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splaede · 1 month

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AFTER DARK. Armin Arlert (CH. 6) (18+)

☰ pairings: Armin x Reader, Slight Eren x Reader

┌─ ✮⭒｡ story summary: Armin was tired of being seen as an innocent, goody-two-shoes, little flower boy. Instead, he wanted to be seen in a more romantic and…sexual light. You just couldn’t turn down a sweet boy like him, so you agreed to hone his charms and teach him special…skills.

And he turned out to be much more powerful (and hotter) than you'd ever expected.

└─ ✩⭒｡ story #tags: fluff, angst, smut, friends to lovers, friends w benefits, drama, jealousy, hurt/comfort, manipulative armin, virgin armin, loss of virginity, childhood friends, lots of tension, nerd armin, and then he glows up, love triangles, unrequited love, gaslighting, lots of buildup

☰ CHAPTER SIX. armin's first

┌─ ✮⭒｡ chapter summary: Things get heated. Things get so, so heated.

└─ ✩⭒｡ chapter warnings: smut (p in v sex, fingering), fem bodied reader, loss of virginity, petting, literally most of this is foreplay

wc: 9.7k

☰ table of contents | previous chapter | next chapter

In the dim of your living room, your eyes could only see him. And right here, on the plush of your couch, your body only knew his.

Armin held you, secured you, and grounded you, strong arms snaked around your waist as you became all too aware of your intermingling bodies. The squish of your thighs against his, the unashamed press of your tits against his chest, the weight of his breaths against your lips…

You could still feel the tingle on your lips where he’d last kissed you, a ghost of his touch.

Above you, the clock ticked louder and louder in your ears, louder than the blood that rushed to muffle your hearing and the pounding of your pulse, a looming reminder that it was late. That you had work in the morning. That you were running out of time.

That you shouldn’t be doing this.

Another sound intruded on you. A voice, his voice, running rampant in the back of your head.

Will your roommate be home soon?

The fact that he’d asked that question…just what did he want?

And on top of that, you had already confirmed that, no, your roommate wasn’t going to be home any time soon. In fact, she wasn’t going to be home at all, meaning you’d have the entire night with him alone, undisturbed.

Sitting here, Armin quietly eyed you, curious and content yet half-lidded and torn by lust. He suddenly silenced your thoughts with a kiss, swooping in hard, teeth clashing, causing you to instinctively grab his face to ease him down.

The kiss oozed of messiness, an exchange of saliva and wet, meshed-together lips that barely held any rhythm. The feeling consumed you fully—the warmth and fervent press of his lips—as you slowly guided him.

Lost in the intensity, you instinctively swiped your tongue against his bottom lip. He jolted, pulling away.

You thought that was so cute of him, seeing him like this. So ironically innocent.

“S—sorry,” he stuttered out, a bashful look on his face.

Your brows furrowed, worried that you had done something wrong. “Did I go too far?”

“No, it’s just….” He tightened his grip on your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “God, I’m so nervous.”

Squeezing your hands on his shoulders, you reassured him, “It’s okay. We can go slow.”

“Okay.”

Armin smiled up at you, so sweetly and boyishly—so contradictory to the thoughts you’d been having about him. But even so, he was still nothing like the little boy you’d known. Not when he was gazing at you with that blush, reddened and far-gone, and that glint of lust—that hunger—in his eyes.

You still couldn’t believe he was here with you. If you’d known you’d be kissing your childhood friend ten years down the line, you’d probably flip out in disbelief.

But he’d matured so much from then. That boy was nothing like the man under you, holding onto you. Nothing like how tempting and alluring and irresistible he looked right now.

His palms flexed around your waist, once, then twice, then dragged up the sides of your torso, slowly, almost mindlessly, then back down. Pressed up like this, chest-to-chest, you could feel the racing of his heart so hard that you felt yourself rattling. And even though his hands had stopped shaking, the fast, repetitive thump inside his chest told you more than anything else ever would.

Sitting in silence, hearts beating out of sync, you let him roam your body like that. Slowly and hesitantly, like he hadn’t quite fully grasped the situation.

"You're a good friend,” he mumbled quietly, no longer meeting your eyes, fixated on where he was touching you instead.

Cheeks heating up at the praise, you shuddered with a laugh that sounded a little too strained and nervous.

You were a good friend? No, he was a good friend. He was the whole reason you wanted to do this in the first place. A good, caring, considerate friend that you would never turn down even if it meant putting your friendship on the line.

“I trust you. I wouldn’t ask anyone else this,” he continued.

Breathing in deep, you cupped his face affectionately. “No, please, you’re so good to me. How can I say no to you?”

His hands stilled, and you could see how his eyes instantly softened. Armin’s right hand fiddled with the hem of your shirt, eyes meeting yours momentarily before darting away.

“Thank you. So…can we keep going?”

Your lips lifted into a small smile, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “Yeah, um. Do you…want to try using tongue now?”

As soon as you’d finished that sentence, you fought down the nervous, embarrassed lump that rose to your throat. It couldn’t get any more straightforward than that.

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly and nodded.

“Slowly, okay? We’re just gonna ease into it. When I lick your lips, open your mouth a little. And then after that, it’s like…” You swallowed, tensing. “Um, I don’t really know how to explain it. Just try to match me.”

He gazed at you with so much anticipation that you could almost taste it. Sliding your hands back onto his shoulders, you latched onto his lips again.

This time, there wasn’t a rush. Just slow, methodical, and relaxed movement as you relished the softness of his lips. You loved this feeling. Soft and sweet, like him.

His hands began roaming your body again, starting from the sides of your chest down to the tops of your thighs. His palms slightly brushed the outer parts of your breasts, but it was still nowhere close to where you really wanted him.

You took this as a cue to mimic him, hands gliding down to his biceps where you gave him a light squeeze. Even though you knew he worked out, you were still surprised to feel the dips and tautness of hard muscle. It wasn’t that you forgot, it was that you didn’t normally expect it from Armin, someone usually so nice and mellow.

As you trailed down his stomach, you could feel the defined ridges of his abs under your splayed palms, and you swore you almost moaned. For someone with such a cute face, he had such a strong body.

When your tongue finally soothed over his bottom lip, he parted his lips ever-so-slightly. And the moment you slipped your tongue in, he let out a small noise that was so, so quiet. Your tongues met, warm and wet.

You could tell he was hesitant, but you continued at the same pace, slowly licking into him and swiping your tongue over his. He’d completely stilled, hands etching themselves harder into your waist. As you were letting yourself taste him, something tugged on your heart, weighing heavy.

Because it dawned on you that you were making out with Armin.

Something so intimate and passionate like this could only be reserved for lovers, not for friends.

Armin reluctantly slipped his hands under your shirt. Just right there, right at the threshold of your torso and not any further, like he was testing the waters. He held you there, only tasting. Your breath hitched, startled by the warmth of his fingers, but the flow of the kiss remained the same.

The pressure of his tongue was soothing as it moved against yours, and he was getting the hang of it little by little. And the moment it seemed to click—where it felt like you’d reached the perfect rhythm and the perfect amount of energy—you moaned into his mouth to let him know he was doing good. Thank God he was a fast learner.

Cradling his neck into your arms and threading your fingers into his hair, you rolled your hips into him experimentally, pelvises meeting. You heard him inhale sharply, but he didn’t break the kiss. He only tightened his hold on you, pushing you down slightly as he rolled his hips, matching you.

The friction felt so undeniably good. You knew he felt good, too, because you could feel the area of his crotch stiffen under you.

It was like that for a while, the two of you grinding on each other, so focused on outdoing the other that the kiss wasn’t even a kiss anymore. Just a mix of messy lips and hitched moans and saliva. So much so that you had to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth.

You were the first to pull away for air.

“How was it?” he instantly asked, licking his lips. They were swollen, and that gave you the urge to kiss him again.

“Just a little messy. But good. You did good for your first time.” You laughed.

He laughed with you, bringing a thumb to swipe over the corner of your mouth. “Sorry about that.”

Just like that, the two of you shared a cute moment, and you began to think that nothing would change between you—that you two would still be friends and embrace these moments no matter what.

As the atmosphere from your makeout session died down, you were left with one final thought.

What now?

“Hey…” you started. You didn’t even know how to word this. Do you know where this is going? Do you even want to keep going?

You stood up, all too abruptly like you were running on autopilot as your brain tried to catch up with your body, hands detaching from his neck and thighs from his lap. You looked at him warily, wedged between the coffee table and his parted legs.

Armin frantically stood up, too, half hard in his pants as he reached for your forearm. “Something wrong?”

It was late, you remembered again.

But now, in this lapse of judgment, you guessed it didn't matter if you should or shouldn't continue. Not when he was staring at you, pleading with his eyes—with his body. You could almost hear his heart thumping out of his chest.

You wondered if he could hear yours, too.

“Um,” you trailed off, wondering how to save yourself.

Before you had the chance to recollect your thoughts, Armin cut you off. “Sorry, um. I mean, I know it’s late…if that’s what you were going to say. I should probably go. You did say I should only stay for a little bit—”

“No—wait, no.” You pressed a palm to his chest.

Armin subtly tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you had work in the morning?”

“I know, but...” Your eyes trailed down to his crotch, suddenly guilty. “Do you want to stay?”

He regarded you with a look of uncertainty, hands hovering beside your arms like he was about to hold you. “Yeah…?”

“Then…what do you want to do?” It came out in a slight whisper, and you instantly wanted to slap yourself for that question because, one, it was definitely the wrong question. All you wanted was clarity as to whether he knew where this was going, and two, what did you mean by what he wanted to do?

You could feel his eyes burning into your head, but yours were averted to where the neckline of his tee dipped down to reveal his collarbone.

He gulped. “What do I want to do?” he parroted, breathing in a steady breath. “Um…what do you mean?”

You pursed your lips, knowing you were going to sound desperate. “Was kissing…all you wanted to do?”

He looked visibly taken aback now, lashes fluttering as his eyes flitted over your form in surprise.

“No…”

“Then what?”

Maybe you really were desperate as you stood here so close to him, pushing your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache.

“Well, I think—I think you know,” he mumbled shamefully. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say it. Please? I just want to be sure.”

He pursed his lips, too, while contemplating, flushed a deep pink on his cheeks. “I want us to…go the whole way. I want you.” He cleared his throat. “To teach me.”

For a long moment, you were convinced you stopped breathing.

It was so loud now. Your heartbeat was so unbearably loud, reverberating and bursting through your ears. A breathless silence filled the room.

He didn't waver. Not once. He only gazed straight into your eyes—straight through you, irises deep and blue and overwhelming and darkened by lust. He'd lost that innocent, bright shine long ago.

The beat of your heart only quickened, even quicker than what it already was.

Was this it? Was this the next step? Was this it after all of those needy kisses and flimsy touches and longing, vulnerable stares?

Nevertheless, a sense of relief washed over you. You wanted this, too, despite the fact that you were risking something precious to you. Something irreversible.

Not that'd you stop now.

And then you were onto him, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. He returned it just as quickly, rough and intimate. His hands slid to your waist and held you tight against his body while you clung onto him like it was the end of the world.

Licking his lips teasingly, you murmured in between the kiss, “My room.”

He broke away a little, muttering a little “okay” before you cut him off by pressing your mouth back onto his.

When you pulled away, he surprised you with his next words.

“Can I carry you?”

Without hesitation, you lightly jumped onto him, and he caught you, carrying you effortlessly in his strong arms. You loved the feeling of his hands on the back of your thighs, firm and warm. He was so surprisingly muscly that you wanted to squeal.

The walk wasn’t far in your small apartment space, and you quickly found yourself being placed gingerly onto your bed and your limbs untangling from his body. He stood there like he didn’t quite know what to do. You scooted back onto your pillows, beckoning him to come closer.

“Get on top of me.” You tugged on the front of his tee. “Like this.”

He stumbled onto your bed, settling in between your legs as his hands braced him up. You tugged him even closer still, and he fell to his forearms.

You looked up at him only to find him blushing, a dark, rosy color tinting the apples of his cheeks, watching you with eager eyes as his chest heaved with heavy breaths.

Heat bubbled in your stomach. “Are you sure you want to do this? Remember, this is…this is for you. This is about how you feel.”

“I’m sure,” he answered quickly.

Then, Armin kissed you for the millionth time tonight, but this time, it was short yet thorough, like he just missed your taste.

“Kiss me on my neck,” you urged, craning your head. “Just don’t leave any marks.”

Armin dipped down instantly, but he stilled for the next second, hesitantly staring at your neck. The conviction finally hit him and his lips met your skin, ticklish and titillating and warm. He peppered slow kisses along the juncture of your neck, leaving one long, suckling kiss—one hard enough to make you feel good but soft enough not to leave a mark. You could tell he was unsure about his movements, so you softly grabbed him by the hair to bring him to a specific spot.

“Right—ah—there. Yeah,” you assured him as he gave another suckling kiss.

“Is this good?” he asked timidly into your skin, and you could feel the tickle of where his lips moved.

You hummed in response. “It’s good. You’re doing good,” you replied, words tumbling out of your mouth in an awkward way.

He pulled away, and his eyes raked over your form, suddenly stopping at your chest. While you should’ve been excited, something else happened. Something like dismay filled his eyes as his brows twitched downwards.

“Is this Eren’s sweater?”

Oh.

“Yeah?” you weakly breathed out, voice pitched a higher octave than you’d like.

His eyes flitted back to your face again, still strewn with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but knew wasn’t good.

“Can I take it off?” he asked, pawing the hem of your sweater. He seemed confident almost, but you knew that the barely discernible, nervous strain in the thrum of his voice gave it all away.

You nodded wordlessly like the air had been punched out of your lungs.

Armin grabbed onto the hem of your sweater with both hands, peeling it off you so slowly that you couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or just simply nervous. Your stomach coiled in anticipation the farther he went, with each inch of skin he revealed. He was so agonizingly slow—or maybe you were so impatient that it felt like time had slowed down—yet the rush of cool air against your torso was instant.

The moment he reached your bra, your heart seemed to beat out of your chest, and you needed to steady your breathing.

He stopped and looked for only a minuscule second, as if he didn’t dare to stare any longer, and picked up the pace, pushing the last of your sweater above your raised arms.

“Pants, too,” you whispered softly.

With shaky hands, Armin obediently worked them off, past the fabric of your panties, all the way down your legs.

He’d seen you in a bikini before, but it was different this time. You were laid out all nicely in front of him, clad in a bra and thin panties. On your bed, for him.

The newfound cold nipped everywhere at your skin, goosebumps prodding up your arms and legs.

“Take my bra off for me.” You said shakily, turning to your side to give him access. “You know how?”

He laughed out what seemed to be a mix of a chuckle and a scoff. “I’m sure it isn’t hard.” His knuckles brushed the skin of your back as he took hold of the straps and unclasped your bra. You could feel his hands shaking against your back. “Easy.”

As he slid it off of you, that heavy feeling in your heart resurfaced, and you began to feel self-conscious.

But it was just Armin, you reminded yourself.

Your upper body was now completely bare to him. The cool of the air swept over your already-hardening nipples.

Armin only stared at you. Didn’t say a word. Just outright ogled you with raw, unfiltered desire in his eyes as his hands twitched where they were resting near his thighs.

You grabbed both of his hands, placing his palms directly on your chest. “C’mon. Touch me.”

Gulping hard, he leaned into you, broad, unpracticed hands cupping your tits, squeezing just once. Then his hands started moving, experimentally pushing and squeezing over the plush of your tits, palms grazing over the peaks of your pebbled nipples.

You clamped your eyes shut, letting yourself go for the moment. It felt so pleasant, just steady friction against your sensitive breasts.

Armin’s hands were soft—that much you already knew—just as everything else was about him. But while his hands were soft and gentle, his gaze was hard. He was so fixed and focused on you, blue eyes practically dripping with unbridled lust.

He cupped your tits again, a soft nudge, then his hands slid down the curve of your waist. You could feel the trail of warmth that his fingers left on your skin. It clung to you even as his hands moved away to rest on your abdomen. His thumbs pressed into your skin so briefly that his touch might’ve been a spasm of a finger as the bottoms of his palms grazed against the hem of your panties.

The warmth followed down the curve of your hips, down your thighs, and down to your knees. You shifted your legs closer to your body, and his hands quickly cupped the underside of your thighs, squeezing once.

You knew this was his first time, so you let him explore your body as your hand came to his cheek to pull him down for another kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips, and you happily welcomed it.

His hands were everywhere now—your thighs, your hips, your waist, your shoulders, your neck, your arms. You could tell he was losing rhythm between keeping up with the kiss and touching you, but you couldn’t care less.

He pulled away first, leaving a string of saliva hanging between your lips.

“Armin, play with my….” The embarrassment hit you again. You didn’t even want to finish your sentence, but luckily, he seemed to understand.

“Oh.” His fingers found your tits again, thumbs swiping over your nipples before he lightly pinched them, tugging them upwards. “Like this?”

You gasped and squirmed. “Yeah. Like that. Just very lightly. Try rolling them between your fingers.”

His thumb and index finger met with your nipples, and he did what you told him, twisting and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

That elicited a little whine from you. “Feels nice.”

Armin continued his ministrations on you as he alternated between tweaking your nipples and groping your tits whole. It was sensual and quiet, save for the sound of your soft moans.

He suddenly sighed, eyes clouded. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered softly and fondly.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you smiled at him and let your cheeks heat up from his compliment. It caught you off guard. Because somehow, in a suggestive moment like this, he managed to make it sweet. Judging from the tone of his voice, you knew it was genuine.

Because he was a genuine guy.

You cupped the back of his head and pushed him toward your chest. “Put your mouth here.”

He doubled back, eyes wide, but didn’t waste another second to envelop his lips onto your chest. He followed your orders so easily—like a dog to its owner—that you couldn’t help but chuckle at the charm of it.

For a second, you wondered if he needed guidance, but when his tongue laved over your breast, you only held his head tighter as your back arched off the bed in pleasure. His eyelids fluttered shut, feathery, blonde lashes resting against his cheekbones. He kissed your nipple just as he kissed you, licking and sucking meticulously and thoroughly.

One of the things that you liked about Armin was that he was such an adaptable learner. Took things he learned and applied them somewhere else. Not that any of this required any big skill, but he just did it so well and so quickly.

You grabbed his hand and brought it to your other nipple, and he quickly understood, playing with you like he did before.

Suddenly, his teeth took hold of your nipple—just a light graze, and you gasped again. You felt the ache between your thighs throb, shamelessly getting wetter. Where did he learn to do that?

“Okay, that’s—that’s good.” You tapped his cheek. “Over here now.”

His mouth unlatched with a pop and he switched to the other breast, repeating the same routine. You felt the remnants of his saliva on your skin mix with the cool air, tingling.

You were sure your panties were drenched now. Sure that the arousal made the fabric stick to you.

Armin pulled away, licking the spit from his lips, and looked right into your eyes. “Was that okay?” he asked innocently.

“Mhm,” you hummed, but you were convinced it came out more as a whine. You clutched a handful of the fabric of his tee. “Off.”

He sat up straighter, surprised but willing. “Off? Okay, okay.” Armin reached behind him to grab the collar of his T-shirt, and in one swift yank, it came off. He threw his shirt on the floor like the rest of your clothes, and you were left to ogle at his body.

Your eyes raked over the smooth planes of his chest, his slim waist, and the hard, toned stomach where your hands had previously felt.

Even at pools and beaches, he opted for T-shirts with his swim trunks. And the last time you’d seen him shirtless, he wasn’t this jacked.

“I never get to see you like this. You’re so—you’re so built.” The fluster was so evident in your voice as you trailed your fingers down his torso.

He shyly laughed, pink on his cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You’re so pretty, Armin.” Before the embarrassment and weight of your compliment caught up to you, you quickly grabbed the hem of his jeans. “Take—take this off, too.”

You eyed the bulge beneath his pants, hard and begging to be freed.

You gulped. Now you two were really getting into it—seeing and doing something so intimate. You had no problem undressing yourself, but when it came to him…

He nodded as his hands fumbled with the button and zipper, thumbs slotted in between his waistband as he shakily pulled them down. You helped him get them off, anticipation and nervousness coursing through your veins.

Once his jeans were off, he seemed even bigger now. You could see the clear outline of his dick straining against his boxers, and it was messing with your head. This was your best friend, for crying out loud. Both of your most intimate places were each just a layer away, just inches away.

“Fuck, I’m so—” His eyes scanned over you, from the eager expression on your face, to your bare tits, and to your legs that were spread to accommodate him. “You don’t know how hard I am right now.”

You gulped again. “Yeah?” you teased, palming him through his boxers.

He sharply inhaled and cursed low under his breath, but before you could go any further, he grabbed your wrist. There was a look of worry on his face—maybe it was desperation, you thought—and you wondered if you did something wrong.

“W—wait. I want to know how to make you feel good.”

Your face morphed into one of surprise. Armin wanted to please you first.

You felt the arousal creeping up on you. Felt it soaking your panties again.

You breathed out slowly, and for a second, the words died on your tongue. He was going to see you fully naked. Only a flimsy piece of fabric away from erasing the line between your friendship and this…whatever this was.

“Yeah, that’s good. Wanting to please your partner first, that is.” You regained your footing. “Help me take them off?” You eyed him innocently and pulled his hands towards your body until his knuckles touched your panties.

He stared for a moment—definitely at the wet, darkened patch over your crotch. Armin finally took hold of the hem of your panties, fingers hot against the skin of your pelvis. Unblinking, he pulled them down gently, agonizingly slow. You could feel your slick sticking to your panties and the fabric grazing your almost quivering thighs. In an instant, cool air rushed to you.

His eyes never left you as he pulled your panties past your knees and ankles, so fixated and eager that he made you nervous. The coil in your stomach returned, tense, like it was moments away from bursting.

You felt like a virgin all over again. You were embarrassed—even though you knew you shouldn’t be because it was just Armin—and on the brink of clamping your legs together, but you couldn’t because his body was right in between you, even closer than you’d noticed before.

“God, you’re so…” Armin gulped. He was quiet, muttering to himself, struggling to find his words, and nervously pushing his hair back. It fell back messily onto his forehead. “What do I…what do I do now?”

Clutching his hand between both of your palms, you shaped his hand into a “thumbs up” sign and brought it to your slit, spreading yourself with one hand. “This is the clit. If you…if you didn’t already know.”

His thumb grazed over your clit, and a twinge of pleasure shot up your lower body.

“I know.”

Armin thumbed your clit some more, swiping circles and pressing down lightly. You could feel yourself get wetter by the second.

“Is this good?” he asked.

“Mhm. A little faster—oh! Yeah, that’s good.” Your hips bucked as he sped up. “You—you could also use your middle and ring finger.”

You demonstrated with your hand, and he quickly followed, pressing his fingers onto you again.

This time, he started off slow and worked his way to match the pace from before.

