#then remember what happened and just cackle again

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: After being yelled at one too many times by their strict Ubers teammate, Oliver Aiku enlists Ikki Niko in helping him get Shoei Barou a girlfriend, hoping beyond hope that that’s enough to get the guy to chill out a bit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Barou x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.8k

Content Warnings: crack fic, barou is also my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader is kind of an npc in this icl 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, everyone is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), everyone gets slandered (mostly by aiku), god bless niko for being chronically online

A/N: there were a decent amt of people who wanted barou’s version plus i felt like writing it so he’s up next!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long just like the sae version and somehow it’s even sillier so…but yeah anyways this is the second entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Barou is yelling at them again. Aiku’s not sure what the big deal is this time — so what if Lorenzo spilled spaghetti sauce on the floor? He’s Italian, that’s part of his culture — but if he dares to speak up, Barou will single him out specifically, and then he’ll be treated like a little kid in timeout, which doesn’t sound like an ideal way to spend a Friday night.

It’s the four of them in the doghouse as usual — himself, Niko, Aryu, and Sendou, that is. The most ridiculous thing is that Lorenzo isn’t even there, though he’s the true target of Barou’s rage; unfortunately for his teammates, though, Lorenzo’s off getting his teeth polished or counting his money while cackling or whatever else it is that he does in his free time.

Honestly, none of them are really taking the theatrics seriously. Aryu’s fiddling with the ends of his hair, Niko’s standing there, staring at Barou with large, watery eyes, and Sendou’s glaring back at Barou with his arms folded over his chest. Aiku sighs, because that means an argument between the two is most likely impending, but unfortunately for him, he sighs a bit too loudly, and Barou whips around, jabbing a finger at him.

“What’s so exasperating, huh?” Barou says. “I bet you won’t be sighing when we have an insect infestation because none of you can be bothered to clean up that damn tomato shit that Lorenzo’s obsessed with!”

“It’s marinara,” Niko pipes up meekly. They all look at him with varying degrees of incredulity; he shrugs, adjusting the headphones around his neck self-consciously. “Lorenzo’s trying to teach me how to make it. Supposedly a typical spaghetti sauce has meat and vegetables added, but a good marinara is the base, so — um, anyways.”

Barou’s upper lip is curled into a sneer, and Aiku’s just about to thank Niko for taking the fall and turning Barou’s rage to him when he remembers that that’s markedly not how Barou operates. He’s too meticulous to forget the former recipient of his ire, not so quickly, and indeed, Barou is pointing at them both when he speaks next.

“That stain better be gone the next time I come in this room,” he says. He doesn’t say what will happen if it’s not, but given his authoritative voice and enormous physique, he usually doesn’t have to resort to making threats in order to be obeyed.

“Thank goodness,” Aryu says once Barou has left to complete his evening meditations. “Seems like Barou appreciated our elegant silence, Sendou. We’ve escaped reproach this time.”

“Yup,” Sendou says. Whistling nonchalantly, he sidles out of the room, and with a fluttering wave, Aryu follows suit. Aiku can’t even blame them, considering it’s what he would’ve done if he were in their place.

Glancing at Niko, who is now his greatest friend due to convenience alone, Aiku shakes his head, wondering what choice he made in life that led to his weekend plans amounting to cleaning sauce stains from a carpet with a little boy instead of partying or something.

“You got the bleach?” he asks. Niko nods miserably.

“Yeah, I got it. You’re good with scrubbing?” he says. Aiku’s shoulders cramp preemptively at the mere thought, but he doesn’t protest aloud.

“No other choice, right?” he says. “Off to work we go, then.” 

Your best friend has been begging you for days to try this new restaurant with her, and it’s only now that it’s Friday that you can’t come up with any more excuses to avoid it. The truth is that you don’t really have a reason to refuse her as many times as you have, but the thought of summoning up the wherewithal to get ready and go out for dinner instead of throwing on your pajamas and eating something on the couch with a movie in the background is excruciating. Besides, you know her tastes. She always takes you to insanely fancy locations where anything less than your best will be embarrassing, and the only saving grace is that your outings always end up being insanely cheap, as she refuses to spend more than the bare minimum no matter what.

“You’re serious?” she affirms, standing in front of your closet and sifting through your clothes. You’re sitting on your bed, legs crossed and your laptop on your lap as you try to finish up the essay you have due Monday before getting ready. “You’ll really go with me?”

“I just told you I would, didn’t I?” you say. “I wouldn’t let you go through my closet if I wasn’t being serious. Actually, I wouldn’t have let you into my house at all.”

“Your parents would’ve opened the door for me,” she says dismissively. “They love me.”

It’s true, they do love her as much if not more than they love you, so you have no rebuttal. She grins at you, tossing a shirt in your general direction. It hits the back of your laptop, landing in a heap on the floor, and you’re too busy to pick it up, so you just leave it there, too lost in thought to care. Just the conclusion, if I can finish that then I can do something fun without anything on my mind—

“Hurry up and get ready! We want to get a table, don’t we?” she says. It’s a pair of pants she flings your way this time, and her aim is far more superior, for they smack into your face, temporarily blinding you.

“If you don’t let me finish this essay, I won’t go with you,” you say, and she knows you mean it literally, so she immediately pretends to zip her lips, saluting at you.

“Finish away!” 

“Barou’s totally got a stick up his ass, don’t you think?” Aiku says after thirty minutes have passed and the stain is no smaller than before. 

“I don’t think I’d phrase it like that,” Niko says, pouring another cup of bleach on the carpet. Neither of them really know much about cleaning, so this is the best they’ve got, even though Aiku’s pretty sure Barou would pass out if he saw their method. “But yeah, he can be kind of uptight at times.”

“He’s pretty nice otherwise, though,” Aiku says thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a shame. I bet if he loosened up a bit, he’d be a downright enjoyable teammate. Besides the cleaning and all, he’s a cool guy.”

“I do like training with him,” Niko says. “When he’s not yelling at us, it’s fun. Following his regimen has made me a lot stronger.”

“Agreed,” Aiku says. That’s the one thing he’ll give Barou — the guy is a master with the training equipment. He’s introduced Aiku to machines he didn’t even know existed. “You know what he needs?”

“What?” Niko says. He’s scrubbing at the floor while Aiku’s sipping on a soda; theoretically, they’re supposed to be switching off, but Niko hasn’t complained yet, so Aiku’s not about to remind him that it’s well beyond time for his turn.

“Some pu—” Aiku cuts himself off when he remembers that he is talking to a child. Niko’s like twelve or something, so maybe phrasing it in that way isn’t the most appropriate thing to do. “—I mean, a beautiful and loving girlfriend.”

Niko tilts his chin up at him, which means he’s probably looking at him; it’s hard to tell with his overgrown bangs falling in his face. Aiku makes a mental note to suggest cutting Niko’s hair during the next team bonding night that Snuffy forces them into.

“I guess having someone like that would make anyone happier, even Barou,” he says.

“That’s what I’m getting at! I bet he’s just constantly stressed out, so he takes it out on us instead of finding a healthy outlet. Maybe dating someone will fix that and give him something to do besides soccer,” Aiku says.

“Is that your secret to always being so calm?” Niko says. Aiku nods.

“The more girls you have, the less you can worry about things like training. You’re too focused on making sure they’re all happy,” Aiku says.

“Woah,” Niko says. “That’s a really great way of looking at things.”

“Right?” Aiku says. “With Barou, though, we might be lucky if we can find even one girl willing to put up with him. He’s a bit of a work in progress, you know?”

“Totally,” Niko says. “What if he yells at her the way he yells at us?”

Aiku has a vision of some poor, innocent girl on the verge of tears as Barou rants about how she didn’t fold her laundry the right way or something. For some reason, she looks kind of like Niko — oh, that’s probably because Barou just yelled at Niko for that exact reason — but the image is enough for him to balk.

“She can come to us for comfort,” Aiku says decisively before once again remembering that Niko probably only popped out of the womb a scant few months prior. He needs to be more careful — this isn’t Sendou, who would’ve made at least ten innuendos even worse than his own by this point. “I mean, me.”

“That’s a good plan,” Niko says. “You’re really good with the whole advising and comforting thing. I bet you’d make her feel better for sure.”

Yeah, I’d make her feel better alright. This time Aiku manages to keep it to himself, only coughing slightly and nodding towards the bottle of bleach as an explanation.

“The only question is where in Blue Lock are we going to find a girl, let alone one willing to date Barou?” Aiku says.

“Well, Bastard München is playing PXG this weekend, and Manshine City is playing Barcha, so we’re technically off,” Niko says. “I think if we ask Snuffy, we can probably have a day out.”

“What if Ego gets mad?” Aiku says, although the idea is sound enough that he’s just jealous he didn’t come up with it himself. Niko hums, giving careful consideration to the notion.

“We can just blame it on Snuffy. What’s Ego going to do, fire him?” he says. 

A grin breaks out on Aiku’s face.

“Niko, kiddo—”

“I’m fifteen.”

“—you’re totally a genius. Let’s go!”

“What about the stain?” Niko says. Aiku glances at the still marinara-colored splotch on the carpet, and then he waves it off dismissively.

“If we can find Snuffy before Barou gets back, then it’s no longer our problem,” he says.

Niko looks unconvinced, but he’s sensible as well as genius-material, so he only follows after Aiku — albeit not without a final worried glance at the section of carpet which still smells suspiciously of tomatoes. 

“So what cuisine does this place have, anyways?” you say. You’ve finally finished and submitted your essay, and now you’re taking a shower. Your best friend has closed the lid of the toilet and is sitting on it while playing on her phone, apparently because she wants to be able to talk to you even while you’re showering, and since you have a curtain you don’t mind.

“No idea,” she says.

“No idea?” you say, squeezing shampoo into your palm. “Why do you want to go, then?”

“My dad’s Facebook friends have been raving about it,” she says. “His ex-boss said that it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city!”

“We’re going to dinner based on recommendations from your dad’s Facebook friends,” you repeat dryly. “Wow.”

“Look, he may have chronically underpaid my dad, but the ex-boss has great taste in food!” your best friend defends. “Apparently they fill up super fast, though, so we have to get there right when they open for dinner, or else we’re out of luck.”

“Is this you subtly trying to pressure me to shower faster?” you say.

“It’s not subtle,” she says. You scoff.

“I hope you know I’ll take even longer now,” you say.

“You better not!” 

Snuffy is obviously confused when the two of them approach him — Aiku’s not sure if it’s the question that has their coach confounded, though, or if it’s the admittedly odd combination that’s approached him.

“You guys want a night out of the facility?” Snuffy checks.

“Yes,” Aiku says.

“And…you want Barou to come?” Snuffy says. That could be another reason for the incredulity — ‘Barou’ and ‘fun’ are two words rarely if ever seen in the same sentence, unless your name is Yoichi Isagi, in which case just being on the same field as Barou is your idea of ‘fun.’ For normal people — i.e. those with names such as Oliver Aiku and Ikki Niko — those concepts don’t generally align, however, so Aiku can’t blame Snuffy for the weird face he’s making.

“Yes,” Niko says.

Snuffy stares at them for a moment longer, and then, to make things even stranger, he chuckles in a way that’s almost fond.

“It’ll be good for him to get out of here for a bit,” he says. “You two are great teammates for thinking of him; I’m sure he’ll appreciate it one day, if not necessarily tonight. Go on, then, and have fun if you’d like.”

Aiku waits for the other shoe to drop, but Snuffy just returns to making a cup of coffee. It’s a little odd, given the later hour, but still, Aiku’s not one to count his blessings, so he motions for Niko to follow him, and with Snuffy’s official permission, the two of them march towards where Barou is probably doing his daily “fuck Yoichi Isagi” affirmations. They have that kind of weird relationship, after all. It’s unnecessarily complicated, but Aiku has observed during his time in Blue Lock that almost every single relationship between the members of the program follows such a mold. He’s given up on trying to figure any of it out, knowing it’s well beyond him.

“Are you ready?” Aiku says when they reached the closed door to the training room. Niko rolls his shoulders.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Niko says. Aiku decides he likes him, and that he should try to spend more time with the pipsqueak. Maybe he can be a mentor figure or a true role model for the younger player. He’d definitely do better at the job than, say, Aryu. Or Lorenzo, which is a more relevant concern, since apparently the two are cooking buddies, as per Niko’s marinara interlude during Barou’s earlier tantrum.

With a grim nod at Niko, Aiku swings open the door. Schooling his expression into a cheery grin, he calls out in a sing-song that really doesn’t spell anything but trouble:

“Oh, Barou!” 

You’ve made your best friend drive, since she’s the one who’s insisted on taking you out, which leaves you to play music and accomplish other such passenger-esque duties. You take full advantage of your freedom to be distracted, shuffling through playlists whenever you’re bored and scrolling through your best friend’s crush-of-the-week’s social media.

“He’s kind of ugly,” you say. She clicks her tongue.

“In a cute way, though, right?” she says. When you’re silent, she gasps. “Right?”

“Uh…” you trail off, zooming in on one of the photos. Something about him is reminiscent of a gerbil, and you can tell he’s short even before you swipe and see him in a photo with one of his friends, barely coming up to his shoulder. “There’s someone out there for everyone, I suppose.”

“That means you think he’s repulsive!” she accuses you.

“Repulsive’s a strong word,” you say. 

“Hideous?” she says.

“I can get behind that,” you say. “He reminds me of Tinkerbell.”

“Like the fairy, or our third grade teacher’s gerbil?” she says.

“The latter,” you say. “I’m glad you remembered her. That wouldn’t have been as funny if you didn’t.”

“I didn’t find it funny regardless,” she says, pulling into the parking lot and slowing the car to a crawl as she hunts for a space to pull in.

“Hm,” you say. “I did.”

“You know what? You’re not allowed to slander him until you find someone better for yourself. Girls in glass houses should not be throwing stones, and considering some of your exes, you’re in no position to talk,” she says.

“Low blow,” you say.

“No response? That’s what I thought,” she says. You scowl.

“Just park the car, you dumbass. 

“What the hell is going on?” Barou says, for probably the third or fourth time. Unfortunately, their attempt at kidnapping him didn’t go as planned, for neither Aiku nor Niko could lift Barou for any length of time, so now they were stuck with a supremely irritated striker following after them as they marched towards where the Blue Lock official parking was. 

Snuffy had given them the keys to his car, so at least they had a ride — if he weren’t such a good coach, Aiku would seriously question the man’s judgment. Niko ushers Barou into the backseat, claiming he already “called shotgun,” and then he dives into the passenger seat beside Aiku, fastening his seatbelt with a serious expression on his delicate face.

“We wanted to have a fun night out!” Aiku says, turning the child lock on so Barou can’t escape before reversing out of the garage.

“Huh?” Barou says. “There’s so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin. Also, why are we in Snuffy’s car?”

“He gave us the keys,” Niko says, like it’s obvious. In all fairness, it kind of is.

“He gave you two the keys,” Barou says. Aiku’s a responsible driver, so he doesn’t glance back at Barou, but he’s pretty sure that if he did, he’d be met with the kind of fearsome glare that made medieval-era peasants believe in the existence of creatures like trolls and dragons.

“Yes, he did,” Aiku says. “Told us to enjoy ourselves while we were at it.”

Barou sighs. “Say I believe that—”

“We’re telling the truth!” Aiku says.

“—uh-huh, sure. Anyways, where are we even going?” he says.

“Oh, I can answer that!” Niko says. “It’s this restaurant that my dad’s obsessed with. He’s been posting all over his Facebook about it. According to him, it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city.”

“At least you two are being frugal,” Barou says with a small ‘hmph.’ “How far is it?”

“Not too far,” Niko says. 

“Just sit back and relax, man! It’s a couple of friends going out for a meal. Totally normal!” Aiku says.

“Friends don’t kidnap one another to hang out,” Barou says.

“We didn’t kidnap you. Are you saying we’re friends, then?” Aiku says.

“I’m saying we’re not. You turned the child lock on, so that basically constitutes an abduction,” Barou says.

“I did that for Niko!” Aiku says, mentally patting himself on the back for the quick thinking.

“What? I’m fifteen, not five!” 

By the time your best friend finds somewhere to park, it’s already dark, and the spot is at the very edge of the lot, so then the two of you have to walk for another five minutes. She’s antsy by this point, but she does an admirable job of hiding it, only picking at her nails behind her back where she thinks you won’t see. 

“It’ll be alright,” you say as you reach the door to the restaurant. “I’m sure they’ll have space for two people, at least. Nowhere can be that busy, right?”

“I hope so,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.

You’re proven wrong almost as soon as you both walk into the establishment. Every single table has people sitting at it, and there’s a small crowd of people in the waiting area. Still, you and your best friend push past to where the hostess is standing. 

“Excuse me,” you say. “How long is the wait?”

“At least an hour,” the hostess says, her face wan.

“An hour?” your best friend says. “There’s nothing you can do?”

Of course, both of you know there isn’t, but it’s still disappointing when the hostess shakes her head regretfully.

“Would you like me to put your names down?” she says.

“Give us a minute,” you say. She nods, and you and your best friend walk a ways away. As soon as you’re out of the hostess’s earshot, you frown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would genuinely be this busy.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting it either,” she says, exhaling heavily. “I would’ve been way more serious about being on time if I had.”

“What should we do now? I don’t mind waiting,” you say.

“It’s okay. I’m a little hungry, so we can go somewhere else and come back here another day,” she says.

“Are you sure?” you say.

“Yeah, I am. Let’s go,” she says. 

You’re heading towards the door when a robust voice stops you. At first, neither of you are sure if the speaker is referring to you, but when it becomes obvious he is, you turn around in confusion.

“Where are you guys going?” he says. It’s a man with dark hair and eyes like mismatched marbles, and he’s sitting at a table with two others. There’s a couple of empty seats, and he motions towards them. “We’ve been waiting for you two for forever!”

“Oh, you’re in their party?” the hostess says. You glance at your best friend, who mouths why not? at you, and then you smile at the hostess.

“Yes, we are,” you say.

“You should’ve said so from the start,” she says, shaking her head. “Right this way, please.”

You and your best friend follow after her, both of you more than a little lost at the turn of events, but who are you to turn down the offer? Sure, you don’t know any of the three, but at least this way you two didn’t drive out for no reason, and the restaurant’s crowded enough that if they have nefarious intentions, you should be able to get help relatively quickly.

As you sit down and the hostess offers you menus, you can’t help but glance at the three boys, wondering what exactly it is they want from you. Is this some elaborate scam? An effort to get you to pay for their dinner? You can’t tell. They’re unreadable, and all you can do is hope that the meal still goes as well as you had originally planned — otherwise, you’ll be really mad that you’re not at home instead. 

When Niko had first suggested calling ahead to make reservations, Aiku had privately considered him to be a nerd, and one of the idiotic variety, no less. A lethal combo. But outwardly he had nodded along and told him to go right ahead, mostly because it seemed like the kind of thing Barou would appreciate. Now, though, he’s glad that Niko had that kind of foresight, because the place is completely packed.

