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tarrynightss · 1 year

Note

Hate sex with Jake sully?

Yes please ;)))

pairing: Jake Sully x fem!na’vi!reader

cw: smut, rough sex, hair pulling, biting, p in v, really it gets so rough they’re literally fighting, some mentions of blood, bit of a breeding kink, use of the word bitch in a derogatory sense, choking

tag: @nin3kyuu

Teaching Jake Sully the way of the People was aggravating. He’s thick headed, cocky, and it feels as if he listens to you only half of the time. He’ll mumble under his breath when you scold him, saying words that he knows you won’t understand, but the snide tone makes it clear that he’s cursing. If your Tsahík had not decided to tie you to the sky demon, then you would’ve happily let him stumble through the forest by himself. Maybe Eywa would’ve let him die after all after seeing his foolishness.

Jake’s feet stomp into the mossy forest floor as he runs, his arms swinging beside him. He’s not doing as you taught him. He’s running like a sky person, uncontrolled and unseeing, without a care of what sound he makes or the tracks he leaves behind.

“Ftang nga!” Stop that! You hiss but he ignores you, his brow creasing as he focuses on going as fast as he can. “Oìss!”

You ponder for a moment if you parents would truly be mad if you let the sky demon run himself to his death, the steep cliff ahead so far unnoticed by him. A snarl leaves you, knowing that you cannot let it happen. You had to follow Eywa’s will even if you didn’t like it.

“Stop!” you shout again, this time jumping onto Jake.

It makes him fall and the two of you roll over the ground, grimacing as you feel a rock tear the skin on your arm. It’s not long before you come to a sudden stop.

Jake has ended up on top of you and once the shock wears off he stares at you in anger. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

“You don’t see!” you hiss in his face.

He returns the gesture, his face inching closer to yours. He thinks he can intimidate you? He’s nothing more than a dreamwalker, a being using the flesh of your people. With a sharp thrust of your knee into his stomach you force him off of you, Jake gasping for air as you jump up.

“Look!” you shout angrily and point towards where the forest floor ends. The sky is filled with mist, making it hard to see the giant drop ahead.

His face is filled with irritation as he scrambles up, one hand holding his sore stomach. When he walks closer to the edge, he finally sees it. If he would’ve kept running for about two minutes more he would’ve gone flying.

“Shit.”

You prowl back over to him, hard gaze taking in his barely scratched up form. “Yes, shit.”

It’s not fair that you are the one bleeding because of his foolishness. You sit down on a nearby tree trunk to inspect your wound, your ears pinned back in anger. It’s shallow, the rock barely having pierced your skin. With a bit of salve from the Tsahík there will be no mark left.

“I’m sorry, okay,” Jake says, slowly creeping closer.

The look on his face is apologetic, yet you feel it is not completely sincere.

“Sorry?” Your big eyes narrow at him. “You run around like a child!”

His lips press into a thin line as he squats down, rubbing a hand over his hair. It is clear he wants to say something, but is reluctant to do so. You were injured because of him, but still you could be a real bitch.

“You could’ve just told me,” he says finally, almost under his breath.

Told him?! He had been training with you for almost two months now.

You hiss again. “Do you think someone holds our hand while we hunt? You need to learn to-“

“See!” Jake snaps before you can finish your sentence. “Yeah, I know, you say it all of the fucking time.”

You inhale deeply. Never had you met such an infuriating man before. His jaw tenses as he watches you, tail swishing across the ground behind him. And confident, oh so confident. It is as Mo’at said; you cannot teach someone who’s cup is already full.

“You are impossible,” you say as you throw your hands up. “Will never learn.”

He turns his head away from you with an annoyed sound, choosing to rather stare off into the forest than look at you.

“Nì'ul kame tskxe,” A rock sees more. You hiss quietly.

His ears perk up and even more irritation flashes over his face at not knowing what you are saying. “Yeah? Well maybe they should assign me someone else. Someone who isn’t a bitch.”

Bitch. He had used that word before, but you do not know what it means. The last time he had said it was when you had slapped his head when attempting to teach him your language, groaning it between gritted teeth.

“What is bee-aaich?” you attempt. You know he is insulting you, but you want to know exactly how.

A smirk pulls at his lips as he glances your way. Oh, he really shouldn’t tell you. It’s clear from your tense body and pinned ears that not much will be needed to further fuel your anger. He should keep it to himself like he had done before, but today he’s feeling particularly petty.

“It’s what humans call female dogs, a type of animal we have. Sort of like those Viperwolf things,” he explains but you frown.

“A nantang?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

You shake your head and lean back on your tree trunk. “I don’t understand. Is it not insult?”

Jake has another chance to wiggle out of it, but will he be wise enough to take it? He looks at you, your head cocked to the side as you await his answer.

He chuckles to himself. “It’s… hard to explain. Do you know when a creature goes into heat and it’s just yapping, growling and scooting all over the place? It’s acting like a bitch.”

Your cheeks flare up and you shake your head more firmly this time, angry eyes piercing into him. Though you still do not completely understand it, his explanation gave you enough ground to be offended. You would never go into heat over a male like him, nor act like it.

You jump up from your spot. “Heat? You are no man!”

“No, that’s not what I meant-“ he starts but stops as he sees how you are staring down at him.

You seem to mean your words, looking at him with a mixture of disgust and anger.

He stands up, ever so slightly towering over you as he approaches. You don’t budge, standing your ground till his chest is almost pressing against yours.

“No man, huh?” he questions.

You bare your teeth at him. “No man. Your mind and body are weak. No woman would have you.”

Jake had swallowed a lot of shit from you in the last few months. Pretty much every day you scolded him, slapped him, clearly thinking of him as less than. He could see your hate for him in your eyes, and the fiery feeling started growing within him as well. This was the last match to send that fire roaring, the last kick to his manhood that he could take.

His nostrils flare as he studies your face. “Is that right?”

The small twitch at the corner of your lip does not go unnoticed by him, a borderline smug look forming on your face.

“Yes.”

The sky demon closes his eyes for just a second as he exhales deeply. Before you can say another word he has grabbed you by your beaded top, making you gasp out in shock.

“How about I show you?”

Your heart pounds in your ears at his words and you attempt to get his hand away from you. It won’t budge, and as he hauls you even closer you can hear some of the threading of your top ripping.

“You will break it!” you hiss.

He only grabs it tighter, beads popping out between his fingers and falling to the ground. His gaze travels from your face to your chest, clearly able to see your nipples poke through your top. “Who cares? I don’t get why you even wear it in the first place. Everybody can see your tits anyway.”

You spit in his face and he flinches, his grip on you slightly wavering. It’s enough to allow you to pull yourself loose, your top tearing to pieces in the process. If there’s one thing Jake hadn’t expected you to do, it was spit on him, and he wipes his face off with his hand. The growl he lets out makes your resolve waver, his fury so clear.

As soon as you decide to run, he’s on you, pulling you back by the braid that encases your queque. You cry out in pain as you scramble to scratch his hands away, but soon he has pulled you back into his body.

“Good kitty,” he mocks as he holds you against his chest, his own heart beating fast and hard.

One hand holds you by the braid as the other grabs onto your hip, forcing your ass back against his crotch. A mewl leaves your lips as he grinds into you, your body instantly responding despite your protesting mind. It senses Jake’s potential as a mate, the natural instinct to reproduce overruling all.

“Like I said, a bitch,” he chuckles into your ear.

The evidence of his growing arousal presses against your ass every time he bucks into you. He may not like you, but fuck did you always look hot in those tiny tops and loincloths the Na’vi wear. It left little up to the imagination, and he had spent many moments alone stroking his cock at the memory of it.

Confident that you’ll continue grinding on him, he moves his hand from your hip to fondle your breasts. He squeezes the soft flesh harshly in his hands, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers.

You try to find your own anger again, growling in between the rapid pants that leave your lips. It seems that Jake wants to fuck you like a Na’vi, his hand so tightly wrapped around your braid. The ache between your legs urges you to fulfill his request, but you won’t make it easy on him. He’ll be getting the full experience.

Suddenly, you force your head down and to the side, biting into his wrist. He curses out in pain as your teeth lock around him, tears rolling down your own cheeks from your queque harshly being pulled at.

“Fuck! Shit!” he lets go of your braid to force your jaw open. You are locked onto him like a fucking pitbull, his fingers prying at your cheeks.

When you finally let go he stumbles back, staring at you in disbelief. The faintest hint of blood stains your lips and you carelessly wipe it off, a self satisfied grin forming on your face. You didn’t draw a lot of blood really, just enough to scare him.

Taking advantage of his shock, you jump onto Jake and tackle him to the ground. He grunts in pain as you straddle him and lick a long stripe from his collarbone up to his chin. He tastes like desire, fury and fear, the mixture so potent that it makes you groan low in your throat.

He does not know how to react, watching you as your face pulls back from his neck. Your pupils are dilated with desire, your tail stroking almost teasingly past his legs. The fighting had clearly gotten you going.

It’s only when you move lower down his body, fingers fumbling with his loincloth, that he springs to action.

“Oh no, you are not getting near that,” Jake says and pushes your head further away from his crotch.

You hiss, baring your teeth at him as you push back against his hand in protest.

The sight makes him grimace. “Yeah, exactly for that reason. Need a fucking muzzle for you, shit.”

You are displeased by his response. Never had you noticed how good he smelled before today. Maybe it was because of your sudden desire, but you wanted to seek out the source, and he was not allowing you.

You open your mouth, fully intending to chomp down on his thigh in revenge, but he grabs onto your braid and yanks you back before you get the chance.

Jake pulls you upwards by your hair, making it so that you are straddling his clothed cock again. You growl your protests but after all that biting he isn’t listening. His hand comes down hard across your cheek, making that side of your face tingle and your mouth close up.

“Shut up,” he hisses at you, shaking you by your hair.

A wave of arousal washes over your body at his rough treatment. This is how many of you mated, fighting for dominance till the woman was stuffed full of seed. You had not expected Jake to have it in him, but perhaps you had been wrong.

He sits up slightly to bring his mouth to your breasts, sucking and biting at your hardened nipples. You allow him to do so for a bit, moaning at his touch. A yelp leaves you when he bites down harder on one of your nipples. His amber eyes shoot up to look at you, taking in your pleasured face as his tongue flicks out to lick at the now sore bud. You looked so beautiful like this.

“Is that all you have, Jake Sooly?”

But god does he wish you would shut up.

Jake turns his attention to his next target, this time biting your nipple harder till you start squirming and trying to push him away. Your chest rises and falls rapidly against his face as he laps at your breast afterwards, admiring the slight shades of purple that your nipples have blossomed into.

Your hand finds his braid and you tug at it, making him groan lowly against your flesh. He feels how sensitive it is now, any pulling quickly turning painful, and so he does it to you some more. You hiss at him like an angry cat as he continues his assault on your nipples, biting and sucking till you cry out in protest.

Your core throbs as he pulls away from your chest. His eyes are glazed over with lust and a smug smile adorns his face. But once again, he’s getting too cocky, wrongly assuming that you’ll just sit prettily while he basks in the moment.

“Repxìsu does it better,” you purr meanly, snapping your teeth at Jake’s arm and making him let go in reflex. You roll yourself off of him and turn your back to him, wishing for it to appear as if you got bored.

Repxìsu? Jake grits his teeth. That lean shit that always hangs around you at the village. Yeah, Jake remembers him.

In a flash, Jake is on you, pressing down on your back till you are on hands and knees for him. Content with his reaction, you turn your head to look back, but are shocked to find him moving in on your shoulder. He bites down on it harshly, unable to control his own strength yet. You cry out in pain underneath him but don’t move. It feels so good. You can feel your wetness start to drip down your thighs as he holds you down, his large body staying put on top of you.

His fangs finally leave your skin, thin smears of blood staining it.

“Does that Repxí cunt do that to you, huh?” Jake questions and you shake your head wildly.

His hand finds the base of your tail, grabbing onto it harshly as he starts tearing off both of your loincloths. You can hear the fabric ripping, Jake far too impatient to properly take them off. Your tail coils around his arm like a vice, your ass pressing into his now bare crotch eagerly. His thick cock slides past your cunt, sending a shiver down your spine.

“What happened to ‘no female will want me’?” he asks, a smirk playing at his lips as his fingers seek out your dripping core.

He prods at your entrance before quickly sliding two fingers into it, groaning at your wetness.

You glance back at him with sharp eyes. “I do not want you,” you look him over with an unimpressed look. “I just want your cock.”

His smirk drops and he curls his fingers up into your cunt, stroking your insides at a hard pace. Unbelievable. He is convinced that no matter what he does you’ll always disapprove of it. He could be taking a shit and you would still tell him he’s doing it wrong.

You cooed underneath him, eager to take more of his fingers inside of you as if you had not just insulted him. Why did he even want your approval? You are insufferable, your only redeeming quality being your body.

“Fuck,” Jake curses angrily as he spreads his fingers, the slick walls of your cunt easily giving way. “Why am I even preparing you? Slut like you don't need it.”

After a few more harsh strokes from his fingers, he pulls them out of you and presses your body further down into the grass. He leans in over you, licking past the shell of your ear as he tugs on your tail.

“Tell me you want me to breed you.” A confident high fills him at the thought of you saying those words.

You scoff at him, tongue flicking past your bottom lip as you glance back at him. Your cunt clenches around nothing in a silent yes, but you’d never admit that. “Is that what you need to hear to feel like a man, Sooly?”

He grinds his teeth together as a darker shade flushes over his cheeks in humiliation. With a growl, he wastes no more time and lines himself up with your slick entrance, instantly thrusting his full length into you when it gives way. Your nails dig into the grass beneath you as you cry out at the overwhelming feeling of being filled. Great mother, why was a being this stupid blessed with such an amazing cock?

Jake’s body presses down on top of yours as he starts thrusting into you wildly, harsh slaps of skin against skin resounding throughout the forest. Never had he imagined that you would feel this good. Your wet cunt sucks him in so deliciously, spurring him on to take you harder. Finally you are no longer insulting him either, slutty moans falling from your lips as you let him fuck you as he pleases.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he purrs and bites down into your shoulder once again, his cock twitching inside you as he marks you. “Good little bitch.”

His fangs biting and scraping against your skin makes your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. Everyone would see that you had let him take you, a thought that should fill you with disgust and shame but in the moment you did not care. He had won this.

Jake pulls you back on his cock by your tail at every thrust, enjoying the way you start to hiss in a mixture of pain and pleasure at his bruising grip. His pace is relentless, fucking into you like it’s his last day alive.

“Fucking say it,” he groans as he feels his cock hitting against your cervix, your body writhing underneath him. “Say you want me to breed you.”

Your attempt at a scoff turns into a pathetic whine as the walls of your cunt clench around him. His strokes are hitting so deep, so good. It feels like your brain is turning to mush.

“Say it!” Jake commands and frees his hand from your tail only to bring it down onto your ass in a hard slap.

You scream out underneath him, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. To let him do it is one thing, but to say it out loud? You shake your head weakly. That would be too much to give to that cocky asshole.

When another hard slap against your ass still doesn’t cause you to relent, he decides to try another approach. His hand snakes around to your front so he can grip onto your throat, feeling your breath hitch underneath his fingers when he squeezes down.

Your cunt clamps down around his length as you gasp, your hands ripping out the grass underneath you.

“Shit,” Jake groans as he feels his thrusts starting to falter, the feeling over your walls squeezing his cock becoming too much.

He hisses into your ear as he chokes you, making you whimper in a pathetic display of submission. “Say it.”

The tears that had gathered in your eyes fall down as it becomes harder to breathe. It causes an odd sensation inside of you, and you let out a silent scream as your body rushes towards your orgasm.

“Breed me!” you choke out. “Do it you vonvä!”

A sick satisfaction washes over Jake at your words. God, he knows you would just fucking hate it if he actually knocked you up. You would be horrified to carry his child, and though he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled either, in the moment having your full submission gives him the last push over the edge.