“A little lower.” And suddenly you were arching off the bed. “Oh! Wait—”

“Am I doing it right?” he interjected, voice shaky. He was watching for your reaction, blue eyes boring into your face.

You nodded as the pleasure spread through your lower body. He wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t bad in the slightest. He made you feel good, nonetheless. The pads of his fingers were warm and smooth, rubbing all the right ways against your clit.

“You wanna move down now?” you asked.

Wordlessly, his eyes flicked down to your entrance, and the urge to clamp your legs shut returned to you again. You were dripping—you had to be, slick with your wetness pooling around your center. He lingered for a second before his attention diverted back onto your face.

“Show me how.” He said, adamant.

“Just know that…” Your fingers ghosted over his knuckles. “You don’t have to necessarily make me cum. This is just to stretch me out. To prep for the real thing.”

He regarded you with a tiny frown and peered at you hungrily through his long lashes. “What if I want to?”

Your heart skipped a beat and your stomach simmered with warmth.

“Well, you can.” You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure of what to say. Taking his hand in yours, you isolated his middle and ring fingers and held them close to your entrance. As you did so, something tingled and churned inside your stomach. Nervousness, you thought, apprehension, maybe. Not in a bad way, but in the way that every next step with him left you remembering just how private and raw this was.

“Just like that,” you whispered.

With a gulp, his fingers slid into your soaked cunt. You were so wet and tight, and you knew he could feel it. Feel it envelop his finger, warm and so, so slick. You instinctively clamped down on him as he pushed further.

“Oh, God…Y-Y/N,” he all but stuttered out. “Is—is this what it…”

The desperation showed clearly on his face: lips parted, brows knitted, and eyes drooping with lust.

You grabbed his wrist. “K—Keep going.”

His fingers reached their hilt inside of you, and you had to resist squeezing down on him. He felt like no other guy you’d been with. Because he really wasn’t any other guy.

He pulled them out swiftly, fingers and knuckles now tainted with the remnants of you. “What—what else?” he choked out.

The absence of his fingers left you wanting more. With your grip still on his wrist, you tugged his hand closer to your center. “Curl your fingers like this. When you’re inside.” You choked, too, and cleared your throat. “Just keep moving.”

“Like this?” He entered you again, gently, and pressed against a spot inside you that drove your hips to lurch off the bed.

You nodded weakly, whining. “More.” Your hand on his wrist urged him out, pulling backward. Confused, he slightly resisted. But when you pushed him back in, he seemed to understand the hint.

Armin pressed into you, thrusting his fingers in and curling them right at that sweet spot that had you gasping out. He slid in and out so easily, guided by the slickness of your insides, and worked slowly, almost teasingly, but you squeezed his arm, encouraging him.

“Right there,” you gasped out. “You’re doing so good.”

He groaned in response, a borderline moan. “H—Here?” And curled right into your G-spot.

You let out an abrupt gasp, akin to a stuttered breath, hips bucking upwards as pleasure seeped into your insides. His pace was reckless, but the calculated way the pads of his fingers pushed and grazed against your G-spot had your stomach twisting and your heart racing.

Beside you, you noticed his other hand fisting the bedsheets. Reaching out, you put a hand on top of his. “You okay?” you asked breathily.

Armin glanced up at you, eyes blown out, pupils dilated in such a starved, animalistic way that looked so out of character. He surprised you by lacing his fingers between yours.

“Can I kiss you? Please?”

It caught you off guard, but you didn’t get to register your shock before you were crying loud with a particularly hard thrust. “Please. Please.” You didn’t know why he was even asking.

Armin’s lips crashed onto yours, capturing you in the most heated kiss of the night. Immediately, he dominated the kiss, all spit and tongue, lips hot and molding together with a firm press. His fingers kept fucking into you relentlessly, filling the room with lewd, wet sounds.

His other hand held yours still, squeezing once before letting go and landing on your waist.

“Just wanna feel you,” he mumbled.

Nodding, you strung your hands through his hair as he caressed your waist and tits. His palms grazed over your nipples, making you shudder and bite back a moan.

The coil inside your stomach winded tight and kept winding tighter and tighter when his fingers hit that spot again. The pleasure swirled through you, wave after wave, your hips lurching off the bed and your hands gripping his hair even tighter.

You moaned into his mouth. “So close.”

He groaned, drawn-out, lips wet with saliva, swallowing the noises that came out of your mouth.

“You’re doing so good,” you praised.

Armin whimpered at that—whimpered—and picked up the pace, faster, harder. It was sloppy, but it wasn’t imprecise. He flicked up into you so perfectly until you were stretched out and dripping, and until it finally snapped.

The coil snapped.

“Armin, I’m—I’m cumming! Don’t stop!”

“Hol—Holy shit, Y/N—”

The coil snapped, and sweet euphoria coursed through you, rushing through you like open floodgates. You gushed onto him in the same way, cunt fluttering against the thickness of his fingers. The feeling hit you like a truck and filled you whole.

“Can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbled under his breath in a desperate whine.

You pulled him into a desperate kiss—or was it that he pushed the kiss onto you?—and he dipped down to embrace you. The twitching weight of his clothed cock brushed against your thigh. It wasn’t intentional—at least you didn’t think, but it only reminded you of what was to come next.

As he slowed down, you felt your cum leaking down his knuckles and onto the bedsheets.

“Was that…good?” Armin timidly asked between heavy breaths. Above you, he panted like a dog, even more than you, pretty pink lips parted as if he was the one being fucked. So cute.

You stayed quiet for a moment, relishing in your subsiding orgasm, fatigued and cozy.

“Mhm. That was amazing. You did amazing for your first time.”

He visibly relaxed, slumped back onto his heels, and sighed. “Really? Th—Thank you.”

Even from above you, he looked submissive, face filled with a desperate need. You giggled at his shyness. The irony of it. “Yes, Armin, you…you just made me cum. That’s…”

Uncertainty weighed down on your tongue. Impressive? Was it really impressive, or should it have been expected from him? A part of you knew that he didn’t need any effort. Not because he was somehow a natural or that he was a fast learner, but that it was him, and that gives your body enough stimulation to push itself off the edge.

Hazy and blinded by your orgasm and the strong presence between your legs, you stopped yourself from dwelling on it any further.

“Y/N, what do I do with this…?” He lifted his hand, still slicked with your fluids. His middle and ring fingers parted further, and your shiny, milky cum stretched between his fingers. The sight almost made you gape, such a contrast to the curiosity and genuine concern brimming in his eyes.

“Taste it.”

He sent you a look so incredulous and so quick, those blue eyes widened to the depths as if your suggestion meant total absurdity. “Taste it?”

“Taste it. It’s hot when men do that. Or, you could also make the girl taste it,” you pushed, rising from your spot. You grabbed his wrist, leading it closer to his mouth.

He hesitated and tensed, but when his eyes met yours, you only leaned in, urging him with a look in your eyes. He complied quietly and stuck out his tongue.

The sight was lewd. His face reddened impossibly more, up to the tips of his ears, as his mouth engulfed his two fingers wholly. He crinkled his nose so subtly that you couldn’t tell what ran through his mind. He tasted your fluids on his tongue, sucked it for a second, then swallowed.

Armin’s fingers slid out with a little pop, and you didn’t waste another moment to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself when you pressed your tongue against his. He moaned at the sudden intrusion but melted into you easily. You could already feel his improvement as he reciprocated your energy and licked your mouth so nicely that the naturalness of it baffled you.

A passing thought in your head told you that this might’ve been too much for his first time, but when he dragged his clothed dick against your clit, you knew he enjoyed this as much as you did. You both shivered a little from the contact, prompting him to pull away.

“So…” he started, voice tiny and breathless. “What’s next?” But the way his eyes darted to your bare, leaking pussy and then to the bulge in his boxers suggested he knew exactly what came next.

You looked, too. Looked at the tight fit of his boxers on his bulging cock. Something about it—the unexpected size of him—made you giddy. Swelled your stomach with an indescribable weirdness.

“Take your boxers off.” Though you asked him, you couldn’t stop yourself from sneaking your hands to his hips and taking hold of the waistband. “Can I?”

He nodded hurriedly and gulped, tension and desperation etched on his face.

You pulled his boxers down, and with a little lift from his hips, you got them down to his strong thighs. Immediately, his cock sprung up against his abdomen, leaking precum that beaded down his red, aching tip. You licked your lips and gulped involuntarily at the sight because he was just so…

“Big…” you whispered softly.

“What?” He sounded out of it, like his question hadn’t carried any weight, rubbing a palm over his eyelids and pushing it into his hair. Like he couldn’t believe his eyes. An unspoken awkwardness filled the air as Armin removed his boxers completely. “Is—Is something wrong?”

He sat in front of you, naked in his entirety. Broad, smooth chest, taut, defined abs, muscly arms, thick thighs, and the softest, sweetest face that did not match the rock-hard, needy cock between his legs.

“Armin, I…I didn’t know you were so…big.”

He sputtered out, “W—What? I’m—I’m really not.”

He looked so nervous, so unsure. So sweet and so submissive. Instead of answering him, you wrapped both hands around his dick, lightly squeezed, and swiped a thumb over the slit where his precum spilled. You spread it down his shaft, wetting him with his own fluids.

“Agh…fuck…” he groaned, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. When you started jerking your hands up and down the length of his dick, his head moved forward and his hands came to cup your face. His hips bucked up with every jerk. You sensed his stare, but you were too occupied playing with his pretty dick.

“You’re so beautiful,” he complimented quietly. He gulped so hard you heard the small breath that followed after. “I wish you could see how you look right now.”

“Yeah?” you teased, looking up at him between your long lashes. His eyes, lidded and drooping with lust, scanned your body, from your face to where your legs parted and revealed your slit.

“I don’t think you understand how pretty you are to me.” He inhaled sharply and brought a hand to squeeze the area where his shaft met his head, right over where your hand rested. “I could just cum looking at you.”

You didn’t expect that from him. He was just so obscenely honest, wasn’t he?

“Y/N.” He suddenly stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “I think—I think that’s good…don’t wanna take the spotlight. I’m here to please you.”

Your chest warmed at his words, and you fought down the urge to continue pleasing him to release your hands.

“O—Okay,” you stuttered out, gulping and shivering all in one breath. Your body moved on its own and reached for your nightstand. Deep in the last drawer, stashed behind all of your cluttered knick-knacks, sat an unopened box of condoms. Three, actually.

Shakily, under his watchful gaze, you tore apart a box and unveiled a singular, foiled package.

"Oh, you have a lot." He stared in mild disbelief, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, eyes crinkling. If you knew any better, you'd think he was smirking under there.

“It's not what it looks like! Sasha gifted it to me as a gag gift. I haven't done anything in a while,” you quickly defended, trailing off quietly at the end.

He didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the package between your fingers. The air held still, deathly silent beside the sounds of the crinkling wrapper. He had a hand wrapped around the base of his cock, very lightly squeezing.

“You know how to put on a condom?” you finally spoke up.

“I think so.” He nodded.

“Want to do it?”

He hesitated, and you caught the exact moment an idea clicked in his head. “No. Want you to do it.”

Something about that riled you up. Something about him watching you. Something about your dainty hands near his aching, needy cock, too impure for the likes of him.

He whimpered when you started sliding the condom down the length of his cock. The sweet sound of it rang through your ears. Made your heart lurch and your stomach heavy. When you finished, your head lifted to look him in the eyes. His cheeks were flushed so pink you wanted to kiss the color off of them.

“Ready?” You ignored the way your voice shook, borderline a stutter, and circled your arms around his neck.

“Yes. Please,” he whined. He was speaking with his eyes—begging with his eyes.

In one fell swoop, you both clambered down onto the sheets. And in this moment, when your eyes met his in a sweet remembrance, it felt like time had stopped, and all the anticipation you’d ever felt plummeted back into the pit of your stomach and built back up all over again.

He loomed above you, flushed, domineering, and most importantly, nervous.

You only wanted one thing.

"Please. Need you inside me."

He inhaled a deep, unsteady breath, holding back a whine.

Then, you felt the tip of his dick brush against the slicked mess of your opening, and you clenched around the empty, ghostly graze. The hands on your thighs pressed into you with a little more pressure at the contact. He was shaking. His whole body was shaking.

“P—Put it in slowly, ‘kay? Don’t want to hurt the other person.”

Armin listened, and in that final moment of anticipation, he slid in slowly, just the tip. You both gasped at the feeling. You were so, so wet and your heart beat so, so fast and his skin against your skin felt so, so right and so, so warm. The stretch had yet to creep up on you but you were already squirming under his touch.

He pushed into you, the feeling of him inside warm and fulfilling. He let out a strained “shitttt” as his hands moved to dig into your waist even harder. Eyes squeezed shut, he seemed to lose himself in the pleasure. You could tell by his labored breaths and flushed cheeks that he already was so, so sensitive.

With a final push, he bottomed out, touching a spot deep in you, far deeper than your fingers or his fingers or any other man that had come before him. And God, were you wet. Instinctively, your pussy clenched around him.

He hissed, pinning you down with his pelvis. “Don’t. Don’t do anything. Please, or I’m going to cum.”

And then it hit you—that you’d finally done it. That you’d just taken Armin’s virginity.

You had.

Shit, you clamped down on him again, and this time, he groaned and abruptly pulled out.

“Y/N,” he warned, voice drawn with honey. “I am not going to last,” he said, exasperated.

“It’s okay. It’s your first time.” You placed a hand on his cheek. “Besides, you’re with me. You don’t have to worry about it.”

He leaned into your touch, nuzzling into your hands, then gave you a small frown.

“Then how am I supposed to make you feel good?”

“Trust me. You’ll always make me feel good.”

With a cute—yet sinful—smile and a hard swallow, he lined himself up again, hands on your thighs, and gave an experimental thrust.

You whined at the intrusion, reminded again of how he fit so perfectly. How the hardness of his cock dragged so pleasantly against the slickness of your pussy.

And he did it again and again. Thrusted into you, albeit slowly, again and again. You’d let him intoxicate you again and again until all your body knew was the shape of his cock.

He moved deliberately, relishing every inch sheathed inside of you. He’d pull out with all the time in the world, dick coated in your wetness and eyes locked on where your bodies intertwined, and thrust back in with the most fervor and impatience.

The slowness of it, the intimacy of it—you couldn’t help but buck your hips in hopes of more.

With soft moans, his thrusts sped up, and without a warning, you felt him fully, the whole weight of him spilling inside of you. His hands slid up to your waist as his head tipped forward. You arched your back into him in a silent plea, finding yourself yearning for his pretty lips, the knot inside of your stomach swelling with pleasure. As if he could read your mind, he drowned your lips in a feverish, hot, kiss, burning your mouth with his tongue.

Every thrust met with the slap of skin-on-skin and the squelch of your fluids. It echoed through your bedroom walls alongside your muffled, whiny moans. You let yourself sink into the pleasure, letting him know that you felt good—that he made you feel good.

Because truly, he did nothing wrong; it all felt so right with him.

As he broke away from the kiss, leaving yet another string of saliva between you two, you took the chance to grab his hand.

“Play with my body. Like here.” You placed his palm onto your breast, squeezing it with his hand underneath yours. “Or here.” You sensually dragged his hand down to your slicked-up, aching clit.

Wordlessly, he complied, gulping down a constricted moan that bobbed his Adam’s apple. Armin rubbed your clit like you’d taught him, watching your hips wriggle under his touch.

As a reward, you tightened around him. Oh, did you like seeing him lose composure. You liked picking him apart. You liked plucking the petals off of this innocent, little flower. And judging from his dazed, barely present expression and the hands gripping hard onto your hips, you knew he liked it too.

He whined again, and the sound rang in the air in a soft whisper. So vocal, wasn’t he?

“Don’t be afraid to make noise. I wanna know how good you feel,” you asserted through lidded eyes.

Armin hummed a noise of confirmation, but it came out more of a moan as he juggled responding to you and recklessly pounding into you. You could tell he felt good—too good—as did you.

The ebb and flow of pleasure swam inside you with each fill of his cock into your pussy, waiting to burst. You felt so close yet far away, but you let him experiment, toying with you, trying every angle in both erratic and deliberate ways.

“Fuck!” you both cursed simultaneously with a perfect thrust into that spot inside of you. Your back arched off the bed unwillingly, arms clasping around his back and nails digging into his skin.

Armin moaned oh-so-sweetly. “I’m so close!” he panted out, a borderline whine.

“Cum for me. Please, Armin. Do it.”

And his hips never stopped. Kept fucking hastily and sloppily into you in chase of his climax and in chase of the sweet yelps pouring out of your mouth. You spurred him on, almost able to taste his final moment.

But the moment never came. You could hear the relentless, wet smack of your colliding bodies and the mix of low groans and hearty moans tumbling from his lips. His hips still never stopped, still chasing, still tasting.

You couldn’t believe he lasted this long. He really did want to hold out for you, to make you feel good.

Mewling again, you tightened your arms around his neck, the warmth scalding but the softness soothing under your fingertips. “Touch me. Please.”

His fingers pinched your perk nipple before you could even finish your sentence. He rolled the bud around with his thumb and forefinger until he heard you moan, finally laying a palm down to squeeze your entire tit—and squeezed hard. You relished in the way his hand trailed down, slowly, to where he could swipe his fingers over your throbbing clit.

Right now, all you knew was the shape of his cock. Heat radiated from his body and wrapped around you in a warm embrace. His breath tickled your earlobe, face hovering just above the crook of your neck.

Oh, please, it felt so good, so intimate. Everything about this. Everything about him.

"I love you. I love you so much,” he rasped through squeezed-shut eyes.

You looked at him wide-eyed, confused, and spellbound within the haze of lust, so out of that you believed your ears played a trick on you. It slipped out of his lips so wantonly you believed he uttered the words accidentally.

Your room suddenly felt too stuffy and a hundred more degrees hotter. A lone, oddly watchful bead of sweat rolled down your brow.

It took him only a second of your silence before he started nervously blabbering in your ear. "Um, wait, sorry. Shit. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I got lost in the moment. I’m sorry.”

He slowly inched away from you, but you paid no mind and pulled him back onto your lips.

You didn’t care that, caught so deep in emotion and pleasure, he said “I love you” during sex—during his first time, no less. His first time with you. And now, after it happened, you didn’t care to warn him of that taboo. You wanted to selfishly indulge in the possibility that he’d always say it to you, regardless of who he shared his first time with.

In your pleasurable bliss, you let yourself give in. “I love you too, Armin.”

He pulled away abruptly, your lips pulling apart with a wet click, disrupting the strange magnetism between the two of you.

"I'm sorry,” he whispered, then kissed you full force.

His love seeped into every pore of your body when he started thrusting into you again, full and hard and deep and starved. He didn’t spare you a chance to breathe with the way his mouth and cock engulfed you whole.

A mixture of whines, moans, and smacks filled your bedroom once more. The pounding rhythm between your legs grew sloppier, though still unyielding and energetic. You wanted to cry out, louder than ever and let your neighbors know because everything felt so unexpectedly good. Armin. Your best friend.

You ran your hands through his already-messed-up, blonde hair. You loved this look on him, a side of him that people never saw. Disheveled, falling apart, and...crazy.

He leaned back on his knees, still moving his hips, lust-filled eyes a dark, stormy blue that raked over your body.

And he did something you didn't expect of him—like he let it slip, like he couldn't keep his composure anymore.

He smirked down at you.

But you were convinced it was a mere twitch in your delirium, disappearing when you blinked.

His tip brushed your G-spot again, and you finally did cry out. “Right there! D—Don’t stop!”

Armin groaned in response, choking on his words, and suddenly laved a tongue over the pulse point in your neck. “You feel—you feel so good! I can’t hold…!”

That coil in your stomach thrashed with the need to burst and taunted you with the promise of an orgasm. You felt tight all over, so constricted with pleasure and emotion and heat.

“Y/N, you’re driving me crazy, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—”

“M—Me, too! I’m close. Cum for me, please.”

With one last thrust, he came, moaning loud, spilling hot cum into the condom. You felt him twitch inside you as a gradual warmth filled your insides.

Fuck, that did it for you. You came right behind him, wrapping your legs around him tight like a vice, white-hot pleasure consuming every vein in your body. In that moment, you kissed him and clamped your eyes shut, focusing hard, your cunt squeezing down on him to wring out the last of his orgasm, fluttering and pulsing so uncontrollably hard. It was like your pussy never wanted to let him go, wanted to relish the last of that feeling of home when his cock rooted deep into your pussy.

All the while, he spewed praises at you, some dirty, some sweet.

You couldn’t tell how long the two of you took to come down, to stop kissing, for your cunt to stop gushing, and for him to pull out—because it seemed like that moment lasted forever. Your cum coated your pelvis, his pelvis, your thighs, his thighs, and the already-soaked bedsheets.

With bated breaths and shaky hands, he pulled off the condom, tied the latex up, wrapped it in a tissue from your bedside, and threw it onto the floor where it landed among your sparsely scattered clothes.

Armin slumped down on you, wrapping strong arms around your waist in a suffocating, hot embrace. You gladly welcomed his weight.

It smelled of sex, sweat, and the dwindling remnants of his cologne.

You laid there, catching your breath.

You did it. He did it. You finished taking his virginity, and he successfully made you cum during the process.

And everything left you wondering…

Why was that…good? Sex with a virgin. Sex with your best friend. Did you even teach him enough? Because that was definitely a learning experience for you. The post-orgasm clarity hit you now like a slipper to the face, and you couldn’t wrap your head around what just happened.

Sleepily, you broke the silence, “Good job, Armin. You did amazing. You’re attentive, a fast learner, and just already so good to me. You made me cum twice. For a virgin.” A hearty laugh parted from your throat as you strung your fingers through his mussed hair. “I guess you aren’t one anymore.”

Armin remained silent. Was he already asleep?

In the quiet darkness, your heart started beating fast, even after the sex. Laying here felt domestic, like somebody made this bed for the two of you to snuggle in tonight, like a real couple.

Armin, face wedged between your sheets and your shoulder, hugged you impossibly tighter when he shifted to look at you.

“Thank you. I love you, Y/N.”

He breathed those three words with so much adoration in his eyes, gazing at you longingly beneath his thick, long lashes. The blue of his eyes shone brightly even in the dim lighting and through the hair obscuring his face.

“I really do love you,” he continued. “Not because of the sex. But because you’re a good friend. Thank you for letting me be vulnerable.”

Oh my gosh. You really didn’t deserve him. You’d exchanged your fair share of sentimental, platonic “I love you’s” to each other, but this one wrenched your heart like no other. Especially after sex.

He left you at a loss for words. But sleep tugged at your eyelids and your mind screamed at you to clean up and your post-nut clarity still remained unresolved; you couldn’t think of a reply even if you wanted to.

Even overwhelmed, your heart called out to him and you mustered up something.

“I’m grateful to have you as a best friend. I love you,” you gritted out.

