boldly press a kiss to his mouth.

For a split second, you wonder with a thread of panic if you were being too hasty. Were you moving too quickly? Perhaps he didn’t actually want to kiss you-

Your thoughts are cut short, because it’s almost like Tsu’tey was just waiting for you to make the first move.

He surges into you, his huge hands engulfing your face as he kisses insistently at your lips, nipping lightly at you and humming and purring against your mouth. It’s frantic, passionate, overwhelming, and your eyes practically roll back in your head as you allow him to kiss you stupid.

When one of his big hands drops from your face to your thigh and wraps around the soft flesh there, you let out an embarrassing sort of breathy whimper against his mouth. It feels like the culmination of all your hopes and desperate dreams over the past few months, and you can hardly believe he’s actually kissing and touching you like this. It almost feels like a wild dream.

He pulls back at the sound, and looks at you. He pauses. His ears flick and his pupils flare wide, and in that moment you wonder exactly how much of his body language has flown over your head due to the simple fact that it is alien to you.

His long blue fingers tangle in the thin, worn material of your old oversized shirt. His voice is gruff and gravely when he says, “I do not like this. Where is the tewng I gave you? I want to see you wearing it again.”

“You don’t like my shirt?” You ask, dazed.

“I do not,” He bends his head and nips at the hinge of your jaw, causing you to jerk into him. “You look better in the clothes of the People.”

You laugh breathlessly. “I can- I can take it off.”

“Yes,” He mutters, his ears twitching. “I would like that.”

A thrill runs through you at that. He’s so big and pretty and sexy and he’s sitting in front of you telling you that he desires you – it’s enough to send your head spinning into the atmosphere. You don’t think you’ve ever moved to strip so quickly in your life, and you toss your ugly old shirt to the floor.

A little tremor seems to run through Tsu’tey as he watches you, now laid bare before him in nothing but an old pair of cotton panties. His eyes are burning into you, all molten gold and heat. You’ve never had a partner watch you so attentively, curiously, and appreciatively before.

“Ma’muntxatu,” He whispers. His voice is still low and gravelly, but his tone is cautious. “What comes next is mating, fully. If you are not ready-”

“I’m ready.” You gasp stupidly. God, you don’t think you’ve ever been so ready for anything in your life. You’ve been dreaming for months about being given a chance with him, and you’d literally rather die than waste this opportunity.

Tsu’tey has always been pretty difficult to read. His facial expressions tend to be pretty limited to scowls and smug smirks, but even now you can spot the brightening of his eyes. His smile has an excited edge to it, and the luminescent freckle-like dots that cover his face seem to glow brighter in the dim alcove of your bunk.

His palm is big and rough and warm when it comes up to settle over your exposed breasts, and you arch your back to try and push further into his hands. Tsu’tey is tall. Taller than any other partner you ever had before, and that alone does things to you. He dwarfs you as he leans over you, and when he climbs fully onto the bed with you the springs creak ominously. His mass hunches over you, and makes you feel tiny as his head drops down to nuzzle at your bare belly.

You make a strangled little sound, your thoughts whiting out at the idea of his huge hands touching you properly. God, you’re so wet and so stupid.

He rumbles again, deep in his chest. “I can smell you, ma’yawne. You smell so sweet.”

His fingers hook into the hem of your underwear. For a moment he seems to get distracted by the soft cotton fabric, pulling at it curiously, before he gets impatient and starts tugging at them earnestly. There’s an ominous ripping sound, and you feel the cheap stitching give way until his strong hands.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, staring up at him with wide eyes. He’s just torn your fucking panties right off you.

He buries his face into the juncture of your shoulder and lays a hot, biting kiss on your throat, leaving you hot and shuddering beneath him. His lips travel to the sensitive flesh just beneath your jaw just as one of his hands enclose around the soft flesh of your upper thigh.

“You are very soft,” He breathes, his nose tracing a path down your neck to your sternum, right between your breasts. “Softer than anything I’ve ever felt. You are so- I do not know the word. You are… less firm, than Na’vi women.”

You gasp a laugh as his fingers brush your nipples. “Squishy, is the word I think you’re looking for.”

When his palm lays over your breast, the dry roughness of his hand covers almost from your navel to your collarbones. Your whole body clenches at the thought of even one of his big fingers inside you. You can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed at the pathetic little noise that’s escaped you, because the sound brings a smug little grin to his face.

“Squishy.” He repeats, and he sounds approving. His trailing hands leave tingles in their wake, and it’s so overwhelming that you don’t know whether to push into them or shy away.

“Touch me,” You whisper, thighs splaying open as his wide frame settles between your legs. “Please-”

You don’t need to plead; he moves to do as you ask immediately, his hand sliding down to cup your sex between your legs. You’ve only just started to relax into the mattress, delighted with the contact, when he pulls back and pushes himself down further.

To your bewilderment, he lays one of his hands on the inside of your knees and pushes it to the side. You move to sit up, exposed and mortified, but his grip on your legs keep you pinned in place. His head ducks down, and he squints at your pussy.

“What are you doing!” You yelp, mortified.

“I wanted to see if you looked the same as a Na’vi down there-” He cuts himself off when you slap at his head, pulling back with an offended frown as he catches your swinging hands. “Why are you hitting me?”

“Stop looking at me like that!” You hissed, hot from a shameful sort of arousal. “It’s embarrassing!”

Tsu’tey’s grin turns wolfish, and you just have time to take a breath before he leans in and murmurs, “I plan to do more than look, little demon.”

His long thumb rubs soothing, maddening circles around your clit and making your hips jump to try and increase his pace. The rhythm is nice, but it’s not nearly enough.

“Can you-” You start, brow furrowing as you reach for him. Your hands settle on his shoulders, and you pull ineffectually at him. “Please, I want to touch you too-”

He presses a kiss to your lower belly, and you feel the scrape of his teeth against your naked belly. He’s grinning.

“I knew you were a demanding little thing.” He whispers against your stomach, before biting at your hip bone and making your hips jump again. “Be patient.”

“Okay.” You choke out stupidly, struggling to keep yourself still.

The next kiss Tsu’tey gives you is directly between your legs, right where you’re growing wet. It's such a surprise that you choke a cough, hips jolting towards him without conscious thought. The beads in his braids trail over your bare skin, tickling you.

Tsu’tey just sends you a tiny lopsided smirk, as though he knows exactly how desperate you are right now. A single dimple appears in his cheek, before it disappears from sight as he buries his entire face between your legs.

Your entire body jerks in surprise. His tongue is hot and wet and so much bigger than any human tongue you’ve ever experienced. The texture is a little rougher too, and as he licks at you it feels like liquid fire erupts through your nerves. Your hips twitch and chase after his touch, but he keeps you in place with a single big hand spread across your belly.

"Oh my god," You gasp, tilting your head back into the mattress. "Oh fuck-"

You can feel the bastard's smile pressed up against your core, but only for a moment before he licks all up the length of your pussy. You’ve never felt anything like this before — it's red-hot molten pleasure, and he’s so big that it feels like the whole world starts and ends with his mouth and his tongue.

When he pulls back, only an inch or so, you nearly cry out in protest.

“Hush,” He murmurs, turning his head so that his lips brush against your inner thigh.

"Tsu’tey," You gasp, bare chest heaving. "Please-"

You hardly even know what you’re asking for, but you bury your fingers in his neat braids and hold on tight. He seems to take your grip on his hair as encouragement, because he makes a rumbly sound in your throat and sucks at your clit hard.

You let out a little scream, startled and overwhelmed by how unbelievably good that feels. Your back arches right off the bed as you push into Tsu’tey’s mouth; you don't even have time to worry that you might be too insistent, because his hands only hold your thighs spread with ease. He even takes both of her legs and tucks them over his shoulders — whether it's to give himself a better angle to lick at you at or whether it's to allow you to hump against his face easier isn't clear, but you appreciate it all the same.

Distantly you’re aware that Tsu’tey’s own hips are moving against the mattress, and you let out another soft moan at the realisation that he’s rutting against your bed as he licks into you. His rough, wet tongue rasps against your clit in a way that is so damn overwhelming that you feel like you’re melting, a thin layer of sweat glittering on your skin as you writhe against his face.

When one of Tsu’tey’s big fingers begin to press into you, you let out a truly pathetic sort of moan. Even a single one of his fingers offers a stretch that has you squeezing your eyes and rocking into him eagerly. His mouth is so hot and eager and big that it feels as though he’s trying to swallow you whole even as his single finger cautiously stretches you wide.

"Tsu’tey," You manage to say, your voice high and wavering. "I want- I want you to.."

He lets out a soft noise against you, then pulls back to look at you with wide, shining eyes. He licks his mouth like a cat with cream, and blinks innocently.

"What do you want, ma’yawne?" He asks, his voice rough. Though his mouth has pulled back, his fingers continue kneading insistently at your pussy.

"I want-" You say, then choke a gasp as a second finger begins to push into you, your legs squeezing tight around his hand. "Just- I just want you to-"

Tsu’tey bends his head and curls his tongue against you again, focusing on your clit. "Just what? You must tell me how to please you-"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake!" You curse, slapping at his shoulders as impatience wars with pleasure in your lower belly. "Have sex with me, dickhead!"

His expression goes slack momentarily with surprise, before he laughs breathlessly.

“Yes,” He whispers, his teeth bared in a feral sort of smile. “I can do this.”

He sits up then, towering over you as he reaches down to remove his tewng in one smooth movement. You get distracted by his sleek muscles and slim waist, and you reach out automatically to stroke a hand over his warm velvety skin. He shudders slightly under your fingers, and reaches eagerly to pull you right up off the bed and into his arms as he settles back against the mattress with you atop him.

God, the size difference between you sets your head spinning; you end up straddling his thighs, your legs splayed out on either side of his narrow hips as he keeps your naked body pressed tight against his. You’re so wet and needy still that all you can do is rock desperately against him – the length of his cock is pressing against your thigh, hot and hard, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight as you realise just how big he is. Fuck, is he even going to fit?

Apparently, Tsu’tey is thinking the same thing.

“You are small,” He murmurs as he noses at your sweat-slick temple. “I do not want to hurt you.”

A lightbulb moment strikes, and you push gently at his shoulders as you say, “I- hang on, I have-”

He lets you go, albeit reluctantly. When you scramble off the bed, naked as the day you were born, and scurry over to one of the other bed bunks, Tsu’tey reclines back on your mattress and watches you with a heavy, heated gaze. His gaze on you feels like a weight, and you grow flustered as you start pulling out drawers in the dresser you’re searching.

“What are you doing?” He demands – out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way his tail swishes impatiently. He’s so confident in his own nudity that it makes you blush.

“This is Steiner’s bunk, and I know that he has- aha!” You cry out in triumph as you pull out the little bottle of lube you knew he had squirrelled away.

Tsu’tey just blinks blankly at it, clearly not comprehending why exactly you’re so pleased. Despite his confusion, his mouth twitches as you bound back to the bed and leap up to join him.

You crack the lube open. Admittedly you’re a little too eager, and the gooey liquid leaks all over your hands, but no matter. Judging by the sheer size of the weapon between Tsu’tey’s legs, you’ll need every last drop of that lube. Tsu’tey himself is eyeing the lube mistrustfully, though he doesn’t pull away from you when you reach for him.