His hand around your throat squeezes tighter as he fucks into you a few more times, groaning when his release shoots into you. You desperately try to thrust yourself back against him as he cums, wanting to find your own peek as well.

He watches with a smirk as you try so hard, lewd squelching sounds coming from your used pussy as his cum seeps out past his cock. It’s pathetic, and he releases your throat to instead flick his impatient fingers over your clit.

You cry out as Jake gives you the last push you needed, the walls of your cunt fluttering around him as you cum. A breathless chuckle leaves him as he feels the way you suck in not only him, but also his spend. At this rate you really might get yourself knocked up, but it seems you do not care.

A rare silence falls as both of you pant, neither moving to pull away from each other. You let your tired arms give in and fall into the grass. Wiya, you hate to admit it but that was the best fuck you’ve had in a long time, your pussy still throbbing.

Perhaps you had finally found something Jake Sully was good at.

#jake sully x reader #smut #jake sully smut #avatar #avatar x reader #atwow #atwow x reader #avatar the way of water #na’vi smut #na’vi x reader #jake x reader #jake sully x y/n

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months

Text

When Nico asks him out, there is vomit on his scrubs. His hair is disgusting. The bags under his eyes are actually the size of Texas, and he was born there so he says it in good confidence.

Also, it goes right over his head.

“Gods, yeah,” Will sighs, relieved. “Yeah, I could —” He laughs, a little hysterically, scrubbing his hand over his face and trying to blink the sudden onslaught of dizzy away. “I’m starving. I am — tired of this stupid room. I could use dinner out.”

“Great,” Nico says, rocking back on his heels. He twists his skull ring around his finger, like he does when he’s nervous, but there’s a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that Will has learned, in the past few weeks of his help in the infirmary, is a smile. “I’ll — um, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Will glances down at the rapidly-drying splatter of vomit spreading from his right shoulder all the way down to his belly button. The nasty brown-yellow colour of it clashes so violently with the mint-green of his scrubs that it might be a felony, actually. The one whole spaghetti noodle smack in the middle of it does not help.

“Yeah, I’ll need at least that long in the shower.”

Nico’s face goes through a very complicated string of emotions. “I think you look nice,” he offers.

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘nice’, di Angelo,” Will snorts. He gestures behind him. “Bye, Nico. I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“Right. Bye, Will.”

“Hey, first name status!”

“Shut up, Solace. Go change your shirt.”

Will snickers, jogging down the Big House stairs with a backwards wave. He hustles past campers jogging towards their daily activities, ducking into the Apollo cabin before someone can ask him for something.

It’s been a busy few weeks.

The Giant War was…well. It’s over, now, is the point, but it was not without casualties, and it was not without injury, and injury, and injury. Plus the flu that just had to hit right before the Romans were about to head back to California. Will has spent more nights in the infirmary in the last few weeks than he ever has, including after the Titan War. Understaffed does not begin to cover it. He had to beg Cecil for his secret Redbull stash after his third straight day on his feet, praying to his father, his aunt, and any other god who was listening to keep his hands from shaking. Without Nico’s help — well, he doesn’t want to think about how things would have gone without Nico’s help.

He’d slept through his promised three days in the infirmary. Will had restitched his werewolf scratching (—his werewolf scratches his fucking werewolf scratches his fucking shitting goddamn werewolf scratches that he stitched with sewing thread and left for gods know how many days and Will is going to quit his job, he is, he is going to live in a hut in the Florida Everglades and chase questers away with a fucking broom—) as he slept on the first day, then spent the next days glaring at him in seething jealousy.

He had wanted to sleep. He had wanted to sleep so godsdamn badly. And yet. He was plastering salve on the translucent fingers of a dumbass who pushed himself too hard.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Will had mocked, ignoring the yelled you’re losing it, Willy! from Kayla as she passed by. “Nyeh nyeh nyeh. I can shadow travel wherever I want. Nyeh nyeh nyeh. Catch me I’m about to pass out. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

“I never asked you to catch me,” muttered Nico, groggily, and Will had screamed.

Not his best moment.

Luckily, his string of colourful cursing had killed any idea that Will was scared of him, or something, and the list of chores he’d doled out the second he made sure Nico could walk had put the idea in the grave.

He still can’t quite believe that Nico actually, like…listened. But he’s a good bandage cutter (very accurate) and, as a super fun bonus, the Romans were all scared of him, so when they tried to get out of their cots while their limbs were literally hanging onto them by a thread, Will just had Nico stand behind him and glare at them until they sat their asses back down.

(“You are without a doubt the best nurse I’ve ever had,” Will had grumbled, sticking his tongue out at Austin, who lazily tried to trip him. Nico had rolled his eyes, huffing as if he thought Will was joking.)

“Wow,” says Cecil, sitting in Will’s bed for some reason. He rakes his eyes up and down his body, whistling appreciatively at the towel around his waist. Will rolls his eyes and starts digging through his dresser drawers. “Look at you! So human-like! No zombie eyebags to be seen!”

“Showers don’t erase eyebags, dick for brains.”

“True, but you’re so hot when you’re not covered in blood and vomit that I can overlook them.”

“Kiss my ass, Cecil.”

“Really? Is that permission?”

Will laughs, admitting defeat. He tugs on a pair of boxers, then tosses a few clothing options on his bed.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s good to be out, Zeus’ beard. Nico’s taking me to dinner; d’you know if it’s cold in the city? And I should probably wear real shoes, right, Annabeth mentioned something about New York bacteria —”

“Woah, woah, hold on, William, pause there for a second.”

Will looks up, frowning. “What?”

“Nico’s taking you to dinner?”

Cecil’s eyes are wide. Reflexively, Will pats his chin, paranoid he’s got something on his face.

“…Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing! Nothing, nothing.” Quickly, Cecil schools his face back to its usual smirk, leaning casually against the bedpost. (He misses. Mercifully, Will decides to let it slide and wait for him to straighten himself. He’s a good friend, like that.)

“Well, obviously something.”

“Nope! I’m just —” He softens. “I’m glad you’re taking a break, Willy. We’ve been worried about you. Remind me to send him a lock pick set.”

“Most people send fruit,” Will suggests gently. He cuffs Cecil playfully on the jaw, rolling his eyes when Cecil catches his hand and presses a loudly exaggerated kiss to it. “Or flowers. Also, don’t call me Willy.”

“Sorry, Willy.”

“Gods, you’re infuriating.”

“Mhm. And yet you adore me. Oou, wear the grey plaid shirt, it makes your eyes look bluer. And for the love of Hermes, do not wear shorts.”

———

At seven o’clock sharp, there’s a knock on the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?”

“Nico!” Will says brightly. “Hi! You don’t have to wait by the door, dorkus. Come in.”

With a second of hesitation, Nico steps in. The usually creaky floorboards are silent under his black Chucks. Will chooses to believe that’s on purpose, because it’s cooler.

“You can sit if you want! Unless we gotta leave right away. I wasn’t actually sure, are we just going to McDonald’s or something? Also, I told Cecil he couldn’t come, I figured three would make it a party or something but lemme know if we’re bringing friends along and —”

“We’re not,” Nico interrupts.

“—tell them.” Will blinks at him, then smiles. “Just you and me, then.”

Nico clears his throat. “Yeah.” He glances up at Will, and away again, like he can’t hold his gaze for too long. He looks a little flushed. “You, uh. You braided your hair.”

“What? Oh!” Will touches the French braids on either side of his head, smiling. “Yeah, I finally had the time. Keeps my hair back better than much else. Hey, Nico, you good? You looked flushed, maybe you should —”

Nico catches his hand. He smiles.

“I’m fine, Solace. You just look nice, is all.”

Will snorts. “No kidding. Anything’s better than the vomit shirt.”

———

Nico refuses to answer any of his questions about where they’re going.

Or, well. Will asks him and endless string of questions and receives only hums or nods in response, except for the odd huff of laughter when Will pouts.

“C’mon! Can’t I just know where we’re going?”

“You’re about to.”

“I mean now, Death Breath.”

“Well, now I’m definitely not telling you.”

“Ugh.”

Nico places a fleeting hand on his elbow as they reach the base of Half-Blood Hill, stalling him.

“Wait.”

Will pauses, listening. His heartbeat picks up. Monster? Monsters?

He glances over at Nico, noticing the tension in his face, the twist to his mouth, the —

Oh, no he doesn’t.

“Hold it, Gerard Way!”

Nico startles.

“What?”

“I know that face! You are not shadow-travelling us to the city, no way, no how, do you want to dissolve —”

“Will,” Nico interrupts, laughing softly, “Will, trust me for a second. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Nico blinks. Will flushes.

“That was fast.”

“Well! Well.”

“I’m not shadow-travelling,” Nico promises, changing the subject when it’s clear Will has nothing to say. “I’m just summoning our ride. I promise it won’t drain me.”

“…Fine.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Nico screws up his face again. The tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose are more obvious when he wrinkles it. Will has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from touching them.

One moment, there’s nothing but empty road in front of them. The next, there’s a massive fucking limo, driven by what Will can only describe as a ghoul.

“There,” Nico says happily. “Our ride!”

He jogs over to the sleek black limo, leaving Will gaping. With a quick hand to keep the driver from getting up, he opens the back door, gesturing broadly.

“C’mon, Sunshine.”

Will recovers quickly. He’s never been in a limo before — hell, he’s hardly ever been in cars. He slides into the black leather seats, gaping, barely noticing Nico ducking in and closing the door behind him.

“Cleveland and Merrick, please, Jules-Albert.”

Limos are crazy.

If hotel mini bars were, like, physical places rather than tiny bottles in mini fridges, they would look like limos. The windows are tinted, so the interior is dark, illuminated a softly glowing red by strips of LEDs. There is an actual TV screen, although it’s not on. Will feels like James Bond.

“Gift from my dad,” Nico explains. “He knows he can’t always be there to drive me around, so he got Jules-Albert to take me places. He’s cool. He even answers to me, technically, and not my dad, so if anything happens back here he won’t snitch.” Nico gets so violently red he damn near goes invisible under the LEDs. “Not that — I mean, it’s more like —”

“That is so cool,” Will breathes. “Oh my gods, Nico, you are literally the coolest demigod in the world.”

“Hah,” says Nico weakly. The limo (!!) slows to a stop. “We are — here, let’s go!”

Nico practically throws himself out of the limo. Will takes one last look, thanks Jules-Albert, and hurries out after him.

———

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“What?” Nico looks at him defensively. The corner of his mouth twitches. “I thought it was pretty funny.”

Apollo Restaurant Diner, reads the garish, flashing yellow sign. Seniors half-off!

Will nudges Nico’s side as they walk in. “You should ask for the discount.”

“Keep it up and you’re paying for yourself, Solace.”

Nico guides them into a booth by the window before he can say anything. In seconds, a server is strolling up to them, popping their bubblegum and grinning.

“Welcome to Apollo’s, where if we don’t predict your order, it’s free! I’ll get you guys some sodas, and…hm. Fries to share, I think.”

They’re off, ponytail bouncing, before either of them can say anything.

“Well,” says Nico after a moment. “I guess we’re having fries.”

Will snorts. “You love fries. You love anything fried and battered, because there is nothing you love more than poor decision making.”

“Caught me, Solace.”

“Aw. I thought —”

Their server pops back in with their sodas, nodding as they thank them.

“— I thought I was bumped up to first name status! You called me Will earlier.”

Nico slurps obnoxiously at his cherry coke.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did too!”

“Not a jury in the world will believe you, Solace.”

Will blows his straw wrapper at him. Nico barely dodges, laughing — a real, open laugh, where some of the guard drops from his shoulders, where his smile is wide enough to show his teeth, where his dark eyes cringe near shut.

“You’re so lame. Get your stupid straw wrapper away from me.”

Will feels like he doesn’t respond for ages, mesmerized by the crooked curve of Nico’s smile. There’s mischief in that smile, and oddly it makes shyness bloom in Will’s chest, it makes the tips of his ears red, makes him duck his head.

Will’s saved from trying to come up with a comment by the massive — truly gigantic — platter of fries set between them.

“Holy shit,” breathes Will, alarmed.

“Holy shit,” breathes Nico, eyes wide. The smile grows wider. “Holy shit!”

Will’s stomach growls. He’s reminded how truly hungry he is, and without another word, the two of them dig in.

They end up ordering another platter. Will theorizes that, in total, they eat at least seven whole potatoes.

“How many fries do you think is in one potato?”

“A yukon?” says Will. “Like, twenty-five, at least. Wait, hold on, pass me your napkin, lemme do the math.”

“Gods, you are such a nerd.”

Will loses count of how many times they refill their sodas. Too many. Camp food is usually very healthy — as head medic, Will has to set an example, but it’s just Nico, here. Will eats himself into a minor food coma and relishes in it. When Nico asks if he wants to order one of the giant milkshakes, he doesn’t hesitate.

“Duh. Strawberry.”

“Gross, Solace. Vanilla or nothing.”

“Basic ass bitch.”

“At least I’m not vying for strawberry!”

By the time Nico gets up to go get their bill, the sun has long since set. Will realises he forgot to put his watch back on after his shower, and has no idea what time it actually is.

“Nine-thirty ish,” Nico says, opening the limo door for him. “We’ll be back at camp at ten.”

Will grimaces. “Fuck. Will Jules-Albert chill overnight? If we try to go back to our cabins, the curfew harpies are gonna eat us.”

“Scared, Solace?”

Nico’s eyes are bright and teasing. Will wonders how the hell other campers find him so frightening — the little twitches of his mouth are so obvious. Some people are just oblivious.

“Of course I’m scared, you dickhead. What am I gonna do, sing a hymn until they go away?”

Nico snorts. “You worry too much. They’re afraid of me, you know. They’ll steer clear.”

“You have a lot of confidence in how much you scare people, which is crazy for someone who’s five eight.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Will grins. “Never.”

The drive back to camp feels shorter than it is. The limo’s seats are stupid comfortable, and Nico is a warm presence beside him, and more than anything, Will is exhausted. Last time he slept was — Thursday? He’s pretty sure? He definitely slept on Wednesday, and he’s pretty sure Kayla locked him in the back office with a pillow on Thursday. But maybe that was this morning.

“Will, hey.” A cool, calloused hand brushes over his forehead, and he leans into it, humming. “Get up, you loser. We’re here.”

Will groans. “Five more minutes.”

The soft, gravelly chuckles are the most musical things he’s ever heard. “Up you get, Sunshine, or I’ll let the harpies eat you.”

That gets Will up fast. He shoves Nico away, who’s still snickering at him, grumbling as he crawls out of the limo.

“It’s like you want me to die of stress.”

“Nah.”

They wave goodbye to Jules-Albert, who disappears in a blink. Halfway up the hill, a hand closes around his. Will glances over to Nico in surprise, but he looks resolutely ahead.

“I can feel you freaking out.” He clears his throat. “I told you, Solace. I’ll protect you.”

“That’s not what you said,” Will grumbles, but it’s hard to get his attitude across when his cheeks ache from smiling.

Nico ends up being right — the harpies steer clear of them. He looks very smug about being right, smirking all the way up to the Apollo Cabin door. He walks him up the creaking steps, pausing at the door. He lets go of Will’s hand, which is kind of a bummer. Will had liked holding his hand — physical proof that Nico was becoming more comfortable with him.

“So,” Nico says, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So,” Will parrots, grinning. He grins wider at Nico’s scowl, gently illuminated by the soft glow of the Apollo cabin. “I had fun tonight, Nico. I needed that.”

Nico’s whole face softens. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Will smiles at him again. “Thank you.”

For a second, Nico’s slight smile melts into a more serious expression. Will finds himself lingering, searching Nico’s face. Waiting.

Quick as a dart, Nico leans up and presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

“Oh,” Will breathes, eyes wide. His fingers come up and brush the spot Nico kissed, skin tingling.

Nico looks at him nervously. “Was that okay?”

