#Sizable Content???

[angelsdean]

don't know how people multi-fandom. dipped my toe into another one and immediately backed out bc everyone there was insufferable.

[yourleftpinkytoe-blog]

Andrew Minyard has a secret tumblr account that he posts the weirdest most random shit and for some reason it has just a shit ton of followers.

[fanfaire]

( repost, do not reblog. )

Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are by five things they’ve said. Then tag your friends.

"drama is an art that exists between reality and fiction. because, although the story itself is fiction, as far as the characters are concerned, their fate is real. then, therein lies the question: are you and i part of the audience, or part of the cast? no one can know for sure. after all, there's nothing easier to deceive than the senses." — furina pv: member of the cast

"a chat, you say... a simple word, but a fascinating idea. through the power of words, people who are worlds apart can come to understand one another's innermost thoughts. but conversations can come with a great risk as well. the deeper you let someone in, the more deeply they can wound you... that's why people are just as afraid of intimacy as they are of being alone." — teapot companion lines

"everyone rose up to their responsibilities. and i... became free. if you really think about it, freedom just means not being needed. because——i don't have any use anymore." — furina story quest: the little oceanid

"hh... hh... i... i'm fine. look! everyone, look! my hand is still there; i haven't been dissolved! now do you believe me? i really am a god! not an ordinary, dissolving human being! really!" — archon quest act v, chapter iv: masquerade of the guilty

"of course not! i spent the whole night reading the novel again from start to finish, marking all the sections that i felt needed to be changed or emphasized. [paimon: wow, i didn't think you'd be so meticulous!] hah! say what you want, but i was still fontaine's number one star. a reputation like that isn't undeserved. i can be serious when i have to be." — roses and muskets

Tagged by: mikmas Tagging: whoever it may so grip

[pinkpastels113]

will you ever write a mitchsen fic?

i mean my main ship is def bechloe but if the prompt is interesting enough ig

do you have one in mind? i will tell you i will not do smut for them tho.

[seddair]

.

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

"is this queer book about two queer men written by a queer author just…gay content made for straight people???" go outside. please just talk to gay people that are not inside your phone screen I'm begging you

[hyuneflix]

THE CURE • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 11k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, lowkey orgasm denial, sub!reader, soft dom!chan slightly possessive chan, some mentions of a corruption kink.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, mention of dissociation and depersonalisation, brief descriptions of a dissociative episode, non-descript mentions of trauma around sex, therapy talk/setting. everything is intentionally vague but be careful nonetheless.

episode one - a cure for unhappy endings

Never in a million years had you ever expected you’d be sat in the plush, sleek office of one of Sydney’s most esteemed sex therapists.

You weren’t quite sure how your close friend had managed to convince you to make an appointment, her perky voice insisting it would magic away all of your problems while sliding an equally polished business card toward you. Perhaps it had been the conviction and openness with which she told you it saved her marriage that had you contemplating it in earnest. Alternatively it could’ve been her manner of being–the cheery disposition which led her to float into every room with a wide smile–one that made you sure she was doing something right. Whatever the reason you were here.

The waiting room looked akin to a modern showroom, the walls a crisp white save for a wide strip of matte black that accented one side of the room. Lounge chairs dotted the sizable space, the light grey of the velvety fabric contrasting against the one black wall. The greyscale of the room’s aesthetic was broken up by pops of green and gold, present in the flourishing of tall house plants that scattered the room beside towering, pale yellow-lit lamps. The floor looked to be a marbled stone material, perhaps a dark porcelain sleet or purbeck, partially hidden beneath a single rug that housed the centre of the room. Atop the geometric carpet a glass coffee table sat littered with pamphlets and magazines, a bouquet of white lilies placed in the very middle. The dreary silence of the near-empty space was compromised by the whirl of the air conditioning accompanied only by the occasional taps of keys echoing from behind the receptionist's desk. 

You tapped your foot soundlessly as you awaited your appointment, fingers curled tightly around a paper cup. The cardboard was hot beneath your already too-warm palms, the container half-filled with a surprisingly expensive tasting coffee. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised that Sydney’s most up and coming sex therapist spared no expense when it came to their guests, though knowing so little about the person you were due to meet, your expectations were caught in a chaotic flurry of uncertainty and nervousness. You tried to still your restless limbs, planting your foot firmly against the solid ground as if the feeling of the floor beneath your shoes would heighten your senses, stilling your mind. Attempting, instead, to focus solely on the white noise that exhaled from the AC vent. You couldn’t, though. You never could. That was why you were here after all. You were so entirely unable to relax–to calm your nerves and quiet your mind–that even a climax was too far from reach. Your leg bounced anxiously at this, a huff of air from your parted lips sending strands of hair catching in the soft breeze it created. 

Your eyes lifted to the clock above the reception, brows scrunching as the hand ticked slowly passed 3:15pm. Fifteen minutes behind schedule. It wasn’t the lateness that had your eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance, it was the minutes more you’d have to spend in the presence of your own nervous thoughts. Swallowing down some more of your coffee you placed the paper cup on the small side table beside you, freeing up your hands as you dug around the contents of your tote for your phone. The aged white fabric, its front decorated with a bright sun and array of technicoloured pastel flowers, rarely left your side. It was a comforting piece of familiarity in the otherwise chaotic and ever-changing ambience of Australia’s once largest city. The external screen of your mobile lit up the moment it was freed from the shadowed confines of the multi-coloured canvas, revealing a few messages from the very friend who had placed you here on this day. 

[ from: Matilda ♥️]

2:32pm: don’t forget ur apt ik what ur like 😉

2:55pm: istg if ur still asleep ?? i juss knew going out last night was a mistake smh

3:01pm: k i see how it is ,, enjoy being pent up for the rest of ur life cunt ❤️

You snickered at her quick descent into petty remarks, fingers tugging at the folded screen until it opened. Tapping in your passcode you responded, letting her know you hadn’t missed your appointment despite the simmering of an ache in your temple. She wasn’t wrong, going out last night wasn’t the smartest idea but you’d insisted it would help you get out some of that nervous energy that threatened to spill over in instances like this one. You theorised that with a pounding head and an undercurrent of nausea your racing thoughts would have something else to fixate on. Imagine your surprise when you awoke in near good health. It was only natural that the one time you didn’t mind feeling a little worse for wear you felt on cloud nine. You were cursed, that was the only explanation; one that felt even more true given your current occupancy in the waiting room of a sex therapist.

The creek of a door drew your attention away from your phone, a deep voice calling your name despite the absence of other customers situated in the expanse he’d entered. Your gaze fixed on the figure half-hidden by the door frame, eyes widening when you took in the details of the person a few feet from you. It suddenly became abundantly clear why the man before you was so successful in his attempts to fix his clients sex lives; he was exceptionally handsome. Attractive in a quiet and unconventional way but undeniably so all the same. His dark gaze was soft despite the all-consuming black holes his deep brown eyes became. They sucked you in without warning, swallowing you whole the longer you held his stare. It wasn’t just his enthralling pair of aphotic orbs that had the breath catching in your throat, everything about him seemed crafted by an artist so proficient in their technique you failed to scrutinise a single flaw. 

You managed a smile as you grabbed for your coffee, swallowing down the last of the cooling liquid to discard in the metallic bin on your journey toward the magnetic man; the muted thud when it hit the bottom going unacknowledged as you passed. Your tote hung from your shoulder lazily as you followed him into his office, watching the way his upper back and arms flexed beneath his too-tight charcoal dress shirt. The silk-cotton sleeves, despite the slightly ill fit, remained rolled up mid-way; veiny arms on full display as he directed you toward another set of lounge chairs. You’d hoped to feel better once your appointment began–you usually did–but having laid eyes upon the man you were expected to speak openly with regarding such intimate details, you only felt worse. His pink, plump lips widened in a large smile as he motioned you toward one of the chairs. You complied, bag slipping from your shoulder as you lowered yourself into the comfortable leather.

“Sorry for the late start; had a meeting overrun.” He spoke with emphatic sincerity, dimples pressing indentations against his pale cheeks. You could only nod, mind preoccupied by the tufts of dark curls caught in the artificial breeze that pulsed throughout the space. The office was a little larger than the last room, the aesthetics similar save the large windows on one side of it; their transparency enveloping the area in a warm glow of natural light. The beating sun against the crystal clear glass contradicted the chill of the aircon, balancing the room’s temperature to near perfection. Yet, despite this, you felt far too hot with your flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. A symptom, no doubt, of the man sat across from you.

“That’s okay, I get it.” You murmured back, fingers toying with the hem of your checkered summer dress, the soft cotton providing your anxious energy with some relief. The man in front of you seemed to take note of your nervous fussing, eyes falling to your bare thighs momentarily to fix on the opening and closing of your fists around the hem. His tongue darted across his bottom lip adding a glossy sheen to his already enticing smile; deep brown pools still drinking in your itching fingers with an unreadable expression. 

“I know you must be feeling nervous–that’s normal–but you don’t have to worry about diverging anything until you’re ready.” His smile widened, reaching beside him to grab a large ipad from a short table, action in tandem with the raising of his gaze. “Why don’t we start with introductions and then we can go over some basics; try and set a baseline for what you’re comfortable discussing?” You nodded at this, words failing you for a moment. 

“That works for me.” Your mouth caught up with your brain, offering him a smile of your own. 

“Good, well I’m Chan; Bang Chan. My friends call me Chris though, so you’re welcome to call me that.” His disarming nature was impossible to ignore, the tone of his voice paired with his approachable expression relaxing your shoulders. It had been hard to imagine that a man with such stature and poise could be so easy-going, but the moment a smile tugged at his lips it was as if his entire being beamed with it.

“I’ve never heard the name Chan before, I like it.” You thought aloud, earning a wide-eyed grin from the man in front of you. It was hard not to allow yourself to stray when a sparkle lit up his gaze; the soft glimmer of something unknown swimming in its brown depths. Its mere presence making it near impossible to cling to your inhibitions, to remain anything but comfortable beneath his stare. 

“Thank you, umm, that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” He practically radiated with warmth–giving the sun beyond the glass a run for its money–now shy gaze lowering to the device in his lap. Your confidence grew at this, the power balance between you shifting in your favour for just a moment. 

“Well, most people are dumb I've learned.” Chan stifled a laugh at this, looking up at you through his lashes in brief acknowledgment before the dull tap of his purposeful actions against his ipad screen stole his attention near instantaneously. 

“Hopefully I can be an exception to that rule.” He quipped back, earning a soft chuckle from you. “So your name is y/f/n, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, that’s me.” You exhaled a soft breath. Your newfound comfort was enough to simmer your busy brain, but your body had other ideas, hands fiddling with the decorative string of your pastel summer dress while the conversation flowed between you. 

“No, that’s okay. Always better to make sure in case another y/n somehow wandered in.” It was his turn to offer a laugh, the contagious noise a chortle cut off by the push of air from his lungs. Breathy and short-lived, but genuine nonetheless.

“Now that would be a crazy twist of fate.” You humoured him, smile widening with every moment spent in his company. It was inexplicable the manner with which the air around you had changed–as if something magnetic and charged hung within its formless presence. You couldn’t see it, just as you couldn’t see the crisp air expelled from the AC, nor the humid warmth that radiated from the sun, but you could feel it. 

“Truly, stranger things have happened though.” Chan looked up from his ipad, seemingly finished with whatever had occupied his attention. You figured it had been the documents you’d been asked to fill out before your session, pages upon pages of personal information and sexual history now ingrained in the confines of his mind. That was an odd thought to say the least. 

“Ain’t that a fact–did you ever hear about that dude Mike Madman Marcum?” You distracted yourself from the rising discomfort, brain making leaps and bounds toward a vaguely relevant subject in its attempt to retreat. 

“Mike Madman Marcum?” Another exhaled laugh from his nose followed his words, lips parted in a grin that showed his pearly teeth and a glimpse of pink gum. Again the craters grew in the soft dough of his cheeks, expression transformed from unreadable–nearly disinterested–to warm and inviting. 

“Yeah, bro literally invented some sort of black hole, time travel portal shit and then mysteriously disappeared, like what?” You kept talking, brows raised in disbelief as if you hadn’t heard the story spilling from your lips until now.

“That sounds fake.” He shook his head, tipping it to the side afterward in interest. 

“You’d think so but it's true.” You shrugged, ghost of a smile still present. It felt impossible not to have even a slight upturn of your lips around him; about as implausible as a rainy day during an Aus summer. 

“How can you know that?” His laugh grew beyond the point of breathy displays of amusement to a noticeable chuckle.

“It’s a long story but there’s a police report about him and his time machine, bro got run out of his hometown and everything ‘cause of his antics. Then he makes the machine again somewhere else and ends up missing. It’s crazy, truly insane.” You filled him in, fingers still picking at the hem of your dress, out of habit more than nerves now. 

“... You gotta send me that article ‘cause I’m curious not gonna lie.” His response had you tipping your head back in silent laughter, not expecting his genuine interest. 

“Yeah? I’ll email you the podcast I listened to.” You nodded.

“You better ‘cause I'll lose sleep wondering about Mike Madman Marcum otherwise.” Sharing a laugh at his words, you couldn’t help but notice how melodic the different tones sounded together. Almost as if you were harmonising one another’s merriment. It charged the air with a new kind of unseen feeling, almost as if giving what had once been there more fuel.

“Oh, I will. First thing I’ll do when I get back home.” You promised, bottom lip enclosed by your teeth while you fought back your widest grin yet. Was it too much to call that sensibility between you chemistry? Were you the only one aware of the electric buzz that emanated through the air, feeling most active in the space that kept you from one another. 

“Thanks, much appreciated. We should probably get back on track though, don’t wanna waste your money talking about time travel.” He maintained a smile, eyes leaving yours to trail across the brightly lit screen once more. 

“Yeah, sorry, that’s my bad.” You apologised, fingers intertwining with one another to refrain from picking at the stray threads of your dress any longer.

“Don’t even mention it. Are wandering thoughts something that you get often?” He voiced aloud his observation, your shoulders rising slightly as the atmosphere around you changed again. Only, instead of the impalpable gravity that drew you to him, you felt something indiscernible push you backward. 

“All the time.” You admitted, answer short.

“Do you feel that it encroaches on your sex life too?” He cut straight to the chase, your eyes blinking wide as your shoulders grew tense.

“Probably.” You retorted, shifting in your seat.

“Well, let me ask you this then–have you orgasmed before? Either from sex or masturbation?” He sounded so calm despite the words that left his plump lips, meanwhile your heart hammered in your chest, a contrast that felt improper, misplaced even. 

“Oh boy, straight to the big questions… I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” You countered. You’d already given him a list of answers to these questions, and you’d hoped at the time you’d forgo the awkwardness of the current topic as a result. It was clear you weren’t that fortunate, but when had you ever been? 

“What makes you uncertain?” The soft brevardo of his voice kissed the shells of your ears, so gentle and genuine in its delivery that it had you melting all over again.

“I wish I knew. I guess, when I’m having sex, at least, I don’t think I ever have. It’s like I automatically check out and leave my body. When it comes to… myself, I don’t know, that’s more of an unknown. It’s like I feel something but then right as the build comes I just can’t reach the end.” You said, as honest as you could be given the circumstances. Your cheeks were ablaze, heart nearly deafening in its antiphon.

“Okay, well there’s a couple of things to unpack there.” Chan nodded half heartedly, the thin apple pen pressed against the pout of his mouth in thought; eyes trained on the screen where a set of scribbles that made up his short-hand observations lay. 

“Probably above your pay grade.” You joked, though a hint of sincerity simmered beneath the chime of your tone. 

“Nothing is above my pay grade, don't you worry about that.” He offered you a reassuring smile, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more. It distracted you again, forcing you to once more confront the attractiveness of the man supposedly holding all the answers to your problems. “Let’s start with this, have you been to any form of therapy before?”

“Only when I was younger.” You blinked, willing your brain to focus on his words rather than the formation of his mouth as he spoke them.

“What was that for?” He queried, thick accent pulling at the syllables as they left his parted lips.

“My mental health among other things.” You retorted ambiguously, not wanting to ignite that storm within your consciousness. 

“Okay, we don’t have to get into the specifics, that's fine; did you find it helpful?” Chan seemed to pick up on this, you weren’t surprised, of course he would. 

“No, I’m not great with talking about my feelings–I don’t feel like it helps.” You admitted, shoulders slouching and rising in slight discomfort. You felt your foot shift restlessly, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement you made in the leather confines of your prison. 

“So what was your motivation for coming here?” The curious man inquired, no amount of austerity present in his tone. 

“My friend said I should try it, apparently you saved her marriage. She’s the most stubborn person I know so if she can do it I’m guessing I can too.” You were back to making light of the situation, hoping to pull another bright smile from the seriousness that clouded his expression. 

“Glad to hear she found it so beneficial.” You’d been unsuccessful, managing only to ignite a momentary spark within his dark gaze before he was back to scrutinising you, gently still, but profoundly all the same. “So what I’m getting from this is that talking to you about the root cause of things isn’t going to be the most helpful approach for you?” 

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Your voice came out sheepish, body almost crumpling in on itself. You wished you had the answers, wanted nothing more than to be the perfect patient just as he had been the perfect therapist thus far. 

“Well we can always try and go from there? We take a holistic approach to therapy so if one thing isn’t working we’ll switch it up, okay?” The man kept his eyes trained on you, flickering from corner to corner, taking in every nook and cranny of your features until they settled back on your uncertain eyes.

“Sounds good.” You forced a smile, the room around you shrinking in size in anticipation of what was to come. You could feel your mind failing you, the interior of the room transforming into a twisted, swirling haze of unfamiliarity. Of course, you didn’t know the place well, but all at once it didn’t feel as if you knew it at all. Like you’d never been here, like you didn’t remember coming here. As if you weren’t really here at all. 

“The other reason I asked about your history with therapy is that you mentioned leaving your body when you’re engaging in sex with someone–did you ever discuss dissociation or depersonalisation with a therapist in the past?” His voice felt foreign all of a sudden, as if he’d been replaced by someone who looked like him, felt like him, should be him, but wasn’t. 

“I did not.” You murmured, blinking in the hopes you’d return to your prior state of being. 

“This is a little more of a personal question: have you experienced a traumatic event associated with sex or intimacy?” His voice rang in your mind, sounding almost like a bell as it echoed within the confines of your skull. You’d heard what he’d said, but it hadn’t settled enough to register. Instead it kept repeating, your brain trying to make sense of the words strung together, just enough to elicit a response from your parted lips, but not enough to make you remember. 

“Uhh.” You felt like you’d been gawking for an hour, mouth opening and closing as you felt yourself move further and further from you body. 

“Are you okay?” His voice pulled your gaze from the floor to his own pointed stare, those all-consuming pools of dark brown just enough to settle your momentarily. 

“Yeah sorry, this- this is why I don’t find talking very helpful. It's like my brain just shuts down when shit gets real.” You stumbled over your words, fingers pressing against your temple in an attempt to coax your soul–or whatever it was that was retreating in haste–back to your body.

“Don’t apologise for that, you’re okay to react whichever way you need to.” He assured you, your heart dancing to the melodic tune his soft affirmations took on. “It sounds like what you’re experiencing are episodes of dissociation, and, while I can’t diagnose anything, or say for certain that’s what it is, it certainly appears that way. It’s common for people who have difficulties in this area to have a dissociative disorder or experience episodes of dissociation when they’re faced with a trigger.” 

“So my trigger is sex?” You queried, words coming a little easier now. It was as if this feeling, the one he’d named dissociation, came over you in waves. You’d felt choked up, near to the point of drowning, mere moments ago. Now it felt like ripples more than strong currents. 

“Maybe, that’s what we’re going to get to the bottom of. It could also be intimacy, your attachment to others or your own body. There are so many reasons why people feel they can’t cope with a situation, and their brain instinctually shuts itself down.” 

“Okay, I guess it's reassuring knowing my body isn’t broken.” You muttered back, feeling rather deflated by now. The air felt sucked from your lungs, replaced by the salt water of your apparently dissociative episode. It made it hard to breathe, only managing laboured, reluctant breaths as if expecting another wave. 

“Absolutely not, nothing about you is broken, not your body or your brain. Dissociation is a fear, stress or anxiety response; the same as fight or flight. It’s perfectly normal, your brain is just trying to protect itself as it's designed to do.” His smile was back, eyes forming crescents that threatened to conceal his caliginous orbs all together. 

“So, like self-preservation?” You attempted to piece together the sentiments that fell from his lips so easily. Perhaps he really did hold all the answers, and that gave you a sense of belief, or attachment, that suddenly wanted him nearer to you. 

“Exactly!” He beamed, fingers tapping mindlessly atop his meaty thigh. “What I want to start out doing over the next few sessions, however, is to focus on you and your relationship with your body. You should be able to pleasure yourself and know your body well before you trust someone else with that task, right?” 

“That seems okay.” You nodded.

“Right, well we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but we’ll start you right from the beginning and we can skip ahead if needs be.” He continued, shifting easily back into the pensive professionalism that hid away his affectionate smiles.

“Alrighty.” Your foot bounced.

“Do you know where the pleasure points are on your body?” His eyes flickered from the ipad in his lap toward your furrowed features.

“I think so.” Your leg joined in the restless dance.

“Go ahead.” He urged, eyes tracing your figure in what you could only assume was acknowledgement of your nervous mannerisms. 

“Oh you want me to- okay- there’s the clit, umm, there’s the nipples and somewhere there’s a g-spot.” You tried to act like the mature, confident adult you surely should be when discussing this topic at your age.

“Yeah, those are the main one’s sure. There’s also your inner thighs, your neck, your lips; some people find the bottom of their feet to be pleasurable, their ears, lower back, armpits–”

“Armpits? That’s a new one.” You cut him off with a surprised laugh, hand coming to cover your mouth as if to emphasise your bewilderment.

“Yeah there’s a lot.” He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek “I noticed you said ‘somewhere’ when mentioning your g-spot. Have you ever found it yourself?” Chan asked, eyes darkening as he did so, an outcome you didn’t think possible until now. 

“No, umm, my fingers aren’t very good at all that.” You shifted in your seat, pulling the hem of your dress further down your bare thighs, nails grazing your clammy flesh. 

“Okay, have you used toys?” His voice had dropped an octave, a sound that had the air instantaneously charged again. It was as if the pull was back, but not without the push; both worlds colliding in one disorientating, magnetic combustion. 

“I don’t even know where to start with all that.” You shrugged dismissively. 

“So how do you usually masturbate?” Your mouth grew dry at his words, the hypnotic buzz that seemed to exude from him almost impossible to ignore now. How were you supposed to take his words so lightly? So entirely void of all subtexts and implications when he was staring at you with such heated scrutiny.

“I just… you know… my clit.” It was a miracle he had heard you, you were almost sure you’d been whispering. In the back of your mind you could hear a white noise that sounded like the crashing of waves, almost as if threatening another trip beneath the surface of reality.

“Okay, and does that make you climax?” You focused carefully on his words, using the image of his mouth as it curled around each syllable to guide you from the deep end. That tongue of his, a threat in itself, traced the seam of his bottom lip once more, lingering for a moment too long. 

“I get close but err, I don’t know, I can never get all the way my mind wanders.” Distracting yourself from his plump mouth, you moved your own until a riposte drew from it. 

“Okay, have you tried watching porn to focus your mind?” His response was near immediate, chin balanced on an open palm now as he leaned back in his chair, legs parting, elbow pressing deeper into the armrest.

“No actually, I haven’t.” You retorted, watching him nod gently as if contemplating his next words, long, pretty fingers clutching the pen as it moved across the screen. His hand moved from his chin to his throat, the back and forth motion as his reflexive state persisted an image that would surely haunt you. You’d never noticed that a person’s hands held their own beauty until now, each digit perfect in length and adorned with ridged veins. 

“Alright, well then I think you have your first piece of homework.” He concluded, snapping you out of your day dream and forcing you to draw your eyes away from the sight. You managed a smile, waiting for him to continue. “I’m going to give you a starter toy, then I want you to go home. If you get in the mood, open up a porn site and type in solo female. Find a video that you think is going to be the most relevant to you and then, using your fingers or the toy, follow what the actress is doing in the video.” 

“Right, okay.” You nodded along, thankful that your first session was drawing to an end. However, the prospect of an at-home-assignment was one that brought a new wave of uncertainty. 

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just you and the video. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work and that’s okay.” His smile was back, stature adjusting as he placed the ipad aside, both palms planting themselves atop his thighs. 

“Uh huh.” You were distracted, but you’d heard him, contemplating his words with a degree of skepticism. 

“What’s making you anxious?” He asked, and on one hand you wanted to blurt out ‘you’. It truly was a challenge all in itself to hear him speak about such a personal topic while he unconsciously made every action attractive and impassioned. From the flicker of his brow, to the rise and fall of his chest, you’d gone from hyper-aware of yourself to hopelessly unable to pull your eyes from his motions. 

“I don’t know, guess I’m just not good at trying new things when it comes to this–I feel like I’m setting myself up for failure.” You admitted, the rise of his brows enough to have you wishing you’d kept it to yourself. That thought didn’t last though, not when the words that followed lulled your anxiety in a way never knew it could be. 

“Failure doesn’t exist in this sphere, you cannot fail, only try and then if you want to, try again.” He leaned forward in his chair, less relaxed in his posture as he grinned at you encouragingly. 

“Right, yeah. I don’t know. I feel like your positivity is so infectious but the moment I get home I’ll just be stuck overthinking again.” You chuckled, an undercurrent of nervousness pulling the whimsy from your tone. 

“Well, why don’t I give you my work number and if you get nervous and need me to talk you down you can call me, yeah?” His assurances continued, palm reaching into the pocket of his cropped suit trousers. 

“Are you sure?” You blinked at him, leaning down to pry at the strap of your trusty tote bag.

“Of course, whatever you need–I’m here.” He gleamed, and with the way he was looking at you so intently, you could tell he meant it. 

The moment you’d gotten home you’d done as promised, sending the podcast via email before opening pornhub preemptively to get ahead of your ‘homework’. It was intimidating to say the least, even more so when the toy Chan had given you sat beside your laptop caught your gaze. The box called it a G-Spot Vibrator, at one time concealing the long, slightly curved pink device from view. Now the vibrator led there, taunting you with its unfamiliarity as your gaze shifted to and from the screen of the laptop. Eventually you chucked in your desk drawer defiantly, fixing your attention on the brightly lit screen to begin scrolling through the wealth of videos. You couldn’t decide on one, none of them seemed to match your skill level; their wrists expertly shiting fancy looking toys in a thrusting motion while their bodies shook and convulsed with over exaggerated pleasure. It was off putting, almost taunting the manner with which they played up every action and sound.

It didn’t take long for you to lose interest, opting to go about your evening as normal instead. Easily the events of the day became background noise as you took care of the needs you struggled with far less than. By the time you’d finished your skincare you were crashing down in front of the couch, mind wandering back to the soft spoken man who’d assigned you such vexatious and troublesome homework. A drama played on low volume in the backdrop of your thoughts, your mind's eye picturing the way your therapist's tongue had travelled across his plump bottom lip. It was miraculous how you’d so easily managed to commit every part of him to memory. You could see him as clearly as the ceiling above you, his veiny hands tightening around his thighs while his dark eyes both provoked and lulled your anxiety. You didn’t realise the extent of his intoxicating stare until you were without it, nor the heat with which it took in every detail of your face as you did his.

Before you knew what you were doing your fingers had begun shifting toward your already hard nipples, one hand covering your t-shirt clad breast. You squeezed softly, head falling further back against the sofa with your eyes now tightly shut. Your free hand skimmed lower, tugging the hem of your oversized shirt to cup your bare flesh. The action of your open palm squeezing against your clit and dampening hole was enough to have your thrusting gently upwards. What a dilemma that the very person who was supposed to be helping you pleasure yourself had become the object of it. The mere thought had you huffing in disbelief–just your luck. 

Deciding to distract yourself you seized the opportunity to do the homework you’d been assigned. Getting up, you trudged the short distance to your desk, grabbing your laptop and the vibrator before returning to the sofa in haste. Your fingers continued tugging at your nipple, electric sparks travelling straight to your core. You kept the drone of the tv on as you clicked play on one of the videos, muting the sound to focus on the girl's actions. That earlier worked up feeling died down somewhat as you mimicked her movements. Taking the vibrator in your mouth you sucked on it stiffly, allowing your tongue to press against the base of it as you wet the velvet soft device. You should’ve known better though, then to think your mind could focus just because you willed it to. Instead, you began to wonder, deliberating whether Chan’s hard cock would feel this heavy between your lips; the thought drawing a hum from your stuffed mouth as you tried to concentrate on the video.

