#what if L was the one under observation instead of light?

[nerdstify]

day in

day out

likes do nothing!

[matcha3mochi]

GLASS BETWEEN US Pairing: Merman Rafayel x Scientist Reader

author note: ive been into love and deepspace recently, so here ya go hehe

wc: 4,870

chapter 1 | chapter 2 l chapter 3 | chapter 4 || chapter 5

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You took the job because you needed a way out.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t even particularly well-paid. But the offer came with minimal paperwork, restricted clearance, and one very clear instruction: ask no questions.

So you accepted.

The facility—remote, underground, heavily secured—was the kind of place not listed on maps. It didn’t exist according to the public record, and yet it buzzed with life: researchers, guards, engineers, medics. They all moved with the quiet, tense urgency of people doing work that couldn’t be acknowledged outside these walls.

Your first day was a blur of orientation. Non-disclosure clauses, retinal scans, and procedural briefings stacked with redacted pages. You caught glimpses of terms like “specimen,” “cognitive divergence,” “aquatic containment.”

No one told you what exactly was inside Lab C. Just that you’d be assisting with long-term observation. You assumed it would be another mutated marine species pulled up from some trench, something grotesque and territorial. Maybe even dangerous.

But the truth was stranger.

When they finally led you through the corridors and into the observation chamber, you expected cold steel and sharp smells.

Instead, the room was quiet. Dim. The tank was massive—more an aquarium than a cell—bathed in low light that shimmered across the walls like waves. The water inside was dark, cold, impossibly deep. You stepped forward, clutching your tablet, already preparing to log oxygen levels and salinity.

That was when you saw him.

Not a specimen.

Not a subject.

Something else.

Your breath caught before you even registered why.

And just like that, the job you took to escape your life became the one thing you couldn’t walk away from.

You didn’t know it then, but that first glance would mark the start of something irreversible. Something that would pull you under, inch by inch, breath by breath.

The moment you saw him, your surroundings blurred into static. The beeping monitors, murmuring technicians, even the weight of your data tablet—all of it fell away.

Inside the isolation tank, a living impossibility drifted in manufactured saltwater. Designed to emulate the hadal zone, the deepest part of the ocean, the containment system glowed softly under rows of harsh overhead lighting. The glass was nearly ten inches thick.

He floated at the bottom, not quite asleep but clearly subdued. His body was serpentine, a long and powerful tail coiled beneath him like an anchor. Its surface shimmered with deep cobalt and streaks of pearlescent silver, every movement creating subtle waves of reflected light. Even now, in apparent stillness, he seemed to shift with the current, his tail flicking faintly like a ribbon suspended in water.

The upper half of his body resembled a human form—broad shoulders, strong arms—but with a sleekness and symmetry that felt engineered rather than natural. It was hard not to stare. Harder still to assign him the term specimen, as though he were just another data point.

His face was unnerving in its beauty. Too elegant. Too calm. Dark purple hair floated around his head, surrounding him like a halo. Thin, branching scars ran near the gills along his neck—signs of struggle? Or surgery? You couldn’t tell. Around his wrists were red rings where restraints had dug in, proof that something here had gone very wrong before it got quiet.

You took one step closer to the glass.

His eyes opened.

Bright blue, slit-pupiled, and utterly alien, they fixed on yours with uncanny stillness. Not vague awareness—recognition. As if you were something known. Something expected.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Dr. Havers spoke behind you.

“Sedated but semi-lucid,” he muttered. “You’ll get used to it.”

You doubted that.

You didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

Your formal role changed within forty-eight hours. A sudden shift, approved without ceremony. You were now responsible for the nocturnal observation cycle—Lab C, 2300 to 0400. Solo rotation. Minimal contact. Maximum discretion.

It wasn’t framed as special. If anything, it felt procedural. But there was an unspoken reason behind it. He responded to you—consistently, uniquely, and visibly. While other personnel were met with either silence or aggression, your presence generated stability. Lowered agitation. Reduced biomarker volatility.

“You’re not a risk variable,” Havers said, handing you a new clearance badge. “He recognizes that. Use it.”

That first night on shift, you sat alone behind the curved monitor console, tank lights dimmed to deep ocean blue. The lab echoed with the soft churn of water filters and the occasional mechanical click of the oxygen injectors. You opened a new file. Began a log.

SESSION 01 2303 HRS — Subject floats near lower quadrant. Motion minimal. Eyes open, tracking. 2317 HRS — Approaches glass at station-facing side. Remains within one meter. 0010 HRS — Mimics observer posture. Arms crossed. Head tilted. Intentional or coincidental?

The entries became more granular with each passing hour. You logged pupil dilation, fin twitching, shoulder alignment. The angle of his fingers against the glass. The way he followed the rhythm of your breathing when you leaned forward. Occasionally, he'd trace your silhouette on the other side of the glass, following your hand movements with uncanny precision.

He blinked less often when watching you, and more when others entered the lab—a strange, deliberate contrast. He began to tap his claws rhythmically against the tank wall when you wrote, a pattern that shifted in tempo depending on your pace. When you stood up, he rose. When you sat, he settled. A mirror, distorted by water and light, but growing clearer by the day.

By your third shift, the notes had started to blur.

SESSION 03 2248 HRS — Subject at station wall prior to entry. Appears to anticipate schedule. 2350 HRS — Subject mirrors tablet tapping. When observer writes, subject responds with claw motions against tank interior. 0104 HRS — Sustained eye contact. Three full minutes. Observer initiated break. Subject remained locked in gaze.

You began categorizing his behaviors under new terms. Not hostile. Not adaptive. Instead: intentional. Self-directed. Curious.

And eventually: fixated.

There was a pattern now, undeniable and precise. Every time you entered the room, he was already waiting. Every time you left, he followed your departure with slow, measured turns around the glass, as though mapping your absence.

Your notes became less technical. More observational. And then, more personal.

You started writing things you didn’t submit to the shared logs. Quiet questions scrawled in the margins of your private notebook.

Why only me? How much does he understand? Is this intelligence, or attention? Or is it something else?

You didn’t know the answers. Not yet.

But you couldn’t stop asking.

You hadn’t planned to speak to him. You weren’t even sure he could comprehend language.

But on the sixth night, everything was too quiet. The hum of the facility, the subdued flicker of the monitors—it all pressed in like static. You were tired. Frustrated. Your head rested on your folded arms, your mind drifting.

“I hate this place,” you muttered.

The water stirred.

Your eyes shot up. He was near the glass. Closer than before. His hands hovered just beneath the surface, claws relaxed. He tilted his head, as if listening.

Then he repeated it.

“I… hate… this… place.”

His voice was strange—raspy, resonant, shaped by a throat unused to speech. But he’d matched your cadence. Your tone. Even the way you’d slurred the words.

You stood.

“You understood that?”

He moved his mouth again. Slower. Testing the rhythm of speech.

“You… are… different.”

The room felt suddenly warmer. Or maybe colder.

Maybe both.

From that night on, your interactions became more complex.

Every time you entered, he was already waiting. You’d sit. He’d drift toward the glass, his body weaving gently behind him, as if pulled by invisible threads.

He began to mimic you in increasingly specific ways. When you tapped on your tablet, he tapped the tank wall. When you shifted in your seat, he mirrored the motion, down to the tilt of your head.

Researchers noticed. They logged it as proof of successful imprinting.

But you knew the difference between mimicry and obsession.

There was an intensity in his gaze that couldn't be dismissed. It was full of purpose. Of attention. He was learning you—not just your behaviors, but your moods. Your microexpressions. He watched your fingers when they trembled. He watched your lips when you breathed.

You tried to maintain boundaries.

But then the dreams started.

The dreams began as fragments.

At first, they were flashes—flashes of cold, of water creeping into your lungs, of sound that wasn’t quite voice but still carried meaning. Pressure without pain. Depth without fear.

Then they became immersive.

You were no longer watching from behind glass. You were inside the tank—or somewhere like it. A vast ocean with no surface and no floor. Everything shimmered in gradients of blue and black, lit by pulses of distant light. You were floating, suspended, and something was circling you.

You felt it before you saw him.

His presence. Electric. Intentional. Like gravity made flesh.

In the dream, Rafayel didn’t speak with words. He moved closer with the slowness of a creature that knew time was irrelevant. His fingers brushed your shoulder, your wrist, your waist—not with heat but with a chill so profound it burned.

You were never afraid.

Sometimes he held you. Other times, he watched you from below, his eyes glowing brighter than the deep. Always silent. Always there.

And always, just before waking, he would place his hand against your chest and say:

You belong here.

You’d wake gasping. Covered in sweat. The room dry, your lungs aching with the ghost of imagined water. And you’d feel it: a residual pulse. As if part of you hadn’t returned.

It was nearly 3:00 a.m. when the emergency alarms shattered the stillness.

You were off-shift. Sleeping. Or trying to. The facility-issued cot in your quarters was thin, the recycled air too dry. But exhaustion didn’t matter—because when the klaxon blared and the lights above your bed pulsed red, your heart dropped into your stomach.

Containment breach — Lab C.

You didn’t stop to think. You didn’t change. You threw on your coat over your sleep shirt and sprinted barefoot through the corridors, barely registering the startled faces of guards and technicians scrambling toward lockdown protocols.

When you reached the lab, the glass was already webbed with cracks.

Inside, the tank churned like a storm-tossed sea. Rafayel was in full fury—no longer the silent, observant being from your shifts. He was something else now. Magnificent and terrifying. His tail whipped with bone-cracking force, slamming the reinforced walls, again and again. The steel supports groaned. Water frothed with foam and light. Machinery sparked along the edges. A lab tech screamed as a panel exploded.

Two guards aimed stun-rods at the tank. “We have to subdue him—!”

“No—!” You pushed past them, breathless. “Let me try first!”

They hesitated—just long enough.

You stepped into the observation chamber, doors sealing behind you. A protective barrier of glass separated you from the tank, but it felt far too thin. Rafayel turned—spun mid-air like a coil of silk and muscle—and slammed his claws into the tank wall right in front of you.

You didn’t flinch.

You raised your hand. Slowly. Palms open.

“Rafayel,” you said softly, almost whispering, “Stop.”

His body stilled, suspended in violent motion.

The roar of the alarms, the hum of the oxygen pumps, even the buzz of the failed lighting—all of it faded into the background.

His breath came in sharp, rapid bursts. His eyes glowed like deep-sea lanterns. He hovered there, inches from the glass, claws still pressed hard enough to screech against it. But he wasn’t attacking now. He was… watching.

You stepped closer, until you were nearly touching the tank wall. Your hand hovered where his claws had struck just moments before.

“It’s me,” you said.

He blinked.

Then, without a sound, he floated backward. A slow, deliberate motion. One hand slid down the tank’s interior, leaving a trail of pale bioluminescence behind it. His tail coiled gently beneath him. The water settled. Foam dissipated. The light in his eyes dimmed—not dulled, just… quieter.

And then, unbelievably, he pressed his forehead to the glass.

Directly across from yours.

The room held its breath.

He closed his eyes.

You mirrored him.

The silence stretched.

Behind you, through the speaker system, you barely caught Dr. Havers’ voice: “Subject de-escalated. Immediate threat withdrawn.”

The guards didn’t speak. They didn’t move. No one did.

Because they saw what you saw.

He hadn’t calmed because of sedatives. Or fear.

He had calmed because of you.

And something in your chest cracked—splintered under the weight of a realization you weren’t ready for.

Whatever Rafayel was…

He wasn’t just watching you.

He needed you.

After the incident, you were called in for multiple evaluations. The staff expressed concern. His reactions were too focused. Too specific.

“Forming a fixation,” they said. “You’re a variable he’s centering around. It might become dangerous.”

But you didn’t feel afraid.

Each night, he was waiting. Sometimes he pressed his hand to the glass, palm to palm. Sometimes he mirrored your face until it felt like looking into a distorted reflection.

You broke protocol.

“Why me?” you asked him softly.

He moved close.

“You… are mine.”

Your heart thudded. You stood frozen.

“You don’t know me.”

He smiled, faint but assured.

“I remember you.”

You shook your head.

“That’s impossible.”

He only repeated, quietly: “You were always coming here.”

You stopped sleeping.

Each night, your dreams blended into your shifts. You began bringing small things into the lab. A book. A ring. A scarf. He noticed all of them. Watched each object with careful interest.

One night, you left a pen on the console.

When you returned the next night, it was inside the tank—placed delicately in a shrine of coral, shells, and scavenged materials. A gift.

You didn’t say anything.

But your chest ached with something unnamed.

And he knew.

The lab was quiet when you arrived, as it always was during your late shifts. But tonight, something felt heavier in the air. As you keyed into the monitoring station, you sensed him waiting.

He was already pressed to the glass, body still, eyes glowing faintly in the dim blue light. His gaze locked on you the instant you stepped into the room. You hadn’t even set your tablet down before he moved—slowly, fluidly—closer, so close that his breath fogged the glass.

Your heart pounded.

You didn’t need to say anything. He already knew you were listening.

“Free me,” he said.

The words were clear. Measured. Spoken not as a plea, but as a promise.

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “I can’t.”

He didn’t move away. He simply watched you, eyes scanning your face like he could read what you didn’t say.

“You don’t belong here either,” he murmured, voice soft and steady. “Not with them.”

He pressed a hand to the glass, and instinctively, without thinking, you lifted yours. His fingers aligned with yours, claws brushing the barrier.

“They see a cage,” he whispered. “You see me.”

The words didn’t sound rehearsed. They sounded like something he’d been waiting to say for a long time.

You swallowed hard. “If I open that tank, they’ll—”

He tilted his head, interrupting gently. “They fear what they cannot hold.”

You felt the heat of your own breath fog the glass. Your hand stayed pressed to his.

“Take it away,” Rafayel whispered. “Let me show you what you already know.”

The glass vibrated faintly under your palm. Not from his strength. From something else. Something deeper. A resonance that pulsed in your bones.

Outside the tank, you were still an employee, a researcher, a name on a schedule.

Inside the tank, he was waiting.

And in that moment, the glass no longer felt like protection.

It felt like a wall you weren’t sure you wanted to keep.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

TYRANT- J. MILLER

day twenty four of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! dilf! joel x fem! reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: you're home for the summer and the local bar is having a western night- and a certain older cowboy catches your eye. good thing you know how to lasso them in and ride them good...

warnings: SMUT- reverse cowgirl ofc, heavy praise kink, petnames, swearing, size kink, daddy kink, hair pulling, joel lowkey mocking and being all condensending, truck sex in the parking lot (kinda exhibitionism?), heavy flirting and sexual tension, intoxication

this is inspired by the time my local bar was hosting a country night and i made a "cowboys only" tramp stamp... yeah

“tyrant every time i ride it, every time i ride it/ make it look so good, try to justify it- boy, i know they're lookin' for me, how we gonna hide it?/ ride it like hydraulics, i am such a tyrant"- tyrant, beyonce

It had started as a joke.

And then, it hadn’t.

You had no marks on your skin, free of ink. Except for the eyeliner that had been used instead, for tonight.

It was Western Wednesday at the local bar- the go to spot back home surrounded by hay bales and tumbleweeds. Without a question being asked, you and your group of girlfriends had gathered at your house to get ready, talking over each other with excitement, catching up as you had all retunited from time away at school.

After a few drinks had been tossed back and rollers had been placed in heads of hair, you brought up the idea. It was silly, and you couldn't get through it without bursting out in giggles.

What if… what if I got a tramp stamp? Just for the night?

It had ended with you flat on your stomach, your friend scribbling your request in pretty font, just above where your thong poked out from your low rise jeans.

Cowboys Only, with a little bow under it.

It was teasing.

Poking out from under your little tank top whenever you lifted your arms up, throwing your head back to laugh and dance with your girls.

And it had gotten you exactly where you wanted to be.

On top of an older cowboy.

He had taken his time before he approached you. Heavy, heated gaze latched onto your figure as you slid past the wooden swinging doors, chatting with your crowd. Your eyes had met his instantly. Heat pooled in your panties and you knew.

That one. I want that one.

He was older, you could tell by his weathered hands and salt and pepper hair that framed his deep, dark puppy dog eyes. That had narrowed in on you.

Like a predator had found its prey.

You waited. You never claimed to be easy, even though you had spent your time gushing about how attractive the stranger in the corner was to anyone who’d listen. You had always joked to your girls about how badly wanted an older man to sweep you off your feet one of these nights.

You hoped tonight was the night.

It had taken a drink or two for you to let yourself relax a bit more, to get used to the buzz of the chatter and the neon lights of the bar. It was then you could dance, swaying your hips seductively side to side, feeling his eyes on you as he sipped on his beer.

Observing the little font that graced your lower back.

Your eyes met his again as you made your way up to the bar, sliding up next to him as you ordered a whisky sour.

“What's a pretty lil thing like you doing here on a Wednesday night?” he murmured lowly, breath smelling like mint and tobacco.

You hummed, watching as the bartender made your drink. “Western night. I like the cowboys.”

His eyebrow raised, a ringless hand drumming the oak bartop.

“S’that so sweetheart?”

You smirked, turning to flip up your shirt, exposing the font, and a good chunk of your little thong in the process. He had already seen it, of course. You had felt his eyes on you the whole time you had danced for him.

“You haven't seen?” you giggled seductively, throwing him a flirtatious little wink as you grabbed your drink from the bartender, tossing him an extra tip as you took a sip.

The mystery man leaned in close, a hand slipping down to cup the dip of your spine. You savoured the touch, his large palm covering the ink, warm and soft as he gripped you in place.

“You’re playing a dangerous game darlin.” he grumbled, southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine.

You hummed. Teasing him, as you leaned more into his touch. Letting his hand slide down to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze. Letting him be a disgusting pervert, when he knew he was so much better than that.

He was a gentleman. But you made him want to be anything but.

“How so sir?”

The name sent him spiralling. Fuck it.

“Because I’m twice your age, if not more darlin. And you’re making me think about dirty things.”

You battered your lashes at him, leaning down to rest your elbows on the bar, showing full cleavage. Doe eyes wide and innocent- while your actions were anything but.

“What things?”

“I wanna take you back to my truck and show you how a real man fucks. Cause I bet that pretty lil pussy hasnt been treated right by anyone your age.”

Well. That was the truth.

You wanted to find out what it was like, just once- to see where this could lead you. His dirty words sparked that flame in your lower belly, squeezing your thighs together.

Finishing your drink in one big swig, you slammed the glass down on the wood and whipped the remaining liquid that trickled from the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Well, what's stoppin you old man?”

゜✭・.・✫・゜ ゜✭・.・✫・゜

“Fuckkkkk. Joellll-” you moaned, gripping his thighs as you slid up and down. He was so fucking big he nearly split you in half. And it hurt so good.

“Watch that pretty mouth of yours honey, you know daddy doesn't like when you use dirty words.” he chuckled, admiring your pretty form swallow him up, a creamy ring formed around his base and grey pubes.

It took everything in you to not fold, your legs already quivering from the multiple orgasms he had given you already. Your brain felt incoherent.

“Mmm s’sorry I didn't mean to-”

“I know sweetheart, you're such a sweet girl. Heads just gone all dumb f’yer old man eh? Poor thing.” he cooed, taking your hair in his hands, tightening his grip on you.

Your head leaned back, still continuing to ride him in reverse cowgirl as he taunted you.

He was right. You hadnt been fucked like this before. And you never wanted to go back.

“Need s’help daddy please-” you cried, as you clenched around him again.

He knew your body like it was his own, making it sing and hum for him as he played it like an instrument. Despite him just meeting you tonight. He knew how to make you scream for him. Your voice was hoarse, and he could feel your legs start to quiver.

“Awh sweetheart I thought my lil cowgirl knew how to ride?”

You moaned as your pace was interrupted by his hips pummeling up into you, taking full control. Your back arched , your hair tugged on as if he was holding reins as you bounced from his thrusts.

Your nails dug into his thighs, a sharp cry leaving your lips that echoed off the fogged up windows of his pick-up.

“There you go darlin, just needed your daddy to help ya out yeah? My sweet girl just needed someone to take control of this tight lil cunny.” he whispered, a cocky smirk on his lips as he watched you squirm for him.

That damn ink flashed back at him- and he couldn't help but feel proud of himself for fulfilling the claim.

“S’good Joel, you feel so damn good…” you moaned, sweat trickling down your body, the smell of sex clinging to you like a second skin.

“Yeah baby? You gonna cum again?”

“Please, need to-” He chuckled lowly.

“Go ahead baby. Askin so nicely, always with the manners. M’gonna keep a sweet thing like ya around, ya understand?”

You nodded feverlishy, cuming around his cock with a cry as it hit that one spot that had you seeing stars. Basked in the comfort of his strong hands as they left your hair, finding their way to rest on your hips.

“Joel..”

“M’almost there sweetheart, just gonna use you for a lil okay? That sound okay baby? You just sit there and be all pretty.”

He moaned, letting his head roll back as you clenched around him tightly, biting his lip so hard he almost tasted copper.

“Fuck you're so tight. Such a sweet little cunt. Knew she’d take me so good.”

A few more sloppy thrusts into you and he was spent, filling you up to the brim, cooing sweet nothings at your worn out frame. He had fucked you so hard you knew it was a closed case.

He was the only cowboy you wanted. 

[heliosunny]

Can you do more Yandere Castorice?

Yandere!Castorice x Reader

It had been a week since you landed on Amphoreus. At first, it was just another stop, another unfamiliar world to explore. And in that time, you met Castorice.

She was an enigma, a contradiction wrapped in a quiet, knowing smile. Her presence was both inviting and repelling, a paradox that only seemed to deepen the longer you spent around her. Others kept their distance. Don’t get too close. Don’t linger too long. But despite everything, despite the way fate itself seemed to twist in her wake, you didn’t leave.

And then came the accident.

One misstep, one fleeting moment where you crossed an invisible line, and suddenly, you were drowning in an agony beyond words.

The air between you and Castorice crackled with unseen tension, thick with something far more dangerous than simple misfortune. A creeping, inevitable decay hung in the air—her curse, unraveling everything it touched. And it was tearing through you.

Your breath hitched as a sharp pain lanced through your chest, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your limbs felt sluggish, bones aching as if they had aged centuries in mere seconds. A wave of exhaustion crashed over you, your skin burning and freezing all at once.

“Stay back!” Castorice’s voice was sharp, panicked—a rare glimpse of genuine fear flashing across her usually composed face. Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach for you but knew she couldn’t.

But you didn’t move away.

You couldn’t.

Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was the way she looked at you.

So you stepped forward instead.

Your body screamed in protest, your vision darkening at the edges, but something deep within you refused to let go.

And then—nothing.

The pain was gone. The suffocating weight of her curse had lifted. Your body, which should have been crumbling under its influence, remained whole.

You exhaled, slow and steady, and met Castorice’s wide, disbelieving gaze.

“Looks like I’m not going anywhere” you murmured, flexing your fingers as if testing your newfound resilience.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.”

But you only smiled.

