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ruershrimo · 18 hours

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take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 6: beginning

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chapter synopsis:

'“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be shy and scatterbrained, or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen, when in reality it’s just what I want to happen. But this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.”

You haven’t told her you love her too in years.'

'And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

---

You and Megumi set out to prevent an emergency involving Yuuji and a cursed object. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen. But at least everyone is fine in the end, even if it means you'll have to walk away from almost everything (or maybe it's the other way around).

You're going to be all on your own. Still, now it seems like this will hurt less now.

word count: ~8k; tws: none for now :)

17-6-2018

The two of you walk down the lane. It’s midnight. There’s a loitering silence in the air, no words exchanged between you and him, and it twists your heart in brief moments of hurt when you’re not trying to keep your mind occupied with other things. Your legs move subconsciously without you caring to think of them, the route to the hospital ingrained in your mind as if intrinsically there.

At some point, you think your hand with its sweat and its grip is going to leave imprints like a marring on his skin, but it’s of your own selfishness that you choose to hold onto his wrist anyway.

There’s a million things you could say to him right now, things you’ll forcefully push to the very back of your throat, things you’ll keep under lock and key in a mangled mix of quiet anticipation and sombre anxieties. Right now you’re holding his wrist and that’s enough for you, to have him walking behind you if not beside, to be two people near each other— not together— in silence since any conversation is not an option; any conversation could lead to the last spark needed to be fanned into the flame for it to erupt bigger and brighter than ever before.

If you asked about Tsumiki right now, or why either of them never bothered to speak to you since 2016, it could break you apart, of that you’re sure. And even without words it threatens to do so to you like a chandelier of melting wax candles hanging above you being suspended precariously from the ceiling or light lightning soon to be thrown down mercilessly from the sky.

“The turning to Sendai Hospital is on the right.”

“I know the routes better,” you let out, and rather disappointingly it sounds brasher and more derogatory aloud instead of the unobtrusive tone you were aiming for— you hope it doesn’t hurt him but then wonder why you still even cared that much about how he felt about what you said or did anyway, “I got myself accustomed to taking the one on the left that leads you through. Quick shortcut and all.”

You’re not looking back, but the light pull of his hand from the hold of your wrist seems to suggest his slight reeling back in a small sense of surprise and an equal amount of shock, as if suddenly remembering the fact you were your own person, that you had your own autonomy as one, because somehow everyone thought you weren’t.

It’s strange to look back at how you were before: meek, timid. Too shy to speak up. Too innocent to be angered by anything. Always dreaming, mind bleary as if on a cloud in blurred skies, hiding behind the backs of others like a petrified forest critter.

And now you’re this— this person who frowns and disagrees and retorts at every little thing, and as much as you have to, as much as it was nearly inevitable the way you turned out, all you can think you share with the person you were when you first met Megumi and Tsumiki was your need to be useful— and even that has been exacerbated by how you’ve grown, how you’ve become this person you grew into. And a part of you— no, just you as a whole— doesn’t like yourself at all.

Your father was right. That little girl was hopeful, obedient, kind, caring— you don’t know why even then you were dissatisfied with the way you were, or why your dissatisfaction would matter because at that time you’d cared so little about everything besides caring for people and having fun with the pair of siblings that you were so rarely bothered by it, that it was still just a slight whisper from the back of your head that could be shushed or tuned out with library visits and nights in front of the TV and the glow of old cartoons. Your father was right and this is proved even more by the fact that the whole situation just infuriates you on the surface, and just makes you feel like an empty, hollow shell left behind when you reach deeper into yourself.

That little girl had potential, potential to be useful but kind, obedient and close to the people who raised her even if it meant abandoning her own ideals. But you’d been so devoted to them, you think, that she was killed and destroyed in the world she grew up in, and now there’s a space for her that’s left vacant due to the way she wasted away. You miss her, the girl you once were, you miss being her, how easy and lighthearted everything was and how all of you felt so content in every sense of the word. But you don’t want her back. Now that’s just what makes you miserable sometimes.

Self-reflection just made you feel revolted by yourself. You keep your eyes on the road.

“It’s here,” you state, pointing at the building in front of you.

Sendai General Hospital is an institution made out of bare concrete. Its walls are yellowed and close in on its wards like a prison, coloured using old paint that hasn’t been repainted over and is as pallid-looking as the skin of the people sitting on the beds it is inhabited by. Just being in it feels like a hit to the body and the brain and the senses, too. There are old-fashioned tiles on its floors, their pale beige hue muted yet the blinding shine on them harshly mopped clean. Inside it reeks of an imminent presence of sickness or death or illnesses and conditions never to be able to be defeated and sterile sanitisers. Looking at the latex-blue curtains in it feels like a blindfold unwantedly, forcefully pulled over both your vision and your ears.

“You and that Itadori seem close.”

“We are,” you say, then you add, not really knowing why, “He’s my best friend.” Maybe you’re trying to make him jealous, rile him up a bit. But even then you wouldn’t want him to be riled up, nor would you be satisfied if he were to keep silent. Maybe you just wanted to hurt him, to hurt him back or something, if only for something small, even if you’d already resolved not to do so.

You’ll make sure not to do that again, though.

Instead he does something else, takes another route instead. “Then it seems you visit his grandfather often.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod as the two of you enter the hospital, and you have to blink a few times as always in order to adjust yourself to the light and how it reflects off the detachedly clean floor. “My mother’s here, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry— is she alright?”

“She’s okay, I… think. She… she got sick a while back and stays here now,” you explain, “Let’s not talk about that…—I mean, I… don’t really want to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that.” It just makes people feel worse.

He doesn’t push further and you suppose that’s okay. Your chest hurts a bit, like phantom pain on a wound that’s still there. There’s not really a way to explain it but almost everything makes you feel that way these days. Everything makes you feel horrible to some degree. Maybe it’s being a girl, maybe it’s being a teenager, but it’s not quite either, you guess.

“He won’t be here for a while,” you say, “He’s either still in the room where his grandfather is or he’s buying flowers for him.”

“Then I’ll just contact them and let them know the whole situation first.”

Who’s ‘them’?

“Okay.” You turn your back on him, “—wait.”

“What?”

“Do you have any emergency contact or something? Like, a trusted adult who could help you with any of this? In case things go really bad?”

“...why would you need one?” he questions.

You roll your eyes, “Just give it to me, damn it… if there’s anything I have nowadays, it’s probably foresight for stuff like this. For emergencies.”

He gives you the number, albeit a bit begrudgingly. Why’d he have to be so pissy about anything and everything?

“Okay, thanks. I’m going to visit my mother now.”

The air and the colour from it seems distant as always, the ward she was basically imprisoned in smelling of the indistinguishable mix of sanitiser and sickness. There her body chains her to her bed, and there is little she can do besides rely on and weakly cling to the nurses who assist her, a frail shadow of what she once was.

“Hi, Mummy.”

She turns to you, and your chest constricts. Her hair, once much longer, the type that you dreamed to have as it billowed in the wind, the type that invited you caressively to bury yourself in and take in that heady scent of roses that emanated from it— that hair is now replaced with a cloth wrapped around her head. Radiation. Chemotherapy.

The wrinkles on her face make the difference between her now and her years ago all the more stark. Every visit you come back here, you’ve forced yourself to be acclimated to this new reality, one where she isn’t waiting at home no matter how tedious the fights get or how exhausting it was eating with someone who remained silent, someone who chose to continue suffering if it meant she could hurt and turn her daughter to guilt (as if that would change anything). At least she was there.

Cancer is a terminal illness, especially the type your mother is facing— regardless of how much chemotherapy she would struggle through and how much you didn’t want to acknowledge a truth so plain and conspicuously bare, she would be confined to this bed until her final days, her illness like gyves tying her limbs and forcing her earthbound; the bed a cage she could never be liberated from.

Sometimes she made it a point to you that she didn’t want to liberate herself from it anyway, and you’d never been so depressed yet irked by anything else. (You’d regret everything— not spending time with her, not appreciating her nearly enough— except for your decision to be involved in the Jujutsu world, if not as a sorcerer then as a doctor. That was, and is— your ultimatum. Your end all be all of this whole situation.”

“Hello. Where’s that Itadori boy?”

“Not here today, he’s still with his grandfather— maybe later.” You swing your bag over your shoulder, rummaging through it a while before pulling it out. “I’ve something for you, by the way.”

“Oh! These,” she exclaims, and she smiles faintly, bits of colour rushing back to her face like watercolour dots on moistened paper. “I used to make them for you, sometimes. They used to be your favourite when you were really little.”

“I know,” you explain, “That’s why I made them. I don’t like them anymore, but… I can’t remember your favourite food or if I ever asked, and I know you don’t like the food they give you here as much as… I don’t know. Your own cooking, I guess.”

“It’s not my favourite,” she states, matter-of-factly, bluntly, “But thank you for the effort. My favourite will always be my own mother’s cooking.”

Silence.

“Now that I look back at everything, there are so many things I regret. Things I should have done but never did out of fear; things I should not have done and never apologised for out of pride. I’d like it if you could be different. Your grandmother went out the same way. At least, even if you had the same illnesses as we did, which I hope the genes for which have been curbed by your father’s— at least you would not leave the world with regret,” she looks down at her hands, staring down at them solemnly like a shadow, an excluded figure. “But it was a good life.”

“...then maybe you can tell me more. While you— while we still have time. What was your childhood like? What was your mother like?” It feels strange, imposturous, maybe— to be referring to someone basically a stranger as “grandmother”, to name someone so far away from you so intimate, even if the only generation between you, tying the two of you together, was your mother’s. If you had a daughter it would be the same for her, most likely. There’s a part of you that would find honour in becoming your mother once you’d grown, but there’s a part of you that would think being such would accost you horribly, for all time.

She sighs, “I’ll tell you later. There would be so much to say, like compressing all my words into one tiny paper. The stories have weight in them the same way letters and words in handwriting can be firm and large. But if I were to start,” she begins, “I’ll say that I was born as the daughter of two very powerful sorcerers. Now, I know how much this would sound like some nonsense spouted by your mother, but I think you should listen anyway.

“My parents loved each other a lot, but my mother had come from an obscure clan whose name I can’t remember, but who had high hopes in them having a child with a powerful cursed technique as their last resort, since, if I recall correctly, there had been a crisis within the clan for it to keep surviving.

“I still remember when they found out I had no cursed technique and how terrified they were. In me I had a bit more than the relatively normal amount of cursed energy most people have, and so I was expected to have techniques as powerful as they did. They loved me and treated me preciously, like a fragile object, so long as I was quiet and demure— and I guess to some extent I still was and still am today. They wondered what they could do to run from the clan, as if they didn’t have enough power when they were supposed to protect me despite my father’s bullheaded industry and my mother’s patience-formed strength. They lacked grit to grapple against them, and only in this did they lack it, I think; only against my mother’s family did they not have the ability to resolve things whether peacefully or violently. And eventually they just gave up and thought they would just… surrender me over when I entered my adolescent years. I was their daughter. I… suppose they didn’t love me enough. I know it sounds awful— thinking that they should have always protected me, through and through—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“—when it could have been the clan itself that would have been mostly to blame.”

“But they were still supposed to protect you! They were your parents—”

“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be a shy and scatterbrained or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen when in reality it’s just what I want to happen, but this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.” You haven’t told her you love her too in years.

“But then when I was an adult I met your father, who was a bit like a country bumpkin, but a formidable sorcerer and a kind, honest person, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the person he was both inside and out. And for the next few years we struggled to have a child until I found out I was pregnant with you,” she continues, “Even though by that time I was well into my late thirties, we were overjoyed and decided to keep you.”

Suddenly you wish there had been more time before things were ruined. Time for you to know her better, the beginning of your existence. You would have begged her for old photos, stories, mementos of her and your father.

“And now the clan’s faded into obscurity, finally. The younger members left and the older ones passed away peacefully. Happy story, right?”

“...yeah.” It all ended well, but you don’t know if you can say the same for your mother’s. At least, you hope, when she goes away, it can be swift and peaceful like the way her relatives did.

Then suddenly there’s a buzz in your pocket. An inconvenient one, out of the blue.

“You should go get that first,” she says.

“...okay.”

You lift it up to your face and feel like crushing the damn thing. Old number. Stupid number. Number you haven’t called in months because you’d given up on that bastard— oh. The two of you were working together now.

You turn away from your mother, creeping to the edge of the room. “What’s wrong?”

“I just talked to him, but I think it would be easier if you came back and was there with him too since you know him better than I do. And he… doesn’t seem like the brightest. He may think that it’s not important enough to hand over unless you ask him to or something.”

You muffle your voice with your hand and whisper, “Hey, you shut up, you know nothing about him. He’s way smarter than people give him credit for. But I’m— I’m with my mother right now. Wait for a second. Just ask him to wait for me first; he wouldn’t need any of my help for all of this yet. Make a friend or get a life or something.”

“...fine. But you’ll have to join us later. He’s bound to ask about you.”

“Then just tell him I’m with my mother!” you snap, still whispering.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Wh— you little— oh, don’t you hang up now—”

Weird thing is, he probably wasn’t even being so infuriating on purpose. And you wouldn’t have burst out at someone for being that way anyway. It was only because it was him, specifically.

