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nexusnyx · 1 year

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miss sunshine

pre-outbreak Joel Miller x neighbor!reader [7.3k] summary: He's always been out of reach. A fantasy. Joel was too much of everything—too handsome, too friendly, too una-fucking-vailable for any of you. Too bad his kid adores you. (What a blessing.) Too bad she uses you as a scapegoat and lands him right on his door. One bottle of wine, and Joel shows you he might be closer than you thought. 📝 I wanted to try something different. Less hurt, less end-of-the-world bullshit. Let me know your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex, oral (f and m receiving), riding, missionary, passionate neighbors sex, yay.

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Summer of 2002.

When the bell rings, you think it's best to ignore it.

Living alone equals a lot of privileges, but the ability to go out alone and answer the door on a random Wednesday evening was not one of them. You're wearing compromising clothes and a robe, the bottle of wine you craved was finally open, and the last thing you wanted was to be murdered before enjoying it.

Then, you hear it. Your name, followed by, "It's Miller. Joel."

Fuck.

Well—this is exactly how many of your dreams started. Although this wouldn't go like them, for him, you'd open the door.

His eyes do little to hide the once-over when the door slides open.

They go down, then back up, and he seems to catch on to the fact that you saw it. Then, he shakes his head just a little, and says, "Is Sarah here?"

Well, well, well. You lean against the door. "Did she say she was?"

Joel pierces you with his Dad Look. "Yes." Obviously, it goes without saying.

What other reason would he have, right? Clearing your throat, you feel the anxiety bubbling underneath the surface. "Uhm. She isn't," you look apologetic as you say it. As if it's your fault his prepubescent daughter uses you as a scapegoat.

His sigh is enough to make you feel how tired he is. Overworked. Exhausted.

You try to understand what might've happened before he loses his mind, "What time d'you usually come back from work? Maybe she's at a friend's. She probably thought you'd be back later than this."

He finishes rubbing both palms all over his face, and he threads one hand through his hair. "I'm usually back at nine—well, I'm supposed to be back at nine. I'm usually home by ten." That checks out, then. "But—that doesn't explain why she lied to me."

"Any special occasions coming up soon?"

Joel frowns. "Uhm. My birthday's in a few days, but—"

"Ahhhh." It shuts his mouth, the way you exclaim it so clearly. "She's brainstorming, Joel."

"Brainstorming...?"

"A gift." No daughter had easy access to what made their fathers happy. You take pity on him. "C'mon—let me scare the little one."

You walk inside without waiting for his reply, knowing Joel will make his way in. "What d'you mean, scare her?"

The noise of his boots hitting the floor makes you happy.

You take the phone out of the wall and look at him. "She always keeps that cellular phone with her when she goes out?"

"Always," he nods.

"Perfect." You know it by heart already. As you dial, you feel Joel's eyes on your house. It's the first he's ever been inside, and it makes you hyperaware of every movement of his. "It's ringing," you inform him with a grin forming.

He looks confused. More tired than anything else, but it'll make sense in a second.

"Hey, miss Sunshine!" the nickname she gave you always brings a smile to your face.

Time to put on a show. Feigning panic in your voice, you yell-whisper on the phone, "S, love, would you mind telling me why on Earth is your pops—" you fake cover your end of the line to yell, "one minute!" then you're back at whispering again, "why is he parked outside my house right now? Is there something I should know?"

"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit—"

You're glad he can't hear her end of it. "No time for panic. Explain."

"I am so sorry, Sunny! I thought he'd be back in like, two hours or something. Oh, god, can you please cover for me? I wrote a note saying I was at your place. Sleeping there. I was gonna call you before he came back home but Jenny and I—"

"You're at somebody named Jenny?" you repeat the information, looking at Joel with a question in your eyes, and when he nods, your heart soothes at knowing she's safe. "And you didn't think to mention your brilliant idea earlier?" going for the full effect again, you yell out, "One minute, Joel!"

At least she's fast in her rambles. "Yeah, yeah. My best friend. She's trying to help me come up with a surprise for him. I'm not there often and it's never on his birthday. I wanna make it special."

"Okay. Cool. Next time, fill me in as you make the plans."

"I will, I promise. Pinky promise. You think you can convince him I'm sleeping there?" the plea in her voice is adorable.

You chuckle. "I've got you, S." Joel sighs in relief in front of you. "Just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Be back here tomorrow first thing in the morning. 7:30 sharp. I'm gonna invite your dad for breakfast, as punishment for your lack of planning, and you'll be the one making us the pancakes," before she can even answer, you go, "Toodles!" and hang up.

When you put your phone back at the base, you turn around with a proud smile.

Joel's looking at you funny. "You're good at that," he says.

"At what? Acting?" you laugh when nods. "I was a trouble child. I'm great at lying."

"Aren't those the same?"

"Eh. A thin line separates them." You can sense his awkwardness creeping up, so you do your best to think on the spot. "Is she one to escape?"

"Not really, no." He's shuffling on his feet, uncertain of what to do in your home. "She's never done this before."

"From what she told me, she's never around for your birthday."

"That's true."

"She wants to make a surprise for you," you inform. It puts that smile on his face that makes your knees a little weak. "And now she has to be back here at seven in the morning. All is well."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."

He's gonna see himself out. You swallow all the nervousness that being in his presence creates and just... goes for it. "Is it hard? Having a kid?"

That relaxes some of the tension in his shoulders. He leans on the counter of your kitchen and shakes his head. "Not really. It's a lot of work, but it's not hard. It's rewarding."

I wish my mother felt the same. You smile at the truth in his words. "I can see it's hard work." He laughs again. "Well—I had just opened that before you rang the bell," you point at the Pinot on top of the counter. "Want a glass? Unless you tell me you're 'only beer' kind of guy, then I can't help ya."

Joel looks between you and the bottle a couple of times, then looks down at himself. "I'm uh—I'm all greasy and gross from work. You sure that's the company you want for wine?"

Rolling your eyes, you walk towards your glasses cabinets. "If I told you that you can go home and shower, you'd never come back."

"And that'd be a bad thing?"

"Sure it would. You're the only person in this entire street that hasn't interrogated me on my life so far, I feel left out. Offended, even," you add with a dramatic twist. Your robe flows around you, and you can't help but smile when you see his eyes following you.

It's the way he swallows visibly, almost audibly, that plants a seed of maybe inside your head. "I'm not usually one to pry."

You place both glasses on the counter. "Neither am I."

"I know. It's why I like ya," Joel says it with eyes on the glasses instead of you. "That and the way you talk to the plants."

Your hand on the corkscrew stops, and you want to slam your forehead against the wood. "Oh, god."

His laughter is so nice. "Nah, don't be embarrassed. 's why I gave you your nickname."

"Don't be embarrassed? That's mortifying, Joel. I thought no one—wait." Had you heard him right? "What d'you mean you gave me my nickname?"

Joel's head tilts, and he's definitely a charmer kind of guy. If you do have a chance, you might be fucked. "Your nickname."

"Miss Sunshine?" He nods. "I thought that was Sarah."

"No, Sarah used it first in front of you," he pulls one of the glasses closer to him. "I said it first."

Well... that made it just as special but in a different way. You pour the wine into both glasses. "Good to know. I was under the impression she was the creative genius in the household—I just. Quick question that I never asked her: Why?"

"'Cause every mornin' before I left for work you're there on that big window," he points at the glass window that's occupies ceiling to floor, the very reason you picked this house, "talking to your plants as if you're the sun itself waking them up. 's cute."

Cute. You hate how he has the ability to make you blush. What is this, fucking high school?

"That makes sense."

Joel wipes his palms on the side of his t-shirt and then looks up at you. "If I go home with the promise of comin' back, will you let me shower?"

Let me. You're thankful your arms are covered because you're unsure of what this man is capable of when he knows the effect he has on somebody.

"I'll let you," you answer.

Joel nods and his smile is so genuine that you wonder why you never tried before.

"'kay," he takes one sip of the wine, hums in approval, and then takes a deep breath. "'m gonna go. I'll be back to interrogate you."

"I'll leave the door open."

"No—Jesus bloody Christ, are you and Sarah mad? Lock the door, Sunshine." You like it so much when he's the one that says it. "I'm serious."

"Alright, jeez," you laugh.

It's less tense than you imagined as he puts his shoes back on and walks out of your door. Joel crosses the street with a little wave in your direction, and all you can think is—what on Earth am I gonna do to him?

When he's back, Joel smells so good it's intoxicating.

It makes your brain melt.

Minty and fresh. That's what his stuff smells like, and you know the idea of that scent's now painted on the walls of your brain.

He does that stupid little dad pose, widening both arms and lifting them up in a display of 'what do you think' before walking in.

It makes you want to push him against the wall, but you do your best at behaving.

For now.

"Brand new man?" you ask.

He points at his glass of wine, untouched since the moment he left. "Will be in a sec."

You wait for him to take a sip before extending him what you held in your hand before he arrived.

Joel eyed the cigarette and, thank fuck, there was none of the annoying judgment sometimes people carried. He stops his movement to sit on the stool and asks, "You smoke in here, or are we goin' outside?"

"There's a table there. Weather's nice. D'you mind?"

Joel grabs his glass, shaking his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Lead the way."

"Ma'am," you echo him, sounding disgusted. He laughs behind you, "Who am I, Mrs. Adler?"

Still laughing, Joel answers, "Nah. Too talkative for that."

You turn around with your mouth hanging open, trying very little to look offended. "I beg your pardon. We never spoke for longer than, what, five minutes?"

Joel shrugs his shoulders. His smile is as intoxicating as his presence. "I hear things."

"You hear things?" you ask, pushing open the door that leads outside.

"I do," he sips his wine, looking to the small terrace where your little table is. "My daughter's a gossiper, little Sunshine. I think y'should know that."

Little Sunshine. Goddamn this man.

"Should I be scared, here? I haven't even told her anything, but I feel like I should be."

"If you didn't tell her anythin', than why would you be?"

"Because!" you laugh, feeling just a little out of your depth with his smoothness. You expected more closeness from Joel. Less teasing, easy banter. "You're talking like someone who knows a lot, that's all."

"And I do," he says, sounding every bit as serious.

You sit down on one of the chairs — your chair, precisely — and watch as Joel walks around a little, taking in the environment. He adds, "Did ya know," pausing for a dramatic effect, he sips again, "that in all of three months, you became one of my daughters' favorite people?"

He pins you under his gaze.

You cross your legs, and watch happily as his gaze drops to the motion.

"Did I?" if you sip at his pace, you'll be throwing yourself on his lap in an embarrassing amount of time.

Joel nods behind his cup, touching one of the many plants that cover your backyard area from floor, to walls, to ceiling. "You did," he smiles, dropping the fake seriousness. "Are you ready to deal with the six months absence? 'Cause from personal experience," he points both hands at his chest, "you try convincing yourself you won't miss her all that much 'cause, y'know, it's "just" a girl, but—fuck," he spits the last word, smiling widening around the fact. "She's so cool to have around. You'll see. Your phone's bill's about to create life."

It grounds you.

The way Joel speaks of Sarah makes you feel comfortable sitting here, and any doubts you had are sucked by the green life around you and returned as oxygen.

Joel talks about anything, no reservations.

In his absence, you doubted whether this could be any different than most times.

Would Joel be like that—like any of those other guys?

He wasn't.

Joel, as much as you hated to admit it, was an exception.

Maybe these things were fated. Simple chemistry. Similar mindsets. Whatever it was—you had it every once in a blue moon.

Your expectations settings were long ago molded to expect the least, and it takes only half a bottle of wine for you to notice the need to rear it in.

He's so damn easy. Joel goes from one topic to another like he's interested. He answers your questions with full interest, sometimes going on tangent stories, and he's the one who keeps the glasses filled.

Attentive, you take note the second time that happens. Before any of the glasses got empty, he served you both.

He compliments your taste in music and sounds genuine about it.

The weird silences you most dreaded never happen—if he's not answering you, Joel asks things. Interesting things, unlike any other neighbor.

"Was it you who decorated your place inside? 'Cause, there are very specific things in there. And you seem like the type to know what you like."

Joel was very attentive.

He asked, "and is this what you like to do with your free time?" pointing at the books you put away when you both arrived, "Drink wine, read, talk to your plants?"

"I still can't believe you've seen me doing that."

He laughed at that. "It's a pretty big window, Sunshine. Jesus Christ—you don't lock the door, you don't know people can see through your gigantic-ass window—I'm genuinely starin' to get worried here."

"Okay, first of all, I do lock my door."

"Do you?"

"'Course. Most days."

"Oh my—"

"—and! Now that I was reminded of my window's size, I'll consider buying drapes. Long, white ones. That'd be cool."

It was easy.

Talking to Joel—sharing a table with him, a glass of wine—so easy.

He never looked uncomfortable. Even if he moved a lot, Joel looked good—so damn good you lost focus every now and then—, but good with himself.

In his skin.

That was intoxicating.

When he does more than just talk and asks things; it's almost too damn easy. Was time supposed to go this way?

The first bottle end, but it's too soon.

You know it. He knows it—plays with it, in fact. Waves the empty bottle after pouring it for you and him in the air very lightly then places it on the floor.

Offering another one is almost a visceral reaction.

You don't have the same finesse he does, or at least, you think not, but if his smiles and closing proximity are anything to go by, he's enjoying himself as much as you are. "I dance around opening these a lot," you say pointing at the empty bottle. Pulling your legs closer to yourself despite the voice of your mother telling you that's a body language sign of insecurity—fuck insecurity. "Don't wanna be the wine lady on top of the plant one. But they're good. I like it."

"I only drink wine when my brother cooks," he offers.

The glass in your hands makes you feel safe enough to land this conversation where you want it. "Really? He cooks a lot?"

"More than me," Joel confesses with a shrug. "He likes to match the wine to the dish and that type o' stuff."

"I was taught how to be picky, but if I'm being honest—" you like the way Joel leans in closer when you pause it. You smile, "it's all just grapes tastin' really, really good." The sound of his damn laugh. This man's gotta have a flaw, you think. "As long as it's wine, I'm happy."

"I think that about a good beer after a day of work."

"We're all just trying to give ourselves little positive reinforcements for playing nice at doing our jobs, huh?"

Joel pauses at that. Lifts his eyebrows, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, wow—"

"Oh god", while it took you a lot of alcohol to get drunk, being open-mouthed about weird things came with the territory of feeling comfortable.

Joel made you comfortable, even if you were mortified at how amused he was.

When he's done laughing, he looks at you. "That's cute. You're the philosophical type."

"Isn't everybody who enjoys wine?"

"I don't know. I enjoy wine and I'm not one to go that far, I think."

"Hmm. Philosophizing can involve different topics. Lenses."

Joel wolf whistles. "Well, I think I'd need a couple more glasses to unlock that side of me."

"Not a problem," you get up, and resist the urge to wink at him. "I'll be back."

Your reflection in the kitchen mirrors is the confirmation of how fucked exactly you are.

It's more than just the color on your cheeks—it's the glassy screen over your eyes, making it shine like...

Well, very few times.

Fuck, you think.

Maybe that's why your palms are sweating.

He's more than you bargained for—Joel's looks were hard to move on from, but this?

Once in Rome...

Fuck it.

It's not as if either one of you was blinded to what a moonlight late-night conversation leads to.

The air outside could be felt.

When you're going back with the opened bottle, another pin drops in your mind.

He has the whole night free.

You don't break the bottle, but it's a close call.

Joel asks you the second you're back, "I have a depressing confession to make—I was tryin' to keep to it to myself, but honestly, it's all I taught about when you left."

You place the bottle in the middle of the table carefully and sit back down with your eyes on him.

He moved his chair closer again.

"Do share," you urge.

Joel looks around the yard—he seems to do it a lot when he's dipping his toes into personal places and says, "This is the first time in a—uh—I don't even know. A while. That I just... sat with another adult. Drank something nice. Talked about more than just—fucking politics, or whatever." Joel's eyes on you make you feel honored. You know he'd say that's a silly thought if you said it out loud. "It's really nice. And—the depressing part comes in now: I'm only here 'cause of my brother."

You tilted your hair. "You're here because... of Tommy?" you tried connecting those dots, but came up short.

Thankfully, Joel was here. With his smile, and his explanation.

"You see, before Sarah's mom and I decided she could spend some months here instead of just a few weekends, I was already... shutting in. His words, not mine," Joel picks up his glass for a sip, and you hang onto every word he says. "So when she came, he took me out one night. That little bar a few blocks from here—y'know Mr. O'Donovan's place?" when you shake your head, he waves a hand, "I'll take you someday—'s the only place around here that's worth a dime."

"I'll take your word for it." I hate bars. You'd go for him. With him.

"I think I know what beer you'd like," it comes off as a whisper, and you have to hide behind your glass again. "I only remember that talk because he made me promise. He's not one to ask for promises."

"What did he make you promise?"

"He was upset 'cause I kept turnin' him down every time he wanted to do his 'meet my friend and you'll be good friends' match-making shit, so he said, 'you promise that the next time someone invites you do somethin' you actually wanna do, you're not gonna turn 'em down? You'll actually fucking go, without makin' excuses to yourself'. And that sounded fair. So I promised."

You take note of the effort he's making.

The subtle 'this isn't just about what's about to happen'.

'I'll take you someday'.

'Next time someone invites you to do somethin' you actually wanna do'.

So more than just neighbors. You nod at that, smiling at him. "He seems like a good brother," you say. "Siblings can be a pain in the ass."

Joel stops his glass on the way to his lip to shake his head at you, "Oh, no no," he takes the sip first, and says, "one doesn't negate the other. He very much is a pain in my ass, trust me."

You laugh. "Older and younger?"

