#no. it gives him the biggest ego ever and he loves it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marvelouslizzie · 1 year

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You're Stuck with Me - Co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: When you find out your boyfriend's cheating on you with his best friend, you immediately tell Bucky Barnes about the affair and propose revenge sex.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.9K

Warnings: 18+ smut, cheating, revenge fuck, language, oral sex (female receiving), protected and unprotected sex, praise and degradation mix, pet names, teasing, no mention of y/n

A/n: We are getting a little out of our comfort zone with this story. I hope you will enjoy it.

Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's an amazing writer. You should definitely check her Bucky Barnes stories.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, finishing your bottle of sparkling water. "I don't want you to cry and regret it after."

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” You sound so confident that even you are surprised. “It’s just sex.”

"Just sex." He repeats with his eyebrows raised. "You never seemed to me like the type of girl who would go for just sex, doll."

“Maybe you should’ve paid a little more attention. You would’ve realized you might have the wrong kind of impression.”

"Oh, really?" He leans in amused. "Big words."

“They're not. You just aren’t used to talking to me.”

"You're telling me you're not a commitment girl?" He presses the matter, not believing you even a little. You two might not be friends, but he figured out what type of person you are.

“I’m just saying I won’t regret having sex with you. The rest is your assumption.”

His gaze immediately drops to your chest. "You trust my skills that much?"

You roll your eyes. “Do you have to be this arrogant all the time?”

"Do you have to be a brat all the time?" He doesn't wait for your response, though, as he continues. "Oh wait, you can't help it. Totally in your nature."

“So women who don't stroke your ego are brats? Maybe I just don’t care that much about you. Did you consider that?” There’s a hint of anger in your voice but nothing more. He always manages to challenge you and push your buttons. “Maybe you aren’t the only one who didn’t like those double dates. Get off your high horse.” You add without missing a beat. You realized how bored and uninterested he was then. No matter what topic you were bringing up, he wasn’t open. That’s one of the reasons why you believe he thinks he’s better than anyone.

"Fuck." He shakes his head. "You and that mouth of yours. Do you see me going around and calling women brats?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Those dates were absolutely horrible. Your little boy toy is the biggest loser I've ever met."

“You seem like a guy who would do that. You are not? Ops, wrong assumption I guess.” You make a fake I am sorry face. “He’s not my boy toy but I agree, he’s a big loser.”

He smiles when you finish your sentence, so satisfied. "Why do you enjoy pushing me so much? Does it turn you on?"

“How am I pushing you? Do you think this is pushing?” You don’t budge.

"What is it then?"

“I know you don’t like me and I am just giving you back that same energy.” You tell him the truth. That’s what you always do: you give the same energy people give you. If they are kind, you are kinder. If they are assholes, you are a bigger asshole.

Bucky snorts, running a hand through his hair. "Where was this attitude hidden around him?"

You breathe out loudly, not hiding how bored you are. “Are we gonna talk all night or are we gonna do this?”

He smiles in a way you never saw him smile before he leans in even more, invading your space. "It's been that long, huh?"

You make a face. “You can’t tell me sex with her was great. I saw their little sex tapes.” You can’t deny what he’s just said, but you can deflect.

He gives you the most surprised face. "What?"

“You heard me. If it had been a while for me, then it must have been even longer for you.”

"Indeed." His voice doesn't betray any emotion.

“Then stop belittling me. We both have been having bad sex and we both got cheated on. You aren’t better than me.”

"When did I say that, woman?"

“You always act like you are better than everyone.”

"That's just your assumption." He paraphrases you with the biggest smile on his face

“Prove me wrong then.”

And he does, looking at you for a couple of seconds. When you don't move, he finally grabs you by your chin and kisses you. He's not hesitant or testing, he's literally trying to claim your mouth as he wants to deepen the kiss by licking your bottom lip. When you finally give him access, his hand goes to the back of your neck, the contrast between his soft touch and his passionate way of kissing making you moan.

"Your mouth…"

“What about it?” You ask while still looking at his lips.

He kisses you again, like he's starved, his hand pulling your hair a little more. He tastes like some fresh toothpaste and a little chocolate.

"So sweet, yet so bratty."

“Do you have a thing for brats for something?” You pull him by his collar and kiss him again. He might be an asshole, but he knows how to kiss.

"Maybe just for a special brat."

“What does that mean?” You stop and look into his eyes.

He lets go of your hair and lowers his hands to your waist. "Tell me to stop and I will. Tap me anywhere if you can't talk and I'll stop. Get it?"

“Yeah. Same goes for you. Any lines you don’t wanna cross?”

"Just don't call me by someone else's name." He sighs.

“Fine by me. Don’t use any pet names you used for your ex.”

"I wouldn’t dream of it. What else?" He smirks.

“No degrading.”

"So no my little whore?”

“That doesn’t sound like degrading to me but another rule: Don’t say things you don’t mean. I don’t like that heat-of-the-moment bullshit.”

He seems to like your rules. "God, how did you date that asshole for 5 months?"

“I was just giving that so-called nice guy a chance and it got me here. How did you date that bitch for 8 months?”

"Woah. Bitch? Never heard you referring to a woman like this."

“I never liked her.” You shrug. And she cheated on him. So why not?

"Why?"

“I don’t know. I always thought she was full of herself. Always looking down at people.”

"Like me." He stares at you. "I understand."

“Not like that. She always talks badly about people. Most of the time, behind their backs. She always looks for a way to steal the spotlight. I actually wondered what you saw in her.”

"I won't talk about a woman badly, especially my ex, but I guess we just want to give people a chance."

“That woman cheated on you. With someone she called her best friend after you two decided to move in together. Maybe longer. But sure, make me feel bad about calling her a bitch.”

Bucky seems to think about it for a few seconds. You appreciate his non-talking shit about my ex policy, but in this case? Not deserved. They cheated on you for months. They could have chosen to break up, but they didn't want that. They pretended they are just friends, proposed double dates, lied and hid, and made promises. Your relationships weren't working perfectly well, your sex lives seem very shitty and probably there were signs about this affair, but you cannot blame yourself or Bucky for not seeing them. You deserved the truth. You just can't believe you two are actually in this situation. Giving the wrong people a chance… never again for sure.

"You're right. This is such a fucking shitty thing. I mean, at least fucking break up with me. God, we kissed them, fucked them after they were with each other." He makes a disgusted face.

“So we practically fucked each other already, you know?” You make a joke, trying to change the mood a little. It really is fucked up.

"They didn't see us having sex though." He shakes his head. "They managed to make the lamest sex tapes in history."

“Yeah, I am still traumatized by her fake moans.”

"Fake?" He snorts.

“Yeah, I know how sex is with him. No way those moans are real.”

"Maybe they are. Maybe she enjoys it. She likes him so much they decided this fucking shitty sex is worth it." He leans in and kisses you again suddenly and you don't understand if he's angry because he regrets being with her and getting cheated on or he regrets being betrayed because he wants her so much. You know they fought a lot from your soon-to-be ex, but 8 months are something after all.

You kiss him back nonetheless, enjoying the way his lips and tongue feel. You don't remember the last time you've been kissed this good. If you've ever been with someone like this… he's basically eating you with his mouth.

“It won’t take long for her to regret it. Talking from experience,” you say while kissing him back. You wanna know if he wants her back or not. Not that it matters. You are just curious. Maybe he wants to make her jealous.

"What she wants doesn't matter anymore, doll." He strokes your hair when he stops kissing you so you can take a deep breath. "You called me arrogant, right?"

“Yeah?” You answer hesitantly.

"Do arrogant people ever let themselves be humiliated?" He pauses. "I don't want something like this. Someone like this. I have absolutely no desire to keep a person who does this. I am a patient person, I try to work things out, but this? Never in a fucking million years. Nothing about this relationship was right, I suppose. What about you?"

“I don’t care about him anymore.” Your response comes immediately. You were completely done with him the moment you found out about their affair. There’s no turning back. It was like a switch. That’s why you are here with Bucky. “I tried so hard to make it work, thinking relationships are hard and we gotta put some effort to make it work. All bullshit. I’m done with him. I’m done with lowering my standards. Done with 5-minute sex, and ‘you turn me on so much, I can’t help it’ excuses. There’s no going back for me.”

You see his little smirk and can't help but touch his face. He is really one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

"I never liked him, and you know it. That small dick energy is unbearable. I think he'd have a heart attack if he even heard us. Can you imagine?"

“I… actually can.” You can envision how that would hurt him and his insufferable ego. “God, she would hate me so much.” You smile.

"Oh, she would. She's always been jealous of you anyway."

“And he hates that you don’t even have to be nice to make people like you. Now he would have an extra reason.”

"Fuck, doll." You feel his thumb on your neck and you shiver. "I'm gonna sound crazy, but wouldn't make you feel satisfied if indeed they heard us?"

You blink, trying to understand his offer. That actually would actually give you pleasure… knowing that he suffers just like you did. You also notice the pet name he uses. You never heard him use it with his (ex) girlfriend, so he’s keeping his promise. “I’d… really like that.”

"Yeah?" He leaves a kiss on the corner of your mouth. "A voice message?"

“Sounds better than actually calling.” You turn your face a little and kiss him on the lips.

"Look at you, you ignored me for months." He bites your bottom lip lightly.

“It wasn’t like you were friendly.”

Does he even hear you?

He takes you in his arms. "Bedroom?"

“Bedroom.” You wrap your legs around his torso in agreement as he leads the way.

"Left?"

“Yeah, hurry up.”

He opens the door with his elbow, then doesn't bother to close it as he lets you down. His hands find your blouse and you hear the ripping sound before you can raise your arms.

You’re surprised but not bothered. Truth be told, you find that very hot. But you still unclip your bra.

“Fucking hell.” He manages to whisper before he leans in and grabs your breasts, his tongue licking all the way down from your neck to your nipple.

You tug on his T-shirt and try to take it off while he’s busy exploring your body.

"You hid these from me."

“Not specifically from you. Move your hands up so I can take this off.”

"From who then?" He frowns and lets go for a second so you can take it off.

“From everyone, of course.”

"God, I wanna come all over them. So pretty.”

“Maybe you should make a mental list. Come on her tits. Come inside her mouth. Come inside her pussy.”

His eyes glow, and you giggle. "Who said I didn't?"

“You did?” You sound impressed. “Wanna share?”

"Wanna share my come? Sure." His fingers find your zipper and you gasp when he takes your pants off from one try.

“Oh, you are filthier than I thought.” You say to cover your surprise.

"You thought about how filthy I am?"

“You think I didn’t consider how this would be before offering a revenge fuck?”

"When?" He takes ahold of your underwear, and you're unsure if he wants to rip it off or simply take it off.

“I just told you.”

"I thought…" He blushes, realizing he misunderstood. It's an asshole move to assume that while you were with that prick, the thought of him like this has even passed your mind. "Forget it."

“No, no, tell me.” You pull him closer by his belt. “Let’s get rid of these.”

"Did you ever think about me before today?" He helps you take off his pants while finally getting rid of your panties.

“What if I did? Does it make me a terrible person?”

"Terrible." He nods, letting the pieces of your underwear drop on the floor along with his boxers and pants before he steps out of them. "So terrible." He kisses you, his hands on your hips, bringing you closer to his cock. You didn't even have proper time to look at him. "The worst."

“I knew it.” You play along. “What about you?”

"I thought about this mouth a lot."

“Just my mouth?” You nudge him by moving your hips up.

"Thought about fucking you in the bathroom."

“When?” Did he really want to fuck you before? He never looked at you twice or at least that’s what you thought.

"A few weeks ago… we… the office. You were with your little group. They were smoking and you wore that fucking lipstick that just blew my mind away. I didn't intend to. You didn't even notice me." He kisses you again but doesn't deepen it.

Everything he said takes you by surprise. You didn’t think that he ever paid attention to you, let alone notice your lipstick and get turned on by it.

“I noticed you, but I thought you were bored. You had a grumpy look on your face most of the time. I liked your blue shirt, though. It makes your eyes pop.”

He moans. Is it so easy to make him moan? you wonder.

"I'm always grumpy and arrogant, of course."

“You don’t seem that grumpy and arrogant right now.” You gently bite his neck and then soothe the spot with your tongue.

"Fucking hell, woman." You feel him grabbing your ass. "Tell me you have a condom."

“In that drawer.” You point to it casually. “But just so you know, I’m on the pills.”

He nods, contemplating for a little while before helping you get on bed and taking a condom from your nightstand.

You don’t question why he chooses to reach for it, yet you can’t help but wonder how it would be like to feel him without any barrier. Your mouth waters at the sight of his naked body.

Maybe, maybe you should let him fuck your mouth, too. Why not?

He quickly puts the condom on and before he can climb on bed, he looks at you. "What you said earlier about the voice message, do you still stand by it?"

You realize you actually forgot about them or why you are doing this for a second. “Yeah. I want them to suffer.”

"Good." He takes his pants from the floor and finds his phone quickly. You didn't even realize he had it when you undressed him.

“So what are we doing exactly? Recording a small part and sending it?”

"Ihm." He nods. "Want that asshole to hear what your real moans sound like." He finally sits on the bed and you spread your legs further apart.

“Only my moans?” You ask while he positions himself.

"No video," he says immediately, and you giggle. That wasn’t your question, but it’s okay. You wonder if he’s being possessive with you already or it's something else.

“I meant what about your moans.”

He smiles. "Yeah, of course, but I'm not a loud person." He drops the phone close to your shoulder. "You, on the other hand… I bet you're a fucking screamer."

“I guess we'll find out. Is it recording already?”

"No, uhm, can you… The code is 0478."

“Let’s start and then we can record when it gets really loud.” You try to sound normal, but you are surprised he's just told you his passcode.

"You sure? We can trim it. I don't want to interrupt you."

"Don't worry. I'm good at multitasking." You give him a smile. "But if you wanna record the whole thing, so you can get off to it later, just say that." You can’t help but tease him a little.

"No, no, it's alright. I just want you to feel good, okay?" He smiles, his hands making their way to your thighs.

"Oh, I will. Don't worry about that." You pull him closer by wrapping your legs around his body. As he pushes inside, you start to forget what you were talking about before.

