#it would not leave me alone and i think i managed to write it the way i pictured it in my head

[nordickies]

What's your opinion on rusfin? And the time Finland spent in Russian empire

While I don't really vibe with "Russia/Soviet State" ships in general (RusAme, RusFra, RoChu, etc. are more of my thing), I don't really have strong feelings about RusFin one way or another. It's not quite as unbalanced or overused as some other Russia ships, I feel like? Plus, like I stated earlier, I kind of like the idea of Russia being disinterested in romance, at least in the traditional sense. I personally don't have an interest in exploring them as a serious couple in my writing; I just can't see them ever working out. They'd become too toxic at some point and it wouldn't be fun anymore. And I think they have enough to deal with each other even without romance getting involved

And I'll be honest: I have never focused on Russia's character, and I'm always a bit lost on what I'd like to do with him. How would I characterize him? I think all hws characters should be allowed to have nuance and let be individuals at the end of the day. So, I don't think Ivan is the manifestation of all the evil things in the world. To me, he's an extremely flawed person who is easy to blame and villainize. For many of the characters, he embodies the worst memories and moments of their lives. Surely this is the case for Finland, too, which makes their friendship extremely complicated.

I think Fin is quite naive at the end of the day and always tries to see the good in people. He values mutual trust more than anything, which can be an admirable trait but also makes him prone to ignoring warning signs. Fin, in his youth at least, was rather easily led, and he unsuspectingly followed others and their orders, counting on them to have his back no matter what. While his trustiness can backfire at times, with Russia, it might have been the right approach. Because right away, Fin managed to build trust with him and Ivan, being calm and respectful, expecting them to handle this new situation in a professional manner. Perhaps Ivan is used to people being terrified around him, giving his paranoia reason to doubt their loyalty. But he never had that problem with Finland, and they got along surprisingly well.

Historical context: When Finland was seized by the Russian Empire in 1809, the Grand Duchy got a pretty good deal in exchange for the Estates swearing loyalty to the Russian Tsar; Finland would remain an autonomous region in the Russian Empire, and it got to keep its Swedish constitution, laws, language, religion, and even the right to keep the taxes it collected for itself. Finns were also exempted from the Russian military. The reason why Finns got such a good deal came down to Tsar Alexander I wanting to avoid excessive fighting during the Napoleonic Wars (he only seized Finland to pressure the King of Sweden in the embargo against England to begin with). By making a good enough offer, the Finns, who had been getting tired of the Swedish monarchy's growing incompetence and turmoil, wouldn't fight back. Also, the Tsar was interested in westernizing his Empire, so Finland's western state structure was perfect for that. Finland's and Tsars' relationship was rather special in the Empire, and Finns were viewed as exceptionally loyal and cooperative by the state. Finns had an easier time remaining loyal to the Tsar due to their freedoms and autonomy status, which they sought to protect by subjecting. For example, Tsar Nicholas I abolished various autonomies and freedoms in his Empire during his reign; except in Finland. This was partly due to Finnish soldiers' voluntary participation in crushing the November Uprising in 1830. When the Tsar's officials criticized Finland's independent status in 1850, Nicholas had allegedly said: "Leave the Finns alone. Finland is my large Empire's only province that has not caused me a minute of worry or dismay during my reign." Nicholas was not the only Tsar who viewed Finland so positively. Most Tsars had a summer house in Finland, and many of them wrote about their time in Finland being some of the most serene they have ever felt. For example, in 1891, Tsar Alexander III shocked his court by deciding to travel through Finland via train instead of by boat. When the court opposed this idea, calling it unsafe, the Tsar called their worries nonsense, stating "I have never needed any guards in Finland."

During his time in the Empire, Finland tried his best to get along with Russia, never provoking him and more so trying to keep attention away from himself, just so he didn't accidentally upset him. Like the aforementioned references tell us, I think Ivan actually trusted Finny and felt comfortable giving him more responsibilities, which inevitably let Fin get closer to him. And while Fin was aware of Russia's flaws and his own privileged position, he surely was also grateful for the freedoms that he had been granted. As bad as it must have felt, he had more possibilities there than he did with Sweden.

Finland probably had his own place, and he was free to come and go as he pleased. He was allowed to join Russia's events and meetings, probably as some kind of assistant, which was crucial for Finland to learn how their job operated and all the responsibilities that came with it. Traveling around Europe from event to event also meant Finny could build his first diplomatic relations with other nations he had never even met before - and even put his own name out there to begin with. It was all new and exciting to him, which in return made him want to keep up the positive relationship

However, Russia's clear favoritism toward Finland would not go unnoticed, and I think that could create some unfair gossip at Finland's expense. People probably think Russia is never nice or does anything good without wanting to gain something from it, so Finland must have done something really special to get his position. Without a doubt, this would sour Finland's relationship with some other people around the house who wouldn't respect his "bootlicking" and respect for Ivan. In the worst case, Finland didn't even know such rumors were spreading about him initially, leading to confusing encounters. I doubt Russia had any intention of clearing such rumors. After all, he didn't suffer from such gossip himself; more than anything, he could use it to his advantage. Whenever he wanted to annoy his old enemy Sweden, all he had to do was wrap his arm around Finland or move him closer - Innocent enough for Fin to not consider it too weird but powerful enough to upset Swe, who couldn't do anything about it. I also think Ivan would try to manipulate Fin's thoughts and insecurities just like anyone else's, being one of the tactics to keep people dependent and loyal to him. He'd feed misinformed ideas to Finland about his past, painting Swe in a worse light than he actually was.

I can really only talk from Finland's point of view, but I doubt Finland himself would have had romantic feelings toward Ivan. I think he saw their relationship as purely beneficial, something to better his own status after living in someone else's shadow for centuries. But he still respected Ivan, at least in the beginning, and believed they could work it out as friends. But I could also see Finny being prepared to act passive to Ivan's potential advances - at least to a certain point, if it meant a more favorable position for himself. Finny can be more cunning than people give him credit for. So even if something had happened between them, I doubt it was genuine, at least on his part. But again, I really don't know if Ivan would even care or try anything.

But in the end, their mutual respect wouldn't last forever. There's no way Finland's and Russia's relationship didn't crumple during the Russification period from the 1890s onwards. Finny most likely lost a lot of his previous freedoms, and he wasn't going to accept it, becoming uncooperative and dishonest. Due to this, Ivan quickly lost his trust in Fin as well, treating him like everyone else around the house. Unfortunately for Ivan, by letting Finny get so close to him in the beginning, it had opened Finland the opportunity to learn all of his tricks. By having had so much freedom and experience in nationwork, Finny was ready to seek his independence as soon as possible, when the moment was just right.

I could always write more, but maybe this is a good overview of their situation during the Empire years specifically. The decades after Finland's independence have been their own rollercoaster entirely. Also, I think personifications' relations are way more complicated than drawing one-to-one comparisons between real-life emperors and people, but here the emperors' favoritism just somehow works for their characters? Anyway, I just really don't know where I'd like to take Russia's character, so I can only write from Finland's point of view here. You can come to your own conclusions and ideas, I suppose!

[chunkypossum]

@azrisweek || DAY 3: Contact || 9k words

Physics and the Immortality of the Soul. The most ridiculous notion Azriel could have picked to build his career around. He had spent half a lifetime tasking himself with impossible questions which very few people took seriously. A strange nostalgia for things he didn’t understand manifested after a childhood accident. This set his life on a path that one day leads him to the front doors of a strange library full of precious and one of a kind books and an even stranger connection to someone completely unexpected. One of which might finally give him the answers he was seeking.

Little points of contact bloom and tensions heat between the pages of Azriel's notes and Eris' books.

F I C

P L A Y L I S T

READ ON AO3

P.s. This one comes with completely irrelevant mini history fun facts in the notes

“You know,” Azriel started, smiling, “If you would just let me start checking them out again.-” “Absolutely not.” Eris interrupted, turning away from Azriel to grab at the book he had just placed incorrectly on the shelf above them. The heat of the spell they had fallen under had been broken but Azriel was ok with that. This was the most they had ever spoken to one another and he didn’t mind taking time to play.

Azriel unfurled his arms and placed his hand atop Eris’ where it took hold of the book. He was frighteningly thrilled at the way those fingers trembled under his.  “Please?” He plied sweetly. Desperation tugged at the ends of his fingers. In the weeks that he had been coming here, the two of them hadn’t so much as exchanged more than a few cursory words out loud. Their flirtations were merely physical. An accidental brush of their hands when exchanging a book, eyes that lingered too long, breath that came too close. More than once, the heat left in the wake of those small pieces of contact erupted in flames, sending them both over the edge. Eris’ hands would find their way under Azriel’s sweater as he pushed him back up against bookshelves, mapping every bit of exposed skin with his fingers and lips. He was always the first to touch, and always the first to pull away leaving Azriel frustrated and confused. It did not stop him from returning time and time again.  With the weight of the impending storm pressing against Azriel’s skin, those memories and fantasies were beginning to spill over. The pressure was a lover's caress, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.  Eris shuttered every single emotion he had let slip and leveled Azriel with a bored look. “You lost that privilege the last time you brought a first edition back with notes in the margin.” He hissed, turning and stomping back to the table to grab more books. “Now, I have to monitor your use. You return them in abysmal condition.” Azriel scoffed lightly under his breath without meaning to. He thought that ‘abysmal’ might have been an over exaggeration. 

“I paid for it.” He insisted. As if that alone erased any infraction. 

When they made it back to the table, Azriel plopped back down in his seat and took up the book that had been lying open, into his hands, feigning reading.  Eris snatched it from him and frowned at the pages. More notes in Azriel’s handwriting could be seen scrawled all over the page.   He slammed it closed with a growl. “Even under my watch you manage to desecrate them.” “I wasn’t finished.” Azriel propped his head in his hand and lazily. “We’re closed. Leave.”

If anyone wants on or off the taglist please let me know!

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[revolutionsoftheheart]

happy ex-y new year, a Ted Lasso fanfic;

Ted Lasso/Michelle Lasso The first Christmas after he returns to Kansas, Ted has sex with his ex-wife for the last time. A bit of post-season 3 character exploration and a sequel to @boglady and @fandomfrolics brilliant ex-y universe.

Excerpt:

On Boxing Day, Ted wakes in his ex-wife’s guestroom.

He lies in bed, half on his stomach, half on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other draped over it. The foam-filled cushion Michelle favors dips slightly under the weight of his head. It shouldn’t feel as comfortable as it does, waking up in a house that isn’t his. It may have become familiar when he stayed over this past summer, Michelle offering him a place to land while he looked for a house of his own, but it isn’t home. Waking up here shouldn’t make Ted want to bury under the comforter, chasing remnants of sleep, or stubbornly keep his eyes closed against the sunlight creeping in through the gap in the curtains, yet it does. And he does.

Just a few more minutes, he tells himself, as if it was any other morning.

Read on AO3

[intoxicated-chan]

angsty fight between miguel and wife!reader

and then they make up yayayayay

Give Me Reasons We Should Be Complete

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel has been pushing you away for some time now. After a talk with a friend, you and Miguel try to sort things out.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “DANCING IN THE DARK” by Joji. Writing this made me think back on past crushes/lovers. But thank you for your request! I am also holding back on writing smut because it keeps getting labeled and it takes me longer to write.

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1.4k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, angst-to-fluff, swearing, Miguel is kinda a dick head, mentions of sleep deprivation…

Want more Miguel content? Check out my MASTERLIST!

You stood in his cold and dark office. The best source of light was his laptop but his huge frame blocked most of the light. You managed around the crumbled paper and thrown desk objects with a plate in hand.

“Miguel?” You peer over his shoulder, “I made you dinner.”

He nods.

“You know you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He nods again.

“And you know that you’ve been here for a long time. I think it’s best for you to-”

“Take a break?” Miguel interrupts you, “I don’t have time for that.”

“Miguel, I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait a few minutes. All I’m asking is for you to eat something.” You try to set the plate down.

“I thought I made it clear that I do not want to be bothered. You’re distracting me. Leave.”

He didn’t mean it like that… He didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean it like that…

“But Mig-”

“I said go.” He growls, his eyes turning its blood red from anger, “You’re becoming a nuisance.”

He didn’t mean it like that.

“Okay.” You tried not to let the crack in your voice show. You didn’t even bother to leave the plate behind because you knew it was going to be wasted.

“And don’t bother me again.” You heard him say as you left his office.

You took deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down before you burst into tears. But your hands shook, nearly dropping the plate.

You choked down your sobs and let your tears fall, the plate was left in the fridge, and you pushed yourself to your bedroom. It was basically yours now since Miguel was sleeping in his office.

The sheets no longer lingered on his cologne and any sign of his presence was gone, other than his clothing and a few photos. The room has become a mess of discarded clothing, old plates and cups, and candy wrappers.

How long has it been since Miguel showed affection? Or even looked at you?

This was normal behavior for Miguel, right? You should know, you’re married to him. You’re his wife. But he experienced loss, unlike you. You didn’t want to judge him for how he deals with his emotions, he’s emotionally distant. You knew that from the start.

And because of this, you felt like he deserved more than what you could give him. It’s what kept you going through the many times Miguel tore your heart, how it squeezed in pain at his actions and words. How you look the other way and ignore his hurtful words.

You couldn’t sleep. You left the still cold bed and dressed in something warm and headed up to the roof.

You sat on the edge, looking at Nueva York. How beautiful it looked during the night, which is one of the reasons why you liked sitting up here.

“Sitting all by yourself?” You tense up only to relax when you know that voice, “At this time? All alone?” Peter B. lands next to you, his daughter in his arms.

“I would ask my husband to join me but he’s too busy.” You respond truthfully.

“Again? He’s been at this all week.” He sits next to you.

“Yeah.” You huff.

“And… how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t look like it.” He offers Mayday who reaches out to you.

You take her and set her down on your lap, “I just don’t know what to do, everything I do seems to bother Miguel. Checking up on him, bringing him food. It feels like he’s doing this on purpose.”

“Miguel’s always been difficult and from the time I spent with him… He’s different, not like the rest of us. He’s accepted his fate as Spider-Man and believes he’s destined for bad things 24/7. But good things do come along, like you. I think… I think he’s trying to come to terms that he can get it because he deserves it.”

Mayday coos, pulling at your hair, “And I think Miguel is scared. He puts on his tough act because he has to, yet he’s afraid to admit he’s scared. Normally, people would’ve given up on him. Why haven’t you?

“Till death do us part. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t give up on him because when you love someone, you love them every single day as who they are.”

“Talk about romantic.”

“Oh please.” You look down at Mayday, “Plus I think-”

“There you are.” You jump and this time, you remain tense, “I was looking for you.”

“Now you’re looking for me?” You respond, refusing to turn your head.

“It’s late, (Y/n). It’s dangerous.”

“I’m here, she’s alright.” Mayday jumps into her father’s arms.

“I’ve already had enough of you. Please, (Y/n).”

“It’s fine.” You tell him, following Miguel inside.

You head to the bedroom, “Where are you going?”

“Bed.”

“(Y/n)-”

“I’m tired and I do not want to be bothered. That includes you too, Miguel.”

“Excuse me?” He follows you into the bedroom.

“You heard me.”

“Please, (Y/n), talk to me.” Miguel begs.

“I’m sorry, did you just say talk? Like I have been trying to do for the past week?”

“(Y/n)-”

“You know what? No, no. You do not get to try to get me to talk after all of this. I have been trying, I have been all in. All I asked of you was to look after yourself.”

“I know.”

“You know? You KNOW?” You scoff rather loudly, “Did you know that Lyla has even talked to me about your behavior? I’m worried about you Miguel. All the damn time, even more when I see you not eating and staying up all night. All I ask is one minute, one bite of the damn food.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Is sorry all you have to say? Not even a half assed excuse?” You see Miguel trying to form a sentence but nothing leaves his left and his head hangs low, “I need to be alone.”

You walk past him but he grabs your arm, “Please don’t leave.” He says, “Please don’t walk out that door.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch, you could have the bed.” You look up at him.

“I love you, (Y/n). I know I don’t say it as much but I fucking love you. He’s right, you know. I am scared. Scared of everything. Because at first, I didn’t think I could have that, have you. You let me hurt you and that is unforgivable.”

He’s crying. Looking right at you, letting himself be bare right in front of you. His grip on your arm loosens and his hands come up to your face, cupping your cheeks. You could hear his staggered breathing, trying to keep himself composed.

“But I wasn’t lying when I said I love you, I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted a family, and I wasn’t lying when I said that you make me believe in love.”

“I’m always here for you, Miguel. You don’t have to go through things alone, but when you want to, I’m here.” You take one of his hands into yours, pulling it away from your face but keeping a tight hold on it.

“It’s not that easy. I hurt you, I understand why you don’t want to.”

“I love you, Miguel. We’ll work on this. I promise you.” After a moment, Miguel practically tackles you, nearly falling to the ground. The hug is tight and warm, and you could feel your shirt become wet with Miguel’s tears.

“You’re okay, right?” His voice cracks as he speaks through his sobs, “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I promise you, I am okay.” You whisper.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“You can start by getting some rest. But you’ve got a lot of apologies O’Hara.”

You don’t know how long you and Miguel stayed like this, nor did you care. All you cared about was Miguel and he felt complete at last.

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform with permission.

[cutielando]

Okay I have a request. Lando with his long time girlfriend and when Oscar joins the team they warn him to stay away from Lando’s drivers room after a race because him and reader love to ‘celebrate’ no matter the result of the race. And Oscar finds out the hard way. But McLaren are like use to it. 🤭🧡

Please and thank you.

a/n: i'm sorry this is short, but i literally couldn't come up with more for this :((( i'm trying to push through my little writer's block and put out as many fics as i possibly can while i still have a little time (i have my first exam on Thursday and I have so much shit to learn it's actually not even funny, but here i am writing fics instead of doing just that, yay me)

In all fairness, Oscar had been well warned about Lando and his girlfriend’s antics post-races. Given that the walls in the motorhome were very thin, as Oscar had stated previously, the team felt like they should let Oscar know what he was in for.

He hadn’t quite taken to heart what he had been told. He had been thinking to himself, how bad can it actually be? And oh boy, it was bad.

You and Lando had made a pact from the beginning of your relationship and when you started coming to all of his races that you would do something to celebrate his every race outcome, no matter how good or bad. You vowed to see every race as something positive and take something from each one.

The McLaren team had become accustomed to your shenanigans, knowing not to go anywhere near Lando’s driver room in the hours after the race. They had come to learn to stay away the hard way, if you know what I mean.

And yet, Oscar chose to ignore them. Why? He didn’t even know.

Maybe it was just pure curiosity, maybe it was ignorance, one could only make suppositions. 

If he had managed not to hear anything that even remotely resembled the warnings he had been given up until that moment, he was in for a treat this time.

You had attended the Miami GP with Lando, catching a break from your studies and having promised him that he wouldn’t have to go to a race alone after failing to attend Japan. And imagine the joy you had felt once Lando had taken the checkered flag in P1. Scratch that, imagine what was going through your mind about the celebrations you were about to have with Lando as soon as he came back to the motorhome ;).

Your boyfriend had been thinking the exact same way, trying to make his way back to the hospitality as soon as he possibly could, but still politely stopping for interviews and photos or autographs.