It takes Will a solid few seconds to answer. Even then, it’s not any recognizable words — more of an embarrassing hnnnnngh wha.

Nico grins. “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

“Nico — wait.”

“Harpies, Sunshine.”

Will could swear he sees Nico’s shoulders shaking with laughter as he walks away. Which — huh! Pardon! Excuse.

“Nico! Was! Was this a date!”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Will.”

“Nico!”

Nico disappears down the bend without answering. Will manages to catch the curve of his smile before he goes.

He doesn’t sleep a wink.

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green-typewriterz · 1 month

Note

i would love literally anything sam winchester related the lack of fics r astounding.. maybe something fluffy?? ive had a bad week would so cheer me up

Best fake-real husband

ASKS ARE OPEN

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: You and Sam go undercover in a small town to find out what's been happening to the disappearing couples.

ASK: above

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, awkward moments, mid season sam (in my mind it’s season 5 so its not following canon plot)

Author notes: Thankyou so much for the ask!!! I hope this is good :))) also Sam is the leader of the Sassy man army and if you don’t think so you can leave. Also thank you to @midsummeranderson for helping me plan <3

word count: 4110

You had always hated suburban houses, they just seemed empty, unforgiving. Though you didn’t have much of a choice. Bobby had a case and you two were to go undercover.

”Husband and wife…” Sam began, a glint in his eyes as he moved around the open plan kitchen, opening the windows to salve the heat that bit at their necks.

You smiled in reply, laying out weapons to move to the spare room. “Not awkward at all.” You replied and he laughed, shrugging his usual flannel onto a chair and digging into his bag.

Sam looked up, smiling, holding two rings in his hand. “Nope. I’m going to be the best fake-real husband ever. Dean thinks I can’t and I’m kinda determined to prove him wrong.” You sigh and shake your head, but there’s no annoyance behind it. Trust Dean to make a game out of it.

A piece of hair fell in front of his eyes - it’s so long now that it reaches his shoulders, princelike. “Well then I guess I’ll have to be a good wife.” He hummed in agreement and you tucked his hair back behind his ear and a smile spread across his face. “Looks like I’m off to a good start, Sam Heathcliff.”

You gently slipped the ring onto your finger, the metal slightly too big for you. It was your grandmothers, a mix of silver and sapphire. Sam places his dad’s wedding band on his own hand, fiddling with it gently. It made you smile softly, how the ring was cold against your skin - your grandmother had always wanted you to wear it.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your memories and the two of you looked to each other with confusion, Dean wasn’t meant to be here until later that evening. You opened the door cautiously, flitting into character when you saw a 57 year old woman holding a large pie in her hands.

She grinned cheerily, pushing the dish forward into your hands as she spoke, you didn’t really have another choice but to take it (you’d probably hand it off to Dean later.) “Hi,” the voice sounded fake, satirical. She never met your eyes, she was almost entirely focused on Sam. “I heard there was a new couple in town, thought I’d do the neighbourly thing and say hi.” She began, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a particularly suggestive manner. “We’d love to have you over this weekend, monthly barbeque.”

You looked at Sam, who looked entirely uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving and wrapped your arms around his waist. “We’d love to…” you waited for a name, the woman smiled with annoyance, as if she hated you speaking to her.

“Helen. Watson.”

The two of you introduced yourself and agreed to go, knowing the gathering would be useful to get information. With one last glance at Sam, Helen turned around and left, allowing you to breathe a sigh of relief.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Dean came round that evening, constantly grinning and mocking and (as you had expected) he greeted the pie with open arms. “Look you two,” he began, as if he were an expert on the subject, “You’re practically a couple already, just… act like you’re in your honeymoon phase for the old women.”

He stated this as if it were an obvious fact and you raised your brows at his use of the word ‘honeymoon’. Sam looked away in annoyance (Something Dean found extremely funny). It seemed as though the younger Winchester couldn’t wait to get rid of Dean and so, as soon as he had finished his pie, he was forced out the door and back to the impala. There was a second sigh of relief when the door closed.

Though it had seemed like a smart idea at the time, the two of you were sorely regretting filling the spare room with hunting gear as it had left you with one bedroom. “I’ll take the couch,” Sam said as he gathered some clothes to sleep in, you stood in the doorway, arms folded as you shook your head.

“Not a chance, you’d barely fit on this bed imagine how uncomfortable you'd be downstairs.” You argued and he shook his head, trying to claim that he’d slept worse. Eventually, the two of you came to an agreement. Sam would sleep over the covers, you’d sleep under them (he always got hot at night anyway - especially during the summer).

You excused yourself to the bathroom and by the time you had gotten back Sam was already asleep, long hair falling gently over his eyes. You lay down beside him and got comfortable, though you forgot just how much Sam moved in his sleep. He seemed to subconsciously move closer to you, warm, tan skin flush against yours.

His face was inches from yours, holding a gentle smile as if he were happily dreaming (though that was something that didn’t happen often). You gently moved the hair from his eyes and he moved closer still, broad shoulders brushing against you. You fell asleep in the comfort of his warmth and awoke with his arms wrapped securely around you. He wasn’t awake yet, you always woke up before him.

You eventually found it in yourself to move from his grip and headed downstairs, intending to make breakfast for the two of you. He was downstairs a few moments later, hair a sweet, tousled mess on his head. You smiled sweetly but neither of you spoke - there wasn’t much need to.

The two of you seemed to move around each other as if you had been married for years as you got ready for the barbeque, passing each other what you needed wordlessly. Chalk it up to years of hunting together.

“Todays gonna be entertaining for me.” You stated, a smirk on your face. He tilted his head in confusion as if he were a dog and you smiled, eyes drifting to his shoulders for a moment. “C’mon Sam, it’s a town of 47 year old women who hate their husbands and you’re a - very awkward - 6 '4 man. A handsome one at that.” He blushed and turned away, continuing to get ready.

His hands fiddled with the jacket in front of him. “Yeah, so?” You smiled at him, opening the front door as you spoke again.

“So, it’s gonna be fun watching you squirm.” Your smile turned to a grin and Sam shook his head, following you out the door.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You were right, as expected. Although most were fine, one specific group of women made an exaggerated effort to fan themselves, whispering to each other about Sam. They almost immediately ushered you over. You sent a look to your best friend and headed toward them.

Immediately, they began to gossip, asking you about how you and Sam met and you could barely get a word in edgeways. There were compliments thrown at you too, but you knew they were just to stop you ‘feeling jealous.’

“How did you get so lucky?” One woman, Helen, asked. Her voice was wrought with envy as she stared over at Sam. Part of you understood why they were staring, Sam looked strangely good in the traditional small town husband attire. His white polo had a few buttons undone and the fabric was tight on his arms (Dean had ordered the wrong size) and his long hair was held back from his head by a pair of sunglasses, a few stray pieces falling over his eyes. The only part you weren’t a fan of was the khaki shorts…but it seemed to be the dress code in the town so you brushed it off - you and Dean would probably make fun of him for it later. He felt his gaze on you and turned to meet your eyes, smiling softly and winking. The women around you giggled and you rolled your eyes, to which he laughed.

It turned out that talking to the four women was the best thing for the case, they absolutely adored gossip. “Couples have been going missing, it always starts with the husbands.” Margaret whispered excitedly, “It happened to the couple who were here before you, sweet things.” she continued, sipping on a glass of wine.

You tilted your head, something Sam recognised from a distance, you’d had an idea. “Do they leave anything behind? People can’t just disappear?” You asked, pulling your hand through your hair.

Helen shook her head. “The damn council barely clean out the houses.” You nodded. Bingo. If the house hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned, chances are there’d be evidence. Helen continued to ramble and you were listening intently, until a hand gently slid onto your waist.

You let out a gasp but the strong smell of cedarwood and amber calmed you down. You knew exactly who it was. His grip pulls tighter around you and you lean into him, head resting on his chest. You felt your face flush - something you were praying he didn’t notice.

“How did you two meet?” One woman asked and you looked at each other, making sure without ever even speaking that you had the story right.

Sam leaned his head on yours and sweetly said, “why don’t you take this one, honey.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, he was trying to throw you off and the hand that was massaging your side was proof of that.

You met his eyes with the same excitement, if he wanted to play, you were really going to go for it. “We both worked as government agents, met on the field. Hence all the scars.” The women nodded in realisation, looking at some of the injuries you hadn’t quite managed to hide. “He wasn’t the biggest fan of mine at first but I grew on him, isn’t that right darling?”

Sam nodded, his eyes not leaving yours as he replied, “and now I don’t want to be without her ever again.” He found that sentence to be more true than he thought.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Sam sent an exasperated look your way as he raked a hand through his hair (and sadly took the glasses off his head). “How were the boys?” you asked with a smile and he turned to make sure no one was watching before dropping the facade.

“I’m actually shocked how much I don’t know about football.” He replied and you both laughed, him leaning into you as he smiled. He looked outside at the group of gossipping women before adding on, “they seemed…friendly.”

You laughed, “to you, sure, but I think it’s because they want you in their bed.” The sentence was blunt and Sam’s eyes widened, cheeks blushing a strong red. You, however, continued as if you had never said anything, “I think it could be witches? We’d have to search for hex bags though.” He nodded, not meeting your eyes (he was slightly flustered).

The two of you eventually said your goodbyes and made your way down the street, Sam looked annoyed with himself. “What’s up?”

He sighed, “this one guy, Glenn, roped me into holding a housewarming party…” You stared at him incredulously, did he not try to say no? Sam recognised the look in your eyes and defended himself, “the man was incredibly persuasive!” You shook your head but knew there was no way out of it. You weren’t the best at party planning.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The long stretch of grocery store met you as you and Sam stood in the doorway. You didn’t often do this as hunters so it was a slightly daunting task. You looked at each other with tired eyes and went your separate ways, deciding to cover ground as if it were a hunt…just for nachos.

You rounded a corner only to see Helen stood there. Not wanting to be stuck in conversation again, you instantly turned on your heel, hiding behind a row of sauces. Though, something caught your eye. In Helen’s basket, clearly hidden just not very well, was a large amount of herbs and salt. What got you interested was the extreme amount of basil and sage.

Witches. Had to be.

Sam approached you, smiling gently. Something about the situation made him look so… domestic. You tried to motion to him what you were thinking but he seemed so fixated on you, his reaching out for yours. “Can you do your job?” you spoke, the words sounding harsher than you had intended. He instantly pulled back, face twisting with annoyance.

“What?”

“Take the hint, Sam. Behind me.”

You continued to whisper back and forth in annoyance, alerting Helen who watched in confusion. You quickly turned to look at her and sighed as she approached, hiding the herbs with the rest of her groceries. “Lovers quarrel?” she joked and the two of you laughed in the same way Bobby would when Dean told another of his bad jokes.

Sam made excuses as you looked at her, trying to see if you could spot any witch runes on her. It seemed as though she was trying to do the same to you. “Well isn’t that tattoo…neat!” She said, trying to hide the venom in her voice as she pointed out the anti-possession tattoo on your collarbone. Great.

You looked at Sam in annoyance and turned back to Helen. “Thanks! I saw it in a magazine!” You tried to explain away but you knew you’d been caught, she had spotted you and you her. Though she was very keen to stay in conversation, Sam made a quick excuse and you both left as soon as you could.

“Told you it was witches.”

Sam didn’t reply. The car journey back was completely silent, an unspoken annoyance building in the both of you. Neither of you said a word until the front door closed. “Nice job letting her see the tattoo.” Sam said annoyedly, turning to look at you.

You sighed and turned away, packing away the groceries. “Maybe if you spent less time flirting and more time actually hunting we’d be done by now! This isn’t exactly a hard case, we don't need more bodies to our name.” The reply was sharp and annoyed.

He suddenly grabbed your wrist so you’d look at him. “I’m doing my job just fine.” His eyes were locked with yours. You stepped closer.

“No, you’re not. You’re distracted.” Sam scoffed, his minty breath fanning against your cheek from how close you were. His hand was still firmly on your wrist.

An annoyed smile spread across his face and a muscle in his neck tensed. “Oh yeah? And why would I be distracted?” You stared directly at him, from his long hair that fell over his unreadable gaze to the smoothness of his bronzed skin.

You found yourself stepping closer again. “You tell me.”

There was a crushing silence, the only sound being your sharp breaths. Suddenly, Sam’s grip on your hand moved to your waist and he pulled you into him, his lips colliding with yours. You leaned into him, hands grabbing his hair harshly. He kissed you as if he were hungry, as if he had been waiting for years - maybe he had. He lifted you easily and sat you on the kitchen counter, leaning back from the kiss for a split second. His chest rose quickly in hot breaths as he kissed you again. You bit his bottom lip - letting blood drip as his hands gripped your skin.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The party was loud and irritating, there wasn’t a moment where you had time for yourself, not one point where you weren’t ’y/n Heathcliff’. You and Sam had barely talked after the evening before - you didn’t know what to say.

You knew Helen would be at the party, not only would it be good to keep up appearances but she could get her next victim from it. Sam sent you a look and you nodded once, heading toward the spare bedroom in search of weapons, just in case.

A small, easily hidden knife was being placed into your waistband when Sam opened the door, closing it harshly behind him. “Sorry,” he said quietly, “had to get away from Miriam.”

You laughed gently and went back to preparing, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Helen’s here.”

“I know.”

Silence again. You sighed, “and you just left her out there? Alone?” His brows furrowed and he offered a witty remark, starting another hushed argument between the two of you.

On the other side of the door, Miriam and Margaret pressed their ears to the wood, giggling like school children at how the argument sounded to them. Through the muffled walls, all they could hear was gasps and sharp noises - of course they assumed what they wanted.

Sam’s hands pushed through his hair as he sighed, uncertain of what to do, when suddenly the door started opening. He rushed forward and pushed against it, rushing out a quick, “one moment!” All he heard in reply was laughs.

“What do we do?” He asked nervously and you stood still, nervous, until a thought popped into your head. You held your hands out - asking for permission and, once he nodded, you placed your hands gently in his soft hair, ruffling it. It annoyed you how he still managed to look good.

Then, once he had done the same for you, you looked him up and down, deciding his outfit was far too…tidy. First it was one button undone, then another (you unbuttoned a third for personal reasons). A blush rose on the tips of his ears.

He went to open the door when you realised something was still missing and, in a quick moment of panic, you rushed forward and grabbed his face, kissing him harshly on the lips (you were purposely trying to smudge your lipstick onto him). Sam made a noise in shock but found himself leaning into it, eyes lingering closed for a moment longer after you had pulled away.

Shit. He thought. He definitely liked you.

Eventually, the door was opened and Sam met the two women with an awkward smile. “Oh!’ Margaret began, giggling, “I was going to offer a drink, but I see you’re occupied…” The woman looked at one another, laughed again and walked away, leaving Sam blushing with embarrassment. The door was closed once more and when you were both sure they had walked away, laughter spilt into the room.

He shook his head and smiled, stepping closer to you. “Close one.” You smiled gently, staring into his eyes (the light was hitting them perfectly). There was silence again - neither of you knew what to do.

”Are we ever going to talk about last night?” You asked, thinking about how his hands felt on your skin. His features turned more serious as he sat down on the bed.

He stared at you, lipstick still in a smudge on his face. “I’m not sure what to say about it.” You neared him, hands trailing over his shoulders. Then, slowly, you leaned into him, lifting his chin with your finger as you felt his soft lips against yours. There was something impossibly gentle about it and you weren’t sure anyone had kissed you that softly before.

”Maybe we don’t need to say anything.”

He smiled. You kissed the corner of his grin and headed back downstairs, attempting to fix your hair as you went. You were met with stares as you entered the kitchen - Miriam had most definitely told everyone… at least it sold the cover.

Time passed with an almost excruciating level of slowness and Sam not making a re-entrance back downstairs wasn’t helping either (you had no one to distract you). Eventually, the party cleared out yet Sam was nowhere to be seen - now you began to panic.