Because now, there was nothing stopping you.

No more passing things by dropping them at her feet. No more careful, calculated distance. No more barriers between you and the one person everyone else feared to get close to.

----

The sky split open.

A streak of light, blazing and uncontrolled, carved through Amphoreus’s eerie glow like a star torn from its place in the cosmos. It fell fast, plummeting toward the ground with no signs of stopping. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the streets as people stopped to stare, but no one moved to help. No one even tried.

But you did.

The impact shook the ground, dust and debris kicking up in a thick cloud, obscuring whatever had just fallen. When it settled, you saw her—a girl, sprawled across the cracked earth, body tense with the lingering shock of her descent. Her clothes were torn, her breath ragged, but what caught your attention most was the way her wide, unfocused eyes darted around in confusion.

She had no idea where she was.

You knelt beside her, speaking gently. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

She blinked up at you, struggling to form words. Then, finally, she whispered, “...Where am I?”

Your brows furrowed. “Amphoreus. You don’t remember how you got here?”

She shook her head.

You helped her sit up, steadying her when she wobbled. She felt so fragile—so utterly lost. Something about it tugged at you, and before you knew it, the words left your mouth:

“I’ll take care of you.”

And from somewhere behind you, Castorice saw it all.

It started small.

Castorice would always be within your reach to observe that girl. She never interfered, never stopped you from looking after the stranger you saved. But every interaction came with something off.

One evening, as you tended to the girl’s wounds, Castorice leaned against the doorway, her voice laced with an unsettling sweetness.

“You’re so kind” she mused, tilting her head. “But kindness can be dangerous, you know.”

The girl stiffened slightly, but you barely noticed. “What do you mean?” you asked, not looking away from the bandages in your hands.

Castorice hummed, stepping further into the room, her movements slow, deliberate. “Mm… It’s just that people who don’t belong here tend to fade away.” Her fingers traced idle patterns on the wall as she spoke. “Amphoreus isn’t… welcoming. The ones who arrive suddenly, without a place? They never seem to last long.”

The girl swallowed, gripping the edge of her sleeves. “I… I don’t plan to stay forever”

Castorice’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something sharper in the way she tilted her head. “Good” she said.

----

The girl had been weak since the fall. Her body was healing, but there were moments when exhaustion hit her like a wave, forcing her to lean on you for support. It was one of those moments, just a fleeting second, when she lost her balance, and without thinking, you caught her.

“Careful” you murmured, steadying her by the shoulders.

She looked up at you, wide-eyed, vulnerable. And at that precise moment, you felt a familiar presence lingering nearby.

Castorice stood at the threshold of the room, hands loosely folded behind her back.

“Am I interrupting?”

The girl pulled away from you instantly, guilt flashing across her face. “N-No, I—”

“It’s not what it looks like, Castorice.”

“Of course not,” she said, stepping closer. “Why would I think otherwise?”

One other night, you caught the girl sitting outside alone, staring up at the sky. She had been restless lately, quieter than usual.

“You okay?” you asked, taking a seat beside her.

She hesitated before speaking. “…I think I should leave.”

“What? Why?”

“I just… I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like I can’t be here.”

You exhaled slowly. You understood, Amphoreus was unsettling, and Castorice, despite how much you cared for her, wasn’t exactly… welcoming. But something about the way the girl spoke made it sound like more than just unease.

Before you could respond, a voice cut through the silence.

“How sweet” Castorice cooed. “A little late-night chat under the stars?”

You sighed. “She was just thinking about leaving. I was trying to understand why.”

Castorice tilted her head. “Thinking about leaving?” A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Why does it sound like you’re trying to convince her to stay?”

“That’s not—”

“It’s fine.” She stepped forward, her gaze settling on the girl. “If you really want to leave, then by all means…don’t let me stop you.”

You noticed the girl had been avoiding you. You didn’t know why—until the day you found her, standing frozen in an alleyway, her face pale.

“I—I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“What did she say to you?”

“I don’t know” she whispered, shaking her head. “She didn’t say anything. But I felt it. Like if I don’t leave soon… I won’t be able to.”

And then, as if summoned by the mere thought of her, Castorice appeared.

“Oh?” she hummed, “But what’s wrong with staying?”

The girl let out a strangled breath and took a step back—only for the shadows behind her to twist, cutting off her retreat.

“Castorice. Stop.” you said

“I let you have your fun” Castorice interrupted, her tone light yet suffocating. “I let you take care of her. I even let her breathe the same air as you.”

Then, she turned her gaze back to the girl.

“But she’s been here long enough, don’t you think?”

Later on, the girl vanished with no trace.

----

When you entered the room, you didn't expect Castorice to be waiting for you—lounging in your chair.

“You look tense” Castorice mused, tilting her head.

You sighed. “I am fine.”

Her smirk deepened. “Mmm”

Before you could respond, she moved—graceful, fluid. She was in front of you in an instant, fingers tracing idle patterns against your collar. And then, just as effortlessly, she slid into your lap, pressing close.

Your breath hitched. “Castorice—”

“Hush.” Her hands trailed up, curling around the back of your neck, her nails ghosting over your skin. “You spend so much time thinking about her lately… but I wonder…” She leaned in, lips brushing just barely against your ear. “Do you ever think about me?”

Your hands instinctively found her waist—whether to steady her or push her away, you weren’t sure. But she smiled at that, her fingers threading into your hair as she pulled you in just enough to let her lips hover over yours.

“You belong to me, don’t you?”

She didn’t need to threaten you. Didn’t need to demand anything.

Because this—the warmth of her body against yours, this was far more dangerous.

Castorice didn’t move, still perched in your lap, fingers playing with the strands of your hair as if she were weaving something unseen between the two of you. The warmth of her breath lingered against your skin, but you forced yourself to steady your voice.

“You know it’s not like that” you murmured, hands still resting on her waist. “She needed help. That’s all.”

Her purple eyes darkened slightly, her smirk faltering just for a moment. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” You met her gaze firmly, your grip on her tightening—not in resistance, but in reassurance. “You’re the only one I’ll ever support. The only one I’ll ever stand beside.”

Something flickered in her expression. Surprise, maybe.

Then, she laughed softly, tilting her head, her fingers tracing down your jaw with a feather-light touch. “You say that so easily…” Her voice was sweet, almost mocking. “But I wonder—will you abandon me like everyone else?”

“Castorice. You know I'm not that kind of person.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against the corner of your mouth but never quite closing the distance. “Alright” she whispered. “I trust you”

And just like that, she pulled away, slipping from your lap as effortlessly as she had settled into it. But before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“You’re mine, after all.”

[papergirllife]

Lee Taeyong (M)

‘I beg you don't embarrass me, motherfucker.’ But there's always exceptions when it comes to love right?

Taeyong x Bartender! Reader

Wordcount: 6.7k

Warnings: in this fic Taeyong has impulsive tendencies and physical aggression (not towards reader), light b*ndage, or*l play, slight or*l fixation, grinding, penetrati*on, Taeyong is very much down bad in this fic so lots of fluff.

The party is so boring, no one’s dancing even though they’re dressed to the nines in this extravagant hotel ballroom that could rival any celebrity’s expensive wedding, but instead all they’re doing is talking business, but the worst of them, are gossiping, and of course, to your downtrodden luck, you’re the gossip of the night.

“He’s going to be bored of her soon, I just know it, just look at her, so different from his ex and usual type.”

You’re not the type to be affected by being shit talked, however, you do have your worries, and frankly, heartbreak is one thing, but your ego? That’s another, you think to yourself as you sip on your glass of scotch. You sigh as you recall how you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Maybe you should’ve thought through this more thoroughly, you think to yourself after seeing people go in and out of the supply closet, which is obviously a disguise for the illegal casino beneath the pub you’re working at, though, some people do really come for just drinks, but most of them are customers of both businesses under this roof and since you’ve been here for a week plus now, you recognise some of the regulars by now, but a man you don’t recognise is suddenly taking a seat right in front of you, usually customers prefer to go to your colleagues who have been here far longer and know what customers want, only helping out more on weekends where more people come in for a drink.

You rise from your stool, yes, one great thing about working here means workers don’t have to meaninglessly stand the whole night.

“You’re new here?” the man asks, and if you were being honest, he’s probably the prettiest man you’ve seen, but you screw a neutral expression on your face, one should never let their guard down around a man of all things.

“Yup, what can I get you to drink?” you ask as you take in his appearance, dripping in designer, a pretty loose blouse that accentuates his sharp facial features, earrings hanging off his earlobes, the designs feminine compared to what most men wear.

“Scotch on the rocks, please,” he says while he leans back to make himself comfortable, his arms crossed, usually clients would be looking around for someone to take home by now, the usual ‘pub guard’ scanning, you like to call it, but for the ones that want a drink before going down to gamble, they usually have this impatient look in their eyes, not that it affects you, your skin is as thick as a cheese wheel.

However, this man just sits and observes you. Is he part of the mafia and is scared that someone’s going to poison him at any moment? Or is he a cop and is trying to make you cave to tell him about the illegal casino downstairs? You’re just going to act like you had no idea, you’re not working in the casino itself, they can’t charge you on any terms as long as your boss has an alcohol licence, which is what they promised you when you interviewed, if they’re lying you’re gonna have to kick someone’s ass.

When you pass him his drink, he just sits back and takes a sip, his obnoxiously large eyes still looking at you, they’re pretty eyes, but you’ve never kept someone’s attention for this long, though, in most cases, you could walk away, like those creepy men on the subway, you’re not sure if this guy’s a creepy guy, he hasn’t tried grabbing your hand yet, if he did then you’re viable to call security, but he’s just watching you.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks, a hand mindlessly swirling the glass in his hand.

“Needed money, Seoul isn’t getting cheaper by the day,” you say, a general answer.

“How old are you?” he asks, prodding, why is he still prodding?

“In my early twenties, above the legal age to serve you drinks, what about you?” it’s time for you to prod, engage with customers a bit, your manager always tells you, be a little friendlier.

“28. You look older than early twenties, not that it’s a bad thing, of course,” he says, and with the way he says it, you know he doesn’t mean it in a demeaning way, not that you mind, you swore off men long ago, people always tell you there’s better fish in the sea, but all you manage to fish are trash.

“Thanks, I did my makeup to look older,” you reply as out of the corner of your eye you catch a group of men walking in the pub.

“Why?” he asks, oh men, they’re so innocent to the things women go through everyday.

“So people would take me seriously,” you answer honestly before you excuse yourself to make drinks for the customers, you don’t want your manager to think you’re slacking off within a month.

However, after only finishing their second order, your colleague says she’d take over from you, thinking the customers are her regulars, you move away without questioning.

So you go back to talking to the man, this time round, he finally reveals his name to be Taeyong, he even orders a second drink of your choice.

“A negroni?” he asks with the expression of a kicked puppy, smacking his lips distastefully before he requests for a glass of water.

“Wanted to try it out myself one of these days, but I was unsure, guess I’m quite certain I won’t ever try it now I guess,” you say with a shrug and a chuckle at how comical his expressions are, a little bit of betrayal and a tinge of shock, which makes him look more human in your eyes.

A new customer makes his way to the bar in the meantime, but Taeyong’s brows scrunch up when he sees you’re about to step away to serve the customer.

“Let other people handle him, you just stay here with me,” he suggests.

“Taeyong, as nice it is talking to you, I’d like to remind you that this is a strictly professional relationship, please respect the boundaries between a bartender and a customer-

“Missy, who do you think you are talking to him like that, do you know who he is-

“It’s fine Ms Choi, she’s right, I’m merely a regular, I need to respect her boundaries,” Taeyong says, cutting off your manager.

Your manager looks flabbergasted before she composes herself, bowing to Taeyong before she drags you away from the bar to the small staff area on the side.

“I'm warning you since you're new here, Mr Lee is a VIP, don't do anything stupid, he's not the type to pull dumb shit, so you have nothing to worry about. Alright, that's all, get back to work,” she says before dismissing you.

“If you're worried about getting less tips then you don't have to worry, I'll tip you accordingly for the time spent talking to me,” Taeyong says when you get back to your spot.

“It's not that, I’m getting paid anyways, tips are just an extra, I'm still getting paid a base salary talking to you and not doing anything, so a win is a win, I guess,” you brush off, it's not that busy today anyways.

“No, I'm a responsible customer, how about you make me another drink? One that you fancy?” Taeyong suggests.

Hence for the whole night, you indulge in the lengthy conversation the two of you share, and with every night he comes in, you find comfort in this growing friendship, the only hiccup being that he tips you too much money and he won't take no for an answer.

Months go by and the lines between you and Taeyong start to blur, but you're still quite hesitant, you haven't committed in a relationship since a long time ago and if you're honest, you don't know much about Taeyong other than the fact that he's a businessman, but of what sort of business? You don't have the foggiest idea.

Tonight is a Friday night, which means the bar is busier than usual. Surprisingly enough, Taeyong hasn't dropped in tonight, he doesn't come in every night, but he'd never miss Friday nights.

“Hey, can we get two martinis,” a customer asks, distracting you from your wandering thoughts, and you quickly get to work, but out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar silhouette heading towards the direction of the fake storage room where the underground casino entrance is located, but the customers asked for something on top of their drinks and you were distracted once again.

After a few more customers, Jiun, a bottle girl and your fellow colleague, rushes to your area of the counter in distress.

“Table 5 wants 6 Coronas in a bucket but I think I just got my period, is it okay if you bring it to them?” she asks, and how can you say no to a woman who's in need of help?

“Sure thing, do you need a pad?” you ask, just in case, you're sure you have some in your locker if she doesn't.

“No, I have one on me, but thank you so much,” she says before scurrying off to the direction of the bathroom.

After putting together the order, you quickly make your way to the table with the customers’ drinks, placing down the bucket on the table.

“You new here, pretty girl? Never seen you around before?” one of the men at the table asks.

“Nope, just helping out my coworker,” you replied as you began to make your way back to the counter.

“What a shame, a pretty face like yours should be admired more, why grind behind a boring counter?” another asks, this one's nearer to you, standing up from his seat to get closer to you.

“Sorry, I have to get back to my job now,” you say, trying to excuse yourself, but the man grabs your arm, telling you to not rush and sit down and have a bottle.

Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you and then you feel someone pulling you by the strap of your money pouch.

“She said no, unhand her,” you'd recognise that voice anywhere, and looking to your side, you see Taeyong next to you, his usually round boba eyes now appearing in a sharp warning stare.

“Fuck off, dude, we were here first, shouldn't we have first dibs on her-

Before you could react to being demeaned in such a way, Taeyong's fist connects with his ugly face, and to your horror, both of them start fighting.

You quickly try pulling them apart but Taeyong pushes himself and the man out of your way, telling you to get security, you didn't want to leave his side, but thankfully, security were already making their way to your direction, blocked by a few drunken customers, his friend, takes the chance to jump in on the fight, and who are you to stand there and do nothing? Taeyong might be handling one guy on his own just fine, but you can't watch him get beaten to a pulp in your name, and you did the most logical thing you could think of by kicking the guy's head with your thick heeled boots and to your astonishment, he seems a bit disorientated by the ordeal, security finally made their way to Taeyong to pull the guy off him and escort him out the pub.

“Are you okay?” you ask Taeyong, but when you inspect his condition a bit closer, you cringe at his busted lip and bruised cheek.

However, before you could suggest accompanying him to the hospital, police arrive at the scene and next thing you know, you’re being escorted to the police station for questioning along with the asshole and Taeyong.

They finished up with you quick, they were a bit sceptical about Taeyong merely defending you, but you played it up a little by lying about how scared you were and maybe you chalked up a little bit on how his hands felt like they were everywhere on you, but it's the least you can do for Taeyong, and it's not like there were cameras anywhere.

“How long is he going to be questioned, officer?” you ask the policeman who had questioned you.

“Probably not long, seeing that his lawyer is here,” he points to the entrance, where a tall man in a suit walks in and follows the lead of an officer into the room Taeyong is being questioned in.

Knowing that he has a lawyer with him, you sigh a breath of relief and sit down on a nearby bench, the coolness of the plastic material digging into your skin, you regret wearing your beloved black velvet shorts now.

Fortunately, true to his words, Taeyong came out soon after, heading to a nearby desk to finish up some paperwork with his lawyer, so you get to your feet and head over to him.

“Brawling in your own pub is a new low, Lee, just let your boys handle shit like this next time,” the officer says.

“Wait, what do you mean your own pub?” the question flies out of your lips and Taeyong looks up, stunned, not knowing that you were still here.

“Leave the questions for later, just finish signing the papers and head out,” the officer orders, with a roll of your eyes, you stand right there, waiting for Taeyong to explain himself, his lawyer trying his best not to laugh.

“So? Care to explain yourself why you've been lying to me this whole time? Regular my ass,” you mutter the last part to yourself as you walk out the police station, cursing when you realise you don't have your coat with you, it's bearable now that it's creeping into June, but you've always preferred being warm.

“I'm going to get going, my cab's here,” his lawyer says, grasping this small window to leave before he gets caught up in a lover's quarrel, passing Taeyong something, to which you identify as car keys.

“Thank you, Johnny,” he says before turning to you with a sigh, his lips sit in a thin line, looking a bit lost at the sight of you, your usual smile wiped from your face as your pretty eyes stare daggers into his face, arms folded, and that's when he notices the goosebumps littering your arm.

“I didn't tell you that I was the boss because I wanted to get to know you without the label and pressure of me being your boss,” Taeyong explains as he shrugs off his coat to hang it on your shoulders before he directs you to a luxury SUV parked nearby.

“You could've told me sooner, asshole. And, why did you pull that shit tonight? You could've gotten yourself beaten to a pulp if I didn't literally step in and step on his head,” you lament, expressing your dissatisfaction with your entire body to the point of swinging your beloved Coach bag that you told Taeyong you were saving up weeks for, and Taeyong thinks you're so cute when you're angry, but he does have to make an effort to dodge the angry swing of your bag as he helps you climb up the passenger seat of his car.

“I know, and thank you for saving my ass but I need to shut the door and get going now, princess,” Taeyong says and does so before you could protest his usage of endearments when you're mad at him.

“How about we get some food before I drive you back to your place?” he suggest when he starts the car, seeing that you're now giving him the silent treatment, face turned to the side to look out to not see him, but the word ‘fine’ uttered from your lips has Taeyong breathing a sigh of relief as he confidently drives into a familiar street where he knows a convenience store is located.

After getting and heating up noodles and onigiris to share, the two of you take a seat in the empty store.

“Don't do embarrassing shit like this on my behalf ever again,” you warn before digging into your cup noodles, the spicy warm soup bringing instant comfort and familiarity after such a hectic night.

“It doesn't matter if it's on your behalf, that fucker deserved it,” Taeyong reasoned as he peels off the plastic wrapping of his onigiri, taking a huge bite of the delicious rice ball he was craving.

“Just don't do anything stupid anymore, if I couldn't handle myself I could've called security, you doing something stupid embarrasses me too, you know, I don't want to end up in the police station with you ever again, my friends are going to think I'm dating a crook,” you say offhandedly, but Taeyong’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in your words.

“Wait, what do you mean dating?” he asks with the biggest smile on his face, onigiri placed on the side, suddenly he's not hungry anymore.

“Don't tell me you're not taking responsibility, I'm literally wearing your jacket and risked jail time for your ass,” you say so casually that Taeyong feels like he's having a fever dream, not even his best fantasies would he ever depict himself being labelled as your significant other.

“No, never, I'm definitely taking full responsibility, and I promise, no more doing stupid shit to embarrass you, I swear,” Taeyong pledges, his hand coming up to salute you, the goofy gesture finally getting the first laugh out of you for the night.

“Though, to prevent me from doing stupid shit, I have a proposition, you have a marketing degree right? I know you said you're against working for big corps cause you hate how they practically steal money off of people's needs, but I do have a few establishments, restaurants of a few cuisines, that need a proper marketer to oversee and promote, so if you're not opposed to letting go your bartending job…” and before Taeyong could finish, you were quick to say yes.

Boy, do the days go by so fast after that, your new job is mostly online, you have two coworkers, a graphic designer –Mark Lee and a social media manager, or better known as the restaurants’ staffs’ biggest fear, Lee Haechan. A small department compared to the two finance departments, one for clean money and one for dirty money, but if anyone asks, you'd say you didn’t have a clue.

Starting out a new job wasn't easy, nor was it too difficult, being a ‘quite fresh’ graduate meant you still recall plenty of the knowledge you've studied in college, but the huge funds you had was of great assistance, which brings you to this party hosted by his friend.

Taeyong said he wanted to bring Yuta, his omakase chef who had just earned his first three Michelin stars under his new restaurant, thanks to your hard work in marketing to attract new rich customers and food critics.

However, people on the top of the food chain always had a reputation of being absolute dickheads.

“She’s literally younger than him, his ex was older by five years at least, and she was one of us, I did some digging, this girl isn’t even from one of the SKY universities,” one of them comments, and it’s true, you’re not that smart and you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, but what has you freezing in your spot is what comes out of their mouths next.

“I heard he got into a fight at his own bar for her and ended up getting detained for a bit, she’s just going to have him end up locked up if he stays with her, people like her bring nothing but bad omens.”

“Don’t tell me you’re letting their words get to you,” Yuta says, popping out of nowhere beside you.

“Even the strongest trees waver under the pressure of the winds, Yuta,” you say before finishing your glass.

Yuta and you have grown close after you had worked closely to promote the restaurant, and he values your opinion of which presentation you prefer, which is rare for chefs, especially the ones you've worked with with many years of experience and a reputation.

“Yeah, but who gives a fuck about some shitty pretentious university, that shit don’t matter as long as you land a job, plus, their faces are so botched, you look way better, Taeyong would never pick these shitty pick mes over you,” Yuta comments way too loudly for your comfort, but thankfully the girls were loudly squealing at the fact that their friend is finally here, welcoming her, unbeknownst of Yuta’s lethal words.

“Pick who over my sweetheart?” Taeyong asks, a hand coming to rest around your waist.

“I said you wouldn't, but someone’s doubting after hearing a few snarky remarks,” Yuta says, which has you freezing in your spot, Taeyong’s always been very protective and defensive about you, you don’t want to witness him fucking someone up tonight at such a prestigious party.

“Yeah, trust me, man to man, he’s definitely just fucking her on the down low, he’d never go for someone lower class, she’s most probably just a cheap fuck,” you look over Yuta’s shoulder to see a man standing next to one of the girls who were talking shit about you, two people were blocking their sight of your little group, so they hadn’t seen Taeyong coming back.

And to your horror, Taeyong leaves your side, walking up to the little clique.

“Oh god, he’s going to embarrass me,” you say with a groan before you quickly follow Taeyong as fast as you can in your Louboutins.

With a swing and the cracking of bones, you see the guy hunched over immediately, cursing as he holds his bloodied nose in his hand, when you finally got to the scene, the music had been cut, the place drowning in shocked silence no thanks to your heels, sue you, but you didn’t expect to need to run tonight, it was just two feet but these heels are so unwalkable.