“What is it-” He starts to ask, before baring his sharp teeth in a hiss when your slick hand closes around his cock. His hips buck against you so violently that it startles a breathless laugh out of your mouth.

“It’s lube,” You breathe, enraptured by the sight of your own hands stroking his cock. It’s almost comically large in your grip, the same rich blue colour as the rest of him but for the tip which is flushed a pretty pale lilac colour. “It’ll help.”

It doesn’t seem like Tsu’tey is in the headspace to argue, because he just lets out a cut-off little groan before tilting his head back. Encouraged by his reactions, you reach one slick hand down between your legs and begin to stretch yourself out. Truthfully, there’s not all that much work to do. Tsu’tey had already begun stretching you on his own fingers, and you’re so aroused that you open up easily. Besides, you’re a little impatient; Tsu’tey is letting out breathy little pants and bitten-off growls, and you don’t want to wait anymore.

“Okay,” You breathe, pushing yourself up on his body and swinging your legs around his trim hips. “Okay, okay, let’s go-”

“Easy,” He says quietly. Despite his very obvious signs of arousal, his voice is soothing enough to have you going lax against him. “We will go slow.”

Slow definitely isn’t what you want right now, but he’s right. Judging by the size of his cock where it’s pressing insistently between your legs, slow is the only way you’re going to be successful here.

For a split second, you start to doubt yourself. But then Tsu’tey’s big, four-fingered hands come to settle on your hips, wrapping almost the whole way around you, and your doubt disappears as your stomach clenches in excitement.

As soon as the head of his cock presses against your folds, you take a breath and hold it. You had wondered if the amount of lube you had used was overkill, but as soon as you begin to bear down you realise that nope, you definitely needed that lube.

Tsu’tey swears, deep and rough as he throws his head back against your bed. The tendons in his neck are straining, but he manages to hold perfectly still as you sit astride him and lower yourself slowly but steadily down his cock.

“Fuck,” You wheeze, grabbing at his broad shoulders for balance. The stretch is intense, almost all-consuming. Your mind has gone blank, thoughts narrowed down to nothing but the size of him as the slow, inexorable stretch of it has your breath catching in your throat.

“Easy,” Tsu’tey says again, but this time he sounds distinctly strained. His self-restraint is admirable – you can see from his clenched jaw, the sweat on his brow, and his shallow breaths that he wants so desperately to move, but he keeps himself entirely still as you attempt to adjust to him.

You’re taking deep, careful breaths. It feels like you’re about to crack, but when you glance down you find that he’s not even halfway in. The stretch is starting to sting, but you’ve been stretched well and the excess of lube is helping to dull it – it’s nothing you can’t breathe through.

Tsu’tey’s fingers flex around your waist, and he lets out a quiet groan as he edges his hips forward, rocking his cock another inch inside of you. When he finally bottoms out inside you, the sweet ache of the stretch has you leaning forward and burying your face into his defined pectorals and groaning into his chest.

“Are you-” He starts, before breaking off with a stifled groan. His hands flex around your waist again, a little rougher than before but not hard enough to hurt, before he starts again. “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer immediately. Truthfully, you’re trying to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. The ache is fading, and you find your hips humping back against him subconsciously..

“Yes,” You moan, face still buried in his chest. “Yes, I’m so good.”

Tsu’tey laughs, a breathless little chuckle, and you think it might just be the loveliest sound you’ve ever heard. Encouraged by his reaction, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.

Even as you’re riding him though, you can't help but look down to admire the view — the expanse of his torso stretches long and lean beneath you, musculature tensing as you roll and undulate on top of him. His eyes are bright and glassy with arousal as he watches you move, his gaze flicking rapidly over you as though he can't decide what part he wants to watch the most.

Eventually his eyes settle on your face, and he moans softly as you plant your hands on his chest for balance and begin to move faster. The muscles in his thighs ripple as he strains his hips forward to meet yours, though he’s still fighting to keep himself contained. You pay no mind to the way he tries to meet your thrusts, focusing on grinding desperately against him, trying to get his cock to hit just right.

He’s watching you with such fierce interest that it’s overwhelming, and you lean forward to kiss him again. It’s still so surreal that you can kiss him, that this is something he wants to do with you.

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, and the liquid heat that shoots up your spine every time you sink down on him has your breath catching in your chest.

Your breathing is beginning to become interspersed with gasping moans as you feel your stomach tightening, the muscles in your legs beginning to clench up. You’re minutes away from getting a cramp in your thighs, but the pressure building in your belly is almost overwhelming. You’re so close, you don't think anything could convince you to stop now.

“I-” You gasp, and your words come out on a whimper. “I’m going to- please, please, please-”

You had been close before, when Tsu’tey had his head buried between your legs with his mouth suctioned to your cunt, but now you swear your vision whites out every time hips grind up into you.

“Yes, ma’yawne,” Tsu’tey grunts, watching your face eagerly, “Go ahead. I have you, I see you.”

When one of his hands creeps between your legs so that he can tease at your clit, you shudder hard. The pressure in your belly begins to tighten into a knot, and the pleasure begins to crest over you.

There’s a soft pressure around your waist, and you realise that his tail has come to wrap around your belly as your orgasm hits you for real. Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open as you clutch at Tsu’tey’s beaded hair, rocking against him desperately as you shake apart in his arms. Your legs quake so dramatically that you can barely keep moving, and you let out a choked sob as the orgasm rips through you.

You’re still gasping and shivering from the aftershocks when Tsu’tey shoves himself up. His arms wrap tight around your back as he spins, keeping your hips locked together as he switches your positions so that you’re the one on your back beneath him.

“I have to- May I-” He starts, stuttering uncharacteristically. His hips are twitching as though he can’t quite control them, and his eyes are a little glassy as he pants over you.

He looks half-feral, desperate and sweaty and trying so hard to keep himself under control. It’s impossibly sexy, and you nod wildly.

“Yes!” You gasp eagerly. “Yes, you can keep going-”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. One of his hands snakes under your back and curls around your waist to pull you up against him as he begins to set an even, cautious pace. With the other arm, he's balanced himself on his forearm beside your head for leverage as he drives into you, beginning to pick up speed. He’s still being careful not to hurt you even as he begins to lose himself in pleasure. He looks totally blissed out, his eyes a little unfocused as he lets out soft breathy pants.

Tsu’tey grunts, his arms pushing your legs up and to the side, and then suddenly he’s fucking into you for real. All you can do is gasp against him as the breath is driven straight out of your lungs by his desperate humping. Despite the size of him, he fucks you with an ease that is startling – your legs lock around his slim hips as he rocks into you, clutching at him as he quite literally fucks you into your mattress. You find yourself shoved up the bed by his thrusts until you have to throw your arms up to grab the headboard in order to prevent yourself from being driven right into it.

It’s beginning to get overwhelming, your orgasm making you over-sensitive and shivery, but you breathe through it – you want to give him this, and you desperately want to feel him come in you. With shaking hands, you cup his face carefully as he rolls his hips against you, his chest pressed to yours. His eyes flicker open and dart to yours, golden and heated as he pants; it’s so intimate that it nearly steals your breath away entirely.

You’re not sure what drives your next move – truthfully, you think it’s an action borne entirely from instinct.

With one hand cupping his jaw, your other arm snakes around his shoulders and trails through the braids that are beginning to loosen from the upstyle he had them pulled back. Your fingers tentatively brush against the braid that protects his neural queue – thinking back to the day you had been exploring his body so carefully, you take a chance and tug lightly at the queue.

Tsu’tey’s reaction is almost instantaneous. A moan is punched out of him, and his eyes roll back in his head. His hand flexes and fists into the sheets by your head, his hips stutter and falter as his brow pinches, and then you feel him coming inside of you.

“Oh.” He chokes, his head dropping down to rest between your breasts as his hips roll unevenly, riding out his pleasure in the cradle of your legs. He rocks into you until it grows to be too much for him, and he goes still with his face buried in your tits.

“Fuck.” Is all you can manage to say in reply, closing your eyes and breathing heavily.

A beat passes, the two of you breathing heavily, before Tsu’tey raises his head to regard you carefully. “Are you okay, ma’yawne?”

Your pussy is feeling achy from being stretched so wide, and you’re definitely going to have trouble walking tomorrow. Your hips ache and your muscles burn, and you lay flopped on the bed like a ragdoll. You’ve never felt so happy in your life.

“Yes,” You whisper to him, a grin beginning to stretch wildly across your face. “I’m amazing, actually.”

Tsu’tey returns your smile, sharp teeth revealed as his full lips peel back in a pleased, feral grin.

Now that he’s stopping fucking into you, the silence that falls over the room makes you realise just how damn loud your mattress springs were. It’s a wonder that the weight of Tsu’tey alone hasn’t brought your whole bed crashing down to the ground.

Tsu’tey must notice the same thing, because he makes a dissatisfied sound as he pulls out of you and moves to settle down beside you. In one smooth move, he pulls you right up against his chest as he lounges back against the pillows as though he belongs there.

“I do not like your kelku,” He mutters, nosing into your sweaty temple before brushing his lips against your skin in a kiss. “It is not suited to you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, allowing your head to drop against his chest heavily as his long, strong fingers begin stroking soothingly over your bare back.

“No?” You ask, closing your eyes as you laze comfortably against the length of his large, nude body. There’s something impossibly comforting about being all wrapped up in the body of someone twice your size that is so dedicated to treating you as though you’re built from spun sugar. You feel like you’re something precious, someone worthy of being protected.

He hums, tracing delicate little shapes in between your shoulderblades. It’s amazing that such big hands could be so gentle, especially considering just how thoroughly he’s fucked you.

“My kelku is better.” He says decisively, his nose wrinkling in a sneer as he peers up at the snapped wire hanging from the ceiling where he tore your privacy curtain down. “You will be more comfortable there.”

Dear god, was he asking you to move in with him? You raise your head from his chest just so you can blink at him, bewildered. He’s watching you expectantly, ears twitching; he clearly expects a response.

“It’ll be a pain to bring my oxygen reserves for my exo-packs over.” You say, the only thing you can think of.

He makes a face, as though he thinks that is a silly concern. “If you need it, we will bring it.”

As simple as that. You bite back a smile. Well, damn. Why the fuck not? You don’t think you could refuse him anything even if you wanted to, especially when his ears twitch as he awaits your verdict.

“Alright,” You whisper, lips curving. “Your bed definitely looked more comfortable.”

Tsu’tey grins, his eyes bright and fervent as he wraps one arm around your back and hauls you up so that you’re laying flat over the length of his body, your chest pressed to his. He’s so tall that his legs are hanging off the edge of your bed, his feet pressed flat against the floor.

It’s difficult to kiss considering you’re both smiling into each other’s mouths, but it’s also one of the sweetest and most rewarding kisses you’ve ever experienced.

“Ma’yawntutsyìp.” He murmurs into your mouth, one of his large thumbs brushes your jawline tenderly.