You said goodbye to the final few neighbours and headed back upstairs, calling Sam’s name. The lack of response worried you. The first door by the stairs - the one that unfortunately led to your weapons room - was ajar, scratches around the lock. You pulled the dagger from your waistband and slowly opened the door, sighing as you saw the bloodstain on the floor. You had a feeling you knew who had taken him and where he had gone.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You had managed to track him to Helen’s house, hiding around the back to get a good view through the sliding glass doors. Sat, tied to a chair in the middle of the main room, was Sam. His face was bruised and bloody and his expression looked annoyed, chest heaving with sharp breaths. Helen, Miriam and Margaret circled around him, playing with his hair and gathering items they needed for the spell.

”Poor Sam,” Helen began - you assumed she was the leader, “you’d think you’d be able to fight back against three 57 year olds.” Miriam headed into the kitchen as Margaret laughed, they almost reminded you of the witches from Macbeth.

”You’d also think, considering she’s a hunter, that your ‘wife’ would be better at hiding.” Suddenly, a surprisingly strong pair of hands grabbed you, pushing you against the wall.

You struggled against the grip but it was no use, your hands being painfully tied behind your back. Miriam ushered you into the living room, retiring you to a chair beside Sam. You met his eyes with an apologetic gaze and he returned it.

It was your turn to feel the bunt of the witches’ fun now, knives sliced at your skin and hair was cut from your head, you knew they’d done it somewhere visible on purpose. They grabbed at your face, nails digging into flesh and smiling as Sam protested.

Eventually, the three left the room and you and Sam began planning. You shuffled your chair toward him, trying to see if he could reach the dagger you always hid in your shoe. His hand brushed over your shin but he couldn’t reach any further.

With one final attempt, Sam tried to lean on the chair to reach, which ended with him toppling both chairs. He landed on top of you, his chest flush against yours. “Sorry.” He spoke, words hoarse from lack of breath.

Luckily for you, the fall had broken the ropes around your ankles and - though it hurt like hell - you manoeuvred your leg just enough to read the blade. Sam's hair tickled against your face and his lips tickled your neck - but that was something you’d have to think about later.

“Nice try you two.” Helen spoke as she waltzed back in. You hid the blade in your sleeve as your chair was fixed once more and while the three were busy working, you managed to slice through the ropes. you waited patiently, watching with a newfound confidence. Luckily for you, Maragaret was the type of witch to intimidate - her favourite tactic being getting as close as she could.

You took the opportunity and thrust the blade forward, stabbing through her throat. She screamed out and you stood up making your way over to the other two to fight. You took a fair few punches, but it was nothing new and soon enough the two others were on the floor too, holding onto the last of their life.

The large salt circle was immediately broken and Sam was freed, you apolising every time you accidentally touched any of his injuries. “That was badass.” Sam complimented and you laughed, leaning your hair back tiredly.

You turned away, starting to destroy the spell further as you spoke, “Ready to finally stop being husband and wife?” You asked and a small smirk rose on his face, hands snaking back over your waist again.

With sudden passion, he spun you back around, his eyes glinting. “Not really.”

With that, Sam lifted you off the ground, hands securely gripping your thighs as he kissed your neck. You had your back pushed against the wall as he moved to kiss your lips, your hands pulling at the back of his hair. He sighed and went to kiss you again when the front door swung open, revealing a disgusted (but slightly relieved) Bobby and a grinning Dean.

”We can explain?” Sam offered, gently lowering you back to the ground. You couldn’t look at one another.

Dean shook his head, smiling like a madman. “I don’t know Sammy, seems pretty obvious to me.” Then, with the same giddy happiness he turned to Bobby, who had since fished a ten dollar bill out of his pocket.

Typical. You and Sam shared an annoyed look as The other two hunters headed back out the door. ‘“C’mon you lovebirds,” Bobby began, “There’s a vamp nest in Chicago.”

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester #fluff #Injury #witches #supernatural #supernatural fic #Sam Winchester the sass queen #sam winchester x fem!reader

199 notes · View notes

morallyinept · 7 months

Text

Pedro Boys & Kinks 🥴

Today we're getting kinky with the Pedro Boys...

NSFW due to the nature of the smutty talk.

Check out more of my Pedro Boys Rambles here.

I make no apologies for this. Well, maybe some...

Enjoy! 🖤

Joel Miller - Nylons.

This rugged old man with the bad knees loves to tear through your pantyhose like a rabid madman in the throes of a Cordyceps freak out! Le freak, c'est chic. He's drooling, darlin'. He loves to lick your pussy through them, watching the wet patch bloom into the silky mesh of your oozy camel toe. Feel the smooth slide of them against his morose face as he runs his scruff up your legs and into your parted thighs. Those thick, calloused fingers are soon tearing them open as he literally dives face first into your sopping cunt. I mean, he's been starving for a while now. Chef Boyardee ain't cutting it. Joel's a hungry man and it's not long after that, that he's planting his crimson capped mushroom deep inside you; fisting at the shredded hosiery around your thighs. In the days before the outbreak, Joel was an absolute sucker for a pair of black hold ups with a lacy top. And if they had little satin bows on? Well, that's a sure fire way to finish him off. And Joel Miller is fucking indestructible, right?

Well, mostly. Abby Anderson might have something to do with that… Sssh! 🤫

Francisco Morales - Gagging.

The best way to hook this Catfish line and sinker, is to take him right back deep into your throat and watch as he loses all his shit. Frankie's gonna start killing people! Lots of spit, sucking, drooling and if you cry those mascara tears from the strain down your cheeks? Even better, hermosa. You can bet that Frankie will bust more than just his nuts as you chow down at the all-you-can-eat dick buffet and swallowing all of that Fish yoghurt. (Urm, eww?) You'll have this handsome pilot flying high, and without the use of nose powder. Standard Heating Oil cap stays on. The whole damn time.

Ezra - Urophilia & Squirting.

Ezra is a kinky scoundrel deep down. We all know it. Don't be fooled by that doe-eyed, self-redemption of our ramblin' man. Even with one arm he can still get his freak on with vigour. And don't let the fact he has one arm hold him back either. Oh no, little bird. He'll fingerbang you so hard until you're gushing all over his arm and he's licking it all up greedily. S'better than mining for Aurelac. Ezra's biggest kink is railing you when you really need to pee. And you can bet he'll press down on your bladder so you let it out all over him as you cum wildly. Time for a golden shower for our sweaty prospector. Panties down, Birdie.

Dieter Bravo - Abrasion (Touch Sensations)

This trashy floof-panda loves to touch things, always feeling things up when he's high off his tits. Rubbing his face against the wall, fingering through the shag, even licking it on occasion. And don't give him bubble wrap when he's fucked up twelve ways to Sunday n' tripping balls. You'll never get it back. The same applies when you're fucking; your body is a touch soaked candyland for him to explore, mount and peak. And dribble over. He'll take his sweet time doing it all too with awed bloodshot-eyes and then indulge in a post-coital KitKat for a munchies treat. Dieter won't share it though; he's never giving this up.

Agent Whiskey - Impact Play

Ol' handsome Jack has an adept arsenal of kinky whips and lassos. Of course he's gonna use them on ya, sugar. We all know how good Jack is with a whip. He loves it when the skin breaks and you bleed a little too. Those thick, red welts criss-crossing over your pert booty that he'll slap whilst he fucks you like a bucking bronco get him staying hard for the duration, ma'am. But he likes spending time soothing you afterwards by rubbing cool and nourishing salves and lotions into your cheeks and kissing all over them like succulent peaches. Cowboy Jack is all about the aftercare, doll. A true Southern dandy indeedy.

Javier Peña - Quirofilia (Hands/Nails)

Javier always notices when you've had your nails done. Complimenting you on the colour, the shape; the glitzy gems on your pointer finger that twinkle at him as he fucks your fist in the file room tucked away amongst boxes of Escobar's reciepts and spurts down your skirt. Yeah, thanks, Javi. He loves it even more when they're raking down his back leaving pink claw marks in his tan skin that make him growl and bear his teeth, as he ploughs you deeper into the mattress, cariño.

Oberyn Martell - Wax Play

Oberyn loves making patterns on your skin as he drips the hot wax onto it and watches you sizzle. Peeling it off when it dries is the best part to reveal succulent pink nipples he sucks on and soothes from the heated burn they've endured. Fucking by candlelight will almost guarantee that the Red Viper will sink his fangs into your flesh to poison you all over again after he sets you aflame. Is it getting hot in here?

Marcus Pike - Cuckolding

Well cuck-a-doodle-do-me. Marcus loves watching you get taken by another, far more superior, person, and your pleasure at that suggestion only fuels his own further. He loves hearing how weak and pathetic he is and how he's never made you cum (even if it's a playful lie, I mean it's Marcus-fucking-Pike, come on. The man spends hours pulling them big O's out of you.) And if you poke fun at the size of his cock, (even if it is a whopper) he'll ruin himself right there fuelling your laughter as he watches you get railed without being able to touch. Guarantee it.

Dave York - Knife Play

Murder Daddy Dave loves to watch you squirm as he runs the whisper of a cool, sharp blade against your milky skin. A gentle nick or a subtle graze into the skin where the blood bubbles up, makes his cock harder than the thought of Carol's Sunday casserole. Holding it to your throat as he dicks you down is even better. Play victim for Daddy, Princess. And when you beg him to use the handle in place of his cock, well Daddy Dave is only too obliging for his good little cum slut. Good girl.

Pero Tovar - Sploshing.

I mean it's food, d'uh. Sit on a cake and let this hungry Spainard feast off of you like his enjoying his last meal. Fruit, honey, cream… okra. You name it, he'll eat from the serving platter of your tasty flesh, and will then eat you out afterwards. Either way Pero will be getting his fill one way or another. Better have some Pepto handy.

Din Djarin - Shibari

The Mandalorian can either bring you in warm or bring you in roped up. Taking his sweet, agonising time in tying the silk fibres of the Shibari rope around your limbs, Din prolongs both of your anticipation through adept fingers akin to wizardry. But it's worth it to see the pretty and intricate knots and weaves that leave their patterns indented into your flesh long after he's untied you. And it'll be hours and hours before he does, Mesh'la. With your back to him, he'll subtly push up his helmet to kiss his artistic handiwork and leave deeper marks etched on you still. This is the kinky way.

Marcus Moreno - Suspension.

Marcus loves nothing more than twisting your body into shapes whilst you're suspended in the air, manipulating you into all sorts of heroic poses. Pulling you back onto him as he pummels deep and hard, and you've no way to escape him. You can only float there, suspended in mid air and take what this sweet hero gives when he lets out his dark villainous side to play.

Max Phillips - Humiliation & Degradation.

Max loves the power of claiming his victims; a Vampire's hard-on. But this bloodsucker also loves it when a human gets one up on him and shows him who's the real boss by reducing him to nothing but a naked, quivering pale mess on the floor at your feet to walk all over, spit on or do anything else that you feel he's deserving of. Threaten him with an open window. Sharpen a 2B pencil. Well, he did bite you, babe. Time to get your revenge. Make him crawl naked to the staff room to fetch your lunch then use him as a footstool whilst you eat it. Just don't be surprised later when the dynamic shifts again and Max makes you his lunch. Nom.

Silva - Feet

This handsome Wrangler has travelled a long way to lay at your feet worshipping them. Stroking, nuzzling, kissing; sucking on that big toe you loathe, licking up the arch and groping the ball of your foot. He'll suck on your pinky toes whilst you suck on his cock. He'll be jerking his own gently and lost in the sensations of your intimacy as he fawns over your feet. Silva's in pedi heaven. Lord knows he'll need one himself after wearing them boots all that way, mind.

Comandante Veracruz - Voyeurism.

Veracruz has no qualms in fucking you infront of his men, claiming you and reminding you all that you're his plaything that he's kept hostage. Or instructing and watching his men take turns to fuck you when you misbehave whilst he lays back on the cot, dick in hand and blowing up. Both are equally pleasing scenarios to the eye for the Comandante. And the Comandante always gets what he wants.

Maxwell Lord - Electrostimulation

Attach the clamps on his nipples, on his balls and then charge up the juice and watch this man squeal and grunt like a Red Wattle hog. He also likes a shock wand when he's been a very bad man. And Maxwell is in dire need of a whole lotta punishment, considering he tried to take over the world. Charge him up like a battery and watch the sparks shoot out of the end of his cock. Better than fireworks.

Javi Gutierrez - Furries

I mean, sweet Javi G dressed up in an oversized, fuzzy teddy bear suit and pawing at you? I'll just leave you with that image to do with as you wish…

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yourlocaltreesimp · 1 month

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The First to be Forsaken

been in the works for a while!! This was actually a request that got deleted.

So to the anon who requested a reader who was cursed by Hylia like Eda in the owl house, this is for you!

tw: chronic illness, death

۵♡۵

The ache in your hands never lessened and the maring cracks in your skin never healed. It made for a rather ugly sight, all considered. The creeping vine-like scars showing in rather gorey details the tainted flesh.

No medical salve nor healing spell could rid you of the malice that poisoned your blood. And according to the words of the fairies themselves, it’s latched to your very soul. It festers, feeding off of your energy until you’ll be left as a husk. A puppet with no one to pull its strings.

It’s not pleasant knowing you’re going to die, but it’s less so knowing that no matter how often you pray to the goddess it will not be fixed. The divine never needed to give reason for why they shunned that which gives them power. Still, the chain did what they could, and for that you had many thanks.

Wild always had hearty food to replace the energy stolen from you, Legend let you wear whatever charmed jewellery you wanted, Time would never let you take night shifts, Warriors would carry you on the days you were too fragile to walk, Twilight doubled as a bed and his pelt as a blanket, Four made braces for your brittle joints, Hyrule was always testing different mixes in hopes that one might lessen your pain, Sky would hold your hand and talk to you on the days you could walk to make sure that you had something to distract from the crying of your nerves, even Wind spared some of his grandmother’s soup in hopes that of it didn’t rid of pain, it might ease your distress. Your Heroes were funny like that, sacrificing whatever they had for anyone that needed it, no matter how precious their time or belongings are. Certainly not a coincidence they act this way. They’ve seen what’s become of you under the neglect of the gods. And you’ve seen the familiar ache in their eyes, the recognition of themselves within you.

The newest hero, First —well perhaps then he’s the oldest— was in many ways similar. He too would offer you stories and ballads from his time, forgotten by the time the next era rolled in. His words had a majesty that had the whole camp turn an ear to follow whatever tale he recalled. And by the time it came for you to lay your head and rest, your woes would be far off from the front of your mind.

He’d sweep you off your feet both in the figurative matter and the literal. With only the gentlest graze of your skin and only the sweetest words that could be uttered did he regard you. He did not hold you to a sense of pity, as was common among many who knew of you, but a genuine care. A care for you beyond measure that he’d shown on many occasions that he would stop at nothing to ensure that if you could not be comfortable, you could be content.

And currently you were, despite it being a bad day.

The champion watched over the cooking pot carefully and the traveller flicked through one of his journals, looking for a combination of herbs that might be of help to you. The two passed questions back and forth in an effort to find an overlap of medicinals they haven’t already tried.

You had Twi’s pelt, Sky’s sailcloth and First’s scarf to try and dull your cold flashes. You leaned back against the First hero as his arms warped around you and his face buried into your shoulder. You shiver as the next cold wave hits, wincing. The moment sits in silence before his arms around your abdomen gently pull you closer.

“I am sorry for what she did to you, My beloved.” His voice was deep and poetic as usual, the unwavering strength he displayed to the world melted to softness at your touch. Through the staticky emptiness that settled in your brain, the question stood, alone and without any real context nor answer.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow and you look over at where he rests his head on your shoulder. He draws a heavy breath, mumbling something into your layers of clothing.