"Younger," he nods. "I had a lil' bit of peace here and there before he was born."

"Can't imagine you'd have it any other way nowadays."

He agrees with you.

When he doesn't, Joel scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.

He does silly faces. You wonder if he's aware of how unfair it is that he gets to look like that. Tender. Charming.

He proves your theory to be right with only half another bottle.

Put two or more adults plus a certain amount of alcohol in a closed environment, and sex will be on the table.

It makes you blush when you think... it could literally be on the table.

Joel pretends he doesn't see you growing hotter. He keeps his eyes on you as you take off the robe instead of looking at your arms. Listens to what you're saying without losing focus.

Only when you're done and asking him something in response that he looks.

It makes your throat dry when he does.

Joel has an unabashed, almost cocky tilt to his mannerisms.

You thought he'd be quieter than he is—more serious.

It's a welcomed contrast.

When sex is laid on the table, it comes because he brought up the joke you made at the beginning of the night about his lack of interest in your life, and decided to ask you things. Where you grew up. If you were always like this.

"Define 'like this'."

"Smart with the calculating glance, and sweet-talking."

"Is that me?"

"Sure is, Sunshine."

None of the questions that people usually ask.

It makes you bite your lip more than you wished—his manly, tall presence gets under your skin in ways that no previous partner managed to. Tucking your hair behind your ear, avoiding leading the conversation to the exact places you liked, giggling—those weren't things you did.

He pulled them from you.

When he does ask you the 'usual' questions, it lacks the malicious curiosity inflating others whenever they did.

Sex is laid on the table because Joel looks you in the eyes with that easiness in his shoulders and asks, "I'm not as private as you, though—all of my neighbors already know Tommy, and Sarah. You, on the other hand... the mysterious crime and horror novelist, who talks to her plants and moved from so, so far. I might not be the prying type, but I was curious about you long before my gremlin set her little claws on you. How come I never see anyone coming in or out of here? You tellin' me not one friend of yours followed you here to god-forsaken Texas?"

Your glass is almost empty, and you focus on the twirling of the red inside it to avert your mind from the way he's sitting. "The point of moving was getting away from them. All of them, as bad as that sounds," you cover your eyes with your free hand, and Joel's hand touches your forearm.

"Hey—it's fine. Don't feel bad. 'm happy you had the privilege of gettin' away. If you wanted to move away from all of it, I'm sure you had your reasons."

Looking between your fingers, you try appraising his face. "Really?"

"Really," he nods.

"Okay." You sit up straight. "And I do have people over, sometimes. You're just always at work."

"Yeah? You made friends already?"

"A few, yeah."

"Where?" he removes his hand from your forearm but drops it to your chair's armrest. The proximity is doing something to you. "I thought you worked from home."

"I do," you agree. "But I do other stuff. I'm not always here with my plants, Joel," you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly.

Joel laughs, "I wouldn't know. If I could work from home and stay with my tools and wood, I would."

"And I believe you," you nodded.

He bites on his smile before asking. "What other stuff d'you do?"

"I joined a book club," you reply, feeling all levels of boring.

From his look, he disagrees. "You got the patience for that?"

"Sure do," you nod again.

He nods, pouting in awe. "Nice," he says. "Are your book club friends givin' you the right impression of Texans?"

"I'm warming up to them," you smile.

Nodding, he asks, "Should I ask now the questions all my neighbors already know the answer to? 'Cause I am curious. Did you know Mr. Adler tried tellin' me what he 'discovered' about you? He tried looking blasé when he said that, but I'm sure he just wanted to gossip about the pretty girl who moved across from him."

"Ew, Joel," you laugh.

His eyes never leave you—you feel it even when you're not looking at him. He's laughing too. "What? It's true."

When you look back up at him, you wonder—when did you two get this close?

"You can ask," you say. "It's not that exciting, the answer. Actually, it's not exciting at all."

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," he sips his wine, and leaves the glass on the table. "You already know my backstory, so kill my curiosity now," he pierces with his eyes for a moment, "how on Earth is there no ring on this finger?" he points to your ring finger, then he leans in closer, and you can smell the wine in his breath; you want to kiss it until it's taste is gone, "and how is it that I never see anyone leaving here early in the mornings?"

Well. "No ring 'cause I didn't want one so far," you reply. To him, you give more honesty than anyone else who's asked. "And I have the luxury of living without it. I know many friends of mine who don't—and actually, that was part of..." don't go there. "Nevermind," you shake your head, pinning yourself to here.

"You just didn't want it?" he echos.

You nod, "Never did," there's no reason to lie to him. He smells so good—why would you lie to him? "Most men bore men, Joel."

"Wow," the smile that widens is a little baffled. A little dirty. "Should I be scared?"

At that, you burst out laughing. "Really?" You have no clocks outside, but the starry sky and the deep silence in the houses next to you are a good enough indicator. "It's been... a couple of hours, at least. We're one bottle and a half," you say, looking at your glasses shining on the table, "deep into conversation... and you wonder if you should be scared?"

Joel's still looking at you when you look back. His arm is around your chair, and your back touches it when you lean back against it. "I'll take that as a no."

"You are very far from boring."

"'m happy you think so," he smiles. He lets his eyes drop to your lips, without a care for the two palms of distance that separate your faces. It's meant to be blatant. Obvious. "Just another question..."

Here it comes, you thought. Why no kids? Why so alone? Do you feel lonely?

"Why me?" he asks.

It's nothing more than a breath.

You could ignore it. Give any answer, and close the gap. Instead, you give him honesty. "Honestly? I was so attracted to you, the second I saw you, that I was willing to even hear somethin' stupid coming out of your mouth if I could just—," do it, do it, do it. Seeing his eyes darken from up close is torture. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat between your legs. "Now, if I were any smart, I'd be wishing for you to be bad at all the rest, because..."

This was amazing already.

Joel laughs, just a single, breathy laugh, and then does something you would never see it coming.

He pushes his chair back with the weight of his hips and drops to his knees.

The gasp you let out is enough to put the most insufferable smile on his face.

"Don't say that," he feigns hurt, as if he wasn't smiling with his eyes and lips. "It might've been a while, but I don't think I lost my touch just yet."

Joel's hands envelop your knees and slowly pull them apart. You feel like an open wire—aware of every breath your body takes and each minimum reaction to him.

You feel the wet pulse inside your panties when he kisses the skin of your inner thigh, right above your knee.

Joel smiles up at you, blinking his eyes.

Damn him, you think. His hands caress their way up your skin, and you wished you were naked already.

He seems like someone to enjoy the torture—when his hands reach the curve of your ass, they stop there, holding onto your waist.

"Have I?" he asks, kissing the other inner leg. You feel a hint of his tongue in the short kiss.

What could you say to that?

"You really haven't."

Feeling the hot breathing of his laughter on your inner thighs was not in your list for tonight.

"Do I get a kiss, then?"

He would never have to ask you twice.

Your legs wrap around his torso when you lean down to meet him for the kiss. Joel seems to love the position—he smiles at first, gripping you by the neck.

He takes his time to look at you before he dives in. A mental check-in. Maybe just admiring, just as you were from the second he kneeled.

His kiss comes from experience. A lot of fucking experience.

If you were weak in the knees before, you seal the notion that you're out of your depth there and then.

Joel kisses like no one's ever kissed you before—like he wants to explore, discover, conquer.

He licks his way inside of you with the first kiss.

His tongue isn't shy; he makes you adjust to his rhythm, to let go and open up, and when you, you're rewarded with it—he pulls up just an inch, just to whisper, "that's it," and then dives back in.

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and neck in a possessive manner. It's why he makes it so easy for you let him guide it—he's holding you, and you moan as you melt into him.

He wants to feel your body.

The more you press yourself against him, the more Joel grants you little sighs of his own pleasure.

He never pushes his hips against you. Never presses you towards him.

It makes you want to scream.

When he pulls away, Joel sighs happily. He presses his right thumb over your swollen bottom lip, and nodding, kneels on his heels again.

"Joel..."

Your face remains close to his, gravitating to where he does. He whispers, "Lift your hips up for me, Sunshine," wrapped around a smile.

You do as he says.

His hand takes off your shorts without your eyes ever leaving you, and when the item is on the floor, Joel releases the robe you foregone earlier tonight from your backrest to slide down where you sit.

To not make a mess, it says.

Your face is burning up, but not as much as the rest of you.

"Is this ok?" he asks.

He waits for your nod of approval before pulling you by your knees. "Good," he's strong enough to get you where he wants in one pull. Your hips are nearing the end of the chair and from this angle, Joel gets to look.

He eyes the underwear as if it's personally offending him.

"I like the color," he says. He traces a finger across the baby blue lace and looks up at you. "Suits ya," he says. That's when he hooks a finger on the fabric, pulling it to the side. "I dreamt about this."

That gets to you.

Joel's fingers are thorough—able. He uses his knuckles to spread the lips apart, uncaring about the whines you let out above him, still holding on to the shame of being the only one exposed.

It lasts until he places two knuckles on each side of your clit, stimulating it with back-and-forth movements.

You were right about the torture.

He enjoys it.

Joel waits for your clit to be hard between his fingers before he puts his mouth to it.

You can only cling onto his hair.

I dreamt about this, too.

"Fuck—I dreamt about this too," you confess.

His moan vibrating against the core of your pussy makes you clench.

Joel's only starting.

He takes his time in finding the rhythm you most feel pleasure on your clit. He never bites, never nibbles, and doesn't go softly, like other men.

He eats.

Joel's mouth is stuck to you—the way he laps and slurps and sucks on your hardened nub only makes your volume go from whines and pleas of his name to moans in very little time.

That's when he dips his tongue inside. When he uses it as muscle and proves to you why the idea of oral is so good for men.

Because it's good.

Joel gives no indicator that he wants to stop at any time, and it turns you into something that blossoms.

At some point between him almost making you cum just by sucking on your clit and fucking his tongue in and out of you, your legs made their way to his shoulders, and his hands have secured themselves groping your ass.

He pulls back for air, once.

His fingers enter you instead, two at once.

"So wet already," he says. You only hear it, until, "look at me," he asks.

As if his thick, long fingers dripping into places inside of you weren't enough, you get to look at him.

His face glistening on your back porch is something that burns behind your eyelids the second you see it. You feel incoherent, needy, and exposed in more than one way.

Joel looks like he could eat you like this.

"Joel—please. Please," you're begging, but for what, you're not sure.

"Cum for me first. I'll give you whatever you want later, just," he pumps his fingers inside of you, keeping a steady and strong pace, and then says, "You look so good like this, Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Profanities.

That's what he says before getting his mouth back on you—his tongue sucking and vibrating against your clit.

It's too much. Too fucking much, and, "Joel, Joel—"

He pulls back just to say it, "That's it, doin' so good, Sunshine—" and that's when you lose it. The coaxing. It's so earnest. Sounds so pleased, dipping in honey as if it's him who's feeling this good.

"'m gonna cum Joel, fuck me, just like that—"

"Like this? Hm? Show me. Cum on my mouth."

All it takes is for him to put it back on you. Joel knows how to push himself inside—knows how to explore the hot and tight confines of your cunt, because he coos a first orgasm out of you with the right pace only.

No strength. No speed. Just sucking, and curling right against your spot.

Your vision whites out.

The time you take to come back to yourself, he keeps playing with your pussy and the mess he made in it, seeming as satisfied with the result as you are. Somewhere in white land.

What a little death.

After that, it's more a mess and clashes of teeth and desires than you knew you were even capable of.

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you pull him inside the house.

The idea is to make it to your room, but you never make it past the living room.

When you press him against a wall to finish taking off his clothes, seeing him only in briefs makes gravity pull you in.

Nothing but black briefs.

You have to drop to your knees.

Joel curses under his breath and tries his best at keeping his posture, but you're with a mind entirely clouded by raw need.

To him, you want to do only your best.

You're addicted to the way he mutters, "atta girl," every time you discover something that brings him pleasure. It sounds so fucking dirty.

"That's it. Atta fuckin' girl, god."

With him, you use tricks your friends once told you that are buried in the back of your mind. You hold the part of his cock your mouth can't cover and move it in sync with your lips. You make it wet, make sloppy, make it whatever he leads it to be.

Joel hisses and moans louder when you find the special places hidden—the sensitive skin between his balls that leads up, you lick it from start to finish and are rewarded with a full-body shudder.

He shows you what strong body means.

"Where's your room?" he pulls you by the arms, and you somehow end up jumping on him. Exactly what you wanted.

"I'm not makin' that far," you tell him with a grin.

He has his thumb on your lips again—he seems to like your mouth.

"Didn't think you'd want my bare ass on your couch."

"That is exactly where I want your bare ass right now," you tell him.

He's good at following requests, just as he is at giving them.

Joel sits with you already straddling his lap, and bless his gentleman's heart, he says, "I left my pants outside—wait," he curses under his breath with your hips circling his shaft. Letting it slide between your pussy lips. "Fuckin' hell."

"Fuckin' hell indeed," you sigh. "Wait here."

You run outside for it, only because you're not on the pill. Maybe you'll start taking it. Maybe you shouldn't think that far.

Joel's waiting for you alright—he has his hand at the base of his cock, sitting on your couch like a modern-day Adonis.

A sluttier Adonis. Sexier, too.

"Stop starin' and c'mere," he demands;

And who are you to say no to that?

Joel does you the favor of putting it on as you make yourself comfortable on his lap again, taking all of your out of the way. He looks like he wants to eat you alive piece by piece, and you love it.

"Lemme know if you want me to take over," he tells you.

"Yes, sir," you whisper in a taunting manner.

Joel rests his forehead against yours when you line himself up with you, and it's a reward of your stupid, gigantic-ass window letting in the light from outside that allows you to see the pleasure on his face as you sink around him, burying him to the hilt.

His digits press so hard on your sides they'll brise.

You'll be bruised tomorrow morning.

Fingerprints on your hips, beard burns on your inner legs, palm shapes across your ass.

When you start moving, none of you say a word about how it feels.

It's criminal.

Only curses and your names are allowed in the thin space separating your wet bodies.

The thin layer of sweat makes you two glide on each other, and the drag of him inside of you is almost too good for words.

You're scared of the ones that'd make their way out, anyway.

So you let out what you can. You call for him, and he calls back. Joel slaps your ass, both sides of it, and urges you on to take him as you want it.

"Fuckin' christ, I'm never gonna—fuck—never gonna sleep again."

There it is. Being pussy-drunk makes him loose-lipped.

Your own are aching with how hard you bite on them.

Joel lets the reigns remain on your hands as you stay on top. He lets you ride him painfully slow, and faster, just because it feels good. He lets you climb all the way up only to slam back down, praising you through the fog in your brain.

"Does it feel good, Sunshine? Mm? My cock feels that good for you?"

You're sure it'll all come back to haunt you once your brain can be coherent.

He takes charge when you start begging him, and for what, you're unsure of. It's a mixture of please and his name, which Joel takes as his permission slip.

He flips you onto your back, hooks one of your legs on the middle of his back, and fucks you both into another orgasm.

It should be concerning the way he does it—like he's familiar with your body and your cues. He just follows your pace and moans until you're clawing at his back, and when his name comes out over and over again, he coaxes it again. Coos at you, holding your face in one hand. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't ya? Do it. I'll cum for you when I feel you shakin' around my cock, Sunshine. Cum for me."

It comes so hard you almost faint; blackout.

Joel takes care of you afterward.

Of course he does.

Even with the weakest legs and the minimum sense of reality around you, he manages. Joel leads you upstairs, tells you he's collected your clothes, and even lays down when you ask him.

"Just for a while," you ask.

He lays in front of you in bed, and pulls your arms around him. "I'm puttin' an alarm."

Little spoon. "You gotta be back here in the morning anyway."

"I know," he kisses your wrist. "Can't wait."

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ghost-proofbaby · 3 months

Text

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

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jongseongsnudes · 4 months

Text

all yours

ex-fwb!jake. 1.9k words. toxxxxxxic smut.

“can we fuck?”

“can we what now?”

“please,” he responds a little too quickly over the phone, desperation lacing his tone, “i need you.”

not even ten minutes later, and the man is standing at your front door. he’s dressed in his usual tee and sweatpants combo, something so simple yet so ridiculously breath taking on him. he topped it all off with a black cap, the thing covering most of his face as if wanting to be lowkey. as if not wanting anyone to know he was here at yours.

before you could greet him or ask what the hell he was doing here, the man moves at lightning speed, closing the gap between your bodies. his hands are already at your neck, holding you in place as he smashes his lips onto yours.

the last time you saw him was three weeks ago, when he ended the friends with benefits arrangements with you, saying he wanted to explore things with a super hot girl he met. and you hadn’t spoken to him since.

so the last thing you expected tonight was for him to call you at 1am, let alone be at your apartment... kissing you.

he slightly pushes forward, welcoming himself into your home and closing the door behind him with his foot. your back is quickly met with the hallway wall with his body now pressed firmly against you, cornering you in.

the man kisses you, hard, like his life depended on it. there were times when jake was rough, usually when he was stressed out but this, this was something else. like he was so desperate for you.

and this drove you crazy.

but no matter how in the moment you were feeling, the fact that this man was supposedly pursuing or even with another girl, kept ringing in the back of your head. knowing jake and his fuckboy ways, the man could very much be in a messy situation and the last thing you wanted was add yourself into the mix.

it takes every bit of you to pull your lips away from his, only slightly, but your gazes remain on each other in the dimly lit hallway. it’s now that you realise the waft of alcohol coming from the man, like he’d been drinking before coming here.

“you’ve been drinking. don’t tell me you were stupid enough to drive here.”

“a beer, don’t worry. i just really wanted to see you.”