Wrong. So, so wrong. Right now, this conversation was getting too emotional for a strictly physical agreement. But you didn’t lie nevertheless, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

Feeling grimy, you wriggle under his hold. “We should clean up. It’s good for women to pee after sex.”

As the final rip of the bandaid, he pecked you on your jaw. “I can’t.”

Your face twisted in confusion, still clouded by tiredness and the daze of lingering thoughts. “You can’t?”

“I can’t help it,” he suddenly mumbled.

“Armin, what are you—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when you felt something poking your thigh, stiff and hard.

Armin groaned deep in his chest, the sound rumbling against the shell of your ear as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

The hands that were once wrapped around your body slowly released their hold and grabbed onto your hips, hard and impatient. Armin started rutting into your thighs, dragging you along with him.

Your heart stuttered for a moment, in disbelief that he could keep going and that you would have to keep going, but your pussy clenched around nothing at the promise of something more.

“Can’t help it. I’m—I’m hard again.”

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#armin x reader #armin x you #aot #snk #armin arlert x reader #armin smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #armin arlert smut #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #armin arlert #eren yeager #aot smut #angst #nerd armin #attack on titan x reader

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eroselless · 2 months

Text

ESTABA LOCA POR PROBARTE

Summary=>Request: Could you maybe write a smut one shot about Carlos? Maybe smth along the lines of his girlfriend getting her nipples pierced and he can’t get enough of them? Thank yaaaa [1.3k]

[carlos sainz x reader ]

MASTERLIST

Warnings: 18+ for explicit language and smut, titty suckin, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), daddy kink?, we're also ignoring the physics of sand and how it gets everywhere.

If there's any I missed let me know!

Note: It’s a little shorter than I hoped but I like it nonetheless. I changed it a little to the reader having the piercings beforehand just cuz I know how long it takes for those mfs to heal lol, hope that’s ok! Also, would guys be interested in doing more Spanish dialogue (with the translations, obvi) or should I use more English dialogue?

here's the playlist i listened to while writing :)

You could see him from where you were wading in the water. He’s leaning back on his lounge chair, hands up, holding onto the pages of some book he picked at the hotel store. The waves had calmed down and only pushed you around a little bit. The waves lapped gently against the powdery shore, the cool water soothing your slightly burned skin. The beach was fairly empty, the sun almost below the horizon behind you. It was surrounded by looming palm trees, secluded from the public and prying eyes. You waded out of the water, approaching Carlos as he watched you get closer. You looked like a goddess, water cascading around your shoulders in waves, water dripping from your body. Carlos was almost jealous of the water and how it clung to your skin.

“Nadaste rico?” did you have a good swim? He asks, eyes unabashedly trailing over your figure. You let out a hum, wiping your face with a towel. You shake your hair out, sending drops of water towards him. He lets out a squeal, leaning away from you.

You let out a laugh, a smirk appearing on your face.

“Te ves muy calientito, amor.” you look very warm, love. You state. You cock an eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips. He looks up at you, big brown eyes open wide.

He has enough time to put his book down on the sand before you pounce. You jump into his arms, hair going everywhere. Your fingers poke at his sides, pulling a loud laugh out of him. His hands are holding firmly onto your waist, trying to avoid touching your sopping-wet bathing suit. You both eventually run out of breath and he relents, letting your chest press against his.

You lay there for a second, cheek against his warm skin. He trails his hands down your back, stopping right above the elastic waistband of your bikini bottoms. His fingers fiddle with the strings, careful not to accidentally pull the knots out. You look up at him, chin propped up on your hand.

You sit up in his lap, the sudden cold making you shiver. There’s a new look in his eyes as he stays still. They’re dark as he once again takes in your appearance. Your chest heaves a bit and your hair is messy, still dripping with water. His fingers remain in the same spot too but now he’s tempted to pull at the knot that holds them in place.

“¿Qué?” what? You ask.

In one swift move, he sits up, taking your face in his hands. His thick lips envelop yours, tongue easily sliding into your mouth. He tastes a little salty from the ocean breeze. Your hands wrap gently around his neck, fingers pulling at the hair that’s at the base of his neck. His hands move back to your hips, rocking them against his. He feels terribly hard underneath you and you feel yourself grow wet.

“Espera, y si alguien nos ve?” wait, what if someone sees us? You ask. He simply shakes his head.

“¿Porque piensas que escogí este lugar?” why do you think i chose this spot? He retorts. His eyes full of anticipation. A shaky smirk appears on your face as his lips begin to trail over the skin that joins your neck and shoulder. His hands sweep over your shoulder, fingers gently pulling the triangles that covered your tits.

“¿Puedo?” can I? You nod, you know what he’s referring to. He’d been waiting patiently for your nipple piercings to heal, always asking when he’d be able to finally play with them.

You hiss slightly as he peels the fabric of your swimsuit away. The metal bar shines in the sun. you hear him mutter out a soft coño as he finally presses his fingers to your pebbled nipples. He pinches them slightly, careful not to tug too hard. Your mind is buzzing at the touch, after going almost a year without having anyone else but yourself touching them. It sent signals down to your cunt, spurring you on even more.

“No creo que jamas superere estas cositas.” I don't think I’ll ever get over these. He whispers in your ear, nose dragging over your cheek. He leans down, capturing one of your sensitive pearls between his lips. They drag over your skin. He savours the taste of your skin, pushing his nose further into the plush skin of your breast.

You let out a gasp, back arching and snapping into position. He switches nipples, gently sinking his teeth into your smooth skin. You huff, the heat between your legs beginning to become unbearable.

“Te n-necesito,” I n-need you. You say breathlessly. Carlos simply hums.

“Pero si estoy just aquí, ¿que más necesitas?” But if I'm right here, what else do you need? He wanted you to tell him. To beg for his cock.

“Necesito tu polla,” I need your cock. You begin, pressing your hips down to the tent in his swim shorts. “Por favor, papi.” please, daddy.

He quickly undoes his shorts, pumping his cock as you pulled the knots free on your bikini bottoms. You guide yourself over him, sinking down. The stretch is devilishly delicious as you rock against him. He grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling it back. With your neck and chest revealed, his teeth nip at the now exposed skin. You falter a bit, a deep moaning falling from your lips. You swear you start to see starts, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Te vez tan bella asi, toda jodida.” you look so good like this, all fucked out He says. He grips your hips, pressing his heels into the lounge chair underneath you. Pushing up, he snaps his hips into yours. The force is so great you feel yourself fall forward, hands pressing into the cushion of the chair around Carlos’s head.

He ruts into you faster, fingers squeezing bruising tight. You can feel a coil begin to form in your stomach. He hesitates, slowing down slightly to press his fingers into your clit. He looks divine laying beneath you, sweat beading on his forehead, lips parted and panting. His eyes are draped in shadows and droopy. Oh, he’s close. You think. He knows you mostly likely won't be discovered by anyone but shit, it excites him further.

He’s a whimpering mess when you tells you: ya estoy por venir, i’m gonna come.

He pulls you down, pressing your lips together as you both grow closer to your end. You press your fingers to your clip, stimulating it as you feel yourself start to clench around Carlos. He snaps his hips up one final time and spills himself into you. You cry out as you feel him gush into you, sending you off the edge.

He watches your tits bounce faintly as you try to regain the air knocked out of you. He pulls you flush to his chest. Mirroring the events from earlier, you lay on his chest, both of you struggling for air. He presses his lips to your head as you come down from your highs. He relishes in how the soft sting of cool metal of your piercings press against his chest and he can’t wait to have his mouth on them again.

a/n: hey guysss thanks for making it this far. I hope y'all liked it! I very much am missing summer right now and thought it would pair nicely with the request. I apologize it took a little bit to get it out. I'd love for more requests! I've been on a Carlos, Lando and Charles high right now so feel free to send in any ideas you have :) and once again, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated <3

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine

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irascible-iridescent · 2 years

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Saw humanization of Bill Cipher. 15 injured 3 dead

#it just givies me psychic damage u know #im built different #i die when i see smth i dont like #i dont wanna see funny triangle guy as a human thank u very much #i didn’t know its still out there #looming over this site #ancient sins

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trashpandacraft · 3 months

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I found fibrecraft tumblr after searching drop spindles because my dad *didn’t even know what that was.* And despite having been firmly of the opinion that I didn’t intend to learn it, y’all have me getting ever closer to giving in. However, I’m also growing ever more enamored with the idea of weaving - and despite recently deciding to give knitting and crochet another go - I think it looks the most fun of the fiber crafts. My issue is that I have absolutely no space.

But I’m beginning to realize there’s a lot of different looms and types of weaving. So I was wondering if you have any resources or tips for small space methods and storage?

welcome to fibrecraft tumblr! it's fun here, we have enablers.

i will admit that while i love knitting, weaving is amazing, and is much better with regards to instant gratification—weaving for an hour gets you a lot more fabric than knitting for an hour.

so let's talk about weaving, because i have great news for you: you can 100% totally weave in a small space if you want to, and you even have options for how you do it. i'm going to go through basically all the small space weaving options that i'm aware of in roughly size order, and if you make it to the bottom of this you'll have a pretty good overview of space-saving weaving methods.

the first question to ask yourself is what you want to weave. maybe you're not sure yet, which is totally fine. if you don't immediately have strong feelings about it, though, maybe consider if band weaving strikes your fancy. this is pretty limited in size, but lets you weave belts, straps (like camera or bag straps), lanyards, etc.

if you think that sounds neat, it's worth looking into tablet weaving, an inkle loom, or a band/tape loom. tablet weaving takes up no space at all—if you can fit a stack of index cards into your life, you can fit tablet weaving. the tablets are small square cards, often made out of heavy cardstock, and even with a project on them, you can probably fit them into an index card holder.

inkle looms are larger, and to be honest i've never used one and don't know a ton about them, but they're also used for making woven bands. the looms can also be very aesthetically pleasing, if that's something you're into. they can be very big, but the ashford inklette, for example, is only 36 cm long and maybe 12 cm wide.

tape looms are—in my experience, anyhow—larger than tablet weaving but smaller than inkle looms, and even the larger ones are only about shoebox size. they vary widely, from gorgeous, complicated little looms to a handheld paddle that you use to create a shed, which is what you put your yarn through when you're weaving.

if that doesn't sound like good times, consider a frame loom. these are pretty simple—if you ever wove potholders out of stretchy cloth strips as a kid, you probably used a frame loom to do it on. frame looms are generally inexpensive and readily available, and can be used for small woven objects like potholders, coasters, placemats, etc. they can also be used to make some truly stunning tapestries. while you can buy a huge frame loom, you're still only talking about huge in two directions—it might be as wide as your armspan, but it's still only a couple inches thick.

another option is a pin loom. these don't get mentioned a lot, and i'm not totally sure why. pin looms are shapes with a bunch of pins (metal points, usually) coming out of them. on one hand, you're limited to making things that are the shape of the loom, but on the other hand, if you've been hanging around fibrecraft tumblr, you've seen all the things crocheters get up to with granny squares, right? there's no reason in the world that you can't do all those things with the squares made on a pin loom. or the hexagons! or the triangles! i've been kinda thinking about getting a little hexagon or triangle pin loom and using it to sample my handspun, then turning the shapes into a blanket.

if you hate all of that, that's ok! we have more options.

you could consider a backstrap loom, which is an ancient way of weaving that's still practiced today in many places. backstrap looms are cool because you can weave probably 24 inches wide on them, but even with a project on it, they take almost no room at all. backstrap looms are fairly easy to diy, because they're basically a bunch of dowels, so they can be a good low-cost way to try out weaving. backstrap looms will let you make longer, wider fabric than anything else we've mentioned so far!

another option—stay with me—is a toy loom. there are a number of cheap looms for sale on amazon/ali express/some local places that are actually fully functional looms. recently i've seen a number of people (like sally pointer, though i'm sure i've seen someone using one of the brightly coloured harness looms, as well) who've used them and report that they're functional, if basic, looms. you're fairly constrained in terms of project size, since there's not a lot of space for the finished fabric to wind on, and there's a very limited width, but the looms are quite small and tuck away easily.

ok, but so what if you hate all of those options? don't worry—there are more options! this is the part where things get expensive, though.

as looms go, rigid heddle looms are actually quite reasonably sized. i think the smallest one i've seen is a 40cm (~16") weaving width, which is about 50x60 (20x24") in length/width, and 13cm (5") high. so that's more space than anything else we've talked about, but it's still not a ton of space, you know? a 40cm rigid heddle will let you weave lovely scarves and things of that nature—table runners, placemats, strips of woven fabric to whipstitch together into a blanket, etc.

but maybe that's enough. so let's talk about table looms. some of them are quite large—mine, for example, is about a metre square and sits on a frame that it came with. it is not what you would call space efficient. but many of them, especially modern ones, are very compact, and can even be folded up into something more or less briefcase sized. (weird way to consider it, since the last time i saw a briefcase was probably the 80s, but you know what i mean, i bet.) the cool part here is that you can weave damn near anything you want on a table loom. the less cool part is that for the compact ones that fold up, you're looking at hundreds if not thousands of dollars. the smallest one i'm aware of is the louët erica, which folds down to 42x62x42cm (16.5x24.5x16.5") and gives you 40cm (16") of weaving width. i feel like that's impressively small. you'd have to decide for yourself if that's enough to justify the $500 usd/$800 aud price tag, though.

finally, we've come to folding floor looms. i don't think someone who's never woven before should run out and buy one of these unless money is just literally not at all a concern for you, but they are basically the dream for those of us trapped in crappy rentals, and it seemed weird to leave them out when i'd come this far.

some floor looms are various levels of collapsible. to be clear, this does you absolutely no good at all when you're actively weaving, because you have to unfold them to weave, but it does you a lot of good if you'd like to have a floor loom and still have the ability to, say, walk through the living room when you're not actively using the loom.

most relevant to our discussion about small weaving footprints, some looms fold up entirely. they are incredibly fucking expensive and incredibly fucking cool. the two that i'm most aware of are the leclerc compact and the schacht wolf line, both of which fold up to about half of their unfolded depth. they're still not small—i think that they're both the better part of 75cm (30") wide and tall, so even if they fold down to 40cm (16") deep, they're still 75cm wide and tall. which is Fairly Large, though much better than having something 80cm deep sitting in the middle of the floor.

this was a very, very long post, but hopefully makes it clear that there's a surprisingly wide range of options, and they all have advantages and trade offs. if you're asking my opinion, my suggestion would be to try something—anything—with a backstrap setup and see how you feel about it. maybe you love it and keep at it forever, in which case you're in good company: there are entire cultures that weave exclusively on backstrap looms.

if you like producing cloth but don't love the backstrap setup, or don't like using your body to tension the warp, you have a lot of other options, and you're out maybe ten dollars of dowels.

personally, my next loom is probably going to be a pin loom. unless i win lotto, in which case it's going to be a house that has a weaving studio and like four floor looms in it. but probably a pin loom.

#weaving #i really hope that this was helpful #i get so excited about solving problems that i sometimes go way too hard #but i love thinking about this kind of thing #sorry for infodumping #also weaveblr i didn't forget about warp weighted looms i just don't think that they're super practical #admittedly i am biased by sharing my house with three cats #but also all the learning to weave content is...not on those #if it weren't for the cats my next loom would be warp weighted tho #fibercrafts #fiber art #textiles #smartest raccoon i know #(it's an ironic tag)

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readychilledwine · 5 months

Text

Bound by Fate

Her hands trailed down his back, watching as he shivered. "Just let go. I can take it."

Summary - When Kaylee Archeron meets Azriel, her world turns upside down. Between balancing her trauma, new powers, a mating bond, and war looming over her new home, Kaylee learns everything is not as little as it once seemed.

Tropes - fated mates, love triangle, love will lead you back, unrequited love, found family, tempting fate

***This story will have parts that are filled with Smut***

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 (no smut)

Chapter 6 - 2.0 (with revenge smut)

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Kaylee and Nyx Drabbles

Little Bat, Big Dreams

Of the four Archeron sisters, Kaylee had always had the easiest time with children due to her work in the healing house. Now, those skills are being tested by her own nephew as he takes on his worst known enemy, vegetables.

#boundbyfate #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel x oc #azriel x archeron!oc #Spotify

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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴

the deets — you are a warrior of very few words, yet oftentimes your gaze betrays you. this widens the rift between you and the eldest sully, but will seeking refuge with the metkayina soothe the burn? especially when the alleviation comes in the form of a certain ocean boy?

the who — ao’nung x fem tipani!reader, a lil neteyam x fem!tipani reader

the word count — 7.1k (i thought this was gonna be longer, regardless i have zero self control)

the tags — slight e2l (you and ao’nung get off on the wrong foot), unofficial love triangle (reader has two people hooked lmao), angst (wouldn’t be me without a little heartache), fluff.

the warnings — language, ao’nung’s a cheeky lil shit, neteyam’s in denial and makes things difficult. ao'nung gives reader a lil kith.

the notes — this is my first request! it took me a moment to finish this because i wanted to really research the tipani to characterize reader the best i could. similarly, i feel like we don’t see much of ao’nung past the point of him being a little shit in the movie, so i had to take some creative liberties regarding his character. thank you so much to the anon who requested! this is so long, holy shit, but i hope i did it justice! :)

(also not proofread well, my bad lmaooo).

masterlist

YOU WERE BORN TO FIGHT. That was what your mother and father had told you day in and day out, from the rise of the sun, to the last eclipse. It was what they had told you when you began your training, when you had started to deepen your studies, and finally, when they clung to their final breaths in the smog of the burning jungle.

Your village was scarce, a dying lot, as families broke off and settled farther into the jungle, high above the forest floors and into the canopies of the looming trees.

Jake had heard about you, heard about your dwindling family, your mighty spirit. You were barely older than his eldest, just shy of ten when he’d taken you in, told the clan to revere you as their own. You were tough to crack, stoic, quiet, as you grew into a force to be reckoned with.

The only thing that chipped your facade came in the form of Jake Sully’s oldest son.

Neteyam, you’d come to realize, was always the diligent one; courageous, firm, and commanded any space he occupied. But he was curious about you. Curious about the lone wolf who wouldn’t even bat an eye in his direction. He poked and prodded, tried as he might, to crack a smile out of you in the first year or two, but found that you gave little reaction. The slightest tilt of the corner of your lips, the most infinitesimal furrow between your brow bones. It was triumph enough, but then things started to shift.

Though you’d softened around the Sully’s, especially Kiri who, despite being two years your junior, had doted on you like an older sister, Jake had seen potential in you and Neteyam as the fiercest duo.

It was only normal to consistently pair you two during your training, forcing the hands of time to twine you closer together as your iknimaya drew nearer. You’d both succeeded with flying colors and it was the first time Neteyam had touched you, crushing you in a hug so tight, you felt the breath and the sense leave your body.

You begrudgingly admit that from that moment on, you were wrapped around his finger.

Your heart would swell dangerously behind your ribcage every time his hand would come up to pat your head affectionately, stomach twisting in on itself when he’d flash you a pearly smile after each successful hunt. Neteyam made you feel, and it thrilled and horrified you all the same.

But despite basking in the warmth of his company, of being intertwined so intricately, you still feel grossly misplaced.

The thought of letting him in on the fact that he’s swayed your heart leaves a horrid taste in your mouth.

“It’s not like you to back down,” Kiri tells you as she helps you roll beaded tops and woven loincloths into the small satchel you’d designated for the flight to Awa’atlu.

The humans were closing in and Jake was growing desperate.

You stop, tongue in cheek as you settle back on your haunches.

“Some things are better left unsaid,” you reply, hands clasping in your lap as you level Kiri with a soft gaze through your thick lashes.

“Perhaps,” Kiri hums. “But will it settle well with you in the future when you think about your inaction?”

You stiffen a fraction, knowing that Kiri’s insinuation is a heavy one.

Will you be able to live without him knowing? Will it settle well when Neteyam courts another?

You doubt it will, but pride can be an ugly thing. You’d been taught by your parents, by your surroundings that reading into things farther than you must will only leave you scathed. You’re afraid to piece every lingering touch, every furtive glance, every sweet smile into something that paints an unwanted picture.

“The worst he could say is no,” Kiri presses. “You are his equal, his dearest friend. You could never ruin that.”

Kiri squashes every doubt you have with her encouraging words, so you take the plunge.

Neteyam is almost finished preparing for the journey when you poke your head into his tent, cheeks warm and blood pulsing erratically in your veins.

“One last walk through the forest?” you offer.

Neteyam grins from ear to ear, excusing himself before ducking out of the tent to meet you outside.

“Lead the way,” he gestures, voice deep like the velvet of the night sky.

You’re clammy as you walk a few paces in front of him, tongue tied and wracked with nerves as the forest comes alive so brightly around you. The bugs chirp and croak as you cross over fallen logs and climb through the dense flora.

You’re so deep in your head that you barely register Neteyam calling your name. It’s only when his hand clasps around your wrist that you jerk to a stop, neck craning to take in the concern that mars his freckled face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, head tilting to get a better look at you.

“I need to tell you something,” you blurt, swallowing down the courage threatening to escape your body.

“Of course,” he says, hand lacing with yours. “You can tell me anything.”

A breath catches in your throat before you finally spill.

“I don’t know what our future holds, but…” you trail off, distracted with how intensely he gazes down at you.

“But?”

“But I know that I want you in it,” you say, blinking when you realize that’s not at all how you wanted that to come out.

Neteyam’s head tilts again, this time confusion crosses his features.

You try again.

“What I mean to say is, I— well… I like you,” you admit, looking up to meet his golden gaze.

His face softens and your heart picks up speed.

“Oh, ________,” he whispers.

“Maybe I’ve always felt like this, I don’t know,” you continue, steeling your resolve. “But being around you, being with you, makes me feel light. Like I don’t have to bear the weight of the burden all on my own.”

You realize that this is beginning to go south when his mouth purses and instead of seeing you, he begins to look like he pities you.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says as he pulls his hand from your own. “We’re friends, ________.”

You look up at him and it feels like the forest has stilled enough for someone to strike it and shatter the peace.

“That’s all,” he reiterates. “I’m— I’m flattered, don’t misunderstand. You’re great, lovely, but…I don’t see you in that way.”

You recoil like you’ve been burned and Neteyam looks guilty.

“But…”

“C’mon,” he says, almost pleadingly. “We grew up together. You’re apart of my family. You’re like a si—“

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t say it please.”

Neteyam sighs, deflating.

“I love you, you know that,” he urges. “But not in that way.”

Your lips press together tightly, shame filling every available space within you as you feel like the most minuscule speck underneath his burning eyes.

It’s like you’re both rooted to the earth, unable to part from the other, but you eventually fold first, backing away from his towering stance.

“________,” he sighs, like you’re just another task he has to deal with.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

And you steal off into the glowing forest.

The waters of Awa’atlu glitter as you close in on the reefs. You lag behind the Sully’s, thoroughly taken by the prior night’s rejection.

You almost miss the tilt of the voyage, falling even further behind.

