#it's turned into a physical altercation every time but!!! you know how it is. family amiright.

[veilkeeper]

Astarion: What a mess. Well, at least you've met my family now.

i love him more than anything

[mickyschumacher]

hi! I love the way you write and I’d love to see some Daniel Ricciardo or Oscar Piastri content!! Older brother’s best friend and something including model!reader or figureskater!reader. I also cannot begin to describe how much I love your Taylor song based fics. I was hooked on Style and Dress, thank you, have a wonderful day :)

𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you don't have much in common with oscar piastri other than three things: you're both rare talents, you know each other through your older brother, and that, unknowingly, you both really like each other.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: older brother's best friend trope! (although not heavily enforced), suggestive but nothing crude, poor ice skating knowledge, mentions of the spa track, crashing and DNFing, reader likes to blame things on alcohol, lily (oscar's current gf) is his ex (oops), slight diss of tsitp, jealousy!!!, scene of harassment and a creepy man, a physical altercation in which oscar gets physically hurt, attending the wounded scene! (sobbing rn), a cute and horribly cheesy, fluffy ending!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x figureskater!fem!reader, arthur leclerc x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5k+ (um srry hehe)

𝐀/𝐍: i wanted to this was oscar but since he's kinda young, i did a one year age gap bc the territory of 'the older brother's best friend' for piastri is alarming to say the least. i also assumed it was a female reader due to my other works, hope that and this whole piece is okay!!

𝐏.𝐒: if you couldn't tell, it's loosely based off of taylor swift's 'i can see you' bc i ended up losing track lmao. sorry for taking FOREVER but coming back from holiday, going straight back into uni, and having writer's block is the worst combo 🤧 as usual, poorly proof read!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

In a world of billions, quite strangely yet only logically, there were many talented people across the globe. But very few were be a World Champion let alone the opportunity. You were part of this few. The Youngest World Champion in figure skating in history, a two-time World Champion and the 2022 Olympic winner.

You were a living legacy in your town.

Of course, you couldn't do it without the support of the people you loved. Your parents attended all your competitions. In fact, your father was the one who had brought you to the ice when you were three. And your brother, no matter how much of a menace he was, he was your number one fan. Despite all the things he had to do, he was always there for you.

Your brother was one of those Australian boys who had turned their passion for dirt biking into a career for motorcross racing.

Naturally, he had found a friend who was also very interested in racing. However, instead he loved driving a open wheel single-seater formula racing car at crazy speeds. That friend was Oscar Piastri. A childhood best friend of your brother's and a sort of acquaintance slash family friend of yours.

It worried you two see some of the most important people in your lives risk death almost every day but you enjoyed watching them do something they loved.

You could see it in their eyes when they raced. It was the same passion you had for the ice. The slivers of ice that occasionally touched your skin thrilled you was the same excitement that coursed through the two Aussies when they felt their engines rev.

It was odd. You could've sworn a few days ago, you were all kids playing in the backyard of your house; your brother riding his toy bike while Oscar raced him on foot and you commentated in Oscar's favour to piss your brother off. And now all three of you were leading your careers: you were a competitive figure skater, your brother was slamming the MXGP and Oscar was one of the best rookies introduced to F1 in a while.

Where time had gone... you could not even begin to wonder. Heck, once upon a time you were staring down Oscar in the school hallways because for some reason you could only talk to him outside of school. And now... well, it was complicated to say the least.

You had always liked Oscar. It was difficult not to. He was always around you. The boyish charm, the small smiles, the puppy brown eyes, his offers to help you with your homework, you visiting him when he raced... everything had built up inside you. It was festering.

But that's how you liked it. You didn't want to cross any lines. As heart-racing and flustering as your crush on him was, you could not bear the idea of telling someone who was brotherly to you that you liked him.

It was repulsing.

And as far as his dating history could went, Oscar didn't like you. Oscar wasn't a player but he definitely didn't like being single from what you could tell.

To be honest, considering you didn't see him that much due both of your schedules, nothing between the both of you would've ever happened if you're annual family holiday hadn't happened.

Your family and the Piastri's took time out at least once a year to relax together. And this year, your brother and Oscar's breaks overlapped, and you had persuaded your coach for two weeks off. That was all the both of your parents needed before booking a trip to Greece. Everyone wanted to go when they were younger and now they could finally go.

Two weeks... not much could happen. At least so you thought.

The moment you saw Oscar in Greece, your heart thumped against your chest like it had never before and you knew you were screwed. It was ridiculous. How after all the time did you still like this stupid driver? He was the root cause of your lonely love life. Which for most figure skaters was not a big deal... you had prospect lovers falling left and right. Especially the guys in pair skating. But no... you were head over heels for Oscar out of all people.

With the firm boundaries you had made, you ventured to not make a big deal about what you were feeling and pushed it to the side. But the thing about pushing things away, they have a funny way of coming back up.

━━━━━━━━━━━

On the first night of your much needed vacation, you had found one of the most popular restaurants in Santorini while endlessly browsing through social media and decided to get everyone out of the lovely AirBnB you had rented. Upon arriving, your parents and Oscar's were cooped up on one side of the dining table, leaving the 'kids', as your mother calls you three, on the other.

You released a sigh of content, feeling the crisp breeze dance past your skin in the warm summer evening air while your sip of assyrtiko (Greek white wine) slipped past your throat far too easily. Thank God you had chosen an outdoor restaurant tonight. Every time you were on holiday, you couldn't be more grateful to get away from all the stress. If you could live like this every day, with the warm breezy evenings and the amazing architecture, you would.

"So," your mother started, her voice hitting your direction. You flickered your gaze over to her, raising a brow. "How are my kids' love lives? Are you getting down?" She waggled her eyebrows behind her glasses.

A wave of heat pricked your skin at your mother's words. "Mom!" You hissed out in disbelief while your father and Oscar's parents chuckled.

"What? You guys never tell me anything anymore! I used to be the holder of all your secrets and now... now I am an old woman!" Your mother cried, wiping an invisible tear off of her cheek.

You and your brother blankly looked at her and then towards each other. To say your mother was a character was an understatement. She enjoyed her theatrics far too much for anyone's liking, more specifically you're liking.

Oscar grinned, reaching out his hand to hover over hers. "You could never be an old woman. Always young in my heart."

Your brother snorted at Oscar's cheesiness. After you and your brother, Oscar was your mother's son and Oscar was a suck-up. He liked being in the good books, especially that of your mother's.

"Of course," Your mother chuckled softly, patting Oscar's hand gently. She sucked in a sharp breath. "What happen to you and Lily? I heard you two broke up? I thought you liked her a lot?"

You could see Oscar tense at the mention of his ex, your own body rigid. It wasn't a surprise to you but you actually hated hearing about Oscar's love life. Unrequited feelings were already a bitch and you didn't need to make it any worse.

Oscar cleared his throat, a small smiling tugging at his lips. "I thought I did too..." He trailed off, falling into his own trance momentarily. Suddenly his eyes flickered around his surroundings before they landed on you. "I guess I just saw something I else I liked a lot more."

A slight shiver crept down your spine and your heart travelled towards your ears. You pressed your lips tightly together, furrowing your brows.

What the fuck?

You snapped your eyes away, firmly placing them on your empty plate that suddenly held your entire world. Oscar had never ever looked at you like that. Any time you looked into those puppy browns, they were usually some mix between happy, anger, annoyance, sadness, humour, and the God forbidden 'I-see-you-as-my-sister' type love.

But this... this was something else entirely. The softness of his gaze, his words, the timing of it all; a perfect execution of sorts... it was a first.

Maybe you had taken one too many sips of the wine. It was the only reasonable explanation behind your obvious hallucination.

Sooner or later, the sun would set, a main reason behind your picking of the restaurant. The parents and your brother were at the front of the house, arguing about who paid for tonight's dinner. You were more than happy to wait it out on the balcony and revel in the last few rays of light, eyes closed and the breeze dancing across your skin.

"Well don't you look happy," Oscar voice stated, nearing you.

You opened your eyes, slightly turning your head to the side only to look back a few second later. Oscar and sunsets... you enjoyed that combo far too much for your liking.

"That's because I am. Sometimes being off the ice is refreshing," You told him, taking in a breath of the fresh evening air.

Out of your peripheral vision you could see Oscar tilt his head, eyes raking over you with a small grin tugging at his lips. You ignored the pace of your heart as he nodded at your remark, settling in next you with his hands on the balcony bar, a mere inch away from your own.

"I hear that," Oscar sighed, looking out at the horizon.

You forced yourself to look over at him, trying to read his mind after hearing the burdened sigh he released. "Oscar... I hope you know you're doing well in F1 right now. You're doing pretty good compared to Lando's rookie year."

Oscar smiled gently. You knew him far too well. "I know. I just... I feel like everyone's expecting so much more of me. Podiums... race wins... like everything else I've done. And then Spa came along."

You winced at the mention of the track. Oscar had collided with Carlos on the very first lap. Carlos said Oscar was too optimistic about making that turn and Oscar said that he didn't even know what Carlos doing; that the Spaniard turned as if he wasn't even on the track. Nevertheless, the collision resulted in both of them DNFing.

You snorted. "Spa is a shit track," You dismissed Oscar's current pessimism with a wave of your hand.

Oscar chuckled at your crudeness. He couldn't disagree with you. Spa was one of those tracks which felt auspicious to any driver. The one where you hoped you at least passed the finishing line. It didn't matter what your position was... as long as you passed it, you were okay.

"Guys come on! We've finished paying," Your brother called out.

The both of you turned around. Oscar pushed himself off of the bar, heading towards your brother. "Who won this one?" He asked in amusement, hands gliding past his waist. Ever so gently, in his walk, he teetered towards you, letting his hand brush past your own, sending a tingle down both of you.

You gulped at the racing feeling, immediately pulling your hand closer to yourself. This hairs of your body stood straight and your fingers felt numb. Heck, you felt numb.

Damn, you thought, this is some crazy good wine.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The thing about your inclination to blame everything on the alcohol you consumed was that it only actually worked if you consumed alcohol. You were lucky if you could extend to the remaining bits by a day with the claims of a hangover.

But right now, you were sober as hell.

An unfortunate event, to say the least.

"Y/N, wake up," Oscar's voice pounded against your blanketed, muffled ears.

"Ugh, no" You groaned, cocooning yourself into your blanket and pressing your head further into your pillow, savouring the warmth.

You always had such early mornings when you trained, waking up at ungodly hours only to workout before heading to the rink. Being on the ice was the only thing you loved. Your fans were sweet but everything else after that, the press, the workouts, the food, sucked. So you cherished the late summer morning in Santorini. And no person, let alone a boy who announced his F1 team to you by saying "I'm driving for a papaya", was going to ruin this for you.

Oscar put his hands on his hips, eyeing you with a twitch in his eye. "But breakfast is ready. I cooked!"

You laughed into your sheets lightly. "Oh boy, that's even worse!"

Oscar looked at your peeking head and humoured eyes blankly. "That," he started to say as he began to literally pull you out of your bed by your arms, "is very very rude thing to say to the chef."

"Oscar, no! Let go!" You begged, hands flailing to attach themselves to anything. Falling on the hard cold floor was not the ideal morning for you.

At least not alone.

You jutted out your leg, nudging Oscar's to the side, making him stumble over his steps. As he quickly realised he was losing balance, he threw his body under yours, creating a soft landing for you as you both fell to the floor.

You were laughing too hard to realise Oscar's one hand had even moved to your waist and the other to your head, as if it was to protect you from getting hurt.

"Oh my God! You should've seen your face! It was like–" You turned to mimic his expression but you couldn't find the words. All the air around you had been seized, your throat was dry and you were breathless.

When had Oscar's face become so close to yours?

You couldn't remember the last time you were this close to him. Probably as a child. He was cute back then as well. But growing up changed the both of you. The most apparent reminder of how old you were was the tiny short hairs from his chin that he always tried to shave off. His eyes were still as brown as ever, less big because he grew into his face. And his lips... they were kissable.

His face was also littered with freckles here and there. You didn't even realise your finger had shot out to play connect the dots with them until you could feel his faint warm breath from how close you were.

Your eyes trailed up his face to find his gaze firmly planted on yours. Suddenly you could feel where his hands were and your skin burned at his touch. The current heatwave in Europe had left you in some thin pyjamas. You didn't regret it last night but you definitely regretted wearing them right now.

Hypnotised, you found yourself leaning in naturally. Oscar's head also nudged forward. Your lips were barely a centimetre away from each other. You could hear your name slip out of Oscar's lips as the faintest whisper. Like it was a struggle to say your name because he couldn't think.

His woody and amber scent engulfed you and for a second, you couldn't think.

Not until you could hear your brother scream both of your names from the kitchen, demanding you to come to breakfast.

You blinked, falling out of your trance as quickly as you fell in.

Oscar felt you jerk in his arms suddenly, pushing yourself out of his hold and attempting to stand up. "Y/N, I–"

No. God, no.

You weren't ruining a friendship over this.

You could pretend. Yes. Pretend. You can't see him.

"We're coming!" You yelled back, feeling your cheeks redden with embarrassment and annoyance; both vexing feeling for yourself.

God, what a day to be sober.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Honestly how this holiday had gone from zero to a hundred was beyond you.

Pretending like nothing had happened in your room was harder than you thought. Not when Oscar looked at you with these burdened eyes and like he had something to say to you, right on the tip of his tongue.

You considered avoiding him. But doing so on a family trip was easier said than done. Besides, it would've been pretty obvious to everyone else and knowing your family, they would've made a big deal out of nothing. Because that's what it was: nothing.

But alas, you have a brother. And normally, he's stupid and self-obsessed to the point it bordered on unhealthy. But as your brother, it seemed he had some sort of sixth sense for these sorts of things. Something about the older sibling being superior or whatever lies he convinced himself with.

"Why are you being weird with Oscar? Your brother asked you while you ate some ice cream and caught up with the new season of 'The Summer I Turned Pretty'. At first, you couldn't fathom watching a character called 'Belly' out of all things but somehow you got hooked.

You paused the scoop of ice cream you put in your mouth, letting it slowly melt away as you stared hard at your nuisance of a brother. "I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"Ha, nice try. You're supposed to use 'literally' when you deny it the second time," Your brother smiled at you smugly.

You pressed your lips together, feeling your teeth slightly grind against your spoon. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to smack the shit of your brother with a spoon or bury him in a six-foot deep hole.

"Come on, lil sis, you can talk to me. Everyone's out of the house right now," He partially jested while being entirely serious.

Burying him in a hole it was.

"I have nothing to say to you," You stated, eyes reverting back to your show.

Your brother narrowed his eyes, grabbing the remote to pause the episode. Ignoring your exclaim of annoyance, he sat down next to you and took your ice cream and spoon away from you to dig into the pint for himself.

You shuddered in disgust. You were not having that flavour for a while.

He pointed your spoon at you. "I know you think I'm stupid, which I may be, but I'm not entirely an idiot. What happened with you and Oscar? You were all happy buddies a few days ago. Now he looks like a lost puppy and you look like you saw Pennywise in the hallway."

You bit down on your lip to prevent yourself from laughing. You couldn't actually let him know he was funny.

"Did he do something to you? Y/N, if he did something wrong to you I swear to God... just tell me and I will end him."

Your eyes widened at the sudden change of the conversation. Sitting up, you waved your hands in urgent dismissal. "No! Oh my God, nothing like that! Holy shit."

Your brother let a relieved exhale fall from his mouth before furrowing his brows. "Then what happened? Is it your stupid crush on him?"

"I–what?" You asked dumbfounded, looking at your brother incredulously.

"Your crush? Like the one you've had since you first laid eyes on him. You know everyone knows right? It's kinda obvious. Well, everyone but Oscar," your brother said nonchalantly.

You blinked blankly at him. "Before I throw myself off of a cliff, I can give you the generous choice of how you die? Personally I'm thinking asphyxiation, arson, or murder."

Your brother gulped, slowly putting away the ice cream. "Okay, first off stop watching Criminal Minds so much. Second of all, you don't need to feel embarrassed. All of us have been secretly rooting for you. Especially mom and Oscar's mom. You should've seen how happy they got when I told them Oscar and Lily broke up. It was seriously creepy."

You sighed, falling onto the couch. "It doesn't matter how creepy it was. We almost kissed! And then you called for us. Any later, I would've ruined our friendship. What's the point anyways? He doesn't like me. I'm gonna die in the friendzone," You dramatically sobbed out.

"Well you can start by not turning the other direction when you see him. Poor guy looks like you killed his dog. Do you think a guy who's dog was killed has any guts to speak to their murderer? And that's beside the fact that he may like his murderer."

Where was that shovel again?

"You know what you need to do? Do something that makes him talk to you. I got it! I could set you up with Arthur! He's in Santorini too! Oscar would hate it."

"Oh my God... do you want me to die?" You asked, slightly horrified at the look of pure joy on your brother's face .

Your brother grinned. "Of course, I do. Would I be your brother if I didn't?"

━━━━━━━━━━━

For as long as he could remember, Oscar was a peaceful guy. He didn't really get angry quickly. He was usually calm and usually could think before he acted.

But all those characteristics were thrown out the window, well into the air of the music festival everyone decided to attend, when he saw you walk into the event with Arthur Leclerc. His former teammate out of all people.

"Is that Arthur? Why is he here?" Oscar asked your brother.

"Hmm?" Your brother turned around, pretending to squint at the two of you briefly before catching your piercing gaze. "Oh yeah... that is him. He told me he was in Greece. Guess he found Y/N first. Makes sense I guess."

Oscar looked at your brother dubiously. "I... what does that even mean?"

"I don't know why but I always got the feeling he liked Y/N," your brother shrugged.

Oscar blinked. "You're taking the fucking piss..." He huffed in disbelief.

"What? Oh? Here they come."

Truth be told, Arthur was more than happy to oblige with your brother's game. He hadn't seen Oscar in a while because they were in different championships now. Getting the opportunity to play with him a bit was a hard offer to turn down.

"Ozzie!" Arthur cheered, bringing him into a hug.

Oscar raised a brow at you. That pet name originated from you when the three of you decided to become superheroes for a day and you decided to name eight-year-old Oscar, 'Ozzie the Mozzie' after he got bitten by one. No one else on Earth called him that but you.

"I was telling Arty here about that mozzie that bit you and he really liked Ozzie the Mozzie," You chuckled softly.

Arty...

God give him strength because Oscar wasn't sure how much longer he could bear this.

To be honest, you weren't much of a music festival type of person. It was always crowded, hot, and filled with some sort of drugs even if you couldn't see it.

But aside from that, you enjoyed the serenity it could bring; the indie music that was well on it's way to becoming pop; the calming breeze; the warming sun.

Well you would enjoy it more if a certain Aussie wasn't staring daggers to the side of your head–Arthur's head.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you turned around to see a stranger. A somewhat attractively creepy stranger but a stranger nonetheless. You raised your brows and gave a small smile. "Yes?"

"I know you don't know me but I just saw you from over there and I wanted to say you're really pretty!"

You blinked, feeling the three boys around you stiffen at the compliment. You nodded slowly, putting on a grateful smile. "Oh, thank you so much," You responded, laughing awkwardly.

A moment of awkward silence settled in the air as the guy still remained in front of you.

"So... I was wondering if I get could get your number?" The guy asked with an odd glint in his eyes.

The alarms were ringing in your head and an uncomfortable shiver went down your spine. "Uh, I'm sorry. I... I don't really want to. But thanks for your offer," You politely declined.

"Oh come on. I called you pretty... that's gotta be worth your number. Come on."

Oh.

Honestly, you were speechless. Your number which for him was the leeway into your intimate life was worth a compliment.

"Yeah, I don't think so," You quipped sharply, gritting your teeth.

"Come on, baby girl. Let me show you a fun time." The guy stepped forward, his hand reaching towards your body.

You froze at his words. You wanted to move but you couldn't.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Oscar, Arthur, and your brother step in front of you.

"Mate, fuck off. She doesn't want you," Oscar pushed the guy away from you.

Your brother snorted. "I don't think anyone wants him."

The guy sneered, making you wince. He raised his hands in a feigned defence, beginning to turn away from you. Thank God. "Fine. I didn't want a girl like you anyways. All these guys around you... a whore."

Arthur and you, as the pacifists you were, watched in silent horror as your brother poked his tongue in his cheek and Oscar's head quickly whipped towards the guy.

"Oscar..." You warned meekly as Arthur tried to get your brother's attention.

The last thing any of you needed was famed athletes on the front page of ESPN, cited as the cause of a brawl.

"What did you say?" Oscar raised a brow, ignoring your pleas and walking towards the guy. His tone was dark and the total opposite of what he normally sounded like. He was raged.

"The truth," The guy chuckled. "I said she's a whore. Why? What are you gonna do about it, little boy?"

Yeah see, the guy most definitely had a couple of inches on Oscar and you brother. You weren't really keen on seeing them get pummelled to the ground.

Oscar said nothing in response but raised his fist, slamming it into the side of the guy's jaw.

Oh for fuck's sake.

As if the guy had lightening reflexes, the guy quickly pulled his head back up and got a hold of Oscar, getting into a cycle of punches.

Your heart dropped at the sight. Your brother, thank God, and Arthur quickly realised that Oscar wasn't winning anything here, stepping in to push the two men apart. A small crowd began to gather, some thankfully aiding in trying to stop whatever was going on.

Arthur pulled Oscar away and towards you. You held Oscar against you, clutching him tightly as your heart raced in your ears. Somewhere in the muffled sounds you could hear your brother.

"We're going home. Now."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your brother and Arthur had decided to go explain the situation the both of your parents who were out having lunch because you couldn't blame all those bruises and dry blood on Oscar's face by saying he fell. This left you to clean up Oscar to reduce the risk of your parents having a heart attack.

You clenched your jaw, holding the first aid kid and a wet cloth to your side as you walked towards the seated racing driver who had found a lot of interest in the floor all of a sudden while icing his face.

"I can't believe you," You mumbled in annoyance, taking a seat next to him. You gently grabbed his chin, putting side the ice bag, trying to decide on where to start cleaning but you could only wince at his face. His bottom lip and his brow was slightly torn, the side of his jaw and the top of his cheek had started to bruise, and his nose was a blood fest.

All the pain Oscar felt began to disappear as he felt your hands gently graze past his skin, scouting all the damage that had occurred. He looked at your pained eyes and internally sighed. He hated seeing you in pain. "He was disrespecting you. I wasn't going to just let it go."

You rolled your eyes, slowly wiping away the dry blood. "He was like six foot two, Oscar. You're like five foot. He could've ki... he could've really hurt you," You jested before your voice fell into a bare whisper.

Oscar's heart clenched as you went back on your words, watching you grab some antiseptic with shaky hands. He grabbed your hands, holding them with his own and softly looked into your eyes. "But he didn't. I'm fine. See?" He smiled widely before wincing at the pain shooting through his face.

You snorted. "As if."

"Hey, you're talking to a guy who crashes at most craziest speeds. Bet that guy can't do that," Oscar shrugged nonchalantly.

You narrowed your eyes. "If you weren't already hurt, I would've smacked the shit out of you right now. Just so you know."

Oscar grinned at you. "Ah, there's the ever kind Y/N I love."

You rolled your eyes before processing what he had just said. As friends. Friendly love. Right. You shook your head out of your trance, removing your hands from his and returning back to the stupid first aid kit next to you.

Oscar mended his brows together. "Hey," he tapped your thigh, "you heard what I said right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," You said idly, opening the tube of antiseptic cream.

"What? I..." Oscar sighed, taking the cream out of your hands before pulling you closer to him. His hands held your face, looking you dead in the eye. "I said I love you, Y/N. You know... the type where you look at someone and all you know is that you can't breathe without them? The one in your books?"

Your mouth felt dry. You blinked blankly. Your hands felt clammy. You chuckled nervously. "Pfft, what? You don't love me. You mean as a friend, right? I think you need some medicine. Maybe there's some in this kit." Your eyes darted down, frantically looking around the box as your heart thudded against your chest.

"Hey, hey," Oscar called, using his hand to turn your chin towards him. "I don't. I mean, I do love you as a friend, but no. I love love you."

"Well... what about about Lily?"

"As I said... I realised I loved someone else more," Oscar told you, letting his confession sink into your mind. "You know... if your idiot brother didn't call us that day, I definitely would've kissed you."

Oh.

Well.

That was something.

This was real. You weren't dreaming. You hadn't died. Oscar, your childhood best friend and your brother's best friend, was confessing to you.

"Huh... well, if it's any consolation, I probably would've kissed you too," You retorted, trying to keep your quirking lips at bay before you began smiling for too much for anyone's liking.

"Probably? That kinda sucks. Are you sure you wouldn't have definitely kissed me?" Oscar grinned, grabbing your waist and seating you down on his lap.

"Hmm... I mean maybe. This current environment is nowhere near as enticing as my bedroom. I mean what is sexier than me waking up, am I right?" You joked, trying to cover up the fact that you were dying at the proximity between you two.

Oscar pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek, holding your jaw while his thumb grazed your lips. "Well, I can think of a few other things."

You silently watched as Oscar leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His lips were softer than you could ever imagine.

You blinked, taking a mere second to register what was going on. Oscar Piastri was kissing you. Holy shit, Oscar Piastri was kissing you!

You kissed him back, feeling his hand wrap around the back of your neck and the other holding you steady against him. Your skin burned at his touch, feeling his fingers snake past the hem of your shirt and rest on your hot skin.

Oddly enough, despite your heat, goosebumps sprawled across every inch of your skin as his tongue darted out, exploring your own, giving you access to his mouth.

You could've sworn you were walking on fire. One more step and you could've combusted. Your thighs clenched at the moan that slipped from Oscar's mouth as your teeth tugged on his bottom lip, your hands roaming around his chest and his arms.

Oscar's hand wrapped around your hair, enjoying the softness he had wanted touch ever since he realised he had feelings for you. His pants felt tight as he felt your hand brush against his bare torso. Fuck. You were going to do him in. He fell back further into the couch, holding you tighter against him.

The desire you had was blinding you. Your other hand fell to his cheek, forgetting about his injuries till Oscar murmured an "ouch".

You retracted your hands, pulling back from his lips, a move Oscar clearly didn't enjoy as his eyes followed your lips. "Shit!" You exclaimed, "the antiseptic! Sorry!"

Oscar paused in his trance, realising what you were talking about. He smiled softly, lips widening even further when he saw your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

You carefully applied the cream to his brow before moving to his lips. "The diagnosis for you Mr Piastri is no more kissing for you," You grinned.

Oscar looked at you dumbfounded. "I–what? For how long?"

"Mmm... a week?"

"A week?" Oscar repeated in exasperation. "There is no way I can last that long. Not after this. Besides I'm pretty sure kissing actually helps you heal faster."

Your skin warmed further at his confession. You cleared your throat and held his hands. "I am confident that is not scientifically true."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. "You need to read better medical journals, doc."

You tilted your head to the side, leaning in further. "I think I have an alternative."

"Yeah?" Oscar's eyes danced across your face, smiling softly. "What is it?"

"It's less practical, more theoretical. Confessional, if you will," You shrugged, letting your forehead rest against his.

Oscar shut his eyes, enjoying the warmth of you. "Oh really? Don't let me stop you."

"I love you, Oscar. I've loved you since we were little heroes running around in the backyard."

Oscar opened his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist. He smiled widely at you. "Are you sure you said a week?"