“Don’t let me catch you assholes talking about my girlfriend ever again, you don’t want to know what I can do beyond breaking your nose,” Taeyong threatens as the guy quickly cowers on his spot on the floor.

“I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you,” someone says as they walk towards the scene, his name is Woozi, Taeyong had told you about the host of this party being a close friend of his who he had helped out when he had just taken over his father’s empire, you had no idea how much that meant to Woozi, but seeing them interacting now, you understand that if you mess with one of them, the other one immediately retaliates, “you wouldn’t want to go against him or me,” he says, elaborating no further, you hadn’t ask Taeyong what Woozi’s empire entails, but you think the less you know, the better.

“No, no, please, I was stupid, I’m sorry, miss,” he apologises to you before quickly escaping the scene, the girls leaving as well, tails tucked between their legs as they scramble, it’s quite an amusing scene.

“Thank you for standing up for me, Woozi, it’s nice to finally meet the host of this amazing party,” you say before sticking out your hand for him to shake.

“The honour’s all mine,” Woozi says as he takes your hand, “and nice to finally meet you, it’s nice to finally put a face to the person hyung’s been gushing about nonstop,” Woozi teases, which then earns him a light playful slap from Taeyong.

“Gushing is perfectly fine, I just wish he’d stop embarrassing himself and me on my behalf,” you say with an annoyed sigh as you turn to stare daggers into your boyfriend.

“Oh come on, I couldn’t just stand them and let them belittle you, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t do anything?” Taeyong retorts with a sheepish expression, he knows you don’t like it when he goes out of his way for you to this point, but he couldn’t help it, he loves you so dearly.

“You’re just proving them right by reacting, Yong, we talked about this,” you say, exasperated as you toss your arms up in defeat, you don’t know how to get this through his head at all.

“Proving what? Baby,” Taeyong calls out as you take off to the exit too, you have decided that tonight has been too much for you, you're tired of all this glitz and glamour with this thick layer of utter bullshit with their grade school playground gimmicks.

“Help me keep an eye on Yuta, I need to talk to her,” Taeyong quickly says to Woozi before he picks up the pace to follow you, ending up out at the lobby of the hotel, you were talking to the valet, and he distantly hears you asking for the keys.

“Baby, come on, don’t be mad, I’m sorry, I was stupidly acting on impulse, you know how defensive I get when it comes to you,” Taeyong reasons, but you keep quiet, trying to compose your thoughts, your car that you share with Taeyong pulls up, and immediately Taeyong tries taking the keys from the valet.

“You drank,” you say before pushing his hand away to retrieve your key, you did too, but Taeyong’s alcohol tolerance is much lower than yours, god knows he shouldn’t be driving.

Taeyong’s heart warms when he registers the chastise from you, you still care about him, you still love him, and so with a love stricken smile on his face and a slight bounce in his step, he's a giggly drunk so this happens all the time, though when he gets in the car, he worries once more when he sees how you chose to not play any music nor talk whilst driving.

When the two of you finally reached home, you immediately retreated into your shared bedroom, not sparing Taeyong a glance, not even when he offered to remove your heels for you.

Taeyong sighs to himself as he follows you upstairs, you had locked yourself in the bathroom as of now, probably cleaning your face free off makeup, he knows how you much you hate the texture of it on your skin despite loving to doll up, and he can’t blame you, even bb cream feels a tad bit too thick for Taeyong when you had applied it on him for fun.

Taeyong quickly changes into his house clothes and leaves the bedroom, just in case you need more space, he never wants to intrude when you want some alone time, even if he craves your affection, you’ll come around soon, you always do, Taeyong reassures himself.

When Taeyong was about to turn on the telly to kill some time, he hears you walking down the stairs, turning back to look over the sofa, Taeyong’s jaw drops at the sight of you.

Adorned in a beautiful lingerie set with a delicate crystal chain hanging around your upper left thigh, your face without a smidge of product, but he thinks you look best like this, but what finally has his cock twitching was what you had in your hold, a familiar pair of handcuffs.

“Sweetheart…” Taeyong mutters as thoughts of endless possibilities of how the night would play out runs through his head, but you silence him with the tip of your finger placed on his lips.

“Just let me do my thing, sit back and enjoy,” you say before you drop to your knees, your sultry eyes watching Taeyong’s every expression, and the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing has you cracking a smile as you lock his hand into the handcuffs.

Taeyong feels like he’s being hypnotised when your eyes stay on his whilst sliding his pants and boxers down, he almost didn’t feel his cock twitching from the cold air, but before he could even register the cold in its entirety, you take him into your mouth, the sudden action has Taeyong cursing, he would’ve bucked into your mouth if it wasn’t for your hands holding his hips down, he breathes a slightly frustrated sigh from the restriction, but like the little minx you are, you quickly hollow your cheeks after sinking in deeper, the tip of his length hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck!” Taeyong curses as he grows tense at your ministrations, he swears he almost came right then and there when he felt the constriction of your throat, his fingers turn white from grasping against the cuffs to anchor himself.

You take in the sight of him struggling to not cum and take pity on him, your mouth leaving his cock with a pop with a sly smile on your lips before your hands grasp him tightly, making sure he doesn’t cum too soon, the pressure sending a jolt down Taeyong’s spine, his usual round boba eyes now hooded but he scrunches them shut on impulse when you push back the foreskin, exposing the sensitive tip, giving it quick kitten licks before you suck on it like a lollipop, your tongue placed underneath his tip and you suck hard, and that’s when Taeyong goes over the edge, his body seizing up, you quickly take him down your throat, smiling around the edges of his cock when you feel the familiar warmth running down your throat, you keep him in your mouth until he stops, pulling off of him with a slight giggle when you see his chest heaving, limp against the couch, all from your undoing, and what a power trip that gives you, a rich and powerful man succumbing to your actions.

“How are you holding up, baby? Need a break?” you ask as you straddle him, tossing over your leg to situate yourself perfectly between his thighs, the lace material coming into contact with his cock, twitching back to life when it feels the slight warmth and moisture of your heat.

“More, please,” Taeyong utters as he tries his best to move his hips, and so you indulge him, rotating your hips until he hardens underneath you again.

You hear the clinks of his cuffs when you stand up, ceasing all physical contact, giggling when you hear him beg for you to come back, but he goes mute when he sees you shift the crotch of your lingerie to the side, climbing back into his embrace.

“You’re gonna ride me all dressed up prettily, sweetheart?” Taeyong asks, head tilted to the side as he takes in the sight of you, eyes locked onto his as you stare down at him, and he can’t help himself, lowering his head to litter kisses on your arm as he inhales your scent, call him a madman, but your scent might as well be as addictive as nicotine itself, the way he can’t seem to get enough of it.

Taeyong then shifts his head to the valley of your breasts, mouthing at your cleavage, pulling down the flimsy coverage by its thin straps to gain access to your bare chest, goosebumps rise on your skin when he finally takes a nipple into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on it like his life depends on it, like he really wants to eat you up, the action has you chasing for more pleasure, grinding your clit on the tip of his length before you can't take it anymore, reaching down with shaking hands to position him to your core, moaning his name as you finally slide down, slowly taking him inside you inch by inch, Taeyong's succumbed to the sweet feeling of your warm walls, giving up on worshipping your boobs, instead he's gripping onto your hips hard as he focuses on being engulfed in your heat, he's kind of slobbering on your right boob, but you find it arousing, the way he's so lost in pleasure, his eyes shut, brows furrowed as he mutters a string of sweet nothings as you make your way down to the hilt.

An almost delirious smile makes its way onto Taeyong’s face when you squeeze around him, head dipped low as he curses from your actions, you tilt his chin up with your fingertips, ego inflating at the sight of how wrecked he is and you barely even started.

“It’s been so long and you’re still reacting this way,” you noted as you caressed the side of his face.

“For you? Forever,” Taeyong says with full honesty, eyes overflowing with lust as he confesses, looking so vulnerable, underneath you like you’re his god, and in a way, you might just be, if Taeyong had it his way, he’d build a palace just for you and dedicate his life to you.

“I know,” you say with a row of your hips, cursing in unison with your lover when you feel him penetrate the deepest parts of your heat, that sensitive spot that has your toes curling.

Spurred on by Taeyong’s ever vocal devotion towards you, you raise your hips before slamming down once again, and the moan of your name escaping his lips has you doing it again and again, the quick drag of his length against your flesh has the whole house filled with the sound of sex resonating within its walls, you’re grateful Taeyong’s unit is the penthouse, because Taeyong’s always been so vocal in bed, his voice pitched much higher than it usually is, and as much as you revel in the feeling of people admiring your man, you don’t want anyone else hearing how beautiful he sounds when he’s laid bare underneath you.

With how fast you’re going, you’re sure there’s indentations of the sofa’s legs on the expensive wooden flooring, but fuck it, you’re so close, but you’re to blame for that, clenching on him every time you sink down, just so you could see the way he tries the very hardest not to cum way too early, not that you’d mind, it happened many times before, and you still find it so hot.

Deciding to not prolong the torture any longer, you reach down to rub quick circles on your clit as you grind the tip of his cock to that one spot deep inside, that perfect 12 o'clock angle that has your legs turning jelly, with a hiss of Taeyong’s name and a spasm of your walls from the shocks of pleasure coursing through your entire body, you finally reach your peak, your body sagging in sweet relief, your sensitive nipples feel so good against his skin, but after having a quick moment to yourself, you quickly slide off of him with a loud squelch that got a giggle out of you even in this heated state, getting down on your knees and take him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and suck, lips stretched, with his dick lodge at the back of your throat when you see his legs buckle and soon after, splashes of his warm release drip down your throat once again, when the flow ceases, you pull off of him with a deafening pop.

“Good boy,” you say after getting up brushing his cheek softly with those tender eyes that make Taeyong weak in the knees, only he gets to see this tender side of you, and it drives him mad sometimes, that it’s only reserve for him, of everyone you could choose to dote on, you chose him, and he hopes you’ll keep choosing him till the end of time.

With a quick click, he feels the cuffs being loosened and tossed away, instantly his arms are around your figure, pulling you into a deep kiss, the taste of himself on your lips spurs him on, but he wills himself to get his shit together, he knows you must be tired from doing all the work tonight, and there’s something that needs to be addressed soon, and so he pulls away from your lips, his hand placed on your right cheek, thumb brushing against the curvature of your cheek bone.

“Do you feel better now? Are you still angry at me or do I need to do more than letting you ravage my body like that?” Taeyong jokes with a laugh, but he immediately sobers up when he sees you sigh and climb off his sturdy legs.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten mad like that,” you say as you cringe as you recall how you acted out earlier today, you know no one’s perfect, but when you slip up, it reminds you too much of your own mother, throwing a tantrum and running away, and you swear you’d never be like her, but at the end of the day, you’re a work of progress, and fortunately, Taeyong understands.

“Do you want to tell me what triggered you?” Taeyong asks, his tone gentle, he never directs his aggression at you, no matter the situation, he loves you too much to ever even think of doing that.

“They said some things, and they’re not entirely wrong-” but you’re being cut off by an irritated sigh, Taeyong hates it when you demean yourself this way. “Before you get mad, hear me out, they said how I’d always get you in trouble, and when you think about it, they’re not wrong, I literally landed you in jail the first night we got together, Yong, and the shit they said about me not being from one of the prestigious universities, they’re not wrong about that, it’s just facts, I’m just not part of this elite social ladder, that isn’t the point. The point is that I feel like I’m tarnishing your reputation and in relation, your businesses,” you finish off with another sigh, you haven’t been sighing this much these days, so this feels oddly familiar in the worst ways possible, Taeyong’s been making your life more comfortable every single day, but you on the other hand, are contributing to his troubles.

“Don’t let them get to your head, you’re literally bringing in so much profit for me, sweetheart, next time I’ll throw a party just to show everyone how our numbers are doing, it’ll blow them away, also, you’re doing all that without a goddamn degree from those snobbish colleges. Lastly, you don’t get me in trouble, it’s just part and parcel of protecting the person I love, something they’d never understand with how shallow they are, don’t let people with an EQ of 0 determine how you live, and I know what you want to say,” Taeyong says when he sees you open your mouth to protest, “I’ll try my best to not get in trouble and keep my temper in check, but I do hope you understand that if it isn’t me, I’m just gonna have someone else do the dirty job of beating them up,” Taeyong says, compromising, that’s how his father and mother did it, he always believes that’s the key to a long lasting marriage, which is something he’d want with you in the near future.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh, but he sees the ghost of a smile on your face as you lean down to rest your head on his broad shoulder, littering kisses from his neck to the end of his shoulder, Taeyong lets himself bask in your affection for a bit, knowing that you thrive off giving physical affection, but he's a clean freak at the end of the day, getting the both of you clean is still a priority.

“Come, let’s have a bath, my love,” Taeyong suggests as he carries you the direction of your bedroom, and you let him, soaking up the feeling of being loved, maybe Taeyong’s right, nothing matters when you have a love as cosmic as the one you share with Taeyong.

[loveafterdeath-if]

Okay, So I'll take this opportunity to steal a few asks from other ifs.

How would the ROs react if the MC got drunk on a night out and when they tried to help him get home the MCs tells them that they they have a girlfriend/boyfriend and pushes them away, this being once the MC and ROs are in a relationship of course, I have an angtsy version of this ask but I fear it might be too angtsy so I'll wait for your expert opinion and angster (angst author) in chief

I'm late, am I not? You're free to beat my ass for the late reply, lmaooo

L blinks at you, their hand brushing their arm where your hand pushed them away. They don't follow you to their car, only stare at your retreating back, forcing you to turn around with a puzzled frown.

"I told you I already have a lover," you slur. "Stop following me."

They point their finger at themself with a charming grin that slowly spreads across their face. "I am."

"What?"

"I'm your lover," they clarify with a proud nod following their words. "I'm the lucky woman/man who can call you theirs."

You blink, vision a bit blurry from your intoxicated state. That person is... yours? You tilt your head, observing the gorgeous man/woman standing a few feet away from you.

And just like that, a bark of laughter escapes your mouth as you sway on your feet. "No way!"

"Yes way," L preens under your disbelief, resuming their steps to stand in front of you and reach for your hand. They interlace your fingers with a wink. "So let's keep it that way."

You squint at them, processing their words. "Oh," you murmur, realization dawning on you before another laugh leaves your lips. "You're right."

"How many drinks did you have again, honey?" L chuckles, tugging your hand to guide you to the car, their thumb stroking your skin tenderly. "Should I be worried you forgot about me?"

"What?" You frown at them as you pull your hand away. "Wait—stop hitting on me, I have a boyfriend/girlfriend."

L glances down at their now empty hand, already missing your warmth. Their smile falters, and you swear they look like a kicked puppy.

You grimace. Maybe that wasn't the best joke to make just after genuinely forgetting they were, in fact, your lover.

"I'm kidding this time," you quickly reassure them, grabbing their hand back as you resume your step to the vehicle.

Their eyes light up as they're all too happy to lift your linked fingers and press a kiss against your skin. "You got me worried there, honey."

____

Ekissa watches you with a frown as you retreat. Did they hear you right? They don't have time to think, already fastening their steps to grab your wrist before a car can come barreling down on you.

"Look where you're going, dumbass," they grumble, tugging you away from the road.

"Stop following me," you try to yank your arm away, but they're quick to grab your hand instead. "I told you I already have a—"

"I'm the lucky bastard who's dating you, sweetheart." Ekissa cuts in, glancing at you with a raised brow. "And you drank one too many. So now, either you let me help you get back home safe, or we're gonna have a problem."

You squint at them, processing their words. "Wait, really? You? You and me?"

"No, you and my sis," Ekissa quips, sarcasm dripping through each word. "Yeah, you and me. What, got a problem with that?"

"Nope, no problem at all," you shake your head with a smile, the movement making you sway.

"Careful," they sigh in growing frustration, yet there's fondness as they squeeze their hand around yours. "Let's get you home, sweetheart."

"Oh, oh," you snort, interlacing your fingers with theirs when you finally remember. "Right."

"Finally remember my existence?" Ekissa grumbles, their eyes meeting yours.

You huff a laugh, offering an apologetic kiss against their shoulder. "Yeah."

Their features soften ever so slowly, but the words don't follow the expression. "Should I kick your ass for forgetting me?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," you mumble in your intoxicated state. "I'll be nice from now on."

That earns a snort from them, their hand in yours drawing you closer until your shoulders are pressed together despite their allergy to public displays. "Yeah, yeah, I heard this one before."

____

"I am your boyfriend/girlfriend," T wastes no time clearing up the misunderstanding as they walk next to you despite your protest.

"You're not," you slur, your eyes looking where you're walking. "I'd know if it was you."

"Clearly, you don't," T retorts matter-of-factly as they grip your elbow tightly to keep you balanced when you nearly trip over nothing. "I told you to go easy on the drinks."

"What?" You turn your attention to the dark-haired woman/man. Your eyes blink slowly, having difficulty keeping them open.

"You drank too much," T clarifies, deciding it’s better to give up on chiding you as they shake their head. "Never mind, let's get you home before you fall and get hurt."

Your eyes narrow, your finger jabbing gently into their shoulder. "How do you know where I live?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend/girlfriend," they answer flatly, not particularly annoyed to repeat that simple sentence again and again.

That brings a tiny smile to the corners of their lips the more they repeat it. They could repeat those words for an entire day and wouldn’t tire of it.

"No, you're not. Because I already have one."

"Yes, and that's me."

"What...?" You huff a laugh, your steps unstable despite T helping you walk. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You?"

"Yes, me."

"And me?" You add.

T lets go of your elbow to slide their arm around your back and wrap it around you to better steady you as much as they can. "Yes, do you have any objections?"

Realization dawning on you, you snort, shaking your head with a small smile. "Not really."

"Good." They murmur as they squeeze your side gently.

____

Athiel's mouth opens in offense as a loud huff escapes their lips. Their features contort in frustration, hurt, and arrogance. "Fine. Faceplant yourself and see if I care."

They don't follow you, not even when your body sways at each step you take. Not even when you stop in your tracks and turn around to face them with a tiny frown.

You're drunk, not blind. And this woman/man is not only gorgeous but also criminally adorable with the little pout they have right now.

Despite yourself, you find your feet approaching them with a curious, almost wondering expression. "Are you pouting?"

"Go away," Athiel crosses their arms, glaring at nothing in particular on their right.

"You're pouting," your lips tremble, and you're trying your hardest not to smile. "I have to stay loyal. And I told you I already have a boyfriend/girlfriend."

"Yeah? Well, go back to your lover then," Athiel lifts their chin, but they don't meet your gaze, determined to sulk all night if they have to.

"I will," you nod slowly, processing your own words as you try to remember who is actually your lover.

Your face must betray your thoughts because Athiel narrows their eyes at you. "Sorry won't cut it."

"C'mon, I was... joking, mostly..." you try to get away with it with that laugh that people have when they're drunk. You grimace when you're met with a glare from your lover. "I'm sorry..."

"I don't care," Athiel clicks their tongue as they walk past you.

Your hand shoots forward to grab their hand and interlace your fingers as you walk beside them. "I'm sorry... I'm just too drunk, like, really drunk."

"I don't care," they repeat, but their fingers tightening around yours like a lifeline proves otherwise. "You better remember who's your woman/man next time. I'm not dealing with your stupid brain every time you drink too much."

"Yes, ma'am/sir," you hum, bringing your linked hands up to leave a kiss against their skin, something that earns a blush on their face that never gets old to admire.

[xoqox]

・┆✦ʚ ​ꜱʜᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ(-)ᴡᴀʏ​ ɞ✦ ┆・

𖹭.ᐟ Prologue

𓍼 cw: use of kms/kys as jokes 𓍼 wc: 629

m.list || next chapter

Shit. Holy fucking shit.

Mouth full of noodles, hand instinctively gripping harder on your chopsticks, eyes wide and staring right into Atsumu's brown orbs from right across the room.

“Shit,” the blonde man mutters under his breath, immediately recognizing his old teammate sitting in the booth in the back of the restaurant.

Kuro waves a hand across your face, oblivious to the three men behind his back who just walked inside. “Hey, yn? You still with us?” You only swallow in response, nearly choking on your food before your lips finally part. “Atsumu?”

It doesn't take longer than a couple of seconds for him to reach your table. “l/n y/n?!” Atsumu exclaims with both shock and excitement as he looks down at you. He huffs out a chuckle, and then a smile follows: “Holy fuckin' shit, it is you!”

That's what I said!

Whatever nervousness took over you when you first saw him moments ago practically evaporates the longer you look at him. His genuine smile, the way his whole face lights up when he says your name. You almost forgot how easily Atsumu can spread his warmth to those around him.

“It's been a while!” You say softly with a smile of your own.

After a few awkward introductions, a very loud and excited greeting from Bokuto, and a noise complaint from one of the tables nearby, the two groups decide to have lunch together.

“What's m'favorite manager up ta nowadays, hm?” Atsumu hums as he turns to face you next to him. “Besides stealin' m'heart as usual.”

You scoff with your eyes rolling at the setter's familiar flirty teasing, “I'm studying in college; just did a presentation this morning, actually.”

Atsumu's eyes widen, and a grin spreads on his lips. “Here in Osaka?” You raise a brow, yet nod nonetheless, “Since graduation, ya've been here?!”

“Yes?” You can't help but chuckle, finding his shock amusing for whatever reason. “What's so exciting about that?”

Instead of replying, Atsumu pulls out his phone with a grin plastered all over his face. “We gotta get the band back together!”

Your eyes widen, gaze instantly dropping to his phone, where he's already typing to god knows who, “W-wait, Atsumu! What the fuck do you mean—”

“C'mon! Me, Samu and Gin moved t'Osaka after graduation. Kita and Aran are here too, last time I checked...” You watch as his fingers keep tapping on his phone while the implications of his words slowly start turning the cogs in your brain, “We just need t'get the rest of the guys here!”

“For what, Atsumu?”

“Duh! A reunion!”

A reunion.

With your old classmates and teammates.

Your wide-open eyes instantly turn to look at Kiyoko on the other side of the table, who somehow, amongst the endless chatter from the rest of the guys at the table, caught your nervousness at Atsumu's suggestion.

No, not suggestion.

Announcement is the better word for it.

You shake your head just enough for Kiyoko to understand that you clearly don't know what to do. She only presses her lips in a thin line and raises her shoulders slightly in reply.

Unluckily for you, Kiyoko isn't the only one on the table with keen observation. “Yer like pale as a ghost,” Atsumu huffs out with a laugh. “C'mon! It'll be fun! Just like the ol'days!”

God this man can't read a room for his life.

“Is it Samu? I'm sure yer gonna be just fine; it's been ages since that.”

Point proven.

“No, I—” You sigh with your eyes closed, “I just don't know if I have time for a reunion right now. I'm very busy with classes and—”

“Buuuullshit.” Atsumu looks at you, visibly disappointed by your excuse. “I'll give ya till tonight ta give me a yes.”

