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#so I think I can sleep but my brain is saying I should stay up until it leaves

stevie-petey · 1 day

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ive been feeling a little stug deprived but i cannot for the life of me think of a blurb idea so,, hit me with a blurb you've been wishing to write about stug :3

anon u also stumped me like i KNOW i have blurbs ive been dying to be asked about but suddenly my mind is blank ,,,, pls take this silly thing my brain managed to concoct

enjoy !

"one more loop around the block before i take you home?" steves voice rasps out, husky from lack of use. neither of you have spoke much as he drives the two of you around hawkins. its been at least an hour now; music plays softly throughout the car and the windows are rolled down to let in the early june nights cool breeze.

you lean your head against the passenger seat and listen to freddie mercurys smooth voice as he plays over the speakers. hes become one of your favorite artists thanks to steve. "i dont want to go home just yet."

steve grins, he knew youd say this, and you smile at the knowledge that he knows you so well.

his fingers are wrapped lazily around the steering wheel as he takes a slow turn back towards downtown hawkins. you watch his movements, illuminated by the lamp posts that spill light onto the otherwise dark wooded street. its late, the first monday of june and the last day of your junior year.

it had been steves last day of high school, and all he had wanted to do was spend it with you in his car, driving in circles around your small town.

you close your eyes and allow the moment to seep into your bones. youre in steve harringtons car, there are crickets outside as he drives you around the town the two of you met and grew up in, and youre in the car with the boy that you love and you know that he loves you, too.

"you still with me, angel?"

you hum. "im still here, honey."

"your eyes are closed."

"im enjoying the moment," your eyes remain closed and yet you can feel the smile that steve flashes your way. you can hear it in his voice, you can feel the shift in the air.

the car slows down at one of hawkins only stop lights. steve looks over at you and feels a heavy wave of affection roll over him. youre curled into yourself in the passenger seat, your hair spills over the headrest as you close your eyes, and its rare that he gets to see you so relaxed. "i can take you home if youre tired."

"but i love driving around with you," you mumble, feeling sleep beginning to crawl over you. but steves car is warm and smells like home. "one more loop, please?"

again steve feels affection caress his face when he hears your words. youve only curled further into yourself and your eyes are still closed; steve knows you really are struggling to stay away now. its late, he knows he should get you home soon so you can sleep, yet steve cant bring himself to deny your request.

"one more loop, but then im taking you to bed."

you giggle, happy youve won, but you try to argue some more anyways. no one else has ever been able to match your wit, so you revel in the quips you share with steve. "fine, its the first day of summer. dont be such a grandpa."

steve laughs, his voice is still husky and you can feel it drape over your tired body. "angel, weve got all summer to drive around this stupid town."

weve got all summer.

"promise?"

more crickets chirp and the car begins to drive once more, the stoplight now green. freddie mercury sings about the love of his life and how he doesnt want her to hurt him. your question of a promise joins alongside his pleads, and steve understands.

"i promise." he reaches for your hand and you feel his soft lips press against your palm. hes slow with the kiss, as if hes sealing his promise with it, and your body fizzes at the touch. "now lets get you home."

you bring the hand that hes holding to your face and nuzzle against it, too tired to respond with words. you simply nod your head and keep his hand there as a content sigh escapes you. steve has to bite his lip, scared he'll say the three words that terrify him.

youre everything.

youre his everything.

but steve has all summer to tell you this.

so instead he drives you home, taking the long way just so his hand can rest against the dip of your cheek for an extra few minutes.

#ask #anon #m speaks #m's writing #come home blurb #set in between seasons 2 and 3 !#steve is so so so in love #and theres something so intimate about driving around in someones car late at night without saying anything

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visionsofmagic · 7 months

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day 6: roronoa zoro [cock warming]

࿓ synopsis • you ask to zoro whether he needs any help or not, and in return, he makes you sit on his cock so that it can get warm while he’s sleeping.

―❦ nsfw, opla!zoro, f!reader, reader is being needy & brat, pussy slapping, pet names, teasing, swearing, ‘is all! • 1.2k • a man that takes all my attention to himself in an instant in every type of universe; live action, manga, and anime. I chose to write for la!zoro version ‘cause why not? enjoy, hope I did everything right! [kinktober m.]

“stop moving, you're distracin' me.”

his deep voice cuts your actions of trying to stay still on his lap, adjusting your position so that your numb legs will fix, but, the struggle causes your pussy to clench around his length because of sudden movement which ends up by earning an unsteady thrust. looking at his face, hands gripping the collar of his sleeve, you see his closed eyes, trying to continue the nap he’s taking in the middle of the day.

“sorry –“ you say, smiling innocently knowing he cannot see, “I didn’t mean to, it’s just –“ you try to find a solid word to describe the situation you’re in now but the weight of lust running through your pussy takes your brain away, wanting to break free, letting yourself go and wasting the last thirty-four minutes waste, waking zoro up, being a greedy brat – only to make him not sleep, instead, fuck you. “so much.”

you can’t bring yourself to say what you’re thinking aloud – just fuck me already! Just move this thick cock and fill me up! – pathetic.

you’re here, sitting down on his cock, warming it, being useful.

the moment of the morning came into your mind; the crew went to bring food and new clothes to the ship, and when they left, only you and zoro were on the ship, you said ‘I wanna be useful for you’ because he’s still healing and you wanted to help – anything, you added, which was a bad idea – maybe, it wasn’t that bad though.

zoro, being a greedy boyfriend even if he tries to hide it, decided to make you a useful one – for his damn cock – to warm it up!

“so much?” he teases you, taking you back to reality, making the sensation on your pussy grow bigger each passing time, moving his hips, acting as if he just adjusts his position like you did minutes ago – only this time, it’s an act – to try you, seeing how much you can handle this. folding his arms, he opens his eyes slowly, an eyebrow is raised, questioning, “what’s so much? I even didn’t begin to fuck you, did I, doll?”

opening your legs wider, challenging him, a whimper leaves your mouth yet zoro doesn’t show any sign of being greedy to fuck you – oh, what self-control!

but you’re not done yet. “it seems you will never do,” you say, shrugging, hands on his shoulder building up to his neck, playing with the hair on his neck – the most breathtaking man you have ever seen – he’s so beautiful that you would beg anytime now but you should try first – to break him into the point in which he will let himself go and move his hips. “I know I am here for the help – to warm your cock,” you point to the sight in front of him – your pussy beautifully covering his thick cock, wetness that comes out of you soaking his veined length. “am I helping?”

opening his arms, he puts them behind his head’s back instead as he leans to the wall of the chair you’re sitting on – eyes travel from your tight pussy to your face, meeting with your innocent smile and sparkling eyes.

“u-huh,” he says, trying to understand where you’re heading with this question, because he knows you well enough to realize you want him to move, yet stubborn and prideful to beg, not until the right moment which zoro waits to arrive. “warming my cock so well that I can feel you dripping into it – hot.”

nodding to him, heat rushes to your face at the sudden compliment, making you gain a confident manner, and continue on with your act; being a fucking brat, using his jealousy to achieve your goal – you would feel bad under other circumstances but not today, not when you want him to devour you – he’s hard to resist, and you’re so greedy to be a good girl.

“anything for my crewmate,” not boyfriend – a crewmate. it takes his attention, eyes on your face, daring you to go on with piercing gazes, jaw getting tight, straight face expression that screams danger. it only turns you on further. “I will make sure to provide my service to the captain as well than because he can need – agggh – zoro –!”

your words are cut by him; raising your body up a little until his tip releases you, and then, without missing a heartbeat, putting it down on his length, thrusting into your dozy pussy, earning a scream out of your mouth.

holding his shoulder tightly, you try to stay in balance while he keeps doing that without any particular rhythm and steadiness so that you get cockdumbed mind right away – all dizzy, just moaning, feeling him shoving his dick into you, balls hitting the ass – finally!

“is this what you wanted, brat?” he asks, hands open your skirt by damaging its buttons, nearly tearing it apart, cupping the breasts through the fabric of your bra before letting them watch how they bounce in sync with your body, raising up and down on his cock with more rapid pace now – devouring you – the things you wanted for a long time. “want me to break that pussy, pretty doll – ohhh – uhmm – y/n – you – you will fuckin’ get it!”

his hands are positioned on your waist, looking down, seeing your clit getting wider with each of his hard and strong thrusts, warming it with all the juices you make – you literally soak now, close to the edge, and zoro smirks at you the moment he hears the crew entering the ship.

his possessive and rough side takes control of his mind – his soul as he picks you up, you already begin to beg for him to put his cock inside, pleases coming out of your parted pink lips that you bite so hard. you let him turning your body, abdomen touching the surface of the bed, cock’s tip resting on the entrance of your pussy, then, he slaps it with his dick, a hand finds your neck, putting your face down onto the pillow – his body hovering behind you as your ass gets higher and higher.

it feels so vulnerable to be in this position as if you’re his own fucktoy to play with, and you can’t deny the fact that even the thought of it can make you cum in an instant.

“zoro – aggh – I –“ you try to say when his dick slaps your clit once again, your body jumps – feeling both shy and shameless at the same time but he cuts you out, cock enters you in one go, jolting your body forward.

“cut it. you don’t want to waste your breath now, you will need it when I make you scream my name enough to make all the crew hear it,” he chuckles – the rings of danger echo inside your head, making you look behind and see him; standing on his knees, eyes on your face, a smirk is visible that gives chill down to your spine at the sight – his glory has one meaning – is that he will not leave this room until others – and your brat brain understands only he can have you like this.

“will make sure everyone knows who’s fuckin’ you day and night, including you, you dumb doll. should’ve learned it sooner, but, I’m always open to teaching you how to be a good fuckin' girl for me.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear *cuties*

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undreaming-fanfiction · 21 days

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My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #stranger things drabble #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #dustin henderson #lotr steddie #ish #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread we die like Boromir MY BOY #ahem this got long #Steve the redorkifier Harrington #Eddie the reemerging dork Munson

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d1ner · 1 month

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fwb: nanami kento (18+)

nanami kento doesn't know how to be just "friend's with benefits".

tags: (fem aligned user) (uses y/n) (jealousy) (not proofread also sorry this is my first real smut ive posted on tumblr) (uses the L word (gasp!))

(art for header found on pinterest)

•—————————————————————————•

fwb!nanami didn't know how to approach you, his friend and colleague, about being friend's with benefits. he wasn' the kind of man to just have sex with someone. he didn't fuck- he made love. it wasn't until gojo dug his nose in, asking you if you'd ever want a fwb within earshot of nanami- you saying you wouldn't be opposed- that made him even think to ask.

fwb!nanami who brought a bouquet of roses to your apartment the first time he came over to "netflix and chill," stumbling over his words and acting like an utter fool in front of you. it was cute, and you eased him into the situation as naturally and slowly as your body would allow. his arm was awkwardly placed on your shoulder as you nuzzled up against him on the couch, and he seemed all too focused on the movie that was playing.

"kento, do you just wanna watch the movie and try again another day?" your soft voice cooed, and it made him fall apart, the sweat on the back of his neck rolling down his back. oh god, you were so pretty. he knew he wasn't doing anything right, and yet you still looked up at him so affectionately. this isn't what friends with benefits act like, was it?

"n-no, i'm just.. i've never done anything like this before." he swallowed whatever moisture had stayed in his dry mouth, forcing himself to meet your eyes, only to meet an understanding gaze that tore down all of his walls.

"it's okay, we can go slow."

fwb!nanami who's so gentle with you during your first time together. even though you wanted your brains fucked out, his gentle touch and praise that spilled from his lips as you sunk onto his length was equally satisfying.

"you're so warm n tight, y/n.. i can't, 's too much. you feel so good," nanami groaned, his hands kneading your hips as your lips kissed along his neck, licking soothing stripes along his sensitive skin to ease him through it.

he wasn't a virgin, but still.. this. this was new. fucking someone just to fuck them. to fuck you, his gorgeous friend who had always behaved so normally towards him. would things stay normal between you two? he was already overthinking. how did friends with benefits just stay friends when all he could think about was how pretty your face twisted in pleasure, how soft your skin felt-

"kento," the sound of your sighed moan snapped him into reality, and he whimpered in his low, gentle voice, his head falling back against the couch as you rolled your hips against him. that's right- all he needed to think about right now was how good you felt milking his cock, not how your friendship was gonna turn out tomorrow.

"oh, fuck, y/n."

fwb!nanami who didn't wanna leave you that night when you fell asleep in his arms, your head resting on his chest. carefully, he carried you to bed, tucking you in while stroking his fingers through your hair.

"stay," your sleepy, mumbly voice shot an arrow through his chest just as he was trying to quietly leave your bedroom.

yes, of course he'd stay. you'd taken such good care of him, making sure he was comfortable while taking every last drop of cum he had to offer. he didn't realize how pent up he was until he unloaded into you the first time. but once your lips wrapped around him maybe an hour later, he grew more needy, thrusting his dick down your throat as he gently massaged the nape of your neck.

hesitantly he snuggled into bed with you, your sleeping form molding perfectly against his, your face subconsciously nuzzling into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him close. were friends with benefits supposed to be this intmate? should his heart be racing like this?

but as the events of the day weighed heavier on him, he couldn't bear it, trying to find a way to fall asleep. with your steady breaths and warmth as you cuddled him it wasn't hard to get drowsy, but his thoughts consumed him. maybe this was a mistake- him and his bleeding heart.

fwb!nanami who made you breakfast the next morning. and everytime after that. he always brought you an offering like roses or flowers when he'd come over, and treat you like a queen each morning, kissing along your body to wake you up, tasting you before you'd get a taste of his cooking.

it was cathartic for him. no strings attached, just pleasure. it took him a while to understand the point in it, perhaps less stress?

though his heart still raced everytime you sat with him at work or hung out with him- not calling it a date.

"ken, you shouldn't have. we're just grabbing coffee," you whined with your face flushed red. again, this princely man bought your coffee for you and pulled out your chair as you sat at the cafe.

"i wanted to," he would say everytime, shaking his head. and he said the same when he insisted on walking you home from work, fucking you when you got home from work, massaging your muscles from the stress of work, oh lord this man was head over heels-

fwb!nanami who didn't realize he had fallen in love with you until someone at the grocery store asked for your number.

how could someone walk up to you, standing so pretty next to the shopping cart both you and him were putting groceries in, and ask if you were single? as if nanami wasn't standing right there, pushing your shopping cart, guiding you out of the traffic of other shoppers with his hand on the small of your back?

"oh, thank you, but i'm not interested in dating right now." was your response, making nanami's neck tighten. what does that mean? what were you two doing there?

you weren't dating, no. the point is that you were friends with benefits. no strings attached. just fucking, just pleasing each other. this grocery trip was as friends, the breakfasts together were as friends, the sex was as friends-

"ken," again, your voice was like the smooth, untouchable hand pulling him out of a bush full of thorns and pulling him into your softness. "did we get garlic already?"