You rolled your eyes, hitting his chest playfully. "I'm sure."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[akoyaxs]

Tì'eylan ✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!human!reader ✮ Trope: Friends to lovers ✮ Word Count: 16k ✮ Tags: mentions of sexual partners, talk of sex, size difference, fluff, Aonung's pov (kinda mega horny for her), jealously, lap sitting, accidental stimulation, masturbation (m), slight slight angst if you squint, kissing, biting, munchiness, coming untouched, p in v, nicknames (Aonung calls reader tsawksyul, which means sunlily) ✮ A/N: so I kinda went a little overboard with this one - idk what to tell you - i had a lot to say and ngl had a lot of daydreams during boring classes that i didnt have time to turn into writing till now (>﹏<) Also lol, I'm on holiday w my family rn so writing this at times was quite risky but anyway, HOPE YOU ENJOY MY DARLINGS, I REALLY LIKED WRITING THIS ONE <3

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

Never in a million years would you have suspected that you’d end up close friends with Aonung.

When you met him, shielded by the somewhat brotherly protection of Neteyam and Lo’ak, Aonung had been indifferent to you at the very best, and taunting and infuriating for the first few weeks in Awa’atlu.

All it took was a few skirmishes, several unorthodox verbal arguments, and one fucked up altercation with other humans for Aonung to get off his high horse of hazing the newbies.

You weren’t sure if it was Neteyam’s near-death and your inconsolable distress over it, or the closeness of you getting nearly kidnapped by the Recoms (the “pretty traitor” as the had called you left little to imagination of what sort of fates you would have met with the RDA), but there on that empty beach, watching the sun set in the safety of the village bay, left alone or maybe even forgotton, you had found his ridiculously tall form approaching.

Aonung sat slowly and silently beside your smaller, disconcerted figure. After a wordless moment, in which you continued to absently stare out at the empty horizon, he had placed a soft, woven blanket over you.

It was a little rough, but of course he didn’t mean to be. Moreover, it had just been a wordless loan of something quite too large for your human figure – so much so you were practically drowning in it – but the weight was warm and reassuring, as, surprisingly, was his still, quiet presence hulking beside you.

“Thank you.”

Your whisper – feeble and weak even to your own ears – would have been lost in the breeze and lapping waves, but you later reminded yourself of na’vi’s superior senses, as he let out a small sound of acknowledgment, silently noting how shaken you still were.

“Are you alright?” he had asked, following your unspoken rule and also quietly watching the ocean, and more importantly, keeping his gaze from your pale, unnerved face.

“Yep.”

And that had been just that.

No more words had been spoken, not so much as a glance or gesture was offered, but something had changed as the unlikely pair of you sat in ponderous silence, watching the gilded horizon.

You never really discussed the hiccup at your initial meeting (and the period that had followed before friendship was forged), but you never needed to. Aonung had wordlessly conveyed his apology, as had you accepted it.

It is an uncomplicated friendship; time spent together is full of teasing and laughter and often petty argument, and time spent apart is to gather new material to discuss, to scheme up new ways to make the other’s life an amusing hell, and of course to just fuck around.

Which leads to one fact; Aonung is a slut.

You could tell it from the moment you saw him, even before knowing his desirable position in the clan or noting the lovesick-lustful looks the village girls couldn’t tear off their faces when he was within eyesight. It’s not just obvious through his physical appearance (although, admittedly, that is the work of the lord), but through his walk and talk and everything in between.

Even before your friendship, you knew Aonung was off with a different girl every few days, and said girl would always then labour under the deulusion she alone captured the lustful gaze of her future Olo’eyktan – something that always reminded you not to fall for your friend in his hopelessly infuriating slutiness.

It came as no surprise to you when your theory of you friend being Pandora’s biggest slut was proved to be quite true, so you aren’t entirely sure why the outlines of your love life came as quite the shock to the Metkayina man.

“Tell me,” he says with a small, ponderous frown, as though something had just occurred to him, though you knew this look perfectly well to guess what he was about to say was not some casual thought that slid nonchalantly into his mind. “How have you been taking care of yourself?”

You look wearily up from your beadings to squint at him – all stretched out and full of lazy curiousity on the woven mat of your marui. This is how you often spent the warm afternoons in Awa’atlu; you beading or mixing herbs or cooking or something actually useful, while your friend bothers you.

You were still too weary of actually swimming with people, surrounded by beautiful, tall, slim, lithe na’vi girls, and although Aonung had tried to convince you a million times, those bikinis you brought with you remained secretly stowed away deep in the darkest parts of your marui.

Sometimes at night, you would slip out the walkway of your marui into the cool ocean below, but careful that there’s no one around to see. At least it meant na’vi were absolutely shocked to say the least when they saw just how curvy human bodies could get without your flowy clothing.

“What are you on about?” you sigh. “I’m perfectly healt-”

“I meant physically,” Aonung says casually. “Maintaining yourself sexually.”

Oh.

Your friend did have a habit of being carelessly blunt in his manners, but that was one thing that managed to take you by surprise.

“What do you think?” you laugh, throwing off your disconcertion and far too used to your friend - and all na’vi really - disregard for topics very much taboo for humans to be thrown off by the quite personal question.

“Well…” he shifts closer to gage your expression, a small furrow creasing his brow. “You are the only tawtute here, and I’m sure even your kind have sexual needs that must be met. So how…”

“Do I cope when I get horny?” you finished, raising your brows and wrinkling your nose at him. Aonung nods, throat looking a little tight but otherwise unbothered by the delicacy a conversation like this should typically have. “What sort of answer are you looking for, Aonung?”

He blinks, then shakes his head in a puppyish way and you grin.

“I don’t just take care of me myself, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you answer elusively.

You never told Aonung the truth. The truth that you have no shortage of Metkayina men offering to deal with your sexual desires, lost in their own curiosity of human-na’vi sexual experimentation.

And you’d be lying if you pretended you weren’t attracted to them. How could you not be?

Na’vi were nine to ten feet of practically pure muscle, cloaked in beautiful, smooth blue skin and glimmering with pretty glowing tahnì. They were slim and wire, agile and graceful in their movements and talented beyond anything a human could ever possibly possess.

So, discreetly, you would indulge in all sorts of capers. It was, admittedly, a lot of fun.

Sometimes you’d be offered pretty little gifts, clumsily complimented on your human looks and talents, or even simply carried away in heated moments of pleasure and experimentation.

But here was Aonung, nearly your best friend at this point, who just heard your vague answer to his curious question.

You can physically see the moment the connotation of your words sinks into his thick skull, and his eyes widen large as Pandora and his lips part in shock.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you grin, flicking him on the shoulder. “You didn’t expect me to sit all tight and pretty and alone while practically stranded on an island of mega hot people, did you?”

Aonung looks as though he very much did expect that, or at least the thought of you fucking other members of his clan had certainly never crossed his mind. In fact, he looks nothing short of stupefied as he stares at you.

“Who?” he demands, an unmistakable scowl settling over his face.

“Really?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Like I’d tell you.”

“Why not?” he asks sullenly, muscles tense and jaw clenched.

“Because I know you, Aonung,” you smile. “And I know how you act around Tsireya with Lo’ak, and I don’t need your stupid ass scaring away my possible companions.”

“Companions,” he grunts with derisive amusement, before his scowl fixes once again and he furrows his brow once more. “You do know I do not see you as a sister, right?”

“Yeah well… don’t tell me that if I share who I’ve been with that you won’t get mad at them.”

Aonung pauses, and you can see he recognises your point; at the slightest mention of a name, Aonung would be up with the guy pinned up bruised and bloodied.

“So you like na’vi then?” Aonung questions. “Even though we’re double your height and could throw you twenty feet?”

“On the contrary,” you say with a sly, amusing grin, “that’s exactly what I like.”

When Aonung’s face slackens a little in shock, you laugh openly and shake your head.

“But who cares if I like na’vi- they’re hot and muscly, so it’s totally justified in my opinion!” you say with a wide, shameless grin. “The real question is why the guys were attracted to me – if humans are so small and weak looking or whatever else you giants think of us, then why would they want to fuck me?”

“That really is a whole other question,” Aonung sighs, rolling his eyes as though you’re being stupid. “But be honest, what do you think of me-”

He’s cut off by your pillow smacking him heavily in the face, and resurfaces to find your little frown a foot away from his.

“Hey, I was honest with you,” you scowl. Lie.

But you weren’t about to admit the truth – that your irritating friend is just about the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You try to put it from your mind; those ten feet of pure muscle sculpted to glorious perfection only masked his stupidity and secret superpower of infuriating you with the slightest of comments or even glances.

“And what do you keep in that little book of yours then?” Aonung grins, looking infuriatingly smug.

You set down your beading with slight annoyance now, and you frown at your friend. He’s sat up now, propped back on his hands, head tilted to stare at you with that dangerous gleam that makes you want to question everything, every tone and muscle in his body practically glowing in the afternoon light.

“What book?” you ask wearily, forcing your eyes away from his body.

“You know,” he snickers. “The one you quickly stash away when you see me coming, that you think no one knows about? The little one you hide somewhere in this-”

“If you ever read that Aonung,” you threaten, suddenly on your feet with your face flushed deep deep red. God, what were you thinking trying to keep a diary? You’re an adult! “I swear to bloody mary that I will castrate you and burn everything I chop off.”

Aonung just chuckles, and you scowl.

“If you don’t want me going back to thinking you’re an absolute dick again- leave it.”

And finally he does, reluctantly.

All afternoon you can see him itching to question you more about it, burning with the desire to find out who you had been with, still shocked by the revelation that you fucked around with people in his clan, and he never even knew.

But he knows better than to push you, so he stays quiet, watching you work quietly.

When the sun sets and Kiri drops by to offer you eat with her and Rotxo, you say a quick goodbye to Aonung, who nods and leaves.

“What’s up with him?” Kiri asks, raising her brows at Aonung’s fading back, which is unmistakably tense. “What did you do to him?”

“He just found out about my romping around,” you shrug. “And he-”

“He what?” Kiri gawks, freezing in her steps so you smack into her and instantly fall back onto the ground. “Oh sorry- but YOU TOLD HIM?”

“Yes…?” you say slowly, confused why she’s so shocked. “He’s my friend.”

“So is Lo’ak, so is Neteyam,” Kiri points out. “But you aren’t telling them that you’re going around with-”

“That’s different,” you say quickly. “Lo’ak and Tey are like my brothers, and Aonung… is not.”

“Right,” Kiri says unconvinced.

There’s an awkward moment of silence in which she’s clearly waiting for you to say more.

“He’s infuriating,” you finally burst out.

“Yes he is,” Kiri agrees. She continues in her pointed silence as you move into her marui, until you finally can’t take it anymore.

“Fine!” you snap, face flushed. “He’s absolutely irritating in every way, and now he’s suddenly all caring about what I do in my own time with other guys? WE AREN’T EVEN A THING-”

“Are you sure about that?” Rotxo grins from the other side. “Just think about the way he acts when you’re around.”

“Annoying and cocky?” you huff, but you know what he means.

“Come on,” Kiri sighs, shaking her head at you with affection, “don’t tell me you’re this oblivious all of a sudden. What happened to my friend who used to have half the Omatikaya wrapped around her little finger, who could charm even the coldest of warriors? Where did all your psychicness go?”

“That’s not a word,” you grumble, hiding your unease with semantics.

“Okay enough,” Kiri sighs, pulling you up from where you had just comfortably settled on the floor and dragging you out to the entrance. “No more obliviousness.”

“Where are you taking me?” you moan, lazily allowing her to drag you off through the village, Rotxo trailing contentedly and obediently behind his mate.

“To get you changed,” she says carelessly. “We’re going out.”

Aonung wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when he asked you that question. But he sure as fuck wasn’t prepared to hear that his little tawtute was getting her way around the clan.

You were his friend. Once even friend had been a loose term to describe your relationship, but he would be lying if he hadn’t know that from the moment he laid eyes of your small figure – barely even half the height of the Sullys as they landed in Awa’atlu with your curious eyes and strange clothing – that you were his.

But after some time when the two of you had warmed to one another, he had realised that he did not see you in a way that was even remotely platonic.

The reasoning for that was probably that he saw you everywhere; your face, your small hands, your little body.

On nights spent with various other girls, he found his eyes closing and his mind imagining it was you splayed out beneath him, your pretty little face twisted with the lewdest of moans. When, eventually, he gave up on trying to fuck these lustful profanities into other girls, cock in hand in the privacy of sheltered coves or his own marui, he would long for it to be your hand wrapped around his length, to feel your lips brushing over every inch of his body, sinking his fangs into your smooth, soft skin.

He tried to tell himself, all the rest of that afternoon which he spent fuming around his marui before the festivities of that night, that it wasn’t the fact that you were with other guys that was bothering him. You were a free woman, free to do what you liked, free to spend your time on other men.

But on the other hand, the men of his clan were of his clan.

They were Aonung’s people - not just in a metaphorical sense of belonging - they were not as free to do as they liked when Aonung would one day lead them. And they should damn well know better than to touch you.

They had no license to have you, touch you, even look at you.

Had Aonung not made it clear enough - even if you seemed completely oblivious to it - that you were his?

Sure, he made not have had you in that purely carnal aspect that you apparently had shared with worthless spineless skxawngs unfit to be in your very presence, but the way he acted around you, the gifts he brought to you, the way he protected you with all the ferocity boiling within him, even the way his scent lingers on your skin when he can’t be near you (even if your tawtute nose couldn’t smell it) marks you as if not his, then at least definitely untouchable.

So what were these shameless, perverted idiots playing at?

They, more than anyone, should know how Aonung can get when he sets his mind to something. And that one is you, and he’s not about to let anyone else dare lay so much a finger on your smaller body ever again. He’s already cursing himself for not realising all this sooner, letting you waste your time with men could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you. Which is why – when he sees you next, across the fire at a party – Aonung doesn’t take any chances.

It's a pretty typical Metkayina gathering, full of young warriors, hunters, village girls and other various clan members. Flasks of unilpay are being passed around and the air is rich with loud laughter, conversation, and other various drunken atrocities. The beach – cool in the clear night breeze – is basked in the balmy, warm glow of a bonfire. Sparks are flying gracefully up; flaming glimmers among the silver stars of the heavens.

“What were you thinking?” he demands in a low voice, striding straight up to Rotxo and grabbing his friend’s arm to face him. “Why is she here?”

“Kiri thought it would be good for her to come out for a bit,” Rotxo shrugs. Aonung scoffs, far too used to his best friend’s continual obedience to whatever Kiri does.

“I thought you were just going to have dinner, have a little chat, you know?” Aonung grumbles, looking away to scan the party, making sure you were far on the other side and alone with Kiri. “But now you bring her here?”

Rotxo settles back, looking slightly amused amidst his dawning understanding, and Aonung’s hand slowly falls from its tight grip around his arm.

“And what is so terrible about her being here?” Rotxo counters. “She’s been hanging around the village for ages, she’s been to these parties before. What’s your problem now?”

Aonung growls low under his breath. Frustration is starting to course through him. Rotxo knows what the answer is – what Aonung’s deal is, why he cares, why his gaze can’t seem to stop drifting towards you, but he’s waiting for the words to be spoken.

Instead, with a small huff of exasperation, Aonung pushes past Rotxo to approach you.

Through that short conversation that seemed an eternity, Aonung had not missed all the glances snuck covertly in your direction, shot from the corner of eyes and over shoulders and between the flickering flames separating you from most of the festivities.

You had changed since the afternoon, Aonung notices.

He didn’t quite understand tawtute customs, particularly your strange clothes that frustratingly covered so much of your body that na’vi clothing would usually be displaying with confidence and adoration, but he had spent enough time with you to know he had never seen you wear something like this.

He would have definitely remembered seeing you like this.

It’s hard to describe when the style is from a completely different species, but the thought that first crosses his mind is black. It was the first thing he notices after all, the black material cloaking over your body, brushing lightly over your soft skin.

You’ve worn things vaguely in this style before (dresh… cress… dress or something) but they had all been long and flowy and beautiful, yes, but this was so much more than that. It was stupid, actually, that only a change of outfit has Aonung’s heart seizing in his chest, throat bobbing and jaw clenched at the sight of you standing there, unilpay in one hand, the other moving to push your hair from your face.

It barely even covers your legs, and your arms and shoulders are left completely bare except for a wispy black strand that winds over your skin to vainly hold it up from your breasts. From Aonung’s view of you, he feels like just watching you is sinful. It’s wrong, to be seeing you like this, to be thinking these thoughts of you, but he can’t pull away from his view.

He had always known tawtute bodies were different to na’vi (all slim and muscular), and sometimes he found himself pleading that the next day your clothing would not be as flowy and coveraging as it always was, but he’d always beat back those sinful desires with the reminder of your positions.

But now, with the smooth skin of your thighs and slim shoulders and the ample curves of your body on full, glorious display, Aonung wonders how he ever managed to go without seeing you like this before.

You are always so small to him, but every curve of your body, in your thighs and hips and breasts and fuck.

Aonung stifles a low groan at all the thoughts flooding his filthy mind, and wrenches his gaze from the glorious glow of your soft skin under the dancing light of the fire.

And then, in several unconscious moments where Aonung has no clue what he’s doing, in several long strides to get him by your side without the pain of seconds apart from you, he’s beside you. You look up at him through your long dark lashes, and he also notices your lips look plumper and shinier than usual; the smooth rosiness gleaming tantalisingly up at him.

Not for the first time, he has to swallow a furious desire to sink his fangs lightly into your silky lips, and he immediately darts his gaze away – the method he always uses in vain attempts to stem those filthy, forbidden, longings.

“What are you doing here?” Aonung asks coldly, staring down at you from his metre above.

“Same as you,” you shrug. “I’m here to have fun.”

Aonung is not happy to hear that.

His glare moves straight to Kiri, who’s watching his displeased reaction with mingled interest and amusement. Obviously, her and Rotxo have some stupid ulterior motive or plot or something, but he won’t have any of it, not if it risks other guys getting anywhere near you.

But he can’t think of anything to do. If he tells you to leave then you’d doubtless shout at him and be in that pouty, pissed mood that you sometimes get into. And he can’t just flat out voice the truth, not with this many people standing around, not during one of the most unromantic settings he could imagine with tipsy warriors and a blazing fire.

From the moment he stood beside you though, the gazes moved away. Aonung’s pleased to find less and less eyes roving quickly over you, and the ones that do are quickly averted when he scowls at them.

Just as he thinks maybe it’ll be over – that no one will bother you anymore – people start to dance. Aonung had been friends with you long enough to know this was your favourite part of any festivity. You loved to watch the sway and undulation and grace of the na’vi in their movements, the beautiful delicacy of the clothing gleaming under the stars and tails coiling and moving in timely leisure.

And he also knows it will surely be a matter of time before you want to join in or worse, someone else asks you to dance.

So he sits gracelessly down next to you, on that log you’ve perched yourself on top of. The weight of his body suddenly seated beside you makes your little body jolt a little, but you grit your teeth with a small eye roll and discreetly dig your fingers into the bark. He spreads out a little, ensuring there is no more room on the log, with you seated between Kiri’s slim, tall figure and his own broad, muscular body.

Kiri certainly doesn’t miss this gesture (or the meaning behind it), but she hides her small smile with a sip from her coconut. You, on the other hand, are so entranced by the dancing that you don’t notice when Aonung spreads his legs a little wider so his muscular thigh is brushing against your small, soft, slightly squishy one he wordlessly loves so much.

You continue to watch with wordless awe, and Aonung sits, contented with the fact that no one has dared approach yet.

Yet when some stupid warrior – Tsu’kae, Aonung thinks his name is – blantantly turns to stare at you with shameless, disgustingly lustful interest, Aonung decides he has to step it up. Has he not made it fucking clear enough that you are his?

Slowly so he doesn’t attract too much of your attention, Aonung leans back and slips his arm to rest on his hands on either side of his body. This way, you’re closed in between his firmly planted hand and his own body, without any space on the log for anyone else.

When you finally notice Aonung’s stretched out into your space, you grumble faintly about his stupid giant body and his lack of care for personal space, but you settle back to rest your head lightly against his arm behind you.

Aonung tries not to tense, completely unprepared for your comfort against him, thrown of by your soft hair cascading and your face resting gently against his arm, lips inches away from brushing his skin yet your breath ghosts warm and present against him.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper faintly to him, and he tries to ignore the fact that each word is whispered nearly right against his veins, as though your voice is coursing straight to his heart. You shiver lightly beside him.

“Yeah,” he replies in a low voice, throat feeling quite tight and strained; it isn’t exactly easy to scare off any other guys when he’s already about to explode just having you this close.

He feels slightly stupid; you’re watching the dances with awe and appreciation and a distant melancholy, desirous longing, and of course, he’s watching you. With equal ferocity, just excelling past with unbearable, flaming tendrils of frustrated craving snaking through his veins, seizing his heart and freezing his mind.

It’s only when he finally manages to tear his gaze away from you, with the same effort it takes to fell an akula, that he notices Tsu’kae is no longer on the sand amidst the dancing Metkayina. In fact, he’s on the outskirts, conspicuously sliding closer with slimy, transparent steps to get closer to you.

With a fierce stab of selfishness for what is his, Aonung finds his arm – the one caging you beside him – sweeping closer and bringing you with it, so you’re gently slid along the long till you’re pressed against his solid side.

You squint up at him with slight suspicious confusion, and he almost misses that little tense, gleam in your eyes. He can also hear the gentle, warm beats of your heart pick up, but he puts all the possibilities of reasonings of that from his mind to watch with cold irritation as Tsu’kae finally makes his way besides you.

“May I sit here?” he asks, glancing dubiously at the log.

Aonung, with a sudden desire to kick himself for his carelessness, realises to late that in pulling you towards him, he mistakenly left space on the log for someone to sit.

Unfortunately, Tsu’kae misses Aonung’s glower, which was a clear dismissal of the inferior warrior. You, finally, seemed to have some tiny inkling of the situation, because you glance briefly up at Aonung as though asking if Tsu’kae can join you.

The clear answer was no, but Aonung knew you well enough to guess that your unfortunate habit of masterfully ignoring unspoken orders may be about to be practised. Instead, he settled himself on a much more enjoyable option.

“Sure,” he rumbles to Tsu’kae, who looks a little startled, as though he wasn’t expecting to get personally addressed by Aonung.

Before he can sit beside you on the log, Aonung’s reaching over to lift you up and settle you comfortably in his lap. You let out a small squeak of surprise to find yourself suddenly lifted as though you weigh nothing. Tsu’kae watches with mingled fascination and strange terror at Aonung’s plain message – you cannot have her.

Yet maybe Aonung didn’t completely think this plan through.

You’d never sat on his lap before, and although he’d often thought about it, how your squishy thighs and curvy hips would feel resting softly over his own would feel, how light and small and delicate you’d be against him, this was completely different.

He can feel everything about you. Your thighs – almost completely bare as the fabric of your clothing hitches all the way up to your ass – are pressed against his own, your skin all warm and soft and so velvety, deliciously smooth. Your body is still slightly tense despite your feigned nonchalance, and he can feel the tightness of your body resting on his.

And he can smell you. It’s warm, just a comforting, familiar scent that he spends all day breathing in, memorising and filing away into the back of his mind where, in the shelter and privacy of his own marui in those helplessly longing night, he can build up that image of you in your imagined lewd actions for him and to him. There’s something over the top of it, something new and flowery you must have just applied for tonight.

He has to fight a physical urge to just bury his entire face in the warm of your neck – your soft hair falling around him – and simply scenting you to the point everything else just completely ceases to exist and with his eyes closed and heart thumping, all that surrounds him is you and your warmth.

It takes Aonung a moment to remind himself where he is, surrounded by everyone, sitting beside the still-gaping Tsu’kae. To remind himself that it isn’t just the two of you alone, and especially that you are only friends, and it would probably be a little surprising if he finally just succumbed to all the filthy desires that suddenly seem a thousand times stronger than usual.

You’re finally relaxing on his lap, muscles untensing and breath coming in soft nature. The only downside is that when you loosen a little and stop sitting like there’s a splint to your spine, the soft curve of your ass, barely even covered by your clothing now, settles inches away from his crotch.

Aonung has a small surge of panic when his blood rushes south, but he just masks his soft groan as a hum of appreciation for the dance.

Eywa, he really didn’t think this through.

Never once had he taken the warnings of his mother, father, sister and basically the whole rest of the clan to heart – never once accepted that one day, his impulsivity might have consequences.

But the thought of what you might do when you realise how hard your so called “friend” is by you simply sitting on his lap is too much to bear.

What if you think he’s some crazy sort of desperate perv? What if you never see him the same, and everything is ruined and awkward and dangerous between the two of you? What if you tell Neteyam and Lo’ak and they beat the absolute shit out of him for acting like this?

Fuck.

From the corner of his eye – Aonung’s too scared to move enough to properly turn his head – he can see Tsu’kae all awkward and stupid and helpless. It should now be quite obvious his position in this situation; that he has no place here, anywhere near you.

Now getting over your surprise of being suddenly nestled in your friend’s lap, you’re starting to settle back. You’ve rested yourself against his chest, and he grits his teeth, jaw clenched and fangs sinking lightly into his lip.

Your hair is pillowing your head lightly where it rests, barely even at his chest and right below the fang of his necklace. Your back – nearly completely bare with the low cut of your soft clothing – is settled firmly against his abs, and the warmth your skin on his is oddly comforting, mollifying his slight ferocity.

The soft, sweet scent of you is closer now, more obvious below whatever that other flowery smell you’re wearing is, and Aonung tries his best to keep his breathing even so you won’t notice how he’s breathing in your scent.

But trying to act like just the proximity and scent and feel of you isn’t getting him hard is more difficult than it looks, and Aonung strains his brain to think of ways to delay the inevitable of when you finally notice the ever-growing tent in his tewng.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Tsu’kae offers after a moment of tense silence that you don’t seem to notice. Aonung wonders faintly if your human senses just don’t pick up this sort of tension, or maybe you really are just infuriatingly, endearingly oblivious.

“Yes, thank you,” you say, shifting to give him a little smile.

A fierce stab of strange jealously blossoms like fire inside of Aonung, suddenly scorching his veins and he has a sudden desire to smack that returned, almost-shy-to-hide-his horniness smirk off Tsu’kae’s face. He probably would have, had you not leaned back against him and shimmied your soft ass to lay right over the ridge of his hardened cock.

Aonung gives a sudden jolt, nearly tossing you unceremoniously from his lap and even more mortifyingly - accidentally grinding his tented, straining tewng against the curve of your ass.

There’s a moment in which Aonung thinks you are about to scream at him, turn and curse him out for his lewd state. He can hear your heart pick up suddenly, see the tips of your small, roundish ears go slightly pink, watch a flush creep along back of your neck.

“Do you mind?” you grumble. “If you’re going to try cockblocking me, at least don’t nearly throw me around. I was perfectly comfortable, you bumbling skxawng.”

Aonung blinks in sluggish silence, your words sinking into his brain till he realises with an overwhelming surge or relief that you didn’t notice. Eywa, he’s never been so thankful of the simplicity of human anatomical function.

 “I’m not trying to cock block you,” he says instead, and you scoff.

“Please,” you say stoutly, and Aonung can just imagine you rolling your eyes in that amused way you always do. “You really have no idea how conspicuous you are, dumbass.”

“I am not,” Aonung says with a frown, ignoring the human name he doesn’t understand. “Besides, you could do much better than the likes of Tsu’kae.”

“Really?” you say coolly. Aonung suddenly can’t picture what your face looks like; your tone is completely unreadable as though you’re trying to make it even, hiding whatever you’re actually thinking right now. “And what is so terrible about Tsu’kae?”

“He’s dim-witted,” Aonung points out. “Slow, unreliable, terrible at spear throwing-”

“Ah yes,” you interrupt, “everything I look for in a hook-up; his spear throwing abilities.”

“And he’s obviously just horny,” Aonung adds, ignoring the now painful tent in his tewng and the heavy irony of his words. He looks pointedly across the party, and you follow his gaze to see Tsu’kae standing with his friends, drinking heavily from a flask, getting a few hyping smacks from his mates as they no doubt discuss you.