Neteyam peers over his shoulder, immediately noting your lack of focus as you fly with a wide berth between you and his family.

He falls back.

“You okay?” he asks over the flapping of wings.

He notices the puffs underneath your eyes when your gaze flits to him, but like a wall erecting itself, your face goes blank. You lean forward on your ikran and press her to move forward.

Neteyam is left at the rear now, watching you fall in tandem with Kiri who seems to light up at your first display of emotion.

The sun gleams againstglinting blue tides as silence blankets the newcomers, the only thing piercing the stillness is the squawk of the birds and the ripple of the waves.

You stand behind Kiri, staggered in a shallow of sand among the Sully's. You're the smallest of them all, hidden from view as the Metkayina begin murmuring.

“What a freak.”

Something tugs hard on your tail, and like muscle memory, your fist is flying. Your knuckles are caught before they strike and you look up into the foamy eyes of a towering boy whose skin is a gentle blue.

You pull your tail back, ears flat as you level him with a nasty glare.

The smirk playing at his lips disintegrates as Jake’s voice announces that his family are seeking refuge among the reefs.

You turn your attention back to the front as the woman, fierce despite being with child, takes Lo’ak’s hand and thrusts it towards the sky, announcing that his extra finger denotes demon blood.

The villagers gasp and you take a step forward, fists balled so tight you feel like they could burst through the skin. Lo’ak’s head is bowed, refusing to meet the intensity of the clan’s prying eyes, and you feel helpless.

Kiri squeezes your shoulder as Jake attempts to quell the crowd by hold up his own hands.

The murmuring intensifies as the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik stand at a distance, staring at each other in a silent exchange.

“Show them our ways,” the Olo’eyktan says after a final verdict. “So that they may not suffer the shame of being useless.”

Your body is rigid, tense as another ripple of speculation flutters through the crowd.

“My children will spearhead this by showing them the way of the water,” he says.

A deep voice makes a noise of protest behind you and your fist tightens around the strap of the satchel slung across your body, temper beginning to tick like a bomb ready to detonate.

The daughter of the leaders, Tsireya, is the one to show you to the marui that you’ll all occupy. It’s an empty one, uninhabited and clear of any belongings.

Tuk runs in, tossing her things to the wayside as she begins her inspection.

“Get settled in well, we will begin our first lesson before eclipse,” Tsireya smiles, then turns to you, trailing behind the Sully’s like their shadow per usual.

“I’m sorry about Ao’nung,” she says quietly, and you look up at the girl whose dimples dent her rounded cheeks.

“An apology means nothing if doesn’t come from the aggressor,” you say flatly, hiking up the roll of fabric tucked underneath your arm.

Tsireya’s ears flatten, her smile faltering as she nods her head.

“I suppose you’re correct,” she agrees. “The villagers are very steadfast in their ways. When change arrives, they are hesitant, but they’ll come around, promise.”

She takes your hand and gives your fingers a squeeze.

“Tell your friends not to be late,” she coos, pulling away from you to bound down the path you’d all come from moments before.

When you turn, Neteyam stands before you, skin dewy under the unrelenting heat of the pounding sun.

“Can I get this for you?” he asks, reaching for the items tucked under your arms.

You ease away, almost as skittish as the first nights you’d joined the Sully’s all those years ago. You feel shamefully like you’re back to square one as you shake your head wordlessly and Neteyam looks down at you with an indiscernible look on his face.

“________,” he murmurs, and you name sounds like a broken plea on his lips.

You push past him, taking a quick survey of your surroundings as you claim the level up, hammock tightened around two support posts under a woven canopy.

Your things are thrown haphazardly underneath the hammock and with your satchel, you’re steering quickly out of the marui.

“Hey, kid, where you running off to?” Jake calls out.

“Out,” is all you reply, steps quick down the unfamiliar webbing of the maruis’ woven walkways.

You’re on edge all over again, like you have to restart all of your valiant efforts to feel any semblance of comfort among another new clan. When you’d joined the Omatikaya, you were able to grasp onto the slivers of belonging through blending into the background, but now, as you pass villagers with skin as glittering and blue as the ocean, tails strong, and figures built, you feel so grossly misplaced.

You search for less, eyes falling near a swathe of shady trees and a shallow pool in the distance.

Your pursuit is futile as three looming figures emerge and begin surrounding you, basking you in their shadows.

“Are you a five-fingered freak like them?” One of them tries to swoop to grab your hand, but you recoil like their touch is acidic.

“Leave me alone,” you grumble, attempting to push past them.

Someone tugs sharply on your tail and you jerk back, hands and knees burrowing into the sharp grains of sand. A hand comes up to grab you by the top of your head, forcing your face skywards.

His curly hair is braided out of his face, the purse of his lips menacing.

“I asked you a question, weirdo.”

You hiss and his face contorts.

“I should—“

“Wune,” the voice is a warning.

A grunt of annoyance.

Wune lets go of your hair and pulls away from you. You all look in the direction of the voice, and your blood seems to curdle when you see the one who’d yanked your tail earlier in the day.

Ao’nung.

His chin jerks in the other direction and the three pass each other a knowing glance before retreating, leaving you to fall into a seated position against the sand.

You surprise yourself when tears begin to well in your eyes involuntarily.

“You okay?” Ao’nung asks hesitantly, crouching in front of you.

“Piss off,” you whisper, climbing to your feet as you quickly brush the tears from your waterline.

“Wait—“

“I said piss off,” you hiss, stalking away.

Awa’atlu is beautiful right before eclipse, sky bathed in orange and purples.

You’ve rejoined the Sully’s after your encounter with the three Metkayina boys and Ao’nung. Now you’re seated with the four siblings, Tsireya, and another friendly face that you’ve been introduced to as Rotxo.

“The way of water has no beginning and no end,” Tsireya says. “Our hearts beat in the womb of the world.”

Your heart beats fast now, like you’ve just run from one end of the forest to another. It beats erratically under Neteyam’s unrelenting gaze. He looks like he’s dissecting you, trying to pry into your mind and you hate that things have come to this.

You hate that one evening has shattered the careful friendship that you and Neteyam have built over the course of many tumultuous years. You want to find comfort in his presence, know with your soul that he’d tuck your hair behind your ear and tell you that things would be alright. But now you feel like you two are distant strangers.

“The sea is your home, before your birth and after your death.”

You want to argue that you know no home, that the wind seems to carry you where it may, but you bite your tongue and you zone out of her lecture.

You only tune back in when the hairs on the back of your neck stand at the arrival of a new body.

“Mother and father say that it’s time to prepare for the evening meal.”

After hearing the voice twice in the day, you recognize the timbre.

Ao’nung stands tall, chest broad and eyes bright.

They settle on you in an instant, and you feel indescribably smaller as Tsireya announces that she will continue during the morning’s eclipse.

Everyone begins to stand, brushing the residual sand from their skin as they begin to file away.

You’re startled to a stop when your name comes from Neteyam’s lips and a gentle hand latches onto your forearm.

You look down to see strong fingers lighter than your own holding onto you. Then your gaze flits to Neteyam who stands a few feet away, words dying on his tongue.

Ao’nung tugs lightly and you look up to meet softened eyes.

“Can I borrow you for a moment?” he asks. He notices the apprehensive look on your face as you peel away from him, then adds, “I’ll be quick.”

Neteyam opens his mouth to protest on your behalf, but you flash him a pensive look and he stops in his tracks, watching as you turn your slender back towards him and follow the lumbering Metkayina.

When the two of you are alone, you dig your toe into the sand, hands clasped behind your back as you wait for Ao’nung to break the silence and get on with it.

“I want to apologize,” he finally says, when you’re out of earshot of the village and the curious Sully’s who’d noted the entire exchange.

You look up at him, brow bone raised.

“For?”

“For being mean,” he says, “I was inappropriate.”

“Is this your sister talking?” you ask crudely, but he doesn’t flinch at the venom in your tone.

Instead, he smiles down at you.

“No,” he assures you. “One hundred percent me, promise.”

You look down at your feet, still fidgeting with the sand.

“I guess…” you trail off.

“You guess?” he prods.

“I guess we’re okay,” you say hesitantly.

Ao’nung hums.

“Good,” he concedes. “Great. I’m glad.”

You flash him a bored look through thick lashes and his lips twitch as he stares down at you with piercing eyes.

“I can be dumb,” he says, grin widening. “My family says I don’t know how to act around nice things.”

Your cheeks warm as you avoid his eyes, breaking away to catch up with Kiri and Tuk.

After dinner, in the quiet of the Sully’s marui, you lie in the hammock you claimed earlier in the day, hands folded underneath your head as you gaze at the stars.

“My dad came from a star,” Lo’ak had said to you one night, eliciting the smallest of smiles.

As you comb through each one, you burn to be up there. A digging desire to only know about shining bright and being wished so hard upon.

There are nights like these where everything feels heavy, where your shoulders sag underneath the pressure of being a great warrior. You wonder what life could be like had the RDA spared your village, had you not gone off into the forest to hunt, had you—

He’s a barely perceptible shadow under the glow of the moon and ocean, slinking down the woven path between pods.

Like a whisper of wind, you climb out of your hammock and over sleeping bodies.

As you slip out of the marui, you don’t notice the pair of sleepy eyes on your retreating figure.

Before he even knows what’s going on, you’re scurrying over the thick branches, following his path until he hits the intersection right before the Sully’s quarters.

You jump down and intersect Ao’nung, hand coming over his mouth before he can shout in shock. His eyes are wide as you stand on your tip toes, other hand coming to your lips to gesture for him to be quiet.

“What are you doing?” you hiss quietly.

His fingers come to your wrist, nudging your palm from his mouth to reveal a beaming smile.

“I was coming for you,” he admits.

“Why?” you press, shaking his hold away when you realize that he’d still been grasping your wrist.

“Have you ridden an ilu before?” he asks.

You shift uncomfortably.

“No,” you answer shortly.

“You wanna?” he offers.

“No.”

He frowns.

“Swimming?”

“Pass.”

“I have fruits,” he singsongs.

“Ao’nung,” you warn.

“Is it so wrong to want to spend time with you?” he asks, hands up in defense.

“Why would you want to?” you ask accusingly. “Your village sees us as demons and I’m included in that whether it applies to me or not. I’ll stay out of your way, just leave me alone.”

“I don’t think you’re a demon,” Ao’nung says gently. “If anything, I- I think you’re great.”

“You don’t know me,” you spit.

“I know enough,” Ao’nung says with finality. “I know that you are strong and your spirit is kind. Ewya has let me feel as such.”

Your expression is lethal, but Ao’nung doesn’t back down.

“One night,” he says quietly. “Spend one night with me.”

The following silence stretches eternally before something magnetic pulls you towards Ao’nung’s honeyed gaze. You chance a glance over your shoulder, met with stillness and the minute laps of the ocean on the shore.

When you meet his eyes again, you nod once, hesitantly, and he’s taking your hand to tug you into the glowy night.

Ao’nung returns you before the sun rises, a few early risers giving you two curious glances as he walks you to where you’d ambushed him the night before.

You wave to him hesitantly, sighing in relief when you you creep back into the marui and find everyone fast asleep, splayed over one another like a big heap.

You climb over limbs and snoring bodies, finally settling in your hammock to watch the beginnings of the eclipsing sun brighten the village.

You don’t notice the same bleary eyes watching you from where he’s laid on the floor, Lo’ak’s head weighing on his stomach and Tuk smushed onto his armpit.

They’re the same eyes that watch you all morning, as his family gets up one by one, stretching their lithe limbs and tidying up before being called for the day’s first meal.

Neteyam is watchful, stealing glances as you file behind his family from the pod to the clan circle, now buzzing with hungry villagers as the sun shines high in the sky.

But he doesn’t say a word, silent as you choose the seat farthest from him. Quiet as you blink your eyes sleepily, barely registering Tuk’s excited blabbering about all of the new things she can make with the shells and supplies here.

“Give it a rest,” Lo’ak grumbles from beside him.

He snaps out of his reverie, eyes narrowing in on his brother.

“What?”

“You’ve been watching ________ all morning,” Lo’ak chides. “She’s locked up tight, bro. No way you’re getting her.”

Neteyam’s blood curdles at the thought, wanting to tell his brother to shove it. But you’d shut him out the past few days, the sting of his rejection obviously driving a wedge between the two of you.

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He hates that you’d gone from being inseparable to being strangers overnight. But what he hates even more is the way Ao’nung drops onto the log next to you and you don’t even flinch, just pass him a bored gaze that makes him beam.

He watches you closely, eyes glued to your every move.

Something ugly roils inside of him as Ao’nung offers you a braided bag and you hesitantly take a piece of dried meat from him, face morphing as you give him a nod of approval.

Ao’nung looks proud of of himself as he balances the bag next to him on the log and leans towards you almost imperceptibly. Neteyam expects you to put distance between the two of you, but you barely bat an eye, watching intently as Ao’nung talks animatedly.

Lo’ak scoffs beside him and Neteyam stomach turns.

Hours bleed into days, days bleed into weeks, and for once, you feel like things could be alright. The breathing gets easier, the learning comes faster, and something feels peaceful being near the ocean.

The only thing that hadn’t been amended was the gaping hole that separated you from Neteyam, but in the company of a certain Olo’eyktan’s only son, you don’t feel the burn as much.

You watch him now, as he treads water with Rotxo and the two Sully boys, walking them through the procedure of hunting under water and how to maximize their kills.

“…and the reefs underwater…”

He’s one and the same with the tides, mighty and commanding as his veined hands gesture confidently. One moment, he’s focused on his instruction intently, the next he’s glancing at you.

You feel hot in the warm waters as your cheeks flame under a genuine smile. Neteyam follows his line of sight, body tensing in the water when he sees the shy look on your face.

He’s not the only one who notices as Kiri feigns a gag and Tsireya pauses her spiel to giggle at the obvious exchange.

“Oh, ________,” she whispers giddily.

Your eyes swing to the group of girls surrounding you as Tuk lets out a gleeful laugh and pinches you under the water.

“Ouch!”

“________ has a crush,” Tuk singsongs obnoxiously.

You knuckle her forehead and give her a warning glare than only sends her into a frenzy, laughing and splashing as she seeks protection from Kiri.

“Stop that!” you whisper fiercely.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft,” Kiri moans.

“No!” you say, a little too quickly. “No.”

No one in your circle looks convinced as Tsireya closes her lesson and leads the three of you to wade out of the waters.

“It’s okay, you know?” Kiri says once you’ve reached your belongings and sling your trusty satchel over your front.

You give her an inquisitive look and she throws her head back and laughs.

“I know you sneak out to meet with Ao’nung at night,” she admits quietly. “I love my stupid brother, but it’s okay to move on.”

You blanche, embarrassed at having been caught.

After the first night, when he’d taken you for a swim with his ilu and you’d gasped in both fear and delight as the creature cut through the waters to sail through the air, he had started to frequently come back for you in the wee hours after eclipse. It had turned from you clocking him as he approached the Sully’s pod, to you standing off the side of the path he usually crossed, waiting for him.

The first night you’d done that, his smile was so sweet, you felt something fluttering in your tummy.

Among one of those late night excursions, while you both were splayed on the beach after a particularly adventurous swim, Ao’nung had told you he wouldn’t mind showing you all the beautiful things Awa’atlu had to offer, you just had to say the words. And you had reluctantly agreed, heart locked away tight.

You hate to admit that he’s done well chiseling away every effort you’d made to remain snug behind your walls. He had coaxed you out with soft words, sweet fruits, meaningful talks. And you absolutely melted like putty in his hands.

“We are head and heart,” Kiri says gently. “Sometimes it’s okay to listen to your heart.”

You swallow under Kiri’s sympathetic gaze.

“You’ve been strong for a long time, ________,” she states simply. “Your feelings are not a weakness.”

You nod as she rejoins Tuk and Tsireya a few strides away.

A few moments later, a voice is warm in the shell of your sensitive ears.

“What adventure awaits after eclipse?” Ao’nung asks lightly.

You resist smiling up at him, but fail miserably when his webbed fingers come up to move hair from your face.

“I have seeds of a spartan fruit,” you say quietly. “If you know of anywhere to plant them.”

“I can make something work,” he assures you, thumb brushing your cheek, then pinching gently with a toothy smile. “Our usual place?”

You bow your head, cheeks hot.

“Of course.”

“Alright, little leaf,” he bids, that stupid nickname he’d called you one of the first nights, sticking. “See you then.”

He’s walking back in the direction of the other boys, cutting across the sand as they venture towards the heart of the clan’s village.

As you pick up the remainder of your items, you don’t realize a body has stayed behind.

“Little leaf?” It comes out as a scoff, mocking as your whirl on your heel and find Neteyam standing over you. “What’s your deal with him?”

You blink hard.

“What are you talking about?”

“You an Ao’nung,” Neteyam bites, temper short. “What’s going on between you two?”

Annoyance pinches the back of your brain as you look off into the roll of the shallow tides, then turn your attention back to the eldest Sully. For the first time in an infinite amount of moments, you don’t feel like falling into him.

“He’s my friend,” you decide to say, sucking in a deep breath in hopes of calming your racing nerves. “Is that alright with you?”

Neteyam’s glare doesn’t falter.

“Just your friend?” he accuses. “I know you meet with him after eclipse, don’t think you have anyone fooled. Why?”

“What do you mean why?” you counter, unable to keep the edge from your tone.

“Why are you sneaking around with someone you barely know after dark, ________?” he grills. “Don’t be dense.”

“Ao’nung is kind to me,” you argue. “He shows me about his life, about the villagers and the way of the water.”

“And what, I’m not kind to you?” Neteyam bristles. “Tsireya can’t show you all of those things?”

Your face scrunches in annoyance.

“You’re being unreasonable, Neteyam,” you scoff.

“I’m being unreasonable?” he asks in disbelief. “Ao’nung is just like the rest of the village, ________. You really thinking that in front of everyone else, he doesn’t shun us all the same?”

“No, Neteyam, I don’t,” you retort. “Because Ao’nung is nice. He goes to great lengths to make me feel welcome, like Awa’atlu is home.”

“So he puts on a show and you’re so willing to be with him, huh?” Neteyam seethes quietly. “We’re your home, ________. Ao’nung is earning brownie points with his parents having you hooked, but do you really think he sees you?”

You swallow, biting the inside of your cheek as you stare up at Neteyam in resignation.

“You can be so callous sometimes,” you whisper, turning to leave the conversation.

“I’m not done talking to you,” Neteyam sighs.

“Well, I am.”

You never make it back to the marui that night, still embarrassed that two of Sully’s had noticed that you were ditching your hammock as soon as the village turned in for the evenings. Instead, you wander around the beaches, collecting shells and little trinkets for morning handicrafts with Tuk.

After the island glows both from the luminescence of the habitat and the moon, you stand post, waiting for the familiar pad of Ao’nung’s feet over the sand. You watch the stars up above to distract you, fingers twitching as you recall your argument with Neteyam earlier in the day.

You know he was looking for chords to strike, but something akin to insecurity begins to root itself inside of you as the stars begin shifting further and further, indicating that a wide span of time has elapsed. The village is still, but your mind is racing as Ao’nung’s whereabouts remain a mystery.

Regardless you wait. You wait so long, you’d resorted to planting yourself in the sand, and after what felt like infinity, the morning eclipse begins. When the village starts to turn over for the day, curtains and drapery being pulled back to reveal slowly waking families, you finally stand, heart in your hands.

When you return to your pod, Neteyam is already up, posted on the edge of the walkway with his toes in the water.

He’s shooting up when he sees you.

“Where have you been?” he demands as you draw nearer.

His face softens when he sees the first tear arch over your sculpted cheekbone.

You quickly wipe it away.

“No where,” you grumble, pushing past him.

“________,” he urges.

You deflect his reaching hands.

“I’m serious, Neteyam,” you warn, the look in your golden eyes deadly. “Leave me alone.”

Despite not seeing Ao’nung the entirety of the day, you return to your post the next night, hoping the night prior had been a fluke. The seeds of the spartan fruit are held tight in your fist and you use them as a vessel to wish hard. But it’s futile when the stars that map the skies continue to inch and you continue to wait.

On the fourth night of Ao’nung’s absence, you decide to get to the bottom of things.

You weave through the maruis, into the village’s circle right before eclipse. You spot Tsireya first, then him. He isn’t hard to miss when you’ve grown to know the drape of his curling hair and the bass of his hearty laugh.

Rotxo, who sits opposite them, notices you first and his smile falters.

Ao’nung’s neck cranes and his face shutters as he locks eyes with you.

“________, hi,” he greets simply.

“Hi?” you parrot, the spartan seeds you were beginning to use as a safety blanket clutched tight in your fist. “That’s it?”

Ao’nung turns completely, waving off his sister and Rotxo as he stands to his full height.

“What are you—“

“I waited for you,” you hiccup, shocked at the emotion that hijacks every morsel of resolve and composure you’ve always kept a tight lid on. “I waited for you, but you never came.”

Ao’nung’s hands are on your shoulders, nudging you to a more private area, an alcove hidden among arched and gnarled tree roots.

“________, I don’t understand,” he says quietly. “You—“

“I waited for you so that we could plant these stupid seeds and—“

Your unfurled fist catches his attention and his eyes widen when he sees that you’ve gripped them so hard in your hands, your palms are bleeding.

He makes a move to grab you injured hand, but your fist tightens again.

“This is inappropriate,” Ao’nung says sharply, eyes pleading.

“What is?” you ask desperately.

“You and me,” he says, like it should make sense. “This isn’t right.”

Like a time warp, you’re brought back to the glowing forest before your departure. You see Neteyam’s disappointed expression, the twinge of disgust lacing his features at the thought of wanting you like you wanted him.

Your heart shatters.

Just when you thought you were getting over it all. Just when you thought that Ao’nung made you feel alive. Made you feel things you’d never felt before, he was extinguishing every sweet moment. If he was trying to cut ties before you could fall, it was too late. He was dousing the flames that had grown to engulf him and you don’t know how much more you can take.

“Why would you do this?” you whisper brokenly. “I wanted to be left alone. Why would you force yourself into my life if you don’t want to be in it in the first place? Why would you make me want you?”

Ao’nung’s expression turns sour.

“I want to be there for you, ________,” he says fiercely. “You shine so bright and you are so incredible, you don’t even know it, but I can’t do this.”

“Why?” you hoarse.

“You are promised to someone else,” he says vehemently. “This entire time, I have sought you out with the intention of making you mine, but your heart belongs to someone else.”

Your face crumples.

“What are you— I don’t—“

“Neteyam told me to stay away from you,” Ao’nung says. “That you two would solidify your union once it was safe to go back home.”

“No,” you interject. “That’s not—“

“Don’t be cruel,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I can take it.”

“No, Neteyam and I are nothing,” you spit. “We—“

The fury hits you full force as you pull away from Ao’nung and stalk away.

You don't you hear him rushing to catch up with you. It’s like you’re underwater, hearing muffled as you map the woven path to the Sully’s marui.