“i’ve told you so many times, don’t drink and drive,” you sigh your words and push him off of you, leaving him be in the hallway as you walk into the kitchen, the man quickly following behind.

“why are you even here? does that girl of yours know?”

“we fought,” he begins, fingers threading his hair as he approaches you, “she’s a headache already and she’s not even my girlfriend.”

“so you’re only here because you guys fought and you’re not getting ass?” a little chuckle spills from your lips as you turn to look at him, amused at all the audacity. “wow. you sure know how to make me feel special jake.”

apart of you was hoping that he’d tell you different, that he’d show up tonight and tell you that he was no longer seeing her. you know it’s crazy but you’ve never liked sharing jake so you were glad when things ended when they did...

because you were getting way too close to that thin line between fucking and everything thereafter.

“look i’m tired, i’m sure you have plenty of others to hit up tonight,” you say with a yawn and pat his chest, “shut the door on your way out-”

you’re only able to take two steps before his hand is on your arm, pulling you right back to him. and before you could even complain, the man lifts you up onto the countertop by the waist, his body immediately settling in between your dangling legs to stop you from moving away.

the smell of his cologne, once so familiar to you, immediately heightens all of your senses. it’s one you’ve become so used to, one you’ve come to loved so much after spending countless nights with him.

but that was the past, he was with someone else now.

“jake. we can’t do this.”

“we can baby, who’s stopping us?”

that god damn petname, the one he always uses when he wanted something. and every single time, you’d give in, giving him just about everything he wanted.

and judging by how your body is reacting, you know you’re about to do the exact same thing this time too.

give in to jake sim.

sensing your lack of response, the man leans in, his face now in the crook of your neck. he kisses you gently, his soft lips leaving a trail down the side of your neck where he knew you were the most sensitive.

the man knew so much about you. where to hold, where to touch, where to kiss to get your body burning and yearning for him. you hated this, hated how easily he could have you wrapped around his finger without doing much.

you struggle a bit but successfully push him off, your hands now at his chest to stop him from kissing you. his half lidded gaze immediately has you pooling in your panties, a reminder how he used to look at you every time he wanted you.

“you know you shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, your words more so for yourself than him, “you’re with someone now.”

“baby. you know she means nothing to me, no one can replace you.”

he doesn’t give you the time to respond, instead swooping in to kiss you again. his lips feel so unbelievably soft against yours, just like how you remembered the first time he kissed you. months ago yet feels like it just happened yesterday, kissing him at that random party and letting him fuck you right there and then in the upstairs bedroom.

jake always had this effect on you, even now.

“i only ever want you, you know that right?” his hands are already at the ends of your night gown, pulling the thin piece of material higher and higher up on your thighs as he continues kissing you, “you’re so pretty. the prettiest.”

you’re no longer fighting him, your mind too focused on his fingers that are now drawing circles in your inner thigh. he’s just so close to where you needed him most, your poor core already throbbing at the mere thought of him being inside of you.

you’ve missed him so much that just him being here excited you, more so than any other man have in the past few weeks.

“you’ll let me fuck you right baby?”

you don’t bother replying and wrap your arms around his neck instead, pulling the man in to kiss him. you’d be lying, especially to yourself, if you said you didn’t want this.

a shiver runs through your body as he hastily rips your panties off in one go, leaving your core so bare and ready for him to fill. it’s not long before the man is also bare, his throbbing erection already oozing of precum that he’s rubbing against your thighs, desperately humping you.

“this pussy... is mine,” he pushes into you without warning, without hesitation, immediately filling you to the very brim. he’s already so deep, stretching every part of you along the way but he doesn’t care and at this point, neither do you.

it’s uncomfortable at first, your tightness attempting to take as much of him as possible. to say he was big, was quite the understatement, something you’ve learned right from the start. it always surprised you how he could fit it all in of you, even without the foreplay.

but then again, he did always have you so wet and prepared for him, always so eager to take him no matter what.

“you’re mine. all mine. right?”

“yours jake, all yours.”

you’re too caught up in the moment, throwing your head back without thinking much besides how good it felt to have jake sim fucking you. every word, every kiss, every thrust is already bringing you closer and closer to your release. it’s obvious you’ve been so desperate for him, so needy with the way you’re already moaning his name.

words become foreign to you, the only thing on your lips are sounds you didn’t even know were possible to make.

so whiny, so pathetic, so sinful.

and all for jake sim.

you watch through blurred vision as he lays his head into the crook of your neck, his grip gradually tightening more with every one of his thrusts. he kisses your neck again, even going as far as sucking on a particular spot he knew would have your head spinning.

but just as much as he knew you, you knew him as well. and judging by his current stance, you were sure he was about to finish. his angling, his deep grunts, his grip on your body, all signs that the man was desperate to reach his end.

and luckily for you, the same feeling was finally approaching. that familiar knot in the pit of your core that is screaming to be released. you claw at him then, fingers tangled in his hair, his black cap long gone.

it’s not often that you guys finish together but when it does happen, you always feel as though you’re floating on cloud nine. your entire body feels as light as air, like nothing else mattered in that moment but you and him, your bodies completely entangled together.

just like right now.

his name is the only thing on your lips as you reach your peak, your juices mixing with his hot spurts of cum that was already leaking out onto your thighs. your nightgown, his hair, the cum on your thighs, all so messy just like the mess you just got yourself in for letting jake sim into your apartment tonight.

“fuck- that was crazy,” he runs his fingers through his hair, fixing all the strands sticking out from you pulling on it earlier. the man slowly pulls out of you, leaving you to gasp at the sudden empty feeling and of course... of the cum that is continuing to spill out of you.

*ding*

your brows immediately raise at how quick he reached for his phone from the countertop, as if to prevent you from seeing the new messages. it’s a no brainer who the sender was based off the smirk on his face but apart of you still held onto the small chance that it wasn’t.

that it wasn’t her, calling for him to come back.

“hey uh- i gotta run.”

sigh. of course.

“uh- the boys are looking for me,” he explains without even looking at you, the man too busy wiping himself off before getting dressed. all done so at record speed. “see you around pretty.”

you had barely gotten off the countertop but the man was already off on his way, disappearing out of your apartment just as fast as he had appeared. even leaving behind his favourite cap on your kitchen floor.

there was nothing for you to do besides laugh, laugh at being fucked over by the one man you said you’d stay away from. you weren’t stupid, you just had a weak spot for him and he knew this very well.

but this was it. if he wanted to play, so were you.

and it was all going to happen tomorrow night at your friend’s party, where you were certain both jake and his new girl would be at.

to be continued.

2024 © jongseongsnudes on TUMBLR. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 month

Text

sanctuary

words: 900

warnings: scary movie, small mention of sex (actually to say nothing sexual lol), first kiss <3, soft!rafe

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” you curse quietly, trying to find some way to get out of the situation. “how about the hunger games?” you interject into the conversation, kelces new girlfriend tessa shaking her head no.

“if we watch one, then we'd have to watch catching fire, then…” she trails off. “i think we all agree on hereditary.”

you simply swallow hard. you don't want to admit how much you truly hate horror movies, especially when the room is filled with your friends and their boyfriends.

you take a seat on the couch, schooching yourself as far away as possible. maybe you'll fake being asleep to get out of having to watch the scenes unfold.

you pretend to be very interested in the thread on your pants as the opening credits begin, blinking up when the spot on the cushion next to you is taken.

rafe gives you a soft smile. out of everyone in the room, he's the one you know the least, despite the movie night taking place in tanneyhill. he's friends with all your friends, but you've never made a point to hang out with him, mostly due to the crush practically every girl has on him, his charm and good looks not making you immune either.

“hey.” you say softly, smiling at him, noting that there's various other seats open, but rafe chose next to you.

“are you sleeping over?” rafe asks. a majority of the group planned to disperse among the many tanneyhill bedrooms, as the following day rafe is throwing a party, with the rest of his family being out of town, theres no reason not to take up residence inside on of the mansions many rooms.

“um, if there's an open bed.” you shrug. you drove yourself so you had the choice to go home at any moment, just in case you needed to back out.

“ill make sure there is one for you.” rafe whispers as the movie starts. you nod and give him an appreciative smile as his eyes turn towards the screen.

the opening of the movie is slow, building up to the scarier parts. you pull your knees in to your chest, trying to watch out of only one eye as the scenes get creepier and creepier.

you jump at the first scare, along with some other people but your reaction gets noticed by rafe, who places a hand on your shoulder. it almost makes you jump as much as the movie does.

“you okay?” he asks, moving closer to you.

“not a big scary movie fan.” you admit, looking rafe in the eye to avoid looking at the screen.

“oh.” rafe smiles slightly, hand going from your shoulder to wrap around you, pulling you into him in an unexpected move.

“you're not gonna make fun of me?” you question, the words slipping from your tongue before you can think out of sheer surprise.

“of course not.” rafe says, hand squeezing gently, comfortingly. “just… hide against me for the scary scenes.”

you manage to make it through the movie ducking your head against rafe, pressing your squeezed shut eyes into his chest, eventually relaxing into his grip, cuddled together on the couch as the movie finishes. his presence next to you keeps you from freaking out at the scary scenes, his strong arms never wavering from their place wrapped around you, even when popcorn is brought out and drinks are passed around.

“thank god.” you mumble when the lights get switched back on. rafe chuckles lightly, pulling you closer once more before letting you sit up with a stretch.

the couples rush quickly to their rooms, leaving a few stragglers to pick off the remaining bedrooms.

“i might just go home, rafe…” you look around tanneyhill, it's mostly dark, a majority of the lights shut off, giving the historic house a scary feel.

“ill drive you home if you want to, but if you don't want to sleep alone, my bed is open.” he says it so casually you're worried you misheard him.

“huh?”

“nothing sexual.” he shakes his head. “just sharing a bed. ill even keep a nightlight on for you.”

“really?” you giggle. you only want to go home so you don't have to be in total darkness.

“yeah.” rafe places a hand on your upper back, guiding you towards his room. there's already a light on, but he clicks an extra lamp on, illuminating the room even further.

“thanks.” you mumble. “for during the movie and for this.”

“it's my pleasure.” rafe smiles, climbing into bed, everyone having changed into their pajamas before the movie. he flips the covers back, gesturing for you to slide under them.

you keep yourself towards the edge of the bed, not wanting to invade rafes space when he's already done so much for you.

“oh come on, get over here.” rafe opens his arms up, and you smile, shuffling over to place your head on his chest, legs tangling together. the steady beat of his heart relaxes your own as you place a hand on his torso, holding back your gasp when you realize how prominently you can feel his muscles through the fabric of his shirt.

rafe kisses the top of your head. it's sweet, so different from what you're used from him. you pick your head up to look into his blue eyes.

“thank you.”

rafe leans down, pressing your lips together in a soft kiss. “i mean what i said.” rafe gives them another peck. “nothing sexual tonight. but if after the party when you've had some time to think about it…”

you nod enthusiastically, a smile on both of your faces. “im sure ill find myself in your bed tomorrow night as well.”

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dumbsoftheart · 4 months

Text

threads of fate

pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,

summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.

notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!

word count: 7.2k

౨ׅৎ

the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.

tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.

hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.

shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.

despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.

now, you knew you were wrong.

you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.

oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.

you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.

“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.

“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”

you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”

the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.

you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.

౨ׅৎ

when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.

with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.

there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.

that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.

you hadn't realised how hard that would be.

he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.

“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”

from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.

“its quite beautiful, no?”

you hummed.

“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”

the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.

before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.

that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.

you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.

you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.

“dear?”

“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”

she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”

you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.

“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.

“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.

that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.

you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.

“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”

you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.

“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”

you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.

“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”

he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.

“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”

“wh-what?”

“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”

he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.

surely, he couldn’t mean..

no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”

you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.

when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.

the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.

what a stupid, stupid lamb.

౨ׅৎ

you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.

“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.

what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.

‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.

“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”

you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.

you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.

“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”

“i’m not afraid of you.”

he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.

keep back your servant also from willful sins.

he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”

you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.

“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.

“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.

let them not have dominion over me.

then i will be upright.

“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.

i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.

he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.

“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”

your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.

“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”

he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”

let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,

lord, my rock, and my redeemer.

you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”

he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.

he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.

he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.

he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.

“wh-what?”

“kiss me.”

your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.

“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”

he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.

“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.

when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.

“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.

“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”

“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”

coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.

your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.

“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.

something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.

“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.

“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.

he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.

“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.

“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”

you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.

“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.

“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”

your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.

you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:

“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”

and you did.

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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like-a-diamondinthesky · 7 months

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used to this | l.m.h

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... fluff, soft moment with minho 🥹, established relationship

the soft voices, the late-night cuddling, the sweet and fluttering affections you showed each other; man, minho could get used to this.

wc... 777 words a/n... look i know i said felix would be next but i rly liked how this turned out like it's just short and sooo sweet! which i think represents minho a lot HAHAHA,, i hope you enjoy <3 (also thank you so much for 700 followers ily guys so much istg)

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You and Minho have been seeing each other for a couple of months and it's been great. You just click, you fit together, you're a match! You even have a little tradition where he comes over to your place every week and the two of you watch a movie, show, anime, or whatever content interests you that night. Tonight, Minho chose to watch Spirited Away because, surprisingly, he'd never seen it before.

You've watched this movie many times before and it was one of your comfort films, but right now, you just weren't too invested in it—not when you already had all the comfort you needed from the person you were watching it with.

As the TV screen illuminated the dark living room, you sat on the couch, eyes unfocused and mind elsewhere. Minho was lying on his side with his head resting on your lap, an act of affection he had only recently made a habit of.

Absent-mindedly, you began playing with Minho's hair, running your fingers through the soft tufts. He made a sound—not so much a hum, but rather more akin to a purr—and leaned into your touch. "That feels nice," he remarked softly.

You giggled at his light, gentle voice, one that he only ever uses with you (and his beloved cats). As you continued petting his head, you pulled your phone out to capture your cute interaction. After taking several photos, you put your phone away, directing your eyes back to the screen in front of you.

No matter how hard he tried, Minho couldn't get himself to stay awake. He found his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, the feeling of your fingers in his hair lulling him to sleep.

When you noticed the absence of comments from your boyfriend, you leaned forward to check if he was awake. Upon seeing Minho sound asleep, eyelids closed and mouth slightly parted, your gaze softened and your previously furrowed brows fell. Only he could make you melt like that.

You paused the movie and turned off the TV. Carefully, you lifted Minho's head off your lap so that you could move to lay down properly next to him. Subconsciously, he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, causing a soft gasp to escape your mouth. ‘God, he's adorable,’ you thought as you wrapped one arm around his back, bringing your other hand to play with his hair once again. After a few minutes, you, too, fell asleep with your boyfriend in your arms.

A few hours later into the night, Minho opened his eyes to find you laying on top of his body, snuggled into him, as he had his arms wrapped around your waist. The only light in the room was from the street lamp outside the window, which cast tall shadows onto your sleeping face. He doesn't quite know how you both ended up in this position, but he didn't mind at all.

Curious about the time, Minho felt around his pocket for his phone but didn't find it. Craning his neck towards the coffee table, he saw it resting atop the surface, far from his reach. Patting his hand around your leg, he felt your phone in your pocket and took it out to check the time. The clock read 1:43 AM, answering Minho's concerns. Too sleepy to notice your new wallpaper, he returned your phone to your pocket. Perhaps he'll notice the image of your fingers threaded in his tousled hair that takes residence on your lock screen another time.

Minho leaned down to press a light kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir. You rubbed your head against his shoulder, tightening your grip around his torso. "That tickles," you whispered against his skin, eliciting a warm smile to appear on his face.

At that moment, Minho realized exactly how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger. He could get used to the weekly movie nights ending in snug cuddles on the couch, the soft and sleepy kisses you exchange when you wake up, and the hushed voices you use to speak to one another when curled up together. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, for as long as you'd let him.

"I love you," he whispered, so quietly that you would've thought it was your own imagination. You lifted your head and let your gaze track from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. In the same soft tone, you whispered back, "I love you too, baby." You reached up and kissed Minho, earning a satisfied hum from him.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

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taglist: @jinnixxn @elllisaaa

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

#k-labels #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee know x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids lee minho #stray kids lee know #lee know fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz lee know #skz #skz lee minho #・₊✧ written in the stars

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go6jo · 9 months

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(one can only truly feel with their eyes closed) s.gojo

it’s three in the morning and satoru is standing outside your bedroom door, pinching his bottom lip in between his fingers while anxiously awaiting your arrival. you should’ve been back before midnight and there is something unfamiliar stirring inside him, something that is rendering him restless. there is a heavy lump on his throat that is making it hard to swallow and he can feel himself starting to feel sick.

satoru was born bearing the curse of atlas, the world weighing a little too heavy on his shoulders ever since he was little. the body of a child is a frail one and satoru had been too scrawny at the time, bones too fragile to handle all of that weight by himself. he’d fallen on his knees one too many times and had struggled to stand up on his own until he had grown to become something akin to a god, one who barely even knew fear.

satoru reaches for the phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, waiting for something, a call, a text even - anything to let him know that you’re okay.

however, his head is quick to turn at the sound of heavy footsteps echoing throughout the entire floor when he catches sight of your silhouette emerging from the shadows on the other end of the poorly lit hall. he feels his heart cave in on his chest for you, eyes softening and full of compassion when he notices the sole of your feet dragging laboriously against the floor, weary and sore after being away for so long and having just traveled all the way back here, back to him.

ten days to be precise. that's how long you’ve been gone. and when you manage to make your way along the seemingly endless corridor, so very tired from your lengthy mission overseas, satoru can visibly see your body cease its fight against gravity as you let yourself collapse into him. he is so quick to guide your arms that had fallen limp by your sides to wrap themselves around him, pulling you closer, craving the proximity after having longed for your touch every day for the past week and a half. he follows it by looping his stronger ones around you, offering you the stability you need, holding you and welcoming you back with a quiet good girl whispered to the crown of your head.

in the quietude of the moment, while trying to recover from the fretful state he had induced himself into, satoru realizes now that fear has become a constant in his life.