“So someone would just have to be horny to fuck me?” you huff, turning your neck to glare at him. Aonung bites down a small groan as you accidentally shift on his crotch. “There’s nothing else endearing about me, it would just depend on their arousal?”

“No,” Aonung says quickly, but your scowl is deepening the longer it takes for him to find the right words – ones that don’t give away his own… excitement. “There is nothing wrong with you-”

“Who said anything about there being something wrong with me?” you snap, brows furrowing and face now torn between fury and something he can’t quite make out.

“No one- nothing- what?” Aonung stammers, confused at why you’re suddenly so upset. “You are just far too good for Tsu’kae. He does not deserve your time.”

“Then who does?” you ask sullenly, slightly folding into yourself, yet you still don’t pull away from your seat in his lap. “What about Sokzu-”

“He is arrogant,” Aonung shoots the idea down.

“What about Ta’ru-”

“Incompetent,” Aonung interrupts again.

“Or Kayo-”

“Lazy-”

“Zäki?”

“Seriously,” Aonung says firmly, now frowning too. “Do you seriously think any of these skxawngs are worth your interest?”

Your mouth twitches at his words, though he still has no fucking clue what you’re thinking.

“What are you trying to say, Aonung?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

You’re still looking up at him, eyes large and shimmering in the light from the fire and scattered stars. Aonung swallows, gaze darting quickly down to your glossy lips before fixing back on your face. He can’t look away.

“I brought you unilpay,” a voice interrupts.

You both turn to see Tsu’kae standing there, looking a little rumpled and disorientated. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he’s drunk now, and Aonung doesn’t fail to notice your nose scrunch for an instant before you smooth out your face and take it with a small smile and a thank you.

Completely oblivious and obviously stupid, Tsu’kae continues to stand awkwardly, before he seems to gather enough courage to ask, “Would you like to come for a walk, tawtute?”

Instantly, Aonung’s blood has turned to ice. He doesn’t even look at you before snapping, “She’s good.”

Tsu’kae’s face falls in a small frown, and he, – stupidly – drops his own flask on the sand to clench his fists.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he slurs. “I was talking to her.”

“And I gave you an answer,” Aonung counters, eyes narrowing at the disrespect this meager warrior is displaying. “She’s not going to go anywhere with you.”

Again, Tsu’kae fails to pull himself together and show the proper respect. He steps closer, face pulled into a little frown as he raises his brows at Aonung.

“And what are you going to do to stop her?” he leers. “If she wants to come?”

“Do you want to go?” Aonung asks you, a small furrow between his brows as he looks down at you. You’re all wide-eyed and wordless, eyes darting between Aonung and Tsu’kae who scowls.

“Of course she want-”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Aonung hisses through gritted teeth. “Do you want to go with him?”

Your lips part. You don’t seem to have any answer to give, and you just stare blankly at Aonung, still seated in his lap. Finally, Tsu’kae’s drunken patience seems to have run out, and his hand closes around your tiny wrist.

“Come on taw-”

You’re no sooner pulled helplessly off Aonung than he’s on his feet, then finding his fist sinking satisfyingly into Tsu’ake’s jaw. The stupid warrior lets out a surprised grunt and stumbles back, dragging your little figure with his weight.

“Let her go,” Aonung says coolly, reaching to grab your other arm.

It’s a little awkward, and you’re wincing slightly at the grip of each arm clutched by the two men. People are starting to turn and stare now, and you’re struggling to free yourself.

“Now,” Aonung adds.

Reluctantly, Tsu’kae lets go of your wrist with a frustrated huff, and you flinch at the angry red mark on your skin from where he touched you. Aonung’s heart thuds irately at the mark, and he gently pushes you behind him.

“Touch her again,” Aonung hisses, stepping closer to hide your nervously watching figure, “and I kill you.”

Tsu’kae just laughs, before making to shove Aonung backwards. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t shift in the slightest, and Tsu’kae stumbles into Aonung, who grips the skxawng by the back of his neck. Instantly, Tsu’kae winces away, averting his eyes and vainly trying to get away.

“Pathetic,” Aonung says coolly, pulling him up to study him further. “You actually thought you’d get to have time with her.”

Tsu’kae lets out a small hiss and brings his fist up to smack into Aonung’s cheek. It isn’t particularly painful,  but a blow is a blow and Aonung tosses him to the side. He slams unceremoniously into the sand, where he’s met with small stifled laughter and disapproving glances. You’re still gaping at Aonung, who gently kneels beside you.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. You nod, eyes raking over his face before your fingertips reach out to trace lightly over the mark of Tsu’kae’s laughable punch. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

No one else makes a noise, but Aonung can feel all eyes on your retreating backs as he leads you away. He can still feel the burn of disbelieving attention on him as the party fades away and the woven walkways of the village come into view. More importantly, he can feel eyes on you, and, desperate to make sure you don’t feel uneasy, he places a wide hand on your back to lightly steer you in front, out of the way of prying eyes.

When he drops you off at your marui, it’s with a strange ache in his chest.

You look tired and the gloss of your lips is nearly completely gone now. You smile up at him at the entrance, but when he turns to leave, he can sense your drunkenness. Not for the first time, he curses how strong na’vi alcohol is to you, and before you know what’s happening, he’s turned back and steered you all the way into your marui and laid you down on the bed.

“Here,” he instructs, handing you a small flask of water. “Drink this before you sleep.”

“You’re looking after me,” you smile stupidly. Aonung wants to kick himself for not noticing how tipsy you had been in the distraction of everything, but he just rolls his eyes at your dopiness.

“Well, I didn’t go to all this trouble tonight to just leave you like this,” Aonung says wearily, reaching for one of those black stretchy things you use for your hair and clumsily tying it back for you. “Eywa, you’re just going to have to sleep in this.”

“I wanted to look pretty,” you mumble softly, a small furrow forming between your brows.

Aonung could have sworn those words could have punched the breath out of him – and he fights down a desire to tell you just how pretty you look, how you always look.

Instead, he just gently pats your forehead and whispers, “Just get some sleep.”

You nod obediently, never taking your eyes off his face as he fusses about, straightening your bed, making sure there’s water beside you. But when he turns to leave, you softly whisper out his name.

Aonung turns back. You don’t say anything, just continuing to stare at him. It’s a tense moment of silence, until you finally sigh.

“Goodnight,” you whisper. Aonung doesn’t reply, just giving you a soft smile.

It’s not until Aonung’s back in his own marui, flopping down onto his bed with a groan, does he remember exactly what had happened.

It’s filthy and humiliating, that the second he remembers the moment – the scent and the proximity and the feel of you seated in his lap – his tewng is growing stranglingly tight once more.

This has happens much more than Aonung would ever readily admit. He tries his utmost to not even think about it. But once more, he can’t help but palm himself lightly through the thin fabric of his tewng that has put up quite the struggle tonight.

Eywa, just the thought of you at that party – hair flowing over your bare back, the glow of your skin and the softness of your thighs, breathing in your warm sweet scent, the same one that’s now slowly fading from his skin that you had been so gloriously pressed against.

Fuck.

Really, who is this hurting? he justifies himself as he impatiently tears away his tewng. It’s just to take the edge off. It doesn’t mean anything.

Filthy. Lewd. Wrong.

But he can’t bring himself to process all the copious issues of what he’s doing when everything about you is fresh in his mind, stuck in his mind, and using that young horny man logic that dubiously validates each of these moments, he lets himself sink into those coarse imaginations.

There’s a million of them, layered on top of one another, flooding and racing through his mind.

Ones in which you’re squirming under him, ones in which your soft thighs are nestled tightly around his face. Ones with your head thrown back as you top him, ones where you’re arched against the floor, tears streaming down your sweet, pretty little face as his hips rut into your own.

When he accidentally tightens his grip around himself, he imagines just how much better your hand would feel around his length, all small and silky and smooth.

There’s something just so filthy about this.

You are his little friend - his - but what would you be thinking if you knew he did this?

Even so, he can’t help remembering just how right it felt to have the soft curve of your ass nestled right up against his crotch, and then he’s speeding up with helpless, lewd desperation.

Your lips, all glossed and plump and parted to glorious perfection swim in his mind as he fails to stifle a sharp groan. The thought of them brushing over his own, over his chest, wrapping light and tight and warm around his length does him in with searing speed.

His release, spilling hopelessly and copiously into his tightened fist, blazes with the hot shame of it.

Aonung has felt this familiar embarrassed self-disgust before, quite a familiar after effect of these nights filled with thoughts of you, but this just feels so much… more.

Your words come to cross his mind again; “Why would people be attracted to me?”

The real answer is how could anyone fucking not be.

But that wasn’t entirely satisfactory, because Aonung was fully prepared to murder anyone who had the foolish balls to pursue you.

His little friend.

That same blazing shame doesn’t go away after a restless nights’ sleep.

Aonung wakes up, amidst the unwelcome sunlight filtering into his marui, to find that he can’t bring himself to face you quite yet. Of course, it’s just his luck that when he drags himself up to deal with the impatient hammering at his entrance, he’s met with you.

“Morning!” you say chirpily, which tells him clearly that you’ve mostly forgotten the events of the night before. “Tsireya’s forcing me to come to the beach, and I refuse to go without you.”

Aonung’s about to make some lame excuse, based loosely of his clan duties and his tiredness, but then your words process.

“You will go swimming?” he asks dubiously.

“Yup.”

And that does it.

Aonung has been trying to get you to come swimming for months, and he has to fight that little twinge of jealousy that it’s Tsireya that finally managed to convince you. However, when you bound away to where Tsireya, Rotxo, and the Sullys are waiting, Aonung finds himself following thoughtlessly.

You’re chatting animatedly with Kiri and Neteyam, and Aonung allows his eyes to quickly wander over you as he trails behind the group.

You’ve changed out of your short black clothing, though Aonung is delighted to find that once again, you aren’t hiding as much of your body as you typically do.

The little shorts you are wearing are just that. Little. They barely stretch over the curve of your ass, and ties of bikini bottoms are poking up out of the low waist. The top you’re wearing – a simple white tank – is also perfectly tight enough that Aonung can see the faint outline of a triangular bikini top.

The part that nearly makes his knees buckle is the slim line of your stomach visible between your top and shorts, where he can see the perfect soft squidge of your figure, and the little jiggle of your thighs with every step you take.

When you make it down to the beach, sun warming your skin and the soft ocean lapping against the sand surrounding you, you manage to surprise him further.

You don’t follow the others immediately into the water. You unbutton those little shorts and shimmy them down your body, before reaching up to tug off your top.

Oh.

Fuck.

You really had been right; Aonung had no idea how conspicuous he was.

Suddenly, after all that training of mastering himself, he simply cannot wrench or drag or tear his gaze away from you. Instead, he stands awkward and gaping like an idiot at the sight of you almost completely bare.

After so long of needing his imagination to picture you like this, seeing your body this gloriously bare could damn well killed him. In fact, Aonung’s sure even with your tawtute senses, you would surely know his heart just stopped, his blood heating, his brain stalling.

But you just shoot him a cheeky, knowing grin before innocently asking, “What?”

“Nothing,” Aonung clears his throat, painfully aware of his flushed face. “Should- uh – should we get in?”

You just roll your eyes at him and race in. He doesn’t watch the sway of your body as you slowly go into the water. He doesn’t need to resist the urge to just pick you up again, maybe even help you with your breathing.

He supposes he should be impressed with your swimming, but your size and ill adjustment to swimming in the ocean – especially beside na’vi – slows you down, and eventually he ends up just offering you a hand. He highly suspects that you’re not even swimming, just allowing yourself to be pulled leisurely through the water, but he isn’t going to complain.

You have this adorable little look of awe on your face, as though you thoroughly regret only now coming swimming after months of being begged to. Aonung faintly wonders why you never did come.

After a while, you all swim back to the shallows. The Sully’s, Rotxo and Tsireya are all running and splashing around, and Aonung notices you struggling to tread water (he notices with a small smile that you can’t reach the bottom).

“You good there?” he grins, wading over to you.

“Yep,” you huff, kicking up to keep your head at least above the water.

“Need a hand?” he snickers. “You look like you’re having a little trouble. Do yo-”

“Just get over here skxawng,” you grumble.

The moment he’s in arms reach, you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck and straddled your legs tight around him. You huff a little for breath, resting your face in the crook of his neck, warm breath fanning across his sensitive skin.

Tsireya looks over, and she shoots her brother a small, knowing smile. Aonung just rolls his eyes back, but he finds himself shifting you around his body so he can somewhat cradle you – your body wrapped around his side, supported lightly by one of his arms.

“You know,” Kiri says with delicate mirth, “we should be heading back soon, right Ro?”

“Yeah,” Rotxo agrees, looking equally happy at the sight of you (even if unintentionally so) cuddled against Aonung. “You coming Neteyam?”

“We’ll come too,” Tsireya grins, tugging Lo’ak along behind her.

You watch them all go, still slightly breathless. Aonung has a small suspicion you know exactly why they’re leaving, but you make no effort to shift away from him, and you wave them off.

Tsireya has to give Lo’ak and extra hard tug to pull him away. The Sully boys’ brotherly protection has always been a reason Aonung kept the truth away from you, but he thinks at this point he really just is completely conspicuous.

“Are you alright?” Aonung asks, pulling back slightly to push your head from your face.

And suddenly, he notices something.

There’s none of that fierce, bantery spark that blazes between your eyes. Instead, you’re just staring at him with complete and utter… something.

Aonung has never wanted more that you had a tail and na’vi ears so he can better gage your thoughts, but you’re just completely unreadable.

Your eyes are raking over his face; he can feel their trail burning into his skin as though you were physically touching him. You’re inches away.

He clears his throat.

No no no.

Eventually, you tread out of the water to stretch in the soft sand cast into relieving shade, beneath the shelter of the tropical canopy. Aonung lies down beside you, throat feeling strangely tight.

There is something different. Something off.

And there’s a sinking feeling that tells him things just won’t go back to normal. Which is why he decides he needs to settle this out.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says quietly, staring up at the canopy above.

It’s green.

You give a little hum of acknowledgement.

“What for?” you reply quietly.

“For causing a little scene,” Aonung says quietly.

He counts seventeen little pink flowers in the tree above.

“Right.”

“And cutting you off,” he adds in a mumble.

He thinks there might be several birds hiding between the spindly, delicate fronds.

You don’t reply. He still doesn’t risk a glance at you.

“And for upsetting you.”

There’s another moment of silence. Aonung swears you must be able to hear his heartbeat. You exhale slowly.

“I’m not upset,” you say quietly.

Aonung turns to look at you. You’re also looking up at the canopy, wet hair spilling over the sand, body glittering with the droplets of water still shining on your skin. You swallow.

“You aren’t?” he asks, trying not to sound too relieved. You shake your head slightly, still not turning to meet his gaze.

“Nope,” you sigh, wearily popping the p. “It’s just- um… why did you do it?”

“Do what.”

“The whole thing,” you say, gesturing in front of you. “Of protecting me and making sure I didn’t make a mistake. Plus the… the um…”

Aonung stares in disbelief. He’s never seen you go this long without loudly and shamelessly voicing your opinions. The struggle to get out a single sentence is really quite unnerving for him.

“The whole kill him if he touches me thing,” you blurt in a quick breath, face flushed and eyes refusing to meet his.

It’s Aonung’s turn to blink. He does so in owlish silence, watching the light filtering contentedly through the canopy above while his mind works furiously to find a legitimate answer to your question.

“You are small,” Aonung says finally, carefully tiptoeing around the truth, but really, any more time to think is quite unacceptable given the length of his ponderous silence. “And delicate and sweet. I do not wish anyone-”

“I am not weak,” you interrupt, a small frown on your sweet little face. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

He swallows heavily. Those words feel suddenly painful in his chest.

That’s who he was – he protected you, even if you didn’t know it yet. He was the one that stood by you, stood over you, and that warmth and shade he cast over you meant so much more than you thought.

Eywa, how well he could protect you if you let him.

You must have noticed how those words hit him – how his ears drooped and tail swept dejectedly through the sand.

“Aonung?” you say quietly, propping yourself up on one arm and staring at him. “Is there something bothering you?”

“No,” he says, far too fast to be believable. Your mouth twitches in a wry smile, and you scoot closer.

“You always were a terrible liar,” you whisper. At Aonung’s bitter little huff, your smile widens slightly, before fading entirely. He wants to do anything to bring it back. “At least - you could never convince me.”

“Fine,” Aonung mumbles, resigning himself to the fact that there’s no going back.

He knows you know something’s wrong, and he can tell that this friendship is already crumbling away into something else – something unintelligible and unfathomable to him.

“They are not fit for you, tsawksyul.”

You flinch back, and Aonung wonders faintly if it’s because of the name, or his words, or the harsh desperation with which he spoke them, and he reaches slowly for you. You lean back from him, face twisted with confused hurt.

“Then who is?” you say dully.

“Not anyone here,” Aonung tells you.

Once again, he has no idea how to gage your feelings. It’s strange really, that he’s gone from how lustful and filthy he was last night to how just overwhelmingly… fluffy he feels right now.

But apparently you aren’t finding his words how he intended them, because your face is twisting in a very obvious scowl.

“So… I don’t get anyone,” you say.

Aonung isn’t stupid, he sees the way your eyes are narrowing to indicate the very clear correct answer to your trembly question, but then again, he is stupid when it comes to you.

“You don’t need anyone.”

Instantly he knows that was the wrong thing to say. Your chest seems to swell and your face flushes as you sit upright and glare at him.

“Right,” you snap.

“Have I upset you?” Aonung asks slowly, wondering what he did when his brain feels as though it’s made of jelly.

“Nice observation sherlock,” you huff. “You’d want me to end up all sad and alone with no one to love me, just so I don’t fuck some of your clan mates? What, are you jealous or something? Do you think that you’d be that much better?”

No sooner are the words from your mouth then Aonung’s body betrays him – reacting before his mind can process. But the way he flinches back and flushes makes you freeze, and your eyes widen.

“Well…” he stammers, trying to dig himself out of this stupid hole he got into. “Yes?”

“And why is that,” you huff, standing up on your little legs, barely at his height and fist balled with rage. “You really think you’re that much better than everyone else? I thought you got over your cocky entitlement phase but now here you are, desperate to show that you’re the biggest, hottest thing in the clan.”

Aonung’s brain is too muddled to think. This is all going so, so wrong.

“No!” he says quickly, so desperate to try and speak properly that his voice comes out as something of a shout. You look shocked for a moment, flinched back from him, and he instantly reaches towards you. “I’m sorry-”

“You know,” you say stiffly, stepping out of his reach, “I thought you weren’t like this anymore. God, I wasted so much time, and you only ever started noticing me in this way when you found out I – as an adult woman by the way – was not some little … celibate fucking nun!”

“In what way?” Aonung asks, confused.

You let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a furious growl, then let out an unnerving laugh.

“Are you fucking serious?” you snap. “You’re the most self-centered person I’ve ever met! I thought we grew up, that not everything would be a competition and we could have a mature friendship if we could never be… UGH! But you are genuinely the most infuriating, entitled, interfering, emulous ass I’ve ever had the misfortune to befriend! I mean what is wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Aonung says, frowning.

“Well there obviously fucking is if I love you!”

You freeze. So does he.

Your words – irrevocable, irreversible and so gleamingly inescapable hang in the still, tense air.

The beach is completely empty albeit the faintly lapping waves and drifting shade of the trees, and of course those words. The ones that change everything, break everything, ruin the friendship you have spent years building.

Aonung just sits in dumbfounded, perplexed silence. Breath after breath. He seems to have forgotten how to breathe, and in the strange, almost reminiscently ironic moments he takes to try and figure it out, you’ve turned faintly green, flushed deeper than the flowers above you, then paled in blunt mortification.

“Oh god,” you whisper, covering your face when your brain kicks in and you remember to move. Aonung still hasn’t said anything, and even though he can see that’s breaking you, he just isn’t able to speak. “Please… say something skxawng.”

Silence.

“Oh god,” you say again, shaking your head, lip trembling slight. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything- I’m just going to-”

“I love you too.” 

“Please just forget- wait what?”

There’s a moment when everything stops. The sea seems to stall, the wind dies and the canopy stiffens. Aonung notes that your hair is still being blown gently in some absent breeze.

Your eyes look slightly red and slightly wet and your lips are parted in surprise. The longer Aonung stares at you, the deeper that little frowning furrow between your brows grows. He’s vaguely aware of his heart thumping – so loud and fast that under different circumstances, he may have even been worried about it – but he can’t summon any thoughts into his brain.

“Since when,” you whisper. Your voice is nothing more than a trembly breath, and if Aonung hadn’t been na’vi, if he hadn’t been watching you so intently to gage that your lips moved, he would have still been trapped in this tense silence.

“Since fucking forever,” he groans, rubbing his face tiredly. “I thought you were supposed to be all smart and all-knowing when it came to romance and crushes and shit.”

“Just because you are completely and irrevocably stupidly oblivious,” you scoff, “does not make me a genius in comparison.”

“So we’re just two little lovestruck idiots, then?”

“Guess so.”

There’s a moment of silence before it really does process to both of you. Aonung’s head snaps up, eyes wide and lips stretched with a fat dopey smile only to find yourself already launching yourself into his arms.

When he catches you, he’s sure he’ll never be able to let you go. Your hands reach to cup his face, which seems comically large in comparison, smiling in delighted disbelief before you let out a small, wet laugh.

“God, I love you.”

Aonung doesn’t even respond- barely even processes your words beyond a surge of overwhelming ecstacy, and presses his lips to yours.

Fuck.

Eywa.

How had he managed to go this long without this.

All those moments staring at your lips meant nothing when compared to the actual feel of them; soft, warm, tentative at first as you brush them over his own. There’s something so sweet about you, and he has a blissful idea that you’re melting on his tongue.

Aonung can feel those last tenterhooks of your friendship splintering and tearing apart at the feeling of your lips against his.

Well, good riddance.

Aonung’s hand finds its way into your hair, hand resting steadily on the back of your neck. Your mouth is small, cushioned by those soft warm lips, but you open your mouth wide and eager, hungry and tentative and exploratory and everything in between.

You’re making all these little huffy noises, as though desperate for breath but unable to pull away from him. When your smooth, small body shifts to press itself closer against him, Aonung groans unrestrainedly into your mouth, and he swears to Eywa you could kill him.

When he’d imagined this – during those late nights hidden deep in his marui fisting his cock – you’d been different. Sometimes you’d be sweet and nervous and tentative, at others you’d be desperate and ravenous and impatient.

Nothing could have prepared you for this, not even his copious, overwhelming dreams and hopes and desires for this. Nothing could have readied him to have you here and now, lips against his, tongue pressed against his, bodies tight against one another.

He’s so hard he thinks he might actually die, but he’ll be damned to pull away to deal with his own needs. All that matters now, all that exists right now is you, your scent, your lips, your body all beside him and around him and so hungry for him.

When he’s worried you’re quite about to suffocate, he slides his lips sideways to press hungry kisses along your jaw. You let out small, breathy gasps, fingers tangling in his hair, arms clinging tight around his neck to steady yourself as his lips find their way steadily back to you.

As your lips smash onto his once more, Aonung marvels at the way his hand – splayed out to hold you up – spans across the whole damn length of your back. When his fingers lightly trace their way up your spine, you shiver against him, soothed by his hand carding gently through your hair.

Your tongue licks lightly over his fangs, and Aonung, surprised, jerks back at the strange sensitivity. That felt different, and he wonders faintly how in all the meaningless, irrelevant kisses he’s shared in his lifetime, that’s never happened before, or at least made him feel so sensitive.

“You good?” you smile against his lips, but he suspects it’s more of a smirk. You know exactly what you’re doing.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling breathless and completely inflamed. “Yeah… I’m good.”

Your tongue teases over his fangs again. When he moans shamelessly back into your mouth, you giggle and cuddle him closer. Aonung laughs with you. It’s an almost painful relief from the overwhelming heat of the moment.

You’re still breathing heavily with that wide smile on your face when you stop giggling, but when Aonung meets your gaze, he can’t read your expression. He thinks for a moment you’re going to push him back, tell him to slow down, but then your gaze darkens ominously.

“Let’s get back,” you breathe exultantly.

“Why-”

“Because I don’t really feel like fucking for the first time with you on the sand of an exposed beach,” you grin.

“So we’re going to fuck?” Aonung asks hopefully, the corners of his mouth curling with delight.

“Up to you,” you grin, standing up and backing away from him in the direction of the village. “I mean, you could stay here in the shade, listen to the pretty birdies and watch the ocean-”

You cut off with a delighted giggle as Aonung sweeps you up as though you weigh nothing and tears off towards the village.

He ignores the stares of the clan as he storms his way towards his marui, though he must admit you must be quite the sight – you nearly completely bare in your little swimsuit, bundled up in his arms and shifty smiles stretched wide across your faces.

He practically crashes into his marui, not bothering to slip his way through the woven entrance but bursting through it and kicking it carelessly back into place with his tail.

You laugh – sweet and clear and loud – as he tosses you against the bed and crawls over to you. There’s barely a thought in his brain than you, with your breathy little gasps and hands raking through his hair and soft, warm lips.

When he buries his nose in the soft, exposed crook between your shoulder and neck, you jolt in surprise. You smell so sweet. Aonung wonders vaguely if he’s in heaven, surrounded by your arms encircling him, buried and deluged in your warm, sweet scent.

He’s extremely pleased to note you’re already starting to smell like him – a faint trace of sea breeze and amber noticeable on you, but he isn’t about to stop until you smell of nothing but him, until every person in this clan can see his plain mark on you, know that you are his and his alone.

And then he can’t stop himself from sinking his fangs lightly into that warm exposed skin.

You instantly squirm underneath him, arching up against him with a surprised gasp. You are just so soft, and his teeth sink with impossible ease into your neck. No sooner has he done it then he’s lightly licking the small pearls of blood away and pressing a light kiss for good measure.

And then he does it again. And again – adorning you with a necklace of gleaming ruby bites, better than any jewellery he would make, prettier than any pearls or shells he would collect. He doesn’t know if you understand them, that claim and those marks, but he’ll make sure you know that you’re his.

“Aonung,” you gasp, gripping at his face to tug him away and force him to look at you. “Aonung!”

“Yes?” he asks, slightly irritated you stopped him from continuing.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathe, pupils blown wide, chest heaving with the desperation of your gasps, face flushed in glorious exultation.

“Not yet tsawksyul,” he says. A small glare is forming in your eyes, and he nearly laughs at your ravenous impatience. “You are not ready yet.”

“Yes I am,” you snap, scowling at him. “I’ve taken na’vi men before, just-”

“Patience,” he whispers, hand reaching up to rest against your face, thumb brushing over your frowning lips.

You look like you’re about to shout at him when Aonung’s hand leaves your face and finds it’s way to the little knots on the side of your bikini.

“Is this alright?” he asks gently. No sooner are the words out of his mouth then you’re nodding with irritated fervour, and he pulls lightly on the strings and slides away your bottoms.

Fuck.

His eyes are glued to that paradise between your legs, the one he’s been dreaming about for months. Vaguely and almost unconsciously, he decides when he dies, he’d prefer this heaven over anything else.  His eyes quickly flicks up to you, and you must see something in his darkened, suddenly insatiable gaze, because your face is quickly flushing and your legs are squeezing shut.

“Do you want this tsawksyul?” he asks in a low voice, retracting from your body slightly so you don’t feel uncomfortable.

“Ye- yes,” you mutter, face turning an adorable pink colour.

“Are you sure,” he presses gently, reaching out to direct your gaze back to his. “We can do something else- we don’t have to-”

“No!” you gasp, eyes widening at those words. “No- I want this.”

“You have to tell me,” Aonung whispers, pressing a kiss to the perfect plush of your inner thighs, “if you don’t like anything. You have to say if you want to stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” you breathe, and he grins.