You’d sworn to put that past you.

Your immaturity strikes once again.

“If you have to go now,” your mother says, “You should. Just come back again next time. I can tell you the rest. Thank you again for the food, [Name].” She doesn’t call you ‘darling’ anymore, doesn’t she? Just your name.

“Okay. Sorry.”

You swing the bag back over your shoulder, wearing it this time instead of taking it off, easing your way out of the room.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, “Goodbye. I love you.”

“...I love you, too,” you say, but it’ll mingle with all the other sounds in the hospital, and it’ll be drowned out like a ship in the middle of nowhere, your voice soft and thoroughly soused by the cacophony of bleak noises like telephone rings and beeps from electrocardiographs outside of her deafeningly quiet hospital room.

“Hi, Yuuji,” you greet them in the dimly lit waiting area, “...and Megumi. Sorry to keep the two of you guys waiting for so long.”

“Oh, hey; it’s okay!” he goes, although in his voice it seems that there’s been some of his usual energy seeping away from him. “Didn’t know the two of you knew each other until just now or that you were a part of some magic curse society. Are you guys childhood friends who met because of all that cursed stuff or something?”

“Something like that,” Megumi explains.

“It’s a long story,” you say, not exactly denying him nor conceding his words anyway. Once again, there’s a trace of anger despite your promise to be untethered to your puerility like this. “Anyway, are you okay, Yuuji? How’s your grandfather?”

He pauses. “Oh, about that… he just passed away.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Yuuji…” you hold the fabric of his jacket (sometimes it still feels wrong to try and hold his hand— it just makes your heart ache again like a scab being clawed at) and pull him into a brief caress, patting his back as gently as you can manage.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” he smiles as you pull yourself away, “Grandpa wouldn’t want me to be crying right now anyway. So don’t worry.”

“Okay, I won’t. But if you’re sad, just know you can always talk to me.”

He laughs, softer than the boisterous manner he usually does so in, “Yeah, I know.”

Megumi clears his throat, pointedly trying to make a sound, “Anyway. Itadori Yuuji—”

“Just call him Itadori. You don’t have to be so uptight.”

“Nah, [Name], I’m fine—”

Megumi sighs. “Anyway, we need you to give the cursed object now.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” you start, “So, Yuuji, do you have the thing that Megumi would have explained to you? The cursed object? We need it for everyone to be safe, and all.”

“Yeah! Hold on, let me get it. I told you I didn’t have it already, but here’s the box,” he says, tossing it over to Megumi.

He retrieves the box. It’s ancient and wooden, the craftsmanship behind it elite and adroit, and the paper on it has the words for a buddhist sutra written on it like an inscription. You’ve heard of it before, the kind of curse it was meant to seal, but it definitely couldn’t be—

He opens the box.

Holy shit.

“Where is it?”

“It’s empty…” Megumi panics, “Wait— hold on!”

Things are bad— as in, they couldn’t get any worse— not only was the school doomed by the loss of its cursed object, the cursed object was Sukuna Ryomen’s finger itself.

You blame your inadequacy, your inability to have stopped everything sooner— if not for that nobody would have gotten hurt. If not for that there wouldn’t even be a risk of anything happening anyway. You should’ve tried harder to sense it, and you should’ve focused more on it to keep the student body safe and sound.

It was your fault. No one else was to blame but your useless self, and even if that were wrong, you’d still have the most to be blamed for.

Megumi has a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, keeping the other boy from moving, his breathing erratic and his eyes wide in frantic shock.

“...well, they were saying, ‘let’s open it up to see what’s inside it tonight’,” Yuuji clarifies, standing a few centimetres away from the door, “Why? Is that bad?”

Sasaki and Iguchi?

The air in the hospital feels particularly chilly tonight, gooseflesh terrorising your skin all over, and for all the kinds of reasons that would cause anything like such.

“It’s way worse than bad,” Megumi declared, fear and grim so thick in his voice they were tangible enough to be cut through with a knife. “Your friends are going to die.”

“We’ve got to go,” you rush, “Now! Quick!”

It passes by like a blur, as if you’re in that moment and out of it simultaneously. Your mind has been bombarded with and pressed so thoroughly onto the moment, like tissue on a wet surface, that it seems it’s being blanked out, while your legs continue to run despite your mind nearly forgetting, at this point, why you’re running— as if your legs moving so frantically to help them was something intrinsic, something you didn’t need your mind for.

Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger. Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger.

You didn’t know them all too well, really— just through Yuuji, and Yuuji himself wasn’t as close to the two of them, being their junior and all. And although a part of you was doing this just because you could, like the way you did when you first discovered your cursed technique, you knew that another was doing this for Yuuji. If in any way they were hurt or could not survive, he would blame himself to no end. He possessed such a kindness within him, so much that it hit the depths of your soul sometimes; shattered your heart so gently a million times over or heated it in the kindly way mothers heated pans on stoves despite the heat of it being greater than that of blue flame. If anything happened to them, no matter how much or how little he knew of them, he wouldn’t be able to live after that.

The two of them are near the barrier separating the school from the street before you (you struggle with catching up to them— one’s a star athlete and another has been training for much longer than you, you’re sure), the gates tall and enveloped in darkness. You didn’t think much of school except for when it came to your grades and being with Yuuji, thinking of these gates— the ones that you and Yuuji use when you’re running super late— in particular as just a shortcut entrance you paid little attention to, just something treated with indifference as you passed through them whenever you were late. Yet now they echoed denial, refusal, and slim chances— it was unlikely that they’d be alright, especially since this cursed object in particular was the finger of Sukuna Ryomen.

“Is that the building?” Megumi questions, “Where are they?”

“Fourth floor— guh!” Yuuji seems to come to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming into what seems to be an invisible wall. A veil.

“Yuuji!”

“I’ll handle this,” Megumi declares, hopping onto the metal wires, more directed to Yuuji than you. So even he can tell how selfless Yuuji is, even after only having just met him.

“I may not know those two that well, but—” Yuuji starts, “But they’re friends! I have to help!”

“You’re staying here,” Megumi commands, “[Name], if you could— get your father or any sorcerers you know to come here and help.”

He climbs over the gate.

He’s going away from you again. Slipping away from your grasp. And now, all you can do is watch. There’s nothing else— nothing else you can do, at all. If you went inside now, you wouldn’t be able to help except— what?— tend to their injuries? Manipulate your own cells into weapons? The former wasn’t possible with how much you’d strained yourself from running so quickly earlier, and the latter was too dangerous: you hadn’t even started with the basics of that yet, on your father’s obstinate insistence that even if he’d let you play doctor he wouldn’t let you manipulate any of the cells in your body into any kind of usable weapon. Any simple wrong move could make things turn south in the most drastically terrifying of ways. If you went in there, you’d just die, and there’d be more casualties, more trouble, more problems caused by you and you alone.

You can’t even call your father, either. That would always be your last resort— because even if you fought, you still needed him to rest. You didn’t want him overexerting himself by using his cursed technique at all.

(You were selfish. You didn’t want to lose your father. You didn’t want to have to visit not one but two parents lying sick and tired and grey in matching hospital beds.)

“Yuuji?” you start, turning to him. “You’re…deathly quiet. Are you okay?”

His lips quiver slightly, a faint whimpering noise coming out of him. Is he crying?

“Yuuji, look at me. Are you okay?” you ask, as gently and softly as you can right now, despite your ragged, unsteady, unathletic-addled breaths. You place a hand on his shoulder, slowly rubbing up and down from his shoulder and crook of his neck to his back. “It’s okay. …Megumi’s a good and… capable, strong person and jujutsu sorcerer. He’ll be okay, and they’ll be okay too. Just… just put your trust in him, okay?”

“I’m sorry, [Name], but I’ve got to go,” he tells you, “You stay here, and call for help or something. I’m sorry, but I’ve just really got to do it!”

He hugs you, quickly, deftly. And then he crosses the gate, leaving you all alone like Megumi did. You wish he’d hug you longer, that you could take care of him for a little longer— it was your last way to be useful now.

Still, there’s someone you could call, now that you remember him.

The emergency contact.

You snatch your phone out, resolute.

“Hello! Gojo Satoru speaking,” the voice on the other line says.

You’ve heard it plenty before by accident.

When Gojo and Megumi are back, Yuuji’s in the form of a figure slung over Gojo’s shoulders like he’s been reply entrenched into slumber, his body seemingly limp and his torso completely bare. There’s barely an ounce of movement in him, except for slow exhales and inhales you can see on his chest. Sasaki and Iguchi are both nearly the same, the former covered in bruises and in a deep, panicked haze, and the latter as asleep as Yuuji seemed to be while harbouring injuries he may never recover from.

The only non-roughed up one here is Gojo, it seems; Megumi has a stream of blood running from the top of his head in rivulets, staining his sweaty, scraped forehead.

“Wh— you two, what happened? Why are they all asleep? What happened to Yuuji? Are they okay? What—”

“Calm down, kid,” Gojo says, “They’ll be fine. I mean, there’s a 100% chance that your friend can be executed, but…”

“Executed?” you almost scream, “What the hell happened? You said things would be okay!”

“Uh-uh, again, calm down. I mean, we don’t even know when they’re gonna make him kick the bucket! He ate Sukuna’s finger, by the way.” He holds his arms up in faux surrender.

“Gojo you ignorant slut! Don’t you fucking dare tell me to ‘calm down!’ He ate Sukuna’s finger? Why weren’t you able to stop anything? What’s going to happen to him now? You know what— give him to me!”

“You know, it’s not like I’m scared of being hunted down by your father if you use your cursed technique— I mean, I’m leagues stronger than him— but the stuff was too strong. It’s not like you’ll be able to get rid of the finger in your little boyfriend.”

“He’s not her boyfriend!” Megumi interjects.

“Thank you, Megumi!” Your face is going hot like a campfire fanned by the wind.

“Oh?” Gojo adds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Anyway, we’re going to get him to a place where we can cover everything with talismans to surround him.”

They’re going to execute him at Jujutsu High after.

“I’m coming with you.”

“You sure?” Gojo asks, “Your father isn’t going to like you travelling so far away without telling him.”

Megumi shifts, a little sombre. “[Name], you don’t have to.”

“...I’m doing this for Yuuji, not for you.”

“You okay?” Gojo asks while the three of you are back in the hospital. (You hate this building so much.) Iguchi’s been transferred to a ward, Sasaki having woken up and insisting on staying with him. “I’ve got kikufuku if you want some. You must be really tired since it’s so late, huh?”

The whole situation is so incredulous you’re unsure of whether you want to burst out laughing or dismember someone.

“...nothing. Wait, let me see Yuuji again.”

Everyone is asleep, it seems— all except for you and Gojo. Yuuji’s been knocked out, and Megumi’s stuck in the world of his dreams.

You can’t sleep. There’s just nothing to put your mind at rest.

At least if there’s one thing you can do it’s this.

Gojo picks him up by the sides of his torso (now temporarily clothed with a spare white shirt) like a child with a heavy book. “Woah— he’s pretty heavy for a fifteen year old kid.”

You lay Yuuji face-up on the line of hospital chairs. There are thin scarlet marks right under his eyes— Sukuna’s eyelids, you’ve been told.

You should’ve done more to protect him.

Slowly, reticently, you kneel by the side of the chairs. You press your fingertips onto that pair of thin tiny lines.

Nothing happens. You can’t picture his cells being able to grow back. It’s as if there’s been a slit on his face and its outline has been replaced with brand-new skin. His cells don’t budge.

“Why don’t you help Megumi? I bet he’s got plenty of healable injuries.”

“…I don’t think I’ll be able to help much. I could faint if I try helping him now. It’s better to leave it to Dr Ieiri or something.”

“Pft,” he scoffs, “Shoko? She’s definitely not going to heal all of him. It’ll just be a waste of her time. You can just help him with the tiny scrapes and bruises first. And I’ll even tell her that you did it. She’s really fond of you, you know.”

You give him a shy, modest smile. “Thanks, then.”

It’s time to get to work.

Megumi’s skin is smooth like a baby’s just like the last time you felt it, though the frown on his face, ever-present, is bound to cause wrinkles there in less than a few decades’ time. You place your hands on him, bruised and bloody, watching in your mind and directing his cells as they work.

Once the smaller injuries have been dealt with, you stop. “I can’t really work on the one on his head, since then you’d get another fainted person to carry around, but he should be fine with some bandages and patching-up there, because I’ve already kind of catalysed the start of that area’s healing process a little. Other than that, he should be completely fine. I’ll give it, say… two weeks or so for it to get better completely.”

“Good work!” he smiles, the outline of his cheeks visible on his blindfold.

“By the way, Mr Gojo…”

“You know, I appreciate the respect you’re giving me now, but just Gojo is fine.”

“Okay, Gojo. Do you think Yuuji will be okay?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. And I’m going to ask them to suspend his sentence. I’ll just see whether he wants that or not once he wakes up.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure if he even will.”

Gojo laughs. “Don’t worry. He was really strong, and able to switch between being possessed by Sukuna and being himself at will. We haven't seen that kind of talent in a millennia! I’m sure they’ll listen to me, anyway.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. Thank goodness. “If you need any type of payment, um… teleport to my house whenever you get inconvenient little cuts like bruises and stuff. I can help.”