Everything is absolutely red as you clock him.

Neteyam is laughing with Lo’ak and Kiri when you approach.

The expression on your face is murderous when he looks up and he pales as he stands to meet your barreling figure. You’re shoving him away from you as soon as he steps in your immediate space.

“How could you?” you cry out.

Kiri and Lo’ak’s eyes are wide at your outburst, the warrior of few words teeming with anger and emotion as you square your shoulders. Kiri nudges Lo’ak’s shoulder and gestures towards their marui to give you two some privacy.

“________—“

“You told Ao’nung we were promised to each other?” you press, finger jabbing his chest heatedly.

His face contorts as his spine straightens.

“Yes, ________, I did,” he confirms, nearly smug.

“Why?” you cry out. “After everything, why would you—“

“You’re mine, ________,” he blurts, fists shaking as he closes in on you. “All mine, and I refuse to let anyone have you. Especially Ao’nung.”

The boy who stands before you is unrecognizable, so taken by anger and envy.

“You’re heartless,” you whimper.

“Me?” he asks incredulously, voice breaking as he comes up to grab you by your biceps. “You– You made me fall for you and suddenly you–“

“I liked you first,” you choke, eyes searching his wildly. “I liked you first and you told me that you were sorry. In that moment, I could see how you saw me. Pitiful, coarse, misplaced. Ao’nung doesn’t make me feel that way.”

“Ao’nung doesn’t—“

“For once in my life, I feel okay. I feel like I can finally breathe, and that upsets you? You’re jealous? All I’ve known is the forest from a distance, coinciding with clans that make me feel like an outsider! When it’s me and him, that’s all it is, just two souls existing together. This is the first time I can say such.” Your voice is hoarse, drawing wandering eyes.

Neteyam’s face softens.

His entire time growing up with you in the forest, he’d never seen you display as much of yourself as you had in this moment. He can feel it pouring from you, every feeling you’d kept locked tight in your heart. He sees it in your eyes, nearly feral as you tremble in his hold.

“You love him?” It comes out more like a statement, his chest heaving.

Love. A word that holds the weight of a thousand suns. Four letters that seal your fate.

Did you love Ao’nung?

No. You didn’t, but maybe…maybe you could learn to. You could learn to love him just how he’d learned you, how he meticulously dismantled every doubt you had in him.

“I could,” you whisper.

Neteyam’s grasp loosens and he looks wounded as he backs away from you, peering down at you like he doesn’t recognize the person you’ve become.

As the cloud dissipates, you become aware of the eyes watching the entire debacle.

You shrink, mortified that nearly the entire village knows of your feelings for their Olo’eyktan’s son.

You turn on your heel to flee, but a sturdy body stands a few feet away, leaned against one of the twisted trunks of a tree supporting the surrounding maruis.

You swallow.

“A-Ao’nung,” you splutter.

His smile is soft, knowing, as he pushes off the tree and comes to stand in front of you.

“You’re popular, little leaf.”

You buckle, head bowing in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Ao’nung,” you murmur. “I…”

His hand comes around your head and pushes your face into the smooth skin of his chest.

You soften.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, hand caressing your loosening braids.

“This must be embarrassing,” you whisper.

He spins your bodies, tugging you back down along the path you marched to confront Neteyam.

“You could never embarrass me,” he assures you, guiding you towards the village circle. One of his hands turns yours over, inspecting the tiny wounds as you two hurry along. “Let’s get you fixed up, okay?”

You can barely swallow around the lump forming in your throat as he climbs up into an empty pod used for treating the wounded and helps you up.

“Sit,” he coaxes, striding to the ledges of supplies, meticulously organized by his own mother.

You obey, tears streaking your cheeks as you tuck one leg under the other. You don’t feel like the mighty warrior Jake and many of the Omatikaya have made you out to be all of these years.

You feel small, and you feel weak. All because of a boy.

“Hand, please,” he says gently, kneeling in front of you with an arm full of remedies.

You oblige, offering your shaky hand, palm up.

The blood has dried, revealing small little angry lacerations that sting when he pours a thin liquid to clean them. You hiss and the tears start again.

“Stop,” he murmurs, wiping away the rivulets that slip. “Stop crying.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, fist balling involuntarily when he slathers a viscous mixture on your palm that soothes the burns.

“Stop apologizing,” he says softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He places a leaf over your palm and then wraps your hand in a soft cloth that sates the ache. When you’re all patched up, he brings your fingers to his lips, then holds them tightly in his lap.

“I need to hear it for myself,” he sighs.

“Hear what?” you croak.

“Every moment I spent with you since your arrival has been precious to me,” Ao’nung says. “I want you to say it to me.”

You’re in knots, swallowing hard as he blurs.

You take a gasping breath as you will yourself not to cry.

“I want you, Ao’nung. I see you,” you warble. “And I’m petrified to admit it because admitting it means I’m being vulnerable, but I want you to see me too.”

His lips curve, pulling you forward so that you have to catch yourself on your uninjured hand.

“You scared me for a little there,” he whispers, mouth a hairsbreadth from yours. “I don’t know what I would do if all that time we spent together meant nothing to you.”

You swallow for the thousandth time.

“Never,” you shudder.

His smile widens.

“You’re not gonna stop me, are you?” he asks, lips ghosting yours as his eyes search your own.

“No,” you murmur.

“Good,” he sighs.

He kisses you like you’re delicate, pulling you into him to taste every unspoken word you’ve held onto since the first night he came to you.

When he pulls away from you, forehead resting against yours, he’s so quiet when he whispers.

But you hear him all the same.

“I see you, little leaf.”

an — AHH second full length oneshot is done! if you've made it this far, i thank you again! i had so much fun writing this request and once more want to express gratitude the anon to shot me this idea! ALSO purposefully left out details of their little rendezvous' so that i could do some drabbles for them in the future! next fic is (finally) the lo'ak x reader i've been blabbing about.

#ao'nung #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung imagine #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar way of water #avatar the movie #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam

1K notes · View notes

princessbrunette · 4 months

Note

Ok but love triangle jj x reader x rafe is just 😇😇💕💘💖 Like they’d both be so possessive over you around each other, trying to get a rise out of the other. I could just imagine being at some party and rafe cornering you, holding your back to his chest and kissing up your neck, waiting for jj to spot you guys before slipping his hand up your skirt and smirking at him like “you can look all you want but she belongs to me” !!!! The constant battle for your affection between the two of them like yes please I need two jealous possessive men battle over the reader

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

thinking about being tipsy at a party and rafe finally pulling you into a hallway to be able to feel you up, all cocky because you’re more pliant than usual— just blinking up at him slowly as he looms over you, talking to you in his usual charming way.

he’s about to kiss you when jj “accidentally” pummels into you both, john b not far behind, staring down rafe.

“woah, sorry dude totally didn’t see y’there. not interrupting anything am i?” and rafes jaw is all clenched, looking down his nose at the blonde.

“yeah, actually. you are.”

rafe gets ignored when your eyes adjust, a slow happy smile covering your face when you realise who it is. “jayj!” you squeal, throwing your arms around his neck, making him grin. “and john b! hi!” you wave over jj’s shoulder. the brunette smiles and clears his throat a little awkwardly.

“hey, sweetheart.”

jj pulls you back by the shoulders, giving you a look of faux concern. “how much have you had to drink missy? kinda smellin’ like a dispensary over here.”

you giggle, all airy and light as you shrug and jj slowly directs his disapproving gaze to rafe.

“messin’ with drunk girls, rafe?” he scrunches his nose.

“shes fine.”

“cant say i’m surprised.”

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

#anon #jj x reader x rafe

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konigenblobbity · 10 months

Text

What is your Problem?! [Part 1]

Ghost x F!Reader, Soap x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, yelling, Ghost being mean, Soap comfort, light chokehold, love triangle

—> [Part 2]

Summary: Ever since you joined the task force, Ghost has had it out for you. Punishing you for things he’d brush off for others, constantly criticizing everything you do, ignoring you when you’re just trying to help. It’s been like that for a year, and you finally snap. You see red when he claims you don’t deserve to celebrate with your team. The mission having been absolutely grueling, taking months of prep, where you had many sleepless nights, but having gone perfectly smoothly… you snapped.

A/n: Was writing some angst and then it got away from me, kinda turned into a love triangle fic lol, enjoy? Also didn’t read through it so there might be some spelling and grammar mistakes 0_o

You walk into the common room, with an ear to ear smile as a loud cheer echoed on the walls. Every member of your team smiling, some raising their glasses. You then feel an arm wrap around your shoulder. “Congrats boss! Finally wrapped up that shite mission” you chuckle at Soaps words, but can’t help but agree.

This mission was exhausting, having been the reason for many restless nights and countless coffees. “Can’t agree more Soap” he smiles and then says “let’s get to the bar and get you a glass of the strong stuff” with a wink he begins to pull you through the crowd. You feel pride as people greet you and pat your shoulder congratulating you.

That feeling leaves in a heartbeat as you feel a new hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. You turn and just like you dreaded, there stood Ghost, his figure looming over you and his serious demeanor sending a shiver through you. “You’ll have to excuse me Soap, I need to borrow the ‘boss’ for a moment”

You felt yourself tense, he clearly wasn’t going to congratulate you… he never did. Ever since you joined the task force he’s had it out for you. Some ruthless vendetta to make your life a living hell. Always treating you differently to everyone else.

He’d criticize you during training and then make you stay longer if he didn’t think you did ‘good enough’, yell at you for things he would’ve brushed off if it was anyone else, even going so far as to insult you right to your face. Deeming you worthless, obsolete, and entirely unfit for this task force.

You hoped he’d warm up to you over time, giving you the chance to show your worth, get him to finally respect you and treat you like a part of the team… instead of some kind of obstacle. You respected Ghost… and you wanted him to like you.

Seeing how he treats the others, joking around and poking fun, but when you make the slightest playful jab he’d go cold and order you to do 100 push ups without hesitation. Your hatred for him slowly grows by the months, no longer admiring him, but despising him for his endless torment.

You pray that Soap won’t let you be pulled away by Ghost, but he simply shrugs, unwrapping his arm from your shoulder and saying. “Sure! Just don’t keep her too long, we wanna do a toast later” he winks at you and smiles “in your honor” you smile back but without another word Ghost pulls you away, into his office nearby.

You stand in front of him, back straighten, stiff and your heart beating fast from the suspense. He stands tall in front of you, roughly a meter away. His expression hidden by his mask but his eyes glaring into your soul. You don’t dare speak, not wanting to unintentionally aggravate him.

“You’re not going to get a toast.” His words making your heart drop, as you can’t help but clench your fists at your sides. “I’m sorry sir. I don’t understand” you spoke sternly, controlling the urge to say anything else, at fear of disrespecting him.

He sighs but then doubles down saying. “Well… they can’t make a toast because you won’t be there. You’re going to go back to your dorm. I’m not permitting you to celebrate” You were speechless. Standing there, with your mouth agape and you just felt your blood boiling.

“What. Sir I’ve been working on this mission for months. It went perfect I don’t understand what I did wrong?” You begin to raise your voice, slowly losing your grasp on your rage. Your face beginning to redden. “Watch your tone. And no, it did not go perfect” you try to take controlled breaths, wanting to lunge at Ghost and rip out his tongue.

“Sir. With all due respect…” the way you said it clearly showing you meant no respect, spitting the word out like poison. “There were no causalities, we didn’t get spotted, and we were able to avoid excessive violence. Everything went smoothly” he just laughs. You bite your cheeks to avoid snapping. His laugh pushing every one of your buttons.

“What about when you turned off your comms? I’d call that a major misjudgment” you paused. Thinking back to the mission. And then you can’t help but laugh, running a hand through your hair finally breaking from your stiff posture, letting a wild smile grace your lips.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking…” you whisper and at that Ghost narrows his eyes and loudly orders “What was that soldier?” And you just look at him, glaring into his eyes, your own seeing red.

“I said. You have to be… fucking. joking. When are you done being a prick? Huh? What will it take for you to just fucking respect me and stop treating me so unfairly” you’re yelling now, pointing your finger at him accusingly, causing his to try and interrupt you.

“I suggest you-“ you stop caring, finally breaking and not letting him get a single word out. “No! I suggest you get a goddamn grip. I don’t deserve your harassment, I don’t deserve your punishments, I don’t deserve how you look down at me as if I am worth nothing” you were so loud that some of the noises in common area died down. Everyone hearing you lashing out, but not fully able to hear what you were saying.

“When I turned off my comms… it was because I had to go silent for a while. Being mere meters away from enemy guards, and not wanting to reveal my location, risking the lives of my team” he stands there, his own fists clenched at his side now, seething rage seeming to radiate off him. He finally managed to speak up.

“You were selfish” the way he spoke was unthankful, no compassion in his tone, as if what he said was undeniably true. “Fuck you.” It was almost breathless, his words sending a dagger through your heart, you were sick and tired of him. You turn to exit the office.

You’re then roughly pinned against the office door, his arm pressing against your throat, your hands grabbing onto it as if you could pry it off. The motion caused you to groan and there was a loud thud. “Don’t you dare disrespect me” he spoke through gritted teeth, he was seething at this point.

You felt your eyes well up and you couldn’t help as a few ran down your cheeks, you were exhausted, not just from the mission, but from the hell Ghost has been putting you through.

“That’s rich… you’ve been disrespecting me ever since I arrived. I was never good enough for you, no matter how hard I tried, or how I much I bled, or how perfect I was. It was never enough for you. You never gave me a chance… you were against me the second I arrived” your words interrupted by shaky breaths, but you didn’t stop. Finally saying what was on your chest.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about” if you weren’t so angry, you would’ve detected the slight guilt in his tone. “You’ve made it clear how much you hate me. You treat me so differently to everyone else, as if I haven’t been a part of this team for a whole year. I don’t care if you punish me… I am going to celebrate with my team. I deserve a fucking break” his grasp on you loosens, he was shocked… your words finally hit him as he stepped back.

You cough lightly before glaring at him. You turn around and leave the office, walking back into the common area where eyes are immediately on you. You ignore it, weaving your way through the crowd to get to the bar. Soap sits there waiting with a glass of whiskey and a smile.

When he sees the state you’re in, red eyes, brows appearing permanently furrowed, and your face red with rage. “My god Lass… what happened?” He immediately looks concerned, facing you as you sit down on the stool grabbing your glass. When you down it instantly, not bothering to answer Soap, he turns to look back at the office door, where Ghost stands with crossed arms.

He sighs. Out of everyone, the only person you told about Ghost’s abuse was Soap. He had constantly encouraged you to have patience, to give him a chance to warm up to you, to just wait… he couldn’t help but feel awful now.

“He finally broke me…” you whisper as you reach over the bar and grab the bottle of whiskey, opening the cap. “Christ Lass… I’m so sorry” Soap watches as you don’t even pour it into your glass, drinking straight from the bottle. His whole being hurt at the sight, you were supposed to be celebrating. His anger growing at the idea that Ghost finally took it too far.

“He told me to go back to the dorm… told me I wasn’t allowed to celebrate” you chuckle and put down the bottle. “What?” Soap was in pure shock, frozen in place. Watching as you wipe the tears from your eyes, using the back of your hand to wipe away the remnants on your cheeks.

It’s then that Soap notices the redness of your neck, his brows furrow and he grabs at your jaw, gently, and tilts your head up. You pull away but not soon enough for him not to see it. His whole expression drops “Did he hurt you?” When you don’t respond, just taking another sip from the whiskey, he stands up from his chair.

You grab his arm before he walks off, his whole demeanor seeming enraged, but he stops when your hand circles his arm. “Don’t. Just stay. I don’t want to be alone” your voice was quiet, almost raspy, Soap picks up on the broken sob that leaves you afterwards.

He immediately moves to sit back down next to you, moving his stool to be closer to you. He takes your hand in his, holding it tightly. “I’m so sorry Lass… he said he’d never go that far. He promised.” You look at him confused, and he lets out a sigh. “I’ve talked to him about going easier on you… I just couldn’t ignore it anymore. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked”

He waited for you to get mad, to walk off, the way your eyes widened only making him more nervous. What he doesn’t expect is for you to grab the back of his neck with your hand, pulling his face to yours. Allowing your lips to collide with his gently. He let out a gasp, his eyes wide, but he slowly let them close, moving his arm around your waist and kissing you back.

There was a loud thud as Ghost’s office door slammed shut. Having seen the whole thing he can’t help but be infuriated. Not at you, not at Soap, but at himself. Knowing he pushed you too far, and to his disappointment, pushed you right into Soap’s arms.

Soap mumbled against your lips. “I’ll keep an eye out for you lass, I swear I won’t let him hurt you like that anymore…” he moved away, and then pulled you close against him. “I’ll take care of you from now on”

#cod modern warfare #fanfiction #ghost x reader #modern warfare fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap cod #soap fanfic #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader

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thepaperpanda · 11 months

Text

In Sickness and in Health || Akaza x fem!reader x Douma

Summary: In a rare moment of unity, Douma and Akaza set aside their differences to collaborate in nursing you back to health as you, their beloved human partner, succumbed to a cold

Warnings: none, just Akaza being mean to Douma

Word count: 3639

Authors: Cass & Rouge

A/N: Requested by @arthurbristow

The concept of a demon falling in love with a human was already considered unconventional, but the notion of two demons harboring affections for the same human was utterly unheard of.

Fate seemed to have a twisted sense of humor as Akaza realized that his beloved, the one who held a special place in his heart, was none other than Douma's beloved as well… It was a situation that couldn't be worse... or could it?

Over the course of several visits, Akaza began to sense that something was amiss with you. Despite your insistence that everything was fine, he couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.

On this particular evening, his concern reached its peak, compelling Akaza to pay you a visit and ascertain your well-being. As he approached your humble abode, his ears were met with the most grating and irritating sound in the entire world.

"Oh, Akaza-dono!" Douma's voice rang out cheerfully, accompanied by an enthusiastic wave of his hand. "I see you've come to check on our beloved Y/N. It appears I'm not the only one who was worried about her."

Akaza remained silent, his frustration evident as he emitted a disgruntled 'tsk' sound. Without uttering a single word, he briskly walked towards your dwelling, with Douma following closely behind, seemingly unfazed by Akaza's discontent.

The atmosphere between them was charged, a blend of conflicting emotions and unspoken tension. Akaza's presence loomed with an air of possessiveness, while Douma's demeanor exuded an almost mischievous delight. It was a precarious situation, teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

Standing by your front door, Akaza's gaze fixated on the surroundings, searching for any signs of something that might have made you sad. The worry etched on his face mirrored the genuine care he held for you, despite the complexity of their intertwined affections.

Douma, ever observant, watched with an air of curiosity. His playful nature seemingly balanced on a knife's edge, ready to revel in the unfolding drama or diffuse the mounting tension with a well-timed jest.

As you lay on your bed, your limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, weighed down by the intense fever that wracked your body. Despite the insistent knocking at the door, you remained rooted to your spot, unable to summon the strength to rise and answer it. The sound of your own rasping breath filled the room, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of knuckles against wood. "It's... It's open!" You managed to raise your voice.

Akaza took the lead, stepping inside the house. The sight of you in bed at this hour was uncommon, stirring a sense of concern within him.

Douma glanced back, his expression filled with worry. "Oh, my dear lotus! Are you feeling unwell? Are you sick?"

You tried to sit up and groaned as the room spun around you. "I'm not feeling well...."

"I told you something is wrong," Akaza frowned, making his way to your bedside and taking a seat. His hand gently rested on your warm forehead. "You have a fever, my love."

"That's no good," Douma sighed, mirroring Akaza's actions as his hand cupped your flushed and heated cheek. "We need to find a way to help. I could call upon my followers; surely someone among them knows what to do."

Akaza growled softly, casting a stern glance at Douma. "No stranger will come near her. We can take care of her ourselves."

Douma couldn't help but giggle, a soft purr infused in his tone. "Oh, we?! So you're finally acknowledging me in this little love triangle!"

The exchange between Akaza and Douma brimmed with a blend of concern, frustration, and a hint of playful banter. Their shared affection for you compelled them to find a solution to ease your discomfort, yet their different approaches and underlying dynamics created a tension that was both palpable and intriguing.

You pushed the hands of both Douma and Akaza off your face, feeling suffocated and overheated as you rolled to your back. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your pulse racing with a dizzying intensity. The heat enveloped you like a smothering blanket, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead and trickle down your temples. You whispered, barely audible, "It's hard to breathe, I feel so hot." The world around you spun in a dizzying frenzy, as though you were caught in the eye of a whirlpool.

"Stay down, my love," Akaza sighed, his voice filled with exasperation, as he made his way to one of the windows. With a gentle push, he opened it slightly, allowing a breath of fresh air to enter the room.

Meanwhile, Douma, ever unpredictable, took hold of one of the towels you owned and casually departed from the house. Akaza couldn't help but feel a surge of relief, grateful for a temporary respite from the presence of the bothersome demon.

In that moment, Akaza's spirits lifted, knowing that he wouldn't have to deal with Douma's antics for a while. It brought a sense of contentment, however fleeting it may be, as he embraced the quietude that settled upon the space they shared.

You closed your eyes, endeavoring to breathe calmly as a severe headache began to form, but the pain proved too intense. A moment later, tears began to stream down your cheeks as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape your lips. Your attempts to control your breathing faltered, and you began to hyperventilate, gasping for air in short, ragged breaths. "I wanna die, Akaza.... Kill me, end my suffering, please!"

He positioned himself on the bed, pulling you gently towards him, allowing your back to rest against his sturdy chest. This arrangement provided a comfortable halfway point between sitting and lying down, ensuring your ease as he held you close. "Don't utter such foolish words," Akaza murmured in a soft growl, his voice laced with concern, as he tenderly wiped away your tears. "We will take care of you, and you will begin to feel better."

Just as the atmosphere began to settle, Douma's cheerful voice broke the silence, announcing his return. He entered the room with a sense of joy, holding a damp towel in his hand. With a deliberate motion, he approached you and placed the towel gently on your forehead, his finger making contact with the fabric.

In an instant, the moisture within the towel froze, transforming it into a soothing cold compress. The icy sensation promised relief, especially for your feverish state.

"This, my dear lotus, should aid in reducing your fever," Douma remarked, a hint of affection underlying his words.

You let out a deep groan, your body tense with anticipation, as Douma pressed the cool cloth to your forehead. The sensation was like a wave of relief washing over you, easing the ache in your head. The coldness of the towel was like a soothing balm, calming your racing thoughts and slowing your heartbeat. You closed your eyes and let out a contented sigh, grateful for Douma's quick thinking and gentle touch. "Thank you, my lord," you told him, resting comfortably against Akaza's broad, muscular chest. "It feels better. It is better."

With a simple nod, Douma placed his chilled, ice-like hands on your cheeks. "Once we eliminate this wretched fever, you'll feel better truly," he remarked, his tone filled with determination.