When he finally dives between your legs, it’s without the intent of ever resurfacing. You let out a surprised little gasp as he muscles his way between your pretty thighs, forcing them further apart from that meager gap you thought would satiate him.

He licks a long, tantalising stripe up your puffy lips, eyes practically rolling back at the sweet, heady taste of you, exploding over his tongue just as he spent so long dreaming about. At your reaction – accidentally bucking your little hips into his face with a choked gasp – he can guess you hadn’t been expecting the rough texture of his tongue.

He looks experimentally up at you, and you glare straight back with an impatient, expectant look on your usually sweet little face.

Fuck yes.

He sucks lightly and you practically shriek, hands tearing for something to grab onto. Unfortunately, your fingers find purchase closing around his hair – curls and kuru and all – and you tug.

Neither of you expected that groan ripped from him, the sound vibrating against you in a way that has your eyes rolling and moaning in glorious response. Aonung, who had already thoughtlessly been rutting his own hips against the ground in search of any salvation from that insatiable ache in his core, does not miss that warning heat start to coil in his abdomen.

But ever set on pleasing you, he does not lapse for a moment and ignores his own unravelling as you continue to desperately tug at his kuru. You’re already squirming and gasping for breath – only making hungry little moans and letting slip little gasps of curses and don’t stops.

He, in fact, has no intention of stopping soon. Not when you’re making all these pretty little noises, not when your own pleasure – the sounds and taste and scent of it – is nearly tipping him over the edge.

He can tell you’re close, and that’s what prompts him to slowly slide a finger into your soaked heat. With a choked moan your hand fists tighter around his hair. Aonung marvels at just how tight you are, clenching around his fingers like a vice as you struggle to adjust to his finger.

He vaguely revels in the thought of how amazing you’d feel, wrapped all tight and warm against his cock, and he moans into you.

When he knows you’re about to tip over the edge, when your eyes are rolling and your moans are becoming less words and more desperate pleading noises, he circles his tongue around your clit and sucks.

You come undone with a cry, clenching around his finger so much he can feel your whole heat aching against his ravenously laving tongue.

It’s only when your thighs (no doubt of their own accord) shut tight around his face in a glorious squeeze of soft, perfect squidge.

He isn’t sure why that’s what does it – though it is paired with your tugs on his kuru and his mindlessly rutting hips – but then he’s also pushed over that brink with a snarl you hardly even notice, too high on your own cresting pleasure.

But he has no time for shame or mortification at his early release, never even touched by you, because really, it’s a marvel it hadn’t happened earlier.

You’ve barely come down from your high when you notice Aonung still buried contentedly between your closed thighs.

“A- Aonung,” you pant, left breathless by your orgasm and the glorious sight of your best friend, all perfect and pretty, having the goddamn time of his life.

His only reply is to lightly tap the side of your thighs and mumble against your aching cunt, “Open these a little wider for me, tsawksyul.”

He vaguely notes your mouth drop open in surprise before he’s diverting his full attention to that heaven between your thighs. Your little huff of impatient is batted with your own gasp, but you – stubborn as ever – continue the struggle of attempting speech, “You-”

“Just one more,” he coaxes, licking another long stripe so his tongue catches on your overstimulated clit. Your defeated little groan is music to his ears, and a wide grip is stretched over his face as he victoriously resubmerges.

Your first orgasm has barely abated before your second is hurtling nearer with haphazard enthusiasm.

You’re whining and squirming from the overstimulation, but your desperate moans are punctuated with little gasps of don’t stop and encouraging tugs on his hair.

Aonung’s moaning into you, enjoying this quite as much as you are. His hands are holding you close by your soft plush of your thighs, tail sweeping and thumping behind him as he inevitably grows rock hard again, spurred by your euphoria.

All that exists is you. You’re so fucking wet, practically soaking into his mouth. All he can see and hear and taste is you, hips rutting against his face, hands clawing at his hair, head thrown back and moans spilling out of your gleaming, parted lips.

His jaw is aching in delicious wearing. The pain is satisfying in a strange way, and he contents himself with the knowledge he’s working.

It isn’t exactly best-friendly; the thoughts he’s having. He sincerely doubts his brain has never been this filthy, flying through all the lewd possibilities while he has you here.

“Aonung!” you slur out, thighs twitching over his shoulders as you near your high. “you need- slow down - ‘s too much.”

“You’re doing so well,” he hums against you, still maintaining his steady (and somewhat overzealous) pace.

Again, when he notices how close you are, he sucks your whole cunt into his mouth, tongue lapping at your little swollen clit as he sucks hungrily at you.

Then once again, your thighs are tensing and your moans are slurring into unintelligible whines. Your grip on his hair is iron as you gasp your way through your second high, eyes wide and lips parted as you heave for shaky, desperate breath.

Once you come down, you push at his head, tugging his hair away from your overstimulated cunt and trying to pull him back up to you.

“God- Aonung!”

Finally he relents, sitting up with a delighted little grin. You are also wearing a stupid little smile, though you look distinctly dazed and ruffled. Aonung feels a little surge of pride.

“Oh my…” you gape, eyes wide in bewilderment as you scan over him. His face is all shiny and gleaming and slicked, and you let out a little giggle as you reach out to try and wipe some of it away. “Oh my god- I’m so sorry.”

Aonung laughs with you, not in the least bothered by the mess of his face. Instead, he takes your hands in his and peppers light kisses up your arms and back towards your neck, where he is pleased to see his various gleaming bites and hickeys ornamented into your soft skin. You giggle again.

“Aonung?” you ask gently, a small smile curling at the edge of your voice.

“Mm?” he grunts, nipping another ruby bite into your collar.

“Care to fuck me now?”

Aonung pulls away an inch, trying to hide his obvious arousal as he studies your rosy grinning face.

“Are you sure?” he questions gently. “I mean you just-”

His voice dies in his throat when you reach up lightly to – tortuously slowly – pull at the strings of your top. He watches the top slide away without breath, and only when you’ve impatiently tossed it aside and grinned at him does he dare to move.

A complete sense of unreality washes over him. After imagining this moment for so long, it seems strange he cannot think of anything to do but worshipfully admire you.

He is pleased to note that, in fact, your breasts are just as soft and plush as the rest of you. They are round and full and slightly squishy in a way completely unlike na’vi, and he’s never been gladder that your aren’t just muscle, that your small body is so perfectly squidgy.

With a nod of consent from you, Aonung reaches lifts you lightly up to place you over his lap. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest, still looking a little rumpled and dazed, but he doesn’t miss that dark, mischevious gleam in your eyes as you stare down at him.

The second you’re balanced, your hand is reaching out to the tent of his tewng. You study him with greed, drinking in the sight of his arousal as though it’s what you need to live. He’s a little mortified now, but he hopes that you think the slick of your hips slightly rocking against his is why his tewng is soaked.

Your hand reaches out to trace along the edge of his tewng, eyes dark with frustrated, hungry impatience.

“Oh baby,” you whisper, your mouth twisted in strange ecstasy as you meet his flushed gaze. “Was this all for me?”

Before he can answer – though he doesn’t think he’d even be able to speak with you settled so perfectly over him – your hips slide back a little so your little palm settles right over his hardened length.

“Take these off.”

“Are you su-” Aonung starts to say, before you rock right up against his pained length and his voice stumbles off.

“Yes,” you whisper impatiently. “It’s not fair that I’m here all naked and you still get clothes.”

“I’m basically already naked and you wear clothes that cover much more than mine every day,” he protests.

“What, do you want me to get you a hoodie too,” you snap, and he knows you’re growing more frustrated and impatient with the effort of grinding against him.

He laughs, and you scowl fiercely at him.

“Just take it off Ao, I wanna make you feel good too.”

Those words practically punch a whole in him, and he feels another surge of unbearable affection for you, which is promptly murdered as you stop your movements in protest.

“You already did, tsawksyul,” he whispers.

“Not properly,” you press. “I want to do it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Your hips rock hard against his, your bare cunt against his cock covered by that ridiculous tewng, and he feels his self-control slipping away. You must sense it too, because you’re grinning and shifting up to help him pull the last restraint between the two of you away. The tewng is thrown away with careless abandon to lie somewhere far away; there are no clothes needed here.

The small gasp you let out when you finally see him all bare and desperate and hungry makes Aonung’s heart thud painfully in his chest.

“Fuck yes.”

Your words explode from you as though you didn’t mean to say them, and a moment later you’re flushing with hot embarrassment. Aonung laughs lightly and you smile bashfully with an adorable little nose scrunch, before he’s lifting you back onto him again.

It’s bare – skin on glorious skin.

He needs to breathe for a moment, ears flattening against his head and eyes falling shut in dark pleasure. You’re so soft – thighs either side of him, breasts bouncing at the slightest movement – but you’re also so wet and warm and slightly sticky that he thinks you’re killing him.

It becomes painfully evident to him that the moment his cock pushes inside you, he’ll be fighting for his life to not come instantly. Again.

He always knew patience wasn’t your strong suit, but you’re growing more and more frustrated and he finally pulls his babbling brain together enough to flip you over to lie beneath him and align himself to your entrance.

With a small, almost pleading cry from you, with his heart thudding loud enough for you to hear, he presses in.

You’re clenching around him so tight, barely even an inch in. You’re tighter than he ever imagined, and he feels like he’s being coddled in searing perfection, so much so that he can hardly breathe as he slowly starts to push in.

When you let out a hoarse whine – the stretch is evident even to him – Aonung winces. He doesn’t want to hurt you, and the thought of you in pain is too much for him to bear. He settles himself with pulling you against him, soothingly stroking your hair.

He can’t look away from where you’re swallowing him whole. It’s a fucking addiction, a new drug. Even the sight of you slowly struggling to take him would be enough to send him over the edge, and he grits his teeth so he doesn’t come instantly and mortifyingly. Again.

And then finally, Aonung’s pushing past that tight ring of resistance and into your velvety heat.

He’s dying. He has to be. Because there’s no damn way he didn’t just go to paradise.

The breath is punched out of him in a low, desperate growl, his hands clawing into the ground to steady himself, to let you adjust, to not just completely lose his mind and bury himself deep into you.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, your voice no more than a desperate, filthy whimper as you look down. The sight of the bulge in your stomach drives Aonung fucking crazy, and he has to physically grip himself back from just slamming straight into you. “You’re all the way here.”

“Taking me so well syulang,” Aonung praises, eyes hazy with the strain and face flushed in the euphoric pleasure of your body around his. “Doing so good for me.”

He doesn’t miss the way you clench around him at the praise, the way your cheeks blush and you bite back a small, helpless moan. A good thing to know for later, and he makes a mental note to shower you in so much praise you don’t know what to do with it.

But in the meantime, he can hardly breathe through the effort of holding himself back. You’re gripping him so damn tight he thinks you might actually strangle him, the overwhelming pleasure and anticipation practically choking the breath out of him.

Your face is all twisted and screwed up, and Aonung doesn’t need to be a genius to see you’re in pain. He holds you close, whispering endless praise of how well you’re doing while reaching down to rub gentle circles on your overstimulated clit as he continues the painstaking, tortuous ascent into the heaven between your legs.

“Oh god,” you whimper, resting your limp head against Aonung’s chest, heaving for breath as you try your utmost to adjust to him. “Oh god, Aonung.”

The sound of his name rumbled from deep within your chest, coarse and raw and desperate just tips him just over the edge of mastering his control. His muscles tense as your nails dig into his chest, hips flexing somewhat and accidentally knocking into you, and you let out a strangled cry.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, reaching to cuddle you in close, stroking your hair comfortingly. “You’re doing so well, tsawksyul.”

The words fall on practically deaf ears. You’re so flushed and radiant and ravenous that he doubts you’re even thinking straight, your face adorned with a somewhat manically exultant smile and rolling eyes as he slowly presses even further into you.

You’re clenching around him so impossibly tight, whimpering and moaning as he rocks several more inches into you. He doesn’t know what to make of your quiet sobs, whether they’re of pain or pleasure or just hungry impatience, but he comforts you nonetheless by settling his thumb gently over your clit.

Aonung couldn’t care less about how vocal he is, whispering endless praise, snarling out small curses, rumbling desperate groans against the skin of your bare neck, which is now adorned with gleaming hickeys and several smug little bites.

“Eywa, they didn’t do anything to deserve you tsawksyul,” Aonung groans, still rocking another inch into you. You give a weak, wet chuckle, and he presses a kiss to your shining forehead. “You don’t need any of them ever again, you got that? You won’t ever need anyone else.”

“Ye- yes.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he groans, hardly even aware of what he’s saying anymore. “Whatever you need, I’ll always be there with you.”

“Ao- Aonung?” you gasp, steadying yourself with a grip on his arms. “I wa- I want-”

“I know, I know,” Aonung soothes you, finally bottoming out inside you. There’s no way he would have fit all of himself in there, but he isn’t greedy, particularly when the part you could take is coddled so warm and wet and tight. “I’ve got you.”

It takes everything in him not to let loose immediately.

It’s with gentle words and a hand splayed out across your back to steady you that he pulls out an inch or so before rocking back in.

The effect is instant. You let out a strangled, lewd, filthy noise, eyes widening to round moons and mouth opening in almost dumbification. He makes a deep groan in response, pulling out again, pushing back in again, and the last pretences of friendship are shattered.

His lips find their way to your face, forehead clumsily pressed against your much smaller one, hands holding you gently – a softness at complete odds to the way he’s fucking you.

It feels sinful – the way this is so perfectly right, to have his best friend like this, all pretty and babbling and teary on his thick length.

He moans shamelessly every time his gaze passes over you – all stretched and beautiful – around him, taking everything he gives you.

The sounds you’re making are mingled pleading and sobbing, still shot through with greedy hunger. Each moan and whine and sob strike deep in him, hand in hand with the tears forming in your shining eyes.

Eywa, you’re so much tighter than he ever imagined – ever dreamed of. He’s pretty sure he tells you, but those words are lost in the stream of mingled praise and groaned curses pouring from him as he revels in the pleasure of you and you alone.

The sight of your tits bouncing at each thrust is hypnotic, and then finally his restraint is crumbling, and he dives eagerly forward to take one of them into his mouth.

You arch with a surprise cry as his mouth locks around your breast, tongue flicking over your peaked nipple, fangs trailing over your soft skin now slightly shining with the heat of his mouth. He ignores the contortion for him to do it – all discomfort is disregarded at the sounds of your pretty little whines.

He knew from the start he wasn’t going to last long, but he can see that you clearly aren’t going to either.

Your eyes are rolling, heaving for breath in the rare moments you aren’t cursing or babbling or moaning. Your hands and clutching for support, anything to cling to, something to anchor yourself so he doesn’t almost fuck you straight through the bed.

Aonung vaguely acknowledges (in some dimly functioning part of his brain), that perhaps he might be a little worked up. He’s wanted this for so long, thought about this so many times, imagined and replayed and perfected the vision of this moment, that there’s no slowing down now.

Nothing – not one of his filthiest imaginations, not one of his raunchiest desires – could compare to this. To you.

And then your mouth is opening in a hoarse, desperate cry, your fingers are clawing into the tensed muscles of his shoulders, your cunt is clenching so tight around him it’s bordering on sinful pain.

He reaches to rub circles on your poor, swollen, throbbing clit, and you practically scream.

“Fuck, fuck fuck- oh god-” you sob, shaking as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“I know, I got you,” Aonung whispers against your sweat-damp skin. He doubts you can even hear him, and he isn’t even sure he’s physically speaking all the words rushing through his brain.

It seems to almost go forever, and there isn’t a single second in which Aonung wants it to stop. You look so pretty writhing beneath him, clenching around him, panting for him, sobbing because of him, and when it finally seems to slow down, his own pleasure crests.

He’s grinning against your throat, so fucking pleased with himself. He’s so proud of the way you took him that he’s actually about to die, and when he moves to pull out, your nails dig into his arm and you shake your head furiously.

That’s that.

It all snaps in a final sort of conflagration, waves of pleasure and delight and ecstasy and overwhelming, unbearable euphoria rocking over him, over both of you, as he loses control and buries himself with a positive roar in your still clenching warmth.

He’s hardly aware of where he is, though he can vaguely hear moans and whines and curses he guesses may be his, though he can see himself filling you up to the point it’s spilling out the sides and onto your soft, shining thighs.

Aonung just allows himself a moment of selfish indulgence, of sinfully glorious exultation. Nothing matters, nothing even exists, beyond you.

When he flops onto you, shaking with heavy breaths, exultance coursing through his veins, he doesn’t bother to pull out.

You’re still so tight and strangely comforting all wrapped around him, pulsing in the glorious, tortuous aftershocks of your final climax. You don’t protest – though he’s careful to angle his body to not completely crush you.

You let him lie in delighted, satiated silence, tail sweeping happily behind him on the woven floor, head pillowed against the soft curve of your breasts, dimly admiring all the marks he left across your smooth skin.

You’re also trying to steady your breath, absently anchoring yourself to the present by fiddling with the woven cord of his necklace. Aonung notices the curved tooth is almost as large as your whole hand, and a stupid surge of affection wells in his heart.

Here you are, the prettiest little thing he’s ever seen, his best friend, seconds after the most lewd, intimate moment of your lives. What did he ever do to deserve even befriending you, let alone be your personal blanket after he may or may not have fucked you damn boneless?

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, when he’s regained enough breath to properly process your limp, heaving form.

You smile weakly and shake your head, saying, “I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

“Good,” Aonung grins, shifting to nuzzle closer against your soft skin. “You won’t need anyone else ever again.”

“Oh, really?” you roll your eyes, but he doesn’t miss the way you can’t stop smiling. A moment later your hands are moving to cup his face, and he smiles back at you.

“Can I kiss you, tsawksyul?”

You don’t respond to his question for a moment, staring at him with lips parted in absolute disbelief before a loud, delighted laugh is rocked out of your little body. He frowns, confused.

“What?”

“You just fucked me near boneless,” you laugh, stroking his face affectionately, “and now you’re asking if you can kiss me?”

“Yes…?” he replies, brows furrowed. Your laughter fades and a small smile is left on your small, rosy face.

“Yes,” you smile, cheeks crinkling and eyes bright with strangely overwhelmed joy. “Yes, you can kiss me.”

And he does.

Different to before, not just full of lust and hunger and deep-rooted desperation fuelled by months of desire and affection. This is gentle, sweet, and a soft embodiment of all the warm fluffiness he harbours for you, his little tsawksyul.

He can feel your lips smiling against his own, your little heartbeat thumping against his chest as he cuddles you closer, arm wrapping protectively over you and tail draping lightly over your legs.

Then you’re giggling against him and he’s laughing with you and all the heaviness of the moment before is fading.

He realises that there had been a small naggling part in the back of his brain, wondering what would happened when you finished, when the heat and desire was gone, worried that perhaps it was just the arousal or something that was attracting you to him.

But this is the same then ever – albeit you’re naked. And in love.

Aonung smiles.

“I love you.”

You whisper the words back against his lips, legs wrapping around him to snuggle closer. He faintly dreads the moment you’ll have to pull away, but contents himself to the fact that he can cuddle you again tomorrow and the day after.

So he settles back, peppering you with kisses and light praise. After a few moments, when your breath has properly returned, you exchange some happy prediction for everyone’s reaction to you and him. He finds he couldn’t care less.

Eywa, he’s so happy to have you here.

His little friend.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

Tagging my darlings: @hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul @blue-slxt @neteyamssyulang @theunfortunateplace @lala-1516 @strongheartneteyam @kiskso @deadpool15 @vampirefilmlover @tysirya @universal-s1ut Please let me know if you'd also like to be added to the taglist :)

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𖥔

summary ; rafe begins to push you away when he realises the true nature of his feelings towards you

pairing ; rafe cameron x kook turned pogue!fem!reader

notes ; this series will contain mature themes, such as : p in v sex, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), swearing, physical altercations, potential nightmares and anxiety, arguments, drinking and drugs. if i forgot any please let me know.

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

summer nights in the outer banks always felt like a mist of nostalgia washing over you as you ventured to the boneyard. the humidity was high, and the stars were bright. speckling across the night sky like a blanket of magic, each holding a promise to return the next day like they had every other.

tonight’s party had passed by in a flurry, whisking you away with your friends for a night of unconventional fun. just the way you liked it.

the boys were up to mischief, as per usual, as they took part in numerous bets and dares to see who was the ‘best pogue’ while sarah dragged you and kie to the bonfire for a dance. and despite the fact that you had spent most of the night in high spirits, you couldn’t help the sudden plunge of morale as you watched john b sneak up behind sarah and wrap his arms around her.

the two of them holding each other close and swaying to the music as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. it made your heart heavy knowing how badly you both craved and desired the love that they so openly shared with the world.

“hey, i have a question..." jj declares after the six of you had found somewhere quiet to hunker down away from the general vicinity of the party, and with a joint in his hand, he moves to lay his head in your lap as he gazes up at the night sky.

“what now?” kie rolls her eyes, waiting to hear what high-induced thoughts the blond had conjured up

“if oranges are called… oranges, why aren't lemons called… yellows?" silence fell over you all as you tried to hold back your laughter,swapping confused looks, only to eventually give in.

“okay. i think you've had enough of that for tonight,” pope grabs the joint from jj’s hand, despite his protests, and takes a puff for himself before passing it to john b.

“agreed. i think i’m getting a contact high just from being near you,” you laugh softly.

he lets out a small gasp, clutching at his chest as though he were wounded, “you should be grateful.”

“yeah, okay, j,” you shake your head, laughing, and ruffle his hair before turning to the others to ask, “hey, does anyone have the time?”

pope’s the first to check his watch, “almost midnight.”

“shit…” you groan quietly and throw your head to the side, sinking into sarah’s shoulder for a moment, “i’ve gotta go. are we still meeting before the dinner tomorrow?”

“yeah, of course.” sarah nods, knowing that the question was intended for her and kie.

picking yourself up and dusting the sand off your shorts, you swing your bag over your shoulder and wave goodbye to your friends. they blow you kisses as you start to walk away, shouting out a jumbled mess of their own goodbyes, but nothing was more distinct than jj's "see ya tomorrow, bubba!"

making your way through the remainder of the party, a group of kooks pass you by, each of them narrowing their eyes and one even blatantly whispering about you. your family’s history wasn’t uncommon knowledge on the island, and so, unlike the pogues, a lot of the kooks didn’t want to be seen hanging out with a ‘half-breed’, as they would sometimes call you.

like kie, your parents came from two different worlds, but unfortunately for them, they didn’t have quite the happy ending that the carrera’s did. so now you live with your mom and her new husband with all the other figure eight trust fund babies, but you weren’t really one of them — you never would be.

“y/n!” a voice calls your name, and you turn just in time to see topper wrap his arm around your shoulders. the strong scent of alcohol consuming your senses, and you sway off-balance from the impact of his weight.

“hey, top,” you pat his chest affably.

“hey, we’re friends, right?” he smiles drunkenly this time, and a slight hum leaves his lips.

you knew the question was of good nature, and you didn’t dislike topper, but he wasn’t exactly your favourite person either. so, not wanting to hurt his feelings while he clearly wasn’t all there, you decide to indulge him a little, “of course we are, buddy.”

“it’s just… i know you hang out with the pogues, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends? i’ve always been nice to you, and i know kelce thinks you’re cool, but rafe, he’s a tough one. he really hates pogues, and you’re like choosing to be-”

“topper, let’s go, man!” kelce shouts as he makes his way over to you, and a few steps behind him staggered along rafe cameron, “some of us are going back to mine.”

seemingly frustrated, kelce tries to get his friend to leave while rafe appears far more interested in the cup between his lips. when he does eventually look up at topper, his eyes fall on you under his friend’s arm for a moment before he runs a hand across his forehead and looks away as though he hadn’t paid you any attention at all.

“maybe you should get him a leash?” the suggestion falls from your lips, and from behind the cup in his hand, you swore you saw rafe smirk. though, it’s gone faster than it had appeared.

kelce lets out a soft chuckle, “don’t tempt me.”

“hey, y/n, why don’t you come with us?” topper turns to you with more enthusiasm than you could handle on a good day. like a golden retriever that was just given his favourite ball.

“as tempting as that sounds... i will have to pass.” removing his arm, you push him towards kelce, who reluctantly catches him.

“why not? it’ll be fun, and kelce and rafe will be there!”

“actually, i’ve, uh, i’ve got somewhere to be,” rafe discloses, taking the last sip of his drink before throwing the empty cup into the trash pile and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “so, i’m going to have to skip on tonight too.”

not wanting to stick around for the conversation about to be had, which would mostly consist of topper whining for rafe to go with them, you take your leave from the trio, “alright. well, i’m going to go. you boys have fun.” and as you pass through them, your arm accidentally brushes against rafe.

you don't think much of it, but the small graze seemed to have attracted his attention, because when you look back, his eyes are already watching you walk away.

the air was no longer sticky as you walked towards the main road. the temperature had dropped enough to cause an array of bumps on your arms and you cursed yourself for not bringing a jacket. the coolness nipped at your skin, and you helplessly wrapped your arms around yourself to gather as much warmth as possible.

the street was quiet, other than the distant sound of music from the boneyard and the occasional bark from a neighbourhood dog. the sky was dark with nothing but the stars helping guide you home, which only made it more noticeable when a set of headlights turned into the street. the sound of an engine began to approach you, slowing to meet your side before eventually coming to a stop.

“y'know, it’s at least an hour walk back to figure eight, right?” the driver points out, and an undeniable smirk tugs at the corner of your lips before you turn to see rafe leaning his head out the open window.

“really?” you retort, cocking your head to the side. “... what took you so long then?”

rafe licks his lips to try and downplay the smile on his face as you near the car, his eyes trailing up and down your body, "well, you know how it is?"

"topper wouldn't shut up," you say in unison, scrunching up your face as you nod.

"i guess that means i'll just have to make it up to you," he looks you up and down once more, his eyes lingering on the skin surrounding your chest and noting how the smallest cherubs of your nipples were poking through your bikini top.

smiling coyly, you sink towards him, pushing a hand to run across the stubbled hair on his head, and press a chaste kiss to his lips, "you better." your words muffle against him.

he hums with approval, a smug look on his face as you pull his bottom lip between yours, giving it a small tug, "you better hurry up and get in then."

you scrunch your nose at him before running around the other side of the car, and it doesn't take long at all for the two of you to reunite with the comforts of rafe's bedroom. the familiar scent of his vanilla lotion, cologne, and a hint of tobacco filling your senses the second he opens the door, and what was once a relevantly clean floor was now being littered with discarded clothing.

his fingers were gentle as they danced across your skin, loosening the knot in the back of your bikini with ease, before hoisting you up around his waist and leading you to his bed where he places you down atop his cotton sheets. his fingers make haste to remove the last pieces of your clothing as he peppers sweet kisses along your jawline, down to your neck.

rafe's kisses were reverent, his touch worshipping, as he slowly revealed every last piece of you. like a precious gift being unwrapped for all to see, but only rafe got the pleasure of doing so.

his breath is hot as he traipses his kisses further down your chest, and his lips soft as he presses them perfectly around the nubs of your breasts. flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin and erupting a whirlwind of rampant butterflies in your stomach.

"god, look at you," he mumbles, a hand now rolling down your waist, your thigh, stopping just shy of where you needed him the most. you needed to feel him, needed him to touch you, and he knew it. he could tell by the way your hips were ever so slightly bucking up to try and reach his hand. "so needy, baby."

smirking, he slowly glides his fingers over your clit and then begins working small torturous circles over it. your chest starts to rise and fall, the breathe being pulled from your lungs, and rafe pushes the side of his other hand into your mouth to help muffle your moans.

it's then that he presses two fingers inside you, letting his thumb continue to work you as he slowly pumps them in and out. your hips jut up, the pleasure working it's way through you until you couldn't bare it much longer. then it stops.

"rafe..." you whine, panting.