“Nah, reverse cursed technique’s got me covered.”

“Oh, wait— I forgot about that— um… I can…”

“Just leave it to me! No payment required,” he exclaims, holding both thumbs up. “And for the record, the one who wanted to save Yuuji was actually Megumi.”

You wouldn’t have imagined that would happen. Megumi— pragmatic, serious, unkind when he needs to be (no matter how kind of a person he actually is— no, was— at heart), different from Tsumiki in so many ways. There was no way he would have been the one vouching for Yuuji, someone he’d only just met, to be spared.

“Really?” you ask, “I… wouldn’t have thought he was the one who would do it. I thought, maybe, you were just… really kind tonight or something…”

“Well, maybe it was because he saw how much you cared about Itadori and did it for you, or maybe he had met Itadori, liked him, and just wanted to save a good person,” Gojo suspects, “But if there’s one thing for sure it’s that your old friend saved your new one.”

“...oh.”

You’ll have to bring it up with him next time— maybe, if he’s still there tomorrow…

“I know you’re mad at him, but a lot has happened,” Gojo states, voice lower, softer like a schoolteacher’s, “Still, I won’t tell you that you have to give him a chance or any of that. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to thank him or anything. I’m sure he did it out of his own volition without expecting anything from you. He knew he probably didn’t deserve to if it were you.”

You pause. “No, it’s just… I’ll talk to him again the next time I see him. Alone, most likely. And I can figure something out. I think that would be the best way to go around things. Thank you, Gojo.”

18-6-2018

The aftershocks are still there, although you’ve come out unscathed.

Last night was a mingled mess, a blur. You’d tried your best to help Iguchi by the time Yuuji was placed in the room of talismans and you could come back to the hospital and visit, but in the end he still needed better help than that. His injuries were too large of scale for how you were at that moment, already tired after healing some of the numbers done on Megumi.

(You were useless. You couldn’t help anyone. You couldn’t prevent Yuuji from being hit with such soul-striking guilt., couldn’t help Sasaki from being traumatised, couldn’t help Iguchi enough for him to be back at school soon—)

Sasaki’s injuries were limited to bruises and scrapes, but though you could help her physically, there was nothing you could do to assist her emotionally.

You stayed with them for a few hours in the ICU and then one of the hospital wards (a floor under your mother’s), your father calling you once the sun had risen.

“Gojo Satoru told me about everything that happened.”

“Yeah. I know you’ll scold me, but… not now. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” You hang up.

For all you spoke of wanting to be useful, the night when your powers were needed the most was when you were at your most useless— you couldn’t help them, you couldn’t help attack the cursed spirits, and the only thing you could do was call for an adult’s help like a little, scared and helpless girl.

You needed to train, and train harder than you had been doing for the past few years.

There’s a knock on the door, a dot-dot-dot-dot-dot. dot dot. It’s Yuuji, you know it is. How ever could you not?

Timidly, movements quiet like the room itself, you pull the door knob, seeing him there, relatively unscathed. You sigh in relief, a moment’s respite before you return to the panic you had been living in before since you deserve the respite less than other people do— no, you don’t deserve such a break at all, you’re absolutely sure of that, not after what you pulled, how horribly and utterly useless you were, you’ll remind yourself of that again and again and again— the heart-piercing guilt and the worry and the constant need to care for the people around you, almost like a mother, maybe, but you don’t like that thought as much as you think you should. Maybe if your own mother knew, she’d disagree— maybe she’d tell you that you should be a mother, maybe she’d ignore that you were also a child at certain times— the most convenient ones, probably. When she thinks it good that you, a child, were someone’s caretaker because women should take pride in and appreciate that, she would encourage you to be one; when she thinks it bad that as a caretaker and a so-called ‘adult’ you can have your own autonomy, agency and opinions, then maybe she’d remind you that in her eyes you knew nothing of the world. But maybe, just maybe, there was also a chance that she wouldn’t be like that in any way.

But you wouldn’t put it past her.

“Yuuji, are you okay?” There are questions about to spill out of you, tears about to fall like gushing rivers, but you’re just happy he’s alive at this point.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. Your chest twinges; it hurts like an awful, intransigent little bruise. “Hi, [Name].” It feels so unignorable, the way it’s filled with such sorrow and worry that it weighs his usually loud and boisterous voice down.

“I thought that—” you start, lips trembling, “I thought there was a chance I couldn’t lose you. The only thing I could do was—” you sniffle, “Hope that they could delay it or something.”

“Yeah. I’ll explain it later,” he says, his voice sincere.

You squeeze the wrist of his sleeve. “Don’t do things like that ever again,” you plead, “Promise me that at least.”

“I promise.”

“And keep your promises.”

“I will.”

“...want to come inside?”

He walks inside, and you step back to make way for him.

“Sorry I came so late,” he says to you and Sasaki, who shakes her head in reassurance. “Hello, Sasaki,” he greets, “Is Iguchi okay?”

They speak for a while— you don’t feel like it’s much of your right to join their conversation, since you did nearly nothing at all when they were most in danger, so you leave them be for a while. It would be better not to bother them right now, anyway. They’ve both been traumatised until it reached beneath their bones within the past twenty-four hours.

When you leave the hospital, Sasaki tells you that she’s going to stay. You tell her to take care, squeezing her hand one final time.

You let her, patting her on the back. You’ll call them later— she’d given you her contact— just to check on the two of them.

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask Yuuji.

“Oh, Fushiguro? I’m not too sure, but that Gojo guy said he’ll be there soon.”

“Where, though?”

Sheepishly, in peak Yuuji fashion, he scratches the back of his neck. “Actually, another reason why I came here was also because… I mean, I know you and him weren’t close, but I’m going to the place where they’ll keep Grandpa’s ashes, and I think… you know, you could come with me. I… I don’t think I’d be able to do it really well alone, even though he had definitely made it clear he seriously didn’t want me moping around after his death and all. Gojo and Megumi will probably be there, but I thought it would be better if you were there because I know you better than those two, and you’re my friend. So… could you come with me? I know that he never really showed it, but I think he had always liked you a lot. Like, he was happy we were friends and stuff.”

“...mhm. I’ll always be happy about that,” you tell him, before pulling him into a hug. The guy must need one right now. You’ve never hugged him before. Your heart hurts.

The air is hot and humid with the breath of summer, bundles of mosquitoes bound to be breeding new ones these next few weeks. Up in the sky is the sun, bold and bright, glaring down harshly at the two of you.

“Before he passed away, Grandpa actually said something. He… kind of cursed me, if I’m being honest,” Yuuji starts. “He said I was a strong kid, so I should help people. And I’m going to do that. So that was why when Gojo asked if I wanted to be executed immediately or just eat all the fingers before dying, I chose the second option. I… I think I want to help people that way.”

‘You’ve already helped people enough. You helped me,’ you almost tell him.

You frown, because that’s the only thing you can do right now. You search for words to say the same way you do looking for dog books in libraries chock-full with those of other genres. “I’m… disappointed, I— I know I should be grateful, grateful that you’re still going to be alive and all, but… you’re still going to be in danger, and you’re still going to be executed one day. I mean, again, I know I should be happy you’re going to have more time alive and that I can still see you, but what if things don’t go as planned? What if you lose control of yourself once you reach, like, the fifth finger or something?”

You’re selfish like that. In a way, you’re just the way your mother is. You should’ve always known— you were her beloved daughter after all, and the people you know would be loved the same way she did you since the day she knew of your existence, and maybe even before that.

“Don’t worry,” he grins, wide as always. Even in an over-enveloping darkness he still manages to be the light. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a strong kid, after all. And we’ll always be friends!”

Gojo asks if he and Yuuji can talk in private for a while. You wonder if this was how your mother felt as she had to give the person she loved most away (but you will have to go away, one day), because you can briefly tell what Gojo is going to ask. You wonder if she felt this twice.

Yuuji can’t stay with you forever. In the same way you can’t remain by your mother and father’s sides for all eternity.

This won’t be the last time you’re here, you think. For a place of death, it’s quite a bit beautiful how there’s such large masses of grass and plants surrounding it.

Megumi nearly walks past you, his eyes on the old photographs of the deceased all around him.

“Megumi.”

He turns around.

“I just wanted to thank you for wanting to save my friend, even if you may not have wanted to do it for me, specifically… um… I didn’t expect that you’d still be here. Are your injuries okay?”

“I’m okay,” he answers you. “And also, I…” he hesitates, the first time he’s talked to you for something actually related to the two of you in a long time— nearly two years if you’re counting correctly, but the thoughts in your head are a bit too jumbled to count at the moment. “I didn’t really do it for you, though. It… it was for Tsumiki.”

“Oh.”

“Wait! I’m sorry, that didn’t… come out right. But I should also apologise for something else. You wouldn’t have been thrown into this world anyway if not for my own demon dogs years ago.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault. And I would have wanted to be in it anyway. There’s not many who can heal other people and all, so I just thought… even if I can’t do as much yet, since I don’t have reversed cursed technique and the drawbacks that come from mine are really bad, I can still help people sometimes if they’re dealing with relatively minor injuries. I can, um… make things easier for people. I can be useful like that. I’d keep to it anyway, because I’m stubborn, but… yeah. It wasn’t your fault, really.”

“Okay. That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m happy to know that Tsumiki is okay.”

Silence again for a while. The air turns a little more sombre, and a lot more awkward.

“She is. And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

“I do. He’s a really good friend. If there’s something I’ll always know I know that, at least.”

“I can see that. It doesn’t seem like he loves you back in the same way, though.”

“...wow. Way to be blunt, Megumi. And yes, I do know that, too.”

“Let’s just… change the subject.”

“You’re the one who introduced it in the first place.”

“Okay. How… how are you?”

“I’m good. Wait, I think you should… go back to them. Maybe they’ll need you there right about now. He’s probably going to have to go to Jujutsu High, right?”

He pauses. “Yeah. I’m sorry, [Name].”

“No, no. That’s okay. I expected it. It’s just that I’ll miss him a lot,” you tell him, “He took care of me, kind of. You know I’ve always been a bit of an awkward or shy person, but he still approached me since I was new and we ended up hitting off as friends, kind of. We did a lot of stuff together.”

Sounds pretty familiar, huh.

“If you want I can make sure he’s safe for you.”

“...you should be able to do that regardless of whether it’s my wish for you to do so or not…” you state, “But that would help, I guess. And I’m sorry for my attitude towards you for the past few hours or so. Thank you again.”

“...I’m sorry I never spoke to you for so long, by the way,” he says abruptly. ‘By the way’? Classic Megumi…

“I could tell you were. It’s… it’s okay. The two of you kind of have a habit of doing that.”

All your rage, your loneliness, your feelings of abandonment— and this is all you can do. This is all you can say. You can only just let it go, in the end.

“I’ll explain it all one day.”

“You don’t have to if it’s hard.”

He stays. “No, I will. I promise. And I promise I’ll start to talk to you again, as well. I was just… scared of a few things, maybe.”

“That’s okay.”

The two of you aren’t quite friends again yet, but it’ll happen soon. Maybe. And even if it doesn’t, you’re finally able to say, with an open, honest heart, that that doesn’t matter as much anymore.

“I guess this is goodbye again, then.”

“Not really.”

“Oh, right— promise to keep in touch, okay? My patience is running thin with you,” you chuckle at that last part, attempting to joke and make things lighter again.

“Promise.”

“I’m going to go home now, by the way. Please tell Yuuji that I wish him the best and I’ll visit when I have my own money to visit Tokyo and all.”

“I will.”

“And help me say goodbye to him for me,” you add, “Hope that’s not too much for you to do. Sorry for the trouble. It’s just that I’d actually just about cry if I had to do it in real time right in front of him. Be good to him and be good friends, okay? Keep that promise, at the very least. That’s the one thing that I wish for the most.”

“Bye, Megumi.” You turn back in the direction opposite of his.

“Wait—!”

His hand is on your wrist. Now you’re in front of him, like yesterday, and he’s holding your wrist, albeit a bit gentler than the way he used to pull it a whole eight years ago.

His eyes are cast away from you, slightly avoidantly and in a way that’s a bit abashed. “I’ll miss you, [Name].”

“It won’t even feel like I’m not there,” you say. Though his grip is slightly tight, he loosens it as soon as you try to slide it up, as if he’d let you be free of it if you want him to.

You squeeze his hand instead, turning to face him. It feels warm. It feels like there’s blood coursing through you, the sensation more tender and tangible than it’s ever been.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, [Name]. I’ll… I’ll call.”

“Thank you.”

Now you’re the one slipping away from his grasp. You move your hand away and walk back. The door slides open.

2010. Springs, summers, autumns, winters. Hands on wrists, a back faced to your eyes, wide with innocence. Warmth and laughter and happiness and love. Days coloured with vibrant hues and time spent with dog books and in libraries. Frowns were greeted with smiles. Hesitance was non-existent. You didn’t feel a need to compensate for your uselessness. You were a child. You didn’t feel useless at all. You just felt this: a constant leaping in your heart, the corners of your mouth twisting up into a juvenile grin, braiding someone’s beautiful brown hair and tying it with a pretty cherry hair tie.

You want to cry as you walk back home.