“you’re late” he threads his fingers through your hair, soothing away your fatigue though he thinks he might have just lulled you to sleep because you’re standing so still, breathing so softly. at your lack of response, his hand cups the back of your head tilting it upwards and your lips begin to part, ready to protest but it’s only then, when you meet his gaze, that you become aware of the distress graven on his handsome features, brows furrowed and bottom lip swollen with the indents of his remaining anxiety, teeth merciless as they tried to chew away the nerves in his system.

satoru is always so good at hiding his feelings. he might’ve been terrified out of his mind, but hardly anything gives it away. his voice never wavers when he speaks and his hands have such a steady grip on you that his inner turmoil would’ve almost gone undetected. almost. because concern is so easily discernible in his eyes - his eyes are so honest, as honest as satoru gets. they have always let on more than his words — they’re his biggest strength and yet his biggest weakness, his blindfold keeping any vulnerability from seeping through.

“i know but i'm here” you close your eyes when his thumb rubs the spot between your eyebrows “my flight got delayed and i didn’t wanna wake you up with a phone call”

“i wasn’t sleeping” not until i know you’re safe.

“i’m alright, satoru. im here” you two speak in whispers like two kids sharing a secret, your voice barely audible as you lean your cheek against his chest, a hand rubbing circles over his heart.

a placid wave of silence envelops the two of you in its calm embrace as you take your time to touch, to grab and to squeeze — to let your hands get acquainted with each other’s skin again — you swear you feel him shiver against you, when you caress the skin behind his ear, where you know it’s sensitive.

“let’s get inside, baby.”

you nod against his chest and squeeze him in your arms one last time before you pull away to unlock your bedroom door. you lace your fingers together with his and pull him along, dropping your luggage somewhere in a corner and not even bothering to turn on the lights instead guiding him towards the bed that you’ve shared during so many other nights before — so eager to be cradled in his arms, to drift off in the warmth of his presence. but when satoru drops his head to your shoulder from behind, you halt all movements, stopping in your tracks.

he doesn’t say a word, just moves the palm of his hand gingerly up the skin of your exposed arm, only stopping where the strap of your dress sits on your body, gripping the fabric in his fist, begging to see you, whole. to make sure there is not some invisible force holding you together and that you won't fall apart under his fingers. he still touches you so carefully as if you will.

for a long time now, satoru has worried that the eyes he has relied on throughout his entire life might fail him sooner rather than later. reality can be deceiving and he has grown to harbor a certain skepticism towards it. after all, his best friend had met his demise at his own two hands, had taken his last breath in his arms, however, that unfaithful day in shibuya there he stood, intact - alive. satoru is now imbedded with a constant feeling of uncertainty, doubting what otherwise he would’ve believed to be the undeniable truth.

you lift your hand to rest over his, loosening the grip he has on the fabric of your garment before you slide both straps off your shoulders, letting your dress fall to the ground and revealing your partially nude body to satoru’s prying gaze. he closes his eyes with a sigh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise in anticipation. he brushes a few strands away before he presses a kiss to the mound of your neck where your spine protrudes your flesh, where your skin is most tender and delicate, feeling the subtle bumps of your skin against his lips — the way your body reacts to him proof that you’re not just some hallucination. that you’re here. that you’re alive and well.

he figures he is so much more in tune with his surroundings whenever he’s not looking. his eyes are closed shut yet the way you shudder under him when he runs the tip of his finger up the curve of your spine, the little sounds you make, the gasp that unintentionally escapes your lips when he lays the most gentle of kisses on the shell of your ear — he’d know you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. he knows the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you smell. even blind, his other four senses would still lead him to you.

he touches you until your skin starts feeling feverish under his fingers, wishes you’d just melt into him and would fill in every crevice in his body until he’s so completely covered in you he can barely breathe. and when he needs more, he carries you to bed in his arms then lies you down in the white linen sheets. he reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs it off before taking the spot next to you, yearning for the feeling of his skin against yours.

he kisses your collarbone, left then right, worshiping you whole, paying equal attention to every part of your body, then dips lower to kiss over your sternum. he loves on the freshly inflicted wounds on your skin then proceeds to run his tongue over the newly healed scar that runs diagonally on the flesh of your stomach — your taste, that, too, he has memorized by heart.

“i always come back looking worse than when i left” and it's supposed to be a lighthearted joke because you're smiling and your tone is somewhat playful but it makes satoru wonder if you think he loves you any less because of it.

sometimes it’s hard baring yourself to satoru like this, he knows it. your scar ridden body a striking contrast to his almost pristine, untouched one. however, it’s on nights like this one where you feel closest to him, laying bare your insecurities to him and, in return, he entrusts you with his — more often than not as he impulsively lets them escape his lips in the form of strangled moans against the sweaty skin of your neck, telling you he loves you. don’t ever leave. i don’t know what i’d do if i lost you, too.

“you returned, baby. that’s all that matters.” he utters against your belly then comes to rest on your chest, ear pressed atop your heart.

satoru has grown fond of the sound of your pulse lulling him to sleep, slow and steady. he unwraps his arms from around you, moving his hands up your sides until they settle around your ribs, feeling the way your lungs fill up with air, his head moving up and down, in sync with your heaving chest. he smiles fondly to himself, every heartbeat, every breath you take a reminder of the life flowing inside you.

he looks up, eyes searching for your face after a few minutes have gone by since you stopped playing with his hair. he had wanted to protest but then he takes in the image of you, mouth slightly agape, a subtle frown on your face — an angel lying under him. so fragile, so innocent.

you're sound asleep and satoru is overcome with the intensity of the sheer adoration he feels towards you when he comes to the realization that you had felt so at peace in his arms it had only taken you a couple minutes to doze off. it is as if your body reacts to his presence on its own, telling you that it's okay to let your guard down, that it’s safe around him. to him, there is no bigger privilege than to know his touch brings you such tranquility — that he’s your safe haven.

upon further inspection, however, as his eyes linger on you for a little longer, there’s a cold shiver that makes its way up satoru’s spine when he notices how still you are, barely even moving. apart from the subtle rise and fall of your chest, you’re so inert, so lethargic. so lifeless.

and suddenly it is as if there is not enough oxygen in the room as he finds himself gasping for air, lungs growing heavier by the minute as he starts to drown in mirages of your inanimate body in his arms, hands clammy and fingers digging into the flesh of your ribs instinctively, out of desperation, as if he’s trying to stay afloat.

he calls out your name once, and he would’ve felt bad for waking you up but, right now, he can’t even seem to think straight. he could be so selfish at times still you never resented him for it. so he calls for you again.

you don’t answer at first, his voice too weak to even pull you out of sleep. satoru hoists himself up on the bed, lying sideways next to you, his body looming over yours as he brushes the strands of hair that are sticking to your forehead away from your face — your complexion looks so much paler under the moonlight.

“baby.” he calls in between heavy breaths, eyes frantic searching for something. anything. this time you stir in your sleep, turning around and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if seeking for the heat of his body on instinct alone. he sighs releasing some of the tension inside him “baby.” though there is still a hint of urgency in his voice.

“im sleepy, satoru” he can barely hear you as you bury yourself deeper into his neck.

“i know, baby. i know” he tries to soothe you, cradling your head closer to him but pulling you away from him just as quick, grabbing your cheeks in between the palms of his hands and gently holding your head up to take a look at you instead. your eyes remain closed, still so heavy with sleep.

“just need you to say my name.” it sounds like a desperate plea.

“satoru.” you barely even manage to mumble as you lean deeper into his touch, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his hand. moving only on instinct still, too drowsy to even make sense of what is happening, to notice his agony.

“that’s it.” he pecks you on the lips “again.” he is trailing kisses across your cheeks, his breath heavy on your skin when he begs you in a quivering voice “please."

the feeling of his hands shivering against you it’s what gradually rouses you, opening your eyes only to be met with his wide-eyed gaze, pupils fully blown out in the dark, alert with fear.

you know how he gets, it isn’t the first time this happens yet it never fails to alarm you. you’d seen it in his eyes many times before and you’d seen it again earlier tonight, when you arrived, tenuous yet just waiting for the smallest trigger to so easily turn into something out of control.

it's as if he's suddenly put in a trance and nobody can pull him out of it. his hands start wandering everywhere and in a rather frenetic way, feeling around your skin as if he has gone blind. hands fumbling to hold whatever is within their reach, clenching whatever it is you're wearing in his fists, searching for something that you can’t quite understand.

you never know what to say, you can only hold him in hopes it will pass. you hold him and coddle him, whisper words of reassurance in his ear in hopes that you can be as much of a source of comfort to him as he is to you.

he apologizes afterwards, he always does. apologizes for needing you so much that sometimes it drives him close to insanity. then he always whispers a thank you from under his breath, thank you for letting me rely on you, but he barely ever does, only when he so desperately needs it — when it’s him lending others his strength, being relied on, who says thank you to him.

you sit up in bed, extending your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it. you pick him up when he does and you let a hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding him to rest on your shoulder.

“satoru, satoru, satoru.” you whisper against the shell of his ear while stroking his hair. he thinks he could fall sleep right here, like this.

please, lean on me, too.

i got you, you don’t have to be strong all the time.

if you let me, i can be strong for the both of us. satoru thinks he knows what you’re trying to tell him.

“i’ll say it as many times as you need.”

once again, he is so overwhelmed by his profound infatuation that it is as if his love has grown a will of its own, as if it has grown fangs when his teeth sink, unwarranted, into the skin of your shoulder, love wishing to seep itself deep into your bloodstream. “want you whole.”

“so greedy.” you wince quietly, nonchalantly against his snowy hair and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.

he keeps on nibbling on the tender skin of your jaw, as if he’s hungry and trying to prove a point. that if he so wished to, if he was greedy enough, vile enough, he’d devour you full.

“i'm the greediest, baby” for what is love if not greed. is it not wanting to consume the other person and let yourself be consumed in return? for his entire life, satoru has known nothing but an insatiable hunger. always wanting more, always needing more. gluttonous for more, more, more. in the end, he always managed to get what he wants and he doesn’t hold back, you never asked him to either.

he knows he owns you wholly, that you placed your soul, mind and body fully on the palm of his hand and he doesn’t think he could ever settle for less. doesn’t think his hunger would ever be satiated with less than a handful of you.

he places a trail of kisses that goes down to your shoulder again and he pulls away from your skin with one last kiss to the spot where he left a mark. a mark that is so unlike any other in your body. one that comes from love.

“i'm sorry that i need you so much” he envelops you in the tightest of embraces, touching his heart with yours.

he wishes you understand that he’s apologizing for so many other things, too. he’s sorry that he can’t give himself to you the same way you’ve given yourself to him. you’ve always kept your heart so willingly open to him yet it seems that he only ever allows you a glimpse into the heart inside his chest on nights like this, when fear holds him in it’s strong, relentless grip or when he’s falling apart at the feeling of being inside in you, body panting above yours, too lost in his own pleasure. only then does he allow himself to be vulnerable with you, spilling all of his heart's content into your distracted ears — when he thinks you’re far too gone to listen, to truly acknowledge his feelings — but you treasure every single moment of fragility of his, for they are so scarce, listening attentively even when he thinks you don’t.

“say my name one last time” he breathes against your ear.

here, in these sheets, satoru pretends to forget his name and the burden that inescapably comes with it. he forgets the world needs him and lets himself need you instead, just this once. — just this once, he’ll pretend to be the weak one, the one who needs saving and finds a shelter in your arms.

“satoru…” your words are spoken barely above a whisper, like they’re meant just for him.

“again” he connects his lips with yours and holds the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your lower back for support as he dips both of you down onto the mattress.

and you say it. again. and then again. not because he asks you to but because satoru knows how to get what he wants. he pries his name out of your lips as he trails open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, forces it out of you in the form a laughter as he nibbles on the inside of your thighs, tickling you with his breath and ultimately earns it in moan that you cry as a prayer when he sinks down on the mattress and makes a home in between your legs — until you're chanting his name over and over again, sobbing that you love him, you love him, you love him.

he smiles to himself, does it half smugly, half earnestly. satoru is now twenty eight and his shoulders a little lighter, the world fitting all too perfectly in this queen sized bed.

#tw suggestive #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #.mine #gojo

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alicerosejensen · 1 year

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Heyyyy hope you’re doing well!!

Please can you imagine Leon (re6) loosing his shit because they kidnapped his girlfriend and he’s like trying everything to get her back? Imagine him crying as soon as he gets to hug her again!😭

I'm fine as long as I have a laptop connected to the internet and food)

In fact, this is one of my favorite plot tropes, when someone is kidnapped, and the main character is ready to burn the whole world to the ground, but to find an expensive person.

Leon, despite his moral principles, I think he could have made many sacrifices. In particular, he would definitely lose his temper if he grabbed onto any thread to find his beloved. At least he didn't stand on ceremony with Patrizio.

Thus, there will be little left of the scoundrel who kidnapped his girlfriend.

Something constantly happens to the poor girl of Leon (either she runs away from him, or she is stolen from him). Sorry, I just love their relationship and Leon, who is ready to kill for his loved ones :D

I still know shit English, but enjoy it if you're interested.

Please read with extreme caution! There are mentions of physical violence, kidnapping and a maniac!Yandere

Leon is a little paranoid when it comes to protecting his loved ones, so most likely he will insert some tracking device into your phone or earrings to be sure that his beloved is safe.

He tries not to violate personal boundaries, but understands that his beloved is in potential danger in relation to him. Therefore, you are under additional invisible protection.

All you need to know is that Leon is not abusing his position as a federal agent. There is no surveillance on you, it's just that if something happens, he wants to have time to prevent it before the irreparable happens (or he goes on a binge again).

His heart sinks at the thought that he may lose you for some reason. Any encroachment into your personal space by outsiders who create discomfort for you make Leon enter the defender mode (aggressive if necessary). You should be safe.

Since Leon is known to a minimum of people about Leon's love interest, the risk is minimal that you will be harmed. At least Leon considered the threat from various corporations and bioterrorists. He didn't even think about the fact that there is some bastard stealing your things.

It was some little things: pencils, hair bands, a pocket mirror, lip gloss. Yes, you said something to him about it, but maybe you just dropped them out of your backpack?

He was calm exactly until you became too nervous. It seemed that you were afraid of something and called him a couple of times with a request to meet on the way home. Leon is not one of those who will refuse, but your behavior worries him.

And when you were walking home, Leon felt your painful grip on his arm.

His main priority is your well-being. "So tell me, pretty girl, what's going on with you?" Don't think I haven't noticed this nervousness.

He will be wary when he hears that someone is following you and dragging your things. Of course you could have lost them yourself, but the chiffon scarf that Leon gave you was the last straw. In addition, you showed him the abnormal love notes that someone constantly threw into your purse.

Outwardly, it did not affect him in any way, but the stingy "I'll deal with it" means a lot. The anxiety level has increased and Leon is worried that some kind of psycho might hurt you.

He often calls and asks if everything is in order and when you need to be picked up from college. However, when you don't answer the phone, everything dies inside him.

The moment he realizes that you have been taken away, a monster wakes up in him, which can bring down hell on your abductor.

His emotional state constantly fluctuates from constant fear for your lives bordering on panic to Ustanak whose task is to find you and finish off the son of a bitch who dared to take you away from him.

"No god will help this son of a bitch when I find him."

It's sad that you lost your phone on the day of the abduction and did not put on earrings. But a nice little bracelet will save you.

are a fucking goddess.

When you wake up, of course, you will be scared. However, you will try to intimidate the criminal by saying that he is so obsessed with you in vain. "Seriously, my boyfriend will come after me and gut you" You don't think Leon will kill anyone at all, so maybe your words don't sound too confident when the kidnapper's hand is stroking your head.

Do you panic when a fucking psycho says it's some kind of date? No one here hears your screams, you can't run away because you're handcuffed. You can't even go to the toilet on your own only under his control, and this causes you a deep psychological trauma. He brings you a fucking lilac, weaving thin twigs into your hair.

"Why me?" - This is the only question that is spinning in your head when you are hysterically pulling out purple flowers, throwing them away from you. - "Am I going to die here?"

You literally go crazy from the smell of dampness and lilac. Constantly shout Leon's name as if he can hear you and immediately breaking into a loud cry, banging on the walls and the locked door.

You're clearly getting claustrophobic.

While you're suffering, Leon is trying to track the fucking signal on one of your trinkets, but he's afraid that you left that day without any jewelry at all.

Claire is definitely one of those people who can talk some sense into Leon while he's looking for you. Considering that the bug gives a bad signal (or maybe your bracelet was damaged due to the fact that you constantly pull it from nerves) from the basement and your location is difficult to track, Leon has already yelled at Chris

You feel like a frog in formalin or even some kind of toy when your abductor brings you clean clothes, which you throw back to him. It's risky to make him angry like that and you really regret it when brute force is used to force you to change clothes.

Yes, then they "take care" of you, but you are already a cornered mouse. The purple marks on your skin and the marks from the handcuffs are now a reminder of who is in charge here.

And you hate that bastard more and more. Unfortunately, you have absolutely nothing to even hit him with. The food that he brings you in plastic dishes, as well as cutlery. You try not to eat, fearing that he might have mixed something in there, but you are forced by force.