But once he finally reached his room and saw you waiting for him, dressed only in your underwear, he knew he was in for an enormous treat.

Oscar hadn’t heard Lando get back. He had been so deep into thought and so focused on the music he had been listening to with headphones on that he hadn’t heard the door opening, the squeals that you let out once Lando had practically pounced on you as soon as he locked the door. 

However, he was pulled out of his thoughts when he started hearing bangs, moans and dirty talking through his wall. At first he had thought he was hearing things. There was no way you were actually celebrating that loudly, right?

Wrong.

When he turned off the music and took off his headphones, he realized just how fucking loud you guys were being.

He didn’t even know how to react. What was he even supposed to do? Was he just supposed to leave his room and find somewhere else to hang out until you guys were done? Should he knock on your door and ask you guys to keep it down? No, Lando deserved the win and winding down whatever way he saw fit.

Sighing, he felt himself growing redder once the sounds on the other side of the wall only intensified. He couldn’t just stand around and listen to his teammate probably getting the fuck of his life after his maiden win, so he figured he would just get something to eat and hang out with either Mark or Logan.

The moment a member of the PR team, David, had seen him coming from his room, his cheeks a heavy crimson and refusing to make eye contact with anyone, he realized Oscar had just been the victim of Y/N and Lando.

“You heard them, didn’t you?” David asked him, an amused smile stretching on his face.

Oscar blushed even heavier, if that was even possible. Shyly, he nodded, making David laugh and pat him on the back.

“I didn’t think they were actually that bad” Oscar said, playing with his fingers as his ears could still pick up the noises he had done his best to avoid.

“We tried telling you, you didn’t want to believe us” David chuckled, patting him on the back again as he departed.

When you and Lando finally emerged from his room almost an hour later, the both of you laughed when you noticed how Oscar was avoiding eye contact with the both of you.

Poor Oscar…

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[teddiesworldd]

after the world ends.

ghost finds you out in the woods during a zombie outbreak and falls in love with you. (2.6K words) read part 2 here!!!

a/n: this idea has been on my mind for a while and it was so sweet i just had to write it down and share it with you <3 also, if you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know!

pairing: simon ghost riley x female reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, mdni!!, apocalypse au, mentions of weapons, killing (zombies), survival situation, unprotected p in v sex, cute fluffy stuff in the middle of a zombie apocalypse because why not?!, soap makes an appearance

day 17 of the apocalypse, 3 weeks after the first outbreak.

you had lasted this long purely by camping out in the back of your car, driving somewhere more remote to avoid the infected and rationing whatever you'd managed to bring in from your kitchen at the beginning of it all. but as supplies got low and you were down to your last water bottle, you were forced to venture out into the nearby woodland, gathering whatever you could forage from the streams and bushes. you knew absolutely nothing about surviving out here. you couldn’t hunt and could barely light a fire. the first day of winter was in less than a month and you had no real shelter to keep you warm. you had no idea which berries were safe to eat or how to filter water. all you had was your kitchen silverware for protection and your best winter jacket for the weather.

you’d last about 2 weeks out here at best, and that’s without the fucking zombies. 

you'd been walking for about an hour since leaving your car, and to be honest, you didn’t think you could find your way back now. everything looked the same. you had found only a pocketful of what you could only guess was edible, and a protein bar from the pocket of a dead guy’s jeans. every single noise scared the hell out of you. and the bite marks on his neck raised your adrenaline tenfold. 

thud. thud. snap.

footsteps. sticks breaking underfoot. 

“who’s there?” you called out. “i’m- i’m serious, come any closer and… and… i’ll kill you!”, shouting now, cold hand gripping your rusted kitchen knife tightly.

you saw a huge figure behind the trunk of a nearby tree, and he chuckled lowly at your brave attempt to scare him away. “you don’t scare me, sweetheart”, the voice said, deep and rough, walking out from behind the tree, “thought y'were a rabbit or something - cute lil' thing, rustling in those bushes. and if i was infected, you’d be dead by now, with a mouth on you like that.”

he was an absolute giant of a man, 6 and a half foot at least and built like a brick shithouse. he was in full military gear, skull mask over his face, armed with a rifle in hand and knives strapped to his chest and belt. he approached you slowly, palms facing you like he was trying not to spook a stray cat. part of you wondered if you were hallucinating - you'd not been sleeping well from the nightmares of the infected night after night.

“no use shouting, anyway - they’ll find you straight away making all that noise.” he continued, leaves crunching under his black boots, walking closer, “what’s a girl like you doing out 'ere, all alone?”

you were frozen in place, like a deer in headlights. he was already intimidating as fuck without the massive armoury hanging round his waist, but now he was so close you could feel his breath on your face. a thought crossed your mind that if he tried to kill you now, there would be absolutely nothing you could do to stop him. it made a shiver run down your back.

his gloved hand reached out to hold your chin. you looked up at him, eyes welling up from the pure fear that ran through you.

“lost?” he said quietly, tilting his head to get a proper look at you. 

you nodded slowly.

“well, you won’t get far with that old thing, love” he smirked through the mask, eyeing the blade in your hand. “here, i’ll take you back to camp with me, make you a proper meal, yeah? when did you eat last?”

you engaged in some light small talk on the way, finding out he was called “ghost” and he used to serve in a special operations unit for a private military company. i guess it made sense that the best survivors would be the soldiers. you mentioned how you’d been living in your car for the past two weeks, which seemed to amuse him. he probably thought you were just some dumb girl who’d somehow managed to scrape through until now.

he wasn’t wrong, really.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

his camp was much nicer than the back of your car. 

it wasn't far from where he'd found you. they had lots of weapons and food and beds. and people. there must of been about 10 men in total. the infected weren’t really an issue with their impressive arsenal. there was a large fence surrounding the camp and the men took it in turns to kill anything that tried getting inside. it was pretty clear that ghost was closest to one of the other ex-military guys called "soap". they sat together when they ate and stayed up late at night talking together around the fire - matching dog tags glinting in the dim light. you often watched them through your tent door - enjoying their company but not wanting to interrupt their conversation. you listened as they talked deeply, recounting their time serving together, telling stories of bravery and bloodshed. it became your routine to fall asleep listening to them.

after about 3 or 4 weeks, following the first snowfall, you’d adjusted to life in the camp. soap had taught you a few things and often spent the mornings taking you hunting or showing you how to use the guns - a hand on your waist as he lined you up for the kill shot. he had a sweet nature and silly charm to him, telling you ridiculous jokes that only made you laugh because they were so stupid. you would never tell him that though - he thought you found him hilarious.

however, it was ghost you’d grown closest to, giving you anything and everything you needed. he was mysterious and that drew you to him. one time, he took you down to the river to wash the cookware and yourselves, and you'd caught a glimpse of him pulling off his clothes and mask, blonde hair and muscles seeing the light of day. you couldn't deny it - he was gorgeous.

he often checked on you in the evenings, making sure you’d settled in okay. he sat next to your bed, running a gloved hand over your hair, rubbing small circles into your scalp.

“you like the boys?” he’d ask, “they treating you okay?”

and you’d nod, just like you’d do every night.

“not scared, are you, doll?”

you shook your head.

“good. just making sure.”

and with that, he’d leave, heading to his own tent to rest, or out to guard the fence.

but one night, before he got up to get some sleep, you grabbed his hand. he looked back at you, dark eyes watching yours.

“stay?” you whispered.

and he did, without a word. stripping off his heavy gear and perching next to you in bed, rough camo trousers scratching against your bare shoulder. 

and he stayed, just like you asked. watching over you like a dog and keeping you safe.

sometime in the night, you’d turned to face him where he sat, resting an arm over his thigh. but he didn’t push you off. he just let you rest - your warm breath causing a dampness throughout the tent. 

it was only when the winter sunlight streamed through the tent that you realised he really did stay - all night. you opened your eyes to see he’d settled in next to you, his sleeping body alongside yours in the small camp bed, your arm still around him. 

and when you tried to pull yourself away out of embarrassment, he pulled it back, keeping it over his chest. 

“for warmth, yeah?” he said quietly, voice all deep and sleepy.

and how could you argue with that? these were trying times, after all. 

after a moment's silence, he said “you’re a pretty thing, love. always thought so, even when i first met you and you were all scared and dirty.” he continued, heavy eyes looking down at your vulnerable form. “soap thinks so too, but you’re mine, yeah? i found you - you’re mine.”

there was something about the possessive glint in his eye that showed you he really meant it - his gaze trailing down from your face to your uncovered hips that had shuffled out the sheets in your sleep.

"cm'ere" he said, taking your arm in his grasp and pulling you towards him. "i mean it, love. do you wan' to be mine?" eyes watching your face to see how you'd react to his question. your faces were close now, closer than they'd ever been. he'd looked after you so nicely, giving you everything you needed, protecting you from harm all this time. you couldn't help but agree with him. how could anyone not fall for this attractive man who cared for you so much? and the feeling of his chest under your hand made you fall for him even harder.

"yeah," you whispered against his masked face "...yours."

your small hand reached up to reveal his lips under his mask. he pulled you in, kissing you softly. it was short but there was so much behind it. you could tell he wanted more but he was holding back. he didn't want to accidentally push you away by moving too fast. he pulled back to look at you, hands cupping your soft face, which was still clouded with sleep.

"you're so beautiful, you know that?" he spoke so softly now. it was like the walls he'd put up had fell instantly. he just wanted a moment to be yours. no one else's. not the camp's cook or the guard or the hunter. just yours and nothing else.

you pulled yourself back to his face, kissing him again but soon moving your lips down to kiss his chin, and then his neck. but you didn't get far before he stopped you.

"no, no, love. let me take care of you - you deserve it." he said, turning you around so you were on your back, head resting on your plush pillow as his touch relaxed you.

it was almost as if for just a moment, you weren't in the middle of a fucking nightmare. you were at home, in your own bed. maybe you'd met him at work or out on a date - anywhere that wasn't in a forest full of zombies. and he'd taken you out for dinner a few times and you'd decided he was sweet enough to be kissing down your body, rolling his tongue over your nipples.

but here you were, in a camp full of strangers, being transported by this man who you barely knew, covered only by the walls of a thin tent. but it just felt so right to let him take you like this. you trusted him with your life. and in return he worked your body like magic. his touch was so gentle - yet his skin was so rough compared to your own.

"you want me inside you, baby?" he spoke to you so softly, having kissed down to the top of your underwear now. his eyes watched you, waiting for your permission to carry on.

"please," you replied, "i want you."

that was all he needed to hear. he pulled off his shirt and your underwear, tossing them both to the side. he admired your body shamelessly, eyes tracing the outline of your waist and your body. you couldn't help but do the same, entranced by the way his muscles practically glowed in the light that came through the tent. he was built like a rugby player, pure muscle but with a good layer of fat on top to smooth everything out. you watched as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock.

he was huge. you knew he was a big guy but you weren't expecting it to apply to all of him. it was definitely bigger than anyone you'd ever been with. his tip was an angry shade of red from how hard he was, precum running down his shaft. noticing the expression on your face, he reassured you.

"don't worry, i'll be gentle with you."

he lined himself up with your entrance, your wetness being enough to allow himself to push slowly inside. it stretched you more than you ever had been, causing you to hiss as it dipped inside you. he bent forward down to kiss you sweetly, silencing your pained noises, shushing you each time his lips left yours. he continued to move in until he bottomed out inside of you.

"you okay?" he grunted, "tell me when to move, love."

you paused for a moment, adjusting to his size before nodding to let him know he could start moving.

he didn't fuck like you expected him to. you thought a guy like him would be railing you like an animal, but no. he made love to you, his slow but deep thrusts hitting all the perfect spots in your gummy walls. it was pure bliss, and he thought so too, struggling to keep back his grunts each time he thrust into you.

"fucckkkk baby," he'd say, dog tag hanging down as he fucked you, "your pussy is so tight, gripping me so good". he hooked your legs behind his back and moved his big hands onto your hips to hold you in place. " is it good for you too, doll? you look so pretty with that fucked-out look on your face." he went on, smirking at you like he was proud of his work.

you couldn't even form words, let alone piece together a decent response. he felt amazing, pulling all the way out so only his tip was inside of you and then pushing all the way back in again, until you were an absolute drooling mess, jaw slack and whining on his cock. and just when you thought it couldn't get any better, he moved his hand between your legs and rubbed lazy circles on your clit with his thumb. almost instantly your pussy started pulsing around him - with you blubbering out incoherent swears and moans - having sent you completely over the edge in a matter of minutes. he wasn't far away either - your clenching making his hips stutter back and forth as he helped you ride through your orgasm. you could of swore you were seeing stars by the time he pulled out of you and came over your stomach with a moan, pressing his forehead to yours.

it took you both a few minutes to come back down again, giggling and kissing his lips once more. your arms found their way around his neck, holding him close to you. you were both a panting mess, clothes discarded across the tent floor and the scent of sex heavy in the air.

"my girl- you're gorgeous," he managed to huff out, catching his breath. " 'm never getting over you."

when news broke that a zombie apocalypse was spreading, you had no idea it would lead to this hunk of a man in bed with you - spoiling you and loving you like this. you weren't complaining, though. not at all. at least something good came from it.

he cleaned you up so carefully, being sure not to press too hard on your sensitive body. and when he'd made sure you were okay, he brought you something to eat and led down with you, stroking up and down on your back, drawing shapes and letters on your skin. part of you couldn't believe this was the same guy who you watched shoot a zombie in the face through the fence the other day. his hands were so gentle, always cautious not to hurt you under his touch.

and as your eyes grew heavy again, revelling in his embrace, you heard him say something into your skin.

"simon," he said quietly, face buried in your neck. "my real name's simon."

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[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡

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A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)

It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3

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John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.

I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.

Sneaky bastard.

Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with:

"Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"

He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.

In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.

"And what's this, doll, hm?"

His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.

You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.

He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.

But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.

The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.

He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;

To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,

I love you.

You hold my heart and you will forever.

May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.

With all my love,

Mrs. Price

And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.

He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;

"John, baby, your back-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."

He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.

Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.

He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.

He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.

He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.

His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.

♥︎

Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.

He's buzzing with excitment.

You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.

Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.

"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.

He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.

Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.

He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.

"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.

But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.

He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.

Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."

The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.

He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.

He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.

You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?

Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.

And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.

He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.

"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."

Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.

He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.

*(My wife)

♥︎

Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.

He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.

He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.

But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.

He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.

Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.

He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.

He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.

There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.

He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.

One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.

"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."

All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.

And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.

Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.

He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.

"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"

"Skilled hands, babe."

He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.

And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.

It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.

He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.

Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.

He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.

Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...

♥︎

Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.

There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.

He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-

he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?

Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.

That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.

He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.

That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.

But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.

He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.

He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.

Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.

He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.

The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.

His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.

He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.

It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.

Dear Husband,

We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.

Love,

Your wife

"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"

His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.

It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.

And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.

His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.

You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.

And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.

♡

Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'

Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3

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I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3

(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)

[keeksandgigz]

somewhere we can be alone

stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!fem!reader

a collab with @reidsbtch- mariah is literally the best person to collab with, it's like our brains were making out the whole time we were writing this. thank u for letting me collab with you to write this absolutely not self indulgent, way too long fic together <3

summary: Now on the tail end of graduating, Eddie Munson is required to take part in an extracurricular activity. He's assigned as stage manager for the school's production of Romeo and Juliet. You, the star of the show, aren't too happy to have your senior performance sabotaged by one long- haired metalhead.

word count: 7.7k words

warnings: no y/n, no physical description of reader, swearing, oral (m & f receiving), enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, mentions of queer!reader, it's actually just fucking smut, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), cream pie, use of nicknames (baby, sweets, sweetheart etc), eddie being a stupid lovable idiot

This and all of mine and mariah's works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

He’s been slumped in the guidance counselor’s office for thirty minutes, the wooden chair digging into his bones, growing uncomfortable as he listens to her, hardly believing he’s so close to leaving this fucking school himself.

“You’re keeping up your grades and maintaining regular attendance, Eddie. You’re just missing one last thing to be able to graduate.”

He rubs his face, maybe from the lack of sleep, or the restlessness of finally being able to leave the office he spent way too much time in during the past six years, as long as he keeps showing up to school for the next two months. He groans regardless.

“What would this ‘last thing’ be? Am I gonna be sent on a quest to slay a fucking dragon? Is that what’s gonna take me to graduate?” He snaps, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to him– school doesn’t really appeal to his late bird nature.

The counselor gasps at the crudeness of the profanity “Language!” She exclaims, like he’s never heard that before, daring to swear in front of students, staff and faculty alike, but the blonde lady with the ridiculously coiffed and teased and sprayed hair composes herself again, jutting a look down to his student folder again.

He imagines it to be full of red pen marks, every single one of those a proof of his own failure. He’ll steal it the day he graduates– and set it on fire. Hell, he’ll even roast marshmallows on it.

“Anyways,” she explains in a way that really shows the massive stick up her ass that makes her think Eddie should just stop bothering with school altogether. “You have to partake in an extracurricular activity.”

And he chortles. He was thinking something dreadful like picking trash up at the park or feeding and bathing the old people at the retirement home.

“Something funny, Mr. Munson?” Her nostrils are flared, she can’t wait ‘til he leaves her office.

“So like- like drama club and shit?” His tone is incredulous, he can deal with a couple lines to memorize. He’s had to do way worse for his Dungeon Master role, and even then, Miss George likes him– she’s let him and the club play DnD in her room for the past two years. Should be easy.

The counselor takes her glasses off her pointy nose, letting them hang with a tacky pink, flowery chain around her neck. “Well, yes– that’s one of the options. Unfortunately, your GPA is not high enough for you to partake in the school play, per se, so I can only place you in the backstage crew– building sets and moving things around. We’ll put that brain of yours to work.” She chuckles as she hands him a slip of paper to give to Miss George.

Eddie picks up his bag, “Real funny, huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and heads to the school auditorium. Last time he was there he’d gotten caught by a custodian while Terry Richardson’s face was stuck in between his legs, trousers pulled down halfway down his thighs as she gave him a toothy blowjob. He got suspended for a week.

He sees Miss George sat in the audience, scribbling notes onto a notepad as you recite the famous balcony monologue from Romeo and Juliet. He knows you, he’s seen you around– you’re by no means in the popular crowd, but you stand out, in the way that your clothes always seem to border the fine line of what's socially acceptable and outrageously eccentric.

Even if you’re not part of the popular crowd, there’s no denying that, like the rest of the school, you avoid him like the plague, cute as he is. You interrupt your monologue as you see him smirk down the central aisle of chairs. Miss George turns around at the sudden interruption. Eddie just hands her the slip.

“Oh my goodness!” she coos, “We have a stage manager.” And he wishes he could have photographed the look on your face. “Stage manager?! Miss George, you can’t be serious!” You exclaim as Eddie takes a seat next to her, kicking his boots up on the back of the chair in front of him.

A smirk ever present on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “He doesn’t have any experience.” You continue, not about to have your senior year performance ruined by Eddie Munson of all people. “Shouldn't be that hard to keep a diva like yourself in line, hmm?”

Eddie answers before Miss George has a chance to, the theater now going quiet except for a few snickers from the tech crew. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. Eddie, I’ll have our ASM get you up to speed. Now, please continue with the monologue.” The male only grins wider as you glare back, before looking back down at your script with a sigh.