"Oh, fuck me." He groans when he sees the shape of your mouth. Such a perfect O. You feel so good and he's not even halfway inside you. "You're so wet."

"I can do that." You cheekily respond. "But we would need to change the position." You ignore his second comment.

He kisses you as if he needs to taste you again to be able to breathe, his tongue quickly finding yours once you open your mouth. Your hand gets into his hair at the same time he properly gets inside you.

You moan at the fullness. You haven't felt this stretched for so long, but it doesn't hurt. It just makes you crave more.

"Such a brat when you only needed a good cock." You know he's intentionally teasing you, so you try to find a good response.

"We'll see how good it is."

"Brat." He repeats again and moves his hands to your breast. His thrusts are not constant as he tries to test what you like.

"Put your mouth on them already." You know he wants to. He has been looking at them since he stepped inside your apartment. And you want him to do it, too. The thought itself makes you moan.

"Are you ordering me?"

"Depends. Yes, if you like that. No, if you don't."

He takes a handful of your breast in his mouth in response, not only your nipple, his thrusts getting slower, but a little deeper at the same time. The sound of his tongue licking on your skin makes you close your eyes.

The way he sucks your nipple makes you think he likes taking orders. What a great turn of events, you think.

He switches to the other one quickly, giving it the same treatment, while keeping the pace.

"Do you like it?"

“Yeah, yeah.” You quickly respond. “I love it.”

"Faster?"

“Yep, faster.” You gently push his head onto your breast again, loving the double stimulation.

He moans excitedly as he resumes licking and playing with your breasts, carefully trying to leave a hickey around your nipple. "These are mine now."

He doesn’t mean that, does he? Must be the heat of the moment, but you agreed on not doing that. So you decide to remind him. “Don’t say things you don’t actually mean, remember?”

"I didn't forget, brat. Did you?"

He bites on your nipple, gently, but you still feel it.

“So you actually mean that?” You really want to know, so you ignore the fact that he called you a brat again.

"Mean what?" He leaves a kiss on your nipple to soothe any possible pain. "That these are mine?"

“Yeah.” You sound impatient. Why is he acting clueless now?

"They are, they belong to me. So does your bratty mouth." He kisses you shortly.

You can’t deny how his words turn you on even more.

"I imagined fucking you in a bathroom that day at the office." He groans. "So terrible of me, right? Imagining you with come dripping out of you, down to your thighs as you go back to work. Months of petty silence solved."

“If I'd known my silence bothered you that much, I would have been even more silent until it drove you crazy enough to do something about it.” You move your hips up to match his rhythm. “I just thought you just preferred not speaking to me because you didn’t like me.”

"I would have screwed everything up and fucked you, you understand?" He looks you in the eye, making it clear he is honest. "I would have become a horrible person, but not even that thought would have made me reconsider."

“Yet you didn’t do anything, did you? You never acted on it. You were just a grumpy man with terrible thoughts.” You just want him to know he’s not a horrible person, yet you can’t help but tease him a little at the same time.

"And you just needed the cock of that grumpy man with terrible thoughts, huh?" His thrusts are so much faster now. You wonder: how the fuck does he expect you to answer?

All you can do is whine and moan because somehow he manages to hit all the right places.

"My little cock whore." He groans. "Mine, okay? Just like I am yours."

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You can’t help but react. You find it so hot you can barely stay still. The way he talks during sex… They would really die if they heard you two. That makes you remember… You were supposed to hit the record button.

"Just Bucky. Or James."

“Where the fuck is your phone, Bucky?” You ask while trying to find it without actually looking.

He's confused for a split second, but then he remembers what you agreed on. "To your right."

You finally find the phone and unlock it quickly before dropping it without any care as soon as it starts to record.

"Oh, doll, you're too wet for me. So good." The sound of your skin slapping and the whimpers are so loud. You can’t contain yourself even if you try.

“Faster, please,” you say without thinking. It feels like you are already close. You don’t care if you have to beg for it.

"So greedy." He cries out when he feels your hands on his ass, pulling him deeper inside you.

“Fuckk. That feels good!” You moan loudly and arch your back.

"Holy shit."

He suddenly stops, making you open your eyes and giving him an accusatory look, but then you notice the phone in his hands. Oh, you forgot about it for a second and you have no idea why.

"Are you sending it?"

"Ihm." He doesn't just lock his phone after he is done. He freaking turns it off, surprising you. “I don’t want any interruptions. Want to fuck you in peace.”

You just pull him into another kiss, more passionate this time. You feel his right hand on your tummy, tickling you a little, before stopping down, above your clit.

“You close?” You ask him to make sure because you surely are.

"I'm trying not to come," he says honestly.

“Oh, you can. I’m close, too. I just need it a little faster.” His hand on your clit already makes you realize it won’t take much for you to fall apart.

He pulls back, taking his cock almost completely out, and the emptiness makes you whine. Then he thrusts with full force, making you moan so loudly that you can’t recognize your own voice.

"Fuck, look at you. And those sounds…" He brings his thumb to your lips. "Come on, be a good girl and show me how your pretty little mouth would take my cock. The one that's inside your pussy right now, ready to come for you."

“Such a filthy mouth.” You say while moaning. “Come with me so I can take that cock inside my mouth and show you what it can do.”

"God, come, baby. Please come." He is begging you at this point. His voice is so desperate and soft.

His neediness, the way he says those words finally pushes you off the edge.

“Oh god.” You try to breathe as the orgasm takes over your body, making you shake. Your mouth opens, letting out the most unfiltered moan you've ever heard from yourself. It is pure pleasure with no thoughts, no worries. Your heart and your head are on fire, begging for more. You want this feeling to last as long as possible.

He comes shortly after you, but you don't realize it until you hear his loud groan vibrating against your chest. His hips and ass cheeks are trembling under your touch as he seems lost in his world for a few seconds. You run your fingers through his hair, waiting for him to come down from his high.

“Oh god, baby." You feel his breath on your wet skin and you sigh. "Can I live here forever?"

“That good?” You can’t help but ask. He can feel your smile without looking at you.

He looks up. "Ihm. What about you?"

“Wanna get your ego stroked?” You ask genuinely. “Promise that you’re not gonna use it against me.”

He kisses your throat. "I don't make such promises, woman."

“Then you won’t get to hear it.” You expose your throat more while talking.

"What if I eat the truth out of you?"

“Eat the truth out of me?”

"Ihm. You know… when you're under sex spell, you become truthful."

“You are welcome to try.” There’s no way you are gonna turn down another orgasm like this one.

"Perfect." He leaves another kiss on the valley between your breasts and sighs. "Have to take this off first," he says, taking his cock out with a small hiss before standing up near the bed, watching you. "Where can I throw this away?"

“There’s a trashcan in the bathroom.” You point at it while getting more comfortable on the bed.

"Be right back."

You feel something cold on your back and realize it’s his phone. You put it on the nightstand, thinking about how he turned his phone off in the middle of the sex. You make a mental note to ask him to send you that voice message later, so you can remember how good the sex felt.

He comes back with your small semi-wet towel and watches you carefully. "Look, I meant what I said about eating the truth out of you, but only if you are okay with it. I won't ask again. I could always just leave, you know? No big deal." But you can see in his face it would be a big deal. Maybe he likes your company. The sex is amazing.

“Do you wanna leave, Bucky?” You already know his answer.

"No, I don't."

“Then come here and do whatever you wanna do.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. You watch him drop to his knees and, at the same time, drag you closer to the edge of the bed as quickly as he can. You let out a surprised gasp, but it turns into a whole moan when he lifts your legs on his shoulders and starts licking you from your entrance to your clit.

“Fuck, you weren’t joking.”

He acknowledges your words by playing with his tongue around your clit. You move your hips slowly, up and down, just to create a little more friction. Your greed grows while you watch him eagerly lick every bit of your pussy.

You don't expect to feel his fingers at your entrance all of the sudden as you're focused on his tongue. And you especially don't expect him to curl two of his fingers and get them inside you at once. No warnings.

“Oh fuck, yes!” You find yourself grabbing his hair, just needing something to hold on to.

And he moans, buckling his hips in the air at the slight pain. The pace of his fingers matches his tongue, but it's not enough.

“Add the third finger.” You sound desperately close.

He is surprised, you can sense it, but he quickly does what you say, his tongue eagerly toying with your clit faster than before.

“I’m so close!” You warn.

He stops licking for a little and you try to move your hips to meet his mouth. What the fuck is he doing? No time for edging.

"What were you gonna say, doll? What did you think it would stroke my ego?"

“What?” You raise on your elbows, looking like a mess. “Really?”

"If you want my tongue, you give me an answer."

“You are unbelievable!” You sound so betrayed.

"I warned you not to cry, doll."

You really want to keep that thought to yourself, but the ache between your legs doesn’t care about your pride. “I can’t believe you are doing this right now.”

He gives you a small smile, and you see him leaning in again. You think you won, getting more comfortable, ready to come soon, but he only licks you twice, teasingly, and lets your clit go.

"Do what?"

You whine loudly. The feeling of his tongue lingers on your clit. “You wanna play dirty?” Maybe you can’t win this fight, but it doesn’t mean you can’t win others. “Fine.” You sit up a little, looking into his eyes. “It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Happy now?”

"Delighted. Now was it so hard? You get a reward for being my good and honest girl."

“Yeah, whatever.” You roll your eyes.

"Fucking brat," you hear him whisper right before his tongue finds your clit again, finally licking it in circles properly. He starts to move his fingers, too, and even though they are obviously not even close to the thickness of his cock, they feel incredible.

But you are too annoyed now, at the same time. A part of you just wants to hold back and not give him the pleasure of hearing you come. So he tries harder. You hear him whimpering as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it. And you swallow a moan while your legs are trembling.

"Come on, baby." His fingers move faster, too. "Let it go."

Your whole body starts to shake uncontrollably, but you keep your moans to yourself, pressing your lips together tightly just out of spite. You can see he hates it, but he doesn't stop until you finish coming. And it feels amazing, but you are sure it would have been even better if you had let yourself enjoy it freely.

He sighs into your clit and leaves a kiss there before he stands up. "You're mad."

“No shit, Sherlock.”

"Ah, doll. Nothing can tame that mouth."

“More like actions and consequences. I wasn’t ready to share that, but you forced me to say it for an orgasm, so that’s what you get. An orgasm. Nothing more, nothing less.”

"Forced?" His face shows concern as he sits next to you. "That wasn’t my intention. The last thing I want is to make you feel trapped.” He seems like he’s confused. He looks around and meets your gaze again. “Do you want me to leave?"

“If you wanna leave, just leave, but if that wasn’t really your intention, you can start with apologizing.”

"I am sorry," he immediately says, taking your hands into his. "I was just trying to… be silly I guess."

“You wanted your ego stroked, I get it. We both need it after what happened, but… I don’t know. I just felt exposed.”

"I'm sorry." He kisses your cheek. "I might be a grumpy arrogant son of a bitch, but forcing…"

You start to tear up, hearing him say sorry this quickly. Fucking relationship trauma.

"Oh god, baby, I am sorry, I didn't…" he tries to wipe your tears with his thumbs. "I'm a jackass, but I swear I wasn't trying to force you. I thought it was just a game. My bad."

“No, no. This is on me. Sorry.” You try to take a deep breath. “He just never said sorry no matter how hurt I was. He always had an excuse. This is just… trauma I guess.”

"What a fucking douchebag. I can fuck him up really good, you know?" He suggests. "Just say the words."

“He’s probably already fucked up by the fact that we are fucking.” That thought cheers you up a little.

"His face deserves it, too." Bucky puffs and kisses your wet cheeks. "To be honest, this whole should I leave question comes from my relationship trauma, too. So you’re not alone. She either wanted me to leave or she left every fucking time we disagreed on something. She once threw my shoes out of the window just so I'd go. I don't know why we kept trying…"

“Oh.” You finally understand why he keeps offering to leave. It isn't about you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought you were just trying to get out when things get hard.”

"Don't be sorry. I prefer to talk on the spot, to be honest. Letting everything out is healthier. Don't "

“Or take a break whenever it’s needed. Doesn’t mean you have to leave though.”

"Yeah! Exactly."

You laugh a little. You never realized how similar you two are. Today is changing your perspective completely. “Your apology is accepted by the way, but under one condition.”

"What is that?'

“Tell me something about yourself that you don’t want me to know.”

He thinks for a second. "My breath smells like death in the morning. I can make your plants die if you let me."

You shake your head, amused. “That’s not good enough. Everyone’s breath smells bad in the morning.”

"What do you wanna know then?"

“Something on the same level of having your best orgasm.”

"I think you broke me."

“What?”

"You broke me." He repeats as if that is an explanation.

“In what way?”

He kisses you just as desperately as he did in the kitchen, as if this is the first time he kisses you and he can't ever get enough. "I want you for more than one time, do you understand?"

“Oh. Well… That can be arranged.”

"Yeah?" He drags you by your hips, placing you on top of his thighs.

“I would actually like that.”

He kisses you some more, letting his hands wander all over your body, stopping especially on your neck and breasts.

"You like it rough, don't you? Not complaining about me ripping your clothes off, loving the bites." He pulls your hair, just to prove his point in case you deny. You moan.

“Yeah, apparently you like it rough, too.” You don’t deny. Why would you?

"Of course I do, brat." He then turns you around suddenly. "All fours, please."

“Since you asked so nicely,” You stop for the dramatic effect and say as sarcastically as possible: “Boss.”

"Wanna make me your boss?"

“You are already acting like one.” You stand on all fours, pushing your ass back while lowering your head.

"Fuck! You're such a sight, you know?" Bucky's eyes don't leave your body.

“Am I?”

"I wanna look at you like this all day long."

You look at him amused. “I’m afraid I don’t have that much patience.”

You notice him shaking his head. "Of course."

“It’s rude to make me wait like this, you know?”

"Sorry, just wanted to remember this." Bucky feels a little bad for the thoughts he has. He mentally took a picture of you cause he can't ask this from you, right? You're not a couple, and even if you were, it doesn't mean exchanging or keeping photos like this would be okay.

His hips touch your ass as he positions himself at your entrance. "Any limits that come to your mind? I won't ask again."

“We already decided on the rules. I don’t think there’s anything besides them.”