You felt yourself grow soaked at the image of your sex therapist pushing his member further past your lips, the tip of it entering your throat while he exhaled grunts. You thanked the heavens when the actress removed the toy from her mouth, switching the vibration on to press it against her clit. You did the same, body jolting at the unfamiliar feeling. You tried to keep up with her motions, alternating between teasing your soaked entrance with the toy and rubbing it against your clit. Your pleasure came and went as you did so, your clumsy movements trying to keep up with her own. You felt yourself grow frustrated as you did so, mind aching to return to the image of Chan using your mouth. 

Your head lulled back at the thought of his hand clutching your hair with those big, veiny fingers, pushing your head down against his cock until your nose met his muscular flesh. Your eyes glazed over, the video no longer in focus as you fixated on the memory of his slender digits. They were so long and shaped in such a way that you were certain, in your imagination at least, they’d have no problem fucking you open. Neither an issue finding your g-spot; bringing you to a satisfying climax again and again until your body begged him to give you a moment to recover. You could picture it now: his large body hovering above you, one hand pushing you against the mattress to keep you still while the other pistoned his skilled fingers in and out of your gushing pussy. You knew you’d surely be convulsing like the girls in porn did, hips unable to keep still despite his heavy palm.

The movie playing behind your closed lids was enough to have you more worked up than you’d ever been before. You pressed the vibrator into your entrance letting it linger before you thrust it past your walls, leaving yourself no time to prep like the man in your imagination refused to. He touched you with an air of impatience, desperation even, as if he’d deprived himself of you for too long; torturing himself with the thought of how you’d feel constricting around his rock hard length. You marvelled at the way his cock would feel spreading you open deliciously. You imagined his member to be as veiny as his arms, the ridges pushing against your spongy walls sending a new type of wave throughout your body. No disconnection, no retreating. Just the crashing of ecstasy that was building up with every desperate push of the vibrator. Moans fell from your lips as you thrust the toy in and out, the length of it brushing blissfully against your clit every few motions. You pictured the push of his hips against yours, the feeling of his breath against your clammy skin and the melodic muse of his groans. You just knew your moans would sound perfect together; as harmonious as your chorused laughter.

It felt so fucking sinful fucking yourself with the toy he’d given you, imagining him in place of it. The revelation had your high approaching and your walls tightening as you tried to push yourself over the finish line. It felt like a knot, or a rubber band, constricting and pulling until it threatened to snap. You tried to imagine him circling your clit with his soaked fingers, his teeth latching at your throat as he painted plum coloured hues against your skin. You kept your frenzied motions up–thrusting and rubbing in desperation to cum–but the band never snapped. The knot coming undone as your stamina reached its limit. You felt overstimulated, but without the post-orgasm floods of pleasure that should surely be wracking your body. Instead, you just felt tired, defeated even. 

You’d usually give up, the magic of the moment gone with the disappointment that overtook it. This time around, though, you were still endlessly frustrated. You wanted release so badly. Your hand pushed the toy back into your needy pussy as you let your mind wander back to the therapist clouding your mind with lust. This time, he coaxed you through it sweetly, whispering reassuring words in your ear as he took his time thrusting his fingers in and out of your hole. That dark gaze captivated you again. You imagined the way it would scrutinise you once more, peering up at your spent form as he trailed kisses down the valley of your plump breasts; close to where his busy fingers worked you open. Your imagination had you near sweet release again, the image of his plump lips latching at your clit was enough to have your back arching as you tried desperately to cum. 

Cruelly, despite your best efforts, the blissful feeling died out like the embers of a long forgotten fire. The feeling becoming duller and duller till the pleasurable light flickered out for the last time. You let out a whine of defeat, chest heaving as you caught your breath before trying again. You tried, and you tried, but no matter how many times you thrust the vibrating device in and out of your puffy cunt you ended up exhausted and disappointed. Realising it wasn’t going to happen, you got up with glossy eyes, tears lining their brim as you wobbled over to the desk. You found your phone discarded by the vibrators packaging, the sudden igniting of the screen reminding you of its presence. Reminding you of your plan b. 

You didn’t expect him to pick up, thumb between your lips as you chewed anxiously at your nail. By the third ring he did, though, your eyes widening not only at his quick response, but how real the situation suddenly felt. What were you doing? Had you actually called him? You had. That became abundantly clear the moment his voice filled the silence the call tone had left behind. “Hello?” The octave sounded a little rougher than it had during your appointment, leaving you suddenly panicked that you might’ve woken him up. Your eyes darted towards the time on your laptop’s screensaver 8:12pm visible in big letters.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?” You quickly blurted out, back straightening in anticipation of his response.

“Oh hey, no you didn’t don’t worry. I was just listening to that podcast actually.” The strain in his voice dissipated, replaced instead by an enthusiastic tone. 

“Really?” Your hesitance was gone, the swirling of something close to affection beginning to churn in the pit of your stomach. It reminded you of that prior unseen tension between you, the kind that felt like a perfect storm; a destiny playing out in a beautiful collision.  

“Yeah, shit’s insane…” He trailed off, the muted clattering of background noise leaving you no clues as to what he could be up to. You wondered briefly how he spent his time when he wasn’t cooped up in his office. Did he frequent a bar? Maybe the gym? Did he have a favourite takeout spot? Or did he have a book of recipes he flicked through every night? Maybe he spent his time much the same way you did, curled up on the sofa with a show you only half-paid attention to. 

“I know right, it’s wild.” You agreed, pushing the far-too-domestic thoughts out of your mind. 

“Right? He just disappeared off the face of the earth.” Chan exclaimed, the distant, indistinguishable noises fading to a settled silence. “So, are you okay? Did your homework go okay?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” You admitted, growing a little sheepish at the turn in conversation. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered because of the subject matter, or because your cunt still throbbed and ached in desperate anticipation of something that would seemingly never come. 

“Sure, what’s the matter?” He spoke, voice level as always.

“I tried to do the porn thing but I don’t know, I just felt way too uncoordinated and ended up getting distracted. But, like, this time it was a good kind of distraction and I got close so many times but I just couldn’t cum.” The recollection of your disappointing evening had you shuffling in your seat, the friction of your bare clit against the couch setting your over-sensitive body alight. You got a bit more comfortable, squeezing your legs together in the hopes the pressure would lull the ache. It didn’t, it seemed nothing would. Nothing except an outcome that you couldn’t attain. 

“Okay, well that’s a positive development, right? You tried something new, it didn’t work but you gave it a really good go, yeah? You should feel proud.” His positive disposition had once filled you with so much assurance, but right now, it did nothing but taunt you. No shit it didn’t work, you were practically throbbing with desire, desperate for release. 

“Right, yeah, I guess so.” You muttered.

“Did you try the toy?” At the mention of the vibrator–still close to you on the sofa–you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure how, in your frantic mind, you’d figured that having a sexually-charged conversation with your very attractive sex therapist was going to help your situation. Right now, it only worsened it tenfold. 

“I did.” You retorted shortly. 

“Did it feel good?” You felt like your ears were playing tricks on you. Could’ve sworn his usually balanced voice wavered with something unknown. You wanted to call it restraint, but you knew that was surely your desires playing out in your mind; your current disposition plaguing all reason. He was good at that–consuming every part of you–and you were starting to think that was exactly what you needed. To be consumed. To not be able to have a single sense focused on anything but him. 

“Uh, umm, yeah.” You felt your situation growing exponentially worse, body shifting again in a fruitless attempt at distracting yourself from the heavy throb between your thighs. You hadn’t even realised you’d managed a response, not until he was talking again, offering that same assurance that still held little weight. 

“That’s another positive step, maybe we can give you more toys to try out to see if there’s one that can help you finish.” 

“Uh huh.” You hummed, head pressing against the sofa, free hand skimming your bare thighs. You knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation, not with Chan on the phone, but frustratingly, you knew you couldn’t do anything about it without him either. It was a cruel catch 22; sit here and squirm beneath the mundane distraction his sentiments provided, or try and get yourself off again and again to the image of him in your head. 

“Are you okay?” He seemed to pick up on your absentminded demeanour, pitch raising in slight concern.

“Just… frustrated. I’m open to trying more things but, like, I’m just… what about now?” You admitted, perhaps if you were honest about his situation he’d know the right thing to say. The perfect affirmation that would finally have you climaxing after years of pent up frustration.

“Oh… right. So when you say frustrated…?” He attempted to connect the dots, your eyes squeezing shut as you released a huff.

“I’m really fucking desperate to cum.” You spoke bluntly, the hand that sat at your thigh itching to circle your clit. The thought alone had your hips rising in ecstasy, eyes rolling back as you imagined your fingers strumming your sensitive nub in a frenzied attempt to cum. You’d have to keep quiet, you wouldn’t want your sex therapist to know you were trying to orgasm to the sound of his perfectly innocent intimate questions “Chan?” You questioned, when silence followed.

“Yeah, sorry, umm, just thinking.” He seemed distant now, and you suddenly regretted being so honest. Had you crossed a line? Well of course you had, many in fact. You hated that justifications followed suit; so surely you can cross one more, right? To give your clit that attention it so desperately wanted.

“Am I hopeless? Is there nothing I can do right now?” You asked in defeat, the ache almost painful beneath your continued resistance. 

“You’re not hopeless, no– okay…” He started to speak, still sounding much different than he had moments ago. “I don’t usually do this, I’m not supposed to do this, but, if you want I can, umm, I can help you?” There was hesitance in his tone, uncertainty wrapped up in every syllable; leaking through each word the same way your cunt gushed at the prospect of his statement.

“Help me?” You uttered, not daring to believe he could mean what you thought he did. 

“Like guide you.” Oh, you thought. So he meant exactly that. The man of your prior fantasies wanted to talk you through your masturbation. If you thought your desperation had reached maximum capacity before, then you were certain you were at the breaking point now. Your pussy clenched around nothing, whole body suddenly heavy with thick hot lust as you managed a response.

“O-Okay.”

“Yeah, you want that?” He was back to sounding level again, and how he could be in this situation you didn’t know. You didn’t care, though, not when your deprived cunt was about to get abused once again.

“Yeah, so bad.” Your voice no longer hid your frantic state, hips rising from the sofa, hand reaching between your thighs to ghost over your sensitive clit in an attempt to feel any relief.

“Mm fuck, okay.” Whatever professionalism he’d mustered up had quickly faltered, something close to a groan falling from his lips. “We can stop whenever you want to, I only wanna help you with this if you’re comfortable with it.” Before you could register his new state, however, the collected therapist was back. You questioned your sanity, were you hearing things now? Your mind conjuring mirages of your hot therapist moaning in your ear as he got you off. Fuck you wanted to touch yourself so bad.

“I want your help, Chan.” You confirmed, gnawing at your bottom lip as you ran a finger through your soaked folds, digit quickly growing sticky, body jolting from the small amount of contact.

“You sound so strained, gonna help you okay?” His voice held promise, and your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head at the prospect of finally cumming. 

“Please.” You begged, restraint completely vanished along with any shame you might’ve felt about sounding so unbelievably desperate.

“You still wearing that pretty little dress?” His voice dropped an octave, his ability to stay unphased broken up by bouts of what you could only surmise was his body betraying him. 

“No, just a t-shirt” You responded, mewls falling from your lips at the prospect of him being affected by your insatiable lust.

“Nothing else?” Chan questioned.

“Just the shirt.” You confirmed, finger circling your gushing hole as you awaited your sign to begin pleasuring yourself properly. 

“Take it off for me, drag the fabric against your skin nice and slow. You doing that for me?” To your dismay, he had other plans, his request to take your time sending every one of your nerves into overdrive. You did as you were told, though, too turned on by the current events playing out to rush through it.

“Yeah.”

“Good, give your breasts special attention; squeeze them together, let the rough part of the fabric stimulate your nipples.” You followed his commands, putting your phone on loud speaker by your head to squeeze your breasts together; the fabric against your sensitive nipples sending waves of pleasure straight to your desperate pussy. 

“When your shirt is off, bring your fingers to your mouth and get them nice and wet. You doing it baby?” Behind closed lids your senses were heightened, the sound of his voice from the speaker–so close to your ear–jolting your forward. Leaving your breasts alone for the moment, you removed the thin clothing, the air of your cool apartment stimulating your bare skin in a way that had your head spinning. 

“Mhm.” You moaned loudly at the nickname, mouth stuffed with your fingers as you sucked on them. You were reminded of your earlier imaginings, the thought of his cock between your lips instead of your fingers pulling another pitchy groan from you.

“You like it when I call you that?” He asked, not waiting for a response before he continued. “Good, such a good girl, so responsive. Suck on your fingers till they’re nice and coated then I want you to play with your nipples okay?” You were frustrated at the pace he’d set, brows furrowed as you let strings of spit coat your fingers, hips continuously jolting as if trying to beg for your attention. 

You couldn’t help the moans that spilled from your lips at the state you were in, cool air stimulating your already needy clit as you rubbed your soaked digits over your nipples. You played with them harshly, almost annoyed at the pent up feeling that grew and grew. With each pinch your pussy clenched around nothing, the emptiness reminding you of what you wanted there most; his cock. 

“You sound so good, fuck, doing so well.” His resolve crumbled again, a huff of air the only release he could manage. “Take your time with yourself, okay?” Chan sounded strained now, the level part of him gone, replaced only by a man pushing his patience to unseen limits.

“It’s too much, wanna touch myself properly.” You whined, wetting your fingers some more to continue playing with your breasts. 

“You’ll get there baby, don’t worry, not gonna leave your pretty pussy neglected.” Another desperate moan fell from your lips, noises carelessly flowing from you with complete disregard for your neighbours let alone the man on the other end of the phone. “You like that? Like me calling your pussy pretty? Mmm, I bet it is. I know it is.” 

“Hmpf, Chan, please.”

“Ohmygod.” His ability to maintain level-headedness was slipping with every sound that fell from your lips. You sounded incredible, mind racing with vivid images of your legs spread, pretty fingers prying feverishly at your swollen nipples. “How does it feel baby?” He questioned, feeding his own thoughts more than yours with this request.

“Good but not enough, want more.” Your hips rose and fell, so unable to continue just playing with your plump tits when your aching, needy cunt was pleading with you to touch it.

“Okay baby, go slow, leave one hand playing with your nipples and let the other one start trailing down your body. Make sure you give every part of yourself attention, squeeze at your thighs, graze your tummy with your nails; do whatever feels best.” You released a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving on from your top half. 

“I’m doing it.” You murmured, trying to follow his direction as best you could. However, your hand skimmed your flesh clumsily, hurriedly, squeezing at your thighs to keep them pressed against the couch.

“Good girl, brush over your clit when you get there, okay? use your finger to push through your folds and spread your juices over your clit.” You did exactly that, digits instantly drenched in the sticky, wet mess soaking the sofa beneath you. Your entire body moved in haste, pushing your fingers between your pussy lips and up to your clit over and over, hips thrusting with them. 

“Ah, fuck, that feels so good Chan!” You couldn’t control yourself anymore, moan after moan spilling from your gaping mouth as you repeated the motion.

“Yeah? fucking hell– sound so pretty, darling. Start circling your clit when you’re nice and soaked and make sure to give your entrance some attention too, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay, god so good.” You mewled when the tips of your fingers prodded teasingly at your clenching hole. With every tightening of your pussy a new stream of sticky cum would gush onto your fingers, coating them deliciously for your sensitive clit’s unquenchable thirst for more.

“You doing that?”

“I think so.” You whined, near sobbing by now. 

“Describe it for me.” He insisted, tone low with a growing impatience.

“I’m rubbing my clit with two fingers, now I’m moving them down and pushing the tips in.” You recited your motions, repeating each step with a thrust of your hips and a squirm of your limbs.

“Good, that’s good. Keep doing that for me until you’re ready and then I want you to get the toy I gave you.” His commands continued, the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of uncontrollable, desperation for release. 

“Alright. I already f-feel close.” You moaned, that tight feeling growing expanding, filling the empty place you wanted Chan to most.

“Drag it out baby, take your time.” His words drew a frustrated sob from you, eyes screwing even tighter shut as you circled your clit furiously. 

“I wanna cum so bad though.” You cried, tears streaking your cheeks as your hips moved at their own accord.

“You’re gonna cum, baby, i’m gonna make you cum– fuck.” At his promise, you reluctantly pulled your hand away, blindly reaching for the vibrator. The moan that punctuated his sentence had a wave of arousal washing over you again. 

“Are you touching yourself too?” You asked, the mere thought causing your cunt to clench in a way it never had. You bet he looked incredible with his fist wrapped around his cock, fucking his closed hand with the same amount of disregard you showed your sensitive nub.

“No. This is about you.” He broke your illusion, a whine falling from you lips. 

“I’m getting the toy, what should I do with it, sir?” You clutched the vibrator, pressing it against your clit in anticipation of his next request. “Chan?” You spoke after a beat in time. 

“Uh huh, yeah, fuck, sorry I’m still here.” Whatever thread of resolve he’d been clinging onto desperately was audibly gone. He sounded like a man starved. As if he himself was beginning to understand the torture you must be feeling to be deprived of sweet release the way he currently was. 

“You sound good when you moan, can you do it again?” You pleaded, using the toy to circle your clit as you waited for him to comply.

“Mhm, yeah like this baby?” Chan didn’t disappoint, the sounds spilling from his lips sending jolt after jolt of mind-numbing pleasure straight to your core. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah so much.” You moaned, rubbing the toy up and down your soaked folds; punishing your neglected hole with the velvety tip.

“God, so fucking hot, bet you look so good right now.” Chan seemed on a not-so-slow descent into madness, his palms no doubt twitching in place as yours had earlier, wanting nothing more than to palm his hard cock through his clothes. “Turn the vibrator on and do the same as earlier; give your clit and your hole special attention.” 

“I’m so close, sir” You moaned, fingers fumbling with the button until the default vibration setting turned on. “Please can I fuck myself with it? Feel so empty clenching around nothing.” 

“Fucking hell, your tight little pussy wants to get fucked so bad, yeah?” He moaned, so loudly that it almost felt like he was right there in the room with you.

“More than anything, please.” You pleaded, hips back to moving at their own accord as you circled your entrance with the vibrating toy.

“You sound fucking incredible begging for me like this baby–such a good little slut–so obedient.” his growls filled the air around you, cunt clenching at the image of his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Gone was the pretty smile and the dimpled cheeks, no doubt replaced by a solemn expression and distant stare as his own mind busied itself with visuals of your submissive form.

“If I keep being good will you touch yourself with me?” You pleaded, tone wavering beneath the chorus of moans that flew from your lips with every exhale of breath.

“A-are you sure?” He stuttered, caught off guard by your comment. If you’d asked him to do this at the start of your call, he’d give you a categorical no. Now, though, beneath the heavy haze of lust, and battling with the feeling of painfully stiff cock confined beneath his work clothes, he could only comply eagerly. 

“Yeah, please, wanna hear you moan some more.” Your voice was starting to break now, tip of the vibrator pushing further and further past your walls with every flick of your hand. You pictured how he must look, strong hand clasping desperately at his poor neglected cock; not even bothering to remove his clothes entirely before he was circling the base with his first.

“Fuck this is so wrong. God if only you could see what you’re doing to me.” Chan sounded like heaven, puffs of air exhaling from his lips as small grunts filled the room. He was no longer moaning for your entertainment alone, no, instead the noises were accompanied by the wet sounds of his fist stroking his length feverishly.

“Mmm I wish, wish it was you fucking me right now.” Not a lie, either. Your head couldn’t settle on one script to stick to: him jerking off uncontrollably or you bouncing on his cock. The latter would be quite the scene, pussy gushing around his pulsing member as you rode him with haste. His hands planted firmly at your hips to spur you on. You imagined it must feel blissful to feel his palms clasping at your body, keeping you grounded, reminding you the best things weren’t hiding in the corners of your mind but right here in reality. 

“Baby, fuck, don’t say that.” Chan grunted again, sounds broken up by moans and curse words. “You fucking yourself nice and slow, yeah?” 

“Yeah, not enough.” You sobbed, drying tear tracks repainted with fresh salty tears.

“So greedy, such a spoiled little pussy, does it wanna be fucked hard and rough?” His voice couldn’t find an octave, one moment it was deep, controlling almost in its approach to commanding your every move. The next it reached new heights, pitchy moans interjecting each breathless word. You liked this, felt like you were adding new polaroid pictures to a scrapbook keep-sake. Finding new things to add to a growing collection of moments you’d replay over and over again in your mind. You were good at that, fixating on one situation good or bad, thinking about it from every angle until the edges of it became frayed and aged. Until it lost all meaning; all feeling.

“Want you to ruin it.” You could barely form words by now, you wanted nothing more than to quicken your pace. You wouldn’t though, not without his word. There was something so hot about doing what your therapist told you to, even if he couldn’t see you, nor hold you accountable if you misbehaved. You wanted to be his good girl, his favourite patient; the only one who could corrupt him into breaking every rule he swore he’d keep. Maybe it was the power in an otherwise powerless dynamic that had you so hot on bothered, but really, truly, that didn’t feel like the perfect fit. 

There was something about him, you couldn’t describe it. You could only remember how electric the air around you had felt, how badly you wanted to let yourself be pulled into his orbit, to centre him in every aspect of your life until he was the only thing that remained. All consumed, entirely taken up by him. Every crack in your broken mind filled with him, and his voice, and his promises to fix you. It was so undeniably unethical, let alone wishful thinking. You knew you were latching onto him, your next fixation, your special interest.

“Shit, you know I can’t do that, gonna have to learn to do it yourself.” His words reminded you just how hopeless your new infatuation was. Lust and affection were two different things, not mutually exclusive, in fact rarely hand-in-hand. Chan was trying to help, he took pity on you, right? Sure, somewhere along the way his cock had ended up in his fist, moans spilling from him like a pot left to boil too far too long. But that was a happy accident, an inevitability when you were moaning like a pornstar in his ear. 

You were losing focus again. God, who knew your distraction would become a distraction from himself. But just as you’d begun to run out of momentum, mind conjuring up anxious thoughts and momentary bouts of shame intermingled with embarrassment, his voice sliced through the noise. “Pick up the pace for me, keep going, keep fucking yourself like a slut if that’s what baby girl wants.”  

“So close. I-I’m fuck, fuck, so close.” You clenched around the vibrating device, the loud groans emanating from your phone’s speaker pushing you closer and closer to the edge. An edge… now that was new. Usually you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach, an indescribable pressure that wanted to be released. But this felt more like a building of something that was destined to end in you reaching an undiscovered depth; the deepest darkest part of an ocean you’d yet to explore. 

“Yeah? You sound so fucking hot baby, you gonna cum for me? gonna cum for sir like an obedient little whore?” The filth that was spewing from his lips so easily had your mind racing in an entirely new way. You couldn’t keep up with your body anymore, vibrator plunging in and out of your abused hole as if running on a motor. The space around you smelled like sweat paired with the sweet scent of your cum; the sounds of your wet pussy battling to be heard above your shrill moans.

“Want you to cum with me, you gonna cum with me sir?” You spoke between pants.

“I’ll cum with you, yeah, that’s so hot– I can hear how soaked you are, bet you’re making such a mess baby.” His groans did indeed sound perfect in harmony with your own, you’d been right about that. 

“Would feel so good creaming your cock with my cum.” you murmured, biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming. 

“Ahhh, fuck, fucking hell I’m gonna cum.” He stammered and you could hear so clearly the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could tell, even through the phone that his release was already leaking from the top of his angry head, every thrust of his fist wet. You could practically taste the salt of his cum on your tongue, the image of him dumping its entirety in your wide, eager mouth enough to have your hips spasming uncontrollably. 

“Yeah? Me too, please, please.” You felt your body teeter so close to the edge you almost lost the ability to thrust the vibrator in and out of your desperate hole.

“That’s it, good girl– fuck– fuck yourself so good like you know I would.” It would appear that in his near-climax haze Chan had given up on the idea of not buying into your fantasy of fucking him. You liked to think he’d reached the point of complete inhibition, no longer able to keep up the facade. That perhaps he wanted your cunt just as badly as you wanted to feel his cock rammed deep inside you, tip prodding against your cervix with every well-timed thrust. “Would treat that pussy so well, yeah, would fuck you so well baby, fuck.” He was babbling now, barely indistinguishable beneath the sounds of wet fist fucking.

“Please, please.” Was all the words you could muster, so close now that you felt yourself being pushed from the edge you’d been almost afraid to fall from, vibrator hitting your spongy walls at just the right angle to have your toes curling and your body heaving. 

“Keep going baby, keep going. Imagine it's me, yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Chan kept talking, seemingly unable to keep his desires pent up any longer as he too reached the edge. “Bet you’d love it, fuck such a good girl, taking my cock so well–you’d feel so good, tight cunt wrapped around me.” He was relentless now, words sending jolts of hot pleasure straight to your already overstimulated pussy. 

“Be the only man to make you cum, you know I can.” He continued, barely able to get the words out between broken moans, each one louder than the next. “Gonna make your cunt mine baby, yeah, you want that don’t you? I’ll treat you so good don’t worry; i’ll take good care of your desperate little pussy.” The possessive growl he let out, paired with the absolutely sinful rambles he couldn’t seem to stop from spilling out of him, was more than enough to send you tumbling from the edge. You were rendered near immobile, white light breaking through the darkness behind your closed lids. Your hips shook, every limb twitching and seizing until all feeling returned. 

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been moaning his name, over and over until your voice was hoarse and your throat felt raw. You could feel every part of you grow stiff, chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. One second you were pushing the toy in and out of your clenching hole, the next you lost all control of your body. It was easy to see why they called it little death, that feeling of going into a place filled with light, a place that threatened no return. No way to flee back to the safety of normalcy. It was a contrast to his dark gaze, the one that consumed you in the same way. It was like fire and ice, light and dark, yin and yang. So entirely wrong but right.

“Ah, you came, fuck, yeah, you’re so– god, I’m cumming too, fuck.” You realised then, as you caught your breath, listening to the sounds of his own release play through the speaker, that you didn’t want to return to normalcy at all. You wanted the light, you wanted the dark, you wanted both of them at once. No, not want; need. 

You needed the dark to find the light. You needed him. 

<< back to dash // next episode >>

taglist: @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse

A/N: this was made to celebrate the 100 followers milestone so thank you so much to everyone who has been a part of that. this one's for yous <3

hope you enjoyed my first written fic! this was semi-unedited so if there are any major errors let me know. haven't done smut in a long time so fingers crossed it was okay lmao. there will be another episode but not any time soon, please see "genre" for more details.

[roadkillxd]

Alpha price fucking his little omega through his heat? Maybe it’s a poly where reader is the entire team’s omega (if you’re okay with writing that, ik you just did a poly team x reader) and they help their baby boy through his heat together as one big strange dysfunctional pack

Two years late, but...

Poly!141 x M!Reader ↪ 1998 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male dominant alpha Price, cis male switch alpha Ghost, cis male switch alpha Soap, cis male switch alpha Gaz, dual-sex male submissive omega reader, a/b/o dynamic, pack hierarchies, voyeurism, breeding, gangbang/group sex, scenting/scent glands, knotting, natural lubrication, biting, oral sex, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unsafe sex, and established relationship.

While the op had been successful, it had run overtime, head on into a near week long blizzard that had snowed the team into the safe house and made neither extraction by air nor land possible. The few extra heat suppressants you’d brought in case of emergency had only done so much, especially in the face of your circumstances.

While the old building was equipped with an even older heating system, the rusted burner hadn’t been run nor the oil replaced in what you could only assume had been years. Soap had spent a handful of hours running safety checks while the taskforce kept (tactically) huddled for warmth, the Scot finally determining the old hunk of junk wouldn’t blow the place and everyone inside to smithereens the second it was turned on. 

Safe to run, but the oil was so degraded it burned twice as fast and the tank was only three quarters full, which meant rationing.

Then Soap had mentioned to Price that shit oil makes more exhaust, and while it was the middle of a blizzard in fuck-knows, Russia, they did have valuable (and very stolen) data on them that they’d obtained (very much stolen) not even a few days prior.

So thus, more rationing. Just enough heat to keep everyone from freezing to death, which wasn’t much.