“Hylia- all of this because of her vanity. I am sorry you fell victim.” There is a pain in his voice, a guilt he’s held for long. Shackles upon his wrists that he’s not willing to let himself be freed from. You suppose it is him where their united care for the world came from, no matter how unrequited. He’d bleed himself dry for the world if it meant that it’d be better.

“I don’t mind being here with you all” You hear the distant rowdy laughter of Wind and Twi, and you find it in yourself to bask in this one moment, “It’s certainly worth it. To me, at least.” He grumbles happily, kissing the nearest place of unscathed skin he can find, right below your jaw.

“I am glad, Dearest. But that-“ His voice wavers as another chill wracks your body. You can only find a wince as you try to block away the ever advancing chill.

“That is not what I meant. I- It’s because of her that you cannot find rest. It is she who whittled down your bones and set alight your nerves” You find nothing to say as you stare at him, urging for more. “She thought it was wrong for me to love you, to long for your care and yearn to hold your heart. So, she tainted y-“ You wish to hear his words. A muse longing to read the poets works, and yet-

The words grow fuzzy as the gloom within you swells, gnawing painfully at your bones. It seems that you had forgotten exactly how brittle you were. It was always hubris that killed heroes, wasn’t it? But that didn’t make sense. You were no hero. How could it be hubris if you never meant to taunt the gods. How could that be- you weren’t dying, are you?

They said you’d be ok.

You’ll be ok right?

Everything will be ok?

The pressure in your head doesn’t stop growing and your stomach hurls.

The sun is so bright.

It hurts.

She’s taking you again, isn’t she?

#linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #link x reader #linked universe x reader #link x you #lu first x reader #lu first #fir’s library

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tenderlyrenjun · 1 year

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7Dream and bouts of some relationship insecurity

I don't really know how to title this, but yeah ...

includes ... making out, suggestive/implied sexual content, light swearing, references to fist fights, alcohol mentions, food mentions, jealousy/insecurity, vague choking; Juyeon cameo, hey babe ... also, I got carried away with one of these because I originally had it as part of a fic but I just deleted the fic instead so, yeah, sorry, you can ... really tell which one it is ._. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU GET BLOCKED AND REPORTED.

Mark Lee

"Hey, man, come on. That's my girl."

The single sentence took less than a minute, but the conversation ended with Mark's fist through the guy's jaw and with security escorting all five of you - you, Mark, Jaemin, Renjun, and Yeein - out the back door. Everyone else opted to head home, since the entrance fee was, like, ₩50,000 to account for weekend tax.

Mark barely managed a quick good-bye over the driver's door before you slammed your own door shut. You probably should have driven, since his knuckles continuously cracked along the steering wheel, but driving relaxes him, something he needed, especially after that incident. Some guy kept chatting you up, standing way too close, borderline touching your ass, even though you redirected away from him, several times. And Mark knows, and trusts, that you would never leave him, much less cheat on him; he has the upmost faith in you, if his constant words of affirmation are anything to believe, but that does not mean he has to trust everyone else, epsecially when alcohol comes into the mix, heightening emotions too much. And he didn't blame you - doesn't blame you. You look hot, something on which he commented ... very enthusiastically before even going to the bar, with your satin mini-dress, a small (literally) article he bought while thinking about you on a work trip.

But as he sped down to your apartment, you - his passenger princess - pointed your knees at the window, just generally looking away from him. He cramped his fingers on the steering wheel that time, flooring the gas pedal. Then, you, silently, guided him into your apartment, sitting him down in the bathroom, where you, now, wrap his knuckles.

Mark watches you take a salve, applying it via cotton swab over the dried blood, accidentally reopening the would, much to his grimace. Though, he says nothing. The frown embedded between your brows and the heavy breathing in the room prevents him from opening his mouth. So, he lets you paw at his hand, only letting out soft grunts when you overextend his thumb (it got caught on the guy's jaw after Mark went in for a third punch). Eventually, you finish with the salve, wiping away the excess with toilet paper, and you get up, walking out the small half-bathroom.

"I'm sorry," Mark calls softly. He half hopes you don't hear him, over the blaring air vent, because you still have yet to even look at him, in the eye, since you got in his shiny, red car. But, still, you return; eyes trained on the ground though, waving a beige roll of adhesive tape. And he repeats it, even gentler, saying your name this time, "Babe?"

"Hmm?"

"I said I'm sorry."

You stare at him, for awhile. He sees your eyes scan his face, probably lingering at the one or two cuts from when that guy landed a blow, and your fingers slip, accidentally fastening the bandage around his abductor muscle. And Mark resets his jaw, with his prettier hand, just thinking about the bar incident all over again. But then, your face drops, into your lap, and his face drops.

"No, yeah, I heard," you return, sighing, then unwrap his hand to fix your mistake. "I," you swallow thickly, licking your lips, refocusing on his fingers. Gingerly you turn them over in your polished hands, grazing his purpling skin comfortingly. "You don't have to be sorry," you say softly, "I just ... I didn't ..." You pause, dropping his hand back in his thigh, and kneel between his legs. "I didn't know you could be that kind of hot," you confess, smile fighting its way onto your face. You let out a breathless chuckle, cutting it short when you bite your lip. So, Mark pulls it from your teeth, palm brushing into your cheek. "You ... were really ... sexy." You run your hand up and down his inner thigh, and his knee twitches. "Normally, you, um, you use your words." You look up at him through your lases, teetering on your knees, still wearing that short, satin dress he bought, the loose neckline swaying teasingly. "And you're really good with your words."

Mark bites his lip this time, shifting his hips down the toilet seat on where he sits. "Gotta - Gotta defend my girl, yanno?"

You stand on your knees, taller, and Mark gets even closer, the two of you a magazine-width apart. His palm lowers down your cheek, down your jaw, settling above your collarbone. He presses, gently, at first, then squeezes around your neck, entire upper body shuddering. You breathe upward, on his lips, seam of your mouth breaking with each gasp, then move first, straddling his legs, drawing closer - yet so far - to his face.

"Well, you got your girl," you whisper. And his hand squeezes again, holding you at a distance to hear what you say, even though he keeps tilting his head across your pretty collar. "What are you gonna do now?"

Huang Renjun

You take off your couple bracelet, leaving it in the key dish by the door, before heading to work, and Renjun found it, an hour later, when he was running late to the office. He said nothing, that night, collapsing in bed before you even finished your evening skincare routine. Then, you changed your phone case to some new otterbox, replacing his matching universe one, as you both went out to dinner with Juyeon and Jun. Still, Renjun said nothing, holding the elevator door open for you and a few older ladies. The following weekend, he plucked up the courage, before a brunch date, to bring up another couple accessory before you could show him its absence:

"Are you going to wear your ring today?"

You pause, in front of the vanity mirror, steel makeup spatula a hair away from your cheek, and look at him through his reflection. Renjun gnaws inside his bottom lip. He stands at the foot of your shared bed, his coat strewn over the neatly pleated duvet. Oppositely - as oppositely has you have been from him this week - you sit across the room, at the small dressing table, still wearing your bathroom, hair wet in the front where you have yet to blow dry. Eventually, after an eternity, you turn to face him, placing the spatula, elevated, on the open foundation cap.

"I don't know," you confess slowly. "Should I?"

Renjun inhales sharply. "It's your choice," he emphasizes. But he shows you his silver ring on his right hand, the accessory pinched before his pinky. "I'm wearing mine."

You turn back to the mirror and finish applying the sunscreen, simply nodding at him, acknowledging his statement - neither confirming nor denying your own end. He thinks you might continue like that - passive aggressive - for the rest of the day, through the entire date even, but you surprise him, rotating again. You sigh, once, breaking the seam between your lips, then close them again, tongue cleaning your teeth, obviously. He waits another second, giving you the space to organize your thoughts. And you finally speak.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, staring at the ground. You swallow thickly, just once, then look at him, repeating, "I'm sorry, Junjun." You swallow again, blinking more rapidly, and Renjun crosses the room to hug you, your hands instantly climbing around his waist as he cradles your head against his stomach, your tears ruining his button-up shirt. "I know that I've been impossible lately," you confess, "I just ... Seeing someone else hit on you last week didn't ... It didn't feel good."

"I didn't know," Renjun admits, "that you felt that way."

"I didn't want you to know," you muffle, pawing his shirt.

"But you have to tell me," he says, "when I do something that makes you feel bad, especially if I don't catch on in the moment. I love you, only you." He kisses the top of your head. The hostess, at dinner last week, hit on him when she thought he came alone, but he was just reserving the table for you two; then, she persisted through the dinner, only stopping 30-minutes later, after you and he stayed later than her shift. But still, she left her number for him, much to both your annoyances. Though, it seems as though his annoyance wasn't evident enough. "Next time, I'll stop it sooner, I promise." He detaches your face from his shirt and cups your cheeks, thumbs brushing away loose tears. "Do you still want to go to brunch?"

You shake your head, no, and apologize, "Not really. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he whispers, pecking you quickly. "I'll order us some fried rice from the restaurant across town and make it up to you in bed."

Lee Jeno

It happened a couple days ago, last weekend, but Jeno has been ruminating - through all the car rides to work, all the mundane chores around the apartment, all the lonesome meals he has to eat while you work from your office - about that barista who asked for your number.

You didn't hand it out, obviously, only shooting a raised eyebrow until you got your card back. And Jeno ... he kinda just clung to you the rest of the date - making you sit in his lap, head on your shoulder, arms tight around your waist, which had you asking to use the bathroom. He knows that his behavior persisted home, over, essentially, the week, creating this ... this distance between the two of you - during drama marathons when you would otherwise cuddle; during dinners alone together in your apartment, during sex, but he can't help it: he got in his own head about it. Not even rebuilding his LEGO bonsai tree could mediate his thoughts.

And he tried.

Jeno ended up going through the motions, blindly attaching turntables to tyres, while he stared more at the coffee table than pieces. Then, you came home, as he finished assembling the cherry blossom stems (he did the green foliage, too, not yet having a preference for either), and sat on the floor with him, leaning your cheek on his shoulder, nuzzling into his hoodie.

"I missed you."

Jeno shrugs, not enough to shove you off though because your cheek rolls a little further on his chest, immobilizing his left arm. "You saw me this morning."

"Yeah, but -" You slide into his lap, resting your head over his thighs. He lifts his elbows a little higher, as you squirm around, nudging your face toward the ceiling, though you stare at him, only him. It gives him some comfort, and his hand moves automatically, coming down to caress your face. "- I don't know," you confess, "I guess I just felt a little ..." You scrunch your nose, and he rubs away the lines in your cheeks, making you grab his wrist, dragging him onto your stomach, twiddling with his long, nimble fingers. "... insecure? Lonely? Maybe?"

"Is that a question?"

"No," you shake your head. You turn on your side, burying your face in his abdomen. Jeno drops the remaining LEGO pieces and threads his free hand in your hair, matting it backwards. You sigh, deeply, "I guess I might just need some extra support, or something, right now. I love you, you know."

"Mmhmm," he nods, because he does know, that you love him. "I love you, too." It's just that Jeno doesn't like the idea of someone occupying your time the way he should. So, he lays down on the ground, too, scooting back a bit until you're face-to-face, albeit upside down, like a Spider-Man kiss. And he blinks up from your lips to eyes, seeing you watch him. "I'm sorry," he apologizes first.

You offer him a small smile. "You don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault." Tentatively, you stutter a hand toward his hair, only digging your fingers in his scalp after he nods an okay, though he also confirms that he thinks it's his fault, from how much he has been pulling away this week. "I just need some extra support, if you're able."

"And if I'm not?"

You tilt your head to the side, and Jeno frowns.

"If I'm not enough?" he clarifies.

"Then," you kiss him quickly before he can respond, elongating it for another moment, "we can support each other." You hold his chin still, staring him in the eyes. "But you are," you enunciate, "enough, more than enough."

Lee Haechan

You should have stayed home.

Really.

Haechan didn't even want to go out, didn't even want to come to the restaurant. He was content staying at home, drinking wine from tumblers rather than these elongated goblets; he already bought you flowers. You don't need to hold a glass stem and drink wine over an unreasonably exorbitant dinner. He has the same wine at home(!), the exact same Boudreaux you ordered, and he can make a steak just as well.

Okay, maybe not, but he can have Jaemin make a steak for you just as well as the chef at this restaurant, or he could order it to home. Or you could eat the really good lobster that his mom made him take yesterday. And you could pop open the rosé, over rose-scented candles, instead of the cheap taper candle - a single one - decorating your current tablecloth. There are people, too, sitting so much closer than he would like, preventing him from having an actual conversation with you.

Oh, and it got worse when the waiter started flirting with you.

At first, neither of you noticed, focused more on the menu, debating between steak or mushroom bruschetta to pair with the Boudreaux you love. Then, you laughed at some stupid joke, politely, probably, if Haechan were more level-headed, less peeved, and the waiter started flirting more enthusiastically.

"Babe?"

"Hmm?" You tilt your chin at him, still swirling your wine, reading off the drinks list.

"Baby," he tries again, whining the last syllable further. And you toss him a short glance, smile extending longer than your gaze. "Baby," he sighs, "can't you pay attention to me?"

"I am," you answer, and finally put down the small menu, but you stay there, far away from him. So, Haechan stands up, halfway, pulling your chair next to his until he sits down with his arm behind your shoulders. Haechan touches his forehead on yours, making you maintain eye contact, noses brushing together. "What's wrong, my love?" you ask him, rubbing his free arm.

In lieu of an answer, he drops his hand down your knee, curling under your skirt.

"My love?" you try again.

And he stops moving his hand up your dress, stopping as far as your thighs separate, fingers itching toward your underwear. He exhales once, twice, breath shaking, then looks at you through his glasses. "I like it when you call me that."

"What? My love?"

Haechan nods. "Makes me feel like I'm yours," he mumbles.

You giggle at him, patting his arm. "Because you are, dummy." You peck his lips, falling back into your chair before he has the chance to deepen the kiss. He feels like he lost you again tonight, or like he has the potential to lose you, so he tenses his fingers between your thigh, opposite hand incidently rocking your chair up so high that you slide into his lap. "My love," your breath hitches again.

And Haechan nods, kissing your neck a little longer, tongue tracing his name in your skin.

"Yours." ♡

Na Jaemin

Honestly, he shouldn't be staring. But Jaemin could burn a hole in your head, or obliterate that guy you're with - Juyeon, or Juhyon, or something.

It was a coincidence that Jaemin even sees you here, at this nightclub, with an absurd ₩70,000 entrance fee. Mark only convinced him to go after promising to do his scut for the weekend.

That, and Jaemin may or may not have been stalking your Instagram; especially after you removed him from your close friends story - he knows, because Renjun is still on your list. You pushed him onto some other list with more people he couldn't see, not that he knew anyone on your following; you're not even really friends, just met through Renjun at some hookup party. And you do hookup with him, whenever he calls, which isn't as often as he thought, evidently, he considers now, since he apparently doesn't know what you do the other days of the week.

Like wear that black mini-dress while dancing on Juyeon, of all people.

Jaemin rolls his eyes and sips his beer, wincing in the same second when it touches his lips (Haechan is a liar, and he is not taking beer recommendations ever again). He has been waiting for about 15 or 20 minutes, for you to notice him, just acknowledge that he is here, in the same space as you, but you remain oblivious, sliding your arms in the air, shimming in front of Juyeon, who keeps trying to bring your waist close. It takes another ten minutes before he slams his empty glass on the bar, spinning around to trudge the dance floor.

Except, as he spins around, narrowly missing a line of Kamikaze shots placed a little too close to the edge, he bumps into you, literally. His arm swerves over your head, and he takes a step back to avoid making the both of you fall down. And you catch his waist, with both hands, a short leg stepping between his, for balance, his spinning head tells him.

"Jaemin?" you call, standing on your toes to whisper in his ear. Instinctively, he steadies your waist, toppling your heels down to the ground, leaning his ear to your lips. "Did you hear me?"