“Where’s the rest of your party?” the hostess says when they walk in and give her Barou’s name. Aiku doesn’t really know why Niko made reservations under Barou’s name, nor what the hostess means by the ‘rest of their party’, but she’s pretty, so he gives her a charming smile. She’s working now, so he can’t exactly push Barou towards her, but if he’s talking about himself…

She blushes and ducks her head, although the moment is ruined by Niko speaking up. 

“What do you mean, the rest of our party?” he says.

“You made a reservation for five, didn’t you?” she says, leading them to the table. Aiku exchanges looks with Barou, mostly because the two of them tower over the others, so it’s convenient, but Barou seems as confused as Aiku is. Both of them clearly heard Niko making the reservation for only three people, so how in the world had the hostess written down five?

“Uh,” Niko says, and then for some reason he’s turning towards Aiku for help? Aiku’s kind of distracted, though, both with celebrating the moment he just had with Barou and with discerning the color of lipstick the hostess is wearing (red or pink?), so when she directs her question to him, he admittedly panics a bit.

“Will the rest of them be arriving later?” she says.

“Yes,” Aiku says. Coral! That’s the shade he was looking for.

“No worries,” the hostess says. “Although you might want to tell them to hurry up, just in case.”

“Wait, what—?” Aiku begins, but she’s already dropping menus in front of them and racing off to take care of the next group of customers.

“You fucking donkey,” Barou said. “Who else is coming to this?”

“Nobody that I know of,” Niko says. “I only made a reservation for three. She must’ve gotten confused and written down five or something like that, but why’d you go along with it, Aiku?”

“Um,” Aiku says.

“What unparalleled eloquence,” Barou says. 

Aiku’s mind is racing. Firstly, he’s accidentally confused this poor hostess into expecting two more people, and secondly, how are he and Niko supposed to set Barou up with a girl in this kind of situation? The food may be great, but the ambiance isn’t exactly what they’re looking for.

Somehow, these two lines of thought get muddled into one solution, the catalyst of which is when he sees two girls heading towards the door, obviously disheartened by the long wait time for those idiots who didn’t make reservations.

Wait. If those two are girls, and two plus three is five, then Barou might just end this night no longer single!

Another quick recovery by Oliver Aiku. He’s getting better and better by the minute. 

“Hi,” the man who called you over says. “I’m Oliver Aiku.”

“Hi,” you say. The five-person table is a circle, and Aiku’s across from you; since it’s your fault that you’re sitting with these random guys instead of by yourselves, you squeeze between your best friend and the more intimidating-looking one, leaving her to be on the right side of the youngest boy in the group. “Y/N L/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say.

“I’m Niko,” the younger boy says. He has dark hair falling into a heart-shaped face, and you can’t fully see his eyes, but you think they might be some shade of bluish green. Idly, you wonder how his vision isn’t horrible given how overgrown his bangs are, but he doesn’t seem to be having any problems, so you suppose he must have some kind of method around it. “And that’s Barou.”

“I can introduce myself,” the one at your side snaps. He’s by far the most handsome of the trio, although you’re sure your best friend would disagree — she has bad taste, though, so that’s irrelevant — with a regal face and sharp eyes. His dark hair is spiky and his eyes are a vivid crimson, narrowed with irritation while his mouth tugs into a perfect frown. “My name is Barou.”

“It’s a pleasure, Barou,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Same here.”

More than being a pleasure, it’s a little tense, so you return to reading your menu, not knowing what else to say, hoping someone else says something soon and rescues you from the ensuing silence. 

This is bad. Almost as bad as Japan’s performance in the last U-20 World Cup, which occurred right before Aiku moved up and joined the team. Almost as bad as that stain Lorenzo’s marinara left on the carpet. It’s that level of catastrophic, because clearly, Barou will take a lot more encouragement than originally anticipated. Kicking Niko under the table, Aiku nods meaningfully at Barou, who is also reading his menu, sitting next to the girl who’s doing the same.

It’s the perfect opportunity for small talk. Occasionally, the girl will peek at him over the top of his menu, so she’s clearly not affronted by him — either that, or she’s deathly afraid that Barou will kill her and is making sure he doesn’t do that when she’s distracted. If the latter is the case, well, it’s not entirely unfounded.

Solving the conundrum which has presented itself is even more difficult than their game against PXG was. How is Aiku supposed to flirt with someone for Barou? She’ll just end up liking him, which is rather counterintuitive, given that the end goal is to get Barou a girlfriend. 

If only Barou weren’t so stubborn! Aiku’s put him in the perfect spot, but instead of just reaching out his hand and snatching the opportunity up with both metaphorical hands, he’s sitting there, utterly absorbed by the intricacies of the restaurant’s entrees, which Aiku surmises are no doubt fascinating to people with such sensibilities.

It’s the girl, Y/N, who breaks the silence again. Clearing her throat and setting the menu aside, her eyes dart around the table before settling on Aiku. A natural consequence, given his dashing looks and genial personality, but not the one they’re hoping for at the moment, not in the slightest.

“We don’t know you, right?” she says.

“I don’t think so,” Aiku says. Has he gone out with her before? He’s pretty sure he’d have remembered if he had, but you can never be careful these days.

“Then why’d you invite us to sit with you?” she says.

Aiku’s in desperate need of an assist, and there’s only one person who’ll reliably send him one. Besides, the kid owes him a favor, so he doesn’t even feel guilty when he makes a face at Niko, as if indicating that he should be the one to answer the query.

“It was Barou’s idea!” Niko says.

“Excuse me?” Barou says.

“What?” Aiku says. 

“Yeah, it was. He felt bad that you guys were going to leave without eating, and we accidentally booked a table for five instead of three, like we originally planned, so he told Aiku to stop you guys before you were gone,” Niko explains.

“Oh, that was very sweet of you!” Y/N says. “Thank you so much. We both really appreciate it.”

Under the table, Aiku gives Niko a thumbs-up. Niko returns the gesture in kind, though neither of them let their true emotions show on their faces, which must be carefully schooled into blankness so that nobody else catches on to their scheming. 

“You’re welcome,” Barou says before freezing as he realizes that he’s somehow fallen for Niko’s lie, despite being there to witness the truth of the events. “Wait, no, it wasn’t—”

“Barou’s super considerate,” Niko continues, cutting Barou’s correction off. Aiku could just about cry. Niko’s a natural-born talent! He could never have predicted the younger boy’s sheer skill at this kind of thing. “Do you watch soccer?”

“Not really,” Y/N says thoughtfully. “I’ve never understood it well enough to become an avid fan, and my father prefers baseball, so it’s not something my family is into. I think it’s really cool, though!”

“Barou plays,” Niko says.

“So do you guys,” Barou says.

“Yeah, but you’re sitting next to her,” Niko says. “And you’re the king, right? Who better than you to explain the sport?”

“She didn’t ask for that,” Barou says, glowering at Niko and Aiku alike. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N says, even going so far as to smile at Barou. With a final suspicious glare at the two of them, Barou begins to explain the rules of the game to her, and Aiku takes advantage of his distraction to high-five Niko.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Where’d you learn this shit?”

“I watch a lot of anime,” Niko whispers back. “This is a classic set up for a twelve-episode romance that teaches the viewers about friendship, love, and what it means to grow up.”

“That’s not what I was expecting,” Aiku says after digesting this latest revelation, finding that it makes a surprising amount of sense. “But hey, whatever works!”

“Exactly,” Niko says. “Do you think it’s weird if I order chicken fingers from the children’s menu?”

“Order whatever you want, kid,” Aiku says. “You deserve it. I’ll even pay.”

“Yay!” Niko says. “Chicken fingers it is.”

Aiku doesn’t even mind treating him. If this is successful, then he’ll buy Niko all of the chicken fingers in the world in thanks. 

You’re more than a little grateful that Niko has given you something to talk to Barou about. Your best friend is busy texting her crush, the gerbil-looking one, who has apparently responded to her story, so you would’ve had to sit there in silence until she finished up or someone took pity on your helpless self. In this way, though, it’s much more natural, and even if it really was just an example of Niko feeling bad for you, it didn’t come across as such.

“You really scored a goal against the Japanese U-20 team?” you say after Barou has finished a long-winded explanation on the rules of soccer and some of the highlights of his career in the sport. In truth, you mostly tuned out the more technical details, but you have to admit that some of the things he’s mentioned about himself are rather interesting.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Wow,” you say. “You must be good, then.”

He shrugs in acknowledgement. “I’m good.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s bragging or anything like that. He’s just acknowledging an inevitable truth. He’s good. The way he says it, no one can deny it — not that you would’ve. Based on his build alone, you’d have expected him to have talent as an athlete; the things he’s mentioned have only been confirmation of that initial prediction, rather than blowing your mind in any significant way.

“Hi!” Your waitress’s arrival with a tray full of drinks cuts your conversation with Barou short, which you’re surprised to find you’re a little put-out by, at least until the grumble of your stomach reminds you of why you came to the restaurant in the first place. “Are you all ready to order?”

“I want the chicken fingers,” Niko says.

“The chicken fingers from the twelve and under menu? How old are you?” she says.

“Twelve,” Niko says. You frown, leaning closer to Barou in order to murmur in his ear.

“Is he actually?” 

Barou shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, but if that’s the only way he can get chicken fingers…”

“That’s a fair point,” you say. The waitress seems to share your doubts, but then Aiku flashes her a warm grin.

“My little brother’s heard so much about your entrees, and he can’t wait to try the, er, chicken fingers. Yes. The chicken fingers. He’s been talking about them all week,” he explains.

“Are they—?” you begin.

“They met like a month ago,” Barou says, rolling his eyes. “No relation whatsoever.”

“I see,” you say. You almost have to admire the lengths they’re willing to go to, as well as how natural they are with it. “Huh. I guess if it works, it works.”

“One order of chicken fingers, then!” the waitress says, jotting it down on her notepad, returning Aiku’s grin with her own. He has that kind of enviable charisma that lets him get away with a lot more than he should, and you’re more than a little jealous. “And the rest of you?”

You all give her your orders, and she promises she’ll be back quickly before running back to the kitchen. Once again, you’re left to your own devices, and given that your best friend is still texting that guy, you decide you’ll try and talk to the others at your table.

“Barou told me you guys are all in some program called Blue Lock together,” you say. “What’s that like? It sounded super intense.”

“It is,” Aiku scoffs. “I don’t even know if we’re supposed to be here at the moment.”

“We got permission from our coach,” Niko says. “But the guy who runs the program is kind of…what’s the word?”

“Freaky?” Aiku says.

“That works,” Niko says.

“I didn’t realize we were dining with rebels,” you say. 

“For the record, I was dragged into coming by those two,” Barou says.

“We didn’t actually drag him,” Aiku reassures you. “I mean, we tried, but he’s super heavy.”

“Too much training,” Niko says. “Barou, you should flex for Y/N — I mean, for everyone.”

“Hell no,” Barou says. “In public? Don’t be shameless.”

“So you’ll do it in private, then?” Aiku says. 

“That’s — that’s not what I meant!” Barou sputters. “I won’t do it at all!”

“Y/N, if you get a subscription to Blue Lock TV, then forget about asking Barou to flex. You can just watch him work out. He does it shirtless,” Aiku says. You choke on your water.

“What are you, some kind of salesman?” you say, coughing to dislodge the droplets of liquid scratching at your throat. “Was inviting us to sit with you a kindness or an advertisement?”

“Can’t it be both?” Aiku says.

“No, it cannot, you fucking donkey!” Barou says. “Please ignore him. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You do train without a shirt on, though,” Niko says. “Quite often. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s a lot of shirtless content on Blue Lock TV…Chris Prince stripped at one point, I’m pretty sure, and more than one of the Bastard München boys have had locker room features. I guess PXG is the only team without any fan service, since Barcha has Lavinho as a coach, and we all know how he is.”

“Good for them. You gotta give credit where it’s due,” Aiku says. 

“Agreed,” Niko says. “Hey, Barou, didn’t you take your shirt off after scoring in the game against the U-20s, too? Is it like an established habit or something?”

“Enough about my shirt,” Barou says through gritted teeth.

“Or lack thereof,” Aiku adds. There’s a baleful aura emanating off of Barou, and he doesn’t even need to say anything before Aiku winces like he’s been cowed. “Sorry. The opportunity presented itself.”

“Both of you are on thin ice. First you abducted me, and now you’re going on about this dumbass subject? And that’s not to mention the sauce stain from earlier. I bet neither of you cleaned it up,” Barou says. 

Aiku and Niko both look like they have been caught committing some crime. Barou’s about to snap, it’s very obvious, but you find his friends’ antics to be so amusing that you hesitantly pat him on the shoulder.

“Ah, I think they’re just teasing you. It’s common amongst people who are close to one another! I always make fun of my best friend for her taste in men,” you say.

“And I make fun of yours right back,” your best friend says, not even looking up from her phone. You roll your eyes at this.

“See? It’s really alright,” you say. “At the least, if you’re upset because we’re here, then don’t be. Neither of us mind. I mean, she’s not even paying attention to us. Too busy texting that Meriones unguiculatus of a man she deems crush-worthy.”

“Fuck you,” your best friend says. She ordinarily would have no idea what Meriones unguiculatus means, but given the context, you’re sure she’s figured it out.

“Don’t be mad because I’m right,” you say. “Anyways, like I was saying, it’s all good.”

There’s a strained moment where none of you know what Barou will do, but then he nods, crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll let it slide, just this once. But the two of you better behave from now on, you got it?”

Aiku and Niko both seem to be so amazed that it’s a wonder they don’t salute at Barou’s barked-out order. Shaking your head and laughing, you decide it might be for the best if you try to talk to Barou yourself and leave his slightly problematic companions out of the conversation.

“So,” you say, to him and only him. “What’s the story behind the sauce stain?” 

“Holy shit,” Aiku says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“She’s a genius. A god. A fucking Barou whisperer,” he says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“What are the odds that we managed to find the exact girl that could put up with his bullshit?” Aiku says.

“Pretty high!” a new voice chimes in. It’s Y/N’s friend; she never introduced herself, and it doesn’t seem like she’s inclined to, but she inconspicuously slides her chair closer to where he and Niko are talking. “You guys are trying to set your friend up with Y/N, huh? Good luck. She only likes ugly dudes.”

“Barou’s…kind of ugly?” Niko tries. Aiku snorts.

“Let’s keep it honest here,” he says. “Anyways, what were you talking about earlier? Barou’s a nutcase. It’s, like, a miracle that Y/N’s managing to have a conversation with him.”

“Maybe he’s like that with you, but to me, he seems to be the type that’s totally respectful to women,” Y/N’s friend says, brandishing her index finger in the air as if she’s making a particularly salient point. “The bigger the muscles, the bigger the heart, isn’t that ”

“Is that a real saying?” Niko says.

“No, I just made it up,” Y/N’s friend says. “But it kind of fits in this instance, don’t you think?”

“You’re not wrong,” Aiku says. “But do you mean to say Barou would be this nice to any girl?”

“It’s not like I know him personally. Shouldn’t you be able to answer that better than me?” Y/N’s friend says.

“There aren’t any girls in Blue Lock,” Niko says. “This is the first time we’ve seen him interact with one, so we actually have no idea.”

“Ah,” she says. “That explains a lot. Anyways, yeah, if I had to guess, he would be.”

“Hm,” Aiku says. This throws a definite wrench in their plans — up until this point, he had been convinced that there were sparks flying between Y/N and Barou, mostly because he had never seen Barou so gentle and quick to calm down in his life. Yet, if Y/N’s friend is telling the truth, and he has no reason to think she isn’t, then this is actually just his true personality.

On the one hand, it’s comforting to know that Barou isn’t constantly on the verge of an aneurysm, and indeed can even be persuaded towards kindness in his day-to-day life. On the other, it doesn’t solve their problem, which is getting him to calm down when he’s interacting with his fellow Ubers teammates.

Aiku comes to a decision relatively quickly. It’s his experience as a captain which lends him that swiftness; on the field, split-second decisions are the only way to go. He’s good at taking information and rapidly synthesizing it to come up with workable solutions, and though this isn’t a soccer match, the stakes are almost just as high.

The facts of the situation are as follows: Y/N does not seem to mind talking to Barou, and given that they’ve been engaged in conversation almost this entire time, the inverse is also likely true. Furthermore, she’s proven able to persuade him not to freak out at himself and Niko when they were pushing his buttons, which is something no one has ever managed before and is somewhat the end goal of the outing. Of course, she apparently only likes ugly guys, and Barou’s far from ugly — as a fellow member of the non-ugly community, Aiku is confident in saying this — but things like that are subjective, so he decides he shouldn’t worry too much about that aspect.

Then there are the theories, namely Y/N’s best friend’s one about how any girl might have a similar effect on Barou. This could be true, or it could also not be, but Aiku only has one data point and a limited amount of time to work with, so despite the likely veracity, he has to set it aside as false for the time being. It’s not like there’s an endless supply of girls just hanging around for him to test out Barou’s reactions with, so in this moment, he’s deeming Y/N L/N as a special case, an outlier, and this can only lead to one conclusion:

Barou is totally into her. 

“Two younger sisters, really?” you say. While your best friend has been talking to Aiku and Niko in hushed tones, you’ve been preoccupied with Barou, who’s proven himself to be nothing like his first impression. You had expected him to be fussy and rude and intimidating, and while the latter adjective certainly still applies, he’s kind instead of spiteful and almost shy instead of brash.

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice, although his face does not shift in the slightest. “They’re much smaller, so I look after them a lot — when I’m home, anyways. Obviously, I haven’t seen them since I’ve been at Blue Lock.”

“How sweet of you,” you say. “I bet your mother appreciates you a lot.”

“I try to help her whenever I can,” he says.

You’re about to internally swoon, but then you stop yourself. So what if he’s athletic, helps his mother, is tall, handsome, kind, muscular, and supposedly good with kids? That doesn’t mean anything. He probably has a girlfriend, anyways, given all of these positive attributes—

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say, standing up. Your best friend looks over at you in concern, for she knows of your distaste for public restrooms, and then she, too, stands.

“Want me to come?” she says.

“Yes,” you say, striding off without further explanation. As soon as the two of you are far enough from the table, you give her a distressed look. “I need help.”

“What’s up?” she says.

“I think—”

“Are you into Barou?” she asks, cutting you off. You blink at her.

“How did you know?” you say.

“You’ve spent almost the entire time talking only to him. It’s a little obvious,” she says.

“Oh, no,” you say. “He’s definitely caught on, then!”

“It’s not a big deal. According to Aiku and Niko, he’s single, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about, and besides, if that’s the case, then he’s fair game, isn’t he? There’s nothing wrong with being interested in someone,” she says. 

“He’s single? How?” you say. “You’re telling me no one’s been interested in him yet? That’s impossible.”

“There is the whole ‘locked away in a facility with zero girls’ aspect to be considered…” she says.

“Well, that’s true,” you say, feeling dumb for having forgotten that. “Do you think he’s interested in me?”

“He’s been talking to you back, right? That’s a good sign, especially since he’s been ignoring his friends to do so,” she says. “There’s a decent chance. If anything, does he seem like the kind of guy that would be mean about rejecting you? You should just ask him for his number when we get back.”

“Me? Ask for his number?” you say.