"I'm not gonna hold back this time." Not completely… he grabs a handful of your hair as he thrusts inside you. "I'm gonna pound the fuck out of you and you're gonna take it like a good little girl, understand?"

“I understand. You won’t stop until I say stop.”

"Jesus Christ." He moans halfway inside you at the feel of your extra wet pussy. He feels out of breath just by standing still. "How…"

“Oh, fuck.” You nearly choke. It feels unbelievably good. This position is doing wonders.

"I didn't think-" he says, but at the same time doesn't move an inch. "Fuck, it feels too good, this pussy is driving me crazy. You are driving me crazy." He grips your hair harder without warning and starts to thrusts properly inside you, making sure to squeeze your left breast with his free. The sounds of your wet skin slapping make him curse under his breath.

“You didn’t think what?” You sound out of breath already.

"I cannot fuck you with condoms again." Technically he can, but he doesn’t want to.

You smile widely. “Why is that?”

"Because I am completely fucked."

“You like it that much?”

"Like it?" He puffs, unamused, and starts to finally pound you the way he imagined a few weeks ago. Maybe even harder.

“Oh, fuck!” Yep, he’s right. You are fucked, too.

"You might need to fix me very often, you know?" He drops his hand from your hair just to properly grab your hips. You can barely keep your position like this, his thrusts are so deep.

“Fix you?”

"Yeah. Fix my cock." Oh, that’s what he means.

“We can fix each other then.”

"Ihm." He doesn't say much after this, too focused on kissing your back and keeping the pace at the same time. He's ready to come any minute.

“Harder, Bucky. Please!” You need to come. Really desperately.

"How much harder?" He thrusts a little harder. "More or like this?"

“As hard as you can.”

He doesn't disagree with you, but you know he's holding back even when he pushes harder. And harder. And harder.

"I'm gonna come," he manages to moan. "Fuck I'm gonna come inside you, gonna make a mess. Tell me you… t-tell me you want my come."

“I want your come, Bucky, please. p Please, come with me!” You are already shaking uncontrollably.

"Fuck." That's all you get from him before he's coming, his fingers digging so hard into your skin that you moan again, dizzy from your orgasm.

He keeps moving, making a mess, indeed. It’s already dripping out, you can feel it.

"I came so much." You hear him say suddenly through fogginess.

You smile, resting your head on the bed still, feeling unable to move.

"Not gonna say anything?"

“I died and went to heaven.” You murmur. The orgasm is still running through your veins, making you twitch here and there.

"I've been in heaven for a while."

You finally turn around and look at him. “It was so fucking good.”

"No words." He slowly gets out of you and you notice how happy he is, not taking his eyes off your pussy. "It's gonna start dripping… all over your thighs and sheets. What a nice mark." He even brings a finger to your entrance and pushes back some come.

“Do you have a breeding kink or something?” You smile while asking.

"A breeding kink?"

“Yeah, do you know what it is?”

"Something to do with my come inside you?" He teases. His confusion seems to fade away.

“Yeah, and getting me pregnant.”

He groans, closing his eyes.

“They do that pushing the come back inside thing most of the time.”

"I guess I have a breeding kink." He smiles, accepting it instantly, and finally closes the gap to kiss you. "You might not get rid of me now."

“I knew it!” You point at him with your finger. “I wasn’t gonna get rid of you anyways.”

"Wanna keep me as your boy toy?"

“You wanna be my boy toy?” Your whole face lights up.

"You look quite excited."

“I never had a boy toy before.”

"No?" He shakes his head. "Time to change that. And as your boy toy, I should always make sure you're having a good time." He surprises you by spreading your legs again.

“No, no, no, no. It’s my turn.”

Bucky shakes his head. "Need to get you clean, and then we can do whatever you want, alright?"

“You are really something else.” You sound amazed.

He smirks. "And you're stuck with me. You're all mine now."

You don't get to say anything anymore as you feel his tongue at your entrance. So you just grab his hair, closing your eyes, your exes long forgotten.

“And you are all mine.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #my stories #you're stuck with me #co written with notafunkiller

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neteyamsilly · 2 years

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable.

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock.

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact.

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade.

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now.

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand.

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada.

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada.

So dada started making you little trinkets.

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating.

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task.

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.”

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.”

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!”

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected.

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers.

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on.

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper.

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much.

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that.

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing.

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face.

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!”

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock.

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement.

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted.

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that.

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face.

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one.

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes.

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions.

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him.

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter.

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray.

A rustle from above.

“Attack him!”

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes.

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing?

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word.

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ.

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.”

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!”

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it.

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood.

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake.

She did.

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic.

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul.

But she was wrong.

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language.

Losing. It was all about losing.

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love.

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together.

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses.

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.)

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen.

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…”

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip.

You had gone slack in his arms.

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple.

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day.

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other.

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back.

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time.

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap.

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort.

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface.

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass.

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there.

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action.

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again.

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you.

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right.

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough.

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision.

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing?

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family.

You had died in his arms.

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind.

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless.

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?”

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood.

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out.

His daughter’s blood, on his hands.

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!”

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides.

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake. “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!”

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings.

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name.

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…”

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!”

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister.

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively.

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate.

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty.

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy.

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart.

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake.

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do.

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails.

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon.

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still.

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng.

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once.

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well. “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children.

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful.

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed.

It would never fly again.

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.”

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be.

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one.

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain.

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman.

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

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#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

4K notes · View notes

malereadermaniac · 7 months

Text

Relationship headcanons ~ Raihan x Male Reader

Random relationship headcannons with Raihan word count: 830 m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

The media had a field day when some paparazzi photo got leaked of you two out on a date. Even though Raihan is extremely vain and social media-present - you're not, and your boyfriend does nothing but respect that. But once that picture was on on every gossip page on Instagram, you two decided to lean into it. If anything, it would boost Raihan's popularity more!

You now feature in videos from time to time and you even have a special segment in his match videos of you cheering him on. Raihan loves that he gets to show you off now, every single one of his instagram posts has you in it, he has about 3 highlights of just you - it's very sweet.

The region also loves you. They originally had a lot of questions (which Raihan answered in a Q&A, of course) but now everyone sees you and Raihan as THEE Galar couple - people wanna see you just as much as they do Raihan!

The muscular gym leader loves to treat you like a Prince, he figures that if he has all this money from being a gym leader and an influencer that he should put it to good use on you.

Dates almost every night, and if you two can't be bothered to go out, then you call it a movie night and cuddle until one of you falls asleep in the others' arms.

Dates with Raihan are also all inclusive - this man pays for everything! It started with your first couple of dates being treats on him, which you would protest and demand to split the bill. But later on, you slowly let Raihan pay for your dates more and more - the conversation usually going something like:

"Is today's treat on you?" Already expecting the answer to be a yes

Raihan just smugly nodding with a small smirk in the hottest way ever

"You're buying?" You ask again with a small smile forming on your face subconsciously

"Of course, love" Raihan says with his signature grin after he swallows the huge mouth of food he was munching on

You then treating him in your own way and kissing Raihan's cheek cutely, making the grown man blush.

Now that the two of you are so deep into your relationship (4 years to be exact), you don't even bother to bring a form of payment with you on dates. But you still make sure to ask Raihan if today's treat is on the house, knowing all you have in your bag is chapstick and lube.

It boosts Raihan's ego to tell you that he's paying for you, who are you to deny your boyfriend such childish pride?

The two of you pokemon battle to decide most things, or just whenever you feel like it really. And even though Raihan promises he doesn't hold back, it is strange that you beat the 8th gym leader of Galar every time the two of you scrap.

Raihan also gifted you an Eevee on your one year anniversary saying that "just like an eevee can turn into everything, you turned my life into everything" - you never expected the strong and popular Raihan to be such a sappy man! That eevee is still on your team, your ace and partner pokemon (eeveelution). And even though it's YOUR pokemon, Raihan loves it just as much.

On the topic of pokemon and battles, not only do you support your boyfriend at every single one of his matches, but you two are the Double Battle champions at the Wyndon Battle Tower - a title you two have held for a while now. You two have such great synergy during battles that you rarely have to talk to understand eachother, one of you just has to tell your pokemon to attack with a certain move and the other will know what to do next!

The biggest fan of your relationship is Leon by far! He acted as your bodyguard when the paparazzi photo leaked, keeping crazy fans and more media representatives away from you - sacrificing his time to answer their silly questions about his championship in order to give you a chance to slip away.

He's also the one who forced Raihan to actually ask you out, the charismatic man actually being a wet wipe when it came to communicating his feelings to you!

And to this day, Leon is willing to 3rd wheel you and your boyfriend - and it isn't even awkward. The two of you hang out like close friends do.

You couldn't be happier than you are with Raihan

He treats you like a God and respects you and your boundaries no matter what. And he isn't too hard on the eyes either!

You ground him when his adrenaline junkie personality gets the best of him (especially during battles) and bring up his mood if he's ever feeling down for whatever reason - you're both the light of each others lives.

550 notes · View notes

junkissed · 6 months

Note

for 1k.. mtl likely to completely melt when u go into subspace and say "thank you" after your orgasm? 💤

member — svt ot13 x gn reader genre — mtl, fluff (18+) word count — 1.3k (each member has a paragraph) warnings — subspace (reader), just aftercare but there’s allusions to having sex (not explicitly described), implied that svt are dom/reader is a sub, all are gn except shua's uses “good girl” as a nickname notes — requested by @junhuisms for my 🐈 1k event — this has been in my inbox forever i'm sorry nhdnsjs. honestly i feel like all of them would melt but in slightly different ways so i did a little blurb for each. i hope you enjoy! <3

most

1 - seungcheol

this man is the biggest simp on the entire planet and he would be so so good at taking care of you. i think it’s about 50/50 the amount of time he spends as a hard dom and a soft dom, but regardless of what activities you get up to he is the best at making sure you always feel good. he would melt the hardest on the nights he’s been a little meaner and a little rougher, because how can you be so sexy and so adorable at the same time, especially after you just came four times from his mouth alone? it boosts his ego so much not only that you trust him with all of yourself, but that you love him enough to say thank you afterwards? his day is made. his week is made. his whole year is made.

2 - seungkwan

he is absolutely obsessed with you. his reactions are always big whenever he's around you because he's so in love with you; you could be doing the most mundane thing in the world and he'd react like you just saved a burning building full of orphans and solved world hunger. he’ll melt over literally anything you do, but especially when you get that dopey smile on your face after you cum because your pleasure is his pleasure so your reactions only make him melt even more. he gets so caught up in how cute you are, he’d probably end up falling asleep with you tucked in his arms and forget to clean up.

3 - joshua

he thinks you’re just so adorable. most of the time he enjoys a little pushback when he’s fucking you; being a brat tamer is what gets him off, so he’s always making you beg him to let you cum. but he can never tease you for very long, especially on the times when you decide to be well behaved, so of course he has to reward you for being such a good girl for him. he lives on giving and receiving praise so he’d be thanking you too for letting him take care of you like this.

4 - mingyu

he completely melts. literally reduced to a puddle on the floor or the bed. he would get the biggest puppy eyes and be so pouty because he’s so whipped and he believes you shouldn’t ever have to do any work. he’s the one who needs to be thanking you, actually, because he's so honored that someone as beautiful and perfect as you decided to choose him of all people. he will give you anything and everything you could ever need because he doesn't want you to have a single care in the world, especially when you're being so sweet clinging to his arms. he may not be perfect but he's going to try his damn hardest to make sure he truly earns your thankfulness.

5 - jun

he’d start smiling and giggling, and he wouldn’t stop until you came back out of subspace. he would also get super clingy and hold you close to his chest and stroke your hair and grin uncontrollably. he’d give you the sweetest “you’re welcome” you’ve ever heard and just keep praising you for being so darn cute. he is the snuggliest boy and his aftercare would be the softest and best part of the whole experience.

6 - hoshi

everything about him is intense, especially when you’re in subspace. he fucks you hard and loves you even harder, so when you thank him after your orgasm it would make him so happy and he’d love you even more than before (if that’s even possible). he thinks your reactions are the cutest thing in the world and once you come out of that headspace he’d be begging for another round just so he can see you like that again.

7 - jeonghan

he’d mostly be cocky and proud of himself for making you feel so good, but deep down he'd be so giddy about your reaction. he doesn’t always explicitly say it or show it, but you’re so precious to him and all he really wants is for you to be satisfied and happy. he would absolutely tease you later about thanking him, but inside he’d be blushing and hoping it’s something that’ll become a habit of yours. he’s a fiend for praise and would want to get you there all the time.

8 - seokmin

he has hearts and stars in his eyes for you on a normal day, so it’d only increase when you’re in subspace. he’d get all blushy and embarrassed and tell you not to worry about it because it’s his job to make you feel good, so there’s no need to thank him. he’d wrap you up in blankets if you’re too cold and he’d put a cool washcloth on your forehead if you’re too hot and he’d coo over you with the purest little smile on his face.

9 - minghao

he gets so soft and he would be so gentle with you. even if he'd been a hard dom earlier, he'll flip on a dime as soon as he notices you in subspace. the responsible dom in him comes out and he tries not to dwell on how cute you look because instead he's busy making sure you’re feeling comfortable and safe and loved, bringing you water and helping you calm down. he’d melt at your reaction, but in more of a protective way because he’s not gonna let anything happen to his baby.

10 - wonwoo

he wouldn’t not be into it exactly, but he wouldn’t have as much of a big reaction as the other members. he’d mostly be proud of himself for being able to satisfy you so well, and he’d be ready to give you whatever else you asked for or what you needed. he knows what his job is and he does it well. he smiles when he thinks you're not looking or when you aren't paying attention and the sight of you makes him feel warm inside.

11 - woozi

he wouldn't melt so much as he would just be fond of you. he’d smile at you, let you rest on his lap and play with your hair until you come back to him. he's usually quiet, not making a lot of noise unless you ask him to, but when you tell him “thank you” he'll hum and blush a little to let you know he's listening and that he appreciates you.