Meanwhile, Akaza tenderly stroked your head, his touch radiating reassurance. "We will take care of you," he whispered softly. "Soon, you'll be back to your vibrant self."

"I went to the lake a few days ago and decided to take a bath in it," you explained, your teeth chattering. "It was so cold, but I just couldn't resist the temptation. And now I think it's the reason why I caught a cold."

Akaza's voice carried a growl of concern as he confronted you, his words dripping with disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? We warned you about bathing in the river. It's still far too cold for that."

Beside him, Douma nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Akaza's worry. "Indeed, my dear lotus," he chimed in. "He's absolutely right. You don't possess the same resilience as we do. You should exercise caution and take better care of your body."

Your heart beated fast in your chest as you began to speak. "I must apologize to both of you," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "My recklessness has caused harm, and for that, I am truly sorry. I'm sorry for not listening to neither of you."

Akaza's voice resonated with a soothing calmness as he offered his advice. "Don't dwell on it for now. Your priority should be on recovering," he said, keeping his words simple and direct.

Douma nodded in agreement, acknowledging Akaza's wisdom. "Just relax and find solace in rest," he added, his tone filled with care and tenderness for you, his beloved.

After you had finally calmed down, both Akaza and Douma stood watch over you, ensuring your safety until they were certain you had drifted off to sleep. Once satisfied, Akaza carefully placed you back onto the bed, tenderly covering you with a blanket.

Meanwhile, Douma made sure the towel remained cold, a testament to his attention to detail and concern for your well-being. His words, however, held a hint of something darker. "Humans, such fragile creatures," Douma remarked, a suggestion laced within his words. "Perhaps we could alleviate her suffering together, sharing the burden."

Akaza's brow furrowed, a frown etching across his face, his anger slowly simmering beneath the surface. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he responded in a measured tone, suppressing the surge of emotions threatening to consume him. "We must nourish her," Akaza stated plainly, his voice carrying a sense of determination. Without further ado, he turned and walked away, his actions implying a steadfast commitment to fulfilling your needs and ensuring your well-being.

In this intricate dance of conflicting desires and motivations, their actions revealed a delicate balance between care and the potential for something darker. The complexities of their dynamic unfolded as they grappled with their own internal struggles, their choices and actions pivotal in shaping your shared fate.

The next time you awoke, you found both Akaza and Douma standing near your stove.

"Looks delicious," Douma commented with a mischievous tone, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Such a shame we cannot share it with her. Although, I'm certain it doesn't compare to the nutritional value of female flesh." His words were accompanied by a playful giggle, clearly enjoying the reaction it elicited from Akaza.

Akaza, on the other hand, wore a visibly annoyed expression, his face contorting in response to Douma's jest. However, his irritation quickly transformed into a brief moment of surprise as he noticed your awakening.

"Oh! You're awake!" Douma exclaimed, his tone shifting to one of genuine surprise and perhaps even a touch of delight.

"Boys?" You whispered, propping yourself on your elbow. "What are you doing? What's that smell?"

"That idiot managed to get you something to eat," Akaza remarked in a straightforward manner.

Douma's lips curled into a gentle smile as he glanced at you. "I simply mentioned to one of my followers that someone dear to me was unwell and in need of something delicious," he explained. Without hesitation, he approached your side, removing the towel from your head. "Feeling any better?" He inquired, concern evident in his voice.

You smiled at Douma weakly, nodding your head in gratitude. "I'm feeling much better thanks to you and Akaza's care," you said, your voice soft and grateful. "I cannot thank you both enough for taking care of me."

Akaza approached, a bowl held gently in his hands, and spoke with a voice filled with love and concern. "We love you," he declared, joining the two of you. "And because we care deeply for you, some of us have realized that you need extra care. Here, please eat."

Douma, his expression filled with a mischievous delight, chimed in with a cheerful hum. "I hope you'll enjoy it! And if not, I'll take care of that woman."

"That won't be necessary, Douma," you flashed him a smile while accepting the bowl from Akaza.

The aroma of the stew wafting up to your nose, making your mouth water in anticipation. You reached for the spoon, scooping up a mouthful of the warm, hearty stew and savoring the flavors. "It's delicious, Douma-sama. I've never had a better stew in my life."

With a nod, Douma uttered, "You are welcome, my dear! Only the best for you."

Akaza couldn't help but roll his eyes in response to the facade of false happiness.

You gave Akaza a look. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," he replied softly, a sense of relief evident in his voice. He tenderly pressed a kiss to your temple, his affectionate gesture bringing comfort and reassurance. "I'm just glad you're feeling better. Now, eat. We've also got some medicine for you, but it's important to eat first."

"Thank you," you put the bowl on your lap and reached your hand out to caress Akaza's cheek.

Douma rested his head on your shoulder, his voice filled with a playful tone. "Hey, I deserve some love too! After all, I did help as well."

You delicately traced your fingertips along Douma's sharp jawline, marveling at the smoothness of his skin. "Of course you did, my lord. I owe you my life. Both of you, actually."

He nodded and kissed your fingers gently.

Akaza, nestled against your shoulder, succinctly expressed their sentiments, "We love you deeply and fear losing our beloved human."

"Well, you can always turn me into a demon!" You suggested.

Douma's face lit up with sudden excitement, his head nodding eagerly in agreement.

"No!" Akaza's voice boomed with a deep growl. "You deserve better than this way of life."

"But at least I wouldn't get cold so often... You two don't get sick at all," you remarked, finishing your meal.

In an instant, Douma found himself on the verge of speaking, but before any words could escape his lips, Akaza swiftly decapitated him without hesitation.

"You deserve better than this existence. We love you just the way you are. Being immune to illness is a bonus, but there are many hardships," Akaza explained, his voice filled with conviction.

Douma's head regenerated smoothly, returning him to his complete form. Despite the shocking turn of events, he couldn't help but voice his complaint. "Akaza-dono! That was incredibly rude!" He whined, expressing his discontent with a hint of petulance.

You whimpered as the sticky, warm fluid dripped down on your cheek after the blow aimed to Douma's head, your body recoiling from the sensation. You looked up, locking eyes with Akaza, who seemed unfazed by the chaos he's caused. "What the hell, Akaza?! You didn't have to do that!" You screamed at him, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear.

The pool of blood around Douma seemed to be growing larger by the second, soaking your bed, and you couldn't help but feel sickened by the sight.

"Knowing him, he was about to blurt out something foolish, as usual," Akaza remarked with a cold tone, observing Douma's futile attempts to fix his disheveled hair. "I am perfectly fine," Douma interjected, shaking his head with a playful grin. "No need to fret, my love. I remain as beautiful as ever."

"You messed up my bed..." You grunted with disgust. "I'm going to vomit!" And with that, you ran to the bathroom.

Akaza chuckled at the thought of you wanting to become a demon and rose from his seat to change the sheets.

Douma let out a sigh and joined in, deciding to lend a hand. By the time you returned, a set of fresh sheets awaited you, a silent gesture of their care and consideration.

"Boys. I'm feeling better already. You don't have to stay here. The sun will rise soon."

"You still need to drink the medicine," Akaza remarked.

Douma gave a slight shrug, his gaze filled with mischief. "You're not wrong. We could simply cover the windows and spend the day... in bed," he purred, his voice laced with suggestive undertones.

You found yourself nodding along to Douma's suggestion, despite the wary look in Akaza's eyes. "Okay, let's try it. Akaza, can you please give me the medicine?"

Complying with your request, Akaza swiftly returned, presenting you with a brimming cup of an unidentified liquid.

"It stinks," you groaned in disgust.

"Sometimes, the bitterest medicine is the most effective remedy," Douma murmured softly, his voice carrying a gentle reassurance. "But don't worry, it's nothing you can't handle."

You took a deep breath before tipping the glass back, swallowing the medicine in one gulp. The taste was acrid, and it burned your throat as it went down. You gagged and coughed, feeling like your whole body was on fire. "God, this tastes awful," you groaned, handing the empty glass back to Akaza.

"You did exceptionally well," Douma praised, his gentle touch caressing your back. "You're such a good girl!"

"Will you stay with me, boys?"

"Of course!" Douma nodded in agreement with Akaza's previous words. Without uttering a single sound, he gently nudged Akaza's side, guiding him to discreetly cover the windows.

You watched pink-haired closing to curtains as you climb in the bed and took comfortable position

The demon with rainbow eyes was the first to embrace you, his arms encircling your waist as he pulled you close.

"Don't think you can claim her all for yourself," Akaza growled, his own arms enveloping you protectively.

Douma's expression turned into a frown, yet he managed to offer Akaza a sly smile. "Oh? Worried she'll choose me in the end? Someone seems a bit jealous."

"Boys, please," you whispered, giving them both a few strokes to their cheeks. "Behave."

Akaza whispered softly, drawing you nearer to him. "It's difficult when he's in such proximity," he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of longing and unease. "He's just too close."

"Akaza, darling, you know I appreciate Douma's presence as much as I appreciate yours."

Douma let out a scoff, leaning in to nuzzle against you. Despite the display of affection, his actions seemed to provoke a tense response from Akaza. In an attempt to soothe his companion, Douma gently hummed and proceeded to pat Akaza's head, further exacerbating his tension. "There, there, Akaza-dono."

You giggled, looking at Douma. "You can be so charming when you want."

"I am always charming, my darling," he proclaimed, his voice dripping with self-assuredness. Yet, his confidence was abruptly shattered when Akaza sank his teeth into his hand, causing him to yelp in pain.

"Don't... touch me," the pink-haired demon growled, his teeth clenching even harder.

"Akaza! Apologize to Douma for biting him!" Came your admonishing voice, demanding restitution for the offense committed.

"Yes! Apologize to me!" Douma chimed in, an offended tone lacing his words.

Akaza scoffed, dismissively brushing off the notion. "In your dreams, Douma," he retorted, his disdain palpable in the air.

You gently tapped Akaza's forehead. "Do it, please?"

"Never," Akaza snapped, his voice laced with determination. "I would never trust him. He would gladly devour you, and I refuse to be blind to his feigned emotions."

You shivered and moved closer to Akaza, looking at Douma over your shoulder.

Akaza pressed himself against you, nuzzling affectionately and applying a gentle squeeze.

Douma, expressing annoyance, drew nearer and enveloped you in a hug as well. "Ignore Akaza-dono's remark, I would never consume you. Is your fever resurfacing, my dear?"

"I think it's coming back."

"Allow me to assist you," Douma murmured softly, his icy cold hand gently resting upon your forehead.

In response, a contented hum escaped your lips, prompting a smile to grace Akaza's face. "Well, well. It seems you have some utility, icicle."

Douma's brows furrowed in mock annoyance. "I shall conveniently ignore that remark," he retorted.

"Boys, please, behave... It feels so good, though," you mumbled, snuggling with both Akaza and Douma.

The two demons exchanged glances, silently acknowledging their shared goal of ensuring your swift recovery. For the moment, they chose to remain quiet, allowing you the peaceful rest you needed.

As you shifted to your other side, your embrace found its way to Douma, seeking comfort and solace in his presence. In a surprising display of unity, both demons disregarded their mutual animosity and embraced you, their shared desire to see you regain your strength overriding any personal differences.

In that moment, nestled in their caring arms, they resolved to do whatever it took to expedite your healing. The intensity of their mutual commitment surpassed their inherent disdain for each other, highlighting the depth of their concern and love for you.

Despite the complexities of their relationship, their focus remained unwavering: your well-being. They vowed to provide the support and care you needed, disregarding any animosity or rivalry that might have existed between them.

In the face of adversity, their shared dedication became a powerful force, driving them to put aside their differences and work together for your sake. They understood that healing required unity and cooperation, and they were determined to deliver just that.

With you nestled between them, they offered their combined warmth and comfort, a symbol of their unwavering commitment to your recovery. It was a moment where their shared purpose eclipsed any animosity, and their collective efforts would serve as a testament to their deep affection for you.

As you drifted into a peaceful slumber, enveloped in their embrace, they silently vowed to do everything in their power to ensure your swift return to health. The demons were united by their love for you, and they were willing to set aside their differences to see you restored to full vitality once more.

#Akaza x reader #Akaza x you #Akaza x y/n #Douma x reader #Douma x you #Douma x y/n #akaza and douma #douma fluff #Akaza fluff #Douma #Akaza #kny akaza #kny Douma #kny x you #kny x reader #kny fluff #upper moon two #upper moon three #kimetsu no yaiba fluff

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teyamskxawng · 11 months

Text

What Once Was [I]

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Neteyam Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Part II here

The rundown: The once unbreakable bond between you and Lo'ak is tested as a newfound connection develops between you and Neteyam

Warnings: language, love triangle, jealousy, miscommunication, angst (i think?), Lo'ak can't handle change, Lo'ak is emotionally immature, everyone is kind of oblivious, characters are aged up

WC: 5.0k

A/N: love triangle fic bc i was feeling messy but i'm kind of struggling to write this... i have absolutely no idea how it's going to end, but we're sticking with it i guess

For as long as you can remember, you and Lo'ak have always been inseparable. Born just days apart, it's like you were destined to grow up side by side, practically attached at the hip. From your most embarrassing moments to your proudest achievements, there was, and still is, rarely a time when the two of you aren't together.

Once a wide-eyed, lanky little girl, you've blossomed into a strong and capable young woman. And it's no different for Lo'ak. The wayward and reckless boy from your childhood has matured both physically and emotionally (sort of) into a man. Neither of you are children anymore. You've outgrown those naive days, stepping into the world of adulthood.

It's all still new and bizarre to you—your sudden awareness of the terrifying looming task of finding a mate, the unexpected influx of second glances and prolonged conversations with the other guys in your clan, the near-constant gossip that there's more to your relationship with Lo'ak than meets the eye. But you figure these little sprinklings of oddities are simply part of the ever-changing journey of growing up.

And throughout all the confusing changes and inexplicable hormones, Lo'ak continues to be your rock. His enormous smile and infectious laughter remain the same; they still possess the power to brighten even your gloomiest days.

To many, he's the olo'eyktan's son; a direct descendant of the esteemed Toruk Makto; the antithesis of his older brother; some four-fingered anomaly to stare at and whisper about. But to you? You've never defined him by any titles or labels. In your eyes, he's simply Lo'ak: the first person you ever called a friend. Stupidly reckless yet fiercely loyal, easily the most annoying person on Pandora yet the one soul you could never live without—you wouldn't have him any other way.

You're forever intertwined through idyllic shared moments: climbing your way up towering trees until your palms were raw with blisters and hurt like hell, egging each other on to reach risky new speeds and daring new heights while soaring through the sky atop your ikran, spending nights wide awake in adjacent hammocks while trying to hold in your childish giggles over idiotic jokes that no one else could possibly understand. The friendship between you and Lo’ak is steadfast and unwavering; nothing can shake the bond you share.

At least, that's what you thought until Neteyam entered the picture.

In all fairness, Neteyam has always been around. He's like a constant presence, just sort of hovering on the periphery of your life. With him being a year older, it used to seem like an entire lifetime separated you during your childhood years. He bore so much responsibility on his shoulders at such a young age yet still held so much respect and admiration from everyone around him. Destined to become the olo'eyktan of your clan and recognized throughout Pandora as an extraordinary hunter, Neteyam grew up as a literal prodigy in every sense of the word.

And despite growing up alongside him and his siblings, Neteyam's awe-inspiring reputation often still makes him seem larger than life—like an ethereal figure rather than someone deeply connected to so many of your childhood memories.

You and Neteyam have always been on friendly terms, but you never reached the same level of closeness as you did with Lo'ak, Kiri, or even Tuk. Your interactions with him typically consist of simple hellos whenever you pass each other in the Sully tent, aimless lighthearted conversations during your joint training sessions, or joining forces to playfully (not really) gang up on Lo'ak in a mutual spirit of camaraderie. Even though these moments are undoubtedly positive and enjoyable, they're also few and far between compared to your experiences with the other Sully kids.

Neteyam always has so much shit to do, so many things to train for, so many duties to obey. You'd be lying if you said you didn't feed into Lo'ak's 'perfect little warrior' quip about Neteyam behind his back.

And when Jake decides to send all of the warriors in your training group on paired week-long hunting trips to put your acquired skills to the test, he doesn't even think twice before shooting down your and Lo'ak's mutual request to team up because he's a heartless, cruel old man he has first-hand experience of the way you and Lo'ak seem to revert back to children in each other's presence.

Lo'ak gets paired with some stony old head who's over twice his age, while you get paired with Neteyam, which actually is alright with you. Neteyam sends you a warm smile when his father points you his way, and you, in turn, shoot a massive grin back at Lo'ak's sad little face.

The hunting trip goes even better than you could've imagined. Throughout the week-long journey, not only do you make a handful of clean kills, but you also manage to break through some of the emotional barriers that Neteyam has always maintained around himself. Behind his protective walls, when he lets his guard down, he's just like any other Na'vi your age—he's witty, charming, and endearing in his own distinctive way.

He's also objectively nice to look at.

So it's really no one's business if you find yourself mesmerized by the muscles rippling across his back as he draws his bowstring, aiming at a fish you should be helping him track. Or if you're too busy admiring the way his tanhì glow in the moonlight to register that he's called your name three times in a row without receiving your response. You're an adult; you’re allowed to admire other men. Besides, Neteyam seems to be blissfully unaware of the fact that he's a heartthrob. He's kind of introverted and shy, yet arguably one of Pandora's most genuine and kind-hearted souls. And honestly? You feel kind of stupid for not taking the time to peel back each layer of his carefully crafted facade and build a deeper friendship with him sooner. It's an unexpected companionship that blossoms during those days spent side by side with Neteyam in Pandora's mesmerizing beauty, and it'll forever be a treasured part of your shared memories.

Upon returning from your week-long hunting trip, it's apparent to just about everyone that something has changed between you and Neteyam. Your bond has deepened, and every moment spent together is more meaningful than before. Your laughter booms louder; your conversations last longer; your shared glances become more playful. To say the experience has brought you closer would be the understatement of the century.

Lo'ak quickly picks up on the not-so-subtle changes in your friendship with his brother.

The shift in dynamics has left him feeling a confusing mix of emotions—anger, hurt, and maybe even (definitely) a tinge of envy. As he watches his brother grow closer to you, he can't help but feel like he's losing the one stable thing in his life—the one person who never mocked him for his avatar blood, never made him feel like an outcast, never picked his brother over him.

Not until now.

It's bullshit. It's like Neteyam doesn't have enough blessings already, like he doesn't have his choice of any other person on Pandora. It just had to be you. With each passing day, Lo'ak feels himself becoming more distant from you and his brother, unsure how to navigate those choppy waters.

Which brings him to today.

The three of you are together, riding your ikran to scout out an uncharted waterfall that you stumbled across while on a solo hunt earlier that week. You practically begged Lo'ak to go back to the waterfall with you, and despite all the emotional commotion clouding Lo'ak's mind, he still decides to join you, hoping that maybe things will return to normal. Just you and him. What he doesn’t know, however, is that you also invited Neteyam to tag along. It’s a surprise Lo'ak discovers only when he arrives at your meeting spot and finds his brother already there, leaning on his ikran and chatting away with you like the two of you are best friends. Neteyam has a stupid smile plastered on his face as he holds your attention, completely oblivious to his brother’s arrival.

He never intended on slipping into this role—the one left behind. But here he is, grappling with feelings he can't totally name or understand; vulnerability mixed with longing, anger chased by guilt.

Childishly, Lo'ak stands there in silence for a good ten seconds before either of you notice his arrival and finally make room for him in your little group.

"Hey," you greet him, a wide grin spreading across your face. But it goes entirely unnoticed by Lo’ak, whose eyes are dead set on his brother. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can telepathically tell Neteyam to go away.

"You didn't say he was coming," Lo'ak mutters, finally glancing in your direction. Because you didn't. He doesn’t even need to say his name; it’s obvious. The two of you never include his brother in your outings.

Your enthused expression falters at Lo'ak's noticeable lack of excitement or even a simple 'hello' in response to your greeting.

"No…" you begin hesitantly, your eyes darting back and forth between the two brothers before settling once more on Lo'ak. "But Jake got called to High Camp and canceled Neteyam's training session, so I figured he could join us instead."

It must be obvious that your words haven't exactly won Lo'ak over because, at his continued silence, you add, "You know he never gets a break."

Lo'ak's jaw clenches as he just stands there, motionless and marinating in his stubborn silence. In his head, he's cussing out his dad and Max and Norm and everyone else in High Camp for ruining his afternoon. Lo'ak frustratedly bites the inside of his cheek to keep the expletives in before calling out to his ikran. As he waits for his ride, he's still silent and brooding and completely ignoring both you and his brother.

The high-pitched shriek of his banshee echoes off the trees as it approaches from a nearby cliff. It swoops down and lands gracefully in front of Lo'ak, and he reaches out to scratch it behind the ear without a word. Only then does he finally lift his gaze to find you and Neteyam staring at him in bewildered silence.

Neteyam's previously wide eyes squint in confusion when Lo'ak locks eyes with him. Struggling to find the right words, Neteyam asks carefully, "Is that okay with you?" His voice is slow and cautious, as if one wrong move might set Lo'ak off.

Lo'ak responds with a deep sigh that echoes through the air, not even bothering to hide his irritation. Reaching over his shoulder for his queue, he connects to and mounts his ikran in a flash of silent, swift movements. After settling on its back and letting the tense silence steep for a few moments, Lo'ak answers his brother's inquiry with an annoyed shrug of his shoulders and an uptight "Sure."

So, to say that Lo'ak was pissed would be an understatement.

A bubbling cauldron of jealousy and resentment brewed inside him throughout the entire flight to the waterfall. And as all three of you land your ikran onto a nearby patch of grass, his blood continues to seethe with envy. Lo’ak grabs his queue and separates the connection between himself and his ikran. Immediately after doing so, the ikran emits a sharp hiss directly in his face. The creature then abruptly shifts its gaze, evidently fed up about sharing Lo'ak's unnerving emotions through their bond. Lo'ak knows it's immature to be so upset over something so seemingly insignificant, but it still gnaws at him relentlessly. So much so that the prospect of seeing the waterfall doesn't even excite him anymore. The entire outing feels overshadowed by the looming presence of his brother.

Clearly though, you feel the complete opposite way. You're practically vibrating in anticipation, each beat of your ikran's wings drawing you closer to the ground. As soon as you land, you hurriedly shower your ikran in affection with a few loving pats on its flank before quickly dismounting and happily leading the way toward the waterfall.

Lo'ak and Neteyam have to jog a little to keep up with your enthusiastic pace as you navigate through the dense forest landscape. You're a good ten steps ahead of them, deftly bobbing and weaving beneath low-hanging branches while simultaneously working to untie the armband from around your bicep. Your figure keeps disappearing from Lo'ak's view—vanishing behind veils of cascading leaves one moment and leaping over boulders the next as you determinedly forge ahead. It’s like you’ve never been outside before.