“I’ve heard girls have high success rates when they approach guys that they’re into. What’s the worst that can happen? Either way, the three of them are heading back to some weird facility after tonight, so we can just leave and never see them again if it’s awkward,” she says.

You mull this over. Nothing she’s saying is wrong, and anyways, it’s been a while since you dated someone. Besides, you’ll probably not meet someone like Barou again for a long, long time, and when you really think about it, you’d rather live with a rejection than a what-if scenario floating around in your mind for the rest of your life.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll do it, but that means you have to dump the gerbil dude and move on.”

“Did that earlier. I couldn’t stop thinking of Tinkerbell the gerbil whenever I saw his profile picture; it totally killed the mood. Thanks a lot,” she says.

“It’s my pleasure,” you say. “Now, let’s go back. I have a number to get!”

“Um, hold on,” she says. “I do actually have to pee, and the bathroom doesn’t seem too dirty.”

You sigh, because now that you’re this pumped up, you don’t want to delay any longer, but you’re not about to abandon her, so you nod towards the door.

“I’ll wait here, then. Be quick!” 

“Well, well, well,” Aiku says. “Who would’ve thought we’d get to see the day?”

“What are you talking about?” Barou says when he notices that both Aiku and Niko are looking at him.

“What aren’t we talking about?” Aiku says. 

“It’s Y/N,” Niko says, defusing the volatile atmosphere rather efficiently. Aiku hands him a French fry off of his plate as a form of praise; accepting it happily, Niko chews and swallows before continuing. “You like her, right?”

“What? No,” Barou says quickly — too quickly, which means the answer is the opposite of what he’s just said. Aiku steeples his fingers together, because he couldn’t have imagined things going any better, and he feels like he’s entitled to a villainous pose or two every now and again. 

“You’ve been talking to her the entire time we’ve been eating, and you didn’t yell at her when she told you to calm down,” Aiku says.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Barou says.

“I guess it’s for the better,” Niko says. “Her friend told us she has a boyfriend.”

Aiku’s about to reprimand him for making things up, but before he can, he sees out of the corner of his eye that the tips of Barou’s ears have turned a surprisingly light and rosy pink, and then he can only shake his head in amazement. Niko’s really fucking good at this. Aiku almost wonders if he should ask the kid for anime recommendations or something.

“Really?” Barou says. 

“Really,” Niko says.

“That’s — I mean, it’s none of my business, so why are you telling me?” Barou says.

“You’re awfully upset if that’s the case,” Aiku points out.

“I’m not upset!” Barou says. “Just…I wasn’t expecting her not to be single, that’s all.”

“Expecting, or hoping?” Aiku says. Barou glares at him but does not respond, which tells Aiku all he needs to know. “It’s okay for you to have a crush on her. She seems nice enough.”

“Yeah,” Niko says. “If you guys get along, then there’s no harm in just asking her out. We’re going back to Blue Lock after dinner anyways, so it’s not like you’ll see her in the future if you don’t want to. Can you live with yourself if you don’t give it a shot?”

“Aren’t you a king?” Aiku urges. “What kind of king doesn’t put his best foot forward at all times?”

“The kind of king that respects other people’s relationships, you chewed up wad of spearmint gum,” Barou says.

“Oh, I was just making that up,” Niko says. “I wanted to see how you’d react. She’s definitely single.”

“You—!”

Aiku and Niko are saved from another one of Barou’s tirades by the arrival of Y/N and her friend. With a final malevolent sneer, Barou continues to talk to Y/N, who seems eager to pick up where they left off. Aiku high-fives Niko under the table.

“You’re a genius, buddy,” he says.

“Does this mean you’ll buy me dessert, too?” Niko says.

“If you’ll share with me, then sure.”

“Deal.” 

“When should I ask him for his number? It’ll be awkward if I do it in front of everyone, I think,” you say.

“Why would it be awkward?” she says. “I’m not about to judge you. I already know you’re going to do it.”

“I was talking about Aiku and Niko,” you say, though you’re specifically referring to Aiku — there’s a sense of naïveté to Niko, so the thought of being so bold in front of him doesn’t make you squeamish, but it’s a difference case with his counterpart. Oliver Aiku has a sort of suaveness to him that makes you feel as though he’s not been rejected once in his life, and that’s more than a little terrifying. What might such a master say about your feeble attempts at flirting? You don’t want to imagine it. The mere beginnings of the thought are preemptively giving you hives, so having the thought fully formed, or heaven forbid the actual event occurring…you shudder at the plethora of side effects you’ll no doubt undergo.

“That’s fair,” she says. “I can distract them, if you want. While we’re getting dessert, I’ll tell Aiku I’m having car trouble and ask if he can take a look. He seems like the kind of guy that would fall for that. I don’t know what to do about Niko, though…”

“He’ll probably go with Aiku, but even if he doesn’t, I think it’ll be fine if it’s just him there,” you say. “He’s pretty harmless.”

“You better not wimp out, then! If I have to embarrass myself by pretending to know nothing about cars, then the least you can do is actually ask for his number,” she says.

“I’ll do it!” you say. She obviously doesn’t believe you, so you pout. “Promise I will.”

“Fine,” she says. 

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine!” she says again. “Just give me a second before we go back, then. I need to think of what kinds of issues my car will be having…” 

“Hey, Aiku,” Y/N’s friend says. The entire table falls silent, including Aiku himself — he’s more than a little confused about what she could want with him. After all, he’s not done anything that would seem like he’s trying to pursue her, so there’s no reason for her to believe he’s interested, and it’s not like they’re close enough for her to be talking to him in specific.

“What’s up?” he says.

“My car is making a weird sound when it starts. I was going to wait to ask my dad when I got home, but if you know anything about cars, could you maybe…?” she says.

Aiku knows nothing about cars, and he’s about to tell her as much, but then Niko of all people is answering. He hasn’t heard the boy talk this much since they met, which means he’s really getting into this.

“Sure, we can both take a look while we wait for dessert to come,” he says. It’s suspicious, because if Aiku knows nothing about cars, then Niko’s understanding has to be in the negatives. The kid doesn’t even have his driver’s license yet, so how would he be of any help? Unless this is another skill he’s picked up from watching anime, in which case it seems like that’s another hobby Aiku needs to take up.

“Thanks,” Y/N’s friend says, clearly relieved. “Y/N, do you mind staying back so no one takes our table?”

“Barou, keep her company,” Niko says. “We don’t want them thinking we’re the dine-and-dash type.”

“It’s okay with me,” Y/N says before Barou can argue, which effectively shuts Barou up. Aiku’s beloved teammate only grunts in agreement, watching the trio out of the corner of his eyes as they scurry out of the restaurant and begin to wander about aimlessly in the parking lot.

“Can you, uh, describe this noise to me?” Aiku says. It’s not like that knowledge will really change much for him, but he thinks that it might be better if he at least pretends to put forth some effort into assisting the girl. After all, it’d be bad for business if he gets flamed as the rude, unhelpful type.

“Huh? Oh, I made that up,” she says.

“As I expected,” Niko says.

“What? Why would you do that?” Aiku says. Then he comes to a realization, and it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. “Hold on just a second, I’m not the one looking for—”

“That was a great method of leaving Y/N and Barou alone,” Niko says, cutting Aiku off before he can continue to embarrass himself. “Now they can figure things out between themselves.”

“Right?” Y/N’s friend says. “There’s only so much they can do when we’re all sitting there.”

“Yeah, awesome idea,” Aiku says, relieved to hear that she’s on their side. Girls take their friends’ opinions seriously. If Y/N’s best friend approves of Barou, then that’s a plus in Barou’s favor, and given Barou’s uniqueness, he needs all of the pluses he can get.

“And just so you know, you’re not my type, so don’t take any of this in a weird way. I just want Y/N to be happy,” she continues.

“Duly noted,” Aiku says. 

“Sorry I wasn’t faster in cutting you off,” Niko whispers when Y/N’s friend pulls out her phone and begins to play on it again. Aiku shrugs.

“No worries. Nobody’s perfect,” he says. “Although, honestly? If this night ends up the way we want it to, then I’d say you’re pretty damn close regardless.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Barou says as soon as your best friend, Aiku, and Niko have exited the building. 

“For what?” you say. The crowd is dwindling, for the restaurant is nearing its closing time, but it’s still busy enough that you have to stay close to him in order to be able to hear what he’s saying. Or maybe that’s an excuse you’ve made for yourself; either way, he doesn’t pull back, so you remain in the comfortable space between you both.

“Aiku,” he says. “Also Niko, but mostly Aiku.”

“Why? He’s not done anything too horrible,” you say. “He’s pretty funny. And Niko seems like a nice boy.”

“They have this idea in their mind,” he says. “It’s totally stupid, but that’s why they’re acting like this. They’re not usually quite as idiotic.”

“What do you mean?” you say. You almost want to tell him to hurry up so you can ask for his number before the others come back and your best friend gets upset with you, but you’d rather listen to him talk, and anyways once you ask him for his number there’s a chance things will go wrong, so you want to soak in these last few seconds before that happens.

“I mean, you know,” he says, and then he’s turning a color you never would’ve expected from someone as reputedly tough as him. “Just that they think I like you.”

“Like me?” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I’m into you or something.”

You had hoped for it, but not seriously considered it — although, the teasing and whatnot do make a little more sense now that he’s added this context to it. If Aiku and Niko think he might be into you…you know you shouldn’t be fanciful, that it’ll eventually lead to disappointment, but you want to. You really want to, so when you next speak it’s tentative but optimistic.

“If you are,” you begin, nervous more than anything, though you’re certain the only cure is getting this over with, “I am, too. Into you, I mean.”

Barou’s lips are still parted as if he’s about to say something, but no words escape him. He just sits there and stares at you, as if you’ve said something profound or shocking or both. Probably both. You giggle, shifting in your seat and adjusting your position, because seeing him like this is endearing as much as it is uncomfortable.

“If you’re not, it’s alright, but my friend told me I should ask you for your number or something, so I don’t have any regrets when we leave,” you say. “She’s right, too. I’d have felt horrible forever if I never said anything.”

He’s still silent. You question if you’ve somehow caused him to malfunction, so you nudge his foot with your own under the table. This does nothing to break him out of his daze, and then you realize he’s probably trying to figure out how to best reject you, so you sigh.

“It’s okay to say no. There’s no expectation on my part. I just wanted to get it out there,” you say.

“No!” he says.

“Well, I mean, you didn’t have to be exuberant about it,” you mutter to yourself before smiling. “That’s okay, though! Thank you for listening and talking to me—”

“I mean, yes. No. I don’t know which question I’m supposed to be answering!” he says. “I do like you. That’s what I’m trying to say, but you just said so many things that I didn’t know what to respond to.”

“You like me?” you say. You had never in your wildest fantasies imagined someone like Barou being into you. It was the kind of thing that just didn’t happen, and yet, somehow, it had. Barou liked you. 

“I guess so,” he says. “That’s how Aiku would phrase it, I think. I enjoy talking to you, and you have nice table manners. You kept your hands and surroundings clean, and you didn’t spill anything, which is more than can be said about a lot of people. I really appreciate that kind of trait in a person.”

“Uh, thanks?” you say, because you’ve not really been complimented on your table manners before, but it’s kind of sweet. “Yeah, thanks. I’d compliment you back, but there’s so many things to say that I wouldn’t know where to start…”

“How about with your phone number?” he says. You’re pretty sure that that’s uncharacteristically bold of him, because his eyes widen as soon as he comprehends what he’s said, but he doesn’t take it back. Instead, he waits, his hands folded carefully in his lap as he watches you, probably wondering what you’ll say in response to the request.

Smiling at him, you pull out your phone and open your hand, waiting for him to give you his. 

“You got her number?” Aiku says as they’re driving home. Niko’s in the backseat this time, mostly because he offhandedly mentioned feeling nauseous after eating and Aiku has no interest in getting vomit all over him. “Way to go, man.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Barou says, gazing out of the window mysteriously. “I can’t exactly take her on dates or anything while I’m stuck in Blue Lock.”

“If you get Snuffy’s permission, you could,” Aiku says.

“We probably shouldn’t abuse that,” Niko says. “Otherwise, Ego will come up with some insane punishment for all of us. The guy’s a super-freak. I’m sure he’s got some crazy stuff stored away.”

“Very true,” Aiku says. “Don’t worry too much, though, Barou. If she’s the one, she won’t mind waiting.”

“How can I know if she’s the one when we’ve only met once? You’re delusional,” Barou says.

“It’s pretty simple,” Aiku says. “Do you want her to be?”

The moonlight hits Barou in a particularly elegant way at that moment. Aiku’s suddenly not surprised that Niko’s anime intelligence worked so well — Barou seems straight out of a girlish romance novel or TV show or something along those lines just then.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Then that’s that!” Aiku says, pulling into the garage and putting Snuffy’s car in park. “Trust me, there was major chemistry there, so I’m sure she’s of the same opinion.”

“It’ll work out,” Niko agrees. He’s clearly feeling much better now that they’re not in the car, his steps light and bouncy, his lips curving upwards at the corners. “You’re a great guy, Barou. We were talking about it earlier.”

Barou scoffs. “Of course I am.”

“Classic Barou,” Aiku says, throwing his arm around Barou’s shoulder. “So humble.”

“Get off of me,” Barou grumbles, shoving Aiku away, though there’s a marked gentleness to it that tells Aiku their plan worked. He’s excited to see the long-term effects — if only one dinner with Y/N was enough for Barou to relax this much, then the duration of their relationship might be akin to a vacation for the rest of the Ubers.

That night, Aiku and Niko are brushing their teeth in the bathrooms together, since nobody else is up and there’s a certain camaraderie built between them after their adventure.

“We did good today, Niko,” Aiku says after spitting his toothpaste into the sink. 

“Agreed,” Niko says.

The door slams open right after he does, which is horribly ironic timing, because it reveals a furious Barou. He’s already enormous, but his fury causes him to swell until his proportions are vaguely Hulk-like and entirely terrifying. Both Aiku and Niko glance at him in confusion, because he should have no reason to be upset, and then, right before he can start yelling, it hits them like a truck.

“Hey, you donkeys,” Barou hisses. “Did you think you could distract me by taking me to dinner? That stain is still there. Can neither of you do anything for yourselves? I’m going to kill you both, mark my words!”

Aiku groans. Niko face-palms.

Fuck. 

[sunofpandora]

 V I R A G O                   

Chapter 5

Honey, you’re familiar.

Neteyam x fem!omaticaya!reader

𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼/𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼/𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹i𝓼

»»———–➤»»———–➤»»———WARNINGS:

Mentions of dick sucking and eating pussy???? IT'S A JOKE GUYS I SWEAR JUST READ AND YOU'LL UNDERSTAND GIVE ME A CHANCE!! 

Anxiety/mentions of hunger/mentions of not eating/ heights/ sex jokes/murder jokes?? Neteyam has like, one dirty thought?

Synopsis:  Y/n and Lo’ak spend some time together at the lake, and return to the omatikaya to join the sullys for the communal clan meal. Jake and y/n have a heart to heart.

Extra characters:

Kyuna: Omaticaya clan member

Popiti: Omaticaya child, Tuk’s best friend according to the visual dictionary.

Authors note:

HI GUYS! Did you miss me?? It’s okay to say no 😭. I’m in such a good mood guys and you won’t believe why 😏 and because I am in such a good mood, I have decided to give you guys some fluffy  sully family feels before the next chapter, where neteyam and Y/n will start their training! As just a reminder, please remember to go back and read chapter 3 (all 3 parts if you can) bc I have a feeling that not a ton of people have.

VERY IMPORTANT!!

This chapter is what I call a direct chapter. This means that the events in this chapter are happening on the same day as the ones in chapter 4 (found on my masterlist.). Ik it’s been awhile so pls feel free to refresh your memory

»»———–➤»»———–➤»»———»»———–➤»»———–➤»»———»»———–➤»

 “Damn that thing is huge.”

“…”

“So big and juicy looking…”

“……”

“I can’t wait to have that thing inside of me…mmm….my mouth is just watering thinking about it.”

“Lo’ak. Shut the fuck up.”

Lo’ak cackled, shoving you playfully.

“C’mon sis you know I play around.”

You huffed, trying to keep up being unamused with his sexual innuendos. 

“Lo’ak it’s not funny.”

“Yes it is.”

You thwacked him with your tail, hissing at him lowly, making him shut up immediately.

“You know for someone who complained about neteyam moaning into a fruit, you talk a lot of shit.”

Lo’ak shrugged.

“Is it so wrong to admire a fruit for its nice curves??”

It was inevitable that Lo’ak would bother you like this while you tried to focus. It wasn’t anything new. And while you were practicing the art of perpetual kindness, the occasional sex joke from Lo’ak deserved a whack of your tail, did it not?

You huffed, dropping your shoulders and letting your stance slip. You had been out in the woods with Lo’ak for the last 2 hours. Just exploring and enjoying conversation and gossip as usual, your bow slung around your torso and a few arrows, sharpened and freshly fletched at the ready in case of trouble.

It wasn’t trouble you were trying to shoot right now, luckily. Your current target was the fresh bunch of fruits that glistened under the canopy’s kisses of sunlight leaking through the foliage.

Lo’ak shifted on his feet.

“I could just shimmy up there and cut them down at the stem.”

You rolled your eyes, fondly recalling how about 5 minutes ago he tried that and fell on his ass…7 times.

“No, Lo’ak. I don’t want you injured. We’re doing it my way now.”

You raised your arm again, placing your arrow against the string of your bow, carefully constructing your once slipping stance to its previous position.

You took a breath, widening yourself at the proper angle, the sweet sound of the stretch your bowstring was a gentle satisfaction. You felt your nose twitch as the fletching of the arrows brush your nostrils.

You can feel Lo’ak’s eyes on you. Tracing the way your muscles tensed and stretched, enamored by your skill. It seemed as if everyone was. 

To be honest, it would have felt weird if it was anyone else other than Lo’ak.

You finally released, watching the arrow fly up and into the tree, the sound of the vine snapping as the arrow pierced straight through the stem that hung the fruits by the bunch to the branch resonated through the moistened air.

The fruits fell with a thud, you let out a satisfied sigh.

“There we go.”

You hummed, handing Lo’ak your bow as you squatted to swing the fruits over your shoulder.

Lo’ak was quiet for a moment. Just staring at your weapon as you stood to your feet.

“What? What’s wrong?”

You queried, stepping over the few stones to stand with him.

He shrugged, a smile allowing itself to sink upon his features.

“Nothing. I just feel like I should be more formal. I’m in the presence of our clan’s mighty archer.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him as you started to walk down the path you came.

“Shut up.”

“No im serious. I should’ve done my hair or fixed up my outfit-“

“You’re not funny.”

“My mom says I’m funny.”

He puts his hands on his hips, chin high as if his existence was the height of humanity’s greatest accomplishments.

“Yourn mom also tells Tuk that babies come from flowers. So she’s extremely reliable, it seems.”

Lo’ak gasped frantically, dramatically tumbling over his steps and clutching his chest as if he’s entering cardiac arrest.