12 - chan

he would love it when you go into your subspace, but at the same time i think he would get a little panicky. it’s a lot of responsibility to take care of you when you’re so vulnerable, and he would be so focused on that that he’d forget to think about his own feelings. he would still adore you and how cute you are, but it would be more at the back of his mind.

13 - vernon

quite honestly i don't think he'd even notice when you're in subspace. looking back later he might realize you were suddenly acting a little calmer and a little clingier, but he wouldn't treat you any differently than he normally does. he loves you and thinks you're cute all the time, why would he be any different now? he's just happy to be along for the ride, but he won't deny it feels good to be thanked, even if he thinks he hasn't really done much.

least

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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joosthead · 3 months

Note

We need more bottom joost content im so fucking serious…I need subby joost or I’ll explode RAUGHHHHHH

FUCK i love a subby man ... i fully agree we need more subby joost bc just look at him. guhh . anyways hope you enjoy these thoughts teehee it's genuinely filthy pls heed my warnings. also i'm unsure honestly if this is subby more than it is about edging and overstim but . send me another ask w more thoughts if you'd like something different as well < 3

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: nb!reader. lmk if i missed something and it's not nb, i will change accordingly!!

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (unprotected sex, edging & overstim m!receiving), drunk sex (both drunk, but this is where edging comes in). send an ask if you need more details about this part <3

rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it!! you've been warned. do not repost this on any other platform.

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni.

in general i feel like so much of his vibe is so pillow princey. he loooveess to lie down and take whatever you'll give him

he generally is a tease and loves being teased, and i think this is a huge part of his submissiveness—i won't pretend like i think he's the biggest subbiest sub ever with how fluid he is but i do think in every session together, he lurvsss some teasing and edging.

absolutely adores a handjob w edging. sunday morning and he's so so hard cuz he just woke up that way and he has to wake u up. you roll over and you're like "are you actually serious?" but you're not gonna let your baby suffer (and you tell him such, which makes him even harder). he doesn't know what's gotten into him—he's usually much stronger than this, usually the one pampering you, making you ask for it, but he fully turns so whiny when like this. in minutes, you have him moaning like a bitch, teasing him with your tongue but never actually taking him into your mouth; when he gets close, you cease your stroking of his cock, and watch as it's like his entire body reacts to it, and hear how labored and heavy his breathing gets when you've brought him to the precipice, but never over. a beautiful sight, his pink cheeks amidst his pale skin, the rosy color creeping down his neck and his chest and the leaking angry pink tip of his cock, wet and slick as you stroke him to completion.

loves being taken care of fsfs. being called pretty, handsome, pretty boy (this one especially). it's so serious for him. loves getting his ego stroked in all ways possible, but especially if he's on his knees for you.

it really never happens except for when you're drunk but. he fucking loves when ur both sloppy drunk and all you can really think is your own pleasure. there was one time you two came home from the club, kissed all the way up the stairs, you palming him through his jeans the entire way; then the moment you got him laid down on the bed, you rode him, got off, rolled over, and went to sleep. he had to jerk off by himself to get the edge off, looking at you next to him on the bed the whole time. in the moment, it was very (sad violin noises) but looking back on it—that drunk and frenzied look in your eyes, almost like you didn't care about him or his pleasure...it was so hot and a little part of him felt ashamed for thinking so.

but the shame never sticks around too often, never lingers. he knows you care about him, knows that it was just a symptom of one too many drinks and his hands exploring your body (i.e. your hips and ass) the entire night to make you use him the way you did.

drunk or not, i think his favorite occurrence is when you're riding him and he just gets to watch you lose it atop him, grinding back and forth on it. it may not be the most stimulating for him specifically. but seeing you use him, the only thought in your mind your own pleasure—he really loves it.

i don't think he'd be into being edged when you're actually fucking—the better alternative to being used like a toy is overstimulation. when he cums before you, there's something in his head that insists that he has to make you cum one more time before he can rest. then you say, "please, just a little more, joost," and he knows he has to do it. strangled, he says, "i can't, i can't do it anymore, schat," but he knows he should, sloppily thrusting into you before he gets soft, the pain of the overstimulation completely lost on him in the venture for your own pleasure.

i also have a lot of (good. great even) feelings about joost talking ab liking his ass eaten but idk if i can go that far here yet

i need him

#joost klein smut #joost x reader #joost klein #joost #joost x you #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #joost klein x reader #asks #juno's fics #juno’s hcs #juno’s smut

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chvoswxtch · 7 months

Text

a favor

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: frank's true intentions behind getting you a lawyer are revealed.

warnings: swearing, a lil angst, sassy lawyer matty, instigating frankie

word count: 5.7k

a/n: happy one year of the bodyguard! again, I can't thank y'all enough for the love and support y'all have shown this series for the past year. i'm eternally grateful. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“Frank.”

“Red.”

The two men exchanged curt nods in greeting while the nickname Frank used for the man who had introduced himself as Matthew further added to your growing puzzlement. There was clearly a history between the two of them that you weren’t aware of. Frank hadn’t been lying when he said he had a lawyer, but it only fanned the flame of curiosity burning within you.

What could Frank have possibly needed a lawyer for?

Frank had assured you that according to Madani, Steven didn’t have anything on you, but Matthew’s presence had a wave of newfound anxiety beginning to crest steadily. If Steven didn’t have anything, why did you need a lawyer? Turning your attention towards Frank, you lightly clenched your fists at your sides to keep them from betraying how nervous you actually were in that moment.

“I thought you said he didn’t have a case?”

“He don’t.”

Frank said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders, but it didn’t put you at ease. Behind you, Matthew cleared his throat to capture your attention, and when you turned around to face him, you noticed he had taken a step towards you. His plump lips were stretched into a charming smile that had your nerves suddenly calming of their own accord.

“Miss Y/L/N, you have nothing to worry about. I’m here as a formality more than anything, and a favor to Frank. I’m familiar with men like Price. He’s going to try and scare you, like he did with the letter of intent, and try to manipulate you to get his way. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Matthew spoke with such conviction that it was hard for you not to believe him. You didn’t know how good of a lawyer Matthew was, or if he was a match for Steven, but Frank clearly trusted him enough to involve him, and you trusted Frank with your life.

“He’s a real asshole.”

Matthew’s thick brows lifted slightly above the rim of his crimson tinted glasses when you suddenly blurted that out, and an amused chuckle quickly sounded from deep within his chest. His lips parted to reveal a dazzling row of teeth complimented by deep indentations in each of his cheeks.

“So I’ve been told. Shall we?”

Glancing at Frank over your shoulder, he motioned towards the room with his head, an expression of pure annoyance painted on his sharp features. If his face didn’t give away how he felt about the current situation, the dissatisfied grunt that preceded Frank’s gruff voice certainly did.

“Let’s get this over with.”

»»———　　———««

Orange was not Steven’s color. It contrasted sharply against his stupid blonde hair that had grown shaggy and appeared unkempt, much to your satisfaction. He was the only guy you ever dated that took more time getting ready than you, and knowing how meticulous he was about his looks, it filled you with a sense of enjoyment seeing his golden tan faded to pasty ivory, darkness blooming under his dull blue eyes, and a sour scowl on his mouth.

He wasn’t considered a violent threat, so he wasn’t handcuffed to the table. Steven had chosen to “represent himself” in his make believe case, so there wasn’t anyone else in the room but him. A guard was stationed outside the door, not so much for protection, but to let all of you in and out.

The whole thing made you almost laugh.

Steven had handcrafted one of the most violent homegrown terrorist groups that had been the biggest threat New York had seen in decades, and the prison still didn’t consider him a danger. Surely that had to be a huge blow to his ego.

As soon as the three of you stepped through the door of the meeting room, Steven was quick to let out a dry scoff, crossing his arms over his chest in visible disapproval.

“Well that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Confusion weaved between your brows at his statement.

“What?”

“Two bodyguards? You’re not in any ‘danger’ anymore.”

The way he spit out the word danger had your blood already simmering in your bloodstream, like he was implying that you never truly were. To him, you had been overreacting; playing the part of a victim instead of actually being one. It was bad enough he invalidated your feelings throughout your entire previous relationship, but eight years later, you were still dealing with his bullshit.

The mention of two bodyguards only muddled your confusion further. Glancing up at Frank, you were met with the familiar sight of him standing as still as a statue right by your side, his right hand clasped over his left wrist, and an intense broody expression on his features. Steven knew that Frank was your bodyguard, but why did he think that Matthew was also? Turning your attention to Matthew, your brows raised slightly in surprise.

Matthew was standing just as close to you as Frank was, and in a similar protective stature. His full lips were pressed together in a firm line that highlighted his sharp jawline. You hadn’t realized just how large he was before when he introduced himself, mainly because he didn’t look as menacing as Frank normally did. He wasn’t quite as big and bulky as Frank was. He had more of a slim and lean build, and appeared to be maybe an inch or two shorter than Frank, but your eyes caught the way his suit jacket seemed to be straining around his shoulders and arms. From an outsider perspective, he did look like a second bodyguard.

“Or, one and a half I guess. Is Russo struggling that bad he has to hire a blind guy?”

That comment completely caught you off guard. You’d briefly noticed the crimson tinted glasses that Matthew wore, but for some reason you had immediately assumed that they were transition lenses adjusting from being out in the sunlight. It was only when you glanced down at the red and white cane he held in his left hand that it all of a sudden clicked in your brain, and you realized for the first time that Matthew was blind.

Before you could think too hard about how you had missed that, Steven’s abrasive comment echoed in your ears, and your blood went from simmering to scorching as you whipped your head in his direction. Taking a bold step forward, your features were twisted up in raw outrage as you prepared to hurl verbal assaults in his direction.

“You fucking-”

Abruptly, two arms shot out to stop your rampage before it could begin. Dropping your gaze downward, you saw Frank’s arm was flush against your ribcage, while Matthew’s was directly underneath, hovering a respectful inch away from your lower stomach. Flickering your eyes upwards to look at Matthew, a mixture of perplexity and curiosity lingered in your stare as you wondered how he had known that you’d taken a step forward. But before you could ask, he cleared his throat and moved his arm away, beginning to fold up his cane with both of his hands.

“Mr. Price, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m Miss Y/L/N’s attorney.”

“And what firm do you work for?”

“My own. Nelson, Murdock, and Page.”

Steven narrowed his eyes while he sized Matthew up and down, making it obvious he clearly was not impressed, which was incredibly stupid on his part now that you were aware Matthew couldn’t see it. Smacking his lips, Steven shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the metal chair he sat in.

“Never heard of you.”

“You follow the Kingpin trial?”

Frank had been silent up until that point, which made you nervous. You weren’t used to men that were quiet about their rage, and it felt as if you had only seen a fraction of what Frank was capable of when he was angry. But the mention of the Fisk case caught your attention. What did that have to do with anything?

“Of course I did. That was one of the biggest criminal cases this city has seen in years.”

Steven made it sound like Frank had asked the most ignorant question in the world. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. That case was huge. The only part of it that left a sour taste in your mouth was the fact that Fisk was never charged for Ben’s murder. Deep down you knew it couldn’t be proven, there simply wasn’t any evidence, and you should’ve been happy Fisk would never get out with everything he had been charged with, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you, and not for Ben.

“Then you’re not only a dumbass, you’re a fuckin’ liar too. His firm was the one that put that shitbag away.”

That piece of information had your head swiveling to stare at Matthew almost in awe. You had been so focused on the charges of the case that you hadn’t actually paid attention to who was running the case against Fisk. It made you wonder if he had known about Ben.

“Anyone could’ve won that case. That devil guy practically handed Fisk over to the police wrapped neatly in a bow.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Matthew stiffen at the mention of Daredevil, but he swiftly recovered. Tossing his folded cane onto the table with surprising accuracy, he adjusted his glasses on the bride of his nose and slipped his hands into his pockets nonchalantly.

“That’s true. But unlike you, I don’t have to tamper with evidence, threaten witnesses, or buy off judges and juries to win my cases. Now, do you want to discuss the multiple charges that are currently pending against you for malpractice and wrongful conviction on top of domestic terrorism, or can we skip the pleasantries and get to the point of this meeting.”

Steven was not at all prepared for Matthew’s sharp retort, and you couldn’t stop the way your jaw dropped in astonishment at how smoothly he had called him out. Steven was the only lawyer you really had any experience with, but in the five minutes you’d known Matthew, he made one fact abundantly clear; Steven had been pretending to be a skilled lawyer. Matthew actually was one.

You could always tell when Steven was flustered or upset by how red his face became. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable but trying to play it off like he wasn’t, while a faint flush of scarlet was beginning to creep up along the column of his throat.

“Fine. Let’s discuss the case. My demands were-”

“You have no authority to make demands, because you have no case. Now you’re ridiculously ignorant, but you aren’t that stupid. So, why don’t we discuss why you really asked my client here.”

“Excuse me? You can’t talk to me like that. Do you have any idea who I am?”

Matthew let out a slow and deep exhale through his nose and took a step further towards the table, his hands still nestled comfortably in his pockets, a layer of boredom coveted on his features.

“Yeah, you’re the guy facing twenty-five to life without the possibility of parole. I didn’t think we needed to state the obvious.”

Frank let out a quiet snicker beside you, and when you snuck a glance up at him, you noticed he had the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. His deep brown eyes seemed to be almost shining with merriment under the harsh fluorescents of the lights above.

He was enjoying this.

It hadn’t occurred to you before that Frank might have invited Matthew simply just to humiliate Steven and intellectually torment him for the hell of it. Narrowing your eyes in half-hearted suspicion, you leaned closer and whispered lowly to him.

“Did you do this on purpose?”

Turning his head to look down at you, Frank didn’t even bother trying to play innocent. He flashed you a playful wink before turning his attention back to Matthew and Steven, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed manner. A bubble of childlike laughter almost escaped from your mouth at the sudden epiphany.

Frank had asked Matthew to come strictly to fuck with your ex-boyfriend.

Steven’s “case” was bullshit. Frank knew that Steven was afraid of him because Steven couldn’t take him physically, and Frank had proved on several occasions that Steven wasn’t as untouchable as he thought he was. But Steven always thought he was the smartest person in the room, and he probably thought he had outsmarted you and Frank with the letter of intent.