You’re pretty sure you do.

taglist:

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(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

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oogalaboogalabich · 2 days

Text

More Durgetash filth for you :) w/ canon durge.

Enver is feeling dominant tonight, more than that, he needs to rid himself of some pent up rage and you are all too happy to oblige him.

He has been wailing on you fairly hard. Fierce and merciless while you arent even bound, tempting danger more than you usually dare. However, your caution seems unwarranted for once.

You are completely blissed out in the sauce though and he cant get the reaction out of you he wants. He wants you to fight back. But that isnt going to happen today. For whatever reason, youre so relaxed under his brutality you fear you may actually drift off into sleep, despite the very very real beating youre getting.

Hes exhausted himself and youre just smiling up at him and bleeding. Its utterly infuriating. Entirely enchanting.

Gortashs good arm is shaking from exhertion and he looks cross as he does pleased.

"I was hoping for a little more fight from you, bhaalspawn."

"Feels too good" your chest is heaving with your ragged breath, your voice seeping from your throat like gravel and chocolate. "Dont want to scream..." Almost soothing enough to ease his ire. He wanted you to cry out today. needed it. Its so rare for enver to be in the mood for this. you feel a twinge of guilt, however small it is. But your still floating in a world off in your own right now, only half present.

"An exchange then." He tosses the tawse to the side and taps a crop under your chin a moment later, lifting it. "What is it you want, beast? How am i to wrench a scream from that pretty blue tongue?"

Your grin resembles more of a snarl, what for him pulling you out of your reverie. He asked you a question. You try to recall, but seconds ago may as well be hours.

"I asked you...*tap* what *tap* you *tap* want."

You stare up at him, and drink in his features. You do your best to ignore the red hot whispers of blood and death as they swirl and circle in from the corners of your mind, no longer silenced by the haze of Envers lash.

His lips have always been your favorite feature of his. Something forbidden to you for fear of destroying his greatest weapon in your teeth. Thin above with a lower lip that creates a meaty little pout whenever hes not scowling or smiling outright.

Your teeth are too sharp for him. Always. A healing spell could fix the damage, but it is his one prevailing fear. The loss of his voice, the use of his talented tongue, his ability to command.

An intolerable sacrifice he would never give freely. But he doesnt offer freely. Not tonight.

You speak before you mean to.

"A kiss."

Envers eyes visibly darken at that, if thats even possible.

"A kiss..." His smirk is one of incredulous surprise. His tone mocking, sardonic. He rolls his eyes, but looks so beyond pleased with this answer that it concerns you. you dont understand why, and you dont dare question him now...not until you have your answer at least.

"Please..." you dont speak this time. It comes out as little more than a rumble in your chest. As soft as it is, you sound positively feral, even by your own judgement. "Just one....gods PLEASE Enver."

Envers eyes have gone wide, his breath following a quicker rhythem than before. He knew he wanted this, despite his fears, he wants it as much as you.

The silence lasts far too long.

"Hold out your sword arm..."

"Env-" your jaw aches from the sting of the crop across it. You try to reign in your grin, to hide the teeth that enver would see...would remember and then deny you your wish. But your scailed lips peel back anyway, and your tongue lolls past them as your claws dig groves in the stone floor.

You lift your arm.

"Palm up...." you obey without question this time. He traces the crop in circles around the center of your palm. "An eye for an eye...as always with you isnt it?"

You draw in a breath that shudders with you.

"A weapon..." his tongue wets the corner of his lower lip. "...for a weapon."

You had never once begged him before. Not. once. Demanded, yes. Sarcastically denied any interest? Of course. Spent hours and hours on his knees in submission? Oh absolutely.

But this....this was better than he could have hoped for. A bhallspawn, the purest flesh of his gods mortal enemy.

Offering his own unholy hand in sacrifice for the kiss of a Tyrant.

Ten blows. Ten beautiful savage, flesh tearing strikes of twisted iron to your palm.

Each one alone is not enough, but by the time he reaches number seven, you can feel the very marrow in your bones beginning to bruise.

The eighth has you roaring at him like the animal he loves to reduce you to.

The nineth is aknowledgeable agony, something so deep even you cannot deny that little pleasure can be had from it. And you wonder if any kiss is worth this until you see the look on his face. Youve finally given him what he wanted. Its better than he could have imagined, hearing not a cry or a scream, but the gutteral roar of his dragonborn pet.

The tenth....gods but the tenth blow takes so long to come. You kneel there, shaking, anxious...eager even, despite the knowledge that the final blow will be far worse than any before.

And it is. Its saring white hot and blinding as the kiss that follows before you even realize youve been hit. You feel his gauntlets cutting under your jaw as he presses his lips to yours. You dont expect anything more than that. Enver has never once allowed even this. Too intimate.

You are both already so dangerously close to blasphemy every time you even look at each other.

But then you feel it, his tongue, gliding in past wicked teeth and coaxing yours to join it. You dare not move your jaw except to open it further at his behest, letting him do as he pleases. You feel it caress and flick freely with the enthusiasm and lack of skill one would expect from someone who doesnt normally allow themselves such indignity, especially as messy as this. You want to bite. Hells you must. Not. Bite. But gods hes got your tongue between those lips and-

And hes gone. You whine at the loss and care little that you must sound disgustingly pitiful. open your eyes to see him standing, smirking above you. His hair sticks to his cheeks and forehead, dripping with sweat same as what of his chest you are privilaged to see through the laces of his shirt. His gauntlets must be sweltering for him.

Indeed you can see moisture dripping from his wrists from under the golden cuffs. Its a wonder he was able to grip the crop so tightly.

He rakes a hand through his hair and slicks it back. Something you only ever see when on your knees...or when you have him on his.

He tosses the crop to the floor, unceremonious and callous as ever.

"Clean yourself up..." and meet him in the boudoir. the silent half of the command is present enough in the strained nature of his exit.

You dare only move when the door closes behind him, leaving you alone in his office.

You groan and collapse, rolling onto your back as a chuckle escapes you. You lift your hand to inspect it.

Your hide is only mildly bruised. The discoloration negligible.

but the damage beneath sings to you, makes your throat thrum in thick, plucking clicks of your vocal chords that resemble a purr.

You give your fingers an experimental flex, and suck in a hiss of air when your palm sends agony all the way up to your elbow.

Every flick of your blade for the next tenday, every sacrifice to Bhaal would be tainted by the taste of Banes chosen. The memory of the reward given for your tribute. Your sacrifice, mild as it is.

A sliver of dread slips into the back of your mind, and yet....you smile.

"Forgive me, Father..."

Worth it. So worth it.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #durgetash #gortash x durge #the dark urge

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hannahssimblr · 2 days

Text

The nights of the last gasp of study season seem as though they go on forever, and as I watch the clock on the wall of Michelle's cluttered dining room, I could swear on my life that time is slowing down. It takes an hour for five minutes to pass, while the numbers on the maths book in my hands seem to merge together into some sort of mathematical soup right in front of my eyes.

For some reason, with Michelle and Jen nattering history facts to one another on the other side of the table, I think about Alison and what she might be doing right now on the eve of the summer exams. Is she pulling an all-nighter too? Maybe, but not for studying. Alison hardly needed to study at all, that’s how clever she was. Even in those party frenzied days of early winter when she and I would pop a molly and stay up until dawn gurning she would still appear in class the next day and answer the teachers questions perfectly with a bored nonchalance about her while I sweated in the seat behind her, fighting a battle that I would inevitably lose to the boys toilets by the eleven o’clock break.

Alison won’t be studying, but maybe she’s popped a molly without me and is dancing somewhere, singing along to whatever pop song is charting right now and whipping her fiery hair about while I sit here for the eighth night in a row, making my way steadily through a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits that I foraged from the Tengu’s pantry.

Maybe she’s even getting laid. I peer across the table at Jen and Michelle, pulling faces at one another and arguing over their bullet points for the battle of Stalingrad, and am struck with a reminder of the barren wasteland my sex life has become. It’s been months since I’ve been touched by someone who wasn’t myself and the outlook looks bleak. It’s doubtful that will change any time soon, so while there is every chance Alison is having sex literally right now, the chances for me are worse than being stuck down by a thunderbolt.

Debra, pokes her head through the door, “I’m off to bed now, loves, is there anything you need before I go?”

Michelle rifles through a handful of flashcards, “No, mam, we’re fine.”

“Right well, don’t stay up too late.”

“Uh, it’s an all-nighter. That means we’re staying up all night.”

“Well alright, Michelle, there’s no need to take that tone with me.”

“I’m not taking a tone, I'm just explaining something to you.”

“Well I feel like you’re taking a tone, Michelle, and I don’t appreciate it, especially in front of your friend.”

“Him? He’s Jen’s friend, and by the way-”

“Alright!” Jen interrupts, “Goodnight, Debra, we’ll see you in the morning.”

Debra steps back into the living room with a hassled, “Goodnight.”

I glance at Michelle, who stares back at me with the same naked fury simmering in her eyes that has been there since the library, daring me to speak to her, but I couldn't be bothered to traverse that landscape. Not a hope. These days I only speak to her when strictly necessary. I turn back to my books and start pencilling out another equation.

As the night drags on, my eyelids become weighty as my focus slowly wavers, and Jen, in tandem, becomes lethargic in her seat, head lolling over the back of it, bleary eyes on the cornicing on the ceiling as though they hold the answers to the questions that Michelle is grilling her with. She will resign soon. I flip a page of my maths book and reach for another chocolate biscuit, only for my hand to connect with empty packaging. Did I really eat all that? Oh well, I’m still growing.

My voice is croaky from disuse when I speak, “You have other snacks?”

Michelle acknowledges me reluctantly, “Cupboard above the microwave.”

I raid her kitchen for half a packet of cheese tortillas, some penguin bars and some salted peanuts. At the back of the cupboard I spy Michelle’s precious Nutella, of which she started a war against her parents over during those fraught early days of her break up, and for some strange, vengeful moment I feel compelled to unscrew the lid and dunk my whole finger in it, lick it clean and then toss it back, hoping that by the time she notices what I have done I’ll be long gone.

I return and throw a penguin bar across the spread of papers to Jen, who misses and it thwacks against the wall behind her. She groans at the prospect of picking it up, shifting her body like it is composed of lead and slumping to half heartedly scoop it from the floorboards with limp fingers. “I’m sleepy,” she groans, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Michelle is stern, “You’re not sleepy, you’re fine, just have more sugar.”

“No, I am. I can’t think anymore. I feel drunk.”

“Come on, Jenny,” I say with gentle encouragement as she hoists herself like a sack of potatoes back into the chair, “You can manage, just another hour, huh?”

“An hour? It’s already three in the morning. I can’t.”

Michelle places a hand on Jen’s, still clutching the chocolate, “We just have a few more things to get through, just to make sure we really have the best chance of good marks tomorrow, yeah?”

“And I’m, like, eighty percent through this maths stuff,” I chime in, “I want to have a look over quadratic equations and then just do a quick refresh on trig…”

Jen looks at us as though we’ve gone insane, “Then study that stuff,” she says incredulously, “I’m not stopping you.”

Michelle and I exchange guilty looks.

“Why do you need me here to study? Are you afraid to be alone in the same room or something? God.”

Jen’s eyes are sunken and heavy, her makeup smudged from where she has been rubbing them, the same way she did as a child when everything got too much for her. “If you don’t let me sleep I am going to break down crying, so either study on your own or stop studying, I don’t care.” She heaves herself from the table and staggers towards the door, “Goodnight, losers. Talk or don’t talk, I couldn’t give less of a shit,” and with a yank on the french doors she is gone.

And the clock ticks.

And a page flips.

And we don’t say a word.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2009 #eeep!#i haven't done an exam in like?? 12 years??#do not miss this at all #tw: drug mention #tw: sex mention

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posts-from-employee-427 · 2 years

Text

Sometimes a man reaches such a state of boredom that he must rethink the laws he's put in place just to keep things interesting.

So while we're at it give me suggestions of what I should say, out loud, to the narrator to throw him off.

#im not gonna do it till i have a good one #personally im fond of the idea of just beating him to the punch on one of his lines #and then continuing on like nothing happened #just see where that gets me #but i want to hear what you all think #if i do that i also have to decide if i say it in my regular voice or in a mocking one #good lord the possibilities #i still hold that i am above speaking to him #and that he will absolutely be obnoxious afterwards about getting me to talk #but good god how boring things would get if i didnt do something big to shake it up now #hell probably forget in a few runs anyway #he wont but if i tell myself that i can look past the fact that i am going against one of my biggest principles out of boredom #granted its what feels like several thousand years worth of built up never ending repeating inescapable boredom #but nonetheless

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emmyrosee · 2 months

Text

Sukuna hates how petty you can get when you’re fighting.

There is a part of him that loves your stubbornness, sure, like when you huff at him and make him work for your affection, but right now, you’re on day three of the silent treatment, and he’s losing it.

You enter a room and he’s already in it, you leave. You’re talking to yuuji and he comes in, you stop talking immediately. You haven’t been staying the night anymore, and you haven’t given him a kiss goodbye any time you’ve left. Even his ma is questioning what he did wrong, and he can’t give her a concrete answer.

He’s losing it.