𖹭.ᐟ fun facts

༝༚༝༚ the clique gc includes the twins, suna, gin and yn. they made it during their first year in Inarizaki

likes & (<) reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

[tallulah477]

The Rumor Mill (Part Two)

Pairing: Spider x Fem!Na'vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Spider, Oral (female receiving), Blindfolding, Handjob, Finger Sucking, Queue/Kuru Play, P in V, Voice Kink (kinda), Multiple Orgasms, Dirty Talk, Slight Food Play, Creampie, Reader has anxiety and is going through it, Her entire body is made of stress I s2g

Word Count: 12.4K

A/N: Happy New Year! Starting the year off with some Spider! I threw a semicolon in here somewhere just to spice things up a bit ;)

Summary: You thought your little crush on Spider would get easier after he ate you out within an inch of your life. Instead, it gets worse. And now you can't even look at him without picturing him looking up at you from between your thighs.

<<< Part One

Translations:

Tewng - Loincloth

Skxawng - Idiot, moron

Teylu - Beetle larvae

Tawtute - Human

Vrrtep - Demon

Mawey - Calm

Yawne - Beloved

You thought that getting eaten out and having an orgasm so intense you thought you might explode from pleasure would make you more comfortable around the person that did it. It’s intimate - getting up close like that and sharing something so personal with someone else. It should erase the nerves, right? Make you more at ease and relaxed around the person who’s seen you at your most vulnerable. 

Spider made you fall apart on his tongue in just a few minutes. It was amazing. Heartstopping. A down right hazard to your ability to breathe. 

But instead of crawling off that bed in your satisfied and pleasured haze and waving at him in thanks, maybe even scheduling another meeting so you could relive the life-changing experience - you just laid there, legs still twitching as you panted into your mask for air that you felt like wasn’t ever enough to please your lungs.

“So what do you think? Are the rumors true?”

Your cunt couldn’t stop spasming, the aftershocks of your orgasm seeming to extend on forever, and you know that humans don’t have anything special that should make you feel this way. No natural aphrodisiacs that the Na’vi do. But you think that Spider has to have something that he’s hiding, some kind of trick or superpower or something because you never knew that you could orgasm like that. So fulfilling and explosive and, oh Eywa, you squirted on his face! 

He asked you that question, face as smug as smug could get. And even though you never got the words out for yourself, you know he knew your answer. His eyes never left your face. 

But your eyes left his, dragging down his body, observant and catching where the blue painted stripes on his body had just barely smudged across his tanned skin from where his chest and belly had rubbed against the sheets during his time between your legs. They hesitate for just a moment over the healed skin of his bullet scar, covered partially with one purposeful stripe. Your eyes traveled down to the bulge in his tewng and your scattered brain latches on to the thought of him reaching inside it. Your pussy flutters, clit throbbing in need again as the image of him stroking himself beneath the cloth of his tewng invades your mind. Would he keep it hidden from you? Another form of teasing as he looks down at you with those sinful eyes as he pumps at his length that may or may not have blue stripes on it to match the rest of his body. Or would he pull it out and let you watch? Let you see as he chases the pleasure both you and him know he deserves after the gift he just graced you with. Would those possibly existing stripes smear along his cock the same way the ones on his chest and stomach did? 

You whimper at the thought and the involuntary sound snaps you back to reality. Spider’s still there in front of you, sat back on his heels and the remnants of your arousal still glistening in the florescent light of the room on his face where he missed wiping it off. The bulge still ever present under his tewng.

Spider’s teasing stare twists into concern. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“I have to go,” You say suddenly, scrambling off the bed. 

Your legs feel like jelly and you worry you’re about to collapse at any moment, but then you turn around and grab your forgotten tewng from the sheets and your eyes catch on Spider’s concerned brown ones again and fuck! You can’t look at him! You can’t look at him anymore. How are you expected to ever look at him again when all you’re going to be able to see when you do is how ravenous he looked between your thighs or what you think he might look like with a hand on his cock. 

“Wait,” He says, moving to get up too. “What’s wr–”

He’s a sweetheart. A true, kind, pussy eating god of a sweetheart, and you’re a fucking coward because what are you even doing right now? 

Running. Grabbing your tewng and running. 

That’s what you’re doing right now. 

The walk of shame through the woods and back to the village feels like it takes forever. Nightfall caresses the entire forest in a thick blanket of darkness, lit up only by the bioluminescent plants and networks of living moss on the ground. You watch the beauty around you as you trek your way back and try to ignore the way your pussy still twitches occasionally in its overstimulated and overworked state.

You take a deep breath and urge yourself to calm down. 

It was just a thing. A thing. Get yourself together. He didn’t even fuck you. And even if he did, it still wouldn’t be a big deal. Sex is normal between the Na’vi - an expression and physical release. It’s not a taboo like it can be for the human’s and you have no reason to feel anything other than pure satisfaction of a job well done. This should be a walk of pride. A walk of contentment. 

So why do you feel so flustered? 

The image of him sitting back on his heels, the thick bulge trying to poke up and begging for attention under the thin piece of cloth around his hips pops into your mind again. That was for you. He was hard because of you. You could have helped him. Returned the favor with your own mouth. You could be learning how he tastes right now, how the weight of his cock feels against your tongue. 

But you didn’t. You left him there. Alone and confused and hard. 

You curse softly, voice barely audible in the expanse of the forest. Eywa, y/n, you are so stupid. 

Renu is never going to let you live this down.

Renu doesn’t let you live it down. 

She bombards you the second you’re back in your hut. You knew it was going to happen - Renu is nothing if not driven. But you still hoped you would have some time before she cornered you, crafty grin on her face and the demand to “spill all the details! C’mon, nothing left out!” on her tongue. 

It’s almost as hard to look at her as it is to look at Spider. 

“You skxawng!” She bellows, disbelief coloring her tone and you think you’ve never seen her eyes this wide before. “You just left him? He gave you the best head of your life and you just left him?”

“Ran,” You corrected, weakly. 

“Oh, that’s right. You ran. You ran from the man you’ve been ogling over since he came back to the clan. And then, not only that, but you ran before you got that dick? Are you crazy?”

“You never said anything about getting dick,” 

“I am so mad at you right now,” Renu says. She crosses her arms across her chest and frowns at the corner of your hut. She lasts about eight seconds before she peeks back at you again. “So what did his tongue feel like?”

You whine and bury your face into your hands. 

Maybe you’re being a little dramatic. 

Five days after your rendezvous with Spider shows just how much courage you don't have. He’s in the village all the time, spending time with the Sullys or helping train the younger warriors alongside Neteyam - and if you thought you saw him everywhere before, it's even worse now that you’re trying to not see him. 

You know he’s trying to seek you out. He’s tried to corner you on several occasions, especially in the first two days after you ran from the outpost, but you dodged his attempts to talk to you every time. You’d like to say your successful attempts at evading him have to do with your prowess as a Na’vi - the art of quick footing, careful movements, and pure athleticism despite not being an active Hunter or Warrior working in your favor - but you know you’d only be lying to yourself. Spider is even more athletic than you are and you think he could cut you off no matter where you try to go, force you to talk to him if he really wanted to.

He’s letting you get away - his own kind soul seeing your distress and even though you know he wants to get to the bottom of why you’re acting the way you’re acting, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

“Well, you know what they say,” Renu said when you hide in her hut after one such escape. “Big heart, big di–”

“Shut up!”

She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand why you clam up whenever he’s nearby, face catching fire whenever the sound of his name pops up in conversation or is called from across the training grounds as you're walking by. She doesn’t understand why you turn into a flustered disaster at the mere sight of him and fuck - if Renu thought you were bad before your little experience with Spider, she makes sure to tell you how embarrassing you are now. 

And it is embarrassing. 

You are significantly taller than he is and naturally stronger. You should not be cowering and hiding like you are, especially just from a little sexual tryst. Yet, the last words you said to him were a garbled slew of unintelligent syllables as you scrambled for your tewng, desperate to be out of the room that contained his scent like a relentless source meant to keep you dizzy and cloud your senses. And you can’t look at him, neverending images reeling in your mind with each glance, but you can’t stop looking at him either, eyes flicking across the village or hiding behind your fellow People to catch a glimpse of the man who is causing you such torment. 

Sometimes you wonder if humans really do have better senses than the Na’vi give them credit for. But then again, maybe it’s just Spider who is special. Either way, you don’t like it, because Spider seems to know when he’s being watched and a lot of times when you try to steal those self imposed taboo glances, you find him already staring back at you. 

And then you really can’t look at him, eyes unable to meet his piercing stare for longer than half a second before snapping your head away and sprinting back to your hut in shame. 

It takes Renu losing what little patience she had left with you to convince you to put an end to the madness. Five days seems to be your maximum for stalling the inevitable and you find yourself walking back towards the human outpost after you’ve completed your tasks for the day, escorted by none other than your traitorous best friend. 

You drag your feet a little slower when the building comes into view. 

Renu keeps a close and watchful eye on you all the way up until you close the airlock door behind you, and even then you know she’s going to stay out there for a little bit longer just to make sure you don’t chicken out and run for the hills instead of facing your fears head on. 

“Just do it,” she had told you. “Face your fears and just talk to him. Warriors have no fear.”

“I'm a Gatherer,” You reminded her. But she waved off your fact like it's a pesky insect. 

“None of that! You can do it. Plus, maybe he’ll even lay you down and lick your pussy again for being such a brave girl,”

Thankfully, no one is really in the lab when you walk in. There’s a female scientist looking at some data on one of the holographic screens, but you’re not sure of her name and she really doesn’t pay you much attention anyway. She glances up as you push the thick airlock door shut behind you and offers you a polite nod when you wave at her in greeting, but that’s as far as the interaction goes. 

You grab a Co2 mask from the side shelf and slowly creep through the lab and into the residential area. Everything inside you is telling you to turn around, nerves shaking through your entire body and come on, get it together, Y/n, you’re better than this.

No you’re not. This is why you’ve never had a partner before this. You’re practically more anxiety than Na’vi at this point and fuck - would Renu still be outside to catch you if you turn around a try to bail now?

(Yes, she would be.)

Spider’s bedroom is the third room on the left and you carefully open the door, peeking inside briefly even though you can already tell that he isn’t inside, and duck under the doorframe. You close the door behind you, twisting the knob with you as you press it shut so the lock doesn’t make the loud clicking sound it always makes when the latch catches. It’s stupid, but a part of you feels like the quieter you are, the less likely you are to somehow magically alert Spider to your presence in his room before he’s already in the process of coming in himself. It’s not like he’s got the heightened senses of a Na’vi to rely on. You could leave right now and he wouldn’t even be able to tell that you were here with his unevolved human nose. You, on the other hand… with how on edge you are right now, you know the purposeful sound of the lock latching back in place would sound like a gunshot to your ears. Better to just do it gently. 

You step across the room, overtaking the space in only a few steps, and sit on the very edge of his bed. You’re more crouching over it than actually sitting on it, but your ass still presses against the soft sheets of his unmade bed and the feel of it brings back the memories of that night. 

The sensation of the sheets against your skin and how they moved with you, caressed your heated flesh while you writhed across them, trying to survive the overwhelming experience their owner’s mouth was putting you through. The room smells just like him - a strange combination of musk and dirt and all things that you would associate with the Na’vi, but with the distinct foreign smell of human to go with it. 

Stop! Your hands fist the fabric of your tewng. Stop breathing. If you keep up your current line of thinking, then you're definitely going to book it out of here before you get a chance to come clean to the tawtute haunting your dreams. Renu wouldn’t have any hopes of catching you with how fast you’ll run. 

But you don’t want to run anymore. The constant hiding and worrying and embarrassment is exhausting and you want things to go back to the way it was before the vrrtep born of the people from another star made your brain explode with a simple flick of his tongue. 

So instead you try to distract yourself. Spider’s room is as bare as you think it could be. You didn’t get a proper look at it the first time you were in here as distracted as you were with the absolute everything about him, but taking it in now - you can tell just how much of him is in here based on how little there actually is. 

Spider is as much of a Na’vi as he can be and you know that if he could live outside permanently, becoming one with nature and the animals and sleeping in a hut in the village that he built himself without need of an oxygen mask or worry that one day it might malfunction or break in his sleep, he would. So his room expresses that. The furniture is kept to a minimum - just a bed, a side table, and dresser - but you would bet anything you have that there’s nothing actually stored in the dresser itself. But there’s some scraps of cloth on top of it, clearly being stitched together as in progress clothing. You’ve seen Spider in interestingly printed tewngs from time to time, when his favorite ones have too much wear and tear and need to be repaired. The most eye-catching was a black dyed fabric with a red face and white eyes printed on the front. You’re not sure what it was - a person no doubt, but it didn’t look human despite the face being human shaped. 

You remember the last time he wore it you stared at it for so long trying to figure out what it was you were looking at that you didn’t realize how intensely you were staring at his crotch. When Renu nudged you and dragged you out of your way too focused contemplation, Spider was already looking back at you, smirk pulling at his lips as he stared you down from across the fire. Your eyes never left your food for the entire rest of last meal. 

There’s a bowl of fruit on the side table, a combination of yovo fruit and spartan fruit that fills the entire bowl until it looks like it might overflow. You have something similar in your own hut for late night snacks. 

You try to focus on the smell of the fruit instead, trying to sniff the sweetness and tang through the overwhelming scent of Spider. But your nose twitches, unconsciously trying to capture more of the alluring scent you were trying to distract yourself from and the ache that builds between your thighs in response feels almost damning. 

The scent distracts you enough to let him sneak up on you. You should have heard him coming. You should have been able to hear him walking down the hall. He’s lived with the Na’vi his entire life, lived among them and has been a part of them as much as he possibly could be, so his footsteps are lighter and more purposeful than a regular human’s. But you should have still been able to hear him coming or smelled that his scent was getting stronger than it already was in the residuals of his room. 

But you didn’t and now he’s here. And you are too. In his room. With him. Alone. Again. 

The door opens and you see a flash of tanned skin and the swing of a blonde dreadlock and you feel like the teylu from your lunch is going to make a reappearance all over Spider’s floor. What are you doing here, you ask yourself in a panic, any bravery you had just a few minutes ago has officially run out. He hasn’t seen you yet, hasn’t realized that you're here. Maybe you can jump out the window really quick. It doesn’t actually open since the carbon dioxide rich air would make breathing for the human’s impossible, but you could probably break it open and just telepathically apologize to Spider and the rest of the people at the outpost for the broken glass. Spider could make it back to the front of the lab and grab an oxygen mask before he passes out from lack of breathable air, right?

You could do it. It’s not too late.

It’s not—

“Y/n,” Spider says, surprise coloring his tone. “What are you doing here?”

Your eyes automatically dart up to meet his startled one, but you’re only able to keep his gaze for a second before you physically can’t anymore - images of flushed skin and swollen lips and dark sultry eyes looking up at you from beneath thick lashes flash before your eyes on repeat at just the sight of them now. 

“I– um,” You start and your voice comes out way too raspy to be normal. Embarrassed, you clear your throat. “I came to… um…”

The breath gets caught in your throat when Spider crosses the room quickly, crouching slightly in front of you and reaching out to carefully grab your chin in his hand and twist your face towards his.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Yeah, feels like it too.

You feel like your heart is going to pound right out of your chest, and even though he’s clearly trying to get you to meet his gaze, his head even ducking down further to try to catch your downcast eyes, you avert them at all costs. Suddenly, his ceiling seems much more interesting. 

The hand not holding your chin moves to lay over your own hands that are twisting nervously in your lap. 

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” He says. “You ran out of here so fast that day and I wanted to make sure you were okay. You’ve been really uh… busy lately though.” 

The lump in your throat prevents the “yeah” from vocalizing past the movement of your mouth, so you forcefully clear your throat - the sound much louder than you would ever hope it would be. 

“Yeah,” You try again, and this time it comes out normally. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just– just busy.”

You can feel Spider’s eyes on you, intense and unrelenting despite their naturally warm color, and you feel like his stare is burning a hole in the side of your face. Out of the corner of your eye you see him look towards the still open bedroom door, one of his dreads slipping over his shoulder, before he sighs. The sound pierces your ears and then those eyes are back on you. 

“You can–uh,” He starts. One of his hands stays on top of yours in your lap while the other moves to squeeze encouragingly at your thigh. Goosebumps burst out on your skin at his warm touch. “You can tell me if I was bad. Or if you didn’t like it. Some people are probably just gonna prefer the Na’vi tongue to a human’s. More texture, you know?”

“No!” You blurt, and your eyes automatically meet his for a fraction of a second before they dart away again - images of those eyes glaring up at you with such heat from between your thighs erasing every other thought you’ve ever had. 

“No?” Spider repeats. “Cause if it is you can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

Fuck, you think as you find the ceiling again. You might have even said it outloud, you’re not even sure anymore. How could he ever think that he could be bad? He has to know he’s not, he has to know. How could he not? With all his happy visitors and glowing reviews and the way he can speak the Na’vi language as perfectly as he can when other humans struggle and still trip over some words despite being fluent - you knew the rumors were true. With a tongue that talented, it was only a wonder what he could do with it in the bedroom. 

And the way he made you cum? Eywa, he would have to be blind and have his brain taken out to think that he wasn’t good.

“No,” You repeat, voice soft. “No, it’s… not that.”

“Then what?” He asks, a hint of frustration seeping out in his tone. “Y/n, you can talk to me. What’s up?”

You’re silent for a long while because what are you even supposed to say? What’s up is that you ate me out so good and now just the sight of your face makes me feel like I can cum again without you even touching me? Yeah, that’s going to go over well. 

“You can’t even look at me,” He says, and you know if you could bear to peek at him right now that the hair on his brows would be furrowed. “Did I do something to upset you? Something after?”

“No! Eywa, I just–” Your words cut off again, frustration bubbling in your voice just as much as it is in his. “I can’t— I can’t look at you,”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Spider grumbles, and you immediately feel even more embarrassed for making him upset. “Tell me why.”

It’s not a question this time. It’s a demand.

You hesitate for too long, and suddenly Spider stands from his crouching position, his hand gripping your chin again - but this time it's more firm and forceful, determined to get you to look at him. It works. Golden eyes meet smoldering brown and you find yourself at a loss of breath, air catching in your lungs just like that night five days ago. 

He’s almost eye level with you as he stands at his full height, the fact that you’re still sitting on the bed makes you lower than normal. You’re still taller than him like this. Just by a few inches. But the controlling way he holds your chin, piercing eyes locking onto yours and keeping them hostage in their depths, makes you feel like he’s towering over you. 

“You’re here,” He continues. “You obviously came here to talk. So talk. Talk to me.” 

You can’t look away anymore. He’s so close, body completely filling your vision with how close he is to you and your breath leaves your body completely as he pins you with his stare.  

“Tell me why,”

You can’t stand it - images of those devious eyes, dark and sinful but somehow also so sacred, keep popping up and tainting your mind. You close your eyes against his gaze. 

“Y/n—” He sighs, but you’re finally able to find your voice.

He’s right. You came here to be honest with him and get it all out on the table. 

“I can’t look at you,” You whisper. “Because when I do, all I see is you… between my legs.”

Spider’s hand loosens its hold on your chin and you wonder if you opened your eyes right now if you would see shock painted on his face. You don’t and force yourself to keep talking just to fill the silence.

“I s-see you looking up at m-me,” You stutter and surely you must be more anxiety than body. “W-with your tongue i-inside me. Felt so good, and it makes me n-nervous to be around you.”

“And why are you nervous?” He asks, and the smile you hear in his voice makes you open your eyes despite yourself. 

He’s so beautiful. Plump lips spread out into a cocky grin that makes your insides clench. 

“You don’t have to be nervous,” He continues, and he’s so close now that you can see the small flecks of lighter brown against the darker contrast of the rest of his iris. You close your eyes again, face heating up at his laughter. “It’s just me. C’mon, open your eyes for me.”

You shake your head and keep your eyes firmly shut. “I can’t,”

“Okay,” Spider says. He lets go of your chin and steps away from you. 

You chance a glance at him and sure enough his back is turned as he walks back across the room. He nudges the door shut, the latch clicking in place and echoing through the room as he detours to his dresser. He picks up one of the spare fabrics in the pile, a deep purple scrap with what looks like gold accents that you’re immediately sure he sewed in himself and clicks his tongue at you when he catches your gaze. 

“No peeking,” He chides as you squeeze your eyes shut again. His footsteps move closer again and you feel your breathing stop when you feel the soft fabric drape over your closed lids. “You say you can’t look at me. So don’t.”

He knots the ends of the cloth behind your head and then suddenly, you couldn’t see anything but darkness even if you wanted to. 

“You don’t have to look at me,” He says, voice so low it's almost a whisper. “Just experience me.”

The squeak you let out at his words should be forgiven given the circumstance. 

Oh Great Mother, have mercy. 

The blindfold heightens your senses in a way that just closing your eyes doesn’t. Your ears perk up to catch every sound, soaking in the barely noticeable shift in his breathing as it hints towards excitement. Or maybe it could be panic - but the confident tap of his feet against the tiled floor as he walks around you tells you it’s not panic. 

His footsteps are so much lighter than a human’s, skilled in stealth and practiced movements that might even let him sneak up on a fellow Na’vi if they’re distracted. But in the dead silence of the room, your heightened senses pick up on them easily. Your tail curls around your body as you subconsciously try to make yourself smaller, and you hold it in your hands on your lap for comfort. 

The bed dips as he kneels behind you and even though you know he’s there, can both hear and feel him clearly, you’re still caught off guard when he drops his mouth to your ear. 

“You know I missed you a lot,” His lips brush against the curve. Your ear twitches at the touch and flattens against your head. He follows it anyway, warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin as his hands curl around your upper arms to keep you still. “Tried to talk to you but you ran from me.”

His voice sounds like silk in your ear, smooth and low and beautiful, and you wring your tail nervously in your lap as he nips at the pierced curve of your ear. 

“You ran from me, Y/n,” He says again, and you gasp when he tugs your tail from your wringing hands, jerking it once just so it pulls at where it’s connected to your body. “Like a bad girl.”

The small bolt pain that shoots through you at the tug makes your pussy flutter and you sink your hands in your tewng again just to hold onto something. 

“I’m s-sorry,” You croak. 

Your mouth drops open as he strokes your tail, goosebumps exploding on your skin as his hand trails from close to the base of it all the way up to the tapered, hair tufted tip. His mouth presses against the side of your neck, humming against the skin as he wraps and twists your tail around his hand. The feel of his calloused palm and strong fingers sliding over the delicate length of your tail making your entire body feel like a live wire. 

“But you’re so pretty,” He tells you. “And goofy. So perfect the last time I had you laid out here. I guess I’m just gonna have to forgive you.”

Another rough tug on your tail just to make you jump and then he’s moving away again, the bed lifting slightly without his added weight, and you're left with your ears straining in anticipation to hear where he’s going to move to next. 