It's been three days, and Leon hasn't found you. You feel like you're starting to go crazy until you hear a muffled noise from somewhere above.

All your belongings (including the bracelet) were seized and probably thrown away, leaving you in one long T-shirt, the smell that causes you to have a gag reflex. You literally have nothing on but this rag and underpants

Has anyone ever told you that you are not the luckiest person?

You tried to attack from behind when they stopped stroking you. It was risky and you failed because the kidnapper reacted before you swung to strike.

You were very painfully punished, left lying on the damp floor in a terrible state, all in tears and without an evening meal.

It's been four terrible days in your life. All because you fiddled with your bracelet too much, which turned out to be thrown away quite far from the place where you were, forcing Leon to go on a false trail.

You felt terrible. It didn't take long to break you. You no longer hoped to see daylight or your loved ones, so you crawled into the farthest corner curled up in a ball and cried.

Having lost track of time due to another fit of hysteria, you did not want to pay attention to the opening door and hurried steps in your direction.

Preferring not to pay attention to your enemy, you became even more hysterical when he tried to turn you around to face him, affectionately calling you "angel".

That's what infuriated you. But when you opened your eyes in another attempt to attack, you froze in disbelief at your own eyes. Have you already gone crazy in this place? So fast, or was Leon really in front of you?

His light blue eyes were dark. Not as bright as usual, but maybe it's because of the lighting… Strong hands carefully examined your body for the number of bruises.

You looked away in the direction of the open door - your freedom, but you felt Leon's fingers gently tracing over your split lips.

You've never seen such quiet hatred before. You were shivering from the cold, feeling that tears were still flowing down your cheeks, and tried to snuggle up to Leon in search of protection and warmth.

But Leon himself pressed you to him, slightly lifting up his T-shirt, checking for underwear. You flinched, and then you heard a single question when you grabbed his back with both hands, pressing your head against his chest.

"That son of a bitch…" - Leon gritted his teeth, still looking at your stolen things on the floor. - "I'll kill him"

The fuse clicked.

Leon took off his jacket, putting it on you (with great difficulty, because you did not want to interrupt close contact with him), and then easily picked up in his arms, like a small child, carrying out of this basement. You closed your eyes just to not see anything else. Leon's scent worked better than any strong sedative, and you wanted him not to let you go anymore.

So small. Defenseless. Bruised all over. He will kiss you on the temple, looking at the sprawled bastard with such a look that it will be clear how it will end. Leon will hand you over to Claire, despite your growing hysteria over the loss of hugs, and do what he has planned.

It's going to be pretty bloody. He expressed some regret about Patricio, but Leon will never forgive someone who hurt you, leaving a scar on your soul. So he'll empty the whole clip on him.

Because of this, he will have some problems, but you are the priority. You will undergo a full examination at the hospital, where Leon will be reassured (partially) that your violence ended with beatings. In general, there are no physical injuries, but both Leon and Claire understand what condition you will be in.

He will take care of you. Try to do everything so that you don't remember that four-day nightmare. He will find a good therapist, but if your brain decided to erase these memories on its own, a kind of protective reaction to stress, then it will even calm him down.

Leon understands the reason for your detached behavior. He is glad that you are not afraid to let him near you, thereby subconsciously making him your shield. he's ready to be one before you start trusting people again.

No one heard it, but Leon was really crying quietly when it was over. You were sleeping after taking a sedative dose, and he was sitting in the bathtub thinking only that he could not save you faster.

He won't touch you once again for fear of triggering some kind of trigger, but in your head it is Leon the hero savior. Therefore, if you are looking for protection in him, then it's even good, because this is how he hopes to redeem himself before you.

In the end, you are faced with dissociative amnesia. You realize that something terrible has happened, but you have a lapse in memory. Leon will be the one who will start distracting you from your memories by persuading you not to remember. He really considers it a gift of fate and will go out of his way so that you don't touch this moment of life at all, leaving him behind a black curtain.

And yet one day he burst into tears clutching to his chest. While you sleep next to him feeling completely safe, Leon will need to hug you tightly and come up with better ways to protect you. He feels guilty that he did not save you and this feeling of guilt will gnaw at him for a long time.

"I'm sorry… sweetheart, I'm so sorry… - what you hear in your sleep. - "Never again…no one will hurt you. Never."You don't remember a damn thing, but you're scared because Leon is crying kissing the top of your head.

He won't let anyone else take you away.

#leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil #re #reader #resident evil headcanons #leon kennedy headcanons #headcanon #yandere resident evil

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sapphicseasapphire · 23 days

Text

Living in a world as populated as it is by mortals, it is rare to come across a being who is not so. Rarer still is it to come across one who is both mortal and immortal- those who toe the line between Life and Death.

Reapers are abundant but undetected, doing their work for the spirits while hidden in a mortal body. They are bound to no Gods, serving only the lost souls of the land and answering only to the inevitability of Life and Death.

Hylian legends depict Death as a woman clothed in flowing white fabric, serene and tranquil, everlasting and inescapable. Some fear her, some hate her. Most bunch her up with the Goddesses.

She is not a Goddess.

She is… a promise.

And just as they’ve cast Death’s image onto a Goddess that doesn’t exist, they attribute Life’s gifts to Hylia, singing her praise. Hylia, the little sister of the Golden Three, tasked with protecting this world, is not Life.

Life has existed here for far longer than Hylia has. Some say that she was created with the breath of Farore, others speculate that she came before.

People think that Death exists in Life’s shadow, that they are entirely separate from one another. One brings joy, the other brings pain. This is, wholly and entirely, untrue.

For Life and Death wear matching white cloth, and they stand so closely together that they are indistinguishable from each other. One cannot exist without the other. They are… the same, in nature. They are patient. They take nothing more than what they are given; they give nothing more than what they take. It is balanced, in that way.

Everyone must face them, one way or another. Even Gods cannot deny the push and pull of Life and Death.

Although, there are occasions in which they can be swayed. In the case of a young boy who’d met his end during his quest, so beloved by the spirits, Death chose to wait. She did not claim his soul, not yet. She heeded the pleas of the spirits and allowed him to continue on- to finish what he had started. But this was not without a cost.

The boy- only twelve years old- was named Link, and he was not unique. Those who are favored by the spirits and succumb to illness or injury are often granted these second chances. They may never remember that they had died, but they are forever changed.

These people are known as Reapers. They recruited by Death to guide lost spirits to the afterlife. They have heartbeats, they breathe, they require sustenance. Reapers are mortal, normal people.

Until it becomes time to do the reaping, that is.

In order for a Reaper to find and guide spirits, they must use spirit magic. Spirit magic is as potent and variable as any other type of magic, except its power source is distinct: it is fueled by the power of an untethered soul. It comes naturally to Reapers, except in order to use it, they must free their soul.

Reapers have the ability to separate their souls from their bodies, becoming nothing more than a spirit. Once freed, they are immediately pulled to the nearest lost soul and it is their duty to aid them in their journey to the next life. The pull of a Poe is just as potent as the pull of a portal: demanding and unavoidable. Reapers feel it physically.

When their soul is outside of their body, a Reaper will appear comatose to the waking world. Unresponsive and unmoving, almost like they’re asleep. Their hearts still beat, their lungs still breathe. They still live but there’s nothing there. If their body is moved during this time, the Reaper will have a difficult time returning to it. Their survival will depend on whether or not they can find their body.

Link is one of many Reapers that serve under Death, and he is not unhappy. He sees the Threads of Fate that bind all things- the red ones of the living, the black ones of the dead, and the white ones of the immortal- and he takes pride in helping wayward Poes follow these threads home. He… has experience guiding souls, after all.

Link doesn’t remember when exactly he died, but he knows it had to have happened during his quest to rid the Demon King from Princess Zelda’s body. With her spirit by his side, he felt unstoppable. And his new job isn’t much different. He doesn’t feel sadness when he guides a Poe to their next adventure. No, he feels… at peace.

Death is extremely welcoming to him, for she knows that in time, he will return to her. Just as all things do. Link- our Spirit- admires Death. He serves under her but he is not opposed to it. He’s wholly dedicated to his job. He takes pride in it. It doesn’t interfere with his waking life too much and even as he cast on another adventure, it’s not too much to manage. Death treats him well, and he’d never denounce her.

When he’s reaping, he’s making a difference. He’s helping people. Is that not what a hero should strive for?

He’s… home.

Some notes!

• This kind of turned into a post about Reapers specifically and less about Spirit, but ehhh lore is lore

• Spirit and Wind are BEST BUDS. I’ve been referring to them as “the twins” in my head this whole time

• Spirit’s pupils glow when he is looking at the Threads of Fate. He can’t see them all the time, just when he really focuses on them, or else he’d be blinded by all the string everywhere!

• More on that- he doesn’t only see the threads that bind people to each other. He also sees the threads that bind people to objects. Everything has a memory, everything has a story.

• Something about Spirit’s presence is so inherently peaceful. He speaks quietly and clearly, he moves like a whisp, he smiles so gently. He can 100% be a little goblin in his own right, but he can be incredibly comforting when he wants to be.

• He cannot swim. Wind is APPALLED.

• He knows that Time is a God right away. His string is white. He doesn’t tell anyone, though, because it’s not his place. Everyone has their secrets, everyone should have the right to reveal themselves at their own pace.

• He and Wild sure do have a relationship. Yep. Just. The Reaper- the one who is tasked with guiding lost souls. And the literal spirit, actual ghost. Uh huh. They. Um. Yeah, they definitely have a dynamic. (This dynamic is the reason that I was convinced to add Spirit to my Cryptid Chain)

• A spirit is any soul without a body. A Poe specifically refers to a spirit that is lost. Hopeless. One who needs help. Wild is not a Poe. (Kind of)

• Spirit is like Time in the sense that he has not fully ascended, and won’t until his mortal lifespan is over. When he dies, he will continue to be a Reaper, but much more powerful as he will not be bound to a body. But that’s far, far off. He’s twelve, I won’t be cruel to him

• hehehehe

• He’s so incredibly good at playing the pan flute.

• Also this kid’s hilarious without even trying. (Spirit Tracks is the funniest Zelda game of all time)

• NERD. HE LOVES HIS TRAINS. HE IS IN PHYSICAL PAIN THAT NONE OF THE OTHER LINKS EVEN KNOW WHAT A TRAIN IS!!! SEND HELP!!! TELL HIM ABOUT YOUR FAVORITE TRAINS!!! HE MISSES HIS TRAIN!!!

• He has the unique ability to talk to Poes and Spirits directly, so he’s gonna be the best bet when it comes to translating for Wild. If Wild will let him come close, that is.

• “Don’t disturb me guys, I have some reaping to do,” he says, and then takes a nap. The others can’t tell.

• Or, mid battle, the decides they could really use a blast of spirit magic to aid them. So he just. Separates his soul from his body, as one does. Falls limply to the ground as the monsters they were fighting just suddenly all die. What just happened???

• Do monsters have souls? Do they become Poes? Thoughts that keep Spirit up at night.

#CAC origins #the legend of zelda #chain as cryptids au #cryptid lore #cryptid spirit #cac art #spirit tracks #loz spirit tracks #THE BOY #HE’S HERE #my art #links meet au #I know I’m not doing this justice but tumblr deleted my original draft #so definitely let me know if you have any questions haha #I’m so tired

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makoodles · 1 year

Text

ミ tìyawn / ve’kì [nsfw]

🍓 pairing: tsu'tey x fem!human reader

🍓 word count: 12k

🍓 tags: nsfw, human/na'vi relationship, angst to fluff (kinda), jealousy, vaginal sex, tsu'tey is one seriously conflicted boy

masterlist

It’s no secret that Tsu’tey hates the Sky People.

They are demons, blind to the world around them and so utterly destructive in their natures. His planet, his home, has seen nothing but chaos and hardship ever since they have arrived.

They are small and weak, yet vicious and harmful in just about every way. He has not known true peace since their arrival.

The sky demons have no redeeming qualities. Or at least, almost no redeeming qualities.

“Fuck! Oh, god-”

“Be quiet.” Tsu’tey grunts, gripping the woven cushions that you’re bent over so hard that the skin goes taut and bloodless over his knuckles.

Honestly though, it seems as though this is your attempt at staying quiet – your eyes are squeezed shut tight and your little blunt teeth are digging into your lower lip hard. Your face is all screwed up, your breaths coming in little panting gasps as he ruts into you.

“Are you not embarrassed? So loud.” He mumbles, though his tone doesn’t match his words at all.

He really can’t manage to stir up the usual feelings of disgust he has for sky demons, not when he can see the way your little toes are curling everytime he fucks into you.

“Fuck off.” You say, but your voice is all weak and trembling.

The sound of it only intensifies that heat building in his lower belly. You’re so small underneath him, your pussy stretched to its limit and dripping all over the thick length of him. Despite the size difference, you’re taking it so easily.

It’s far from the first time that he’s had you like this, on your hands and knees beneath him as you take him so well, but he still gets such a thrill out of it. He enjoys your pathetic little noises, the whimpers and moans and mewls as you wiggle and squirm beneath him, trying to get him to hit just right.

You make a sort of little mewling noise, muffled by the floor as you turn your face into the woven reed flooring beneath you, and then he feels you tighten up like a damn vice around his cock, your cunt fluttering as you come again.

“Another one,” He notes, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Greedy.”

When he comes into you, it’s with a soft, satisfied little grunt. He has done this many times already, yet the pleasure always surprises him. He’s never felt anything as tight as you, so good that it borders on painful, and the element of illicitness only adds an additional little thrill to the whole thing.

You’re still making soft, muffled little sounds as his hips rock lazily, riding out the last tingling aftershocks of his own orgasm. He enjoys those little noises immensely, and he makes a rumbly sound of satisfaction as he plasters himself over the top of you and allows his weight to press you down into the floor entirely.

“Ow, fuck-” You mumble into the floor. “You’re fucking heavy, asshole, getoffme-”

“Quiet.” Tsu’tey mumbles, his eyes sliding shut as he attempts to enjoy the pleasant tingling feeling in his fingers and toes following his release. “You are always talking, mouth never closed.”

“You didn’t mind my mouth being open earlier.” You shoot back, attempting to throw a pitiful little glare over your shoulder.

He thinks of your mouth earlier, wide open and hot and wet as you worked your tongue over him, and smirks.

“Okay, seriously.” You grumble, a little louder this time. You reach around and shove irritably at his chest. “Get off, dickhead. Did you tear your stitches? I told you to be careful-”

Tsu’tey just grunts and rolls off you, landing on his back and stretching his spine out with a sigh. No sooner has he started to relax than you’ve sat up to peer closely at the healing wounds along his chest and stomach.

“Do not touch.” He snaps, baring his teeth at you when you prod at the ridiculous little sutures that you had insisted on threading into him weeks ago.

“You’ve been touching me for the last forty minutes.” You grumble, but you take your hands back all the same.

Tsu’tey doesn’t bother responding to that. He’s feeling pleasantly loose and relaxed, and he’s trying to enjoy that feeling for as long as possible before the weight of all his responsibilities come rushing back in.

Though you’re not touching him, he can feel your eyes on him as you examine his injuries, making sure none of them have torn open during your activities. Your concern pricks at his pride, and he grumbles lowly as you peer closer at him.

“You’re lucky you didn’t bust these,” You say.

“You would just redo them anyway.” He grunts without opening his eyes.

There’s a pause. Then you sigh.

“Yeah.” You murmur, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear. “I guess I would.”

This little… arrangement with you had started nearly two months ago. He can’t even fully remember how it had happened – you were some kind of healer, and had stayed around after the battle to help the wounded. Initially, he refused your help. He would have rather suffered the pain of his wounds than feel your little demon hands on him, but you had been practically forced upon him by Jakesully.

For the first week or so, it had been nothing but sniping back and forth with each other. At some point, his insults and your challenges had evolved into heated exchanges that ended up like this, with you on your hands and knees or on your back for him as you both search for pleasure out of each other's bodies.

After the great battle with the Sky People, most of them have been forced off the planet. The ones left are loyal to the Na’vi, or so Jakesully says. Tsu’tey is not convinced; they do not belong here, and he does not like them. Their presence aggravates him; he is still healing from the near-fatal wounds he had sustained during the battle, and he does not like having enemies around while he feels so vulnerable.

You are not an exception to this; your presence aggravates him in a way he does not know how to describe. He is not blind or ignorant enough to claim that you are not attractive, in your own demon sort of way, but that reluctant sort of attraction only infuriates him further. He thinks something may have broken inside him after his fall from the sky during the great battle, but he refuses to think too much about it.

It’s just a way of working out his frustration and you clearly enjoy these encounters. It’s not worth putting too much thought into.

Life slowly returns to normal after the majority of the Sky People leave. For weeks, the Omaticaya rebuild their home. The loss of Hometree was devastating, and the efforts to rebuild is both physically and emotionally taxing for the People.

Tsu’tey does his best to pull his weight when it comes to helping out with the construction of their new encampment, but it is made difficult by the fact that you follow him around like a pest.

“I said no heavy lifting-”

“Go away, demon.” Tsu’tey grumbles, irritated by your presence.

“Doctor’s orders.” You’ve tilted your chin up, as stubbornly obstinate as ever. “Put that down.”

“Go away.” Tsu’tey repeats, but this time he reaches out and shoves at your head. It’s not a particularly rough gesture (he doesn’t actually want to hurt you), but it’s just enough to push you off balance.

You stagger a little, but keep on following him. He doesn’t bother trying to hide his irritation – the basket he is carrying is full of building materials, but it is not particularly heavy. He resents the fact that a creature as pathetically fragile as yourself would question his strength.

And even more than that, he resents the fact that his wounds are admittedly paining him a little.