You and the lads had taken two of the three sizable mattresses and pushed them together on the floor, gathering all the blankets and spare linens you could dig out of the basement and closets to make a massive nest to help insulate heat. 

The only time any of you got up out of the thing was to shut the heat on or off, piss or shit, or use the little electronic hotplate Ghost always brought with him; heating snow to wash with or make tea with, or cooking the pantry’s stash of canned beans (that’d expired a month prior) once you’d run out of MREs.

Being out of suppressants in a freezing, enclosed space, nesting near non-stop with the four very fertile alphas whos’ cocks you regularly took was already a pretty good concoction for triggering a flash heat. 

You forgot to take into account you skipped your last medically mandated heat, klepping an extra box of the little pills from the MTF in order to skip your placebos.

Your heat hit hard and fast, awakening you in the night with cold chills, an obscene amount of slick tacky between your bare thighs, your cock achingly hard and hole achingly empty.

Price, who’d been pressed up to your back in nothing but ratty sweats and wool thick socks, awoke first. The scent of your heat slick made his nose twitch, his throat thick with saliva as his cock grew so hard so quickly he might’ve been dizzy if he hadn’t been lying down. 

You keened low in your throat at the smell of his arousal blanketing you—wood smoke and something like wet grass—and shivered at his answering growl, his muscle-corded arms squeezing tight around you as he pressed his mouth to your throat, licking wetly over your scent gland. 

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs with a shuddering breath, his beard tickling your oversensitive skin and making you whimper, “Mmh, I’ve got you, lad.”

He sucks bruises around your gland, his free hand wasting no time in shoving his sweats far enough down his thighs to free his throbbing cock. His first few thrusts are sloppy and uncoordinated with the remains of sleep, his prick pushing between your slick wet thighs. 

“Please~!” You whine, the friction of his cock slipping through your folds maddening in your heat drunk state. You push your hips back as he thrusts forward again, the bulbous tip catching on your entrance before popping past the tight ring of muscle. You nearly scream as his fat cock bullies into your sopping cunt, his hand coming up to cover your mouth, muffling your desperate moans as he fucks into you.

“Slutty little omega,” he rumbles, his voice dripping with affection despite the words, “gonna wake the others, hm?”

He snarls against the back of your neck, teeth digging in to scruff you before he shoves the blankets down off your bodies. One hand over your mouth and the other gripping your thigh bruisingly tight, he rolls onto his back with you in his grasp, his cock carefully kept sheathed as he plants his feet and begins to pound up into you, his heavy balls slapping wetly against the base of your shaft and forcing your moans up a pitch.

Price unscruffs you, teeth returning to scrape along your pulsing gland. Your head lulls onto his shoulder, gaze turning to the side to see the glint of the dim oil lamp reflected in Soap’s sky blue eyes, locked onto where Price’s prick thrusts in and out with obscene squelches. 

His blanket shifts with the movement of his arm, and you belatedly realize he’s stroking himself off to the sight of you being bred by your shared pack Alpha, a mere yard away. You whine longingly, a gush of slick squirting from your cunt as you try to beckon the other Alpha over to you, using your wanton scent to draw his instincts. 

The second he tries to move, scrambling onto his hands and knees, the large shadow of Ghost is on him, pinning him down by the scruff of his neck and rumbling so deep in his chest it barely registers in your ears. 

“Get first dibs,” he rumbles, pulling up his mask just enough to nip threateningly at Soap’s ear, a warning, before he releases the Scot, shuffling across the mattress to settle between yours and Price’s legs.

“Oh, c’mon, Lt!” the Sergeant bemoans weakly.

Soap sulks, but knows the order of operations is in place for a reason—remembers how the first time you’d gone into heat, Ghost had nearly torn Soap to shreds when the Scot tried to claim you first, the Lieutenants already trauma-sensitive instincts forced into overdrive in the face of your hormones.

Soap knew Ghost only bent the knee to Price when he was like this, and so he grumbles unhappily, and grabs a pillow to hump as he settles in to watch and wait for his turn.

The movement of Price’s hips slows as Ghost nuzzles against yours and the Captain’s thighs, sucking at the scent glands there as if he could drink down both of your scents. His over-long tongue licks around the wet seam where Price’s cock splits you wide, making the both of your hips twitch, before he trails sucking wet kisses up the shaft of your small cock, rumbling happily, the sharp scent of charcoal mingling with Price’s own musk as he takes the throbbing prick into his mouth and down to the root with ease. 

You cry out, back arching as he suckles, drinking down the copious amounts of precum your tip weeps. Price begins fucking up into you again in slow, heavy thrusts that have the head of his cock poking against your womb every single time. The movement in turn makes Ghost’s head bob up and down your length, wet slurping and gagging resounding through the room as he feasts, Price’s balls tapping the man’s chin with each thrust.

Soap shuffles over to you slowly, keeping his posture low to the mattress so as to not pose a threat to either of the primary Alphas. Price gives a warning rumble, but settles when Soap merely leans down to lick at the hand covering your mouth, asking wordlessly for permission to kiss you. Price’s hand moves instead to your throat, and Soap wastes no time sloppily licking into your mouth and huffing happily with the uncoordination of your own lips, too fucked out and overwhelmed to kiss back properly. 

A growl like a dying engine has you jolting, the vibrations around your prick having you crying out against Soap’s lips. You turn your gaze down to Ghost to see Gaz sidling up behind the Lieutenant, a gentle hand rubbing up and down the larger man’s bicep. Gaz only lets out a placating purr in response, a sound more befitting of an Omega.

“Easy, sir,” Gaz murmurs softly, soothing.

Ghost has pulled off of your cock, lapping absentmindedly at the pulsing flesh as he watches Gaz like a hawk, a wild dog guarding its meal. Over the heady, aroused musk of the three alphas, you can make out the calming honey and chamomile of Gaz’s unnaturally sweet scent as he intentionally pushes it outward, leaning down below Ghost’s head to mouth at Price’s sac, tongue lathering over the course hairs before sucking one then the other into his mouth. Both Ghost and Price rumble their satisfaction, their hindbrains basking in the supplication of one of their pack’s secondary Alphas.

While Price’s thrusts are significantly slower to accommodate the two men forcing your legs apart around their shared bulk, the sensation is no less satisfying, your cunt milking Price’s cock, stimulating his knot in hopes of making it swell.

Price grips your hair with one hand, turning you back toward Soap who’s now knelt beside your head, his cock purplish red and dripping with neglect.

“Go on, Sunshine,” Price rumbles, “been good n’ patient. Be gentle, now.”

Soap rubs his tip across your lips, smearing the pre like gloss before you part your kiss swollen lips, moaning wantonly around the length as he shallowly fucks your mouth.

You can feel Price’s knot slowly swelling, catching on your sore and abused rim with each thrust. Soap has gone from quick, shallow thrusts to slow and deep, the ocean scent of him filling your nostrils each time his pubes tickle your nose. You can feel how stilted his movements are, careful to keep from losing control and simply mounting the hot wet hole of your mouth in fear of setting off the other Alphas. 

Ghost’s hand has taken to stroking you, him and Gaz mouthing at either of Price’s balls, taking turns lapping where his knot swells or tongue fucking each other’s mouths with heady little growls and grunts permeating the wet sounds of their lips. 

You whine pathetically at the barrage of sensations, your cunt tightening up as you grow impossibly close to orgasm. Price bites down hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder, just below your gland as he slams his hips up, his knot finally popping into you with a wet squelch and a deafening growl muffled and buried into your flesh.

You cum hard around his knot, milking the thick bulb of it as rope after rope of his seed fills you. Your cum, more like squirt, is met with eager whines from Ghost who struggles to lap all of it up before it drips down from your tummy to the bedsheet, earning a soft, amused huff from Gaz as he presses gentling kisses to the Lieutenant’s throat and shoulder. 

Soap’s prick twitches in your mouth, your eyes wet with tears looking up at him as he fists his own knot, cumming with just the tip past your plush lips, not wanting you to choke. He bites his lip to muffle his groan, his spend contradictorily bitter and sweet as you swallow it down with a pleased purr.

Price’s knot has barely deflated, slipping out from under you before Ghost is already knelt between your thighs, hefting your bottom half into his lap, pressing his fat cock into you, the warm cum of Price’s load making the Lieutenant moan brokenly.

Soap sidles up behind Ghost, and you can tell from the movements of his arm and the sutter of Ghost’s hips that Soap’s playing with the larger Alpha’s ass, the way you know Ghost likes. Price lifts your head to make you gulp down water before Gaz is straddling your chest, pressing his own cock past your lips. 

You realize, fucked out and pleased, that you’re in for a long, strenuous night.

[pastabaguette]

okay guys. here’s a little humanstuck writing i did today accompanied by a sketch because it feels weird posting with no art:

     That kid never sits with anybody, Naipunya’s thinking. What’s his deal? 

     She’s carrying her big plastic lunch tray out of the kitchen, which bears today’s lunch, spaghetti and meatballs. Soggy and crumbly and they never taste good. There’s a carton of 2% skim milk on the side, and some baby carrots, similarly soggy and tasteless. They’re stale, too, and dry. How can something be dry and soggy at the same time? They’re making everyone take a vegetable with their lunch, for nutrition. Nobody eats it though, so it’s a waste of food. It’s such a waste of food, so why do they do that? Naipunya doesn’t understand it. 

     She stands in the cafeteria noise outside the kitchen with her tray, pondering this dilemma, and thinking about where to sit today. She’s still watching that kid. His hair is straight and brown and long. He kind of looks like a girl if you look at him from the back, she thinks. That kid never gets the school lunch. He brings a big metal lunchbox instead. He’s sitting at his usual table today. Nobody else is sitting there. He doesn’t talk to anyone. 

     He’s unpacking his lunch, presently focused solely on the big box. First he unfolds a big white napkin, which had neatly enveloped a round white plate. The napkin is placed, slightly crumpled and askew, and the plate goes on top. With the boy having cleared the plate, the rest of the lunchbox’s contents below are now freed. From where Naipunya’s standing, it’s hard to see exactly what else is inside. 

     She’s deciding now whether or not she’s going to sit with him today. She doesn’t particularly have anywhere else to be, but maybe he’s alone for a reason. Maybe he’s mean. But maybe no one sits with him because he doesn’t have any friends. Naipunya decides she’ll move closer to his table to get a better look. 

     He’s pulling out a sizable glass bottle of milk now, which had lain aside two other wrapped things. His posture straightens slightly as he handles it, and he eagerly uncaps the bottle in anticipation. He grips the bottle with both hands and, raising it to his mouth, drinks it down voraciously. She watches him drink for several seconds, swallowing each gulp with increasing intensity. Finally, he slams the glass back down, having drunk almost the whole bottle in one long swig. The glass makes a loud CLUNK against the cafeteria table. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, not bothering to recap the bottle. 

     Closer, she can see him clearer now. His dark hair contrasts sharply with his pale face. Besides the hair that falls down his back about his shoulderblades, choppy bangs cover the sides of his forehead. The sides, but not the middle, because he’s got a cowlick on the top of his head which pushes them away like some sort of curtain. Now he’s taking the bigger of the two wrapped things out of his box, a sandwich with lettuce, and putting it on his plate. His hair makes him look like a horse. 

     “Your hair makes you look like a horse.” she tells him, standing over his table now.

     The horse boy startles slightly at the sound —evidently he hadn’t noticed her approach in all the room’s noise—  but regains his composure quickly, turning to look in her direction. His eyes are blueish grey. His face has brightened a bit; his previous seriousness now replaced with something almost like a smile. 

     “Yes,” he says, pausing before he continues, “Thank you.” 

     Naipunya beams. 

i haven’t really done any creative writing like this in about six years, i think. i’m kind of nervous sharing it because of that. please don’t be super mean in the comments.

[wheneclipsefalls]

Healing Hands

Pairing: So'lek x Zeswa Female Reader

Summary: So'lek has accepted his life as an outsider, no clan of his own to call home. For years nothing has consumed him more than the need to exact revenge on the RDA who stole everything from him. Yet somehow all of that changes when he meets you.

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, trauma, mentions of death and war, angst, injuries, obsessive So'lek, lust, p in v, oral, swearing, marking, possessive thoughts, rough, jealousy, yearning, breast play, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, etc (not all inclusive)

You do not need to have played the game to read this story. I did my best to include context clues that make it clear enough.

Disclaimer: I am no So'lek expert so I made some educated guesses based on what I learned playing the game. If you see mistakes....no you don't.

The first instance is innocent. Something that So’lek can attribute to mere chance and furthermore nothing he expected to have any consequence on him. Meeting you is unexpected. 

It happens after a long mission. He had drawn off firepower from the RDA so that one of the Sarentu could infiltrate and shut down one of the drill sites. Not only was the objective completed but it also seemed to have a positive effect on their relations with the Zeswa clan. They are impressed by the action, even more so drawn to a proper alliance between them and the resistance as the effects of Sky Demon technology has worsened on the their plains. 

And so for the first time So’lek gets to witness the Zeswa home. Only there to discuss further relations with the Tsahik and Olo’eyktan, he tries to keep his curiosity to a minimum. However, it is difficult to not be swept away by the beauty of the upper plains. Even more so with the open comradery and community that is exhibited among the clan. The Zeswa are known for being a loud people, proud and brave while also fundamentally aware of possessing such skills. 

They are a direct contrast to the Aranahe in that aspect. Everywhere he walks there are groups laughing boisterously, young warriors sparing while others cheer. Even when they fight there is not the usual demeanor So’lek is accustomed to. An air of playfulness is present. It is not weighed down by the same bitter thirst for revenge his own training exhibits. 

There are colorful tents and kelku all positioned around caring for the hibernating Zakru. These giant beasts lay in the warm embrace of sunshine as their smaller counterparts laugh and rush around them. A foreign yet delightful relationship to behold. 

His meeting with Minang and Nesim is short. No real negotiations are needed as they too are quick to join a fight. It is one of the things that So’lek has always appreciated about the Zeswa. Unlike the Aranahe they require no convincing when it comes to defending their home. If anything, they only wait to see which allies will be worthy of fighting alongside them. Fear is not a common ideal among them. 

It is when So’lek has paid his respect to their leaders and begins making his long trek home, that he hears a voice. 

“Are you going to leave it like that?”

So’lek’s ears perk, tail stopping midair. When a few seconds pass it becomes clear that the voice behind him is in fact addressing him and not a clan member. Slowly turning on his heels he looks down to find you. A female at least a head shorter than him wearing traditional Zeswa colors and looking up at him with an inquisitive brow raised. Despite your diminutive stature, you blink up at him without an ounce of concern. 

“Your arm.” You clarify and much to his surprise he looks down to where you’re pointing and finds that there is a sizable gath along his bicep. It must have occurred somewhere between drawing the firepower out and taking down an amp suit with his bare hands. There is a tinge of pain now that you’ve brought attention to it, but it’s nothing in comparison to what he has endured in the past. 

“It is minor.” He responds slowly, unsure of what answer you are expecting from him. Most clan members among the Aranahe barely acknowledge him. Not that they can be blamed. He is a stranger with a gun in hand and a permanent scowl in place. Neither has it ever truly bothered him. However, you seem to be in no mood to let him out of his impromptu conversation and it has him slightly on edge. 

You scoff, soft features already laced into an amused expression. “Minor or not it needs to be stitched.” 

Are you going to make him visit the healer’s tent? There would be no need. The hospital outpost within Resistance headquarters is sterile and inhabited by Sky People that barely understand the fundamentals of Na’vi anatomy, but it has always done the job before. Big or small injury, he has remained in one piece. 

So’lek keeps a neutral expression, only allowing himself the release of shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Minang has other responsibilities.” 

You roll your eyes and a short laugh escapes your throat. “Men,” you mutter under your breath, just quiet enough that he starts to wonder if he has imagined it. “Come. I will fix it.” 

He doesn’t immediately move at your command. After a few steps you turn over your shoulder to still see him standing there and it seems as if you are trying to hold laughter back at the sight of him. Although, So’lek can’t fathom what could possibly be funny about him. 

“I do not bite. Come.” Voice fused with a playful laugh, you gesture once more for him to follow. So despite his better judgment, So’lek trails behind you, shortening his stride so as to not clip your heels, until he is gestured into a large tent. There are only a couple healers left in the tent. One woman is organizing the herbs while a male healer inspect a gash upon a man’s leg. Both of them turn to exchange a smile with you upon entering. 

Smiles that waiver when they spot him towering behind. 

“Sit down.” You command, pointing to a mat on his left. Reluctantly So’lek obeys, but his tail is already whipping with impatience. The others will be expecting him back soon. It is only a matter of time before Priya is bugging him over the radio for results on his talk with the Zeswa. It is not as if he is about to bleed out or lose his arm from waiting a few more hours for stitching. 

Regardless, you keep an eye on him while gathering a needle, thread, and the proper ointments. You’re checking to make sure he doesn’t run off and you are nowhere near trying to hide it. In fact, when his eyes meet yours, you give a chipper smile. He holds back a sigh. There will be no escaping this tent soon. 

The same upbeat attitude is not fully shared among the other Na’vi present in the tent. They remain polite but on guard. By the time you are kneeling next to him they have one by one created excuses for needing to leave. It’s just the two of you now. 

“Let me see.” In usual fashion you demand, although voice soft. So’lek watches as you examine his arm, small fingers curling under his bicep carefully. The touch lights something in his stomach until once again he is wondering how long this visit will be. “My name is y/n.” 

The sudden admission has him zoning back in. His golden eyes peek to see you from his peripherals. When the ointment is lathered over his wound So’lek is too busy turning the name over in his head to stop himself from flinching. 

“This is the part where you tell me your name.” Your gaze has risen from where it was inspecting his gash to now inspect his motionless expression instead. So’lek bites back the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. Wonderful. This may be a waste of his time but that is no excuse to be rude, especially among members of a new alliance. 

Social interaction, however, has never been one of his strong suits. He had spent years in the forest surviving alone after his clan was wiped out. Many days the only interactions he had with another being was the prey he hunted, diligently whispering the prayer of thanks over their dead bodies before preparing a meal for one. And even since then, So’lek is vexed to admit that a majority of his conversations have been with pestering Sky Demons at resistance headquarters who ask far too many questions and lag in recognizing his distaste for such interaction. 

“It is So’lek.” 

“I know who you are.” You shrug, back to focusing on spreading the ointment. His hairless brows pull together. 

“If you know then why did you ask?” Except, you technically didn’t ask. You urged him to share, a distinction you graciously don’t correct. 

“Because that is what people do when they meet each other. Just because I know who you are does not mean you shouldn’t share your name with me.” Yet another custom he has become out of touch with. Years away from a true Na’vi clan may have broken him in more ways than he had originally imagined. And yet, you don’t appear to be offended. There is a sparkle in your eyes, something he can’t quite analyze but it holds a lightness he’s unfamiliar with. 

The ointment you spread smells sweet. Almost like the pod fruit he picks near headquarters for lunch. Or perhaps the nectar he can occasionally finds while traveling. Whatever it is, it’s far better than the usual stench of medicine used at headquarters. Those strangely packaged doses have a thick texture and sterile smell that always makes his stomach turn. 

But this…this is almost nice. Even as the lathered touch burns along his wound. 

“Your Sarentu friend comes to visit often. They stop by for a meal and materials, even socializing upon occasion. But I never see you.” The needle gracefully slips beneath his skin but So’lek can barely focus on the sensation. “I was starting to think that you were a myth created by them for a good story.” 

So’lek is at a loss for words. What exactly is your point? Are you suggesting he should be spending more time among the Zeswa. It is the Sarentu that had received an invitation to help, not him. Up until now he has remained respectful of your clan’s space. It is only for an invited meeting that he finds himself here to witness your home for the first time. But the way you talk about it makes him almost feel guilty for not dropping by earlier. 

Would the Zeswa people have welcomed him if he had? Give him a smile as he cooked a meal here or crafted a better bow as the Sarentu often do? He’s not sure if he would know how to respond if they did. Your attention has already proven to be hard enough to reciprocate as is. 

“I attend to responsibilities at Resistance Headquarters.” 

“So I’ve heard.” You hum. There is something else in your voice, some hidden message in your tone but So’lek can’t decipher it for the life of him. So once again he is caught wondering what your intentions are in bringing it up. Perhaps nothing. You are strangers to one another. Just because you have gone out of your way to heal him does not mean you care whether or not he graces the clan with his presence. For all he knows, making conversation is a polite practice for good bedside manner. 

Your precision is admirable. A calm consistent draw and pull of the needle to create perfectly tight and even stitches sealing him up. Far better work than that done by flimsy Sky People hands at headquarters. And while their small faces often pinch in concentration when stitching, your features remain relaxed. Even tranquil, with just the softest of smiles present. 

In a way it almost causes his own demeanor to follow suit. That is if it weren’t for your distracting appearance. It has been so long since he has witnessed true Na’vi crafted attire so he can’t really be blamed for running his eyes over your intricate top of bright reds and oranges. It’s only when you shift slightly that he realizes how scantily clad your chest is with only the decorative fabric. And it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. 

Nudity is not a big concern among the Na’vi. They are not ashamed of their bodies. But it’s clear he has been hanging around tawtute far too much as he feels the need to shift his gaze away every time that flimsy covering slides one way or another. And where they land, however, is just as distracting. The soft curves of your faces, long dark lashes that blanket your fixated gaze. Even your hair that is entirely unrestrained with only a few flowers woven along your crown, allowing it to fall down to your waist in soft waves. 

Staring isn’t a big deal. Or at least it shouldn’t be, but there is something about letting his eyes land for too long that puts him on edge. Perhaps it is some lingering adrenaline from the fight that still has him on alert. Even has his stomach twisting into weird knots. Usually by this point these effects have worn off, but So’lek tries not to read too far into it. 

A hiss escapes his lips without permission when fingers suddenly press into his shoulder blade. 

“By Eywa…” You marvel, now coming to press against the area harder even as he hisses his discomfort. “You are wound very tight. There is a giant knot here.” 

So’lek’s teeth dig into the inside of his lips to keep back further hissing, but there is no controlling the writhing of his tail. Despite all of his efforts, however, it seems that none of this is of consequence to you. You are more than content to ignore his pain and dig further into the muscle in order to examine the damage better. 

“It is just…tense.” He defends, finally veering away from your hands. 

“That is a nice way of putting it.” You scoff, shaking your head as if he has told a joke. “It needs to be massaged.” 

So’lek blinks back at you. Massaged? Of course it would be nice to stop having that blaring pain in his shoulder but what is he supposed to do about it? It is simply a consequence of pulling back his bow so many times, or even from slotting the stock of a rifle against that shoulder. But then you are reaching out and it hits him. This is you offering? 

Out of reflex he pulls away. Bottom lip caught between your teeth, that amusement paints your features again as you glare back at him. It’s the same look a parent gives their child when they are misbehaving. It has his ears twitching, tailing curling in anticipation. For what, he does not know. 

“It is fine.” So’lek assures you, holding a hand up when you try to reach him again. 

“Do not be ridiculous. It is not fine. That is, unless you are okay with letting it go until you are unable to move your arm without pain.” You have him there and you know it, watching him patiently until he will finally give in to your superior logic. 

You are being a good healer, no doubt far more observant of his state than anyone that has ever treated him among the resistance. And it’s true that restricted mobility would cause a direct conflict to his plans of revenge against the RDA. What point is infiltrating a base if he can’t even pull back the string of his bow? So So’lek can’t quite understand why the idea of conceding to this massage has his heart racing. 

Perhaps there is a personal aspect to it that makes him weary. He does not know you and you do not know him, no matter what stories the Sarentu has supposedly shared. You’ve just about wrestled him into this tent to get mended and now you are fully prepared to massage his pain away. To let those delicately soft hands run over exposed skin, bring him relief in a way no one else ever does. 

His heart rate is far beyond what it should be outside of battle. 

“Are you afraid I will hurt you?” Brow bones raising, you give him a look that says you know exactly how that idea attacks his male pride. Regardless, So’lek can’t hold back a scoff. 

“No.” 

“Then there really is no reason to be stubborn now, is there?” It’s a rhetorical question because only a few seconds after you are settling behind him and grabbing a basin of massage oil. 

For the first time since meeting you, you hesitate when your fingers just barely brush his tactical vest. Immediately that touch is pulled away and you fumble to find an angle that will reach the knot in his shoulder without touching the gear. 

It’s not the first time he has witnessed this hesitation among the Na’vi. The vest is intimidating, tacked on with a radio, ammunition, and many other pieces of Sky People technology that is entirely foreign to you. He remembers that caution in himself the first time he tried to hold a gun. Despite your carefree and pushy nature, this mysterious article seems to put you on edge too. 

“Do you want me to remove it?” 

“What?”

“The vest.” Daring to peek over his shoulder he finds your bottom lips trapped again before a simple nod is given his way. He sets down the vest a distance away with his gun too. Anything to make you feel a little more at ease. Ironically, however, it is him that is left feeling vulnerable without the heavy piece, only a thin swooping necklace over his bare chest now. Has it really been so long since he has removed his armor? Some nights he forgets to unclasp the vest before exhaustion takes him, but he has always blamed that on pure circumstance, not any sign of associated comfort. 

Your apprehension is washed away as if it was never there in the first place, now that you are facing only bare skin. The oil that you begin lathering over his shoulder smells strongly of dapophet but there is something else mixed in there that he can’t place. A strong essence that has memories long forgotten tugged to the forefront of his mind. Images of his clan, his family. Is it possible that the Zeswa use similar herbs in their medicine as that of his clan’s tsahik?

That thought is immediately interrupted when fingers begin to dig into the muscle again. A sharp agony pings through him, his muscles naturally tensing to protect the injured area. However, it is all for not when you continue to dig at the area mercilessly. So’lek usually considers his pain tolerance to be quite high but somehow this pain is so deeply rooted that he can’t stop himself from veering away. Even when you tug his shoulder back towards you, a hiss escapes his lips. 

“Hold still.” You demand. 

He tries. He really does try because squirming like this is borderline embarrassing. He is a trained warrior for Eywa’s sake! A little massage should not have him writhing like this. Regardless it seems this knot has gotten far worse than he could have imagined. 

“It really is fine.” So’lek grits out between clenched teeth. Star above, it is painful! He’s about ready to let the injury worsen if it means escaping your merciless hands. 

“Are you going to stop squirming like a child or will I need to pin you down to do this?” 

He can hear the amused smile in your voice but that’s not what his mind fixates on. Instead So’lek is horrified to witness how quickly his trail of thoughts leads to sinful places. How fast he can conjure up images of your smooth thighs cinched around his waist, your long hair falling over one shoulder to tickle at his spine. How easily he could quickly flip you over until he is the one that pins-

No. He must stop! A seasoned warrior well into his adult years should not create such innuendos so easily. That is for children, perhaps his years as a teenager where his hormones were wildly out of control. Back then he had a reason, but what excuse does he have now? 

“Better.” You murmur and it’s then that he realizes his dirty thoughts have somehow managed to distract him from the pain, autopilot keeping him in place. 

His jaw still clenches as you prod at the muscle, but eventually pain gives way into something else. Skilled fingers slowly ring out the agony he did not realize was there until his shoulders are sagging in relief. Your technique is meticulous, methodic. For such small hands you have quite the plethora of strength, wearing down his body until it is going lax. 

And then there is a tune. A song so quiet that it takes him a moment to realize it is you humming behind him. That foreign melody captivates him easily. Ears perking to catch every change of note, So’lek drowns in your sweet voice. And sweet it is, no better sound has he heard in years. So much of his daily life is accompanied by yapping tawtute and distant RDA bombs.

There are times where the lab tawtute put on records to play but that music is offending in comparison to the theme you weave now. It reminds him of home. Not even specifically of his clan per say, but just the feeling of having a home. Of having a community to bask in. 

Rich melody and trained fingers working in kind, So’lek melts beneath you. For the first time in a long time he remembers the difference between surviving and healing. Pleasure radiates from every touch you bestow and So’lek begins to slump, limbs feeling like noodles. Lost in the tranquility of the moment he doesn’t originally catch how concerning his thoughts become. How easily his body starts to yearn for your touch in different ways. 

How easily he starts to yearn for you. 

The interaction was innocent. And So’lek stands by that fact. You were pulled away abruptly by others demanding your attention and although it took him a few seconds to come down from that strange high, he had gathered his things and left the Zeswa with only your rushed goodbye as parting. 