He ventures backstage– not sure what ASM stands for and maybe too embarrassed to ask as he sees kids dressed in black moving wooden planks onto the stage, carrying cans of paints and brushes.

He taps a kid on his shoulder, arranging a prop table, he looks at Eddie like he’s seen a ghost.

“I was looking for the ASM?” The kid is looking side to side, still wondering why Eddie Munson is talking to him.

“Uhhh, she’s in the booth.” He mutters, before turning around and going back to his props. What the fuck is a booth?

Eddie just plainly decides to look for it himself, since nobody’s any fucking help in this school. He opens door after door- a storage closet, a closet just for wood, a bathroom. Arrived at the last door, he isn’t exactly sure he’s ever going to find this stupid ASM- and he still doesn’t know what that stands for.

The noise of a door opening startles you, as you try to put on your dress as quickly as you can to avoid flashing someone. It’s only when you see who it is that you start screaming, and with you, Eddie just pops a hand in front of his eyes, screaming a string of sorries, and that he hasn’t seen anything.

“I was just looking for the booth! Stop screaming!” he screeches, worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble with Miss George if she hears you screaming like you’re getting skinned alive. Thankfully, you stop, as Eddie looks away, aware of your exposed back peeking through the zipper. You clutch the fabric against you, struggling to zip up the back of your dress one-handed.

Eddie makes a whistling sound, distracting himself from the way you seem to be teetering between asking for his help and telling him to fuck off.

“The door to the booth is in the audience, by the way. Off to the side, there’s some stairs.” You huff, slightly getting your zipper up. He goes to turn around, but you stop him. He cocks an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line as you keep the door open with one hand.

“Can you make yourself useful and help me with my zipper?”

With an annoyed huff he steps fully into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him as you turn your back towards him once more. Carefully clutching the dress, your eyes meeting his in the long row of vanity mirrors in front of you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he steps closer, carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder.

Eddie’s fingers follow the seam of the unzipped garment, barely tracing the bare skin of your back. You try to hold off the shiver from passing through you as he slowly begins zipping it up. A hint of a smirk on his mouth as he notices the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. “Anything else princess? Or am I free to go?”

His fingers now fall away from you, clearing your throat as you try to shake off the arousal that was now coursing through your veins. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how frazzled he had just made you.

Instead of answering, you just groan, eyes lifted up, going past him and clocking him in the shoulder as you headed back on stage. God you were fucking insufferable.

Eddie finds out that ASM means Assistant Stage Manager and that said ASM was none other than Max Mayfield, roped into doing theatre tech for extra credit. And that the booth was where they tampered with the lights and shit. All he had to do as Stage Manager for that rehearsal was oversee the light cues, which proved to be a little more complicated than he initially expected.

He messes up most of the cues in the first act before he finally seems to have gotten a grasp of it. All the while you’re tossing glares his way, using the light cues as an excuse for the harsh looks. But really it’s due to your annoyance at how the mere brush of his fingertips left you wanting more. Wanting more of him, despite your better judgment– you were not about to have him ruin your senior show.

And in spite of that, you closely follow Eddie’s actions. In a lull between scenes he stands up, you follow him with your eyes as he enters back into the auditorium, beelining backstage.

Eddie’s not totally sure what shit designer built the theatre, because he might as well have pissed himself on the way between the booth and the only bathroom in the auditorium. Not only that, but he kept missing cue after cue, followed by the dirtiest looks known to man, straight into his eyes. After the encounter you had in the dressing room– fingers caressing the soft skin of your back, feeling you shiver under his touch, he knew he had some kind of leverage over you.

So when he’s done taking a leak and looks down at the door, he’s sure you’re behind it, slipping a little piece of paper in the crack.

Meet me in the booth after rehearsal. XX

Eddie wouldn’t say he was nervous, his curiosity was piqued more than anything. However, he’s antsy the last half of the show, leg bouncing as he tries to listen and follow Max’s instructions. The girl gives him an annoyed lecture in between cues. But his mind’s a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what exactly you want from him.

So when he re-enters the dark light booth once everyone else has left, he doesn’t expect you to shove him up against the door, locking it with a swift click. His breath hitches in his throat, both in confusion, and at the fact that you’re fumbling with his belt, despite the dirty looks you’ve been giving him the whole afternoon.

“What uh- what are you doing?” His tone is alarmed, stammering as he tries to grab onto the door handle for purchase. You’re too busy getting his jeans down to bother.

“Sucking you off. That okay?” You look at him for a reassurance that comes almost immediately with a violent nod of his head.

He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn you down. After all, he felt the way you tensed under his touch while he was pulling up your zipper, “Shit, fine by me.” He shrugs, acting like he isn’t busting at the seams waiting for you to pull down his pants.

Eddie’s belt makes a clinking sound, along with his wallet chain while you pull his pants down to his thighs. You move his trembling body away from the door, against the table with the light console. His knuckles turn white as he grabs the edges on the table for support.

Gripping the hem of his checkered boxers, freeing his hardened length. Your eyes widening slightly at the sight of it, he’s big— a lot bigger than you expected. Even in the dim lighting he notices your shocked expression.

“Ya gonna just stare at it all night sweetheart?” He asks, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. You shoot another glare his way, before grasping the base of his cock in your fist, licking a long stripe up the shaft. Feeling satisfied as you hear his shaky intake of breath. Eagerly you take him past your lips, as a low groan leaves his own.

“Shit,” he curses as your warm mouth envelops him fully, ringed fingers knotting themselves in your hair. You open your mouth as wide as you can, taking him deeper. Gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you try to adjust to his size. He’s by far the biggest one you’ve had.

“Talked such a big game with that mouth of yours sweetness, am I too much for you?” Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, his cock slipping from your lips as you pull back.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up Munson?” You huff, but before he can reply with another snarky remark your tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock. Silencing him for a moment as you take him back into your mouth.

Another string of curses falls from his lips, as his hips begin thrusting into your mouth with an abandon you haven’t seen before. Your cheeks are hollowed and he can feel himself getting embarrassingly close.

“F-fuck where- where’d you learn all of this?” It comes out in broken pants, and he can feel a smirk forming on your lips as you take him out a second time.

“One thing about theatre people is that we’re all gonna fuck each other. You should see how I eat pussy,” you shrug, putting him back in your mouth, and Eddie swears he’s about to bust in less than a minute.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, as you take him out of your mouth and stand back up.

Eddie’s bewildered expression is easy to read as he looks at you like you shot his dog. But you get close, dangerously close to his lips, your nose almost bumping his.

“That’s for fucking up my light cue, idiot,” it’s a feeble whisper against his lips before you’re gone into the darkness of the theatre. Too shocked to react, Eddie’s left with his pants pulled down for a good two minutes before registering what happened.

So he’s left blue balled in that stupid light booth, fuming and confused. There was no way in hell he would let you treat him like that and walk away the way you did.

Eddie had been scheming all week between rehearsals, attempting to find a good time to get you alone. He wasn’t about to let you get away with leaving him like that, but you were actively avoiding him.

But an opportunity fell into his lap without any effort on his part, Miss George asking you to stay behind to work on some blocking with her. As the stage manager he was required to stay behind too, his mind already reeling with possibilities.

So when you duck behind the curtain to change out of your costume, Eddie is quick to swoop in. Offering to shut down the lights and lock up, and Miss George is more than willing to let him.

By the time you get back on stage the theater is dark, the ghost light shining brightly center stage. “Eddie? Miss George?” You call out into the darkness, getting complete silence in return.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, clutching the strap of your book bag tightly. Of course he’d leave you in the dark theater to fend for yourself. “Asshole.” You mumble under your breath, reaching your hand out in front of you as you make your way across the dark stage.

You’ve bumped into multiple set pieces at this point, as you attempted to find the stairs leading down to the audience in complete darkness. Your frustration grows with each passing minute, that is until you hear the shuffling of feet.

“Hello?” You call out again, squinting as if it would help you see any better. Fear stirs in your gut as the theater is silent once more, shadows seeming to come to life in the corner of your eyes.

Once you finally reach the edge of the stage, you grip onto the railing tightly as you fumble your way down the stairs. Sighing in relief as you feel the carpet beneath your feet.

You only make it a few steps further before you feel a hand snaking around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. The other hand cupping itself over your mouth to muffle the scream that leaves your lips.

“Screaming for me already sweets? Haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is mocking, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he laughs. You quickly squirm out of his grasp, a flashlight clicking on to illuminate his stupidly gorgeous features.

“You fucking psychopath! What were you thinking?” you shove him on the shoulder, he laughs as he zeroes in the flashlight on you, red in the face and furious.

“Had to get back at you for how much of a little tease you were the other day,” he croons. You purse your lips together, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you try to stabilize your still quickly beating heart.

“Whatever. Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, but he’s quick to grab your arm and push it behind your back, the flashlight hitting the ground and rolling under one of the seats. His chest is pressed against your shoulder blades as you shudder in his arms.

“You’re not getting away so easily, sweetness.” He breathes against your earlobe as you keen into the warmth of his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his free hand goes to your waist.

“This okay?” he murmurs, and you nod. A sharp nip to your earlobe makes you hiss.

“I can’t fucking see you nod, can I?” You can tell he’s having too much fun torturing you, feeling his hand travel all across your torso and chest.

“N-No,” you whimper.

“Exactly. Try that again,” his hand rests against the waistband of your jeans, awaiting an answer, teasing the skin behind the fabric. The tips of his fingers brush the skin there, making you whimper in response.

“This is okay.” you breathe out, and it’s the only answer he needs to slip his hand past your jeans, unbuttoning the offending material to push his hand further down into your pants.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers against your ear as his hand cups your clothed core. You waste no time grinding against the heel of his palm, letting small, breathy moans escape you. Afraid to get caught in the dead of night getting touched and fondled by the town pariah.

“You sound so pretty singing for me, don’t you sweets?” he whispers smugly. His hand feels a little too good against you, your hips grinding back and forth following the rhythm he was creating, “Hmm, but I think you can be a little louder.”

You gasp as he slips his hand inside your panties, his calloused fingers encircling your swollen clit. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his thigh. His digits dip lower, teasing your entrance before slipping one inside and curling them up.

You can’t stop the shaky cry from leaving your lips, the sound now filling the auditorium. A smirk tugs at his mouth, using the heel of his palm to press against your clit. “Listen to that… you’ve got such a pretty voice don’t you?”

You dig your nails into the denim covering his thigh, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Wonder what it sounds like when you beg,” he easily adds another finger inside your wet cunt, thrusting them deeper. “N-Never gonna happen Munson.”

Eddie laughs, pulling another moan from you as his other hand drifts up under your shirt to cup your breast. “We’ll see about that.”

His breath is fanning hot and humid against your neck as you reach around to bring his head closer, needing him to be closer.

Nothing he’s saying is registering in your brain, as his fingers pump in and out of you with a torturous pace, feeling his wolfish grin plastered against the skin of your cheek.

He’s watching your every move, your every breath and whimper, biting his lip at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his fingers curl up in a certain manner. You don’t think you have much time left before you release yourself all over his hand, and he knows it.

From the way you keep twitching and tightening around his fingers, he feels you’re getting close, but much like you did that night in the booth, he won’t let you get it that easily.

“Y’close sweets?” he groans, his own hips now grinding against the swell of your ass.

“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage to say, brain scrambled from his words and ministrations.

“You know what you gotta do now, don’t you, pretty?” he bites at the hinge of your jaw, as you cry out, the noise echoing in the empty theatre.

“You gotta beg for it.” And he hears you gasp at that, a dry chuckle leaves his lips. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum that easy did you?”

“Mmm- fuck you, Munson.” you struggle against your brain’s desire to one up him and your body’s desire for release.

“C’mon, don’t you want to cum? I bet you’re so pent up from a whole day of staring at me building sets, aren’t you?” and he’s right, your eyes did wander to his arms in his tight fitting t-shirt, with his hair tied up in a low bun as he hammered nails into wooden boards.

His fingers speed up and you can feel it, you’re so, so close.

“Please, let me,” you whine into his arm, biting at the muscle there. You’re getting so loud.

“That’s right, keep begging for me– good girl gettin’ nice and loud for me,” it’s a growl at this point, a string of please please please follow it. Tears pricking at your eyes with how intensely good he’s making you feel.

So close, so close–

He removes his fingers, jerking you out of that hazy state you were previously in. The male now removes himself from you, retrieving the flashlight from under the seat. Your chest is heaving as you turn to face him, anger now coursing through you as he grins devilishly down at you.

“How cute, you thought I was actually gonna let you cum with how you left me the other day?” Eddie’s laughter fills the theater as he steps closer to you. Your bodies almost touching, lifting his fingers that were just inside you up to your lips.

The brunette carefully drummed the digits against your mouth, “Now, be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.” You glare as you let his fingers slip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them in a teasing manner.

You noticed how his breath hitches, his cock straining uncomfortably in his jeans. But there’s no way that you’re helping him out with his little problem now. You playfully bite his fingers that are still in your mouth, as he utters an annoyed ‘ouch’ before taking them back out.

His fingers make their way to your scalp– yanking at the hair, making you hiss. “You think you’re fucking cute? I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal,” his tone makes you tremble, as he takes his hand out of your hair and disappears into the darkness of the theatre, leaving you once again in the dark.

You stumble down the side stairs of the stage and get out of the side door, quickly making your way home.

And it becomes a regular thing, you and Eddie blue balling each other to the point of frustration, like it’s a sick and twisted power game you both play. After rehearsal he offers to lock up for Miss George and you wait for him in one of the dressing rooms, or in the dimly lit booth. He’s become irritable, and you have as well.

If you were insufferable before, now you’re downright hateful as you yell at the light crew to stop messing up your spotlight moment, or that your costume felt too constricting or your prop too flimsy.

Everything has you on edge, but you don’t hesitate to meet Eddie every night that week after rehearsal. Maybe he’ll let you cum this time.

You wait for him backstage, sitting on one of the set pieces, a throne. There’s a dim overhead light shining on you. Eddie’s lip is caught between his teeth as he looks at you on his Dungeon Master throne.

“Get up.” he commands. The shirt he’s wearing is tight, it makes his shoulders look more prominent. You squeeze your legs together.

“Why should I? My legs are tired from being on my feet all rehearsal,” you give him a fake pout as he inches towards you.

“Because that’s my Dungeon Master throne,” it sounds funny coming out of his mouth, voice low and gravelly “It’s mine.”

You chuckle a bit at that, how is this man being territorial over a set piece?

“And what if I said no?” a smile trapped in between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes.

A dry laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms, “You’re so spoiled huh? Think you can always get your way? Last time I checked, this week it’s been the total opposite, hasn’t it?” and he’s not wrong, he’s given you all but what you want.

“This is my theatre, Munson. I believe you’re on my turf.” and he laughs at that, like you’ve said some kind of joke.

“You do theatre, sweetheart, c’mon you can’t be serious.” he kneels in front of you, grabbing your thighs and moving them apart with ease.

“Don’t be a bitch, Munson.” you hiss, as you feel his lips on your exposed thighs, kissing the skin there.

He whistles, low and sardonic. A wicked smile on his lips “That’s rich coming from you, you’ve had that nasty little attitude this whole week.” he continues with his kisses, while his hand ghosts over your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“I wouldn’t have this nasty little attitude as you call it if you would just let me- fuck.” his free hand ghosts over your panties. Your skin is sensitive, your brain is sensitive. Another touch and you might explode.

“Hmmm, what was that?” he bites at the flesh of your thigh, a high pitched whimper falling from your lips “Need me fuck that little attitude out of you sweetheart?”

And you’ve been wound up so tight for the past week that it doesn’t take you long to rid yourself of your panties. He takes advantage of you standing up, plopping down to take his rightful seat on the throne.

That cocky smirk is adorning his features, but you wanted to smack it off. ���As cute as you think you look in this seat… it’s always been my throne sweets.”

Before Eddie has time to mutter another snarky remark you’re climbing into his lap, crashing your mouth against his. You’ve learned throughout the past week that it’s really the only way to shut him up.

His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your hips, eagerly grinding yourself against the bulge in his pants. Eddie moans into your mouth, his tongue licking your lower lip. You part your lips, allowing him entry as your tongues fight for dominance.

He tastes like Twizzlers and cigarettes, a combination you shouldn’t find as delicious as you do. But it only seems to make you needier, the denim becoming damp as you continue to grind yourself onto him.

“Look at you making a fucking mess on my jeans,” he mumbles against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip which causes you to whine as he pulls away. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, grabbing your cheeks in his hand— forcing you to look at him.

“But I’d rather you make a mess on my cock sweetheart.” His words have your head reeling, the male now gripping behind your knees and lifting you up. You squeal in surprise, clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. “Eddie, put me down.”

He carefully lets you slide down his front until your feet touch the ground, spinning you around before bending you over the armrest of his throne. His hands travel up your bare thighs, taking his time to appreciate your soft skin.

“Are you going to fuck me or not Munson?” You huff, the male now flipping up your skirt and landing a harsh smack on your ass. “So goddamn impatient aren’t you?”

You hear the sound of his belt clinking open, the zipper being tugged down. It makes you clench your thighs together, something Eddie didn’t miss. His fingers dipping between your legs, teasing you further.

“Trained you well didn’t I baby?” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, despite how your stomach flipped at the word baby.

And you can feel him then, carefully lining himself at your entrance as you try to grind back into him. A firm hand against your hips stops you. “Ready? I’m gonna go slow,” he mutters, and there’s a gentleness in his words, despite his meanness in how he’s handling you.

You hum in approval and brace yourself. There’s a loud groan coming from behind you as he slips inside your warm heat, reveling in how you almost suck him in, a small gasp leaving you from the stretch.

“Big stretch, huh?” he coos in a cocky lilt, and you almost wanna reach around and punch him, but this idiot has your eyes rolling back from the fullness, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

So you nod, followed by a needy little whine that makes him chuckle low in his chest– you need him that much?

He goes deeper, spurred on by your noises, by how much you need him to fill you up. A sardonic smile on his lips as he bottoms out and slams all the way in, causing you to shriek.

Eddie sets a fast pace, not really giving you any time to adjust, but he’s already nudging that spot deep within you, making you see stars.

You hear him groan, “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you sweets?” and it’s a rhetorical question, because your tongue feels too big for your mouth and there’s nothing coming out of it besides unintelligible whines and moans as you hold on to the armrest across from you.

Your noises only encourage him to go faster, and it’s almost too much the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you. You try to distance yourself from him, just enough to catch your breath, but he grabs your shoulders, using them as leverage to ram deeper into you.

He leans over, his clothed chest against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goin’ somewhere, baby? Thought you could handle me.” He bites at your earlobe, and there’s just so much going on in your brain that you can’t possibly muster any response to whatever he’s telling you.

“Oh I said that, didn’t I? When we first met. I said I could handle a spoiled little diva like you, and look at that,” he laughs, and you’re sure you’re about to combust. Your fingers reach to grip the cushioned seat of the throne, as another wail leaves your lips.

“Singin’ my praises now aren’t you baby?” The wood of his throne digs into your hips and stomach as he pushes you further into it, a feline movement as he drapes himself off and over you, his hands now gripping the armrest opposite of you for purchase.

Your legs begin to give out, as you beg God or whatever entity up there that he won’t give into his sick little game. That he’ll let you cum this time.