Hes spammed texted you, he’s been trapping you in rooms by leaning in the doorframe, he’s been trying to get yuuji to be his messenger, but nothings working. You’re not biting.

“You’re over complicating this,” yuuji shakes his head and thumbing through channels. “Literally just apologize.”

“At this point I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for!”

“Well they’re on their way over, thinking you’re going to apologize, so you’d better figure it out.”

“You’ve been an immense help, thank you, asshole.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door, and when Sukuna takes a deep breath and answers it, you nearly spin on your heel to leave.

“Oh I don’t think so,” he snips, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the house and trying not to focus on how you’re not even fighting against him, and that’s how indifferent you are to him. “We’re talking. Like it.”

“Hey dawg!” Yuuji cheers, clicking off the tv and waving. You wave back, your streak of not talking in front of Sukuna continuing. The younger chuckles, “I’ll let the adults duke it out. See ya!”

The room fills with silence as yuuji leaves, making Sukuna immensely uncomfortable. The way you’re looking at him has him uncomfortable, you’re making him so uncomfortable, and he just wishes you’d toss your pride to the side and talk to him and cuss him out or something.

“You look… good.”

Nothing.

“I’ve missed you.”

Nada.

“I made out with someone else because I got sick of you ignoring me.”

You scowl at him.

“Okay, I was lying. I was hoping you’d cuss me out.”

No dice.

“You’re acting like a fucking child!” He takes a deep breath in to try and ground himself, and you merely watch him with a hurt expression.

Okay. That didn’t help his situation.

“Fucks sake,” he grumbles, making a move to guide you backwards. He’s got you backed into a wall, hands on your shoulders while your arms stay nonchalantly crossed.

“I don’t get why you’re so mad at me; what did I even do?” He snaps, leaning close to your face threateningly.

You blink unamused.

Oh.

You’re gonna speak alright. He’s gonna make sure of it.

“Speak.”

You merely look him up and down and turn your head.

“Talk! Now!”

You let a tired exhale through your nose pass.

“I said i was sorry, and i know you know that was hard for me, why am i still being punished by you?” It’s bait to make you mad and talk, he knows he hasn’t apologized to the most sincere of his ability, but he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Maybe I’ll tickle ya, how about that?”

That, does, have your eyes widening but you still don’t spare him a breath. He smirks, “I’d bet you’d hate that, huh? Holding in all that laughter and begs for me to stop, knowing I’m not going to until you talk to me… and I’ll do it too. You know that.”

You merely cross your arms over your chest tighter.

He shrugs, “you asked for it.”

And he’s gotta say, he’s impressed with how little you’re fighting back from him scooping you in his arms and tossing you on the couch, straddling you, even taking your two wrists in his massive paw and holding them above your head. Your lips wobble in anticipation, and he’s got you booked now. “Any last words? A quick ‘I hate you,’ maybe?”

You blink, bored, almost calling his bluff, and he comes up to smack his face in frustration. He wasn’t actually bluffing, he did have full intentions of making you scream, but he was so sure you’d crack under his gaze, even a quick kick to him as he was adjusting your body.

No dice.

With a shrug, hands come down quickly to tickle the meat of your ribs, settling in the dips and scratching at the bones maddeningly. He sees your lip become wobblier, and he smirks down at you. “Nothing? Not even a giggle? You must be pissed at me.”

You screw your eyes shut to ignore him and he clicks his tongue, “now you can’t even look at me? That sucks.”

He leans down to nibble at your neck and ear, whispering little words against your skin to make you squeak. But it isn’t until he cheats and uses his mouth to blow a raspberry on your sensitive neck, an area he’s so used to pressing loving kisses to, that you finally crack.

“YOURE SO CHEAP!” You scream, followed by a flurry of laughter and struggling from his tight hold. Your laugh is whiny and desperate, feet digging into the couch while his fingers merely slither up and under your arms.

He smirks against your skin, “gotcha.”

“Fuck off!” You squeal, tugging as hard as you can in his grasp. “Stohop it!”

“Are you gonna keep ignoring me?” He asks. You shake your head back and forth, but he cocks a brow. “Is that a no? Are we going to talk about your issues with me, or am I going to have to tickle you for the next few hours?”

“HOURS?!” You howl.

He shrugs, “you ignored me for three days, least I deserve is to tickle you until you sob.”

“I wasn’t-“ you’re cut off by a flurry of your own giggles. “This isn’t-“ a few more yowls of your laughter when he digs in more. “FUCK OFF!”

“Nah,” he snickers. “This is more fun.” He does, however, stop his torment and pulls back, but he does look down at you impatiently. “Speak,” he echos from earlier.

You let out a few more titters slip past your lips, but you do sober up slightly, “you don’t even care that I was mad at you.”

“Uh, I was about to tickle you until you died, I think I cared too much-“

“No, Sukuna. You just didn’t want me to be mad. You never apologized and you never even bothered to try and make it better…”

This, oddly, has Sukuna’s heart twisting, squeezed with emotions and realization that he did mess up, pride couldn’t save him now and if he wanted to fix this, he’d have to prove it.

He sighs in truce, “I’m sorry, babe.”

“….”

“What?”

“That’s it?”

He rolls his eyes, “what else do you want me to say?”

“I want you to care that I was hurt!” You whine, raising on your elbows. “I want you to understand I was hurt, that you messed up! Not be so prideful and not admit it!”

“Alright, alright, jeez,” he groans. He locks eyes with you, and he knows you’re not going to like it, but he leans down to kiss you, using his two hands to cup your jaw, letting his thumbs stroke your bone lovingly. “I’m sorry. It must’ve sucked having to deal with my shitty ass apologies before. I never should’ve pulled that shit, and I hated not having you by my side.”

This, has you softening.

He presses another kiss to you, “I missed your laughter. I missed you scolding me. I missed you being sarcastic… don’t pull that silent treatment shit again, will ya?”

You hum happily, “don’t piss me off and I won’t have to.”

He blinks unamused, and as the thought of tickling you again crosses his mind, you lean up to kiss his lips giggling softly in the warmth. “I’m kidding. You and I both know you’re not going to stop pissing me off.”

“Love when you answer your own demands,” he chuckles.

The tightness in his soul loosens as you submit to his affections, and he does make a mental note to never piss you off so bad again where you go back to happy to never talk to him again. He hates it more than even he knows, drags him down and he feels like he’s missing a crucial part of himself.

But it is good to know he can get you back out of that funk.

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tojirights · 2 months

Note

I'm sure we've all the "Alastor in a rut" fics but can I mix it up a little and request Alastor in a rut and so needy he's willing to give reader control?

a/n: omg baby's first rut, spawned by his attraction to you and he doesn't know how to get it to stop so he asks for help? :'))) i am def a subby person but every now and then i can write our mens being the needy ones 🩷

tags: 18+ smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, alastor cums a lot

you had an unexpected knock at your door late at night after you'd already gotten into bed, and at first you ignore it. then, it happens again. you groan and throw off the blanket, about to get up when alastor appears from the shadows next to your feet.

you go to scream, not even able to comprehend who or what is grabbing you in the darkness, but there's a hand covering your mouth before you can do so. there's also something... stiff hitting your back. you calm when you recognize the hand and you take a deep breath when he removes it. "what the hell alastor?" you whisper-yell, spinning around to face him. you barely recognize the demon standing in front of you.

he's disheveled, shuddering, and looks completely exhausted. he's in what you assume he sleeps in, which is an interesting looking robe. "al?" you frown, reaching out to touch him but he grabs your wrist before you can. "please, darling... for your own good, be careful with your next move..." even his voice is shaky. your eyes finally catch his, and you gasp when you see the deep, dark desire seeping through them.

“i need… need you.” he speaks, still breathless and you’re sure you’ve never heard something so sexy. your eyes widen, taking in the fact that alastor's cock is what was poking you when he grabbed you. alastor has barely said anything other than a quick casual sexual remark in your direction the entire time you've been here at the hotel, and now he's asking for your help.

"o-oh um... yes! i mean-" you speak way too fast, embarrassing yourself with how fast you're interested in 'helping' alastor. before you can say anything else, alastor's lips meet yours and you're instantly melting against him. he steps backwards until he's falling flat onto the bed, tugging you on top of him. your hips straddle his, and the friction against his cock has him arching into you. you swear he whines when you grind your hips, that you can feel his cock pulsing under the small layer of clothing.

you've heard of demons going into a rut, but you've never seen alastor acting quite like this. his hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his ears stand more alert. he physically looks... needy. and his breathy pants beneath you only spark your desire to help. you decide to push your luck just a little bit and interlock your fingers with his before pushing them above his head and holding them there while you rub against him.

alastor looks mad at first, that you dare try to pin him down, but the second he feels the sweet drag of your cunt over his barely clothed cock, he almost cums. "please." you're not sure alastor's ever begged for... anything before, but his pleas make your core pulse, heat pooling between your legs. "mmm, please what?" you smirk, watching frustration bubble up in his eyes. "please- i just... i need to be inside of you." he sighs, not putting up as much fuss as you thought.

you hold back a moan of your own, wanting to maintain some semblance of control over alastor, since you're sure this won't happen again. "ah~ good boy." you coo, again watching as something flashes in his eyes that's a mixture of anger and lust. "need you, darling." he pleads, grinding his aching erection against you. biting your lip, you tug off your shirt and wiggle your hips enough to slide down your sleep shorts. "make me cum." he gasps, giving into every carnal desire flooding his system.

as soon as the head of his cock presses against your pussy, he's trying to push you to take it all. "ah ah..." you warn, once more reaching to pin his hands above his head. "i will make you cum. don't move." your tone is strict, and alastor hates how much it makes his cock throb. he'll get you back for this brazen attitude at a later date...

for now, all he can think about is emptying every last drop of his seed deep within your sweet, wet cunt. after an agonizingly slow descent, you find yourself fully sat on his cock. alastor's eyes are shut, his chest heaving as every breath he's holding back the urge to cum. "hey al..." you whisper, leaning down so your nose touches his. alastor swallows, his hips wiggling ever so slightly. "y-yes darling?" he shudders, feeling every inch of your pussy squeezing around his leaking cock.

"cum as many times as you need..." the hitch in his breath is so audible, and all the tension in his body snaps like a twig. "you-" he gasps, legs spasming as he tries not to lose it just yet. "-don't know what you're getting yourself into." it's a warning, and you know that, but your cunt clenches at the idea of spending the rest of the night like this. "use me." you murmur, watching as alastor's eyes roll into the back of his head.

the groan that follows is primal, and you give in to his thrusts from below you. the force pushes you forward, your chest flat against his, every thrust upwards pushes more and more of his seed so deep inside of you. and even with his cock nuzzled deep against your cervix, the amount of cum seeps down his cock and covers your inner thighs.

you expect alastor to look worn out, but he looks even hungrier now. wasting little time, alastor flips the two of you so you're now under him. "now then..." he begins, his head slightly clearer now and he's not going to tolerate your behavior from earlier. "i think i like you beneath me a whole lot better, dear." you bite your lip and smile, mischief forming in your eyes. "i like this too."

the look in alastor's eyes tells you that you won't be getting any more sleep tonight.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel imagines #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin alastor smut #hazbin hotel alastor smut #alastor x reader imagines #hazbin hotel alastor x you #alastor hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut

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jinjeriffic · 3 months

Text

DCxDP Prophecy universe

(Title subject to change)

Sometimes Danny really hated Clockwork. You’ll know him when you see him. “Cryptic and unhelpful as usual”, Danny groused. “You’d think the Master of Time could be a little more descriptive considering it’s his damned errands I’m running here, but noooo! I’m starting to think this whole apprenticeship is just an excuse to foist his busywork off on me.”

Here Danny was, aimlessly flying above the rooftops of Gotham, trying to figure out who he was supposed to be delivering his message to. He had a name, but no description and no location. I’ll know him when I see him my ass. Whoever this Damian Al-Ghul was supposed to be had better stick out like a sore thumb or Danny was never gonna find him. Speaking of…

Danny paused in mid-air. There was someone crouching on a nearby rooftop, peering over the edge. He was young, wearing a red and yellow outfit with a dark hooded cape. He wore a sheathed sword on his back that looked way too real to be part of some casual cosplay. Welp, if this ain’t him then Clockwork picked the wrong errand boy. Now, how best to approach this?

Danny considered his options. The cloak and apprentice staff Clockwork had loaned him gave him a suitably spooky appearance on top of his usual ghostliness but he wasn’t gonna go around scaring kids, armed or not. The friendly approach it is then.

“Hey there!”

Wow, the kid had some good reflexes. At the sound of Danny’s voice he jumped as if electrocuted, spinning around and drawing his sword in one smooth movement. He held the sword in front of himself in a defensive position and his stance showed that he knew how to use it. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.

“Easy there” Danny raised his hands in a placating gesture “I’m just here to deliver a message. I’m looking for someone named Damian Al-Ghul. You wouldn’t happen to be him, right?”

A deepening scowl was his only answer. “I repeat, who the hell are you?”

Danny sighed “Look kid, I’m just trying to do my job here. I have a prophecy to deliver, so if you’re not this Damian fella…” he trailed off invitingly.

“A… prophecy?” the kid hesitated before lowering his sword slightly, scowl still firmly in place.