He had shaken it off as a weird experience, just the shock of true Na’vi medicine after being corrupted by tawtute practice for so long. However, when days pass and his mind keeps dragging him back towards that event, So’lek knows he is in trouble. 

Were it just about the exceptional effects of Na’vi healing he wouldn’t be so concerned. After all, his shoulder has never felt better, his mobility and flexibility far beyond what he has done in a long time. So it would only be natural to have a fixation on something that rendered such positive results. 

But it’s the dreams that worry him. Dreams that start out as intangible images of your long hair, soft hands over his skin. Things that could be shrugged off as a wrong mix of hormones messing with his subconscious, potentially a faceless woman it imitates. But then they become more intense, uncomfortably vivid. Stories woven by his subconscious that are not only specific but inherently sexual. 

He dreams of how your lips would taste against his own. He dreams of your body pressed against him, of an intimacy far beyond what he could ever describe in words. Even the way his scent would beautifully coalesce with your own upon scent marking his territory. 

It is borderline madness. So’lek has only ever met you once! One time where you simply did your job as a healer. Creating fantasies out of such a small instance is truly pathetic. Of course it has been a while since he has been intimate with a woman but these feelings have not risen in years, especially not in a way so close to obsessive that it has his head reeling. 

And yet the dreams morph into the tangling of his actual conscious thoughts as he tries to go about his day. When he is sneaking up on a sturmbeest he’s wondering if you even remember that short hour together. When he is trading materials with the Sarentu his mind trails to guessing what activities are filling your day. And when he talks to Priya, well he tunes her completely out because surviving your nervous rambling is only doable when he’s imagining how the sun reflected off of your hair. And frankly, anything to keep is patience while talking to the purple haired tawtute is approved as far as he’s concerned. 

Maybe he really has been alone for far too long. He is at an age where courting and mating is a common motivation and so his body is pushing him towards the first female that has given him attention. It is biological. It must be. Once his hormones have died down all will return back to normal and he can forget you ever even met. 

That’s what he tells himself for the first week. So’lek stomps down the day dreaming as fast as possible and concentrates on his true goal, riding this planet of the RDA. He is in cohorts with the Sarentu and takes down every RDA tawtute and vehicle in his line of sight. But that doesn’t stop a nasty urge from sticking. Just this tiny idea of an injury bringing him back to the Zeswa healer’s tent. It seems that your duties primarily reside there and so it would be more than likely that he would find himself under your tender care again. 

And it’s hideous the way this fucked up idea becomes a fantasy for him. He is a warrior! A man of honor and courage. No warrior should ever long for an injury, no matter how minor. Especially when it could take him away from helping those who need him most, away from defending his home. So So’lek won’t say he falls from the tree on purpose. 

He is collecting shell fruit up in the red trees. The proximity to Zeswa camp is only a coincidence. Of course his agility is usually far beyond letting himself get scrapped up and falling a few branches down, but everyone has bad days. The only sensible thing to do while so far away from resistance headquarters, is seek a healer from the Zeswa.

He can be quick. In and out with little interference on their daily activities.

So’lek maintains a neutral mask when he reaches the healer’s tent. His greeting is polite but detached with every clan member that passes him by. However, there is no stopping the disappointment that lowers his tail when it is a different female that ushers him in for treatment. You are nowhere to be found in the spacious tent. Just a few elderly Na’vi receiving care and one child getting a scraped up knee bandaged. 

Truly he is grateful for the help received. Ka’xhori is the name of this healer and she does quick ,but quality, work on his bleeding thigh. Several times her curious stare is caught by the strange devices on his vest and even the darker stripes across his forehead. She makes conversation for a few minutes but when his answers become choppy and short, she silently resigns to his lack of interest. 

It’s towards the ending of the wrapping that he spots you from a distance. Just through the opening of the tent he catches you returning with a group of friends, shortbow in hand. A male to your right carries a fresh kill and the female to your left exuberantly tells you a story. 

Your eyes sparkle in delight, avidly drinking in the story. And then your friends says something that elicits the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. You laugh, a laugh quite different than the teasing one you had exposed him to the first time. This one comes from your gut, a belly laugh that has your eyes crinkling and teeth on full display. There is a vibrance to this demeanor that has him drawn like a moth to a flame. 

You’re babbling back at your friend with that same enthusiastic energy until both of you are struggling to not collapse to the ground in a fit of giggles. Even the male carrying the kill can’t defeat such infectious sounds of joy. Complete unabashed delight. No pretense. No mask, just a blinding smile he may never be able to unsee. 

“That should hold for a while.” Ka’xhori says, tugging on the leaf bandage for good measure. 

“My deepest gratitude.” His deep voice responds on autopilot. Most likely it is not convincing enough but So’lek is already shuffling out of the tent before she can respond. 

Despite the natural tugging in your direction, So’lek turns to the trail opposite. This obsession has gone on long enough. He thought that perhaps coming back here would only prove it to be some silly crush born out of dramatizing your first interaction together but now he sees this is only becoming more dangerous by the second. It’s best to cut himself off now while he still can. 

With a bit of distance and discipline he will be back on track. 

“Hey stranger!” 

So’lek pauses at your call, turning around to find you already leaving your friends behind to approach him. It takes everything within him to not reflect on the sway of your hips, the confident yet eased strut you exhibit.

“Kaltxi [hello].” He murmurs, giving the proper touch to his forehead in respect. 

A giggle catches in your throat at his formality. “Kaltxi.” You mimic his tone, but return the gesture. “How is the shoulder? I hope I didn’t rough you up too much.” 

Only psychologically. Only planting some brain rotting disease he can not rid himself of. 

“It is much improved.” 

Hands placed on your hips, that response seems to do the trick. However, it does not satisfy you enough to allow him an escape from this conversation. 

“So you’ve come back for more business, then?”

So’lek tumbles for a proper excuse. 

“I was here for…” It’s too late you’ve already noticed his bandaged thigh. 

“You are injured again?” You make a small tutting noise in disapproval, coming to circle him closer. “You know, So’lek I have found that it is better to dodge the sky demon bullets, not race right into them.” 

You joke as if the two of you are old friends, even a hint of mischief present in your composure. So’lek is left feeling lost in how to navigate this playful environment you’ve created. Even more so unsure on how to avoid admitting he fell out of a damn tree to get this mark. It would only show his weakness. Perhaps even give you the idea that he is uncoordinated in hunting and combat. 

Not that it matters. Why should he care to prove himself as a competent and athletic male? 

When he doesn’t respond fast enough you beat him to the punch. “You are not actually shot, correct?” 

“I am not shot.” 

“Good.” And he may just be imagining it, but there is a flicker of relief in your expression. What would your reaction be if he was shot? He would be mortified to be caught so easily by poorly aimed sky demon bullets but would that have won him some sympathy? Would you have tended to his wound directly, stayed by his side as he was nursed back to health?

“Well then if you are not bleeding to death you should stay for a meal.” 

So’lek flinches when you’ve suddenly grabbed his left hand and tug. This recoil is punished with your hand pulling back, regret immediately slinking through his veins. Despite his brash reaction there is no sign of embarrassment in your expression. Just a simple roll of your eyes. 

“I could not impose.”

“You are not imposing. It’s an invitation, So’lek.” You correct him. “Which in Zeswa culture really means you have no choice but to accept.” 

He’s tempted to ask what would happen should he refuse, but he bites his tongue. It’s important to keep his relations with the Zeswa friendly, being polite as he can manage with his little social skills. So So’lek trails behind you, watching as the skip in your steps sway that long hair back and forth across the curve of your spine. 

Just as with the healer’s tent, your presence immediately has others joyfully expressing their own greetings. 

“I am still waiting for that rematch, Niwin.” You call to male on their right, covered in red paint markings. 

“I told you, tsmuke [sister]. No number of rematches will give you the victory you desire. It is a waste of time.” He calls back, pausing from his work on a spear. 

“Spoken like a true coward. Is your tail truly still stuck between your legs?” Pearly whites on full display you only laugh when he sends back a teasing hiss. So’lek doesn’t miss the way Niwin’s eyes catch and track his frame. He is not the only one to silently wonder what you are doing with a man like him. 

Exchanging waves and inside jokes along the way, the two of you finally reach the largest of the Zeswa tents. Inside are Na’vi sprawled out and socializing, some crafting weapons while others use the cook fire to prepare meals. 

Trusting that So’lek is following behind obediently, you make a beeline for a certain male next to the cookfire. Long dreads falling over his shoulder he is fast at work, properly cooking meat over the fire. A savory scent fills his lungs. 

“Novao, I have brought you another victim.” You grin, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

“Such little faith you have in my genius.” He mutters, but stops short when he notices who stands behind you. His brow bones raise.

“Kaltxi,” So’lek signs awkwardly. 

“Kaltxi,” Novao returns, the response uttered on instinct. “Who is this?” He asks, turning to you. 

“Who is this?” You scoff, pushing at his shoulder. “This is So’lek, of course. By the stars, Novao, you would forget your head were it not attached to your body.” You snicker coming to kneel beside him. 

So’lek hates to appear as if he is mimicking your motions but standing above the two of you now feels awkward so he slowly kneels. 

“Do I want to know by what means you have kidnapped this man?” Novao goads. 

“You said you need a larger sampling audience for more diverse feedback. Look at how I deliver.” You quip, bumping his shoulder with a proud grin. So’lek’s ears flicker at the playful jesting, but he doesn’t allow a smile. “Do not question good things that come your way.” 

“I will once you stop questioning the success of my soon to be famous dishes.” 

Is this how you converse with everyone? If so, perhaps there is nothing special about the way you tease him. Just a general reflection of your boisterous personality that he is not accustomed to. 

“I apologize in advance if this dish causes physical repercussions.” You hand over a leaf of cloaked panther meat crested with vegetables and some sort of seed. A recipe entirely new to him, but he accepts. “There is no telling when Novao’s new recipes will bring you to the heights of ecstasy versus the edge of an early grave. But he needs opinions, so we must do our part.” 

You make a show of holding up your own portions, as if to prove you are in this together. Novao grumbles under his breath but prepares a plate for himself while holding back a smile. 

The first bite is intense. It takes a second bite to fully interpret the burst of flavor in his mouth and once he has, So’lek struggles not to scarf down the entire thing. Even you can’t hold back an approving moan as you chew. A sound that damn near has him spiralling again. 

“It is wonderful,” He says. 

“You see, even this newcomer knows how to appreciate food better.” Novao is quick to jump in. 

Giggling after finally swallowing, you concede. “It is one of your better dishes to date, brother.” 

So’lek has a hard time understanding how this isn’t ranked as the best dish period. He himself is proficient in cooking but So’lek has never taken it up as an art as some do. Most of his dishes have just enough flavor to suffice. During desperate times he occasionally will dip into his small stash of disgusting RDA meals. Nothing, however, has compared to this. 

“Do you claim to cook better?” It’s a genuine question but it has Novao rumbling with laughter immediately. Your brows raise. 

“Oh, look who has a sense of humor after all.” Brows raised, you peer back at him with narrowed eyes and a swishing tail. “Not a very good sense of humor, but one all the same.” 

He can’t tear his gaze away from your burning attention. So’lek’s own tail curls along the floor. It’s not even praise but your spotlight warms his skin just the same. It feels good to elicit some sort of response from you, instead of the other way around for once. 

“Y/n burns everything she touches.” Novao jests between bites. 

“You exaggerate,” comes your quick defense, although posture unbothered as you take another bite. 

“She almost burned down this very tent last time she tried to cook a simple skewer.” 

So’lek can see it now. Na’vi running to and fro out of the tent as you stand there looking perplexed by a raging cookfire. 

“What can I say? I am not made to bother with this mundane task.” You shrug, leaning back on your elbow to lounge. The new position accentuates the dip of your waist until it curves out into full hips. 

“So simple that you purposefully fail at such a boring task?” The questions pops out before he can stop it. But So’lek is slightly startled when you immediately clap a hand down on his knee. 

“You see, So’lek understands!” That dainty hand does not immediately retract, resting upon his bare skin there. He hadn't realized how close you were already laying until now. When you cock your head to the side and continue to banter with the other male, that soft hair comes to tickle at his thighs. 

Being in your space fills his senses with your scent. An essence so unique and addicting that So’lek once again gets the urge to run for the hills. Instead, he remains diligently unmoving, worried that any small shift will have you shuffling away from him. And basking in an entertaining conversation between friends and a good meal before him, So’lek finds that he is in no hurry to return to headquarters. 

It becomes a bad habit of his, looking for excuses to return to the Zeswa home. So’lek had stayed far beyond finishing his meal last time. He blames it on good company, something that seems to be hard for him to keep nowadays. The Sarentu clan joining the resistance has brought him some comfort since but they like him are always busy with their own responsibilities, even further weighed down by scars that are far too fresh. 

So’lek had only convinced himself to leave once your mouth watering essence and occasional friendly touches had become far too much for his body to handle. To his utter mortification there had been a stir in his tewng [loincloth] and he knew then that it was important to make a speedy exit. 

He’s playing with fire, he knows it. So’lek should be doing everything he can to avoid temptation, not race back towards it. Yet, there is something within him that can’t seem to pass up any excuse there is to return. 

“What is wrong?” So’lek reluctantly asks. He doesn’t know how much longer he can silently watch Priya mutter to herself and pace back and forth in front of the monitors. She is on the brink of a full meltdown and as luck would have it, he happens to be the only one in the vicinity as the others take lunch. 

“Nothing,” comes her frazzled response. So’lek shrugs, good enough for him. At least he can say he asked. “Well I mean a little more than nothing I guess. Although that really depends on how you look at it.” 

So’lek holds back a sigh. So they’re doing this after all. 

“It’s just that I sort of forgot to send the coordinates of the new RDA drills sites to the Zeswa after I specifically promised to get it to them within a few days. But I somehow completely forgot, because that’s what I do. Typical Priya. I’m sure at this point they are already upset and-”

“I’ll do it.” 

“What?” 

“I will share the coordinates with Minang and Nesim. That’s what you need right?” 

Priya’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water. She takes an annoying amount of time to gather herself from the apparent shock. 

“Well…I mean yes but that would mean traveling all the way to the Zeswa camp you realize.”

“I realize. Give me the demon tablet.” So’lek snips, holding out his hand for the pad. So maybe it’s not that common for him to help Priya after a foolish mistake like this but he still can’t see how that is enough to elicit such a dramatic response. Nor does So’lek want to wait around for her to start questioning his motives. 

“Wow um yeah of course. I will grab that for you and uh…” She trails off, spinning around as if she is chasing her nonexistent tail, while really just trying to locate the tablet. Priya finally hands it over with a smile. “Thank you, So’lek. I really appreciate it.”

“Yes. Goodbye.” He has never left headquarters so fast. 

Furthermore he manages to make it to Zeswa camp in record time without trying. Walking through the camp he forces himself to make a beeline to Nesim, although a part of him wishes to check the healer’s tent for Minang first. Doing so, however, would only increase the chances of coming across you and getting entirely sidetracked. 

Minang and Nesim are far more forgiving of the delay than Priya gives them credit for. It takes some time trying to properly explain the map on the tablet, as it’s their first time truly interacting so closely with these screens, but eventually he manages to relay the proper information and get all of them on track. 

The beginnings of plans for certain amushes are made and So’lek is given detailed information to return to HQ. Nesim leaves immediately once the plans are made, anxious to get preparations under way. Minang however hangs back in the tent. 

So’lek almost doesn’t notice her presence as he finds himself staring past the tent entrance to where you sit weaving a basket. It feels rare to catch you alone like this but you appear entirely at ease working the fibers together. 

“She is one of my assisting healers.” Minang says, almost making So’lek jump out of his skin when she is suddenly by his side. His eyes immediately dart away, feigning a disinterest as he rakes over the scenery equally. 

So’lek clears his throat before speaking. “That is good.” Despite the strength of his voice, Minang seems to find some sort of amusement in his response. She wears a neutral expression but even he catches the twitch of her lips. 

“I heard the two of you have already met.” 

“Briefly.” 

“Great. Then she will be perfect.” Minang says with an assured nod. 

“Perfect…for what?” A wrinkle settles between his hairless brows as So’lek’s mind races to understand at what point he became so lost in this conversation. Instead of answering his question directly, Minang turns to walk further into the tent. Already moving on to the next task she talks while starting to gather some of her cooking supplies. 

“My sister and I have been talking and we’ve decided it would be beneficial for you to learn how to ride a pa’li [direhorse]. The Sarentu has already taken it upon themselves and has progressed immensely. As another ally of the Zeswa it only makes sense you learn some of our ways too. It may become necessary for any future ground attacks.” 

She continues to gather her things without facing him, but Minang’s ears perk to hear his response. So’lek can’t remember the last time he has ridden on a pa’li. It would have had to have been briefly as a child, not actually making the bond himself but riding with his father. It was not a common experience among his clan and since then he has never had the opportunity to explore it further.

“I see. That is…logical.” 

“Y/n will be happy to teach you. She is an experienced rider. A good karyu [teacher] I think.” 

So’lek feels as if there is a rock lodged in his throat. 

“I would not wish to lessen her availability in the healer’s tent.”

Minang gives a low chuckle, turning to look at him with a swishing tail and wide smile. “I have plenty of help for the time. Besides, since you two have already met, that would make her the ideal choice.” 

“Yes, I see. Although I would not consider us more than strange-”

“I will give her word of this assignment. Return at noon tomorrow for your first lesson.” And with that she saunters out of the tent, leaving So’lek gaping for words and mind lagging to process the turn of events. 

Despite having come all this way for the chance to see you, So’lek goes to slightly extreme lengths to escape the tent without your notice. Brisk walk taking him further and further away from your alluring scent, he asks himself how the hell he is supposed to survive lessons in your presence without going entirely over the line. It’s caught in this spiral that he almost misses Novao’s quick greeting. Just a simple wave before the male is turning back to his meal, but it still catches So’lek off guard. Which appears to be the theme of the day.

And perhaps it’s in his head but it feels as if less people shy away from him as he leaves the camp. A few other Na’vi even extend a goodbye nonchalantly. 

“Did something happen?” Priya twists to meet So’lek’s far off gaze. 

“I have already relayed the information.” 

“I think she means did something happen to have you spacing out like that? You’ve hardly said anything since returning.” Anqa steps in, putting an arm around Priya’s shoulder’s as a comforting act. 

So’lek stares down at the two tawtute. He’s not sure what they expect of him. Confiding with sky people is not a common practice of his. In fact, confiding in anyone is a rare occasion. Neither does he believe they would have any way of understanding his situation. Priya and Anqa are still so wrapped up in their honeymoon phase that giving them any piece of his love life would only set them off like fireworks. He would never hear the end of it. No doubt they would pry until his patience would run out. 

“I will be gone tomorrow.” So’lek says instead. 

“Oh, helping the sarentu again?” Anqa inquires. 

“The Zeswa require my presence. I will return before eclipse.” And before they can question him any further he retreats to his small living quarters. Despite his quick retreat So’lek can still pick up their gossiping whispers behind him. 

Keeping this under wraps may be more difficult than he anticipated. It feels impossible to keep a secret in a place like this, jammed together in a cave with so many tawtute. Then again, this can’t even be qualified as a secret. In order to do so there would have to be actually something to share, and there isn’t. Nothing has occurred between the two of you. It’s just his own imaginings that threaten to get him in trouble. 

You, on the other hand, are just fulfilling the requests of your Tsahik and Olo’eyktan. Even doing a little more than asked by extending a friendly welcome to him. With any luck he will learn to ride a pa’li fast enough to stop this from spiraling out of control and involving other unwanted parties. 

It’s with this attitude that he makes the trek out the next morning. A strong resolve to stay focused and complete the task at hand efficiently. After all, he’s always been a quick learner. Why should this be any different?

“Starting the day a little grumpy, hm?” He spins around at the sound of your voice. Sauntering from a nearby tent, today you wear a decadent feather top. Something so light and revealing it would only take the right gust of wind to have it shifting. So’lek’s digs his nails into his thighs. 

“Um no, I am ready to learn.” 

“Oh so that is your focused scowl. Hard to tell the difference.” With a pep to your step, you motion for him to follow. “Well then if you’re so anxious to learn, let’s get started, lazy bones.” 

“Of course.” So’lek concedes with a nod, but he doesn’t miss the giggle you try to stifle in front of him. Perhaps he is a little formal, even stiff at times, but most people simply take it as a sign to leave him be. The same is not true in your case. 

The sound dies down significantly once the two of you have made it away from the Zeswa camp. Gliding through the tall reeds and plants of the plains there are times where he can only get a glimpse of you through the foliage. So’lek shuffles to keep up. For someone with a significantly shorter stride than him, you sure move fast. 

“There you are!” You call with glee before running forward into a clearing. Finally afforded a proper view of the open space, he spots you next to a pa’li, running a hand along its snout. The creature seems to lean into your touch, just as happy to see you as you are her. “I knew you’d be out here somewhere, girl.” 

When So’lek steps out of the tall grass the creature immediately stiffens. He goes stock still in response. 

“To ride a pa’li you must first show them you are not a threat. Soothe them into letting you approach.” 

So’lek nods his head and takes a steadying breath. Unfortunately, it is only a few steps in before the pa’li is rearing back, trying to get out of your hold. You coo softly, giving comforting words and touches until she is back in your space once more. 

“Perhaps let’s start without your bow first. Just for now.” 

Reluctantly, So’lek slowly removes all forms of weaponry on him and places it on the grass. Try, try and try again, he does all he can to get closer. When you tell him to slow down, he moves at the pace of an insect. When he tries to imitate the cooing sounds you often make it not only has the pa’li running away entirely but also you struggling to hold back your own laughter. 

Trying not to notice the way your tail curls in amusement, So'lek persistently continues.

“A pa’li is not like an ikran. There is no show of dominance to win over lifelong loyalty. Instead you must prove yourself to be caring and trustworthy every time you approach.” 

It’s good instruction but none of it seems to be doing him any use. For whatever reason, he can not get within a few steps of the direhorse before she is running for the hills. Frustration blooming quickly, So’lek’s jaw clenches. 

“You know, the problem is quite clear and simple to fix.” Head tilting to the side you draw forward to him a few steps and this time let the pa’li run off without interference. 

“What is it?”

“That scowl. Not the most inviting demeanor.” You point out and a line forms between his brows. So’lek places his hands on his hips, nose scrunching at the remark. 

“It is my face. There is nothing I can do to change it.” 

“You could try to smile.” You goad, demonstrating a smile of your own. “I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you could manage.” 

“I smile.” Apparently not enough considering you are not the first person to make this suggestion. Keeping a stern expression is not always on purpose, but with all that’s happened it somehow feels like a comforting guard set in place. He is not as vulnerable when others have a hard time reading him. 

“Alright alright.” You concede with hands raised in surrender. “I believe you. It just would be nice to see.” There is a spark of mischief beneath that comforting smile. And something tells So’lek that you are no longer talking about this just in the context of soothing a pa’li. “Let’s try something different then.” 

Air catches in his lungs the second your small fingers are wrapping around his palm. This time, So’lek doesn’t make the mistake of flinching and scaring you off. With rising curiosity he allows himself to be manhandled by your gentle grip. He is pulled along slowly until the pa’li is only a few steps away. 

To his surprise the creature does not immediately shy away now that the two of you approach her together. Slowly his hand is coaxed to lay across her snout, but even once it is placed there your touch does not disappear. Your petite fingers remain calmly pressed over the back of his hand. They coax him to create long soothing strokes across the creature’s leathery skin but every now and then your thumb will run over one of the protruding veins of his hand. 

Saliva gathers atop of his tongue. He should be focusing on this small success and creating a further bond with the pa’li but all he can feel is you. Buttery soft skin and dazzling eyes that peek up at him with praise on your tongue. 

Getting so worked up over something so simple is truly ridiculous and he can’t quite figure out when or how you gained this power over him. 

Soothing the pa’li is one thing but making the bond and mounting the creature happens to be another feat entirely. It takes at least a dozen times to make the bond and mount once but even that only lasts for a few seconds before he is bucked off. Once. Then twice. Then the third time he is catapulted into the lake. 

Breaching the shallow pool, So’lek’s lips turn downwards and he can’t keep back a frustrated grunt. His eyes narrow when they settle on your form nearly hunching over from laughter. Wiping the mud from his brow his gaze is enough to have you trying to stifle your amusement weakly. 

“You are laughing.” He deadpans. 

“No no I am not,” You clear your throat in efforts to stop the giggles as you wade into the water where he sits. “I am not laughing.” 

So’lek doesn’t know what comes over him. An action born from pure emotion, but when he accepts your extended hand of help he doesnt use it to hoist himself up but instead yanks on it hard. With very little force you easily go flying to the ground next to him and beneath the water. A shocked sound escapes your throat the second you resurface. 

An apology is on the tip of his tongue but you don’t give him a chance. 

“Oh I see how it is.” With a threateningly deep chuckle you are already rearing up and splashing a wave of water over him. Whatever amends he was ready to make are chucked aside as he shakes the water from his braids and his tail curls in excitement. 

You are back on your feet and running before he is halfway up. Fast little thing, you are. But it’s no matter, with the adrenaline now racing through his veins it is only a matter of time before he catches up. Splashing, pushing and even tripping all go underway until both of you are covered in lake mud. It’s like being a child again, his hands grasping for your tail at every chance he gets, your own smaller hands managing to fling mud into his braids. 

So’lek’s own deep laughter rumbles in his chest far before he realizes it. An insatiable thrill runs through him as the two of you indulge in play that he has not experienced since he was half this height. And when you tackle him back into the water he comes to find that for the first time in a long time he has forgotten about his nagging objectives. 

He is drunk on your laugh, the way it rings like a beautiful chime in the upper plains wind. Lazily sprawled next to you he tries to reel back his own chuckling just as your chest heaves for air. 

“I knew you could smile.” You manage between breaths. So’lek only has a second to understand your words before there is a distant boom. Head whipping towards the source of the sound he finds it comes from far east. One of the many drilling sites he had shared the coordinates of. He’s ready to shrug it off and continue, far accustomed to the dreadful noise and what it means at this point, but when So’lek turns back to look at you that feeling immediately shifts. 

Your ears are pulled back, almost tucked beneath your hair. Tail limp beneath the water and blank stare fixated in the difference. For the first time since meeting you there are no traces of a smile, not a flicker or spark in those beautiful eyes. Something heavy hangs there in its place. And the breakneck change in demeanor gives him chills. 

It’s as if you’ve forgotten he is there. That usually curving and free moving posture has now straightened into a locked position. 

“It is a drilling site in the east. Several miles away.” So’lek says carefully. There is no telling whether or not his comment makes it better or worse, but with a smooth voice he continues. “It is from a drill that they use to make a hole in the ground.”

‘What?” You whisper, almost as if coming out of a daze. 

“That is what you are hearing. It is an awful sound.” His muzzle wrinkles at the truth of his words. So’lek has come far closer to those dreadful machines then he ever would have liked but at least he now has experienced first hand how they can be stopped. Still, there are nightmares that echo with that Eywa forsaken sound occasionally. 

With a hesitant hand he starts to reach out to place it on your shoulder. “It is alright to be scared.” 

He doesn’t make contact before you are whipping back. 

“I am not scared.” Hastily you spring up onto your feet and back towards the shore. It feels as if the moment has shattered like glass before he could even understand it, leaving him reeling to catch up. “Come, let’s get back to work.” Tone hard and words clipped, you are already out of his reach. 

So’lek is careful not to bring up the drill again, or any RDA activity for that matter. He pretends not to notice that you’ve changed the location of his training further from the drill site. And when he enters the next day he is on edge, watching your features for any signs of distress. 

Surprisingly, you seem to have switched back to your usual friendliness. It’s as if that conversation never happened and since So’lek is more than lost on what to do he easily follows your lead in not talking about it. In fact, as more lessons come and go it becomes easier to follow your lead in many things. 

You are a talkative woman, always chattering about your opinions on different matters (big or small) or filling him in on the intricate inner workings of Zeswa clan gossip. At this point he could probably name just about every clan member from their pieces in your stories alone. When you’re sharing so much like this, it becomes only natural to divulge some information himself. 

You ask about the resistance headquarters, about how many tawtute live there, what they eat. Even more personal things like where he manages to sleep and how he fills his days outside of his pa’li lessons. Although at first feeling a little put on the spot, So’lek eventually warms to this line of questioning. You are simply a curious individual and when you soak in every mundane detail he gives with a vibrant excitement and big wide eyes, it’s hard to not enjoy the attention. 