Until Frank had purposefully brought someone that he knew could talk circles around Steven and make him feel as small as he had made you feel.

That thought brought a grin to your lips, and it made you wonder if Matthew was in on it.

“Clearly you aren’t as good of a lawyer as you think you are, or maybe you just didn’t do your homework, but I am getting out of here. Do you know who my father is? I can-”

“Yes, Mr. Price, I’m well aware of who your family is, and I’m sure your father’s status is what gives you the luxury of ignorance to think that you’re invincible, but if that were case then you wouldn’t be sitting here in federal prison, would you?”

Steven immediately clenched his jaw tightly and his chest started to rise and fall a little faster while his nostrils angrily flared. His irritation was written clearly across his face. He wasn’t used to not being the most intelligent and powerful person in the room. He wasn’t used to people not kissing his ass just because of who he thought he was and the family name he carried. He wasn’t used to being challenged, and that’s exactly what Matthew was.

A challenge.

Matthew was getting to Steven, and it seemed like he knew it. Matthew took another casual step forward and reached for the metal chair, pulling it out slowly and stepping around to leisurely take a seat in front of Steven. He clasped his hands together and rested them on the metal table. While there was a look of neutrality on his face, the low voice he spoke in and his razor sharp words betrayed his true feelings towards Steven.

“Daddy’s money can’t buy you out of this one. You have nothing, you’re grasping at straws, and you’re wasting everyone’s time. Now I realize that you have plenty of that here considering you’re facing at least twenty five years on the domestic terrorism charges alone, but the rest of us have lives to return to outside of this room. So, did you call us here just to throw an entitled tantrum? Or is there something of value you’d like to discuss?”

“I want her to pay for what she’s done!”

“What I’ve done?”

A look of incredulity and anger was painted across your face at Steven’s outburst. His blue eyes snapped up to meet yours, wild with rage, and he glared at you while pointing his index finger stiffly in your direction.

“You ruined my life.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Frank attempted to pull you back when you took a frustrated step forward, but you yanked your wrist away forcefully from his large hand.

“You lazy, arrogant, selfish dick! You hired a bunch of psychos to blow up New York because you weren’t good enough to win an election and that’s my fault? Fuck you!”

“Sweetheart, let’s take it easy.”

Frank was standing right behind you, his large hand splayed on your lower back as he attempted to rein you in. Matthew was supposed to be the one handling Steven, that’s why he was here. But you couldn’t handle listening to another second of his privileged pity party while he still refused to take some goddamn accountability for what he did.

Stepping forward until you were directly in front of the table, you gripped onto the edge of it tightly until the blood flow around your knuckles was restricted. Wrath was burning vividly in your eyes and Steven abruptly backed away in his chair as if he were afraid of you. Even though you were seething, you kept your voice low and calm, wanting him to hear every venomous syllable that had been building on your tongue for the past ten years.

“You are fucking pathetic. You had every privilege at your fingertips and you still couldn’t make something real of yourself. You chose to cut corners, buy your way in and out of everything, and even resorted to murder just to get ahead because deep down, you knew you couldn’t fucking cut it. Daddy didn’t love his fucked up protege enough so the rest of us had to suffer your waste of an existence. The only reason you sent me that ridiculous letter is because for whatever idiotic reason, you think you still own me-”

Leaning in across the table, your face was mere inches away from Steven’s as you spoke in an even more merciless tone.

“-even though the moment I held a gun to your head should’ve made it very fucking clear that you never did.”

Steven’s eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open in shock before he snapped his head to look at Matthew in bewilderment, stammering over his words.

“She admitted it!”

“That’s hearsay.”

“Bullshit! She just confessed-”

“Technically she didn’t explicitly state when or where she held you at gunpoint, and as her lawyer, anything my client says in my presence is protected under client confidentiality, so I can’t act as a witness. Good luck getting Frank on your side.”

“Looks like you still got nothin’ asshole.”

Steven was frantically looking between the three of you in complete disbelief like a gaping fish out of water flopping around on a dock.

“This…this is insane! You can’t do this! I made a statement-”

“Neither Frank nor Mr. Russo corroborated that claim.”

“Of course they didn’t! Russo tried to get her to shoot me, for Christ’s sake! She assaulted me, and so did he.”

Steven was getting hysterical, his face nearly ripening to the shade of a freshly grown tomato, his desperate glare fixated on Frank. But Frank and Matthew didn’t visibly react at all, which only set Steven off even further.

“Frank’s job was to protect Y/N from any and all threats. You presented yourself as a threat, which resulted in him taking action.”

Matthew lightly shrugged his shoulders, speaking as if he were explaining a simple concept to a child.

“He broke my nose! And that slimy bastard Russo recorded me without my consent. That’s illegal! I was coerced-”

“Actually, it wasn’t illegal. Mr. Russo’s company was hired by Homeland Security to keep Y/N safe, thus by extension, Mr. Russo and Frank were acting as employees of Homeland. They had the right to record any and all conversations involving a person of interest, and due to Y/N being clever enough to get your men to confess and mention you by name on tape, you became a person of interest. That recording was perfectly legal, and even if it had been coerced, you were arrested with evidence in your pocket linking you directly to the Defenders of Freedom, including proof that it was your operation. Now Mr. Price, I don't enjoy repeating myself, but since you seem to be struggling to comprehend just how fucked you are, let me simplify this: you are staying in prison. There is no negotiating, no price tag, and no favor that can prevent it. So get to the goddamn point. Why are we here?”

“He’s mad.”

Looking up at Frank, one of your brows raised in curiosity as you noticed that he was grinning from ear to ear. Matthew’s head perked up, slightly cocking to the side. Steven focused his incessant glare on Frank, letting out a dry scoff.

“And what am I mad about, Frank? I could own this prison with the change in my pocket. Might even turn into a kingpin myself in here.”

Frank instantly let out a deep howl of laughter, which only pissed Steven off that much more.

“I doubt that. Money don’t make you a man, and that ain’t the currency in here. Respect is, and you’re too much of a pussy to fight for it. I bet you’re already someone’s bitch, ain’t ya? That why you sent the letter? You hoped she’d feel sorry for your ass, yeah? Help you outta here? Cause you’re still fuckin’ stupid enough to think she would lift a goddamn finger in your favor.”

You didn’t notice when Matthew had silently slipped out of the chair in front of the table, but as Frank took a few bold steps towards Steven, suddenly Matthew had extended his arm across your stomach and was gently guiding you behind himself. Grabbing onto Matthew’s bicep lightly with both hands, you peered around him to see what was happening. Steven had leaned all the way back in his seat, and when Frank started to round the table, pure fear shined in the baby blue of his irises.

“You’re mad she didn’t come alone. You’re mad she ain’t helpin’ you. You’re mad Red’s right, and you are fucked. You’re mad you’re a fuckin’ embarrassment to daddy and your entire goddamn stuck up family. I bet he ain’t called you once, huh? Ain’t checked on ya? Cause he don’t wanna be associated with such a fuckin’ disappointment of a son, yeah? You dug your fuckin’ grave, and instead of helpin’ you outta it, he’s shovelin’ that dirt right on top to bury you.”

The closer Frank got to Steven, the louder the alarms started going off in your head. You tightened your grip on Matthew’s arm, feeling more and more nervous about what Frank was about to do. It wasn’t beneath him to start a fight in a Federal prison if he thought it was warranted. But if he started swinging, would Matthew be able to step in? Would Frank go to prison because of it? You weren’t sure what the law was, but you were pretty sure there were serious repercussions that would follow what Frank was about to do.

As if he could somehow sense your growing anxiety, Matthew subtly reached behind himself and placed his hand on your hip, giving it a light squeeze. He turned his head faintly in your direction and whispered only loud enough for you to hear.

“Relax. He won’t hurt him.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Matthew’s lips parted, and then abruptly closed. After a moment, he gave your hip another light squeeze and whispered lowly again with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Mostly.”

Before you could explain how Frank nearly beat the life out of Steven last time they were in the same room together, Frank’s deep voice captured your attention.

“But that ain’t the biggest reason why you’re mad, is it?”

When you looked around Matthew again to stare at Frank, you saw that he had grabbed the arms of Steven’s chair and had leaned down so that they were face to face. Something about Frank’s expression in that moment had you completely puzzled. He didn’t look as angry as he sounded.

He was smirking.

“You’re jealous.”

Steven was trying hard to hide how terrified he was of Frank. His hands were clenched into tight fists in his lap, the skin so taught over his knuckles they turned stark white, and they were visibly trembling. But not because he was mad; because he was scared. He attempted to look unimpressed as he let out a dry laugh that shook as much as his hands.

“Jealous of what?”

“That I’m the one fuckin’ her now.”

As soon as those words left Frank’s lips, your eyes widened to the size of moons and your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Steven appeared to be just as shocked by Frank’s shameless boast as you were, while Matthew on the other hand had a devilish grin stretching over his full lips that was accompanied by a dark chuckle.

“Oh, so that’s why he’s so pissed off.”

Matthew wasn’t at all uncomfortable by Frank’s admission. He seemed to be completely amused by it which was evident by the taunting tone dripping from his velvet voice. Swallowing thickly, heat burned in your cheeks as you snuck a glance up at Matthew. You still had a vice grip on his arm, and his hand was still resting comfortably on your hip. You weren’t sure if he could feel you looking at him, but he subtly turned his head in your direction and arched one of his thick brows while his smirk stretched further across his lips to display his dimples. Meanwhile, Steven was glaring across the room at you in a concoction of betrayal and resentment.

“Do you really have no self respect that you’d whore yourself out for your bodyguard? What, you let him and Russo take turns? You gonna slut yourself out to Murdock, next?”

For some reason that comment set you off. Any feelings of embarrassment you might have felt that Frank just revealed to everyone in that room that the two of you were fucking suddenly flew out the window. Finally letting go of Matthew’s arm, he removed his hand from your hip when you stepped forward towards the table.

“That’s not really any of your business, but if you’re lacking entertainment in here, feel free to picture me sharing a bed with all three of them tonight when you’re sleeping in your cell.”

The bold confidence you spoke with surprised you and everyone else in that room. A dusty layer of pink instantly covered Matthew’s cheeks, and he quickly cleared his throat while trying to hide the playful smile that threatened to take over his entire mouth. Frank was clearly caught off guard by your response, his thick brows lifting considerably up his forehead. When he caught the smile on Matthew’s lips however, he rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, tapering his gaze in Matthew’s direction with a deep scowl. Steven looked completely dumbfounded and horrified, and that filled you with an intense feeling of satisfaction.

Standing up a little straighter, you crossed your arms over your chest and let out an exasperated sigh.

“If you’re finished throwing your fit, I’d like to take my boyfriend and Matt to lunch. Matt, you don’t have any plans, do you?”

“He does.”

Frank grumbled as he walked around the table to stand next to you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist in a possessive manner, leaving Steven behind to watch the display of affection in clear anguish and disgust. Reaching for his folded cane on the table, Matthew’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before his mouth stretched into a satisfied grin.

“I can spare an hour for good company.”

Frank glowered at Matthew as he unfolded his cane and walked towards the door, knocking twice against it to signal for the guard to open it. You couldn’t help but laugh at the look on his face, and you leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, which immediately softened his hardened features.

“Come on, big guy. Let me treat you to some Italian.”

“I’d rather take you to the parkin’ lot and treat you to somethin’ else.”

Frank reached down and grabbed a large handful of your ass, speaking loudly enough for Steven to hear. A noise of surprise left your lips at the sudden gesture, and you laughed while looking up at him with widened eyes.

“Frank!”

A boyish grin split across Frank’s lips as he snickered, wrapping his arm around your waist to guide you towards the open door. Neither of you spared so much as a final glance back in Steven’s direction.

Once you were out in the hallway, Frank gently grabbed your arm to pull you aside while Matt walked ahead. He cocked his head to the side while looking down at you with a pensive look melting in his warm brown eyes.

“Boyfriend, huh?”

The question made your confidence falter slightly, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive manner and arched one of your brows in a silent challenge.

“Did you want to be demoted back to bodyguard?”

“Hell no.”

Frank almost looked offended by the question, and it caused an amused laugh to quickly escape your mouth. Reaching out to cradle your face in both of his large hands, Frank leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your lips that nearly took your breath away. When he reluctantly pulled away, his thumbs were delicately brushing over your cheekbones.

“You know I always will be though, right?”

“Always be what?”

“Your bodyguard.”

A content smile covered your lips as you nodded, staring up into his eyes lovingly.

“I can live with that.”

Frank tore his gaze away from you for a moment. When he looked to his left, a furrow formed between his thick brows and a faint pout pursed on his soft lips.

“Does he have to come?”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who he was talking about. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gave him a pointed look.

“Frank.”

Letting out a grunt, he reached down to take one of your hands, lacing your fingers together.

“Fine. But if he gets handsy with you again, I’m gonna throw his ass in the Hudson.”

A look of shock crossed your features at that, and when he began to tug you towards the exit, you smacked your hand against his chest.

“Frank!”

Without missing a beat, Matt quickly retorted over his shoulder.

“I can swim, Frank.”

“Yeah? See how good you do with cinder blocks chained to your ankles.”

“You’d try to drown a blind man?”

“Don’t start your shit, Red.”

»»———　　———««

Matt and Frank argued like an old married couple, and it was extremely entertaining to witness. The only friend you had ever seen Frank interact with was Billy, and their dynamic was far different than his was with Matt. It was intriguing to watch them go back and forth with one another so effortlessly. Matt had a naturally sharp wit, one that Steven had been no match for, but Frank easily kept up with him. It made you wonder how long they had known each other.

“Ain’t you got somewhere else to be other than here bustin’ my balls?”

“Nope.”

“Bullshit. I heard you swear at least four times earlier. Ain’t that grounds for confession, altar boy?”

“It’s Wednesday, not Sunday. But while we’re on the topic of confession-”

“Ah, kiss my ass.”

A laugh erupted from your mouth at the way Frank waved his hand dismissively in Matt’s direction, leaning back in his seat while turning his head to glance out the window he was sitting next to. The spot the three of you had come to for lunch was a cozy little family owned Italian place that made the best pizza in all of New York, in your humble opinion.

Looking across the table at Matt curiously, you tilted your head to the side with a soft smile.