He doesn’t talk for a moment, just walks around to the front of the bed again before his footsteps veer off to your left. The silence nearly kills you. He needs to talk - you need him to talk to you. It’s only been a few seconds but in those seconds it feels like you’ve lived an eternity without his voice. You need him talking to you. Need his voice to keep you grounded because when he’s not talking, you think you might jump out of your own skin. 

“I was so sad,” He says. “When I thought you were upset with me because of something I did.” There’s the sound of something hefty yet pliable shift and settle as Spider moves something near the side table. “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat.”

He’s back in front of you now and your hands pull at your tewng so tightly you think it might rip when he knocks your knees apart so he can stand between them.

“I was so hungry,” He breathes. “You make me so hungry, Y/n.”

You can’t help but whimper, tail swishing behind you erratically. 

Your ears twitch as they pick up the crisp rip of his blunt teeth piercing what sounds like the skin of a fruit and then the smell of sugared syrup wafts into your nose. He must have picked up a fruit from the bowl on the side table. You can hear the squish of juice gushing from the puncture and the small slurps he makes as he tries to catch it. Rogue drips of juice land on the tops of your legs and he catches your chin in his hand again, cutting off your shocked gasp as he holds your blindfolded face directed towards his, the sticky lines of runaway juice creeping down the insides of your thighs.

“When I first tasted you, I thought you tasted so sweet. So juicy. Like a spartan fruit,” Spider tells you through his mouthful. “They’re my favorite, you know. They’re delicious and I use them to make the dye for my stripes.” 

It’s so quiet in the room and your ears are trying to pick up any and every sound you can. You think if you tried, you could hear someone talking from across the lab right now. It’s not hard to catch the sound of Spider swallowing his bite. 

“It’s the only thing I’ve been able to stomach this past week. They taste just like you,”

Your heart feels like it's going to pound right out of your chest when he presses his lips against yours. It’s not your first kiss with him and you remember how his mouth felt on yours that night almost a week ago. He kissed you gently, just a slow dance of lips pressing against each other again and again. It was his way of calming you - relaxing you from your nerves. He doesn’t want you relaxed this time. The way he kisses you now is still slow but more passionate - all consuming as he slides his tongue against yours. He kisses you like he’s excited to kiss you and wants you excited too. 

Excited and breathless and dripping wet. 

It clouds your brain, the taste of his tongue and the remnants of the fruit flavor left on it. The added sweetness enhancing a taste that’s just purely him. 

He pulls away and you subconsciously lean forward, wordlessly begging for him to kiss you again. Instead of his lips, you feel the skin of the spartan fruit press against your mouth. “Here, taste it. Taste how you taste to me,”

At his instruction, your teeth sink into the fruit's flesh. Juice squirts from your bite and slides down the corners of your mouth. Spider’s hold shifts from your chin to curve around the side of your neck, holding you close as he leans in again and licks up the escaping streams with his tongue. A helpless grunt escapes you as you chew. You’ve eaten this fruit your whole life, you know what it tastes like - but somehow, coming from Spider’s giving hands, it tastes sweeter now, more flavorful and satisfying. And knowing that this is how you taste to him… you’ll never be able to look at it the same way again. 

He kisses your throat lovingly as you swallow before guiding your face towards his again, recapturing your lips and this time tasting the fruit he claims to love so much directly from your own tongue. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away again. Your eyes try to flutter open, nerves momentarily forgotten and you really want to see him right now. His lips would probably be red from your kiss - red and shiny from spit and the juice of the fruit. But the blindfold keeps you from the sight and the darkness that meets your open eyes makes you whine unhappily. 

He shushes you, pulling one of your hands from where it's still fisted in your tewng and holding it in his own. He presses the fruit into your own hand this time and urges you to take another bite. More juice spills out on your face as your teeth tear into the flesh of the fruit, dripping out over your chin and down your fingers and wrist. 

“Look at you making such a mess,” He teases, and you wonder if the double meaning of his words are purposeful. Your face and hand is a mess, yes - but does he know how wet you are? Can he tell just from looking at you how the wetness between your thighs feels like it's unbearable? Surely there’s a stain on his bed right now from where your slick has seeped into the sheets. 

You nearly bite your tongue as you chew your second bite when you feel his tongue licking up your forearm, diligently sweeping up every racing dribble until he’s cleaned everything there is and he’s moved on to cleaning the delicate skin of your wrist. He plucks the fruit from your hand and it splatters as Spider discards it on the floor, the wet smack sounding through the room as it lands on the hard tile. A part of you wants to scold him - wasting perfectly good food is not usually accepted by the Na’vi. All food is provided by the Great Mother, whether it is hunted or gathered, and all should be respected and used to the best of one’s ability. 

But the feel of Spider’s mouth on your first finger has any words you might have tried to get out dying in your throat. You tilt your head down a bit so that if you could see through the blindfold, you would see at the same time as you feel when Spider presses his lips to your fingertip. But the blindfold keeps you in the dark, giving you no hint of a visual through its dark fabric. So you're stuck with just the sensation when his lips part around the tip, lips that feel just as plump and wet and sticky as you imagined. His mouth slides down your finger, soft tongue sliding against the underside of it as his mouth sinks down lower. Your breathing is rough when he pulls off, ears twitching when they catch the small pop his mouth makes when he releases it. That tongue slips between your first finger and your middle finger, licking into the V between them to clean the stickiness before sucking the next finger into his mouth for good measure. 

By the time he reaches your last finger, you’re trying to close your thighs - just trying to find some relief in the relentless tingles bullying you in your tewng. Spider’s hips block your attempt and all it does is make you squeeze him between your legs harder. He doesn’t make any auditory or physical moves to stop you if he minds. 

“You’ve made a mess on me too,” He says, voice more gravelly now. Two of his fingers brush against your bottom lip. “Clean it up.”

Your mouth falls open with a soft groan. Spider’s finger’s slip inside, fruit sticky fingers sliding against your tongue and you listen when he repeats his command - “clean them up, pretty girl,” - lips closing around his fingers as you obediently suck the mess clean. Spider’s strong fingers stroke against the surface of your tongue, dexterous fingertips feeling the texture and slight roughness from it. 

“I’m told that women like my tongue cause it’s extra soft, but I think about the Na’vi tongue a lot.” A short pause and then - “Yours specifically.”

Did you hear that correctly? No, there’s no way. Spider thinks about you? Your tongue? 

But your ears are still working, and they hear him loud and clear when he leans in to whisper in it. 

“Like how it would feel as you suck my cock,” A moan rips from your throat at his words, the sound muffled by the fingers invading your mouth, and for a second, you can try to pretend like it's his cock instead. It would be so nice, to finally feel the thick length you know he’s keeping hidden under his tewng. Humans for all their flawed design don’t keep their parts in a protective sheath like the Na’vi do. When Spider runs or jumps or trains, you can see everything. How it moves under the thin fabric of the tewng and shifts without the security of a sheath or restraint more tawtute clothing tends to provide. 

You haven’t seen any other human cocks, but you have seen Spider’s before - in an accidental stumble near the lake while on a walk with Renu while he, Neteyam, and Lo’ak were washing up after the day’s training. It was right there, hanging heavy between his thighs as he scrubbed at his body, and you remember thinking that proportionally, at least compared to what you believed most other human’s had between their legs, that he is quite blessed by whatever god made him. 

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, a strand of saliva landing wetly on your bottom lip as it snaps from where it was trying to cling to his retreating fingers. You whine at the loss, hands finally leaving the safety of your tewng to hold onto his hips. He kisses you again, lips pressing against yours and tongue slipping inside, but this time it seems like it’s less for tasting and more just for the sake of kissing. He’s kissing you because he wants to kiss you. 

“Wish I could see your pretty eyes,” He mumbles against your lips. “Want to see them all wild, and desperate, and gorgeous for me.”

“Spider,” You breathe, belly tightening when he nips at your lip.

“But no,” He continues. “My gorgeous girl needs to be blindfolded.”

You do. Oh, Eywa, yes you do. Because you wouldn’t be able to handle this right now if you weren’t. You want to see him, want to be brave and take off the blindfold and let your greedy eyes soak in the sight of him that you’re sure if you could see right now would take your breath away. But you’re still too tense, too nervous. You would ruin any suspense and excitement Spider’s worked to build in a heartbeat. You know it and you know that he knows it too. 

But the blindfold makes you wonder, brain working overtime trying to conjure up an image of Spider when your eyes are blocked from seeing the real him. You wish you could look into his beautiful eyes too, see their warmth and intensity and have the visual make your heart twist in the same way they also make you feel safe. You think about your own pupils and how if he were to pull off the blindfold, he’d probably see more black than gold right now and you wonder if his would look the same - the pool of black growing with want as he stares at you knowing you can’t stare back at him as it explodes and overtakes all that rich and warm brown. Would his lips still be red or even more red now? Spitslicked but now sticky free from how you sucked all the fruit juice from them. The skin of his hips is warm under your fingertips and you wonder if maybe his skin is flushed too. 

You don’t know what to do, so you whimper his name again, wordlessly begging for him to guide you.

“Mawey,” He says gently. “Just relax for me, okay? You’re safe here.”

Just relax for me, okay?

Memories of that first night rush back to you in an instant and you remember how he spoke those exact words to you, breathed them over your drenched folds like a promise before he ate you out within an inch of your life. The CO2 mask looped around your neck disappears from your chest as Spider lifts it to your face. 

“And don’t forget to breathe, skxawng,” He chuckles. The extra carbon air helps clear your brain a bit and you instantly feel calmer - you hadn’t even known that you were starting to struggle to breathe. He drops the mask back against your chest and cups your cheek, thumb brushing lightly under the edge of the blindfold. “You can touch me.”

His words are nothing more than a whisper of sound, but you hear them clearly. Your fingers twitch against his sides, feeling the smooth skin beneath your fingertips, and you want to move them - want to feel the smooth hard muscles under your touch - but you can’t force yourself to leave the safety of his hips. 

Spider chuckles like he can see your internal crisis. He probably can - just because you can’t see anything doesn’t mean he can’t. He can see you. Is staring at you, observing you and taking you in. He can see every facial expression you make. Every deep breath, every jaw drop, every lip bite. He can see the flush you know for a fact is on your face, cheeks probably flaring a deep purple under your blue skin. He could see the mess you made on your face when you bit into the fruit and the way your chest is rising and falling with each shaky breath you take. The deep sound of his laugh seems to reverberate through your entire body and you jump when his hands cover your own. 

“Like this,” He says, and then your hands are sliding up his torso and suddenly, that’s all you can focus on. 

He helps you caress his stomach - toned muscle under smooth skin - and you feel when he flexes it underneath your fingers and you can’t help but wonder if it was an intentional flex just to flaunt or if it was an automatic response to your touch. He pulls your hands up, pressing your palms flat against his skin as he drags one directly up the middle of his stomach, one of your fingers dipping into the dip of his belly button while the other hand runs along his ribs. His skin is hot under your touch, miles and miles of pure solid muscle that scream Na’vi all in one devastatingly handsome human body. 

He drags your hands up higher to feel his chest and you wonder if sliding your hands across his chest and stomach are smearing the stripes painted on his body like the bedsheets had. It would be subtle, barely noticeable to a Na’vi if they weren’t paying attention and definitely not noticeable to another human unless they were specifically looking for the smudge. The dye made from the Spartan fruit is made to last. But for Spider, eventually it comes off - wipes away with bathing and the normal physicality of everyday life. You’d give anything to see if you’re messing them up now. 

Your guided palms run across his chest, fingertips grazing over one of his nipples. You’ve gotten used to the neverending canvas smooth skin underneath your hands. You’ve seen his body countless times before since Spider chooses to honor The People by wearing the traditional Na’vi clothing; so you know what his chest looks like. But that doesn’t stop you from trying to blindly map it out in your brain now, each pass of your palms against some newly untouched skin unlocking another area in the layout in your mind. 

And then suddenly, there’s a part of his chest that doesn’t feel so smooth. It’s raised a bit, bumpy and out of place amongst all the rest that you’ve felt so far, and you know without a doubt that you’ve reached his bullet scar. And this is it - the real reason Spider ultimately overcame the natural distrust that the Na’vi have for humans, something that he dealt with the entirety of his young life, and gained not only the trust and respect of The People, but also Neytiri as well. 

You’ve heard the story before: Spider reuniting with his brothers on the demon ship in the middle of the ocean after months of being held hostage only to almost witness one of his brothers being killed. They brought a man back to life, put him in the body of a fake Na’vi, and he had his gun pointed at Neteyam, aimed and ready to kill. When the shot went out, Spider jumped in front and took the bullet - the metal ball embedding itself in the space where his chest meets his shoulder instead of hitting Neteyam in the heart like it was aiming for. 

Spider saved his brother’s life that night, finally proving himself to the one person who always swore she would never forgive him for the sins of his father. But he saved her son, and he gained a mother and official family in return. 

“Love feeling your hands on me,” Spider says, and you’re shocked to hear them come out closer to a groan. “Eywa knows I imagine it way too much when I’m by myself at night.”

“You think about me at night?” You ask, voice barely a whisper, and this time you're not sure if you’re more shocked you were able to say anything at all or that Spider was actually able to hear you. 

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” He says, grin obvious in his tone of voice. “I already confessed that I think about you. Your tongue too, remember?” He drops his hands from yours, leaving you to keep your own hands where they are on his body as he grabs your face again, pulling you in for another quick kiss and murmurs against your lips. “I’m always thinking about you.”

This time when he pulls back, one of his hands sneaks towards the back of your skull. Your fingers curl into his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle, but he doesn’t seem to care as his own hand curls around your kuru and pulls it over your shoulder. 

“I’ve always wondered about these things too,” He says. Your eyes fly open behind the blindfold, mouth falling open too in a silent plea for something you’re not even sure of what you’re begging for. He’s just caressing the hair braided around the kuru, carefully fisted hand sliding down the silky strands that protect the most sacred part of you. But you can feel the way his fist compresses your braid, just the barest hint of pressure and your thighs are threatening to try to close on him again as the feeling goes right to your core. “Been jealous, you know? Wondering how it would feel to connect with the world. The Tree of Souls, an ikran. A mate.”

His hand trails down the braid, moving closer and closer towards the bottom and you feel like you want to jump out of your skin when his curious touch reaches the bottom tie. You whimper his name again - in warning or as a beg you’re not sure. But you feel as exposed as you ever thought you could when he flips the bottom of your braid upside down, the loose strands under the tie falling away to reveal the pink and wriggly tendrils that only you have ever been intimately familiar with. 

The tendrils stretch and wiggle in the air as they search for something to bond with, and you wonder if your fingernails are piercing Spider’s skin with how hard you’re digging your nails into his shoulders. Just the barest hint of his fingertip touches the end of a tendril and you gasp at the shock of electricity it sends down your spine. The tendril stretches desperately for his finger as it retreats.

“I always wondered what it would feel like,” 

You don’t even have time to think before his fingers are back. The tendrils act on their own, wrapping themselves around his offered fingers before your brain can even register what is happening. A silent scream rips from your throat as bright sparks explode behind the darkness of the blindfold. Spider plays with the extension of your nervous system, waving his fingers to pull and move the tendrils and it feels like he’s playing with the entirety of you - mind, body, and soul - all at once. 

“Fuck, Spider,” You gasp, thighs instinctively trying to clamp closed again as your clit throbs, but Spider releases his hold on the bottom of your braid to push your thighs apart again, moving his own legs wider between yours to keep you spread. 

“Keep those legs open for me,” He tells you, and then more gently, “Does it hurt?”

Yes. Yes, it hurts. It hurts in a way that feels so good it’s overwhelming. Hurts in the way that you know you shouldn’t be experiencing this but yet somehow you are. Other Na’vi don’t touch each other like this - at least not that you’ve ever heard. They bond with each other, joining their kuru’s together so that they can be with one another on a spiritual level, bonding for life as they join their soul with another person for an eternity together. It’s a loving experience where you feel everything your partner feels - every touch, every emotion, and every memory - shared together in a magic experience granted by The Great Mother herself. 

Spider can’t do that with you. He can’t bond with you for life and connect the kuru he doesn’t have with yours. He shouldn’t be touching you like this. It’s more intimate than sex. It’s invasive, and intense, and fuck fuck fuck the sensations are going straight to your core and you’re going to cum. 

You’re gonna cum. Gonna cum. Gonna–

But then Spider’s fingers are gone, pulled away from your kuru despite your internal protests and the tendrils' clear attempts to keep hold of him. 

“Y/n, I need you to answer me,” Spider says, free hand grabbing your jaw and forcing your blindfolded eyes to meet his. “Did that hurt?”

Your breathing is harsh as you try to force out your words. “N-no. F-feels good.”

“Mm, yeah? Felt good?”

You want to say so much more. Want to say yes, keep going. Don’t stop. Touch it more. Touch me more. Drag your fingers from my kuru and drag them through my slit instead. Press those capable fingers against my clit and make me cum over and over and over again. But you can’t say it, rendered speechless again when you feel Spider lift the end of your kuru up towards his mouth, warm breath fanning over the sensitive tendrils. 

“You know, now that I’ve felt them on my fingers, I can’t help but wonder what they might taste like,”

That’s all the warning you get before he does it, holding your kuru in a firm grip as he drags his tongue across the tendrils. You think you actually scream this time, eyes widening and rolling back into your head behind the blindfold as your core tightens, pussy spasming and gushing as your orgasm soaks your tewng. He keeps his tongue there, the wet muscle slipping through the tendrils as they try to grip onto it and find purchase. Each swipe and graze feels like a never ending climax, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body and it doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop, doesn’t stop - his tongue on your kuru keeps you cumming and cumming and distantly a part of you worries your heart might stop with all the electricity shooting through your veins. 

Spider’s tongue slides away, breaking the connection to your kuru, and you feel like you can breathe again. Sobbing gasps rip from your chest as your body shakes, thighs trembling and pussy still spasming and you can feel the tears falling from the corners of your eyes soaking into the blindfold. It takes you a second to register that your hands have moved from pressing against Spider’s chest to squeezing his biceps, nails digging into the flesh. 

“Did my pretty girl cum?” He rasps, and oh Eywa, his voice is so beautiful. Deep timbre is made even deeper and more seductive as he practically growls at you. “Fuck, I want to see your eyes. They probably look so fucked out already. Glassy and dazed and beautiful just like their owner.”

Your ears twitch as they pick up on his heavy breathing, and then you feel it on your neck as he presses a teasing kiss to your racing pulsepoint. He grins against your throat.

“I still remember how they looked when I ate you out,” And then, almost as if he were quoting you word for word, “They’re what I see every time I close my eyes at night.”

“Please,” You whine. 

“Please what, yawne?”

The Na’vi term of endearment makes your heart skip a beat. “Want to touch you,”

“You are touching me,”

“No,” You do your best to ignore the teasing tone in his voice. “No, I wanna touch you.”

“Hmm, you wanna touch me? Touch me where?” He pulls one of your hands from his arms and drags it down his body, over his chest. “Here?” A little bit lower now, allowing his smooth and toned stomach back under your palms. “Or maybe here?”

“Lower,” You whisper, voice just a bit desperate.

“Lower? Like here?”

He drags your hand lower and for the first time ever your hand runs over the light material of his tewng. The bulge underneath it is evident and Spider drops his hand from yours, letting you take control for the first time tonight. Your hand cradles the hardness, taking a moment to let yourself feel the awe of the situation you’ve somehow found yourself in. It’s too much and then suddenly it's not enough anymore. You don’t want to feel it though a layer of fabric. You want to be greedy, feel skin on skin. You need it. Need more. 

Spider seems to read your mind. “Just tell me what you want,” 

“Off,” You tell him, fingers creeping up to try to slide beneath the waistband. “Please, I want it off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He teases, and then you feel the obtrusive fabric fall away. 

Carefully, you bring your hand to where you think his cock is, fingers trailing down his lower belly, tracing the V until it leads you to where you want to be. It jumps under your touch the second your fingers graze the heated length and a giggle of nervous excitement bursts from your chest. 

“What are you giggling at?” Spider asks. Maybe in another situation you would have been worried you offended him. Giggling as you’ve just touched his dick is probably not the best thing you could have done. But there’s a smile in his voice as he asks the question, and you think you can picture it in your head now - how he would look there, staring down at you with your hand on him and a small pleased smirk on his face. 

“It jumped when I touched it,” You tell him like he wasn’t also there when it happened, and fuck, you sound so stupid, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps on your lips too. 

“He’s excited,” Spider laughs. “Happy to feel your touch instead of mine for a change.”

“Hm,” You hum, pleased feeling in your gut but unsure of how to respond. So you move forward instead, wrapping your fingers more firmly around Spider’s cock and feeling the hefty weight of it in your palm. 

Definitely larger than the average human, you can tell by the way he fills up a decent portion of your palm. He’s warm and heavy between your fingers and you take a moment to study the difference between human and Na’vi by feel. You don’t have any other experience to go on, but Renu has told you plenty of stories to make up for your lack of personal experience when it comes to sex. She’s told you about the stretch before, how it can be overwhelming to the point of too much for even another Na’vi who is designed to take it. She’s told you how the barbs are both a blessing and a curse and the absolute mind-numbing pleasure that comes from taking a knot. 

Spider’s isn’t like that. It’s smooth under your touch, the only real texture coming from a couple large veins that trail down the underside of his cock. There’s a stickiness at the top when your thumb sweeps over the head, precum coating your fingertips as you drag it back down along his length to wet it. You pump it a few times, listening to Spider’s heavy breathing and the undertone of what sounds like the beginnings of a growl, and even though you just came, you’re already ready to go again. 

It’s not enough - your hand sliding over his hardness feels like so much but also not nearly enough. You want yourself on him, the possessive spark in your brain telling you to claim him in any way that you can. So you reluctantly pull your hand away from his cock, your free hand coming up to curl around the back of his thigh, just below his ass to keep him close. Your other hand snakes into your tewng, underneath the soaked through material, and slides through the wetness there. When you pull your hand back out, it’s coated with your arousal, and you can imagine how it might be shining right now in the fluorescent light of the room as you bring it back to Spider’s cock. 

“Hah fuck,” Spider grunts when you wrap your fingers back around him, and the sound is like music to your ears. 

You lean forward more as you stroke him and blindly aim for his lips, needing to kiss him. The idea of you working his length and using your own wetness as the slick is making you desperate, and you land on his cheek instead just under his eye. You let out a muffled sound of frustration but keep laying pecks on his skin anyway, trailing down his cheek and over his jaw. You’ve just made it to his neck when he grabs your face, directing you back to his mouth and claiming your lips. 

“You’re wiping my stripes off,” He murmurs against your lips.

And fuck. Fuck fuck fuck - that sentence just almost sent you over the edge again.

You’re wiping my stripes off.

Your brain tries to conjure the image of his cock again, using every available piece of knowledge at your disposal. The image from the accidental viewing at the lake, too far to see any detail like apparently painted stripes on his cock but close enough to see its size, manifests in your mind's eye. Only this time, you can picture it closer - feel the weight of it in your hand and know that yes, yes there are stripes painted on it. 