The Jaemin in question pulls back, slightly, his nose grazing yours. He flickers his eyes up and finds you staring at him, granted less intense than he had been, breath hitched at the back of your mouth, slowly scanning his entire face. Jaemin brushes your hair behind your ear, needlessly, most of it tied up. The glitter stickers highlight the actual makeup high on your cheekbones, under the blue false lashes mixed in with brown ones. His hand lingers over your face, wrist tilting head back, chin up, long fingers making you stand still, gaze dipping back and forth between your lips and eyes. And fortunately, all the other couples - whether they came together or hooked up - blend you two with the rest of the crowd, little bubbles of intimacy keeping everyone separated. You all ignore each other, per atmosphere, so Jaemin takes the opportunity to kiss you.

"No," he confesses, pecking you quickly, once, twice, three times, dragging your neck along with every move he does to deepen it. "I wasn't listening." Jaemin breaks first, squeezing your waist tighter, because you might have to get back to Juyeon on the dance floor. And he closes his eyes, leaning in again, lips ghosting a breath over yours. "Come home with me," he asks, and he squeezes again. "Just ... come home with me."

"Jaemin ..." you start, but he kisses his name off your lips, even quicker, replacing it with a soft moan. He bumps you against the bar, his knuckles taking most of the blunt force, against the wood, holding you steady as he waddles impossibly close. You seem to respond, fingers dipping into his bicep, puckering back. Then, you shake your head, knocking him away. "Jaemin, I'm here with someone else."

"Don't be. Come home with me." Jaemin's voice cracks, "Please? Just be with me, not him." He squeezes you again, stuttering down your lips, slotting his leg between your knees. Jaemin peeks both his eyes open, just a crack, and finds you nodding at him.

"Okay, let's go."

Zhong Chenle

"Your shirt looks so nice," the girl at his left compliments, fawning over the empty seat, even though she probably can't see the full Go, Go, Power-Rangers logo under both his bomber jacket and the dim club lights. The sole light source comes from the shelves behind the bar on which Chenle leans, only his brown hair shining obviously as he nods, slowly, eyes trained on the path to the bathroom. "I'd love to see it more," she tries, leaning even closer, almost touching his arm.

Then, he raises his hand, sliding further down the bar.

And you walk toward him, waving, "Hey," all the way until you take the stool he saved for you on his right. You also grab the glass of wine he kept not-so-subtly hidden behind his elbow and eye the meniscus without looking at him. "Have you been drinking my wine?"

Chenle just smiles at you. His arm snakes under your arms, high on your torso, as he nuzzles into your neck, chest prepped to laugh, but you smack him.

"You can order your own!"

He kisses your jugular, just once, briefly, giggling more animatedly than he had been talking to the girl, who is still there (!) by the way.

"I did," Chenle answers, "but I think the bartender likes you more. He didn't pay any attention to me while you were gone those whole ten minutes," he pouts.

"Umm," the girl interrupts, "Excuse me?"

"Mmm," you swallow the remaining ounce of wine and put it back behind Chenle on the table, tapping the rim twice at one of the bartenders for a refill. You extend your arm for a handshake, across your boyfriend's chest, but she just stares at it, at your fingers, at the matching, dainty watch adorning your wrist, until you retract, both hands now resting on Chenle's shoulder. "Did you want to drink with us? We're just waiting for our table." You lean in closer, like giving away a secret, and Chenle laughs into the air, catching your waist before you fall off the stool. "We got here early for the cucumber martinis because they stop serving them at 7, and this one -" You point at Chenle. "- can't mix a drink for shit."

"Hey!" He pulls you upright, standing full in front of you, back toward the girl as he fixes the straps of your dress. "I spike your lemonades just fine." The bartender, who ignored him earlier, gives him a suspicious look, to which Chenle tries to wave off, showing that you are his girlfriend who frequents his home and has sex with him willingly. And he brings you down the stool, under his wing, incidentally flashing his inappropriate-for-a-Michelin-restaurant Power Rangers t-shirt. "Plus, I don't have to mix the Sauvignon Blanc when I cook you dinner."

"No," you crinkle your nose, pushing his face away, laughing at his pout. "You just make me wash the dishes." In the minute beat, you look back, over his shoulder, and see the girl finally gone, then you settle back onto the stool, pulling Chenle, by his open jacket, between your legs. "Oh, no," you feign, pouting and running your hands down his sides, "Your new friend left. Do you think it was my fault?"

Chenle kisses the top of your head, giggling into your hair. "Were you jealous?" he teases. You don't answer; you just bite your lip and trap him tighter, heels almost making him plié before you, fists wrinkling his shirt. "You don't have anything to worry about, princess," he whispers and pecks you quickly. "You're my one and only. I wouldn't do anything to create a misunderstanding like that." He kisses you deeper, attaching his hands down your waist, rubbing circles with his thumbs, as you wrap your arms around his neck, half standing off the chair to kiss him better, the sweet red wine taste staining your tongue. "With anyone," he clarifies, palm caressing your cheek, to stop you from jumping his bones in this very public bar-restaurant. "You know you're my girl."

He kisses you again, pressing your back into the bar, folding your neck 90-degrees against your spine. Your chin rolls around, letting out a silent open-mouthed moan, and Chenle slips his tongue down your throat, dissipating that sweet, dry flavor off your lips, gently breathing life back into your mouth. He rubs the hair in front of your ear, thumb growing outward to draw his three-letter initials on your cheeks. You kick your leg up, inner thigh resting on his outer one. He feels your dress slip up, shorter, over his pants, and whimpers a small praise about your soft lips.

Then, the bartender who shows you a little too much favoritism comes back, tapping your cup on the counter, and Chenle, panting, shields you away from the new glass of wine, frowning at all five ounces.

"On second thought, maybe we should just go home."

Park Jisung

Jisung pulls you into his chest, around your shoulders, spinning you until your back faces that bartender, the one at whom he glares.

"How's your drink, baby?" he asks through shaky breath, teeth gritted. Jisung puffs out his chest too, while you finish another sip, nearly moaning, and pushes his thumb into his pocket, readjusting the front of his leather pants that you hide.

"Mmm, fresh,." you answer, obliviously, wiping the corner of your mouth with your index finger, platinum couple ring shining a few digits down under the colorful changing lights. You smack your painted pink lips together, loud enough for him to hear above the club music. "Can't even taste the vodka, really, and -" You raise the small glass to his lips, prompting him to sample your free drink, too, which he does, tongue pushing back on the rip before you spill all over his white shirt. "- the cucumbers are still crisp."

Jisung nods, a slice hitting his top lip. He has to hold your wrist still when you start trembling, splashing a drop of alcohol on his chest. You do nothing about it, simply curling into his torso, an arm belting behind his waist, feet waddling around his, resting your cheek between his open jacket zippers.

"Better be," he mumbles, chest vibrating.

"What was that?" you ask, almost innocently, staring at him through your eyelashes, cucumber martini glass finding your hand behind his back. And he wonders whether you looked at that guy - the bartender - like this, wide-eyed and pouting, tongue poking through the seam of your lips, when you got this free drink, never mind tonight's sample offer over the experimental martini. "Ji...sung," you hiccup between his name, placing a hand over his chest, his heart.

But he frowns, even deeper, and takes down your hand. A little too forcefully, given the way you step back, on your own, wobbling backwards over your heels. You tilt your head to the side, not-so-subtly checking him out, and raise an eyebrow. Jisung doesn't bother to look at you, simply inhaling, raising his broad shoulders taller. He rolls his eyes to the right, incidentally at the bar, with the bartender. And he glares again.

Jisung tightens his arm around your waist. And he knows - he knows how this looks: possessive, possibly overbearing, protective, which is what he half-wants. He also knows that he indirectly tells you not to touch, despite holding you closer, his fingers clenching into a fist that pushes you deeper into his wide chest. You hand balances over his pec to keep you both balanced upright without anything behind him to catch either of you from falling.

But he mumbles, "Don't touch," teeth nearly scraping each other, individually, and, again, he takes your hand down, making you frown as equally deep, though your brows furrow as high as your gaze. You wrap all your fingers around your cup, and he curls his hands into your dress, digging toward the hem, incidentally pulling the material up, just below your underwear. "I don't like you flirting with other guys," he confesses, eyes fluttering shut.

Jisung's hands grab you simultaneously, in the same way, one at your waist and the other at your neck; your own hands bracing your cup against his chest. He sighs, dropping his chin down your cheek, pressing a kiss behind your ear. Your drink is still an inconvenience. So, Jisung takes it, placing it on a random table, then drags you into a private room and jostles you against the door, accidentally increasing the distance. He just moved too fast, and you still comply, not touching him. In the wait, you lick your lips, chest heaving high. And he pushes you backwards again, slower this time, by your hips, guiding you onto a firm surface as he descends. He stops halfway, drawing back a millimeter on his next breath, flickering his eyes at yours. They're already closed. So, he leans in.

"You should only be flirting with me."

And he almost closes his eyes, too, pausing halfway again to watch you anticipate his kiss, teetering on your toes, fingers twitching toward him. The urge to blink forces him to look away before he sees you pout, equally. But he feels it.

Jisung feels the way you roll around your head as he opens his mouth wide, searching for the best angle to kiss you. He puckers his lips sideways, simply pressing on your mouth, almost cutting off your response (if you were going to say anything). And when you gasp, silently, letting him sneak his bottom lip between your teeth, he cracks open his eyes, only slightly, enough to make sure that you're enjoying this, enjoying him, only him. You bite him on a close, barely using your teeth to keep him from leaving again, and he runs his thumb along the side of your face, outside your ear, long fingers supporting your head when you falter.

But you don't pull away.

Instead, you fist his shirt, incidentally pulling it from his pants. And he drives you into the wall, changing the slope of his nose, reflecting it over yours on the other side, brows falling further. Jisung catches you right as you lick your lips and sucks your tongue in his mouth. You mewl, breathless, something audible - although incoherent - finally escaping. And he returns it, moaning an mmmh. His hand at your waist, hits the wall, bracing himself from going too far, moving too fast. You drag him closer, one thigh between your legs, fingers touching his Adonis belt.

And he has to pull away first.

"I don't like you flirting with other guys," he repeats, more winded this time.

"You're the only guy I want to flirt with, Jisung."

#nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct suggestive #nct fanfic #renjun x reader #mark lee x reader #park jisung x reader #jeno x reader #jaemin x reader #haechan x reader #nct dream reactions #nct reactions #nct dream drabbles #nct drabbles #mia.txt

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inklore · 1 year

Text

little black dress

premise: “you know how good you look in this dress? can’t fuckin’ concentrate on anything but bending you over and ruining it with my come." or the one where javi fingers you against a desk at a work conference.

pairing: javier peña x (f)reader

word count: 967

warnings: eighteen+ content, established coworkers with benefits, fingering, dirty talk, sexy threats, also despite the title there is no reference to readers body or body image within the fic.

note: hi ya girl is writing again and this is the first thing i've written in what feels like forever, therefore i literally found a new writing exercise with prompts and all the dirty inspo i could ever need. thus how this filthy work of art came to be.

“How long do we have?” The edge of the wooden desk is digging into your palms as you try to keep yourself from falling back into the speckled wall. The yellow tint from the smoke of prior guests caked on the walls was not your idea of a good ascent to your perfume, nor will it be for the tight black dress you wore today to look extra professional.

The dress being the root cause of you being propped up on the hotel desk, the tight fabric driving the man whose fingers are knuckle deep inside of you crazy.

“Not enough time for you to be focusin’ on anything but coming for me.” Javi’s tone is stern and authoritative in that way that tells you his impatience is wearing thin and he’s not happy about it.

Not happy about having to rush this. The sprint back to the complimentary room they gave you and your team for the days you’d be using the hotel’s conference room to house all the people you’d need to finish up the current investigation—weighing you down—was the most impatient you think you’ve seen Peña.

The way his mouth molded to yours in a rough kiss, nicking your bottom lip with his front teeth as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. The sting your shoulders felt when his body weight molded you to the door only arousing more as he pulled you to the nearest surface to perch you on and slip his knee between your thighs to rub the fabric of his jeans against your panties.

He didn’t waste time teasing you for long. Didn’t let your hips start that slow grind against his thigh that he loves to watch so much. His fingers pushing the hem of your dress up your thighs, making the muscles ache with the tightness of the fabric. An ache that was soon forgotten the minute his fingers ran through your wetness.

Spreading you with his pointer to find your clit. The few tight circles the pad of his finger gives to the aching nerve make you gasp and bring your thighs to rest at his outer hips.

And now with how deep and fast his fingers are fucking up into you, you want to personally slap whoever’s idea it was to make lunch only an hour.

Surely Javi could take your body apart and put it back together within that span of time, but with the two of you, no amount of time ever seemed enough. Satisfying.

It only took a week for you to hear of Peña’s notorious ways of doing things—in and out of his bedroom. And two more weeks for the tension to start between the two of you; when you said jump, Peña stayed stationary; when he said run, you walked, when he had a lead, you followed your own, and vice versa. A never ending loop of the two of you getting on each other's nerves and doing whatever you could to stay away from each other instead of working together like you were meant to be.

And maybe it’s the stubbornness the both of you have. The love for a job that's hard and slowly eats away at you if you let it, and sometimes you find whatever salve you can to slow the festering—or maybe it was the whiskey the two of you shared one night that had you bent over a desk and driving home with Javi’s come staining your underwear that got you to this situation.

Either way, there was little to complain about when his fingers were so masterful and you were close to coming.

“You know how good you look in this dress?” Javi grunts against your mouth. Tongue running along your bottom lip before it slips past and against yours. “Can’t fuckin’ concentrate on anything but bending you over and ruining it with my come so no one else will get to see you in it. Fuck you in it. Only me.”

His grunts mingle with your moans, the slow movement of his hips as he rubs his jean-clad cock against your inner thigh, mixed with your own hips moving, makes the desk bang against the wall.

You pray no one from either team is bunked up next door to you.

You’d never hear the end of it.

“Who knew all it took was a little black dress to make Javier Peña succumb to madness?” You tease. Bring one of your sore palms to the back of his head to spread your fingers in his hair.

To keep his mouth and filthy words drawn out and licked into your mouth.

“As soon as this shit is done with, I’m going to rip this dress from your body and fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

You know he means it.

Know his threats have as much backing as a crazed animal, and you love it. Love how crazy the two of you make each other. How a work day of teasing will leave your ass raw—and sometimes fucked—and him leaking from you for hours.

His fingers curl inside of you, touching that spot against your walls that has your thighs tightening around his waist and your throat hoarse and scratchy from the cry he’s not quick enough to cover up with his mouth. The pleasurable buzz contorts your body, springing tighter and tighter the longer his fingers fuck you.

“Javi–don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck.”

“That’s it. When you’re sitting at the table surrounded by everyone and you can’t move without feeling your own wetness, your own come sticking to you, ruining this pretty little thong—I want you to think about how much of a little tease you were wearing this dress and how I’m going to fucking destroy you in it later.”

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #pedro pascal x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #pedro pascal blurb #javier pena imagine

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fresh-new-yoik-watah · 1 year

Text

Almost Sacrifice

Neteyam x human!Reader

an: hello second fic ! the ending is kinda rushed I literally didn’t know what to do rjdjsj

summary: “Can I request some Neteyam x human! reader? Neteyam lived and (y/n) nearly died in the process. When she soon wakes up Neteyam becomes so protective of her?”

warnings: none. maybe angst ? fluffy fluff

word count: 1177

——————

Stupid.