Learning to ride a pa’li is exceedingly more trying than he had anticipated. Even once he has learned how to mount and start a smooth walk, navigating and getting up to a gallop feels like starting from ground zero again. Despite these difficulties, the extended lessons don’t bother him as he would have expected. 

Some days you greet him with leftovers from Navao’s newest creations (letting him learn the hard way that you’re right about some of them having physical consequences) and other days it is him that brings back foraged fruit or random trinkets from HQ you might find interesting. Those meals are shared in the tall grass of the plains, stories filtering out of your lips faster than he can keep up with as he watches your long hair dancing in the wind. 

There is one question, however, that you never ask him. Perhaps because you already know what happened to his clan. So’lek doesn’t share the story of his clan decimation by the RDA, but word travels. The memory of his people has become a cautionary tale. Not much more than a story to rile anger and motivation to bring the sky people down once and for all. The Sarentu clan shared a similar fate, but they have each other. Even a handful of people is a desirable clan in his eyes. 

It’s a week into the lessons that So’lek finds himself at the Zeswa camp early. He had come across a patch of tsawksyul [pandoran ‘sunflowers’] earlier that morning and was gathering it without thought. He has no use for the delicate flowers but it seems right to leave it with you. Surely you are more than happy to find ways of weaving it into a new intricate top. He’s heard enough about your designs to understand it’s a passion of yours. 

So with a little too much anticipation and haste, So’lek enters the camp early in search of your bright smile. It’s your voice, though, that he hears first. It filters from the healer’s tent. Lurking on the opposite of the doorway So’lek goes to round the structure and enter but he stops midway. 

“Is this about the man from the tawtute clan?” 

“His name is So’lek.” You remind the anonymous female, gently. 

Every muscle in his body freezes at the sound of his name. This is wrong. Listening in on a private conversation is bad enough, even when it is not about you. Yet, his neck cranes to see if anyone else is around instead. Since he is on the opposite side of the tent there is not a soul to note his presence yet and So’lek simply can’t get himself to move from the spot. 

“And why do you assume it would be about him? Does there have to be another man involved in order for me to take time to thoroughly consider Ra’vang’s courtship?” You challenge and the other female lets out a sigh. 

“Of course not, but you have been spending an awful lot of time with him.” 

“Naturally,” comes your simple reply, entirely unbothered. “I am teaching him as I was instructed.” 

“Yeah I know and you’re very kind to do so but you have to admit he is a little…strange.” 

“That is not true! He has simply been through shit that you haven’t.” All softness bleaches from your voice. 

“Woah! Okay, retract the claws. I am sorry. I did not mean to insinuate anything negative by it.” He recognizes your little huff in response. “It’s just that the two of you are very different. That’s all I’m trying to say. He is very…stiff.” 

A beat passes and through the tent material he swears he catches the shake of your head. “So’lek is selective when it comes to socializing. He may come off serious but there is a lot more beneath that hard exterior than you would realize. It’s simply not on show for everyone.” 

It feels as if a wire has been tired around his heart, his lungs furthermore forgetting to take in needed oxygen. 

“I admit I do not claim to know him as well as you do. But…I can not imagine living in such close quarters with sky people like that. Always surrounded by metal.”

“Of course you can not. Most people are not cut out for such a task. But we benefit from the Resistance’s aid, so perhaps we should be grateful that So’lek is capable of dealing with it.” 

“Okay okay, I see your point, sister. Just…be careful what decisions you make right now. Ra’vang is a strong warrior and provider. Even if it’s not him you have other options, many good ones. Spontaneity may be your specialty but I’d hate for you to let a good mating pass by simply because you are not thinking this through properly.” 

You give a small sigh but it’s light, void of anything but fondness. 

“If there is one thing I do know it’s that love is not something to be analyzed and bash one’s own head over. I think things through, but I know how to listen to the song of my own heart too. I don’t make it a practice to question what it tells me.” 

So’lek staggers away. Any longer in that spot and he risks being seen, or sending his thoughts into a further tangled mess. He looks down at the flowers in hand. You defended him, said a lot more than most people would have. It fosters an unfathomable fire in his chest and yet it’s tampered by a reality he wishes to not face. 

You have suitors. Real men of the clan that are not only native to this culture and lifestyle but also expressing interest through real courting displays. If your friend’s words are anything to go off of, you’ve gathered many good prospects. And why wouldn't that be true? It’s easy to imagine what they would see in a woman like you. Easy because it’s everything he sees too.

But So’lek….

So’lek is not Zeswa. He hardly has traces of the lifestyle from his own clan within him. The years have shaped him into somewhat of a mut in Na’vi breeding. He does not know the way of any clan how he should and there is a darkness within him that rages for revenge. These men have been brought up to take care of someone like you. They are able to give you so much more than he ever could and yet here he stands with a courting gift in hand like a true skxawng [idiot]. 

Whether or not it was intentional is irrelevant. If he gives these flowers to you it will surely be a sign of interest. He will instigate himself as a competitor in this game that he has no right playing. 

So’lek discreetly slips them into a basket of herbs in one of the tents. Someone else will find use for them, but it won’t be in his hands when you arrive. 

The entanglement of his thoughts leaves his body buzzing with energy. So much so that even though he hardly hears a word you say during the lesson, he somehow manages to conjure up enough tenacity to stay atop the pa’li while in a gallop. And then faster and faster he pushes the creature with that racing adrenaline he sends down the bond. 

The whip of the wind, the strain of his muscles, all of them work to offset the mental exhaustion that is quickly blossoming. And then his golden eyes finally take in the scene before him. Tall grass races beside him on every side. Trees of crimson leaves dot the open field where arrow deer scurry and Soundblast colossus nap near the sparkling river. 

The plains are monumental. It settles a deep awareness of its grandeur. 

Your celebratory yips and hollers echo from behind. 

And rushing through this scene feels like flying for the first time again. 

Completing the training finally gives So’lek room for a breather. He stunts the disappointment at not seeing you every day with the knowledge that this will only simplify the situation. Without being kept in close quarters he will be free to devote himself entirely to taking down the RDA and you will be free to explore courtings and potential matings without his interference.  

Luckily there is more than enough work to keep him busy now that they are preparing to go up against the largest drilling site to date. When your laughter echoes through his mind, So’lek goes through the RDA rosters until his eyes burn and a headache clouds all thoughts. When his brain compulsively conjures up your teasing jests being directed at another suitor, he hunts feral viperwolves until he is covered in scratches and forced to the hospital wing. 

And it is only once that he accidentally crushes a mug in his grip in front of Alex and Anqa as he envisions another man’s tongue running over your luscious curves. He chalks it up to tension created by the upcoming battle, but it’s clear Anqa has shared the occurrence when Priya gives him worried looks for several days after. 

Despite his busy work, So’lek finds himself relieved when the day of the ambush finally arrives. It is the first time the Zeswa and the Resistance have worked together in combat and the air buzzes with excitement. He only thinks of you for a moment when he mounts a pa’li and joins the Zeswa in leading the majority of RDA firepower towards the hills. 

A small band of Zeswa warriors, tawtute soldiers, and the Sarentu clan work together to infiltrate the base quietly, taking down the drill from the inside. 

Hours feel only like minutes when his body is pumping with adrenaline. It begins and is over all before he can really process it and by some Eywa given miracle, not only do they succeed but there are only injuries to be accounted for. Muscles aching, forehead beaded with sweat, and entire body still pulsing from the intense vibrations of close range gun power, So’lek heaves a deep sigh of relief. A tangible weight lifts from his shoulders, a peace that is often fleeting but something he has learned to enjoy while it lasts. 

There will be more to do tomorrow. The RDA are nowhere near exterminated, but for now he basks in the knowledge that they are one step closer to ridding them for good. The Zeswa holler and cry into the wind with a passion that seems to shake the very hills. Even those that are injured take part in celebrating this victory. 

Watching the scene makes his chest swell with foreign feelings. So many times he has been left to reflect on the aftermath of his solo missions without another to share that moment with. Celebrations occasionally occur at headquarters but never has it felt like this. And his lungs seize, almost bursting with the need to let out his own cry in the mix of their allies. It calls to a part within him that often feels buried away, even forgotten. An instinctual part of him that is true Na’vi, a creature that has a place in Pandora’s beauty. 

Years worth of turmoil releases in that guttural cry and to So’lek’s surprise, it is a sound of pure elation that rings from him. 

It was within that spirit or triumph that So’lek had been extended an invitation by Nesim to join them in festivities. Although noncommittal in his response, he finds himself preparing to leave headquarters hours later. The tawtute and Sarentu work together to create their own party in the dinghy cave. A part of him feels as if he should be there for it, a party of outcasts that he has grown accustomed to associating himself with. But that primal cry remains trapped in his chest. It calls him to the plains. 

And so for once, So’lek decides to let himself celebrate.

There are little memories left of clan parties, most just blurry images of firelight and dancing shadows. They are only mere facades in comparison to the burst of conviviality that So’lek can hear within a mile of camp. 

Walking through the center of camp there are very few Na’vi still residing there, most simply rushing to and fro in search of supplies or friends before scampering back to where the real party is being held. Down the hill he can see towering flames and a gaggle of bodies dancing with fervor. 

He takes a step, then pauses. 

So’lek’s fingers are hesitant as they undo the clasps of his chest guard, but it eventually loosens and slides down his arms to rest in the grass. He sets aside his bow, his gun, and every piece that is made of metal or meant as a weapon. Even his arm guard is placed neatly in that pile. 

The wind nips at his vulnerable form and So’lek is once again struck by how naked he feels without these things. This time though, he settles into that discomfort. This is a party. One night where he will not plot his revenge or sharpen his weapons. A single night where he can pretend to belong. 

The last streaks of fiery red disperse from the sky and in their wake, eclipse conjures Pandora’s bioluminescent glow. Tahni [star-like freckles] light along his exposed skin. So’lek’s ears perk the closer he gets to the party. The very thrum of the heavy drums vibrates at the soles of his feet, reverberating to punch him in the chest. 

There is a vibrance in the air, an energy so palpable it feels as if he can taste it on his tongue. Whatever drug has infused the scene, it seems to spread rapidly among the celebrating parties. Zeswa of all ages and stations are muffled together in a form of dancing that So’lek can only describe as pure frenzy. 

Movement without direction. Feet atop the wind as if a fire has been lit beneath them. 

It is unlike anything So’lek has ever witnessed before. His golden eyes flicker frantically across the parade before him, unsure of what to take in first. The very air in his lungs is filled with the hickory essence of smoked meat. Even his ears flutter across his braids, attacked by the onslaught of sound. 

And then, there is you. 

Right in the very heart of the festivities, as he could have guessed. His overstimulated senses finally find a target, settling entirely on the way you move within the crowd. Much like the rest of the Zeswa your body moves with unabashed enthusiasm. There is no rhyme or reason to the swivel and swish of your small form. You act on pure instinct, a reaction of feeling to the euphoric buzz around you. Pure elation. 

It is a complete disregard of outside perceptions. There is nothing but your windswept joy and the music that moves you to and fro. Although the entire scene is curious by nature to him, there is something about you that constantly pulls him in. And that’s what it is. Your presence is magnetic. It draws not only So’lek in but everyone around you, it’s clear in every reaction he has witnessed. 

You are a free spirit. You move through life as if nothing could ever clip your wings and for all he can tell, you may just be right. Because even in the midst of grief and war, your scars act as the embers to light a vibrant sun in your countenance, until that empathetic warmth seeps to those around you. 

The female next to you, her name Ta’kuri he believes, leans over to converse with you over the pounding music. So’lek’s heart drops to his stomach when she points a finger in his direction and your eyes snag his form. Your responding smile is bright upon spotting him, but So’lek can only focus on the fact that he has potentially been caught staring. 

Small form practically swallowed by the crowd it takes a moment for you to extract yourself from the mesh of bodies. Just enough time for So’lek to calm his heart and feign shown interest elsewhere to cover up for his flub. When you saunter to the outskirts he purposefully waits a beat before sliding his gaze in your direction. 

“Well if it isn’t my star pupil, oeyӓ numeyu [my student]. You actually showed up.” You are all teeth, grin center stage as you pin him with those golden eyes. 

“Kaltxi karyu [hello teacher],” The edges of his lips twist into a lopsided smile without permission. “Nesim invited me.” 

“And now you are here. Finally ready to have some fun, yes?” Chin tilted downward and brow raised, you give him a look that suggests the only correct answer is yes. He feels the snap of a retort at the edge of his tongue. Something about how he is not the grumpy pants you always claim him to be and how he does in fact find time to enjoy himself on occasion. But those are words spoken far before he decided to leave you be. So’lek is trying to be good, desperately trying to be respectful and do the right thing. 

“The celebration is very enjoyable.” 

“Very enjoyable?” You scoff with a half laugh. “How could you even know? You have not even begun dancing yet.”  

So’lek immediately staggers a few steps back, at the speed of a prey avoiding a lethal blow. “No no, I am content to enjoy the party here, paskalin [honey/sweetheart].” Shit! He can’t fathom at what point he gave his mouth permission to utter such an affectionate term. So’lek’s insides twist and for perhaps the first time in years his cheeks fill with heat. He thanks Eywa above that the darkness is enough to hide the new tint. 

Despite his slip up, your grin never falters, in fact it seems to widen until dimples form in your cheeks. “So’lek you need not be stubborn every time I ask something of you.” 

When you catch his wrist in a surprisingly strong hold he is left with no other option but to wobble behind you. “I do not know how to dance. I was never taught.” He shouts to you over the music. 

Throwing a smile over your shoulder you do not respond until he has successfully been pulled into the edges of the crowd. “There is nothing to teach.” You say, dropping his hand to face him. “Dancing is the opposite of thinking, So’lek. You simply feel.” 

“That is not the comfort you believe it to be.” 

Your laugh is barely audible over the roaring drums. “What you need is some liquid courage then.” With a wave of your hand Novao is flagged over. His eyes roll but the swish of his tail is friendly when he comes over to hand two skins of liquor over. 

“You are an angel.” You giggle, taking the containers with glee. 

“So much more than you realize.” Novao snorts before giving your shoulder a teasing bump and sauntering back towards the cookfire. So’lek barely has his hand wrapped around one of the skins before you are chugging back the other. 

When squinted eyes peek up at him over the rim you finally take a breath and push at his hand. “Novao is proficient when it comes to strong drink, I promise.” 

Not wishing to feel out of place for any longer, he slants his lips over the rim and takes an ambitious guilt. Regret immediately stings his throat as it slides down like pure fire. The responding choke that comes from him immediately after is utterly humiliating. Eyes already welling with tears, So’lek does everything in his power to shut up the ridiculous sound and gain whatever is left of his composure. 

“A little strong, huh?” There is a giggling shrill to your tone but a flicker in your gaze shows concern simultaneously. So’lek is shaking his head before you can even suggest a glass of water. 

“No no it is fine just,” He clears his throat, “...different.” 

And different it is in comparison to what he has had. It is only now that it hits him how long it has been since tasting anything even close to resembling alcohol. There are a few tawtute at headquarters that occasionally try their hand at brewing alcohol but it is nothing short of fowl and disappointing. There are no inebriating effects from such water down drink, especially consider he is the twice the height of the intended party. 

So what comes next is completely out of his control. His body is rendered utterly unprepared for the strong drink that he continues to consume in spite of his better judgment and the fact that you don’t continue to urge him to drink. However, So’lek is no child. He is a man, and one that should be able to hold his liquor so when you occasionally blink up at him or catch a glance from the corner of your eye to make sure he is doing alright, it warps his pride to push him into foolishly drinking down even more. 

“Okay I think that is enough.” It takes rising onto your toes in order to reach the rim pointed at his lips. That apparent show of height difference should not please him so much but there is no denying the thrill that tightens his chest. “Now you dance.” 

Braids clinking together he is already resisting as you continue to pull him deeper into the crowd. “I truly do not know-”

“Yes yes, I heard you before. I will assist you.” Peering up at him through thick lashes, your hip bumps against his thigh softly as you tack on, “Or do you not trust me?” 

That is the line that sinks him. Head already feeling floaty, So’lek lets you maneuver him into position. 

Small hands skate across his shoulder blades, for a moment those talented thumbs press into  the muscles there just as you had done upon your first meeting. “You are too tense. You must relax.” 

Easier said than done when there is a line of electricity left behind every inch of skin you touch. But sooner than later he finds his shoulders loosening, starting to sway in a weird motion that seems pointless but actually fits with the rhythm of drums. A burst of confidence fills him when you step back to face him from the front again, trusting him enough to continue the motion. 

“There you go! Learning already.” And just as the simpering student he feels like he is would, So’lek perks up at the praise. Those flirty smiles and encouraging words coupled with the strong drink running through his veins, it becomes all too easy to let his body go without thought. 

Regardless, you continue to guide him. So’lek falls into line with whatever movement feels natural from your promptings. For the first time in years a fuzziness takes over that nagging voice of responsibility and he lets his body take precedence over his overactive brain. The more liquid fire he consumes the easier it becomes to not imagine what he must look like on the outside. Every fiber of his being gravitates towards the addicting pulse of those drums. Drowning in that vibrant energy until he is also engulfed in the crowd of Zeswa. 

Other Na’vi surround him from every side but it’s your touch that pulses through him. A brush of fingers along his arm, his bicep. The zapping electricity every time that dainty hand clasps his own to pull him closer. Even the tickle of your hair in the wind brushing his chest has him fighting back a full body shiver. 

Dancing is not a brash display, although some excel in that arena. No, dancing is the mechanism that pulls you closer to the touch you crave. The perfect opportunity to let hands wander, to mold bodies together without social consequence. And now, So’lek finally understands the rave over this activity. 

So’lek doubts he could confirm whether or not his head is still attached to his shoulders with the amount of alcohol running through him. However, there is no more vivid memory than the one of his hands mapping your frame. They encase your sides, ribs, up to your shoulders over your collarbones, feeling the silky skin beneath as you curve into every brush of his greedy hands. It’s when one hand mindlessly curves around the nape of your neck, the two scents mingling in the most satisfying of ways, that So’lek finally catches the burn of another’s stare.

It radiates from a male off on the sidelines. Each hand holds a skin of strong drink while the male attempts to burn a hole into So’lek’s head through slitted eyes. Something rumbles at the back of So’lek’s head. A voice that tells him there is some reason he should be upset by this situation, but that caution is muffled. It rings out like a message shouted from the deepest part of the lake and So’lek can’t find it within himself to spend more than a few seconds trying to decode it. 

It’s not just you that distracts him. Ta’kuri is suddenly on his left shouting some sort of encouraging words over the music. There’s no making sense of it but before he knows it there are more Na’vi that join the mix. Even Novao meshes with the crowd at some point, slurred conversation passing between him and every Na’vi he meets. Some friends lean on each other to stop from collapsing on the ground in their drunken state while others flourish in a flutter of moves that has the fields buzzing with cheers. So’lek’s own voice joins the other exuberant shouts. 

To call the event hectic would be an understatement but every time So’lek feels as if he may be the one to topple over next, there is a small hand at the base of his spine. Gorgeous golden eyes and a bright smile peering up to remind him that you are watching over him.  

So’lek dances until his ears ring. He dances until the very soles of his feet have grown bruised from landing on the hard ground. It is only when you are stumbling across the long grass, caught by his strong hands desperately trying to pull you back up that the two of you decide to trail off from the dance floor. 

“Save some drink for the rest of us, sister.” Ta’kuri jests, tapping your nose once before helping So’lek pick you up from the ground. That sweet voice seems to be in a constant state of giggling, a sound So’lek is in no rush to rid himself of. 

The two of you find yourselves back in the middle of camp around a fire thanks to Ta’kuri. Several other Zeswa stagger to the outskirts of the cookfire, some already sloppily rolling in the dirt with greedy hands wandering into dangerous territory. The outright display of lust hardly fazes So’lek when his attention is caught by a leaf of meat handed to him. Tender and sweet, it settles in his stomach heavily, finally starting to soak up the excess of alcohol consumed. 

You are just as consumed by the food as he is, scarfing down the last bit with a delighted moan. 

“Alright you miscreants, let’s leave some room for oxygen.” An older male grumbles fondly, softly nudging a couple with his foot who are engaged in a heated lip lock. He settles around the fire and after several minutes of squinting So’lek makes out the figure to be Kin. Although his thoughts still muddle through a haze, So’lek can finally feel his brain starting to come back online. 

Kin engages the group in grand stories while offering milk to be passed around. From the corner of his eye So’lek tracks the way you sway to and fro as the stories continue, but that smile never leaves your tempting lips. Several times you sneak a peek up at him, causing his tail to wind against the floor. 

“This story again.” Ta’kuri mutters from his left, quiet enough that Kin continues the tale without interruption. 

“He has only told it a dozen times before.” Novao adds, sitting on the other side of you. “That is quite good considering how many times he has told the others.” 

“I don’t remember this one.” Lips screwed into a pout and eyes squinted in concentration, you stare intently at the male in the middle. Ta’kuri lets out a short laugh before handing over another container of milk. 

“You don’t remember any of them when you're drunk.” You accept the drink, ignoring her fond scoff and the way So’lek’s gaze is once again drawn in your direction. 

“So rude,” you huff. He lends a steadying hand when chugging down the bowl of milk has you toppling backwards. A deep laugh rumbles in his chest with ease, even once you are back upright and sending him a heated glare. 

Playful comments and quotes of the story are passed between the four in hushed tones until even So’lek is fighting back tears of laughter. Luckily the other Na’vi do not behave much better, half of them already on the brink of wrestling in the grass or laughing until on the verge of passing out. The entire scene is a messy jumble of comradery. It warms him from the inside out. 

“I left it down by the lake.” Novao whispers urgently. 

“You should not be so careless with your things. Who’s to say an arrow deer has not run off with it by now?” Ta’kuri quips back, still even So’lek can tell that she is going to go back and look for his spear with him as requested. 

“I see it is not only Kin making up stories now.” The joke earns him a swift swat to the head with a few fond insults woven before the two are rising. 

“Can I trust the two of you to survive until we get back?” She gestures between So’lek and you, a crooked curve of her lips present. It’s doubtful that you have understood even half of where the conversation is at this point but you do respond in a way that both shocks and amuses him greatly. Fingers together at your forehead you flick it out messily in the same way the sky demons do in salute. It’s imperfect and honestly he’s not sure if there is any true understanding of the action but it appears to be an inside joke that Ta’kuri is in on. She returns the gesture with a fond grin. 

So’lek doesn’t try to break the silence once the pair has left. It’s hardly uncomfortable with such jovial ambience surrounding. Not to mention the fact that he’s not sure how of a conversation you can carry in this state. It makes no difference. Sitting here is nice. Being next to you is fulfilling in a way he could not have imagined. 

“I lied.” 

So’lek’s ears stand at alert. Your comment comes so abruptly that he takes a second to lean forward and make sure that you had meant to say it. Those beautiful eyes are transfixed off in the distance but there is no sign to say otherwise. 

“About what?” So’lek shifts forward, propping an elbow on his knee as he veers forward to observe your strange expression. 

“About not being scared.” It’s a miracle he can detect that whisper over the boisterous conversation around. A part of him wishes he hadn’t. It creates a knot in his stomach. “I am scared. I’m scared all the time. Even on days like this, I should be happy. But I still worry that it could all be ripped away. I don’t want to lose everything, not like…” 

The end of that thought dies in the wind but So’lek catches it anyways. 

Don’t want to lose everything like he did. One glance at your now pinned back ears proves his suspicions to be correct. Comforting others is not his strong suit. Heavy emotions have a way of winding his tail anxiously as he sputters to understand the right course of action. But tonight, he is grateful for the lowered inhibitions brought on by liquor. It’s what allows him to pause and simply feel the weight of your words. 

So’lek’s rough hand, a hand battered by handling weapons in the face of war, settles over your knee. That warm touch has glistening eyes staring back at him. 

“That is not going to happen.” It is a vow, one that is spoken deep from his chest. The Sky People have stolen everything from him. Everything. But he is not afraid to protect you from the same fate. To promise with the last meager supply of hope he has left that he can and will prevent this tragedy from coming your way. 

A single tear cascades over your cheek. Then you’re suddenly curled up against him, resting that head of long hair against his shoulder, seeking refuge there. It bursts something new within him, something even scarier than he has experienced since meeting you. Never in his life has he been a safe place for another person. That honor has never been one he’s opened himself up to or has felt worthy of. 

But you tuck against him, sigh into his neck and every form of tension in your tiny frame evaporates. 

“Fuck, I’m so drunk.” Your half giggled slur coaxes out a deep chuckle from him but So’lek is careful not to move otherwise. This moment is too fragile. And if he’s not careful in a blink it will be tomorrow. A day where he puts that chest guard back on along with every other responsibility he has holstered alone for years. That yearning for revenge will return and clean out the softness that only you can supply. 

So’lek can’t recall at what point he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembers is Novao laughing so hard that milk came out his nose. Eyes as heavy as metal doors, he squints them open to find the sky still dark. He is not the only one to have dosed off in the middle of camp around the fire. Different groups of Na’vi are passed out in the greenery but there is a warmth at his side. 

You are curled up into a ball, a ball that is slotted against his own body. Even your face presses at the bicep, your nose cold to the touch. Without the protection of tent walls, the breeze is free to brush over the gaggle of Na’vi. Somewhere in your slumber you must have sought out the first available source of heat. Him. 

The wind comes from your direction. So’lek is hardly conscious enough to consider tucking you into a tent for the night so instead he does the next best thing. With careful precision, he lifts himself up over your curled frame and settles himself on the other side. This way the wind now hits him before you. Laying on his side then allows him to create a wall that you can hide from the wind behind. 

A shiver sends down his spine at the first nip of plains of air, but So’lek doesn’t dare consider moving. Legs untangle and your tail splays out flat again. Although it’s clear this tactic has warmed you up nicely, he is shocked to see you turning over to face him once more. Breath caught in his chest, So’lek watches as you groggily tuck up against him and sigh with a smile. 

How many years had it been since he has slept this close to someone? 

So’lek has had occasional lovers, but only as means to an end. Nothing deep. Never anything on an emotional level for either party. And so naturally neither did they end in snuggling close to sleep afterwards. 

Call it pride. Call it living in denial. But something pushes him to forget about tomorrow and cocoon you closer to his chest. 

So’lek’s dreams don’t carry the strain of blood and terror that night.

“There you go, rise and shine sleepyhead.” That soft voice barely filters through the wind, let alone through So’leks head that now feels like the weight of a tank. Throat dry and eyes barely able to slit open to face the light, consciousness comes back slowly.

And when it does, it hurts like hell. 

You lean over to block him from the scorching sunlight. When did the plains get so bright? And when did waking up feel like getting his head smashed beneath an AMP suit? The events of last night are still tucked in his memory, but it takes a moment for So’lek to recall the impact of them properly. And that last thing….the last thing he remembers is you snuggling up against his chest. 

“How long did-”

“No talking, just drink.” You advise, handing over a bowl of water sternly. Although slightly embarrassing, he’s grateful for the way you help him slowly sit up. It’s hard to get his wits about him when the world is still spinning. 

The cold water spears a painful path down his throat, but after several gulps it’s much easier to take in full breaths. The small hand gently placed on his shoulder is a surprising comfort. However, even in a foggy state, that simple touch immediately has him recalling what a true comfort it was to have you in his arms. 

No time in his right mind would he have acted on his impulses so carelessly. But last night he had felt entirely detached from time, even more so distant from the side of him that served to do the right thing. 

“I fear I owe you an apology.” Although your lips are quirked in a half smile, the comment has him stiff as a board. Here it is. The consequences of his actions. In no way did he have the right to act so intimately with a woman of a clan he does not belong to. And now you have finally come to realize that for yourself. “I did not warn you properly of Zeswa drink.” 

A sense of relief bubbles up so fast that So’lek lets a half laugh slip from his lips. It is graciously accepted with a beaming countenance that makes his heart race. 

“No it is fine, simply….different from what I have tried before.”

“Well if I knew you were such a lightweight I wouldn’t have suggested it.” You are never one to give up an opportunity to tease him. It is a routine that he has incidentally become quite fond of. Even more so now when there is a twinkle of sincere concern in your beautiful features. 

You care. It’s not the first time you have shown it and So’lek prays that it won’t be the last, but it seems time has only made the impact of this truth hit him that much harder each time. It flushes through like fire in his veins, far more addicting than the rush of Zeswa alcohol could ever be. 