“Shit, sweets, you’re gripping me so tight.” he grunts, a boyish grin on his face as small uh uh uhs fill the room.

“Should we let you cum tonight? We can’t have you being a bitch tomorrow, it’s the end of hell week,” he jokes, and it almost feels humiliating, how he can make fun of you like this and you’re just going to keep fucking yourself back onto him.

“God- Fuck- Please!” you beg, with all the strength you can muster, and he can’t help but let a satisfactory grunt leave his lips.

“Look at you begging, don’t even have to ask now, do I?” and you can feel him twitch inside you. He’s also getting close.

“Ready?” he huffs, with the last little bit of stamina he has, and you can’t brace yourself enough for the wave of pleasure that washes over you with the last few snaps of Eddie’s hips as you come undone with a loud cry, echoing through the dark halls of the theatre.

“Fuck, okay, where should I–” he begins, he’s at his wits end.

“In…side,” is all you can say before he stills himself inside of you, letting his release take over him with a loud groan. His warm cum painting your inner walls, leaving you feeling satiated.

Eddie stabilizes his breath, forehead leaning against your shoulders, days on days of pent up frustration hanging like mist in the air. You’re both able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, lifting himself off of you as he slowly slips his cock out. You can feel his cum beginning to drip down your thighs, your legs wobble as you attempt to stand. Knees buckling as you try and find your discarded panties.

“Whoa there, I got ya,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his warm chest. It felt good, leaning against him like that. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I’m fine Eddie.”

You push yourself off only to nearly fall once more, an annoyed grumble leaving his lips, “Are you always so stubborn?” He reaches down for your panties, guiding you to sit on the edge of the throne so he could help pull them up your thighs.

It was an unusually tender action, and not one that you expected from him. “Thought you didn’t want me sitting here?” You tease, his brown eyes glancing up as he’s kneeling before you.

“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. A dimple you had never noticed before indenting his cheek, another feature that now found annoyingly attractive.

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal.” You quip, as you try to wobble off the stage, he runs after you.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk home like this,” and there’s a tender look in his eyes, something close to genuine concern. “My van is out front, I can drive you.” He points in a general direction behind him, and you want to say no so badly.

But you don’t, and now you find yourself being driven home by Eddie. His dingy van smells like cigarettes and weed and it squeaks every time he goes over a bump. There’s loud music blaring through the stereo speakers and an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.

“So uh, you excited for next week?” Eddie’s the first to break the silence, briefly turning towards you.

“I’m actually kinda nervous,” you admit, sinking into the seat. “It’s a big role, big shoes to fill. I guess I’m just scared I’m not gonna be any good.” You chuckle, almost embarrassed at your admission.

“You? Not good? I’ve seen you, y’know? I’m not just staring at your tits during rehearsal. You’re pretty darn good.” He gives you a half smile at that, pulling up next to your house.

You’re a bit flustered by his compliments, finding yourself not wanting to leave his company just yet.

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

“And hey, if you still feel nervous opening night come find me— I’ll help you,” he winks at you and you can’t help but laugh, as you see him looking at you with a big grin on his face.

You look at him back, and God, maybe it’s the streetlights or the moon, but he’s never been more beautiful. In a leap of courage you lean over the dashboard and peck him on the lips.

As you detach from him and reach for the door handle, he pulls you back in deeper, searing and intense, one of those kisses that have your tummy flipping. Except it’s not in the comfort of the theatre, and without an underlying motive behind it.

Just you and him. In his van.

You let your lips part, give him access to your mouth, but he stops you.

“It’s midnight,” he whispers against your lips. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, you need to rest.” He smiles as you place another peck on his lips. Pouting as you reach for the door handle. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you’re inside, seeing the light of your room turn on.

Once he knows you’re safe, he starts his van back up and pulls away from your house with the cheesiest grin on his face.

Opening night. It’s finally here.

You should feel excited, and yet all you want to do is lock yourself in one of the broom closets and hide. You’ve never felt so nervous before, thinking of all the different outcomes that could occur. What if you forget all your lines? Or you have an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during a quick change?

Your mind is reeling as you enter the dressing room, the rest of the cast buzzing excitedly around you. You fake a smile and sit at your station, noticing the bouquet of lilies resting on the counter top. You can feel yourself flushing, opening the card that came with it.

Break a leg Juliet xx.

You ask around the rest of the cast but no one knows who left them, and while you hoped they came from a certain metalhead… you couldn’t be so sure. Your little cat and mouse game had suddenly turned into something very real, and part of you was afraid it would be over once the curtains closed.

You get ready for the show in a daze, now staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror as nerves rage through your insides. The rest of the cast had dissipated, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

“There’s the leading lady,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your haze, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He must have noticed the look of panic across your features, as he rushes to your side.

You give him a weak smile in return, letting a heavy exhale escape past your lips.

“So uhhh, did you like the flowers?” He asks, and he can see your eyes light up in the mirror, momentarily forgetting nerves, fear and anxiety.

“So it was you,” he coaxes you to face him, kneeling next to you with a large grin.

“T’was I, fair maiden.” He does a half bow from his kneeling position, making you giggle.

“So you’re in love with me now?” You tease, as Eddie’s hands come to rest on your thighs, spreading them as much as he can in your dress before moving in between them.

“I’m literally going to die from nerves, what if I mess up my lines?” you begin, but Eddie seems to have much different plans.

“There she is….” he murmurs, more to himself.

You feel the heat pool in your middle at his words, squirming a little in your seat. Eddie reaches to cup your chin, tilting it down so you meet his gaze. His brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know, my offer still stands Lady Capulet.”

“Here? The doors are literally opening in fifteen minutes, don’t you have stage manager things to take care of?” your tone is alarmed, rather, a mix of alarm and excitement.

“My job as stage manager right now is to make sure Juliet feels comfortable enough to go on stage,” he grins, peppering kisses over your hand and wrist.

“But what if we get caught? Or you make me cum so hard I forget my lines?” The nerves make you ramble, as his chin rests on one of your thighs.

“As good as I am at eating you out sweetheart, I doubt that’ll happen.” He bunches the fabric of your costume up your thighs, beginning to give sweet caresses on the skin of your legs.

You seem unconvinced, still.

“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. If you get all your lines right, which I don’t doubt you will, I’ll take you out on a date.” His lips are pursed in a coy smile.

Your eyes widen, “Like a date date? You and me?” and your heartbeat picks up.

“Who else, idiot?” Eddie laughs, which makes you smile, “Now,” he begins.

“Do you want me to do something about those jangled nerves of yours?” And you can’t help but bite your lip and nod.

His lips begin trailing up your thighs, a shiver running through you from his tender actions. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” He pauses, shifting closer as he switches sides, now leaving open mouth kisses along your opposite thigh. “It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as he works his way to your clothed center, his eyes flicking up to look at you. “Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon… and whatever the fuck else Romeo says.” Eddie chuckles before eagerly pressing his mouth against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at the wet spot on the cotton.

A gasp bubbles deep in your throat at the sensation, feeling the bliss of his tongue through the cotton barrier, your body easing up from its nervous state.

He looks up at you, “Good, huh?” He hums through the fabric, and you’re wound up so tight you’re already panting.

He taps the side of your thigh to get you to lift your hips, removing your panties in the process.

A low whistle escapes him as you spread your legs for him again, “Talk about eating in costume, baby, jeez.” He chuckles, and the joke makes you laugh too.

A short lived laugh at that, turning into a breathless gasp when his tongue makes contact as he begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

Your hand immediately goes to tug at his curls, not caring that they’re tied up and out of his face to be able to see the cue sheets. The delicious pull at his scalp makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

A low moan falls out of your lips, catching yourself, hand flying to your mouth as you hear the rest of the cast clamoring outside.

“Gotta be quiet, Lady Capulet,” he snickers as he goes back to burying his face between your legs. His tongue darting in and out of you as a hand reaches for your mouth, wetting two of his fingers.

You don’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him, a bite at the juncture between your pelvis and your thigh, “Atta girl.” He mumbles against the wet skin, popping his fingers out of your mouth to tease at your entrance.

“That’s it baby, focus on me.” A whine escapes you as you’re now grinding on his tongue, his fingers enter you slowly, head thrown back in pleasure.

“You nervous, baby?” He asks, a cocky smile on his face. His fingers curl upward, your eyes squeeze at the overwhelming sensation.

You shake your head, still sentient. Not too far gone yet.

“You gonna use me to get off, my lady?” His fingers are pumping faster, feeling tears brimming on your waterline, hoping to not spill all over your face, your stage makeup seems to be in precarious conditions.

A familiar warmth, deep in the pool of your tummy, “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop” You know how much he likes to hear you sing for him. His spare hand grabs onto your thigh, rings biting the soft skin there, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Thaaaat’s it, you’re doing so well,” he whispers. One more pump of his fingers and you cum with a silent cry, biting onto your hand, feeling yourself pulsate around his fingers.

Without much warning he slips them out, sucking on his own fingers, tasting your own delicious essence.

“Places!” You hear Miss George say backstage, as Eddie retrieves your panties for you and slips them up your legs.

Eddie fixes his hair in the mirror, tying them back. He places a kiss on your cheek with a hurried, “Good luck— uh fuck I meant break a leg.” Then he furtively leaves the dressing room.

You feel a blush spreading across your body, finally relaxed and ready to begin the show.

You leave the dressing room, joining the rest of the cast, full of excitement. You know all your love monologues are going to be directed towards a certain metalhead tonight.

The show goes smoothly and you don’t forget a single line, you’re surrounded by family and friends, ready to do it all again the day after.

You go back into the dressing rooms to grab your stuff and change, but a long mop of curly hair occupies your chair.

“Eddie, you can’t be here!” you whisper, as he turns around with the biggest smile plastered on his face.

“Just wanted to tell my girl congratulations in private. You smashed it tonight,” you blush at the nickname.

“Since when am I your girl?” you ask, not letting him see how much it affected you.

“Since you kissed me in my van when I dropped you off, gorgeous.” He flirts, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.

“So, how about that date?”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

tagging: @thornsnvultures, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @duuhrayliegh, @ali-r3n, @sunnythevampireslayer, @bimbobaggins69, @jamdoughnutmagician, @eiightysixbaby, @aphrogeneias, @daisy-munson, @gravedigginbbydoll, @s6raphic, @take-everything-you-can, @strangerstilinski

[makoodles]

ミ the mightiest

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader

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

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

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

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

Okay, so you can’t really explain it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s nosey.” You correct.

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

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

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

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

That is not Lo’ak’s voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

You gape at him, stunned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You croak, blinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” You breathe stupidly. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And damn, you can’t turn him down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And luckily he does, his smile only growing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So big,” You gasp. “I-I want—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[doobea]

WE ARE THE LOVESICK (GIRLS) - SAE ITOSHI

synopsis: Sae learns what the term 'whipped' means and comes to terms with it.

content: a sick!fic, fluff, sfw, early established relationship, itoshi siblings have a good(?) relationship, feels more like a brother bonding fic, soft!sae, sae centric pov, fem!reader word count: 1.6K a/n: yuh the title is based off of my fave blackpink song hehe and my bf is sick rn and instead of taking care of him im writing instead whoops - also posting this on rins birthday is NOT a crime

There are two things that Sae takes from this impromptu trip back home. One is that he should've done his passport renewal online because now he has to wait up to a whole month. He's not mentally prepared to explain that to his manager who's currently over six thousand miles away. And two, he's recently learned that you get sick really easily when you travel. Like ridiculously sick.

"Sae, I'm dying."

There's a sniffle. A cough. And then silence.

You definitely sound like you’re dying, Sae thinks. From the kitchen, he carefully watches your movements on the couch. Which is almost minimum to none. When you don’t respond to your name, Sae rushes over and takes a look. Your cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to your forehead in a way that didn’t look comfortable, a bit of drool hangs from the sides of your mouth from your lack of ability to breathe, and worst of all —

"My head hurts, Sae…" Another cough. "Do you have any aspirin?"

In the most loving way, he wishes you would’ve just stayed back in Spain.

He takes hold of your palms and places his forehead against yours. It's hot and wet to the touch. It makes him physically recoil back and Sae looks almost annoyed with himself. Maybe he should've tried harder to convince you to not come.

Sae hasn't been back home in maybe a year or two, he thinks, but surely there must be some aspirin or any form of medicine in the house, right? A quick rush through the drawers and every nook and cranny in the house proves him otherwise.

Sae jogs back to your curled-up figure on the couch and throws on his windbreaker. "I'll go out to the store and get some."

"No," You sit up too fast and wince, hands settling on the sides of your temples to support the weight of your head. "I'll get over it soon. Maybe it's just the humid weather?" You lamely suggest.

You always double down whenever it comes to your health. Trying to convince yourself that it'll get better soon because you hate being an inconvenience to others — others being Sae. You're doing this even when you look like an absolute (beautiful) wreck in Sae's eyes right now. But maybe he shouldn't exactly leave you alone when you're in a feverish state, especially in a space you're unfamiliar with.

He takes off his windbreaker and gently places it over your shoulders as he thinks on his feet. "Then I'll get someone else to do it."

You wrap yourself in his jacket and repress back a coughing fit. "Huh, like who?"

Only one person pops up in his mind and Sae isn't sure if he can count on him. But, even after everything that they've gone through, he can probably trust him. Well, maybe not trust but more like he's his only option.

"When did you even get back?"

"Last night," Sae answers and rushes to the point. "I need you to make an errand run."

"What?" Rin’s voice fills with annoyance over the line. "Why would I do that?"

"Because," Sae looks over his shoulder at the sight of your body in a fetal position on the couch. You’re visibly shaking a bit too much for his liking. Sae takes a deep breath and exhales loud enough for his brother to hear. "My girlfriend is sick. I've checked the cabinets and we don't have any medicine. I don't want to leave her alone at our house."

There's a pause and Sae is wondering if his brother has hung up. Then, Rin clears his throat on the line.

"You want me to drop what I’m doing to get medicine for your sick girlfriend? Am I hearing that right?"

Sae snaps his head at the sound of you coughing once more. You look disheveled and your eyes are unfocused on what's in front of you. He sharply inhales once more. "That's exactly what I want. Do you need me to repeat it?"

Another pause and then it's Rin's turn to sigh.

"Whatever. Be there in fifteen."

And Rin keeps his word, showing up precisely in fifteen minutes, in his tracksuit to be exact, begrudgingly holding a plastic bag in his hands. The big yellow smiley face contrasts sharply with Rin's visibly irritated expression. In the bag, there’s a bottle of aspirin, cough syrup, vitamin gummies, and three ice cream bars.

Rin takes one of the ice cream bars before shoving the bag into Sae's hands. "You owe me." He hisses out.

Sae ignores his brother's glare and only nods, mumbling a lazy "thanks" before making his way back into the living room. Rin quietly follows behind. Sae figures it's because he's semi-curious about how he's been, though Rin will never admit it.

You stir from the couch at the sound of plastic and wake up when Sae pours out the contents onto the coffee table, immediately ripping the cough syrup packaging open and pouring the recommended amount into the little plastic cup.

"Here, take this." And Sae watches as Rin grimaces at how softly he speaks to you.

You weakly nod and tilt your head enough for Sae to bring it to your lips. A quick swallow followed by an equally quick shudder from the bitterness and you manage to crack a small grin. "Thank you, babe."

Rin suppresses a gagging noise when Sae plants a chaste kiss on your forehead. You take this moment to finally register two and two together. Sae hasn't outright introduced you to his family members, but he has shown you pictures of them from time to time.

"Sorry for the intrusion—you must be Rin, right?" You sit up straight, still wrapped around Sae's windbreaker, and extend out a hand. "He's told me a lot about you."

Yeah, maybe Sae should've locked you back home.

His younger brother throws him a look, not annoyed but slightly amused. "He has?"

You seem to miss the panicked scowl that Sae flashes at you and continue on. "Plenty! He talks about you almost every day and watches your games at the dinner table."

Sae tenses when he feels Rin's gaze hardening on him. "You do...?"

Sae awkwardly clears his throat, suddenly feeling heat rushing to his neck, and starts heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make a drink."

Fortunately, you didn't catch the thick tension and begin rambling to Rin. And seeing Rin attempting to start a conversation with you is physically painful. Sae sips on a cup of coffee as you talk about what you do for a living and how you and Sae met. Rin awkwardly nods, adding a small few comments here and there. He'll occasionally try his best to smile and sound remotely interested without coming off as a deadpan ass. Talking to Rin is like talking to a rock, Sae concludes. A giant, lanky, grumpy rock.

"It was nice meeting you, Rin." Your voice still sounds fried but better than what it was earlier.

"Yeah, you too." The taller male rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and stands. "Hey," Rin's voice directs over to Sae and he nudges his head towards the hallway. "Mind if we talk real quick?"

Sae exhales for what it feels like the tenth time today. "Sure."

Both brothers lean on opposite sides of the wall, seemingly also avoiding each other's gazes because wow the floor looks mildly entertaining right now. When was the last time that they even had a proper conversation without ripping each other's throats apart? Sae honestly can't remember but it didn't seem like that was on Rin's to-do list.

Rin breaks the heavy silence first with a loud unwrapping sound from his ice cream bar. He stares at it for a long moment and splits the bar down the middle, offering one stick to Sae. "How long are you staying for?"

Sae accepts it and takes a small bite. "A month."

"Showing your girlfriend around the country?"

"Maybe, but I'm just waiting on my passport."

"Should've done it online, dumbass."

Sae pretends the comment doesn't tick him off. "Why are you asking anyway?"

"Nothing." Rin drops the subject and finishes off his half of the dessert. "You've gotten softer. It's like you're whipped or something."

Sae rolls his eyes and bites off the remaining ice cream on his stick. "What does that mean?"

"It means that if she asked you to do a handstand and sing a song, you'd do it."

Sae finds himself pausing, thinks for a bit, and shrugs. "And that's a bad thing?"

Rin's eyes narrow before racking a hand through his hair. "Actually, forget I said anything."

For a brief second, Sae isn't sure if Rin is annoyed at the fact that he would do all those things for you or if he's annoyed that he didn't know what whipped means. Maybe both.

Rin pushes himself off the wall and starts heading towards the entrance, waving off to you as you lay on the couch, probably scrolling aimlessly on the phone. Before Rin steps out, he whips around and gives Sae a final hard stare.

"If you're ever free, let me know." And before Sae can even respond, he's out the door.

You giggle from the couch at the interaction. "He's cute."

The couch dips slightly as Sae plops down next to you, arms immediately wrapping around your waist and tugging you close to his embrace. "Sometimes weird." He adds.

"By the way," You start in a coy tone. "You're fine with doing all of that?"

Sae presses his lips against your shoulder and hums. "Doing all of what?"

"A handstand and singing me a song." Your grin is so infectious that it's making his heart swell.

"I can do it no problem," Sae replies easily.

[oukabarsburgblr]

Hi! Love your work! I dont know if your requests are open but Id love to see more of your Haikyuu work! Loved the the recent one and i just cant stop rereading it.