He’s called you that before; right before calling you odd-looking that day that you had gotten so upset and discouraged by what you thought had been unrequited interest. You had assumed it meant something similar to the little nicknames he always used, säsrätx or vrrtep, annoyance and demon.

“What does that mean?” You ask as he kisses you one last time before allowing you to bury your head sleepily in the crook of his neck.

“Precious one,” He translates, and you can feel his sharp smile against the top of your head. The warm weight of his hand comes to settle over the woven necklace around your neck, just like all those times before; this time, you feel the significance of the gesture. “It suits you, my small one.”

#tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #na'vi x reader #na'vi x human #alien x human #terato #avatar 2009

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edenianprincess · 4 months

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INTRO !! ❤︎ ׄ Different ways to say I love you .ᐟ

Sweet gestures that demonstrate their love to a gender neutral!reader. Characters chosen are Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas. Content warning: none, just fluff. Please, respond to the poll at the end!

Bi-Han !

He lets you call him by stupid nicknames, he acts annoyed when you're using them, but he won't admit to anyone or even to himself that he is fond of them. Everything you make him feel is so unusual for Bi-Han, he doesn't know why he seeks for this warm fuzzy sensation every time he has your attention and affection, when his body as well as his soul are made of ice, but he does, and your foolish nicknames provide them. So, if someone else uses them, he would not only see it as an attack on his honor, not hesitating to put them back in their place, reminding them of whom they're talking to, but also, who do they think they are to call him like that when they’re not you. He prefers if you only use them in private, for plenty of reasons which include that he thinks your love life should be kept private, it isn't a subject of chatter for everyone to be entertained with, but also a matter of respecting his clan's honor as he is its head. He'll be grumpy if you do, but let’s be real, when is he not.

"How many times do I have to apologise for you to move on, snowhan?" Your voice whispers in his ear as your body is glued to his back, an arm hugging his neck while your fingers are twirling a loose strand of his hair that escaped from his bun. The man in your arms lets out a grunt. "Those champions lack senses for making fun of me, Liu Kang wouldn’t have stop me I would have knock them some of it in their head. And you.. my own partner disrespecting me in front of them." Despite his back facing you, you can feel his glare that is meant for you when he spits those words. But, even with the anger within him, he doesn’t move on from where he is, not even moving an inch when you take his clenching fist and start doing circles on them. "I thought I made it clear but apparently it wasn’t enough for you to get it. How can we bring glory to the Lin Kuei, when my companion lacks perspicacity and respect for their husband, out of all people you should know better than putting on a foolish act… " His voice fades away, it seems like he was going to continue his rambling but loses himself instead in your fingers gently brushing his silky hair, his bun long gone since, causing his grunts to become quiet moans. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again." You suddenly remove yourself from him. When he feels your fingers being taken away from his hair, it catchs him off guard as he turns around to see you smiling innocently but also playfully, which he returns with a dirty look that questions as to why did you stopped. You tell him that you’re just respecting his space like a good spouse should. "Nonsense, there's nothing preventing us here. Continue what you were doing. Now.” He pulls you back with ease in his embrace going back to the soft moment where for once he let his guard down, and that’s a sight no else should be able to see.

Making sure you sleep well. Rest is important, he doesn't want to have a weak lover by his side, you must keep your energy in check and if you don't do it, he will. When he goes to bed at the same time as you, he'll wait for you to sleep first before he does, making sure you don't go on a sleepless night, and it gives him a moment alone to appreciate your features. If you can't sleep, he'll help by brewing warm tea or if necessary, draw a bath, anything that will help he’ll do, it’s one of his rare soft moments where he lets the cold facade fall for once, it’s in the night where it feels like you and him without the world or the worries. When he is occupied during the night because of his role as Grandmaster, he'll go check up on you, always, to see if you're sleeping safe and well.

He opens the door slowly of your shared bedroom and walks at quiet steps to your sleeping figure, when he is next to the bed he let the blanket he searched for fall on your body and make sure to cover the exposed areas. The night is colder than usual and you aren’t used to the cold like he is, he doesn’t want you to end up ill and weak. After he finishes tucking you in, he takes a moment to trace the features of your face delicately, his finger travelling from the lips he enjoys kissing to the cheek he loves holding, but it doesn’t last long as he has to go, with one last stroke he moves away to the door that he closes after looking at you again. Each times, seeing the moonlight illuminating your soft features in the dark night reminds him that seeing you being so peaceful is one of the reason he wants to strengthen the clan even more, the universe is full of threats from every realms and now even from every timelines, it gives him unspeakable worries if one of those threats reaches you, it’s too late to go back when the Lin Kuei was being held back and weak, time is changing and he needs to go forward with it.

Kuai Liang !

Using his powers to make you feel better. Whenever he sees you shivering cold, he'll automatically wrap his hand around your waist, offering to share his body heat. But, if that's not enough he'll slightly heat himself up, making sure to not burn you but still bring enough warmth. You're free to lean on or snuggle to him whenever you want to, he isn't one to reject his lover when they are in need, and it would be a lie to say he doesn't find it adorable when you seek for him to warm yourself up, sometimes you’re throwing yourself on him so he has no choice but to hug you back, not that he complains, his arms are always open and keep their high temperature for you. He is also your personal heating pad for stomachache, it saddens him to see his loved ones in pain, so he's happy when he's able to help ease it even for a little, by rubbing where the pain is.

It is a particularly cold day and nothing that you found could bring you enough heat. You know it is the day for Kuai Liang to train the recruits so you go to the training place and seek for him. When you find him, you lightly tap on his shoulder without saying a word, and just by the look in your eyes Kuai Liang knows you need something, so he follows you into a secret hiding from the rest of the clan where you can talk. “What is it, my lo-” He is about to ask, but you interrupt him by throwing your arms above his waist and push your face into his toned chest that you can feel through the fabric. It takes him by surprise but he quickly laughs and returns the hug, you feel his hot touch on your trembling body, causing to send shivers of excitement down your spine. A sudden wave of comfort and heat rushes through your skin as he uses his power. You don’t want to hog him just for yourself but it feels so good and you don’t want to leave him for the moment either, his strong but gentle hands slowly start doing small caresses on your back as if you were the softest and most precious thing he ever held in his hands. “Does it feel better, love?” His lips whisper close to your face, so close you can feel his breath warming up your cheeks. You can think he is using his power in his smooth voice to make your heart melt like that. “Yes.. yes, it does.” Your voice drifts away as you let Kuai Liang’s warmth embracing you fully, enjoying it as long as it last.

Letting you do his hair. Every morning, you have the habit of brushing his hair until every knot is untangled, then putting them in a high and tight bun so he won’t be bothered when he goes to work. He can do his hair alone, but he trusts you with it, besides from his parents when he was a boy, nobody has ever touched his hair. It feels intimate and relaxing whenever your fingers pass through his hair which feel like silk, for once it’s like he puts a pause on everything and lets you manage the moment, with nothing being able to interrupt it. It’s impressive, even for him on how can you put the pyromancer in a vulnerable state just by your touch, while his enemies had train all their life to get even an once of his vulnerability, it’s like any fire within him extinguish with your presence. He really wishes to pay you back in some way, if you have long hair he’ll do them if you let him, styling you in hairstyles that he thinks embellish your natural beauty. And of course, his hair ties and pins become yours and vice versa.

“And, here you go.” You say as you rearrange the bun making sure no hair escaped. When you are finished, Kuai Liang turns around to face you, you feel the rough skin of his hand passing over your hand and gently take it to pull it lightly to bring you closer to him. “Thank you, beloved. I can't think of anyone better.” His gaze who holds sincerity it doesn't leave your eyes, still holding your hand he intertwines your fingers in an unbreakable link between his. “It's a simple gesture, however I'm happy to be the one to do it.” You smile at him, you really feel lucky to be the only one who can share this moment with him even for how simple it is, passing your fingers through is hair is almost like a small addiction, his smooth hair framing perfectly his handsome face is a sight you can't get tired of. “It may not be much but it means a lot to me.” His hand strokes your chin before pulling it and his lips capture yours in a kiss. It feels sweet and soft but you can feel the deep emotions he is putting in it, he is not letting your face go from his hand until his lips leave yours and smile tenderly at you.

Tomas !

Being your number 1 fan. This man is quite easy to amaze, but nothing amazes him more than his sweet partner that is you. Everything that you try receives a compliment from Tomas, some may say he is a fool in love, while he’ll say that he is simply proud of you. His significant other kicking ass? That’s my bae for you! Showing off a new trick you just learned? It’s impressive, could you teach him how to do that? (Definitely not an excuse to spend some time with you) While the praises are genuine, they’re also here to make sure you don’t fall into the rabbit hole of insecurities, which unfortunately he has sunk in too many times. He would hate for you to feel bad about yourself, it means for him that he failed as a boyfriend and by extents, he failed you, that’s why he needs to cheer you up and show how much you’re incredible in his eyes.

It is one of those days again, where a gloomy feeling overcomes your mind and manifests itself when you're looking at yourself in the mirror almost defeated by its reflection, the more you look in the mirror the more you are able to see each imperfection and you suddenly start to feel like a mess. Tomas who has just arrived to check on you, notices your weird behavior, how you twirl your clothes, and look at yourself in every angle with a frown on the mirror that you have been looking at for a long time now, he knows what this means and he knows he needs to put a stop to it. Your investigation is suddenly brought to an end when you feel a pair of strong arms around your waist. “Hey, you look particularly beautiful today, have you done something new?” Tomas asks with curiosity and a small smirk, he is looking at you in the mirror and you notice his eyes are filled with fondness which makes you smile in returns. “I just woke up, Tomas. I didn't even brush my hair yet.” “Oh, I suppose it's your natural charm that makes you beautiful then.” When he says that you can't help but kiss him on the cheek, no matter how many times these bad feelings come back they could never surpass the feelings that your boyfriend is making you feel.

Making you surprises. Tomas is always trying to show that he cares for his partner, he fears that he may not show it enough so he tries through little pleasant surprises that he knows you will like. For example, bringing breakfast in bed, it’s convenient that most of the time he wakes up before you, as the way of teaching from the clan does not allow to sleep in and wake up after the enemy does. He’ll cook your favorite food of course, and somehow the fact that it is made by him makes it even more appetizing but also he learned from the best cook that he knows who is Madam Bo, honestly you don’t know who is sweeter between the breakfast or your boyfriend. He also likes to leave love notes when he is on duty in places he knows that you go and sometimes those notes are attached to cute gifts like plushies, chocolate or flowers.

Good morning, Love! I hope you slept well and did beautiful dreams (hopefully about me). I regret not being with you here but we had to leave early this morning and I didn’t want to wake you up so early. I made you a quick breakfast before leaving and this time it didn’t burn! I promise I’ll make up for my absence but for the time I wish you a nice day and can’t wait to hear about what you did tonight. With love, Tomas :) Your smile grows when you re-read the notes that Tomas left, you kept a small pile of them in the drawer and like to go through again when you’re in an emotional mood. Some of them are small, others are longer, they can be funny or romantic with a deep otherwise cheesy love quote, either written by Tomas or this ‘anonymous’ person who signs as ‘The King Of Smoke’ and hopes to not be caught by your boyfriend so he can keep sending you gifts that represents his love. Whatever those letters are, they always contain his sweet nature in them and never fail to touch you.