“Yep” Danny popped the end of the word for emphasis “Phantom, apprentice to the Ghost of Time and part-time delivery spectre, at your service” he threw the kid a mock salute. “My Boss told me to come to Gotham to give a prophecy to you’ll know him when you see him” he dropped his voice to a lower register and made airquotes around the words, “and you’re the only memorable person I’ve seen tonight, so…” Danny spread his arms in exasperation.

The kid hesitated visibly before letting his sword hand drop to his side. “I am the one you’re looking for.”

“Great! Hang on.” Danny pulled a messenger bag out from under his cloak and started rummaging around in it, causing the kid (Damian?) to twitch “Now where did I put..? Aha!” Danny pulled out a faintly glowing envelope in triumph. It had a large purple wax seal on it and Damian Al-Ghul written in elegant cursive across the back. Danny floated closer and held out the envelope to the kid.

“The prophecy… is a letter?” Damian drawled, eyebrows rising in disbelief. Danny shrugged.

“What, did you expect a dancing, singing telegram? I only do those for the really good tippers” he shook the envelope slightly “So, are you gonna take this or what?”

Damian finally reached out and took the letter, turning it over to scrutinise both sides. Danny tucked his bag back under his cloak and rose into the air.

“Right, I’ve got other errands to get done, so… see ya!” he turned to leave.

“Wait”

Danny turned back to face the kid and to his surprise, saw that Damian was holding out some folded bills towards him.

“You know the tipping thing was a joke, right?”

“Tt. I am told it is rude not to tip delivery people” Damian sniffed “I am simply acting within expected social norms”

“Wow, um… okay” Danny took the folded bills from Damian. It looked like it would last him for a couple of good meals and he wasn’t exactly swimming in money, okay? Ghost apprentice wasn’t exactly a paid internship. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome” came the haughty reply.

Danny shrugged and tucked the money into his bag. He rose back into the air with Damian’s eyes tracking his movement. With a wave of his staff, he opened a portal back to Clockwork’s realm and passed through it leaving Gotham behind.

****

Robin’s hand rose to the communicator in his ear.

“Oracle, did you get all that?”

Now has a Part 2!

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #damian wayne #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)

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finniestoncrane · 14 days

Text

Ain't So Bad

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 1.1k i want this man to do horrible things to me, i want him to tell me he'll make sure i'm ok when i know full well he's the most dangerous thing around, he's driving me INSANE anyway i'll have a softer thing for him soon!! 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: dubcon/noncon, restraints, use of 'no' but reader is quick to do as told, restraints, slight threat, gun mention, hair pulling

The sun had thankfully almost set, the long shadows cast by it a welcome relief, though it did mean that night was coming, along with the threats that were its constant companion. But you always assumed you were safe, travelling with your own companion. Especially when that companion was Cooper Howard. Charming, despite his foul attitude that put most people off. Handsome, at least to you, and much to the disappointment of the more ‘reserved’ folks you came across out in the wasteland. And you felt lucky, most of the time, to consider him yours. But you suspected that, while he kept the danger away, that there was a reason for that.

Even predators had something they were afraid of. There was always a greater evil.

And as the darkness fell, his silhouette lit only by the small fire in the corner of the roofless room, you began to realise that Cooper was a lot more dangerous than you had let yourself come to terms with.

“Cooper, wait… we’re not safe enough, I don’t…”

You trailed off, aware that your words were falling on deaf ears as Cooper dragged his dry lips across your cheek, grazing his teeth against the skin as you felt him pushing you backwards, your spine straightening against the crumbling wall behind you.

“It ain’t so bad out here… certainly won’t be when you see what I’ve got in store for you.”

“Please, Cooper… no, Coop, I can’t-”

Interrupted by your own sharp inhale, you held the breath as you watched Cooper’s eyes settled on yours, your hands above you head against the wall, his hands tight around your wrists, preventing you from holding him back any further.

“I’m here to keep you safe, darlin’. You’ll be fine.”

His words meant very little against what you knew was lurking out there, and your nerves pushed your protests out of your clamping throat.

“But Cooper, you know I get scared… I don’t want to do this, not here.”

“Well too bad, missy…”

He lifted your hands and slammed them back down again, watching as you winced at the dull pain.

“… it ain’t like there’s a nice place I can take a girl like you for something like this…”

Cooper’s grip loosened, one of his hands leaving yours as he fumbled with the belt on his pants. You could have easily pulled away, but you didn’t. You couldn’t be sure why, and you chose not to linger on that thought, luckily distracted from it as Cooper’s unbuckled belt clanged, his eyes back towards you.

“…Now, are you going to be a good girl and take it?”

The free hand now drifted to his hip, pushing back his long coat, his palm lazily resting on the holstered gun by his side before he continued speaking. Slowly, clearly, in a low, guttural tone.

“Or am I gonna have to be a bad man and take. It.”

His stare penetrated you, like he could see through your skull to the wall you were trapped against. Your chest seemed to stay completely still despite the deep breaths you took. When you tried to speak, your tongue stayed flat, your lips trembling, nothing but a squeak of air managing to pass between you.

“I asked you a question.”

All you offered was a stuttered mumble and a sheepish nod of your head, a smile offered to you by Cooper as he kicked your legs apart with his muddy boot. Two gloved fingers teased at the front of your pants, pulling them away from skin before sinking below the waistband and brushing against your thickened lips. Excitement, adrenaline, fear. All of it passed over you in a heartbeat, your heart fluttering as he removed his hands from you. Bringing the fingers to his lips, he bit down on the leather with his yellowed teeth, tearing off the glove and tossing it to the ground. His fingers were back down quickly, spreading apart your folds. His uncovered fingers delved inside of you, only briefly, before he withdrew that small modicum of pleasure from the otherwise intense and nerve-wracking situation.

As he separated himself from you, your back arched involuntarily away from the wall, your body betraying your protests as you ached for more of his touch.

“My, my… you sure were fussing a lot for someone who is clearly enjoying themselves…”

Bringing his two fingers up, he spread them apart, watching carefully as your slick stretched in long strands between them.

“Bend over.”

“Cooper, wait, please, I-”

Gripping your waist, Cooper knocked you off balance and let you fall to the floor, a cloud of dust rising up around you.

“I done enough waitin’, darlin’.”

As you struggled to get onto all fours, you felt yourself knocked once more, cheek slamming to the ground as your arms were pulled up behind your back. You could feel the rope tightening around your skin, your wrists bound together and stuck against your spine.

“Now listen, you just lie there…”

He leaned down, whispering into your ear, his hot breath tingling you, making the hairs rise on the back of your neck.

“… and try to keep quiet.”

Behind you, Cooper fell to his knees, pulling down his own pants before turning his attention to yours, uncovering just enough of you that he knew he could slip himself between your thighs and into your wet, warm cunt without leaving either of you too vulnerable to any surprise guests.

Once his other glove was off, you could feel his palm sliding up your back, cracked nails scratching at the nape of your neck before his fingers gripped your hair. Your back contorted as he lifted your face from the ground, positioning you perfectly for his curved cock, lubed with his own drool which he let drip down from his lips in a long, lewd strand, to slide inside of you with little mercy. He pounded into you once, setting the tone for the rest of the encounter you had to endure.

But he hadn’t lied.

“Just a little longer, darlin’, we’ll have you back on two legs… just hng gimme… ah… fuck, that’s it…”

His brutal pace, the way he was so desperately trying to get to the conclusion, the relief, the pain of the stretch, the heat in your own chest that made you moan in response to the way his cock pulsed within your walls.

But he was true to his word.

Because while one hand was tugging at the hair, fingernails scratching your scalp, his hips bucking into your body, knocking you forward and into the ground, his other hand clutched the shotgun, finger teasing the trigger, tempted to send shots into the air at his climax, but ready to defend you both against anyone, or anything, that threatened to interrupt him.

“See, darlin’… not so bad after all.”

#fallout #fallout amazon #x reader #finnie writes #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout fic #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard one shot #cooper howard smut #cooper howard imagine #fallout tv #fallout tv series #walton goggins #cooper howard x fem!reader

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t4rt4gl14 · 9 months

Text

SOFTIES GONE HARD!

❤︎ warnings: fem!reader. meandom!chara. spanking. bondage. manhandling. praise. degradation. size kink. cockwarming. overstimulation. edging. cum stuffing. breeding(kink). claiming. dacryphilia. marking.

❤︎ FEATURING: ZHONGLI. KAZUHA. THOMA. KAVEH.

❤︎ authors note: this one is about genshin men who’d usually fuck you softly but they’ve decided to fulfil their own desires today, using your body of course. ASKS ARE NOW OPEN. 18+ MNDI.

ZHONGLI.

calm, collected, ravishing zhongli, who always fucks you nice n slow, taking his time, softly trailing his fingers over your body. it was until a certain young man working in the market decides to flirt with you each time you go out, despite reassuring zhongli that you weren’t interested he was adamant on…reminding you who you belong to.

pinning your wrists above your head using one hand, the other circling your clit, fucking you into the couch as his tongue roams in your mouth, he usually speaks words of praise and reminds you how he adores you but this time? nothing but his promise to claim you. “you whore, you’re liking this arent you? a-ah fuck— i’m going to make sure your body remembers who it belongs to”. he hisses when your walls clamp down on him like a vice; halting right against your cervix and spilling all of his cum inside you. you both moan in unison and he doesn’t move until he’s let out of every drop- only then, does he slightly pull out and fuck up into you again.

KAZUHA.

now you can’t tell me this wouldn’t be hot, kazuha who’s given up on being so nice to you when you’ve kept teasing him on board the crux, he drags you into a storage room and whispers right into your ear whilst grinding his erection against your clothed pussy. “i am sick and tired of your endless teasing, i’ve spoilt you, haven’t i? seems like i’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

your knees can barely hold you up at this point, with yet another rough thrust into your wet cunt, a soft thwop thwop thwop heard from the storage room. he covers your mouth with his hand, uttering pure filth into your ears, “can’t even keep your voice down…do you want the others to hear how well i fuck you?”, you shake your head, whining and mewling against his soft palm, eyes rolling back from the pleasure. his thrusts pick up the pace, signalling his own orgasm. “mine…minemineminemine..”, he moans, biting down on your neck to keep himself quiet as his cum shoots into you, he softly rides out his orgasm, more of his seed leaking from the tip with each hump…”let’s go again, shall we?”

THOMA.

thoma is still surprisingly nice even when he is jealous, but boy he gets freakkyyyyy; kissing you softly as he blindfolds you, laying you on your tummy as he grinds his long thick cock against your ass, smearing his pre cum against your skin, “m’so hard for you, wanna fuck you..wanna show you much i love you”. and god does he prove his adoration for you.

you’ve already orgasmed yet he keeps fucking into that tight hole of yours, shamelessly bending down to your ear and moaning out, your juices making a sloppy mess and he can already begin to see the ring of cream forming at his base. when you cry and mewl, when you keep telling him your sensitive, he just keeps mindlessly rutting into you, whimpering soft apologies, “m-m’sorry…m’sorry— i-i know you’re s-sensitive you just feel— anghh~ s-so good, good girl..”, he gets lost in the pleasure, cumming into you again and again, using you for his own satisfaction, his brain registers that he, himself, is also extremely sensitive but his hips don’t know when to stop, his heart yearns to breed you, to make sure by the time you’re done; his cum leaks out of your cute cunt….thomaaaa <333

KAVEH.

ohh kaveh, sweet sweet kaveh who’s just lost his temper with you, he’s just gotten this overwhelming urge to just fuck you so hard, i mean it’s only natural right? he just wants to have you dumb on his cock, that’s normal…right?? but alas who are you to deny him? what was meant to be a fluffy cuddle session turned into full blown sex…

you shift slightly, pulling the blankets off you; it was getting way too hot, especially with how you’ve been sitting on kavehs cock for the past 40 minutes, ass cheeks red from his spanking. i mean honestly why was he being so rude? each time you asked him if you could move, “zip it will you? i know you like this, you’ve been twitching around me the whole time”, he teases with another spank, thrusting up just slightly; small tuft of hair tickling your clit. then after 20 minutes he sighs, “ride me like a good slut eh?”, and with shaky arms you grip his shoulders as support and start bouncing on his cock, ass slapping against his thighs— his dick reaches so deep when you ride him like this; you moan out as your back arches, calling out his name again and again..kaveh!..kaveh!~ he won’t deny how much this turns him on but eventually your pace doesn’t satisfy him, so he grabs you by the hips and flips you over onto your back, absolutely railing you, a pace that you’ve never experienced; you didn’t even know he had this side to him! and honestly…it was really hot.

MEANDOM THOMA AND KAVEH ARTGGGGGJDHHDJDJSJSB

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sturniolosass · 2 months

Text

Quiet. - Matt Sturniolo

Summary: You and Matt are bored of the movie you’re watching and a few things go down… including the bed frame being broken

-based on this post i made a few days back..

Warnings: smut, swearing, choking, biting, Dom!Matt, Sub!reader…etc.

You and Matt had been together for a while now, around seven months to be exact.