"what? you really think i'm going to waste the chance to have you cum around me?" he meets your face, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking your juices off of them, "not when you taste this sweet."

then, without warning, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his lap. letting nothing else stand between you both, he takes your mouth in a heated kiss. his tongue teasing you skilfully until you're left breathless. you could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only made you want him more.

with one hand gripping at your thigh, he uses the other to give himself a few pumps before swiping along your slit to gather your wetness. you jolt as the tip of his cock touches your clit, which he can't help but snicker at, and he slowly starts to push himself in.

rafe was big, there was no denying that, and you would have to bury your head in his shoulder from time to time to stop yourself from crying out as you sink down on him. you could feel him everywhere, and while you didn't have anything to compare it to, you had never felt so full in your life than when rafe was inside you.

it takes a moment to adjust but once he starts moving, all the pressure that had built up quickly turns into pleasure. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close to you as you possibly could, your chests moving together as one as he maintains his rhythm. you try to kiss him, but he feels too good inside that all you can do is let out breathy moans.

his thumb moves down to work your clit once more, adding to the pleasure tightening and compressing within your stomach. waves of ecstasy taking over your body as you succumb to your high while rafe tries his best not to cum in you.

you press your head against him as your orgasm rolls through your body, your walls clenching around him and daring to push him over the edge, "fuck, i love watching you cum."

you notice the way his pupils had dilated as he stares up at you now, and you press your lips to his as you slowly lift yourself off of him, immediately feeling empty inside.

"told you i'd make it up to you," he stretches his neck as he leans back to rest on his elbows, closing his eyes long enough for you to work your way down to his waist and take him in your mouth.

he was still so hard, and creamy from being inside you, that the second your lips came in contact, his head lulled back with a sigh. he was already so close to the edge that it didn't take long for him to blow his load in your mouth. and you didn’t waste a drop.

after recollecting yourself, rafe throws you one of his t-shirts to put on and you make yourself comfortable against the headboard of his bed. he, however, instinctively moves to rest his head in your lap, and your fingers idly run circles on his head.

whenever you were with rafe, it felt like all of your problems simply washed away. he made you feel things you never had before. he made you feel alive. and while you loved spending as much time with him as possible, there was always a bittersweet feeling gnawing at you, reminding you that none of this was real, because your time together always had to come to an end.

it was always easier to just rip off the band aid rather than to let it fester until it consumed your every thought.

"you okay?" rafe asks, taking notice of how quiet and spacey you were being. you nod, not wanting to turn this into anything. "you can tell me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand this time.

it was the small gestures like that that made it all the more difficult to keep sneaking around with him. you knew you could never tell him how you were really feeling but the longer you had to lie to your friends or hide away like he was ashamed to be seen with you, the more you wondered if this was how things would always be with him.

he had told you from the start that he had too much going on to be able to commit to anything or make promises he knew he couldn't keep, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. and no matter how many times he tried to reassure you that this wasn't just sex for him, he would always follow up with the fact that he couldn't let himself get carried away. not when ward was watching his every move.

“it’s fine, really,” leaning down, you press another kiss to his lips and then to his nose, “i promise.”

reluctant to believe you, he eventually nods before moving into your touch and nuzzling his face into yours as he kisses you once more. his hands move to guide you as your breath becomes ragged, and just as you’re about to get lost in him once more, you pull away, knowing that if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

between breaths, you whisper, “it’s late. i should get going.”

rafe throws his head back into his pillow, heaving a sigh, and where you expected him to agree or even help you gather your clothes from where you had left them all over his floor, he instead stops you. his eyes flutter for a second, and his jaw tenses the way it did whenever he was fighting the thoughts in his head, trying to flush them out, and with a soft voice, he says, “… stay.”

an inaudible gasp leaves you as you contemplate whether or not you had heard him correctly and when you don’t answer, he pulls you back to the bed, "stay... please."

rafe had never asked you to stay before or vis versa, the night always ended with one of you sneaking home, and while you were ecstatic over the revelations, you were also sceptical as to what had changed his mind all of a sudden. he doesn't say anything else, just pulls you back between the sheets and wraps his arm firmly around your waist.

you hadn't given him an answer, but you knew you weren't going to say 'no', who knew if he would ever ask you to stay again. instead, you let yourself melt into his warmth where you remained until the sun began to rise.

[palmtreesx3]

Watching your friend, Steve Harrington, go on Kamakazi Mission dates over and over again was getting kind of old. You're always there to listen, comfort and pick up the pieces but what if this time it's just too much? What if this time you've had enough and something that feels a little bit like jealousy rears its ugly head?

(3k) Warnings: 18+ Smut okay? Failed dating, angsty friendship, jealousy, unfaithful/cheating adjacent, physical altercation, female fingering, public hookup 

Just a wee one-shot after someone (🧱) had to come in my inbox and talk about being jealous and defensive about Stevie instead of the other way around.

—

Steve's an honest to god, good fucking guy, so it should be no surprise to you when you find out he gave Heather a ride home after her car broke down outside of Family Video. He doesn't even do it for the praise - not anymore at least - which makes it all the more infuriating. 

Watching her jump out of his car. You roll your eyes at how she maneuvers just the right way so that her hair literally bounces when she giggles. The way she has her arms crossed in front of her, hands clasped - innocent enough - but you clock how she bats her eyes a little more than necessary and how her arms dig into her sides, pressing her tits up just a little more out of her dress than before. 

It's enough to gag. 

He sees you staring, eyes locked on her all the way from his driveway. Gives you a wave from across the street and you wave back. Can you wave sarcastically? If it's possible, you just did it. Giving him a thumbs up, he narrows his eyes at you before turning to go inside his house. 

Later at the house party you find yourself at that night, you're 3 beers in when you stumble into the kitchen. She's there hanging all over him. Trying hard to get him to cash in on a thank you for that favor earlier. Steve's not leaning into her, but he's not pulling away either. He's holding back, but the look on his face is hopeful and the smile on his lips is actually goddamn genuine. 

You know he's been on endless dates lately, trying to find one girl that'll be enough, stick around for at least a few dates, be interested in more than just a fuck. He recounts every one of them for you and Robin in excruciating detail. And then lingers and festers in the details of how it went wrong for twice as long. Self deprecating commentary that is nowhere near the truth and you can't bear to hear one more time will bring up the rear. 

So Heather fawning all over him tonight because he carted her off in his chariot in her moment of need sounded just about right. As did the slug trail of his broken, bleeding, lovelorn heart that was bound to show up after she stopped calling, was always busy, or just flat out told him she was done with him. Whichever it was gonna be this time, you already saw the writing on the wall. 

You're quick to move to the counter, right next to where they stand, and slam down a shot glass, filling it to the brim with whatever amber liquid you reached for first. When Steve reaches out to make sure you're okay.. suggest you slow down even, he touches your hand to stop you and you're taken aback by the shudder that runs up your body at his touch. You look at him, and then over to her and all you snap out is some comment about how you're just pre-medicating. When this blows up in your face I want to be ready. You gesture between the pair. 

You're not sure why you're being so mean today. Sure you're sick of the same old song and dance with him, but today you're angry about it and that's…new. She doesn't even notice your little outburst, fingers aimlessly toying with the tufts of hair brushing his neck while she stares off into the distance of the party. Steve, however, notices and is left to wonder why you're being such a bitch about it tonight. Wonders if your problem was with him… or Heather. 

Another hour later you're leaning against the brick of the house out back, hot cigarette held between your fingers, smoke billowing in the air around you. The sickly sweet sounds of a giggle coming from between the hydrangeas caught your ear. A giggle straight from the mouth of that blonde haired bimbo you could pinpoint from a mile away. It sucker punched you in the gut knowing how this was going to all go, and the disgusting slurping sounds of her tongue down Steve Harrington's throat just a few feet away made your eyes roll. 

Here we go. 

Making sure you loudly push through the opening in the bushes, full with browning gloves of delicate petals, you scoff at the sight of the back of Heather's head, lips now tucked into the crook of his neck.

Jason's neck. 

Not Steve's. 

There's absolutely no reason for you to do what you do next. Not one that makes logical sense, really. Because you open your mouth and can not help but tell Heather where to stick it. You call her a few names, some of them not very pretty, before turning on your heel and swinging the sliding door open to go back inside. 

Your mild annoyance with Heather's antics is suddenly festering into a blind, boiling rage, which made the fact that she decided to follow you a really, really bad one. 

What is your problem? She asks me. 

And at first you don't know what it is. Sure she's acting like a sloppy girl throwing herself on Steve…or apparently anyone who might just fuck her even more stupid than she already is. But she's not the first girl you know to act like that. Not the first or the last Hawkins Hot Shot who thinks they're too pretty for this hometown. 

But then the words spew out and it's pretty clear why there's a fire lit inside you. Each step closer you get to Heather you're giving her hell.

My problem? What's yours? I'm so damn sick and tired of girls like you acting like this. 

Girls like me? What does that mean, huh? 

Yeah, like what? You wonder to yourself. 

Like Steve is some fucking goddamn pet that you can lead around on a leash. Pet when you want something. Tie up when you don't.

Oh. 

You're just another one of these stupid fucking girls. It's disgusting how you treat him. Disgusting, you know that?

You continue on with a drunken dissertation about how Steve Harrington deserves more than these stupid vapid girls and how not one of them deserved him. 

There's a small crowd growing, drawn to your loud voice and colorful language. And she's clearly tired of the show. Never really caring all that much about Steve, more about the hookup, now that she's got Jason in her grip Steve is an afterthought. 

Until he's standing right in front of her.

Heather. He says. Big brown doe eyes looking sad and disappointed… again. Makes your gut fucking churn. 

Pushing your way through the crowded living room you're out the front door before you know it, not wanting to stick around to hear whatever she had to say to him. You didn’t want to watch his face fall and realize it’s over before it even started

Leaning against the first car you see, you tisk your tongue as you realize that the one you landed on was his. Has to be, doesn't it? 

There's an odd silence there.The thick sounds of the music muffled by the walls of the house are there, but you pay them no mind. There’s squeals and drunk laughter and chanting, but they all feel so distant. It’s a silence that doesn’t actually exist. One you created. But then, what does crack through your bubble - the thing that breaks the silence…

What you said… did you mean that? 

You don't even look up. You nod your head. You explain that you're sick of it. Sick of hearing about all of these girls walking all over the nicest guy you know. Sick of the games they play. Sick. You didn’t look up from your shoes once. 

It's fine. Really. I deserve it. I used to be no better than them. 

Shut the fuck up, already! Don't you say that. 

Maybe. Maybe that's true. You demand that he stop beating himself up. Punishing himself for something - someone - who's been dead and long gone for years. You tell him how you can't stand these girls making a mockery of him when he's genuinely trying. Tell him how you're gonna fuck up the next one that thinks it's all a game. 

Shit. Well .. thats …  

What? Confusion clouds your brain. Not sure what he's trying to say. 

Steve. I just don't want anything to hurt you. Not a demodog… or a stupid girl. It's always the same and I'm sick of seeing you think you deserve it. Like, sometimes I think you fuckin do this on purpose to yourself. 

What do I deserve then, huh? What am I supposed to do? Because I don’t fuckin' know.

Steve…just stop it. You scoff. 

Gravel is kicked up behind you and the footsteps you hear are drawing closer to you, a smarmy and whiney voice comes out to greet you Well well well, thanks for that show in there.

Jason, I swear to God, you need to keep it moving. Fists curling at your sides without a thought. 

Didn’t know you got this little thing to fight your battles for you now, Harrington. Real cute. Total fall from grace, huh?

You’re on him quicker than he knows what to do. The last thing he expected was for you to wind up and clock him dead in the face. Jason falls backwards a few steps stumbling as he grabs at his face, covering the tender spot where you knocked him, the left side of his nose and just below the eye. He's not bleeding, per say. But you take note of the deep purple stain already pooling in the dip of his eye socket, so you know that mother fucker is gonna feel it for weeks. 

He doesn't need me to fight his battles, Jason. You say his name dripping with sarcasm. 

Then why'd ya punch me, you bitch? Sure looks like it. 

You hear him step forward. You just know the tense look in Steve's face and the way his jaw is set and clenched without even turning around. You know the blind rage he gets when he feels like he needs to defend one of his friends - someone he cares about. You're certain the muscles in his lips are ticking and twitching with anger. And you don't have time for his theatrics tonight. You've had enough of it already, so you reach your hand out and backwards, stopping him by his chest so he stops his advance. 

Instead you step forward. Not scared in the least of Jason fuckin' Carver and his buttercup yellow polo shirt. You smirk as you see a drop of crimson blood has fallen from the tip of his nose and onto its front, just knowing how he's going to have to ask his Mommy to get the stain out for him. 

I punched you because you're annoying me. Your face is stupid, you talk too much and you don't know when to mind your own goddamn business. Where's Heather anyway? You two are perfect for one another. 

You turn on your heels and walk to the other side of Steve's car, leaning against the side and not looking back at Jason and his idiot stuck up friends as they stumble down the neighborhood road away from the party.

Steve comes around the back of the car, looking at you. He hasn't said a word, so that's been great. Probably thinks you're certified insane tonight with the way things are going. 

Steve, I'm good. Jason is clearly not an issue anymore. You should go find Heather - 

But you're cut off before you can finish, because in a few long strides he's in front of you, grabbing at your shoulders to bring your eyes up to his. Telling you how it's hot when you defend his honor. 6. Talking about how hot it was when you were looking at him all jealous of another girl's attention and affection. About how he never noticed it before but now it makes so much sense. 

I don't do that. I didn't - 

Now it's his turn to scoff. 

You ask him what's so funny? And he literally doesn't answer you, just laughs some more with a shake of his head. Eyes roaming around your surroundings. He hasn't moved away from where he's standing in front of you. Somehow HE looks annoyed with YOU now and you're ready to pick a fight about it. 

Instead, all of the air is stolen from your lungs when Steve Harrington leans down and crashes his lips onto yours.

What was that for? You shove him back a little, but his feet are planted and he doesn't budge. 

The smile turning up the corner of his lips is irritating. Irritating because you don't know why he's smiling, but doubly so because it is really fucking cute. Oh nothing, just wanted to show my girl how much I appreciate her. 

Your girl? Steve, you are sorely mistaken. Did you hit your head? Heather is -.

Honey. Stop. Let's not do this.

He argues with you. Tells you how it all makes so much sense. About how none of the girls are you, so of course they didn't work. About how of course you're frustrated and feel protective. About how those dagger eyes you were wielding all night were, in fact, jealousy. Because you both feel the same way and neither was smart enough to notice. 

I'm done with Heather, honey. I'm done with all the Heathers. He waves his hand at the house party, still booming with noise and energy, but only focused on you.

The feverous press of his lips back on yours happens before you can even process what he's said. Pressed against the side of his car, his hands quickly slide up your side, finding a warm and comfortable home under the hem of your sweater. Cold fingertips dancing up your sides, thumbs squeezing where it's soft and dips into your tummy, knee sliding between your legs all in one smooth motion. 

He pulls his lips away to look at you, both of you panting deep breaths, chests rising and falling and eyes darting around one another's faces, trying to process what's unfolding for you both right now. 

Sorry. 

He huffs out an apology. Says he shouldn't have. Says he wasn't thinking. Says he's never thinking straight. Goes to pull away. 

You grab his wrist as he tries to retreat.

They're all fuckin' stupid. Steve, they're all stupid. I've been telling you every time. Every single goddamn time. 

He looks back at you, still unsure. Eyes a little sad - wavering. Guard down further than you've seen it in years. 

And if any one of them got their head out of their asses, they'd have been so fuckin' lucky. 

He goes to speak before you stop him - Don't. Don't say it. Don't do that bullshit again. Just … 

Back against the side of the BMW he's pressed into you tightly. Hands wrapped around your hips, fingertips digging into the denim covering your ass as he squeezes. It really was like… the hottest fuckin' thing to watch you punch Jason Carver… for me. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles where they're sure to be sore tomorrow. 

Can I say thank you? 

He asks you with pleading eyes. You ask him Didn't you just say it? He shakes his head. Tells you that's not how he wants to say it. Tells you that's not what he means. That he wants to show you instead. 

And once you nod your head at him, theres no time for anything. No time for thinking, moving, rational decision making. Because you're just there, in between Steve's car and some janky van parked next to it, as he's tugging at your button, crooking his fingers in your belt loops, making it just so he can slide his hand inside your underwear and maneuver his fingers to your core. 

He's so fuckin' gentle it makes your head spin. Featherlight touches around you, gently playing with the folds and petals of your lips, a slippery waltz on and around your clit, dancing with his fingertip. Eyelashes fluttering with your head tilted back and resting on his car door, unable to formulate words or phrases or noises - rendered utterly frozen and useless..

What stupid fucking assholes. Those girls took a pass on this? On this boy who just wants someone to be with. On all this care, and attention and - oh my God. 

You're pulled from your blissful thoughts by a deep pressure, a fullness you didn't expect from Steve's long and thick fingers entering you briskly. Mouth open and gasping at the twist and turns of them until he finds a spot that makes you twitch, a spot he likes. A juxtaposition to those gentle caresses, he's driving his fingers deep into your pussy now, reaching and rubbing. 

Still soft and careful but deep and forefull. He's not driving his fingers into you like the last guy who used his hand like a jackhammer. No, Steve is caressing your pussy and following through with a deep roll of his fingers on the upswing. Pushing back, pushing upwards, making your hips buck up towards him uncontrollably. You cry out when he scissors his fingers just a bit and then follows up with the quick addition of a third finger.

As abruptly as he's inside, he's back out again, rubbing and circling over you with his four, flat fingers, satisfying pressure on your clit making you forget about how you missed them being inside you for just a moment.

Shit, Steve…I-  someone's gonna see.

Let them. Fuck… let them. I hope they do. Then they'll know. 

Slipping those fingers right back inside, slick and squelching, toying with you, making you suck all of the air out of the world around you, he brings himself right next to your ear, pressed up against you. Cheek to cheek. You feel the muscles on his forearm tensing and flexing as he pumps into you ruthlessly. White hot pleasure swirling deep in your stomach, staccato breaths brushing past his ear, eyes squeezed shut your orgasm ripples through your body - tummy to toes, tingling running up your spine and back down again as you exhale from a breath you didn't know you were holding.

He hasn't pulled away yet. Hadn't looked at you. Fingers still inside, palm pressed up against the car just beside your face as he whispers They'll know I'm done with them now. Cause I've always had you. 

[thottyimagines]

What are the Konoha 12’s favorite reality TV shows? You can literally say anything from Dance Moms to Kitchen Nightmares, I just need to know what you think 😭 Love your work btw <3

Thank you!

Naruto loves Jersey Shore Family Vacation, specifically, because he really likes that these crazy party animals have grown up to have wholesome family fun. That they are still crazy and spend entire episodes yelling at each other, just now they sometimes disappear for a while to go hang out with their kids, does not occur to him.

Sasuke doesn't watch reality tv. At least, not after the time he got sucked into a Toddlers & Tiaras marathon and walked away four hours later thinking of Itachi with absolute pity for reasons he still can't quite explain or understand.

Sakura likes watching Bad Girls Club; she takes notes during both verbal and physical altercations.

Kiba is a reality tv connoisseur, and it's not even a little bit because of his sister. He can talk to anyone about their favorites, because he's seen at least a handful of episodes of any show he can get his hands on. If he had to pick, his favorite would be Love Island. Most of his slang comes from there.

Hinata likes Love is Blind, even if it saddens her that her Byakugan would surely disqualify her from ever being a contestant herself. But she would (a) totally never cheat and (b) absolutely never try to be on reality tv, lest she get picked and die of shame.

Shino has been watching RuPaul's Drag Race religiously for longer than he'd care to admit. He watches Untucked, too, because one thing about Shino is that he wants to know the dirty details.

Shikamaru isn't big on most reality tv, but he stumbled upon The Circle and turned watching it into some sort of weird mental exercise on picking apart human social intricacies. He's getting frighteningly good at figuring out exactly how entire seasons are going to play out, down to the order of eliminations.

Ino is a die-hard Bachelor fan. She's weirdly very good at picking out who the winner is going to be by the end of the first night, but Sakura tells herself Ino is just somehow rigging the bachelor fantasy league year after year.

Choji watches Hell's Kitchen. He would never want to be on the receiving end of Gordon Ramsay's ire, but he also feels secure in the knowledge that he'd never be anything but the top dog in that kitchen.

Neji spits on reality tv! What is he, a moron? Anyway, if he walks by Hinata watching Love is Blind, he's lingering in front of the tv with his hands on his hips and a vacant expression on his face until the end of the episode, at the very least.

Tenten likes America's (Konoha's?) Next Top Model, and her favorite episode is always the makeover one. She's equally thrilled by the good and bad haircuts, but looks down on anyone who cries.

Rock Lee is inspired to work hard and be his best by Project Runway each and every time he tunes in. He's never seen the contestants create anything quite so glorious as his Jumpsuit, of course, but it's been a near thing on a few memorable occasions.

[be-my-ally]

Attention needed. (Jealous Elvis Request)

Dearest anon, darling, here you are! Apologies for the *slight* delay, work has kept me far too busy and tired this week - and also, I intended this to be a very quick 1-2k, and somehow that turned into 4k….so hopefully you enjoy!!! I found it a little hard to make it Jerry, who I can’t see knowingly flirting with Elvis’ girl, but I hope I did the prompt justice by making it a -teeny- bit of miscommunication.

pairing: afab!reader x elvis

summary: Reader wants Elvis’ attention, but he refuses to give it to her so she tries to make him jealous, going so far to cozy up with Jerry.

warnings: 18+, jealous!elvis, physical altercation b/t elvis + jerry (not with reader), oral sex (elvis receiving), hurt/comfort with slightly injured!elvis.

wc: 4.4k (whoops)

You hate when he ignores you like this. It’s worse because you know it's calculated, intentional. It’s not just that he’s busy recording, or messing around with the other guys (although he is) but he’s toying with you, in his twisted version of flirting, playing with you. The trouble is that the rules to his games never get shared with you. You’re left guessing how to react, or what his aim is - does he want you to fight him? Argue until you’re forced to be “taught a lesson”? Submit - simply allow him to do whatever, ignoring both your heart and brain? Or some strange, acceptable combination of the two? It seems to change every time, and it’s impossible to guess his reactions at the best of times, let alone when he’s intentionally trying to keep you unbalanced.  And it is, certainly, intentional.

It has to be intentional; his determined actions to ignore your glances over at him, ignoring you lingering in the doorway of the recording studio, your hand on his thigh in the car. In fact he’d brushed you off, not in a malicious way, but in a  - I’m talking to my boys and having fun and moved my leg and didn’t even realise you were there - way. Which in some ways annoys and hurts you more; because you can’t wholeheartedly accuse him of doing it on purpose, and to bring it up would imply that you don’t want him to have fun with his friends, which of course you do. 

So, it has been building the whole day, leading to where you are now. Sulking on the edge of the bed, as you hear him play-fighting with the other ‘boys’ outside, although you can’t see them - its summer and it’s warm enough that the windows are open, but even with the curtains drawn it’s too dark to see. It was late, Elvis’ schedule didn’t conform to trivial things like day and night. So, despite the lateness of the hour, it’s only just coming up on dinner time. He’ll be up in a moment to change - it’s not required for any reason, it’s just family tonight - no-one special to impress, or photographs to be taken but he still likes to look his best. Especially considering he’ll be undoubtedly rumpled and muddy from their roughhousing. All you can think is that you don’t care to think of him looking his best, you just want him to really look at you. See what you’re trying to communicate with him. 

You hate how he makes you feel like it’s you who’s lacking, or who has to put in the extra effort. But still you do it - it annoys the hell out of you but you still do it. You’ve changed into a little powder blue set, teased your hair up high - just how he likes, determined to get his attention back. Your intention, is to make him look at you, force his attention onto you, which means a grand entrance. Which means that you’ll have to hide when he comes up to change and allow him to go downstairs alone before following. He won’t be able to ignore you coming in by yourself. You roll your eyes internally, at the ridiculous lengths you go to for him. When you hear them all coming into the house you dive into your little dressing room, locking the door behind you. You can hear him humming to himself - as he thuds about the bedroom, you can hear the closet door opening and closing and the water running in his bathroom as he gets himself ready and then, a few minutes later, his quick footsteps as he hurries out and back down the stairs. It’s what you wanted, but you can’t help but be annoyed that he didn’t even attempt to look or call for you. 

The annoyance grows, as you wait, when he doesn’t come himself or send someone to get you for dinner, forgetting in your sheer annoyance that he has no idea where you were. You head down the stairs after a few minutes had passed, you can hear the noise of the dining room as soon as you leave the cushioned sound proofing of his upstairs suite. When you walk in, late, you expect a reaction. Sure you’d wanted him to look at you, appreciate you, but you had also expected a little more. To be denied anything else - him simply glancing up at you, and pointing to the empty chair saved for you to the left of him at the head, was borderline offensive. Normally he’d have commented either in annoyance, or out of a protective worry - checking that nothing was amiss, that nothing had kept you. But tonight he does none of that, simply turning back to his conversation - not even waiting to see if his silent order was obeyed. It was, but you’d argue simply because it was the last seat available, not because you’d wanted to. 

That particular place puts you directly next to Jerry, and just out of Elvis’ reach. It’s not an unusual place for you to sit, you’d normally sit as close to him as possible; sometimes sitting up with him or him sitting with you, sometimes even on his lap, but it is rare for him to tell you where to go. He’s commanding and wants his own way, but he’s not normally so demanding in such normal circumstances. You humph to yourself but nonetheless do as he wordlessly commands - you wanted his attention though, not half a glance and an order. You’re quiet through the meal, despite the rambunctious energy from the rest of the table - everyone in high spirits from the finished recording session, and time off they had that evening. 

Elvis ignores you entirely, laughing and joking with Sonny and Red who were sat closest to him, but also joining in on the conversations happening around all sides of the table - shouting down to be heard when necessary. It’s a bit of a squeeze on the table tonight with so many of the closest knit memphis mafia boys staying, extra chairs added and the table extended. Which means that while Elvis, as ever, remains with more than enough space you’re knocking elbows with Jerry. You smile apologetically at him whenever it happens and he responds in kind back at you. You like Jerry, he’s always been nice to you and you’ve never felt the competitive edge that some of the other members of the ‘mafia’ seem to have from him. You chat politely to him, but you don’t have huge amounts to talk about tonight and he’s more preoccupied with the other conversations happening around you so you mostly eat in silence.

Being this close together though does give you an idea of how you might catch Elvis’ attention. You lean over to top up Jerry’s wine glass, using your left arm across your body so that you have to place your right hand on his thigh for balance. You can feel him look down in surprise at you, clearly taken aback at the forward action, uncertain as to whether he should pretend it didn’t happen or acknowledge it. You stroke his thigh once as you linger your hand before pulling it away and he appears to hold his breath until you’ve picked up your own glass with it. You don’t look at Elvis. If he wants to ignore you, you can do the same. Time to play with him for a change. Jerry shifts a little, and you smile at him, allowing him the opportunity to pretend nothing happened. He does so, but you can tell he feels slightly uncomfortable at the suddenly charged atmosphere. You risk a sneaky look over at Elvis, and see that his jaw is tight, although he doesn’t give off any other impression of anger. Your own frustration grows, as he continues to stare away from you - even though you can see him chewing his cheek almost every time you look over - as if in silent signal that he can tell you’re watching. Still, he doesn’t say a word to you. 

When dinner finishes Elvis leads the way into the TV lounge, and you follow. You need to figure out how to up the ante a little, but without taking it too far. Little did you know the chance would come quite quickly. Elvis immediately settled himself onto the large sofa, cigarillo ready to be lit, and some of the others followed. It was pretty crowded, and it wasn’t long before they broke out to some of the other rooms around, spreading out a little. It made it easier to keep one eye on Elvis, while you considered your options. You were stood near the bar - it wasn’t like you were the only one still standing, every place to sit in the room taken up (despite the fact that normally Elvis would have insisted they make room for you - you’re a lady after all), when Jerry came up to it to pour himself a drink. He asks if you want one too and when you agree he does enough for two, handing you the glass as he comes back out. You chat about nothing in particular, and Jerry seems legitimately interested in what you have to say, and you drink, until you’re significantly more relaxed - almost forgetting about your mission. 