"mhm," was the only sound to escape his throat. to hell if you were dating or not- he needed you, perhaps even more than you needed him. or at least more than you realized you needed him.

fwb!nanami who pounded you hard into the mattress that night. he was a gentle lover for the most part, always checking in on you, whispering your praises, moaning into your ear as he finished in you.

not tonight. he needed to let out that pent out rage, towards the person who asked you out of course- not you.

"who's this pretty pussy belong to, hmm?" he chuckled as he gripped your hair tighter, pressing your face down into your pillow harder. His free hand was holding your hips with a bruising grip, keeping your ass up as he fucked you into another orgasm.

"k-ken, aagh," you mewled, your hands balling into fists as you held the sheets tighter. "'m yours kento, f-fuck.."

he smiled- it was dizzying, your voice being so broken and yet so his. "that's it beautiful. all mine."

by the time he was satisfied he was dripping sweat, his chest against your back as his breath came out in ragged pants.

of course, ever the gentleman, he slowly slid his cock out from you, watching with possessiveness and satisfaction as his cum dribbled down your folds, and then your bruised thighs. a part of him felt bad for being so rough, but then watching your legs tremble and your pussy pulse around nothing made him feel much less guilty.

"lemme take care of you, pretty," he murmured, helping you stand before carrying you to the bathroom. he was so sweet, sitting down on the bench in the shower, having you on his lap facing him as he washed the sweat and mess off your body with his large yet gentle hands.

you were drowsy from the mix of getting fucked stupid and the heat of the shower, and nanami's soapy hands kneading at your flesh was only making you feel more at ease. you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, arms weakly wrapping around him.

"love you, ken," you murmured into his neck, eyes fluttering to try and stay open.

nanami froze, feeling an intense rush of heat rise to his face from ear to ear. he was sure that he would be the one to say it first. with how he worshipped you, he was positive that the words would leave his tongue first.

but alas there you were, softly kissing his collarbone as you fought to stay awake. his heart swelled, more than his cock as it twitched. god, he could fuck you again just for saying that. but more than that he wanted so desperately to kiss you.

"i love you too, y/n," he hummed, tilting your head up to meet your content smile, pressing his lips to yours, lovingly, as if he had never kissed you before.

#jjk nanami #nananmi kento #nanami kento #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #kento smut #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento x you #drabble #nanami kento smut #kento nanami #kento nanami smut #smut fic #smut drabble

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makoodles · 9 months

Text

ミ the mightiest

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader

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

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

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

It was just a fluke, you tell yourself. A moment of weirdness that had come about because… because…

Okay, so you can’t really explain it.

You don’t like Neteyam! You never have! The sight of him appearing while you’re mid-rendezvous with Txetyo (the same man he had interrupted you with only a few days before!) should have sent you into an angry tailspin. And yet, you can’t forget the pulse of excitement that had throbbed low in your belly when you realised that he was standing there watching you.

Really, you should have been the one to speak up. But it was like your brain had switched off, like all your rational thoughts had gone on a temporary leave of absence; why else would you have stayed silent instead of stopping Txetyo and drawing attention to Neteyam’s presence?

Just like after your last confusing encounter with Neteyam in the healing hut, you end up sticking close to the human outpost for the next week.

It’s probably a little cowardly to hide instead of facing your problems head on, but you don’t care. You avoid Neteyam, you avoid Txetyo, you avoid any of the guys you’ve had flings with before because even the sight of them reminds you of what had happened that night in the forest. Inevitably, that leads to you avoiding the village entirely.

The outpost is as boring as ever, but it’s better than facing the mortification that’s no doubt awaiting you in the village. But at the very least, it’s not lonely.

Spider is kind enough to keep you company in the outpost for the first few days, though you quickly wish he wouldn’t. There’s not much to do, and Spider never deals well with boredom.

“Quit that.” You grit out, your eyes sliding sideways.

Spider is sitting next to you, drumming his fingers insistently on his thighs. He sighs, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling and leaning back on the lumpy couch you’re both sprawled on.

“This is mind-numbing.” He complains, throwing his dirty bare feet over your thighs. “It’s so boring here. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time inside in my whole life.”

“You don’t have to be here.” You remind him, shoving his feet off you.

Spider sighs, swinging his legs back to the ground so he can sit up properly. “Right, sure. I could leave you here alone to mope all day by yourself in your dank little bedroom. Or you could tell me what’s going on with you.”

You grumble, and avert your eyes. Okay, so maybe your avoidance has been a little more obvious than you had intended. You’ve barely missed a day in the village your whole life, and yet in the last two weeks you’ve spent most of your time hiding out in the outpost.

“Nothing’s going on.” You say, and it rings hollow even to your own ears.

Spider purses his lips. He seems pointedly unconvinced, and stretches back on the couch with his arms across the back of the headrest.

“So it has nothing to do with whatever the hell happened when you went off with Txetyo during the hunt celebrations?”

You almost wince, but manage to keep your expression neutral as you stare at your knees. “Nope.”

Spider hums. “And I suppose the fact that Neteyam very conspicuously disappeared into the forest about ten seconds after you left is also unrelated.”

That cracks your composure, and you take a shaky breath as you glance sideways at Spider’s face. He doesn’t look like he’s judging you or anything; he’s just waiting patiently for your answer, a single eyebrow raised.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You mutter, avoiding his eyes.

There’s a long pause, and then Spider huffs out a sigh and tilts his head back to stare at the water-stained ceiling up above you. You feel a little bad about keeping secrets from him; usually you and Spider act as each other’s confidants by virtue of the fact that the two of you are humans the same age amongst all the Na’vi. But this whole mess with Neteyam is something that you’re struggling to wrap your own head around – you don’t want to start explaining the whole mortifying ordeal to someone who was as good as your brother.

“Lo’ak’ll get it out of you.” Spider says confidently.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please tell me he’s not coming over.”

“He’s worried.” Spider protests. “You’ve been acting super weird, dude.”

“He’s nosey.” You correct.

Spider shrugs, unable to argue that point. “Well, whatever.”

It’s as if speaking his name summons him, because the shoddy linoleum floor creaks behind you as a big nine-feet-tall body steps into the room. You catch a glimpse of bright blue skin out of the corner of your eye and groan, tipping your head back against the back of the couch and closing your eyes.

“Seriously, I am not in the mood to be interrogated by the Idiot Brigade today.” You complain. “Can’t you come back and bother me another time?”

There’s a pause. And then, a low voice filled with amusement says, “Am I a member of this “idiot brigade?”

That is not Lo’ak’s voice.

For a moment, you don’t even turn around. You just breathe slowly, your eyes shut tight. Maybe if you don’t turn and look, Neteyam will just vanish from your presence as if he had never spoken at all.

But instead of Neteyam’s spontaneous disappearance, you get Spider shifting on the lumpy couch beside you before climbing to his feet. Your eyes shoot open at that, and your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief.

“Where are you going?” You hiss, already reaching out after him.

Spider stops, hesitates, his eyes flicking between you and Neteyam. He looks as though he would rather be literally anywhere other than here; you know the feeling.

“Uh… I’m gonna go find Lo’ak.” Spider mutters, his eyes darting around cagily. “Seems like you two probably need time to talk some things out.”

Before you can even protest that, Neteyam is stepping forward, marching his way around the couch. You sit up, properly startled now, realising that your window for escape is rapidly narrowing.

“Tell Lo’ak not to come.” Neteyam says simply, stepping nimbly around the couch so that he’s in front of you. It’s like he knows that you were thinking of an escape, because he tilts his head as a subtle smile tugs at his mouth.

“Yeah. Got it.” Spider sounds a little strangled, sending you a look that you can’t quite decipher before turning and scampering out the door, letting it slide shut behind him with a quiet thud.

You stare at him for a long moment, your mouth hanging open like a moron. Neteyam just stares back, his expression even, as though he’s waiting for you to speak first.

You swallow thickly, then push yourself up so that you’re standing. It’s a weak attempt to put yourself on a more even level with him, but it fails as you find yourself eye-level with his damn belly button.

“What are you doing here?” You snap, though it comes out a little weaker than you had intended.

Neteyam doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he gingerly lowers himself down onto the ancient lumpy couch that you and Spider had commandeered for yourselves from the desolate wreckage of Bridgehead. He’s almost comically large for it, his knees bent awkwardly up as he settles back, the springs creaking ominously.

“You have been avoiding the village.” He says simply.

And… oh god, you can’t stop staring. It’s stupid, because you’ve known Neteyam your whole life, you know what he looks like. But it’s like your eyes are taking him in differently now. You hadn’t spent much time with him as kids; you were always chasing after Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider, and Neteyam usually maintained a distance as he trained under the guidance of his parents. And then he was gone, departed for the reef villages, only to return after the worst of the war years had passed.

But it’s different now. He’s a man, his shoulders broader than ever and his muscles more defined than is typical of the Omaticaya warriors – no doubt thanks to his time in the reefs with the bulkier Metkayina.

Your mouth is a little dry; it’s not a good time to be reminded that you find big, muscly Na’vi men really, really attractive.

“Yeah.” You say, your voice scratchy. “Uh… I’ve been busy.”

Neteyam’s hairless brow raises in an unspoken gesture of doubt as he leans back into the couch. Your eyes dart down nervously over his abdomen. Each sculpted abdominal muscle speaks of his physical prowess and the sheer discipline and dedication to his training, and his slim waist is accentuated by the woven battle band around his waist. Fuck, you want to touch his belly.

You can hardly believe that you had this man’s cock in your hand, or that he had been grunting and fucking your fist. Maybe you had hallucinated that. Looking at him like this, taking in his big amber eyes and strong jawline and high cheekbones, you’re reminded rather harshly of just why he’s one of the most sought-after men in the village by the unmated Omaticaya girls. It seems unlikely that he’d ever lower himself to allow himself to be touched by you.

And yet, you know you hadn’t hallucinated him standing only mere feet from you in the forest, watching intently as Txetyo had railed you into the mossy ground.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Neteyam speaks again. “Avoiding Txetyo? I do not blame you.

You almost choke at that. Good lord, the audacity of this man. He knows perfectly well that you’ve also been trying to avoid him, judging by the smug look on his face.

“No! He- he wasn’t so bad.” You protest, though the words ring unconvincingly in your own ears.

“Tawtute, you’re so tight!” Neteyam gasps mockingly, lowering his voice into a dude-bro register that decidedly does not sound like Txetyo. “Fuck, you’re so wet, I’m gonna cum—"

You squawk, hastily stepping forward to swat ineffectually at his shoulder. “Will you shut up, that’s not what–“

Neteyam grabs at your wrist when you smack his shoulders, his long fingers wrapping all the way around you before tugging. You stagger, pulled off balance as he tugs you onto the couch beside him. You end up with your limbs in an ungainly sprawl as you attempt to collect yourself beside him, flustered behind belief. He doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“And he– he made me finish, so.” You say lamely. You’re sitting next to him. Why are you sitting next to him? You should be trying to shove him up off the couch and shoo him out the door.

“I’m pretty sure you made yourself come.” Neteyam corrects, his head tilting. His glossy braids spill over his shoulders, colourful beads clicking together. “Which wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t there, by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just pointing out the obvious.” Neteyam’s smug little grin is growing, and he leans in a little closer. “I don’t think you were enjoying it at all until I showed up.”

You gape at him, stunned.

“I- you-!” You stammer, your breath catching from the sheer swell of your indignation. Who does he think he is, showing up here all muscled and gorgeous like this only to embarrass you?

“Speak for yourself!” You finally manage to splutter, trying to sit up on the couch; Neteyam’s grip on your wrist prevents you from going too far, so you give up and resign yourself to being stuck beside him until he grows bored of tormenting you. “Txetyo was– That was pretty much par for the course. I mean– it wasn’t unusual, sometimes that’s just how sex goes–“

Neteyam sits up straight, so suddenly that it startles you. His brow is furrowed, his eyes flicking rapidly over your face as though he’s trying to assess if you’re being honest.

He’s… he’s leaning in rather close to you. You blink at him, but don’t move back. It’s so rare for you to be around Neteyam without your respirator mask acting like a shield over your face, and you feel a little naked now without it.

“That was a standard experience for you?” He asks, and his voice has… changed a little. That smug amusement on his face has vanished, replaced with what looks like bewilderment.

You scoff at his surprise, rolling your eyes. “Shouldn’t you know what my standard experience is? You’ve interrupted enough of them.”

He doesn’t respond to your snarky remark. He just stares at you as if he’s examining you, and you shift awkwardly on the couch, unsure in the face of his scrutiny.

“What, you’re surprised that all men aren’t sex gods?” You ask a little testily. “They want to experiment with a Sky Person, and I like sex with Na’vi men, so… win-win.”

Neteyam just frowns, pulling back a little. “No, that’s not… I don’t understand. Why do you spend time with them if they are not successful in pleasuring you?”

Boy, is that a loaded question. You don’t want to explain to Neteyam that it’s not really about sex, that it’s more about a pathological need for physical connection and comfort, especially when you try your very hardest not to think about it yourself.

“Maybe I’m just hoping one of them will really impress me.” You mumble, a little sourly. “I guess I’ll keep holding out hope.”

Neteyam’s ears flatten, pressing low against his head as his eyes widen a little. He shifts, his body looming over you like a big blue behemoth as the couch springs squeal beneath his weight.

“I could.” He says. “Impress you, I mean.”

You snort, glancing up at him with a wry sort of smile that falls off your face almost immediately when you see the look on Neteyam’s face. His expression is perfectly earnest, his jaw set and his pupils dilated with an odd sort of urgency that you’ve never seen from him. He… he doesn’t look as though he’s making fun of you at all.

“What?” You croak, blinking.

And then you realise what all this about. Neteyam is always so determined to prove himself, to be the best at everything. He’s always pushed himself beyond his limits and worked himself to the bone to be stronger and faster and wiser, to be a better leader and a better hunter and a better fighter. You probably shouldn’t even be surprised that now he’s decided to prove that he’s better than his peers at fucking you, too.

“This is just a competition for you, isn’t it?” You scoff, yanking your wrist out of his hand. He shifts forward on the couch then as though preparing to catch you if you move to run, but you’re not making any move to leave.

“No. They are not worthy competitors.” Neteyam scoffs as if the question is absurd. “This is to prove to you that you have been wasting your time with men who are not capable of pleasing you.”

You scoff again, but it’s a much weaker sound this time. “I–”

“You have bad taste in men, paskalin.” Neteyam murmurs, shuffling closer on the ancient couch.