Finally, he catches sight of you, standing triumphantly at the base of a colossal rocky wall. Rising above you is a mind-blowing waterfall that makes Lo'ak pause in his tracks. It stands so tall and roars so loud that he momentarily forgets all about his shitty mood. No amount of grumbling or sarcasm can compete with, or diminish, the raw power of the wonder that lies before him. A thick mist envelops the base where the water comes crashing down, blurring the boundary between the waterfall and the pool below. Beams of daylight pierce through the airborne water droplets, casting vibrant spectrums of color that seem almost alive as they dance across the expanse of the creek.

Using both hands, you gather your braids away from your face and retrieve the armband from its position clenched firmly between your teeth. Your back faces Lo'ak as you drink in the mesmerizing sight before you, and your excitement is practically bubbling over as you shout over the roar of the waterfall, "Isn't it amazing? I told you, I've never seen anything so beautiful."

The blend of mist, light, and color casts a glowing halo around your figure as you secure your hair with the band, and Lo'ak is momentarily entranced. His breaths are a little shallow as he nods wordlessly at your back, not really processing your words, but fully convinced of them nonetheless.

Your head tilts back as you crane your neck to further examine the sprawling wall of rock. "It's kind of a climb to get to the top," you warn. Lo'ak can practically see the gears turning in your head as you map out the best route up, the strategic warrior in you taking over. When your focused attention finally returns to Lo'ak and Neteyam, there's a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. "We should race," you challenge them with a grin.

The rugged, nearly vertical incline is intimidating but definitely doable. Lo'ak knows you're a skilled climber; the two of you spent your childhood scaling trees together. He fondly recalls days spent scrambling up trees and challenging each other to reach the highest branches. It felt like the biggest accomplishment in the world when you'd both reach the summit of Hometree. You'd bask in the view of the forest from the canopy until your parents inevitably tracked you down and scolded you for your reckless behavior.

You practically made climbing trees your entire personalities until Lo'ak's dumbass had to go and fall out of one. It left him with a nasty purple bruise that was way too big to hide, and when he went to his grandmother for healing, you were both unceremoniously banned from your cherished little hobby. It wasn't even that high up, but you've never let him live it down—constantly (and only half-jokingly) claiming that the accident is the sole reason he's a little off in the head.

The memory makes Lo'ak's lips twitch into a grin, and he's about to remind you of that nostalgic day when Neteyam speaks up.

"I guess it's good we didn’t invite monkey boy," Neteyam says, entirely serious. He's gazing up at the rocky enclosure in determination, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh daylight before turning back to face you.

Your face scrunches up in confusion as you ask, “Who?”

Neteyam just nods at you before clarifying, “Spider.”

Lo'ak watches as you're silent for a few beats before you break out into a slow, wide grin and let out a loud snort of laughter.

Lo'ak has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes, because nothing that Neteyam said warranted that kind of reaction. The remark wasn't even supposed to be funny; their whole family has been calling Spider by that nickname ever since he was little. But of course, the first time you hear that piece of information, it has to come from none other than Neteyam. And Lo'ak just has to stand there in silence like a third wheel for the umpteenth time that day.

You’re barely able to string together words through your uncontrollable bubbles of laughter. "My Eywa," you gasp out, your eyes squeezed shut as you shake your head in disbelief. Finally catching your breath, you implore him lightheartedly, "You need to tell jokes more often, Neteyam. I’m serious."

Lo'ak knows that you're probably being a little sarcastic and a little serious at the same time, but either way, it's not like Neteyam knows that. He's just beaming back at you with that same dopey look on his face as he basks in your amusement.

"I will…?" comes Neteyam's response, almost as if it were a question or a statement requiring some kind of validation. Lo'ak watches as you extend an arm to playfully nudge the back of his brother's head. This time, Lo'ak does roll his eyes as the two of you fall into a cycle of tugging on each other's braids and tails like a pair of five-year-olds.

And it's been like this more and more often lately: Neteyam showering you with attention, you grinning from ear to ear and laughing at every single word that leaves his lips. It's irritating. And it gets even worse.

You finally manage to sneak out of Neteyam's reach, refocusing your sight on the towering wall ahead.

"I'll go first," you declare confidently, surveying the wall from top to bottom as you adjust the bow and arrows securely fastened to your back. You locate a small protrusion in the rock's rough surface and firmly position your foot into the crevice, your fingers searching for a higher ledge to grip. Finding one, you propel your entire body upwards with a determined leap.

Lo'ak, unable to suppress his competitive inner child, is soon hot on your heels. From the moment you both mastered your bow and arrow, taking down your prey with clean precision, to the day you tamed and forged a bond with each of your ikran, your combined spirit of friendly competition has fueled a relentless desire to outdo each other.

And today is no different.

"Bro, wait up!" Lo'ak shouts, his voice cutting through the cool mountain air. "I thought you said we were racing!" He scrambles onto the wall beside you, his eyes locked on your every move. Your quick hands and feet expertly navigate the rough, uneven surface of the rock wall, leading the way up.

"We are," you retort, not even sparing a glance at him as you carefully calculate each handhold and foothold. You keep your focus on the task at hand, stretching your arm out to grab a rock to your far left.

Lo'ak extends his arm to grip the same rock you just occupied. He's well aware and not at all ashamed of the fact that he's blatantly copying your every move now—anything to keep up with your quick pace.

"Then why'd you start without us?" he manages to ask, a little bit out of breath.

"So you can watch and learn," you reply confidently, a smug smile playing at the corners of your lips. Your outstretched foot reaches over just enough to give Lo'ak's shoulder a teasing little nudge.

"Txanfwìngtu," Lo'ak mutters under his breath, but clearly not quiet enough. The unmistakable sound of his brother's disapproving "Lo'ak" reverberates through the air behind him. You whip your head in Lo'ak's direction before half-heartedly hissing at him. Your attempt at intimidation quickly dissolves into barely-contained laughter as you revel in the look of pure irritation on Lo'ak's face.

You're still laughing as you resume climbing, but as you take your next step, you miscalculate your foot's placement on the rugged surface and momentarily lose your balance, whispering a soft "shit." But before you even have a chance to panic, you quickly catch yourself and regain your footing like it's nothing. Because it isn't.

But Neteyam, the picture-perfect angel that he is, doesn't hesitate to reach out and steady you from his spot standing right behind you, even though you're barely as high off the ground as Tuk's height and it's obvious you're not going to fall.

Lo'ak’s brows furrow as he watches your entire body tense up the instant Neteyam's hands wrap around your waist.

Something ugly swirls in Lo'ak's stomach as he notices the way his brother's eyes are practically glued to your waist, his fingers lingering on you for a few beats too long for it to feel friendly anymore. It's not until you turn your head over your shoulder to meet Neteyam's gaze that he actually has the presence of mind to shift his eyes up toward yours and let go of your middle.

"Sorry," he mumbles, so quiet and timid that you'd think he was lying if he told you he was the future leader of the entire clan.

"No, no, it's okay. Thank you," you say with a smile, clearly trying to brush it off and diffuse any lingering awkwardness from the situation. You turn back around and resume your ascent like nothing, but it doesn't escape Lo'ak's notice that he can detect the distinct scent of your arousal in the air, as clear as day.

It's a natural reaction, something Lo'ak has noticed before in various situations without any cause for concern. He'd usually just tease you about it, and that would be that. But today is different. Seeing his brother so close to you and knowing how easily those kinds of emotions can rise to the surface because of his presence makes something ugly swirl in Lo'ak's stomach.

Lo'ak has become increasingly agitated by your budding friendship with his brother ever since that week-long hunting trip you shared with him. And now? Now he's just confused. Everything feels so different. He's almost positive that there's something more going on between you and Neteyam—something deeper than just a normal, platonic friendship. The nagging feeling inside him refuses to go away, and he can't understand why it hurts so much.

You and Lo'ak have always been best friends—nothing more and nothing less. He's watched you talk to other men in the clan. There were countless instances where guys would boldly make a pass at you, even with Lo'ak standing right there by your side. But he'd always just laugh it off or poke fun at you. Because deep down, he's confident none of them are truly worthy of you, and nothing serious will ever come out of those flirtations.

But things are different now. Along came Neteyam—the perfect little warrior son who defies each and every one of those odds. Lo'ak can't ignore the fact that his brother is more than good enough for you. In fact, Neteyam is probably one of the few clan members who could actually be considered suitable for someone like you. This harsh truth strikes Lo'ak like a massive weight dropping on his chest.

Because of this, it's increasingly difficult for Lo'ak to shake off the nagging suspicion that something must've happened between the two of you. His mind is practically racing as thoughts of what could have transpired between you and Neteyam play over and over again inside his head like a dissonant, never-ending loop. Because what the fuck was that back at the bottom of the waterfall? Even now, your scent lingers in the air like a constant reminder of how Neteyam put his hands on you, cruelly etched into Lo'ak's memory.

He tries to focus on anything else but that moment: the lush forest surrounding the waterfall, the light filtering through the rustling leaves above, a stingbat hanging from a tree branch. He even tries taking deep breaths to calm himself down, but nothing works. It's like the soundtrack of his thoughts can't be silenced. He's a swirling vortex of anger, confusion, and betrayal, demanding an outlet to release all the pent-up turmoil.

So as soon as the little waterfall outing is all said and done and you all return to Hometree, Lo'ak swiftly grabs Neteyam's arm, pulling him aside. A puzzled expression sweeps across Neteyam's features, which only fuels Lo'ak's rising frustration over the entire situation. But the tense silence hanging in the air is cut short by your concerned voice.

"Is everything okay?" You inquire, your wide eyes dancing back and forth between the two brothers, searching for some kind of explanation.

Lo'ak's eyes, previously burning with rage, soften as they shift from his brother to your worried face. You just have that effect on him.

With a brief nod of his head and a forced grin, Lo'ak tries to casually address your concerns. "Yeah, don't worry about it. I just need to talk to Neteyam about something." Sensing the tension ebbing away, he loosens his previously iron grip on his brother's arm, finally allowing it to drop altogether. "We'll catch up with you later."

Lo'ak holds his breath as you narrow your eyes at him, your face a clear mask of suspicion given his not-at-all-reassuring response. Your eyes dart toward Neteyam, who only offers you a shrug and a half-hearted smile. But clearly, he doesn't fully understand what's happening either.

Lo'ak doesn't let out the breath he's holding until you give him a reluctant nod in agreement before walking away.

Lo'ak's eyes are glued to your retreating form as you walk away, pushing past a group of low-hanging vines and disappearing into the distance. He refuses to tear his gaze away until he feels confident that you're far enough from him and his brother. With his heart pounding in his chest, he turns to face Neteyam, his eyes filled with accusation.

Without bothering to offer any preamble or context, he bluntly demands to know: "Did you fuck her?" This question has consumed him for what feels like an eternity—days melting into weeks.

Neteyam just blinks at Lo'ak, caught off-guard by the explosive confrontation. His forehead wrinkles, and his eyes squint towards his younger brother, clearly puzzled by the unexpectedness of the question. As shock gives way to disbelief, all he can muster in response is an incredulous "Are you serious?"

Lo'ak shoots back with a sarcastic huff of laughter, but his expression is anything but amused. "Dead serious, bro," he confirms, punctuating the statement with a firm nod of his head.

Neteyam's hands reach up seemingly unconsciously as they rake through his braids in clear frustration before rubbing at the sides of his temples. His eyes squeeze shut as he takes a moment to process the incredulity of it all before shaking his head and sighing heavily in exasperation.

He finally opens his eyes again and answers with unwavering certainty. "No," he replies with conviction, locking eyes with his brother to drive home the sincerity of his words.

Although Lo'ak finally feels a hint of relief surge through him at Neteyam's denial, the rage he's been harboring toward the entire situation continues to seethe just beneath the surface.

"But you want to, right?" he questions, his voice laced with a touch of hysteria, his frustration boiling over. "You just can't help yourself from taking the one person in my life who actually cares about me? You're that fucking selfish?" Lo'ak's mind races as he rambles on, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His fists clench tightly at his sides, just itching to find their way to his brother's face.

Neteyam seems genuinely taken aback by Lo'ak's sudden outburst. He actually has the nerve to look like he's in disbelief. "That's not fair, and you know it," Neteyam says, his voice carrying a hint of hurt.

Lo'ak scoffs at Neteyam's defense, shaking his head in frustration. "Not fair? You're so full of shit," Lo'ak fires back. Because Neteyam will never understand. His life is picture-perfect. He doesn't have to carry the burden of being the second-born son—always the second thought, always living in someone else's shadow. He'll never get it.

Neteyam tries to reason with Lo'ak, his voice calm and pleading as if he's carefully picking each word to tread lightly on volatile ground. "Look, Lo'ak," he begins, his words measured like he'd practiced them already. It wouldn't really shock Lo'ak if that was the case.

"Y/n and I appreciate each other's company, but it's never crossed the boundaries of friendship. Still, I don't see why that matters. You told me the two of you are just friends, right?"

Lo'ak's silence hangs heavy in the air, as if the weight of the truth is finally sinking in. Neteyam's words weren't untrue; Lo'ak can't deny them. There were rumors floating around about you and him supposedly courting each other, barely over a year ago. You and he just laughed about it before mutually shutting everything down because you weren't anything more than friends. Aren't anything more than friends. But now the memories of those rumored whispers haunt him, like they're laughing at how stupid and confused he is about everything concerning you all of a sudden.

Lo'ak hesitates for what seems like an eternity, drawing a knowing smile from Neteyam, who then places a firm hand on top of Lo'ak's head like he's a little kid. The gesture only serves to intensify the fire burning within Lo'ak. Neteyam doesn't know anything about his friendship with you.

Frustration and anger bubble up within Lo'ak as he forcefully wrenches his brother's arm away from him. "Get your hands off me," he mumbles, taking several steps back to put some distance between them. "And keep your hands off y/n," he adds as an afterthought, his voice bitter with resentment.

The air between the two brothers is thick with tension and unresolved emotions. It's like a storm, just waiting to break loose. Their bond has always been iffy, but at this moment, it feels like it could be severed altogether by the thin thread barely keeping them connected.

It's too much.

Without another word, Lo'ak turns and walks away, each of his footsteps heavy with the weight of his tormenting feelings.

A/N: This feels so dramatic?? Lmfao this is exactly why I don't write angst, but I do have a second part sitting in my drafts 😼

Next part here

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chickenparm · 6 months

Text

Give of Yourself (fox!Tartaglia/f!Reader)

check out the full version of the header art by @lemonemlyn!

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AO3 LINK

fox!Tartaglia/f!Reader 6,989 Words - NSFW (mating bites, knotting, breeding, mild dirty talk, reader is referred to a handful of times as "pretty")

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The first time you meet him is in the depths of the woods, the snow up to your knees as you hunch over your traps and deftly retrieve what’s going to be your dinner for the next few days.

At first you don’t even hear him. He doesn’t make a sound until he’s within arm’s reach, his boot crunching against the snow in a movement that you now know was intentional. After some time, you’d realize he’d never let you hear him there if he didn’t explicitly want you to know. The sound makes you drop the limp hare in the snow, the ones slung over your shoulder falling as well with the speed that you draw your weapon.

But it’s unnecessary. At the time, you’d assumed him unarmed, so your guard lowered slightly. He simply had a smile on his face and both hands raised in surrender, and a polite question on his lips. “Could I share your dinner this evening?”

Simple, polite, and almost forgotten when you catch sight of the soft auburn-colored appendage swishing behind him, the long triangles perched atop his head.

Tartaglia, he told you his name was, at least for the moment. When you inquire a little further, he just says that different situations require different names, but all of them are inherently correct. So, Tartaglia is his name, and he isn’t offended in the slightest when you ask if he’s a fox envoy from Inazuma.

“I’m Snezhnayan, like you. How could that be what I am?” Tartaglia carries your hares over his shoulder, following along in your footsteps in the snow but somehow looming over from behind you. It’s a bit unsettling, but he’s been nothing but cordial during this short interaction, so you chalk it up to your own uneasiness of people.

“I am no fox envoy,” Tartaglia says with finality. “But I am a Fox.”

“What’s the difference?” You ask as your cabin comes into view. A small, one-roomed thing with sturdy stone walls and a thatched roof just installed this last summer.

Tartaglia laughs a little, following your lead in stomping the packed-in snow from the bottoms of your boots. You rest them by the door when you enter your home, swapping for shoes that are softer, more comfortable. There are none for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, the cold doesn’t bother him at all.

“Fox envoys are fox envoys, and a Fox is a Fox. You’re thinking too hard about it.” Tartaglia says this as if he were explaining that the sky is blue, and snow is cold, and there’s one extra hare strung on your line than what you remember lifting from your traps. You eye it curiously, but say nothing of the strange gift.

Taking them from him to begin preparing, you ask, “Well, are foxes some divine being? Are you immortal?”

“Foxes are Foxes, and I live as long as a Fox usually does.” Tartaglia watches patiently as you work, not offering to help, but you wouldn’t have accepted it anyway. He’s a guest, and you’d rather he just answer your questions. It’s been far too long since you’ve spoken with another person since the snows kept you in place for the season.

One rabbit is finished as you mull over his answers. Then, with more questions, you speak. “You’re not very good at answering questions, you know.”

“You’re just not asking the right questions.” While you work, he wanders your home, looking over your shelves and belongings, but never touching. Occasionally, his fingers will flex in his gloves like he’d love to pick up a trinket or book, but he’s remarkably respectful. “Try again.”

You hum, setting aside more bits and pieces of your prey, some to eat and some to preserve. “How long do foxes live?”

“As long as they like.”

“And how long do you like, since you’re a fox?”

A smile spreads on his face over his shoulder, and you try not to return it too widely at the prospect of playing this little game with him. Each question he answers dutifully, and you try your best to wheedle him into a corner where you can get the results you want. With careful maneuvering, by the time you’ve started roasting the rabbit and the fat is dripping and hissing in the fire, you’ve learned a handful of things about your guest.

Tartaglia is a Fox. Not a fox, but a Fox. There’s a distinction in how he says it, one that you eventually pick up on. Where he comes from are the forests around Morepesok, the ones you also call home, and he’s only now shown his face because he was bored. When you ask if Foxes can even get bored, he laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

Tartaglia tells you he likes you, and asks if it would be out of line to return and pass the time in your presence. You say yes, of course, because you’ve never met a Fox before and he seems like a rather charming kind.

The next time you see him, he’s across the river as you squat near the edge and check your cages. They’re all empty, meaning you’ll be eating salt-cured hare again tonight. As you look up, he’s already made it to your side without a sound. It’s not nearly as unsettling as you expected.

“Rabbit again, it seems,” you gripe, getting to your feet and dusting the snow from your pants. Tartaglia doesn’t seem terribly put off, instead giving you a shrug. His tail sweeps lazily from side to side, the tip leaving a single large crescent in the snow behind him. Clutched in his hand are the back legs of another hare, fresh enough that you won’t need to subsist off salted and dried meat for dinner.

On the way back to your cabin, you pose more questions for him. “Do you have human ears, too?”

“Why would I?” And you glance up as he follows along next to you. There are no human ears beneath the ginger locks of his hair. Just the two soft appendages at the top that swivel as if he were listening to everything around the two of you. “I’m not human, what use would I have for human ears?”

“Are Fox ears better? Why would humans need human ears, then?”

“Because humans are humans.” Tartaglia says simply, stepping over a log across the path and holding out a hand for you to brace on to follow after him. He does it naturally, as if it were second-nature to assist you with something so trivial. He doesn’t let your hand go until you’re safely on the other side.

“And Foxes are Foxes?” You ask, and his mouth curls in a little smile, like he’s proud of you for such a thing.

“Now you’re getting it!”

The third time he appears before you is a week after the second. It would be a lie to say you don’t recognize him immediately. The shade of his fur is the same as always, though it covers the slim and lithe body of a fox - a Fox, he would correct you - and you would recognize the shade of his eyes everywhere.

Snow reflects so much light, yet none of it seems to catch in his gaze.

Tartaglia follows after you, unperturbed by the fish hanging off your line as you carry it back home. Without asking, you know he plans to stay for dinner, and it’s a surprisingly quiet evening as he curls up on the warmed stones of your fireplace and pointedly remains underfoot as you try to cook. Even a nudge with your toes doesn’t move him, and you have to step over and around Tartaglia to ensure the fish is ready to eat.

“Can you change back?” You ask, sitting on the floor next to him. There’s a plate nearby with his food, but he hasn’t touched it yet. Instead he sprawls on his back with his stomach being warmed by the fire. It takes all your willpower not to reach out and pet him.

He might find it undignified, but he doesn’t seem particularly worried about being dignified. Only that you understand that he’s a Fox, not a fox.

Tartaglia tilts his head to look at you, and somehow you know he’s saying yes. So, you continue with, “Will you? I like how you look normally.”

He doesn’t respond. In fact, his eyes simply close and he looks impossibly smug as he waits for you to take your own utensils to be cleaned before he wolfs down his food. With an annoyed sound when you return, you take his empty plate to clean that, too. In the beginning, you wondered if he did these things on purpose. Now you know for certain that he does.

Tartaglia appears to you as himself only a few days later.

“Is this more to your liking?” Tartaglia gives you cheek with a little smile, ducking his head beneath the top of the door frame as he enters your home without knocking. You can’t bring yourself to mind much at all - he is always welcome.

Glancing up from the clothes you’re mending, you look him up and down pointedly before nodding once. “Yes, I prefer this much more.”

“I thought you’d prefer the other. I’ve been told I make a very handsome Fox.”

“By whom?” You ask, scrunching your nose at him. “Other foxes? They’re biased.”

“And so are you,” Tartaglia points out, moving to sit down on the same stones he’d sprawled across only a few nights before. “This form is more human, so you would prefer it. Both are correct.”

“Like your names,” you agree, and he gives you that little smile that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even so, you undeniably enjoy seeing it.

On his next visit, Tartaglia brings you a gift.

It’s a little thing, just barely fitting into the palm of your hand. It’s a small dome made of metal, the golden latticework interspersed with little squares of blue and red. Upon opening it, you find that it’s a music box, one that plays a tune you’ve never heard before, yet makes you nostalgic. Almost instinctively, you want to hum it, and Tartaglia hums with you as if guiding you along the notes.

The music box becomes your most prized possession. There’s little use for pretty trinkets this far out in the wilderness, yet every night before you sleep, you wind it up and drift off to the sound. When he sees it displayed on your mantle, Tartaglia seems to beam with an unknown, positive emotion.

It is not the only gift he brings, but it is your favorite.

Once, after dinner and before you turned in for the evening, Tartaglia gets to his feet and holds a hand out for you, ears forward and alert, tail moving with lazy interest. “Play it again and dance with me?”

Your movements are clumsy, but like he guided you with the music, he nudges you along with the dance. Tartaglia’s dexterity keeps you from stepping on his toes, but you learn soon enough how to match his steps to the music. He does not let you falter.