You’re two drinks in now, and that plus the wine at dinner has made you a little brazen. You lean against the wall, and you can feel Jerry’s eyes track down your body as you, subtly, push your chest out a little. You continue your conversation, not really talking about much, but you can tell he’s panicking slightly about what to say or do to you. You look over at Elvis again who’s busy entertaining - regaling a couple of the boys left behind with tales from tour, and sigh. Jerry tracks your eyes, and frowns for a moment, 

“Why’d you put up with it?” You look up at him, surprised he would be so direct, 

“What do you mean? I don’t, he’s just…” You’re annoyed with him but you still don’t want to badmouth him to one of his best friends so your trying to choose your words carefully, “Look, you know probably better than anyone that you can’t tell him what to do, or what not to do. So you just have to…go along with it.” His brow furrows as he looks down at you, and he turns so that you’re both facing each other while resting sideways against the wall - if you turned your head slightly you could rest your cheek on the cold wallpaper. 

“It’s just - you’re a swell girl, you’re so pretty, real bombshell like, and you could have anyone, hell he won’t even say he’s in a relationship with ya!” You smile and inch a little closer, not wanting to be overheard. 

“Well, thank you that’s very kind. I’m not… blind to my own attractiveness Jerry. I’m not, … look, here’s the thing. I’m not super needy, or desperate to be liked for my own self worth, but I like him, and that might make me an idiot but I do! So, I’ll put up with a little more than I normally would, because I like him, and that’s all there is to it.” He continues to stare, with a slight commiserating look in his eye. You know he understands more than most. You’ve somehow ended up even closer to one another, barely a few inches between you now. 

“I just don’t think he treats you right.” He shakes his head, and you go to say something in reply but you’re interrupted by Jerry’s arm being abruptly grabbed and pulled away from you, 

“What the hell you doing Jerry? Hitting on my girl like that! What’s wrong with ya!” Jerry stumbles back, and rubs his arm where Elvis had grabbed him, 

“Jesus- EP, we were just talkin’ is all. We weren’t doing nothing.” You can sense that Elvis wasn’t believing him, 

“Looked from over there like you were about to do more than that. Looked like you were about to try and kiss her. You going around kissin’ my girls now?” You shake your head, starting to protest, and he whirls onto you, holding up a hand, “I’ll deal with you in a second little girl. Come on now Jer - you now saying you don’t want to kiss her?” Jerry stutters back at him, 

“No-I uh, god, no offense y/n. I wouldn’t E!” 

“No? Sounded like you’d try, I heard you Jer, ‘he don’t treat you right’ is what you said ain’t it!” It’s like watching two cars collide in front of you, you simultaneously feel panicked by the way the conversation is going, but also can’t look away. Jerry suddenly seems to have had enough of being accused or perhaps simply aware of the inevitability of the next event and draws himself up, 

“Well, so what if I did - it's true.” The sentence is barely out of his mouth before Elvis’ fist is flying. 

“What the hell! Elvis! His nose!” You’re horrified at the action unfolding, but you can’t help but be a tiny bit pleased that Elvis is at least fighting for you, even if it is with a pinch of guilt that it’s at Jerry’s expense. Jerry is, unlike some of the others, not afraid of Elvis - and not unwilling to fight back, although you can tell he’s purposefully not aiming for Elvis’ face. So they scrabble together, Elvis stumbling back onto the edge of the sofa after a particularly hard shove from Jerry. 

“Elvis! Jerry! Someone stop them!” You’re shouting at the other men in the room, but it’s too late - the pair go crashing over the top of the sofa, and hit the coffee table on the way down. Both of them lie flat on their backs for a moment before Jerry stands, offering Elvis his hand. He takes it, and is immediately pulled up, shirt ruffled, hair a mess (although he’s faring better than Jerry with a black eye forming and a red nose) and you step forward - “What was that all about! Of all the childish stupid things to do! Look at the pair of you!”  Elvis looks over at you, his eyes blazing, panting, before storming out of the room. You turn to apologise to Jerry, and he accepts it with a small nod of his head, heading over to the little bar for a drink after the drama. He’s not one to hold a grudge, and to be fair neither is Elvis - they’ll be friends again in half hour. 

You can hear Elvis shouting to himself as he tears through the house and you’re in half a mind to let him wear himself out before going in to him, but the other half of your brain is telling you not to let him rile himself up any more than he already is. So you follow, but slowly, and by the time you get into the foyer he’s sat on the sofa in the music room, leaning heavily against its back, his head tipped back and his eyes closed.  You can see his chest heaving with breaths from the exertion, and can tell, from his brief wince on the inhale that he’s obviously hurt a rib. You find it hard to be sympathetic though, since it was of his own making. 

“El-“ 

“Don’t you start little girl - I saw you flirting like a goddamn teasing whore, trying to turn me the fuck on. With Jerry of all people.” You wince at his tone - eyes wide in an attempt to protest your innocence, 

“That’s not fair - he wasn’t - … you weren’t paying me any attention! He was just talking to me!” He scoffs at you, 

“Well, you’ve got my attention now.” He swings his head forward to look at you and he’s calm, but you know that can sometimes precipitate further emotion from him. You can’t help but think he looks good, even as you can tell there’s bruising forming under his shirt; slightly sweaty, hair ruffled, and his shirt coming untucked. Actually, he looks a lot, and you blush as you recognise the thought, like he does when you’ve had sex. You start to stutter out some apology or explanation but your mouth has gone dry as he continues to stare at you. He crooks his fingers, the same two fingers he always does and you follow him closer.  He pats his thigh and you warily approach, half expecting to be flung over his knee, he’s unpredictable like this. You try to perch delicately but he pulls you up and across with a slight grunt. Probably from his rib, you look down at him, 

“This is silly - you’re hurt! Let me have a look.” You start to pull at his shirt, as if attempting to get underneath to assess his injury. But he stops you with a tight hand on your wrist. 

“I’m fine, nothin’ that won’t be sorted after a shower.”  His dismissive tone does nothing to reassure you, but you can’t protest when he shakes you slightly with his hold around your wrist and waist. “Now, baby, what was all that about. You gonna try and tell me again you didn’t do it on purpose?” You falter for a second, you don’t want to lie but you also don’t want to admit to your actions; you’re a little embarrassed to have stooped to such a level. “You’ve been doin’ it all evening - god, all fucking day, trying to get on my damn nerves.” Now that you will protest. 

“Elvis! I haven’t! Not all day! I was jus-“

“Ah-ha!” He crows at you, “So you admit, you were this evenin’ though huh honey?” You wince, refusing to incriminate yourself any further. “Trying to rile me up all night you have - turning up to dinner late, and you think I don’t know you were hiding in your bathroom?” You look back at him, slightly stunned to be so called out, his hand leaves your wrist, trailing up to your face. He strokes the side of your cheek from the bone of your eyebrow to the base of your chin. You tremble, feeling goosebumps springing up on your flesh.  He does it again, stroking down before he, with the same fingers, grabs hold of your face, gripping your cheeks in his fingers - squeezing them together. 

“Say you’re sorry, say ‘sorry Elvis’.” He mimics you in a high pitched tone. You start to protest and his fingers dig in tighter, 

“So-rry Elvis.” You repeat back to him, he hums back at you. 

“Got a nasty habit of arguing with me, little girl. I ain’t gonna put up with that anymore. Not from you.” You nod, and his hand, almost in praise, travels up your thigh. You squirm, your heart beating fast, suddenly aware of your pulse - you wonder if he can tell. He trails his fingers down your cheeks, stopping near your throat, resting for a moment before skipping down to hold you around your waist again. He leans his head close to yours, his breath tickling your ear. “You want my attention darling, you just gotta ask. I ain’t dealing with this bratty shit no more.” His hand strokes your inner thigh, “Understand?” You frantically nod back, 

“Yeah, yeah of course, of - uh - course.” You probably shouldn’t find it so hot to be told off but you do.  He shifts you from leaning so heavily on his side, and you sit up completely, looking over at him sternly - you knew he was in pain. He interrupts you before you can say anything though.

“Been tryna get you to just ask me for what you want all goddamn day. But Lord did you make it difficult for me.” His eyes have a certain glint in them, and you’re not wholly surprised when the next words out of his mouth are, “Guess you oughta make me feel better then little one, you gonna make it up to me? - Go on, baby, get on those little knees for me.” You half roll your eyes, not convinced you’ve done anything that requires apologising but still you slink off his thighs to kneel between his legs. It’s not something nice girls should admit to, but it’s not a hardship for you to take him in your mouth, in fact, quite the opposite. So you kneel, letting him unbutton his trouser - his hardening cock immediately jumping free. 

You lean forward, stroking him gently to full hardness. You go to kiss the tip, and his hands find their way into your hair, bracketing your head, his rings catching a couple of strands that sting a little. But, in a good way that causes your thighs to clench with each little pull. Your fingers go to gently stroke his balls, and you watch as it prompts a bead of white to form at the end of his uncut cock. He grunts down at you, 

“Don’t tease me baby, that’s not how you say sorry.” He pulls your head closer, and the tip of his dick nudges your lips. You let it in, letting it sit for a moment while you adjusted to him being in your mouth again - it’s not something you’re especially skilled at, and you don’t do it often enough to be entirely used to it all but you’re certainly enthusiastic about it. You let it slip out of your mouth with a little pop, taking the time to lick a stripe down his full length, before circling the tip back in your mouth. 

“Thatsa good girl, c’mon now, take it in.” You do as he commands, bobbing down again, tasting his slight salty tang, the sweat from his exertion adding to his general manly musk. Your nose brushes against his base as you open your throat, taking shallow breathes in from your nostrils. His hips jerk as you take a moment to suck, causing his dick to knock against your throat - you can’t help but gag, and you pull off coughing slightly - his hands tugging you off quicker than you’d have gone by yourself. “Sorry sweetheart,” he strokes your cheek as you catch your breath, “God you’re fucking gorgeous.” You blink up at him, through your watering eyes and he groans, his head falling back again. “Lord, if you could see yourself right now.” You smile slightly, going back down on him. Your hands come up to hold his thighs and you dedicate yourself to the task at hand. Bobbing the length of his cock, You’re more prepared this time when he can’t help but move his hips and you go with him, fighting your gag reflex. Your hand finds where your mouth can’t comfortably reach, and gently holds him in place while your other goes down to delicately stroke his balls. You go with where his hands in your hair tug you, up and down, as you feel his thighs clench. 

You don’t have any particularly strong opinions about swallowing, it just depends on your mood and although he’s made it quite clear he’d prefer for you to swallow he’s not about to force you into anything. Today though, as you look up at him through your wet lashes, you can see the glint in his eye as he murmurs that he’s close, and watches you glance about, realising that in the living room you don’t have much choice, unless you’re planning on dirtying your sleeve or the couch. You make eye contact and it seems to be the catalyst to send him over the edge, swearing as you swallow him down. He breathes heavily for a few moments as you finish licking him clean before pulling off to wipe your mouth and chin clean. He tucks himself away, “That’s it. Good girl,” he sighs,  thumbing any lasting traces of wet on your face away, “that was a mighty nice ‘pology.” You smile up at him. Pleased that he’s pleased. 

“I really wasn’t flirting with Jerry,” You tilt your head, “…much.” He guffaws back at you, his previous black mood forgotten, looking down at you with half lidded eyes, 

“S’ok darling, sorry I lost my lid with ya - shouldn’t, shoul-dn’t have. Knew you wouldn’t really.” He pulls you up into his arms, although you protest, and he starts to try to lay you on the couch. “Lemme take care of you now baby, lemme take care of you.” 

“Elvis,” You start tentatively, pushing back on his hands to sit upright. “Wouldya, would you let me have a look at your side? That’s how you can take care of me, let me have a look.” He looks at you, eyes wide, 

“You, you don’t hafta baby, it’s my fault.” You hush him, shifting to be sat next to him and pull his top up, he allows it - lifting his arm to help you roll it up and get a clear look. You tut at the red marks mottling his side, can see where it’s going to develop into a nasty bruise right along the line of his rib, clearly where he’d crashed into the coffee table. He winced when you push into it, but (despite your lack of medical training) you’re pretty sure that it doesn’t feel broken or cracked. Just bruised.

“Let’s get some ice on that, and then I’ll put some cream on it later, ‘fore we go to bed.” He blinks at you for a second, 

“Yeah, yeah sounds like a -ah- plan.” He grunts as his arm comes down, his facial expression changes quickly, a little smirk forming although he’s still got that soft expression on his face, the one that always appears when he’s being taken care of. “You gonna nurse me back to health? Get you a lil’ cap and gown?” You shake your head at him, 

“In your dreams, buddy. C’mon,” You shake his arm as you stand, “Let’s go get that ice.” He nods, following you like a lost puppy.

[captain-lessship]

White Knight

You were carefully balancing the pieces of fruit on the top of the cake. You had it all planned out in your mind: Sure! Here's a singular paragraph about a cake decorated with strawberries:

The cake would sit proudly on the kitchen counter. The most vibrant array of strawberries Forks could offer. They would be meticulously arranged in a circular pattern on the cake, adding an extra level of visual care.

At least, that’s what you would have wanted but the cake was slowly turning into a mess.

“You do know that I can’t eat it even if you made me?” A soft voice broke the air that was filled with focus yet sadness about your failed cake.

Jasper looked at you, noticing and feeling every variation of emotion you were feeling. You were sensitive, it was just a fact, none the less he worried about what might could happen if there ever came a time that he couldn’t easily slip in your mud room door.

“Love?” He asked, walking to rest his chin on your shoulder and loop his arms around you.

“Mhm?” You inquired, mind still half focused on the cakey disaster.

“Would you ever want to learn how to defend yourself?” He said, as bluntly as he could, this brought a small giggle from you.

“Defend myself? Why would I need that when I have you!”

While he was flattered, he couldn’t help true thoughts that plagued his mind.

“I have led you into a life of uncertainty. We live in a world where unexpected situations can arise. Learning self-defense can give you the confidence and skills to protect yourself if ever confronted with danger.”

You sighed, it was not easy to be the lover of a vampire whose family was prone to getting in trouble. With the addition of humans, you and Bella, that brought a whole new level of worry into your alls lives.

“I’ve never really been in any dangerous situations before where you haven’t been able to, you know, save me.”

He tilted his head to press a kiss to your cheek, “True, we have been fortunate that you have never needed to but it’s better to be prepared for the unexpected.” You laughed. He sounded like a National Geographic Explorer.

Although he appreciated your chuckles he knew that selfdefense wasn’t just about physical altercations; it’s about being aware of your surroundings and knowing how to react in various situations. It will keep you safer in the long run.

You could sense you were not going to with this discussion, “Where would I even start?”

And that led into a week long boot camp of Jasper waking you before the sun and not letting you go til it hung pumpkin orange in the sky. Were you his partner or a work horse.

You huffed as you laid down the final bag of sand, “Can you tell me why I am moving these?”

“Because,” he jabbed at your arm, “You need something to fall back on.”

You laughed until you saw he was serious.

Serious was something the small endeavor was not. Just as Jasper had finished explaining the various kicks, he realized you had slipped off. He sighed as he walked around looking for you.

He found you down by the river where you had already kicked off your shoes and rolled up you jeans and your long sleeves.

“What’re you doing?” He asked.

You wheeled around and looked at him, “I was looking at the rocks. And I saw one that I wanted.”

Jasper couldn’t help but smile at your antics. He will protect you. He promised himself that.

[stories-from-the-shaded-moon]

Detention

I swear that this is still LU. It’s just a modern au

But um…yeah here you go

“I definitely have a Hatsune Miku cosplay.”

“Ok, but me too?!” The lunch table laughed. “I wore it for Halloween one year. I can still fit it.”

“I’m not surprised about you, Wild, but Legend? I would not have expected that from you.” The shortest student commented.

“I wore that shit with pride!” The student with dyed pink hair announced, scribbling on his homework.

“Language boys.” Everyone groaned. So, maybe getting into a…physical altercation with the big guy wasn’t the smartest idea on their part, HOWEVER, the guy was talking mad shit to Wind. It was Warriors who swung first anyway.

“Mr. Lon, I beg the question,” Warriors started. “Why is it us who are being detained?”

“It’s simple really. You swung first. It’s policy.”

Wild blew a raspberry at no one. Everyone else groaned.

“But he-“

Mr. Lon let out a chuckle. “I know what he did. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t give you the essay.” Mr. Lon tapped on his desk.

The classroom quieted down only for a second. “What?!” Legend stood from his seat. “You mean to tell me that I was doing homework all of this time for nothing?”

“I won’t say that it was for nothing. Homework is still important.”

Four leaned back in his seat. “So that’s why Twilight and Sky were so relieved, huh?”

There was a smile on Twilight’s face as he looked back at Four. “You see, none of you guys have had Mr. Lon as a teacher! The guy actually listens to his students!” Sky nodded, his phone in hand.

“I take pride in understanding my students’ situations. Wind is an upcoming freshman and, therefore, comes to my class every once in a while. I have no idea what stuff that other boy was saying about Wind, but I also have no idea why a senior is so intimidated by a mere 8th grader.” Mr. Lon chuckled again. “Seniors get so scared when they see potential in an underclassmen, it’s honestly hilarious.”

“So…” Warriors tapped on his own desk. “we’re not in trouble?”

Mr. Lon hummed. “I believe that you are the only one here that will actually have to speak to the principal. That’s another thing, never swing first or everything will be viewed as it being your fault.” Mr. Lon nodded at his own words. “Admin is more likely to side with the person that took the hit than the person who threw it.”

Warriors banged his head on his desk three times. “My mom’s going to fucking kill me…”

“Well, maybe your mom won’t be too mad. I mean, the guy was talking shit about your little brother. I think that’s an okay reason to punch the shit outta someone.” Wild added.

Mr. Lon sighed. “Aside from all of the vulgar language in those sentences, I say that what you say is wrong…sort of.” Mr. Lon stood up, starting to walk around the room. Sky took out his earbuds and put his phone away. “You see, I understand why you hit the guy. Protecting your family should be a top priority no matter what, but I’m sure that there was a better way to handle the situation. Do tell, what is it that he said about Wind?”

The seven detained students looked at each other, then at Legend. He was the Teller of the group. If someone wanted to be let in on something, Legend always got straight to the point.

“He said that if he ever saw Wind, that he would-“ Legend cleared his throat. “Effectively silence him.”

Mr. Lon’s eyebrows shot up, his expression overtaken by surprise for only a second. Then, he cleared his throat, turning away from the boys. “And everyone else got in trouble for recording the fight?”

“Yes sir.” Sky answered.

“Effectively silence? How exactly did he say that?” Mr. Lon asked.

“He said that he would show up at my house with a weapon and kill him while he was by himself. He comes home first and I was just-“ Warriors was cut off.

“Who has the clearest video?”

The seven students traded glances before the quietest one raised his hand. “I do.” Hyrule giggled.

Mr. Lon was at Hyrule’s side in seconds, as were the other six. Hyrule hit play and the video was as clear as day.

The video started while in the middle of the argument between Ganondorf Jr. and…Sky?

“Yeah, I may have taken the fall for Sky, but it should’ve been me who hit first.” Warriors explained.

“Me and Ganondorf’s dad have had it out before. His son wasn’t doing any work from my class and he expected me to pass him anyway. Like hell.” Mr. Lon said. Hyrule paused the video and everyone turned to Mr. Lon.

“Are you saying that he…” Legend spoke. “GJ was not held back!” The seven students started to snicker, trying to hide their laughter.

“From what I heard, his freshman year was a rude awakening for him. He is still in Mr. Rauru’s Math class…” Mr. Lon said, tapping the resume button on Hyrule’s video.

Suddenly, a bell rang throughout the classroom. The seven students found themselves groaning.

“No-“ Wild whined. “I actually liked it here…”

Twilight giggled. “Cheer up, you might have Mr. Lon next year!”

“You might.” Mr. Lon winked, pushing a slight shove into Twilight, who returned the shrug. Mr. Lon stood at the door to his room. “If anyone asks what we were doing in here, tell them that I was helping y’all with homework.” He said that they all walked out.

By the end of that two hour period, Mr. Lon had gotten seven high fives and he would be telling his wife about all of them.

[strywoven]

anyways , i wanna briefly discuss the moment when everything fell apart for verona back in the 20th century-- that very obvious point when her state of being completely COLLAPSED in upon itself ( every sense of moral obligation , every regard for her fellow sorcerer ... annihilated , torn asunder ) .

picture , if you will , surrounded by “peers” ( though none were really so welcoming of verona , none so accepting ; she always suspected their contempt , she could smell it on them like a foul , festering perfume ) , enduring their company , AWAY FROM HOME IN A WHOLE OTHER TERRITORY .  and then , you notice several of them exchanging glances , checking the time - 12:30a , oct. 31st , 1931 - and slowly , surely , beginning to form a collective around you.

something , something is not right.

you remember lenore BEGGED YOU not to leave the night before , saying something about how it “felt wrong” … but you ignored her , dismissing it. and now , 12:35a , you feel it , you see it in flashes : wife and daughter , thrown to the ground amid the chaos of your clan’s estate being raided , executed by single gunshot , the sound ringing in your ears ( the echoes of wife's final words : by god , verona , please - please forgive them ! ) before everything in the present falls completely quiet.

… to say verona was beside herself in that moment was a GRAVE UNDERSTATEMENT .  verona is well-known for her composure , but there was no maintaining herself when the reality of it all sunk in ( premeditated ; all of this , right down to being lured away from home & surrounded en-masse to limit a route of escape ) .  she confronted those who brought her out to begin with.  as you might well imagine , it led into an altercation and with her being forcibly restrained.  however , if you know anything about a woman scorned - especially one that can conjure incredible physical strength - you could probably envision that it took several people to detain her and keep her still.  

she was FURIOUS , yelling at all of them , "cast your stones , the lot of you , when none of you are without sin ! when none of you are beyond becoming monsters just as i have !" the price , two lives - two innocents - caught in the crossfire of a war that never truly ended.  her fury escalated further , accosting them all for being "senseless mongrels" and for promising she would destroy each one of their families in return , perhaps not this century , but later ( a promise which is later fulfilled ) .

when that curse was laid upon everyone present , one of the sorcerers quite plainly took the shot and blew off half her skull , saying in turn , "i think we've heard quite enough of that. happy birthday , ms. valhyr."

to which someone in the crowd , horrified , was like , "is she even dead ?"

and the man ( idk i keep calling him jerome ; some european council big-wig ) replied , "evil does not die.  it simply festers."

i should point out : even with half her face blown away and her body “dying” , own viscera smeared across the marble floor … she was CONSCIOUS & LAUGHING ( if only for a few moments ) , albeit weakly , but the effect was there , people were terrified of her and that sentiment would remain for good.

and what's worse , these people DENIED allowing her the right to see the bodies , to say good-bye to them.  so it is ASSUMED that they simply tossed the carcasses unceremoniously into an unmarked ditch somewhere ( & no , verona never found them ) .

[thepariahcontinuum]

Ooh, Pariah power time again?

Shaker/Breaker who creates bursts of smoke that explode at will. Range isn’t far but they have a lot of fine control over the shape of the smoke (I’m thinking of them creating fake silhouettes a la Skitter). They can also turn into a smoke-like state themselves, but they can’t go through solid surfaces like Shadow Stalker (not to mention the smell would be quite strong and potentially lower their Stranger rating). They’re immune from the immediate effects of their explosions (smoke inhalation, burns, blast injuries, etc) but using destructive power too often takes a large toll on them both mentally and physically, so they have to be creative.

Bonus idea, but not a requirement: they smoke a pipe for the visual effect.

So smoke as an explosive, a decoy and the ability to dissipate themselves into smoke....All of these combine together into someone who absolutely dominates at controlling a battlefield because those area of effect abilities all stack.

Imagine trying to navigate a smoke-filled street, blind and knowing that some of that smoke could ignite at any moment, a Cape hunting you could just appear at any moment and that the people you think you can see in the smoke might not be real.

Also, this is now a legacy cape....Because these powers are a different expression of the same shard/powerset as previous OC "Teargas" so I'm gonna say that, in much the same way Allfather, Kaiser and Golem had variations on the same thing this is actually Teargas's son.

And he's a bastard.

Teargas is a cop, from a cop family and acts as the violent arm of the state because she believes in authoritarianism.

This kid is thirteen, probably triggered at home and is absolutely on the alt-right pipeline already, but more than that is a completely self serving little demon who knows how the system works behind the scenes and knows that if he's a Ward, with a Hero mum, from a good, respectable family of Cops then he can do whatever he wants.... Because it's always gonna get covered up.

Basically this kid is gonna grow up to be that line about "Conservatism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect" made manifest.

So he's on a Wards team and has absolutely gotten into altercations with every other Ward OC I've made for these asks.... Especially "Fightback"

Costume wise I'm thinking marketing tried to push something similar to his Mum's suit on him but it's been downplayed. Charcoal grey/gunmetal body armour over a navy blue bodysuit, black boots, gloves and a coat.... definitely a subtle smoke pattern somewhere and a mask that's somewhere between a stylish gas mask with goggles and a kamen rider helmet.

Cape name: "Chokepoint".... It's how the PRT likes to use his powers, as well as jusy sounding violent enough to appeal to an edgy kid but also "Teargas and Chokepoint" just has a ring to it.

[trains-of-thought]

The Super Mario Bros Movie, Constructive Critique 2

Disclaimer: I am a ridiculously passionate fan of the Super Mario franchise. I'm happy that the movie was so successful and well-received by a majority of fans. I realize that many people at Nintendo and Illumination worked hard to make this film a reality, and I would never want to bash their work. However, I think it's important to acknowledge flaws, and identify room for improvement, hence this, and following posts.

Scene 2: Meet the Brothers (and Spike) at Punch-Out Pizzeria

Strengths:

References and Visuals: Any Nintendo fan would want to visit this restaurant. The atmosphere screams gaming nostalgia and captures what anyone could picture as a downtown, local pizza joint perfectly.

Mario Bros. Plumbing Commercial: This goes along with the reference point above but it was too good not to highlight alone. How can you not smile watching and listening to that commercial? Talk about a revive done right! One thing in particular I liked that the writers(?) did was set the commercial as the brothers introduction. It had us guessing at first: wait, did Chris Pratt and Charlie Day do stereotypical Italian voices after all? But when the commercial ends, and we're brought to the real world, we immediately realize this isn't the case. A nice surprise there.

Charles Martinet cameo: Everyone had their opinions on Chris Pratt and Charlie Days' Mario and Luigi voices but when you think about it, the one opinion that really matters in Martinet's. He's THE voice of them both, the man that gave the characters life. If he's giving a thumbs up, that's all the approval I think we fans need.

Brotherly Love: This is another element the movie consistently got right. Sure we know the brothers have a strong relationship from games, the old TV show, etc, but their interactions throughout this movie REALLY highlight how close they are and how much they care about each other. The physical interactions/gestures in particular are what I like: hugging as they're watching the commercial air, all excited and in each other's faces giddily talking about it, Mario protecting Luigi (i.e. sticking his hand out behind him to keep his little brother away as Spike stands up), hugging, shaking each other, and freaking out when they get their first customer (I could go on and on here). Some character relationships/dynamics fell a bit flat, but that was never the case with the bros.

Brother's Reactions to their first customer: It's genuine and full of enthusiasm/nervousness and everything I'd expect from new entrepreneurs.