Tonight Matt had decided to invite you over something you’re always down for. But as of now you we being somewhat ignored while he played a couple games of fortnite with his friends.. Chris included, Unfortunately I couldn’t help but become more and more bored by the second… wishing he’d get off the game and give me more attention.. Something I felt too bad to admit considering he’s always getting off the game when I’m around… Eventually (after 2 hours) I got fed up with just sitting around in the background so I decide to grab a extra chair from the Dinning area and sit next to him

Upon sitting the chair down Matt looks up at me and smiles.. only a quick glance so he could assess my facial movement hoping I wasn’t as mad as I seemed.. I just look at the screen..

After around 5 minutes i start to focus on the way his hands are moving.. super fast.. over the keys he pressed so delicately, it turned me on, fast.. “shut the fuck up pussy” Matt shouts at a player he killed.. I could slowly feel my pink underwear get soaked, an extra large T shirt Matt had given me keeping me from staining the chair..I slowly run my hands down to my underwear to check if i’ve made a mess on the chair, hoping Matt doesn’t catch me when my hands between my legs.. I remove my hand quickly after realizing I’ve made a nice sized puddle on the seat running to my bag I grab a clean pair of underwear and rush out to the bathroom.. Not even thinking of the puddle on the chair..

I return from the bathroom and am immediately greeted with darkness.. I was confused for a second until i hear Matt, “come over here” he speak from his bed in the darkness.. “Did you get off the game? why is it dark.” i ask still confused.. “just come here” he spouts. I climb in the bed with my two knees, immediately sweep off them and laid flat on the mattress.. Matt above me with my wrists pined down with his hands.. “you made a huge mess on my chair..” He spoke leaning down directly in my ear.. “ how am i supposed to clean that” he added

“i didn’t mean to..” i spoke… “he turns his head.. “hmm what was it? what got you all worked up” he asks one hand trailing down my stomach to reach for my pussy… “i-it was.. you playing the game.. well—your fingers specifically.. they really made me hot..” i reply lightheaded.. “is that so? what about them?” he asked pushing his hands in my underwear slowly “was it? my hand on the mouse or the keys? or was it how fast you correlated it to me holding you down and rubbing your pussy” he questioned hand reaching my hole, eventually diving in with two fingers.. I couldn’t reply, too stunned to speak as he pushed his fingers further lathering them up in my juices, he pulls his hand out sucking both fingers.. pulling my underwear down from underneath me..

Kissing down my stomach as he yanked them down.. arriving at my area placing a soft kiss almost as a sign of respect due to the fact that he’s about to devour the poor thing.. Face immediately digging in causing me to spur a few profanities “oh fu-shit- Matt” i moaned, as his tongue run up and down on my clit, sucking and slobbering all over it.. “please Matt” i beg, worried I’d make a even bigger mess than before on the chair.. He just continues to eat me out, licking in somewhat of a figure eight formation.. moaning in between every one of my moans..

Coming closer to my climax i can’t help but grab his head pushing him deeper in my ocean, tongue diving deeper than the titanic, as i begin to orgasm i start to cream, him sliding two fingers in and out of me as his tongue does the two step on my flit sends me into over drive.. In less than two minutes I’m finishing, him still pumping two fingers in and out as he smiles up at me, gorgeous blue eyes staring in my soul

Rising over me and pulling my legs down he looks me in my eyes causing me to get more wet by the minute. He leans down closer to my neck kissing down to my collar bones, “Matthew please just fuck me” I beg not being able to take his soft lips kissing all over me.. wanting for him to just be inside me already.. “i’m going as fast as i can love..be patient.” he speaks finally making it to my nipple, sucking it him between his teeth immediately, rolling his tongue around it like a lollipop, he then grabs my waist pulling himself down closer to me.. his warm body hovering over me.. he releases my nipple “are you ready love?” he asks staring up at me from my boobs “yes matt please! i-I need you!” i beg in to which he pulls his pants down his ankles and off his legs.. He positions himself to my hole, mesmerized by the juices flowing out. “ok” he smiles and slides in for the first thrust, his hands gripping his headboard above me, “aghh-Ma-you’re so big oh my-“ i moan feeling every inch of him enter me.. being shadowed by his arm hanging from the bedpost.

He continues to thrust deeper and deeper in me, brushing that spot each time “oh f-fu-Matt” i stammer. “look at me?” he tells “huh” i react unable to keep my eyes open.. “look at me, i wanna see you cum, i wanna be the last time you think of when you climax” he asks thrusting in and out in such a quick pace.. eventually i hear a crack.. unbothered by it he continues to stroke deep gripping the bed frame tighter and tighter with each thrust, becoming deeper and deeper with each stroke..

“FUCK” he moans almost as a shout.. “ouu- matthew..fuck me..goodness” a few moans utter from my breathless mouth.. I can feel myself arching my back as i let my orgasm take over me. “MATT-fuck” i scream in to which he grabs my face preventing me from screaming any louder.. I can feel him begin to increase his pace looking in my eyes “yeah, i know baby” he says “cum for me” he adds.. “just like that” he says as he pushes me to orgasm..

I watch his face contort as his thrust get violent, getting closer to his high. eyes closing as he lets out the breathiest moans “o-oh fu-ck, shi- god you feel like heaven” he breathes. eyes rolling back, and just then that’s when i hear the bed frame crack, both of us falling 20 inches to the floor, mattress and bed cot underneath us, matt still inside me. He hurriedly gets up “are you ok? are you ok?” he stammers worriedly hopping off the bed “i’m ok im just on the floor” i laugh from the angle im looking up at him.

He then helps me up and stands there thinking of a way to fix his bed, now on the floor.. He decides to remove his bed frame completely for the time being.. “Can you sit over at the desk?” he asks looking at me with a concerned look.. I just laugh and walk over and sit in his chair. He then lifts the bed up off the ground leaning it against the wall and then grabs each panel one by one taking them down to the garage..

I just decide to hop in the shower..

Once i’m out the shower i come back in the room for the second time to see Matt sitting on his bed, that is now on the floor completely made up with no bed frame.. “I didn’t know what else to do.. I can order a new one tomorrow” he states.. “haha ok, what are we gonna tell Chris and Nick” I laugh thinking of all they’d have to say… “I don’t know..Nothing for now” he chuckles.. I just hop into the bed.. “your TV is up wayyyy too high now” i laugh at his TV mounted to the wall. “stop- i’m gonna have a bed frame!!” he whines jokingly.

3 hours later…

You hear Chris and Nick in the hallway talking about a fortnite game they were playing which spikes Matt’s attention. He hops up and runs out the room..

Minutes later you hear Matt nearing the bedroom door talking to Chris.. They both enter the room in a rush to what i’m assuming is get to the fortnite launch.. “Yo what the fuck-what happened to your bed” Chris states, Nick walking in behind them.. he gives you a funny disgusted look walking out the room “You both are nasty- oh my god” he fake gags. Matt and I both look to eachother. Chris shaking his head in disapproval “i can’t believe that’s what i was hearing earlier” “I need to go” He adds walking out the room and down the steps to his. “NICK ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE” I yell.. “GIRL BYE” He shouts back from the steps leading to his room making his way up the stairs so they can all get on the game.

You and Matt just giggle with eachother before he puts his headset back on…

De End 🧌

A/N: aye i wrote this as fast as i could for yall,so you know… my bad if it isnt “perfect”, also idk if i should’ve had a tag list but.. idk lmk if yall wanna be on a tag list.. also btw message me yalll!! I BE BORED!!

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makoodles · 10 months

Text

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

#on holidays atm and I’ve been stressing about how to post this 😭 I’ll have part 2 posted in a day or two!#neteyam #neteyam x human #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #na'vi x human #na’vi x reader #awow #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #fics

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shares-a-vest · 10 months

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Wayne shuffles to the door, desperate to answer the incessant knocking that sounds like whoever is on the other side is going to beat the exterior fly screen straight off its hinges. He is greeted by Claudia Henderson, clutching her handbag strap tight across her chest and looking very serious.

Although it might just be his sleep-deprived inability to gauge the emotions of chipper 9-to-5 receptionists who wear cosy sweaters. He checks his watch. He’s only been asleep for about an hour after getting home from night shift - what with waiting for Hurricane Eddie to finally head off for the garage.

“Hello, Wayne,” Claudia nods and purses her lips.

He scrubs a hand over his face but steps back nonetheless to let her in. Claudia is one step in the doorway anyhow.

“Coffee,” he not-so-much asks as he moves to the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” Claudia says politely, “I usually wait for my morning tea break.”

He looks over to find her pulling out his assigned chair at the breakfast table. She looks nervous, if a little pissed off as she gathers her handbag up on her lap. He blinks harshly and pinches his nose enough to press his forefinger and thumb into the inner corners of his eyes. He really needs to wake the hell up a little more, it appears.

“What did Eddie do?” he sighs, looking over the drying rack on the sink for one of the mugs he has in his rotation at the present time.

“Oh, Eddie hasn’t done a thing!” she insists, a smile evident in her voice, “I’m here about Steve.”

Cubs mug it is then...

He frowns again and turns back to Claudia, confused. And the woman looks like she was expecting such a reaction because she huffs and straightens up, looking like she is readying herself to give a sermon on the kid.

“I need you to help me convince that boy to move in with Dustin and me,” she explains, promptly holding up a defensive hand, “Now, I know he stays here, mostly This isn’t about anything to do with you… Or Eddie…”

She tacks that last mention of his nephew on with a tone and a knowing look.

Wayne clears his throat. It’s certainly far too early in the morning for the ins and outs of that conversation. He flicks the kettle on to drown out the awkward silence between them.

“Have you uh...” he hums and scratches the back of his neck as he searches for words, “Have you talked with him about this, at all?”

Claudia squeaks out a noise he assumes is a negative as he quickly spoons coffee into his mug. He’ll settle for black coffee for now - he really cannot be assed to stand up for much longer, even if he did have the sense to quickly step into his comfy slippers when Claudia came a-pounding on the door.

“And you want my help specifically?” he says, raising his voice above the steaming kettle that is whistling away in boiling readiness.

“Yes!”

He waves a hand in the air, “Well, what about Robin?”

“Oh, gosh, no! I can’t talk to that girl,” he barks a laugh that makes Claudia startle in her seat, forcing her to clarify, “I mean she is a steel trap about that boy!”

Wayne smirks and nods as he heads for the table with his piping hot - and hopefully, heavily caffeinated - beverage, “He’s not the biggest talker when it comes to himself.”

“I’m not one to speak ill of other mothers,” Claudia says in a hushed tone, “God knows, I am not perfect. But where are his parents?”

She rocks a little with each word like she has needed to ask that question for a good long while. Of course, Wayne thinks about Steve’s parents. A lot. Because the boy almost never mentions them.

He shrugs, “He says they stayed away on business.”

“After everything that has happened in this town?” she argues, voice growing shrill with worry, “Did he tell you what actually happened with the mall fire? It was more of that other dimension nonsense!”

He almost chokes on his coffee. He knows a little - there was no way around it with Eddie in the hospital surrounded by all those secret nurses and doctors. But he didn’t know Claudia Henderson knew about some of it too. Still, he decides to remain cautious and gestures for her to continue.

“And he’s been concussed more times than he can remember!”

She slumps back in her seat with a look of such horror, Wayne thinks the sweet woman sitting opposite him considers it her closing argument.

Wayne taps on the rim of his coffee cup. They would have to tread carefully, not ambush the kid.

“He does get a lot of migraines - ” is all he can think to say.

“ - And he has dizzy spells,” Claudia cuts in, leaning forward. He can see tears starting to well up, “I just want him to be looked after. I know he’s a young man with his own life and everything, but he still needs a parent to care for him, to support him.”

“Yeah,” Wayne nods firmly, “Yes, he does.”

#wayne and claudia to the rescue #i feel like i'm writing a vaguely connected henderson-munson plus steve found family thing #but it's all separated into ficlets???#idk if i should put it all together???#wayne munson #claudia henderson #steve harrington #steve harrington ficlet #stranger things #steddie #steddie ficlet #lilys ficlets #claudia henderson 🐈

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gloxk · 5 months

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Sneaky linkin’

(Eren Y. Armin A. Connie S.)

A/N: i’m not COMPLETELY back, but I am making a slight improvement w my mental health… so here’s sum slight for yall🤷🏽‍♀️. I kinda hate this but maybe yall will like it..ion know. Luv ya tho. 17+.

Synopsis: Aot men as sneaky links.

Warning: Smut.. F/M

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Eren! ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ———Back seat bandit

Eren..is definitely a back seat bandit. It’s mainly because he has a nice car, why not show it off?

Now, all i’m going to say is (Persian rugs- jacquees version.) Oh lawwwd, he definitely plays that while giving the most sloppiest, nastiest, messiest, back arching back shots ever. This man does NOT play.

Hair puller, choker, dirty talker. He’s the type to make you tell him how good he’s fucking you. “Uh-huh, right there? You like that baby?” And you better tell him too.

The hair pulling thing just comes by instinct. You could be giving this man the sloppiest head ever, deep throating him till hes hitting the back of your esophagus and all. The type of head that makes him feel like he’s shifting reality. He will tug your hair to get a real good look at your face, saliva dripping down your chin and red coating your face. A face that just screams ‘ Am I making you happy?’. He would stare at you with a shit eating grin just while the camera flash hits your face.