“You fiend of a woman! How dare you speak to me with such a tounge!?”

“Oh suck my dick Lo’ak.”

“Eat me out y/n!”

Lo’ak leaned against a tree, posing seductively. Spreading his legs and falling his hands around to gesture to his loins.

You covered your mouth and nose, gagging for effect. 

“Put it away Lo’ak, phew, I KNOW it stinks up in there.”

“It smells delectable.”

“Mo’at had a heart attack scare last time she washed your loincloth. I wouldn’t count on it.”

Lo’ak flipped you off.

You both couldn’t restrain yourselves from the ugly cackles that erupt from your throat.

Your laughter weaving floridly around the forest before soaking into the late afternoons sunrays. The sky blushed it’s shadowed hues into breathtaking. It was at this time when the sun settled its intensity and ceased staining the world with its harsh tones, when the night crept behind a curtain of clouds.

Lo’ak and you continued to wonder around, Lo’ak carrying the fruit in the woven satchel bag that hung by it’s strap over his shoulder, your hands remained free, feeling the diminutive weight of the bow on your back, reaching out every now and then to swing on a branch or hurl yourself over a log.

“So, question for you.”

Lo’ak started, throwing himself over a rock to land on the patch of moss.

“Uh huh.”

“If we were to go swimming right now, would we be late going back to high camp?”

You think for a moment.

“Not if we make it quick. Try not to lose your loincloth in the rapids again.”

You snickered, recalling the incident during a fishing trip that your fathers took you on when you were both 12,

Jogging off before he could pull your tail or pinch your ankle or grab your leg or something obnoxious

“For fucks sake, will you ever let that go!?”

A boisterous laugh leaves you as you doubled over against a tree.

“No. It’s so funny.”

“Shut the fuck up. Listen-“

“I’m listening!”

“No you’re not, you're laughing!”

Another cackle leaves you. You wave a hand around, as if to rid the air of your own facetiousness.

“Okay— okay. I’m done. I’m done laughing. I promise.”

The wheezing endnotes of your breathless words betray you, and another fit of laughter leaves you. Lo’ak joins, and your chest starts to ache with the amount of breath that presses through your fits of giggles.

Lo’ak swings an arm around your shoulder throwing you both of balance, as if your steps weren’t already unparalleled and uncoordinated.

“No because- how did you lose your fucking loincloth—“

You rasped, your eyes squeezing shut.

Sounds that you’re almost 89% sure resemble some animal dying leave you and Lo’ak in sync.

And all the shit you’ve been through the last few days seem to just melt away when you’re laughing with your best friend so hard you can’t breathe.

After a few minutes, the chorus of chortles and raspy sentences cease. 

“Oh eywa. You’re a fucking idiot.”

You sigh, shoving him lightly.

“So are you. We’re a package deal.”

He pushes you before sprinting towards the river.

“Lo’ak! Fuck— wait up.”

Lo’ak’s smile was different from Neteyam’s. Neteyam’s was full of warmth and sunlight. Saturn’s rings sulking in a lightning storm of gold gilded gardens. 

Lo’ak’s smile was made of healing boyish hearts and oddly shaped persuasion. Flames and rings of smoke that radiated its warmth beneath incandescent skin. Rattling notes of wooden beads clinking together and a fragile temperament.

He throws himself in the water with a running start, an accented yelp echoed like a final chord striking before a late curtain call of a sunset evening’s songs.

Your laugh is loud, it shakes your body as his head emerges from the water.

“Come on. Don’t be a wuss.”

You took a breath, diving in the water.

You felt your body slicing through the surface, the air around you revisions itself into a 

You enjoyed swimming. And you were actually really good at it. There was something about being in the water that was so soothing, sirenic sensations that seemed to lift the world into light.

Your vision consolidated, surrendering to the soft undercurrents that brushed along your skin.

You motioned your arms and legs forward, propelling yourself through the water. You swiftly raised your head above the water, feeling the surface break as you retreated for air.

As the film of aqua haze vanishes back to the thickened victorious viridescent shades  painted the jungle. The light leaked through the canopy, reigning a rutilant warm glow, burned by the late afternoon sun.

Lo’ak’s silhouette blackens, shadowed by the thick line of fire that forms itself into the shape of sunlight.

“You’re crazy good at that.”

“At what?”

“Swimming.”

 Your mother and father were traders.  

Well, really, your father was.

Your father’s family were the representatives for your clan while traveling and trading for years. 

His family had an almost nomadic lifestyle and spent much of their time away from hometree and the clan. The olo’eyktan of the clan at the time, Lo’ak’s grandfather, followed the tradition of leaders many years before him of entrusting your father’s family to be the ones to travel by ikran away from home in seasonal patterns to trade resources and gather new information to report and bring back to the clan. Its a system that has been in place for many years.

As a child, you occasionally traveled with your parents. Visiting the planes where the tipani resided, and even the beaches under the cliffs where the tayrangi dwelled. When you were little, you loved to swim in the oceans with the other tayrangi children. 

You shrugged. Rubbing the back of your neck, your braids strung loosely about behind you, some  some swaying across the surface of the water and other sinking against your back. 

“My parents took me when they traveled east a lot. Remember? I guess I’ve built up some swimming skills.”

Lo’ak nodded, glancing down at the water before flicking his gaze back towards you.

“Do you think you’ll do it?”

“Do what?”

“Travel. Like your parents did.”

You think for a moment. Letting the silence settle. There was a time, where you and Lo’ak were dumb and 12 years old would stay up past dark quietly sneaking around the clan to steal some snacks and climb the yovo fruit trees that surrounded your village, the one you lived in before high camp. You would whisper about your plans for the future. How one day, you both would pack up your ikran saddles and fly off to a far away land, explore and travel the uncharted territories of Pandora together, and return when the journey ended on your own terms.

“Maybe.”

You hummed, thinking of how possibilities place themselves into puzzle pieces so quickly with time.

He nods, paddling around.

“Remember when we were kids? And we always talked about running away? Convincing my dad to bring back our old trading systems? Just going wherever we wanted? No nagging, no worries, just a bullshit-free life.”

You splashed your face with some water, the refreshing coolness washes down your neck.

“Should we really leave the clan like that?”

Lo’ak snorted.

“Please. I think they’ll be fine. The trade needed to be brought back anyways. There are resources we could use and it’s good to strengthen our connections with the other clans and blah blah blah.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

He swam to you, his expression statued a seriousness that was almost unfamiliar to his usual demeanor. 

“But I want to be real for a moment. I don’t want to be stuck here forever. You hear what Norm and max say. Pandora is huge. It’s too big for us to just stay in the forest for the rest of our lives.”

You frowned, a heaviness blanketed your heart that you couldn't quite name.

“Your family will miss you.”

Lo’ak laughed, but it was thin and forced, almost bitter.

“No. I don’t think they would.”

You shook your head, knowing that wasn’t true.

“Lo’ak. They love you.”

“My siblings and you may love me. But I don’t think the great Toruk Makto always likes me.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe he does like you, and that hes just afraid of loosing you?? Because you are so much like him, so much of a mirror into his own youth, he knows the mistakes he made.”

Lo’ak was quiet for a moment. His voice was softer this time, this tell-tale of a familial tragedy that unconditionally refused to acknowledge one’s individuality. Where Jake and Lo’ak walked the thin line of being a mirror that refused reflection, a window that showed you what you prayed you would never see. History’s cruel rhyme schemes never surprised you. Not anymore. 

The hoarseness in his voice edged his tone, you could tell he was disassociating from the conversation.  

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“I think he’s still learning to make peace with that. You never really grow out of growing.”

Silence settled between you before it was shattered by the heavy sweep of water that crashes onto your face.

You cough up some of the water, slapping Lo’ak’s shoulder.

“What the fuck was that for?!”

“Stop being so fucking smart.”

He whined, dunking his head under water.

You rolled your eyes. Yanking him up by his forearm. 

“Lo’ak, I’m serious.”

He glared.

“And I’m not in the mood.”

“Your dad doesn’t hate you. He just-“

“I never said he hates me. I said he doesn’t like me. You don’t have to like someone in order to love them.”

“That’s not— Lo’ak I’m sure-“

“Y/n.”

That was your cue to close the curtain on that conversation. It pained you to know that Lo’ak thought like that. But you knew he would open up. Eventually.

Your mouth tapped shut. Your lips pressing into a thin line. 

He sighed, running his hands down his face roughly.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Not at you. It’s just-“

“It’s okay, Lo. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

And of course, what kind of awkwardness couldn’t be avoided with a change of topic??

You swam next to him, splashing him playfully.

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s wait a few weeks, we’ll pull together something to present to jake. We can meet with him and discuss if he’ll let us travel and revive the trade.”

In all, it wasn’t a bad idea. Which was rare for Lo’ak. The least you could do was give him the opportunity. 

He smiled at you. And before you could say anything, he whooped wildly like a child, his elbow thrown around your neck, forcing you to wade abruptly closer.

“Aye! Y/n! I knew you could come around. We’re going to be such badass travelers.”

You chuckled, patting his back.

“As if I would say no to you.”

“If you did I might have to spit in your food.”

He announces proudly, floating on his back.

You gag.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m distinguished.”

He corrects, reaching out his arms and moving them slowly in a paddle motion.

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺ ‏𖦹  ₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ 

Water was forgiving. Maybe that’s why you felt so familiar with it.

You haven’t felt forgiven for a lot of things in your life. Not now, anyways.

Underwater was where the sun’s warmth didn’t feel so harsh. You never had trouble discerning the safety and the solitude of land. 

You took a breath before submerging yourself under the 

The vault of the sky caves around its azure dome as light bent and broadened across the surface, stretching the sunset into a  henotic harmony. 

You dived deeper. Your arms pushed you forward, like wings guiding a bird through the skies.

The opaque world of glass rests under the world. The shadows of the depths are drunken words spreading orisons that seem like obstinate Orphics. 

mazarine whispers, and cyan and cerulean sing. 

Your thoughts seem to retreat to the uninhibited corners of your mind as you remain nantant.

Nothing could reach you here.

Well, maybe Lo’ak’s bitchy screeching.

“Y/n! Dude! Come on!”

He yanks you out of the water, his arm uncomfortably clamped around your waist like a child trying to retrieve a toy by fishing it out of water blindly.

You sputtered out the water that rushed to your face with the unexpected motion, so lost in your haze of serenity you barely heard Lo’ak the first time.

You coughed, squirming as he threw you into the plush riverbank grass.

“Shit! Sorry!”

He patted- well more like slapped your back roughly to try and aid your recovery.

“Sorry, sorry. You just weren’t coming up for air. I called your name like 10 times.”

You whacked him with your tail, and he hissed and held the spot on his arm.

“I don’t like being manhandled.”

You rasped, clearing the water from your throat.

“Dude who the fuck cares! My dad will handle us into a ditch if we’re not back in time!” 

Shit.

₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ 

“Keep going!”

You yelled over your shoulder, scrambling over branches and through the brush. 

You jumped over a rock, slinging yourself up a step with a vine, looping around to check on Lo’ak, who was halfway seen sprinting to catch up with you.

“Shit! My bow-!”

“Don’t worry! I grabbed it back at the lake!”

He calls back to you.

“Just keep going!”

You nodded, nearly tripping as you sprang forward once again.

You raised two fingers to your lips, pressing air as the shriek of a whistle left you.

The flap of wings you heard wasn’t that far away.

You stopped at when you reached a cleaning, turning around to see Lo’ak skid to a stop.

Kailo landed infront of you both, you Quickly mounted him, throwing your bow in the holster on the side of the saddle.

“Hey buddy.”

Lo’ak cooed in a rushed manner, quickly giving him a few pats before hopping on behind you. You reached back, pulling him up. He wrapped an arm around your neck, hiking up his legs.

“Comfy?”

You asked, turning around to meet Lo’ak’s eyes. He was out of breath, chest heaving.

“Uh huh— SHIT.”

You took off before he could answer, gently digging your heels into the sides of the saddle, pulling the strapped reign as Kailo took off.

Lo’ak tightened his hold using his elbow around your neck, his upright headlock was no unfamiliarity whenever you gave him rides.

But this is Lo’ak we’re talking about. Of course he got comfortable quickly.

There was a comfort to flying with Lo’ak.

It made you feel like a little kid again. Carrying eachother around on your backs, playing games and doing stupid things for stupid reasons because there was a time where being stupid was fun and okay.

And maybe, with Lo’ak, being stupid wasn’t so bad.

You banked left, diving through the center of an arched mountain over the forest. Lo’ak cheered and whooped, throwing his hands up, before cursing and holding onto you again after realizing he almost lost his balance.

His palm roughly cupped your shoulder as he sat himself up a bit higher, looking out onto the world below.

You climb a lift of air before directing Kailo to drop, a straight dive down the waterfall. Once you leveled out again, you and Lo’ak both leaned to the side, letting your fingertips skim the surface of the lake below.

You were never carelesss or reckless with Kailo. He was one of the fastest ikran your clan had ever seen, plus he was larger than most average ikran. That was no excuse to go flying so fast you fling yourself off the saddle.

But occasionally, you let yourself go.

“Please please please go faster!”

Lo’ak yelled, his volume competing wit. The wind.

“What? No. Any faster and we’ll crash into something.”

“Please!?”

Eh, why not? He’s had a rough couple of days. So have you.

You dived down again, grinning as you joined Lo’ak in his wild bouts of yelling.

But the fun didn’t last forever. Ahead, high camp came into view.

₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ 

You could feel Lo’ak’s hand shaking slightly as you both touched down through the large entrance crevice of high camp.

“Dad’s gonna kill us.”

Lo’ak groaned, sliding off the saddle behind you, petting Kailo a few times.

“Just relax and let me do the talking.”

You shook your head, giving his shoulder a small squeeze.

“It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know everything.”

“Where the hell have you crotch stains been!?”

And you sure as hell knew who that voice belonged to.

Lo’ak jumped a bit, turning to see Jake barging himself towards you both.

“Fuck.”

Lo’ak muttered under his breath. So quietly he might not have said it all.

He hung his head, a few of his braids swinging over his shoulders, he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, only glancing up once to look at you.

A few heads turned, some na’vi bearing witness to the spectacle of their olo’eyktan yelling at his kids.

And boy, he did not look happy.

Lo’ak puts both hands up, something you’ve noticed Neteyam do when Jake got heated like this. As if trying to calm a raging animal from attacking.

“Dad, I know this looks bad.”

“I would be concerned if you thought this didn’t ‘look bad’, Lo’ak.”

Jake bit back, his taller figure looming over his son.

Lo’ak bit his lip, his fingers twitch as his fingers dangle at his sides.

“You disobeyed me.”

The space between his brow wrinkles offensively.

“How did I disobey you?”

“I asked you, I asked ALL of your siblings this morning to let y/n rest and i found out you two go off on a joyride!?”

“Slow down Jake or you’ll have a heart attack.”

You sigh, stepping forward until your gaze is paralleled with his.

Lo’ak snorts, but he quickly masks his amusement as Jake sends him a glare, then he sends you one.

“You and I will talk later, I can only deal with one delinquent at a time.”

He waves you away.

“No, since you have enough to dish out for Lo’ak here, i’m sure there;s plenty for us to share.”

You felt like a teenager edged with attitude, especially when you loved and respected Jake so much. But seeing Lo’ak get wrung out all the time was exhausting. 

“Jake this wasn’t Lo’ak’s fault.”

Lo’aks shaking fingers stilled, the ghost your side, gesturing to you that you didn’t have t0 take this for him.

“I’m the one that suggested we go for a ride. We took kailo and went to the lake for a few hours. Cleared my head. Did some meditating just like you suggested.”

You nudge him playfully, but the man didn;t look amused. Conflicted was probably the right word.

“Either way, I said he was to stay away from you for at least a day.”

“Jake, he doesn;t run up my blood pressure like he does yours. He’s fine. No one was hurt. Nothing happened, and Lo’ak didn’t want me to go alone.”

You Lo’ak a look, commionucating silently with your eyes.

Dude. say something.

Lo’ak nods, fishing himself out of a daze.

“R-right. Yes. right, we just went to the lake, dad.”

Jake sighed, rubbing his fingers to his temple, attempting to soothe the brewing headache, virtue to the usual shenanigans Lo’ak and you could never seem to shake.’

“Guys, i really don’t think that-”

“Wait! The only reason we stayed longer is because Lo’ak wanted to grab these.”

You grabbed the satchel that rested on Lo’aks hip, opening the woven flap to display the fruits you gathered earlier.

You gently thwacked lo’ak with your tail, and he immeditaaly caught the jist.

“I know theyre mom’s favorites.”

Lo’ak batted his eyes while you gave jake a sickeningly sweet smile.

He groaned, turning away.

“Out of my sight. Both of you. Now.”

“Okay thanks! Love you dad!!”

You and Lo’ak sprinted across the camp, submerged in your own laughter. You scurried mo’at;s tent, shutting the flap when he turned to you.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Eywa wouldn't let us face battles if she knew we were going to do it alone.” 

₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊

Neteyam’s pov, the sullys tent:

My mother hates crowds. It’s not something I’ve inherited. 

You can tell by the way she shrinks behind my father or grandmother when we have clan gatherings. The way she resorts to fidgeting with her songchord or holding Tuk’s hand to distract herself from the ocean of eyes that are standing in front of her.

Tonight the clan eats communally. We do it every once in a while. My grandmother told me that the people did it every night before hometree was destroyed, but as time faded, so did our habits, I suppose.

Maybe thats why tonight, as my family prepares to leave for communal meal, the air is uneasy and tense.

Kiri and I had been home almost all day, watching Tuk while my grandmother rested and my mother attended to her duties around high camp.

It feels empty without my father, Lo’ak, and y/n.

My mothers voice pulls my attention.

“Neteyam, go wake your grandmother.”

She kneeled down in the corner, tending to Tuk, trying to pick the leaves out of her hair.

“Uh huh. Give me a second.”

I set the freshly washed bowls I just finished scrubbing down in the pile where we left all our dishes. 

I turned to see my grandmother, currently 18ft deep in her beyond-afternoon nap. 

I sighed, stretching my arms behind my back, locking my fingers together to soothe the tightness in my muscles as I walk my way over to her.

“Grandmother.”

I tap her shoulder, her snores blaring lowly.

I sigh. Waking up my grandmother was usually a two man job.

“Grandmother? Grandmother???”

She stirs, but doesn’t wake.

I poke her shoulder lightly with my fingers.

She gasps awake, flinging her arm at my face, I step back, flinching at the action.

She sits up, squinting at me before her gaze softens.

“Neteyam, I’m sorry. I thought you were your father.”

“So you were planning to smack my father?”

“That’s beyond the point. I had the most wonderful dream.”

She reminisced dreamily.

I shifted on my feet awkwardly.

“That’s wonderful, grandmother. But I woke you because-“

“Quiet boy. I’m speaking.”

Great. Just what I was aiming to avoid.

I straighten, a rough breath falling from my lips. Settling in for the haul of whatever was to come.

“Apologies, Tsahik. You were saying?”

“Well.”

She begins.

“It was many years ago…when your mother told me she was with child.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then once she started, eywa she just wouldn’t stop..one child after another..”