“Are you Catholic?”

That signature charming grin stretched over his lips as he gave a nod of his head.

“Guilt and all.”

Before you could speak again, a thought unexpectedly popped into your head. When Frank was teaching you how to shoot a few weeks ago, he had joked that he knew a blind man that had better aim than you, only he hadn’t been joking. He hadn’t said anything else about the mysterious blind man with good aim other than that he was Catholic. Your brain was slowly putting two and two together, and you suddenly realized Frank had been talking about Matt.

Your eyes immediately lit up with excitement and your lips subsequently stretched into an enraptured grin. When you’d asked Frank how a blind man had such good aim, he’d told you to ask him yourself, which was exactly what you were about to do.

“So, I hear you have good aim.”

Matt nearly choked on his drink, covering his mouth with his palm and coughing while he set his glass of water down. His thick brows shot up above the rim of his glasses when he attempted to compose himself.

“I’m sorry?”

“Frank was teaching me how to shoot recently, and he said he knew a blind guy with better aim than me. I’m assuming that’s you. I asked him how you did it, and he said to ask you myself. So, tell me, Matthew. How does a blind man have such good aim?”

While you leaned forward earnestly and rested your chin on the knuckles of your clasped hands, Matt subtly tilted his head in Frank’s direction, a faint look of annoyance on his face. Beside you, Frank was snickering, lifting another slice of pizza to his mouth, his eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Yeah Red, explain it to us.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re the Devil.”

Matt’s full lips pursed into a firm line as he focused his attention in Frank’s direction. He seemed completely unamused by Frank’s comment. Turning your head to look at Frank, you noticed he was giving Matt a knowing look which had confusion settling between your brows as you glanced back at Matt.

“Am I missing something?”

“I’m afraid Frank has overexaggerated. I don’t use guns-”

“Because you’re Catholic?”

Frank busted out laughing at your innocent question, and you could see Matt’s glare of irritation even behind the deep crimson lenses of his glasses.

“Because I don’t believe in them, and also because I’m blind. Frank, what the hell did you tell her, exactly?”

Frank lightly shrugged his broad shoulders as he took another large bite of the slice of pizza in his hand, looking over at Matt with a pleased smirk.

“That you’re a really good lawyer.”

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tasteleeknow · 2 years

Text

ZIPPER

PAIRING: minho x fem!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. established relationship. CONTENT: 18+ only. shy reader. marking. desperation. mutual obsession. unprotected intercourse. biting. body worship. overstimulation. mention of violence. oral (m. rec). WORD COUNT: 4.3k

NOTE: yeah it’s my birthday tomorrow and i wrote this as a gift to myself. @lino-nyangi and @tasteracha encouraged this. no other comment at this time.

SUMMARY: when your boyfriend asks you what you want for your birthday, only one thing comes to mind. you want to dress him in an outfit of your choosing.

PART ONE | DRABBLE: SWEAT | PART TWO

You’re backed up against the wall when the door opens, mentally preparing yourself for seeing him in the outfit you’d picked out. He’d laughed as you’d explained what you wanted for your birthday, eyes on the floor at the embarrassment of it all. You wanted to go out and pick an outfit and have him wear it for you. He only ever wore baggy pants, t-shirts and hoodies. You love him in whatever he wore but he never showed off all the work he’d put in at the gym. Despite his relentless teasing at your request, he’d agreed. Of course he agreed. He always did. He might act like everything was the biggest inconvenience he’d ever faced in his life, but he hadn’t turned you down once since you’d been together. You’d learned that’s just how he was. He never wanted anyone to know how much he cared.

He looks up at you the moment the bedroom door shuts behind him, tugging his pants up his waist a little. You press your lips together as he looks at you expectantly.

“Well?” he prompts.

You say nothing, taking in the sight of him in the tight, black, short sleeve shirt. It clings to him just like you’d imagined. He’d whined and thrown his head back as you’d measured him a few weeks earlier, slipping the measuring tape around his bare chest and then around his biceps. You wanted to get this right. He’d made you give him a back massage in return for all his saintly patience. It was worth it now you’re taking in the results. Your eyes trail down his matching black pants to his big black boots, you can't make yourself regret the money you’d spent on them: despite it being the most you’d spent on shoes in a long time. Your cheeks warm as you fail to meet his eyes again, keeping your gaze on his boots as he makes his way over to you.

“No comment?” he questions. You can hear the smirk in his voice. He was in his comfort zone, despite the clothes unlike anything he’d tried before. You had always been a little timid, overwhelmed easily. He approached the world very differently, self assured and confident. Only the people closest to him ever got to know his weak points, his soft centre and secret insecurities.

He tilts your chin up when he reaches you, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Disappointed?” he asks, well aware you weren’t. You knew he enjoyed it when you got shy, it boosted his ego.

“It’s pretty.”

He grins, tracing his finger down your neck to your clavicle. “That’s it?”

Your eyes drop to the zipper running down his chest. “You look nice. You look… better than I imagined. Thank you,” you say, offering him a small smile.

“This is all you wanted? For me to put some clothes on? I was hoping to spend the day without any at all.”

That’s how he’d asked to spend his birthday; locked in your bedroom until you’d been so exhausted you’d both passed out. “You think your dick is a gift?” you question.

His hand moves to your throat, fingers resting gently against your skin. “Only because you whine my name so sweetly when it’s inside you,” he answers, one corner of his mouth pulling up slightly as his eyes drop to your lips. He was lucky his ego only made him hotter. Still, it was fun to tease him.

“You think it’s special? A dick is a dick.”

His finger presses a little into your skin as he moves a little closer. “Oh, really?” he asks sweetly, a little condescension in his tone. “Is that why you get all shy on me? Even after living together for a year? Hm?”

“That’s just how I am.”

He shakes his head slightly, lips ghosting over yours. “I don’t think so, baby. I think it’s worse with me. I think you get all shy because you’re obsessed with me…” his lips brush yours as he speaks, breath tickling your skin. “Isn’t that right?”

You’re struggling to focus on his words, head tilting forward a little in an attempt to capture his lips. He only pulls away, keeping you pressed to the wall easily. “Answer me,” he whispers.

You blink as you attempt to regain your senses, reaching up to take his hand from your throat and intertwining your fingers instead. You find yourself staring at his lips again, watching as he huffs out a short breathy laugh. “Why’d you want me to wear this, hm? Can you answer that?” he asks.

Your eyes drop to the zip running down his chest. It feels involuntary and your eyes flick back up to his face so quick you’re hardly aware of the action yourself. He notices anyway, his lips pulling into a self-satisfied smirk. He reaches up to tug the zipper a little, moving it up and down slightly as he watches your expression. He lifts the hand intertwined with yours, pressing the back of your hand into the wall above your head. You’ve completely lost control of your breathing, uneven and much heavier than normal. You were easy to read. A stranger would be able to read your thoughts, but Minho? He knew you better than anyone else alive. You may as well have been screaming your internal commentary in his face.

“You wanna do it for me, baby? Tug it down a little?” he asks sweetly, lips hovering over yours again. When you lean forward, he doesn’t pull away this time, letting you press a little of your desperation into him. He hardly reacts, keeping your hand above your head as you moan against his lips. Your other hand moves to the back of his head, an attempt to ensure he doesn’t move away from you again until you're satisfied. It’s silly, the idea that you’d ever be satisfied, that you’ll at some point have had enough of him. You imagine pulling back, tapping him on the shoulder and announcing you’re all done. You giggle against his mouth.

“What?” he asks.

“I think you’re right,” you answer, a little breathless already.

“Mm?”

You don’t answer, attempting to pull him back towards you again instead. He takes your other hand in response, pinning you against the wall completely. “Right about what?” he asks, unsatisfied with your lack of response. He knows what you meant. You know he knows. He just wanted you to say it.

“What you said before,” you mutter, keeping your eyes off his own.

“I think you should say it,” he grins. “Say it and I’ll let you take over. I’ll let you unzip me.”

You can’t help looking into his eyes, big and brown as he waits for you to confess. If only he knew why you were so hesitant to say it. Sure, it was embarrassing. But it was more than that. You’d always felt a little like you loved him more. You were okay with it, or… you’d thought you were anyway. He loved you enough to stay, and that should have been enough. But confessing it to his face? Confessing that you felt like you were practically obsessed with him in a way he couldn’t possibly return? Your heart thumps hard against your chest at the thought of it.

His lips press to your forehead as your mind races, hands still held above your head. “I know it,” he whispers. “Whether you say it or not. That’s one of the things… one of the things I love. I fucking know it all, baby. You can’t hide from me.”

The way he’s leaning over you now causes the silver zipper to dangle directly in front of your face. You're sick of all this talk, especially when he’s dressed like this. With your hands occupied there’s only one plan of action that fills your mind. You duck a little, avoiding his head as you lean forward and catch the cold, silver zipper between your teeth. His chest moves with his laughter, then you’re tugging, pulling it down until a large portion of his chest is free. When you lean back again you don’t even look up at his face, eyes taking in the newly visible section of his smooth chest. You hadn’t been fighting him at all so far. You never did, letting him pin you to walls, to mattresses, move you around whichever way he pleased. It was your dynamic.

That’s why he isn’t expecting it, when you tug your hands free and practically lunge at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He laughs as he stumbles back a step. Then he’s turning you around so he can use the wall as support while you climb him. Your lips are on his neck before his back has hit the wall, attempting to suck marks into his skin. He was usually the one doing it to you: marking you. He liked pulling your scarf down a little as you waited for the bus, inspecting some of the hickies he’d left on you the night before. “Okay, you like the clothes,” he laughs. “I get it.” His hands support your thighs as you cling to him.

He’s quiet as you work, even when you begin nipping at his skin. It’s satisfying, sucking and biting at him. You should do this more often, you tell yourself. When you tug the shirt aside a little to bite gently into his shoulder he drops his head back against the wall with a small thud. It spurs you on, completing the same treatment to the other side before dropping your legs back to the floor.

His chest has flushed a little since you climbed him, a pretty red colour starting at his neck and disappearing into his shirt. You press your hand to the centre of his chest as he lifts his head from the wall and looks down at you with a small slightly dazed smile. A single strand of hair falls across his forehead. You’d helped him style his hair before leaving him to get dressed. He rarely wore it up like this, off his forehead.

“I meant I’m obsessed with you,” you confess before you can overthink it, reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair. “When I said you were right. I meant about me being obsessed.”

His grin widens as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against him. “Yeah?”

You nod, tracing your finger down his nose and then over his lips, ending at his chin. “Don’t hurt me, please,” you whisper, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable. He knew the power he had now.

“Why would I do that?” he asks, looking genuinely puzzled.

You shrug. “You might stop liking me.”

“No,” he answers simply.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “You wanna go grab a knife and stab me in the leg and then ask me if I still like you?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Good, that’d hurt.”

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, interlocking your fingers. “You’re stupid.”

“Is it embarrassing? To be obsessed with someone so stupid?”

“Yes.”

He grins. “You better stop then.”

Your eyes flick across his face. “I can’t.”

His smile softens a little before falling off his face completely. He suddenly looks serious, almost solemn. It catches you off guard. Before you can question him he’s tugging your mouth to his, distracting you with his soft lips. It works like a mind wiping spell, lulling you into a blissed out state that only breaks when he finally releases you.

Your finger brushes his zipper, reminding you of the clothes he was wearing. You take a small step back so you can take in the sight of him again. His chest is still a little red and you can just make out the marks you’ve left all over his neck. You want to make more.

He’s still as you move in again and tug the zipper down a little more. You move slowly, wanting to savour it. Your mind drifts to when you can ask him to wear it again. Anytime, you remind yourself. You could count the time’s he’d refused something you’d asked of him on one hand. You press your palms to his chest, sliding them into his shirt until you brush over his nipples. He’s warm, despite the low temperature of the apartment. You drop your head to his shoulder, hands slipping around his sides to rest on his back.

“I’m being very patient,” he says after a moment. “Are you going to keep feeling me up for another hour?”

“It’s my birthday.”

He sighs dramatically. You lift your head so you can see his face. “Is it really that bad?” you ask.

His lips press together into a straight line and two little lumps appear at the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he answers, unconvincingly. You pull your hands from his shirt and take a small step back.

“Alright, I’ll stop then.”

He reaches for the zipper and tugs it all the way down, letting each side of the shirt fall open. “It’s your birthday,” he says. “So I'll let you continue.”

“No, no. I don’t wanna do anything you’re not enjoying.” You nod towards the kitchen. “You hungry?”

He steps towards you. “Continue,” he demands, no room in his tone for argument.

You wait a moment, letting him fret. Then you move. You nudge him back into the wall with a palm to his chest then trail your fingers from his collar bones down to the waistband of his pants, then back up again. You could lose yourself in this, touching him. Now that you’ve said it, confessed to him how you feel, it feels less heavy. It feels natural even. How could you not feel that way? When he made you laugh like he did… when he looked like this…

You find yourself pressing your lips to his pec, hand gripping his bicep to balance you as you trail messy kisses down his torso. You stop occasionally to leave marks, from sucking, biting, any mark you can leave against his skin feels like an accomplishment. This is mine, they say. Minho doesn’t seem to mind, one of his arms tanging in your hair at some point.

You eventually end up on your knees, looking up at him for permission as you play with another zipper, the one on his pants. “You haven’t marked me up enough?” he asks, his tone a little condescending again. You fucking loved when he spoke like that. His tone so sickly sweet and still so full of ego.

You shake your head and he reaches down, tugging his zipper down and dropping his pants before you can react. You can see him through his underwear, begging to be freed. He twitches a little as you brush over him when reaching for the waistband. Then you pause. His hips push off the wall when you take your hands away. You don’t look up, dropping your eyes to his thighs instead. Just a few marks, you tell yourself before attaching your lips to his skin. You start with his inner thighs, kissing and sucking your way up to the hem of his underwear where they wrap around the tops of his thighs. This wasn’t new to you. Just the other week you’d given him this treatment at the side of the salt water pool as he’d dangled his legs in the water. You’d taken in the sight of his swim shorts stuck to his skin, wet from his swim, and found yourself practically worshipping him—standing in the water between his legs as you kissed over his thighs.