“I’m the one who’s gonna have to stitch you back up if you burst those-”

“I did not ask for your demon medicine.” Tsu’tey bares his fangs at you, growing genuinely aggravated. “I do not want it. Go and bother someone else.”

“But-”

Someone calls Tsu’tey’s name from further into the village, and he pulls his attention away from you to look towards the call. At his hip, you cross your arms and grumble as though you’re unhappy that his attention is not solely on you. You are a greedy thing, just like the rest of your people – always looking for more.

The one who has called him is Saeyla, and he has to suppress a sigh at the sight of her. She was his student once, and a talented one. She always did have much potential, but things have been very awkward between them since she had offered herself to him as a mate at the Tree of Souls. He had been harsh when he had rebuffed her, but perhaps not harsh enough if she is calling to him once more.

It is typical that she has appeared in his path while you are hovering at his hip. A Na’vi woman that he rejected, and a human woman that he frequently chooses to be intimate with. It sounds like a bad joke.

“Saeyla.” He greets, hoping that he does not sound as tired as he feels. “What do you want?”

Despite the fact that she had called out to him, Saeyla is not actually looking at him. Her eyes are fixed on you, her brow puckered in visible distaste. There is no way for Saeyla to know of the little illicit sexual relationship between you two, and yet Tsu’tey feels his shoulders tense. He does not like to think of how she would react if she were to find out.

“Go away.” Saeyla speaks, but it’s not directed at him. She bares her teeth and hisses at you, and Tsu’tey bristles despite himself.

You actually take a step back, no doubt cowed by the venom in Saeyla’s tone, but Tsu’tey grabs the back of your neck and holds you in place by his hip. The audacity of his old student irks him, and he narrows his eyes and lets his lip curl as he looks at her.

“You do not give orders.” He says sharply to Saeyla. “I have business with the demon.”

You’ve gone uncharacteristically silent by his side, and he just barely resists the urge to glance down at you. Where is all that annoying fire gone? Usually he can’t get you to shut up at all.

Saeyla is still glaring, but at least now she’s looking at Tsu’tey. “Why is she following you?”

He doesn’t have a good answer to that, so he just glares back at her. He dislikes her tone, and he is not used to being questioned.

“What do you want?” He repeats himself, an unmistakable edge creeping into his voice.

There’s a pause, and then Saeyla purses her lips and throws her hair over her shoulder. Her kuru is drawn over her chest, long and glossy – her movements are calculated to draw attention to it, in a move that is unmistakably flirtatious.

Tsu’tey’s ears flatten against his head at her boldness, uncertain what to make of this.

“I wish to speak to you.” She says, before cutting a glance towards you at his side. “Without the demon present.”

For a moment, Tsu’tey says nothing. He stands there, tail swishing uneasily, as he considers the situation. This is admittedly more uncomfortable than it should be. He had rejected Saeyla’s mating proposal harshly, and now he feels as though he has been cornered by her yet again.

Even worse, you stand at his side to remind him that he has apparently turned down the company of a fine, respectable Na’vi woman to rut with a human.

With a sigh he removes his hand from the back of your neck and instead pushes at your shoulder. “Go. Leave us.”

You pause, dithering a little, before relenting and stepping back. He does not glance down at you as you retreat, but rather keeps his eyes fixed on Saeyla, who is watching you as though she’s about to start hunting you.

Once you have retreated beyond earshot, Saeyla speaks up. “Ma’Tsu’tey. I was wondering if you have reconsidered my proposal.”

Once, Tsu’tey may have attempted to keep a neutral expression and to meet her bold requests with patience. But since the battle, since his injury, since he had started fucking you, he feels like a raw nerve, pulsing and peeled open and exposed. He feels as though he’s lost some of his control, some of the safe rigidity that had ruled his life up to now.

“I have not.” He says bluntly.

But just like always, Saeyla does not know when to stop pushing.

“I understand that you are not ready to take a mate.” She says, stepping closer to him even as he stands stiff and still. “But the battle is over, and the People are rebuilding. I am happy to be… if not a mate, then a lover-”

His eyes flare wide, surprised by her brazenness.

“Saeyla,” He bites out. “You overstep.”

“It is an offer.” She says simply, bowing her head in what would have been a gesture of deferment if not for the way she is stubbornly maintaining eye contact with him. “Just an offer.”

Tsu’tey’s upper lip lifts up in a snarl, baring his sharp upper teeth. “I do not enjoy repeating myself.”

As always, Saeyla is unapologetic. She keeps staring up at him in a way that she likely believes is seductive, but is really just uncomfortably intense.

“Consider it.” She entreats him, finally stepping back. “You are lonely, I know it. I wish to share the burden with you.”

His jaw clenches, his shoulders straightening and going rigid. He probably should consider her offer. She is a woman of the People, a warrior-hunter who has completed her iknimaya, and she is not unattractive. And yet, his entire being rejects the idea of taking her as a mate. It feels wrong in a way that he does not understand.

Without another word, Tsu’tey turns from her and marches away.

He feels restless and discomfited, his tail swishing low around his legs in annoyance as he storms back through the village. Some of the People call out greetings to him as he passes, but he is too preoccupied to reply.

“Tsu’tey,” Jakesully calls when he passes by him, “Brother, I thought you weren’t cleared for heavy lifting yet-”

“What?” Tsu’tey snaps, turning with a scowl.

Jakesully pauses, his eyebrows creeping up at Tsu’tey’s overly aggressive tone of voice. Chagrined, Tsu’tey takes a moment to breathe, forcing himself to calm down. He is being unreasonable.

“I thought our resident little nurse had ordered you not to be doing any heavy lifting.” Jakesully says slowly. “You’re bleeding a little there.”

Tsu’tey follows Jake’s pointing finger to his chest, and sees that one of the neat little stitches around one of his wounds has torn open a little bit.

“Ah,” Tsu’tey’s brow contorts in frustration. “She will be a pain about this.”

Jakesully reaches out and takes the large basket from him, still watching his face carefully. “Yeah, well, we’re lucky to have her. Most of the medical personnel went back to Earth.”

“All of the demons should have gone back.” Tsu’tey says, but he’s somewhat distracted. He’s basically just repeating old arguments, his attention preoccupied with the blood that’s trickling over his chest from where your careful stitches had torn at the skin.

Jakesully gives him a look of intense disapproval, but Tsu’tey does not quail beneath it. It is a disagreement that the two of them have had several times. Tsu’tey believes that Jake is blinded by his past as a tawtute, and that he is unfairly biased in their favour, and Jake believes that Tsu’tey is allowing his prejudice to blind him when it comes to forming alliances and friendships with the sky demons that remain here.

“What crawled up your ass today?” Jake demands, brow furrowed.

Tsu’tey nearly chokes. “I- what? Nothing is up my-”

“Why are you even grouchier than normal?” Jake interrupts his protests, still frowning. “I thought you were getting along better with her.”

“No.” Tsu’tey denies instantly, his ears pinning back defensively. “I do not like her.”

Jake’s eyes narrow, visibly unconvinced. “Right. Well, Jesus, if you’re so against having her help, go to one of the Omaticaya healers.”

It’s not an unreasonable suggestion, but Jakesully has no way of knowing that Tsu’tey goes to you for reasons other than simple medical help. There is no simple way of describing the strange sexual relationship he has with you now, not without admitting a level of vulnerability that he is uncomfortable with. His attraction to you is a shameful thing that he would prefer to indulge in without having to analyse at all.

He just grunts, brow furrowed, and doesn’t answer.

“Whatever.” Jakesully blows out a frustrated breath, clearly done with both Tsu’tey and the conversation. “Do what you want. But don’t be so damn hard on her, yeah?”

Tsu’tey just scowls at him, before turning on his heel and storming purposefully back into the village. Why is it that everyone thinks they know what he wants better than he himself does today?

Predictably, he finds you in the little outpost that has been built to house the demons that have chosen to stay close to the village.

He has to loop one of those horrible little masks around his neck when he ducks inside, taking the odd puff of air every five minutes or so as he lopes into the outpost. The ceilings are high, made to accommodate the demon avatar bodies that some of the scientists have, but he still feels claustrophobic in the confined space.

The outpost itself is quiet at this time of day – the sky demons keep busy, often attempting to offer help in the village or just wandering the forests with their stupid technology as they research.

He finds you in your usual workspace near the back, fiddling with one of the glowing pad things that the demons usually use. You don’t look up as he approaches, even though he’s sure that you hear him. You appear absorbed in your work, except when he gets close he can see that you’re just staring at the pad without actually doing anything.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, still not raising your head. “I thought you were busy.”

Tsu’tey hums, poking at one of the strange machines that line the little room you’ve been working in. All this demon technology makes him uneasy, and his ears stay pinned against the side of his head as he hovers behind you.

“These stitches have broken.” He says, reaching up to scratch at where some of the blood has begun to dry.

That finally makes you turn, though your expression is all crumpled up into a frown as you step forward to peer at his chest. Ridiculously, he feels a little guilty. You had told him to be careful so many times, after all, and now he has made more work for you. But then he pushes those little feelings of guilt down deep – he was not going to be a burden on the clan by not helping out when he should, no matter how much you begged him to be still and useless as he healed.

To his surprise, you don’t scold him. You just purse your lips and gesture to the small flat bed that you use for his medical check-ups, and he sits without complaint. He is familiar with this routine by now, but his tail curls uncomfortably as you remain silent – you haven’t even said I told you so.

You place your small hands on his chest as you lean in to inspect the wound that cuts across his left pectoral muscle, right where the stitches at the top of the cut have torn. Your expression makes it very clear that you are unhappy with what you see, and yet you still remain quiet.

Tsu’tey allows the silence to stretch as you wash your hands and gather your medical supplies, threading a small needle as you prepare to redo his suturing. Even when you actually begin to fix his stitches, the needle pricking at his skin uncomfortably, he waits for you to speak first.

It becomes clear very quickly that you’re content to do his stitches in silence. Unusual. You should have been scolding him by now, insulting him as you usually do. Then he would be able to insult you right back, and you would respond with a challenge, and then eventually the two of you would wind up in a sweating, moaning heap, as usual.

But you stay silent, your tiny hands gentle as you painstakingly work on his wounds.

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes, on edge. “You are quiet today.”

You just hum, without making any real effort to answer at all. It only makes his agitation worse. Why are you acting so strange?

When you finally finish up with his stitches, you step back and move to wash your hands, still not saying a thing. He watches you carefully, brow furrowed.

You’re wearing a small white top, but you seem to have gone without your usual breast covering – a bra, you’ve called it before. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but now that he’s looking at you he can see the way your nipples press against the thin cotton material. Despite the oddness in your demeanour, Tsu’tey can feel himself growing aroused.

Perhaps he’s been conditioned to expect pleasure from these little encounters with you, because he’s growing hard beneath his tewng. He reaches for you, his tail swishing slowly as his hand trails over your waist.

You finally look up at him, but you neatly sidestep his hand. Surprised, Tsu’tey’s ears twitch back and flatten. You’ve never avoided his touch before – if anything, you’ve always been deliciously eager for him.

“What did Saeyla want?” You ask, turning away from him to dispose of the used needle and bloody wipes.

He blinks. He’s a little taken aback by the question, so it doesn’t occur to him to lie.

“She wished to offer herself to me as a mate.” He says. “And when I denied her, she offered herself as a lover.”

A muscle in your jaw pulses, and you flick your hair back before throwing him a look over your shoulder. “And what did you say?”

He frowns. Your manner is confusing him. Are you angry at him for tearing the stitches? You have always told him that you would stitch him back up again, so he had not thought you would be mad.

He reaches out again, and again you step away. He scowls, frustrated.

“Am I not allowed to touch you?”

“What did you say to her? What was your answer?” You repeat, taking another step back as you squint at his face.

He blows out a breath, irritated. “It is not your business.”

“Not my business?” You repeat, sounding faintly disbelieving. “Not my business?”

Your eyebrows are raised and your eyes are narrowed, your mouth pressed into a firm line. Tsu’tey is not very good at reading the expressions of Sky People, but even he can tell that he’s treading a dangerous line here. You seem angry, though he can’t understand why.

“My mating prospects are a concern for the People, and the People alone.” Tsu’tey says, leaning forward to scowl at you. “It is not the business of tawtute.”

You scoff, folding your arms tight across your chest. “You seemed to enjoy making your mating prospects my business when you were fucking me after every damn check-up.”

“That was not mating.” Tsu’tey snaps. “That was…” He thinks of a phrase he has heard Jakesully use before, a human idiom that you will surely understand. “That was blowing off steam.”

You take a sharp breath. If you looked angry before, now you look furious.

“Blowing off steam?” You repeat, your voice trembling with righteous anger. “Are you fucking joking? I mean- I know that you don’t like humans, but I thought- I thought that you-”

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes, and he pushes himself up off the bed. He does not like this; you are unexpectedly angry, and he does not know what to do with the brunt of your frustration. He has argued with you before, small and petty disagreements as you snipe at each other, and it has always been resolved with you face-down and ass-up as he pounds his way into you. This argument feels different. He doubts there will be such a pleasurable end to this one.

“Do you even-” You start, your face all screwed up. “Do you even like me?”

What a loaded question. He doesn’t even know how to begin answering that – he just stares at you like a total skxawng, his brows furrowed and eyes flared wide in bewilderment. The two of you have never spoken about what it is you’re doing together, or about how either of you feel about it. If anything, Tsu’tey has been trying his damn hardest not to think about things.

“You-” He starts, floundering a little and trying to hide it. He hates appearing uncertain or vulnerable in any way. “You are… a good healer. And you are… attractive.”

You are more than attractive, really. You are so small and delicate, squishy and soft, and you heal rather than destroy like the rest of your kin. He likes that you are so concerned about him, that you care so much for his healing. Your weakness is also something that is distinctly… thrilling to him. He likes that he feels as though he can protect you, he likes that he feels so strong around you. When you’re not actively tending to his wounds, he’ll admit that his eyes trail after you more often than they should.

He doesn’t say any of that out loud. “But you are still a tawtute.”

“So it’s fine to fuck me, but nothing else, is that it?” You demand, glaring at him. “Jesus, why have you even been wasting your time with me?”

His ears pin back, confused. He had thought that you were both on the same wavelength when it came to where you stood with each other. It had never felt like a waste of time to him.

Tsu’tey hates the Sky People. Everyone knows that. You were the most bearable of all of them, and he will admit that you are enticing with the soft plushness of your body and your sweet little face, but you are still a sky demon. His attraction to you is a shame that he wrestles with constantly, only quieting when he is with you properly.

You’re breathing heavily, your chest heaving as you try to regulate yourself. “You know what? Fuck off. Go ahead and fuck Saeyla, or one of many other Na’vi women that are clearly into you. There’s no fucking reason for you to be wasting both of our time like this.”

When he doesn’t move, you bare your teeth and reach up to shove at his stomach as hard as you can. You are one of the weakest little creatures he’s ever come across, so there’s no chance of you actually managing to shift him – still though, he takes a step back as you shove at him again.

“Get out! Go away!”

Tsu’tey growls warningly, and grabs at your small hands with one of his before tugging your arms to the side so that you can’t shove at him anymore.

“Calm down.” He warns, frowning at you. “You are overreacting-”

“Oh, you asshole!” You yell, visibly furious. “Don’t tell me I’m overreacting! Just go – go find Saeyla and tell her that you accept, and don’t come around here anymore!”

Tsu’tey rumbles a growl, his lip curling at you. How do you have the audacity to tell him not to come around somewhere on his own planet when you are the interloper here?

“You do not tell me what to do-” He begins, but you’re not even listening to him.

“Go!” You shout, and this time he does as you say.

He beats a retreat out of the outpost, his tail lashing in agitation as he storms out. He doesn’t look back once, and you don’t follow after him.

For the next couple of days, Tsu’tey stews.

It is his nature to brood over things anyway, but even he can recognise that he’s particularly moody in the days following his disagreement with you. He skulks around the village and tries to help where he can, but Jakesully banishes him from the heavy-lifting. That means that Tsu’tey has even more time to sulk to himself, replaying the argument in his head and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened.

Strangely enough, he does not see you around the village at all. Not even a glimpse in the distance. It makes him uneasy.

Before the incident with Saeyla, you used to follow him around constantly, badgering him about being careful and minding his stitches. It had been irritating, but now that you’ve seemingly disappeared he finds himself hyper-conscious of your absence.

Eventually, he finds himself outside the demon outpost once more. He can’t quite believe that he’s here of his own free will, but he tells himself that it’s just because he needs his stitches checked. They look fine, but it’s better to just make sure.

But when he shoves his way inside, he’s unnerved to find that you aren’t here either. There are several tawtute around the outpost, and they look both startled and bewildered to see him here. He pays no attention to them, searching the place for any sign of you.

There’s another Sky Person in your usual work space, a male, and he looks absolutely terrified when Tsu’tey approaches.

“Oh,” The demon says, straightening up. “I- hello. Do you- you’re here for a check up?”

Tsu’tey’s lips peel back in a sneer, a harsh snarl rumbling in his chest. The tawtute shrinks back, horrified.

“Where is she?” He demands, looking around as though you might emerge from behind one of their strange machines at any moment.

The demon swallows thickly. At least he doesn’t insult Tsu’tey by pretending that he does not know who he’s talking about.

“Um… she’s not around right now.” His voice is trembling slightly, but he still gets his point across. “She said that if you came in about those stitches, that, um… well, she said to tell you that you should go to a Na’vi healer.”

Tsu’tey’s nostrils flare, and the tawtute flinches. “I want to speak to her.”

The man just shrugs, all jerky and stiff. “She’s not here, man. Sorry.”