‘𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓔𝐍𝐃 Please don’t copy/translate and don’t reblog if you’re a yand3r3 blog/reblog account, or you’ll be blocked. Besides that, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. Imagine Tomas leaving a love note and Bi-Han finds it accidentally, you can’t even imagine the disgust that he has on his face, he is even more displeased with Tomas than he already is, why can’t he keep his personal stuff private and not expose it to all the clan.

#mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x reader #bi han x reader #sub zero x reader #kuai liang x reader #scorpion x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas x reader #smoke x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader

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dicejpg · 9 months

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You should have left a note - {Five Hargreeves x GN!Reader}

Synopsis: Five is ordered to kill his ex-commission partner. He doesn't want to.

Note: I made this really late at night. I would really appreciate requests for Five :)

(Not edited)

WORD COUNT: 1K

2nd POV:

Five peers down at the paper that bears your name, hands shaky. He was ordered by the Handler--just this morning--to terminate you for immediate extraction.

It’s been a year since you left Five since you left the Commission. He'd been rightfully frustrated since your abrupt departure. He didn't get a note, nor a goodbye. Sure, you two weren’t all that close as partners, but he at least deserved a warning, he thought.

He doesn't know how to feel about the idea of blowing your brains out with his M1935.

You’ve been gone for approximately a year, leaving no trace or hints as to where you may be. But, the Commission finally tracked you down to a small town in New Jersey, 1978.

When he arrives in front of your supposed living quarters, he is taken aback by the rundown apartment complex in front of him. A real shithole. Its bricks are chipped and sun-bleached, presumably from old age. Police sirens and gunshots are audible from a neighborhood away, giving away the unsafeness of the area.

It’s twelve o’ clock at night. Five quietly blinks up to your numbered room. If he remembers correctly from the paper, it's room 395. Third floor, second door to the left.

Your apartment is dark, gloomy. Five does not turn on the lights, not wanting to give away his existence. But, he assumes you’re not home anyways. Your job as a bartender at a rundown restaurant downtown would have you occupied for at least another hour.

He wonders through the confined living space, taking note of a few books scattered on the coffee table, and an unmade bed. There's a small pile of dishes in the sink, a pot and two bowls. There are no picture frames, or wall decor. The room is barren with no personality at all.

Five would not even know that you lived here from the looks of the place.

It smells like you though, he unwillingly notices. He finds it oddly comforting nostalgic.

He’s in the middle of examining some scattered papers on the ground when he hears the jingling of keys outside the door. Along with your whistling.

Five blinks behind a window curtain in no time at all, blood pumping fast. You must have gotten off early.

Your humming becomes more prominent as you enter your living space. The sound of keys being thrown on the kitchen counter makes Five jolt, but he still goes unnoticed.

You make no move to turn on the lights, so Five risks a glance at you.

Your head is blocked by the freezer door, but he notices your disheveled work attire. Some black slacks and an untucked white button down shirt. Your apron hangs on a hook by the door.

When the freezer door is closed, he notices your face. It's the same as when he last saw you, but with sadder eyes and dark eye-bags. His heart sinks, he starts feeling uncharacteristically torn.

He watches you crack open a frozen dinner meal and place it in the microwave. You roll your sleeves up to your elbows while you wait for the food to heat up. Five always thought you had nice, toned forearms. He stares at them, at you.

His eyes are intense, observing as you lean against the counter, stretching and running your fingers through your hair. He feels his stomach knot.

Five was definitely the wrong person for this job. He readys his gun quietly.

You freeze at the almost imperceptible sound of a gun clicking, slowly turning your head in Five's direction. He doesn't see the way your eyebrows furrow because he's fully behind the curtain again.

The microwave beeps quietly, but you make no move to retrieve your dinner.

The sound of footsteps approaching Five's hiding spot makes sweat bead on his forehead. He debates letting himself be caught, but decides against it. Five blinks behind you, aiming his gun.

But you've already kicked the thing out of his hands, fully expecting his maneuver. You tackle him to the ground, gripping his wrists and pinning his legs with yours. Not before kicking the gun far away, under the couch.

"God, of course they sent you, Five." You breathe, glaring down at him in dismay. "The Handler's such a sadistic- I mean, sending my own partner to kill me? Is she kidding?" You ramble is distress, cursing your ex-employer.

Five gazes up at you, swallowing thickly. He fights thoughtlessly against your grasp, but tries nothing else to get loose. He does not want to kill you.

"Let go of me." He warns, feeling fuzzy and not knowing what else to say. His eyes never leave yours.

"Why don't you just blink away? You're fully capable of getting out of this." You accuse, getting close to his face. Your breath tickles his nose. It's minty.

Five hesitates, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he fails to regain his train of thought.

He remains quiet.

"You don't really want to kill me." Your grip on his wrists falters slightly when he doesn't object.

He softly pulls his wrists free, and you let him sit up. But you keep his legs pinned just in case. There is a strangely comfortable silence as you wait for Five to find the words.

"You should have just told me you were going to leave." Five whispers finally. His tone is unreadable. "Or at least left a note."

You look at him with a pained expression. "You're right. I should have." It's something you regretted for months after abandoning him. There is an intake of breath right before you add: "I missed uh- I miss you." You redden, not looking at him.

He exhales with a hidden smile. "Me too."

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tarrynightss · 4 months

Text

Under Captain Price’s desk

Synopsis: You give Price a blowjob underneath his desk, only for Soap to walk in. It would be better to stop before you get caught, but teasing Price is so much more fun

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: John Price x genderneutral reader

One of Price’s hands is wound tightly in your hair, the other one gripping onto the edge of his desk like his life depends on it. You are seated underneath it, on your knees, your mouth sliding along his cock deliciously. The sinful sight of it alone has a flush appearing behind his beard. You shouldn’t do this, not right here in his office during the day, but Price was far too eager for your touch to stop you. Your eyes stare up at his, tears pricking at the corners when you take him deep into your throat, your hands bracing you against his muscular thighs. With the way his hips sputter up against your face you can tell he’s close, his face scrunched up in pleasure. All you hear are his soft groans before a knock startles you both.

Price pulls you off of his cock with lightning speed, quickly pushing you further underneath his desk and scooting himself closer to it as well. Your back is pressed against the wood of his desk, his cock smearing your own spit and his precum along your cheek as there is little space for either of you to move to. Your face is essentially sandwhiched against his crotch, but not without reason, as within seconds you hear the door to his office opening.

“I did not tell you you could come in,” Price says gruffly, trying to appear as casual as possible.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you realize you almost got caught on your knees in front of your captain. A shiver runs over your spine as you imagine what could’ve happened, the thought surprisingly not all that unpleasant…

A care-free laugh resounds through the room, and you quickly pinpoint it to be Soap’s. “Don’t be such a hard-ass cap, got those files you wanted.”

Price’s hand in your hair strokes you gently, clearly telling you to stay still as you hear footsteps approaching the desk. You really, really should, but another shiver of excitement runs through you as you turn your head slightly, smearing his cock over your lips. You can feel the muscles in his thighs flex under your fingers, the hand in your hair tightening in warning. A smile pulls at your lips as you move one hand to grip onto his cock, bringing the head directly against your mouth.

“Great,” Price coughs, covering up a surprised groan when your tongue flicks out to lick his tip. “Leave them here and I’ll look through them later.”

You hear the thick folder hit the wood above your head. “You sure cap? There’s a lot here to sift through. Seriously, when you start reading what this guy’s been up to…”

As Soap rattles on you stop listening, instead focusing on licking from the base of Price’s cock back up to the tip, circling your tongue around it teasingly. You can feel him twitch in your hand with every movement, his hips slightly bucking when you close your lips around the head. He tugs on your hair again, warning you, but you don’t relent.

“You alright? You’re looking a bit flushed, heard there’s a bug going around,” Soap says, blissfully unaware of what is actually happening.

Price curses under his breath as he runs a hand over his face. You would chuckle about how stressed you have him if your mouth wasn’t currently occupied otherwise, sliding his cock deeper and deeper into your throat.

“I’m fine, just real busy,” Price tells Soap. His hand tugs at your hair, but this time it isn’t to warn you to stop, oh no. You feel the difference, feel the edge of roughness as he does it. You’re definitely paying for this later. “Let’s meet up in two hours, yeah? Then we’ll go over the details.”

Soap lingers for a moment more before you hear his heavy boots retreating back to the door. “Understood, sir.”

You can feel Price’s muscles relax as soon as Soap closes the door behind himself, leaving the two of you alone again. He instantly scoots back his chair, pulling you off of him as you whine.

“Fuck, you want to get me in trouble, don’t you, love?” He says, his brows drawn together in a frown.

He’s a little frustrated, but there’s also clear desire in his gaze as he stares down at you. And he could never get mad at you, not really.

You give him a sheepish smile. “I can’t help that you didn’t lock your door.”

He grabs onto your arm, tugging you up on his lap till you’re practically face to face with him, uncaring about dirtying your pants or shirt as his cock presses up against your stomach. “Right, because I should’ve known you would crawl under my desk, suck my cock, and then not even stop when one of my men comes in.”

“A true lack of foresight on your part, captain.” You bite your lip to hold back a chuckle.

He grabs onto your chin with one hand, and a heavy second passes before a lazy grin pulls at his lips. “You are dirty little thing, you know that?”

“Affirmative.”

He groans in approval, pressing a soft yet hungry kiss to your lips before pulling away and slapping your ass.

“Now go lock the door, I’m not done with you yet.”

#john price x reader #smut #john price #John price x reader smut #john price x gender neutral reader #john price x female reader #cod #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #cod price #captain price #price x reader

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sashayed · 8 months

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have you heard that jordan peele said steven yeun's character is the one that has the most in common with him. have you thought about how most of his cinematic career has been built around discussions of race and the traumas that come from racism. have you thought about how any media handling real and personal topics is a sort of emotional self-disembowelment on the part of the creator. have you thought of the glory and horror of being Seen. have you screamed

Have I? HAVE i. Have I thought about how Peele has discussed being objectified and tokenized on set, especially early in his career? Have I thought about what it's like to suffer real-life trauma in a space created for make-believe? Buddy, I haven't thought about anything else for days!!

I think one thing that makes this movie so visceral to me is that it's an exploration by a great popular artist on the human cost of making popular art. The link between the auteur and the cult leader--both are people consumed & defined by stories, people who are compelled by a narrative and feel an urge to spread that narrative to an audience.

And I am really impressed by how hard Peele seems to work to reject the cult leader in himself as best he can -- to make art that enriches the lives of ALL THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE IT. Every interview is about how collaborative and present he is as a director. Obsessed with this Q&A for many reasons but this moment sticks with me:

KEKE PALMER: There would be moments where we’re going through different parts of this script, this story, from when we first rehearsed to when we were actually on set, or when we had an idea that happened that morning. I would be listening, my head would be down, I’d be listening to what Jordan’s saying, I’m like, man this is deep. And I look up and there’d be just this one little tear falling. Man, this brother’s deep. JORDAN PEELE: I’m not afraid to cry as a director. KP: And he’s chill! He’d be like, “That’s what happens” and tears are falling. I’m like, “Are you all right?” But he keeps going and he’s like “Yeah, yeah. So that’s the thing.” And then he just walks out.