The only word running through Neteyam’s head. How stupid he thought you were. Stupid for risking your life; stupid for taking the bullet aimed for him. And he planned to tell you that. He would not let you off easy; of course, he never did. You had a habit of getting yourself injured; anywhere from small scratches to large gashes, but they were all the same In Neteyam’s eyes. Each enough to make him worried and upset and ensued a scolding, but no matter what he was feeling, he still always tended to your wounds, sneaking salve from his grandmother’s hut and making sure you continued to apply it even after he had left. Except this time, he was not the one caring for you. He wasn’t even allowed to see you until the healers believed you stable. Kiri would give him updates, assuring him you were healing fine, but it did nothing to ease him, not when his last image of you was bloody and gasping, slipping in and out of consciousness, as he dragged your limp body out of the water. It was burned into his mind; the stillness of your face, the lack of breath fogging your mask. It was terrifying. He could feel his heart pounding against his entire body and it was deafening; the chaos around him diminished into a painful ringing in his ear; everyone’s voices had become clogged and far away. All he could focus on was you laying in front of him, barely hanging to the thread of life. It made him sick, how helpless he felt as you were pried out of his arms, being taken away. All of it haunted him, so he distracted himself, rehearsing in his mind everything he would say to you once you were well enough.

Neteyam had no idea how soon that would be or how much time had even passed. Daytime and eclipse were all the same to him. His body was trudging through the motions, carrying him to eat, drink, and sleep. He was just relieved you were alive, grateful to Ewya that she kept you alive, even if he didn’t know if she cared for your kind. But while you were all he could think of, his family was worrying more and more for him. His parents were lost, left with a shell of their son they didn’t recognize. His eyes were sunken and dark, his freckles dim. But everyone was too scared of saying the wrong thing that nothing was ever said, just concerned looks in passing.

One too many days had gone the same, and Kiri had enough. Night came and she laid on her side, staring at the stitching on the walls of their mauri pod, waiting until she heard the snores of each of her parents and siblings, all except for Neteyam’s. She sat herself up and crawled towards him, careful not to bump the toy’s Tuk left scattered on the floor.

“Neteyam.”

No response.

“Neteyam.”

More silence.

Kiri rolled her eyes and sighed, “I know you’re awake. I’m taking you to see y/n.”

Neteyam rolled over and sat up abruptly, the beads in his braids quietly clinking against each other at the sudden movement. “What?”

“Come on,” she pulled at his arm and guided him out of their mauri pod.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to see her yet?”

“You’re not.”

“Then why are—“

Kiri cut him off, “You’re not yourself. You’ve locked yourself away and you don’t see how worried everyone is. I don’t want to see you sulk like this anymore, so I’m taking you to see her. I want my brother back.”

They continued walking in silence and Neteyam thought about what his sister said. He didn’t realize how much he had shut everyone out; he couldn’t remember the last time he talked to Lo’ak or even played with Tuk. Guilt filled his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Kiri’s ears flattened slightly and she gave him a soft smile. “You’ve been carrying a lot.”

They arrived at the healing pod you were being kept at. Neteyam had been waiting for this moment, but now that he was here he wasn’t sure he was ready. He stood, staring at the entrance; the air became thick and his heart beat began to increase. He had no idea what he would see when he went in, how bad a shape you were in, or if you were even awake. He turned to Kiri, his eyes seeking comfort and strength in his sister. She nodded and mouthed for him to go on. Reaching out, he lifted the flap up and walked in.

“Neteyam.”

His breath caught in his throat as he saw you, very much awake. He barely made out your shape in the dark room, minuscule light creeping in through the flap reflecting off your mask. Nothing came out of his gaping mouth while he struggled to find words to say. Everything he wanted to tell you, everything he repeated over and over in his mind for days slipped away.

You let out an airy laugh, “I take a bullet for you and you can’t even talk to me.”

Of course you were making a joke out of this; he should’ve expected nothing less, and it was all he needed for everything to come rushing back. He crouched down beside where you lay.

“You skxawng.”

“There it is.”

You stared up at him, eyes locked with his. There was so much hidden in them, so much emotion. You never told him, but his eyes always gave him away, gave away everything he was feeling, contrasting the front he put on. And his eyes knew yours just as well, a pool of colour he could get lost in forever, his favourite colour.

He grabbed your hand, gently tracing patterns into your soft skin, scared he might break you. “You’re so stupid,” he exhaled, “Why would you do that? You could’ve been dead.”

It’s not that you hadn’t thought of the weight of your actions, the very real consequence that could’ve been; you’ve had weeks alone with nothing but your thoughts, but hearing him say it made your heart sink into your stomach. You could’ve died.

“I know.” You intertwined your fingers; his engulfing your hand even with your extra pinky. “I just couldn’t let it be you,” water started brimming your eyes, making everything glossy as you blinked.

“I would’ve brought you back and killed you myself if you died,” he pressed his forehead against your mask. “I don’t care if it would unbalance life.”

You laugh at his extremity, even though there was truth in it. You knew he would, at least he’d definitely try, and if he couldn’t bring you back, he’d never let you rest and scold you in the afterlife, and that would be worse than hell.

“I’m okay. We’re okay,” you smile.

“I’d wipe your tears, but I wouldn’t want you to suffocate. It’d be embarrassing to die like that after getting shot.”

“And you’ve ruined the moment.”

#neteyam #neteyam imagine #neteyam x reader #neteyam avatar #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x human reader #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar imagine #avatar #avatar 2 #fnyw

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antlerqueer · 4 months

Text

sorry im literally putting all of my complaints about ppl's critiques of leave the world behind here bc it's alll..... like what? so i literally looked up interviews from sam esmail and rumaan alam and i'm not crazy!!! the things i was like "this is the opposite of what was going on??" were actually the opposite of what was going on.

Some criticism I've seen is people saying "the movie mocks Rose's dependence on technology with the final scene" but it was like... Rose's journey was seeking her own solution to not wanting to be miserable and inside and waiting for death?? And she found it??

Quote from Sam Esmail, from Rolling Stone (emphasis mine):

During the early days of the pandemic, I remember how we were all very scared. We were scared for our loved ones, we were scared for one another, we were scared for ourselves. People were dying on a daily basis and we were locked in and trapped. There was this real sense of fear and anxiety. And then Tiger King dropped on Netflix and that was all we could talk about for weeks. As silly as that show is, I love that we as a community dropped our differences to engage with this story and to laugh with it and talk about it. I just found that very human. I love when you can mix tragedy and comedy like that because I do think the essence of tragic comedy speaks directly to who we are and to the human condition. So when I was constructing this story, I felt that throughout all this bleakness, to have this character, Rose, escape into something comfortable — I thought that was just something that felt like a kind of universal touchstone.

Rumaan Alam, the author, also says this to Variety:

I say it’s funny, but I don’t think it’s a joke. I don’t think it’s a joke on Rose. I don’t think it’s a joke on the audience. I don’t think it’s a joke on “Friends.” It’s a reminder that art is kind of a salve.

Sam Esmail LOVES media. He's not fucking condemning a child for wanting comfort????? Anyway. The dependence on technology isn't a point of inherent criticism, it is a point of what do we do when our survival is reliant on technology but we lose it. It's part of the horror. It's scary.

Literally, a quote from Esmail in GQ:

[It] really kind of underlines the theme of this reliance on tech, and once it goes away, what are we left with? And that in its own way is pretty terrifying.

I've seen it said Julia Roberts's character was "redeemed" in the film from her bad actions, which I so heavily disagree with, and so does Rumaan Alam, in the Variety interview:

In that final scene between Julia and Myha’la, they don’t embrace. Even prior to that, when they’re in that little shed and come to a détente, Ruth acknowledges that there’s some truth to the things that Amanda has said, that they’re in agreement about something, but it doesn’t end with a hug. It’s not that kind of story.

(A detente is "the easing of hostility or strained relations" - not a reprieve or a reconciliation, but an easing.)

These characters don't have to like or forgive each other to agree that there are things more important to survival and making it through than Amanda being overbearing and racist. Ruth lost her mother and even though Amanda steps in and maybe saves her life (we don't know what the deer were gonna do) that is not an apology! And it's not treated like one because we don't see any sort of forgiveness from Ruth!

And then the whole "it's an attack from a foreign government making the US a victim" shit. Like... GH theorizes, out loud, that this could be the US government's doing? Anyway.

#leave the world behind #it's a rant folks #i'm sorry i'm like this

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swampstew · 9 months

Note

Can I request Buggy with Fluff N3 for the event? Thank you!! ❤️❤️❤️

Hello anon❤️ Thank you for your submission and patience! I hope you get a chance to read this :) You requested fluff, subtle intimacy, and I give you: [ Simple Touches ] Bandaging/stitching up an injury

Oh Captain, My Captain Buggy

Warnings: None. Fluff and cute stuffs. Ended up sorta sweet n' romantic in a way I wasn't anticipating but Buggy deserves it tbh, cutie but wet n' pathetic King of the Pirates❤️ Word count: 1.1K

“OOOOOWWWWW!”

You push through the pained howls of your Captain as you stitch up his latest injuries. For a man who had eaten the chop-chop fruit, he sure got brutally chopped up by other people more than he should reasonably be.

To be fair, his latest network of contacts involved some intense and no-nonsense individuals. Two in particular who seem to have a rather tight hold on his gorgeous blue head as he did their bidding and processed their contracts.

“DAMNIT Y/N that HURTS!” Buggy hollers at you, tears spilling down his face in pure agony. It makes your heart break. Still you push on.

“It will hurt more if it festers and worsens. Then we’d have to seriously chop pieces off you,” you chide him gently, done with pushing the needle through the tail end of the long gash on his chest. “This is going to sting a bit but I’ll count down from 3. 3—” you tightened the sutures securely before he could hold his breath.

“YYYYEEEEOOOOOWWWW!!!!” his head flew from his neck, as did his hands and feet from his body. “GRR!! YOU ENJOYED THAT TOO MUCH!” he spit at you.

You give him an unimpressed look, “You know that that’s not true. Now get back here. You have some wounds on your face and right hand that need to be disinfected and bandaged. If you can make it through without any complaints, I’ll give you a treat. Sound good?”

His head reattaches to his head but his hand floats down to grip his chin, “A treat? What kind of treat?”

“A nice one. We got a deal?”

With a nod, Buggy reassembles himself and sits still as you inspect each cut and bruise. Washing away the dirt and dried blood, applying a salve on the wounds, and wrapping each one in a bandage or long, woven cotton wrap to soak up any leaking from the cuts. A hushed song brews in your throat and without realizing it, you start to emit the tune from your lips as you patch him up.

Buggy watches you closely as you lightly hum to yourself while you work. Normally, he would literally talk his ass off about anything and everything – but watching you treat him so tenderly has his mouth dry and his mind quiet. Trying to understand the feelings in his chest that you cause him to have with your firm but kind personality. Not understanding why you treat him with such dignity and warmth despite his antics; you’re one of the few people who sees through his bullshit but you also accept it, encourage it even. In his brain playing back all his interactions with you over the last year that you’ve been on his crew to better understand what your deal is.

His eyes bug out of his head for a moment, a memory unearthing itself. With Alvida.

“I think the new doc likes you, Bugs,” she tilted her cowboy covered head at Buggy. When he gave her a confused look, she scoffed and used her head to gesture at you sitting at the bar with his most trusted men. “You’re telling me that you’ve NEVER noticed how much time they manage to spend with you, or how they always talk you up? That they know almost everything about you that not even your own crew knows about?” Buggy scoffed, “Most of my crew are idiots, why would I tell those morons anything?” Alvida gave him a bewildered look, “Then why do you share anything with the doc?” “I don’t share EVERYTHING!” “Oh no? So you haven’t spilled to them how Emperor Shanks is the only man you can respect as the next King of the Pirates?” His hands flew to her face and smothered her speech, “QUIET YOU DAMN WOMAN!”

Buggy felt like an idiot.

That was maybe three months ago.

“All done. You should heal up in no time but if you feel worse, you know where to find me.”

Buggy brought his hand to the back of his neck, “Yeah. Sure.” He wasn’t sure how to pivot from being a crybaby patient to a flashy guy with rizz when he suddenly felt…overly aware of how he acts around you. To be perceived by you and now knowing that you were perceiving him.

“Wh-where’s my treat?”

“Oh that’s right I do owe you a nice one. Wait right here.”

His mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to plan, trying to scheme a charming personality in 2-seconds flat as he watches you go to your desk and pull out a dark bottle. Buggy didn’t notice how attractive your face is as he did just now. He always thought you were the most attractive in the crew in general, but now he was seeing your face. And he found that…he actually quite liked it.

Your step falters are you become aware of his intense stare. You feel…insecure suddenly. Is there something gross on your face or scrubs? Does he not like liquor suddenly? Oh no, is your hair messy?? With a trembling hand you tuck some loose hair behind your ear and lightly touch your scrub as you present the bottle.

“An aged rum that I nicked from our last raid. I hear it’s a grossly expensive brand.”

Buggy took the bottle and rolls it in his hands quietly, not saying anything at all. You watch him nervously, anxiety eating at your gut, a hot flush spreading behind your ears and the back of your neck. You know for a fact that Buggy likes expensive things, no matter what it is. Even if he hates what it actually is, like that time he tried bull fighting fish caviar. He was laid up in your office for a week after that one. He still keeps a preserved jar around, just so he can say he has it on hand.

“I hear it goes well with steak, or something,” you mumble, confidence draining away slowly.

He perks up to that, “Steak? Oh yeah, yes that does sound like a good pairing.” He stands up from the cot and shifts on his feet.

Buggy the Star Clown is shooting his shot.

“If I make Cabaji cook up a few steaks, would you…be interested in joining me for dinner? A flashily impromptu date?”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, that being the last thing you expect to hear from him. You had been certain that you would have to ask him out yourself with all the hints and nudges you gave him in the past seemed to go, well, right over his head.

“Oh! Y-yes that sounds nice!”

Smiling, Buggy turns to exit. Passing through the threshold he turns back to add, “I’ll pick you up at your cabin later. Escort you to the dining hall and all that jazz.” He ducks out of the room.

You’re glad he isn’t there anymore because your knees weaken and you grab the cot in support. Thrilled, you look at your schedule and decide to close up early. The injured would have to stay injured on their time, you had an important date tonight.

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #oh captain my captain mini event #eustasscaptainkid #swampstew bedtime stories #swampstew #swampstew stories #anon asks #buggy the star clown #captain buggy

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cozy-cinnamon-roll · 2 months

Text

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

(Another two-part-er! Stay tuned for part 2 very shortly!)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). One comically graphic description of cannibalism (first paragraph). Also, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect a lil angst sprinkled in there (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

Ok... I'm gonna be honest folks, I have no idea if this fic is even coherent. This ain't my Best Work™ - this is literally the coping mechanism I've been relying on to put myself to sleep every night this week because HOLY SHIT my life is stressful at the moment. 😅

But anyway, I've decided I'm just gonna go ahead and post it, because 1) the world needs more lee!alastor, and 2) I'm not here to do my Best Work™, I'm here to write cute self-indulgent little stories about Alastor getting tickled to bits by his platonic wife. I'm here to decompress my hypervigilant ass at the end of long days by imagining my favorite endearingly creepy characters get wrecked by my other favorite endearingly creepy characters.

In summary, I'm here to have a good time, and I certainly did with this fic. So I hope you do too!

Featuring my new oc! (Rosie and Al still take center stage though, don't worry lol)

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It's a little-known fact that cannibals make terrific doctors. When you spend every meal tearing the human body apart with your face, you end up with a pretty comprehensive intuition for demonic anatomy.

So Alastor supposed he should consider himself lucky to have Rosie and her loyal posse so close at hand after his battle with Adam.

He was certainly relieved when Rosie had stumbled upon him, barely conscious from blood loss on the floor of his wrecked radio tower - and especially a few hours later when, having been rushed back to Cannibal Town, he was whisked into a warm, familiar parlor and deposited on a comfy couch.

Within minutes Rosie had summoned a woman in a white coat who swooped in, produced a bottle of a strange, foul-smelling gel from her medicine bag, soaked a rag with it, and pressed it firmly against Alastor's wound. The searing pain evaporated almost on contact.

"What is that?" Alastor breathes, visibly relaxing against the arm of the couch he's propped against.