It takes days before Tsu’tey sees you again.

He is starting to grow genuinely frustrated with your absence, and in some sense worried too, though he didn’t want to admit it. So when you finally reappear, Tsu’tey is honestly relieved.

That sense of relief doesn’t last for very long, because the next time he sees you, you aren’t alone.

Tsu’tey knows that you are a healer, of course. He knows that you must surely attend to other people. But ever since he was injured in the great battle, the only person that he’s seen you focus on is him.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a shock to finally catch sight of you tucked away in a corner of the village with your head bent over the arm of Artuk, a recently blooded male of the Omaticaya. He was a student of Tsu’tey himself, and only completed his iknimaya trials a few weeks ago.

As a young hunter, he is free to choose a mate for himself. It is utterly galling to see the way that his tail coils so close to your thigh as you inspect the cut on his arm, gently cleaning it of blood.

Artuk’s ears rotate forward as you speak to him, his eyes half-lidded as he listens closely to whatever it is that you’re saying. He looks too interested, and Tsu’tey feels his own ears pin back defensively at the sight before him.

Perhaps he is reading too much into this. You are a healer. You are healing. Artuk is probably not looking at you in that way at all – surely Tsu’tey is the only one with that specific illness that makes him feel attracted to the sky demons that tried to destroy his home. Or at least, one particular sky demon.

Still though, he ends up hovering nearby and trying to look busy as he steals glances over to where you’re standing next to Artuk. The young hunter’s arm has been carefully bandaged up by your gentle hands, but Tsu’tey notices that you’re still holding onto his arm anyway.

When you laugh at something he says, Tsu’tey’s ears flick even lower. Art’uk has never been particularly funny, so what are you laughing at?

Artuk starts to grin, looking disgustingly pleased with himself. Then, to Tsu’tey’s horror, he starts to shuffle closer to you.

And you just stand there, not making any move to edge away. If anything, you look flattered by the attention. As Tsu’tey watches, your smile turns faintly shy and you reach up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

You look so pretty from here, even if you are too small and weak and odd-looking. The fact that your smile is directed at Artuk is disgraceful, and it causes Tsu’tey’s teeth to gnash.

The last straw comes when Artuk’s tail moves low and begins to coil around your ankle. There is no mistaking what a move like that means, and Tsu’tey grimaces in pure shock. Art’uk is flirting with you. His intentions are unmistakable.

What the fuck? Artuk setting his sights on a sky demon is one thing, but setting his sights on you? That is something that Tsu’tey could never have predicted.

He’s moving before he even realises it. There is no plan, he’s not even thinking, and before he knows it he ends up standing in front of you and Artuk with a scowl so forceful that it’s nearly giving him a headache.

Artuk startles, his eyes blowing wide as he attempts to sit up straight. “Ma’Tsutey! I did not see you!”

Tsu’tey just glowers. The youngling is hardly even a man yet, and yet his tail is still coiled around your ankle in some pathetic attempt at asserting ownership. Where did he get the audacity? And you! You were letting him!

“What happened?” Tsu’tey asks, and his voice comes out rough with irritation. He nods pointedly towards Artuk, where his arm has been so carefully wrapped by your skilled hands.

“Oh,” Artuk’s ears twitch, a sign of embarrassment. “An accident with construction. A beam slipped and cut me.”

“A foolish mistake.” Tsu’tey snaps disdainfully.

You speak up for the first time, but you don’t look at Tsu’tey at all. Your gaze is still focused on Artuk’s arm, despite the fact that it’s already been wrapped.

“Accidents happen.” You say, before sending Artuk a sympathetic little smile. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little.” He says, and Tsu’tey snorts in contempt.

What kind of warrior snivels over such a small injury?

“Oh,” You coo sympathetically, and stroke a thumb just beneath his bandages. “Poor thing. Well, it’s clean now, so you shouldn’t be at risk of infection-”

Artuk is nodding, but Tsu’tey knows that he isn’t really listening. He’s too busy staring at your face, his eyes lingering around your strange little blunt teeth and your odd nose. Tsu’tey understands the appeal – he has studied your foreign features enough to be rather intimately familiar with them – but he finds himself resentful of Artuk’s interest. Innocent fascination would be one thing, but he can see by Artuk’s body language that his interest in you is not innocent.

“Thank you for your help.” Artuk says so earnestly that it sets Tsu’tey’s teeth on edge. “You have very gentle hands.”

Tsu’tey rolls his eyes violently, but you seem flattered by that little comment. You look down, all flustered, and smile up at Artuk from beneath your eyelashes. It’s a look that would have had Tsu’tey’s kuru tingling and his cock stiffening, if only it had been directed at him and not Artuk.

“Alright,” Tsu’tey finally says, his voice much louder than entirely necessary. “Go away, Artuk. I must speak with the tawtute.”

Your head snaps around, and you glower at him so intensely that it almost physically burns. Tsu’tey doesn’t care – it doesn’t matter that you’re glaring at him so long as he has your attention on him and not Artuk.

“I can’t imagine what you think we have to talk about.” You say sharply, sticking your nose up at him.

You’re such a prissy little thing. He has no idea why he likes it so much – he doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed that in a woman before.

“I think we have lots to talk about, little thing.” He rumbles, and watches the way your lips purse.

He is not blind. He sees the way your eyes dart over the muscles of his chest and down over his waist and hips, before quickly darting away towards safer territory. Unfortunately, it seems as though you’ve decided that safer territory means towards Artuk.

Tsu’tey bristles, frustrated that your attention keeps straying. He’s never had an issue keeping your attention before. If anything, he’s always found it difficult to escape your fussing. That he is being denied your attention now is making his skin itch.

“I’ll check on this later, alright?” You say, smiling at Artuk once more before straightening your little tank top and stepping back.

Tsu’tey relaxes slightly as space grows between the two of you, though he keeps darting his gaze between you and the young hunter. Artuk’s tail coyly slips away from your ankle, though it drags painstakingly slowly across your skin as it does so. Tsu’tey just barely manages to resist the urge to grab it and tear it away from you entirely.

“Yes. Thank you again.” Artuk says, his ears lowering in supplication. “Will you have dinner in the village this evening? I will see you then?”

“I’m not sure yet.” You say, a little awkwardly. “We’ll see.”

Artuk takes that in stride, and he gives you one last smile before leaving you alone with Tsu’tey. He doesn’t even spare Tsu’tey a glance as he walks away, and Tsu’tey is struck by his boldness once more. He certainly hasn’t always been this confident; Tsu’tey remembers him as a weedy youngling who cried from frustration when he found himself unable to hit the target during training.

Now that it is just you and Tsu’tey, it seems as though you’re absolutely determined to ignore him. You drop your attention to the little medical kit that you carry around everywhere, packing away the disinfectant and the bandages that you’ve been using.

“What was that?” Tsu’tey demands, ducking his head down towards you so that he can speak to you with an illusion of privacy. “You say you will check on that small scratch of Artuk’s, and yet you have not looked at my stitches for many days now.”

“You’ve told me hundreds of times by now that you think human medicine isn’t worth shit and that you don’t want it anywhere near you-”

“You have never listened to me before.” Tsu’tey snaps back, aggravated. “Why are you listening now?”

“Tsu’tey, go away.” You grit out without looking at him. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“So you would speak to Artuk instead?” He asks, frowning as he shuffles closer.

You turn and scowl up at him once more, and Tsu’tey feels something within him ease at having your attention on him again.

“Artuk actually wants to speak to me.” You say sharply. “Unlike you. Why are you here?”

“I am here because I do want to speak to you.” He points out in frustration. “You have been avoiding me.”

“Yes, obviously.” You sling your little pack of supplies over your shoulder, clearly preparing to leave. “I can’t imagine why that would bother you. You have made your opinion on me perfectly clear-”

“Well, I obviously have not made it clear if you are avoiding me.” He reaches to stop you from leaving, but stops short of actually touching you. “Stop. I wish to talk.”

“Fine.” Your small hands are clenched into fists. “Talk then. Tell me exactly what you think of me.”

For a moment, Tsu’tey just stands there. You’re watching him expectantly, your hands on your hips, and your brows are drawn together challengingly. It’s almost comical to see a small thing like you act so defiantly, but Tsu’tey feels warmth curl in his belly at the sight. It’s sweet.

“Come back to my kelku.” He blurts. It’s not quite what he had meant to say, but the words are already out and he can’t take them back.

You scoff. “No. Jesus, all you do is think with your fucking dick-”

“Not for that.” He says hastily, ears lowering. “Just for talking.”

You're still scowling, your arms coming up to cross defensively over your chest. You don’t appear too convinced by him, but he is not willing to give up just yet.

“Let us go to the tawtute outpost instead, then.” He offers. “Just to talk. That is all.”

Slowly, so slowly, you start to relent. Your shoulders lower and your arms drop, but you keep scowling.

When Tsu’tey sees you start to give in, he seizes on it. “Ten minutes. Just ten minutes.”

He’s pleading like a moron, his dignity lying in tatters around his feet. It’s a little mortifying to have to beg a demon just for the chance to plead his case, but he stands firm anyway – he may as well commit fully, after all.

You sigh, and reach up to rub at the back of your neck. You look tired, and he feels guilt creeping into his stomach.

“Ten minutes.” You say firmly, before turning on your heel and marching away.

Tsu’tey wastes no time in following you. Usually, it is him leading the way with you following along at his heels, so for him to be following behind you like this is a novelty. He finds his eyes glued to your back as he walks after you, careful to take smaller steps so that he can stay behind you.

He lets his gaze travel down your back and over the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips. It’s not often that he gets a chance to look like this – he’s usually trying too hard to pretend that he’s not aware of you at all. Now, he allows himself to appreciate the view as your steps cause your hips to sway.

The two of you have just reached the edge of the village when there’s a call of Tsu’tey’s name.

He’s fully prepared to ignore it, but then you pause from where you’re marching ahead of him and turn your head to look back in the direction of the village.

It is Saeyla again, he knows without even looking. He sighs as he follows your lead in pausing and looking towards her.

Saeyla has taken a step towards the two of you, her eyes narrowed and resentful as her gaze falls on you.

“Go away, Saeyla,” Tsu’tey calls, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I do not have time today.”

He places his hand just in between your shoulderblades and pushes, just hard enough to get you walking again. You half-stagger, glancing from Tsu’tey to Saeyla and then back again, before lurching forward.

“Are you not going to talk to-” You sound a little sour and Tsu’tey has no doubt that you’re planning some snappy little comment, but he has no intention of letting you finish.

“No,” He interrupts, still pushing you on. “I am not going to talk to her, vrrtep.”

That seems to mollify you, and you keep taking your somewhat clumsy steps into the forest, leading the way through the trees towards the outpost. Your journey together is quiet – you are still stubbornly avoiding talking to him, and he is reluctant to push his luck by attempting to draw you into conversation.

It is a relief when the shoddy eyesore of a building looms up from the forest, and Tsu’tey speeds up without conscious thought. You let out a soft sound of complaint, but allow him to guide you into moving faster all the same.

When he follows you into the outpost building, he finds that it is far busier than the last time he was here. The sight of all the sky demons chatting and laughing and working irritates him, and he glares as he straightens up, his shoulders drawing back.

“Get out!” He delivers the order in the same harsh tone he usually uses when he is training the young hunters, and he finds it gratifying when he’s met with a frantic burst of movement.

“You are so goddamn rude.” You grit out, clearly irritated with him, but you just push further into the outpost as the other humans begin to file out.

He doesn’t particularly care for manners when it comes to interacting with tawtute, but you had looked at him so reproachfully that he hesitates to snap at them again. He just follows you towards the little medical bay you work from, looming over the scientists and glowering at them to get them moving out of the building a little quicker.

You lead him into the small medical room and as the doors whoosh shut behind him, you lean against one of the work counters and cross your arms as you watch him. Your regard is weighty for such a small creature, and he finds himself puffing up his chest and rolling his shoulders under your gaze.

“Go on then.” You say, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

There’s a challenging bite to your voice that has his tail curling. He is getting excited, and he hopes that you don’t notice. He imagines that you will only get angrier at him, but he can’t help it – there’s something about the jagged edges of your anger that is impossibly enticing.

“I told Saeyla no,” Tsu’tey says, and watches you very carefully for your reaction. “I told her no about mating, and I told her no about taking her as a lover. Just as I have told her before.”

Your expression wobbles, but you manage to keep up the veneer of calm aloofness remarkably well. “Am I supposed to care about this?”

Tsu’tey steps towards you, and is pleased when you don’t step away from him. He ducks his head, just slightly, so that he’s closer to eye-level with you.

“Yes,” He murmurs. “I think you do care.”

Your jaw clenches, and he realises that you’re beginning to get defensive. He tilts his head in supplication, attempting to appear non-confrontational – he will need to be careful or you will grow too angry to listen to him.

“I do like you,” He says. “You asked me before. The answer is yes, I do like you.”

You sigh, then reach up to rub at your face in frustration. It is rare that he gets access to your face like this; your face always appears so impossibly distant to him, all locked behind the awful plastic bubble of your mask, and he watches with ill-disguised interest as you press your fingers into your eyelids.

“Are you only telling me this because I was talking to Artuk?” You demand, your eyes squeezing shut in frustration.

Tsu’tey shifts on his feet. He feels as though it would probably be unwise to answer that question, but he wants to be truthful with you.

“I have been thinking these few days.” He says, frowning. “But I did not like seeing him with you. He should not make advances on you like that.”

You laugh, but you most certainly do not sound amused.

“Why not?” You demand, stepping towards him. “He doesn’t mind that I’m human.”

Tsu’tey’s ears twitch, his mouth pursing. “Is today the first time he spoke with you?”

You scoff again, turning your face away from him. At first he thinks that you are so frustrated with him that you can hardly bear to look him in the eye, but then he sees that your mouth is pursed and your eyes are shifty – you are embarrassed.

“No.” You say, clearing your throat. “It isn’t.”

Tsu’tey inhales sharply. This does not please him at all.

“He’s friendly,” Your arms tighten across your chest defensively. “And he treats me like a person rather than a demon.” After that jab you pause, but then keep going as though the confession just spills out of you. “He… he’s hurt himself a couple of times over the last few weeks. He brings me fruit when he comes to get fixed up.”

That is a revelation that leaves Tsu’tey reeling. There is no reason that Artuk could not find a Na’vi healer in the clan to fix him up – and why was a hunter who had completed his iknimaya and was recognised as a man in the eyes of the People getting injured so often, anyway? And bringing you fruit? That, in conjunction with how his tail had curled so boldly around your little ankles, was undoubtedly a mating display.

And this has been going on for weeks? Tsu’tey has been fucking you for months, at least two, which means that surely Artuk has smelled his scent on you. That means that he has chosen to challenge Tsu’tey’s claim to you anyway, a fact that has Tsu’tey bristling. Not that his claim is obvious, admittedly. He should have noticed, should have done something about this.

To realise that his old student has been seeking you out like this is utterly galling. He feels a little ill at the thought of you accepting Artuk’s offering of fruit, of you smiling at him as you patch up his wounds, of you allowing Artuk to touch you.

Tsu’tey steps forward without thinking, reaching for your waist. This time, you don’t back away from him. His stomach leaps a little bit in mingled excitement and relief, and he lowers himself to his knees as both his hands cup you by the waist. It chafes at his dignity a little, to kneel before a sky demon like this, but when your eyes settle on his face he feels something in him ease.

Your eyes dart down to his hands, so large where they wrap around your torso, before darting quickly back up to his face.

“You only have ten minutes.” You remind him, raising your chin. “And you haven’t done much talking.”

Bossy, he thinks, amused despite himself. He has never been very good at talking, but he’s determined to do the best he can.

“I do not like Artuk talking to you.” He says, his fingers curling into the soft material of your clothes. “I do not like him bringing you fruit. I do not like that he is attempting to offer himself to you as a mate-”

“Oh, that isn’t what he’s doing.” You roll your eyes, but Tsu’tey ignores you.

If Artuk was brave enough to be so damn unapologetic about his desire for you, then Tsu’tey should be too. It might be shameful to desire a tawtute, but it would be even more shameful to have the tawtute he desired stolen away by another.

“I enjoy your softness, I like your small hands, I like that you care so much about the wellbeing of other people,” He starts, his tail lashing. “I like that you are small and bold. I like it when you get angry. I like the noises you make when you open up around my cock-”

You let out a noise of pure mortification, your hands jumping up to grab at his wrists where he’s holding you.

“Oh, stop!” You hiss, clearly flustered. “Where is this coming from? I thought we were just blowing off steam. If you want a lover, go to Saeyla-”

Tsu’tey cuts you off with a frustrated snarl, his fingers tightening around your little hips.

“You are angry at me for something that I have not done.” He points out, clicking his tongue. “I have rejected Saeyla, I have rejected Txisma, I have rejected Ninat. Can you not see? You are the only one I have had.”

Your forehead is all wrinkled as you frown. You seem confused, and he can’t blame you – his feelings have been confusing him, too.

“Do you-” He starts to ask, insecurity rising up in his throat like bile and gripping him tight. “Do you like me?”

“Ugh!” You throw your hands up, narrowly avoiding knocking him upside the head. “You’re so stupid! “

His ears pin back and his lips press tight together, but he does not argue. He is still waiting for you to answer the question, and it seems as though you’re just working yourself up.

“Of course I fucking like you!” You snap. Tsu’tey doesn’t even have time to feel pleased about that before you continue. “Do you have any idea how humiliating all this has been? I didn’t even really care that you were being a total asshole the whole time we were hooking up because at least you were noticing me. I understood why you called me a demon, I understood why you talked all that shit about humans. I still do undertand! We’ve been awful! But I thought that maybe you were getting over it, since you were coming to find me damn near every day just to fuck. I thought that maybe you might like me-”

“I do like you.” Tsu’tey says quickly, but you actually hiss at him.