You stare up at him, your breath catching a little in your chest. God, he’s so much bigger than you. You hate that it’s making your body heat up, and you feel yourself growing wet as he leans in close, smelling like fresh water and the forest.

“Are you going to let me?” Neteyam whispers, reaching out to trace a finger along your jawline. “Let me prove myself.”

You should say no. You should tell him to leave, to get out. You should absolutely not feed into his own ego by fucking him.

“Yes,” You breathe stupidly. “Okay.”

You’re expecting him to grab you immediately and flip you around onto either your back or stomach; in all your previous experiences, you’ve gotten right down to it with your partners. But to your surprise, Neteyam leans in and holds your hips with his big hands as he presses his mouth to yours in a kiss.

Kissing is not something that you’re used to; the Na’vi you’ve hooked up with have stayed clear of the human outpost, unlike the Sully kids who had paid frequent visits, which means that all of your sexual encounters have occurred in the forest or in empty corners in the village with your respirator mask firmly attached to your face.

Now your face feels naked and vulnerable, and you gasp shakily against Neteyam’s mouth when he leans in and kisses you firmly.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body.

Neteyam doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. He kisses with his hands, his whole body. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backward, your body pressing into the raggedy couch cushions.

At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Neteyam’s hands running over you, stroking your sides and clutching your neck and squeezing your ass.

“Hah,” You gasp out when Neteyam’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you’re embarrassingly wet already, just from a little kissing.

Fuck, he’s a good kisser. That’s so annoying.

You run out of breath too fast, and you have to gasp. Neteyam breaks the kiss for barely even a second, and shifts some of his weight to his elbows as he follows you down onto the couch, nuzzling and nipping at your jaw before returning to your mouth.

There’s a hand on either side of your head during that blink-and-you-miss-it break in the kiss, but then he moves his big hands to hold onto your face like they’re afraid you’ll escape, and now they don’t want to let go at all. One of his hands cups your jaw, the other clasping around the back of your neck and tilting your head farther back, deeper into the couch, opening you up. You think about the fact that he can thread his fingers together behind your head with his palms pressed to your cheeks and nearly moan like a whore into his mouth.

Neteyam’s eagerness surprises you. The kiss is messy and graceless and airless and greedy, frantic and full of teeth, and you can only roll your hips in reflex, in mindless desperation, in a feeble attempt to buck, your mind repeating a refrain of yes holy shit holy shit YES. You can’t even squirm, because holy hot fuck Neteyam is heavy, and he’s got every inch of you covered and owned.

God, have you always been this easy? Just kiss you, feel you up a little and want you enough and you’ll end up happily whimpering under someone on the couch? Even someone like Neteyam, who you’ve been so resentful of for so long?

You spread your thighs, and Neteyam’s narrow hips slot into place like a damn puzzle piece. Neteyam hums a small laugh and pauses, pulls back an inch or so, gazing steadily at your lips and smoothing the tips of his thumbs back and forth over your cheekbones. He takes a moment to fumble with his respirator and takes a deep breath before dropping it and leaning down to kiss you again.

“Oh, fuck.” You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut when his hips roll fluidly against you.

You pull back from the kiss, just enough to get a look at his face. His eyes are a little clouded, his lips puffy and spit-slicked. He looks dazed, and there's a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths together. His brow scrunches in a frown, as though you pulling away from him is a personal offence.

Oh god, you think. I'm so fucked.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek releases you, slides down your body as well. Your breath hitches when he passes over your breasts, drags down the plush skin of your belly, before reaching in between your thighs to cup at your pussy over your clothes. His hand tightens, grabbing you. Cunt, pubic bone, the whole shebang, all of it right there in the palm of Neteyam’s shockingly big hand.

“Bedroom.” You gasp, your head spinning as he just holds your cunt over your denim shorts. “Bedroom now.”

Neteyam grins, and wraps his arms around your waist to haul you into his arms before he lifts you off the couch and practically staggers down the hall. His excitement surprises you, and you cling to his neck as he ducks his way through the corridor.

Mercifully the outpost is quiet today, with most of its human occupants out in the forest or in the village – that means there’s no one around the witness the sight of Neteyam’s enormous blue ass squeezing himself in through the small doorway of the closet-like bedroom you’d claimed for yourself, with you dangling from his arms like a doll.

You’re still breathing hard when Neteyam clumsily gets the door shut before placing you on your squeaky old bed, following you down on it. He’s careful not to crush you with the bulk of his body, instead resting his weight on his forearms where they’re planted on either side of your head.

The consideration makes something squirm in your belly, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers at the back of his head and pull him down to resume kissing him.

Neteyam rolls his hips into yours, and you can feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing into the seam of your shorts, right over your clit. The sound you make is absolutely humiliating, and you will deny ever making it until your last breath, but you twitch as you try to catch that exact same friction again.

And fuck, kissing like this may be new to you, but you never want to stop. You didn’t even know that kissing with tongue could feel so erotic; Neteyam’s hands are on your face again, angling you this way and that way and however the fuck Neteyam feels like angling you, and goddamn he must be doing it just because he can.

You try desperately to remember any little kissing tricks you’ve learned and draw a pathetic blank. Luckily, Neteyam seems intent on showing off. His creativity is more than enough to occupy you both, and you’re too busy being excruciatingly horny to really be self-conscious anyway.

Besides, your next exhale is a chest-rattling groan, and if Neteyam’s immediate grunt of approval and slow thirsty grind against your trapped body is any indication, then you're doing just fine by his standards.

But then, to your absolute distress, Neteyam pulls away.

“Hhh — Shit! Shit, hang on. Shit.” Neteyam hisses, turning his face away and levering himself up on his arms. He’s breathing hard, and the sound of the English curse words falling out of his mouth in that strained tone of voice has your thighs squeezing together pathetically.

“What?” You ask, your voice sounding dazed and stupid even to your own ears.

Neteyam huffs out a few centering breaths and then shakes out his head to clear it. He fumbles for the respirator, takes several deep gulps of air before dropping it again. He angles his hips away from you for a moment, breathing steadily.

“Why’d you stop?” You hate the way the words come out as a whine; you feel as though you’re losing your mind, as though you’re actually going to die if he doesn’t keep kissing you.

Neteyam breathes out a quiet laugh, sounding a little disbelieving as he drops his forehead down to rest on your shoulder.

“Fuck.” He whispers, but he doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he pushes himself down your body, sliding between your legs.

When he tugs your shorts, you lift your hips eagerly to help him shuck your pants off. As he’s tugging at your panties, you work on yanking your oversized pyjama shirt off you. It feels as though the two of you are descending into a frenzy, touching and kissing and tearing at each other like animals.

When you’re naked beneath him you shiver, staring up at him in eager anticipation. You wait for him to come back up and kiss you, to take his own loincloth off and stick his cock into you, but he doesn’t. Instead, his head bullies its way in between your thighs.

“No,” You whine, making a face. You don’t want him to waste time with eating you out when you’re ready now. “Just put it in.”

Neteyam shoots you a reproachful look as though he thinks you’re acting crazy. “You said you would let me please you.”

“But–” You frown, feeling a little ridiculous for having this conversation when his big head is blinking up at you from between the pudge of your thighs. “You don’t have to. I don’t enjoy getting head all that much anyway.”

But instead of changing his mind, that just makes him snort as though you’d told a damn joke.

“Let me show you, syulang.” He whispers, turning his head and brushing his lip over the soft skin of your inner thigh. He kisses you there, and then sucks a hickey-like bruise into the squidge there.

And damn, you can’t turn him down.

“Fine.” You sigh, a little irritated, and spread your legs wider so that Neteyam can muscle his way in.

He grins as if he knows something you don’t, grabs your legs and pulls them so your thighs are hanging off his big broad shoulders. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over you between your legs, and you prepare to lie back and let him lick you down there until he deems you’re wet enough to start fucking you properly.

But then he actually gets his mouth on you, and… oh. Oh.

You tilt your head back, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. That feels… better than you had expected, actually.

Each of Neteyam’s movements are calculated, precise. He laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks. You nearly yelp, but manage to tamp down on your reaction and merely wheeze instead. Neteyam points his tongue and presses inside of you, sucks and licks like he’s actually eating something. At one point, he even bites, and you jerk so hard that you accidentally grind against his face.

It’s not like any of the head you have ever received. You’ve enjoyed it before, sure, but it’s never felt like this, and it’s definitely never made you come. And yet, to your honest surprise, you can feel a familiar coil of tension beginning to build deep in your abdomen.

“Oh god.” You breathe, sounding a little bewildered.

You feel his tongue against your clit again, hardly noticing that his hands are gripping at your ass until he yanks you forward as he buries his whole damn face between your legs. His fingers return, delving into you, deep and searching. His mouth works against your clit and it feels like you’re being squeezed between the kinds of pleasure, worshipped and wrung out and attacked all at once.

“Neteyam,” You gasp like a fool. “Oh, what the fuck, it– Neteyam, hang on, it’s too–”

Neteyam is still devouring you, sucking hard and persistent until you cry out. You try to clench your thighs around his head as he laps at you like a man starved, but his hands are still on your thighs, locking you in an iron grip, keeping you spread wide for him, and you can hardly breath because every time you think to try and take a breath his tongue is moving over your clit again and he’s sucking against you.

Your head swims, and you wonder why on earth you had been so resistant to allow him to make you feel good like this. Fuck, have you just been getting really bad head this whole time? You didn’t even know it could feel like this.

Your heels are digging into his back, and the closer he brings you to the edge the harder your thighs clamp around his head. He barely seems to notice the force you’re exerting, merely groaning to himself everytime you squeeze tighter.

Your thoughts splinter and unravel, and you can do nothing but buck uselessly against his hold, desperately chasing more of his lips and his tongue.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” You chant, eyes squeezed shut tight as you whine.

He's just so good with his tongue, and you’ve never felt like this in your life. It feels as though you can't breathe properly, as though you’re melting from the inside out. None of those awkward, fumbling sexual encounters with those other Na’vi ever had you feeling like this.

Your breasts are heaving with the effort it takes just to breathe through the white hot pleasure crashing through you, and you stare down at him with wide eyes as he suckles again at your clit. When he sees you looking down at him, he throws you a cheeky wink as he laps at you.

You let out a helpless, gasping laugh at him, your hands clenching compulsively in his braids. Your giggle has him pulling back a little so he can look up at you properly; the grin he shoots you is extra shiny thanks to the fact that the lower half of his face is covered in his spit and your own slick, but he looks dopey and happy.

You manage one word, on a long and broken moan- “Please!”

Neteyam laughs quietly, the sound vibrating through his lips and into your pussy, but then his tongue is on your clit again, sucking you into his mouth, and you’re shattering around him as he finally pushed you over that edge you’ve been teetering on.

You keen and shake violently, spasming around Neteyam’s fingers and jerking into his mouth, coming so hard that you see black spots in your vision. Neteyam doesn’t let up, pulling broken moans out of you with tongue until you’re writhing.

You squirm and whimper until suddenly it’s too damn much, and then you’re reaching down to push at Neteyam’s neat braids to try to get away from his relentless tongue. Damn, he’s acting like he’s hungry for you, like he’d swallow you whole if he could. He doesn’t let up until you’re begging him to, albeit wordlessly — whimpering and shoving at his face, trying to arch away from the too-sensitive touch.

Finally, Neteyam relents. He lowers your legs from his shoulders and you practically crumple, going limp against your mattress. Neteyam’s face is wet and shiny, and he looks ridiculously smug. You’re still trembling, throbbing with the aftershocks.

“Mm, you sound so pretty.” Neteyam murmurs, his words coming out muffled and almost slurred as though he’s drunk.

“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes as you struggle to catch your breath.

Neteyam hums, pressing kisses all over your pubic mound and lower belly. He seems so damn pleased with himself, pushing himself up your body so that he can nuzzle into your neck, pressing sweet nipping kisses to your throat.

His breathing is a little strained, and you grab blindly at the respirator hanging around his neck before bringing the mask up to his face.

“Breathe, Neteyam.” You gasp out, still a little breathless yourself.

He grunts, as though irritated over something of secondary importance, and takes a couple of deep breaths before dropping the mask again. His pupils are blown so wide that his iris is barely visible, just a thin ring of gold around a pool of black.

You laugh, panting and overwhelmed at the sight of his shiny face, and reach up to wipe his slick face with the palms of your hands. He huffs a quiet laugh of his own, turning his face towards your hands and nuzzling against you like an oversized cat.

“That was… that was better than I expected.” You say, still struggling to collect yourself.

Neteyam’s smile turns a little sly, his teeth flashing as he kisses at your palms. “Impressed?”

And you can’t help but laugh at that, feeling as though this whole situation is spinning around far beyond your wildest imagination. Fuck, he’s really giving his all to this, just to prove to you that he’s superior to the other men of the clan.

“Not yet.” You whisper, biting your lip and hoping that he takes it as the challenge/invitation you mean it to be.

And luckily he does, his smile only growing.

“I should keep going then.” He murmurs, his hands stroking up your sides.

He gently caresses both breasts, a little knead of big, rough hands that can cover much more than just one tit and you love it. Your back arches as you shiver, revelling in how bizarrely gentle he’s being with you.

“Yes,” You whisper eagerly, your legs spreading further until the muscles of your inner thighs are burning with the strain of it. “You definitely should.”

You reach out to tug at the band of his loincloth, your fingers actually trembling a little as you try to unknot it at the sides. Neteyam’s own breath hitches, and his much more nimble fingers reach to help you untie it and draw it away.

And fuck, now he’s naked too. You sit up eagerly, peering down between your bodies to try and catch a look at him properly. You may have touched him that day in the healing hut, but it’s completely different seeing him.

He’s big. So big. All the Na’vi are big when compared to you, of course, but this just… it feels different, because this is Neteyam. His cock is the same pretty blue shade as the rest of him, decorated with darker stripes and pretty glowing tanhì. Your heart thumps recklessly at sight of it twitching towards his belly, and you reach out towards it eagerly.

Your small fingers wrap around the hard length of him — he’s too thick for you to comfortably hold in one hand, but that doesn’t seem to matter because he groans appreciatively anyway when you run your fingers down his length and then back up, feeling warm and sticky precome gushing from the tip to coat your fingers.

“Ah!” Neteyam groans breathily, his hips rocking as your hand slides up the long, velvety length of him. “Fuck… so good.”

You feel like you’re burning up, your skin sweat-slick and far too hot. The weight of his cock in your hand has your head spinning; you want him inside of you, stretching you wide and fucking you deep. If he fucks as good as he eats pussy, you feel like you’re in for a very good time.