“I have no regrets,” So’lek says, deep voice rich with sincerity. 

Fingers twiddling in your lap, there is a switch in your demeanor that is hard to ignore. Looking at him through thick lashes and grin barely held by teeth snagging your bottom lip, for the first time a sliver of shyness twinkles in your expression. Although, it is clear that your higher tolerance has afforded a much less dramatic hangover leaving him to look like a mess in comparison, it feels as if he has the upper hand for once. 

“Really? Even now that your head must want to split in two?” That radiant sunshine you hold has his already weakened composure splitting instead. His gravely chuckle intertwines with your own soft laugh and So’lek doesn’t even realize how close he has invaded your space until the next words leave his mouth.

“It was worth it. I wouldn’t trade last night for anything.” 

The severity of his own statement hits like a boulder. Both smiles drop and So’lek is left grappling with the fact that he has meant every word. 

Softened eyes peer straight through him, but these are not full of sympathy. There is no pity extended at now realizing how sad most of his nights must be. There is no squirming to find the right response or looking away with an uncomfortable grimace. 

No, you face him with that excitement that feels like he is bathing in the sun after years of wallowing in darkness. 

“I’m glad.” It’s a small whisper, very much unlike your usual robust calls. And just when So’lek’s eyes have wandered to watch the way your supple lips form those words, he finds that your stare has pinpointed on his own. Golden eyes dart back and forth between his parted lips and So’lek’s own stare. 

There is still that voice that cautions to pull back now. It’s the same voice that screams to curl up and escape your attention before it’s too late.

But you don’t hide. There is only honesty in your curious perusal. 

For once maybe he can find a way not to hide too. 

So’lek breaches the space between you, leaning forward slowly until there is only a whisper of wind between him and the kiss he has desired for weeks. Your noses almost touch. 

“Y/N! Where have you gone? You are needed.” A masculine voice calls from around the corner. There is no one else around the desolate fire where the two of you reside. You make no sign of responding to this call. If he veers forward there will still be enough time to capture what he has dreamed of before the two of you are found out. 

However, So’lek recognizes this voice. It belongs to the same man that had tried to glare a hole through him last night as the two of you danced and so it’s easy to deduce that this must be one of your awaiting sutors. 

A Zeswa male born and raised. A real viable prospect that So’lek is now on the edge of stealing you away from. This is exactly why he has stayed away. And yet all it has taken is one more night in your presence to lose every ounce of self control he has left. 

So’lek veers back. The look of quiet disappointment that crosses your face is enough to twist a knot in his stomach. 

The male rounds the tent, letting out an exasperated sigh upon spotting the two. “Ah there you are.”

“What is it?” You hiss, head snapping in his direction so fast that your hair flies over one shoulder. 

So’lek doesn’t need to look to feel the way this man’s eyes dart between the two of you. 

“Ke’ari is hurling his insides all over the healer’s tent.”

Soft features immediately pinch with irritation. 

“Aim him towards a vase then. He is one of many who are suffering from over indulgence. I am still treating So’lek. He needs food.”

“I have brought him some.” Of course he has. A deep loathing for the other male may already be forming but So’lek can’t ignore the craft of this suitor. He did not come unprepared. 

Hand running through your hair, you take a moment to look up at the sky and conjure the required patience. 

“Fine.” The male is unperturbed by your snipped response. He does, however, glower when your expression melts once facing So’lek once more. “Wait here. I will be right back.” 

It’s tempting to savor the longing in your voice, the way those honest eyes practically plead for him to stay. 

But it’s too late. So’lek regains the reins of his own heart and forces himself to flee at the first chance. The frowning male has no time to implement his intimidation tactics before So’lek is rising onto wobbly legs and searching to retrieve his gear. 

He slips that protective armor back on and leaves without taking a single bite. 

So’lek’s eyes burn from staring at the bright screen, hardly blinking while trying to decode the mess that is RDA rosters. Little progress is made as he stares down at the shining pad in hand and tries for the fifteenth time to pay attention. Perhaps it was a mistake not eating the offered meal this morning. Even if your eager suitor had poisoned it, he doubts dying from it would feel worse than the egregious hangover he suffers now.  

Leaning back against the table, So’lek’s eyes wander again without permission. Headquarters is unusually quiet today, a sign that the party they threw last night was successful enough to put many in the same state So’lek finds himself in the morning after. Priya and Anqa are up, however. Tucked into an alcove near the kitchen they seem to be under the impression that no one can see them here. 

Priya’s giggling echoes through the cave and Anqa only shushes her several times before diving back in for another kiss. Usually this is the part where So’lek’s face scrunches in disgust before he flees to a place he won’t be forced to witness such displays. Today that isn’t the case. In fact today, for reasons unbeknownst to him, So’lek can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the scene. 

“Suffering as well I see.” The voice startles him, almost enough to lose grip of the glowing pad in hand. Shuffling to avert his gaze from the two lovers and appear nonchalant, he looks over to find it is Ri’nela that approaches with an amused smile. “From the hangover.” She clarifies.

“Oh yes…you are unwell too?” The dark mark on his forehead pinches together when she comes to sit on the table beside him. Her new Na’vi attire is still as neat as ever but there is a drowsiness in her gaze similar to his own.

“You seem to forget that I was invited by the Zeswa too.” Although it doses So’lek with a tinge of guilt there is no ill will in her comment. However, it does leave his mind swirling to different concerns. If she was in fact at the party last night, how much of his interactions had she witnessed? More importantly, how much of it would she share? 

“My mind is….clouded this morning,” comes his lame response. Graciously Ri’nela simply gives a hum of understanding before turning towards the direction he was caught looking earlier. 

Priya and Anqa have moved on from swallowing each other’s tongues, but they remain lounged in a hanging chair together, Priya perched atop her lover’s lap as she yaps on and on about who knows what. Although Anqa is less animated in her responses, she listens intently. There is nothing but lovesick admiration in her eyes as she endures the endless jabbering, tucking her girlfriend’s purple hair behind her ear or drawing circles on her side occasionally. 

“It must be nice.” Ri’nela sighs softly, a wistful air to her tone. When So’lek turns to raise a hairless brow at her she motions to where Anqa and Priya. “Having something like that.”

“You envy the tawtute?” So’lek can’t mask how ridiculous he finds the notion. Ri’nela has always struck him as a reasonable Na’vi. Even one that shows great potential as a leader. What do tawtute have for her to be jealous of?

“Well aren’t you?”

So’lek’s nose scrunches. “No.” 

Despite the brunt response, Ri’nela is hardly put out. Her lips perk up slightly and she gives him a gentle look that one does when teaching a small child. “Are you saying you don’t want what they have? A partner? A mate?”

Calling Priya and Anqa mates feels wrong, like a bad taste on his tongue, but he can’t deny they must be something close. After all, they are committed to one another in similar fashion as one does their mate. They always have someone to run to.

“I have not thought about it.” If Ri’nela senses his lie, she doesn’t let it show.

“Hm well I have. It feels kind of impossible though considering our situation.” She sighs and it’s the first thing she has said in this conversation that immediately makes sense to him. Just like him, she is an outcast of sorts. There are only a few that survived in the Sarentu clan and all of them had been kept in with RDA like a lab experiment throughout their adolescence. 

“Difficult indeed.”

Ri’nela lets out a sad laugh, something painful shifting in her features. It sets So’lek on edge, already mentally preparing to navigate a situation where he is expected to comfort another. “Sometimes I think that even being a tawtute would be easier than this. They may live on an alien planet, but even those who have left the RDA have found each other and created this place together. Those two have found love here. This is their clan for all intents and purposes.”

So’lek has never thought of it that way. Do Sky People form clans the way Na’vi do? If so this clan is by far the most peculiar one he has ever seen. Then again, they do work as a team. Everyone comes together to maintain their lodging and when dangers comes knocking there are always a group of former RDA military tawtute ready to act like warriors. 

“We have nobody.” Ri’nela continues. “No clan, no place to call our own. Even our memories of the clan we once belonged to are hazy. This place is the closest thing we have to a refuge and even here no one can truly teach you what it means to follow your path in life.”

So’lek shrinks, fingers idly twiddling together. Of course things have not been easy for the Sarentu that escaped the TAP program but he didn’t know this is how she views the circumstances. 

“And mating…” Ri’nela sighs again, “Mating becomes all the more complicated when you have no clan to pull from.”

“I do not believe now is a good time to mate in general. What is the point when the RDA can easily take away such a bond?”

“Do you really believe that?” 

No, not really. If he had been asked a month ago, perhaps. Back then it had only seemed logical to avoid close ties when he is surrounded by death daily. It would be just another thing for the RDA to take from him. 

But now…now the words are sour on his tongue. 

Ri’nela has this quality about her that is hard to place a finger on. A certain calm vulnerability that somehow makes it difficult to lie to her. So instead of trying, So’lek simply shrugs. 

“I think that if I was lucky enough to find something even close to what they have, there is nothing that could keep me from it.” Ri’nela’s gazes with a sad fondness at Priya and Anqa. There is a longing glimmer to true there that it has his own stare pulled back to the couple. “Someone to weather this storm with. A person that knows you in a way unmatched by any other, and still they choose you. A bond that reminds you why life is so precious, makes it more than just surviving.” 

Is that what Anqa and Priya have? Something worth living for? On the surface it has always seemed like some gooey infatuation, a naive romance that he is forced to witness. But perhaps it is more than that. So’lek doesn’t often think about what life would be like as a tawtute, in fact he never does, but can imagine it not being the most comfortable of circumstances. They are not even able to breathe the Pandoran air around them without suffocating. Going back to their home planet is no good option either as it is already dead. 

So then maybe Ri’nela has a point. Priya and Anqa find happiness in their day to day affairs, affairs that include risking their lives to fight against their corrupt former employers, despite the harrowing circumstances. They always have a reason to smile, something to laugh at. And it’s just hitting him now that this reason is each other. 

“I’m sure you will find something like that, Ri’nela.” The hypocrisy burns So’lek’s throat. How can he claim to believe that when those rules don’t apply to himself? The survivors from the Sarentu clan are the people closest to having the same experience as his own. To have faith in Ri’nela finding a mate not himself goes against all logic. 

“Only time will tell.” Although still melancholy, Ri’nela sends him a sympathetic smile. She rises from the table and goes to make her exit. So nonchalant in her retreat as if she has not induced a spiral of thought for him to wind into. 

She pauses just before reaching the corner and turns to him again. “I know it is not any of my business, but you should know how lucky you are.”

So’lek’s heart drops to his stomach. 

“Don’t let her get away.” 

So’lek would prefer to blame Ri’nela for his inability to sleep that night. After all, she is the one that dropped a bomb on him with her speech about mating. Not to mention the only person in headquarters that has knowledge of his love life and the ability to make his feelings for you public domain. 

However, that would be dishonest. And at the end of the day he knows that tonight was always going to end this way. He has been trying to get his mind off of you for weeks, in fact every time he has returned from the Zeswa camp, and it has always been unsuccessful. And now the fact that two of you had almost shared a kiss only amplifies that obsession more. 

It was already hard enough to control his desires when he could believe that it was a one-sided longing. But now that he knows there is some interest on your side as well, fighting the demons in his head is borderline impossible. You knew he was going to kiss you. You knew and you not only were ready to let him but showed disappointment when he failed to do so. 

How is he ever supposed to resist now that he knows the object of his desires is at his fingertips? That there is a chance he can have you.

Perhaps not as a mate. It would be naive of him to assume his ever growing feelings for you are reciprocated in the same manner. But even knowing you desire him in a physical manner is enough to have him rolling over in the hammock and biting into the material. 

This is absolute madness. 

What is his plan? Avoiding the Zeswa clan forever can surely not be it. He can try to reduce the amount of time spent there but they are still allies so there will always be occasional visits required. Even then, does he really trust that distance will be enough to get rid of these feelings?

No, this is not a phase that will pass. 

And even if So’lek were to find a way of dealing with feelings without intervening in your courtings, what would that change? It would mean that another male comes along and makes you their mate eventually. And every day from then on he would be forced to face the fact that he is in love with a mated woman. He would have to witness that union every time he visits with indifference while everything within him would ache to rip this male’s throat out with his teeth. 

So’leks stuff a growl down his throat. Eywa above, what is wrong with him? Never before has he felt so connected to the primal beast inside of him. For years he has been a master of not only his emotions but impulses as well. But you’ve awakened something else within him. Something that has laid dormant for years and now refuses to go back to sleep. 

When he’s not echoing your perfect laugh in his head, he’s imagining the way you would groan his name. When he’s not recalling the silly story you told him earlier that day with a smile, he is crafting fantasies of his tongue lapping the sweet nectar between your legs. And when he is not pushing back every pulse of his heart that sings for you, he is grinding his teeth at the thought of another ever loving you the way he does, yearning for you the way does. 

Everything circles back to you. 

You have torn him apart from the inside out and the worst part is, he doubts you have any true inkling of this. At most, you understand there is a flirting atmosphere between you two. 

So where does that leave him? It seems there is only one option that has the potential to lead him away from years of insanity. However, that means facing exactly what he has avoided for weeks.

Telling you the truth. 

So’lek is a man. He can and will face rejection if necessary, although the idea of that somehow has his insides curling with dread. If it were only a matter of gaining the courage he would have unrooted his tail from between his legs and told you weeks ago. But that is not the main issue. 

The real danger is having those feelings reciprocated, because that would then mean being open to mating. That would mean letting all of his hard work to protect you go down the drain and instead take you selfishly for himself. And he hasn’t done that. He hasn’t done that because…well because he is not worthy of you. 

Then again, does that imply that your current suitors are the opposite? What do they possess that he does not?

They grew up in a clan, in your clan nonetheless. And So’lek didn’t. He has no clan. 

His conversation with Ri’nela bubbles up again. Does he truly believe that not having a clan means being subjected to a life without a mate? He would not wish that to be true for Ri’nela’s sake. Or Teylan’s. Or really any of the other Sarentu that are left. If she were to come to him in a similar situation, having found interest in someone within the Zeswa clan he would approve of her going after that connection. So why does he not approve of that for himself?

He does not have a deep understanding of his culture or know exactly what it means to have People of your own. And somehow that makes him unworthy of you. Because one day, a long time ago, the Sky People rained hellfire on his home and took away his clan.

Does that one instance mark him as damaged goods for the rest of his life?

If so, that seems to be a lot of power to put in the Sky People’s hands. It means that the Sky People not only took everything he had with such ease, but also everything he could ever gain for the rest of his life. And So’lek…So’lek is so damn tired of having things stolen from him. 

It is not fair for the RDA to steal you away from him too. If he is unworthy of you it is simply because of his shortcomings in character and light when compared to your vibrance. Not because of circumstances he did not choose. You are too good for him, So’lek can recognize that, however that does not mean he is not allowed to chase you like the others. 

Ri’nela prays to find someone to spend her life with, a mate she can call her own, and So’lek can no longer deny that he wants the same too. He does not want to simply survive anymore, he wants to thrive. But unlike Ri’nela, he is lucky enough to already understand who he wants that with. 

So he’s not willing to let you slip away. 

Not before he has given it everything he has first. 

It is only when So’lek hears one of the tawtute’s alarm go off that it becomes clear has had not slept a wink all night. And yet, So’lek has never been filled with so much energy. He dresses and grooms himself within record time, ignoring the puzzled looks that are sent his way. It seems that nothing matters besides getting to the Zeswa camp as fast as possible.

Wrestling his emotions all night has left him with a buzzing energy that threatens to make him explode. He needs to tell you and he needs to tell you now. Every second that this remains unresolved is another that has So’lek on edge. 

And so the trip to the upper plains has never felt longer. Although he makes the trek with incredible speed, his feet don’t take a second to adjust their stomping pace once he enters the camp. In fact, they only drum faster against the long grass as he hunts you down among the bustle. No thought is put into the expression he exhibits or body language, so So’lek doesn’t pay attention to the Na’vi that drive out of his way in fear.

There is nothing but cold steel determination laced with an anxiousness that overtakes him. 

Then there you are. Long hair blowing in the wind and basket in hand as you carefully weave the next row. So’lek’s lungs finally fill with air. Has it truly only been a day since he has seen you? How was he foolish enough to believe he could ever continue being around you without trying his hand at making you his? Heavy steps cross the space, almost on the brink of jogging to where you stand next to a tent. 

When your tails perk and eyes finally clock the impending advance of his tall frame, there is a surprised glimmer in your expression. Even a shot of excitement in those beautiful golden eyes that has all of So’lek’s restraint depleting. 

“So’lek, what are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he springs the last two steps into your space and immediately hunches to plant his lips against yours. His long fingers curl at the nape of your neck while his thumb caresses your cheek. Although your response is lagged from shock, it doesn’t take long for your lips to meld with his in perfect unison. 

So’lek gives everything to that kiss. Every night that he has laid awake thinking about you. Every sputter that his heart has wrenched from your laughter as he has fallen off a pa’li over and over. Every ounce of desire that rushes through him like a river bashing against a dam ready to break. 

Deepening the kiss, he refrains, however, from letting it get too vulgar. If he lets that primal creature inside of him lose now, he’ll take you right here and now before talking anything through. It’s difficult to remember this, however. Technically his plan was to speak to you then take his shot at a kiss but So’lek can find room for regret when you taste like everything sweet he has been missing for years. You are just as soft as he imagined. Even more addicting than he could have envisioned. 

When So’lek breaks away your lips are already a pretty shade of pink, parted to release heavy breaths. Those golden eyes are now only a sliver of color as your pupils have dilated and eyes widened in disbelief. 

“I should have done that yesterday.” That truth gives little explanation, but it’s the only words he manages to get out without sticking his tongue down your throat. 

Your chest heaves and features morph into a delighted shock. Seeing you like this is more satisfying than he could put into words. You’ve always been the outspoken one between the two of you, but now it is him that renders you speechless. 

So’lek almost goes in for another kiss before the weight of several gazes finally register. Turning over his shoulder he finds that you are not alone in weaving your basket. In fact there is a group of Na’vi sitting on the ground holding their own materials, watching with wide eyes and dropped jaws. It hits him then. You aren’t just sitting here working on your own basket. You are in the middle of teaching a class. 

A class he has so dramatically disrupted. 

“I apologize for the interruption.” And he should be, he really should be but So’lek doesn’t even believe his own words at this point. He stalks off simply out of respect for the class and the chance to remember how to behave in public. 

It won’t matter though, not when he can feel the prickle of your wide-eyed gaze along his back. 

So’lek lingers just outside of camp in an alcove of blood leaf trees. It’s just enough space for him to catch his breath, try to clear his head as he waits for your class to finish. Palms spread along the bark in front of him. So’lek drops his head between his outstretched arms and focuses on inhaling and exhaling. The exercise is borderline pointless when each inhale only sparks attention to your taste lingering on his tongue. 

Never before would he consider himself this impulsive or irrational but even now that he has made a spectacle in front of everybody, So’lek fights the urge to turn around and do it all over again. He barely resists the aching need to stomp back into camp, throw you over his shoulder and carry you into the woods where he can finally have his way with you. 

So’lek spins on his heel, leaning against the tree with his head thrown backwards now. This is insanity. 

His nostrils flare the second there is a trace of your essence in the wind. So’lek almost wishes he wouldn’t have looked because now he is sucked in by the way your breasts bounce as you jog from the camp towards him. 

Great Mother above, how is going to have a conversation with you while in this state?

Luckily, or perhaps not so lucky, you are in no mood for conversation either. So’lek doesn’t get out a simple hello before you are bounding into his chest and pulling him down for another kiss. This time there are no boundaries keeping the kiss from turning absolutely filthy. That devious tongue swirls around his own until So’lek is capturing your bottom lip between his teeth in retribution. 

Fuck, you are so much trouble. 

“Wait…mh...wait.” You don’t afford him the space for speaking so So’lek eventually catches your upper arms in a firm grip and establishes some distance. “Wait for one moment.”

“No, I’m sick of waiting.” Voice teetering on a whine, you brush off the hold and capture his lips back to yours. So’lek feels like he is being torn in two. It’s important to talk things through, make sure that you understand just how deep his feelings are, but with the way his tewng struggles to keep his hard cock trapped, it is only a matter of time before instincts overcome logic. 

So you leave him with no choice. 

With one graceful swoop he has you manhandled back against the tree, arms planted on either side of your head to keep you bracketed there. “You need to listen.” So’lek seethes and it comes out far angrier than he intended. 

In spite of that, your eyes take on a new sparkle. Those beautifully swollen lips part and soft features morph into a dazed shock just as they had done after that first kiss. Except this time, the aroma of arousal thickens.

Fuck, you’re into this. You like the way he has wrestled you into place. You like how he towers over you now and demands to be heard. Perhaps it is the only reason your protests have immediately stopped. He needs to get this off of his chest before the ability to make full sentences leave him entirely.

So So’lek blurts it all out in a heated rush. 

“I did not come here to fool around once. That is not what this is. I am here because it is physically impossible for me to stay away. There is not an hour that goes by where I don’t long to be with you, even in your presence if that is what I can get. I have no clan. I don’t know the customs of your people and I often have a disposition that makes people want to run away rather than draw near. I am not like your other suitors, I do not offer the same things. All of this I know and have tried to respect but it seems no iron will I construct is strong enough to keep me from wanting you all the same.” 

You don’t dare to blink and disconnect his gaze from yours. 

“And want you I do, paskalin. But not just once, not just in a way that satisfies our bodies alone. I yearn to have every part of you that can be offered.” One step closer and So’lek’s can practically feel the drumming of your rampant heart against his chest. “So if this is not what you want, then you need to tell me now. Because I know that once we cross this threshold, once I get one more taste of you there will be no going back for me. You will have my heart until my dying breath.” 

Winds whips against his back. Second feel like years as dainty hands wind up his arms and clasp at the nape of his neck. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, So’lek, you would already know that I have been yours since the moment we met.” 

The next connection of lips is softer, far more patient than the ravaging before. It allows So’lek to fall into your confession properly, to let it settle into his head and heart that this is real. That you are truly sunk into his embrace, candy on his lips, and heart open for him entirely. 

So’lek pours every fiber of gratitude into this kiss. He winds his love into the tender brush of his fingers across your cheek. His tail curves around your thigh with the solemn promise to protect you until his heart stops beating. And you breathe in every silent promise he makes with one of your own. 

Your long lashes tickle his cheeks and small hands rooted in his hair causes So’lek’s knees to weaken. 

This tender moment can only last so long, however. That deep seated fire has not been forgotten and with every second the two of you remain entangled, the hotter it burns. That shift is prevalent in the way you go from running nails over his scalp to tugging on the long locks to pull him closer. So’lek’s own hands go from tender exploration to greedy groping down your hips and backside. 

A part of him would question the harshness and vulgarity of his actions were it not for the way you now moan into his mouth. You take every crude touch delivered and beg for more in the same breath. 

So’lek only departs from your lips to finally slot his face into the crook of your neck. Nose running along a vein of your throat, he is free to drown in the place where your aroma is most potent. But it’s not enough to breathe you in, not even sufficient to simply witness the way his scent now intertwines with yours. He must taste it, must run his tongue over every inch of perfectly delicious skin like he has dreamed of for weeks. 

The flat of his tongue draws over from your collarbone to the edge of your jaw. You don’t hide your sound of delight, nor the obvious push of your pelvis to find his own. Bruising kisses turn into sucking deep marks at the vulnerable skin. So’lek only pauses when you manage to crane your head down and capture one of his ears carefully between sharp teeth. The tip of your tongue follows a smooth path at the shell of his ear. It taunts a deep rumble from his chest. 

Pulling back, So’lek hardly gets a chance to witness your pleased smirk before he is caught in another kiss. Unlike the first day in the healer’s tent when you had been hesitant to touch his chest guard, you now use it as your personal leash to bring him closer. Those small hands dig into the tough material and yank without reserve. 

Not that it’s needed. So’lek would gladly crawl at your feet if it means getting to devour you once more. 

However, it quickly becomes not enough. His mouth salivates at the idea of tasting another sweet part he has been dreaming of. You give no struggle when his hand hitches behind your knee, allowing him to curve that long leg around his waist and press your pelvises together. It takes bending his own knees to account for the height difference but it’s worth all of the hassle when feeling the heat that literally radiates through your tewng. 

So’lek suddenly becomes all too aware of how overdressed he is in comparison. That sentiment must be shared because your eyes dance with excitement when he is haphazardly shucking off the chest guards and gear attached. Your own chest piece does little to hide those perfectly shaped breasts, one nipple managing to slip out from under a feather, and even more so does not hide that now red hue over the area. It seems that all your grinding against him, has consequently rutted your chest over his radio and other hard gear. 

Perhaps he should feel bad but all So’lek can think about instead is whether or not his teeth and tongue could exhibit a similar reaction along your perfect breasts. Is the other nipple as hard as the one that has slipped out? 

It’s as if you can read his mind, or rather notice where his gaze has lowered to have him drooling, because without a single prompting you are undoing the clasp and letting the delicate top fall away. 

So’lek would judge any other male for acting the way he does now. So easily reduced to a mouth breathing imbecile just from a natural part of female anatomy. But perhaps he simply didn’t get it until now. Staring at those beautifully pointed nipples and curved breasts the perfect size for his hands, he thinks he may just now understand why a sight like that never gets old. At least, not when it’s yours. 

You grasp the hand not holding your leg, confidently guiding his palm to rest over the right breast. So’lek requires no further invitation. He squeezes and savors the squishy weight in his hand, drawing his thumb over that perky nipple that is begging to be sucked. Delight spikes his blood pressure when he witnesses how his calloused fingertips tighten the bud. 

“So’lek please! I’m not fragile.” 

His name has never sounded so beautiful. Those wicked eyes ensnare him without an ounce of bashfulness. Caught between two temptations So’lek eventually drops your leg in favor of using both hands to explore this new uncovered skin. 

The first time he pinches one nipple between his fingertips and tugs it brings on a sound from your throat so sudden and lewd it makes his cock twitch in its confines. 

“Harder.”

So’lek’s pupils dilate. What a little pain slut you’ve turned out to be and from the blissed expression you wear now, there is not an ounce of you that is ashamed of it. Nor should you be. Every new discovery is a gift So’lek delights in unwrapping. 

“Always so demanding, paskalin.” Voice gravelly and thick with lust, So’lek bends down further until his lips are skating over the swell of your breasts. 

“I’m actually quite a patient person.” Even with labored breath your quip doesn’t lose its whip. 

“Is that so?” It is by no means playing fair, but So’lek latches his lips around your left nipple before letting you respond. He rolls the raised flesh between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to capture the peak and pull it back. 

You have a handful of braids gathered in your grip tightly but they don’t stop the retreat of his head. You let out a guttural groan, rising onto your toes as if to enhance the sharp sting. And still, your determination to get out a response does not falter. 

“I’ve waited for you this long, haven’t I? Agh Eywa mm…flirted with you for weeks waiting for you to take the bait.” 

So’lek switches to the other side, snapping his teeth around the raised bud before muttering, “You poor thing.” 

“Mock me all you want but you’re cruel for making me wait.” A gasp bubbles up your throat when he pinches the disregarded nipple while the other is nipped by his teeth. “A woman has needs, So’lek.” 

Those words have his ears perking in interest, even lapping at the abused flesh so you have a better chance at finishing that thought. 

“Thinking of you with my hand between my thighs is only good for so long before I start wanting the real thing.”

A string of saliva still connecting your nipple to his lips, So’lek pulls back to look up at you. “Is that what you do, paskalin? Touch yourself while you dream about me?” 

Then with zero hesitation, “I was three fingers deep inside myself this morning while I pondered what your cock would feel like down my throat.” 

Static fills his head, the only sound bouncing in his skull is your unabashed confession. This morning. You had been touching yourself to the thought of him this morning. Meaning while he was buzzing with adrenaline, thoughts wild and uncontained at the thought of what if, as he made the trek to the Zeswa camp, you were exploring the parts of yourself he had been dreaming of for weeks while conjuring dirty fantasies of him. So’lek had been spiraling and questioning all of his desires with no knowledge that you were already his for the taking.

And that’s what it has been. Weeks and weeks of him dreaming and wishing and overthinking while you waited patiently for him to untuck his tail and do something about it. How long has he gone on torturing himself while you’ve been right here?

Too long. 

Way too fucking long.

But now, he is determined to make up for every second of lost time. 

“You are trouble.” Voice rough with a rumbling depth, you are unbothered by his change in inflection. 