I catch my mother glaring out of the corner of my eye.

“Neteyam, I think your grandmother can get up on her own.”

She hisses.

Grandmother waves her off.

“Don’t listen to her, boy. Go fetch my cane.”

My mother throws her arms up to express exaggeration.

“You don’t need a cane, Sa’nok.”

I stand warily between the two of them.

“And you don’t need to be sneaking off with your husband every few nights.”

My grandmother shoots back.

Maybe there was a reason for my father’s constant headaches.

It’s kiri’s voice that grasps my attention. I turn to see her enter the Marui with a half-weaved basket in her hands.

“Neteyam, while the golden girls are fighting, you might wanna take the time to worry about yourself.”

I shake my head, protesting gently. Something keeping me tied to multitasking bites at the back of my mind.

“No, I got it.”

She gives me a look, setting the basket-in-progress down and crossing her arms.

“Neteyam, you have been chasing Tuk around all day, helping mother clean, and as much as I know you enjoy being serenaded by grandmothers snoring, you need a break.”

“Kiri, really I'm fine.”

“I wasn’t asking. Go.”

Arguing with Kiri was useless. There was no competing with full-bodied ambition when ignited. 

I surrender. Retreating behind the curtain of the divider between the two areas of my family’s home.

I busy myself with personal tasks. Sharpening my knife, rummaging through lo’ak’s hammock to retrieve the armbands I know for a fact he's stolen from me. Again.

About 1o minutes had passed. I had found 8 armbands when I heard the familiar voice of my father as he entered the tent.

I slip under the divider sheet to see him. He alternates looks between Lo’ak and Y/n as they shuffle inside.

“Ma’jake.”

My mother sighs in relief, as if my father is the shower of fresh rain after a drought.  She holds Tuk on her hip as she squirms and giggles.

“Where have you been? There is much that needs to be done.”

My father pauses as he takes in each dilemma. 

Kiri and Grandmother arguing in the corner.

My mother is holding an overly-hyper tuk.

Lo’ak and Y/n laughing for whatever reason.

And me. Peeking out from behind the sheet.

“I can see that.”

He affirms, reaching out to take tuk off my mother’s hands.

running his hand down her back in soothing circles, trying to get both of them to calm down.

My father knows my mother is full of love. He also knows when not enough of that love is kept for herself.

Lo’ak stares at our parents, his expression of mild disgust.

“Do you two want a moment alone?”

A laugh follows, my eyes ascertaining to its source.

Her. Oh it’s her. 

Oh. 

It’s her.

She stands behind Lo’ak, a lean azure frame. Droplets gleam and scintillate as they slide down her skin. Her bangles and bracelets shine under the fractured light. I try so hard not to stare. I try to focus on anything. Anything at all. Anything that won’t make me feel like I’m staring at a woman who’s wet and shiny like some kind of pervert. 

Fuck. That sounded like I was describing a river rock or something.

‘wEt aNd sHiNy.’ 19 years old, future Olo’eyktan of your clan  and you can’t even talk. I feel like the ground envelops me in quicksand, my lungs famine for air. Eywa, she was pretty.

‘Pretty’ feels like a disparagement. Makes me feel inarticulate for lacking a better word. Beautiful. Stunning. Hot? Is hot weird? She is hot. Is that weird? Am I weird?

If there is another word. I’ll find it

Her braids cascade down her back, a crown of curls and waves Unwinding at the where the braids end, the curls I sometimes imagine spilling through my fingers while I capture sweet sounds that fall from her lips.

Am I weird for this? 

My father speaks, yanking me out of my haze.

“Baby, I can always call off the clan gathering if you’re not feeling a crowd tonight.”

He adjusts Tuk on his hip, picking a leaf out of her hair.

My mother shakes her head.

“No. I’m alright. There is just much to be done before we leave…”

My dad nods graciously, placing Tuk back to her feet again.

“Say no more. We’ll get everyone outta here in one piece.”

“Were you planning on us leaving disembodied?”

Kiri asks, her tone welcoming sarcasm in its arms.

Lo’ak chimes in.

“Can I swap out my loincloth real quick? I hate having the wet weaving slapping against me every time I walk.”

“Then why would you get wet?”

Kiri asks, rather harshly.

“Why do you cut your hair like that knowing your forehead is too big?”

“It astounds me how every day you talk about my forehead. Did you know they almost had to cut mom open because your head was so abnormally enormous??”

Lo’ak looks at my mom with incredulous eyes. 

“Ma she’s lying. Right?”

My mom evades any squander of the moment as she turns to duck under the divider flap to where  my parents slept.

“Ma’Jake, I’m going to change my top before we leave.”

Lo’ak falls to his knees, a dramatic anguished groan leaves him.

“Oh shit. I’m a freak. I’m a freak with a huge head.”

“You’re not a freak. You just have your fathers genes. I’m sure Jake was unusually large as well.” y/n comforts him, gesturing to my father.

“The hell I wasn’t.” My dad pipes up, trying to wrestle Tuk into sitting still.

Kiri shrugs, leaning against the wooden pillar to the side of the sheet as she fidgets with one of Y/n’s braids, standing behind her.

“I think we should banish Lo’ak for the attempted murder of the Tsahik daughter.”

I snicker, nudging Kiri 

“Mother would have joined eywa doing what she loved. Screaming at father.”

She laughed, tossing her head back.

Lo’ak’s jaw drops, he tries to speak but only a string of syllables come out.

“That’s not fucking fair.”

My dad glares at all three of us.

“Watch your mouth boy. And what did I say about plotting murder during dinner.”

Y/n blinks, tilting her head.

“We aren’t eating dinner.”

“I don’t give a damn-!

Okay, you know what? New rule. No discussing murder. Period.”

Kiri clicks her tongue, the usual gleam flickering across her irises.

“Can we discuss manslaughter?”

The sentence teases its own tone.

She places her palms against one another in a paring position before pointing them outwards towards my father.

Y/n mimics her.

“If we can’t discuss it can we at least plan one? Me and Kiri have already worked out a date and time.”

“And we have a target.”

Kiri adds, nodding confidently.

“For the love of god, I will put all of you on time out. And your grandmother can join you.”

My father threatens. Glaring at all of us.

Grandmother speaks as she slowly arises from her sitting spot on the floor, Lo’ak assisting her by holding her arm.

“Good. That will give me and the children time to plot against you.”

She speaks matter-of-factly.

I laugh, watching Tuk’s big eyes travel between my father and the rest of us as she tries to keep up with the conversation.

We all turn to see my mother as her figure is guided back through the divider, a new top now covering her chest.

It had flowers on it, delicately placed in a pattern over her breasts. Vines braided over her shoulders to hold the garment in place.

My fathers eyes take the shape of stars as he sees her, the sun setting outside and him both share a flicker of breath as she moves toward us.

“Are we ready?”

She asks, placing some of her braids behind her shoulder.

My father whistles, a hand coming up to cover the grin that etched its way onto his face.

“Goddamn. You look..”

“Like a pretty flower!”

Tuk chirps, clapping excitedly as she runs to my mother, hugging her waist.

“I was gonna say gorgeous, but yeah. That works too.”

Gorgeous. That’s the word I was looking for.

She giggles as she strides her way over to him, He takes a step behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, another hand tracing circles in her hip.

“Y/n made this one.”

She murmurs, speaking quietly for my father.

“Do you like it?”

“Kids’ got taste. It’s stunning. Do a spin for me.”

My dad nods approvingly, Y/n feigns cockiness, posing and swaying her hips.

“Of course I have taste. The best there is, no doubt.”

Out of all of the fabrics, all the leaves and flowers and materials on the planet, I think her smile always looks the most stunning.

“You know who else has taste?”

My father whispers, clearly not quiet enough, the endnotes a purr.

My mother gasps, it twirls into a chuckle.

“Ma’Jake, the children are watching.”

“Kids, look away!”

My dad demands, kissing my mothers cheek as she squirms in his arms.

“Oh I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Kiri gags, clearly not fawning over my parents' affections the way y/n or tuk is.

My grandmother wedges herself between my parents, poking my fathers chest.

“Enough of this. It is time to depart. Before you both go and make another child I will have to deal with it.”

That was my fathers cue as he sighs dramatically, scooping up a squirming Tuk and twirling her around like a princess.

“Alright family let’s get going. Roll tide.”

“Roll tide!”

Tuk mimics my fathers lingo as we exit the tent, single file. 

Tuk scurries infront of me. Hopping vigorously to squeeze her way in between my parents as they walk ahead of us. 

Lo’ak and Kiri take turns bickering with grandmother, keeping their paces ahead of me.

I saunter off behind them. The cool air and dwindling distant conversations plexure in the atmosphere. Families talking, children laughing, all coalesce into a chorus that ceases its journey where the darkening night sky ends.

I turn as I feel a tap on my shoulder,

Big, doe-like gold eyes invade my gaze. Those eyes are my vice. My biggest sorrow and my greatest gift.

The auric hues captivate me. The gleam so picturesque the shadows run for shelter. 

She’s still wet from the river. The shine from the droplets define her features, tracing every curve, clinging to every dip.

I feel ensnared in her equivalent of hypnosis. The expanse of her throat, the coves of her eyelids, every inch of her has me infatuated.

She doesn’t look like she belongs here. Her features lack those of a mortal being in regularity. A deity you’d sacrifice yourself for in the form of a disguise.

“Oh— you.”

Oh wow. That must make women swoon. ‘Oh. You.’ Might as well have said ‘ew. It’s you.’

Pull yourself together!

She recoils, its so slight you might not have noticed it at all.

She’s nervous. 

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to check up on you.”

Her steps find competence as they match my own. Her fingers lock together as she strides with them behind her back.

I awkwardly shuffle to keep pace with her.

“Oh, no. Please don’t apologize.”

I wave my hands stupidly, as if she’s hard of hearing and needs to have everything signaled. 

I clear my throat, clearing the hoarseness. Letting a silence settle before I realize what she’s said.

“You..wanted to check on me?”

She nods, her eyes meeting mine for a 

moment. She’s only a few inches shorter than me. It always reminds me of how she teased me when we were kids, saying I’d never catch up to her height. 

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I just…Lo’ak told me you were acting a little…off? This morning?”

Oh. You mean where you consumed every single one of my waking thoughts? This morning where I woke up still imaging you hugging me? This morning? Where I woke up stunned, paralyzed, drunken in enamorment of how on eywa’s green ground you could possibly be real when you have beauty of such extravagance?

“I have no idea what you speak of.”

I shrug,  crossing my arms over my chest.

She’s skeptical.

“Oh. I see.”

“Yup. Nothing wrong.”

“So, you weren’t moaning into a a fruit this morning?”

A who-was-moaning-into-a what?

“What are you talking about?”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“I just heard from a friend, that you were…excited for breakfast.”

Oh, the joy of having siblings.

I groan.

“No, that was a misunderstanding.”

She nods, trying to regain seriousness.

“Of course..I figured it was.”

Her cheeks puff slightly, harboring laughter.

I would probably be annoyed if it was anyone but her. and if her laugh wasn’t my favorite sound.

“Okay, you know what? It was early, I was tired-“

“Oh please. I’ve known you since you could walk. You’ve always been a morning person.”

I scoff, trying to pretend she wasn’t right.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Neteyam, I’m going to be your teacher soon. You should confide in me,”

Her arm accidentally brushes mine as we walk.

“So I should know if there’s something between you and that fruit that might interfere with your focus.”

I sigh, shaking my head, my tail gently swishing behind me.

“Say it with me now. Okay? 1..2..3…you’ve been spending too much time with Lo’ak.”

She chortles, recoiling at the sound.

I doesn’t phase me.

Not one bit.

“It’s the other way around.”

She argues.

“I can’t disagree. Last week I caught him wearing one of your armbands..”

“The one your father gifted me after completing my rites of passage?”

“Amber stones, arrowed weaving?”

She snaps her fingers.

“That’s the one! The bastard. I’ve been searching for weeks.”

I chuckle, catching a glimpse of her profile at the side of my gaze.

“I don’t blame him, you know.”

My voice carried a sincereness that seemed out of place with the conversation.

She looks at me, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“For looking up to you.”

She scoffs.

“Neteyam-“

“No. I’m serious.”

And as much as I regret cutting her off, the way she said my name, so tired, as if it was worn.

“You are one of the strongest warriors this clan has ever seen. I know that for a fact. I hear the way my parents speak of you. The way the people look at you, the way the children braid their hair to look like you. Everyone loves and admires you. I know for a fact I lov-“

She slows for a millisecond. That’s all it took to correct myself. Her steps only broke its pace as consciousness calculated on the ledge of what i knew so well I almost said.

“I love admiring you. I hope you know that.”

She shifts slightly, her fingers fidgeting with one another instead of being held behind her. I can tell my words are an impudent invasion that scratch and claw at the walls she’s built.

“You don’t have to say things like that.”

All I can do is smile.

“I wasn’t born with jesters privilege, I’m only saying what I know. I’m not glorifying you.”

And suddenly, i forgot the concept of boundaries.

I blame the aureate iridescence in the paradox of her irises. 

“You just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

She looks at me, confusion capturing her.

“What are you talking about?”

I shrug.

“You’ve saved lives. Protected our clan. Defended us against the sky people. What more can you ask of yourself?”

She stops walking this time. Her eyes staring straight ahead of us. 

Her head turns slowly to stare at me. It’s not a look of offense, or fear.

My hand reaches for her back, my palm placed against the small of it.

“It’s just something to think about.”

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺ ‏𖦹  ₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺ ‏𖦹  ₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎

Y/n’s pov 

You stare at him as if he's shown you colors for the first time. Epiphanies impulse under your skin, their unwelcomed and you’re unprepared.

As you approach the large area where other clan members have already sat down with their families, sharing food and laughter, you find yourself wandering astray.

“Give yourself more credit.”

Credit for what? What did you do to deserve praise?

Protected others? It wasn’t a task. It was second nature. If you didn't, what else would they ate from you?

What were you if not the sword and shield? What would you become the day the war ended?

There was no credit to be given. There was nothing to be given because there was nothing left. Because you refuse to repeat your mistakes. To suffer at another’s hand, to suffocate under the wreckage of what was built only to be torn down. Cankered, tattered, stained fingers clutching at the flesh that stretched across your bones, bruises worn like badges of honor. 

You were afraid. So afraid of being sheltered and delicate. Being blinded and impetuous. 

“Y/n. Come sit with me.”

You feel an arm link with yours, and you catch Kiri at your side.

The stray braids that hung by her neck like vines from a canopy of verdant haven swung while she walked. She guides you out of your solivangant sondering.

Her gestures were laconic. Her eyes marbled over with a generous concern as she whisked you away, grabbing a wooden bowl for herself and one for you as well where they were being distributed.

“Are you alright, dear? You’re zoning out a ton.” She whispers, placing a hand on your back.

You shake every former thought from your head, washing your mind clean.

“No, it is nothing. It’s foolish.”

“It’s not foolish if it’s bothering you.”

She corrects, looking down as she gathers some meat onto her plate from the communal fire.

You shift on your feet, eyes trailing her movements.

“I’m fine. I just..suppose i haven’t eaten enough today. Its making me spacey and slow.”

She nods slowly, her tail lightly swishing behind her.

“Well then, take this plate.”

She hands you the plate she had just finished filling with roasted sturmbeast, and squares of yovo fruit.

You shake your head graciously, handing it back yo her mindlessly.

“Oh Kiri no– no this was yours.”

She scoffs, waving you off.

“I'm more than capable of making myself a new plate.”

She smiles at you, and the familiarity of it is a comfort. 

The frail dark bangs that wisped lightly above her eyebrows sweep subtly in the night breeze, the weightless braids that hang on the sides of her head swing softly, you reach your hands out and tuck a strand behind her ear, your fingertips grazing the subtle honey-oak streaks, a delicacy in your touch as if you were handling something a fragile as a flower petal.

“You’re so good to me.” Your tone was beatific, gentle.

She smiles smugly, dragging her fingers across where your collarbones rose and fell upon each drawn breath before handing you the plate once again.

“I’m keeping you alive and fed.”

Lo’ak peaks himself from behind kiri, his tail swishing.

“Kiri can you make my plate next?”

Her smile drops.

“No. Make your own damn plate.”

She rolls her eyes, grabbing another wooden piece to start piling with food for herself.

Lo’ak gawks, offended.

“You made Y/n’s no problem!”

“That’s because I like y/n. I tolerate you.”

You laugh as Kiri links her arm with yours, whisking you away to the large dwelling in the center of highcamp.

A large fire with meat cooking over it, and families scattered into their little circles and sat around the ground, people weaving in and out to reach their group.

Some families wave to you, calling out thanks as you walked, because it was you who had hunted the sturmbeest with neteyam they were eating now.

Kiri and you found a seat next to Mo’at. Neytiri, Lo’ak, Tuk, Neteyam, and Jake had not returned yet, so you 3 waited.

“Did you girls get everything you need?”

Mo’at asks, resting her hand atop her knee.

You nodded, taking a seat.

“Yes ma’tsahik. We did.”

There was an unspoken formality between you and Mo’at. Despite her knowing you since you were born. An implicit etiquette that’s been emplaced in you ever since childhood.

She reaches out for your arms, her nails scarcely printing tiny marks on your palm as she inspects your wrist and hand.

“Your cuts are healing.” She informs you, somehow knowing even though your incises from the day before are not visible anymore.

You figured the cuts you got from spider's mask would heal relatively quickly. However, the memories of the accident would leave a different kind of scar. 

You gently placed your hand back in your lap, your gaze only flicking away from Mo’at to see Tuk skipping towards your small sitting area with a bow in her hand.

“The lake water might have sped up the process. It’s not bothering me, though. Just another couple cuts to add to my collection.”

Kiri giggles, nudging your arm.

“Another paint stroke to complete the masterpiece. Maybe we should hang you up next to tuk’s artwork.”

You snicker, making room for the smaller na’vi in question as she scurries to your side, snuggling herself in place next to you on the log.

“Healing cannot be rushed, child. Scars are more than just victories. It’s time you know that.”

Tuk gasps just as Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Neytiri find their places in the circle. 

She peers her head over your shoulder, looking down at your palm.

“It’s gonna be a scar??”

She blinked up at you with those big, disquieted, doleful eyes. She concernedly fumbled with your fingers, and you have to quickly gather her bowl into your lap with your other hand before it tips off her own with all of her movement.

“Oh no Tuk. I’m okay, love.” You kissed the top of her head, smiling at the way her nose twitched when you did.

“Do you want a kiss? To make it better.”

“Awh, sure. Thank you.”

She presses her lips to your bandaged palm.

“Mwah! All better.”  her sweet and stagey movements make you melt, proudly admiring her work.

“Thank you, Tuk-tuk.”

“Mhm.”

She sits back down, and you hand over her bowl.

She starts to eat, carefully picking the seeds out of her fruit slices.

“Are scars good or bad?”

She muffles through a mouthfull of juices.

Jake shrugs, leaning over to wipe the corners of her mouth with his thumb.

“Depends who you ask.”

Neytiri nods, her hand pressed to her chest briefly as she swallowed her bite before speaking.