“C’mon,” You breathe, writhing a little. “You– you promised me that you’d.. That you would…”

“Mm, I promised I’d make you feel better than Txetyo ever could,” Neteyam finishes for you, leaning in to kiss your neck. “You like ‘em big and stupid, huh? That’s why they can’t please you, syulang.”

You toss your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as his sharp canines drag over the sensitive skin at the side of your throat. Fuck, maybe he’s right. None of those guys have ever made you feel this good before; you don’t think you’ve ever been this slick and eager in your whole life.

“God, you have such a big head,” You huff, quivering. “Maybe you’re big and stupid too.”

He just laughs at that, a dark chuckle that has your nerves buzzing, and leans down to nip at your shoulder hard enough to make you jerk beneath him. “I am not like Txetyo, or Art’alak, or Pewalsku, or Urtiltey.”

You scoff, before reaching up to push hard at his shoulders. You’re not actually strong enough to shift him, but he pulls back obediently, falling back to lay on his back on the bed. You rise up on your knees then, looming over him as he lays flat.

The way Neteyam is looking up at you, it’s like he’s seeing god. If he could worship you with just a look alone, he is. It’s a little overwhelming, and you feel something deep in your stomach knot just at the sight of him looking at you like that.

“Prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.” Neteyam whispers, reaching out to grip at your hips, guiding you into straddling his lap.

You don’t think anyone has ever talked to you like this, or looked at you like this. You hardly know what to do in the face of his attention, so you revert to what you’re familiar with; you settle yourself against his lap and grind there, feeling the length of his cock glide along the seam of your cunt.

It feels as though your belly has been set alight, and you take a slow breath as you rock against him. His lips drag from the base of your throat up the length of your neck, then he nips gently at the hinge of your jaw. The softness of his breath against the sensitive skin of your throat elicits a shiver from you, and Neteyam’s hands pull you closer when he feels your reaction.

You make a soft sound against his mouth when his fingers clench tight around your hips. His hold on you encourages you to grind down against him. It's not as though you really need the encouragement, but the way his eyes darken as he stares up at you is enough motivation for you to tilt your hips and grind down just like he wants you to.

"Fuck." He breathes, his eyes going half-lidded as he tilts his head back against your bed to watch you move above him.

Heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over Neteyam as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system; it feels as though you just can't get close enough to him.

Your patience runs out, unable to keep up the teasing; Neteyam seems to feel much the same. When you raise yourself up, chest heaving, Neteyam grabs at his cock and holds it still to allow you to settle against it, the head notched against your entrance. He glides over the opening again, pressing in the barest amount. You can already tell it’s going to be a stretch. Neteyam is thick, and you want it in you, want to feel it pressing you open.

You clench around the head of his cock, trying to pull him in, and Neyeyam groans.

“You’re—” He starts to say, his big hands clutching at your hips. “Shit. You’re tighter than I even imagined, paskalin.”

The idea that he might have imagined this is almost more than you can take, and you surge forward to kiss him again, your mouths clashing clumsily.

“You—you thought about it?” You manage to say, your words coming out a little muffled as he sucks at your lower lip.

He just rumbles a laugh, as though your question is ridiculous, and doesn’t even bother answering. Instead he places one hand securely under your ass, the other adjusting himself—there’s a short, sharp burst of pain as you felt him start to push in, just the tip and your head is spinning. Your nails are digging into his shoulders but if he feels anything it doesn’t show.

He kisses your cheek and then pushes in a little deeper as his mouth falls to yours once more—swallowing up your sharp cry as another inch sinks into you, and you feel like you’re splitting open.

Fuck, you feel as though not grabbing lube was probably a mistake; you were too cocky, too confident in your ability to take him, so sure that he’d be as adequately satisfactory as the other Na’vi men you’ve been with.

He goes in and in and in, pressing farther into you than you even thought was possible. The stretch and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him. His mouth is open, each breath escaping him quickly, and you can see your own amazement reflected back to you on Neteyam’s face.

You dig your nails into his shoulders to offset the pain radiating through your core as he shoves himself deeper into you, chased by another wave of warmth as his free hand move between you, thumb settling gently over your clit.

“Ohmygod,” You gasp, pleasure mixing with that burning ache. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Ungh..” Neteyam groans into you shoulder as he rocks another inch into you, until you’re sobbing and moaning by turns. “Oh. Fuck. Txetyo didn’t deserve this, syulang. Didn’t know what to do with you.”

You whimper in his grip as he just holds you there, buried to the hilt, thumb still working at your clit and sending frissons of electricity up and down your spine.

“Feels good,” You slur. “You feel good.”

Neteyam pulls out half an inch and fucks back into you from below, making your breath hitch. “Yeah?”

“So big,” You gasp. “I-I want—"

“I know, I know. I’ve got you,” Neteyam rumbles, his full lips brushing gentle kisses over your temple, right in your hairline. “Take what you want, lovely girl.”

And you do, rocking your hips and taking one of his enormous hands to pull between your legs so he can continue to rub at your clit with his fingers, so he can feel all the ways you’re leaking onto him as you lean forward to run your own hungry mouth along his collarbone, his pecs, as your hands grip his shoulders to try and lift yourself up and onto him over and over again.

It doesn’t take long for that coil in your belly to swell, sweet and hot. It’s as if Neteyam is intimately familiar with the way you want him to rub your clit, how you want it pinched but only just so between two fingers, as if he’s been taking fucking notes all those times he had walked in and interrupted you. It doesn’t take long until you’re trembling and squeezing impossibly tight around him, taut like a violin string.

It’s like Neteyam is puncturing your lungs, and every time he fucks into you, you respond with stupid sounding little ‘ah’ sounds.

“Ah, ah, ah!” You gasp, teary-eyed and desperate. Neteyam’s mouth is parted, his eyes wide. They flick over you quickly, drinking you in as you ride him.

Your movements are slow to build, but gradually you establish a steady, desperate rocking. It doesn't take long for you to realise that grinding in his lap feels better than raising yourself all the way up and down. Distantly, you feel little guilty — you know that grinding and rocking in his lap in the way that you are feels better for you than it does for Neteyam, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's watching you with a rapturous expression, his arms urging you closer so that your sweat-slicked chests are pressed close together and your foreheads are resting against each other.

You find a rhythm that both satisfies and stokes you, riding him with abandon as your thighs clench tight around his narrow hips. Neteyam’s hands slide from your hips down over your lower back, worshipful as they drift lower to clutch at your ass and use his grip there to help lift you up and down.

You ride him with mindless intent. His fingers dig at the meat of your ass, his mouth dropped softly open as he fights to keep his own breaths even — it takes a long moment for you to realise that he's fighting to keep himself still and to stop himself from thrusting wildly into you. His restraint and the realisation that he's really allowing you to have all the power in the exchange strikes you hard. You’ve never felt any real sense of agency in sexual intimacy until now, and the realisation that he's being so considerate of how you’re feeling only contributes to the intensifying of those flutters in your belly.

The rush builds in you, relentless, mounting with every jerk of your hips. There would be no catching your breath until it broke.

You rock on him, hard, hard and fast and there, there it is, that’s it — that perfect deep unfurling. A moan rises from the depths of your chest as you gasp at it, your body trembling. Neteyam just stares up at you, mouth open, eyes gone wide and dark.

The wave crests, the world explodes around you, a kaleidoscope of sensation as you come undone in his arms, trembling even as he keeps sliding home into you. You keep moving over him through the ebb of it, through the helpless little sounds that break from his throat. You’re still shuddering when he reaches up to take a firm hold of your waist. As though he can't help himself, his hips thrust up into you.

“Yes,” Neteyam hisses, his flat nose all scrunched up in a feral sort of pleasure. “That’s my girl.”

You tremble, gasp-moaning as your joints turn to jelly. Your orgasm very slowly gives way to thunderous aftershocks that rocket through your body every few seconds, shuddering your whole frame in intervals.

"Fuck," He groans, his breathing gone ragged. "I'm going to-"

He doesn't even finish his sentence before he seems to lose some of that iron control he's been exerting; his hips jolt up into you, and then again, until he's thrusting up into you with a sense of urgency that's almost breath-taking. All you can do is cling onto his hair and bury your face into the crook of his neck, attempting to muffle the embarrassing little gasping sounds that you’re making into his skin as his fucking into you prolongs the breath-taking pleasure of your orgasm.

You don’t fuss when his big hands use his grip on your ass to lift you up himself, fucking up into you and letting loose. Then he's shaking, stilling, spilling himself inside you, and you watch eagerly as his face goes slack and relaxed.

You don't go still immediately. Your hips keep rolling slow and steady as you tremble against him, chasing that feeling of molten shivery pleasure that's still burning in your belly even as it starts to turn into almost unbearable oversensitivity. It's not a fully conscious movement, as you’re moving mostly on instinct, and after a few moments Neteyam takes a hold of your hips to slow you to a stop.

He stays inside you like this for what feels like an eternity, spent and nestled deep inside you as you sit in his lap, slumped against his large strong chest.

"Oh my god," You whisper eventually as another pleasant shudder jolts down your spine. It feels as though you’ve been kicked in the chest, as though the breath has been knocked out of you entirely to make room for the lovely floaty lightness that's beginning to fill the space between your ribcage”

"Mm." Neteyam hums quietly, his fingers tightening in the soft flesh of your hips as he tilts his chin up to brush his lips over your sweaty temple. "Alright?”

No, You think, with no small amount of panic. You’re absolutely not alright. Neteyam may have just been fucking you to prove a point, because it’s always been so important to him that he’s perfect at everything he tries his hand at, but it feels as though he’s just cracked you wide open. You don’t think anyone will ever make you feel as good as he just did.

When you don’t immediately answer, one of his big palms cups the back of your neck so he can tilt your head back, and he leans down to kiss you again. He sucks your swollen bottom lip into his mouth so he can worry at it while you whine, toes curled where you tucked them under your legs, balanced on his thighs.

"Impressed?” He murmurs into your ear, his warm, dry hands stroking soothingly over your sweat-dampened skin.

You laugh despite yourself, and it comes out breathless and broken. “Fuck. I—yeah. Yeah. I’m impressed. Asshole.”

Neteyam’s expression brightens, his ears twitch back as his smile grows. He leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, then three times in quick succession, and out of the corner of your eye you see his tail coiling lazily against your sheets.

“Feel like I need to lay down,” You say. “For a week maybe.”

Neteyam just chuckles as you slowly lift your hips; when Neteyam slides out of you a soft sound of loss escapes from his mouth. You sympathise — you feel uncomfortably empty now that he's no longer nestled inside of you, but Neteyam is already gathering you into his arms and flopping back onto your mattress with you all curled up ontop of his chest.

It all feels so natural — you’ve never cuddled after intimacy like this, and you never would have imagined that Neteyam would allow you to do this. But it seems like he craves physical touch as badly as you does, because it feels as though his hands are everywhere as he holds you.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself, dickhead." You grumble, though you’re already relaxing under the pleasant warm weight of his hands

Neteyam’s smile only grows. "Why shouldn't I be pleased with myself? Have I left you unsatisfied?

You groan loudly, before burying your face in the pillow. The worst part is that it's true — you’ve never felt so satisfied in your life. You think that you could close your eyes and cheerfully float away on a cloud, but you don't want to suffer the humiliation of admitting that.

“I’m satisfied.” You admit, mortified. “It— yeah. You won that stupid competition. Well done.”

That has exactly the effect you had expected it to have; Neteyam’s chest puffs up where you’re laying across it, his eyes crinkling up as he grins. God, he’s so fucking smug.

You manage to swallow down your embarrassment so that you can ask the question that’s been knocking around your head since the first time he had kissed you.

“Can we… do that again, sometime?” You mutter, keeping your face pressed into his chest so he can’t see the vulnerability on your face.

Neteyam’s chest rumbles in a deep laugh, and his large palm settles between your shoulderblades.

“Whenever you want, yawntutsyìp. We have all the time in the world.” He murmurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Where ever you want. Here, the forest, my hut in the village—”

You laugh, blinking in surprise at his eagerness. You guess he must be absolutely pussy-whipped right now, which is pretty sweet.

“Next time we mate, we’ll do it in the forest so Txetyo can find us.” He says, and you can feel his teeth against the top of your head when he grins. “Let him watch as I make you scream again.”

"I did not scream!" You snap, embarrassed, reaching to smack at his chest. But then his words actually parse in your head, and you push yourself up quickly on top of his chest so you can look down at him, wincing a little at the ache between your legs.

Neteyam obviously catches your wince because he frowns and one of his hands reaches for your thigh, but you grab at his wrist as you gape at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You blurt.

That must have been a slip of his tongue. Every man you’ve been with before has been so damn careful to avoid the term mating, obviously terrified of you somehow getting the wrong idea; they made it painfully clear that it was just fucking, with no strings attached, because you were small and exotic and apparently the tightest thing they’ve ever gotten to put their dicks into.

Neteyam blinks owlishly, as though confused by your response. “What?” He asks, before his face relaxes. “Ah, it’s only the thought of me watching that does it for you?”

“No, it—” You blink at him. “You said… you said next time we… we mate.”

“Yes.” He says, wrapping one big arm around your waist to tug you back to him, as though he doesn’t like the fact that you’re shifting away. “I enjoyed mating here, where I can kiss your face, but it is very...”

He pauses then, and glances around your room. For the first time, you see it through his eyes; it’s small and dingy, the electric lights buzzing and flickering as they run on the ancient generator that Norm and a couple of the other older scientists had dragged from Bridgehead. Even though he’s gotten comfortable cuddling you on your bed, it’s far too small for him; his legs are hanging off the end of it, his feet flat against the floor. Compared to the fantastical natural homes of the Na’vi, your little bedroom seems like a shithole.

“You will be more comfortable in my hut in the village.” Neteyam says decisively, using the arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to his chest again. “I wish to take you in the forest, at Vitrautral, as is tradition.”

“Mating.” You repeat, just to check if you had heard him right. “We—that was mating.”

“Mhmm.” Neteyam’s hum sounds casual enough, but you can see the ridiculously pleased wave of his tail in the air behind him. “I told you that you were wasting time with those skxawngs, but I did not mind waiting for you. I did not like hearing them talk about you, about how you felt and how they pleased you, but… I knew I could prove myself a better prospect than all of them.”

“But—” You’re still struggling with this, staring at him with a bewildered expression. “But it—that was sex. It wasn’t—”

“I will take you to Vitrautral tomorrow, and mate you properly,” Neteyam murmurs, and you feel his big chest rumble beneath you in a pleased purr at the idea. “You do not need any other now. Yes?”

It feels almost too good to be true. Almost. Because damn, you want that so badly that it actually aches. After so many years of craving intimacy of any kind, it seems shockingly unlikely that it’s being offered by Neteyam, the very personification of an Omaticayan golden child. How have you gone from getting fucking in empty corners and deep in the forest to having the Olo’eyktan’s son talk about mating you?