To me, that reads as a person who is NOT JUST super smart and deep and creative etc but who is also aware every moment of how lucky he is to be doing what he's doing, and who is not ashamed of his own reaction to that gratitude. What's to be ashamed of? It's incredibly fun! He is having an amazing time! He's hanging out with people he likes and respects and coating actors with goop in the esophageal tube! What a job!

I wonder if, to be that thankful and that aware (and that collaborative), you have to have experienced the flip side; if you have to have been Jupe, at least for a little while. I wonder if the process of -- to some extent -- commodifying your own suffering (as capitalism practically demands that artists do in order to survive as artists) leads, almost inevitably, to a moment where you think, "I survived this horror and became a Star because I am the main character of reality: I am more special than other people, I have a special ability to communicate, I have a special destiny." That is a powerful story and a seductive one, but if you don't leave it behind, it will eat you and the people around you alive.

It seems to me like an extension of what Peele is exploring in Us--the notion that your contentment is entangled with someone else's suffering. Why you? Why not the person with all your qualities who for whatever reason never ended up where you are? Especially for creators with marginalized identities, right? "Am I occupying a space that should belong to someone else?" You can avoid that question by deciding that you have special individual qualities that make you the Chosen One, as Jupe does. Or you can accept that the question will always haunt you, that luck (LUCKY THE FINAL HORSE??) has no logic, and you try to spread your luck out and open your space up to as many other people as you can. Which you see Peele doing all the time! Gah!!

#NOPE 2022 #nope spoilers #art monsters!!

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shiroisotto64 · 7 months

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Fionna & Cake hcs

Fionna

She’s and adrenaline junkie. No questions asked. She loves to bring you with her on adventures! Fighting is already fun, but it’s so much better with company. (Especially if you’re dating)

You’d have to help her keep the apartment in check. It’s a mess when she’s not reminded to tidy it up. Put on some music and she’ll be more willing to get up and clean.

KEEP HER OUT OF THE KITCHEN. This woman CANNOT cook to save her life. That’s why Fionna and cake each sandwiches and take out. She’s tried but Fionna has a track record for burning water so…

Really affectionate and doesn’t mind PDA. She gets flustered but will return you’re affections without question. She’s also always hyping you up. New outfit? She’s the first to comment. Killed a bad guy really quickly? She’s quick to pull you into a strong hug afterwards.

Date nights are anything under the sun honestly. Cuddling in bed? Yeah. Going to a concert? Absolutely!

You could go skating, swimming, anything really but it’s best to do something that can keep her occupied. If she gets bored she’ll kinda space out. She doesn’t mean to though and will apologize later.

Simon

He likes to read to you. In fact he’ll lend you his books to read so you can both talk about it afterwards. He gets really excited to do this and tends to ramble. So you’ll have to excuse him.

Once you say something he’s more conscious and tries not to do it anyone unless your encourage him. He still has his dark days but it’s way easier with you. However Simon hates feeling like a burden.

So he’s not the best with communicating his problems. He tends to lock them away until he snaps. He always feels horrible and leaves for a bit to calm down and clear his head.

He’s an introvert. But if you want him to go with you he’ll try at least. But he will be vocal about it if he feels uncomfortable and wants to go back home. Date nights are pretty chill honestly.

Baking, watching movies / documentaries. Reading or talking about books together. He likes when you talk about you’re interests! He’ll listen and ask questions so he gets it to. He gets real flustered with PDA so keep that in mind to.

Marshall Lee

Real laid back and chill. He plays his guitar while y’all hang out. He has and still will write songs about and or inspired by you and his friends.

He’s really supportive. He encourages you to go after you’re dreams and do whatever makes you happy. Marshall finds it real cute when you wear his shirts or button ups.

Hell he encourages it even. He vents to you about his mom sometimes. He really appreciates you listening and is even more appreciative if you give him advice on how to properly talk to / get through to her.

Has a sweet tooth. You can easily bride him with sweets of any kind. Want him to wash the dishes for you? Whip out a box of his fav cookies from the store. He’s never washed dishes faster in his life.

You’d end up paying for a lot of stuff, sorry. He tries his best to get money singing on the corners and streets of the town yet it only pays so much. He really appreciates it if you’re patient with him.

He’s ok with Pda and will reciprocate you’re affections but doesn’t expect to not be teased in the process.

Gary

He’s like a mother hen. He gets worried if you don’t answer his texts within 10 minutes honestly. It might get annoying and if it does? Gently tell him how you feel and he’ll do his best to be more patient.

He likes cooking and baking for you. And it makes his whole week if you praise his skills and tell him how much you love it. Bonus point if you can bake or if you give him constructive criticism!

He likes it when you play in his hair. He loves it when you pull his head into you’re lap and run you’re fingers through his pink hair. He’ll be out in minutes honestly.

Gary swoons whenever you put on his sweaters. He has bought the both of you matchin ones. And he is also the type to wanna get matching couples outfits. Just putting that out there.

He likes it when you to clean together. He cleans the dishes and you rinse them off. You both finish that much faster and after he goes up behind you to embrace you. He’ll stay like that for as long as you let him.

Gets flustered by PDA but welcomes it anyways. And Gary is super affectionate at night. He doesn’t care if he’s big or little spoon just hold him.

Finn

He’s affectionate and tries to be as honest with you as he can. But Finn isn’t the best with negative feelings. We all saw how he struggled to help Simon and was a bit awkward while doing it.

Another adrenaline junkie. He likes to go camping and adventuring with you. Anything fun and active and he’s in. Finn Is also very considerate of the things you like and will get you something that reminds him of you while he’s out. Or something he knows you’ll like.

Really playfully. He’ll sometimes just pick you up and throw you over his shoulder before walking off to go knows where. He has complete faith in you and is real happy if you feel the same!

Doesn’t get jealous, like at all. Like I said complete trust in you. He doesn’t question you’re actions and just goes with the flow. He’s very comfortable with you’re bond.

He’s chill with Pda. If you hug him he’ll hug back. You want a kiss? You got it. No questions asked. He is protective of you though. Yet is also confident in you’re abilities but if you need help he’s there in the blink of an eye.

Winter King

Loves to sing to you! He’ll declare his love to you in and out of town. He loves to spoil you. Anything you want is yours. He always smiles at you whenever he catches you looking at him.

Will pull you in to dance with him. You both go ice skating all the time and if you don’t know how he’ll teach you. He’s real patient with you, so don’t worry. He tries to impress you. He’s very subtle about it but if you pay attention you can see it.

He’d melt if you sat on his lap while he sat on his throne. He has introduced you to ice Marcy. I think you’d all get along pretty well. Kinda like a little family. Also his two guards love hanging out with you.

Training and skating you name it they’re in. Simon chuckles while he watches them drag you around. He’s really affectionate to. You both are attached at the hip! He has to have a hand on you at all times or he’ll explode.

Winter king can’t help but to flush if you pull him down to press kisses to his face. He also loves when you run you’re fingers through his silky hair. He lets you go in his lab. He answers you’re questions if you have any.

Candy Queen

(I couldn’t find any gifs I’m sorry)

She’s the clingiest. You’re not allowed to go anywhere without her. You can barely get alone time in the bathroom. She’s always writing new songs to sing to you.

She’ll put on a show to win you’re praises and affection. Like i said she really affectionate. She’ll take naps on you throughout the day. She does drool a little but you’ll be ok.

Not much to say I feel like shes really straight forward. She’s not ashamed of the pictures she has of you in her room and openly flirts with you. Dose not mind PDA she heavily encourages it even.

Gets all giddy if you annotate affection. She’d be chill to watch cartoons with you while you both laze around doing nothin in particular.

#winter king x reader #fionna campbell #Fionna x Reader #simon petrikov #Simon x Reader #marshall lee #Marshall lee x Reader #Gary #Gary x Reader #winter king #candy queen #candy queen x Reader #fionna and cake x reader #fionna and cake #sleepy rambles

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omegalomania · 1 year

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people bitching and moaning about fob "turning mainstream" as if that was never the entire point of fall out boy. that's In the goddamn dna of the band, it's baked into the ethos of why the band started in the first damn place. to be accessible to kids and especially to girls, who were often ridiculed and shunted out of the hardcore community. to be a gateway to bands that aren't as mainstream. to comment on the society they live in, as they live in it. people act like fall out boy "turning mainstream" was some kind of "betrayal" when from the start they were seizing on the trends of the time, putting their unique, unhinged fall out boy spin on them, and shooting them back out as a funhouse mirror. take this to your grave capitalized on the pop-punk zeitgeist that was big in the late 90s and early aughts and put their own spin on it: enmeshed catchy choruses with high-dexterity lyrical & linguistic skewerwork. infinity on high was basically a massive critique of the scene they were in - this ain't a scene it's a goddamn arm's race is a fucking thesis statement on what it is to be catapulted into fame in an industry that wants nothing more than a thousand cookie-cutter copycat acts of a successful formula, and fall out boy WAS the formula everyone desperately wanted to emulate. american beauty / american psycho blended sampling and modern hip-hop stylings with polished pop-rock and pointed those songs back at the snapshot of the 2010s we all lived in: commenting on racial injustice and the freeze-frame nature of relevancy. but even then they weren't doing it quite right - because fall out boy never does things quite right, they're never quite conventional, whether it's wentz's darkly confessional lyrics double-bagged in metaphor or stump's distinctive clear tenor or trohman's inescapable rock 'n roll edge or hurley's thunderous hardcore-punk-rock soul.

this band has always been too clever for its own critics, is the thing. but then, they always knew that. they knew they had a thriving fanbase of largely female fans so they were going to be mocked and belittled and ridiculed. they weren't quite right. they weren't quite so easy to market. pete wentz had to have all his hard edges filed off and cut down to size, skin lightened, literally whitewashed ("i feel like a photo that's been overexposed") to hell and back, even as he was marketed as the pretty boy of the band. and the other three members never even bothered with the spotlight: the soft-spoken vegan straightedge anarchist drummer and the wry, wisecracking, whip-clever guitarist who was more concerned with being the connective tissue than anything and the reticent vocalist who sang the words and wrote an awful lot of music but wasn't really the guy fronting the band. wentz's charisma carried the band, because the rest of them were really just some guys and never aspired to be anything else.

fall out boy is too pop. fall out boy is too mainstream. fall out boy isn't the real poster child of the emo movement. other bands are better. even within fall out boy's own narrative, they are repeatedly ignored, sidelined, and belittled, as though they weren't one of the only acts from the big 00s emo-pop movement to successfully not just survive the transition from the aughts to the '10s, and then later from the '10s to the '20s, but to thrive in it without banking on nostalgia. this band was supposed to be a flash in the pan. they weren't supposed to last and they weren't supposed to get big. they started off in joe's parents' attic because joe and pete were sick of how exclusionary and homophobic the hardcore scene was.

i think it's high time that people acknowledge how fall out boy has repeatedly succeeded where most of their other peers failed. cunning, clever, capable, and hyper-aware of the space they occupy in the culture surrounding them. that they are just as powerful, important, and artistic as any of the other bands in the scene that others might deify at their expense. that they deserve a hell of a lot more respect than they get from critics or hardcore punks who think they sold out. i hope one day they get that recognition. because they've earned it, time and time again, and the more i see people pushing back against that, the more certain i become of its inevitability.