“I’m just being honest.” You shrug, lips tempted into a crooked smirk. “Don’t ask the question if you can’t handle the answer.” 

Your confident snip simultaneously delights and taunts him. It tugs at the part of him that no longer wants to be gentle or conscientious. You are coaxing out the beast in him that is nothing but teeth, and from your self satisfied smirk it’s clear you know it too. 

So’lek rises back to his full height, dragging his muscular form along your sweet curves until his impressive frame is molded against your own. When you crane your neck to look at him he witnesses your dilated pupils even beneath the shadow that he has cast over you. It’s So’lek’s hand now that roots into your hair, yanking you forward into a demanding kiss. 

He gives no room for air, slotting his nose along yours and devouring you with vengeance. So’lek has to hold back a vicious smirk at the moan you release once he begins sucking on your tongue. Dulls nails dig into his waist, clawing to bring him impossibly closer. They seek to draw blood in retaliation when he finally breaks the kiss. 

“You are not the only one who has been waiting for a taste, paskalin.” 

You grin and lean forward, interpreting that as another filthy kiss coming your way. However, it is not your lips that he speaks of now. Or at least, not those lips. Your tail whips in surprise when large hands begin undoing the string around it. So’lek tugs and digs at those knots without preamble, watching your pretty face as you realize where this is heading. 

Once the offensive garment is ripped away he drops to his knees. His nostrils flare, greedily taking in your thick essence but it's not enough. So’lek roughly yanks one of your legs over his shoulder and his ears twitch to catch your pretty gasp. Now teetering on one leg while the other is curved over his broad shoulder, you are perfectly laid out for him. 

So’lek barely has enough time to appreciate the view before his instincts demand a taste. Intricate stripes along your inner thighs and navel create an alluring path to the treasure between your legs. So’lek runs the tip of his nose along one stripe of your thigh before stopping less than an inch from your soaked cunt. 

Eywa above, his vivid imagination could never compare to the beauty that lies before him now! 

Your needy clit is already engorged, a pretty pearl that begs to be played with. He uses his thumbs to part your lips and get an unobstructed view. Hot breath tickles your sensitive core causing your now displayed entrance to flutter. Watching the way your pussy grasps at nothing has So’lek caught between wanting to drown himself in your juices or fill you with his aching cock. 

“So’lek, you are such a fucking tease I-”

The end of that complaint is strangled into a whine when his lips close around your clit. A small hand pushes at the back of his head. As if he would need the encouragement. So’lek smothers himself in your warmth. Nose slotted between your lips his tongue runs up the sensitive cut of you, collecting every ounce of sticky arousal it can find. The tip of his tongue then circles around that pulsing bud until your clitoral hood is pushed back and he can attack the nerve dead on. 

That action conjures a violent reaction. Hips buck back at him hard enough to have your one supporting leg struggling to remain planted. So’lek takes that as his cue to take pity on you. He slinks the other leg over his shoulder and wraps his arms around your thighs to support the weight. This way he has full control of wrangling your soaked cunt to his lips while you no longer have to focus on standing. 

“Oh Eywa! More…more So’lek…I need more.” Although your voice has flitted into desperate gasps, it loses none of its conviction. 

Your demands push him further, his tongue now spearing into your pussy with a desire to explore. Fuck, even around his tongue you are tight as a vise. So’lek rises to his feet, keeping you sat on his shoulders as your back glides along the tree trunk. If you have a fear of heights it is not voiced as you are pinned against the trunk and ravaged. 

“Right there! Right there! Ah yes! Right-”

That constantly babbling has never been more beautiful than now. His tongue curves to hit that oh so special spot that has your thighs shaking around his head. So’lek’s nails dig into your ass to spread you wider as your own viciously claws into his scalp. 

With the perfect combination of his tongue fucking up into you and his nose rutting along your clit, your first orgasm comes in no time. So’lek drinks up every last drop selfishly. He considers it a reward after all of this time he’s behaved, been patient and tried to get you out of his head. Now that you’ve broken his resolve, it’s only fair that you give him everything that you have. That he collects what belongs to him. 

When So’lek finally peels away, he finds you catching your breath while one hand grips a tree branch above. He’s caught staring but even with a flushed hue over your cheeks, you simply let out a breathy laugh in a daze. Your legs are shaking as he lowers you back onto your feet but that isn’t enough to deter you. 

Half of his face coated in your essence, So’lek graciously obeys the hands that yank him down for another kiss. It seems right that you get to taste how delicious you are too. His big hands wrap around either side of your neck, angling your face upwards and deeper into the kiss. 

Meanwhile, it seems that even in the afterglow of a climax, you can’t refrain from being a minx. Confident hands map the territory of his slim hips and v line before one sneaks back to grab his ass. His dark chuckle is passed between his lips to yours as you hold back a devious smirk. 

“Your turn.” You demand, tugging at the waistband of his loincloth with the patience of a child waiting to unwrap a present. The motion only increases the ache in his groin, somewhat surprised that the piece of fabric has managed to contain his boner. 

So’lek practically jumps out of his skin when you slip past the waistband. His left hand slams against the tree trunk as he groans when you wrap around his base, thumb running up a thick vein. The fire in his eyes matches your own. This is a game of tug a war. Weeks of yearning and dreaming have left both of you utterly insatiable. Matched in intensity, you too are determined to take everything your desired mate has to offer. 

And So’lek is going to deliver it to you on a silver platter. 

That is, after he gets his own chunk of flesh. 

Hastily undoing the string of his tewng, So’lek slots his face into your neck as you start a slow but firm pace stroking him. It is borderline torture, the way you already know how to apply the perfect amount of pressure at the right places while still having your fun sweeping a thumb over his head to collect the precum there. A sweat breaks out along his forehead. He finds himself wishing for a hair tie to wrangle his now messy braids out of the way as he holds back from exploding all over your stomach. 

“You’re so pretty.” You marvel, aroused scent intermingling with his own as you stare down with blown out pupils. Fuck, you are going to kill him if you keep looking at him like that. It’s no wonder his feral instincts have taken over. When yours are already unleashed it’s impossible to hold back. He was a fool for ever thinking he could escape your taunting. 

“No,” So’lek nearly barks when you try to sink down onto your knees. He quickly wraps a firm hand around your bicep to urge you back up. Those plump lips part, no doubt preparing to protest, perhaps say something about how unfair he’s been for once again making you wait. So’lek cuts in before you get the chance. “I need to be inside you. Now.” 

It’s impossible to keep back the rugged timber that takes over his words. Even more so impossible to hide the desperation that fills him to the brim. As much as he is overtaken by the thought of your talented mouth wrapped around him, he knows there is no way he will be able to hold himself back from coming then. And when he reaches that high for the first time with you, So’lek wants nothing more than to be buried deep inside of you, feeling the way you unravel around him. 

But his body is already far too close to the edge. A heat coils in his abdomen and every touch you deposit has his tip leaking more sticky precum. This needs to happen now before he loses it prematurely. 

Luckily, your attitude appears to be put into check by his words. All signs of disappointment quickly shift into a raw fervor, hands grabbing for his shoulders. So’lek takes the cue in stride, hoisting your knee up to his hip and positioning himself at your entrance. 

And then he hesitates. 

So’lek is not small by any means and he has not properly prepared you for him. 

“Oh Eywa,” You groan, “I stretched myself out this morning, So’lek just…please!” 

That whine and pinched expression is borderline distressed and therefore all the encouragement he requires to slink forward. You’re his mate and as you’ve said, a woman has needs. From here on out he is going to be the sole provider for every single one of yours. 

It takes a hand to your hip in order to keep control of his pace sinking inside. So’lek’s hairless brows furrow and muzzle wrinkles at the difficulty required to keep himself from plunging inside with one thrust. Sweet sounds wracking your throat, you provide no help as your hips keep trying to slant forward. At this point there is going to be an imprint of his fingers from where they press into your hip. 

So’lek lets out a harsh breath. 

Stars above, that thought has the potential to send him down a very dark hole. Just thinking about all the ways and places he can mark you has his ball drawing up against his body. 

When he is finally seated all the way inside, pelvis flush against your own, both of you take a moment to breathe. Panted air tickles his chest from where you have your forehead slants against his collarbone. His own nose buries into that luscious hair that he has admired flying in the wind for weeks. 

So’lek’s tail wraps around your planted leg and it’s then that he feels the way you are on the verge of collapsing. Hooking an arm underneath that knee he swipes it to his waist. The new angle makes both of you groan but you are quick to lock both ankles at the base of his spine and cling for dear life. 

This moment is sacred. 

The first of many times that he can feel what it means to be intimately intertwined with you in a way only inferior to making tsaheylu. So much distance he has kept between the two of you only to now gorge himself in a closeness beyond anything he has ever experienced. And someday, someday very soon, it will be even more. Once he has courted you properly, showered you with the love and attention has wanted to give you from the very beginning, the two of you will make the bond. 

A permanent entanglement that he will cherish until the end of his days. 

“So’lek,” You whisper. Nothing but his name against his chest until your right hand is reaching up to brush his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm without thought before ducking down until your cheek is sliding against his own. It’s in this primal act of scenting that his hips finally begin to move. 

Long languid thrusts that have you shuddering against him while his teeth bite into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. In this state you are an open book. Every spike of your pleasure is indicated by the way you squeeze his cock, or dig your nails into his shoulder blades, or even nips at his pulse point. There is nothing demure about your exploration. 

As his pace picks up, now figuring out where that sweet spot is to torment, your soft hands are mapping every inch of him they can reach. His neck, his shoulders, every rigid line of his abdomen. When one hand reaches to squeeze his muscular bicep his tail coils. 

You are matched in desire perfectly, a fact that threatens to coax him into spilling inside of you instantly. So’lek has to grit his teeth to hold back even as your lips find his own again. This kiss is a mess of saliva and haphazard coordination as the increased speed of his thrusts have you jackhammering up the tree trunk. It doesn’t matter. 

All So’lek can focus is your sweet sounds and how eagerly your body welcomes him in. 

“Paskalin,” He groans, barely managing to tear away from your lips. “You are everything.” 

He witnesses the way those words sink in, how long it takes for them to settle before you are able to smile back at him in your disheveled state. This smile is unique from the many others he has seen you wear. It is one not meant for the public eye, a rare form that one can only be seen in an intimate setting like this. A smile that now only shines for him. 

A burst of adrenaline courses through his veins. Tired muscles renew tenfold, cock driving up into you now with uncontained zeal. This burst of energy has him entirely distracted so when a foreign touch suddenly scrapes his kuru, So’lek just about buckles and takes you both to the ground. 

With a hiss he rights himself and pushes you harder against the tree. Nails glide over his protective braid with a featherlight pressure before sweeping over his shoulder and getting dangerously close to the exposed tendrils. 

So’lek’s jaw clamps hard enough to make his teeth ache. 

“Don’t do that, tanhi [star]. You’re going to make me come.” 

“My thoughts exactly.” That devious hitch in your voice cracks when he sends a harsh thrust in reprimanding. 

“I mean it.” He grits. 

“So do I.” Baby hairs plastered to your damp forehead, you stare him down with a renewed fervor. “I want all of you, So’lek. Everything.” 

The dancing tendrils of his kuru are dragged along your shoulder teasingly. His vision zeroes in on the sight, muscles of his abdomen tightening. Your forehead tips against his own, lashes almost kissing his cheek. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you whisper. 

It’s intentional, the way your pussy clamps around him in a vice like grip as those words leave your lips. So’lek can no longer remember why he was trying to draw this out as he rickets his hips upwards and gets lost in the feeling of his kuru tendrils wrapping around one of your fingers. 

Whatever composure you had temporarily regained becomes frazzled once more as the head of his cock knocks at your sweet spot over and over again with overwhelming accuracy. Your cries muddle together just as your orgasm comes to line up with his. 

So’lek has felt no greater relief than releasing himself deep inside of tight heat. Stars dot his vision while you milk him for all that he is worth, panting against his neck. His kuru is dropped and So’lek’s knees wobble, for the first time finding difficulty in holding both of your weight. 

He becomes a statue following that high. His brain rings with the same dead sound the computers at headquarters make. You are no better off, clinging to him for dear life as your breasts push against him with every rushed exhale. The first movement is your arms cinching tighter around his neck. A strangely innocent and endearing hug considering the lewd entanglement the two of you maintain. 

Gently, So’lek slips out and guides you back onto your feet. He has to scramble when your knees immediately buckle. Swiping his arms beneath your own, he coaxes you to lean your weight on him. 

“Are you alright?” His worried tone is in direct contrast to the breathy laugh you give. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You giggle, clinging to his shoulders. “They’ll work again…eventually.” 

Your eyes crinkle in the same way they do when watching him fall off of a pa’li. So’lek’s lips curve into their own grin. His lips are still stretched wide when he plants tender kisses to your hairline. 

“You smell good,” You hum.

So’lek chuckles fondly before noticing the combined spend that trails down your inner thighs. He has nothing but his gear with him out here in the fields. The only fabric he carries is a small bundle of bandages but he used up the last of it a few days ago. His lips turn down. He will need to be more prepared than this now that he has a mate to look after. 

“Paskalin, let me find something to clean you up with.” 

“No no shhh,” You reach up and place a finger against his lips. “Stop thinking for one second and hold me.” 

So’lek’s heart twists at your little antics, silently obeying your request, shifting both of you to lay on the long grass. Sweaty limbs tangle together, your smaller form messily sprawled across him until your hair is twisted over his abdomen. So’lek slings and arm over your back to cradle you closer. 

This is always the part he has missed. Various partners over the years and yet not one of them holding the tender affection that radiates between the two of you now. The chance to just hold and bask in the other’s presence. Little touches that speak volumes louder than he ever could. So’lek is not good with words. He never says the right thing or in the right way. 

But he can do this. He can drench the sweet brush of his fingertips over your skin with the weight of every confession he has ever been tempted to give you. He can radiate the deep love that blossoms in his chest with every soft kiss to your hairline and swipe of his thumb over your cheek. And he can feel the same devotion reciprocated every time you snuggle further into his chest or trace lines over his abdomen. 

Before long your tail whips out to jest with his curious fingers. He swipes over the thin appendage, watching the way it flickers and circles around his wrist before letting go. The tuft of hair at the end tickles his forearm as it playfully taunts and bats away from his touch. This little game is more amusing than he cares to admit. 

A muffled giggle against his chest tells him that his fixation is not concealed. However, for the first time in weeks he’s allowed to not care. There is no lingering regret at showing his cards to you or betraying his emotions to be analyzed. With you he gets to let that mask fall away, allowing you to see a part of him so vulnerable that So’lek thought it had died off years ago. 

“I will be ready again in about ten minutes.” You state, smiling while tracing the veins of his left arm. The insinuation and expectation is clear and it shakes a surprised laugh from his lungs. 

“And if I am not, paskalin?” So’leks goads with a smirk.

You shift onto your stomach, chin resting atop his chest so that you can look at him directly now. Your tail lashes behind you as you smirk up at him. “Then you better find a way to be.” 

So’lek lets out a low chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Your smile, however, falters when you notice something. Legs still shaky and weak, you try to climb up his chest to get a better look. He’s unsure what you are getting at but So’lek doesn’t hesitate in cinching a hand behind your knee and using that grip to slide you upwards. 

Hairless brows furrowed and bottom lip on the verge of jutting into a pout, one dainty finger runs over the skin beneath his eyes. It is only then he realizes that he must have dark circles beneath his eyes from not sleeping last night. 

“You did not sleep.” 

It truly is of little importance but watching how genuinely concerned you are by it may just be the most endearing thing he has ever witnessed. It reminds him of the day you met. The first time was subjected to your insistent care as he writhed and tried to assure you he was fine. If only back then he knew what he knows now. You always take care of him, of anyone and everyone in your vicinity. 

No matter what front he has put up. Regardless of every effort he has made to convince you and himself that he does not need this, it has never been a match for you. You who not only sees through his walls but knocks them down with that infectious grin. The Great Mother has blessed him with the only woman stubborn enough to break him the way he truly needed. 

“I was up thinking.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Of course you were. What am I going to do with you?” You give him a reprimanding glare but fondness seeps into your beautiful features before you are scooting upwards again. 

So’lek expects a kiss, lashes already flutter over his cheeks in anticipation but then those lips are not touching his. Instead a delicate kiss is placed over each eyelid, as if to kiss the sleep deprivation away. 

When So’lek opens his eyes you are already shuffling to tuck your face against his neck nonchalantly as if you have not made his heart overflow with one simple move. 

This is what Ri’nela had been talking about. Not just surviving but thriving. Have a place to call home, or perhaps in his case someone. For years his sole drive in life has been to repay the RDA for the tragedies they have rained on Pandora, on his clan. That has been his purpose. There has always been something to fight for. 

But for the first time in years he now has someone to fight for as well.  

Please don't hesitate to share your thoughts! I spent way too much time obsessing over this so getting some feedback/interaction would mean the world to me<3

"Taglist" AKA peeps I thought might like this: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 @eywaite

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ruggie Bucchi: Pinching Pennies

The night before the Ruggie card preview came out 😭 I predicted he would wear shorts and an oversized T-shirt… I clocked it www If you zoom into the initial artwork, you can tell that his clothes are frayed at the sleeves and hem. I bet those pjs are well-used and loved.

Aaah 💦 the vignettes show us a glimpse into Ruggie’s world… He really is doing everything he can to min-max what he has. What poverty does to you OTL

Rise and Shine!

“Wow! You’ve got so many things!”

You ogled the contents of Ruggie’s cosmetic pouch. The golden yellow drawstring bag was plump with products. Half finished tubes and bottles, opened foil and plastic packets clamped shut to prevent spillage, and palettes with sizable dents in their pans. It was a smattering of brands you vaguely recognized from the drugstore and the fancy high-end creams Vil slathered on his famous face.

“It looks like that, doesn’t it?” Ruggie asked with a shrug. He sat cross-legged before a washroom mirror, his mop of messy, dirty blonde hair tamed only by a speckled headband.

Ruggie flipped a compact open, revealing four squares of eyeshadow: the colors of cotton candy, peach, caramel, and mocha, each clinging to the edges of their pans. He stuck a ring finger in, frowning when it came away mostly clean. A faint dusting of brown coated the edges of his nail.

The hyena sighed. “Feels like ‘s never enough. This stuff’s mostly samples and testers, plus the occasional hand-me-downs from Leona-san.”

He went back in, this time managing to dig up a small mound. Smushing it against his thumb, Ruggie diffused the color into a soft beige. He patted this along the rim of one eye.

“Hey, free’s free.”

“Yeah, free’s free,” Ruggie echoed with a snicker. “Gotta make do with whatever we can under a capitalist society… well, short of eatin’ the rich. Can’t afford to do that right now anyway, not when I’m kinda countin’ on Leona-san.”

He scrounged around for more of the eyeshadow. A slight growl of frustration sounded from him. Laughing softly, you shook your head and held out a hand.

"Here, let me help you out. I think my nails are a little longer than yours right now, so I can try scraping out the rest and applying it for you.”

“Really? Alright, thanks for the special service~” Ruggie’s mouth cocked into a lopsided smile. He dropped the compact into your palm, then flopped back onto his stool. “Maaan, it feels so nice to be pampered like this.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you joked, drawing a tawny line under his other eye. “Stay humble.”

A pout. “I’m always humble.”

“Riiight.”

You pulled the color to the corners, then patted it along his upper lid. It was an attempt to recreate his usual look, the simple yet sharp Savanaclaw eye.

Your finger—your paintbrush—pulled back, and you got a good look at the canvas called Ruggie Bucchi. His scrawny limbs and laidback gait, irises that reminded you of a coming storm. At school full jewels—royals and the rich—he was a common stone on the side of the road, but he had always stood out to you.

You found yourself cupping his face, and then…

PINCH!!

"Yeowch!" Hands flew up, his eyes snapping wide open with alarm. Ruggie stared at his reflection, which now bore stinging pink cheeks. “What was that for?!"

You covered your mouth with a fist, hiding a growing grin. For being so stinkin’ cute, you wanted to say. It's hard not to tease you.

“To rouge your cheeks,” you replied cheekily, nodding at his miscellaneous makeup stash, “so you don’t have to put on any extra makeup. Save your actual blush for a special occasion.”

“I don’t normally wear blush.” Ruggie muttered indignantly as he rubbed at his face. “… I respect the hustle though. Just warn me next time before you go off and do that.”

"Haha, okay. It's a promise."

You snapped the compact shut and tossed it into his drawstring bag. Right as it landed, you felt a fleeting sting at your earlobe. Nails biting into it.

You turned back quickly enough to catch Ruggie having risen from his stool. He leaned over you, a hand positioned in a telltale pincer. His gaze met yours, and he belted out a jubilant howl.

Revenge. you suspected.

“Hmm? What’s with that look?” Ruggie asked, his voice set in a playful taunt. “All I’m doing’s helpin’ ya save on money~”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Second Time's The Charm: Christmas

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: Christmas in the STTC Universe

"Alexia!" Mapi shrieks," Alexia! Stop ignoring me! Alexia!"

Alexia hums to herself, hunched over her phone as she scrolls through another website.

Mapi, however, forces her way through mountains and mountains of stacked boxes to get to the other side of the room.

The locker room is covered in boxes from top to bottom with some even crammed into areas that they really shouldn't be able to be forced into.

"Ale! Alexia!"

Alexia looks up in shock. "Oh! Mapi! When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago! Which you would know if you didn't have this place stocked up like the back room of a shoe shop!"

Alexia frowns. "What do you mean? There's only five boxes of shoes here."

"I wasn't being literal!" Mapi snaps before massaging her temples with her hands. "What is all this stuff?! And why is it here?!"

"They're presents," Alexia says it like Mapi's dumb," For Christmas."

"Obviously but why are they here?"

"Well, I couldn't leave them at home. Maya's in that exploring stage so she'd get curious and try to look through them. And Elena's learning to crawl and this stuff would just get in way."

"So you thought that you would put all the presents for your whole family in here? With us?"

"No," Alexia scoffs," Don't be silly, Mapi."

"This is only temporary then? Thank god because I-"

"This is only Maya's gifts. Elena's are in one of the meeting rooms and y/n's are hidden at Alba's...Mapi? Are you okay? Your face is turning an odd colour."

Mapi's dramatic walk off is hindered somewhat by smacking her nose straight into a pile of boxes and nearly falling back into another one but, eventually, she manages to storm out and straight upstairs to your office.

You're sitting in your desk chair, looking through player health files or something when the door is slammed open.

"Your wife is crazy!"

"And hello to you too, Mapi. Come on in!"

"Crazy!" Mapi repeats, pacing in short, aggravated circles," She's crazy! The locker room is covered! Covered! In Christmas presents for your daughter! You have to get her to stop!"

You don't have a time to reply because the door swings open again and Alexia bursts in.

"Amor!" She cries," I found the cutest little booties for Elena! Look! Look!"

"No..." Mapi says softly," No...This-This can't be happening..."

"They're so cute!" You tell Alexia with equal enthusiasm," She'll love them so much! Order them! Order them!"

Alexia types in the delivery address and her card details and orders it happily before looking up.

"Where did Mapi go?"

It's a question that neither of you really dwell on that much as you show Alexia your own present ideas.

Wrapping the presents the night before isn't an easy task and you get the feeling that you and Alexia might have gone just a bit overboard. It's only a fleeting thought as you and Alexia wrap the boxes and tie them off with bows, writing sweet messages to your daughters on them even though neither of them can read just yet.

"We're all sleeping together tonight, right?" Alexia asks as she finishes off her last present, placing it in Elena's sizable pile.

"Us and the girls, definitely," You agree," I'm not sure if you'll get all the dogs and Mr Stinky in bed with us."

Mr Stinky looks up from his spot on the special pillow that's reserved just for him on the sofa. The tumours on his body have gotten much bigger now and he's getting weaker and weaker by the day.

He's got one more scan to come back to see if anything can be done but this could be his very last Christmas.

"Mr Stinky won't mind," Alexia assures you," He loves cuddling in our bed."

"And Lady?"

"Lady loves cuddling too!"

"And Sinky and his sisters?"

Alexia purses her lips. The puppies are still a bit wild and excitable at times, none of them ever content to just stay in one place even though the bed is more than big enough for everyone to fit into it.

"We'll leave the bedroom door open," Alexia says sagely, nodding her head like she's just cracked the secrets of the universe," So they can come in if they want."

"Alright," You say, standing up and stretching your back," I'm going to bring Mr Stinky up and then grab Elena. You'll let the dogs out one last time and get Maya?"

Alexia nods, drawing you back for a moment by your waist to press a kiss to your lips.

"I will, amor."

"Good," You say," And hurry up."

Alexia nods along with a smile, already heading to open the back door for the dogs.

Your footsteps approaching again makes Alexia turn and you speak directly in her ear.

"And I've got a very special present for you tomorrow when the girls have gone to sleep."

"Oh?"

You giggle right in her ear, low and sultry. "You're going to have a lot of fun unwrapping me for Christmas."

[p1n-p0int]

Vows That Bind Part 1

_____________________________________________

In sickness and in health, for good and for worse. That's how most wedding vows go: sweet and simple yet still carrying the subtle message of ‘I will be there for you no matter what.’ Two individuals connected by the golden bands and promises to stand behind each other like a solid wall made out of steel, unwavering in the innocence of love and devotion. Entwined souls cocooned together for the years to come, withstanding and facing whatever life throws at them. There wasn't anything to fear as long as they had each other.

Then, eventually, the little bubble of the wife and husband is expanded by the addition of offspring—an exact copy and paste of the father, a perfect clone of the mother, but ideally a mix of both parents.

A tiny duplication of sky blue eyes, dirty blond strands of hair, and that oh-so-stubborn look on their petite facades, the same one John would be making whenever he half-heartedly insisted on getting his way in the silliest mock arguments they so often had that brought a peal of full belly laughter out of their beloved sons.

The sharp brow line, upturned delicate nose, and proud mannerism of their mother, in addition to the unbeatable sad puppy stare she mastered and often used against John when he questioned her purchase of yet another set of overpriced, scented candles she just had to obsess about every time they pulled over at the local market. And John always gave in to her way because the happiness that instantly bloomed over the features of his lady-wife was enough of a reward for the man to last him as a sweet, lingering memory for the days of absence spent thousands of miles away during his deployment.

The moment when he, at last, hit the home soil, though, and was discharged on leave for the time being—nothing would stop John from catching the first better cab and running it down in the direction of the home, the car parked at the base be damned, he can pick it up some other time. His house, a little two-level cottage on the city's outskirts with a sizable garden bordering on the forest, was often visited by the wildlife his sons adored to observe.

His usual arrival time was late at night, but on rare occasions, he would get home just for dinner and then spend the entire time chatting with his sons.

John would ask his older son about his grades and friends at school and, with the younger son, about whatever he had been doing to keep his mommy busy while daddy was away. Then, he would help them get ready for bed, and after a quick goodnight kiss on his cheek, he would send them running to their rooms.

And at last, he'd turn towards his better half, standing just a few steps away, who smiled at him with an open expression, full of love and adoration for the man she chose to marry. For he was her first and last thought on her mind when she woke up and went back to sleep each day, worrying about his safety whenever he was away, and when he was close and next to her, she cherished and enjoyed every waking moment by his side.

John doubted there was ever a word that could describe the content love that flew between them, the wordless understanding. They rarely needed words while they had each other.

“I'm back,” John would say, each and every time more tenderly than before. She would answer, “Welcome back,” in a voice softer than the softest of silks.

John adored his little family. He'd do anything to keep them safe and sound, even if it meant sacrificing his happiness. He missed them terribly while away but knew it was for the greater good; his work was necessary. He made sure that the danger of the world would never reach home again, not after the Piccadilly Circus incident.

×××

Like many times before, John was at his home base, passively partaking in a briefing of the upcoming training exchange the upper management wanted Task Force 141 to oversee. 

Sighting, John scratched the base of his neck and finally announced the end of the meeting. The scraping of chairs against the floor panels and agreeable murmurs from the gathered soldiers followed.

He stood up from the not-so-comfortable meeting room chair and was about to head towards the rest of the Task Force lads when his work phone vibrated with a singular notification. He immediately took it out and unlocked the screen to look at the message from Laswell:

»THERE WAS A SECURITY BREACH. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION WAS COMPROMISED.«

He was about to ask her for further explanation when his personal phone began to ring. Frowning, as not many people had the privilege of being in possession of his private phone number, he pulled it out of his pocket. ‘My Love’ was plastered on the screen, an even odder scene unfolding, as his wife rarely called during his work hours, and only occasional texts were sent his way. He put his work phone aside, and without further fanfare, John picked up the call right where he stood:

“Love, is everything okay–?”