You think of the herbs and plants he always brings to the healing hut, the bones and fibres he forages, the food he brings you after hunts. You had always thought he was just shoving how great he was in your face, but now all of that is starting to rearrange itself inside your head. Was he seriously just trying to impress you?

You laugh a little disbelievingly, and Neteyam’s arm tightens around you.

“I have a necklace,” He murmurs, nuzzling against your forehead. “Made with freshwater pearls from the ocean. I was going to give it to you earlier but—we got distracted. It is in my tewng—”

“Get it later,” You whisper, clinging to his chest. You’re so comfortable, you don’t want to move, just in case the moment slips away forever. He made you a necklace. Fuck, he made you a necklace! You’ve only ever seen Na’vi mating gifts from a distance; the thought of receiving one is beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.

Neteyam’s chest seems to swell, his expression brightening the moment you cling to him. He hugs you close, his purr now reminiscent of a damn chainsaw as he curls his whole big body around you.

Taking a chance, you do something that you’ve always sort of wanted to do, ever since you found out what it was; you reach behind him and take his kuru in your hand, feeling the thick, glossy protective braid in your fingers.

Neteyam shudders under you, his rumbling purr stuttering a little as his eyelids flitter, his eyes going dark. He doesn’t stop you, watching you with lightly parted lips as your hand closes around the most sacred, sensitive part of him.

“This is okay?” You whisper, your vulnerability clear in your voice.

“Of course,” He whispers back, as though the moment is a soap bubble that could burst at a slightly raised voice. “It is yours, syulang.”

Emboldened, you drag your fist down the glossy braid until you reach the end, where the glowing tendrils that make up the exposed manifestation of his nervous system. The fleshy pink tendrils writhe in the air, and you watch in eager amazement. You’ve only ever seen diagrams of this part of the Na’vi anatomy, and you want so badly to touch it.

“You can play with it all you want,” Neteyam murmurs, and his voice is breathless.

You breathe a laugh, glancing up at him with a little grin. His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his chest heaving. You want to gnaw on his ribs, swallow him whole; he’s so cute.

“I’ll save that for tomorrow,” You whisper, the words ringing like a promise.

Neteyam looks briefly disappointed, before his mood is promptly buoyed at the thought of mating you again at the Tree of Souls, as he had promised you. He buries his face happily in your neck as you pet absently at the protective braid covering his kuru. It’s a non-sexual touch, and yet he goes entirely boneless, purring up a storm as you stroke your hand over it.

“Told you those others could not please you, paskalin,” He murmurs, his words slurring a little as his eyelids flutter with every soft touch to his kuru. “Told you they did not know what to do with you.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the fond smile pulling at your mouth.

“Mm. You did. Guess I needed someone like you, huh? A mighty warrior?” You say, teasing him with that silly little nickname he always called himself when you were a teenager. At the time you had thought he was so annoying, but now, looking back… you’re willing to admit it was pretty adorable.

Neteyam’s drowsy face pulls up in a sweet smile, his flat nose brushing against your collarbones. It seems like he’s pleased you remembered, or maybe he’s pleased that you’re impressed with him.

He kisses your neck, then mumbles sleepily, “The mightiest.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x human #neteyam fic #Neteyam #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #na’vi x reader #na’vi x human #avatar way of water #fics

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catiuskaa · 3 months

Text

need you to [Lee] Know.

SUMMARY: minho loves you: to him, it’s as clear as water. Its only after he finds out that you’re starting to doubt it—he needs you to know just how much.

REQUESTED! here by an anonnie. I hope you like it, pookie, ‘cause I had fun doing this! <3

CW: slight hurt/comfort if you squint, but it’s just fluffy fluffy lino being really down bad and not knowing how to grasp it tbh which just gives me my serotonin dosis for the rest of the month lol

WC: 1.2k

A/N: also omfg kats posting two requests on the same day? that’s right baby, look at me go! 🤩🤩🤩

[🔅★🌼★🔅]

Minho was not the type to show his affection.

He comes off more like a shy kitten that slowly gets used to you, your sweet smell and how soft your touch feels, and then slowly opens up.

“But, uh… can I be real with you for a sec?”

It’s a feminine voice with a strong accent. He can hear it comming from your room, and the slight glitchiness of it makes it obvious that it’s a phone call set on speaker.

“Sure.” He can almost see you shrug, but he just closes the main door as soft as he can, pleading for the cats to stay silent for a little bit longer.

Minho can’t exactly place together why he’s overhearing your phone call. He knows who you’re calling, he can recognize Chan’s sister by her tone. But still, he keeps quiet, gently placing his bag down and silently taking his shoes off.

“I just— and don’t get me wrong, but, your boyfriend kinda seems… bored of you.”

What? Minho has to hold back a scoff, remaining as still as a statue next to the front door. He’s waiting for you to deny it.

“You think so?”

And then, he frowns, because you didn’t. Instead, your tone sounded hesitant. Dubious.

As if you weren’t sure if Minho loved you.

“You say he keeps cancelling your plans together. He has stopped making time for you. Like, girl, you can’t remember when was the last time he told you he loved you.”

Hannah pauses, and that only makes it worse, because it lets every word sink in.

“I uh, well. I ain’t gonna say that he should throw flowers at you every single second, but, uh, you know.”

He can only hear you groan loudly, almost picturing that cute motion you usually did when he meaningly teased you, taking your hair and covering your face with it.

“Can’t say anything for sure with him,” Hannah adds. “But, just by what you’re saying…”

Minho’s heart clenches tightly in his chest. He doesn’t want to keep hearing this... this nonsense. God, he loves you. And you… can’t see it? Frowning, he starts walking to your room, but his movements end in a halt, his hand just above the doorknob, threatening to grasp it and fully open the door.

“Girl, it’s gotta be late down there. Sorry this whole call was about me.” Your chuckle comes off slightly dry. “I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay? Go get some good sleep.” Your tone just screams how bad you’re feeling, and it just makes his chest swell with guilt that slowly creeps up his body.

Maybe he had been taking you for granted?

He opens the door as soon as you press the red button, sighing loudly after ending the call. When you see him, you jump in your place, startled by his presence, and you stand up awkwardly.

“Minho!” You say in a squirm. He can’t help but cringe slightly.

“No.” His tone sounds childish, like a petty toddler who didn’t want to eat the carrots in their lunch.

You frown slowly, the slightly wary grimace melting on your face, allowing a soft confusion to step in.

“No what?” You mutter.

He walks to you slowly, and grabs your hand, taking it to his chest, pressing it flat against his clothed skin, over his heart. You can feel his heartbeat, a not-too-slow rhythm: thump, thump, thump.

“Call me by a pet name. Any pet name.” He says, his tone equally firm and soft. “Call me by a pet name and say you love me.”

He’s serious, but god, so fucking nervous. His brain is slowly melting away because he’s so bad with words and he isn’t sure any action could be enough. He’s already blushing.

“I, huh… I love you, jagi.” You mumble, still confused.

And even if you don’t say it as fondly as always, or if your smile isn’t beaming like how it usually did, you can feel his heartbeat quickening.

“You can feel it, right?” His eyes are soft and worried.

Oh, God. You just know you’ve gotta be pouting. It’s hard to react with words, and the only thing you can fathom doing is linking your arms behind his nape and sinking your face on the crook of his neck.

“Min, I’m so sorry.”

“N-no, kitten.” He mumbles, hugging you tightly too. “I am the one who’s sorry.”

He breathes in, drowning in your soft fragrance. Home. It’s you, it’s warm, and he loves it.

He loves you.

So, he says it. He has to say it. He can’t not say it.

“I love you.”

And it feels so good to let it out that he chuckles. He has to say it again. “I love you.” And again. “God, I love you.” Just once more. “I love you so much.” He’s giggling like a fool, but he’s a fool in love, and that makes him blush even more. “I can’t not love you. Not loving you would turn everyday into Mondays. Like, I can get it tattoed if you want me to. I just. I love you so much that ‘I love you’ can’t even—.”

You move from his shoulder, now facing him, and you cradle his face, pulling him in a kiss that’s so sweet that threatens to give both of you type 1 diabetes.

“Y-you’re crying.” Minho mumbles, softly brushing the stray tears away with his thumb.

“It’s your fault, silly.” You sniff, giggling too. “How can you say stuff like that?”

Your heart is beating like crazy, the butterflies in your stomach are multiplying by seconds and in your cheeks glistens a bright and deep shade of pink.

You want to say it too. But in his own way.

So, you take his hand and settle it on your chest. Right above your heart.

It’s a rapid thump thump thump that Minho feels right away. He can’t help but smile widely.

“I super-mega-love you.” He teases, picking you up in between his arms.

You’re laughing, squirming in his hold.

“Lee Minho! Put me down!”

But he just grips your body tighter to his, and walking as if you weighted nothing, heading towards your bed, plopping you down there.

“Good girl.” He snickers, and you blush even further. Minho takes your chin tenderly and pecks your lips. For a moment, certain kind of idea flashes through his head, but he just kissed you again, following his previous thought.

He opens your closet with a toothy grin, and halfly eyes the window before picking up a random shirt, a grey hoodie that used to be his, a dark skirt and your thigh-high socks, going as far as to the suspenders for you.

He then turns to face you, his eyes glowing. He can’t wait to see you all dolled up. Minho feels like a teenager, and he loves it.

“You have twenty minutes.”

You blink at him, and you can’t help but smile, confused.

“I’m taking your cute ass to a date.”

It may not be an instant fix to the struggles to your relationship, but as you two walk down the beach, looking for colourful rocks that match each other’s eye colour, you know that he’s worth fighting for.

Regarding Minho, he happily hums to himself, eyes glued to your figure as you cackle and run in the beach, as you look behind you and giggle at the prints your boots leave in the humid sand.

He smiles, running towards you, tackling you and holding you in his arms.

He’s not letting go anytime soon.

~Kats, who always struggles to choose a picture for the fics because istg lino looks good in every single moment!!

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scuderiahoney · 4 months

Text

Glad You’re Here

Oscar Piastri x insomniac!reader // Tangerine Pt. 1.5

Masterlist // Tangerine Part 1 // Part 1.5 // Part 2

It’s been raining where I live this week and I couldn’t get this version of Oscar and reader out of my head. So, here you go- a little companion blurb from Oscar’s POV.

Word Count: 1.1k

find my other fics here, including the original one for this blurb!

Warnings: none

Oscar loves sleep. He could sleep anywhere, could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. It’s been an issue, actually- he habitually snoozes through alarms and constantly naps when he should be doing more important things.

It’s been an adjustment, dating you, because of that. It’s not that you don’t like sleep, you just… can’t. Honestly, it breaks his heart, because while tumbling into his bed at the end of the day is a relief for him, for you, it’s the opposite.

He’s watched you get worked up with exhaustion to the point of tears far too many times. He wishes he could take it all away, that he could reach deep into your brain and press the magic button that would let you sleep. You’ve tried lots of things- chamomile tea, melatonin, warm baths, hot milk and honey, but nothing seems to help.

That is, until Brazil.

It’s the end of a triple header, which is exhausting in its own way. You’re dragging, have been for days. He can see it in your eyes when you give him the update before qualis, can see the way it pulls at the corners of your lips. He wants to wrap you up in a hug and hold you there until you get so bored you fall asleep- though that doesn’t work, either. But the two of you are in public, surrounded by coworkers, so he refrains.

Dark clouds roll in over the track and cut the session short, which is less than ideal. Oscar climbs out of his car, frowning when he notices you’re missing from your usual spot in the garage. It’s odd, but not impossible. You could be in the bathroom, could be in a meeting- he’s not sure.

When he’s made it through his debrief and you’re still not back- which is odd since you’re a part of his team- he starts to get worried. Finally, he asks, trying to sound casual about it. It’s not necessarily a secret that the two of you are dating- the important people know, important being your bosses. He leans towards one of your closer coworkers, asks them if they know where you are.

“Oh, she left, I think,” she says, and Oscar feels even more concerned. “She said she didn’t sleep well last night, I think she wasn’t feeling good.”

Oscar blinks, rubs his thumb against his knee under the table. It’s odd that you wouldn’t have texted him before you left. He wonders if you went to your hotel room or his, feels a stab in his chest at the thought of you all alone and not feeling well. Not sleeping well the night before is an understatement- he knows you didn’t sleep at all, actually. You’d stayed in his room and read a book, a little light to read by and his head in your lap.

Once they dismiss him to head to the hotel, he beelines for his driver room to gather his stuff. Lando’s trying to make small talk on the way there, and when Oscar opens the door he’s following behind him. Oscar stops in his tracks, though, and Lando bumps into him, opening his mouth to make a comment when Oscar raises his hand and shushes him.

You’re there, curled up on the massage bed, tightly wound. You’re asleep.

“Oh,” Lando whispers. “I’ll go.”

Oscar nods, closes the door, walks over carefully. Your lips are barely parted, lashes tangled together, arms curled protectively around yourself. He watched the soft rise and fall of your shoulders, absolutely entranced.

The thing is, Oscar doesn’t actually see you sleep very often. When it does happen, you usually fall asleep after him, and then you wake up before him.

All of the tense energy is gone from your body. Your hair has fallen into your face, a strand across your lips that moves with every breath you take. He’s pretty sure you’re wearing one of his hoodies. You look so soft, like you’ve melted into the massage table. He wants to curl himself around you, into you, keep you close and warm and safe.

He sends Lando a text, asks him to knock quietly when the car to the hotel is ready. Then he locks the door and crosses the room. He’s so careful when he climbs onto the makeshift bed with you. He takes it inch by inch until he’s got you under one arm, his chin on top of your head. He doesn’t dare pull you close like he’d really like to, afraid of waking you up-

“Osc?” You say, voice soft.

He curses himself out in his head. He shouldn’t have risked it, should’ve just let you sleep, should’ve known this would happen. You’re going to kill him, probably- the one time you fall asleep easily, and here he is, ruining it.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, sighing. “You looked so cozy, I just thought- I didn’t mean to wake you.”

In response, you wrap one of your arms around him and pull yourself into his chest. Your cold nose brushes his neck, lips against his collarbone. You yawn and turn your face so that your cheek is pressed to his chest.

“S’okay, m’glad you’re here.” you mumble. “The storm made me sleepy.”

The rain is still pelting the side of the garage, sending the sound through the room. Every so often, there’s the distant sound of thunder. He wonders if a sound machine would help you sleep, tucks it away into his brain to try later. Right now, he brushes his lips against the crown of your forehead and rubs your back.