I wonder what would happen if reader was hit on by one of the other volleyball players before/after the matches. I just wanna see the three boys get jealous and protective honestly hahahd ofc if you dont want to write this its okay too! ( Ps. I also love ur Daisuke one, i love him hes so cute 🥰🥺 cant wait to see more of ur work )

drabble...aftermath of Karasuno

taglist : @ayuxiru @tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer

i stopped working on my haikyuu fics bc i started s4 and i could NOT see atsumus face HAHHAHH idky i HATE HIM ARGH/jk. We love Daisuke in this household. Can anyone tell Daichi is my favourite? HAHA

this will be the last one for the crows CAW CAW

harassed, dark in general

Find out more under the cut!

[SCENARIOS LOADING...]

Another team harasses the manager!

[START SCENE]

"Hey! Karasuno's manager! Don't make such an ugly face."

A certain (h/c) frowned, being cornered by tall volleyball players from other schools. He had just went to retrieve the paper rosters from the organizers for their current tournaments at the Sendai Gymnasium where Preliminaries are being held when he was stopped by students from other schools.

"You look like you don't have a lot on your hands right now. Why don't you come with us? Free some tension...you probably need it." A hand grasped (m/n)'s shoulders to which the (h/c) swatted it away. "Don't touch me." He hissed as he tried to move past them but another shoved him back against the walls, them moving closer to the manager.

"Hey hey. We're all friends here, right?" Hissing in pain as the hand lodged in his shoulder pressed his nails further, crinkling his black jumpsuit. "Listen here, fucker. I don't know what household you grew up in, but go ride someone else's dick. Better yet, why don't you go suck each other off? Since you're so desperate for some action."

(m/n) spat, his foul mouth and his temper wasn't a good combination but it was the right mixture for this situation. He pushed the players' arm and was ready to leave until his hair was clenched painfully.

A yelp from (m/n) and the ringleader of the group pulled his face close. "Nice face but a repulsive tongue...damn and I thought we could do this nicely. We'll find a use for your mouth soon." "Let go, asshole-"

Fuck, who do they think they are? The only one grabbing my hair is usually-

"I suggest you let him go."

A heavy voice uttered from behind them, catching the attention of the group. Asahi clasped the hand that seized (m/n)'s head. "Before I break your wrist." He muttered with a death glare, the light in his eyes gone.

"Fuck! Is he the coach or something?!" One of them whispered, scanning his mature features. Someone grasped (m/n)'s hand, pulling him away from the group. "Learn how to take a hint when someone says they don't like you." Sugawara pushed the manager behind him.

"Or go die in some random dump, you trash."

He stated blandly, his voice losing any cheery tone he would always carry. How ironic. (m/n) could never be more glad that the third years were here, clenching the papers in his hand. He felt someone gently pull his bicep.

"Go." Daichi muttered. "The team's around the corner. Go see Kiyoko for..." He brushed (m/n)'s head, where his hair was tousled.

The only one who would usually, or rather the only one, grabbing (m/n)'s head, tugging his hair, digging their nails into his scalp was Daichi Sawamura.

The (h/c) didn't think twice to leave the scene, not leaving a glance to the yelling players who had harassed him, Daichi particularly approaching the one who had pulled (m/n)'s hair.

-

He didn't want to be here anymore, (m/n) lazily draped himself across the railings. Only one manager was allowed on the benches so he and Yachi had to sit up in the audience' seats but he asked for some alone time from Yachi, her concerned about him after hearing that he was disturbed by a team from another school earlier.

Hinata had jumped up and about when (m/n) returned to their team, demanding to know who had hurt his friend and Kiyoko checked his scalp, making sure nothing was broken and everything was fine. Tanaka was adamant on being a good senior and wanting to avenge his manager so he went to help the third years who were confronting the aggressors but immediately retreated, staying quiet when Ennoshita asked what they were up to.

The games started and the first match went well, battling up against a two meter player. Daichi didn't speak to him yet. (m/n) noticed a bruise forming on Asahi's jaw and Sugawara only smiled at him quietly.

Second game came around and (m/n) held back a flight of curses from his mouth when the team Karasuno had to play against were the same players who had cornered him earlier, their captain glaring holes into Daichi. He noticed a few of them were missing, specifically the bitchy ringleader.

"Hey, (m/n). Thought you'd be down there this time."

Oikawa approached his cousin, leaning onto the railings in a similar fashion to the (h/c). "I guess all third years in your team is staying huh." He poked (m/n). "Yeah." He mumbled. "Looks like yours too."

(e/c) glanced at the Seijoh team that were currently watching over Karasuno's briefing by their coach. He noticed a new player. Someone that has a tennis ball for a head.

"Well, we're gonna beat Shiratorizawa this year. I'm gonna show Ushiwaka who's boss." "You say that at every game." The setter slapped (m/n)'s back, the latter yelping and smacking his laughing cousin. "So gloomy and for what? Your team seems to be energetic-...well they're playing more aggressive than usual."

Asahi slammed the ball set by Kageyama, earning a point as the libero was unable to receive the spinning ball. The ace looked furious, his eyebrows furrowing as he asked Kageyama for a faster set. Sugawara was itching to get on the court, pacing around, warming his legs up so he could be ready when he had a chance to play. Daichi was silent, his usual words of affirmation to the team gone. Only Tanaka and Nishinoya cheering when they won a point.

"We're going to win. Against them at least." Daichi muttered, his eyes gazing up at (m/n) when Coach Ukai took a timeout and asked what was wrong and why their play styles had differ today.

(m/n) stared back but quickly looked away when he felt butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't tell what those insects were trying to tell him. Daichi had warmed his bed a lot for the past month, even his parents assumed he was his boyfriend by how often he had came over to his house.

Karasuno won a fast game. Two sets straight, 25 - 17 and 25 - 13. The last set where all the third years were deployed went by quick, Asahi shining as the MVP.

"Well, that's my cue. I wonder when we'd play against you, it'd be any different." "....It will." Oikawa raised an eyebrow. "Thought you'd support me this time. Given how your team lost on our last match." "But they'll win."

(m/n) peered at Oikawa, from the corner of his eyes. "My team will win beating yours, Tooru." The setter only stared down at the manager with a smirk.

"What's with the change of heart?" "..."

He didn't reply, only getting up to greet the team as he stood in the hallways, letting Hinata crash into him. Sugawara pulled the middle blocker off of him. "Now now. Stop causing trouble or Takeda-sensei won't let us watch the other teams play." They were done for the day and as requested by Kageyama, they went to see Seijoh's match.

Sugawara held (m/n) behind however, letting the team go first as they stood in an isolated staircase. He ran his fingers through (h/c) hair, his eyes squinting at the manager as he smiled reassuringly. "I hope you're alright, (m/n). We beat them for you. Those idiots. People who have nothing else to do but lay their waste on innocents like you."

The (h/c) hummed uneasily, leaning his head on the setter's shoulders and his fingers clutching onto the latter's jersey. "I didn't mean to talk to them. They cornered me." "I know, I know." Sugawara cooed, his other hand caressing (m/n)'s back.

A similar but earlier incident had happened, whereas a student confessed to the (h/c), who declined but Hinata excitedly told the team and Sugawara had an outburst in private, accusing (m/n) of cheating behind their backs despite them having no declaration, only taming (m/n) into their current relationship.

"Did I ever scare you? You look at me like I'm going to snap your neck at any second." The setter teased, his hand trailing over (s/c) neck, his fingertips pressing onto (m/n)'s Adam's apple. "No. You wouldn't." That was a bluff.

He had learned that Sugawara had the most violent tantrums out of the three. Paranoid, spiralling about what (m/n) does when he wasn't around. The (h/c) had learned what to say, what to do overtime, to ease the third year.

Said third year smiled at him. "If anyone ever approaches you, like earlier, scream our names okay." He always made sure to include Daichi and Asahi. "Remember, you're our favourite."

He winked at the (h/c) who didn't give much of a reaction, only hugging the setter. Was there any difference between those assholes and the third years in Karasuno? Both of those groups forced him, into these uneasy situations, Karasuno taking a longer approach.

Crows tend to build their nests with meticulous resolve, choosing the right twigs and taking the softest materials for the lining. Karasuno did live up to their name, (m/n) completely accepting his predicament, laying in the den Daichi, Sugawara and Asahi had woven for him.

Sugawara pulled (m/n)'s face up, smiling at him before pressing his lips to the (h/c) who opened his mouth when the setter swiped his tongue on his lips. "Let me hear you, (m/n)." The setter muttered as he pressed his wet muscle against (m/n)'s caressing his palate and pressing their bodies closer.

"Mmnff ahh! N-Not here Suga- ahk!" (m/n) choked when he felt a hand cupping his crotch, his breath shaky and coming out in stutters as he pushed Sugawara's chest. His cheeks were hot and he clenched his fist on Suga's jersey.

"Hahaha is it because we're in public? You'd be much more in trouble with Asahi then." The setter pulled away, letting (m/n) breathe as he dragged him up the stairs and they stepped into the auditorium seating. "Go. You owe me a date for this." He kissed the (h/c)'s forehead before pushing him to the row where Asahi and Daichi were.

The setter walked past them, opting to sit beside the second years, distracting them when they asked where was the manager. Said manager stood nervously, Asahi and Daichi silent, both of them sat in the furthest behind row, whereas everyone was sitting close to the railings to watch the games.

Usually (m/n) had no problem conversing with them, the third years constantly talking first but here they are staying silent. "...Good game." He referred to the two sets they stole from those assholes.

The captain didn't even look at him, only staring into space with a frown on his face. Asahi spared him a glance before beckoning the (h/c) to sit next to him. But as he was about to sit, the brunette pulled his arm, making him land in Asahi's lap instead.

"Huh? What are you-" He was silenced by Daichi's glance, his heart racing as Asahi adjusted him, placing him directly on top his crotch. "Sorry, (m/n)." The ace buried his face into the (h/c)'s shoulders. "Let me borrow you for a bit."

Here? In public? Where anyone could see him being used like a fucking-

His hands shook as he tried to peel himself off Asahi, but the latter only tightened his hold, crushing his waist with his muscular arms. "I'm sorry." The brunette mumbled apologies and (m/n) could feel his erection pressing up against his pants. He prayed the others wouldn't turn around. Daichi didn't move a finger, (m/n) couldn't read his face as he hopelessly squirmed in Asahi's lap.

He's going to see. He's going to look at me and see me like this.

His heart was beating fast, the ace still breathing heavily behind him and grinding his bottom on him. Daichi still didn't give any reaction. (m/n) felt his heartstrings pulled as the captain didn't give a damn of what was happening to him. Unintentionally, he glorified- favoured? Treasured the ravenette the most, the one who always seemed so distant from him yet was so close and quick to clog his throat-

Tears welled up in his (e/c) eyes as he turned his face away when he saw Tsukishima glanced at him from the corner of his sight. He genuinely prayed that no one else would see him in this shameful state.

Asahi stopped bucking his hips when a high pitched heave escaped from the (h/c)'s throat, (m/n) holding in a sob as he carved his nails into the ace's arm. "Shh...it's fine. No one saw anything. They just think you're sitting on me." He whispered into the manager's ear who shook his head. Tsukishima saw him and he was one of the smart ones. The rest of Karasuno hadn't seen but what about the other teams? Strangers who might pass by their rows. He hated how his three seniors didn't give a damn about his pride.

Asahi didn't make himself obvious, he just wanted to loose some steam is all. In the end, he did use (m/n) like those harassers did albeit tamer than expected but the intentions were there nonetheless. (m/n) whimpered endlessly as he was placed to sit on the cushioned seat in the same one as the ace, still with Asahi seated close behind him. (s/c) hands trembled as he peered at the captain who cruelly ignored him the entire time.

A tear slipped down his cheek as Asahi cooed at him, apologising and kissing his ears while rubbing his waist. Ensuring the (h/c) that he didn't even got off or anything as he whispered sweet nothings with his apparent boner pressing against (m/n)'s back. The manager was much more prone to crying when they were in public.

His hands hugged Azumane's as he leaned back into the ace's body, his attempt to hide his figure as he pulled on the ace's black jacket. "Hic- you're so fucking- mean to me." (m/n) whined as Asahi peppered kisses all over his face, his stubble scratching against his skin.

"I won't do it again." The ace muttered, placing his chin on the manager's head. (m/n) peered up and noticed the forming bruise. His fingers went to delicately trace them. "I knocked his teeth out." Asahi mumbled.

"Would've done more if their manager hadn't come running." (m/n) flinched when he heard Daichi utter. The first he spoke around the (h/c) after the whole harassment he suffered.

Coarse rough fingers covered his eyesight, a fingertip pressing against his right eye lightly, brushing his lashes and the ace placed his face down where (m/n) had his hair violently tugged. "Tell me if you want him to lose more."

(m/n) didn't say anything, only nodding as he let the ace touch his body, caressing his chest and inhaling his scent. He didn't feel bad for the attackers at all. They dug their own grave for being assholes.

He caught Daichi staring at him, the captain still facing straight but his eyes gazed into the (h/c)'s face as he slowly returned his focus back onto Seijoh's match.

(m/n) managed to pull himself off of the ace when the games were over and Karasuno was preparing to leave. He made sure he avoided Tsukishima, not wanting to answer any of his probing questions. He had went ahead to wash the water bottles at a pipe when he heard footsteps behind him.

He looked behind him to see Daichi with the bottle carrier, the captain picking up the clean ones and placing it in its stations while (m/n) finished up the last one. A rare act of kindness from the captain to the (h/c). "Are there any others left?" (m/n) shook his head to Daichi's question.

The captain staring at him with dead eyes and (m/n) noticed the small blot of red on the edge of his knuckles. He didn't say anything, carefully pulling Daichi's hand and placing it under the tap, letting the water flow and washing the ravenette's hand.

Said ravenette stared down at him with his usual silence. At times like this, (m/n) could never tell what the captain was thinking. Was he observing on what he would do? No. Daichi was too confident in his...work. Of what he made of (m/n) (l/n).

Maybe he expected it. (s/c) fingers rubbed the knuckles, ridding the smell of blood and dirt as Daichi stood directly behind the manager. "Did they hurt you?" The manager shook his head again. "I'm fine. They didn't do much."

He could feel eyes boring into the back of his head, the captain glaring holes at the part where they pulled (m/n)'s hair. "It's good for you to know."

Know what? The manager wanted to ask but opted to stay quiet instead. He could feel Daichi leaning into his (h/c) hair, them letting the faucet run under their intertwined hands.

"No one else can hurt you." (m/n) carefully turned his head around and found black eyes staring down at him. "Not Suga and not even Asahi..." The captain muttered, his other hand gripping the manager's jaw, the latter letting out a small gasp.

"Only me. And it will stay that way as long as I'm here." He muttered, leaning so close to (m/n)'s face, the other baring a blank expression, knowing and not daring to show any sign of fear.

"Be aware and be good....I'll take care of you."

The (h/c) nodded, the grip on his jaw loosened and suddenly he was enclosed with a kiss. Daichi pressed against the manager and bit his lower lip, prompting moans as (m/n) shakily wrapped his arms around the captain's neck, his knees weak.

Both of them leaned against the sink and there was a faint sound of an ambulance siren that could barely be heard over the shaky gasps and lustful moans the manager spilled from his throat. It was wrong to love your abuser. (m/n) wouldn't call it love.

He would never care for someone like Daichi.

But he couldn't leave. There was no option for someone like him, he could only embrace and lay in the nest the third years made for him. A good first year to embrace their devilish intent.

[END SCENE]

I planned like a smut scene where daichi fucks him but im tired of writing smut tbh. Like i need inspo. But if u didnt notice daichis hand was bloodied bc he did sumth to the harassers which is why theres an ambulance in the last part.

Someone requested a sick scenario where reader gets sick and third years feel bad for him but tbh they wouldnt feel bad. Its just more of an excuse to fuck him over and ill give a very SIMPLE drabble for that bc ive delayed this way for too long

[SCENARIOS LOADING...]

(m/n) falls sick and the third years takes good care of him!

[START SCENE]

"Mmhhaa mmngg ahnn!"

(m/n) cried as he clutched onto Asahi's gakuran, his back against the wall and his legs wrapped around the ace's waist. The brunette's cock deep in him as they hid in an isolated bathroom stall, the third year pulling him in before classes were starting.

It was the norm for him. And he thought his body could adjust but he wouldn't notice he was slowly falling apart with how frequent the third years was using him for a quick fuck.

"T-Too fast! Ahn! Mmmn ahn ah ah!" His legs were shaking as Sugawara held his hips as he pounded his ass, the setter biting onto the manager's bare shoulder. The setter had whisked (m/n) away during their lunch break, him pulling the first year into the empty clubroom and bent him over the table to fuck his ass. He laughed when he found out Asahi had gotten to him first.

Daichi rarely took him during school hours or even school grounds for that matter. It was always the other two filling his ass up or suffocating his throat.

(m/n) choked as his head was pushed deeper into Asahi's crotch, his body naked as he sucked and licked at the dick while Sugawara was behind him shotgunning his bottom while grinding onto his naked butt. Saliva and precum was dripping onto the gym closet floor.

Sugawara always hold the keys and he'd use it as an excuse to stay behind, forcing (m/n) to help just for him to push him onto his knees and forced his cock into his mouth.

The manager knew his body wasn't feeling well that day. Seven rounds of sex in 8 hours was a record for him and a threesome in the mix? He went home sick and woke up with a sore throat and a burning fever.

(m/n) didn't go to school and he was glad he got to recover in his own bed but his mother suddenly barged in saying that his friends and his boyfriend were there to see him. The third years had neutral expressions when they entered his room, Sugawara easily conversing with his mother as she left the room, leaving her son alone with the monsters.

"I can't believe you actually got sick. I thought you were faking it so you could avoid me today." Sugawara grinned, sitting on the edge of (m/n)'s bed and placing his hand on the manager's forehead, pulling away and pulling out a fever plaster to paste it on the manager.

"I told you he was sick. He could barely stand when we were walking home and you thought he was faking it? You're scary, Sugawara." Asahi muttered to which the setter snapped back at him and they both argued over who had pushed (m/n) too far on yesterday's events.

Daichi ignored the two as he walked over to the bed, (m/n) could barely open his eyes, his skin hot and his head aching. He felt a hand pulling down his blanket and someone pushing his shirt up. A cold wet palm laid flat on his belly. The (h/c) squirmed but embraced the cool, his chest heaved up and down with slow breaths.

"Get better. Soon." The captain ordered. His dark eyes staring blankly at the manager. Sugawara turned to (m/n) and placed a kiss on his cheek. "You heard the captain." "Make sure to stay away from Suga."

The setter continued to yell at the ace, moving off of the bed and Daichi took the opportunity to take his place, his eyes now locking with (e/c) as he brushed his hand against (m/n)'s cheek fondly. "...I'll take care of you. I said I would." The ravenette muttered, the hand he had washed earlier trailing from his stomach to his chest, his hand under (m/n)'s shirt.

Daichi would only take him in his bed, in his room at nights after practice. Now, he was sick and laying in said bed with the captain looming over him, his eyes scanning his weak features.

(m/n) couldn't do a thing, letting the third year care for his sick body. They would come over after practice bringing homecooked meals they would make at Daichi's house. Sugawara often cleaned his body, using a wet towel to cool his warm limbs or helping him into his shower where he would- this made the manager's mom became more fond of the third years, letting them into her son's room at any time she was especially too busy to check in on her precious child.