#fall out boy #fob #*making poasts #this was supposed to be a pithy 3 sentence post but i kept going #just another Day In The Life of someone who sees a lot of garbage takes and gets tired #mostly i just shrug em off cause you know. what else is new. this has been going on since day 1.#but it saddens me. it saddens me that these guys are ridiculed for this still.#it breaks my heart that patrick isnt taken seriously as a composer in some circles because hes the guy from fall out boy.#it breaks my heart that people won't acknowledge pete as one of the most distinctive lyricists of our generation.#it breaks my heart that andy and joe are discredited and shit on within metal circles specifically because they're in fall out boy.#i hope they know that we get it. we get it and we're proud of them. no matter what.

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colorisbyshe · 9 months

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A lot of the response to Oppenheimer criticism has been "Clearly, you haven't watched the film, it isn't celebrating him! It shows all the things he did wrong" and I have to say... that's... still... missing the point of the criticism.

Oppenheimer occupies the same space as all the war films--like Dunkirk--that say "War is hell." While these films could and do skew towards "War is bad, let's avoid it," they still often... really end up saying "War is hell but let's pity the warriors and maybe consider the ways in which it was worth it."

The "war is hell" films end up completely missing the "anti war" mark because they choose to focus on the people waging the war, painting them in a sympathetic or at least humanizing light even when they're in the wrong. You feel bad when a soldier has to kill a kid on the other side--even if the kid is unarmed or begging for their life--because it's sooo sad that the soldier was driven to that point. And because... well, what else could they have done?

A much more effective "war is hell" film would be focused on the people whose land is ravaged by bombs. The civilians. The families. The people who lose their homes, their schools, their hospitals, their lives. Not in waging war but just in happening to live where war is happening. THEY are the real victims. They are not victimizers who might come to regret it (like warriors, like Oppenheimer) but like... actual victims.

In choosing to make a film about Oppenheimer and not about his victims--the people of New Mexico, the people of Japan, people forced into internment camps on US soil, and broader even then--you are saying "This man is responsible for great evil but let's humanize him too. Let's recognize that he didn't really have a choice or that maybe he felt bad about it. It was out of his hands."

Beyond humanizing him, it gives this history an element of inevitability. He HAD to do it. This HAD to happen. It's horrible that it happened but it was always going to happen.

If you focus instead on all the people victimized, you see all the reasons why it didn't have to happen.

And if Christopher Nolan isn't equipped to tell the story of New Mexican civilians who weren't given protective gear when the only jobs they had left were at all the labs or the stories of what a Japanese child does when his family is ravaged by American war crimes... he doesn't have to tell that story. The option isn't "Tell Oppenheimer or tell an intimate story he can't at all relate to." He could just... not tell this story.

Some stories really are not meant to have entertainment value. Some stories are not meant to be human stories but rather just facts on paper. Or told from the other human side. Sort of how like documentaries on serial killers often get it wrong but the fictionalized tv shows exploring ~what made them serial killers are ALWAYS wrong.

Some perspectives don't really need to be explored, is what I'm saying. Oppenheimer shouldn't be a grey or even dark protagonist. Some atrocities do not need to be humanized in any way, even if the humanity mostly culminates into "He was still wrong, though."

There are more efficient, less troubling ways to explore the motivation (the greed, the nationalism, the racism, the hatred, the warmongernig) behind bombings and wars like this. That would be better tools at realizing how we are repeating history, right now, in 2023.

That don't involve having to paint atrocities and the people behind them as grey or human or pathetic or pitiable.

#wrote this at 2am #whoops

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sharoo · 1 month

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Yesterday my friend said something that real put into words my issues understanding romance in media

(if you're reading this, hi boo, your words were too good to not share, love u <3)

We were talking about writing and stories, and I mentioned my difficulty with the concept of crushes (I'm aroace writing alloromantics) and they said

"In media, love is treated as a value of its own."

That's exactly the thing.

In stories, I often found myself thinking "Why does character X love Z?". And often there movies pr series feel little explanation is needed other than "they're pretty and nice to each other".

"They're in love. That's all you need to know."

But I want to know more. How long have you known each other? Do you share hobbies? What else is there that makes you think oh so fondly of this person?

In media, if there is little to no exploration of why, it feels like lazy writing when you do examine it. There can be so little outside of this self-explanatory value of romantic love.

I think this is why I drift towards long lasting strong friendship rather than romance, because those dwell into the dynamics without reducing it to "romance for the sake of romance".

The best kind of bonds start with (and often remain) friendship, love so strong it sends your heart aflutter because, in this vast universe, another person occupies the same tapestry of space as you and fills it with themself. And there's always a history that grows richer every day.

And I want stories that reflect that love without defaulting to romance for justification. And I want to write these kinds of stories while weeping over them.

#aro #aroace #aromantic #writing #sha thoughts

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deathbecomesthem · 4 months

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+18 ONLY

Eddie Munson x Reader smut | ~1K

*This reader has a vagina.

He doesn’t know, he can’t. How can anyone outside of the skin you’re living in understand the way that you feel. An ache? A desire? A bottomless pit of hunger? True, true, and true - but it doesn’t scratch the surface of the thing that blossoms inside of your gut when you see his face. There is a place inside of you that opened up when his fingers first touched your skin, a wound that doesn’t heal. This love is raw, it is pain, and there is no balm to heal it.

“What are you thinking about?” Eddie’s been quiet for the last hour, nose in The Talisman. You’ve been sitting on the other side of the sofa with your feet curled underneath your ass. Watching the way his eyes scan the page. Watching the way his brow wrinkles every so often. You think you’ll have to read the book too, try to find those places that make him look so concerned.

“I’m just thinking about you.” You tell him, honestly. It’s a new thing, being able to tell him the truth about these things. A few weeks ago, you’d feel heat rise up in your cheeks at that question, and stumble over a response. Not now, not since you’ve been sharing a bed with him.

Eddie closes the book, careful to keep a finger on the page where he left the story. “Me? And what about me, pray tell, has your mind so occupied?” Eddie asks with a shy smile on his face. You can see a bit of pink spread across the bridge of his nose, and his eyes are looking at your shoulders.

You didn’t know how shy he could be. It’s not something you would have guessed about him - that desperate and sweet way he needs to hear the sweet words from you. The way he blushes when you tell him how pretty he is. It’s a shot through your heart every time, thinking that he’s never heard these things about himself before you told him.

“I was thinking,” you uncurl your body and set your water down on the table at your side, “that your face is the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I wonder if you’re real.” Eddie dog ears the page hastily, and tossed the book on the floor next to him eagerly.

“I’m real. I’m very, very real. Why don’t you come over here and find out, hm?” Eddie’s voice is low. Your body responds to the change, a ripple of desire moves through your gut. “You, on the other hand, might be an elaborate fantasy my brain conjured up.”

You crawl up him, careful to keep your eyes focused on him. Now, he’s focused on your face, not averting his eyes from your own. You let your knee press into the space between his legs and feel the heat of him. You feel him twitch at your contact between two sets of denim jeans. That place inside you, that wound, begins to bleed.

“Do I feel real to you? Show me how real this can be, Eddie. I need you.” You hear the need in your own voice, and wonder where it comes from. You wonder what it is about this man, warm and firm under your body, that makes you ache this way.

You wonder if there will ever be a time when you can look at him without feeling that need creep up your throat. As if answering that private thought, Eddie’s lips are on your neck, his lips, tongue, and teeth almost touching that urgent feeling. It’s a blur of arms and legs, of jeans and shirts, of underwear and socks.

His mouth against your lips, on your nipples, against your cunt. You’re trying to feel it all, but it moves so fast. The aching need within both of you directing this thing. As it always does. You’ve wondered more than once if there will ever be a time when time will slow down enough for the both of you to spend the time learning your bodies. But not tonight. Not now. Now, there’s one thing that you need. You’re pulling his hair, hard enough for his face to disconnect from your wet cunt. His lips are swollen and pink, and you throb at the sight.

He looks at you, he sees the need on your face. He moves a finger up and down your slit, letting it dance over that hard nub with each stroke. “What do you need, hm? You don’t want my mouth?” He asks, eyebrows pinched.

“I need you inside of me.” You tell him, and two of his fingers push their way into you. Your body rocks down to meet him. His thumb brushes against your clit, a ghost of a touch where you need him the most. “Please.” You rock down again to meet a thrust of his fingers.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” Eddie removes his fingers from inside of you, and he brings them to your mouth, “taste yourself, Baby.”

You do, you taste yourself on his fingers. You run your tongue between his fingers. It’s familiar and pleasant. You can feel Eddie’s cock throb against your thigh at the sight of you sucking on his fingers, and it’s a swift movement. He’s between your legs, forehead pressed against your own.

You open for him easily, he fits inside of you like a key turning in a lock. That gash inside your soul bleeds freely while your hips rock together. Your fingers are digging into the meat of his ass while he digs deeper and deeper. His cock searching for that place inside. This is where you belong, this is what your body was made for.

If the world could stop, if time could freeze, this is where you would happily spend eternity. Foreheads together, eyes on eyes, bodies fused reaching and searching for something that can never be touched.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff

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ivymarquis · 3 months

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I saw that post that @ceilidho shared of Barry looking all “tf are you doing out of bed” and then I had to write this down for John. Sidebar the title of this in my google docs is “John decides he’s keeping his ONS”

Get Back Here

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| T Word Count| 863 Content/Warnings| This is post coital with them having fucked like rabbits but everything is above board. This theoretically would be such a nice jump off spot for a darker twist BUT my heart is still mostly fluffy for the cod boys. I am working on something a lil unhinged with Price tho.

While this piece is rated T, I am an MDNI blog. Minors + ageless blogs will be blocked.

If she has any sense in her head, she’ll slip out from the sheets while he’s snoring beside her, get dressed and fuck off back home.

Of course, how much sense she has at the moment is debatable at best because he went and fucked her brains right out of her skull.

Forget pipe- The man laid infrastructure earlier and it’s already screwing with her head. Making her really have to try and talk herself out of the urge to see where things go. The only thing she needs to see is where the fuck her drawers went. Getting dickmatized is a real struggle and while she doesn’t often go out, she lets the soldier sweet talk her on the expectation that there would be a fair degree of “get in, get done, get out”.

Post nut clarity is nowhere to be seen on his end, as he’d tucked her into the spot next to him with the promise of breakfast in the morning. A well deserved reward on her end for all her hard work.

Maybe her brain just likes to torture her but she starts to think that she’s just not meant for casual hook ups like this. He is kind and respectful and a phenomenal lay and her brain is already trying to twist this to justify finding a way to wrangle down another night with him. She just needs to rip this bandaid off and go.

Chalk this up as go-to spank bank fodder the next time she’s lonely.

It’s easier this way, she tells herself as she peels back the bedding he’d cocooned her in.