Shortcomings and/or unanswered questions:

Why are the brothers watching their commercial air (for what I'm assuming is the first time based on their excitement and the conversation they have at dinner) alone in the pizzeria? The dinner scene clearly shows their close with their family (they literally still live with their parents). It just seems like a moment to share with loved ones to me.

Spike asks the brothers if they've gotten a call about their company, to which Luigi replies (after looking at his phone, holding it up, and showing off a notification) that they have. Their mom, who said x, to which Luigi responded with y. In the two second transition between the brothers freaking out over their commercial and starting to converse with Spike, how did Luigi have time to not only listen to the message but call and/or text back?

Why does no one in the restaurant acknowledge that an altercation is happening between Mario and Spike or when the brothers are literally screaming about getting their first customer? I realize that the "it's New York, people are used to that kind of stuff" idea exists, but the beginning of the next scene has a pedestrian turning reacting to the plumbing van not starting. It's not consistent, and if anything a reaction to a physical alternation would be more likely.

Spike orders a whole pizza, eats one slice, and just leaves. Almost every TV show/movie does this but nine times out of ten it isn't realistic.

While it's great the brother's got their first customer, how exactly are they supposed to know where to go since Luigi didn't ask and based off the length of the phone call, the customers didn't have time to share their address?

I am open to feedback and welcome PRODUCTIVE conversation from fellow fans. I realize I’m not a perfect person and that there could be things I missed that might offer clarity on some of these points. If so, let me know (politely please).

(Note: Image property of Nintendo and Illumination Entertainment)

[nuoyipeach]

Healing Scars

Kim Yerim X Johnny Suh × Hendery Huang

warnings: a lot of angst, mentions of very slight physical altercations (nothing violent)

>>>

Yeri loved the old man. He was one of the top donator of their community church, and was very loving to everyone, especially the youth. Yeri held a soft spot in him as he watched her grow, from being in the kids’ choir to singing solo as an adult.

When her parents passed away in an accident, he immediately took it to himself to fund her every need. Even when she started working he still sent in allowance every month out of endearment. She never took advantage of it and he loved that about her.

It was no surprise when he finally invited her over for dinner with his family on Lunar New Year, now a young and beautiful 25-year-old. She knew of most of the family, the elder man, his wife, their son and their daughter. This time, instead of the daughter, she saw two unknown young men at the table, looking around her age.

"Come Yeri." the elder man called as his own wife sat her down. "Meet my grandsons. This is Johnny, the elder. And this is Hendery." The two greeted her, the elder looking more stoic, while the younger smiled softly. "You both know Yeri, the girl I love like my own." he laughed and the rest joined in.

Except Johnny. She noticed how he kept a straight face throughout the introduction, even when they all sat down to eat. As they ate they made small talk, she talked more with Hendery aside from the two older women, and found out about what he's been up to.

"I'm just working as a manager at granddad's hotel in Seoul. Johnny hyung leads the main thing though."

"Oh are you brothers?" Yeri asked, noticing his sudden silence, as well as the others as they overheard her.

"We're not, he's illegitimate."

"Johnny!" Yeri was shocked as she saw Johnny's mother yell after he answered, which also shocked her at his complete indifference. She turned and noticed Hendery looking down, clearly upset.

The grandfather cleared his throat. "That's enough. Yeri, I'll explain. Remember my daughter? Well, she had a relationship with a man whilst studying in Macau, and well, had Hendery. As much as it hurts my pride to say, my daughter isn't a good person, especially to raise a child on her own, so we kept him with us, my son and his wife raised him."

While listening her eyes stayed at the man, noticing his eyes still sullen. She held his shoulder, and he looked up to see her smile at him. "You're no less family than anyone here is." he smiled at her words, until the two heard a scoff coming from Johnny's direction. Yeri scowled at him before they all continued eating.

As they finished desserts, the elder man cleared his throat again. "Well, I actually have an announcement to make." he stood, wobbling a bit until his wife helped him balance, then looked over the table. "I'm not getting any younger, and I don't know how much longer I have until my time is up. One of my hopes is to see at least one grandchild get married."

Being the obvious older one, all eyes peeked at Johnny before looking back at the man.

"Now, another thing I would love is for Yeri to become my family. Actual family." this was an obvious shock to everyone, even Yeri herself, and they were all clear about it. "She's a great and hardworking person. I'd love to leave some of my assets to her as well, but I sadly cannot without any family ties, and, though I know all of you here wouldn't, the last thing I want is for my siblings and their families to start fighting her for them."

Her eyes shook as she peeked at the rest of the family, who all were still in shock, but noticed they found reason with his decision. The elder lady suddenly turned to her with an understanding smile.

"I understand you're not in any relationships, right Yeri?" she shook her head. "Anyone you fancy?" she responded the same. "Well then... if its alright with you, we were thinking that maybe you and Johnny could marry."

>>> 

Yeri had agreed. And now she regretted it. It was the biggest regret she had ever had, evident as she sat in her closet crying her heart out. His impression from that dinner should've been a sign of something, and she still doesn't know why she said yes.

For granddad... its for him... The only reasoning she could think of.

It had been couple of months, and the family was great. She really felt at home with them. Who would have thought her biggest problem would be the man she married.

Johnny was anything but welcoming, or nice. It made her think how did such a man spawn from such a warm and loving family. He constantly disregarded her, treating her as if she was beneath him, and when she spoke up about careers he'd have the same reply.

"What career? Aren't you just here to take from our grandfather?"

This time he went as far as hating her for the way she dressed, telling her to change her outfit, which was an sleeveless floral dress down to her knees, to a boring office blouse and pants. It shattered her, breaking her heart more than ever. If there was one thing her church had taught her is to respect and love everyone equally, yet here the grandson of their biggest donator was doing the complete opposite.

Drying up her tears, she got up and got ready for a family night. These were the only thing she looked forward to, some time away from her husband with the people she felt loved. She especially was excited as it was the only time she could meet Hendery, as it turned out they were the only two of the same age, and they immediately became good friends, despite Johnny's constant reminder of his mother.

Same as always, she separated right away as they entered the grandfather's mansion, and headed for where she saw Hendery. He smiled back at her and they started to talk, Yeri invested in the story about his mother actually coming to see him for a day. It was a rare yet common occasion, the lady would simply swoop in unannounced, catch up with Hendery about the family and himself, then leave for weeks again.

After dinner the two returned to one of the few lounge rooms with their drinks and continued their talks about everything and nothing. Yeri felt happier than ever, at least since she's been stuck in this marriage with the man's cousin. As she stared at him talk about something else (she wasn't quite focused at this point) she wondered if things would have been the same if she married him instead.

Stop it... you're married already... she shook her head off of these thoughts, but they still gave her outcomes.

Nothing much would have been different, other than the possibility that she might have a better husband.

Before they knew it, especially with all the drinks they had, the two were sat very close to each other, teasing each other about random things again. With her feet aching from the heels, she lifted them up the couch for a bit, and Hendery unconsciously started massaging her ankles, neither realising anything.

Not even when someone stepped into the lounge room.

"HANDS OFF YOU B*STARD!" for Yeri, her immediate instinct hearing that voice was to drop everything and stand up, and to no surprise so was Hendery's. They looked towards where Johnny stood, eyes red as blood as he stomped forwards and grabbed Yeri's hand tight before roughly pulling her with him. "Keep your lowlife morals out of this house! My parents worked their asses off to raise you, have some decency to not ruin that with your mother's actions. That b*tch should've died along with you."

Yeri was shocked to her core, even more seeing Hendery simply taking the insults with no fight back. She struggled as Johnny kept pulling her out of the room and down the stairs, her yells catching the family's attention and stopping Johnny.

His grandfather stepped in, clearly mad at the commotion. "Why are you dragging her across the house like some rag doll?!"

Johnny scoffed, hand still holding her wrist tight as his mother tried to get his grip off. "Why don't you teach that grandson of yours morals of not touching another man's wife? Or teach this woman you love so much to maintain boundaries?"

All eyes turned to Yeri, who simply broke down as she finally pushed off Johnny's hand. Her mother in law held her and sat her down on the ground as she tried her best to talk.

"Nothing happened... please trust me... we were just talking... just talking..."

"Then why were his hands all over your legs?!" Johnny yelled, his mother shushing him to let her continue.

"I was just massaging her ankles because they were red from wearing the heels for so long." everyone turned their attention towards Hendery who came down the stairs, head still down. "I do it for grandmum all the time. Nothing else happened, we just talked and I did that, that's all. Stop hurting her like that please."

Johnny fumed and stormed towards him, grabbing him by the collar. "You're only still here because I respect our grandfather enough not to have fired you and kicked you out myself. Keep your hands to yourself, and your nose out of my family."

Yeri watched horrified as Hendery nodded, and walked back upstairs once the older pushed him away. She hated watching him get bullied when he did nothing wrong, and no one had a problem with him except Johnny. She stood up out of her mother-in-law's hold and ran towards the two cousins.

"Hendery wait!" she called him causing him he stopped and look back. She then turned to Johnny. "Apologise." her husband stared at her in shock and anger. "Hate me if you want, but apologise to your cousin. You had no right to do and say all that! I don't care that you despise me, call me a gold digger or whore, but your wrong is your wrong."

Johnny scoffed, glaring back at her. "And what, having his hands over a married woman isn't wrong? I guess that's why you stayed there huh? You're really just as low as him huh?"

"Yea sure, call me that. Say it. I don't care. Do you think if I did, I would've been alive today? Your grandfather is the only reason I decided to live this long. Did you think coming from a struggling family made me happy? That losing my parents felt like ecstasy? All that I have left praying for at the church was your grandfather. So go ahead, say what you want. I won't lose hope in myself, not as long as he's alive, because guess what, I'm a human being who actually respects people. It's actually sad that even by being his blood and so called legitimate grandchild, you don't have any respect for people."

Johnny's anger had reached its limit, she could very clearly see that from thr way he glared at her up and down. And it was more evident when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her away with him, leaving the house. He ignored all the yells from his family, and Yeri struggling, and practically threw her into the car before getting inside himself, and started the car.

Yeri had but one thing in her mind at that point. She didn't care about her wellbeing anymore. She didn't care about the properties she'd be willed to. Just as the car started to move, she opened the door and jumped out, tumbling on the road in the process. Johnny hadn't yet processed what happened as he drove towards the main gate, and the few guards outside stood in shock as they watched her pick herself up and run back inside the house.

Of course everyone inside saw what happened. They were at the door and windows ever since Johnny had pulled her out, and now they watched as she ran back inside, ignoring all their calls, and went upstairs to a guest room. She locked the door, even blocking it with the bedside table, and just sat on the bed, finally being able to breath.

She heard the voices call to her from outside. First her mother-in-law, then their grandmother , followed by Johnny banging on the door, and his father yelling at him to back off. She didn't hear what they said, but could tell he was in for a big scolding.

Finally she heard someone who made her heart break. "Yeri... I'm so sorry sweetheart." the elderly man spoke loud yet softly. "I shouldn't have fixed you up with someone you didn't know. All this is my fault. Your pain, it's all on me. I was wrong, I thought he would be good at being a husband as he is being a business man, but I was wrong. I expected too much of him, and I let you suffer the outcome of it..."

Yeri listened silently. She couldn't even cry. She simply felt numb. But she was sharp, and heard the soft sobs of their grandfather. It broke her heart even more, and she finally stood up and went to the door. She held the table, slowly pushing it away, when another voice came.

"Yeri... please come out."

Sighing, she unlocked and opened the door, still careful of Johnny's sudden appearance. Peeking out, she noticed he was there, but blocked by his father. She looked around more and saw everyone still there, but their grandfather. Hendery approached her first.

"Granddad asked for you to go see him in his office." he said while pointing in the direction of the room. She nodded and walked away, not wanting to face the crowd any longer.

Peeking into the room, she saw him sitting at his table, face hidden in his hands as he breathed hard, clearly still in despair. "Close the door dear." she did as told and sat next to him. She felt bad about what he was going through, it wasn't like he knew how his grandson would be like behind closed doors.

But maybe she was wrong.

"I knew it all..." he suddenly spoke, eyes still down at the table. "I knew he was heartless. He's good at his job, but that's sadly all he's good at, and it made him have a heart of stone. I thought that maybe getting him married to an extraordinary woman like you would have opened him up... but I was wrong, and instead, I hurt you..." tears dropped onto his lap, and Yeri gulped as he slowly turned to her. "You should not forgive me, but I still am very sorry. You went through a lot, yet I caused you pain... I'm so sorry my child..."

She couldn't take the pain anymore, and quickly hugged the man, hiding her face in his shoulder as she silently teared up as well. They sat like that in silence for a while, only the sounds of his soft sobs in the room.

After some time he pulled her out, wiping his eyes before speaking. "I understand if you want to divorce him. I'll get my lawyer down here immediately, just say the word."

Yeri thought about it. She did no longer want to be his wife, living with him was like hell, and he was a cruel man. But one thing concerned her, and made her have unwanted second thoughts.

"Granddad... I still want to be family to you." she saw the shock in his eyes. "I have no one, and I love the family, I don't want one bad apple to be the reason I'm no longer part of you. It's not for what you want to give me, I swear, I just really felt like home here..."

The elder man looked away, nodding his head as if in thought. "Well, it's too late for you to be adopted into our family, you're an adult." he sighed and looked back at her. "I think it's best you divorce him first. And don't worry, you're no less family to us with or without legal ties. I'll get you moved into our house here, you're welcomed to stay as long as you wish." he saw the shock but happiness in her eyes, and smiled petting her head. "About my assets... we'll figure it out later. I haven't signed off my will yet, but I will soon."

Yeri left the room with a soft smile, greeted by Johnny's mother and Hendery outside the door. Her mother-in-law stepped forward first, and hugged her tight. "I heard what he said. And just know, married or not, you're always welcomed as my daughter." she let go and faced Yeri, smiling sincerely.

Yeri knew they all meant it, and was happier than ever that she could have a family on her own. As she went downstairs, she saw Johnny sitting in the living room. Their eyes met, and this time, she kept her stare on him as she walked closer. Once they were face to face, she spoke.

"I'm free from you." she spoke with her head held high. "I hope you find what you really need."

Johnny scoffed. "Definitely wasn't you."

"I know."

>>> 

As his time went by, his health only deteriorated. The Seo grandfather was already telling his son all his plans he had fixed for his works, who to pass them on to and etcetera. But one thing still worried them, which prevented him for finalising his will.

How will they let Yeri inherit without problems? All that was left was his real estates, which Hendery had stated he refused to inherit. They knew it was because of Johnny's constant bullying, but he made it clear he also wanted to start a career himself, and the olders had no choice but to respect his wishes.

However, their grandmother was quick to notice something throughout the time Yeri lived with them, and she knew this could be the loophole they were looking for.

It had been almost a year since she moved in with the rest of the family, away from Johnny. And eight months since she was officially divorced. All this time she spent her time after work at the house, doing small errands like helping with cooking, or helping them with their business works. And the thing the elder lady noticed was her bond with everyone, but most specifically one person.

The smile on Yeri's face when she was with Hendery, she recognised it anywhere. And Hendery was clearly not one to hide his smile back to Yeri.

"I know you regret the first set up," she spoke to her husband, holding his hand, "but I know love blooming when I see it. How do you think you've been with me all these years? And how do you think I know you've loved me back as well?"

The man looked at his wife, and knew there was no hiding his feelings for her, and the same went for her feelings as well. He sighed and looked away again. "What if it's a mistake again?" his voice shook as he spoke, evident of his weak health. "I can't put that angel through pain a second time..."

His wife touched his face, turning it towards her. "Hendery's not like Johnny. Why don't you propose the idea to them and see? I know it'll work out, trust me."

He trusted his wife, but he wondered if it was ever a good idea as he sat in his office chair and looked at the two adults who sat in front of him confused why they were suddenly called in. His wife stood behind him and held his shoulder in reassurance.

"Well..." he started with a sigh. "I need to finalise my will, and, I still need to write Yeri as an inheritor. I have a... proposal to make it work out." he pursed his lips, wondering how to say it, picking up the courage to speak again. "I want both of you to be completely honest with me, no more pleasing me, only yourselves."

Yeri and Hendery looked at each other as if confused, then back at the grandfather and nodded.

"How would you feel to get married, to each other?"

>>> 

It took a few days, but a sudden encounter in the backyard one night and they agreed. Yeri was simply outside at night, wanting some fresh air as she was unable to sleep. Hendery had stepped out for the same reason, and they ended up talking deeply, especially regarding the elder man's proposal.

One line from Yeri had them both realise their answer.

"Do you have any regrets?" he had asked her

"No."

He looked at her shocked, confused how did she not regret the time spent with Johnny. "Why?"

She looked at him and smiled. "If I didn't go through what I did, I wouldn't have known you this way."

The next day, they accepted the idea, and within a month both their marriage and grandfather's will were legally registered. They didn't rush things though. They stayed in their separate rooms, took their time going on casual dates, getting to know each other better first, and going through anything that might cause them issues.

It was safe to say for Yeri, there were less things to solve than before.

Hendery smiled looking at her as he helped her plate dinner. She had taken it to herself to cook for everyone that night, so he decided to help knowing it would be tiring to do alone for so many people. Once he finished his task, he saw her still arranging the side dishes to make them look pretty, and came closer looking over her shoulder.

Letting his intrusive thoughts win, Hendery rested his chin on her shoulder, taking Yeri by surprise. She peeked at him for a second, before feigning ignorance and going back to her task, when he suddenly spoke. "Is my head heavy?"

This caught her off guard even more, and Yeri couldn't help start laughing. She looked back at him as he moved away. "What kind of question is that?" she shook her head at him.

He shrugged, hands still up when replying. "Just asking, didn't wanna burden you." he sounded so serious, Yeri could only laugh more. Once she composed herself she shook her head again, before finishing off the task and passing it on to the maid to set the table. She then looked at the food Hendery had plated and smiled at him.

This time she decided to let her intrusive thoughts win, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. It looks neat."

>>> 

Everyone in the family seemed happy with the new couple's arrangement, though there were two who were still unaware of it. It wasn't until another family dinner night, three months later, when those outside of the house found out, that was Johnny and, to everyone's surprise, Hendery's mother.

Johnny noticed the couple sitting together, but paid no heed until after everyone finished eating, when their grandfather suddenly asked for their attention. "I have finalised, and officiated, my will with my lawyer. My time is coming soon, I can feel it..." he went quiet for a while, as did everyone. They all noticed he was definitely on his last leg, but no one was ready to accept it. "I want to go through it one last time tonight with everyone here. After this, we can all forget about it until the future." everyone nodded, and Yeri didn't miss the oddly hopeful look in her new mother-in-law's face (it was weird calling her when she was yet to know her son's marriage).

"My position as chairman will obviously go to my son, and he will foresee all my assets as well, along with his wife of course. As for the hotel, I leave it for Johnny to inherit. Hendery will also no longer be working for you." at this Johnny's ears perked up. "He will be working under my real estate agency."

Their attention changed when Hendery's mother suddenly cheered, and Yeri got the hint why he was so persistant in not wanting to inherit anything. Their grandfather was shocked, but understood as well, and was quick to continue reading. "As for the agency itself however, I leave it to my granddaughter-in-law, Yeri."

"WHAT?!?" both Johnny and Hendery's mum stood up in shock, simultaneously screaming as well. Johnny's father shushed them and strictly motioned them to sit down, but his sister was definitely not happy. "What in-law? Who is she even married to?"

"I'd like to ask the same." Johnny added on, for once taking side with his aunt. "Because last I remember, we were divorced." he side-eyed Yeri, who sat with her left hand on the table, and that's when he noticed. She wore a wedding ring, different from the one from their own marriage however. He then peeked at Hendery, who drank water as he got nervous, and noticed his hand as well.

Matching rings.

"Well," his attention turned back to their grandfather, "Yeri inheriting that was always my plan, but you obviously gave me quite the dilemma with your marriage behaviour." he eyed Johnny. "While living with us, your grandmother noticed them. I don't care how much you won't like me saying this Johnny, but Hendery is much better at being a husband than you could ever be. Of course this time I allowed them to choose, and they did, they accepted the marriage, so now Yeri is again legally family, and I have every right to pass on inheritance to her."

Johnny could only scoff and turn away. Though thanks to his business brain, he realised that was the best move considering his grandfather's decisions. There was still one person who was not on board with the idea, and she now stood up angrily pointing at Yeri.

"Who is she to inherit from you? Why isn't your actual grandchild inheriting that? She's only gonna use your money, and next thing you know she'll leave Hendery and take it all with her!"

Yeri was quick to hold Hendery's hand, stopping him from standing up only to add fuel to the fire. He looked back at her, saw she shook her head, and sat back down with a sigh. They looked back as their grandmother now spoke instead, standing up as well.

"You were never in Hendery's life, so why do you care? Let me guess, you were hoping he'd get the agency, and you could use him for money? How pathetic!" everyone stood shocked as she said what they all didn't have the heart to. "Yeri is more family than you, and for your information Hendery was the first in line to inherit, but he's made it clear he doesn't want it, and we all see why. You're the one who's going to use him, not Yeri. I'm ashamed our only daughter turned out this way."

His mother clearly didn't like hearing anything so far, suddenly grabbing her wine and spilling it at Yeri. Everyone gasped, and Hendery very clearly had had enough as he stood glaring at his mother. "Why don't you just leave like you always do!? Go spend your new boyfriend's money instead! Stop coming after me and my family!"

"You're only a part of this family because of me you ungrateful brat!"

"WHY ELSE DO YOU THINK I WISH I WAS NEVER BORN!"

Yeri's eyes widened, the whole room falling into silence, everyone's movements on halt. All eyes were on Hendery, even Johnny's. The man in question stood heaving breaths, before he relaxed his shoulders and without a word left the table. Yeri watched his figure disappear, when suddenly she heard a soft weep, turning to see Johnny's mother holding in her tears.

Suddenly she stood up as well, letting go of her cries as she spoke to her sister-in-law. "You have no idea what that child has been through! To hear him say that, as the woman who actually raised him, you have no idea how hard it was when his cousin, my own son, wouldn't accept him! I have no regrets having had Hendery in my life, but you have NO RIGHT to say you did him any favours!"

Yeri couldn't take it, and stood up and followed in the direction Hendery had left. She found him outside sitting by the small fountain, face hidden in his hands as he leaned on his legs. Her heart broke, as long as she's known him, through all the insults Johnny had thrown at him, she had never seen him this broken before. Slowly she walked to him, wine stains still evident on her dress, and sat next to him close, their shoulder just barely touching.

She heard him weep, which broke her even more, and she finally gave in to the distance as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "Don't say that again, please." she whispered, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. "I know it hurts, but don't think like that."

"I'm sorry..." she heard him say softly, wiping his eyes as he tried to compose himself. "To be honest... after you'd inherit it I planned on leaving." Yeri moved out, staring at him wide eyed, in shock and confusion from his words. He looked at her, and she saw his eyes red from crying. "I was doing granddad a favour, it didn't matter to me..." he looked away before continuing, "nothing does. What's the point? Without me, it won't make a difference."

"HUANG GUANHENG!" Yeri yelled as she stood up, clearly upset by everything he said. She rightfully had to be, it hurt her deep hearing him say he had no reason to live. As she processed it more, she fell to her knees in front of him and grabbing his face to look at her.

"How can you say and act like you have nothing to live for, when you have me? Aren't I enough? Do you think I only did this to do granddad a favour? I..." her eyes welled up as she thought about her next words. "Hendery... I genuinely love you. You were there for me when I didn't know who to talk to, you made me smile after those days I couldn't. And after all that, when it became us, you made me regain trust in a relationship."

Feeling her emotions take over, she let go of his face and looked down, and Hendery could see the tears falling from her cheeks. "Even... even if you wanted to run away, I would have supported you, I would have followed you. But, you want to die, because you don't think anything matters..." she looked back up, her face wet, and choked on her cries. "How do you think that makes me feel? How can you say that after everything?"

He was speechless. He knew he hadn't thought of her in his initial plan. He simply figured it to be a convenience for his family, and that after his job was done, he'd leave for good. His role wasn't needed. And as he stared back at her in silence, Yeri stood slowly and shook her head.

"You really didn't care about me did you?" her voice broke as she spoke. When he was silent again, she looked away and wiped her tears. "I get it... I was the idiot for thinking it would work this time." she looked back at him, and what she said felt like a stab in his chest.

"You're no better than Johnny... if anything you're worse. He was my enemy from day one, but you pretended to be my friend, only to betray me... you're the worst kind of person!"

She ran back inside the house, and he heard someone call for her as she continued to run. He looked back down at his feet, grabbing his hair in frustration as he realised what he had just done. Life had given him a chance, but he threw it out without a care, and he hurt the person he vowed to never do so.

"Stupid idiot!" he grunted, his hands fisted hitting his head.

"You really are." a voice caught his attention, making him look up, shock taking over at the sight of his cousin. "You really are an idiot. The fact that you can see it yourself is the only guarantee for me that you're still smart."

Hendery didn't want anything more than to drown himself in the water behind him, and seeing the cousin who hated him all his life just made him remember why. He looked away, wiping his nose as he feigned ignorance. "Go away, you never have anything nice to say, you're the last person who should be here right now."

"Shocking isn't it." Johnny replied, monotonous as ever. "I've hated you all my life because I thought it was unfair how a kid dropped at our door was getting the same love and attention as me. I hated you more hearing about your mother, the disgrace to our family." Hendery rolled his eyes the more he heard the older man speak. "But, I hate you now because if there's one thing that bugs me most it's losing a good deal that's right in front of your eyes."

At this Hendery turned, confused what he meant. "You're smart, but you let emotion get in the way. I hate that. You're so stupid for it, and even more now that you're letting it get in the way of the chance of having the perfect life with someone."

Hendery sighed rubbing his face, and got up to eye level at Johnny, though the man was much taller. "Since when do you care about me, or her? You hurt her, you hurt me, since when do you care about our life?" he asked, voice rough from holding in his tears.

Johnny scoffed rolling his eyes, then looked back at him with a serious look. "I only hated her because she was an unwanted obstacle in my life plan. I never planned on getting married, even now I still don't. I'll admit I was heartless, but I hate having to come home to have someone on my back asking me stupid questions like how was your day or have you eaten, it's a waste of time." he suddenly walked closer, poking at Hendery's chest.

"You however are the exact man for a life like that, and yet when the chance for one came so easily you decided to let it go? I don't think I've met someone so stupid before in my life. I've thought many things about you in my life, none which are good I'll admit. But, I never thought you were stupid. Stupid for thinking emotionally yes, but not literally. When I heard your arrangement earlier, I knew it should have been you from the start for something like this. With me it was a dilemma, but for you it would have done good to both granddad and you."

Hendery listened silently, absorbing everything he heard. "I still don't get why you care so much." he managed to say, genuinely confused why his cousin suddenly gave him this talk.

Johnny put his hand down, and answered in the most nonchalant way possible.

"I don't want granddad's hard earned work to go to waste, to someone who's only gonna ruin it, that is your mother."

>>> 

By the time he went back in the house, a maid was already wiping the table. Sighing, Hendery went upstairs, heading to his room. As he walked on he passed by Yeri's, noticing the door creaked open slightly, and heard soft sniffles inside. Unable to hold himself, he peeked in, and she her laid on her side on the bed, something shiny in her hand that she played with.

Their wedding ring.

He watched her silently, seeing she was in deep thought, when he lost his balance and fell through the door. Yeri screamed internally at the sudden intrusion, hand on her chest as she realised who it was.

Hendery looked up at her from the floor, neither knowing how to react anymore as he scrambled to stand up fast and dusted himself. "Uhm... sorry. I just... tripped." He managed to speak.

Yeri sighed and turned away, staring at the window out into the darkness of their front yard. She didn't have anything to say, or talk about, and decides keeping her eyes off of him would be the best option for him now.