The manager knew they were some sick fucks but he didn't expect them to go that far truly. Sometimes they would grope him, offering a quickie while mocking him by bouncing the (h/c) on their lap but Daichi was quick to stop them, especially Sugawara who was a bit too happy that (m/n) was weak in his hands, too frail to push away.

Asahi didn't do much, only going through the (h/c)'s belongings, digging through photo albums and taking some of his more personal article of clothings. Stupid pervert. He didn't even bother hiding it too. Daichi would force them to leave when it was almost midnight, him staying over and sleeping on a spare futon.

He was so attentive to the (h/c)'s needs, making sure he took his medicine and eating the required nutrition he needed. He kept his promise and (m/n) was able to recover in three days, returning to school after being deemed well enough by the captain.

Oddly enough, Sugawara and Asahi didn't pounce on him the second they met. Only ruffling his hair or hugging him and saying they were glad to see him well before leaving him alone. (m/n) thought that they finally got their senses knocked into them.

Until night arrived and (m/n)'s mother made a fatal decision to allow Daichi to check her son for another time.

"D-Daichi! I c-can't- urmff! Mmngghaa- ackk!" One of his legs were being held up as he laid on his side, his mouth full with fingers and his hole throbbing around the thick dick shoved inside him. The ravenette slowly rolled his hips, feeling (m/n) tighten around him as the manager shot cum from his penis onto the bedsheets.

He loved when the (h/c) would come on his cock, fluttering walls around his base was pleasure as he quickly thrusted into the overstimulated first year, (m/n) drooling and choking on Daichi's coarse fingers.

"Three days. You have three days to compensate." Rounds of sex to reimburse the captain. Not for the care he provided. It was just more of a reason for Daichi to fill his hole and he had warned the other two not to approach him, wanting to have his ass all to himself for the next few days.

(m/n) let the captain use his hole, his body to fulfill his lust. He wasn't sick any longer and Daichi had promised to take care of him. He could only hope the ravenette doesn't have any plans to stay around him for the long-term. Excluding the fact that they were neighbours.

[END SCENE]

I just love daichi so much rahhh. Going to see the movie next week. Remember this is the last one for karasuno so dont request for this team any longer lovies💋 If karasuno was intense just imagine the power play with shiratorizawa MUAHAHAHHAHA

[flwrstqr]

— HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS (LHS - 이희승)

SYNOPSIS ! an advice writer, you, starts on a bold new project for an article aiming to explain how to drive a man away in just 10 days. your editor is supports, so you set out to find a suitable man for her experiment. meanwhile, executive heeseung is equally confident in his ability to make any woman fall in love with him within 10 days. when you and heeseung cross paths, things slightly go off plan.

THE CAST heeseung x writer! fem reader

GENRE s2l, fluff, comedy, romance

WORD COUNT 5k+

WARNINGS parties, kissing, small grammar errors, yn kind of playing with heeseung at first, swearing, angst, crying

DANi NOTEZ hii this is for my liz's new event!!! this i based the rom com, how to lose a guy in 10 days. i kind of changed up scenes but the main idea and plot is based on the iconic 2000s movie. i've been writing this for abt 2-3 days? i thought it was good enough for liz' event so here i am. anyways i hope u enjoy it ><

BEING A WRITER HAS BEEN YOUR NUMBER ONE GOAL EVER SINCE HIGH SCHOOL. Now, at age 23, you were finally standing at the gates of the biggest magazine company ever. The sight alone sent chills down your spine, filling you with exhilaration.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The bustling activity, the hum of the printer, and the aroma of bitter coffee greeted you. You made your way to the elevator and anxiously pressed the button for the 17th floor.

Upon arrival, you awkwardly walked into the office. Your heart was pounding, and your knees were slightly shaking. You approached the manager's office and opened the door, finding yourself sitting in front of your section's main manager.

"YN LN?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am," you replied stiffly, nerves evident in your voice.

"Welcome to our magazine company," she greeted, shaking your sweaty hand.

"Thank you," you responded with your usual sweet smile.

"Well, why don't you get to work?" she laughed. Your eyes widened, and you quickly stammered an apology, rushing to find your new desk and start brainstorming ideas.

For nearly two hours, you gazed out the window, feeling empty. No ideas were coming to you. It always seemed that the best ideas came at the worst times, and now, when you needed them most, your mind was blank.

"YN, just think…" you whispered to yourself, running your fingers through your hair. You glanced around the office, hoping for inspiration. Your eyes settled on a young man and woman engaged in a flirtatious conversation. Watching them smile and laugh together made you wonder if they were a couple or just interested in each other. (happy couples really did give you an ick.)

Then, it happened. The perfect idea. An idea that could possibly get you promoted and shake the whole world.

Quickly scribbling on your paper, the title snapped into your mind: "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING, how do you even lose a guy in 10 days? Easy—just find a guy and drive him away by doing stereotypical “girl things.” Sounds like a piece of cake, right?

“YN, that is one of the BEST ideas I’ve ever heard!” your editor, Yeseo, exclaims.

“Really?” you ask, eagerly smiling.

“It’s perfect! It would catch everyone’s attention!” Yeseo explains, her eyes lighting up as she imagines the situation.

“So, how are you going to write this?” Yeseo raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll try it out myself and document my experiences. That way, it’s more authentic,” you shrug.

“That sounds great. Just journal your experiences each day,” Yeseo nods, agreeing with your plan. “I’m so excited to see the final product, YN. Email me once you’re finished, and we’ll get it published within weeks.”

You give her a quick smile before leaving her office, ready to start your new adventure.

PARTIES. USUALLY ONE OF THE THINGS YOU ABSOLUTELY HATED. The noise of couples kissing, people screaming, and music blasting through the speakers was just not your thing. The way sweaty bodies brush against each other as they chug alcohol. Parties are truly the thing you hate the most.

“So you’re telling me your new article for the magazine is about how to get a boy to dump you in 10 days?” Karina raised her eyebrow.

“In other words, yes,” you smiled. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Possibly it not working,” Giselle interjected.

“Well, it will. I’ve planned the whole thing,” you grinned with a hint of pride. “My editor was impressed. I’m sure it’ll work.”

“If you say so,” Karina laughed at your confidence.

“So basically, YN will get a boyfriend before me?” Ningning asked, shocked.

“Well, he’s not gonna be my boyfriend. He’s more like a test,” you replied uncertainty. As you continued to explain your plan, you felt a gaze fixed on you from across the room.

A FEW MINUTES BEFORE

“I bet you can’t get a girlfriend,” Jake joked.

“I can,” Heeseung rolled his eyes.

“Wanna bet on it, then?” Jake's eyes glinted with playfulness.

“Deal,” Heeseung confirmed.

“If you get that girl over there as your girlfriend, then I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” Jake smirked, pointing at you across the room.

“Her?” Heeseung raised his eyebrow as he checked you out. You were pretty to his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to approach you.

“Yup, her,” Jake grinned.

“Deal, I’ll have her in my arms within a day,” Heeseung winked before walking over to ask for your number.

NOW

“No way my plan will fail–” your voice stopped as Heeseung approached, tapping your shoulder lightly.

“Hi,” he greeted you with a welcoming smile.

“Uh, hi?” you replied, confused.

“You’re kind of cute. Can I get your number?” Heeseung asked, the words not quite rolling off his tongue as he had never done this before.

Your cheeks burned slightly as you stared. “Sure?” He was quite cute, with his sweet smile and perfectly styled hair. You gave him your number, and he mentioned he would text you later before walking off.

“YN, you know what that means?” Giselle raised her eyebrow.

“Huh?” you looked confused.

“You can use him as your test,” Winter recalled. Your eyes then widened. Perfect! He would be the perfect subject for your new article. Now, how were you going to make him yours?

YOU SIT ON YOUR BED, staring at your phone, debating whether to text Heeseung first. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, a mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbling inside you. Finally, you take a deep breath and type out a message.

YN: Hi, it’s YN. We met at the party earlier, you asked for my number. :)

You hit send and immediately feel a rush of anxiety. What if he doesn’t respond? What if he thinks you’re weird? You try to distract yourself by scrolling through social media, but the minutes feel like hours. Suddenly, your phone buzzes.

Heeseung: Hey, of course I remember. How's your night going? 

YN: It’s going good, just relaxing now. How about you?

Heeseung: Same here. Just got home. That party was a bit too much for me, tbh

You smile, feeling a little more at ease.

YN: Agreed, not rlly a party person lmao

Heeseung: Really? Me neither. I actually prefer a quiet night with some good music.

YN: Same, what kind of music do you like?

Heeseung: I listen to a lot like R&B and indie ig

YN: oh rlly? Same w me 

Heeseung: oh that’s cool

Heeseung: also wanna meet up one day?

YN: That would be amazing. I’m totally up for it.

Heeseung: Cool, it’s a date then. :)

You can’t help but smile at his message, feeling a flutter of excitement.

YN: Sounds like a plan.

Heeseung: It’s getting late. I should probably get some sleep. But I’m glad we got to talk tonight.

YN: Me too. Sleep well, Heeseung. Talk to you tomorrow?

Heeseung: Definitely. Goodnight, YN. :)

You set your phone down, a smile still on your face. This might just be the start of something interesting.

YOU TAKE A DEEP BREATH, smoothing out your outfit one last time before stepping into the restaurant. Heeseung is already there, waiting at a table near the window. He spots you and waves, a warm smile spreading across his face. You give a small smile back. 

“Hi,” you greet him as you sit down.

“Hey,” he replies, “You look great.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The waiter comes over to take your orders, and there’s a moment of awkward silence as you both look at the menus.

“So, uh, do you come here often?” Heeseung asks, attempting to break the ice.

“Actually, it’s my first time,” you admit.

“I see,” Heeseung awkwardly laughs. 

AFTER DINNER, you both step outside into the cool evening air, feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence.

“That was really nice,” Heeseung says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, feeling a sense of relief that the awkwardness from earlier has faded.

You walk side by side down the quiet street, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

“Do you live far from here?” Heeseung asks, breaking the silence.

“Not too far. Just a few blocks away,” you reply, glancing at him.

“Oh I see,” he says, smiling.

As you continued walking, the two of you began to chatter off. The conversation flows effortlessly, and you find yourself laughing at his jokes and sharing your own stories.

“Did you see the sunset earlier?” Heeseung asks, pointing to the sky, which is now painted with shades of orange and pink.

“Yeah, it was beautiful,” you say, smiling at the sight.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Heeseung says, looking at you with a soft smile.

“Me too,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.

As you reach your street, you both come to a stop.

“Well, I guess this is where we part ways,” Heeseung says, looking a little reluctant to leave.

“Yeah,” you say, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

“Thanks for tonight, YN. I had a great time,” he says, stepping closer to you, “Maybe another time we can hang out again.” 

“Thank you too, Heeseung. That sounds great,” you reply, feeling a rush of happiness.

 YOU DECIDE IT'S TIME TO PUT YOUR PLAN INTO ACTION. You’ve thought through every detail, determined to see if your article concept works in real life. Step one: find an ugly dog and some hideous clothes. You’ve got the perfect ideas in mind.

You meet Heeseung outside his apartment, holding a small, scruffy dog with a face only its owner could love. You flash him a bright smile as he opens the door.

“Surprise!” you exclaim. “I got us a dog!”

Heeseung’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the dog. “Uh, wow, YN. That’s…unexpected.”

“Isn’t he adorable?” you gush, ignoring the bewilderment on Heeseung’s face. “I named him Snuggles.”

“Snuggles, huh?” Heeseung says, trying to muster enthusiasm. “Yeah, he’s…something.”

You place Snuggles in Heeseung’s arms, watching as the dog licks his face with an enthusiastic, slobbery tongue. Heeseung grimaces slightly but manages a strained smile.

“Let’s take him for a walk,” you suggest brightly, grabbing a garishly colored leash from your bag.

Later that evening, you bring out the next part of your plan: an outfit so hideous that it should be impossible for Heeseung to bear. You hand him a neon green tracksuit with orange polka dots and a pair of mismatched shoes.

“I thought we could match!” you say, revealing your identical outfit. “Isn’t it fun?”

Heeseung looks at the clothes, then back at you, clearly unsure how to respond. “Wow, YN. This is…unique.”

“You don’t like it?” you ask, pouting slightly.

“No, no, it’s great,” he says quickly. “I’ll just, uh, go change.”

When he returns, you both look like you’ve stepped out of a bad 80s workout video. You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity, but Heeseung seems to be struggling to keep a straight face.

“Let’s go grab dinner,” you say, linking your arm with his. “I made reservations at that fancy restaurant downtown.”

At the restaurant, the two of you turn heads as you walk in, dressed in your eye-searing outfits. The hostess tries to maintain her professionalism as she leads you to your table, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitching.

Throughout dinner, you do your best to be as irritating as possible. You chew with your mouth open, talk loudly, and insist on ordering the strangest items on the menu.

“Are you sure you want the pizza?” Heeseung asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

“Absolutely,” you reply, grinning. “And I think you should try it too!”

Heeseung hesitates but eventually nods. “Sure, why not?” 

Here you were, sitting on your bed as you write your story. Typing away and zoning out, it had to be working right? He obviously would be over you by next week. All you needed was one more shove to drive him away soon as possible. Just 5 more days..

YOU PUSH YOUR CART THROUGH the aisles of the grocery store, scanning the shelves for the items on your list. As you reach for a box of cereal, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“YN?”

You turn to see Heeseung approaching, a smile lighting up his face. “Oh, hi Heeseung,” you say with a smile.

“Nice to see you here,” he says, falling into step beside you.

“Yeah, I just needed to grab a few things,” you reply, feeling a bit flustered by his presence.

Heeseung nods, and for a moment, there’s an awkward silence as you both continue browsing. Suddenly, you realize you can’t reach the item you need on the top shelf.

“Um, Heeseung, do you think you could help me with something?” you ask, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Of course, what do you need?” he replies, stepping closer.

“I just need to grab that box up there,” you say, pointing to the top shelf.

“Sure thing,” Heeseung says, reaching up to grab the box.

But as he stretches, you accidentally bump into him, causing him to lose his balance. In a split second, you reach out to steady him, but instead, you end up stumbling backward, crashing to the ground on top of him. Your face merely inches from each other. 

“I’m sorry about that!” you exclaim, your face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says, his cheeks also flushed as he helps you up.

“Um, we should probably get up,” you say, feeling flustered.

“Yeah, definitely,” Heeseung agrees, scrambling to his feet.

You both straighten your clothes and try to regain your composure, but the awkwardness lingers in the air.

“Well, um, thanks for trying to help,” you say, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Anytime,” Heeseung replies with a sheepish smile. You exchange a quick awkward glance before awkwardly walking back to do your own things.

YOU AND HEESEUNG STEP INTO THE DIMLY LIT MOVIE THEATER, the smell of popcorn filling the air. You’ve been looking forward to this night out, hoping it will help end your plan to drive him away. As you settle into your seats, the lights dim, and the movie begins.

The film is a romantic comedy, and as the story unfolds, you find yourself getting lost in the plot. But when the characters share a kiss on screen, you feel a sudden tension between you and Heeseung.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and you can see that he’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You both look away awkwardly, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

As the movie progresses, the tension between you only grows. You can feel Heeseung’s eyes on you, and you struggle to focus on the screen, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suddenly, as another kiss happens, Heeseung leans in closer to you. You freeze, unsure of what to do. Is he going to kiss you? But then, almost as if on cue, Heeseung leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. His breath mingles with yours, his warm exhales tickling your skin as he leans in, his lips drawing closer to yours. You can feel the gentle brush of his breath against your mouth, sending shivers down your spine. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. And then, in a heartbeat, he closes the gap between you, his lips pressing softly against yours. It’s a gentle kiss, but hesitant at first, but soon it deepens. You can’t help but respond, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

You melt into the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours.  When you finally pull away, your heart is racing, and your mind is buzzing with emotions. You meet Heeseung’s gaze, and you can see the same uncertainty reflected in his eyes.

“Wow,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the movie.

“Yeah,” you murmur, at a loss for words.

As the movie comes to an end, you both sit in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. But despite the awkwardness, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

As you leave the theater, you can’t help but replay the kiss in your mind, feeling a sense of warmth and longing that you can’t ignore. And as you walk hand in hand with Heeseung, you realize with a start that maybe, just maybe, you’re falling in love.

AS YOU LIE IN BED THAT NIGHT, the events of the evening replay in your mind. The gentle touch of Heeseung's lips against yours, the warmth of his embrace—it all stuck in your head. 

You stare up at the ceiling, think to yourself.  Love? It's a word you're not ready to utter, a feeling too intense to comprehend. You try to push the thought aside. 

You roll onto your side, pulling the covers tighter around you. You couldn’t be in love? All that effort you put in to get rid of him. It was your 8th day, just two more days. You couldn’t do it anymore. As you drift off to sleep, the question echoes in your mind. Are you falling in love with Heeseung? 

THE REALIZATION HITS YOU like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling breathless. Could it be true? Are you actually falling in love with Heeseung?

The thought consumes you as you go about your day. By the time evening arrives, you can't shake the feeling that you needed to end it.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you pick up your phone and dial your editor's number. When she answers, you get yourself together for the conversation ahead.

"Hey, it's me," you begin, "I need to talk to you about the article."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear the curiosity in her voice as she responds. "Sure, what's up?"

"I… I can't write it," you admit, the words feeling like a confession. "I just don't feel right about it anymore."

There's a moment of silence before your editor speaks again, her tone firm."No, you're writing it," she says, leaving no room for argument.

"But—" you start to protest, but she cuts you off before you can continue.

"No buts," she insists. "We've already agreed on the topic, and you're the best person for the job. I expect to see the first draft on my desk by the end of the week."

You sigh, feeling defeated. It's clear that your editor isn't going to budge on this issue, and you know that arguing further would be a waste.

"Okay," you say reluctantly, resigning yourself to the task at hand. "I'll get it done."

AS YOU SIT ON YOUR COUCH, trying to make sense of everything that's happened, until you hear Heeseung pick up a call. 

“ Heeseung!" Jake's voice crackles through the phone, filled with excitement. "So, have you sealed the deal yet? Win YN over?"

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of your name and you instinctively lean in closer, eager to hear his response. But as you listen, the color drains from your face, and a cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

"The bet that I could get YN in 10 days?," Heeseung's voice comes through the phone, his words cutting through the air, "I thought I could, but…" 

Your heart shatters. Your knees started to shake. How could you have been so blind? How could you have let yourself fall for someone who was playing a game with your feelings?

Before you can hear the rest of his sentence, you leave the room silently. "I thought I could, but…" The words replay in your head.As the reality sinks in, you realize that you may have just broken your own heart, listening in on a conversation that was never meant for your ears.  He played with you. He was using you. You feel like a fool, blindsided by the truth that's been staring you in the face all along. 

You walk yourself to the nearest taxi before coming back to your empty apartment. You lie on bed, your palms on your eyes, sobbing quietly. Why should you care? I mean he was just an experiment — right? 

THE MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the curtains as you sit on your bed, thoughts rushing through your mind. The wounds from last night were still raw, as you feel tired and sick. You kew what you have to do. You began to type your last paragraph of the article before submitting it to your editor. 

With the article sent, you feel a mix of anxiety and relief. You know the revised piece is honest and raw, reflecting your own experience. But there’s one more thing you need to do to truly move forward.