He opens his mouth to say something again, but then he feels it- your grip on him loosens, and your soft, even breaths wash over his neck. He pulls his head back just slightly, finds your eyes closed and your lips parted once again. You’re adorable when you’re sleeping. The relaxed look on your face makes his heart clench in his chest. He keeps rubbing your back lightly, afraid that if he’s stops you’ll wake up again.

He’s not tired, but he stays anyways. He stays and watches you sleep, even if it’s mildly creepy, even if Lando will definitely make fun of him for it if he ever finds out. He doesn’t know how long your sleep will last, so he’ll cherish every second of it.

On the car ride back to the hotel, he buys a sound machine off of Amazon. You try it the next time you can’t sleep. It doesn’t work. He waits until then to tell you the truth.

He absolutely hates thunderstorms.

a/n: thank you for all the love on the original fic!!

taglist: @4-mula1

#oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #f1 fic #formula one fluff #formula 1 fluff #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri blurb #tangerine!verse #< I have started the tag but no promises on more in this universe… guess we’ll see though?#honeywrites

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struniolos · 5 months

Text

bags.

“cant you see me? i’m waiting for the right time.”

chris sturniolo x fem! reader.

synopsis: the one time chris convinces you to sleep in his room instead of nicks, and the truth comes tumbling out.

warnings: smut. minors do not interact.

the sound of chris’ mindless humming fills the air of his room, as you watch from his plush bed the way he thoroughly reads through your mid-term college paper. his hair falls over his eyes, and his legs sit apart. you could watch him like this for hours, how he just seems so calm and present- you try and capture these moments in your mind, like you could take a photograph with your eyes.

“honestly, i don’t think you should include the part about when your childhood dog died.” he speaks up, looking back at you.

you raise an eyebrow. “yeah, it’s not like it’s a core event that impacted my life which is exactly what the paper is supposed to be about.”

he quirks the corner of his lips upwards. “it’s just so depressing, you know?”

“my life is depressing.” you counter with a laugh, watching as he rolls his eyes.

“you asked for my feedback, and that’s what i’ve got. cut the dead dog story.” he says, trying to be as serious as chris sturniolo can possibly be.

you couldn’t help but smile at him, watching as he pushed his feet against the ground to sway his desk chair back and forth. his pyjama pants were definitely a sight to see, blue plaid. a secret, shameful voice in your head fantasised about how soft they would feel up against your skin. you glance down at your watch, which pulses to remind you of your sleep schedule.

“fuck, it’s 12am. i should probably head home.” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

chris looks up as if he were a puppy. you imagined if he had dog ears they’d be perked up. “it’s too late! what if you get murdered or something on your way?”

“in my car?” you question.

he nods, wide eyed. “uh, yeah, what if someone, like, pretends to have been hit by a car then when you stop and get out boom! they stab you.”

“you sure it won’t be you? seems like you’ve had that planned for a while.” you chuckle, shaking your head. chris always had such strange theories and scenarios running around in his mind- if it was possible, you’d love to open it up and take a peak inside. a part of you wondered if you had a place in there somewhere.

he wafts you off with his hand. “you can sleep over, you know nick and matt won’t care.”

you hum in agreement, not particularly wanting to drive home at this late hour, not because of the potential murderers, but the fact that you were ready to collapse in a heap from how tired your brain was. “alright, i’ll go ask nick to pull out his spare mattress for me.”

“it’s so strange he has a spare bed for all his friends when they sleep over, like, just share a bed?” chris rambles, as he stands up and stretched his arms over his head, his stomach peaking out from under his white top. god.

“it’s not strange, it’s very thoughtful. he’s even got a spare cabinet of toiletries for when people stay over.” you point out.

“jesus christ.” chris groans, rolls his eyes.

“whatever.” you scoff, beginning to stand up off chris’ bed, dreading the thought of having to walk up two flights of stairs to get to nick’s room.

chris frowns at you, tilting his head. “you don’t have to go. why don’t you just sleep in here?”

“uh…” you try to muster up something, some dumb excuse for why you couldn’t. because i’m madly in love with you? because i won’t be able to control myself?

“so you’ll have a sleepover with nick but not me?” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “don’t make it weird. we’re just sharing a bed.”

“yes, exactly the point of why it will be weird.” you laugh.

“come on, it’ll be fun. we could watch a movie?” he suggests, a smile adorning his plump lips.

this flusters you, the thought of being so close, watching a movie together, alone, in his room. there was always someone with you, wether it be nick, matt, nate or madi. but not tonight- and that scared you.

“alright, i’ll stay for a bit but i’m not sleeping in here.” you tell him firmly, trying to lay down boundaries before you did anything stupid.

this seems to please chris enough, as he smiles and jumps onto the bed ridiculously, the weight of him bouncing the bed and making it squeak. a dark part of your mind thought about the other ways his bed would make those noises, but you shut it down immediately. once you sat down beside him, with your legs crossed, you scrolled through the netflix catalogue on his tv. you finally settle on she’s the man.

you can see chris in the corner of your eye scrunching his face up. “oh come on, really?”

“it’s a good movie!” you argue, hitting his arm playfully.

he scoffs at you. “so you’ve said about a million other movies that were all shit.”

“actually, could we not watch a movie? i’m really fucking tired.” you yawn, snuggling yourself into the duvet. you remain on top of it though, in a way of telling yourself to not get too comfortable. “i cant be bothered arguing about what to watch, anyway.”

“okay, well what did you want to do instead?” he asks, turning onto his side to face you, now. the only light in his room was that of the tv which illuminated his pale skin, his bright blue eyes glistening. it hurt just how gorgeous he was without even trying.

you shrug. “sleep?”

he nods, now rolling onto his back. you assume this means he is in agreement, but he doesn’t say anything. he just stares up at his ceiling fan, breathing slow. you watch him deep in thought, like his mind is really tinkering over something and gnawing at his insides.

“why don’t you want to sleep in here?” he suddenly says, turning his head slightly to face you.

you sigh. “because chris, it’s weird. we’re friends- we aren’t like, dating or anything. it’s not weird with nick, but with you…”

“with me what?”

your mind fogged with a cluster of everything. all of the stolen glances, the going places you knew chris would be there, always being at his beck and call because you were a ‘good friend’.

you sigh, deciding if you didn’t say anything now, you’d beat yourself up for it. “because...because i like you, chris, and i know you don’t feel the same. i know how you feel about relationships, they scare you. so it’s just easier if i set boundaries for myself and-“

“you like me?” he cuts you off mid sentence, now propping himself up on his side on his forearm.

your stomach sinks. there’s no turning back now. “yes.”

there’s a thick pause between you, and you prepare yourself for the worst. you squeeze your eyes shut, covering your face with your hands. why the fuck had you told him? you’ve ruined everything. now he will never want to hang out with you, and it’ll be awkward with nick and matt and-

“why have you never said anything?” he whispers, quieter than you’d ever heard him.

you swallow, biting your lips hard. “because i didn’t want to ruin not only our friendship but mine with nate, madi, matt, and oh god especially nick.”

chris nods slowly, like he’s really taking to what you’re saying, like he understands the weight of it and why you’d never said anything. why you’d always stayed quiet, and admired from afar. he touched his hair, mindlessly twirling a strand.

“nick never told you?” chris said softly, his eyebrows knitting into one. he looked sad, almost.

“told me what?” you whisper back, your heart now beating in your throat.

chris was never one with words, so when he leaned over and pressed his lips softly to yours, you understood this was his way of saying i like you too.

your cheeks were burning, as he cupped them in his hands. you both slowly began to roll over, with chris now hovering above you and his knee between your legs. you kissed him pathetically desperate, your body keening against his. you lips didn’t seperate once, as if you were breathing air into each other’s lungs and if you parted you’d suffocate. his hair tickles your forehead, his nose pushing into your cheek. you were waiting for yourself to wake up, that you had fallen asleep and this was only a sick part of your mind playing tricks on you. but it was real, he was real.

“fuck, i’ve wanted to do this for so long.” he whispers against you, as his hands roam down your body.

you gasp at the feeling. “you have?”

“mhm.” he murmurs, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “can i take this off?”

you nod, batting your lashes to look at him, and god, he was beautiful as ever.

“this isn’t going to ruin things between us, is it? because i’ll stop right now if it means you’ll never speak to me again.” he pleads, doe eyes looking at you wide and earnest.

“chris.” you whisper, your hand coming to hold his warm, pink cheek. “i would never not talk to you. i want this, i have wanted this.” more than you know you wanted to add, but couldn’t find the willpower.

“i want this too.”

you both assisted each other in swiftly discarding of your clothes, leaving you both only in your underwear. you felt so exposed, the fact he knew how to you felt and that your body was on display. he stroked your thigh as it came to curl around his back, his kisses travelling to your neck and collarbone. you moaned softly at the feeling, his warm lips lighting little fires within your skin. he bit at the plush flesh above your bra before removing it, his hands coming to hold and massage each mound.

you guided one of his hands down to your heat, begging with your eyes. “please.”

chris snaked his hand under your waistband, his slender fingers softly touching your folds. it was all so painfully soft, how he rubbed circles at your core while kissing you slow and deep. he shimmied your panties down, leaving them at your thigh. he dipped a finger into you, your velvet walls pulsating around him. your body begged for more, and chris listened. he was in tune with you, without having to say a word. he pushed in another finger, which elicited a deep moan from within your throat.

“that feel good?” chris murmured, his lips at your cheek.

“god, yes.” you whined, your body curling against his.

he pumped his fingers in and out of your wetness, as you clawed into his shoulders and shuddered against his bigger frame. you could feel him through his boxers, as he ground down against you. his pace increased as he felt you clench around his fingers, the sounds coming from you almost pornographic.

you moaned and cried for him, “chris! i’m almost- ah!”

your orgasm came strong like a thunderous tsunami, your legs stretching and your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your mouth hung open silently as no noise could possibly explain how euphoric you felt.

“mhm, that’s it.” he cooed, riding you through your high and praising you in your ear.

you would never be able to see him the same, never look at him platonically ever again. you knew this would ruin you. he kissed you deep, his tongue licking into your mouth.

“i want to feel you.” he moaned, grinding his constricted mound against your heat. “i want to be inside you.”

the weight of him on top of you combined with his honeyed words began to make you feel all hot and tingly again, as you pulled him incredibly close, your lips puffed and swollen.

“i want that too.” you manage, grinding up against him, the friction euphoric.

he pauses, looking down at you, his chain dangling in your face and hair flopping over his face. “are you sure?”

“mhm.” you hum, “need you.”

chris gives you one last firm kiss, before reaching down to pull his boxers to his thighs. your face flushed a deep maroon, watching as his leaking, pink tip pulsated. he rubbed himself gently, and you reached down to help him. he guided your hand up and down his length, and you felt yourself getting wetter. you shimmied your panties the rest of the way down, kicking them off your ankles. swiftly, he reached over to his bedside table drawer to grab a condom, ripping the packet with his teeth and gliding it down his shaft. you clenched your thighs with anticipation.

the brunette lined himself up with your weeping entrance, as you stroked his hair. you both watched as he slid into you, his tip disappearing into you. your jaw went slack, a pathetic moan tumbling from your plush lips. chris slumped over you once he had bottom out, his face in the crook of your neck.

“fuck, you feel so good.” he groaned, his hair tickling the nape of your neck. “can i move?”

“please.” you beg, as he lifts his head to lock eyes with you. you could no longer see the blue, they were merely bands around his blown pupils.

the first thing you felt was relief as he began to thrust in and out of you, his forearms leaning at each side of you as he held himself up. you knew it was quite vanilla, but thoroughly enjoyed being able to see his pink cheeks and open mouth as he moaned on top of you. his thrusts were passionate and deep, something you least expected from him. it felt ridiculously good, your body overcome with a warm fuzzy feeling deep from within you.

“faster.” you whimpered, holding his head with both hands, clawing into his soft dark hair.

he did as he was told. he picked your legs up, pushing them to your chest so you were folded in half. he began to snap his hips against yours, his balls slapping against your ass. he was impossibly deep, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. he grunted and groaned as he thrust, while you whimpered and clawed at his back. the noises coming from your bodies were ridiculously erotic, the wetness of your pussy and the moans escaping your throat.

“i want to hear you.” he growled, eyes dark and swirling with lust.

“ah, chris yes!” you cried, as he slammed deep within you, his hands holding the back of your thighs to keep you in place.

he quickly slipped out of you, and you almost cried at the feeling of being empty. he flipped you over so quickly you didn’t have time to register, your stomach flat against the bed and his chest flush against your back. he sunk back into you, and you pressed your head into the pillows, muffling your cries.

“oh my- fuck.” you moaned, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

his hands found purchase on the flesh of your hips, gripping it tight and using it as leverage for his relentless thrusts. his body slammed against yours, fucking you into the mattress. he reached around between you and the sheets, rubbing your sensitive bud.

“i’m close! shit!” you swore, biting your fist as he continued to slam into you, your ass bouncing against his pelvis.

“me too, ah!” he grunted, “i wanna see your face when i fill you up.”

you moaned at the thought, hoisting one leg up and twisting your core so that you turn around to look at him. he had a sheen of sweat coating his body and his lips between his teeth, while his hair fell in his face and his arms tensed as he held you down. the bed frame squeaked rapidly, thudding against the wall. there was no way nick and matt couldn’t hear you.

“fuck!” you cried, your orgasm washing over you in a thick wave. your vision was blurred, and your body froze.

the feeling of you clenching around him must’ve sent him over the edge, as chris’ hips stuttered with a cracked moan coming from his throat. he thrust into a few more times, spurting his hot liquid into you. your eyes were lidded, a dumb smile overcoming you as you watched him puff and pant. he collapsed beside you, but you made sure to face him so you could admire his post sex haze. you both lay in silence for a while, basking in each other.

“i cant believe we just did that.” chris mumbled, his finger tracing mindlessly over your face.

“me neither.” you breathe.

he thinks for a moment, pushing his hair out of his face to reveal his pink cheeks, freckles spattered over his nose. “you think matt and nick heard?”

“definitely. secrets out now.” you say, scrunching your nose.

chris laughs, reaching his arms to envelope you into him. he switched the tv off, now leaving you in the pitch black. as you lay there, caged within his arms, you couldn’t help but let somber thoughts cloud you. you wondered how things would change, what would you two become? was this a one time thing? did he really like you back or were you just another warm body?

“do you really like me too?” you whispered into the darkness, nuzzling your nose into his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“i always have. i just never know what to say in these situations. i get stuck.” he confesses, his hands running through your hair soothingly. “girls scare me.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “who knew, huh? chris sturniolo, ladies man…is scared of girls.”

he laughs with you now, squeezing you tight. “shut up.”

you find yourself lulled to sleep by his breathing and the feeling of him pressed against you. you’d never felt so comforted, like you belonged somewhere, more than what you did in that moment.