Less humiliating this way, to sneak away in the night as the cold bites at her as she gathers her clothes. All the while he’s snoring up a storm, assuring her that he’s still out of it and unaware of her escape attempt that is delayed by not being able to find her damn bra.

There’s a small part of her that somewhat feels bad for planning to sneak out in the middle of the night, but there’s a larger part of her that doesn’t want to hear whatever is his go to prompt when it’s time to kick his partner out of bed and back to the rest of the world.

She fixates on locating her wayward bra to the point she doesn’t notice the lack of white noise as he -John- stirs at the loss of her. She doesn’t see the way he gropes blindly at the space she was occupying not five minutes ago, nor the way his expression screws down into a scowl as realization sinks in when he fully awakens.

She does hear his huffed “The fuck are you doing?”, lacking any bite to it despite the phrasing. What she’s doing is fairly obvious given how her clothes are gathered in her arms as opposed to rifling through something she shouldn’t.

“I, um,” she blinks stupidly. He’s a gorgeous man, just enough moonlight filtering through the window so she can see him even in the dark. “I’m getting dressed,” finally her brain clicks into place.

His eyes are squinting at her as he blinks back sleep, shuffling partly up to get a better look at her, the blanket pooling at his waist. Christ her knees are already weak just looking at him again. “None of that,” he dismisses firmly, “it’s too cold, love. Come back to bed. Promised you breakfast in the morning anyway.”

She has a decision to make, she realizes- if she’s adamant about leaving it’s not like he’s going to keep her hostage. He has to let her leave.

But, her thoughts trail off, it is fucking cold. And that bed is incredibly warm. And she still doesn’t know where the fuck her bra is.

“Come on then, back you get.” He prompts with a pat to the spot she’d previously occupied, and that’s enough to make her fold (she can’t deny that she’s been lookin for a reason to fold all night, even if a part of her knows this is a bad, bad, bad idea). Setting her clothes back in a neat pile rather than them being strung all over the floor-still sans bra-, she returns to the bed and slides back under the covers he’s lifted for her.

Immediately his arm bands across her torso, pulling her in snug against him. Well, there’s certainly no sneaking away now. After a bit of shuffling as they settle in against each other, John ensuring there will be no more half hearted attempts to flee.

He doesn’t snore-likely keeping an eye on her to ensure she’s not going to run again- until she’s securely in that half-awake-half-asleep limbo. It’s incredibly easy to slip into. The room is cold, he is warm and the bed is so incredibly cozy. The math is very simple and the end result is her dozing in the arms of a man she can very stupidly see herself getting attached to- even if he snores like a bear.

Come morning, John makes good on his promise for breakfast.

She doesn’t end up needing to find her bra until two days later.

#my writing #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #cod mwii #john price

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ask-spiderpool · 10 months

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Ngl ,i love your work,but it rubs me wrong how Peter's discomfort w venom doing sexual things without Peter's consent or knowledge is treated as a joke,or just generally kind of dismissed. Also- I'm autistic and love love love autistic peter parker hc,but the fact he was called 'on the spectrum' soley because he got upset at venom for this and 'couldn't put himself in venoms shoes' also kind of felt really bad.

ough, bless you anon! I really appreciate you vocalising your thoughts and concerns in a really sincere respectful way. I want to respond so you don't feel unheard!

I'd also like to take this chance to say that the actions of one Wade W. Wilson do not reflect the thoughts of the ask-spiderpool moderator. The ask-spiderpool moderator does not condone his words or actions. He is a bad man. The words he's saying are bad.

Deadpool is definitely playing the role of a villain here, and he's kind of intentionally choosing his words with the intention of punishing Peter and invalidating him. He knows what he's doing. And Spider-man knows it too.

I know it's something a lot of people don't like to see from Wade – but it's a part of his character that I find interesting to explore and to see him eventually overcome. His ability to weaponise everything, and his instinct of self-sabotage. It becomes dangerous territory to write sometimes because people generally want to side with Deadpool and believe he'll do no wrong, but - I don't know, to strip him of all his ugliness would be untrue to him. Similarly with Peter – I guess I'm just really interested in parts of Wade and Peter that you don't really get to see explored in fanon very often.

It's kind of a problem though that yeah - when you write this sort of a thing there's the risk of people who don't look at it critically - so you get people idolising or siding with Deadpool when what he's doing is really bad actually. It's kind of a miracle, the sorts of things Wade gets away with, while Peter's attacked for it - and that's something I kind of like to examine, too.

I think I do have a responsibility to make this blog feel safe, but also challenging and interesting - and I think I'll be working hard to kind of find a balance between the two. I'm still trying to figure it out - to write what I find interesting, knowing my own intentions but knowing it probably will be misinterpreted – or writing something else that is easy and pleasing to everyone (not really my bag, and also near impossible!), or just not write at all (also impossible for me! Got a brain-itch to scratch...)

I really appreciate when people read my writing and see what I'm getting at – but it doesn't always happen, and it isn't really anyone's fault. I kind of like to offer explanations and further meta, and the fics, because I love to be understood - and the server where I love to have discussions with people about how they receive these posts. The reason I love running this blog is the discussions I have with people about it. The back-and-forth, and so I really do love people to look at Wade and Peter a little deeper.

I have a genuine interest in autistic Peter and it's something I want to explore further in a sincere light, this is kind of just the first tease of something I want to explore more later, if the asks permit. I think every Peter Parker is autistic-coded - I've written a little bit about it here! I'm no expert on diagnosis - but as fantastical as ask-spiderpool can get sometimes - I kind of always want what Wade and Peter are going through in their heads to feel real and tangible and understandable, and come from a place of sincerity.

The consent issue is a complicated one – (as is the way with applying real-world-logic to the realm of alien sex with what you thought was just a slick space-age onesie...) Peter's relationship with the symbiote occupies more of a realm of metaphor than anything - and I don't think there's any sort of 1-to-1 comparison to the real world. (Has your sex-toy ever gained sentience and passed judgement upon you? Peter Parker's worst nightmare!)

There is a running theme of Peter kind of having his boundaries crossed - and the symbiote is sort of tied to that theme. The symbiote was entirely responsive to Peter's thoughts and didn't do anything Peter didn't will it to do - the real issue is the mortifying ordeal of being perceived. And it's a running theme with Peter - he hides so much and very often his privacy is violated.

It's often played for laughs, because Deadpool doesn't always take Spider-man's boundaries seriously and likes to push him – but it's something that will come to a head, and Peter will be laying down the law very soon.

I'm really thankful for your message anon, and I really hope this response reaches you with similar sincerity that you reached out to me with and that I'm understood! - I love you so much anon! My DMs over on @sciderman are also open if you'd like to talk to me more!

#mod speaks

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thewalkingthread · 6 months

Text

Space - D.D.

daryl's pov

pairing: daryl dixon x reader

summary: things aren't the same between you and daryl.

warnings: sad

a/n: Heard a devastating song on Tiktok and it inspired this little one shot

You can't remember the last time Daryl held you while you slept. Or the last time he whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you drifted off to sleep.

Something shifted in your relationship around the time Michonne left. You chalked it up to him having more responsibility. Daryl's always put a lot of pressure on himself, but it was a lot worse this time around. With Michonne and Rick gone, the people have looked upon the two of your for guidance and leadership. Not to mention taking in RJ and Judith. There was a big shift in your life, but you didn't expect it to create a rift between you and Daryl.

Every night you would laid down on the bed, your body turned to it's side. Your hand always reached out and rested on the empty space that Daryl will occupy much later in the night. You never went to bed at the same time anymore. Typically, you'd go to bed first once the kids were asleep and the house was clean. Daryl would sit outside on the porch, smoking a cigarette or sharpening knives. No matter how tired he was, he'd do anything that make sure you were asleep first before he tiptoed into the bedroom to get ready for bed. Sometimes you'd pretend to be asleep, you've gotten really good at it.

You would lay completely still, keeping your breathes at a calm and slow pace. You'd listen carefully as he hummed to himself in the bathroom, the sound of his toothbrush tapping against the sink, his deep sighs as he examined himself in the mirror. You knew his routine all too well from the years you've been together.

Then he'd slowly sink into the bed, careful not to wake you. It wasn't a sweet gesture of him wanting you to rest and get good sleep. He didn't want to wake you because he didn't want to talk to you, he didn't want to argue.

Just like clock work, Daryl woke up extra early today. He slipped out of bed before the sun even peaked onto the horizon. The sound of the shower turning on woke you up. You couldn't stop yourself from scooting closer to his side of the bed, pulling his pillow close to you. You close your eyes, trying to imagine it was him you were holding. Your fingers grazed the sheets, hoping it would provide you any sort of resemblance of your lover. It didn't.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking, makes your freeze in your place. The soft pads of his footsteps approach the edge of the bed. You know he's right behind you, you know he's looking down at your "sleeping" body.

You feel his finger graze your skin and you do everything in your power to be still, not to flinch at his touch, not even twitch. Daryl gently moves a strand of hair out of your face. Your heart is racing inside of your chest and you think he might even press a kiss to your head.

All that he does is breathe out a deep sigh before retracting his hand. Your skin, where his calloused hands just were, now exposed to the cold air. His footsteps shift away before disappearing down the hall.

You let out a breathe you didn't realize you were holding and you opened your eyes. The sun just started it's ascent and the room was a soft yellow tint as the light snuck its way through the window.

You wanted to cry.

You wanted to scream.

How did you go from real love to roommates?

You wanted your lover back. You wanted your Daryl back.

You missed the nights when you and Daryl would stay up late talking. You'd sit on the porch, looking up at the stars in the sky. Neither one of you cared if you had to be up early for a watch shift or for a supply run. You'd stay up to talk and spend time with each other because that was the only time you'd be able to.

"Reckon this shit will ever end?"

You glanced up at him before looking back out at the dark sky. You shook your head.

"Don't think so." You mumbled. "But if it weren't for all this shit... I don't think we'd have met."

Daryl let out a grunt, with a small nod of his head. "I suppose that makes it all worth it." He mumbles, pressing his lips to the side of your head. "You make it all worth it."

You grip his pillow close to your chest, letting the tears slip from your eyes.

When did this bed get so wide?

#daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead one shot #twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #norman reedus #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixion x reader

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polyklok · 1 year

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What makes them soft 🥰 VS What gets them hard 😈 (Dethklok x Reader)

I thought of that title and it was too good to give up

Fluffy moments vs Turn-Ons headcanons for the Dethklok boys (if that wasn’t obvious enough) TW: Although not explicitly smut, this is definitely a bit spicy and has hints of kinks. Please, Minors DNI.

Nathan explosion

What makes him soft

Being a busy guy, Nathan values a lot of comfortable silence and mutual space. When you two are just sitting together, doing completely different things, not talking, yet enjoying each other’s company nonetheless. Most of the time, he’ll be writing song lyrics, storyboarding a music video, or planning out a concert. His mind is occupied, but he’ll occasionally take the time to look over to you and appreciate just how soothing your presence is.

This guy will go weak in the knees for random little pecks. On his cheeks, nose, shoulders, hands, he’ll go absolutely crazy when you give him just small, passing kisses. He might even stop what both of you are doing just to get more. Don’t get me wrong, he loves a good make out session, but quick and fleeting kisses are definitely up there on the list.