‘Your father is correct. Scars are pieces of our memories. We carry them with us.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, either. Back where i come from we wear our scars like badges of honor.”

Jake chimes in, setting his elbow on his knee, his back stretching forward.

Mo’at scoffed.

“Don’t listen to your father, children.”

Waving him off, she took a sip from her herbal tea. 

Jake frowned, wincing as if he were in a cramping-kinda pain.

“Oh, I think I just got a new one.”

“A what?”

Neytiri inquires, concerned, confused, placing a hand on her husbands back.

“A new scar?”

“From what?”

“My mother in law..agh, how she wounds me.”

Neytiri hisses, a smile breaking from her and my fathers lips. 

Mo’at is unamused.

Jake shakes his head as his laughter dies out.

“Come on, I mean, it’s symbolic.”

“Symbolic of what? Stupidity?”

Mo’at chuckled.

“Of bravery. Strength. Survival.”

Jake defies the Tsahik gently.

“Scars are cool.”

Lo’ak agrees half-mindedly, munching and speaking with a full mouth in a similar manner to Tuk.

“Look at y/n. Her scars are badass as fuck.”

You kept your head down. Stuck between accepting it as a compliment or perceiving it as pernicious.

“Lo’ak, we do not speak of others bodies.”

Neytiri sterns.

“Right, and how many times have i told you to watch that mouth.” 

Jake rebuked Lo’ak’s word choice rigorously, pinching the back of his neck lightly.

Lo’ak shrunk away from his touch, receiving it with nothing much than a scrunch of his face before continuing.

“Scars are like ways of saying ‘I got through it’. You know? I mean, I’d rather have a scar than the other alternatives.”

Neytiri opened her legs the slightest bit, propping up one crossed as she displayed the inner of her thigh. With delicate fingers, she traced over a darkened discoloration, a jagged scar that dragged across the surface.

“This scar appeared shortly after giving birth to Tuktirey.”

She explained, her tone soothing and benign. 

You leaned forward, getting a closer glimpse at it.

Tuk pouted, guilt striking her expression.

“I did that? I’m sorry.”

You gently drew her closer to your side, a small laugh that was horribly compressed left you.

“No, Tuk. You didn’t do it. Some mothers get them after having babies. It’s normal.”

You explained.

Neytiri nodded, smiling graciously at you for explaining so gently.

“That’s right. And it has been with me ever since that day. It’s a symbol. Like your father says. Celebrating the day of arrival for a gift in my life.”

She gently runs her slender fingers down Tuk’s cheek in an affectionate stroke, Tuk giggles at the sensation.

Jake took a swig from his cup.

“Hell, if that’s not strength, I don’t know what is. I know I sure as hell couldn’t do it.”

“Ew dad. We know. We know how the male body works.”

Kiri retorted, appalled.

“I’m surprised mom doesn’t have a scar from giving birth to Lo’ak and his big head.”

Neteyam mumbles into his cup, clearly not quietly enough.

A laugh was shared around the circle, even Neteyam shaking with chuckles as his head hung low for the moment.

Tuk looked at you, big eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“You have scars. Do you like them??”

The circle became silent for a moment.

“Tuk!”

Neytiri and Jake both hissed in unison, their tone hesitant, scold-like.

“Tuk, we don’t ask such things.”

Neteyam, always the 3rd parent, corrects softly.

Tuk glances back at you, the sully’s eyes tracking her gaze.

You shook your head, clearing your throat of the hoarsness.

“No, no. Its alright. I mean, we were talking about it, right? No harm in asking.”

You turned to tuk, your eyes softening at the sight of her.

“Most of them, yes. They are symbols, like your father says. Scars are like..stories. Every single one has a place of origin, epitomes of remaining unbroken.”

“I like this one.”

Tuk points to the scar on your shoulder, the zig-zag imprint that dragged across the plate of your acromion almost resembling lightning.

You smiled, letting her trace her smaller fingers over it.

“So do i.”

You whisper.

Neytiri smiles at the both of you. Her gaze holds its tender warmth, radiating its warmth like a sun ray washing your soul.

“My beautiful girls.” She coos, reaching out to kiss Tuk’s head and Tuk a braid behind your ear.

She turns to Kiri, side-gazing at Lo’ak and Neteyam.

“All of you are beautiful. No matter how many scars you have, you are all so much more than what lies on your skin.”

“We’re not beautiful Neteyam and I are stoic, unfeeling, we don’t have time for that.”

Lo’ak affirms, proudly slinging an arm around Neteyam, making him lurch to the side awkwardly, a couple of fruit slices roll off his plate due to the action.

“Lo’ak, my food.” Neteyam swats Lo’ak away.

Neytiri pouts, “No, both of my sons are beautiful.”

She grabs Neteyam’s face, peppering it with kisses before she does the same to Lo’ak.

Lo’ak groans, floundering in her hold.

“Ma, come on..stop..Okay, okay, stop. I’m not beautiful, I’m handsome.”

Neytiri taps his nose with her finger. “You’re both.”

 She giggles.

“You’re neither, you hell-raiser.”

Kiri hisses blatantly.

The air remained unscathed of burden as laughter simmered in the air, you found nepenthe with the Sully family, making the night seem so endless it could stretch into the stratosphere. 

»»———–➤𖤓☽꩜———–➤𖤓☽꩜———𖤓☽꩜———–➤»»———–𖤓☽꩜———»

You laughed as you spun Tuk around by her arms, the meaningless balter keeping her entertained her laughter.

“Again! Again!”

She laughs, jumping up and down, reaching up to be spun around again.

You smile, grabbing her arms.

“Okay, okay- ready? 1…2..3..”

Supporting her tightly by her forearms, you swing her around as her squeals of laughter flood your ears.

“Y/n, you up for a quick flight?”

It was Jake’s voice that beckoned your attention. You turned away from playing with tuk to see him gathering the wooden bowls in his arms to haul back to the sully’s tent.

“Right now?”

He nods, shifting the pile in his arms. “Yeah. I mean, do you have something planned?”

You can’t remember the last time Jake Sully willingly encouraged anyone in his family to go on ikran out after dark since the return of the Rda unless it was him and Neytiri for the occasional date night.

You turn to Neytiri,  who only gives Jake a pensive look.

“Will you be out late?”

He shakes his head.

“Of course not, baby. Just taking Y/n out for a little nighttime crusade.”

Neytiri nods, slowly and pensively as she hands the bowls in her hands over to Neteyam.

There’s a stretch of quiet that spreads through the air. High camp was settling down for the evening. Families gathering up their food and families and eating ware and retreating back to their tents and huts for rest. It was unusual to be out past that tim unless Jake had arranged a patrol group.

“Where are you guys even going this late?” Lo’ak queries intrepidly.  

Jake shrugs, starting to walk behind Mo’at, who held hands with Tuk and walked alongside Kiri back towards the sully’s tent.

“Just got something’s to discuss.”

Jake’s answers are succinct and ambiguous.

Neteyam rears himself closer to Jake, his steps carefully matching pace with his father as he carted the woven sack of sitting mats under his arm.

“Will you be discussing the next raid? I can accompany you both if needed, father.”

He glances at you preventively, as if desiring to shape himself into a shield around you.

Jake causally declined his offer, patting his shoulder supportively.

“I think we’re good for tonight, son. You can rest easy.”

Neteyam nods, but you can tell he’s chastened. Jake always kept Lo’ak and Neteyam in this constant cage that clipped their wings, keeping them away from the fighting.

But something tells you this wasn’t about raid planning, or even the war.

Jake hands the pile in his arms off to Kiri, who mumbles under her breath as she tries to catch up with Mo’at. He turns to you, “Y/n, why don’t you run along and gear up Kailo. I’ll meet you at the crevice in a few minutes.”

Before you could answer, Neytiri appears behind him, her eyes softening soothingly, her gaze condemning with concern.

“Please be safe. Both of you.”

She whispered, placing a hand on your cheek and reaching up to kiss Jake’s shoulder.

“Baby, nothing will happen to her or me as long as I’m there.”

Neytiri doesn’t seem consoled.

“Y/n, please keep an eye on him.”

She sighs.

You chuckle, letting her kiss your hairline.

“I promise.”

She cracks a small smile, Jake reaches for her palm. Ghosting her fingertips across her lip, kissing the heel of her palm.

As if committing the feel of her skin to memory, even if he’s not away from her for long.

“Don’t worry I’ll be back before you know it.”

He winks at her, his eyes drifting to the cinch of her waist.

“Ew gross.”

You recoil, scrunching up your nose at Jake.

He rolls his eyes, waving you off.

“Go. Get your ikran ready. I’ll be there in a bit.”

You nod, jogging off to the rookery where your clans ikrans resided.

The air tonight was warm. Undertones of a glass remnants and tattered clouds. You were halfway to the crevice, quieting yourself with your inner thoughts, when you paused at the call of your name.

“Y/n!”

A juvenile voice echoes behind you. High pitched and distinct.

You turn around, and a small Na’vi child comes into view. She has yellow feathers in her hair. A woven grass top and braids that reached her shoulder blades. 

Popiti. She was one of your students. She was apart of the group of children Makeyo and you taught archery lessons.

“Popiti! What are you doing here, evi’? (Child, affectionate.)

She scampered to you, wrapping her arms around your waist, smiling wide.

“She wanted to come say thank you.”

Another voice gathered your attention.

A taller Na’vi slowly sweeps her way out of the shadows. Tall. Feminine. Her steps were rushed. They lacked gracefulness. Her confidence was pure forgery, wearing a mask made of fool's gold and a fetish for mystique.

“Kyuna.”

You greeted, your face rather neutral.

Kyuna was only older than you by a year. Regardless of your age, you always surpassed her in most aspects.

Hunting?

She could never finish a hunt. Meanwhile you were dragging home freshly arrows skin-deep in a yerik.

Status?

Everyone is valued in your clan. That was a known fact. But it was you who was named the Olo’eyktan a strongest warrior.

You were stronger. Faster. Smarter. 

It made you feel a bit guilty, how often so many didn’t make any effort to make your transcendence discreet. 

She smiled at you. It was thin. Fake. Feigning any ounce of genuine decency.

“Popiti here wanted to thank you for y tonight’s meal. It was you who hunted the sturmbeast, right?”

You nodded, still stroking the top of Popiti’s head affectionately

“Yes. I was. It was my pleasure, Popiti.”

You smiled graciously down at the little girl who beamed up at you as if you were everything she ever wanted to become.

“When I get big, I’m going to be a warrior just like you. I’m gonna have a beautiful bow, with carvings and beads just like yours! And I’m gonna have-“

Your heart melts a bit as she rambles on, every word idolizing you.

A sudden hand on her head cuts her off. Kyuna pulls her closer in the opposite direction. Her ability to endure the nicety’s hanging by a thread. 

“Popiti, why don’t you run along home.”

Her smile pathetically conceals the bite in her tone.

“But I don’t know how-“

“Now.”

With a small, sad wave, the smaller Na’vi huffs and stomps away.

You tilt your head back up to Kyuna.

When your eyes met hers, you can tell she’s frustrated just by the mere sight of you.

You cleared your throat, trying to rid the awkward intermission from the air.

“It was nice of her to thank me in person. She’s a good kid.”

Kyuna’s arms remained crossed, her gaze distant, occupied with other things

“Mhm. I’m surprised you had time to see her, after all, you’re always busy with the Olo’eyktan or..or those Sully boys.”

Lo’ak and Neteyam were both men but whatever.

She clicks her tongue, raking your figure up and down.

You forced a laugh.

“Well, I am living with them after all.”

“And sleeping with them.”

You snap your head up. The comment a little too dour to be a meaningless joke.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh! Y/n, I’m sorry.”

She suddenly gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth that hangs wide open like an animal expecting food.

“I would never mean it like that, I just meant that ever since the clan decided to come up here to the mountains, everybody’s tents became a little…disorganized. Right? You’re sleeping in a hammock with Lo’ak? So I’ve heard.”

You don’t know where the fuck she would even ‘hear’ that from.

You straightened, your patience running thin and your tolerance for jealousy incredibly low.

“It’s two separate hammocks woven together. We’re not sleeping ontop of one another.”

You elaborated, chuckling to yourself.

“Can you even imagine sleeping so close to one of them? Well, I’m sure some would want to imagine it.”

Your tone carried a clear enmity.

Her cheeks flushed, her tail swishing fervently behind her.

Shes nervous now. What happened to all of that confidence?

“Well, I hope I don’t strike you as someone who’s desperate.”

“Oh no, of course not. That’s what makes people so good at it.”

You smiled, locking your fingers together behind your back.

She’s stunned for a moment. Stilling as her imperceptible brain struggles to process everything that’s been said.

“Well, I must be going. I have to meet with the Olo’eyktan. But I wish you a good night, Kyuna.”

She snaps out of her daze.

“H-huh? Oh. Oh yes, good night, Y/n.”

She stares at you. A mix of awe and envy compete for sovereignty.

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺ ‏𖦹  ₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ 

“What are we doing here?”

You and Jake had flown into the night, and landed on one of the mountain tops, the flat rock making space for you both as he sat across from you.

“Have a seat, Y/n.”

You didn’t know why he had brought you there. And you were feeling anxious for n some unknown reason. When you left, Jake insisted you leave your bow and other weapons at home. He promised that you didn’t need them. But how could he know that? How can he possibly understand the stability you felt when those objects were near?

Death, chaos, war, grief, it didn’t wait for anyone. Ever.

“Am I in trouble?”

You asked, nervously shifting on your feet. The rest of the world seemed to drift farther and farther away.

“Y/n.”

“Because If I did something wrong, I can fix it. I promise.”

“Y/n.”

“Jake this is killing me just tell me why-“

“Y/n.”

You felt his large palms cup your biceps, holding you still.

“…yes?”

“Take a deep breath.”

He said softly.

You looked at him puzzled before inhaling in, holding it for a good 3 seconds then exhaling out.

“Attagirl. Are we calm now?”

You nodded, finally sitting across from him, crossing your legs.

He smiled at you, clearly proud of himself.

“Y/n, welcome to your very first therapy session.”

You begged the finest pardon?

You froze. 

Did you hear him right?

Therapy. The word sounded familiar. Then you remember that day he told you about it when you both went hunting.

Should you laugh? Be pissed? Both?

“What the hell are you talking about. Jake?”

He shrugged.

“Well, I’m no professional-“

“Clearly.”

“But I’d figured this would help with…”

He considers his next words, opting for gesturing to your entire self with his hands, 

“Jake, I love you. I really do. You’ve done so much for me over the years. But I’m about 2 minutes away from rocking your shit.”

Not paying any mind to the threat. Jake waves his arms, ridding your frustration from the air.

“You know what, let’s start over. And please. Just give this a chance, yeah?”

“Fine.”

Jake leaned back, locking his fingers together and resting them on his stomach.

“Usually this kind of thing starts with a simple introduction.

Hi, my name is Jake. And I will be your therapist this evening.”

“Jake you know my name.”

He nods.

“Maybe I know your name yes, but I’m here to know your soul and what energy you put out into the universe.”

“Are you stroking out? What the fuck are you talking about.”

He groans.

“Come on kid, bare with me.”

You sigh defeatedly.

“Okay. Okay. Hi. My name is y/n. And I’m an adrenaline addict. Better?”

“…well, we had to start somewhere.”

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

Authors note:

Stay hating Kyuna. Ik your itching like a bitch without your eczema cream 💕🫶🏽

lol anyways, I hope you guys Enjoyed this chapter. It’s very rushed but I had so much writing sully family fluff. And starting next chapter, we’ll get into Neteyam starting his training with Y/n. And you best believe there is some tension 😌 also you’re gonna have mini therapy sessions with Jake from now on. Remember when they discussed that in chapter 3?? lol.

But I wanted to share a little life update with you guys. I hope you don’t mind. For those of you who don't know, I’m in a relationship. And yes, sme of you probably know him as the guy who was the victim of my cgi faces avatar experiment 🤭

GUYS YOUR GIRL GOT A PROMISE RING 🥳🥳

Now, I don't want anyone thinking I'm bragging or ‘rubbing it in others' faces)’…you guys are the first people I've told. I'm still in shock about it. The point of telling you guys this is that love is beautiful, and I don't think my writing can even begin to express the full extent of that. And one of the many things I love is writing for you guys. I know you guys have never met me and probably never will, and I'm just some person tapping away about blue aliens and posting my silly little rants from time to time, but please know that I appreciate all of you. Every single one of you who read, support, comment, like, repost, my anons, my followers, the friends I've made here, I hope I make you guys as happy as you all have made me. I can’t wait to share my fics and creations with all of you. One of the reasons I love writing for ‘y/n’ and reader inserts is because as someone who has read y/Insert fics, I know how special they can make us feel. So long rant short, I hope I make you guys feel like sexy, gorgeous, devastatingly beautiful, badass bitches yall are ☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

Taglist 🪐🌑🪻

@fluorynn (my guest of honor 👑)

@mntx666

@isnt-itstrange @thebestrouge

@bay7let

@fairuzwhat

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

@satesatesate2009

@OstargirlO

@heavenlysstuff

@dayyzlol

@iheartamajiki

@fluorynn

@bakugouswaif

@eljaynosine-triphosphate

@mojo-jojo-1

@strongheartneteyam

@hungrynessforfics

[arainesque]

‧₊˚✧ fic masterlist ✧˚₊‧

user: arainesque

love deconstructed

“George’s breath was stuck in his throat. He felt it coming, everything was leading up to this moment, and he’d been prepared, yet here it was. His breath stuck in his throat and his heart pounding hard enough for Matty to feel it against the side of his ribs. Could probably hear it in the silence of the room.”

In the search for it, inside of you

“George-“ Matty said, reaching a hand out to cradle his jaw. Running his thumb over his cheekbone, feeling his elevated pulse against his index finger. “There’s nothing I want more in life than to touch you.”

George’s Adams apple visibly moved as he swallowed.

“Then touch me.”

read my mind, do what i can't say

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Matty questioned, continuing his endless pushing to get George’s attention. To get a reaction from him, any at all.

His thoughts were painfully loud to Matty, even when George tried to keep him out. Loud but unintelligible, like being in another room when people were fighting on the other side of the wall."

you took my misery and like a sadist, i let you

"So he’d taken his own melancholia and given it to George, and unlike the gift of life, this one had been wrapped haphazardly. A big sticker on it that was impossible to miss, bolded capital letters that spelled out: DO NOT OPEN. Underlined."

── ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ──

user: pre-arainesque

uncertainty, not afforded

"Matty was part of George enough to know he probably wasn’t going to. But there’s certain situations where uncertainty is so far out of the question it’s unthinkable. And George’s brain doesn’t operate like a binary system, as much as Matty knows he’d like it to. Yes or No. True or False. Times where Matty could understand George’s desperate need for definite answers. So he had to go."

first impressions in the past tense

"And suddenly it felt like they were back in Matty’s old bedroom. When one thing had led to another and suddenly Matty’s eyes were softening, his hand tentative against George’s cheek. Matty’s breath had been hot against his face and then he was kissing George. Just like that. Simple, really."

deep in the shallow

"George smiled gently and Matty no longer cared to find out if they were more than the particles that they were made up of. Didn’t care about the purpose of the consciousness, the ability to witness and reflect. Didn’t care that he’d take his own consciousness to the grave with him, that he’d never get to slice George’s brain open and see the world from his perspective."

what was strong

"When George was sad he was really sad. Sad in the way where everybody in the room could feel it. Infectious in the worst possible way. It seeped through Matty’s skin and mingled with the molecules in the air to create a thick viscous fog. Not the comforting kind. At least that’s what it felt like to Matty. It was like turning off the sun."

yellow petals in blonde hair

"S’ kind of hot," Matty swallowed as he watched George’s hand completely engulfing his own waist. He let his palm slide over George’s ear to once again let it rest against his jaw. Tugging him forward by the back of his head. "You, in the kitchen."

yet, there was George

"All in all, George is an enigma and Matty is pondering and reminiscing."

the one who loves and the one who knows

"The tears pooled in the dip between his clavicles. Glistening over his ”broken” tattoos. Isn’t that ironic. It’s out of body and it’s palpable in every cell. And George was hurting."

longing for serenity

"Because when it’s good it’s good and when it’s bad they burn and burn and burn until the fuel cools and the pressure drops and all of the stars in the universe collapse into supernovas."

── ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ──

tumblr blurbs

for future reference

growing up, and together

[trinkerichi]

The Amazing Toybox Circus!

A storybook - Part 1

Once upon a time, there was a very old toy shop.

An unremarkable sort of place with very few visitors. The shelves were lined with antique curiosities which had collected dust over the years.

Among these, atop a colorful wooden toy chest, was a simple kaleidoscope. It was inscribed with a strange design of teeth and eyes, and a poem about a magical circus.

...

Now, one might imagine the type of person would walk into such a place. Perhaps someone who has worked far too hard. Someone who feels unsatisfied with the tedium of every day life, and who longs for an escape into the fantastical world of imagination that playthings can inspire. This sort of person might look through a kaleidoscope and dream, just for a moment, of a new life filled with bright color, of fun and adventure.

This was the sort of person who suddenly woke up on the floor, surrounded by darkness and extremely confused.

Feeling dizzy and thoughts hazy, she righted herself and began to wander. A soft jingling noise followed her with every step, though she paid it no mind. There were more pressing issues at the moment.

She strained her mind trying to remember how she could have possibly ended up here. She clearly remembered entering a toy shop, but her thoughts beyond this were blank besides a vivid image of swirling colors. Red and blue spirals. All she knew at the moment was that she felt terribly afraid, and very very small.

Timidly, she called out-

"HELLO, MY NEWEST SUPERSTAR!"

An enormous wooden ventriloquist dummy suddenly burst from the shadows. His painted eyes gleamed, one blue, one green. His wooden teeth chattered as he loomed overhead. He pulled a white balloon on a string, which sported an equally large toothy grin.

The sight was positively terrifying.

"Welcome to the amazing toybox circus!"

"The ... the toybox what?" She squeaked in response.

"Why, the toybox circus of course! You're sure to have a grand time, my dear! " She was suddenly lifted up to meet his unsettling wooden gaze.

"My name is Caine! I'm your ringmaster," he continued at an unnecessarily loud volume.

"My dear, you've entered a wonderful world of whimsy and adventure, where anything can happen! Soon you'll meet your new friends and we shall put on a show!"

He spun her around before setting her down on the floor again.

The girl was speechless. Be part of a circus? Led by a talking puppet? Surely this was all a strange dream!

"I'm sorry, sir," she eventually said, somehow managing to speak politely considering the circumstances. "But I really must be getting home! If you'd kindly show me the way-"

"Oh but you simply must stay for the performance, my dear! I've prepared all sorts of activities that are sure to delight! Oh the audience will love you! You shall be the star attraction!"

The puppet was very insistent. At a loss, the girl considered her options were either to continue wandering the darkness or to trust this "ringmaster". Now she was an intelligent young lady, but she was also a curious sort. After all, curiosity was what brought her here in the first place, and curiosity compelled her to see what would happen next...

So despite better judgement, she finally said -

Hesitant but hopeful. Perhaps this would be interesting? At the very least, she could play along until finding a way out of this strange place, out of the toyshop and back home. Or until she woke up, as this was likely a dream after all.

"At any rate, this may be fun," she hoped out loud.

Something cackled from atop a large shelf. The silhouette was that of a rabbit, but with a wide yellow grin.

"Heh HEH! You'll soon see, little clown," he said, before hopping out of sight.

What an odd place this was...

----part 2 coming soon!

[urhoneycombwitch]

mean mouth

foreword: and if I said Eddie liked when you talked a lil' mean to him. what then. n e ways. just a little exploration of his early-day sub tendencies. I generally write Eddie as older but since this takes place in some nebulous time before s4 u can think whatever u want +18. ‘unnamed freak’ is Jacob. punk band name was not thought of by me but isn’t it great <3

cw: gn!reader w/breasts + V, oral (R receiving), unprotected PiV, soft!dom(ish) R, Eddie subbing from the top 😎, gotta-be-quiet-when-we-fuck trope my beloved

wc: 3.7k

____

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Eddie’s a blur of motion in the little trailer kitchen, knocking against your knees where you’re propped up on the counter (not entirely helpful but, in his words, ‘much-needed eye candy for the chef’), closing cupboards with a bang and talking animatedly over the hiss of onions cooking.

Your boy is loud, always has been, and tonight is no different- he’s crowing and cackling, recounting a particularly genius foible that he’d orchestrated during last night’s campaign, wooden spoon dipping in and out of heated pots over the stove like some crazed frizzy-haired potions master. 

“And then.” He punctuates with a jab of the spoon towards you, a long drip of spaghetti sauce narrowly missing your leg- you flinch and squeak in alarm, but Eddie just grins wildly, eager to get to the punchline. “Red rolls a natural. Fucking. Twenty.” 

“Holy shit!” Your smile is wide, natural and easy for him- Eddie’s excitement is infectious. 

“I know!” Eddie spins back to the stove, plunking the wooden spoon back into the simmering sauce before opening the oven. Heat from the broiler rises in a mouth-watering cloud of herby smell, and Eddie reaches for the metal sheet of garlic bread, still talking. “Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. And then I- shit!”

You don’t put the pieces together until Eddie’s spinning away from the open oven, whole body moving with the force of his hand being shaken in the air- he’d touched the roiling-hot metal with his bare hand.

“Oh, shit, babe-” Sliding from the counter, you nudge the oven door closed with a foot, reaching out to assess the damage- but Eddie’s a whirlwind, jumping up and down, swinging his injured hand around in jerky movements, howling in pain.

It’s kind of freaking you out, ‘cuz you can’t tell if he’s playing up or if he’s actually got a third-degree burn. The voice that comes out of you is commanding, one that you rarely use, firm and louder than his hollering. 

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake- stand up and let me see it.”

That seems to do the trick. Eddie’s eyes snap to you, pausing mid-hop, and you take advantage of his semi-stillness to snatch his wrist and drag him towards the sink. The water runs cool and you turn his palm over in both of yours, breathing a sigh of relief when the pink welt across the bridge of his hand doesn’t have any blisters.

“Under the water,” you instruct, pushing at his silver-link braceleted wrist until he gets the memo, letting the flow from the tap ease the burn.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, and then goes quiet for the first time in ages.

There’s a few moments of this strained silence as you watch his hand carefully, color leaching back into his palm until you notice Eddie’s looking at you sideways.

Your shoulders hunch in a bit, arms crossed over your chest as you take a step back, misinterpreting his look as wounded. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just-”

“Hey, whoa, no-” Eddie’s hand automatically reaches for you, dripping water on the floor until he remembers his injury with a wince and plunges it back under the tap. “You don’t have to apologize for that. At all. Um.”

His left hand, the uninjured one, braces against the linoleum, ringed knuckles creaking as he shifts his stance. He sounds uncomfortable, and you’re about to start apologizing again until he lifts his head, eyes twinkling- “You were so bossy. It was totally hot.”

A shocked laugh burbles out of you, unsure if he’s joking or not- when he shifts his weight again, your gaze flickers down to the zipper of his dark jeans- he’s fully hard. 

“Oh my god.” Split between amusement and mortification, adrenaline from seeing him get hurt fizzing through your veins, you laugh again- this time, sardonic, into your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus christ, Eddie.”

“Can’t help it.” He’s close to whining, hips pressing flush into the cabinet, partly to relieve the ache in his groin and partly to toy with you. “Goddamn. Sound so sexy when you tell me what to do-”

There’s a teatowel hanging from a nearby rack; you snatch it up and whip it at Eddie’s shoulder, playful and irritated as you snap, “Shut up.”

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby-” Eddie’s fake sultry voice earns him another towel-whip, this time at his neck- he squawks, ducking to avoid another blow while still keeping his hand under the water.

“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” you announce with finality, slinging the towel over your shoulder and turning on your heel. “I’m gonna get the burn cream. Try not to cum or die while I’m gone.”

His bright laughter follows you all the way down the hall.

___

The next time it happens, it’s sort-of on purpose.

Eddie’s glowing with a post-show rush- a local business convention meant Corroded Coffin got to play for a nearly-packed room. Nevermind the fact that their Bruce Springsteen cover was the one bringing in the most applause; Eddie’s always been able to feed off the energy of a crowd, and tonight was a riotous success.

The Hideout is loud but your boy is louder, as per usual. There’s sweat curling the baby hairs at his temples, bright spots of flushed pink in his cheeks from the round of whiskey you’d bought the band as a congrats. 

He’s making a toast to his laughing bandmates, to beautiful you, to any nearby drunk who will listen, proclaiming his lust for life with one boot on the well-worn table in noble pose.

“And to Bev, the best of us-” Eddie tips his half-empty glass towards the nearby bar, shouting over the din of the jukebox and lively chatter, “-may your sharp-tongued wit live on!”

Bev pauses service to flip him off, and Eddie collapses back into the comfort of your arm over the booth’s top, grinning when the band trio of Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob nearly fall out of their chairs with laughter.

It’s always hot to see Eddie in his element, and tonight’s not an exception. He turns to lean into you, looking down the slope of his pretty nose like he knows why you’re staring.

A charming wink precedes, “Come here often?” but his flirting is interrupted when Jeff gets up for another round and bumps the table- whiskey sloshes over the side of Eddie’s cup and coats his hand in stickiness. 

He swears viciously, yanking out his bandanna to wipe at the mess while you laugh over the rim of your own glass at him. “Real smooth, babe. Good thing you killed it on stage, otherwise I might not take you home.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, inhaling for another cheesy line to wow you with when his gaze flicks past you and his face falls. 

Across the table, Jacob mutters, “Oh, shit,” and Gareth glowers.

Following their eyelines, you look over your shoulder to see Nico Hawley, frontrunner of Hawkin’s own punk band (the Scumshots), enter through the front door in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

When you turn back to Eddie, he’s already twisting the damp bandanna around his rings. The usual softness of his doe-brown eyes are now flint-sharp, and with a rush of panic, you remember the last time Eddie and Nico ran into each other; the night had ended with you back at the trailer, holding a cold pack to Eddie’s split lip, which he’d received from engaging in what he referred to as “friendly fisticuffs”.

There was nothing friendly about the way Eddie stood, then, to his full height, dark and imposing with his big mane of hair and leather jacket. The other Corroded boys won’t start any shit themselves, but will absolutely back Eddie up (fearless leader, resident shit-starter, instigator extraordinaire). 

Time’s running out for you to get a handle on the situation, Eddie already moving to slide past you out of the booth when you snag his left jacket sleeve in a tight grip.

The first yank you give stops him in his tracks; the second, more intentional tug gets his face level with yours, Eddie’s hardened stare giving way to confusion as you pull him into your space. 

In that same authoritative tone, you pin Eddie in place with a fistful of leather and command, low, right in his ear to be heard above the bar noise, “Don’t. Sit down and be good.”

At first, you’re not sure it worked, because Eddie’s just staring at you- slightly slack-jawed, pretty pink o mouth as his gaze flickers to your lips, back up to lock in your gaze again.

And then, by some miracle, Eddie obeys. Like a well-trained, marvelously-behaved dog. He’s back in his seat with a jolt to the booth, hand curling around his whiskey again. 

Curls spill and shift around jacketed shoulders as he shoots the rest of the glass, adam’s apple bobbing, other hand slipping to cup your thigh hidden from view. “It’s not worth it,” he announces to the rest of the group, sounding strained, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, knuckles white with force.

Jake sighs, relieved, but Gareth scoffs, tipping the neck of his beer across the table to point, goading Eddie with  “Since when have you been the one to take orders?”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back, blood returning and redistributing enough from where it had all rushed south, enough to defend you and himself against his drunk bandmate. “We’re already on Hop’s shit list, asshole, can’t be catching any more charges for stupid fuckin’ bar fights.”

Nico had disappeared into the throng of people at the bar while your group has been arguing- probably for the best that he’s out of eyesight. Unperturbed by Gareth’s comment (he likes you fine, he’s just grumpy from the alcohol and itching for a fight), you sip your drink and give him a shameless wink. 

Underneath the tabletop, Eddie’s palm flattens over your jeans, fingers dipping to toy with the denim seam hugging the fatty plush part of your inner thigh. You shift your hips, subtly, feeling flush with heat and power. Just a couple of words and you have him eating out of your goddamn hand. 

Jeff returns, setting a handful of beers in the middle of the table. “Saw that shitstain Hawley at the bar. What’d I miss here?”

Gareth swoops in with accusatory explanation, seizing another bottle out of Jeff’s hands. “What you missed is Eddie’s balls on a leash-”

“Jealous you don’t have someone at home to tie you up, Emerson?” Eddie’s dig comes swiftly, lips quirked in a smile around the rim of his drink. 

There’s a raucous burst of laughter, Gareth’s curly mop of hair gets ruffled playfully, and everyone eases back into celebration, all while Eddie’s thumb edges closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

___

The next time, though? Totally on purpose.

There’s a sliver of gold from the hallway light spilling under Eddie’s closed door, left on in case Jeff or Gareth needed to use the bathroom during the night. 

And despite the fact that two of his bandmates are passed out on the couch and floor just a short walk away, Eddie’s hands are exploring the length of your body under the sheets like he’s got plans to map you with his tongue. 

“We- ah- can’t.” Your whispering scold is interrupted with a sharp gasp when Eddie nips at your neck. “No fooling around. Not when we have guests.”

His left hand drips over the swell of your breast, squeezing and kneading, your nipples perking to attention (traitors) underneath the bra you haven’t yet had the chance to take off.

Eddie adopts your quiet tone as he speaks between kisses that trail further down your body, not outright ignoring your weak protests but not doing much to combat them, either. “Mmm. Got me so worked up. Been driving me crazy since the bar, y’know that? ‘S cruel, baby, can’t just talk mean and expect me not to act on it.”

“Wasn’t mean,” you counter, hands shifting automatically to wind through the soft locks of hair tickling at your stomach as Eddie continues his path downwards. “Didn’t wanna have to patch up a split lip. Had to make you behave somehow.”

The vibrating groan Eddie gives against the soft skin of your stomach tickles; when you squirm, shushing him again, his hands slide to your hips, pinning you in place. 

Nose to your navel, warm breath fanning across the strip of skin just above the band of your panties, Eddie sounds strung-out already, close to begging. “Please, baby. I’ll be good. Make it so good for you. I’ll be quiet-”

His head snaps up at your sudden gasping laugh, chin perched on your tummy as he scoffs. “What, you don’t think I can keep quiet?”

“Eddie Munson, you couldn’t be quiet to save your life.” Your hands migrate to his cheeks, squishing them together fondly as he grins around your touch, his thumbs working circles at your bare hips. 

“Ye of little faith.” In the dim light of the room, Eddie’s teeth are a flash of white before his mouth dips to press against the wet patch at your underwear.

“Fucking… shit-!” The expletives fly out harshly, only because you weren’t expecting the wet stripe of his tongue against your clothed folds. Head dropping back to the comfort of your pillow, you get one hand in Eddie’s hair again, the other finding its way to twist at the sheets.

You can feel his smile, equal parts smug and sympathetic as he coos saccharine to your inner thigh- “Now, now, angel. Gotta be quiet.”

Not willing to lose the fight, you focus on clamping your mouth shut, eyes closed in concentration- even as Eddie slides your underwear down and off, a quick flash of blue fabric before it’s swallowed by the floor’s darkness. Even as he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard like he’s been deprived of your taste for too long.

When his tongue breaches your entrance, a soft gasp escapes, one that has your head turning sideways to grab some pillow with your teeth. 

Eddie brings the wetness from your entrance up again, spreading it over your pulsing clit, nerve endings fizzing bright and hot in your stomach from the attention.

On instinct, your right leg kicks out, jolting with the spasm of pleasure- Eddie’s quick, though, taking advantage of the movement to find a new hold at the back of your thigh; rings biting cold, he pushes until you bend for him, your knee now pressed towards your chest.

“Gonna make it so good for you.” Eddie’s mumbling pussy-drunk rambles into your cunt that’s now on display, dragging his nose through the slick that weeps out of you, all for him- “So wet for me, angel. Fuck’s sake. This all for me?”

As if he doesn’t know. The hand that isn’t busy holding you open trails up your thigh, middle finger teasing at your entrance before slipping inside, no resistance thanks to the river of slick that rushes to greet it.

There’s a soft squelching noise as Eddie adds a second, curling them up, stroking against that tender gummy spot that always skyrockets your pulse. 

The noise is almost enough to give you pause; feeling wild and flush with heat, your hand tightens in the crown of Eddie’s hair, eyes popping open as you prop yourself up on an elbow to give a strangled hiss of warning through your teeth.

Eddie senses your unease, pulls his fingers and mouth out and off (a travesty), softening the blow by giving a placating kiss to the top of your mound. “Shhh, sweetheart. S’okay. You hear that?”

Past the noise of nighttime crickets from the nearby cracked window, past the hum of the kitchen, you hear it as Eddie crawls back up- distant, tandem snores from the boys in the living room.

“They sleep like the dead. Like rocks,” Eddie promises, settling his weight into his hands planted on either side of your head, hair creating a curtain around your faces as he leans in. “So we can get our rocks off.”

“That was awful.” You kiss him anyways. He tastes like you, earthy and warm and wet, saliva mixed with your arousal as the kiss turns sloppy.

Eddie rocks his hips forwards, the friction from the fabric of his boxers making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. He’s achingly hard, cock leaking and smearing precum through the cotton; there’s a hurried, manic shift as you both work to strip the last pieces of clothing from yourselves, his boxers and your bra following your underwear from earlier into the dark of the room.

And then Eddie is sliding his cock through the folds of your pussy, slicking up the sizable length as much as he can before the tip nudges at your entrance; Eddie’s arms tremble with effort as yours wrap around his shoulders, soothing with a kiss to his cheek- “Lotta talk about keeping quiet, Munson. That’s all it was? Just talk?”

Now that his mouth isn’t intent on making you fall apart anymore, you’ve got some breathing room to tease. To be the one to work him up. Tucking a curly lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers trace adoringly over his temple before sliding to grip the back of his neck. “Gonna prove me wrong, hotshot?”