#god i’m bad at endings!#arghhhh #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #my works #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolos #chris sturniolo x reader

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astonmartinii · 5 months

Note

hi!! i really love your blog: i usually stay silent and only like the posts but i thought today should be the day i request something!

would you be open to write a social media au with lando Norris x y/n where the reader is a marine biologist? or a surfer? or something ocean-related lmao

feel free to disregard this request if you don’t like it or don’t have time!! xx

just add water | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem reader

first fish ruined his appetite, now they steal his girlfriend?

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 103,451 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: perks of the job but back on shore i clock in to my full time job of missing lando

view all comments

user1: can we have the hair routine cause miss ma'am is in the sea every damn day and her hair is still healthier than mine

user2: REAL

landonorris: f1 is just my day job, talking about you is my passion and career

yourusername: babe even the whales in monterey bay know about you

landonorris: they better be mclaren fans

yourusername: eh i think i heard super max (whale edition) the other day

maxverstappen1: conquered all of f1 and the seven seas so real of me

landonorris: THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE SAYING THE RISING OCEAN TEMPERATURES ARE FRYING THEIR BRAINS

yourusername: babe don't joke about that :(

landonorris: sorry :(

oscarpiastri: can you please come to the next race i may put my head through a wall if i have to watch this man go through his camera roll again RETELLING me all of the stories

yourusername: didn't realise we were so annoying 🧐

oscarpiastri: don't get me wrong you guys are cute but sometimes i wanna nap after practice in peace and not hear about whale shit

landonorris: i SEE HOW IT IS

alexalbon: no oscar is right i've heard about when had a baby seal on her surfboard about seven billion times

yourusername: HEY that was cute

user3: okay but lando could talk to ME about y/n's adventures

user4: i want to hear ALL of it for real

user5: lando and y/n podcast when?

alexalbon: do not give them ideas they’re already number one and two yappers in the international waffling championship

yourusername: yapper and proud 😤

landonorris: healthy relationship communications and boundaries? no. yappers? yes!

alexalbon: has anyone ever told you guys you’re annoying?

yourusername: yes 😃

user6: they’re so annoying i love them

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1,209,451 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: does this girl own a pair of trousers? real question.

view all comments

user8: i actually don't think i've ever seen a man this down bad

user9: ALL men should aspire to be this whipped

yourusername: i wish you would join the no trouser revolution, give the girlies something to look at

user10: i agree

yourusername: okay back up babe that ass is all mine

landonorris: it's okay babe you can admire your (my) ass all the time if you come home PLS

yourusername: sorry babe the ocean doesn't sleep and the whales need me

landonorris: but i need you too :(

maxverstappen1: WAH WAH I'M SICK OF YOUR FUCKING WHINING

alexalbon: THANK YOU FINALLY

landonorris: erm why am i being victimised in my own comment section

maxverstappen1: you are doing my fucking nut in mate yeha i get you miss her but kinda your fault for having a cool gf with a cool job

yourusername: omg thanks 😊

landonorris: Y/N???

yourusername: babe no offence but he's a three time world champ i'm gonna take the compliment

landonorris: i guess so :(

user10: just one normal comment section, please that is all i ask for

oscarpiastri: maybe i should get on this whole j.peg business cause my photography is doing some heavy lifting here

yourusername: i didn't take you for a stunt queen miss rookie

landonorris: where is the peace, love and positivity ?? you guys are such haters

oscarpiastri: proudly

yourusername: no cool shells for you mr piastri

oscarpiastri: I TAKE IT BACK

landonorris: you people are such flip flops

yourusername

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 112,872 others

yourusername: i promise we do actually do work

view all comments

user14: why am i now considering a marine biology degree for a sick ass instagram feed

user15: and protecting the sanctity of ocean life?

user14: yeah sure throw that in there too?

landonorris: i hope you slapped the FUCK out of that stingray for steve irwin

yourusername: babe we all know violence is not the answer

landonorris: you said you'd break the knee caps of any driver that took me out?

yourusername: i do not recall this

landonorris: steve irwin is a national treasure, you should've done it for oscar

oscarpiastri: i'm sure it wasn't that exact stingray mate

landonorris: you don't know that

danielricciardo: i see you've forgotten about the other aussie you were teammates with ???

yourusername: i wouldn't have that if i were you daniel

landonorris: y/n??? you're meant to be on my side

yourusername: say sorry to larry and maybe i'll gang up on daniel with you

danielricciardo: Y/N???

landonorris: i'm sorry larry ... and daniel i guess ?

danielricciardo: if my hand weren't broken right now...

user16: okay i think lando is having y/n withdrawals

yourusername: his bitchiness is a symptom of separation anxiety

landonorris: sorry not sorry

user17: mclaren pr praying for y/n to come to a race soon

maxverstappen1: p says pretty please can she bagsy the pink shells?

yourusername: most definitely she can !! i'll even be on the look out for more

maxverstappen1: thank you y/n you're my favourite - p

yourusername: that's it i'm coming home rn

landonorris: am i a joke to you?

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,322,099 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: reunited and it feels so good oh and a double podium, pretty sweet

view all comments

user21: obsessed with how lando said that y/n is clearly his lucky charm and the "dumbass" ocean won't be getting his girlfriend back

user22: there's levels to hating and lando's level of hating on the ocean??

user23: his hatred of fish makes so much more sense right now

user24: either he hates anything to do with the ocean or y/n convinced him they deserve to live 😭

landonorris: i'll say it's number one but realistically it's two greatly helped by the fact that it tastes gross anyway

yourusername: I'M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU

landonorris: i know hhehehehehehehe

yourusername: i love you stupid

landonorris: i love you too dummy

yourusername: as much as i enjoyed this race i am ready for home time (after karaoke, you promised me karaoke with yuki)

landonorris: AHAHAHAAH TAKE THAT OCEAN Y/N COMING HOME

alexalbon: bro has beef with the ocean 😭

georgerussell63: bro had to share his gf with WATER 😭

maxverstappen1: bro is being ... torn apart here KEEP GOING LOL

oscarpiastri: no keep going cause i just want a nap before debrief and some people are being WAY TOO LOUD

carlossainz55: i think that's probably why you guys are getting away with bullying the little goblin

user25: oscar out here just confirming that lando and y/n are ... for lack of a better word up to no good?

user26: y/n didn't lie when she called him a stunt queen

landonorris: i can't hear y'all LALALALALALA

yourusername: they hate us because they ain't us

landonorris: period 💅

user27: i hate (love) them your honour

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 419,034 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: so he had the whole proposal planned out but got a bit too excited at suzuka ... if anyone asks we got engaged on a boat in the mediterranean not in his driver's room. aside from that, HOLY FUCK I AM ENGAGED TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE I LOVE YOU LANDO I CAN'T WAIT FOR FOREVER

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user30: HOLY 😭 FUCKING 😭 SHIT 😭

landonorris: can we agree on no more like three month placements pretty please?

yourusername: baby the whales need me

landonorris: i need you more FIANCE :(

yourusername: gosh you are convincing, no more retreats for more than a month

landonorris: yay !!

yourusername: you need to put up more shelves for our shells though

landonorris: on it, i love you (i'm calling my dad to do it)

yourusername: i love you too baby

danielricciardo: enchante tease on the engagement post and for free ??? love you two

yourusername: at least you have the prettiest model ever for it

landonorris: I'M BLUSHING

danielricciardo: i'll deal with this because i'm happy for you two

mclarenf1: double podium and an engagement, suzuka really delivered this year

oscarpiastri: i guess i take back my comments about being loud in the drivers room... i'm so happy for you guys you deserve it

landonorris: ahaha i knew you were a softy really pastry boy

yourusername: i always knew you loved us really oscar, you're just sassy and we respect that

landonorris: .... sure

maxverstappen1: did he propose at sea in one final power move over his arch nemesis the ocean?

yourusername: have you considered he did it at sea because i'm a marine biologist and i love it out there and he loves me?

maxverstappen1: well now i look like an asshole

landonorris: the sea 0 - 1 lando

yourusername: lando 😭

user31: well this has all been a rollercoaster

fin.

note: i've been kinda mia on here and i'm super sorry this request has taken so long lol. wanted to get this out now though cause lando had a horrid day today but i'm glad he's okay !! enjoy, i'm in my second week of a job so might get less busy xx

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #lando norris insta au #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris

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mondaymelon · 2 months

Text

₊⊹ 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞! | genshin males x gn!reader

「 "𝐡𝐞𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫!"」

— in which you give him chocolates before he attempts to give you his??

— fluff. highschool!au but built like a shoujo manga lmao ... happy valentine's day ~ ♡ another fic will be going out tomorrow :)

THOMA, albedo, ayato, alhaitham, childe, KAVEH, HEIZOU, VENTI, GAMING, CHONGYUN, KAZUHA, wriothesley, tighnari, freminet, lyney ♡

Calling yourself a "romantic" person would be quite a stretch.

Saying Valentine's was your favorite day of the year would be even worse.

Sure, sure, you'd heard plenty of things, from the nagging old man manning the grocery store, always red in the face from regular swigs of cheap liquor, or the seemingly never endless musings from your classmates, swooning and fainting every moment anyone, or more specifically, the leads starring in those dramas of theirs, did anything remotely affectionate.

Young, innocent love, while a splendid thing, for someone like you, your really only option was to endlessly pine after someone who would certainly not return your affections.

The recipient of such foolish affections? That much was obvious. What a rather hopeless person, you were.

At the very least, he seemed to enjoy your presence. A smile would adorn his lips, and he'd always meet your gaze with his familiar greeting of, "Good morning, did you sleep well?"

Fuck, you hated how such a simple line, questioning of your wellbeing, could tug at your heartstrings so effortlessly. The man was playing you like a fiddle, and a part of you didn't try to resist that.

So the moment February 14th rolled itself around, bearing promises of youthful laughter, baby cupids, hearts, and sweets, you tried not to pay heed to the extra weight of chocolates in your school bag.

Had you stayed up late making them just the right sweetness, making sure they were perfectly heart-shaped?

Yes. As stated previously, you were truly hopeless.

"Ah, good morning." Wow, look at you, taking the initiative to greet someone? Truly, a day of magic and wonder! You're almost jump scared at the sight of him in your classroom, just what the fuck was he doing here? He leaned against the doorway, looking terribly pretty in the morning lighting.

This was not doing wonders to your heart.

Upon seeing you, he straightened his posture, looking suspiciously sheepish with an extra non-characteristic, flusteredness on his features. "You're here early today."

"It's Valentine's." That's all you managed to sputter out with that tied tongue of yours.

"Yes, and?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly, not entirely convinced, and followed you to your seat like some sort of lost puppy.

Your brain raced to find a rationale he'd deem reasonable. "Uhm, ah... my friend... is planning to confess to a guy, so I had to come early and help her... set up the place she's planning to do so at?"

"I see... ah," His eyes lit up like he had thought of something. "Are you free after school? We should meet up afterward, so you can tell me how it went...?"

"Yes!" You responded a little too quickly, and cussing yourself out in you head, you corrected it. "Ahem- yes, I'd like that." The burning feeling that arose on your face was starting to become too prominent to ignore.

He didn't seem to pay it any mind, and instead beamed in a close-eyed smile. "Perfect. Then, I'll see you?" You were to bid him goodbye, but he ran off before you could even utter a sound, leaving you rather dumbfounded, blank-faced and still feeling the tingling warmth on your cheeks.

Holy shit, is this my chance?? You’d made chocolates on the eensiest, weensiest off chance that you might grow bold enough to hand it to him, even if under the pretense of “as friends”, but with the violent way your heart was pounding in your chest, you didn’t think avoidance would be an option.

Ahaha, you were making a mistake, weren’t you?

Only one way to find out.

The rest of the day went by as predicted. Fanatic screams and a wave of crazed people chasing after the more popular figures of the school, throwing boxes of chocolates and bouquets of roses... hey, wasn't this a safety hazard? There were other screams too - but not of excitement, but terror as a man was crushed and trampled under a wave of love-sick girls chasing after the popular boy in class 2-A.

You just hoped that he wouldn't sue the school. The place was already cutting enough corners when it came to the monstrosity of cafeteria food.

The bell rang, signaling your freedom, and you massaged your shoulders with a sigh. You'd survived, somehow. As you stepped out the door, a ding from your phone alerted you with a text, and as you lit up the screen, the corner of your lips unconsciously turned upwards into a soft smile.

hot guy <3 - don't forget.

hot guy <3 - ill be waiting for you

Stepping into his classroom, you scanned your surroundings for the familiar sight of the man. Low and behold, there he was, sat upon, presumably, his desk, and staring out the window like some main character. You walked over, trying your best to disregard the clamminess of your fingers - or more specifically, the hand that was holding your homemade chocolates hidden safely(?) away behind your back. His features brightened at the sight of you, and he swung his legs, ushering you over to share the view with him.

"Sorry, did you wait long?" You sheepishly grinned as he scooted to the side to give you space to sit down next to him. As you did so, you were made painfully aware of how his body was still pressed up against yours. “I almost got trampled on my way here, not a pretty sight.”

“...Pretty sight?” He echoed his words, tilting his head as he pondered, the slightest curve of a smile tugging at his lips. “You?”

“W-What? No, I-” You cleared your throat before he could say another word, trying to dispel the blush on your features. Naturally, you failed to do so. “What kind of things are you saying now? Just who’d you learn that from?”

“Haa? What do you mean, learned? I just said the truth, that’s all…”

God, he was so adorable. This man had definitely run off with your heart.

Now or never, you supposed. Standing upwards abruptly, you pulled out the heart-shaped box of chocolates you’d been hiding behind your back the entire time, visibly trembling as you held it outwards.

“Will you be my valentine?”

It took him the count of three to respond, his eyes round and doe-like. He blinked rapidly, and then his cheeks flushed - not with his usual cheeriness, but a red that definitely spoke of flusteredness. “H-Hey, that's no fair…”

“...What?” Damn, was this your rejection? You had expected as much, but-

“I was supposed to give you chocolates first, y’know…”

And just like that, the familiar boy before you reached beside him into the darkly lit space and pulled out his own box of chocolates, lightly colored and wrapped beautifully in shimmering golden ribbon. “It took me so long to do this, and yet…”

“Holyfuckingshitwhat.” The curses flew from your mouth, condensed into a single word. “W- H- Y-You… You got chocolates for me?”

Now this was a first. Seeing his cheeks and tips of his ears all rosy, and seeing him all kicked-puppy-like. He nodded slowly, “Mhm… But, this is good too!”

He likes me.

Hoooooly shit.

“Ah, oh no, I didn’t give you an answer, did I?” His usually soft eyes now filled with panic. “Don't tell me I'm too late, I’ll be your valentine!”