“Shut up!” You snap. “I’m not finished!”

You have no fangs, so you should be utterly unintimidating, but he finds his ears flattening as he sits back on his knees, falling silent. It probably shouldn’t be attractive, seeing you like this. He attempts to stifle his reaction the best that he can in the hopes that you won’t notice the way he is shifting.

“You’re rude, and grumpy, and sometimes talking to you is like trying to talk to a brick wall!” You continue, your little face all contorted in frustration. “You think you know best, even when you don’t, and you won’t listen to my goddamned medical advice even when it will fucking help you! And I’ve had to redo those stupid stitches of yours at least a dozen times-!”

Tsu’tey’s own brows are furrowed now. Are you confessing that you like him, or are you just going to list out all of his faults?

“And yeah, I like you anyway.” You sigh, rubbing at your face. “God knows why. Maybe it’s your nice face, or stupid sexy body.”

Ah. A compliment. Tsu’tey tosses his braids back and smiles smugly. So you do like him. Excellent.

“I am sorry that I upset you.” Tsu’tey says, his voice low in the intimate quiet of the room. “I have been… confused. But I know that I want you.”

“Like, actually want me?” You ask, one of your eyebrows cocked in challenge. “Or do you mean you just want to fuck me?”

“No, I mean-” Tsu’tey takes a breath, confused but determined. “Fully. I want you fully.”

Your expression falters, and you bite your lip hard in an effort to conceal your feelings. “Oh yeah? Even if I’m just a human? Are you willing to defend your choice to the rest of the clan?”

“Yes.” He breathes. “I… I think so.”

Your face collapses into a scowl, and he realises almost immediately that he has made a mistake.

“Well,” You say; your tone is so faux-sweet that it’s almost sickening. “Why don’t you just come back when you're certain, then?”

You reach down and knock his hands off your waist, then turn from him and begin to march towards the door. The sight of you trying to leave sends his stomach plummeting to his feet. Has he lost his chance? Is his ten minutes up? Panicked, he lunges forward and grabs at your little hands.

“Wait.”

He is still on his knees, which makes it difficult to shuffle after you, but he still manages to lightly tug you back to him. You yelp, reaching up to plant your hands against his chest in an effort to keep your balance.

“I want you,” He says urgently. “I am certain.”

You pause, your breathing coming heavier as you stare at him. He can see the whites of your eyes as you watch him in what looks like disbelief.

“What if you want to take a mate later?” You demand, eyes narrowing. “What if you decide that I’m not enough, or that you want a Na’vi mate-”

“You are it.” He interrupts, hoping that his tone conveys just how earnest he is being about this. “Demon or not, I… it is you that I want. Just you.”

He’s not expecting you to lurch towards him, your little hands reaching up to grab at his face. When you press your soft little lips to his in a kiss, his hands find purchase on your hips and he uses his grip there to haul you closer.

"Sweet little demon," He breathes against your mouth, "Please, just- let me-"

"Yes," You gasp into the kiss as you reach up to tangle your hands in his hair, desperate to make the kiss last. "Yes, alright-"

When Tsu’tey’s hands slip down your back and over the curve of your ass, it sends a visceral jolt up your spine. He lets out a soft grunt, and squeezes at the pliable flesh there as you kiss him fiercely. He doesn't know how you’re able to do this, to make every small contact feel so unbelievably good. He swears that even your chastest touches make his head swim.

The hand that he had on your ass slips around to your front, where he plucks at the waistband of your stupid leg coverings.

“Remove.” He groans out, his voice rough and gritty with arousal.

You do as he says eagerly, pawing at the button closure before shoving your pants roughly down over your thighs. You are so sweet and insistent, and you keep kissing him with unrelenting heat as you push your trousers off. He unclasps his own tewng and tosses it aside before his hands return to your body.

His hands roam over the soft material of your top, landing just over your squishy breasts. You are not wearing a bra again today, and he delights in the feeling of them in his palms through your top. You are so much smaller than him that your breasts fit neatly in his hand, and he marvels at the sight.

“Fuck,” You whimper as his thumb brushes over one of your firmed up nipples. “Oh, fuck, please.”

His fingers curl into the fabric covering your tits, and he tugs at it lightly. “Remove.”

You start to wrestle your way out of your top, and Tsu’tey feels a little thrill at how easily you are obeying him right now. As soon as your top is removed and your breasts are bare, his hands coast down over your ass. His hands squeeze lightly over the squidge there, and then he uses his grip on you to haul you up into his arms.

You squeal a little in surprise, before you dissolve into laughter as he holds you against his chest and nuzzles into the base of your throat. Tsu’tey breaks out into a wild grin at your reaction, unrestrained and thrilled – your laughter is an unspeakable relief after being on the receiving end of your ire for so long.

You’ve barely stopped kissing him once, your little hands cupping his face and keeping him firmly in place as you nip at his mouth. The wet heat of your tongue against his has his head spinning as though he had drunk too much of the fermented nectar the clan makes for celebrations.

When one of his hands slips into the flimsy cotton of your panties, he takes a sharp breath when his fingers find the slick heat between your legs. Oh, you’re so wet, all sticky and slippery as the pads of his fingers ghost over your swollen little clit.

You moan, your hips jerking, and Tsu’tey grins into the kiss, sharp teeth bared. It seems as though you want him as badly as he wants you.

His fingers press into at the same moment as he ducks his head down and bites at your throat, and you wheeze as your back arches. Your hips are chasing his hand, rutting up and trying to get him where you want him. It’s cute, and he suckles at your neck as you shiver against him.

“Tsu’tey,” You breathe, your hands winding into his hair. “Tsu’tey, please-”

He is almost unbearably hard, but he can’t bring himself to tear his hands away from you in order to take care of himself. He just grunts, and allows his thumb to roll over your clit as you gasp a tremulous little breath.

"Tsu’tey," You complain, beginning to writhe around his hand. "Will you- can you just-"

When he just chuckles at your tone you huff and reach down, grabbing a hold of the hand he’s got between your thighs and rutting your wet pussy against his fingers.

“Yes,” You breathe, your eyelids fluttering dazedly as your head tilts back. “Like that.”

Tsu’tey watches with an open mouth as you grind against his hand, sucking his fingers in deeper as you rut your clit up against his thumb. Heat flares through his nerve endings at the sight alone, and he ducks his head down and laves his tongue over one of your breasts.

You cry out, pressing closer, and he takes the hint to keep going. He suckles at your firm nipple, enjoying the way that your breath stutters as you absolutely soak the hand between your legs.

“Fuck!” You sob, but then you bite your lip hard to stifle any more sounds as he rolls his thumb insistently over your clit.

Tsu’tey breaks away from your chest, his mouth leaving a string of drool connected to the breast he had been sucking at. He frowns at the sight of you biting your lip to stay quiet.

“Let me hear you.” He says, and the gravel in his voice surprises even him.

“No,” You grumble, though you’re breathless. “You always say I’m too loud. Mouth never closed, remember?”

Damn. He curses his past self for sabotaging him like this.

“I was a skxawng. You must not listen to me.” He murmurs, kissing your breast before licking over your nipple. “I like it. Let me hear.”

The next time his thumb rolls over your clit, you let out a soft, breathless moan. The sound hits him like a punch to the gut and goes straight to his cock.

He feels a little bit feral as he takes a hold of your hips and lifts you, walking quickly to the large medical cot in the corner of the room.

The medical bed was built to withstand the weight of avatar bodies, yet when Tsu’tey lands heavily on it with you in his arms it judders unsteadily beneath him. You let out a small noise of concern, grabbing at his biceps for stability as he clambers atop you, settling between your legs and looping your thighs around his waist.

His fingers return to your cunt instantly, and his chest rumbles in a satisfied purr when your little cunt swallows them inside with ease. Your hips buck up to meet his thrusting fingers, it seems without conscious thought on your part. You’re absolutely soaking, and your pussy makes obscene, wet noises with every plunge and retreat of his fingers as you pant.

Your obvious pleasure and the feel, sound and smell of your sex ratchets up Tsu’tey’s own excitement. He finds himself rock hard just thinking about how good it’s going to feel to have your soft, slick body envelop his cock, and he moans against your breast.

“Okay,” You breathe, spreading your thighs further as he settles into the cradle between your leg. “Come on, fuck me.”

You’re such a pushy little thing. It’s taking every ounce of strength in him not to flip you onto your stomach and just pound you senseless, but he’s trying to prove himself to you here. He will make you feel good, but he will do it carefully.

“Yes, little thing,” He breathes, his cock hard and unyielding as it rubs against the folds of your sex. “Alright.”

He grips the base of his cock, grunting with the effort it takes to hold himself back. He pushes his hips forward, the tip of his cock dragging against you as he grinds lazily in between your thighs.

When he does finally begin to push in, he does it painfully slowly. Your brow puckers, your lower lip sucked in between your teeth as you inhale sharply and whine. He watches your reactions with avid interest, his eyes tracing over your face as he pushes into you. He thinks you look beautiful like this. You are soft and strange and small, but your features please him just as your bossy little attitude does.

“Relax, vrrtep,” He murmurs, nosing at your sweat-slick temple. “Or I will not fit.”

“Just- do it-” You’re trying to hump your hips onto his cock like a damn little brat, and it nearly makes him laugh out loud.

He knows you can take it – he’s had you before when you were less prepared, and he’s not sure why it feels so different this time.

He eases his pelvis back, and then pushes forward all at once until he’s halfway inside. You shriek, clawing at his strong shoulders, and he stills for a moment to let you adjust.

You whine, breathy and wanting, as Tsu’tey lowers his chest so that he’s pressed tight against you with your breasts all squished up against him. Like this, he can feel the frantic flutters of your heartbeat against him, and his own heart thumping rhythmically as if to mellow yours out. He purrs, chest rumbling soothingly as he slides deeper.

Your eyes are squeezed shut as you gasp, and Tsu’tey’s purring takes on an edge.

“I want you to look at me when I claim you.” He says, his lips dragging over the base of your throat.

“Stupid,” You gasp, your nails biting into his back. “As if it could be anyone else.”

"I want you to watch," He clarifies, nipping at your collarbone. "After this, your cunt will know no other than me."

“Jesus fuck-”

He hunches over you until you’re engulfed beneath him – you’re so tiny, and he’s never felt like such a mighty warrior as he does right now, with you safe and caged in by his own body.

With a grunt, he begins to rut into you properly. You fit around him like a vice, so tight that it feels as though you’re trying to actually squeeze his cock right off. The wet heat of you steals his breath away, and he moans senselessly into your throat. He feels lightheaded with pleasure, and clutches mindlessly at the soft flesh of your ass.

You scrabble at his chest, and he blinks in bewilderment as you grab at the breathing mask looped around his neck and bring it to his mouth. He takes a deep breath and some of that lightheadedness fades, but he still feels positively dizzy.

He looks down, and feels his brain practically blank at the sight of your pussy stretched taut around his cock, swollen and shining wet as he fucks into the hot cradle between your legs. You take him so well, entirely at his mercy as he lifts your ass up so that he can push into you at an angle, your legs locking tight around his narrow hips.

You reach up and fist his braids in your hand, and he snarls like a beast. Has this always felt so good? Or does his body recognise that his mind has finally opened up, accepting you as a potential mate?

His strokes steadily became long and powerful, angled just the way that you usually like. You reach above your head and clasp the steel bars of the medical bed to hold yourself steady, and Tsu’tey’s eyes drop eagerly to your chest as your breasts bounce.

“Lovely,” He mutters drunkenly, bowing his head to suck a bruise into the top of your breast. “Yuey, ma’tawtute.”

The noises that you’re making have his head spinning. How could he have ever shushed you? He was a bigger fool than he can even fully comprehend.

He grips your ass and pulls you up closer, your thighs squeezing tight around his hips. You whine, then choke, then go silent as he strokes into you as fiercely as he dares without hurting you.

“Do not go quiet on me now, mate.” He croons, one hand pawing between your legs in search of the swollen bead of your clit. “Let me hear you.”

He isn’t going to last long in the agonisingly tight heat of you, but it’s so terribly important that you come first. It is a matter of pride, of dignity, of his honour as a man – he needs you to know that it is a priority for him to please you.

“Oh, fuck.” You practically wail it, the word all drawn out and slightly slurred as your head tosses back. “Keep- keep touching me like that, please!”

Tsu’tey does as you ask, his fingers rolling insistently against your clit, so soft and swollen from your arousal. Your back arches and your cunt clamps down on him, and he damn near blacks out from the sheer overload of sensation.

“Oh, yes,” You pant, eyes wide and mouth open. “Tsu’tey, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-”

“Yes,” He says eagerly, a purr ripping through his chest. “Yes, let me see your pleasure. Give it to me.”

It seems to wash over you like a wave, your eyes rolling back as your head tips against the bed, your fingers scrabbling across his back. Your walls tighten around his cock in pulsing waves, and you let out a soft keening that sounds like a garbled version of his name.

You’re a mess, all sweaty hair and glowing skin and limp limbs as your orgasm rocks through you. You look beautiful, and Tsu’tey doesn’t allow himself to blink the entire time you’re coming.

Your climax marks the end of Tsu’tey’s control, and he lets himself go. His head drops to your shoulder and then he’s running on pure instinct and biting. His teeth are sharp and pierce your soft skin easily, without the need for any real force. He drives into you, breathing heavily, grunting as he thrusts harder and faster, letting the world fall away until he’s aware of nothing else but the singular sensation of fucking you, of knowing you’re his, of keeping you safe, only you, his and his alone.

With that thought, he comes suddenly – harder and faster than he’d intended – and the shock of it ripples down his spine like an electric current, sparking in his blood and seeping into his veins. He moans around your shoulder as he spends himself inside of you, feeling his release fill you and overflow, dripping out of the tight space already stuffed so full.

For a long moment, the only sound in your little cramped office is the sound of the two of you panting for breath. It doesn’t occur to Tsu’tey to breathe from the mask again until you start fumbling for it, but he releases your shoulder from his mouth and takes a deep inhale when you press it to his face. His tail waves lazily at the gesture – you’re such a caring little thing.

Just like all of the previous sexual dalliances between the two of you, Tsu’tey goes entirely boneless after his orgasm. He doesn’t even bother to pull out of you, just enjoying the feeling of intimacy as he goes lax over you, ensuring that his body weight is rolled slightly to the side so that he doesn’t crush you.

“Okay?” He manages to ask, still feeling a little as though his brain has been liquefied.

You pant out a breathless laugh. “Oh yeah. I’m so okay.”

Tsu’tey hums as he nuzzles your jaw, the side of your neck. When you raise your hand and run them through the braids at his scalp, his eyes flutter shut instantly. Your small fingers scratch lightly at his scalp, and he lets out a purr so loud it nearly shocks him. How could Saeyla have ever thought she could compare with this? It feels so right, and he curls himself around you with another quiet purr thrumming in his chest.

You let out a soft noise, and Tsu’tey raises his head so that he can look at the bite mark he’s left on your shoulder. It’s bleeding lightly and sluggishly, and he runs a thumb lazily over the indentation of his teeth, smearing some of the blood over your skin. The sight of his mark on you, his claim on you, has his spent cock pulsing tiredly inside of you.

“Are you hurt, small one?” He wonders. He can’t quite drum up any guilt over marking you this way, but that doesn’t mean that he wants you to feel pain.

You just scoff, your head tilted back towards the ceiling as you breathe. “It stings, but it’s fine. You’re a real asshole, you know that? What the fuck was that? You’ve never bitten me before!”

“Of course not,” Tsu’tey mumbles, laving his tongue over his own teeth marks on your shoulder. “I have not claimed you properly before. It was important to fix that.”

You exhale at that, a breathy little laugh. “Oh, claiming, huh? Why didn’t you tell me? Next time, I’ll give you a big nasty bite too.”

Tsu’tey’s tail curls, his ears twitching in excitement. Do you mean that? You wish to claim him too, in the way of his People? How would it feel to sport your mark on him, made by your blunt little teeth? He would wear it with pride, he thinks. He can imagine your smug little face at the sight of Saeyla noticing, and he barely stifles a quiet snigger in your hair.

“Next time, tìyawn.” He promises you, hardly able to contain his own excitement at the idea.

You just yawn, blissfully unaware of the way that his thoughts are racing, and turn your face into his chest. “I feel like I want to sleep for a hundred years.”

Tsu’tey chuckles, his hands drifting low over your back. His fingers pet absently over the base of your spine, fascinated by the lack of tail there.

“You must sleep later, vrrtep.” He murmurs, before nipping lightly at your other shoulder that doesn’t have his bite. “Come. Let us go and get food.”

That catches your attention, and you squint up at him through disbelieving eyes.

“Now?”

“Yes.” Tsu’tey says simply, his tail lashing. “Artuk is waiting to see you there.”

He nuzzles into his mating bite on your shoulder, and feels you sigh under him. There is no possibility of you misunderstanding what he means, what he wants Artuk to see.

“You’re such an asshole.” You say yet again, but this time Tsu’tey’s ears twitch at the unmistakable fondness in your voice. “A possessive asshole, apparently.”

He doesn’t bother trying to deny that. He is a possessive man, and always has been. There are very few things in life that he has to call his own, and he is fiercely protective of them. Now, that stretches to include you.

It’s no secret that Tsu’tey hates the Sky People. But he’s willing to admit that you just might be an exception to that.

#tsu'tey #tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey fic #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #avatar 2 #na'vi x reader #na'vi x human #terato #alien x human #avatar 2009 #awow

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