Degrading as fuck. He would just say some shit to boost his ego during sex. “I know you like that shit, stop acting like you don’t.” & “You can scream my name louder than that. Try again.” & “Stop fuckin running.” Don’t be fooled now, he’s also going to talk you through it and give you reassurance. “You doin so good f’me.” & “it’s all yours mami.” & “You look so pretty right now.”

Ugh this man just loves to have his hand wrapped around your body. Around your waist, neck, thighs, hands—it don’t matter to him. He loves touching on you. Any time yall link his hands just find their way over your body.

Connie! ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ——— Any time any where

Connie..is the type of guy who can fuck ANYWHERE. Car, room, closet, random family bathroom at a gas station—he don’t care.

If you’re down, he’s down. Y’all could be out shopping and he fucks you in the dressing room.

This man LOVES when you ride him. He would just watch you in awe while you bounce up and down on him.

Definitely a talker during sex, he loves telling you how good you’re doing. “Mhm—fuck—I love when you do that.” & “Cmoonn look at me while you do it.” & “Arch that back mama.”

Now, he’s a recorder. He records everything. He has a little folder in his phone dedicated to your link ups.

Although he’s gonna dick you down anywhere he can, his favorite place is the shower. Got some music playing in the background (P power - gunna) while he’s plowing into you. The shower couldn’t even cover up your loud moans.

Pull out ? Nah, “You wanna be grown, let’s be grown baby.” He doesn’t believe in wasting, so either you sucking it up or taking that shit.

Armin! ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ——— munch

Armin..is an eater. He’s gonna eat like it’s his last meal every fucking time. His tongue game is vicious. Absolutely diabolical, the messiest head you will ever get.

Salvia dripping on the couch, tears falling from your eyes due to overstimulation, legs locking around his head—he still wouldn’t stop. He won’t stop till you force him to.

Hold on now, Armin ain’t just an eater, he got good dick too. He’s a saint that’s gonna fuck you like a sinner. Let him get some liquor in his system and you’re going to be begging for round 2.

Speaking of drunk Armin, he’s gonna fuck you against a wall. Just something that’s going to happen one way or the other. One leg in the air while the other dangles just above the floor, his hands gripping on your ass so hard it leaves a mark.

Oh it doesn’t stop there either, he’s going to stumble his way to the bed and take you there too.

Hella vocal whimpering, moaning, whispering. He’s going to let you know your pussy good. “God-you feel so fuckin good.” & “Please keep doing that.”

Loves teaching you new things, different kinks, positions, anything of the sort. I know he just loves exploring and experimenting things with you. He’s a freaky freak for sure. <3

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whore…

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lyneira · 1 year

Text

♤ "Not worthy?" I'll show you differently ♤

SMUT - MINORS DNI

-> how would he react to a reader who's self-conscious and ends up distancing themselves from him when others insult them and say that they shouldn't be together? (based on this request!)

All characters are depicted as 18+

fem!reader x twisted wonderland characters / cw: penetration, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjob, mirror sex

"I'll make you feel loved enough that you won't forget it"

Epel, LEONA, Jack, Ace, Silver, Floyd

I don't see them viewing it as a big problem initially because he's confident that he'll be able to make things right quickly. You just need some reassurance, that's all.

He's not going to confront you directly. He won't need to; His actions toward you would be enough to say that what others were saying was indefinitely wrong.

He'll become more handsy and more forward with his PDA, always making sure that he's holding you or touching you in some way. He'll put his hand on your waist and pull you in close, seldom ever releasing his grasp on you; He'll kiss you more often, ensuring to elongate the kiss for a long time even when there were a lot of people around. When he'd pull away, allowing you to take a breath, he'd shoot a glare at anyone who was staring, daring them to say something.

He'll do all of this as to indirectly tell you, "Hey, I don't care what anyone says or thinks. I'm not letting you go". Yet, if you were still acting distant, then he'd have no choice but to confront you directly.

When he finally does, he'll back you into a corner and ask with frustration, "How come you're still distancing yourself from me? Am I not showing you enough affection?" He'll then lower his tone, "You don't need to run away from me...I love you, y/n...and there's nothing that anyone can say that will ever change that...", looking at you with that rare softness in his eyes that he only showed when he was pouring his heart out. And that's how you know he really meant it.

That look would further soften when you suddenly hug him tightly, and after melting in each other’s arms, he'll whisper into your ear, "I'll make sure you understand how much I love you tonight. Remember this moment whenever you find yourself doubting it"

And when you two make love that night, he'll seem a bit rough initially. He'll be pinning arms above your head, grasped tightly, kissing you ferociously that your teeth often clash, sucking on your skin so intensely, leaving marks of purple, and thrusting himself into you with so much force that you feel like the bed is going to break (which, it almost does, heh)

But after his first climax, releasing his remaining frustrations, he'll slow it down, also releasing his tight grip on your wrists to embrace you protectively, kissing up and down your neck as he thrusts long, slow strokes into you. He'd be all over you. His hands, his lips, and his tongue would again caress every spot on your body, especially on the spots he left a hickey on. He'd kiss them softly, and would cheekily smile into your skin, knowing that these marks would be visible for all to see the next day. After all, they need to know that you belong to him, just as his heart belongs to you.

"Can you SEE how much I love you?"

VIL, Jade, Rook, Jamil, Lilia, Rollo, Azul

You're self conscious? On his watch? Absolutely not.

Seems like you need to SEE how much he loves you in order to really believe it. So after quickly dealing with those who had planted their foolish ideas into your mind, he'll immediately take you to his room to help you confront your problem head on.

He'll be sitting at the edge of his bed, as he speaks to you, "Dear, I've noticed that you've been shying away from me because you've become self-conscious...you need not be. Do not listen to what others say, they don't matter. I adore you just as you are."

When he sees you finally ease up by his words, he'll smile tenderly at you and will then pat his thigh, "Come here..."

You do as you are told, and when you get close to him, he'll suddenly pull you onto his lap, wrapping his arms firmly around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. Funny thing is, up until now, you hadn't realized the grand mirror that was in front of you two. Had he always had that there? In fact, he did not. But today, he needed it for his plan to help you become less conscious. Oh, you're in for it now 😏

"I'm glad you've noticed the mirror. Keep your eyes on it...no matter what I do", he'll mention as he narrows his look into your eyes in its reflection, and you can definitely tell he was plotting something. You were about to ask about it until he surprises you with a multitude of kisses up and down your neck and down your shoulders. If you asked if you could face him, he'd immediately turn you down, telling you to look into the mirror.

And as he became more sensual, letting his hands roam up your body to cup your breasts and fondle them as he continued to kiss your jaw and insisted you to keep your eyes glued to the mirror, you eventually realized his plan: he was going to make you watch yourself as he made love to you.

You figured that it would be easy to endure, but soon enough, you'd think otherwise as he'd further surprise you with his touches.

He'd bring his hands down to your waistband and begin pulling your pants off so that your lower half was now bare. Then, bringing his hands back up to your thighs, he'd begin to spread your legs open slowly, while looking in the mirror to enjoy the view of your pussy all soaking wet for him. "Ah~ You're so wet", he'll grin, eyes half-lidded at the sight. He'll hover a hand over your heat and begins to rub his middle finger up and down your slick, earning a shudder from you. After rubbing it enough, he'll insert it into your hole, massaging your insides and finding that sensitive spot that has you squeezing onto his finger.

You look away from the mirror and shut your eyes at the pleasure he's giving you, but he'll click his tongue, and stops his motions at your reaction, "That won't do, dear. Don't look away". With his other hand, he'll grab your chin and make you face the mirror once more, "Open your eyes. You need to watch as I pleasure you" and with the lack of friction making you antsy, you open your eyes to watch the erotic sight of him touching you. "Good girl", he'll hum. And for that, he'll reward you by using his other hand to rub circles on your clit.

He'll continue to pleasure you while making you watch him, becoming pleased with himself as he was getting you to stare at the sight with less hesitation each time.

When at last he has himself inserted in you, thrusting up into you relentlessly as you both watch yourselves in the mirror, mouths agape as you both moan and pant, faces flushed, eyes heavy with lust, bodies wet from sweat and arousal, he'll lean in towards you ear, sultry whispering,

"Get used to this image, my love...become so accustomed to it that it won't matter what anyone says. You'll remember that you and I are meant to be together...joined as one both body and soul, just like this"

"Do you know what you do to me?"

MALLEUS, Sebek, Deuce, Riddle, Idia

He'd full of worry when you distance yourself from him, wondering if he had done or said something to cause it. Though, hen he finds out that the reason for it was your self-consciousness and the gossip of others that had influenced it, he is fuming. Who dares to insult his darling?! To make you feel this way? He'd be so tempted to make them endure his wrath, but he'd ultimately decide to deal with it later. The most important thing right now was you. It pained him to see you look at yourself that way when he thought the entire world of you. (He practically kisses the ground you walk on, lol)

So he would waste zero time to confront you because there's no way he was going to let you think that he didn't love and care for you.

Do you know exactly the effect you have on him? He'll let you know. He'll tell you how warm you make him feel inside, how you ease him while still managing to give him butterflies in his stomach everytime you laugh or smile at him, how grateful he is to have you in his life. He'll then take your hand, bring it up to his face, and lean his cheek into your palm, telling you how he easily melts into your touch and submits himself to you.

He'll guide your hand down his body, allowing you to feel the heat of his skin, down to his chest, where you can feel the pounding of his heart.

"Feel the rhythm of my heart...it only beats like that for you. You mean everything to me, y/n. Never forget that", and he would press a kiss onto your lips, desperation imbued into them. That desperation would soon turn into passion when you gladly returned his fervor, letting him know that you understood him and relief washed over him.

As you two fiercely kissed, devouring each other's mouths, letting your tongues dance, he realized that he was still holding your hand. So, he'd take the chance to continue guiding your hand further down his body to show you another effect you had on him. You'd gasp when your hand met with his clothed erection, breaking the kiss to look down at it and back up at him. He'll have a faint blush on his cheeks, but will look at you with a firmness in his eyes, "Only you make me feel this way." He'll release his grasp on you, yet, you'll maintain your grasp on him, ready to show him the love and affection that he showed you.

And indeed, you'll feel how enamored and obsessed you make him when you pull down his pants to free his throbbing cock, to lick it, suck on it, bounce on it, ride it, and squeeze it so good that the evidence of his love will be buried deep inside of you and will continue to overflow.

Extra:

He'll also show you what you do to him even when he wasn't with you at the moment. Even if you were away for a while, he'd send you a video touching himself to you. In the video, you'll see his beautiful face twisted in need as you listen to him panting, gasping, and moaning out your name numerous times, accompanied with the wet sounds of his sex being attended to. This would go on for several minutes for you to enjoy, and in the after his release, he'll look hazily to the camera, cheeks flushed, semen stained on his hand, abdomen, and thighs, lips parted as he breathlessly heaves out, "This is what you do to me"

If you were there, he wouldn't have made such a mess everywhere 'cause he would have made his mess inside of you instead, just sayin' ;)

(Cater isn't a part of this category, but I can totally see him doing this too!)

"I love your..."

NEIGE, Cater, KALIM, Che'nya, Trey, Ruggie

You distancing yourself from him would immediately have alarms going off in his head because this would be highly unusual. You two were always joined at the hip (sometimes literally) after all. When he realizes that you're self-conscious, he'll immediately reassure you.

"You know what I love so much about you? I'll tell you!" He'll grab your hand and bring it up to his lips, "I love your touch", and will kiss your palm. He'll then lean towards your face so that his lips were ghosting your forehead, "I love your beautiful mind", and kisses it. He'll then kiss the corner of your lips, "Your pretty smile", which would earn him that beloved expression from you, to his delight. He'll kiss down your neck, "Your voice and the things you say to me", and as he tries to kiss your collarbone, he will pull off your top to expose more of the skin he can kiss. He'll continue down towards your chest, kissing your warm bosom, "Your kind heart and affection". And he'll go on to kissing all over your body as he says what he adores and loves about you, removing any more clothing that might hinder his lips from meeting your skin.

With all his kisses, you were nearly laid entirely bare. All of your clothing were off except for your panties. As he lowers himself down to hover his lips on your clothed sex, he'll look up at you, blush dusted on his cheeks and a sensual look in his eye, "Would you allow me to continue saying what else I love about you?". And with your nod of permission, he'll slip the garment off, and whisper, "I love the way you taste" before giving a deep kiss to your lips. He'll go on to kiss it repeatedly and as you moan and sigh from his kisses below, he'll shakily breathe out, "I love the sounds you make when I'm making you feel good...a-ah..! You make me feel so good" as he mindlessly grinds into the mattress, pre-cum staining the bed, aroused by you.

You'd think he'd be done after letting you know the numerous things he loved about you, but he still had one more he had to say. So after letting you release your nectar onto his lips and drinking it, he's gonna line himself up to your dripping entrance, and will say, "I love being inside you", before inserting himself into your heat. He'll continue to mutter on with each thrust, "oh, you're so warm...you take me in so well...I love it...I love you....so very much"

And with all of the places he's kissed and all of his words of adoration, I'm sure you'll understand the magnitude of his love for you by the end of the night

a/n: this one was much longer than usual! Some seem a bit ooc and I honestly kinda gave up at the ends of most afshdkwgjak oh well 🫤

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