Hendery didn't like seeing her this hurt, and after much hesitation, he walked closer and sat on her bed, leaving some distance between them. "Can we... can we talk? Please?" his voice softer than ever, even more than when getting yelled at by his cousin. Yeri turned her head, but kept it straight, still not daring to look at him.

He decided to continue, and sighed before speaking. "I'm sorry... You were right, I should have thought about you. I thought I was doing you guys a favour, but I never took your feelings into consideration. I'm... I'm no different than Johnny, I'm worse. I made you think I cared, which I did without a doubt, but... I don't know, I just never really think into the future that way."

Yeri finally looked towards him, but saw his eyes down at his feet, a tear dripping on his cheek. She was still mad, but put her anger aside for a short minute as her feelings took over. Hendery froze as he suddenly felt arms around him, his body turned slightly as she hugged him, head on his shoulder.

"I understand everything you've been through, and I have no problems with what you suffer or how you act about it." she pulled away just enough that their faces stayed close. "Just... please consider me in your life. It's selfish to think the way you did, when I'm here. I need you, and I'm also here for you."

Hendery pursed his lips to stop them from quivering obviously, before he threw his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug, something they both felt like they needed.

"I'm sorry..." he mumbled, voice clearly broken.

Yeri choked back some tears, though she was confident something was now different and she no longer had to worry about his previous plans. She held him more gently, snuggling into his chest somewhat, feeling content after the longest time.

"We can heal together Hendery, you don't have to do all the work." they pulled away a little and looked at each other, Yeri smiling this time as she spoke. "You're not alone anymore. I know it feels weird at first, but you'll have to get used to me being in your life every single moment now."

His heart felt weird, but in a good way, and he hugged her again, feeling the most comfort he had ever felt in his life.

The door was left open, and Johnny soon walked past noticing it. He saw two sets of legs dangling off the end of the bed, and let curiosity get the best of him as he peeked in a little, scoffing at the sight of the couple laying in bed asleep. He saw Hendery hugging his wife like a teddy bear, his face relieved as if all his problems were washed away.

>>>

so this is based on a dream I had including the characters (though Yeri was originally Irene but the age gaps weren't working irl so i switched it heh) & idk how it got so long trying to include all the main events that happened (as far as I could remember lol)

Hope you guys enjoyed it! Feedback is much appreciated♡

[omskivarwrites]

Author’s note: This is another old prompt that I’d like to turn into an actual short story. I ran out of steam trying to figure out what to do next, and left a note for myself to watch more heist movies (which I never did), so this one cuts off rather abruptly. Still wanted to share, though. I like this one. 

Also, if you find any [text like this], that’s figure-it-out-later filler that I missed. 

Prompt: Letting go, 20s gangster, thief

“On my way to pick up Johnny.”

Harry slipped the phone back into the pocket of her uniform and shook her head. Normally she would leave it at home or in her car, but her client for this job was a micromanaging piece of work who wanted to know her every move. She’d tried to tell him that texting during a job was an unnecessary distraction that had gotten her caught more than once and left an incriminating paper trail, but he’d insisted that was one of the terms of the agreement. She kept him updated at all times, or he’d find someone who would agree to his terms. With the amount of money he was offering, and the not-so-subtle threat that the police would be informed who really stole the Dresden Green, Harry couldn’t say no.

No one said no to Tony Semenza.

Harry hadn’t taken more than three steps toward the door to the broom closet she was currently occupying before her phone buzzed. Again.

“Have a safe trip :)”

Rolling her eyes, Harry jammed the phone as deep into her pockets as it would go. At least she’d convinced Semenza of the importance of using a code. The idiot had honestly thought “the package” was vague enough to not be suspicious. How had the grandson of Marlon “The Knife” Semenza grown up not knowing the basics of avoiding jail time? The family must have had a seriously good and/or expensive lawyer on retainer.

Okay. One more time. Taking a deep breath (and pausing just before she turned the door handle to allow for another ill-timed text from her employer) Harry straightened her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.

The twenty-ninth floor of the Obelisk Hotel was empty, though Harry doubted any of the residents would have given her a second glance. No one ever really noticed housekeeping. Humming the opening bars of Edelweiss, Harriet pulled her cart out of the closet and headed to room 2810.

The door at the end of the hallway was flanked by two beefy men in ill-fitting suits and knock-off designer shades. One moved to block Harry as she approached.

“Turn around, ma’am,” he said.

“But I need to clean that room,” Harry said, putting on her most puzzled expression.

“You’re not authorized to enter. Turn. Around.”

Not authorized to enter? Pfft. Who did Maxwell Steiner think he was? His dad hadn’t been involved in politics for a couple of decades now. “Sir, the resident specifically requested that housekeeping clean this room right away. I think he said something about broken glass?”

She couldn’t see his eyes, but Harry was pretty sure the guard was narrowing them at her from behind his sunglasses. “Stay there.” He pressed a hand to his ear-piece and turned away as he spoke. All she could make out was a hushed murmur.

Harry glanced at the other, shorter guard. He watched her impassively, but beneath the cheap fabric of his suit he was clearly tensed for action. Good to see that Steiner’s budget bodyguards took their jobs seriously. If it came down to a physical altercation (not that she was planning on one) she was in trouble, but dedication to duty was a good trait to have. Even if that dedication was easily bought and just as easily sold.

The murmuring grew slightly louder, and Harry’s ears perked up just in time to catch, “Yes sir. Of course, sir.” The first guard turned back to her, his face the same blank slate it had been when she’d approached.

“Sorry for the trouble, miss,” he said. He pulled a keycard out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and held it open for her. “You’re cleared to enter.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Harry muttered a “thank you” and pushed the cart inside the hotel suite. As soon as she was past the door it shut behind her with a muted click.

Harry had staked out the hotel several times in preparation for this heist. On average it took housekeeping half an hour to turn a room. Depending on the nature of the request, a call to housekeeping for something more specific could take anywhere from two to fifteen minutes. However, this particular mess she’d been called to clean up was all over the bedroom. Exploding wine bottles tended to stain everything and send glass shards flying into all sorts of places. This one was going to need special attention.

Humming again, Harry slipped on a pair of latex gloves. She had thirty minutes. If everything went according to plan, she would only need five.

Anyone with even a passing interest into the lives of spoiled politicians’ children knew that Maxwell Steiner always traveled with a portable safe. Never one to trust hotel security measures (a quirk that Harry fully agreed with — those safes were way too easy to break into, and apparently they let just about anyone hire on as a hotel maid) Steiner had a custom, top-of-the-line safe made just for him that went everywhere he did. Just what was in that safe was a mystery for the ages, or at least the age of smart phones and sex tapes.

Harry knew what was in the safe. At least, one item in it. And boy was it a doozy. She’d been hired to procure a lot of objects in her relatively short career — man, the stories she could tell that involved live animals and ill-advised uses of historical artifacts — but this one was big, even for her. Never in her lifetime did she think she would ever lay eyes on plundered Nazi loot.

She had to find that safe and get it open before that could happen, though. The logical first place to look was the hall closet, where most hotel safes were kept. And, logically, Steiner’s safe wasn’t there. Harry closed the closet door and was about to check the kitchenette when her phone buzzed.

“How’s traffic? :)”

God, those smiley faces were starting to get on her nerves. Guy couldn’t wait more than three minutes to check in on her, could he?

“Traffic is light, I should get there on time. But remember I told you I don’t like to text while driving.”

Sent. Seen. A response seconds later.

“That’s what red lights are for.”

“:)”

Harry was starting to see red. Motherfucker was doing this on purpose. “Fine,” she muttered, moving on to the bedroom. If Semenza wanted to leave enough rope to hang himself, that was on him. This was a burner phone anyway.

The safe wasn’t in the bedroom. Nor was it in the kitchenette, or the living area, or the bathroom. Harry checked her watch. She was ten minutes in and her objective was nowhere to be found. Where the hell was that safe?

A curtain fluttered, pushed by the breeze from the open balcony doors. Harry frowned. Surely he wouldn’t be fool enough to keep his safe out there… would he?

At first glance it seemed he wasn’t that kind of fool. The only things on the balcony were a white wooden lounge chair, a side table, and a palm fern in each corner next to the building. But that side table didn’t match any of the decor inside or outside; it looked like a solid block of polished mahogany, completely out of place among the sleek modern metal and glass that dominated the presidential suite. Kneeling down, Harry could just make out a rectangular outline on the side. She slid her fingers around the outline, gently pressing against the wood in search of a button or other release mechanism.

There! The wood gave slightly under her fingertips, and a moment later a panel silently slid forward and to the left, revealing a black metal door with a combination lock set into it.

“Bingo,” Harry whispered. A slow smile crept across her face. With a quick glance back into the suite to make sure no one had come in, she set to work on the lock.

For all the fuss people made about Steiner and his safe, it was disappointingly easy to crack. As the final tumbler clicked into place, Harry finally allowed herself to breathe. She was almost done. After this job, she could quit stealing (for a while, at least). She turned the handle, relishing that satisfying clunk it made, and opened the safe.

A spray of dark fluid splattered her in the face and chest. Harry threw herself backward, sputtering and wiping at her eyes. A bitter taste crept onto the edges of her tongue; some of it had gotten into her mouth.

She sat up and looked down at herself. Blue ink covered her hands, arms, and uniform. She could only guess how much of it was on her face. Steiner was clearly more of a tricky bastard than she’d given him credit for. She certainly hadn’t expected ink packs in the safe.

The door to the safe was wide open, revealing… nothing. It was empty, save for a single slip of paper, folded and standing upright.

A paper addressed to Harriet Cohen.

With trembling hands, Harry took the paper and unfolded it. All it said was “Gotcha.”

Fuck. She’d been set up. And worse, she’d fallen for it. How could she have been so stupid? Was Semenza working with Steiner? And if he was, why—? Raised voices from inside grabbed Harry’s attention. Her eyes widened at the bulky figures coming toward her. She couldn’t talk her way out of this one. There was only one way to go.

Harry scrambled to the railing and dove over the side.

For a split second the feeling of free-falling drove all thought out of her brain, save for the single repeating refrain of oh fuck oh fuck we’re gonna die!!! Then she snatched the bottom rungs of the railing, and stopped herself with a jolt that made her stomach lurch and threatened to pop her elbows right out of their sockets. Her feet dangled helplessly in mid-air.

She tried not to think about how far below the street was, or how fast it would take her to hit the pavement if she fell. There wasn’t time to panic about being thirty stories up. All she had to do was follow the plan. If she followed the plan, she’d get out of this alive. Hopefully.

The voices grew louder as Harry shifted her weight

“Looks like she took the bait,” said Meatbag #1 from above. They were on the balcony now.

“I knew she would,” said a new voice. “A rat can’t resist nibbling when it sees a piece of cheese.”

Harry had never had the displeasure of meeting the man in person, but she’d seen enough celebrity “news” to recognize Steiner’s voice. Of course the dirtbag was here to gloat. She’d expect nothing less. Which meant she needed to get away as quickly as possible, before someone took two steps to the right and saw her hands clutching the railing.

Harry looked down. The suite below Steiner’s also had a balcony. She just had to drop down there. The only consequence of missing would be falling to her death. No big deal. She took a deep breath and swung her legs back and forth, building up momentum.

“Now where,” Steiner said, each word punctuated by the click of his heels as he strolled across the balcony, “did the little rat go?”

Swaying out over the street below made Harry’s head spin. She swallowed down the little whine of fear that threatened to leak out. Almost there. She just had to swing out a little further…

The footsteps were coming closer. No more time left. Harry gave one final kick and let go. She tucked her arms and legs in close to her chest, intending to roll as she landed, but she hit the floor flat on her back with a loud thud.

“What was that?”

The impact had knocked the wind out of her, but Harry at least had enough presence of mind to roll beneath the lounge chair. Struggling to breathe without gasping like a fish on land, she clenched her teeth and forced herself to breathe through her nose.

The click click click of footsteps. A pause that seemed to drag on indefinitely, every second marked by the pulse of blood in her ears. Harry tucked her limbs in as close as she could. Was the end of her ponytail peeking out from beneath the chair? Had she left a smear of ink on the tile? Steiner had to suspect she was down here. The only other way out of the suite was through the front door, and the guards would have caught her if she’d gone out that way.

Finally Steiner let out a sigh. “Nothing,” he said, unable to keep a note of disappointment from his voice. “She’s not out here.”

“Dunno where else she could be,” one of the meatbags said. “Only other way out is through the door, and we were out there the whole time.”

“Clever little creatures, rats are.” Steiner’s voice faded as he headed inside, but his voice was raised enough for Harry to catch it. “They’ll find any number of ways to escape a sinking ship.”

The balcony door clicked shut above her, and Harry let out the breath she’d been holding, exhaling like the air was exploding from her lungs. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. The tile wasn’t exactly comfortable to lay on, but the cool stone soothed her sore muscles. She was just going to lay here for a little bit. Just long enough to catch her breath and let her heartbeat slow down to a gentle gallop. Then it was time to get back to work.

The job wasn’t over. It was just getting interesting.

* * * 

Suite 2710 had been rented out to one Jurgen Niemand for the last two days. (By some miracle Semenza had at least been smart enough to use an alias this time.) Sadly, in the interest of not drawing attention to herself, staying in the room wasn’t an option for Harry. (A pity, that. She’d have put room service through their paces and rung the bill up as far as she dared, since it was all on Semenza’s dime. Another time, maybe.) She had made sure she was responsible for the basic housecleaning for the suite, however, which gave her ample opportunity to stash any supplies she might need. Supplies like a change of clothes, for example. Or professional-grade theater makeup. Or wigs.

A quick, scalding scrub in the shower took care of most of the ink, though there were a few faint splotches mingled in with the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. A careful application of concealer took care of that problem. Her ruined uniform was dumped unceremoniously into a trash bag, replaced with black leggings and long-sleeved t-shirt. Free of that damned wig for the first time in two weeks, Harry’s head felt lighter than air and no longer itched like she’d rubbed poison ivy all over her scalp. She ran a hand through her short, tight black curls and sighed in relief.

Reluctantly, she pulled up the text conversation between her and Semenza. He wasn’t going to like this turn of events, but it was the kind of thing he’d insisted he be informed of immediately. And his reaction might help her figure out if he was in on the trap.

“Johnny wasn’t at his apartment,” she typed. “His big brother chased me off. Going to see if he’s at a friend’s house instead.” She hit send and hoped that the code wasn’t too obscure for Semenza to figure out.

A minute passed. No reply. That was weird. Normally Semenza was all over his phone. Frowning, Harry slipped the phone into her pocket. Then she shrugged and pulled her climbing harness out from under the bed. Whether or not her employer saw the message, she still had a job to do.

Steiner had been right about the rat metaphor, as insulting as it was. The house Harry had grown up in was plagued with rodent infestations, and one of the first things she’d learned was that for every mouse hole you found, there were guaranteed to be at least two more you didn’t know about.

What Steiner had neglected to mention, however, was that even if you cut off all their escape routes, rats would just gnaw their own.

The air ducts in this hotel, as one might expect, were all connected. Theoretically, all Harry had to do was get in at any point, and given enough time and effort she could find her way to the ducts above Steiner’s suite. That, however, would require more time than she had, and the noise of her crawling around inside a sheet-metal tunnel would alert Steiner and his guards for sure. So, instead, Harry was going to come in from below.

The vents in each suite weren’t big enough for a toddler to crawl through, let alone a fully-grown adult woman, but that was okay. Two days had been plenty of time for Harry to make her own entrance. As long as she was careful about not making too much noise, it was really no big deal to move the bed and cut a hole in the wall behind the headboard, right into the air duct. The duct that, if her calculations and memory of the hotel blueprints were correct, also vented into Steiner’s bedroom. She didn’t need to fit through the vent if she pumped the suite full of sleeping gas and entered through the front door.

Of course, having the logistics of her next step figured out was only half the equation. Steiner and his men would be looking for her, and whatever else Steiner was, he was not a stupid man. He would have realized by now that she was still in the hotel, and sooner or later (and Harry was banking on sooner) he’d either jump to the most likely conclusion, that she had dropped to the balcony below, or just start searching room by room in an effort to apprehend her. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a police officer or hotel staff: he was Maxwell Steiner. If he wanted in somewhere, he’d get in.

And where the hell was the painting? If it wasn’t in the safe (was it ever in there?), where was it?

[snowcandyz]

Random Obey Me! Headcanon #3

Genre: Fluff with a slight of crack here and there. A lot of family bonding too :3

In the anime teaser and manga, Mammon is shown to be the one who always indulges Satan's toddler requests. We know that Lucifer influenced Satan the most, but I love to think that Mammon actually helps him a lot when he first started knowing about things in Devildom. Sure, in terms of personality or way of thinking, Lucifer wins, but Mammon was the one who taught Satan how to wash dishes, to lawn the mower, to not put metal items in the microwave, to not run away from Lucifer's lecture if he didn't want to get more punishment from the eldest. Basically, Mammon is the 'mother' of Satan. In fact, he's also one of the few who first taught him how to read. So, whenever Satan gets turned into a toddler by the cursed book, Mammon can't help wanting to spoil him because he's reminded of the past.

Because Simeon is still practising his typing skills in D.D.D, he sometimes accidentally sent/spam stickers to everyone else. For Luke, it was no big deal since he'll probably ask Simeon what it meant, but for Solomon? The sorcerer will bombard another massive wave of emojis/stickers back to Simeon, making Simeon thinks that it's normal to spam stickers in Human culture.

Because of this, MC too got sticker spammed by Simeon.

I love to imagine that Lucifer gives the brothers their monthly pocket money. Everyone gets the same amount, but if they wanted more money, they'll need to work part-time jobs.

Sike! Mammon got -2% less pocket money than others. This is because he wants Mammon to storm to his study and demand more money from Lucifer. Just a way to see his cutest brother sulk like a puppy *shrug*

Lucifer has one specific rule when it comes to dining together. When the meals are done, the brothers cannot, under any circumstances, use their D.D.D to call down everyone for dinner. No text, no calls, no anything. They must walk on foot to the respective brothers' room and call them for dinner one by one. This is actually just a way for Lucifer to know whether any of his brothers are having fallouts or arguments with each other.

Mammon is the peacemaker in the family. Even though he's always bickering with Levi, we didn't see them fighting to the point of having cold wars. So when his brothers are arguing with each other, he'll be on the neutral side that listens to every side's stories. Mammon will then advise them to make up with each other, in a subtle way. (One of the reasons why Lucifer relies on Mammon a lot when he's too busy to keep up with the family drama)

On times that Diavolo can't log in to his game due to his demanding workload, he will ask for Levi's help to log into his games and claim the daily login bonuses. Also help tend to his farm in the game Devil Farmer. And also help feed his virtual pets in Devil Pets. Long story short, Levi now works a part-time job as Diavolo's virtual farmer/petsitter.

The fact that almost 75% of the problem that Lucifer heard complaints of comes from Levi and Mammon themselves, even though they are the big brothers, made Lucifer wonder if those two are truly capable of being in the big brother squad. Until he was away for an errand one day and discovered that those two prevented a huge physical altercation between their little brothers and some middle-class demons.

Taglist: @jerw117 @rakshamon @ikehoe @wiiidgeon @amistytown @kniselle @dicetheroll @sparkbeast20 @fanfictyrant @highly-functioning-mitochondria @devildomwritersposts

Fill out this form to be included in our taglist, and send in an ask to be removed.

Thank you for reading! Feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated ✨

| Masterlist |

[ragingbookdragon]

I Saw It Coming When You Threw The First Punch

Batmom x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence

Author's Note: I honestly feel like I get my irritation from people out by writing stories where the characters punch people. I live vicariously through my characters. Enjoy! -Thorne

Getting the call that his wife had been taken into GCPD custody was not one that Bruce had ever expected to receive. Not in a million years. And yet, low and behold, Gordon had called sounding apologetic that she’d been detained after a physical altercation at the gala she’d hosted earlier that evening.

Which was absolutely baffling to him, because the only person more anal retentive about screwing up at a gala than Alfred, was his wife. So, something must’ve seriously set her off if she’d hauled off on somebody. And Gordon had made it quite clear that it was his wife that threw the first punch, though beyond that, he didn’t know what else had occurred because she’d invoked her rights to the company lawyer and to remain silent, simply staring at the wall while the other officers tried to get a story out of her—Bruce knew she wouldn’t crack. Other than him, his wife had a reserve that no man, alien, or god could break. He’d never say it, but he was envious of his wife’s willpower.

He arrived rather quickly with all four sons in tow, knowing that the sight of the entire family would probably help her chances of getting out and they waited patiently to be escorted to where she was being held.

When they arrived at the interrogation room, they saw her sitting there with crossed legs, hands placed palm down on the table. Her eyes were closed in what Bruce recognized as her deep meditative state; the one she used to fight off telepathic control from enemies—she was probably recounting what happened that night.

“What are the charges?” he asked Gordon and the older man sighed.

“Simple battery and public disturbance.”

Bruce hummed lowly in his throat and gazed at his wife. “How do you see this playing out for her?”

“If the woman she keelhauled doesn’t press charges, there’s possibility of probation with community service.”

He had to play naïve. “And if she does?”

Gordon met his gaze. “Then you’re looking at your wife going into lockup for a year.”

Bruce let out a sigh. “I’ll call our lawyer then.”

“I’ll give you and your wife some privacy,” he replied, hitting a button on the keypad beside the door, and the glass went dark while the glowing red button recording the room turned off.

“Thank you, Gordon,” he said, and the detective waved as he walked off, closing the door to the interrogation room behind him. Bruce looked at his sons. “Let’s go see what set your mom off tonight.”

***

The door to the room opened but she didn’t open her eyes, still under the cold water in her retreat.

“(Y/N),” someone murmured and though the voice was familiar, she didn’t come to yet.

“(Y/N),” they repeated a bit firmer. “Come back up.”

Ever so slowly, she allowed her mind to come back from the deep waters and she opened her eyes, smiling at her husband and sons.

“Good evening family.” Damian immediately sprinted to her and buried his face in her neck, and she laughed, running a hand through his short dark hair. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“You are in trouble,” he murmured and pulled away to look into her eyes. “We will do whatever you need, Umi.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Don’t worry about me baby. Knowing Little Miss Martha May, she’s not going to press charges over our spat.”

“I think simple battery is bit more than a spat, mom,” Dick worried, brows furrowing in concern. “What did you two even start fighting about?”

Her eyes darted to the glass then to Bruce and he said, “Gordon turned off the cameras.”

“Mom,” Tim started, and she looked at him; he held up his phone screen. “I just assured that you’re protected here.”

She nodded and let out a sigh. “I knew I should’ve just walked away but I couldn’t help it. She just set me off like a match to gunpowder.”

“What’d you guys even duke it out over,” Jason questioned, and she sighed again, recounting the night.

***

“You’ve thrown another wonderful party, Miss Wayne,” Lucius murmured, handing her a champagne glass.

She grinned widely, thanking him. “Thank you, Lucius, I try.”

“Clan couldn’t come tonight?”

“You’ve always been perceptive about us, haven’t you?”

“To use your words, I try,” he laughed, and she nodded.

“Patrol started early tonight,” she said inconspicuously, eyes shifting around to glance at who was walking near them. “Besides, most of them only come to these to appease the crowd.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot that you’re the only one who actually enjoys these.”

“Only when Bruce and the kids are here,” she corrected. “It’s easier to bullshit when they’re here to pick up the slack.”

He barked a laugh and she chuckled in return when someone walked up to them. She turned and immediately grimaced at the old classmate of hers.

“(Y/N), such a beautiful party you’ve thrown tonight,” the woman greeted, though it was laced with cheerful fakeness.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Good evening, Marianne. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“Oh, you know me, I’m always up for a party.” Her eyes drifted around. “Where is your husband? I wanted to thank him for the gift basket he sent after my operation.” Marianne gave her a sarcastic smile. “Isn’t it rather off for a host to avoid his own party?”

Note to self, yell at Bruce for sending her a gift.

“He had to work late tonight. So did the boys.” (Y/N) matched her smile. “I’m sure they’d be delighted to know that you thought of them though.”

Something shifted in Marianne’s eyes. “Oh yes, the children you have.” She leaned in close and murmured, “You know I’ve been hearing some rather negative rumors about yours and Bruce’s decision to adopt orphans rather than have some of your own.”

(Y/N) blinked, not sure if she should be shocked or unimpressed. “Really? Care to enlighten me?”

Marianne waved a hand. “The major one is that you simply took pity on the strays because you were barren.” She felt like she’d been slapped across the face and her jaw dropped as she gaped at the woman.

Apparently, that was all the ammunition that Marianne needed because she offered a sympathetic smile an placed a hand on (Y/N)’s arm. “Oh, you poor dear.” She patted her arm again. “You should’ve come to me instead of adopting orphans. I would’ve been happy to be a surrogate for you.”

(Y/N) shrugged the hand off her arm and reached up, pulling the silver teardrop earrings from her ears. “Yeah, those orphans aren’t mine, not biologically.”

She pulled off her diamond wedding rings and handed them and the earrings over to Lucius who took them and stepped back.

“But you know what they are?” she glowered at Marianne and seethed, “They’re my sons.”

The next thing anyone knew, the two women were rolling on the floor, their hostess throwing punches that seemed to make everyone wince when they connected to the woman’s face.

***

“And all I remember was being escorted down here,” she finalized, eyes drifting to Bruce’s.

He simply stared at her for a moment before he let out a heavy sigh and put his face in his hands. “I’m proud that you defended our family, but at the same time, I’m disappointed that you let Marianne set you off.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, so you’re taking her side?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Bruce shot back. “If she decides to press charges, you’re going to be in lockup for a year.”

“She’s not.”

“You don’t know that, (Y/N).”

“No, I do,” she blinked and leaned forward. “If Marianne doesn’t want me to ruin her image with shit she did when she was a teenager, she’ll keep her mouth shut and take the blame for this.”

“What’d she do, Ma?” Jason questioned curiously and she turned her attention to him.

“Enough that’ll disgrace her image amongst every elite this side of the globe if she tries me anymore.”

Before anyone could say anything, the door opened and they turned, seeing Gordon walking in. “Good evening, Miss Wayne,” he greeted, and she smiled.

“Good evening, Jim. How’s your night so far?”

He chuckled. “Not too bad. I got to detain my favorite socialite and listen to all my officers speculate what she did.”

(Y/N) lifted her hands palm up beside her shoulders. “I live to please, Jim, you know that.”

“I do.” He walked over and handed her a few papers. “When asked if she wanted to press charges, Marianne Walters declined. She instead gave a rather detailed statement that she instigated the fight and threw the first punch.” He stared at the busted lip she had. “Does that match what happened?”

She quickly looked over the papers and nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”

Gordon sighed. “Do you wish to press charges?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No,” she smiled. “There’s no reason to make a fuss about this.”

“…Miss Wayne, you and Miss Walters are all over the news.”

She shrugged. “And people have very short memories. They’ll forget about this.” She handed back the papers. “Send this to my lawyer and she’ll handle it with the prosecutors.”

“You think they won’t press charges despite Walters?” Gordon asked and she nodded.

“Oh, they won’t,” she said then looked at the clock. “Am I free to leave? It’s been a long night.”

Gordon let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Yes Miss Wayne, you’re free to leave now.”

(Y/N) rose. “Wonderful.” She looked at her sons. “Boys, let’s go.”

They followed her and Bruce stood from the table, standing beside Gordon. “Thank you, Jim.”

Gordon grunted. “I know (Y/N) threw the first punch.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do.” He huffed. “And I don’t blame her either.” He watched (Y/N) laugh at something Dick said while the others groaned around him. “You’ve got a good woman, Bruce. Good wife. Even better mother.”

Bruce looked at his wife and let an easy smile cross his lips as she pulled them all into hugs. “Yeah…yeah, I do, don’t I.”