What would it look like now? Are they still there? Would they still be in their places but smeared, or maybe just faded from the wetness and friction of your hand? Or are they gone completely, the only remains just some smudges of blue against the shaft?

“Wanna see,” You plead back against his mouth, but he clicks his tongue at you and pulls your hand from his pulsing cock. 

“Nope. You’re blindfolded, remember?” He lays one last peck on your lips before pressing a hand against your chest. “Now be a good girl and lean back for me, okay?”

The familiar feeling of the sheets against your back sends you back to that night nearly a week ago and without thinking you grab the mask hanging against your chest and press it over your face. Spider’s laugh makes your face heat up even more than it already is, but you’re feeling more comfortable now - drunk off your orgasm and everything about him - so you grin behind the mask despite the fire licking at your cheeks. 

“My good girl learned from last time, I see,” He comments.

The bed dips a little as he leans on it, and then you feel skilled fingers at the ties of your top. The top falls away at just a few movements and falls onto the mattress, revealing your breasts and perked up nipples. You get just a second of warning when you feel the puff of his breath on your breast before his lips press a revenant kiss to the swell of it. Another kiss to your nipple, soft and sweet, before he’s catching it between his blunt teeth and pulling on it gently. 

You hum in appreciation, arching your chest closer to him as he tongues at the spot to soothe the bite. He presses another kiss to the hard peak before switching to your other breast to show it the same attention and you moan when he blows cool air on the spit slicked skin. He moves diligently down your body, pressing his mouth against the skin over your ribs and trailing kisses down your belly as he heads to his final destination. 

He skips it for a moment, tongue running over the tops and insides of your thighs to clean up the forgotten juice drippings from the fruit, and then he’s tugging your tewng from your body, drenched folds on display for his greedy eyes and you know he’s staring - you can feel his eyes on you just as clearly as if you were able to take off your blindfold and see it. Maybe you should do it now. There’s no going back, you’re in too deep now and you don’t think you’d run. But then he wraps his arms under your thighs and spreads you wide, holding you down and right where he wants you, and you don’t have a choice. 

One hand keeps the carbon mask over your mouth and nose while the other tangles in the bedsheets in anticipation. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” He groans. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You breathe a laughing sigh into the mask. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls,”

“No,”

It’s definitive. Said like a fact, and you don’t have time to mull over what that means before his mouth is on your center and your thoughts come to a screeching halt. 

He licks up everything you have to give, groaning and growling against you like a wild animal as he shakes his face into your cunt. His tongue is so soft as it runs up your slit, exactly like you remembered it feeling and yet this time, somehow, it feels so much better. It slides across your clit like it loves it, laving across the sensitive bundle of nerves like it was designed especially for it -  to run over it, caress it, adore it. This is his skill, he’s mastered his art and now he’s performing every trick he’s learned on your poor, sopping, and responsive pussy. 

You can feel the impending rush of a second orgasm hurtling towards you with every calculated swipe of Spider’s tongue. The vibrations of his groans spur you on, pushing you closer and closer to that familiar blissful edge that you think only he could bring you towards like this. Your hands move on their own accord, abandoning your mask and the sheets as both of them reach down to wind themselves into Spider’s dreadlocks, intent on keeping him there. Right there. Right there! Yes! Yes! Right there!

“Oh, ma Eywa!” You shout, body tensing as your orgasm rips through you. Your thighs shake in Spider’s grip. “Spider! Please,”

Your pussy clenches around nothing, body jolting and writhing against the mattress as he moans in satisfaction as your clit throbs on his tongue. And even though you’ve just cum for the second time today, you can’t help but want more. It’s crazy to think about. You’re so sensitive already, but you want to cum again. 

On his fingers.

On his cock. 

On your own fingers as you take him in your mouth. 

Fuck, you want it so bad. 

“Spider, please,” 

“What, yawne?” He sounds absolutely wrecked. 

You whimper, trying to push yourself up a little, but he holds you down with a strong hand to your chest. “Wanna suck your cock,”

He sounds like he’s been knocked in the gut, the punched out sound he makes catches you off guard and your ears immediately flatten against your head. But he forces you all the way back down until your back hits the mattress and presses his still wet lips against yours in a quick kiss. 

“I want you to,” He says. “Believe me, y/n. I want you to. But I won’t last for you like that. Not right now. I need– I need to fuck you.”

Yes! Yes, you need it too. Need it so badly. Your legs spread for him automatically at his words and he settles perfectly between them. His hard length rests along your belly for a moment, warm and heavy as he presses it against your stomach. And then he’s gliding it down, the blunt head of his cock gliding through your folds, the drag over your swollen clit making you shiver. When the tip nudges at your entrance, you wait with baited breath - waiting for the moment he decides to push in so you can finally know how it feels.

Another woman in the clan who had experienced Spider’s mouth gloated about his skills, but also made sure to say that she thinks those skills end with the oral experience. 

“He isn’t big enough, right? Sure his mouth is pure perfection, but he’s not as big as an actual Na’vi. He doesn’t have the right sized part to fully satisfy that way, you know?”

You always knew she must have been wrong. Your gut told you she was. Even if Spider wasn’t as big as Na’vi males proportionally, that didn’t mean he couldn’t satisfy with what he has. And with how it felt in your hand and against your belly - you’d guess it’s plenty enough. It feels big as he presses it against your entrance, the pressure making you tense in excitement as he pushes just a little bit inside. The stretch is still enough to make you gasp, the sensitivity of already having multiple orgasms making everything even more sensitive as he works it in more. Each inch is glorious, the stretch around his girth as he pushes into you is enough to make your legs shake more in pleasure than intensity, and you moan as he bottoms out inside you, your tail flicking against the bed beside you happily. 

“You okay?”

You smile at his question. Every part of you wants to say yes. Of course you’re okay. This is perfect. Beyond perfect. 

You settle for a soft, “Yeah,” and then your grin is interrupted by his first thrust. 

You feel when his hand comes to steady himself next to your head, his other hand hitching your thigh up higher so it hooks over his hip, pushing him in just a little deeper than before. And even though you’re not filled to capacity, so overwhelmed on someone’s cock as they hit your cervix like some other woman made you feel like you needed to be, it’s still soooo good. Spider’s cock hits what it needs to hit, dragging against the most important parts inside you that make you squeal and your toes curl in pleasure. Sometimes he torments you, fucking you with perfectly timed thrusts, pushing you back towards that precipice of bliss only to pull out again, leaving you with a heaving chest and a desperately clenching pussy in the wake of his absence. And when he pushes in again, it's like the first time all over again - and you’re arching against the bed, pushing yourself down on him just to get him sheathed back inside you again where he belongs. 

You want to see him, want to see the way his eyes look as he fucks you. Want to see his lips, probably still glistening with spit and the remnants of your arousal, part with each grunt and groan and moan as he fucks into you - chasing his own high just as much as he pushes you towards your own. 

Without giving yourself a chance to back out, you pull the blindfold from your head and there’s just pure brightness. 

The overhead light of the room sits brightly behind Spider’s body, enveloping him in a bright halo as he blocks most of the harsh light with his head. Everything is blurry for a moment as your eyes adjust to the brightness after having spent so long in the dark, but it only takes a second for your feline eyes to adjust to the new light.

And what you see is beautiful. 

Spider is there above you, sweaty and panting as he thrusts inside you, eyes dark and glazed over in pleasure with a red mouth, visible teeth marks embedded into his bottom lip like he bit it to keep himself from making so much noise. Those lips pull into a devastating smile when he sees you’ve pulled off the blindfold, but his thrusts don’t stop. 

“There they are,” He says. “There’s those gorgeous eyes I’ve been dying to see. Hi,”

“Hi,” You breathe.

You can feel that coil in your belly tightening, each thrust forcing it tighter and tighter until it's threatening to snap in a second. Spider’s hand reaches between your legs and plays with your overstimulated clit, dragging the wetness around the swollen nub as he thrusts against you harder. 

Your eyes threaten to slip shut against the pleasure, but Spider snaps his hips against yours roughly making them snap open again. 

“Don’t close them,” He tells you, rubbing your clit faster. “Wanna see them. Keep looking at me. Look right at me,”

When the coil snaps and you cum, it's looking directly in his eyes. 

Golden eyes lock onto simmering brown and your pussy clenches around his cock, trying desperately to milk him for all he’s worth as you cum around him. You cry out as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, and the sound of him moaning and the feel of his release scorching your insides will be forever burned in your memory. 

Just a few days ago, he made you cum so hard you couldn’t bear to look at him afterwards.

Now? You’re not sure if you’d be able to cum without looking at him if you tried. 

Taglist: @eywaite @lyannalothbrok @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @minnory @localjasmine @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @aria-tempest @pocky444 @xylianasblog @anemonelovesfiction @sbrn0905 @cuddle-stuff @pandoraslxna @bubblesfrfr @veiraiya @minjianhyung

**Comment here to be added to/removed from my taglist!

[dn-hc]

Can you do a story of their first fight, including what they are thinking and feeling

L Lawliet

The Fight: Over her retreating emotionally and refusing to explain why.

Context: She's clearly unwell. She's withdrawn, emotionally flat, and not communicating. L notices everything—subtle changes in tone, behavior, and facial microexpressions. He asks gently, even indirectly, but she responds with deflection or logic. Eventually, he stops asking—until she disappears to cope alone, possibly dangerously.

L’s internal reaction: “She does not trust me with her pain. I have failed to make myself a safe person. That is... troubling.”

But he doesn’t react emotionally. He observes. And when she returns—fine, intact, collected—he doesn’t yell. He simply states, flatly, “You vanished. That was not acceptable.”

What he’s really feeling: A mixture of helplessness and confusion. He doesn't know how to pull someone closer without using logic or leverage. He wants to say please trust me, but that would imply vulnerability. Instead, he tries to construct a behavioral strategy: what caused the retreat? What signals preceded it? How do I prevent recurrence?

What the fight looks like: Cold. Quiet. Tension through clipped dialogue.

L: “You do not get to remove yourself from the board without informing the team.”

It ends with distance. L doesn’t raise his voice, but he stops sitting close. Stops reaching. She knows he’s waiting for her to bridge the gap—and hates that he might never ask her to.

Light Yagami

The Fight: Over her challenging his self-righteous logic, especially in moral decisions.

Context: Light makes a sweeping moral argument about sacrifice for the greater good. She coolly points out the flawed logic, maybe accuses him of using righteousness to mask self-interest. She doesn’t shout—just dissects. And that infuriates him.

Light’s internal reaction: “How dare she frame me as manipulative. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m protecting people.”

But her calm, surgical honesty forces him to confront the fact that she’s not emotionally attached to being right. She just is, and that makes her dangerous.

What he’s really feeling: Threatened. Not because he’s wrong—but because she sees through the emotional theater he uses to sway others. And he wants to impress her, not be exposed by her.

What the fight looks like: Sharp words. Passive-aggressive logic. Surface civility with violent subtext.

Light: “It’s easy to criticize from the sidelines. I actually do the work.”

Her: “And I’ve done it without assuming I’m the only one who can.”

Light: “So now you’re calling me arrogant?”

Her: “If the word fits.”

He walks out first. Slams the door. Then paces behind it, half-expecting her to follow. When she doesn’t—that bothers him more than the fight.

Mihael Keehl

The Fight: Over her refusing to react emotionally when he lashes out.

Context: Mello’s under pressure—maybe something happened with Near, or a lead blew up. He takes it out on her, verbally sharp. She doesn’t rise to it. She stays distant, quiet. Maybe even sarcastic. She doesn’t play his game.

Mello’s internal reaction: “Why won’t she hit back? Cry? Scream? Anything. Don’t just stand there like I don’t matter.”

What he’s really feeling: Powerless. Mello thrives on emotional exchange—intensity, passion, reaction. Her restraint reads as rejection. It hits a primal nerve: you don’t care enough to fight me.

What the fight looks like: Explosive on his side, ice-cold on hers.

Mello: “Say something, dammit! I’m not doing this alone!”

Her: “Then don’t do it at all.”

Mello: “I’d rather you hate me than treat me like a ghost.”

Her: “I don’t hate you. I just don’t fight dirty.”

He might throw something—never at her, just near. He leaves. Then texts her hours later, a single word, "Sorry.”

She doesn’t answer until the next day. It kills him.

Mail Jeevas

The Fight: Over her assuming he doesn’t care because he’s passive.

Context: She hits a breaking point. Matt seems too chill, too uninvolved, too willing to “let things play out.” She interprets that as detachment. Maybe she accuses him of not caring when she needed him.

Matt’s internal reaction: “That’s not fair. I didn’t want to pressure her. I thought space was what she needed.”

He’s not confrontational, but this hurts. She misread him, and he didn’t stop her from doing it. That hurts more.

What he’s really feeling: Shame. He wanted to be easy to be with, not invisible. Her words make him feel like a placeholder, not a partner.

What the fight looks like: Low energy, soft sadness. Not dramatic—just weary.

Her: “You didn’t even ask if I was okay.”

Matt: “I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to talk.”

Her: “Sometimes silence is a cry, Matt.”

Matt: “Then I missed it. And I’m sorry.”

There’s no yelling. But they both go to bed a little hollow that night. He leaves a note under her pillow the next morning. She reads it in silence.

Nate River

The Fight: Over her accusing him of emotional cowardice.

Context: She opens up—vulnerable, raw—and Near gives her nothing. Not cruelty, not rejection. Just intellectual response. Maybe even praise for her logical coherence. She feels dismissed. She tells him.

Near’s internal reaction: “It is not cowardice to refrain from feigning emotion I do not possess.”

But somewhere deep down, it stings. He knows he cannot meet her where she is, and for the first time, he wants to. That unfamiliar longing frightens him more than her accusation.

What he’s really feeling: Inadequate. Not intellectually—but emotionally. And it frustrates him.

What the fight looks like: Detached tone vs. piercing truth.

Her: “It’s like talking to glass. I can see through you, but I can’t touch you.”

Near: “That does not mean I do not hear you.”

Her: “Then why don’t I ever feel it?”

He offers her a toy the next day—something small, symbolic. He doesn’t explain it. She understands anyway. It's the closest he comes to an apology.

Misa Amane

The Fight: Over her going silent during Misa’s emotional breakdown.

Context: Misa’s overwhelmed—jealous, insecure, spiraling. She goes to her for comfort, but she doesn’t match her emotional tempo. She stays calm. Logical. Maybe too quiet. Misa interprets that as rejection.

Misa’s internal reaction: “You don’t love me enough to get upset. I’m falling apart and you won’t even flinch.”

She lashes out, crying.

What she’s really feeling: Terrified. Misa needs emotional mirroring to feel real. Her detachment feels like abandonment.

What the fight looks like: Highly emotional on Misa’s side. Minimal response from her girlfriend, which escalates it further.

Misa: “You don’t care! You don’t feel anything!”

Her: “That’s not true.”

Misa: “Then show me! Say something! Yell! Cry! Anything!”

Her: “If I cried, would that fix it?”

Misa sobs herself to sleep that night. Her girlfriend stays nearby, holding her hand loosely. She doesn’t leave. Misa notices.

[this-sapphic-paradise]

natalie made a mistake and was caught, so now has to do some community service and she chooses the option to keep company to someone at the hospital- that happens to be at the psychiatric aisle. she was hoping to spend some time with some teen with an ed or a depressed dude. but they pair her with a women on her forties who is nice and just wants to go on walks on the garden outside of the hospital. nat becomes obsessed and flirts nonstop, trying to get in lottie’s pants, while the older keep’s rejecting her kindly, which doesn’t discourage nat one bit. they end up spending a lot of time together (nat has to fill a lot of community hours) and lottie -after a lot of persuasion- agrees to kiss nat once. after that nat understands it’s green lights and goes after lottie even harder, trying be secretive at the hospital so they are not caught. one day they have a little argument nat calls lottie ‘mom’ without thinking and it surprises both, making nat ran off. the next day is lottie who pushes nat till they end up making out at the garden with nat whimpering for her mommy.

i love ur mommy lottie and wanted to see how it was if she wasn’t the one actively chasing nat and the power imbalance was different

First of all: thank you SO much for the prompt! I literally wish I didn't have to go to work tomorrow just so I could keep working on this!!

Secondly, I'm feeling kinda sick, so this first part is a bit of a short set up. I still hope you enjoy it, though!

CW: adult x under age relationship

Girl Interrupted

(part 1/?)

Great. Just great. Natalie mentally huffs as she’s being taken up and down the sterile halls of the hospital’s psych ward by a way too chipper nurse with short, curly, blonde hair and big-ass roundish glasses.

“You're very lucky to have been assigned to us, actually.” The nurse, Misty, yaps on. “I know we get a bad rep, but it’s mainly due to the media and, well, the history of mental hospitals, but–” she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Things have changed a lot through the years and I guarantee you, our patients are mostly very well-behaved. I make sure of it.”

Nat glances at the woman then. Something about the way she said that last sentence sounds suspiciously like a threat instead of an innocent observation, and by the way Misty tilts her chin up with pride, Nat thinks she might be correct in her assumptions.

“Cool.” She clears her throat and looks more directly at Misty. “So, um, who am I gonna be babysitting?”

Misty shoots her a disapproving look. “You're not here to babysit anyone, miss Scatorccio. If anything, I'm the one burdened with babysitting you.

“You are here to start chipping away at the absurd amount of community service hours the judge assigned you, and I've been gracious enough to find you a patient who's well into her recovery so you won't be put at risk—and neither will she.”

“Jeez, sorry.” Nat's cheeks flush slightly at being so thoroughly reprimanded by the human equivalent of a poodle. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Misty hums, looking down at the teen with the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’ll be Charlotte Matthews's companion,” she resumes, leading Natalie through a backdoor, out onto the hospital gardens. “She's an old high school friend of mine, so I expect you to be extra attentive to her, do you understand?”

Did being friends with you drive her mad? The quip is on the tip of Natalie's tongue, but she manages to contain herself. “Yeah,” she replies instead, coming to a stop when Misty puts out her arm and motions for her to look toward the biggest tree in the garden.

“Holy shit!” Nat gasps the moment her eyes land on who she presumes to be Charlotte Matthews.

“What?” Misty asks, sounding alarmed.

“Huh?” Nat tears her eyes away from the gorgeous woman. “Oh, um, nothing.” She coughs. “I, uh, I thought I saw a yellowjacket.”

Misty frowns and gets into her personal space. “What do you know about Yellowjackets?”

Nat has honestly never been more confused in her life. “Uuhhh… That they are a type of wasp…”

Misty’s eyes narrow as she stares at her, but after a second she seems to accept Natalie’s answer and goes back to being her chipper self. “Anyways! Lottie is a doll, she won’t give you any trouble. Just let me know if she starts talking about prophecies or sacrifices. And oh! You absolutely cannot let her leave the hospital, understood?”

Nat gives her a sarcastic little salute and Misty rolls her eyes, motioning for her to follow her once more.

The closer they get to Charlotte, the more excited Nat becomes as she can see more and more details about the woman. Her beautiful, long black hair is down, styled in loose waves; her olive skin looks healthy and tanned—especially for someone who is being held in a psych ward. There’s a tattoo on the inside of her left forearm, and when Lottie lifts the book she’s reading, Natalie can see well-defined muscles in her arms.

“Lottie,” Misty calls with a smile plastered on her lips. “You have company.”

The woman turns her head in surprise and Natalie catches the slight furrow of her brows as if she’s surprised to hear such a thing, but then intense, deep brown eyes fall on her and the furrow vanishes, replaced by an expression of pure curiosity.

“Hello there.”

Misty places her hands in her scrub pockets and grins. “Lottie, this is Natalie. She is… volunteering with us, and I thought it would be great for you to have some company.” She gently elbows Natalie and the girl steps forward.

“H-Hi.”

Rolling her eyes, Misty rushes to say so she can go back to her actual job, “Natalie will be with you from 3:30 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. from Monday to Friday, and 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. Be nice to her, Lottie.”

Without taking her eyes off the girl, Lottie nods, “When am I ever not nice, Misty?”

“Mhm…” Misty shakes her head and walks off, leaving the two alone.

Natalie waits until Misty is out of sight before sitting down next to Lottie beneath the tree. “What are you reading?” she asks, hoping to ease into a smooth conversation, but the older woman seems to have other plans.

“What did you do to earn such terrible punishment to be forced to spend all your time here?”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to ask that type of thing here,” Nat shoots back.

“That’s prison, darling.” Lottie deadpans and Nat smirks.

“Same difference.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I could say the same.”

Lottie’s lips curl into a smile and she shows Natalie the cover of her book, but her eyes never leave the girl’s face.

“Meditation: the art of ecstasy,” Natalie reads the title out loud and smirks again. “Damn, maybe I should get into meditation.”

“Now, who’s deflecting?”

Natalie chuckles and shakes her head. “I got caught drinking one too many times,” she tells a half truth, hoping it'll be enough to satiate the woman's curiosity.

It earns her a curious, intense look from those marvelous dark eyes, but at the end Lottie decides to let it go. “Well, I hope you stay out of trouble from now on, Natalie.”

Nat gives her a dimpled smile. “I wouldn't count it.”

[upon-a-starry-night]

While We Dream Pt.3

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader

Star Wars Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: As Kylo sleeps he finds himself mysteriously transported to your modern world, while you sleep you find yourself following alongside Kylo as he goes about his duties as “supreme leader?” who even was this guy? And why does he keep talking about ‘The Force?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to the sound of your alarms and on auto-pilot sit up to get ready for work, only to slump back down when you remember the events of yesterday; getting fired, making a wish, almost dying, meeting a mysterious stranger who you felt some strange connection to. They didn’t seem familiar but perhaps you’d met them before?

Either way, you’re not going to pass up the opportunity to sleep in late so you let your eyes flutter closed as you attempt to fall back into a blissful slumber. You toss and turn to no avail and after a few minutes you frustratingly open your eyes and stare up at your ceiling, only it’s not your ceiling anymore. 

Instead of your off-white slightly chipped roof, you're met with a sleek high-rise gray ceiling made out of a material that makes you feel like you’re in a sci-fi movie. The room is impossibly dark, with no source of natural light and weirdly futuristic features. It’s strangely silent save for the low hum of electricity.

Maybe you had managed to fall asleep after all? But you felt too awake for this to be a dream, and everything felt too real. Your dreams had never been this clear before, or this detailed.

The room was the size of a studio apartment but appeared to be mainly a bedroom. Nearly every surface was some shade of gray or black with the occasional red accent on pieces of furniture. The bed you were sitting on was queen-sized and big enough for two people but based on the lack of accessories and decoration it seems like only one person used it.

To your right, there’s a large L-shaped kitchenette area, all entirely black of course, but devoid of any visible appliances or foods. There’s a circular table with only one chair that makes you kind of sad to look at so you focus on observing the rest of the room.

From the kitchenette, there’s a wall that juts out diagonally with a single door. You assume it’s either a closet or a bathroom based on its size. 