By the time you finally tug his underwear down his legs, you can tell he’s close to snapping, to taking control. He wasn’t used to letting you have your way for this long. But then you’re kissing his tip, tasting the precum that leaks from his slit, and he forgets his impatience—a small gasp escaping his lips. His thighs are where you rest your hands. You can feel every tense of his muscles like this. You’re just preparing to sink down the length of him when he’s suddenly tugging you back and falling over you, pressing you into the floorboards. His mouth is on yours before you even process where you find yourself: on your back on your living room floor. He’s clearly had enough. The zipper on his shirt tickles your skin where your tank top rides up your stomach.

“Want me inside now? Tell me,” he says, barely pulling his lips from yours long enough to get the words out.

You hum in response, pushing at his chest until he detaches from you. “On your back,” you gasp. His brows pull a little together in confusion. He was rarely under you. Still, he obeys, settling himself on the floor beside you.

His pants are bunched around his calves, too difficult to remove with his boots still on. You kinda of like the idea of it, of him being inhibited a little. He’s a little vulnerable like this. Usually you loved the dynamic you had, his dominant role in bed making you feel protected and wanted. But something had burst free along with the confession of the depth of your feelings. You hadn’t realised you’d been holding anything else back. Not until now. You tug your cotton shorts down your legs and climb over him, pressing your palms to his chest as you settle yourself on his thighs. The open shirt frames his chest and biceps perfectly. You’re only running your hands over him for 30 seconds or so before he’s whining.

“Enough. Take me inside now.”

“It’s my birthday. Not yours.”

“You haven’t fondled me enough?”

You scrunch your nose, huffing out a small laugh. “Fondled?”

He gestures to where your palms rest over his pecs. “What else would you call this?”

“Admiring.”

He rolls his eyes. “You haven’t admired me enough?”

You shake your head, smiling. “No.”

“Get on with it then,” he says, a little strain in his voice.

You flick your eyes down to his cock. It’s twitching a little against his stomach. You brush your fingers up the length of him, fascinated. He grabs your wrist before you reach the head. “Don’t touch unless you want this to end.”

You stick out your bottom lip a little. “But it’s my birthday.”

He releases you. “Fine, you want me to cum on my stomach? Go ahead.” It did sound nice, seeing him lose it all over himself before you’d even fucked him. But he was right. You wanted him to fill you. You take him in your grasp and lift your hips off him so you can shuffle forward a little until your entrance rests over the tip. You take in the sight of him one last time, his flushed chest, his hair–a little messier than when you’d started—, the way the black shirt frames his biceps. Then you lower yourself, holding your breath as he stretches you out. His hips rise off the floor a little, like he can’t wait the few seconds it takes you to sink to his base.

You both still when you’re full, taking in the feeling of being as close to each other as it was possible to be. It’s the first time he’s been inside you since your confession. It feels freeing. Like you can let loose completely, let your mind slip and your body take over; hold nothing back. His lips part as you begin lifting yourself off him and sinking down again, slow at first.

You can’t help resuming where you’d left off, pressing your palms to his chest and admiring the way his pinkish skin looks between your fingers.

It isn’t long before his instincts take over, grasping your hips so he can move you to meet his hips as he thrusts up into you. You take in his expression as he uses you, rutting up into you. He was desperate much quicker than usual. He really hadn’t been lying. He must’ve been close to losing it before you’d even begun.

You watch his ears redden to match his chest and his lips. You fall forward to kiss him as he continues moving inside you. You keep your lips on his even as he loses focus, unable to match your kisses. You swallow down the noises he makes, the groans, the tiny sounds that almost sound like whimpers. It’s in moments like this that you feel maybe it’s possible he feels almost as intensely as you do. But then you remind yourself he’s just feeling good physically. That he could feel this way with anyone.

His eyes flutter closed as he stills. He hasn’t cum yet. He takes a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again. You can’t resist sitting back and lifting off him before sinking back down slowly, watching his expression as he tries to prevent himself from filling you. “Stop,” he gasps. “Fuck, stop.” You do.

You wait for him to catch his breath, chest rising and falling deeply. His ears are still pink and you resist the urge to lean forward and bite one of them.

“Why…” he starts, before pausing and taking one more deep breath. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

He sits up, cock still buried inside you as he grasps the hair at the back of your head. His eyes flick over your face as his mouth opens and closes, like he’s struggling to find the words he wants to say. You’re unused to him being lost for words. It’s a little unsettling. Something must be wrong.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he snaps.

You attempt to wipe any expression from your face, waiting for whatever this was to pass. One minute you’re riding him on your living room floor, ready to feel him fill you with his cum. The next you’re attempting to dissect whatever the fuck he was attempting to say right now.

“We started living together a year ago today,” he says.

“...yes.”

“A year…” he repeats, almost like he’s talking to himself this time.

“Is something wrong?”

“I thought it’d pass,” he mutters.

“What would?” you ask, tucking a little hair behind his ear.

“Feeling like this. All fucking itchy and… desperate. Like if I let go of you or leave the apartment, you’ll just… disappear.”

You frown, attempting to process what he was saying. He almost sounded angry. Like you’d done something wrong. Or he had? His eyes flick across your face and then he sighs, releasing his grasp on your hair and falling down onto his back again.

You lay yourself down onto his chest, his cock slipping out of you in the process. “You don’t wanna live together anymore?” you ask.

His hands move to grab at your hips, attempting to lift you up again. You let him align his cock with your entrance before sinking back down. You resume your position over his chest, cradling his face in your palms. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before looking at you again. “I wanna live here,” he breathes. “Right fucking here. Buried inside you like this.”

“You’re confusing me.”

He grunts as he pins you to his chest with his arms and fucks up into you hard. “Need it,” he mutters between thrusts. “Fucking need you.”

“You have me,” you soothe. “I told you I was fucking obsessed with you. You have me.”

He sighs, expression relaxing as he rolls his cock into you. It catches you by surprise when he suddenly lets out a drawn out moan and fills you, hips stuttering into you. Something about the way he finishes, the words it had taken to finally push him over the edge. It clicks into place, what he was trying to say. He feels the same. You sit back, watching him attempt to catch his breath as you start bouncing on him. His eyes flutter open as a high whine escapes his throat. You’d never done this before, kept using him after he’d finished. He’s clearly unprepared, throwing his arm over his eyes as his hips rise weakly off the floor. You practically shake as you cum, clenching around his sensitive cock and falling forward onto his chest.

“Fuck,” he gasps out.

His blushed ear catches your eye and you muster just enough energy to take it between your teeth briefly.

“Say it,” you murmur once you release him. “Say what you mean.”

His arms wrap around you, holding you against his chest, now sticky with sweat. “Do I need to say it?” he says, completely breathless.

“It’s my birthday,” you whisper.

His hands move to your head, lifting your face from his neck. “I love you,” he says, “It scares me how much.”

You’re pretty sure you understand him. That he meant something different to the previous time’s he’d said he loved you. There was something about his voice, a tiny wobble in the final syllable that convinced you maybe you weren’t alone in this.

“We’re keeping the shirt,” you say, offering him a small smile.

He laughs, letting you fall back into his shoulder. “I dunno if I can survive what it does to you.”

“You can pick an outfit for me?” you offer.

He’s quiet and it isn’t until you’ve both fully caught your breaths that he speaks again. “Anything?”

You lift your head and peck him on the lips. “Anything.”

He smiles.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

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jwonsite · 7 months

Note

attempting to ride jungwon but failing cuz it's js too much to handle (his ego just boosted like x1000) and resulting in him fucking you dumb you can barely talk ☹☹

the way i forgot this was in my inbox goodbye im so sorry

warnings: dom jw, riding, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), he cums inside </3, hitting it from the back lmao, petnames, reader is afab

anyways i think about this a lot ngl,, like me personally i am a BOTTOM like the most bottom bottom to ever bottom,, pillow princess type shit,, and won feels like he would just love that,, like just being able to take his gf in anyway he wants :( if you ever suggested riding him he would be a bit surprised at first but DEFINITELY is not saying no.

he would lay back against the headboard of the bed,, both hands behind his head at first,, letting you do all the work. as you settle yourself over him he's going to have the biggest smirk on his face oh my lorddddd,, like hes gonna love it. when you finally sink down onto him he is going to lose his MIND. def is moaning out loud,, hands flying to your waist to hold on to it. he'll make you sit there,, fully inside you for a few seconds before removing his hands from your waist as a sign for you to start moving. expect him to be soooo vocal as you're riding him,, moans,, whines,, and praises falling from his lips every couple seconds.

"you're doing so good for me pretty"

"my baby doing so well just for me"

"fuck,, you look so pretty fucking yourself on my dick"

when he notices you starting to get tired/overstimmed,, lawddd he's gonna tease you so badly.

"is it too much for my baby?"

"pretty girl can't even stay focused enough to finish yourself off"

"are you tired pretty?"

you'll probably so fucked out that you won't even answer him,, whining softly at his words. he'll just coo at you and flip you over,, telling you how he'll do all the work just for his pretty pretty girlfriend. he'll flip you both over,, having you face down ass up as he pounds into you from behind,, not even giving you a second to breathe. he def is making you cum at least 4 times before he finally does,, spilling into you as he continues to slowly fuck his cum into you </3 he'll pull out and pull you onto his chest,, your naked sweaty bodies meshing together as he rubs your back gently,, whispering sweet nothings into your ear about how much he loves you and how good you are for him :((

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loaksky · 2 years

Text

— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

the deets — lo'ak is the black sheep in the family, clinging to honor by a precarious thread. you are the well-loved songstress in the tribe. he should resent you for being everything he's not, but his fickle heart can't bring him to do so.

the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)

the tags — (one-sided) rivals-to-lovers, angsty angsty, hurt / comfort, reader gives lo'ak a big ol smooch (perhaps more than one), lo’ak is the biggest dumbass and because of this he’s mean asf, reader has a big ol heart and just really wants lo’ak to like her, aged!up characters for maturity’s sake.

the warnings — language, lo'ak is in luv but doesn't realize it, he's in denial that the feelings could be reciprocated, this is super dramatic so put your seat belts on!

the notes — was feeling extra sad and wanted to write something self-indulgent. this lovely anon requested something, and i used their ask as inspiration to finish this beast. fine line, bags, and love in dark are the three main songs i listened to finish this, so if you wanna be in your feels, have a listen LMAO. despite all the support, i’m still so mf nervous posting this ejsjsjdjs

masterlist

SOMETHING UGLY KINDLES IN THE PIT of Lo'ak's stomach at the mere mention of your name. It's sour on his tongue, bitter in his brain. He doesn't know when he's started to feel like this, started to feel absolutely dreadful anytime he'd hear the timbre of your voice.

It's warm, thick like nectar and it makes him sick.

Ever since you all were little, the elders crooned over what a great girl you were growing into; strong, intelligent, beautiful. It made him boil how much they'd sing your praises, the high esteem everyone held you in as one of the clan's most talented.

Something dull would pick at him being compared to his older brother, but nothing burned more than being compared to you.

Maybe it's because it's always implied whenever your names share the same sentences, that lingering implication that he could be more like you. The clan fans the flames of your mere existence while Lo'ak is snuffed out like a dying fire.

He hates it. He hates you.

He thinks.

It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth.

But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him.

It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you.

Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone.

Like now, you linger.

It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them.

Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over.

Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin.

“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes.

Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger.

“We going or what?” he finally says.

You perk up.

“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.

Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly.

“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents.

You roll your lips and shift on your feet.

“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful.

Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours.

“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.”

Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible.

You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes.

“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up."

You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off.

“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh.

“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles.

“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”

Lo'ak sneers.

“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.

“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.”

Kiri rolls her eyes hard.

There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you.

“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam.

He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand.

“Hi,” he says flatly.

“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet.

His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare.

“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat.

A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him.

His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows.

“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”

You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure.

“My birthday's coming up,” you start.

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs.

It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest.

“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you.

“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone.

You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens.

“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”

Friend.

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back.

If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face.

“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly.

“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp.

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice.

“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head.

His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply.

“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”

“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly.

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off.

“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle.

The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target.

Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot.

You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile.

“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.”

Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target.

His heart sinks.

“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.

He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two.

He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn.

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs.

“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest.

You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path.

He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora.

“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel.

His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks.

“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!”

His chest rises and falls with a scoff.

“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood.

Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage.

“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly.

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes.

“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you.

“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?”

Friends.

That stupid fucking word again.

Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path.

Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.

“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle.

As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother.

“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.”

“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised.

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns.

“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”

A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates.

“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.”

Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat.

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him.

“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.”

“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up.

You offer up the plate again.

“Lo’ak–“

“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed.

He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds.

“Shit, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering.

“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.”

Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–

“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.”

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters.

“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.”

“Dad!”

“Go, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air.

He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology.

When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye.

He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction.

“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief.

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest.

Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about.

When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile.

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy.

“You first,” you offer.

Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing.

“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm.

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.”

You shake your head quickly.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him.

He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you.

You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile.

You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn.

Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam.

“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation.

He shrugs.

“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.”

The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face.

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?”

No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly.

It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night.

“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly.

“I dunno, green?” he offers.

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly.

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head.

“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.”

He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal.

“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages.

Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up.

“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.

You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet.

“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.”

Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What?” he asks.

You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him.

“Nothing.”

Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session.

And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you.

He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off.

And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade.

Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended.

“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips.

Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars.

“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.”

“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night.

And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has.

But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries.

The words are leaving him before he can stop them.

“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.”

The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him.

“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.”

You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.”

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue.

“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.”

Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments.

“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.”

“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.”

“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You nod, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”

Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.

Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night.

After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring.

“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village.

“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed.

Kiri shrugs.

“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.”

You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully.

“Yeah?” you wonder

So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower.

It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist.

Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat.

He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.

There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again.

But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw.

“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands.

You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff.

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly.

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him.

“Hunting,” is all he says.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control.

Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard.

“No,” he says.

And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly.

“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?”

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.”

“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–”

“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too.

You try again anyways.

“It’ll be good practice and–”

“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.”

Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek.

Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch.

“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”

The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face.

Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later.

You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.

Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore.

You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully.