"Anesthetic." She begins preparing a needle and thread.

"Didn't know such a thing existed down here."

"Of course! We're demons, not barbarians," Rosie scoffs, watching from the sidelines.

Cannibals, as a rule, rarely last long enough to need a doctor, but Rosie is no ordinary cannibal. And Dr. Trudy Sawblade - a young surgical resident in life, and Rosie's personal physician in death - is the best of the best. While she hadn't quite completed her medical training before her untimely death, in Rosie's service she's gained more than enough experience to make up for her education cut short.

"That salve is derived from a distant cousin of the poison dart frog. Evidently most of the frogs are assholes, because hell has an downright enormous population of them." Trudy's voice is measured and matter-of-fact, with a soft lilt that is both soothing and vaguely unsettling. "Haven't been discovered on earth yet. Which is good, because one whiff of this would end a mortal life in a matter of seconds."

"Lucky you, you're already dead," Rosie chimes in cheerfully.

"Lucky me," Alastor murmurs, without conviction.

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Truthfully, with the pain from his chest wound numbed, the weight of his recent defeat presses even more heavily on Alastor's heart. Someone - probably one of the cannibals who helped transport him from the rubble pile to Rosie's parlor - must have grabbed the broken microphone as they carried him out, because the fractured pieces are sitting on the side table at the other end of the couch. Under normal circumstances the awareness that someone had touched his staff without permission would spark a flash of rage from the Radio Demon, but now he can only stare dismally at what remains of his cane - aware that it's no longer capable of accomplishing much anyway.

It takes only a few minutes for Trudy to stitch Alastor back up and wrap his chest in a stretchy gauze. Meanwhile, Rosie quickly mends the worst of the tears in his clothes - if only to avoid having to watch her friend stare down the couch at his broken staff, with an uncharacteristic half-smile that damn near breaks her heart.

"Alright, sir, that should do it for now. It's a nasty gash, for sure, but the salve should keep it from getting infected."

"Thank you, my dear." He gives an appreciative nod to the surgeon, and Rosie too, as his fellow overlord hands him back his clothes.

"Can't have you going around with a big hole in your chest, can we?" Rosie steps back and scrutinizes her own patch job as he slowly dresses himself again. "It ain't perfect... especially for a classy fellow like you. But I'm sorry to report that I saw my tailor at a Sunday brunch just last week. Inconvenient, but I gotta admit, he made a wonderful casserole."

For the briefest of moments, this aside manages to tweak Alastor's smile into something vaguely genuine. "I'm sure he did."

"One more thing, Mr. Alastor, sir," Trudy jumps in as the radio demon pulls on his coat. "So sorry, I almost forgot. The angel also threw you against a wall, correct?"

At the recollection, Alastor's smile stiffens into something more closely resembling a grimace. His antlers rise between his ears. "Does it matter?"

"You may be at risk for internal injuries." If Trudy is at all fazed by inviting the most powerful overlord in hell's annoyance, it doesn't show. "I really ought to check, just to be safe."

Alastor looks away. As loathe as he is to even acknowledge his own fragility, he truly isn't sure of the extent of his own injuries - given that he's not used to receiving them in the first place. And he'd be damned (well, damned twice) if Adam had ruptured something vital, spelling the radio demon's second death a few hours after the fact.

He grits his teeth. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Lovely. If you could just lie back, sir..." As he obliges, she kneels beside the couch. "I'm just going to feel for any swelling..." Her hands hover over him-

"Er, wait." Alastor abruptly sits up.

"It's alright, I won't touch your wound!" Trudy soothes. "I'll just be feeling down here..." She gestures to his midsection (which elicits a sharp flinch).

"No, I-" He hesitates. "I'm... not sure this is necessary."

"Oh, Alastor, stop worryin'!" Rosie reassures him with a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Trudy is quite picky about her meals. She'd never go for venison."

"That's... not what..."

Alastor pauses, and evidently decides against trying to explain what he meant. He reluctantly lies back against the cushions again.

"I'm going to place my hands under your shirt, sir. If you feel any pain, please alert me."

"Very well."

As Trudy lifts his shirt, he looks like he is going to say something more - but whatever it is dies on his tongue the moment her hands make contact with his stomach. He brings one knee up sharply.

"Tender there, sir?"

"No! No, your hands are cold." His words have gone uncharacteristically stiff.

Trudy methodically probes one side of his belly, then the other (which in turn causes his other knee to pop up). This time when Trudy asks if he's in pain, he merely shakes his head.

The surgeon furrows her brow, concentrating. Human-animal hybrids like Alastor already take a bit of poking around just to get a sense for each unique configuration of organs. It doesn't help that the man is bracing for every touch...

"Are you sure this doesn't hurt, sir?" she murmurs tentatively. "You're very tense."

"Yes." The word comes out like a hiss. She glances at the radio demon's face. He's wearing his typical showman's smile, but his eyes are fixed on the ceiling with a weird, wide, unwavering stare.

Finally the surgeon sits back. "Well, I don't feel anything concerning. But to be honest, sir, I can't feel much of anything." She turns apologetically to her employer. "His stomach is all clenched up..."

But Rosie is simply standing there pressing a huge grin into her glove. She's known Alastor for decades. She can read his expressions like a magazine.

"Alastor, darling," Rosie drawls casually. "Are you ticklish?"

From the radio demon's reaction, you'd think she'd asked if he was an Exorcist. He scrambles to sit up. "No! Why would-"

"You're ticklish. That's..." She catches herself just before the word precious.

"...What?!" There's an edge of defensiveness to his voice that Rosie very rarely hears from him.

"Why are you embarrassed?"

"I'm not emb- That's not- what-" Oh, she's giving him that look. "I'm just- I wasn't-"

As he speaks, Alastor's voice suddenly goes thin. His gaze turns inward. "I'm stuttering. I don't stutter! I've never stuttered!" He clutches his coat closer around himself. "I am the RADIO DEMON, for heaven's sake, I don't sta-AHH! Haha-!"

Evidently a scribble to the ribs is a very effective way to interrupt a panicking demon. Rosie runs her fingers from his hip up his side to his arm and back a couple times for good measure.

The amount of startled laughter she is able to draw from just this surprise touch delights her - the poor man is so ridiculously sensitive that a five-second one-handed tickle leaves him fully breathless.

"Okay! Okay, okahay! Keheh- Rosie!"

"Sorry dear, couldn't resist." She holds her hands up, still beaming like a stadium light. "I'll stop torturing you."

Alastor clears his throat. "You're not torturing me, dearest." He straightens his bowtie, clearly attempting to salvage his dignity. "You know what I always say, laughter is a powerful sign of-"

He cuts off with a sharp inhale and defensive flinch as Rosie perches on the edge of the sofa beside Trudy. She grins.

"You're right. That's certainly your specialty, isn't it?"

Alastor forces a nervous chuckle. "Never fully dressed without a smile, you know."

"Well don't worry, darling. I understand." She pats his knee. "Just because you've got the scariest evil cackle in hell doesn't mean you appreciate having it tickled out of you."

Rosie had expected this assurance to put him at ease, but if anything, he seems more troubled.

"Why would I mind a little, ah..." Tickling. Tick-ling. He can't bring himself to articulate two syllables. Is this all he's left with without his staff? "...Er, a little bit of levity? Can't let things get too serious, can we?" With another quick cough, the radio demon finally manages to get his voice to fall back into his familiar breezy cadence. He turns to Trudy. "Now, are we... quite finished with that examination?"

"Nothing seems amiss, from what I can feel." Trudy takes a step back. "Which is not much, but I think I've already made you uncomfortable enough..."

"Nonsense! I'm perfectly at ease!" He lies back again and smooths his coat. "Please, finish your little checkup. I insist."

Trudy regards him curiously for a moment. "Right." Her hands hover over his belly again. "But if you want me to stop, sir, just say the word-"

"I assure you that w-won't be necessahary..."

Trudy watches him seize up before her fingers even make contact. This time she presses a little deeper into his belly, trying to feel around his defensiveness.

"You are punching holes in my couch," Rosie remarks dryly, watching the poor demon's claws bury themselves in the cushions.

"I kn... ohow, I'm just-" He squeezes his eyes shut as Trudy hits a particularly bad spot. And then another. And another... hell, his torso one big bad spot.

"What do you think, Trudy?"

The young doctor just shakes her head.

"Alastor. Darling. You have GOT to relax."

"I am!" Alastor's composure is dangling by the thinnest of threads.

"Maybe it would help," Trudy says, with infinite caution, "to just go ahead and laugh, sir."

A beat. And then Rosie bursts into laughter.

"Giving new meaning to the 'deer in the headlights' expression, my friend." She scoots closer. "I thought you just said you don't mind a little 'levity'..."

"I don't!"

"In that case. Carry on, Trudy - Auntie Rosie is gonna help our patient out a bit while you work."

Too late, Alastor realizes what his fellow overlord has in mind. "Wait, wait! Ros-"

A delicate set of nails find the region just under his ribs - and it's all downhill from there.

"Ah! Fuhuck!" Alastor chokes on a curse before he can catch himself. He twists sideways, collapses into muffled giggles, and briefly manages to pull himself together - just barely - with a few hyperventilated breaths. "Rosie, really! This isn't- please- ack! I can't-" There's that damn stutter again. He hadn't even stuttered when Adam slashed him.

And now, Great Alastor the Radio Demon, undone by some scribbles? And a medical exam?!

Meanwhile, Trudy can feel even less now than she could before, her patient's belly now quaking with silent, suppressed mirth. But she takes one look at Rosie's delighted expression... and continues probing anyway, curling a subtle little smirk of her own.

It seems Rosie has picked up on a slightly less tangible injury than anything Trudy can address. But fortunately, they've just stumbled upon a promising potential treatment.

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Part 2 is already pretty much finished - my brain is just too mushy at this point to contend with Tumblr's shitty text interface any longer, and this feels like a good stopping point.

Lemme get a good night sleep and another dose of Prozac and I'll have the rest out shortly 😅

💜 - Cozy

#lee!alastor #ler!rosie #ticklish!alastor #oh deer he's ticklish #ticklefic #tickle content #hazbin hotel tickles #hazbin hotel tickling

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redbleedingrose · 1 year

Note

omg so in response to your “period hormones have me all over the place” post and as someone who is also dying on my period today…. how do you think our fav acotar boys would be with their girl on their period😭

You know... I am about to start my period so why not! Here are some short and sweet headcanons for you <333

Rhysand

Okay so Rhysand gives me such "gift giving is my love language" energy. I literally adore him and he would adore his mate so much.

He would be so worried about you while you are on your period, especially if you are in a lot of pain. He would do just about anything to make sure he can take that away from you. Maybe he would use his powers to mentally take that pain away and replace it with more feelings of comfort and warmth.

He would get you the best herbal supplements to soothe any cramping you might be experiencing, and would absolutely buy the best chocolate and pastries in Valeris for you. He would probably buy out the entire bakery just for you.

He takes the time while you are on your period off so he can dote on you, making sure you stay hydrated and are resting well. He would cuddle with you hours upon hours, softly rubbing your sore back or belly and pressing in kisses to your cheeks.

Azriel

Omggg Azriel. I think he is one of the best ACOTAR mates, like I genuinely cannot wait for his book. So loving and attentive this male is, he knows weeks before that you are about to get your period.

He absolutely notices the small shift in your scent, a little bit deeper and more rich than it usually is. He can feel the microscopic widening of your hips, and can tell that your breasts are slightly heavier than usual. So he prepares weeks in advance for your period.

He has the best warming pack for you ready the second you start your period. He has your favorite books picked out so he can read them to you while you rest on his chest, his wing wrapped around you keeping you warm. He has salves for your belly that will soothe any ache almost instantly. He goes into extensive research mode looking for the best foods and best drinks to have while you are on your period, the foods and drinks that will relieve your pain the most and make you the most comfortable.

IDK about you, but while I am on my period, I get hot and cold flashes. I think his illyrian heat and cuddles have you covered for any cold flashes. But hot flashes??? His shadows are always leaving cool whispered touches across your sweaty skin. They love playing with you in general, but when you are on your period, they are running smooth strokes all over your body to cool you down.

Cassian

Recently, I have been feeling some type of way for this male. I don't think he would realize until the day of that you are starting your period, but omg would he take the best care of you.

He would insist you take the day off and relax. I have a secret hunch that Cassian is actually an amazing chef. IDK I could totally see him having his own apron and chefs hat and just whipping up the most nutritious and delicious meal for you. He would also make you smoothies using the freshest fruit so you are getting some fiber and extra vitamins that you need during this time.

He would absolutely give you the best massages in the world, rubbing out all the knots all over your body because of course, he would insist on a full body massage. "I have to do it all baby, holistic medicine, you know?"

Ugh the smug smirk he would say that with, I cannot your honor

I think Cassian would keep you entertained the entire time you are relaxing. You just have the most fun with him, he is absolutely the funniest male who has the best stories to share about his past. He is also the most busy body member of the inner circle, so he is filling you in with all the hot and juicy gossip about everyone.

And I know he would tell you all while absentmindedly rubbing your belly and pressing occasional kisses into your skin.

Ugh I love him

Eris

Oh my god, my absolute favorite male. I am so weak for him y'all.

Okay, I mean. Eris is the best mate. Objectively, Subjectively, he is the best mate.

Whenever you are on your period, he takes you to the your shared cottage at the seaside so he can take care of you there without any interruptions.

His youngest hound is always guarding you. The hound might also be very spoiled too. These hounds are not supposed to sneak into your bed to cuddle with you. They are absolutely not supposed to do that. Absolutely not.

But they do. They absolutely sneak into your bed and lay their heads onto your belly and act kinda as a warming pack for you, but a lot more cuddly and cute. They may or may not get in trouble when Eris finds you in bed, fully passed out, limbs spread all over with his hound also napping peacefully with his head on your belly instead of protecting you. Eh, Eris is soft for his hounds, the young hound is probs getting a roasted piece of chicken after he sends the pup out of the room.

His warm hands rubbing all over your belly as you two chat about your day and what you did. What books you read and how you watched the storm in the distance. And he would tell you about his day for the first ten minutes of your conversation before he transitions to gushing about you. Whats knew?

His "secret" stash of chocolate suddenly belongs to you when you get your period. And these are like top tier, melt in your mouth type chocolates that are made by the best chocolatiers in Prythian. They all belong to you. And I think he would go out of his way to figure out your favorites amongst his stash so he can have some made for you personally.

He also makes the best cinnamon cider tea. It really helps alleviate some of the more extra symptoms you experience during your period and you literally feel almost entirely normal after you finish drinking it. Very soothing and also very refreshing!

God, I just love him

Lucien

omg Luc. I just know he absolutely adores every inch of you and hates when you are in any sort of pain or discomfort.

He builds a cuddle pile of the softest pillows and blankets in a balcony in Day Court that overlooks the entire city, but is hidden from prying eyes. It has a bed attached to the ceiling, that swings with the wind, and so he has you resting there so that you can get the fresh air and sunlight.

He snuggles with you all day, running his fingers through your hair and stroking your aching back. He would read you poems or sonnets from the books that he picked up from the Day Court libraries. I think he would pick the books because they are more on the romantic side, and basically he wants to woo you even though you have been mates for years.

I think he would run you a warm bath that is scented with lavender and jasmine tonic. Its properties relax any of your tightened muscles, and provide this soft buzz or tingle to your skin that leaves you feeling very refreshed. He would also absolutely wash your hair for you, massaging your scalp at the same time. He would be so gentle and careful to not get any tangles, and would take his time with a double wash if you needed one.

I like to think Lucien is the kind of mate who would literally hand feed you fruits. He seems like the kind of male who would have grapes lifted up in the air for you to bite into. He already worships the ground you walk on so I wouldn't put it past him.

Thank you so much for the ask my dear, I hope you enjoyed!!! It was such a joy to write and I hope you are having the most amazing day/night!

Check out my other works: Masterlist

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