The wall in front of the bed only has a singular door in the shape of a stretched pentagon, it’s devoid of any door handle and instead has an illuminated keypad on the wall. It’s the most elaborate door you’ve ever seen for a single bedroom and it further cements the idea that you were probably lucid dreaming.

There’s a small couch at the foot of the bed that looks pretty comfy and a small bookshelf on the wall to the left, along with another closed door that could lead anywhere. It’s a flat that probably costs a good few thousand depending on the area that you’re in.

You don’t know how or why your mind has conjured up such a place but you’ll take this over your other dreams any day. As you stand up from the bed your body feels lighter than usual, like you’re not carrying your whole physical weight. The tension you’re used to holding from the stress of life is gone and you revel in the feeling of relaxation that washes over you.

If you could spend every night here in your dreams you’d probably feel a lot better in real life.

Looking down, you notice that you’re sitting on top of the comforter despite the warmth flowing through your body. You must still be under the covers in real life. You never expected lucid dreaming to feel this alert.

As you shift, you scrunch your brow in confusion as you notice your body doesn’t impact the bed at all. You leave no imprint as you sit, and when you attempt to pick up the blanket you can’t grip it.

Weird. Aren't you supposed to be able to do what you want in lucid dreams? 

Despite feeling lighter, your body still looks the same, you’re not see-through or glowing or anything abnormal but as you focus on your body you realize you can’t actually feel anything.

The bed you’re sitting on doesn’t register when you touch it and you realize your mind must be filling in all the blanks for whatever you’d normally feel. If you stop focusing as hard, your mind creates the illusion of feeling whatever object you’re touching but doesn’t actually impact anything in this dream world.

To test your theory, you stand up on the bed and begin jumping on it. The bed itself doesn’t move an inch but your body bounces as if you were on a real bed. It’s simultaneously astonishing and terrifying.

Your new position on the bed allows you to see curtains above the headboard that you hadn't been able to see behind you. Ever curious, you move to open them to see just where you are when a beeping sound from behind you has you whipping around just in time to see the door sliding open. 

The sudden burst of fluorescent light forces you to squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t get blinded but when you open them again you’re met with the familiar sight of your bedroom ceiling.

It takes you a second to readjust to the full weight of your body and the feeling of objects touching you. There’s sunlight streaming in through your bedroom window and the familiar sounds of birds chirping and cars passing by. It’s a stark contrast to whatever dream you were just having but not an unwelcome one.

You spent years curating the perfect place for yourself and throughout all the effort you’d finally made your home your safe space. You would never get tired of it.

Sensing that you’re finally awake, your orange and white tabby cat Toast comes bounding in ready for you to feed him. He’s only a few months old so he’s not big enough to jump up on your bed. Instead, he sits at the foot of your bed and meows until you get up to get him his food.

Sitting up, you realize you feel the most well-rested you’ve ever felt in your life and can’t help but attribute it to your weird dream. Either way, it gives you more than enough energy to start your day, so you scoop Toast up into your arms and head out into your living room to start your day.

—-----

Kylo Ren has been scanning through every inch of the galaxy trying to find a planet that looks like yours. The closest matches he could find were Coruscant and Alderaan but Alderaan had been wiped out long ago by the Death Star and Coruscant’s technology was more advanced than what he’d seen on your world.

Not to mention your entire population seemed to be entirely of the human race, which isn't a common standard throughout the galaxy. Most worlds had at least a few other species that chose to inhabit the same planet. Perhaps you were beyond any galaxy anyone had ever visited. And if that was the case, he was better off actually listening to this meeting he was in instead of searching for you.

“Ren, are you even listening?” Kylo rolls his eyes under his helmet at the sound of his least favorite colleague. How did Hux always know when he was in a sour mood? Still, it would do Hux good to remember that he wasn’t just ‘Ren’ anymore.

He stands up from his seat and tilts his head to the side as he watches everyone in the room collectively hold their breath, letting his height do most of the talking. He smirks at the way Hux attempts to hide his fear but a look in his head shows his thoughts are running through all of the times he’s been force-choked by Ren.

“What was that, general?” He makes sure to emphasize Hux’s inferior title, watching as his neck turns red in anger. A few other captains in the room chuckle at his reaction. “Need I remind you who you’re talking to?”

Hux sets his jaw in anger but doesn’t dare lash out against Kylo. He’s already considered the least favorable of all of the generals on board, he doesn’t need more gossip spreading about him having another outburst.

“My apologies, Supreme Leader, I was just trying to advise you to consider…assimilating such valuable information.” He grits his teeth as he forces out the formal tone and title and Kylo is about to rile him up more when he feels a familiar pull.

The same one that led him to you in the forest.

“Dismissed” Kylo is already out of the door and striding towards the pull before he can see Hux’s unfavorable scowl. He doesn’t know how much time he has before you disappear again and he’s determined to find out where you are.

Kylo hesitates slightly as he recognizes the way to his quarters following the pull. Why did you appear there? He quickens his gait as he approaches his door and quickly punches in his code.

His room is shrouded in darkness and for a moment he sees the shadow of a figure on his bed but the second light flows into the room you’re gone. He clenches his fist in frustration. Every time he’s close to speaking with you you disappear. Was this some sort of trick you were playing on him? Was this even your doing or was it something bigger? Were you a vision the Rebels were using to distract him?

A million thoughts are running through his head as he stares at his room which shows no signs of interference. The bed sheets are untouched, the furniture remains how he left it, and the feeling in his stomach slowly fizzles out the longer he stands there.

Unanswered questions race through his mind as he stands in his doorway but as he steps into his quarters there’s one distinct question that protrudes above the rest:

What were you doing on his bed?

Pt.4

A/n: Kylo Ren’s bedroom looks different to me in every fic tbh so I wanted to help you guys get a clear picture of what I was imagining while writing this! ~ Starry

[sunflowerabyss]

Brewing Hearts

Pairing: Professor!Remus Lupin x Professor!Reader

Plot: Tired of seeing the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and the Arithmancy professor dancing around each other, the Weasley twins take things into their own hands with a little bit of love potion.

Warnings: fluff

__________________________________________________________

The Great Hall bustled with the usual chaos of students and the aroma of delicious food. Fred and George sat at the Gryffindor table, exchanging glances as they observed the unfolding drama between Remus Lupin and (Y/N) (L/N). The two professors were seated across the room, stealing subtle glances at each other while seemingly oblivious to the world around them.

Fred nudged George with his elbow and nodded toward the couple. "George, mate, look at them. It's like watching a Muggle soap opera, only with more awkward glances and less drama."

George chuckled, his eyes narrowing as he observed Remus and (Y/N). "I swear, Fred, if they don't do something soon, I might just hex them into confessing. It's getting painful to watch."

The twins exchanged an amused look as Remus and (Y/N) continued their dance of stolen glances. Fred leaned in, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've got an idea. What if we do something about it? You know, give them a little push in the right direction?"

George's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Now, that's what I'm talking about. What's the plan, my dear brother?"

Fred leaned back, studying the couple across the hall. "We need something subtle, something that'll make them realize what they're missing. A little potion, perhaps?"

George raised an eyebrow. "A love potion?"

Fred shook his head. "Nah, too strong. We don't want them running off to elope. How about a mild infatuation potion? Just enough to make them see each other in a new light."

George grinned. "I like it. We brew it tonight, slip it into their drinks at the Yule Ball, and let the magic happen. They'll be thanking us for years to come."

And with that, the mischievous twins began plotting their matchmaking scheme, setting the stage for the events that would unfold in their secret workshop later that evening.

The Weasley twins sneaked out of the Gryffindor common room under the cover of darkness, making their way to their secret workshop hidden within the depths of Hogwarts. The passage was concealed behind a tapestry depicting a group of mischievous pixies wreaking havoc on a potions classroom. With a swish of Fred's wand, the entrance revealed itself, and the twins slipped through.

Inside the dimly lit workshop, shelves lined with jars of rare ingredients and experimental potions greeted them. Fred conjured a small flame to light the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The twins wasted no time as they set up their cauldrons, eager to brew the potion that would finally push Remus and (Y/N) out of their pining stupor.

George cracked his knuckles, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Fred, mate, let's get this show on the road. We've got a date with destiny tonight."

Fred nodded, tossing a handful of powdered moonstone into a cauldron. "Absolutely, George. Let's make this potion so good, they won't know what hit them."

The twins worked in tandem, each intuitively knowing their role in the brewing process. They measured out ingredients, stirred cauldrons, and shared mischievous glances. The room hummed with an air of excitement, and a sense of accomplishment fueled their determination.

As George carefully poured a vial of crushed fireflies into the mixture, he glanced over at Fred. "You know, Fred, this feels like one of our pranks, only with a touch more subtlety. It's like setting off a dung bomb in a library and watching the chaos unfold, but with hearts instead of first-years throwing up in the bathroom."

Fred chuckled, stirring the cauldron. "Exactly, George. This is the prank to top all pranks and the best part? We're doing it for love. No harm done."

The potion began to emit a soft, enchanting glow as they added the final ingredients. The twins exchanged satisfied smiles, their plan coming together seamlessly. Fred raised his wand, tapping the cauldron with a flourish.

"There we go, George. One batch of Cupid's Secret, ready to make magic happen."

George admired their handiwork. "They won't even know what hit them. Now, let's get this bottled up and ready for the Yule Ball."

And so, with the potion completed and mischief in their hearts, Fred and George sealed the vials of Cupid's Secret, eager to unleash their concoction on the unsuspecting professors during the magical festivities of the Yule Ball.

__________________________________________________________

The Yule Ball was in full swing, the Great Hall transformed into a magical wonderland. The twinkling fairy lights above cast a warm glow over the elegantly dressed witches and wizards as they twirled around the dance floor. Remus and (Y/N) entered separately, both looking stunning in their respective outfits.

Fred and George, dressed in dapper suits that were a mix of classic and whimsical, discreetly moved through the crowd. They each carried a tray of glasses filled with punch, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. As they approached Remus and (Y/N), Fred winked at George, a silent confirmation of the mischief about to unfold.

"Care for a drink, Professor Lupin?" Fred offered with a charming smile, presenting the tray of punch.

Remus, slightly surprised, nodded in gratitude and took a glass. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Much appreciated."

Meanwhile, George turned to (Y/N) with a grin. "And for you, Professor (L/N)? A little something to enhance the festive spirit."

[Y/N] accepted the glass, returning George's smile. "Why, thank you, Mr. Weasley. That's very thoughtful."

The twins exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance before blending into the crowd, leaving Remus and (Y/N) to enjoy their drinks. As the professors took sips of the enchanted punch, the subtle effects of Cupid's Secret began to take hold.

Unbeknownst to them, a gentle warmth spread through their veins, and the enchanted atmosphere of the Yule Ball seemed to intensify. Remus and (Y/N) glanced at each other, their eyes meeting in a way that felt different, charged with a newfound energy.

Fred, watching from a distance, nudged George with a sly grin. "Well, George, looks like our little potion is working its charm. Now, let's sit back and enjoy the show."

George chuckled, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To love, mischief, and a Yule Ball to remember."

And so, with their plan set in motion, the mischievous twins observed from the sidelines, eager to see how Cupid's Secret would unfold in the magical dance of the Yule Ball.

Under the soft glow of the floating candles and the enchanting ambiance of the Yule Ball, Remus and (Y/N) found themselves swept away by the subtle effects of Cupid's Secret. The love potion worked its magic, creating a warmth that seemed to linger in the air around them.

As they danced, the once hesitant glances turned into lingering stares. Remus, with a newfound confidence, gently took (Y/N)'s hand, and the dance floor seemed to fade away as they moved in perfect harmony. The atmosphere crackled with an energy that was both enchanting and irresistible.

Fred and George, hidden in the shadows, exchanged triumphant grins as they watched their plan unfold. Fred elbowed George, nodding toward the dancing couple. "Look at that, George. Our potion is doing wonders. They're practically glowing!"

George chuckled. "Our own brand of magic, right there. Who knew we had a knack for matchmaking?"

As Remus and (Y/N) twirled across the floor, the barriers that had kept them apart began to crumble. Conversations flowed effortlessly, laughter echoed through the hall, and the spark that had been lingering finally ignited into a full-fledged flame of connection.

The mischievous twins couldn't help but revel in their success. Fred whispered to George, "I told you, George, this is going to be legendary. They're like a pair of phoenixes rising from the ashes of awkwardness."

George nodded, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Fred, my dear brother, we might be onto something here. Maybe we missed our true calling as love wizards."

The dance continued, and the enchanted glow of the Yule Ball seemed to intensify around Remus and (Y/N). The Great Hall buzzed with the newfound energy of romance, and the Weasley twins, hidden in the shadows, savored the moment, knowing they had orchestrated a magical night that would be remembered for years to come.

_________________________________________________________

The morning sun cast a warm glow on the Hogwarts grounds as Remus and (Y/N) found themselves walking together near the Black Lake. The events of the Yule Ball lingered in the air, creating a palpable tension between them.

Remus hesitated for a moment before breaking the silence. "About last night, (Y/N)… there's something we need to talk about, something that's been on my mind."

(Y/N) nodded, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes. "Remus, I've been thinking too. There was something… different about the Yule Ball, wasn't there?"

Remus took a deep breath, glancing at (Y/N) with a sincerity that seemed to cut through the uncertainty. "I can't shake the feeling that something was influencing us. The way we were drawn to each other, the warmth in the air—it wasn't just the magic of the Yule Ball, was it?"

(Y/N) sighed, realizing the truth. "No, Remus. It wasn't just the Yule Ball magic. There was something else at play. Something that brought us together, made us see each other in a new light."

As Remus and (Y/N) shared their thoughts, unbeknownst to them, Fred and George were hiding behind a large oak tree nearby. The mischievous twins exchanged knowing glances, their ears perked up to catch every word of the conversation.

Remus ran a hand through his hair, a hint of frustration in his expression. "I've been racking my brain, trying to understand what happened. And then I remembered—Fred and George offered us punch. I think they might have had something to do with it."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in realization. "The Weasley twins? But why would they…?"

Remus sighed. "Knowing Fred and George, it was probably another one of their pranks. They must have slipped something into the punch to create some kind of atmosphere. I can't believe I fell for it."

(Y/N), a mixture of surprise and amusement on her face, couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, if it was a prank, it might be the best one they've ever pulled. Because, Remus, I can't deny that something changed between us last night."

Remus smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "And I'm grateful for it. More than you know. The truth is, (Y/N), I've fancied you for quite some time. The Yule Ball, or rather, whatever those two put in my drink, just gave me the courage to admit it."

As the conversation unfolded, Fred and George shared a triumphant grin. Fred whispered to George, "Looks like our love potion did more than we bargained for. They're talking about it!"

George nodded. "Mission accomplished, Fred."

The mischievous twins quietly retreated, leaving Remus and (Y/N) to navigate the aftermath of the Yule Ball and the unexpected twist of fate that had brought them closer together.

In the weeks that followed the Yule Ball, the Hogwarts corridors whispered about the unexpected romance between the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and the Arithmancy professor. Students and staff exchanged knowing glances, their curiosity piqued by the undeniable connection that seemed to have blossomed overnight.

The Weasley twins, having successfully orchestrated the tale of love, moved through the castle with an air of mischief and satisfaction. Fred grinned at George. "Our little project paid off, didn't it? Professor Lupin and Professor (L/N) are the talk of Hogwarts! I even heard McGonagall and Dumbledore talking about it."

George chuckled. "Who would've thought we'd become the puppet masters of love? We might have a future as romance consultants. Well, if the joke shop goes to hell, anyway."

As they reveled in their matchmaking success, the mischievous twins couldn't resist the occasional sly glance toward Remus and (Y/N), secretly pleased with the love story they had set in motion.

__________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, Remus and (Y/N), having navigated the revelation of the Weasley twins' involvement, found solace in the genuine connection that had sparked between them. The Yule Ball, orchestrated or not, had been a catalyst for something real and undeniable.

While sitting next to Remus on his bed in his living chambers, (Y/N) turned to Remus with a playful smile. "You know, Remus, I never thought I'd owe a debt of gratitude to the Weasley twins for anything other than a good laugh."

Remus chuckled, setting his book down, eyes filled with warmth. "They have a way of surprising us, don't they? But in a strange way, I'm grateful for whatever potion they slipped into our drinks that night. It brought us together."

(Y/N) nodded, a twinkle in her eye. "Love has a way of finding its path, even in the most unexpected circumstances. Maybe this was meant to be."

Remus smiled, pulling (Y/N) closer. "Perhaps it was. And I, for one, am glad fate brought us together, even if it took a bit of mischief to make it happen."

And so, as the whispers of love drifted through the Hogwarts corridors, Remus and (Y/N) embraced the magic that had sparked between them. The Weasley twins would never openly admit to meddling with the love potion but found joy in the newfound connection between their favorite professors. As they navigated the castle, their mischief was now tinged with a sense of smug satisfaction.

[rosesradio]

have a valgrace smut drabble, for funsies 🤲💌

word count: 787

warnings: smut (obv), coming in pants—this one’s surprisingly fluffy compared to that last jercy one lmaoo

(for all intents & purposes these characters are aged up, college-aged seven quest etc)

———

As Jason cupped Leo’s face in his hands and kissed him, he took his time enjoying this moment alone.

Alone time was hard to come by on the ship, what with constant duties and monster attacks. Now, though, they had a lucky break—the ship was on autopilot north, the chores were done, and the other five were on deck in the case of a monster attack. So, Leo claimed he was getting a bath while Jason said he needed a nap before the pair practically ran to Jason’s room.

Now, Leo was in his lap, his kisses tasting like the strawberry ice cream he’d had after dinner. He felt so cozy and naturally fit against him, his gray sweatpants soft against Jason’s navy blue ones. Leo’s nimble fingers combed through Jason’s hair. Each short breath from Leo drove Jason to grip Leo’s hips more firmly, to touch him greedily.

He wasn’t used to having things. His time was never his own, always dedicated to the gods or the people under his praetorship. He’d never had a relationship before—Leo was his first everything. Jason knew, according to what they’d planned, they were going to take things to the next level.

Leo began to roll his hips down on Jason’s, the friction making Jason catch his breath.

“Aw, you like that?” Leo’s voice was light and teasing. Jason’s hands moved up to his waist, letting out a shaky breath at the curve of Leo’s arching back.

“Y-yeah,” Jason’s voice was small, much less dominating than he supposed he should have sounded. His cheeks flushed, and he nuzzled into the crook of Leo’s neck, pressing kisses to the skin there.

Leo didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he didn’t mind. He might have even liked it, Jason observed, as Leo made more of an effort to push against Jason.

Jason felt a familiar coil begin in his stomach, the feeling overwhelming to say the least. He was a late bloomer in the most unnatural way; while he knew how sex worked, he’d never had the time or patience to learn how to find relief on his own. He took cold showers and practically prayed to the gods to make any of those feelings disappear. That is, until he’d gotten his memory wiped. After that—in the weeks after the initial flurry of don’t die don’t die don’t die, he’d found a bit of time to explore what he wanted. Once he did, it took him a while after that to rein it in.

In fact, Jason wasn’t sure if he’d quite mastered reining it in or not. With how good Leo was making him feel with this alone, he wasn’t sure how long he’d last. That idea was a little embarrassing, though his mind was too fogged to care.

“Leo,” Jason murmured, pushing up against Leo, breathing shakily against the crook of his neck. “L-Leo…”

Leo’s own breathy moans in his ear were making Jason’s head spin. He nipped Jason’s earlobe, his hands sliding up Jason’s shirt and grabbing at his chest. His fingers teased and pinched Jason’s nipples as he let out a low, pleasant hum. “Mm, yeah, muñeco?”

Jason wasn’t sure what that meant, though he knew that he was close. At this point, if he stopped, he would really hate himself at best—at worst he would have one of those delayed, half-assed orgasms.

He didn’t even think he could concentrate enough to warn Leo if he wanted to. Instead, the son of Jupiter gripped Leo’s hips, allowing the friction of Leo’s hard cock in his sweatpants to send him fully over the edge. He let out a sound that was just as much a moan as it was a whimper—if he could form a word, it would have been Leo’s name.

It took him about twenty seconds to reassess—about twelve for the orgasm to ride out, and eight for the realization to hit as he met Leo’s wide eyes.

“Did,” Leo started incredulously. “Did you just…?”

“No,” Jason shook his head quickly. “I mean, yes. I mean…sorry…?”

Leo’s incredulous look turned to a slight smile, and soon enough, he was laughing into his hand.

Jason buried his face into his hands, though before he could apologize again, Leo spoke up:

“Dude, don’t be embarrassed, that’s awesome!” He held up a hand for a high five. “I can’t believe that was all me—I mean, that’s absolutely legendary, the powers I possess—“

Jason let out an incredulous laugh of his own, though he gave his boyfriend a high five. He then intwined their fingers together, pressing his lips to his and pushing him against the bed. Although Jason was done, he wouldn’t be fully satisfied until Leo was as well.

[wintersrealm]

Lawlight Week 2025

I Swear, He's Not My Soulmate (A03)

Day One Prompt: Soulmates/Doomed Pair

Rating: Mature

(Please see A03 for additional warnings and tags)

Summary: Light is haunted by nightmares of killing his soulmate. He's decided that he will write off guys completely, settling for a mediocre life of heteronormativity. To run away from his soulmate, he decides to travel abroad. The one downside? His roommate is super weird.

Clutching his chest, Light tore himself out of his nightmare. It was the most common dreams he'd have of his soulmate. Whatever life they lived had ended in tragedy. Most people speak about their memories of mundane moments in the kitchen, of traveling, or having children. 

But Light’s was of him killing his soulmate. 

Of hating his soulmate. 

Disoriented, Light reached out for the gloves at his bedside table. Before the room could spin into place, he was pulling the tight leather over his fingers, the repeated task giving him some sense of solace. 

“Are you okay, Light-Kun?” A low voice from across their shared dormitory sent a jolt up Light’s spine. With little mental space for reaction, Light’s stiff body fell onto the floor, his limbs sprawling. 

“I’m fine.” Light groaned, throbbing as he tried to pull himself back together. 

Light hated his roommate.

His roommate was a self-prophetic asshole that ate more sugar than Hansel and Gretel combined. He was always watching Light, making unwelcome observations - and he NEVER slept. It wouldn’t bother him if L simply kept his insomnia to himself, but instead he seemed to use it as a leeway to bond - like Light’s nightmares were sleepover tales to be shared over hot chocolate and facemasks. 

“Would you like a mochi?” L pinched the doughy ball in between his fingers. 

Fastening his gloves, Light pulled himself back onto his bed, ignoring the question from the undead.

“Trouble sleeping, Light?” He asked, already knowing the answer. But - it seemed as though he preferred the reaction more than he cared about the question. 

“Go to sleep.” Light threw the blanket over his shoulder, turning his back to the pale blue light filling their dorm. 