“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates.

“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles.

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.”

You frown.

Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud.

“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent.

“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs.

Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further.

“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him.

He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut.

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”

“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level.

“But you’re–”

“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle.

You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree.

You follow after him.

“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects.

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.”

You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off.

He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels.

“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”

“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!”

You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you.

“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry.

“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!”

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles.

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper.

“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!”

The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you.

“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.”

Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat.

You dropped your journal.

Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands.

It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet.

He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been.

“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal.

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open.

He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch.

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued.

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers.

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?”

Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.

“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides.

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers.

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

Spider winces behind him.

“You serious?”

Lo’ak sighs.

“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…”

“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.”

Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him.

“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.”

“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.”

Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.

“Did you at least apologize?”

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!”

“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation.

“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“

“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs.

“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.”

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps.

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?”

He blinks at the human.

“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.”

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”

“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply.

“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.”

Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook.

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly.

Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off.

It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.

At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths.

It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind.

I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis.

As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him.

He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you.

It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late.

After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.

As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver.

A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling.

Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar.

“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.

It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face.

When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them.

“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves.

A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it.

“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head.

A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him.

As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze.

“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.”

Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read.

“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand.

“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.”

His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him.

His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it.

He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping.

It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you.

You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—

Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain.

It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished.

Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind.

It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap.

It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.

As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh.

Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath.

Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know.

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get.

Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting.

he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him.

His chest heaves as the words blur.

Fearless.

In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward.

He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye.

Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time.

likes green and blue.

likes yovo fruits.

The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest.

When he turns the page, his breath hitches.

In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes.

Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another.

The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star.

He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like.

Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease.

His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones.

Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river.

A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide.

Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you.

You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself.

He stands from the hammock and runs.

You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.

Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.

As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins.

You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape.

“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.”

You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him.

You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm.

“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay.

“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.”

The tears well on their own.

We’re not friends. We never were and we never will.

The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches.

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.”

He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below.

“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.”

Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky.

“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.”

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues.

He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you.

You shake your head again.

“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.”

“Stop–”

“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”

“No, _________. Wait!”

You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness.

Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better.

She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence.

“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat.

Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task.

It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest.

“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his.

Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze.

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly.

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?”

“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.

Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression.

“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.”

Lo’ak swallows.

“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?”

You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly.

“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…”

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest.

“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.”

Lo’ak swallows.

“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.”

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines.

“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines.

“Why should I help you with your mess?”

You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment.

He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd.

Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show.

Be brave.

He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space.

You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips.

“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him.

You remain jaded.

“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background. “________,” Lo’ak tries again.

You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side.

“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder.

The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday.

She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you.

He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact.

He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet.

He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely.

It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right.

Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt.

They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart.

“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.”

Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve.

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough.

Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids.

“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.”

The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push.

“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees.

“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage.

“I’ll only be a second!”

“Wait, Kiri!”

Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path.

“Good luck, egghead!”

Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself.

You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams.

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls.

“Lo’ak…”

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes.

You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet.

“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him.

He scratches the back of his head.

“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer.

“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads.

You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly.

You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat.

The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.

His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream.

“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.”

“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.”

He swallows.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words.

“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.”

When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him.

He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes.

“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.”

You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek.

“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.”

You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot.

“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you.

“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?”

He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze.

“Did you…”

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”

“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?”

“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening.

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately.

Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push.

“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.”

Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines.

“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”

You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.

“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.”

He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out.

“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief.

“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.”

Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head.

“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him.

“Please.”

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours.

“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.”

Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope.

“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers.

You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss.

He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you.

To being loved by you.

BONUS

“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…”

Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.”

Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by.

His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift.

“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.”

You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you.

A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself.

“Lo’ak, wow…”

“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.”

an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn

#lo'ak x reader #lo'ak sully #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #avatar #atwow #avatar the movie #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak avatar #lo'ak angst #lo'ak fanfiction

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pit-and-the-pen · 5 months

Text

Azriel NSFW alphabet

Literally just Azriel brain rot. Buckle in

NSFW below the cut (18+ minors don’t interact)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I’m a firm believer that this man is the biggest cuddler after sex. He will fully wrap you in his arms and wings and just hold you close to him. He’ll give you sweet kisses on your forehead and the top of your head, humming as he does.

If anything is particularly rough (Which I am a firm believer in dom Azriel) he’ll draw you a bath and smooth out any sore muscles with his hands.

Basically this dude knows what it’s like to be left alone and would rather die than make you feel like that after being intimate

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him, like any good Iilyrian baby, it’s his wings. Besides the normal ego the wings normally come with, he’s able to look at them and see all the good they’ve done. Proof of how far he’s come in life. He’d learn how to fly, become one of the top Iilyrian warriors and had an amazing family. Looking at his wings, the same wings he shares with his brothers, he can’t help but feel his pride stir.

On you, everyone always goes back and forth on boobs or ass but are missing the best option. Thighs. Azriel adores your thighs. Something about the soft feeling of them under his hands instantly comforts him. And not only in a sexual way (although he has pushed your thighs tighter around his head on multiple occasions) but comforting like a cat kneading on a blanket. He loves using them as a pillow, you playing with his hair as you talk about your different days or you both reading a book. He loves your thighs no matter the size, the stretch marks, he loves every inch of them

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I feel like all the fae males cum a ton. Probably left over from centuries of breeding being the most important thing, but Azriel takes the cake. For sake of not having to find something to clean up the sheer amount, he’s almost always coming inside of you. And even then it’s still enough that it runs out of you, something that normally is enough to make you both want round two.

I also feel like if he’s in one of his more dominant moods that once he does cum inside you he’ll use his finger to push it back in, mouth parted as he sees just the sheer amount that pools onto the sheets

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I feel like you and Azriel would be pretty open with each other. He doesn’t want to hide things from you and he wouldn’t want you too either

That being said, I do think he likes you being dominant more than he would ever let you know. The way the tone of your voice drops slightly, the way you tease him is enough to drive him crazy. You always seem to know when he needs it too. There's not one particular thing he could point out to say he loved but you doming him is something he enjoys a lot when it happens.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This man is quiet but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t had plenty of experience. I mean, look at this man. Tell me you wouldn’t have to fight off both males and females when the mating bond first snapped. This man fully knows what he’s doing and I firmly believe his spymaster skills make him perfect at learning exactly what you need to make you into a complete whining mess.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves when you ride him. Something about feeling your thighs spread out on top of him and having full access to your chest and throat just does something for him.

I also live and die by Azriel having a breeding kink so I think he would love having you in a mating press. Your legs perched up on his shoulders as he presses so deep into you you can’t do anything but scream his name. He would still be free to pepper kisses all over your neck and face and he can feel how deep his cum is pumped into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He is pretty serious overall. It’s that dom persona but sometimes when you try a new position or play and something twists the way it's not supposed to or your bodies just make the noises bodies do, you’re both laughing and giggling. On slower nights you two can make jokes but overall it’s pretty serious because the love you two have for each other runs so deeply.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I think he keeps it trimmed. He defo has a happy trail that you love to kiss down. But he doesn’t really care about what’s going on down there, especially when it comes to you. As long as he can get between your legs, he doesn’t care how much or how little hair you have. And I think his hair is a little lighter but not by much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Azriel can be tooth rotting sweet when he wants to be. I’m talking rose petals and candles, full body massage. He would pull out all the stops when it comes to spoiling you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he’s away on missions he would try. Some errant thought of you would cross his mind and since he has a hard time sleeping on missions, he would try to rub one out but it never feels the same so he doesn’t really bother with it. He has you and you’re more than happy to help him whenever he has one of his random moments of need rushing through him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Restrains- He loves holding your wrists down, whether it’s with his own hands wrapped around your wrists pinned above you heads, or his shadows holding down all of your limbs as he absolutely worships your body, something about seeing you desperately trying to reach out and touch him makes him go feral.

Wing Play- At first you both were very tentative for you to touch his wings. He’s so proud of them and despite the fact that you’re mates, it felt too intimate. But after much begging on his part, you finally did and gods. His usual perfect timing was fully broken the first time. He came in his pants like a teenager and spent the rest of the night absolutely worshiping you. From then on, if you ever wanted to have him on his knees, you would just run a nail softly along the membranes and he would be a whimpering mess for you.

Brat Tamer- This male would love it when you talk back to him. The way you would puff up your chest, staring up at him trying your best to be intimidating. He would just coo at you and whisper something about keeping up that attitude later in the bedroom. And of course the moment the door closed to your shared bedroom, you would be apologizing for your words. Maybe if he’s feeling nice, he’ll let you off but if he’s not. You would definitely be limping around the next day.

Breeding kink- He would love to fill you up. As much as he adores seeing his cum on various parts of your body. Theres nothing he loves more than seeing it drip out of you, fucking it back into you with his fingers or his tongue.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers your bedroom truthfully. The two of you have made it so comfortable, bits and pieces of the both of you filled the space. The way your smell mixed with his lingers around puts him instantly at ease.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

For real, you could just look at this man and he would be hard as a rock. Seeing you sparing with Cassian would also be a sure fire way to get him going. Or if you are trying to get him really riled up, placing your hand on someones arm as you’re talking to them would have him literally picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder to remind you exactly who you belong to.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No temperature play of any kind, no ice or fire. Fire/wax for obvious reasons but cold/ ice because it reminds him of the winters at the war camp and those memories are not something he wants to imagine when he’s having sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man will eat you out like he has been stranded in the desert for a hundred years. He cannot get enough of you. He’ll hold down your hips, shadows holding your arms down. Absolute filthy noises would be spilling out of his mouth as he lapped you up. You would literally have to pull him away by his hair and his face would be covered in your arousal. He could go down on you for hours if you would let him and he would still probably whine as you pulled him away.

That being said, this man does love a good blow job. I think he would have two moods. One where he’s just letting you explore, tongue lapping at him and he’d let you set your own pace. Just taking everything you would give him. Now. On nights where you have done nothing but tease him. Strap in because this man will (consensually) push you down to your knees with your hands tied behind you back and use your throat like it was a damn fleshlight. He would keep going until spit was trailing down your chin, eyes glassy with tears. When he finally did cum he would make you hold it on your tongue before telling you to swallow, sticking out your tongue afterwards to show him that you were a good girl and listened to him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This man is the best of both worlds. Depending on both of your moods it can be soft and slow or wall shakingly rough. Sometimes he’ll being going slow and you’ll push his hips to make him pound into you and the little bit of control he’ll have snaps and before you know it, he’s flipping you over and fucking you hard enough to have you seeing stars. But on nights when both of you need to show your love to each other, he’s simply just grinding into you. Hitting that perfect spot inside of you and I love you’s are spilling past both of your lips unhurried.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not totally against them. When the mating bond first snapped all you had to do was look at him the right way and he was taking you against the nearest surface. More than once during trips to the court of nightmares you two were found tucked away into corners, both in various states of undress. His shadows were particularly helpful during these moments because he could wrap you in them and make sure no one saw that the front of your dress was pulled down or how your skirt was hiked up to your waist. But for the most part, he likes taking his time with you. He wants the time to take you apart piece by piece and have you screaming and shaking beneath him.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

SJM told us this man was a freak and I firmly believe it. There’s very few things that he isn’t willing to try at least once. If he thinks it will make you happy then he’s game.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man could go all night if you would let him. Your stamina would give out long before he would. And he’s almost always making sure that you get off at least once but we all know there would be many many more before he would even think about his own release.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I have no idea what toys exist in this world but lets pretend the ones that exist in Crescent City are available. I think he would for sure have a vibrator. More than once he has had you tied up in your bed, vibrator strapped to your thigh and just stood at the other end of the room. You would be half delirious with the amount of orgasms the toy had pulled from you before he turned it off with a smirk at how totally fucked out you were.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is the biggest tease. He knows how much you love his muscles so he would just walk around the house shirtless. Commenting on how your eyes followed him like he was a snack you wanted to devour. He would tease you for that glazed look in your eyes and how your pupils would dilate. If anyone was ever around when this happened you would blush as he slowly raised a hand to shut your slightly open jaw. Laughing softly as everyone else started to slowly leave the room because they knew what was about to happen.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Listen. For how quiet this man is around the inner circle, he would be moaning and panting into your ear. His dirty talk alone is enough to reduce you to a shaking mess. But when he’s pounding into you he’ll be cursing and roaring against you. More than once you’ve had someone pounding on the door because of how loud the two of you were being. He would only make it a point to be even louder when that did happen and when the two of you finally crawled out of your bedroom, the house would be empty.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Azriel was terrified the first time you two had sex. It’s no secret that he’s insecure when it comes to his hands and he was afraid that you would be wary to have him finger you but that fear was quickly dismissed when you begged for his fingers. Now whenever he seems to get too far into his head, all you have to do is slip one of his giant fingers into your mouth and he would snap out whatever funk he was in and he would go absolutely feral. You made the mistake of doing it at dinner with the rest of the inner circle once and everyone just stared at you two with wide eyes as Azriel just sat back further into his chair, legs spreading as he smirked with pure male satisfaction.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Our shadowslinger is hung. I think he’s at least 8 inches but he’s also thick. Like if you wrap your hand around him, your fingers just barely touch. The illyrian joke about wings is definitely true and he’s the biggest of the three males. The rest of the girls nearly fell out of their chairs when they held their hands out trying to get you to spill just how big he was. All three sisters and Mor are just sitting there like 🫸 🫷“What do you mean , keep going??? Girl are you okay???”

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mother. This man’s sex drive is ridiculous. Despite having many partners over the years, there was a lot of time between then and he never let them be truly intimate, opting for quick fucks that were satisfying on the surface level for sure but he desperately yearned for real intimacy. So once he found you he couldn’t get enough of you and you him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’ll always wait for you to fall asleep. And you normally fall asleep pretty quickly after he’s rung orgasm after orgasm out of you. Some nights we would just stare at you as you slept soundly besides him, wondering how he got so lucky to have you next to him.

#acomaf #acosf #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar #acowar #azriel smut #azriel nswf #this is just self indulgent at this point #i need him biblically #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #azriel shadowsinger smut #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel

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