At your waist his hand curls, the other lacing with your fingers, and you can’t help but notice how impossibly warm he is. Like a furnace pressed to your front, you feel as if you’re burning alive as he hums to the music with half-lidded eyes and looks down at you with that same unfamiliar expression.

From this close, he smells like snow and the sun and pine needles. As if he’d dashed through the underbrush and picked up the scent of the forests around you. It’s almost enough to make you melt into him, his very presence becoming familiar and adored. You wonder if perhaps it’s in his nature to make himself endearing, to worm his way into your life and make space so easily.

It’s not as if you’ve made it difficult.

Winter turns to Spring, and Spring creeps close enough to Summer that the snow begins to melt and you feel more comfortable making trips into the village. On your first, Tartaglia muses upon the idea of going with you, but then backs out after a moment of consideration.

“Foxes aren’t welcome. Not in Morepesok,” Tartaglia explains, and you can’t help but be a little put-off after having hoped he would spend the day with you in the village.

But you understand. It’s an insulated town, and the unknown and unusual are frightening to them. Perhaps that’s why he never showed up to you until now? It’s hard to get an answer out of him pertaining to his reasoning, not with how expertly he’s able to weave your questions into something confusing and nonsensical.

Without his company, you see no reason to linger long. Once, you might have spent hours in the village socializing, getting used to the feeling of people. But this last Winter has been filled neatly with Tartaglia’s presence, and you haven’t felt lonely - not once.

With that in mind, you gather up all your gratitude and return to your home with a pull-cart of supplies and a single frivolity on top. Tartaglia is waiting for you, and he hasn’t bothered to hide the way he’s paced circles around your cabin, prints of boots and paws that intertwine with one another.

When you present him with your gift, he holds the stuffed toy in his hands, turning it this way and that. “More trinkets for your shelves?” Tartaglia asks, and you can’t help but laugh at him the same way he laughs at you. Only when it leaves your chest do you realize it’s laced with fondness.

“No, it’s for you. A gift. I’m sorry it isn’t fancy, my kind of life doesn’t leave much room for that.”

Tartaglia is silent for a long, long time.

After he’s taken his gift and disappeared on you for nearly a week, he returns once more when you’re settled into the snow next to a hole cut through the ice, bundled up in your furs with a fishing pole poised and waiting for a bite. Initially, you expect him to take a space across from you, but then you’re startled when he reaches down to pluck the pole from your hands and jam the handle into the snow.

Before you can protest, worried that you’ll miss a bite, his hands now reach for your cloak to untuck it from around you. You’re left bereft and cold, an argument poised on your lips about how you don’t have natural immunity like he seems to have.

Ultimately, you’re silenced by the way he sidles up behind you, bracketing your body with his legs, the heat rolling off him seeping immediately through your layers. Your forgotten cloak sits in the snow as furs of russet and auburn settle around the two of you comfortably. All thoughts of fishing for your dinner are lost as a dreamy sort of haze settles over you.

“Isn’t this better?” Tartaglia sounds a bit smug as he speaks over your shoulder, his cheek brushing against your temple. “The fur of a Fox is much warmer than anything else.”

“These are yours?” You ask, your hand tentatively running along the softness, strands plush against your fingers.

Something rumbles behind you, right up against your spine, beneath Tartaglia’s sternum. “Yes, and now they’re yours. You’ll keep them safe for me, won’t you?”

Of course, you will. You’ve never held on to something this sumptuous in your life. Absently you continue stroking them, the rumbling at your back lulling you into a trance the likes of which you’ve never felt before. It’s so enthralling that you don’t notice the tip of your fishing pole nudging, or the way he reaches out to pick the rod up and pull in your catch.

Once the fish is writhing on the surface do you snap back to reality and set to work killing it and stringing it up to take home with you. Tartaglia resets your line, then those long arms wind around your middle to pull you back into the warmth of his furs. The cycle repeats, you’ve never felt this secure in your life. Having to pull away to return once the sun starts to sink feels like the greatest torture.

Tartaglia leaves the furs with you, reminding you of your promise to keep them safe and to wear them when you’re in the trees. You do not see him in the form of a fox again.

At night, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to sleeping with them, keeping the thickness wrapped around you snug enough that your blankets are unnecessary now. Inadvertently, Tartaglia keeps you warm as you’re encompassed in the scent and heat of him. You’re not quite sure how he’d react if he knew that you were so taken with this, with him.

Secretly, you hope he’d give you that sweet smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes, and gather you up into his arms so you’d never be cold again. Having his fur is as close as you think you’ll get.

One morning, you sleep in late. Your food stores are plentiful with the comparatively warmer months, there’s enough wood chopped, you have only small chores to do that won’t take much time at all. So, you roll over on your side and snuggle into Tartaglia’s furs with a pleased little smile and a dreamy sigh. Somehow, they still smell like him, even after a handful of weeks.

The bed dips, first at your back, then at your front, and as you turn your head to look upward, you see Tartaglia hovering over you, looking curiously at your sleepy expression. Only his quiet breaths and yours fill the silence, the fire having long burnt out through the evening and morning. The dull blue of his eyes travels from your face to the warmth you’re wrapped in, something shifting, turning a little darker.

Against your cheeks, you can feel his breath shake as he exhales, then inhales, then says, “You accept, then?”

You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but you’re sleepy enough that you simply smile and nod. In truth, there aren’t many things that you wouldn’t do if he asked it of you. So accepting something blindly isn’t so frightening when it comes to Tartaglia.

“Wonderful,” Tartaglia murmurs, leaning closer, lips brushing against your cheek and nearly searing your skin. “You look so perfect like this, pretty Mate.”

Mate. The word makes your eyes crack open again, staring over his shoulder at the ceiling as his lips press more firmly against your cheek with purpose. Pine and snow fill your lungs as you inhale, then let it all go. You’ve realized with Tartaglia that perhaps questioning everything is the incorrect route.

If you watch with patience, you’ll learn what you want to know.

Shifting his weight to prop on one hand, his knee pressed into the bed near your lower back, Tartaglia’s other hand lifts to curl around the edge of the furs, pulling it down to get a better look at your face. “You don’t even know what you did. Do you?”

It’s not something he needs an answer to. You’re well aware that he knows you’re confused, yet still trusting all the same. Being cradled in the most precious part of his being feels as if it empties you of thought and refills you with affection that overflows. Tartaglia smiles, your heart flutters.

“Every step was perfect,” he muses, letting go of the furs to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing beneath your eye in a soft arch. Over his shoulder, the gentle sway of his tail catches your eye, back and forth like a metronome that soothes you. “You let me in your den. You accepted the prey I brought you.”

Lips brush against your cheek once more, his hand on the opposite keeping you steady as he speaks his words into you. “You expressed approval of my appearance. The music box was a courting gift; you accepted that. We danced and played together. You returned with a gift of your own.”

Letting go of your cheek, his fingers reach down to tug at the furs a little more, showing more of your face, your neck, your shoulders. Steadily he tugs it free until he can slip beneath it with you, sharing the warmth of his body until you feel smothered and safe.

“I gave you my form - my fur. It’s the way of Mates, you know. The exchange of what makes us who we are.” The curl of his body slots behind your own, pulling you back against his chest until every inch of you is tight against him, no space left for anything more than complete understanding.

A thought tickles at his previous words, and your voice feels weak and jumbled as you murmur, “I have nothing to give you in return.”

“I know. It doesn’t make our bond worth any less,” Tartaglia answers, face nuzzling into your neck, the feel of something sharp over where your pulse pounds the strongest. “You’ll give me yourself. I’ll mark you, and you’ll be mine, and that’ll be enough.”

Again, the drag of sharpness that could only be his teeth. Sharp pointed canines that you’ve seen enough to no longer be completely intrigued by. The slide of his hands around your waist as he squeezes you tight, one palm pressed to your stomach. “And I will be yours. I’ll care for you, protect you. Keep you safe and happy and full of my kits.”

Your thoughts feel muddled, but they’re still your own. No matter how comfortable you feel, how pliant you are beneath his hands, the words still bring you pause. Of course being his Mate would entail that, it should have been obvious when he first mentioned it. And yet, it doesn’t scare you as much as it might have before.

You fully expect him to do something. Anything. For him to bite you, or paw at you, or do anything except what he does now. Tartaglia’s body cradles yours and his hand strokes over your stomach and he inhales deeply at your neck as if he can’t bother breathing if it isn’t laced with your scent.

The movements almost lull you back to sleep. Your eyes have trouble staying open, and the strange weightlessness of unconsciousness makes your sink further into him. As a last resort, because you cannot simply let things lie, you ask, “Won’t you do it?”

“No,” he answers simply, not elaborating until you’re starting to prickle with impatience. For once, he has mercy on you. “You haven’t given me yourself, yet.”

“How?” Your question is only met with the slow spread of a smile against your shoulder. You think you might know.

Tartaglia’s grip falters a little, allowing him to move his hands to your hips to nudge you onto your stomach. With careful hands, he coaxes you to lift them, higher and higher until you’re propped on your knees, chest to the furs you’ve gathered subconsciously to cushion yourself for what you must intrinsically know is coming.

Those hands on your body squeeze, fingers pressing into your skin as if to test the give, and he hums appreciatively. “Good for grabbing, like I suspected.”

Tartaglia has seen you in many states. Bundled up in all your layers, only your eyes peeking over the edge of your scarf. In warm, casual clothing as you cook dinner. In your bedclothes when you’ve just woken and he politely demands breakfast. But there have been very few instances where he’s touched you.

A hand in yours as he helps you over fallen trees or across ice that the wind has blown mirror-smooth. The brushing of fingers as he passes you whatever prey he’s offering on a given day, the memories heavier now that you know what his intent has always been. His chest pressed to your back as he wrapped you in his furs - himself - for the first time.

But this is different. This squeezing and pawing at your hips, your thighs, your backside… There is no innocence about this. Tartaglia appraises you with purpose now, as if he were taking stock of a deeply sought after prize, something hard won and treasured. If he hadn’t so openly said it, you’d know just by the way he appreciates your form that you are very much his.

And he is yours, and you want to see him while he explores you. Wiggling a bit, you tell him so, and his hand slides up your spine to push between your shoulder blades, a firm denial. Mercifully, he clarifies enough that you relax into it. “Not this time. Humans have their preferences for mating, and I’ll go along with those happily. I see the merit in it. But if I’m going to take you as mine, we’ll do it my way.”

Like an animal, you want to murmur, but you know it wouldn’t be quite right. Tartaglia is not just some animal, but you’ve always been aware of something beneath the surface that speaks of a more primal way of doing things. Natural would be the word he likely used, but no matter how you add it up, the sum remains the same.

You don’t struggle against the press of his hand, and he squeezes your hip once more in approval. Sliding back down your spine, he nudges your lower back into a deeper arch before those long fingers hook into your pants and underwear. “Nothing would make me happier than to give you everything you want. As often as you want, in as many different positions. After you give yourself to me like this.”

“Yes,” you hiss, almost impatient with the methodical way he’s picking you apart, thrumming at your nerves while barely doing anything at all. It’s the implications that your mind is supplying in the spaces between, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The frigid air meets your backside, your thighs, the wetness of your cunt as he tugs your clothes down enough to bunch around your knees. It’s all he needs right now, and you’re just glad he isn’t wasting time by trying to reveal more of you. Those same hands touch your skin now, squeezing in all the same places, his palms burning hot against you. A pathetic little sound falls from your lips, and he freezes.

You can feel him smiling.

As his fingers spread you open, you don’t have the wherewithal to even be embarrassed at the vulnerability of it all. Tartaglia looks at you shamelessly, a little rumble leaving his chest as he thumbs over your clit with little warning. Your hips jolt, only for a moment, and then you’re pushing yourself back against his circling finger for more.

It feels as if you’re demanding it from him, but also that you’re offering yourself as some sort of… toy for him to play with. The mere suggestion of it has you reeling; that you would willingly put yourself in his hands for his amusement. But that’s what all this is for, isn’t it? You can’t help asking that of yourself, knowing that it’s the truth.

Tartaglia wants you to give yourself to him in the only way you really can. An even trade for the offering that still wraps around you now. The exchange for having him at your side always, giving you all those things he promised. Protection, happiness, safety… The feeling of his cock nudging against you, hot and weighty, the chill of something smearing across your skin.

“Look at you, all ready for me,” Tartaglia breathes, nails scraping against your skin as he pushes closer, nestling against your cunt until his tip brushes your clit, his pulse thrumming against you just as surely as yours races against him. “Knew you’d be perfect. I knew it. I watched you, you know.”

And that makes you stiffen. You’d suspected, of course, but-

“Ever since you came here–” two years ago– “I watched, I waited. The forests are wild, uncontrollable, imperfect. But you’re… different.”

Tartaglia rocks against you, a minute sliding of his cock against your oversensitive cunt. He lets you feel every inch of him before ever giving you a taste. “Humans are delicate. Fragile, really. Wrapped up in your layers, I thought you looked cute. But every day that passed, I grew more sure that you’d look even more divine with my furs wrapped around you…”

And he leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, just over your pulse once more. You can feel the heaviness of his breath as he murmurs, “And how you’d look with my mark right here.”

Goosebumps prickle along your skin at the open threat of his teeth pressing into your skin. Not hard, never breaking, but little indents left as he pulls away, surely. Perhaps it’s your own mind tricking you, addled with both desire and the man above you, but you have a distinct need to have those marks on you permanently.

So, you bite down on your lip and whine a little plea, unsure of what you’re really asking for, only knowing that you want it desperately. More than you’ve ever wanted anything. The entirety of your life feels like it’s been boiled down to this single moment, the pinprick in time where it’s just you and the Fox above you, behind you, surrounding you completely.

Tartaglia withdraws, just enough to give you the full drag of him against your folds before the head pushes against your entrance. Never before have you taken someone with such little resistance, but never before has anyone worked you into such a state with so little effort. Tartaglia has barely touched you beyond squeezes and gropes for his own gratification, yet you can feel a rivulet of your own arousal roll down the inside of your thigh.

And you can hear the squelch of his entry, your cunt being pushed open to make way for him to seat fully inside you. Your mouth falls open in a silent sound as Tartaglia eases you open in one smooth move, the sharp angle of his hip bones pressing into your backside. The pressure only increases when he leans over you again, one hand braced on the bed, the other smoothing over your stomach, fingers pressing in just beneath your belly button.

“Right here. Can you feel me?” Tartaglia’s voice is almost a purr as he coaxes you into responding with a nudge of his hips forward. Your mouth shuts with a click of your teeth, face twisting in pleasure as you’re swept up in the sensation of having him inside, of nearly being rearranged to make room for him to take you.

Each move is torturously slow, and you’re reminded of his words, of the implication. You moved into this cottage two years before he approached you, and it’s been half a year since then. Two and a half years of persistence points to a lifetime of patience. Because of his nature, you assumed he’d take you quick and harsh.

And yet he pulls out and pushes in at an agonizing pace, your mind latching on to the sensation of being filled and emptied. Tartaglia fucks you like he has all the time in the world to do so, like he wants to spend that time memorizing every trembling inch of your pussy before marking it as his own. Like… he wants to torture you for not letting him do this sooner.

You would have let him. Gods, the first time he smiled at you - for real, not the wide and false thing he defaults to - you would have graciously done anything he asked. Including this frustrating slow paced fuck. Or is it mating? You’re not sure, and you don’t really have the faculties to ask such a question in the precise way required to get a real answer.

Fisting the sheets, you push back against him as he pulls out, trying to get at least one sharp thrust in to satiate yourself. Tartaglia doesn’t stop you, doesn't prevent you from doing it, but only once. Only when you rock forward and off does he stop you with a hand on your backside, palm pushing into the flesh and fingers squeezing in quiet warning.

Next time, you recall him saying. This one is for him, for his enjoyment. You don’t move, sucking in a shaking breath to fill your lungs, and his grip lessens to pat your ass in encouragement. “Smart; you remembered. Just relax. Just feel. Can you do that for me, just a little longer?”

You make a sound of agreement, but he doesn’t accept it as readily as you thought. Another tap to your backside, a little bit harder this time. Perhaps his patience isn’t as infinite as you thought. “Say it out loud. Say that you’re happy staying right here, feeling my cock.”

Tartaglia doesn’t sink back into you. Your entrance is stretched wide around his tip, your cunt clenching around nothing and begging for him to give you anything at all. Weary with your own desperation, you cave for him. “I-I’m happy just feeling your cock–”

“Your Mate’s cock,” he amends his original request, nudging forward, giving you a little as compensation so far.

You want more, even if he buries inside and never moves again. “I’m happy staying here and feeling my M-Mate’s cock.”

Something that felt so frustrating before now feels euphoric as he slides all the way in once more, nudging against places inside that you’re not sure have ever been touched like this. All it took was a moment of realignment to take you from annoyance to appreciation for the slow, slow roll of his hips.

This is fine. This is enough. If you close your eyes and focus only on that slow dragging, on bearing down and tightening around him further, then you find yourself inching closer and closer to the release you need. A little groan of surprise leaves him as you do this, then a little chuckle as he quickly realizes what you’re trying to do.

You expect him to tease you, to demand that you hold off and you’re not allowed to finish while he does this. It would be cruel, but you’d do it, only because he’d made so many pretty promises about what comes next. And yet, he slides a hand around you, breath hot against your ear. His fingers find your clit again as his cock goes still inside. “Since you’ve been so good…”

Tartaglia doesn’t move himself an inch as he plays with your clit, stroking it between two fingers, drawing circles with the pad of his middle digit, pressing hard to give you a little jolt of pain before soothing it away with soft touches. You’re not certain what it is he’s getting out of this until you tense particularly hard and his cock twitches inside you.

The closer you get to orgasm, the more you tense and flex around him. Tartaglia doesn’t need to fuck you to get his own pleasure, you realize, and that only spirals you higher toward the very apex of it all.

Through the haze you feel his mouth on your neck, sucking against the little marks he’d left not so long ago. The pressure will leave bruises, and you almost think that’s the extent of it. A mark that will be left to show he’d been here with you, that you were his until it faded and he’d surely put another in its place.

Tilting your head, you give him all the access he’d like. You’d be proud to leave whatever mark he gives, even though you’re isolated enough out here that you’ll likely not see another person until it starts to fade. But you’ll see it, you’ll feel it. Just as surely as you feel him throbbing in your cunt, as surely as his teeth dragging along your skin before sinking in.

As surely as the pain of his bite mixes with the exquisite agony of your drawn out release, the two striking at the same time and mingling so thoroughly that there’s no hope of pulling one from the other. They’re the same thing now, both overwhelming and leaving you just as delirious as you’d been when he arrived.

Something else burns at you, too. Between your mind reeling and your muscles tensing as if you’d experienced electro directly from the source, you realize he’s moving now. Quick, shallow, sharp little thrusts, something pushing at you that you don’t recognize. If you weren’t so thoroughly ruined, you’d panic, but instead you sprawl beneath him and let his hands hold your hips to keep you from going completely boneless.

The bluntness pushes you open, slowly but surely with each thrust until the stretch making you nearly squeal as he forces it inside. Only when you accept it does he finally dig his nails in and mouth against your neck, moaning against your skin with each shot of his release. Involuntarily, his hips jerk forward as the waves roll over him, his body pushing yours into the bed as he loses his strength to keep you aloft for his use.

Your neck stings, your pulse runs hardest in your cunt that’s stuffed full of his cock. Mindlessly, your fingers reach for the red fur sprawled around the two of you, pulling it closer. Its owner is at your back, but you have a single-minded need to be completely wrapped up by him. Everything feels muddled, as if you’d had a bit too much firewater to drink and were in the throes of your cups.

Tartaglia’s tongue rolls against the stinging marks, and you wonder if he’s tasting your blood or if he’d even gone that deep. It felt that way, as if he’d pierced you clean through. Perhaps his mark will last far longer than you expected.

A sharp hiss leaves you as you shimmy a bit to get more comfortable, and his length doesn’t dislodge from you. In fact, you feel as if he’s locked inside, something keeping you from pulling free. Another shift, a whimper as you realize that’s exactly what’s happened, and he finds quiet glee in your confusion.

“Did you think I was lying? I told you that I would breed you, Mate.” His hand sprawls over your stomach, possessive as if something were already growing there. “Hush now, my knot will go down soon and you can ask all your questions.”

“Can’t I ask them now?” You ask, annoyed at how thick your voice feels from exhaustion. Against your neck he nuzzles, lips brushing over the tender spot where he’d bitten you. Verbally, he doesn’t answer, but you suspect that he’d just reiterate his desire for you to wait.

And so, you relax beneath him, letting his weight settle over you comfortably. The furs tickle against your nose as you inhale their scent, as potent as the moment he’d first wrapped them around you. A thought meanders through your mind about what you might smell like to him, and whether he pines for it in the same way that you do.

Tartaglia doesn’t seem the pining type. At least, that’s what you thought before all of… this. Apparently, he’d been doing so for quite some time, far before you even had laid eyes on him.

With a little roll, he pulls you to lay on your side, his body spooned against your back once more, just as before, the thickness of his tail curled over your hip. The movement slips him free of you, and you don’t quite have words to articulate the disappointment that settles in your chest from the loss. You feel unlike yourself, but somehow more in-tune with who you are, as well.

Sensing your confusion, Tartaglia answers questions that you hadn’t had time to formulate. You’re his Mate, he tells you. He’s put his mark on your neck permanently, claiming you for himself in the eyes of all others. When your fingers raise to your neck to feel, he brushes your hand away. “Don’t touch it, you’ll irritate it more.”

“I just want to feel it-”

“There’s nothing to feel. It’s the shape of my teeth, and it’ll scar over,” he chides you, squeezing your hand. “Just trust me when I say that it suits you.”

You suppose you’ll be the judge of that later. In the meantime, you sigh a bit petulantly and relax in his hold, trying not to drift off to sleep. To combat yourself, you needle him further. “Why didn’t you say anything before? About your… feelings.”

“I have been.” Tartaglia almost sounds affronted, like you’ve put this entire thing up to be judged for validity. “We went through every step of the mating process. It’s not my fault you didn’t ask about any of it.”

“How was I supposed to know!”

“By asking,” Tartaglia answers simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You want to spin around and smack him, your hand pushing against the bed to give you leverage to do just that, but he cuts you off at the pass by wrapping those furs around you so tightly that you’re certain you’ll turn into a Fox yourself.

And then he laughs at you, light and weightless, rasping a bit at the edges in a way his polite ones never do. If not from his smile, then just by the angle of his ears, Tartaglia is happy. As happy as you’ve ever seen him. You’ll be annoyed with him later, you think, when you’ve had your fill of his elated expression and grow tired of seeing him so jovial.

That moment doesn’t come.

#mind the a/n for content tags #tartaglia #childe #genshin impact #genshin #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #f!reader #afab!reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia/reader #childe/reader #reader-insert #nsft #mdni

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