When really focused, Nathan has the tendency to overwork himself, getting completely enamored in his goals and not focusing on much else. Similarly, being an unofficial “Band Dad”, he might be very busy trying to keep his chaotic band mates in check and on schedule. So having a darling S/O who reminds him to take breaks and take care of himself is so precious. Just little, “It’s been a while, let’s have a snack.” or “We should be heading to bed now.” Are just lovely little reminders on just how much you care for him and it seriously makes his heart ache with warmth.

What gets him hard

Nathan is…stubborn and tends to be hardheaded. He’s pretty good at keeping himself in check, but sometimes that ignorance will still slip out. But, HOO, when he has an S/O that’ll snap back. Goddamn! Get a bit angry, boss him around a little. Nothing mean, just put him in his place. He’ll certainly return the favor to you later.

While I still stand by the fact that he loves some quick affection, he still greatly appreciates lingering touches as well. Specifically, massages. He’s a big guy, a big guy who is constantly hunching down and head banging. Rub up his neck and shoulders, please! He might literally beg you, if he must. He considers a massage to be some great foreplay, aftercare, or just whenever. He just really loves it.

Whispering. I don’t know how to explain this one, I just feel like he’s the kind of fella to just go wild over some whispering in his ear. Doesn’t even have to be flirty or sexual; get real close and whisper to him your grocery list, he’ll probably be bricked up over it.

Pickles The Drummer

What makes him soft

You know how Pickles had a completely supportive home life and a loving family? No? Not at all? Huh. That’s probably why he gets seriously emotional whenever you give him praise. Any kind at all, just a simple “Good job” might make his eyes start to water. Tries really hard to hide it too, cause if you'll notice, you might start to worry about him WHICH WILL MAKE HIM CRY EVEN MORE-

Scratching this isn’t kinky I swear- You know that feeling when someone gently drags their fingernails across your skin? Just barely enough to leave red streaks and cause goosebumps, but not nearly enough for any actual pain? Maybe I’m projecting but something tells me he’s just melt into that sensation. Bonus points if you play connect-the-dots with his freckles or something.

Pickles will regularly drink and drug himself up to oblivion, which makes absolutely brutal hangovers a very common occurrence. But he’s used to dealing with it on his own. Until you decided that wouldn’t do and started taking care of him during these tough moments. Even when he’s painfully groaning into you thighs, he really does love the fact that you’re just willing to be here with him, dealing with his pathetic habits and worse symptoms.

What gets him hard

Nothing gets him in the mood quite like seeing you dance. Seeing you bounce and sway to some music definitely puts his head deep into the gutter, especially if the song is filthy. Even better, one of Dethklok's songs. He’ll be staring at your legs, hips, and chest with a smirk for hours and he’ll definitely ask you to recreate some of those moves for him later, privately.

I think he has a thing for oversized clothes. Most of the women he surrounds himself with wear tight, revealing clothing and while that's all done and good, he really enjoys something that's loose and too big on you. Doesn't matter how big you are; buy a shirt a couple sizes up and it'll probably end up on his floor in a matter of hours. Also I think he wants to be the boyfriend to give you his clothing that's too big for you, but he's so tiny himself, it probably won't work :/

Okay, sure, it's nice to have a partner that's a little bashful or even teasing when it comes to sexytimes, someone who likes making a show out of it. But, he loves having a partner that's very casual about their sexuality. This was totally inspired by that great Momento Mori fanfic btw. When you skip to the chase of getting undressed or talk about kinks openly like it was in the morning news or simply ask for sex from him, no hesitation, he'll be so much more enthusiastic about it.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

What makes him soft

Skwisgaar is famous, or infamous, for being a Sex God. He has slept with more people in a week than most will in their entire lives; he's probably the biggest whore in history. It's what's expected of him. If you are in a monogamous relationship with him, he's already out of his element and feeling vulnerable. This wasn't supposed to happen to him. But then you start giving him affection. Hugs and cuddles, kisses on his cheek, and little pets that don't lead to sex just make his heart flutter in a way he didn't know was possible. He's had countless women touching every part of his body, but when you do it out of sentiment and tenderness rather than because you're horny...oh gosh, he becomes addicted to that feeling.

He'd be the type of guy to pine after good ol' fashion shyness. Seeing you blush, stutter, and look away at some simple flirting quips makes him melt. He loves getting his ego stroked so he often fosters your nervousness just to make himself feel like a big man. He especially likes it if you start to use him as a crutch for your shyness, like hiding your face in his chest or something.

While he tends to come off as smug, cold and dismissive, he is really such a crybaby and has a healthy dose of anxiety as well. While it will take a while a long while for him to open up and expose his emotional side, he really values someone who can comfort him in his tough moments. He’s gonna be bratty about it the first few times, but it means so much just to have someone there and caring for him.

What gets him hard

Oh boy, double whammy! The shyness not only hits his heart, but that feeling moves down south as well. Not necessarily acting timid in the bedroom, although he does like that, but watching the shyness melt away as you really get into it. Especially if you’re a bit controlling of him. Seeing your reserved attitude give away to dominance just fucking gets to him.

This one’s weird ngl So we all know how particular Skwisgaar is. He’s a bit of a diva. I’d think he’d like to pick your clothing. Nothing super invasive, but he likes to choose what outfit you wear before the two of you go out to do something nice. He gets so much pride that from knowing you’re wearing what he picked from you and he cannot wait to tear it off. Bonus points if you get compliments on it; he’s not gonna brag in front of people, but he’s gonna tease you for it later.

If you couldn’t tell, I imagine him to be semi-possessive. So he would just love to mark you up with hickies and bruises and scratches. He’ll have the cockiest smirk on his face as others stare at the marks covering your neck or thighs. He’ll show off his own marks that you left as well, wearing low-cut shirts after a particularly rough night.

Toki Wartooth

What makes him soft

Ahh, this boy is such a sweetheart! A lot of things you do will turn him into putty. But especially if you play into any traditional lifestyle. Toki bought a ring a month into your relationship, so saying your interested in marriage will make him so happy, he might propose right there! You want kids? So does he! How soon? As traumatizing at it was, he was raised with extremely conventional values, so seeing you cook or clean or act domestic even a little bit will push all the right buttons in his brain.

Toki never uses your name. It’s a given. Pretty much the moment you met, he’s called you by all the cheesiest pet names he can think of, even before you were dating. Some are cute; Sweetie, Darling, Prince/Princess, Kitty. But, just as much as those, he uses all the tacky ones that make everyone cringe as well; Honeybun, Num-Nums, Snookums, Baby Cakes. It gets worse. It doesn’t matter if you hate it, he thinks it’s cute!

Despite him usually waking up the earliest out of the band members, and having a cherry demeanor overall, Toki is not a morning person. He will be so pissed if he is waken up before he wants to, alarm clocks are not allowed in his room. He has very vivid and happy dreams and hates to be torn away from them. But he loves waking up with you, every single morning. Even if you snore or drool or kick in your sleep, he will be so happy to see you as you both wake up. Your tired face and messy hair and mumbling “good morning” just feels so right, really gets him in the feels.

What gets him hard

(This one is specifically for female readers) Remember when I said he definitely wants children? I wasn’t kidding. Man wants to start trying for a baby today. He hates condoms and will try to convince you to get off birth control. Almost every time you mess around, he’s gonna bring up how pretty you’ll be with his kids growing in you. Always wants to finish inside. The breeding kink is strong here.

Ok, so yes, Toki generally likes his S/O to be as sweet and loving as he is. But you know what else he is? Fucking scary. If you have some occasions where you get really pissed off, telling off some asshole or even beating them up, Toki wants you right then and there. He loves seeing the seething anger on your face not directed at him and definitely gets turned on if a little blood gets on you. Brutal.

Nudes are great, right? He definitely likes getting some dirty pictures from you now and then, especially if he’s away on tour and can’t get the real thing. But even more so than that, he loves getting teasing photos from you. Especially if you act dumb. Send him a necklace photo that just so happens to show off your cleavage or collarbone; show him something your holding with your soft thighs in the background; send him a selfie from bed where you ‘accidentally’ leave some sex toys in frame. Oh my god, he’ll go so crazy for it and pays you back double when he finally sees you again.

William Murderface

What makes him soft

It’s so easy to make his heart melt, it’s almost sad. He definitely puts up a tough exterior, but once you’re through, he’s pretty much at his knees for anything you do. But high up on his list (he would be the type to make a list) is receiving compliments from you. He already idolizes you and is weirdly grateful that you show him as much affection as you do, so even tiny compliments are gonna have him twisted around your finger, as if he wasn’t already before. He’ll kill someone for you if you just call him prettyboy beforehand, I swear to god.

The quickest way to a man’s heart is his stomach. This is true for almost anyone, but especially Murderface. He’ll gobble up anything you cook for him so quickly, doesn’t matter what. He’s bashful about it, but eventually, he’ll show his passion for cooking for you and teaching you some recipes definitely makes for some sweet bonding time. His favorite date is cooking something together and then eat it while watching an awful movie.

As you’ve probably guessed by now; Murderface is, what some might call, a total simp for you and is completely tender for anything you do. So, if you happen to flip the script, and start building him up as something desirable and pine after him hard, ohhhh man. This extends from the compliments but- Flirt! Get handsy in public! Show him off! He is literally one of the world’s most popular cultural figure and yet his self confidence is dirt. Be grateful for your famous, angsty, bulldog-faces boyfriend and his stomach will explode in butterflies!

What gets him hard

He seems like the kind of guy to seriously get off on eye contact not me tho. Make eyes at him from across a room and don’t look away. The longer you stare just at him, the more he’ll blush and squirm. Once you do finally get some private time, he insists on maintaining eye contact with you as long as you both can manage. It’s somehow feels both romantic and fucking dirty with him.

William is pretty much addicted to your scent. If you have a signature perfume or lotion, he wants to drown in the stuff. He loves to bury his face in any article of clothing you manage to leave behind in his room. While in his afterglow, he likes to creep up behind you and smell your hair and sweat. Even body odor, he likes it if it’s yours. Yeah, he’s a weirdo, but you already snatched him up. Please let him borrow a few sprays of your perfume to wear for the day.

Seeing you handle weaponry…my god. This poor boy. Could be knives, guns, anything in between. Just you holding it is enough to make his knees wobbly and his vision blurry. If you know how to use it? Good lord, he wants to be at the end of that weapon no matter the consequences. He’d be completely okay dying that way. Seriously though, this man has a thing for weaponry and danger. He puts on the attitude of a violent, hateful man but underneath that is a softie. But under want that softie is man who CRAVES VIOLENCE-

I got more and more sleep deprived as I wrote this man

Will I ever be able to write something comprehensible and exceptional?…probably not.

#metalocalypse #dethklok #pickles the drummer #skwisgaar skwigelf #nathan explosion #william murderface #toki wartooth #polyklok is real #metalocalypse x reader #metalocaypse headcanon #dethklok headcanon #dethklok x reader #sorry if the format is weird #I wrote half of this on my phone and the other half on a computer #tw kink

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