The chocolates, surely, would be sweet. But the sensation of your lips meeting his, the undeniable warmth he bestowed upon you — it was sweeter than anything. ♡

(a/n) lmao guess what. i got sick again. i was sick last month and i mfucking sick and dying again and the only thing saving me is shitty couhg medicine that doesn't even work and like expired coughdrops my couhgdrop supply is running low and oh god i don't THINK IM GOINNA MAKE IT-

hahah anyways remember when i said id come back. well . guess what. ive been working on original works for a while now, but the delulu has indeed returned ( for longer than a week this time, hopefully )

i did work on some stuff during my inactivity! the post will probably be out tomorrow, but please don't be upset if i push the date back :)

anyways whipped up this quick drabble so all of you could be well fed on valentines. remember that its okay to be single on this day, and that there are plenty of other people out there like you. there is no shame in being single, and i love every one of you ! mwah <33

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling, @solxima, @sangoqueenkoko, @haliyamori

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

wearing spencers clothes🤯🤯 the boy would not be able to focus!!!! i love all of your work btw!! you're single handedly encouraging me back into my marauders phase❤️

Then my scheme is working ! Thanks for requesting babe :)

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Spencer has to force himself out of bed so you don’t wake up to him staring at you. Also, so he has time away from you to get himself together.

He’s never felt so much like skipping before. As soon as he’s in the kitchen, full to bursting with the knowledge that you’re asleep one room over, his smile is unshakable. It’s embarrassing, honestly, he’s like a high schooler. You can’t see him like this. He starts going through the kitchen to see what’s not expired. Ketchup, hummus, bread, muffin mix (too risky), mattar paneer (not a very good breakfast), eggs. Spencer can work with eggs. He has to double-check that he has both salt and pepper, but he’s good to go.

He pops bread in the toaster once he hears you moving around, a giddy flare of anticipation shooting up through his middle. You’ve never stayed over before, and Spencer didn’t have any time to prepare. He only has one hand towel, which you seem fine with sharing and he’s going to pop in the washing machine as soon as you leave, and only one toothbrush. He feels bad that you have to brush your teeth with your finger. If you deem him worthy of a next time, he tells himself, he’ll be ready then.

He hears the quiet padding of your footsteps but forces himself not to turn around until you say, “Morning.”

Your voice is still stretched with sleep, and when Spencer turns around he can see it still lingering in your face. Your eyelids are droopy, weighted down, and your hair looks like you’ve tried to run your fingers through it but couldn’t quite get it to behave, and you’re—that’s his sweater vest. You’re wearing his sweater vest.

He must be staring, because you look down at it, your expression going sheepish. “Sorry, is this okay? I know you’re sort of particular about germs, but I didn’t want to just come out here naked, and I really didn’t feel like putting on my jeans…”

Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s fine.” All the stuff you’d done last night, and you think he’s going to be fussy about your germs on his clothes? This is a completely different kind of upset. You’re—you look—well, you look like something Spencer dreamed up. You look like comfort and sweetness and Sunday morning.

“Okay, thanks.” You smile. Spencer thinks that if he was hooked up to a transducer, you’d actually be able to see the rush of dopamine to his brain. “It’s lucky you’re so tall, this fits me like a dress.”

A small dress, but sure. “I also have a disproportionately long torso,” he blurts. “My legs aren’t as long as they should be for my height, so my shirts and vests are longer than average.”

You nod like everything he’s just said made perfect and socially acceptable sense. The toast pops up and Spencer jolts a little, remembering to push the eggs around in the pan a bit.

A little smile tilts your lips, and you lean back against the counter behind him. “Are you making us breakfast?”

“Mhm.”

The smile spreads, your eyes going soft. “That’s so sweet of you,” you say warmly. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I can’t really cook,” he warns you. “I mean, I can usually do eggs, but only scrambled and even then I might…don’t thank me yet.”

A little laugh spurts out of you. It reminds Spencer of the fountain in front of his work, of water sparkling in the sun. “Okay,” you say, “do you want any help?”

“It’s probably best if whatever happens is undeniably my fault.”

You laugh again. He wonders what he can do to make that keep happening.

“Fair enough.” You push off the counter, headed towards the door. “Do you get the paper?”

For a second, Spencer’s too busy watching you go to remember if he does. “Y—yeah. It should be here by now,” he says.

He hears the door open, and then, “Perfect.” You come back brandishing the rolled-up paper, discarding the rubber band in his trash bin. “Do you mind if we do your crossword? You seem like you’d be so good at that.”

Spencer actually stopped doing the crossword years ago—the pop culture references he didn’t get, and the rest were too easy—but he’ll do it if it might impress you.

“Sure, let’s try.”

“Okay.” You grab a pen from the coffee table, spreading the paper open on the countertop. “Wyoming’s state sport, five—”

“Rodeo,” Spencer says. It takes him a beat to realize he cut you off. He turns, grimace in place and apology on his lips. “Sorry.”

But you’re grinning. You shake your head a little bit, pride or admiration or a bit of both, and write it down. You push a piece of hair away from your face. Spencer’s eyes get caught on the wool of his sweater vest where it brushes your collarbone.

“African river to the Mediterranean, four letters. That’s the Nile, right?”

The garment seems to shift with every tiny movement. Sliding atop your shoulders, moving about your neckline, the soft material skimming your ribs. Under the counter, it has to be bunched underneath your thighs.

“Spence?”

“Hm?” He forces his gaze up. “Yeah, the Nile.”

“Thanks.” Your eyes linger on him a second too long before you bend back over the paper, a knowing smile playing on the corner of your lips. “Okay, and eagle claw in five letters is talon, right? Oh, um, eggs.”

Spencer��s brow wrinkles. “How many letters?”

“No, Spence.” You laugh, sliding out of your seat. You tug his sweater down a bit as you walk over, the band at the bottom hugging your thighs. “The eggs. Your eggs.”

He turns, registering the smell of smoke before the sight of the crispy, blackened eggs in his pan. “Oh.”

You reach past him, elbow bumping his as you switch off the heat. Spencer moves the hot pan away from you quickly. He scrapes his sorry eggs into the trash bin, setting the pan in the sink. “Sorry, I got distracted by the crossword,” he tells you, and though he suspects you catch the lie you’re kind enough not to call him out on it.

“It’s fine.” You shoot him another of those brilliant, beaming smiles, taking a piece of cold toast from the toaster. “I love toast. Do you have any butter or jam or anything?”

Spencer winces. “Not really…”

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “No worries. I’m down for a trip to the store if you are.” He nods sheepishly, and you press your lips together, thoughtful. “I think I might change first, though.”

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munsonkitten · 7 months

Text

It starts small.

Steve buys Eddie a handful of cassettes after the whole Upside Down business. Drops them unceremoniously in Eddie’s lap while Eddie’s laid up in the hospital. Eddie pulls them all out of the plastic bag and lays them out in his lap while Steve stands a few feet away, arms crossed protectively over his torn up middle.

“I got things on your vest,” Steve says as Eddie takes in the titles. “I figured everything in your room’s probably gone now, but I still have your vest, and I’ll — I’ll give it back. When you get out of here. It’s safe in my room. But, just — yeah, the tapes are things you have on it.”

Dio’s The Last in Line, Motorhead’s Ace of Spades, Metallica’s Ride the Lightning, Judas Priest’s Screaming for Vengeance, and WASP’s self-titled album.

“I almost bought you more, but I wasn’t sure what else, and I don’t know much about your music, so I just got those. I was going to bring you my Walkman, but I couldn’t find it,” Steve says. “I think one of the kids borrowed it and never gave it back, actually.”

Eddie still hasn’t said anything yet. He’s still taking in the gift in his lap, can’t even comprehend that Steve wanted to give him more.

“Uh,” Eddie says, trying to get his brain working again. “Yeah. Man. Fuck, dude. Thanks. Seriously. Don’t worry about the Walkman, really. This is nice, Harrington.”

“Yeah, no problem, Munson,” Steve says softly. He goes and sits in one of the chairs in Eddie’s hospital room, and stays there until the kids come running from Max’s overcrowded room to ask for a ride home.

Eddie lays there with his tapes spread out over his lap, and he finds himself smiling down at them. He doesn’t even have anything to listen to them on, but he thinks it might be the most thoughtful gift he’s ever gotten from anyone other than Wayne.

It’s nice, he thinks, that he might be becoming friends with Steve Harrington. It’s nice, he thinks, that even when they’re no longer fighting for their lives, Steve might want to stick around.

He didn’t expect that.

Eddie’s in the hospital for two weeks, and Steve stops by almost every day. He sits for a while, sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes Eddie wakes up and sees Steve sleeping in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. He doesn’t wake him, just smiles to himself because Steve’s tired, but he doesn’t want Eddie to be alone.

It’s been a while since Eddie’s had a friend the same age as him. Jeff and Grant are both two years younger than him, Gareth is four years, and Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair are all five or six years younger. He has friends, but Steve feels different, just a few months younger but already graduated. In a way, it makes Eddie feel younger, still being in high school and all.

He doesn’t really think that should matter, but it kind of does. All his younger friends look up to him, he’s always the one making plans and making sure everyone sticks to them, he’s the one in charge of it all — the older one. But when Steve’s around — Steve, with his real job, and high school diploma, and his nice car, and the brood of children he chases after, Steve, who’s an adult in all the ways Eddie himself feels like he’s not — Eddie feels like he can sit back and let someone else do all of that.

When Steve’s around, it feels like he has someone to care for him and look out for him the way he’s done for the others.

It starts to ease everything he’s carried for so long.

* * *

The next time Steve buys something for Eddie, it’s even smaller.

In fact, it’s so small that Eddie doesn’t even notice it at first because Steve was actually really sneaky about it. Eddie would almost find it cute, if he were allowed to think about Steve that way. He’s not, to be clear. It goes against his Munson Doctrine to have crushes on the jocks, rich kids, and straight boys, of which Steve is all three, but if he wasn’t, then yeah, Eddie would find it cute that Steve is sneaking him tiny gifts when he isn’t looking.

There’s a keychain on his van keys that he certainly didn’t get for himself. He notices it one day during a get together at Harrington’s house. Eddie just got out of the hospital a few days ago, and everyone insisted on throwing a party. Now kids are running around Steve’s backyard, yelling and hollering and trying not to fall in the freezing cold pool. It’s still too early in the spring to swim.

Even Max, barely out of the hospital herself, is being wheeled around in her wheelchair by nothing more than El’s mind powers.

It’s kind of fucking insane, to be honest.

But Eddie needs to go out to his car to get his pain meds because he’s really starting to feel the length of the day in his aching joints and healing wounds, so he grabs his keys off Steve’s counter where he left them, and that’s when he sees it.

A tiny metal bat dangling from his keys.

He knows it was Steve because Steve was the only one in the house when he got here and set his stuff down in the kitchen, and no one else has gone inside since Eddie found his way to the backyard, so of course it was Steve.

Eddie doesn’t mention it, just smiles to himself and runs his fingers over the pointed wings.

He sees Steve looking at him when he comes back into the kitchen. Eddie raises his hand and shakes his pill bottle at him, and without another word, Steve goes to the cupboard to get a glass that he fills with water.

Eddie sets his keys back down on the kitchen counter as Steve slides the glass of water over to him. Steve nods at the keys, and Eddie grins at him.

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

“I have a matching one,” Steve says, turning back toward the sink to look out the window above it. “Just, you know, because…”

He gestures at his torso, and then over at Eddie, and Eddie nods. He gets it.

It makes him feel a little bit closer to Steve. Even if Eddie isn’t allowed to crush on him, he’s happy to have someone who gets him. Who understands what he went through, and feels similar pain.

It’s like Steve’s saying You’re with me now, we’re connected, and you’re not getting rid of me.

Read on AO3

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #steddie fic #my fics #stranger things

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actual-changeling · 4 months

Text

i am having a time y'all, my brain is chewing on that one fucking sentence like a dog on a bone, so have some hurt/comfort with a nice dose of angst.

They aren't talking.

It isn't impossible, even with Aziraphale back in heaven and Crowley in his lonely flat in Mayfair—nothing is impossible, not when they're together—and yet that is the problem, isn't it?

They aren't together. They aren't talking. They could.

Crowley thought about it, although there is little else he thinks about these days. Maybe if he had said more, chosen better words, kissed him earlier, run after him, pulled him back—

Maybe then he'd still be here. Maybe then he wouldn't be alone.

It is the emptiness weighing him down, the silence ringing in his ears, and how does he admit to himself that he misses his voice? His soft words, the stretch of his smile, the speeches about Hamlet and book restoration, about newly discovered cafés and ancient dishes long gone.

Aziraphale had lulled him to sleep more times than Crowley could count, a warm blanket wrapping around his curled-up body on the sofa, sprawling and moving, then calmed by his voice.

They aren't talking, and Crowley can't sleep.

He hears him in his dreams whenever he does, but it isn't his voice. It is twisted, warped, wrong, tainted by the acrid burn of bleach on his tongue, the meaning lost in the hollows where emotions should sit.

Days blur into each other, viscous and opaque, molasses trickling through an hourglass.

Sometimes he is scared he will forget how he sounds.

Sometimes he begs and pleads with his own mind to erase every memory of it, every 'I forgive you', every 'we're not friends', every endearment, every single time he said his name.

They aren't talking, and maybe that's for the better.

He said too much again, didn't he? Always talking too much, spilling the wrong secrets held tight to his chest, asking questions no one wants to answer.

So, after weeks of uninterrupted quiet, he simply stops. Crowley's mouth stays shut, his words chewed up and swallowed, and—on unpleasant occasions—thrown up. There are a myriad of things he wants to say, but there is no one left who might be willing to listen, not anymore.

Maybe there had never been someone to begin with.

They aren't talking. The world is about to end.

Aziraphale reaches for his hand, and he lets him, his fingertips cold, his pulse too quick.

"Crowley," he breathes, tender, reverent, a name said simply so it has been spoken, so it is real.

Crowley does not want to talk—not now, not yet, not when he can practically taste blood and ash on his tongue. With a gentle tug, he frees his hand from his grasp and pulls him into a hug instead.

They aren't talking, so he buries his face in the crook of his neck and breathes, holding and being held, and the haunting silence dissipates. Words are superfluous when there is the sound of his heartbeat, his trembling breaths, their clothes rustling as the embrace grows tighter and tighter.

They aren't talking, but they don't need to, not when Aziraphale cups his face and presses their foreheads together, not when Crowley slides his palm around the back of his neck and nudges their lips together just so.

They are talking—every gasp a word, every touch a phrase, every tear an apology and a promise at once.

They are talking, they aren't talking, they still love—violently, desperately—and the world does not end.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens 3 #we are BACK #i still cant believe it

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