To: Editor Yeseo

Subject: Resignation Letter

Dear Yeseo,

I am writing to formally resign from my position as a writer, effective immediately. I appreciate the opportunities I have had here and the support from the team, but I must prioritize my well-being at this time.

Thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely, YN

You hit send, feeling an overwhelming amount of pain. Being a writer had been your dream job, but now, it feels like a chapter you need to close. As you sit in your now-quiet apartment, you feel a pang of sadness. The memories of the past few weeks with Heeseung linger, but you push them aside. 

You start with your closet, pulling out clothes and sorting them into piles: keep, donate, and toss. You take down the photos and posters from the walls, each one a reminder of the life you’re leaving behind.

Next, you move to the kitchen, packing up dishes, utensils, and small appliances. You wrap everything carefully, methodically, as if each item represents a piece of your heart that you’re trying to protect. 

Your phone buzzes with messages from Heeseung, but you ignore them. Making them be left on delivered. You move to the living room, packing up books, DVDs, and mementos. You’re not just packing up your belongings; you’re packing up your old life, preparing to move on and start new.

IN HIS DIMLY LIT APARTMENT, Heeseung sits on the edge of his bed, the glow of his laptop screen casting shadows across his face. His heart pounds in his chest as he opens the email attachment—a document titled "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days—And Fall in Love in the Process" by [Your Name].

As the page loads, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to read. The cursor hovers over the first paragraph, and with a trembling hand, he begins to scroll down. 

Heeseung sits at his desk, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads the article that has just landed in his inbox. With each word, his emotions spiral into a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

"When I set out to write this article..."

He reads the opening sentence, his brow furrowing in confusion. What article is this? And why does it sound so familiar?

As he continues to read, the pieces start to fall into place. The description of the article, the unexpected turn of events—it's all too familiar, too painful to ignore.

"I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject..."

Heeseung's breath catches in his throat as he realizes what he's reading. This is about him. About the bet, about the article he overheard, about everything.

He reads on, his heart pounding louder with each passing sentence:

When I set out to write this article, the plan was simple: follow a set of steps to make a guy dump me in ten days. It was supposed to be a fun, light-hearted challenge—a piece to entertain our readers. But life, as it often does, had other plans.

I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject. But as the days went by, something unexpected happened. The more I tried to push him away, the closer we became. Every awkward moment, every forced argument, every silly plan to drive him away only brought us closer together.

I found myself laughing at his jokes, looking forward to our time together, and, against all odds, feeling a connection I hadn't anticipated. What started as a challenge turned into a journey of discovery—not just about him, but about myself.

I realized that love isn't something you can plan or control. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, breaking down the walls you've carefully built around your heart. And sometimes, the person you're trying to lose ends up being the one you can't imagine living without.

So, dear readers, this isn't the article I set out to write. It's not about foolproof ways to make a guy dump you. Instead, it's a story about how, in the process of trying to push someone away, I found myself falling in love. It's messy, it's unexpected, and it's beautiful.

Life has a funny way of turning our plans upside down. And sometimes, the best stories are the ones we never meant to write.

He closes the magazine, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you how he feels. He can't let this opportunity slip away, can't let the chance to be with you slip through his fingers.

With a sense of determination, Heeseung rises from his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows he has to find you, to tell you how he feels, to see if maybe, just maybe, you feel the same way too.

HEESEUNG'S HEART RACES AS HE RUSHES THROUGH THE STREETS, his mind consumed with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you everything.

As he rounds the corner, he sees your apartment building looming ahead. His steps quicken, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He's so close now, so close to finally telling you how he feels.

But as he reaches your building, his heart sinks at the sight before him. He sees movers loading boxes into a truck parked outside, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that you're moving away.

Heeseung's chest tightens with panic, his mind racing as he searches for a solution. He can't let you slip away, can't let this chance to be with you slip through his fingers. He rushes toward the building, his thoughts jumbled all up. 

As he bursts through the door, he sees you standing in the hallway, a suitcase at your feet, tears streaming down your face. His heart breaks at the sight of your sadness, and he knows he needs to act fast.

"Y/N!" he calls out, his voice echoing through the empty hallway. You turn to face him, your eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him standing there.

"Heeseung?" you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "What are you doing here?"

Heeseung takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "I need to talk to you," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "There's something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago."

He steps closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I was part of the bet," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it was never about winning a thousand dollars or proving anything to Jake. It was about proving something to myself—to prove that I could be the kind of guy who deserves someone like you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to his confession, your heart aching with a mix of sadness and hope. "Heeseung…" you whisper, reaching out to touch his hand.

But Heeseung doesn't wait for you to say anything more. With a surge of courage, he leans in and presses his lips to yours, pouring all of his love and longing into the kiss. 

As Heeseung's lips meet yours in that soft, tender kiss, his hands gently find their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You feel the heat of his body against yours, the closeness intensifying the sensation of his lips moving against yours. His touch is gentle yet possessive, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as if memorizing every curve of your body.

You pull away, staring and laughing for a moment. 

"I love you," you whisper softly. 

"I love you more," he smiles back, quietly leaning his forehead against yours to quickly catch his lips on yours again. Maybe writing that article wasn't so bad after all.

[sugojosgf]

jealous nanami

highly suggestive + masochism + jealousy

🍓 i might write a second part if you guys want, let me know tho :3

nanami and you have been going out for a few months, and you don't think you've ever been as happy as you are right now. nanami is everything you can ask for, he buys you anything you look at, kisses you like his life depends on it and loves you like you are his religion.

but he also gets so jealous very easily,,,

it's not that he doesn't trust you, not that he thinks you are the kind to stray, he just hates how people look at you, like you are theirs...

it was an office event, and of course nanami invited you as his plus one. making sure he got you the prettiest red dress ever, the way it hugged your body, had him so fucking hard. it was quite modest, the only skin revealed was your legs,,, but anything on you, or nothing on you (doesn't really matter) was enough to make him rock hard in his tailored pants.

"oooh- is this nanami's pretty girlfriend?" a man sauntered up to the both of you, dressed in an expensive white suit to match his hair.

you recognised him, how could you not? this was the very same coworker that nanami would complain to you about during dinner.

"gojo," his voice comes out a little strained, "yes, this is my girlfriend, you might recognise her of course, she interned in our company a while ago,,," kento answers, hand on your waist pulling you closer.

"awww, isn't she absolutely gorgeous, can't believe nanami got his hands on you before me." he giggles, eyes glimmering with a mischievous glint.

"i'm lucky she decided to go out with me,," nanami forces a smile, his grip on your waist becoming tighter.

you gasp and giggle, "nooo,, im the lucky one, kento is so kind to me," you say looking fondly at him.

you continue, "oh and thank you so much gojo! you look really good too,,," you return the compliment.

suddenly someone calls out to nanami, a fellow coworker and he gets whisked away leaving you all alone with gojo. he smiles like a cheshire cat, the gears in his brain working harder. he looks at nanami from where he is, making steady eye contact as he begins to talk to you.

he tells you about how nanami was actually his junior in high school and how he was really into the emo subculture then, recounting stories of young nanami that made you laugh until there were tears in your eyes. he fishes his phone out to show you a picture, teen nanami brooding and scrawny, hair swept to the side.

of course to you, you were just talking to gojo about your shared love for nanami. but to him, the one way out of earshot to understand the context of your giggling, the green fire of jealousy made its way to his heart.

he slowly makes his way over to you, pulling you away from gojo and hands travelling to your hip. you were still laughing, too far gone to notice the expression on his face.

"what's got you so giggly? hm?" he asks, fingers pinching your thigh. it's not really painful , almost like an ant biting. but you are the kind to bruise easily, red blooming the minute his fingers pull apart.

you are immediately pulled out of your laughing fit, eyes blown wide looking up to nanami. it's almost like he had conditioned you, a little touch to your pretty thighs and you were ready to cum in your little thong.

"o-oh! gojo was just showing me pictures..." you mumble, embarrassed by the heated stare nanami was giving you. you felt so small under his gaze. your tongue comes out to wet your lips, to ease the way your throat has dried up.

gojo stands still in front of the both of you, smirking as he sees the tension build. he knew very well what he was doing. rolling his eyes and happy that once again he managed to piss nanami off, he walks away to the bar.

"i think it's high time we go home,, you look needy." nanami rasps out, the hand on your thigh travelling upto your ass and staying there. you nod, words unable to string themselves together.

nanami sighs, eyes darkening and his smile dropping as he guides you towards the exit.

"when we are home, i'm going to teach you to use your words."

[xxblairexxss]

Cookies!

Pairing : dad!Jude Bellingham x reader

Them : Angst, I think.

Word count : 2k

Jude had a bad day and it seemed like a cookie wasn’t enough to cheer him up.

I haven’t written in soooo long. Apologize for any mistakes. Might delete this one. I don’t know. Sorry! Should start writing more. 😔

Jude and you were highschool sweethearts. Back when eveyone thought you guys wouldn’t make it because kids in love? Yeah, who would have thought you guys could pull through.

But you did.

There were ups and downs especially at the beginning of his career. Those multiple rumors and gossips came flooding all at once and you went from a normal girl to someone who was known to have a famous boyfriend. They ven called you “the girl who hit the jackpot”.

Some even called you lucky.

A few months after your marriage, Jude and you were blessed with a little girl named Aaralyn. Jude was a perfect father figure to her though to be honest, her arrival wasn’t really align with the immense growth of his career but he managed to balance it all out.

But there were still ups and downs.

The small little hand was flipping through pages of pages from your baking cookbooks whilst her other hand kept on tapping on her chin. Her soft little hums filled through the air.

“Have you make up your mind, honey?” You asked whilst rummaging through the cupboards to take out every baking tools needed.

Jude had been feeling under the weather these days. He tried to hide it from you as he always did but you always catch on it. You knew him very well.

And so did Aaralyn.

Apparently, your little girl was fully aware of it too. Aaralyn woke up this morning and came up with an idea to bake cookies for Jude because it was her favourite and based on her logic, whatever foods that made her happy, should made others happy just as much.

“Mommy, we… bake choco cookies!”

You let out a cackle. “You flipped through the whole book just to decide with a basic one?”

“It’s Alyn’s favourite!” Her small little hands started patting on her chest with a proud expression written all over the face.

“Of course, baby. Can you let mommy see the ingredients, please?” You were about to pull the book closer to your side but your duaghter was quicker.

She snatched the book back with her lips jutting out. “Alyn can read!”

“Okay, read it out loud while mommy gather all of the ingredients, yeah?”

“This one says..powder!” Her little finger pointed to the first ingredient on the list.

“What kind of powder?”

“Co— cocoa powder, mommy! This one..” The little finger then slid to the second ingredient.

••

Your little girl’s eyes widen when the sound of a car came from the garage. There was no other car that could have parked in the garage except for your husband’s.

“Daddy is here! Mommy, daddy’s here! We need to be faster!” She made a hop sound as her dangling little feet touched the ground and scrambled to get her princess plate from the cupboard.

“Use Alyn’s plate!” She lifted her pink coloured plate up high for you to place one of the baked goods.

The sound of the door slammed put your little conversation with Aaralyn to an end. There were no words exchanged as both of you stared at Jude. He threw his bag on the couch, the things inside hit with some of your daughter’s toys.

“Alyn, I told you to clean up your toys, didn’t I?” The tense in Jude’s voice was enough to make his mood known to the rest of the family members.

“Uh-oh, mommy wait!” Your daughter tiptoed to place her plate back on the kitchen counter before scrambling to the living room.

You were looking from afar as she straighten her arm to grab on her little toy whilst Jude was ignoring her existence, eyes solely on his phone.

“Daddy, can help me? Please?” Aaralyn mumbled a little as she patted on her dad’s laps.

“You should clean up your own mess. We talked about this yet you still refuse to learn.” He stood up, picked up the bag which he threw earlier and headed straight to the bedroom, leaving your little girl alone.

You saw she brought her little hands close to her chest, lips pouting as she stood there, completely baffled with what just happened.

“Baby, it’s alright. Mommy will help you.” You picked up your daughter’s toy box and brought it closer to the couch, Aaralyn then made a little noise as she jumped on the couch to gather all of the toys left.

“Daddy might be feeling a little sad today. I’m sorry about what happened, sweetheart.” You cupped on her chubby cheeks to give them a little kiss.

“It’s awright! Daddy will be happy after my cookie!” She squealed.

Your brows lifted, smile widen as she mentioned the main point of the day. “You are right! I forgot about the cookies. Should we bring it to daddy?”

“It’s okay! Alyn will do it.”

You trailed behind as she ran back to the kitchen, boths arms high up in the air to get her plate back.

“Be careful!” As soon as you handed her plate back, she already made her way to the room where Jude went.

“Alyn will come back after I make daddy happy!” Her voice sounded afar as she ran to the hallway.

Aaralyn’s pace stopped in a sudden as she nearly hit the closed door. There came a new problem as she couldn’t knock on the door whilst holding the plate.

“Uh-oh..” The soft little mumble slipped out from her mouth.

“Daddy? It’s me!” The back of her hand hesitantly knocked on the door as she took a step back, waiting for a response.

Jude heaved a sigh, arm propped up to cover his eyes. He wished a second for himself and he got was continous knocking sound greeting his ears.

“Daddy…?”

“Daddy!” She crouched down to carefully put the plate on the floor before bringing both of her fists thumping against the door.

“It’s me, Alyn!”

“What do you want from me?!” The inside of the door banged agaist the wall of the bedroom as Jude opened the door. There was nothing but tense in his voice.

Jude saw his little girl struggling to stand up straight with the plate of cookies right as he brought his gaze on her.

Startled by the sudden loud noise, some of the cookies in the plate fell onto the floor. Most of the perfect sized cookie now turned into little bits and pieces.

“Alyn just— just wanna give daddy a cookie…” Your little girl immediately cut the vexed gaze from Jude, her head hung low and she bit on the inside of her cheeks.

“You are making me suffocated. I need a fucking break and I can’t even do that in my house?!”

“Sorry daddy…” Her words turned into a mumble, lips started trembling.

Jude heaved a sigh when he spotted the cookie crumbles now all scattered on the floor. “Great, another mess. Clean it, Alyn. Now!”

Hearing the voice of your husband gradually got louder and louder, you immediately flipped the main valve. You barely had any time to wipe your hands as you scurried to the bedroom where you saw your little girl crouching on the floor, her little chubby hands quivered as she picked up the mess she did.

“Jude! What was that for?!” Fuming, you pushed him by his chest, tears welled up in your eyes.

“I just need a rest, Y/N,” He rolled his eyes with no hint of guilty.

“You could have just said so instead of cursing to my daughter. She did nothing wrong!”

“She should have just left me alone. No one gives a fuck about a fucking cookie right now! I couldn’t play for 2 months and you didn’t even ask me if I’m doing fine!” Jude responded back, not giving any sign to back down nor to tune down his voice.

“I know you aren’t doing fine. Alyn knows it as well. In fact, she knows it better than me. She planned all this. She planned a movie night, we waited for you to come home only to find out you spent a night at Vini’s without telling us beforehand. Alyn wanted to cook your favourite food. We did and you weren’t able to come home again. She then decided to bake her favourite cookies, thinking it could cheer you up only for you to shout at her face. Is it her fault that you have to rest for two months? That you had to lash it all out on her? Do it to me! Scream in my face, Jude! Do it.” Jude didn’t flinched when your fist repeatedly hit on his chest.

“This isn’t about you, Y/N.” He breathed out.

“So, is it about your daughter? Is that why you lashed out on her?”

Instead of saying anything else, he heaved a sigh and made his way to the bathroom.

You went back to where your little girl was sitting. The tears stain were immediately gone as you quickly wiped of your cheeks before crouching in front of her.

“Come, baby,”

Your little girl pulled her hand back from you and went back to picking up the crimbles. “Daddy— daddy asked Alyn to clean up this mess first or daddy will be mad again…”

Your heart broke when she kept her head low. Aaralyn always loved to make eye contacts, she had always been the mood maker in the house.

“Mommy will clean up the mess. Can you go back to your room, please, baby?”

“Daddy won’t be mad..?” She lifted her eyes and you were greeted a pair of puffy eyes, her cheeks were more round as she jushed her lips forward. She looked exactly like Jude and it broke the dam of your tears.

“Daddy won’t be mad at you anymore. Go back to your room? Mommy will see you once I clean this all up, alright?”

**

Jude clearly forgot what happened after. He was literally losing the grasp on time as soon as he woke up from his nap. The blanket was pushed aside as he grabbed on his phone. The brightness made him squint his eyes. The picture of you and your little girl greeted his sight.

3:02

Even in the dark, without him having to turn his head aside, he could still feel the bareness. He wasn’t sure what it was yet. Not until he tapped on the other side of the bed.

It was empty. Untouched even.

“Honey?”

His heartbeat gradually turned even faster as every call was left unanswered. You were a light sleeper. Even a slight noise could have woken you up. Soon as he left the master bedroom, his feet bought him to your little girl’s room. The light was left on but there wasn’t any sight of his baby girl too.

“Aaralyn. Honey?”

Jude went uneasy. His skin turned sticky as he broke intol cold sweats. Part of him wished all of this was just a dream. Before he reached the main door, he caught a glimpse of a pink coloured plate on the dining table with some sort of yellow coloured paper by its side along with a box of crayon pencils.

“Daddy’s

— Aarlyn ❤️”

••

You could have brush it off if it was only between you and him but not to your little girl. Aaralyn was clearly upset. Even when you packed her stuffs, she remained seated at the dining table, staring at her remaining cookie.

As you rearranged her folded clothes into the luggage, she came back into her room, looking determined as if she had to get something done. You let her be as she ran back outside as she took out her crayon set with a piece of paper from her notebook.

Unknown to you, she actually wanted to leavr a little message to her very first love.

“There! For daddy!” She mumbled, the crayon in her hand was slipped back into the rest of the set as she left the paper right beside her plate. Her little hand then rearrange the cookie right in the middle. Not before she took a small bite at the corner of it.

“Daddy will like it…” She murmured with a small smile on her face.

“Come, baby. We gotta go.” You called out to your little girl, voice half whispering not to wake Jude up. After all those things that he did, you dtill couldn’t believe he had the audacity to just call it a night.

“Okay, mommy!” Aaralyn hopped off the chair and ran to you as you crouched down to put on her shoes. As she remain still with her little leg on your lap, she sticked her index finger in her mouth, eyes locked at the dining table area.

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?”

“Alyn forgot to keep my crayon…” She answered.

“That’s alright. Just leave it be.” You picked up your luggage bag, your free hand locked on your little girl’s wrist.

“Mommy, where are we going? Aaralyn asked.

“Daddy needed some time alone so it’s just gonna be you and me.”

[disneyprincemuke]

not a gamer * fem!driver

lando manages to convince her to start streaming on twitch with him, leading her to influence others to join her

pairings: max verstappen x fem!driver, lando norris x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver

warnings: butt load of stupidity

notes: initially, i was gonna write a fic solely about max because he was talking about fornite the other day... but i thought how funny would it be if it were to be with some of the guys so here i am

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

"hello, everyone," she smiles, reaching forward to adjust the camera as she squints her eyes. "is this a good angle? let me know if it's flattering, okay? i can't not look good on twitch."

lando has managed to convince her to join him for a stream on twitch, insisting that she should start an account as well. she initially refused, claiming that she's not that well-liked to start an account and have a loyal following. even adding on the fact that she's not even a good gamer to begin with.

but lando said that it doesn't matter, and proved her wrong by setting up a poll on his previous stream just to get her to make an account. which, the effort was very endearing.