Letting out deep breaths, Light petted his gloves. They kept him safe. If he had on his gloves, he’d never confirm his soulmate.

“Ugh, you eat like my roommate.” Light cringed as Sayu shoveled another scoop of ice cream into her mouth.

“Hey! It’s hot out here!” 

Tsking, Light adjusted the tablet on his table, showing his disapproval through his posture. “You’re a growing girl, Sayu, you should-”

“Hey Light?”

Light pursed his lips, irritated that Sayu ran over his train of thought. “Yes, Sayu?” 

“How did you know you had your first soulmate dream?” 

Light winced, the question striking him. He hadn’t known his first one was of his soulmate, he thought it was an exam season stress induced nightmare. 

“I didn’t realize it at first.” Light scanned the room, as if checking that L hadn’t mysteriously popped out from under his bed. “After a few times of the same person, I started to understand.”

Sayu sucked on her spoon, pondering over Light’s response. “I think… I think I’ve gotten dreams of my soulmate.” 

Letting out a light whistle, Light smiled at his sister. It was hard to deny she was becoming an adult when she spoke of her soulmate. “What did you dream about?” Light took the opportunity to deflect from his own experience with stride. 

“Just scattered memories. I think he has a cat - I keep dreaming of how excited he was over this big ball of fur.” Taking another bite, she gave a little grimace. “I hope he’s learned how to hold a cat.” 

“Hmm…” Light tapped at the edge of his keyboard. “So it sounds like this will be your first life together.” 

“What? How do you know?” Ice cream dribbled down her chin. 

“Do any of the dreams include you?” From what Light had heard, that was usually the difference. If they’d never met before, your soulmate would get fragments of special or important memories. If they’d lived a life together, then they’d be a participant in the memories instead of an observer. 

“No, I’m always watching - like it’s a TV or something!” She munched excitedly, the reality of getting to see into her soulmate's life elating her. “What about you? Did you and Misa live other lives or is this your first one?”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Light fell into his scripted lie. Misa’s soulmate was platonic, her best friend Rem and her were written in the stars. And Light, well, he never wanted to meet his soulmate. So he decided that he would never sleep with another man as long as he lived and would stay safe within Misa’s embrace. 

He’d say it was their first life - after all, he never knew they’d met before. They weren’t soulmates. 

A light breeze floated through the window, gently caressing Light’s skin. The sheets surrounding him were soft, the type of Egyptian cotton his parents would never hear of. The sounds of the city were far below them, barely loud enough to qualify as white noise. A column of lunar light crossed the room, up the bed, past a handcuff chain, and onto a staticy face.

“You- beautiful like this, Li-” the man’s voice was distorted as he leaned into Light. 

Anger built up in Light’s stomach, enraged that the man would compliment him as he lay in such a shameless position. But the anger fuelled them. The ire was the ingredient that led to passionate nights, scrapped wall paint, and scratches that bled through white shirts.

“Fuck you.” Light hissed back.

“So beautif-, so debauched -” The man positioned himself in between Light’s legs. 

Light craved him. Wanted him with every fibre of his soul. 

“I want t- how much I ca- mess you up.” 

Yes. Light arched his back, waiting for the familiar burn. His skin was cold and clammy, all his blood running south.

He waited. 

Peeking up, the man appeared frozen, one hand on a knee, the other on himself. But nothing was happening. 

Whimpering, Light shifted forward, searching for him. 

“Light-kun?”

Hearing his name sent shivers up the back of his neck. 

“Are you okay? Light-kun?” 

The dream faded around him, the high ceilings replaced by their low waterstained dorms. His roommate hovered over him, black hair falling over his face. His expression twisted in worry, his hand tentatively hovered to offer solace. 

Light was all too aware of the problem in his pants and his stupid nosey roommate was all but on top of him. Trying to protect his tent, he shot forward, attempting to fold himself in half. L, however, was not quick enough to move out of the way. The edge of Light’s shirt caught on L’s fingers, raising it up enough to just touch skin.

The touch burned. Burned in the way that your face does after a first kiss. He could feel his finger prints searing into his abdomen. 

No. 

NO!

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” Light seized his blanket and ripped it around himself. 

“My apologies Light-kun, you seemed to be-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Light was hysterical. He knew he was going overboard, he could feel it. 

Sighing, L lifted from his bed, dragging his feet along with him. 

Pulling the blanket up over his head, Light let out a sob. How could this man be his soulmate? How did his creepy, overbearing roommate leave a fucking handprint on him? He’d travelled the world to run away from his soulmate. He had a life planned. Misa would be his beautiful wife. Her dad would help him get a promising job at a law firm. It was all set up for him. 

Light’s trembling fingers traced the raised mark on his stomach. 

His entire future was on the precipice of ruin. 

Things were different after that night. 

L followed him around more than ever before, his hands in his pockets, always wanting to be a part of Light’s life. But Light wouldn’t let him in. 

He focused on calling Misa more. He never took off his gloves. And he did everything in his power to avoid his roommate. It was a band aid over a gunshot wound, but it would work. By the end of the semester he would be able to select a new roommate and he’d never have to think about L again - and L would be none the wiser.

“Are you going to sleep already, Light-kun?” L bit his thumb as Light crawled into bed. 

Ignoring the question, Light rolled away from him. The less he saw of him, the better. He could ignore the eyes drilling into his back. 

He was Yagami Light.

He didn’t need a soul mate. 

He would never have a soul mate. 

Rain fell sideways; it did not patter, but screamed.

His shoes squelched against the cement.

Ryuzaki stood about ten meters from the safety rail, his thick black hair matted in the rain. His back was arched, hands deep in his pockets. His face was ghostly, the dark circles under his eyes worse than Light had ever seen. His sharp features were pronounced by the droplets that rolled and dripped off of them. Turning towards him, Light could hear his words as clear as day.  

“Tell me, Light, from the moment you were born, has there ever been a point when you’ve actually told the truth?”

Clutching his chest, Light woke up with a wheeze. He’d never seen L’s face in a dream before, his voice undeniable. Craning his head, Light could make out the silhouette of his roommate's sleeping frame. Was he the same person that managed to see through him? To peer past the expertly crafted masks? 

Letting out a shaky exhale, Light ran his fingers across his abdomen.

“You’re really leaving?” L crossed his arms, resting against the frame of the doorway. 

“It’s time, L. I can’t keep playing into your game.” Light zipped up his suitcase. He was so close to freedom. The semester was over, he’d board a plane and finish his studies back home. Or pick another school. Whatever it was, he would be far away from L. 

“The game in which I believe you’re my soulmate?” L tilted his head, his owl eyes boring into Light. 

“I’m not your soulmate.” Light shook his head, his fists tightening in his black gloves. 

Swiftly moving across the floor, L dropped to his knees behind Light. Pelvis to back, L traced a finger along Light’s glove. His hair tickled at Light’s ear, each puff of breath leaving a warm tingle across Light’s cheek. 

“I think…” L let his hand trail across Light’s chest. 

His heart beat threatened to break his ribs, wanting to become one with the hand that so gently touched him. 

L’s hand slid lower, inching towards the hem of his shirt. 

The mark on Light’s abdomen burned, begging to be touched. 

Clenching his teeth, Light focused on his picket fence dream. Suits and ties. Misa in the kitchen when he got home. 

Just as thin fingers reached the hem of his shirt, Light bucked L off. “Let go of me, you freak!” 

L fell to his butt with a thud, the back of his head slamming against the bed behind him. “This feels familiar, doesn’t it, Kira?” 

Kira? Who the hell was Kira? With furrowed brows, Light reflexively turned back towards L. What was he playing at? 

“Oh…” His dark eyes gleamed. “You don’t remember yet.”

Something stirred deep within him. A rage he couldn’t quite place. His fist moved as if with muscle memory, striking his bony face. 

Red with dots of purple stretched across L’s cheek, bright red drool slipping out the side of his mouth. 

“You know…” Using the back of his wrist, L wiped the blood off the corner of his mouth. “When I first dreamt of my soulmate, he was laughing as I died.”

Light gulped, the scene all too familiar. His screaming and cackling mixed into a cacophony that constantly awoke him in a cold sweat. 

“Oddly enough… I wasn’t angry at him. No… Instead, I was angry that I could no longer play the game.” 

“You’re not my soulmate.” Light denied, leaning against his bed. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Light-kun.” Crawling over, L paused on all fours. “If you touch me… just once… I'll never bother you again.” His onyx eyes glanced towards Light’s gloves. 

There weren't enough words to describe the ire that broiled in Light’s stomach. Hatred. Fury. Loathing. Murderous. 

It would be over the moment Light touched L’s skin and L knew that. 

The moment Light’s fingers grazed L, his prints would be seared into his skin. Memories of a past life shared. Light wanted to walk away. To leave home to Japan and never look back. 

Because what if he killed him again?

Was he a murderer? 

Were they destined to hurt each other

Taking advantage of Light’s moment of weakness, L nudged the column of Light’s throat with his nose. “I think it's a good deal.” His words rumbled like a train as his lips left kisses down Light’s neck, his hand gripping at Light’s forearm. 

Growling, Light shoved L forward, forcing him to the ground. Taking both of his thin wrists into his palms, Light pinned them to the floor above L’s head. His knees bracketed L, a misplaced concept of control. 

“Light-kun… You’re quite cute like this, you know?” L eyed the place where their body met. If they had less clothing on, it would truly be obscene. 

It drove Light to insanity how L would never bow to any of his masks. Even his most aggressive facade left the man completely unfazed. 

Easily tugging out one of his hands, L ran his fingers up the outside of Light’s thigh. Light clenched the trapped hand tighter, but did nothing to stop L’s trailing digits. With a thin smile, L revelled in Light’s attempts to mask his reactions.

His whole body was heating up under the simplest touch. Distant memories of screaming and begging tugged at the back of his head. With every fibre of his body, he wanted L. He wanted someone who wouldn’t bend to his every whim…. But that would be difficult. What would his family think back home when he returned with a boyfriend? An English boyfriend, to make things worse. No - he -

L slid his fingers up the edge of Light’s shirt, caressing the raised skin. 

“Ugh-,” The groan escaped from Light’s lips, to which L responded with a toothy smile. 

L’s touch was aloe on a soothing burn. It felt familiar and enticing. 

Pausing, L met Light’s eyes. Exhaling, he placed his hand over his mark, an edge of his lips flicking into a grin. 

Alarm bells went off in Light’s body. Every inch of him knew that he’d found his soulmate, that he was with his soulmate and needed to be with him, to touch him back. 

“You’re - a - mmm - fucking asshole.” Light arched into L’s touch. 

“Your asshole.” L muttered, going back and forth between trailing his fingers, and gripping into skin. 

“Fuck!” Light used his free hand to pin L’s traveling one. 

“Just like that, but without the glove.”

“No. I’m not into guys. I’m engaged to Misa - we’ll -,”

“Misa? Is that your girlfriend’s name?” L’s face lit up, his brows nearly touched his hairline. “Seems you’ve encountered someone else from your past life.”

A lump caught in Light’s throat. Their past life? What did Misa have to do with the past? Would he still be able to choose her if he touched L? 

“Misa and I - “

“You and Misa will never be happy. No matter how many lives you live.” L relaxed in his ‘captive’ position, content to be trapped by Light. 

“Touch me once.” L rubbed his head as close to Light’s hand as he could reach. “If you want to run away, if you never want to see me again, then I’ll stop. But you can’t tell me you’re not curious? To at least see what we could have been? What we could be?” 

Biting the tip of his tongue, Light refrained from answering. Something within him told him he’d already been weak to curiosity. 

But, evidently, it was a trait that carried through lives. 

“No one I’ve ever met has incensed me as much as you.” Light growled, letting go of L’s hand. “You’re petulant, obtuse, and your nighttime habits are horrific.” Light tugged at the glove on his right hand, exposing the skin shades lighter than his arm. “You want to be marked?” 

The intensifying of L’s pulse was visible, his pupils taking over his eyes. 

“Bastard.” With his bare hand, Light pressed his palm against L’s neck, pushing into the ground. He pressed as hard as he could, his fingers bruising as much as they were marking. 

If L was so desperate to have a mark, then Light would ruin him. 

“F-fuck.” L’s chin tilted up, shallow breaths escaping out of his hold. 

And then - akin to a moment in a helicopter - Light remembered. 

The pain of his loss. Of every empty win. Of fights over strawberry cake. And frantic sex in hidden closets. 

“Fuck, I missed you so much.” The weight of loss was heavy on his chest, but L was here, holding it for him. Soothing away the loneliness. 

Grinning, L clenched at the back of Light’s hair, pulling him down to his lips. Their kiss was messy, teeth clattering, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Between squelching kisses, L muttered, “Try not to kill me this time, okay?”

“Mmm…” Light bit at L’s bottom lip. “No promises.” 

Laughing into his mouth, Light tried to etch out everything he’d missed. L’s thin lips. A faint musk that always had an undertone of sweet sugar. The puffs of breath that let out against his skin.

“I love you, mwah, I love you, Light-kun.”

“And you say I talk too much.” Light laughed, warmth filling his chest. He ran his hand over the bumps on L’s throat. “Mine.” 

The puzzle piece that Light hadn’t known had been missing fell perfectly back into place. 

I DID IT. I FINISHED IT. HOOORAH!

I need sleep and to figure out how to add it to the collection, but that sounds like a tomorrow problem.

[writingoddess1125]

Blip on the Radar pt. 3

Previous <<< Pt. 4 >>>

If you enjoy this please support me on Ko-Fi

This was definitely not how Simon saw himself. Sitting in a run down chinese resturant infront of his former one night stand and a toddler ready to fight for some chopped egg rolls.

It felt like a odd episode of the Twilight Zone for him. Simon had been trying to meet you and his child in a far better way, having called the night before to the clinic to ask if you'd be there which they had said no to- So Simon's plan was to go to get flowers, call to ask to meet and go down that road. However the phone number he had was bad so he wanted to see if he could convince someone at your work- which lead him to this awkward interaction...

Thinming about it the flowers he was pretty sure was wilting in his rental car outside-

"So.. Simon right?" You say softly, breaking the awkward tension between you two. He nodded softly, on edge as well but hiding it well with his natural intimidating feature.

"What clued you in to us? Or wanting to meet at all?" You ask, wanting to keep up the conversation as light and open for the father of your child.

"It was the Ancestory you took. Due to my part in the Military they alerted me to you two" He explained looking to Erik once again- the toddler happily munching on his lunch as he blinked those big eyes at him- They were exactly like his mothers...

"That and I wished to see my child" You felt a level of guilt at that, you always assumed that most men would rather not know they had a child in this way- but he seemed genuinely interested and his accent clued you in he had come from far away to do so.

"I understand.. I do apologize you found out in well a unique way" You say softly, chuckling at the oddity of this all and Simon bowing his head also in amusement.

Erik fussed as he reached for more eggrolls, but you giving him the finely chopped Broccoli instead which he looked ready to box you over.

"No Mama" He whined at first and pouted. However Erik's curious gaze fell to the large man staring at him, Erik had been oddly quiet and just observing the masked man in confusion. Simon smirked at this under his mask- he could tell his biy was observing him, Grabbing his fork as he stabbed into his own food taking up some Broccoli to eat himself pulling up his mask just enough to do so-

The child narrowing his eyes as he took a spoon of his own chopped Broccoli and shoved it into his mouth.

"Huh- Usually I have to force him to eat anything green" You mused, impressed that Erik was willingly eating the broccoli. Simon chuckled at this, admiration in his eyes as he stared at his son.

"Oldest trick, they see you eat it they will" He said as he stared at the boy clumsily eating the chopped food infront of him.

"Whats his name?"

"Erik, Erik Wyett (Y/L/N)-"

"Erik hm? Good name.. Little fighter hm?" He hummed, you giving the most deadpan exhausted look possible.

"You have no idea-"

Simon laughed at this, a hearty laugh at that which made Erik stare at the man and giggle. Erik's little dimples showing as he smiled at the man, you couldnt but assume Simon had the same.

"Do you want to hold him?"

After a moment he softly nodded, you standing up from your seat pulling a wiggling Erik with you and handing him to the man. You were hesitant of couse- but that was neither here or there, Sitting back down as you stared at the two.

Erik was staring at Simon confused by the face mask and who was holding him- Simon holding the toddler like he was made of glass, you could see he was unsure of himself now that he was holding the child.

"Hefty Lad, you give you Mum trouble?"

"No No" Erik's little voice said shyly, Making Simon's heart damn near melt. The toddler looking over Simon calmly, reaching his hand to mess with the drawstring of his jumper then to touch the short locks of blonde hair peaking from under the hoodie then finally his mask- reaching to pull it from his face but Simon reached a gentle hand up to wrap around Erik's fist before he ripped it off.

Simon paused at this glancing around calmly like at any moment someone would pop out before taking his free hand and pulling the mask away calmly.

There you and Erik saw his face, you couldn't lie. He was pretty in a rugged way, a crooked thin nose which had clearly been broken and set many times, thin stubble over his square jaw and hints of dimples on his muscular cheeks but it was the thick scars on his face that really took notice. One across his nose and another down the right side of his lip- He was like a well worn boxer.

Simon handing the toddler the mask who looked it over before focusing on his face again. Erik's chubby fingers tracing the scars that stretched across his nose and another over his lip and chin.

"Scary no?" Simon chimed, expecting the toddler to be uncomforble with his scarred face. However he was met with a surprise when Erik patted his scars with the forever sticky toddler hands.

"Boo Boo go away- No hurt?" Erik said softly, trying to rub the 'pain' away from the scars thinking they hurt the soilder. Simon smiled at this, which turned into the two looking in a mirror- Having the same almost Goofy crooked smile along with deep dimples, it just made your heart flutter.

"No hurt Mate, no hurt"

For the rest of your lunchbreak you and Simon agreed to meet up later at your home to talk about child arrangements and more important matters- Simon holding Erik the rest of the time getting him to finish his kunch and crawl over him till Erik fell asleep on his shoulder still clutching the mask in a tight fist.

Stepping out of the resturant Simon a bit reluctantly handed Erik back to you. Clearly wanting to hold the boy forever it seemed-

"Thank you for being so.. accommodating" Simon said calmly, knowing most wouldn't be so interested in something like this- However you smile as you hold your heavy boy.

"It's no problem, I appreciate the effort and how interested you want to be in Erik's life" You say sincerely. Simon felt a fluttering in his chest at your kindness towards them-

"Oh I had these for you" He said softly before going into the rented car and pulling out a bouquet of absolutely devastated Peonies and Lilies.

Simon mentally slapped himself as he held the clearly almpst dead flowers- He felt like a awkward teenager again. However you giggled at this and gently took the flowers from his hand, smiling at the sweet gesture.

"Thank you, That's really sweet Simon" He gave another smile which made your heart flutter, however your phone chimed snapping you back to reality.

Exchanging quick goodbyes you run back to the Clinic holding Erik who was starting to wake from his nap by the sudden movement. Simon watching you run off as he stood by the car dazed-

Tag List:

@maliemoon @elvyshiarieko @gaida-511 @im-as-mad-as-a-wax-bananna @elvyshiarieko

[chiefdirector]

Gut feeling | Tony Dinozzo | NCIS

No.4: Hiding an injury

Sinking down into her desk chair, Special Agent (Y/N) (L/N) let out a gentle sigh, relief flooding through her as the pressure on her leg eased. She was somewhat thankful she had worn dark jeans, that paired with the dull lighting in the bullpen at night meant that she could hide the bloodstain coming from the hole in her leg until she could patch it up in private.

She had always been a private person, a childhood of broken promises and disappointments has caused her to close herself from other people, even when she truly wanted to let them in. She reasoned with herself on the way back from the raid the team had undertaken.

Slowly, one by one, the team left. She stayed under the guise of paperwork - it wasn't hard to believe, they did have mountains of it to shift through at the end of a case. Only when she thought the coast was clear did she sfhit her weight forwards, attempting to stand up. It took her a few tries but she eventually found her balance once again, thus beginning the slow limp down to autopsy where she knew Ducky kept af first aid kit for instances like these.

Except for the fact she barely made it two steps before she was grabbing the desk for balance, all the blood rushing from her head, causing the world to spin around her.

-----

Tony wasn't always the most observant, but even he could tell when something was wrong with (Y/N). She was usually so good at controlling her reactions that when she winces as she sat down, Tony knew something was wrong. That and with the look McGee gave him on the way out mean that he wasn't leaving the Navy Yard, not until he was at least sure that you were alright.

He did not pay close attention to most people but when it came to her, he could recall every freckle and replay the sound of her soft laughter in his head indefinitely. He knew that she wouldn't ask for help, so he slinked out of the room, claiming to be going on one of his many sexual adventures for the weekend ahead, but instead of taking the elevator down, he backtracked round the offices until he arrived in the kitchenette.

Tony managed to wait a whole seven minutes and forty-two seconds before he couldn't hold back on checking on (Y/N). He had a gut feeling that could rival Gibbs'; something was wrong.

The bullpen was empty when he arrived back. Maybe she was fine after all, maybe she went home. He thought as he maneuvered around the desks, only stopping when he saw her crumpled form partially hidden behind her own workspace.

With almost superhuman speed, Tony moved down the floor, pulling her head into his lap. He had one hand cradling her leg, and another pushing against where he could faintly see a blood stain on her trousers. He gently shook her. Once. Twice.

Shit. Shit. Shitting shit shit.

Tony could feel time slow down as he tried to wake her. Calling her name, nor moving her seemed to ruse her from her unconsciousness. The gut feeling was right afterall, there was some sick irony in that; the day he finally has an accurate gut feeling is the day where he loses everything.

He didn't know what to do. All of his training, both as a police officer and as a federal agent, were screaming in his head. They were commanding him to do something, anything. But he sat there frozen, panicked by a future where he wouldn't see her sarcastic smile in the mornings, or her sleepy goodbyes at night. A future where he wouldn't share movie nights, or go for impromptu midnight walks. A future where he would never get to tell her how much she had changed his life; a future where she wouldn't know how much he loved her.

Burdened with this thoughts, tony was unsure of what to do so hee shifted her once again, this time until her eyes briefly shuttered open.

"Hey sweetheart, gave me a fright there." He said, trying to bring her attention to him. He needed to keep her awake. "You need to tell me what hurts. What happened?"

"My..." She tried before stopping. She took a moment to compose herself. "My leg. Bastard shot it."

Tony moved slightly to get his phone from his pocket, dialing the emergency line for an ambulance "How'd you end up down here?"

She gave an answer, or at least tried to but the words seemed lost in her mouth, almost as if she didn't know herself. Tony wasn't surprised, by the way her body was she must have hit the ground, and hard.

"No point in worrying now, all you need to focus on is staying awake, getting better."

Tony looked down at her, waiting for her answer, but it never came. He wasn't sure when but her eyes had closed again. Gently he shook her shoulder again, trying to get her conscious for a few more minutes but this time instead of waking, her body fell limp.

Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist

@ailesswhumptober @callsign-ember @happygirl-0408