“Daddy, are you coming to get us? Mommy told us to stay hidden; bad people are coming,” his eldest son sniffled quietly. She said not to come out and to call you when one hour passes.”

John's blood turned ice cold, freezing him momentarily, almost letting the phone fall out of his hand.

His family was in danger.

It was an electrifying spasm that went down his spine and shook him out of his stupor and into action. “I'm coming, son. Papa is coming,” he said firmly, signing to Ghost standing nearby ‘Home, emergency, invasion, ready the unit.’.

»RECEIVED. HEADING OUT TO ANSWER A DISTRESS CALL FROM HOME. FIND OUT WHO MESSED UP. OR I WILL.«

×××

The ride to his home with his men armed from their feet to the tips of their heads felt like a fever dream and a nightmare combined. None of the men dared say a word to him, not while he kept the line his children were on alive.

Even Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, the never-ending stream of chatting during the way to the mission, kept quiet, observing Price with barely hidden worry. Price hated worry; he hated pity, primarily directed at him, but these men he was with were the only ones who could look at him in such a way. And this was precisely one of such occasions.

There was a security breach into the classified systems, and one of the items stolen was intel about their Captain's private life—a life not even they had access to. To think that somebody who didn't mean well got a hold of it and targeted Price's bundle of happiness is an unredeemable crime people will die for committing.

At last, they arrived in front of the little cottage Price deemed a scorched ground. A scorched ground his men did not let him step on, insisting that they will sweep through just in case, while Price gets a hold of his children's hidden place and gets them into the safety of the bulletproof, heavy army vehicle.

He had no other choice but to stomp towards the little bunker-like area he told his wife about as a just-in-case emergency situation he had hoped to God that never would come to pass. Oh, how wrong he was.

As soon as he opened the lid to the hideout, two pairs of hands tackled his legs, clinging to his pants for dear life. His stoic facade quivered, and dropping to his knees, John gathered the sobbing kids to his chest. He picked them up, stood up, turned around, and carried them toward the vehicle under the watchful gaze of his fellow men. 

A subtle movement from the corner of his eye had Price turning his head towards the veranda, where Kyle “Gaz” Garrick waved at him to catch his attention. He raised a brew at the young man. ‘Traces of struggle, blood, no body.’ They took her. They took his wife.

John glanced down at his sons and snuggled them closer to his chest, his face unreadable. Price nodded at the sergeant and continued his solemn march, already beginning to formulate a plan of action in his head.

Whomever it was, wherever they were, Price would find them.

_____________________________________________

a/n: still getting used to writing a "you" POV, especially from third person perspective, so bear with me, k? Great, good night 💀💀

Tag list: @catinpinklace @gothghostiie

[mariasont]

I Want It In Ink - S.R

a/n: the tattoo in the pic obviously isn’t what the reader has but just imagine that ✨placement✨

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: spencer finds your secret tattoo… with his initials

warnings: suggestive content, alcohol consumption, reader has a tat with spencers initials kinda delulu but also real, secret relationship, established relationship

wc: 0.7k

You were blissfully unaware of the chaos you had caused Spencer. There you stood, not doing anything particularly special, yet you were making his head spin. It became glaringly clear why fraternizing within the office was frowned upon; concentrating on work proved to be a Herculean task when his gaze incessantly sought you out.

Currently, you were stretching upwards, fingertips grazing the spine of a book on a higher shelf, your shirt hitching up, revealing a sliver of your hip and stomach. But what captured his attention was not the skin—it was the ink he had never seen before. He had prided himself on seeing every inch of your body through an eidetic lens, yet here was a price of you he had somehow missed.

Spencer squinted, realizing he might need a new prescription for his contacts, but even with his questionable eyesight he was able to see just what was tattooed into your perfect skin.

Maybe it was temporary. But no, the subtle reddish halo encircling it and the inflammation most definitely indicated healing, and that it was, in fact, permanent.

Spencer stood so quickly that his mug nearly toppled over, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the edge. He closed the distance between you in seconds, his hand covering the tattooed area as if he could soak up the ink into his own hand, not that he’d necessarily want to.

He was startled by the reaction he had to it. The swirling warmth in his chest, the burning of his ears, the slight tightening of his pants.

“Christ,” he hissed, close enough for the word to brush against your ear. He stood at your side, affecting an interest in the printed words on the shelves as his palm stayed glued to your hip. “When did you get that?”

“Get what?” you asked, your focus elsewhere as you made another attempt at the book.

He intercepted, plucking it from the shelf and pressing it into your hands, his fingers discreetly pulling your shirt down just a fraction in the process.

You were surely going to send him into cardiac arrest.

Spencer casted a quick look over his shoulder, thanking the gods that the team was engrossed in a lively discussion about Morgan’s dating habits. “The sizable S.R on your hip.”

“Oh, that…,” you mumbled, peering down as though it were a mere afterthought, oblivious to the way his heart leapt out of his chest just to think about it. “I was kind of drunk, and—hey, Penelope, do you remember—,”

Spencer quickly covered your mouth with his hand, your words turning into a muted hum against his palm as he steered you into the break room.

“Do you realize the statistical improbability of keeping our relationship a secret if you announce my initials are on you to the whole team?”

You laugh, easing his hand away from your mouth, but not releasing it entirely, letting your entwined hands dangle at your sides.

"What? It's not like it says property of Dr. Reid."

"It might as well."

"That can be my next one." He didn’t hate the thought of that.

You were teasing him now and he could feel the smile creeping into his face. However, it quickly waned as he saw the unease on yours. Your voice was much quieter as you spoke, “are you mad?”

I could never be mad at you.

"No, I-well, I was just surprised is all," he clarified, his fingers instinctively adjusting his glasses before releasing they weren’t there and moving to his nose instead. He squeezed your hand. “I like it.”

"You like it?"

"I like it."

He wasn't lying. He liked it. A lot. Once the initial shock wore off he realized just how much he liked it. Did he mention he liked it?

His fingers moved from his nose, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the outline of the tattoo, already having it etched in memory. You winced.

"Does it hurt?"

"Just sore. Nothing I can't handle," you said, your shoulders rising in a dismissive shrug.

Your nose wrinkled slightly, and your gaze met his from beneath your lashes.

"Atta girl."

You licked your lips, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth as you shoved his shoulder just enough to make him clamp down harder on your hip.

"I can give you a better look at it, later tonight?"

He cleared his throat, eyes flickering to the door as his hand traveled from yours to your neck, squeezing slightly as a warning.

"Looking forward to it."

He gave your hip a small pat before walking back out the door. He had a tattoo appointment to make.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐎𝐑 .

# with trafalgar law.

your captain was nothing if not thorough — and as talented doctor, he offered quite a luscious method to help with your cramps.

⎰ & KINKTOBER. smut (mdni!). period sex. bloodplay. fingering (reader!receiving). blood!tasting (menstrual blood, yes). afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2.3k.

trafalgar law was a doctor — sadistic, yes; self-taught, of course; but one regardless. his mind was attuned to his crew’s health properties, from allergies, to those who had a lower immunity system; from the divergent blood types to medical-related phobias. bepo hated oral medicine with overly sweet tastes; jean bart, although sizable, could not stand needles. and you had a set of quite awful cramps, enough to leave you bedridden until the week’s ending. it was, without an ounce of doubt, your most prominent issue — the one who bought him the greater worry. it left him wary enough then, yet said coddling had a gradual increase once he engaged in a relationship with you.

law had the interval of your period scheduled; committed to memory. pain medicines were reserved with the purpose of aiding you; thermal bags were both heated and freezed beforehand. he researched herbs with soothing properties and went as far — a proof of his love, he would add — as inquiring the straw-hats’ cook on teas that could, somehow, offer some respite. law had tried on a dozen sets of solutions, which one to no avail, for your ache lingered regardless of the chosen method. it left him with an ever-present bitter taste at the tip of his tongue, as the man was unused to said hopelessness, all but forced to sit back and witness your pain without a decent manner with which to soothe it.

you were not present for breakfast that morning, whereas bepo had a sheet with your shifts and duties, dividing them with shachi. for your pain was too sharp, you were granted a week-worth of rest, unallowed to lift a weight heavier than a plume. ikkaku had then entered the shared kitchen, holding an emptied cup — whose previous contents he presumed to be water — and discarding a plastic, pill bottle of a potent medicine he had prepared, a week prior. ikkaku informed him that you were resting — a bit nauseous, as expected, yet nothing quite worrisome — and though the woman had not read underneath the lines of what you stated, law understood it well enough. you were discarding his lingering aid, willing to withstand the cramps without him, for law grew twice as frustrated every month, and you had noted.

he left the kitchen right thereafter, his mood souring. it was ridiculous; unfathomable. law was a doctor — a surgeon — who had healed life-threatening diseases and wounds, yet failed to soothe the merest cramps; to offer comfort to the one he loved the most. he clicked his tongue, rummaging through the books in his office, convinced that he was but missing something, prideful enough to refuse the perspective of succumbing to a thing such as morphine.

nerves. brain chemicals. it should not have taken him that long to figure that out, but it did — and he was fuming. orgasms increased the blood flow; released endorphins; decreased the levels of cortisol. how could have he forgotten that? law clicked his tongue regardless, filled with clear annoyance at himself as he strived for your shared bedroom with ikkaku, delighted, at last, at the fact neither of you would be bothered, for the crew, too, was well-aware of the intensity of your pain.

he knocked — once, twice. not an answer was received, yet law entered regardless, eyes getting used to the overall darkness of the room, granting him the sight of your figure underneath the bed sheets. he approached you, placing a hand on your forehead; relieved to know you were far from feverish. your knees were pressed to your chest, and he could see slight eye-bags, pointing to a clear lack of sleep due to the pain. you were dozing off, unaware of your surroundings, set for a nap. he felt a pang of guilt as his arms removed you from your solace, holding you bridal-style, the activation of his powers leading you both to his own bedroom.

“law?” you inquired, nuzzling closer, a bit confused at the sudden shift. your voice was rough — pained —, and he caught himself filled with the urge to protect you, yet again.

“did i wake you?” he murmured, landing you on the mattress with certain tenderness.

“no,” you lied, ever more comfortable at the press of the sheets under your sore body.

law hummed, not believing a thing, yet not willing to pester you either. instead, he placed a set of pillows under your hips, caressing your cheek with calculated gentleness.

“i figured something that might help,” law whispered, allowing his hand to travel down your neck.

“i took some pills a while ago,” you meekly pointed out, sighing in relief as his fingers brushed against your collarbone. “and that infusion you made me drink tasted like shit. no offense.”

“none taken,” he reassured, licking his lips as his eyes swallowed the sight of you. “it’s a more pleasant one, if you’re willing.”

you stared at him through a half-opened eye, intrigued despite the context. you wore a thin, silken nightgown, the straps slipping past your shoulders, not much left for the imagination. it gave him a glimpse of your curves; your breasts; the underline of your underwear. law spared a mere glance at his sheets, deciding the incessant brushing of the blood stains right thereafter would be far worth it, so long as he could claim you. his hand hovered over your covered intimacy, applying a natural pressure, however neither forceful nor demanding.

“if you’re willing”, law repeated, and you licked your lips, wincing ever-so-slightly at a sudden, sharp pang. he could see the mental effort required for the production of words, soothing your unspoken worries with a caress of his thumb. law was a doctor; blood did not phase him, rather brought forward certain excitement. he all but wished for you to understand that. “i’m willing.”

“are you sure?” you croaked out, pain so sharp you could barely keep your eyes open.

“let me take care of you,” he pleaded, with half the mind to be ashamed of the desperation in his own tone.

you offered him a curt nod of agreement; limp frame conceding to his guiding touch. law raised the nightgown past your arms, throwing it somewhere in the room. with his knees sunk on the mattress, frame towering over your laid one, he began removing your underwear, shuddering with anticipation at the sight of blood staining your pad. he hummed, regretting the eagerness that led to a lack of proper preparation, for he had neither towels nor medical gloves to contain the flow of your period. yet, his mind could not help but point out a singular thought — did he care enough about the mess to be bothered, when you were in such dire need for relief? indeed, he didn’t.

with particular attention, he discarded the underwear and panties on the ground, allowing your hips to be supported by the pillows, without a single preoccupation regarding the possible blood stains. instead, lithe fingers trailed down towards your intimacy, a pair traveling through your folds; testing the waters. law leaned forward in order to have a proper glimpse of your expressions, yet failing not to have his eyes wander to your hardening nipples. he hummed, index meeting your clit as he drew circular, slow movements on it.

the texture of menstrual blood did not seem so far off that of your pre-cum. perhaps thicker, a bit warmer, with the biggest divergence being the color; nothing else. as a digit busied itself with your swollen bud, law teased your entrance with his pinky, grunting as a clot of blood brushed against the touch.

“talk to me, baby,” he rasped out, eyes tethered to your face as his thumb increased the pace of its ministrations on your clit.

you breathed out meekly, fingers gripping the sheets, nose scrunched as you grew accustomed to the stimulation. the blood made the sliding of his thumb faster; erratic. the lascivious sound of your aroused cunt filling the room. law felt his mouth grow dry at the sight, diving into one of your breasts, swirling, warm tongue on the hardened nipple being the solution he found in order not to lap at your blood instead. your back arched, a drawn-out mewl escaping past your opened lips as he ceased the teasing of your clit, wrist angled in a way that had his index and middle finger sliding inside your entrance with extreme ease.

“faster,” you pleaded, a bit of strength returning to your voice.

law thrusted his fingers, knuckle deep, attempting to reach the deepest inches of your walls. the natural shade of his skin returned mingled with red, the tattooed E and A but a mere memory of black underneath the crimson curtain. it was stickier than the river-stream texture of one’s blood, a stubborn line connecting the middle of his fingers, breaking apart only when they were shoved inside yet again, scissoring your walls with regained fervor. he spared a glance towards your growing blissful expression, grunting at the flutter of ideas that wrapped themselves around his mind, failing to ignore the possibilities as his own blood flushed to his hardening cock.

it smeared the fabric of the pillowcase and trailed down his palm, and law spared a brief ounce of attention to the other, neglected breast, using his free fingers to pinch at your nipple before his lips detached themselves from your chest with a single ‘pop’. he adored your tits — really, could not phantom a week without his mouth sucking bruises on it — but on that particular moment, law wanted to observe the in-and-out of his fingers inside your cunt, to commit the blood-coated digits to memory. the tip of his index abused your g-spot and he all but licked his lips, starved for a taste.

your moans were but an angel’s choir, and law had to fight the urge to let a pathetic whimper of his own escape past his lips, for he was, at last, helping you; being the one to demolish the source of your pain. yet, despite his own previous delay, he could not help but to be a little egotistical, lust clouding his scarce selflessness.

“is it better?” he questioned, and you nodded meekly, eyes dazed; pupils blown.

“y-yes,” you stuttered. “don’t stop, please.”

and though his legs began to ache and his cock ached amidst the coffins of his underwear and jeans, law increased the tempo of his thrusts, adding a third finger at the assurance that your walls were parted enough. you bit the back of your hand, swiftly muffling a shout. law groaned, using the thumb of his other hand to draw circles on your clit, marveling at the speed with which blood invaded the inside of his nail; smeared the poor digit.

“i’m close, baby,” you warned, without a need per say, for he noted the approach of your orgasm through the manner with which you clenched around him; impossibly tighter.

“let go for me,” he encouraged, retreating his fingers to the point of his nails before thrusting them yet again, knuckles bloodied; palm sticky.

your entire figure trembled, legs desperate; back jumping from the mattress. his glance was enraptured by the sight of your cum, white mingled with red, an ever-crescent battle whose stage was the pillow underneath, growing wet and dark at the onslaught of your essences. law removed his fingers, raising them to the light, obsessed with the strings intertwined around them; the state of his nails; the memories of parted clots staining the digits. he was but hypnotized, ignoring the confused calling of his name, the ever-so-grateful words you poured into his ears. instead, law began to drag his bloodied fingers on the flesh of your bare stomach, pupils blown with lust as the shade of you, too, grew smeared.

law wiped his fingers clean, and was swift to insert two of them inside your sensitive entrance. your body the canvas, whereas your cunt was the pallet, sheltering the red dye that would grant him the creation of a masterpiece — one he strived to ruin, for law was far from an accomplished, patient painter. he continued with the drag of his fingers on your flesh, from your ribs to your hip-bones; from your breasts to the spot under your navel. at every brief thrust of his fingers, teasing of your folds, you sucked in a harsh breath, your entire body reacting to the somewhat overstimulation.

when law could not hold himself back any longer — the famished beast gnawing underneath his ribcage — he dived in, tongue wiping the mess he had made. law left long stripes of saliva in its wake at every lick, his mouth sucking newer bruises on certain inches of flesh. the taste was not as metallic as he had expected, not as strong, either. it had a lingering bit of salt amidst the iron, for it was mingled with your cum, and both made for a thicker, stretchier combination on his tongue, an unique texture he had never tasted before. law spared particular attention to your breasts, hungrily lapping at it; collecting every last drop of lingering blood.

he distracted you from the fact that his pants and underwear had slid off from their previous position; that his leaking cock had slapped his stomach before he guided the tip to your abused entrance. when law pushed an inch inside, your eyes widened, hands wrapping around his neck out of instinct.

“can i?” he inquired, pressing his palms against the mattress, one at each side of your head.

“yes,” you breathed out. “please, baby.”

law was careful, a languid shove of his hips stretching your walls until he bottomed out, grunting with his eyes closed. he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, breathing into your mouth as he began to move — thrusts with a wild tempo, the incessant chase for his own orgasm. a crown of blood wrapped itself around his tip, his entire girth a shade of bright red; pale pink. law hid his face in the crook of your neck, moaning as your hands slipped under this shirt, nails dragging on the bare skin of his back.

he brushed against your g-spot; thrusted himself deep enough to challenge your cervix. you moaned, pain long-forgotten as his tip all but drooled inside your walls, spreading them open without an ounce of mercy. law’s knees buckled; you began to squeeze his girth as though a ruthless, famished beast, so tight he would not be able to slide as freely, was it not for the present blood.

“cum for me again,” law encouraged, meeting your glance, his voice raw and desperate. “let me—ngh—take your pain, baby. c’mon.”

you whimpered, a broken, mute moan preceding the second tide of your orgasm after a particular harsh set of his thrusts. your expression, contorted in pleasure, had him removing his cock swiftly, pumping it twice before shooting his load on your stomach, mouth agape at the blood that surrounded his shaft; stained his palm. law struggled to collect his breath, shifting in order to sit on the mattress and offer his knees a well-deserved rest, one of his hands meeting your own as he intertwined your fingers together.

after prolonged, tired minutes spent in comfort within the walls of a bedroom that reeked of sex, sweat and blood, your voice echoed.

“i liked this method,” you whispered, and he angled his head to get a glimpse of your face.

“yeah, me too.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : damn this writer’s block got hands!!!! jokes aside, i love freaky law!!!! send more freaky law requests i’m going to get thru this writer’s block 👏 by writing more 👏.

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Ace’s fingers are sturdy, thick, rough, and dazzlingly accessible. When he realizes how you feel about them, will he ever let you live it down? ~1.9k words.

CW: SMUT! Afab reader, gendered pet names (“princess”), body worship, fingering, and praise.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Ace caught you staring at his hand one day when the two of you were killing time on deck.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? What are you looking at?” He picked up the hand in question and brought it to his face, inspecting for whatever it could be that made your eyes stick there. Maybe a bug?

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just... looking.” Your blushed and immediately averted your eyes. He quickly realized that you were admiring his hands.

“Oh?” That classic, cheeky grin crept over his lips. “You like what you see?”

“Shut up.” You were crimson now. Was it that easy to read you?

“What? C’mon.” Ace poked you playfully in the side.

“Nothing. Your hands are nice. That’s all.” You tried to dismiss his wheedling curiosity, but Ace’s cocky grin got cockier.

“Oooh. I see. What about ‘em?”

“God, are you really going to make me say it?” You rolled your eyes and he nodded. He loved it when you complimented him, and he was shameless about it. “They’re nice, Ace. That’s all.”

“What about my fingers?” He tilted his head, and his expression was cocky and knowing, but still sweet.

Your mouth went dry. His ability to read you was uncanny and, honestly, a bit concerning. Your eyes darted down to the alluring fingers in question. Sturdy, gorgeous, long, veiny… fuck.

His gaze tracked yours and he could tell exactly what you were thinking.

You tried to answer like you were unbothered by the teasing, like you weren’t flustered, but you failed. “Your fingers are nice, too. Now can we drop the subject? Please, Ace.”

Ace laughed and didn’t say anything more about it. He knew you were shy about this sort of stuff in front of other people. You still flushed with embarrassment, unsure how much of that interaction was overheard by the crew, given that multiple people were within a ten-foot radius… but Marco definitely heard, because he snickered. He was going to be annoying about it later, you could already tell.

Ace loved to tease you. He thought it was endearing and darling whenever you got flustered—it was just too easy to make you blush, and you looked too good blushing to hold back.

Later that night, you were sitting around a table with a sizable group for dinner. Ace sat across from you, flashing his warm, dark eyes and knocking his thigh against yours under the table. “C’mon, pretty. Let’s go.”

You rose from the table and followed Ace to his cabin, like you usually did after you finished your evening meal. You could tell that he was ready and roaring to go because he was barely trying to conceal his erection when he got up from the table. It escaped everyone else’s attention, although he certainly wasn’t being sly about it.

Ace led you down the hallway by your hand. When you finally got to his cabin, he closed and locked the door, then pinned you to the wall and showered you in kisses. His lips were eager and passionate, hands roaming every part of your body they could access.

“Now what did you like about my hands and fingers earlier, baby?” He pulled away and held his face centimeters away from yours. “I’m curious. Please?”

“Fuck, Ace. They’re just nice and big.” You squeaked out the last couple words because his hands squeezed your ass roughly.

“Oh yeah?” Ace smiled and his nose scrunched up. Those freckles could melt your heart even when you were in the worst (or most bashful) of moods. “Why didn’t you say that earlier, pumpkin?”

“Embarrassed,” you let out a whimper as one of his hands squeezed one of your breasts so hard it hurt.

“No need to be embarrassed, beautiful. Now let’s get these off.”

Ace helped you out of your clothes until you were standing in front of him naked. He was fully clothed still, and you felt a little self-conscious, but you quickly realized what he was after.

He began to pass his hands from your wrists up to your shoulders, paying close attention to where he touched and how softly. Goosebumps raised on your skin, trailing after his delicate caresses.

Ace felt every inch of you, eyes glued to where his palms met your skin. The admiration was reciprocal—you looked down at where his large veiny hands touched you, and he was entranced by how soft and supple your skin was under his rough, long fingers.

It’s like he was worshipping you. He took his time, going slowly from your shoulders, sliding his fingers up your neck, down your clavicles, spending a few moments feeling your breasts, creeping down your ribs… He worked your whole body sensually, drinking in every inch of your skin, all the way down to your ankles.

You caught yourself holding your breath and had to manually inhale and exhale for a moment. You were too wrapped up in him—the way he was so, so focused, the way his rich, dark hair and freckles shifted as he petted you carefully and slowly.

It was making you aroused, yes, but also you were just in awe of this man who was treating you like something holy and invaluable.

His fingers traced aimlessly for many minutes as he worshipped your skin. When they finally ceased, he had one hand on your cheek.

He swiped the finger pad of his thumb over your bottom lip and gave you a soft kiss. “You really like my fingers that much, sugar?”

You nodded shyly again, and he smiled. “Open up.”

You weren’t sure what he was getting at, but as you opened your mouth, Ace slid his middle and ring finger onto your tongue. Instinctively, you closed your lips around his fingers and started to suck.

He groaned. “Fuck, that’s it.”

His erection was straining against his shorts, pressing onto your naked skin as you sucked his fingers and made eye contact with him. When you increased the suction and made your cheeks hollow, the tent in his shorts twitched.

He gently pulled his fingers out of your mouth and they crept downwards to rest on your core. You were already immensely turned on, sopping wet and throbbing with need.

“What do you want me to do with my fingers, princess?” Ace’s voice was honey-coated, smooth, and dripping with lust.

“Inside, Ace,” you whimpered. “Put them inside.”

“You want me to finger fuck you?” He purred and pressed his already-wet middle and ring fingers into the sticky valley between your thighs, mixing your own saliva with your arousal.

You hummed in affirmation, and he hooked his fingers up through your folds, entering you as you whined quietly.

Ace’s fingers felt thick inside of you. They always felt thick, but it was emphasized by the fact that you’d been dreaming of this particular moment all day. Pressed inside of you, his digits were remarkably stocky, broad, and rough. Ace removed his free hand from where it was still resting on your cheek and brought it down to palm at his cock.

You were starting to ooze slick on his fingers already, gushing as he curled his fingers and explored your aching core.

“Ace, fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned quietly and his cock jumped. He grinded his palm over it harder, letting out his own gasp of pleasure at the sensation.

“Does it, baby?” He cooed, staring down at where his fingers wiggled and disappeared into you. “You like my fingers that much, sweetheart? Why don’t you fuck yourself with ‘em? Find that soft spot of yours and make yourself feel good.”

Ace held still, prompting a desperate sound to escape your lips. Without a second thought, you began to rock back and forth, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you and dragging them back out, angling your hips over them until you pressed his fingertips onto your g-spot. As you rolled onto his fingers greedily and your moans got louder, your thighs started to shake.

“God, you’re hot. Needy little pussy, so tight and wet for me.” Ace’s voice was low and gravelly as he took his cock out of his shorts and started to stroke himself slowly. “Keep going, gorgeous.”

You grinded on his fingertips, pressing on your own hot spot repeatedly until you were arching your back and screwing your eyes shut in pleasure.

“More, Ace, fuck,” you whined. “Need more.”

“Awh, do you?”

Ace’s hand left his leaking cock, and he brought his thumb to draw lazy circles over your clit. Your hips bucked, disrupting the rhythm you had built while got yourself off.

“Falling apart, sweet thing? Tell me what you like about them again. It sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth.”

You almost couldn’t focus enough to talk. Every time his thumb grazed your sensitive bud, your hips jerked forward.

“B-big,” you moaned desperately, and the sound went straight to his cock. “They’re so b-big and—fuck, Ace—so big and rough. Feels good.”

“There we go, angel. Good job using your words. You look so lovely when you’re fucked out like this.”

“Ace, more,” you begged him with lust-crazed eyes. “Want you.”

He obliged, leaning over you with his fingers still inside your cunt and rubbing on your clit. He latched his lips around one of your nipples as you writhed on him. He sucked lightly, swirling his tongue and biting delicately—you were reeling in ecstasy.

“Ace—fuck, I’m close.”

Usually, he made you wait a while to orgasm. He would edge and tease you until you were on the verge of tears. But today he was so worked up that he was going to let you cum right off the bat—it was one step closer to putting his cock in you. He was counting down the seconds.

He curled his fingers again, taking the lead. He started to press on your g-spot rhythmically, indulging you farther by pulsing heat in your cunt with his devil fruit powers. It felt so good that almost started crying in pleasure. It took everything in you not to topple over from your shaking legs and crumple on him.

Ace groaned with satisfaction and want as you squirmed from his touch. Precum seeped over the head of his inflamed cock and dripped in slow rivulets down his length. “Mmmm, keep going. Cum on my fingers. Then I’ll stuff my cock in you. You want that?”

You nodded, and at the same time, Ace started to scissor his fingers curl them faster. “Fuck, Ace, fuck, fuck, ‘m cumming I’m—fuckkkk.”

You hit your breaking point, spasming in euphoric bliss as you came on Ace’s fingers.

“Does it feel good? Look at me.”

You struggled to even open your eyes, and his wrist kept moving. It was almost too much, but you kept riding the blistering wave of your orgasm on his fingertips, drawing your climax out and shaking with every second. “F-feels so good, Ace.”

When he finally pulled his fingers out of you, he sucked them clean and pulled you by your hand to the bed.

“Ok beautiful, c’mere. Let me do all the work.”

😐😐🤒 i need his fingers in me stat or im going to start screaming in the streets and biting people. idk. something drastic 🥴😇 feeling unhinged today! ⸜( *ˊᵕˋ* )⸝

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