"you always look good," she squints, turning away the right where her other monitor sits. she scrunches her nose and turns to the camera to stare into it. "logan, how did you even know i was streaming tonight?"

she rolls her eyes when his reply rolls in, claiming that he follows her twitter where she announced it. "it's time for you to go out and do something else besides stalking me, logan," she scoffs jokingly with the roll of her eyes.

"okay, so this is my first twitch stream!" she beams, sitting up straighter as she grabs her mouse. "i'm just waiting for lando to finish setting up, so i'm afraid you guys are stuck with me alone for a couple of minutes. let's get to know each other, i might be doing this pretty often this winter break just to have a bit of a hobby.

"i wanna know what you guys want to see from me."

a comment immediately rolls in.

user1: i wanna see you play fortnite with lando and max

she grins sheepishly, dropping her head. "guys, i'm not much of a gamer. never have been so this is actually my first time-ish touching games in a long while. my longest experience was playing roblox with my younger brother when we were younger."

user2: how about oscar or logan playing some games?

she presses her lips together, thinking of ways she could be able to convince her best friends to join her for some online games. when, neither of them has really dabbled much in the hobby. "i'm sure logan will be pretty keen to try, but i'm not so sure about oscar. i'll try to convince him, though he's back in australia for the majority of the break, unfortunately. the timezone difference is absolutely insane."

logansargeant: guys, ask her what her hobbies are

"logan, get off my chat!"

logansargeant: im gonna expose you on twitter for cyberbullying

logansargeant: #endcyberbullying2023

user3: #justice4logan

user4: #justice4logan

user5: u should talk about taylor swift

“oh, my god! i should!” she squeals. “we should host a listen party when she releases reputation! how good was the 1989 vault tracks?”

user6: omg ur so right

user7: iion slaps

user8: slut! is my favourite i think

“1989 had the best vault tracks,” she nods, lips pressed together. “my favourite is ‘now that we don’t talk’ because i like calling my mom.”

blythe.yln: where is lando!!!

“guys, i don’t know. he texted me 5 minutes ago saying he was setting up his pc,” she grins into the camera. “hopefully he’s here soon.”

dalton.yln: i miss oscar

oscahpastry: i miss u too

“you’ve got phones, yeah?” she grins, “use it instead of flooding my chat.”

user1: yeah guys, some of us are trying to get her attention

user9: u guys get that enough

user10: leave some for us pls

user11: yeah y so selfish

she scoffs. "right, guys? can you believe these people?"

the discord sound makes her jump, lando's voice filling up her headphones. "yo, i'm sorry! i was looking for my keyboard."

"where'd you find it, lando?"

"under the bed. apparently, that's where i kept it the last time i streamed," lando laughs. "okay, let's start off with a little horror game? it's called phasmophobia."

"a scary game?" she looks at the camera. "why would i willingly play that?"

"lando, i'm gonna kill you!" she screeches, eyes closing as the creepy sounds from the game boost in her headphones. she peeks through her eye, watching the two hands on her screen before the screen goes foggy.

lando's laughter replaces the eerie sounds of the game, making her roll her eyes. "i told you to hide and close the door!”

“i didn’t know where the stupid door even was!” she screams back, slamming the table. “lando, i don’t wanna play this game anymore!”

“but it’s so fun!”

“lando!”

logansargeant: that was funny

logansargeant: lemme join u some time

user11: omg

user11: half the grid’s gonna be on twitch?

“yeah, i’m so nice, right?” she jokes. “i’m letting them explore different career options. influencer era or something, i believe.”

oscahpastry: i only created an account to annoy her :/

seb.v5: same

user12: no shot thats actually sebastian vettel

maxverstappen1: so we are all just here waiting for an invite from these two???

logansargeant: theyre gatekeeping the stream from us :(

maxverstappen1: i wanna play fortnite

seb.v5: wait i know that game

maxverstappen1: let me join or i’ll report your account

“that’s not very nice, max,” she frowns. she looks away for a second. “lando, max says he’ll report my account if we don’t invite him to play fortnite.”

“oh, let him report you. just make another account, mate!” lando laughs. “ask him to join us phasmophobia! it’s so fun seeing you scream.”

she turns to the camera with a lopsided grin. “chat, tell lando you don’t wanna see me scream in phasmo anymore please. i’m sick of this game, i’ve got no idea what i’m doing, and i haven’t guessed the ghost correctly this entire time.”

logansargeant: keep playing phasmophobia u pussy

oscahpastry: yeah pussy

user5: its v entertaining icl

maxverstappen1: but phasmophobia costs money

“costs money?” she repeats, confusion on her face. “max? do you need financial aid?”

user10: isnt max a millionaire??????

user13: bro is complaining about a game that barely costs anything while getting paid millions a year 💀

oscahpastry: that’s wild ngl

maxverstappen1: wow i just got cyberbullied.

maxverstappen1: i’ll go get it now damn.

she sighs. “guess we’re continuing with this stupid game.”

“lando, where am i going?” max shouts, her character watching max’s go around in circles, flickering the flashlight on and off. “what am i even supposed to do?”

teaching one person how to play a complicated game like phasmophobia is easy. teaching two, however, is absolutely absurd. lando doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

“lando, there’s something written in the book!” she cheers, crouching her character down. she leans into her monitor as she tries to make out what it says. “bitch, it says run!”

she quickly gets up and walks out. “don’t have to tell me twice.”

“run where?” max shouts, his character still running in circles. “(y/n), where are you? escort me out.”

“guys, just stay inside the house and help me out!” lando whines, his character flickering the flashlight at max’s. “turn around, max. i’m here with you.”

“i’m going to the van.”

“no, you’re not! come here and camp the ghost with us!”

“absolutely not! i’m so scared shitless!”

“we should’ve just played fortnite, you know.”

“guys, please! you just have to hold the equipment for me.”

“oh, my god! oh, my god! the front door is locked!” she screams. “the front door is locked!”

logansargeant: lol dsurv

oscahpastry: not so tough now (y/n)

user8: LMFAO THAT GHOST IS HUNTIN

user14: dude the chaos is insane

user15: i need her to stream everyday actually

user16: she’s gonna be an influencer i can feel it in my bones

user17: u guys should try valorant

oscahpastry: i’d join if they play valorant

user4: omg thats crazy

user18: i kinda want to see it

user19: max playing valorant? the rage that man would feel

“lando, i’m dead again!” she screeches, slamming her mouse down into her desk. “we should’ve just played fortnite.”

logansargeant: ur issues with the door are hilarious

user4: i’ll be thinking about your inability to hide in a room for days

oscahpastry: evidence that u wouldnt survive a horror movie at all

seb.v5: maybe you should stick to sitting there and looking pretty

user20: OMG SEB CALLED HER PRETTYYYYY

user21: are we all so shocked?

user22: yeah, he looks at that girl like she aligns the stars in the sky on a race weekend

user23: him during her podium celebration cured my depression (real)

logansargeant: girl why r u just stalking lando as a ghost

“lando,” she whispers. “i saw the ghost in the corner for the room.”

“what?” max asks, voice trembling slightly. “what corner?”

“that corner.”

“what corner?”

“there. i’m pointing at it.”

“i can’t see you, stupid. you’re dead.”

“then that’s too bad.”

“i figured what type of ghost it is!” lando cheers. “follow me, max. let’s get out of this stupid house and play your stupid fortnite or something.”

“oh, how lovely! i saw (y/n)’s chat… something about valorant,” max mutters, following lando through the dark house. “i’ve seen that on tiktok and it looks kinda- lando, why’d you close the door?”

“i told you i saw the ghost lurking more than usual,” she mutters.

“i don’t even know what that means!” max shouts.

“i didn’t close the door, mate!” lando laughs. “go and hide in a room, max!”

“where? i don’t know where to go!” max screams, frantically running around in hopes of finding solace somewhere.

her character follows behind the entity in the game, clearly running around to find max. “oh, she’s coming for you, max! she’s angry!”

“i don’t know where to go!” max screams, his character running by the entryway in confusion. “lando, where do i go?”

“max, she’s coming! go in the closet!”

“what closet? oh, okay! i see it!”

“close the door, max!”

“what door- oh! okay!”

“did he live?”

“i think so. the ghost is lurking outside max’s door,” she grins into the camera, watching the entity walk back and forth outside the room max is in.

“don’t come out yet.”

“not even a chance, mate.”

“okay, she’s gone,” she sighs. “i’m gonna log out and create an account on fortnite.”

“we’re not gonna play valorant?”

“okay, chat, we’re waiting for oscar to finish the tutorial,” she smiles. “we should be in our first game in a couple of minutes.”

user24: bro ur tutorial was horrendous

user25: i love watching people be bad at valorant

user26: shes so real for that though

user27: she’d play sage for sure

seb.v5: i can’t believe you got oscar to join you

user28: and logan 🤨

user17: outrageous that i’ve been begging the grid to join lando’s streams and here she comes casually getting them to play silly games

user3: real

user28: everyone say thank you (y/n)

blythe.yln: i can’t believe u didnt ask me to join u

blythe.yln: i’m the best at valorant

blythe.yln: i’m better than dalton

user29: YES BLYTHE SPEAK YOUR TRUTH

“so, what do i do again, dalton?” lando asks softly. “what’s the ‘e’ button do?”

“puts up a wall,” the younger kid says. “and then it heals you too, but damages other people. even your teammates.”

“who’s this eminem looking bro?” max asks, giggling slightly. “frank ocean, i saw on tiktok.”

user30: my roman empire is blythe being a pro valorant player but this is the first time her sister is trying the game

“well, i’m sorry for doing other things than playing valorant,” she jokes with a smile. “but, yes, guys! blythe plays valorant for a living which is exactly why we didn’t invite her to play.”

user31: blythe is a pro val player!!?!?!?

user31: since when??

blythe.yln: yeah guys follow my twitch, i’ll treat u better

“i’m going to ban you from my chat if you keep marketing, blythe,” she frowns, though a smile creeping up on her face. “where is dalton?”

blythe.yln: dalton is my valorant spawn… i taught him what he knows

user31: dalton to go pro in a couple years?

user32: omg that’s crazy

user1: the yln’s are gonna take over the valorant scene

user6: blythe getting a redbull gaming clutch would be to die for

“mate, dalton, what’s this girl in the yellow jacket do? she looks stylish,” oscar asks.

“she’s got a turret and grenades,” dalton answers simply.

“alright, how do i get her?”

“you gotta play the game.”

“oh, what? that’s so unfair.”

“yeah, i’m sure that sucks that you’ve got to play the game, oscar,” she says. “where is logan?”

“i’m sorry,” the sigh in logan’s sentence making her laugh. “i got stuck.”

“how?” oscar asks with a laugh. “they literally tell you what to do.”

“i couldn’t find the buttons they were asking me to press,” logan mumbles with a hint of disappointment.

“are you actually intellectually hindered, mate?” she cries with a laugh, covering her eyes. “do you not frequent a laptop?”

“not really, no.”

“it shows,” oscar adds on.

blythe.yln: he’s gonna be shit

user5: so real i can alr see it

user11: dude they’re gonna be screaming at each other soon

“let’s do a quick test game,” dalton mutters as logan’s in-game name pops up on the screen. “just a short game.”

“with real people?” lando asks in a small voice. “that can trash talk me?”

“just trash talk them back, mate,” max answers. “easy.”

“just find their ip address and hit them,” logan suggests. “that’s easier.”

“what?”

“don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do it too, (y/n)!” logan whines. “come on, let’s start!”

“how do i defuse the spike?” max screams, looking at the ground as he runs around. “where even is it?”

“your left,” dalton says. “keep walking.”

blythe is now sat next to her older sister, leg propped up in her seat as she watches the screen.

“okay, okay, go to the right and look right here,” blythe mutters, pointing at the screen. “and then aim right here,” she adjusts her sister’s mouse, “when you see somebody, shoot.”

“that’s not fair. (y/n)’s literally got a pro helping her with the game,” oscar complains.

“you’re dead. literally doesn’t matter if someone’s helping you or not,” logan states. “we suck, man.”

“okay, i figured out how to defuse the bomb,” max says softly. “what now?”

“learn to play better,” blythe says loud enough for the microphone to pick up her voice. “i’ll teach you guys.”

“thank you for tuning into my stream,” she grins with a clap. “i appreciate all of the support and teaching me how to play the games. and roasting me.”

logansargeant: bro we suck

seb.v5: should stick to racing and leave gaming to blythe and dalton

“i read each and every comment you guys sent in the chat and they’re all very endearing. except yours, seb,” she stares into the camera with a stern expression, “yours were just outright unnecessary and kinda mean.”

oscahpastry: start a podcast next

maxverstappen1: i wanna be first guest

user16: please stream regularly!!

user10: make oscar play lethal company or i’ll cry

oscahpastry: stop giving her ideas

user21: when r u streaming again

“i will try to stream in a couple of days, after my shoots and marketing stuff with the team,” she grins. “thank you for watching me scream for 4 hours. catch you guys soon. stay kind and stay safe.”

user2: i’ll miss you 🫶🏼

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Failing

Summary: Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: G

Warnings: angst, a lot of inner thoughts, panic attacks, Joel and Ellie do not talk, Joel is a mess, lots of talk about being a failure and not good enough, messy breakup, unplanned pregnancy

A/N: This has been going through my mind since I saw the new pic yesterday. This is really different from everything I write usually, so let me know what you think. And yeah, come yell at me in my inbox

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

part one of invisible string

He knew he should have stayed home tonight.

He could have worked on… something. He could have talked himself into picking up his guitar and pretend everything was okay.

He could pretend that he wasn’t a failure.

He could pretend Ellie was still talking to him.

Instead he was here, the people around him celebrating god knows what, music playing, people dancing and he?

He was hoping to at least get a look at the girl that had become like a daughter to him. The daughter he lost because he lied to her.

Turned out his mother was right, lying was not getting him anywhere. 

He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, not getting more than a fleeting look at her from afar like a creepy stalker.

Tommy was right, he needed to give her time.

But somehow he felt like time was running out. 

Tommy had been right in a lot of things lately. Something Joel was not used to, still having the irresponsible young man in the back of his mind he had been before outbreak.

But Tommy wasn’t that man anymore.

He was a husband, a father, a respected leader of the little community he had helped build.

And Joel was…. He did not feel like he changed much. He was still angry all the time.

Angry at the world.

Angry at the people.

But most of all angry at himself.

The way he was feeling now? Alone and lonely?

He had no one but himself to blame for it.

It was moments like these that you came to his mind.

You would know what to do. You would know how to fix this mess that he got himself into. You always did. Until he had pushed you away for good, almost six years ago when he got even more involved in the underground in the Boston QZ.

Meeting and falling in love with you had been the only good thing that had happened to him since the outbreak. You had seen him, the real him.

The broken man that was desperate for… something.

That something seemed to be you.

But like every good that happened to him, he managed to fuck this up too. Not at first, but definitely in the end. 

And he tried. He tried to become a better person. Tried to become the man you deserved, not listening to you when you told him that he did not have to become a better person.

That you fell for him the way he was. With all flaws he thought he had.

But maybe if he had worked on himself he wouldn’t have reacted so poorly when you told him that you were pregnant.

Maybe he wouldn’t have blamed you and you only, taking the easy way out and telling you he would not go through this again.

He should have talked to you, instead of lashing out, should have told you how fucking scared he was about losing another child. About losing you. About raising a child in this fucked up world. About fucking up.

He did so anyway.

He chose to forget about the whole conversation the two of you had after you told him that you were pregnant and that you were intending to keep it from his mind. Or he tried. God, did he try.

But now, deep in the night, when he was laying awake and alone in bed, only the shadows of the night in his company, the words he spat to hurt you creeped back into his mind, not that they had ever been gone.

I don’t love you.

Get rid of it.

Get out of my life.

I never loved you anyway. 

He could still see the way your face crumbled, tears running down your cheeks. 

He broke you that night. And he broke himself. 

He thought about this last argument, this breakup a lot if he was honest with himself.

He never told you, not in words, how much he loved you. He took you for granted. He shouldn’t have been this surprised to learn that you had left the QZ days after he broke you. 

Not a day went by that he wondered what happened to you.

If you were alive.

If you kept the baby.

Would it have your eyes and his hair?

A boy or a girl?

Where they as stubborn as Sarah was?

Did you still love him as much as he still loved you?

Shaking his head he took a sip from the surprisingly good beer someone had offered him when he came here, his eyes wandering through the room, sneaking glances at Ellie who smiled at Dina, deep in conversation with the other girl.

Sucking his bottom lip in, his hand flexing on his side as he tried to find the courage to walk over to Ellie and ask her if they could talk, again, when he heard laughter behind him.

Laughter he heard before, a long time ago.

A laugh he heard in his dreams when his mind allowed him to dream about you instead of the nightmares that plagued him. 

Narrowing his eyes he tried to remember why he was hearing that laugh, why that voice that spoke in low tones now, made his heart flutter, when he saw Tommy walk towards him in a fast pace, his face worried.

“Joel,” he said but Joel wasn’t listening to him.

He was busy preparing for a breakdown that was creeping slowly into his body. 

Joel’s heart seemed to make the connection before his brain did, heart beating widely in his chest as he slowly turned around, his brother’s hand on his shoulder to keep him for turning. He shrugged it off with a grunt, bracing himself to be let down, that he was finally turning insane and imagining you when his eyes landed on you.

Blinking his eyes in disbelief he released a shaky breath when you were still there. 

You were sitting at one of the picnic tables, still as beautiful as he remembered a small smile on your face. A man had his arm wrapped around your back and in your lap sat a girl not older than five who had your eyes and his brown curls.

His heart stopped, he was sure of it.

“She got in yesterday. You were on patrol, I was trying to find you and tell you but….” Joel heard his brother say, but he ignored him.

You were here.

You were here.

And you were alive.

And you had a girl sitting in your lap that was….

His eyes widened when you leaned back and he saw a little boy sitting in the lap of the man next to you that looked like a mini copy of Joel himself.

His chest felt heavy.

Closing his eyes he tried to take deep breaths, but he just couldn’t.

This was too much.

This hurt too much.

This was the happiest he ever was.

“Joel?” he heard his name from his side, Ellie looking down at him worriedly as he pressed his hand against his chest, his eyes watering.

This was the first time she had talked to him in weeks and it might as well be the last time from the way he felt right now.

He was having a panic attack.

But it felt so much worse than it had ever before.

Looking away from Ellie he turned his head back towards you, finding you now looking at him with wide eyes.

“Deep breaths brother,” a strong arm came to pull him up and his frantic eyes found Tommy’s.

“In and out,” he said, trying to calm down his brother. Joel’s hands grabbed his brothers shoulders. Trying to mimic the way he was breathing but couldn’t.

“Joel?” he heard your voice, his head now turning towards you, finding you looking at him worriedly.

Joel shook his head, dark spots at the corner of his eyes.

“You’re here,” was the last thing he whispered before he passed out.