With this new proximity, you can see Eddie’s eyes- fixed intently on yours, black pupils nearly eclipsing the soft amber of his irises. He looks slightly feral, sweat sticking his bangs in place, lips parted, spots of pink staining his cheeks. 

As if he doesn’t trust himself to speak, Eddie’s near-silent as he slides himself in to the hilt, jaw dropping as the warmth from your walls encompasses him completely.

The chained guitar pick around his neck tickles between the valley of your breasts. He pants, chest heaving, not daring to move yet; your breath stutters. You can feel him in your throat.

“So big,” you murmur, an honest reaction but one that has Eddie’s brows drawing together, a little whine escaping as his hips jerk forward, reflexive to your words.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” 

Eddie’s voice, strained though it may be, is on its way to regular volume. At the back of his neck, your hand flexes, a warning as he begins to rock steadily into your tight heat. 

“Gotta be good.” Biting back your own groan, you sling your leg over his waist. At this angle, you can press your heel to the dip of his lower back. “Be good and quiet for me and I’ll let you come in my p-”

His hips snap forward, audibly, subsequent wet noise obscene, filling the room. Eddie moans into the curve of your neck before your sentence is even fully formed- “Jesus, baby. Oh my god. Can’t say stuff like that, gonna come too quick-”

His cock fits along the contours of your cunt like you were made for him, ridged tip dragging against that same sensitive spot of your front wall with each pull and thrust.

Eddie’s forehead thunks into yours as he rolls it back and forth, mindlessly. All the tease has melted out of his voice: it’s been replaced with a lust-filled rasp, rock-salt and deep. 

Your voice, however, is all tease, still hushed but laced with mischief despite your mounting pleasure. “Yeah? Gonna come in my pussy?”

It’s almost not fair and you almost feel bad, seeing the way Eddie fights to make his gasp silent as the channels of your cunt clench in answer to his fucked-out expression. With his next thrust, Eddie loses the battle- a hoarse, blissful moan much too loud spills over and out into the quiet room. 

Moving quick, your hand slips from the back of Eddie’s neck to his mouth, palm flat over the plush of his lips.. The commanding tone comes easy this time (with practice, you’ll surely be a natural).

“Eddie. Be. Quiet.”

Usually, Eddie’s got stamina enough to prioritize your pleasure, making sure you’re taken care of at least twice before he even thinks of himself. Tonight, though, he’s already been straining in his jeans for hours, unbearably turned on from your earlier sharp words, pushing the limits of desperation.

Your words, once again, do the trick. Eddie’s cock pulses, and he comes hard, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your hand, chorus of whimpers successfully dampened. His dark brows knit together, eyes pinched shut, nostrils flaring with each stilted breath.

He’s so fucking hot when he comes, hair a riot around stormcloud eyes that open to take you in. Even prettier when he’s coming down, leaning into your hand for support before you take it away, guiding and encouraging him to lay down.

Eddie collapses, carefully enough that it doesn’t jostle you, but still with his full weight. The crown of his head radiates heat against your chin. 

His arms wrap solidly around your middle as he whispers (he’s learning) in croaky fragments, “Jesus fucking H. I think you just broke my brain. Smashed it into a million little pieces. Never come so hard in my life. I’m in love with you.”

The laugh you give him is quiet but golden, the rise and fall of your chest causing his head to bounce a bit (but Eddie could die happy between your breasts so he doesn’t mind). “See? It’s worth it to listen to me, sometimes.”

“You’re so smart. Gonna do whatever you say, forever and ever. Cart-blank.” And then he’s pushing up onto his elbows, keeping his face level with your left breast so he can suck your nipple into his mouth, gently worrying his teeth over the peaked bud.

Previously tangled in the sheets, your hand flies up to grab his shoulder, nails digging in. “Fuck. Fuck, Eddie. That’s good. And- ah- it’s ‘carte blanche’.” 

He leaves the comfort of your breast with a sigh. “Whatever you say, princess. Gonna let me fuck you some more? Your turn to be the loud one.”

[lokisgoodgirl]

Delicate [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: As Loki recovers from injury - he needs the sweetest balm to heal him: you (w/c 1.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Fluff. Avenger! Loki x Female Reader. Description of injury (no blood) In my feelings.

Your fingers trail down the centre of Loki’s sternum: tender, purple splotches soaked into his skin like dye. They've barely faded in the month that’s passed. His trademark ivory skin is like a storm cloud and, if you watch for long enough, you’d swear it ripples. He holds his breath, face set in stoicism, lips pressed together in a thin white line.

He forces a pained smile against his cheeks. “Good as new,” he lies.

“Bullshit,” you reply.

Loki releases the breath, head falling back against the pillows.

“I hate this,” he mutters. A month ago, almost to the day, his torso was nearly decimated when he jumped on a huge explosive meant to kill the entire team.

Not just the team, you remember. The city.

He’s lucky, they say. But it’s more than that. His magic was strong — it was strong enough — but only just. There isn’t an inch of him that hasn’t been healing these past weeks: no inch un-hurt.

Well, that’s not true…there was an inch that escaped unscathed. Nine, actually.

His powers re-generate the damage with every hour that goes by — but Loki’s never been one for patience. “I feel useless,” he snaps. “What good am I to you like this?” You stroke hair back from his face, and his blue eyes slide to meet yours. “You deserve better, darling,” he says seriously. “You have needs — I insist you take your pleasure elsewhere. Lang, Barton, Rogers, even..."

His gaze drops, and he looks up under a fringe of ebony lashes. "But someone inferior to me, that is all I ask.”

You almost shove his shoulder in reprimand before stopping yourself. He sighs again. “We can’t go on like this: you fellating me with dutiful care, and me unable to reciprocate.”

He glances at you with such weighty desolation that you almost burst out laughing as he says, “I feel like my brother — it’s terrible.”

And that does it. Your vision blurs as you pick up a pillow and bury your face in it: cackling. “What?!” he sniffs, affronted. “I have been incapacitated of my greatest boon.”

You surface from the pillow, tears of laughter smeared down your cheeks. “Greatest boon?!?” He gestures to the hard-on pitching the covers with a wilting sigh.

You trail a finger down his bicep on the side nearest you: the side that’s almost healed, but you don’t think he’s noticed. His skin is pure, pale velvet from his shoulder to his hipbone like a tan-mark.

“It doesn’t look incapacitated to me,” you say, eyeing his crotch, knowing what will happen. But you can’t resist. There’s something undeniably erotic about having him like this: needy, frustrated, a little insecure. A short puff erupts from his nostrils. “You can’t go on top: too painful. I can’t go on top: too painful. On my knees? Reverse —?” You place a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth. “I love you, Loki,” you whisper, feeling the skin shiver beneath your touch. “I don’t want anyone else- sex or no sex. I’d wait forever if it meant you healed, but…I think I know something that might work.” Loki’s face immediately tilts to you and his features flinch with the sudden movement. “But!” you say, pressing a finger to his lips. “You need to do exactly as I say, and if it hurts…we stop. Agreed?” With your finger pressed to his mouth, Loki rolls his eyes, and you smile. “Good.”

A slow, twitching, hope crawls up Loki’s expression as you move your hand and slide down the bedsheets. You lie on your back, lifting your hips and shuffling the shorts down. Loki says nothing, but his erection strains against the covers and his eyes dart from your eyes to your hips as the panties make a slow descent down your thighs. “Gods, I feel like a virgin again,” he murmurs, and his fingernails scrape against the bedsheets. He can’t quite make a fist — not yet — but if he could, he’d be doing that sexy clenching/unclenching thing where the veins in his hand stand out. Arousal slides between your legs and you make a show of drawing a finger through it. It’s a risk, you think as you raise it in front of you and rub the finger against your thumb. But you know every part of Loki, and he needs this. And now, if you’re careful, he can. Your finger, slick with your arousal, hovers close to Loki’s mouth and he opens, letting you dab it on his tongue. A dirty moan rumbles from his chest, and his eyes roll back like he’s tasted heaven. And maybe, for him, he has.

He's begged you over the past few weeks since he woke to let him touch you, to sit on his face; but he's been too delicate for that. Turning him down has been unbearable. He has a tough time controlling himself once the two of you start, and you couldn't live with yourself if you made it worse — but the lightened skin on his side is new. And it's good. “Roll on your side,” you whisper, grazing the finger down his shoulder. You press gently into the meat of his bicep. “See? It’s not bad, right?” His eyes light up. “Shhh,” you soothe, guiding the god to face you. His face contorts, a grunt slipping through his teeth. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls before the words 'maybe we should wait,' can even shape your tongue.

Loki positions himself on his side. His cock is straining against his stomach: flawless and pale against the backdrop of indigo abdominal muscle.

You kiss him a final time before curling against him, facing the wall. His cock slots perfectly between your ass-cheeks. Loki’s breath shakes against your neck: hot, quick. You hope he has his eyes closed; you hope he’s savouring every second of this as much as you are. As much as you relished the swell of his cum inside your gentle mouth over the past week since he’d recovered enough for you to show him how much you love him — this is different.

And fuck, you’ve missed him. You need this, both of you do. “Nothing fancy,” you whisper as you reach between your legs and cup the thick of his girth. Traces of pre-cum web against your fingers.  

“I don’t know what you mean, darling,” Loki croons. But beneath the bravado, his voice wavers.

The tip of his cock slides against your cunt. “We’ll need to be slow. I won’t be used to you after a month.” Loki’s chest shakes against your back with silent laughter. That must hurt, you think, but he presses a kiss into the curve of your neck. “Slow…I can do,” he says, before sucking a tender bite into the skin. Loki edges his hips forward, the crown of his cock nudging at the rim of your slit. You circle your hips, capturing it, pushing back just enough for your body to welcome him with a short pang of delicious pain. There’s an audible slurp as you take him deeper. You’d almost forgotten how good he feels inside you — almost.

“My love,” he croaks into your hair. You slide halfway down his length, and still. Loki pants gently, and you turn your face to his. “I fucking love you, Loki,” you breathe, “more than anything,” and his eyes grow wider. Those peaked brows sharpen as you sink to the base of his cock: ass meeting the flat of his toned stomach. He flinches. “I’m sorry.” You reach back and cup his jaw. Loki nuzzles into the touch. “Don’t be,” he says, tilting his hips back before burying inside you again with a whisper of, "I've missed you." Pleasure spreads beneath your skin like liquid silk. It’s everything: being in his arms; Loki buried in the deepest parts of you as his heart beats between your shoulder-blades. The ridges of his cock tug your neglected walls, an itch only he can scratch, and your fingers tighten against the bedsheets while his pretty gasps of praise caress your ear. The heat of his skin against your spine is electric. Loki’s hand slips over your waist, cupping your breast, brushing your nipple. “Be careful,” you whisper. But Loki’s kisses work down the curve of your shoulder, lingering on the angle of the blade.

His forehead presses against your skin: moist, warm, alive. Tears prick your eyes at the sudden, unwelcome, memory of when you thought you’d lost him forever. “I love you,” you moan again, and again, and again as he sinks in and retracts with each slow chant of the words.   Soon, you cum. And then, he follows. And Loki heals with each breath which makes your chest rise and fall while you slip beneath sleep: safe in his arms.

Tags in comments ❤️

A link to my Masterlist is here

[tender-rosiey]

hinting — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: thank @callmemirro for the bby fever idea but the video of the baby is what fueled the fire even more

you have a feeling that something has been plaguing your husband’s mind. it’s not a bad thing—like that way too expensive pea-sized handbag he wanted to get just to clown it.

it’s actually good and adorable especially with the way it gets him all smiley and bubbly.

you also started to notice when exactly he gets into these moods or rather regarding what.

for example, you were browsing the store once for new clothes. you and satoru agreed to split to search on a wider scale for discounts.

so when he came back, all smiley and excited, you expected a 50% sale or something. instead, you got surprised with possibly the cutest baby pajama ever.

“what do you think, babe? it’s so cute especially the little smiling duck in the middle!”

you take it from him, examining it up close. truthfully, the material is pretty good and it is soft on the skin. there is only one problem though.

you look up to your husband with a smile, “but, honey, we don’t have a baby.”

satoru deflates for a single second before standing up straight, proud, “hey, now! we can always get it for future plans,” he ogles you, but you quickly pinch his nose.

“haha, very funny.” you start pushing the cart towards that one outfit you liked with satoru following close by.

“y/n, I am serious!” he whines as his hand finds home on your waist.

“and I am a dinosaur in disguise.”

he gasps, “really?!”

“no.”

and that happened more than once.

another thing is that satoru has been obsessed with baby videos.

you remember that one time you were chilling on your beloved couch when he came stumbling into the room, clutching his phone and almost dying of laughter, “y/n! y/n! look at this baby!”

satoru is wheezing as he replays the video over and over again. his uncontrollable laughter is music to your ears, but you feel that you’re going to have to take him to a therapist or a mental hospital.

he laughs loudly for sure, but he has been like this for 4 hours, showing you a baby video every minute or so.

you look at him with sympathy as he cackles, “it was so ready to square up too—huh, what’re you doing?”

you pull him into your embrace and he immediately melts, arms wrapping around you in an instant.

you gently rub his back and press a kiss to the top of his head, “my poor baby,” you coo and gojo lights up: have you finally understood what he has been hinting at?

you cup his face and kiss his cheeks, “work must’ve taken quite a toll on you; we can go to the hosp—“

“hey! that’s just mean!”

he huffs moving away and giving you his back, but then he looks back at you, “but the baby was cute, right?”

you laugh, resting your chin on his shoulder, “yeah, in a way, it reminded me of megumi.”

“you’re so right! even as a first-grader, he was so ready to fight anyone.”

another memorable incident happened when you were in a park, taking a walk with your darling husband.

it was peaceful, accompanied by the squeals of children, the coolness of the ice cream, and the comfort of your husband’s presence. speaking of which, where’s that guy?

you look around, searching for a very prominent walking paintbrush. you blink once, twice, and he is finally in front of you with a huge grin, “y/n, look at this cutie pie I just met!”

you soften at the sight of the giggling baby in his arms. the little baby girl reaches out for you and you cradle her in your arms.

cooing at her, you rock gently while making silly faces and it makes her laugh a laugh from her belly. it also makes a certain someone sport the most lovesick smile known to existence.

smiling, you look at your husband, “where did you find her? was she lost?”

your husband sweatdrops and looks to the side, glasses showing off his bright blue eyes, “about that—“

“there he is, officer! he took my baby!”

so yeah, something is up with your husband, and you have had enough with him hiding it from you. god is on your side today as you’re finally able to back him into a corner and finally interrogate him.

“satoru, is there something you want to tell me?” you ask the man, breathless after running around the school for a couple of hours.

silence occupies the room before your husband finally gives in.

he takes a deep breath and hugs you, resting his head on your shoulder, “I want…” he mumbles, “I want a baby, please?”

you are silent for a moment then you make him look you in the eyes, “really?”

“really,” he says, voice unwavering, “I know that it might be scary, but we have experience with tsumiki and megumi, and they turned out just fine!” he starts rambling, “except for megumi, he can be bratty sometimes, but point is!” he holds your hands in his, “I want to start a family with you, but if you don’t want—“

“okay.”

“—to I completely understand and…wait—did you just say okay?”

“yeah,” you beam, “let’s have a baby. you could’ve said that right away, silly.”

he stares at you for a bit, “do you have any idea how LONG I HAVE BEEN—“

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[taegimood]

subby gamer nerd soobin whining while you suck him off under the desk,,

he’s not allowed to cum until he wins butttt he can’t exactly focus on the game while you’re down there

BERRIE YOU BETTER BE CAREFUL WITH WHAT YOU UNLEASH FROM WITHIN ME GRRRRRR SNARL SNARL BARK GRRRRR

you’re feeling bored and mischievous and horny so what better way to entertain yourself than to torture your hot loser boyfriend ??

he’s glued to his gaming chair going up against beomgyu (you can tell from the screams on the other end of his headset) and he already knows EXACTLY what you’re up to when you slide yourself under his desk poor soob this ain’t the first time this has happened eyes widening as he quickly mutes his mic and goes “b-baby please, n-not-“ but he’s choking on his words the second your hand starts sliding up his jittery thigh and he knows that that’s it, he’s done for.

“lift your hips.” you order, and he swallows hard as his eyes flicker down to you nervously, but he obeys anyway as you slide his sweatpants and boxers down, lowering yourself dangerously close to his hardening cock.

“baby-“

“you can’t cum until you win for me, soobin.”

he groans, whether out of frustration or arousal or both; you’re taking your sweet time teasing your fingertips along his inner thigh and soobin knows there’s no escape when you finally slide your hand around his cock and squeeze.

he whimpers, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he idles frozen over his keyboard, cheeks red and gaze flitting between you and the screen, beomgyu calling out to him confusedly through the muted headset.

you smirk as this gives you an idea.

“mic on, baby. don’t want gyu getting suspicious or anything, hm?”

he gapes at you, eyes widening. “what?! n-no! i-i can’t, he’s gonna-“

“mic. on.”

he swallows hard. his eyes are glued to you, cock fully hard now in your hand, his breath staggering at your commanding tone.

wordlessly he reaches up and presses the button.

“good boy,” you whisper.

soobin is already melting.

“now keep playing, hm? remember what i told you?”

he nods quickly, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from you and back to the screen, stammering out a rushed apology to beomgyu with some lame excuse that his friend definitely would’ve caught on to if he only cared enough, and you smirk to yourself as you start to pump your hand up and down.

you’re impressed by your boyfriend’s resolve over the next few minutes, but unfortunately for him, that just isn’t your goal today.

soobin inhales sharply when your warm lips close around his tip.

he clears his throat, leg bouncing nervously, and as you take him deeper you can tell how desperately he’s already trying to hold back.

the next 15 minutes are agonizing for soobin as you suck and stroke him to the edge and back, over and over again, his gasps and moans played off as frustration over the game that he cannot get himself to fucking win, his concentration breaking the further he falls apart under your touch.

“soobin hyung!!! what is wrong with you? why are you being so weird right now??”

you giggle at the sound of beomgyu’s complaints.

“i mean i know that i’m better than you in every possible way, but you normally put up more of a fight than this.“

“j-just- just shut up and l-lose already.”

soobin’s face is flushed, breathing labored, abdomen clenched tight as he grits his teeth, eyes pleading as the filthy wet sounds you’re causing fill his room and god, hopefully NOT beomgyu’s.

his throbbing cock is covered in your spit and his own pre-cum as he tips his head back against the chair, jaw going slack as you suddenly deepthroat him - his thighs tensing up as you pull off just as quickly when you think he’s too close for your liking.

he groans out in frustration, fingers slamming down on the keys with a new vigor as the next round starts, and beomgyu’s cackling remark of “you sound like you’re fighting for your fucking life,” couldn’t be closer to the truth as your boyfriend lets out something between a gasp and a moan at the speed that you suddenly start pumping him with.

this time you don’t stop, your hands and your mouth working him all at once, his hips bucking and twitching in his seat and breath coming out in short, aching gasps -

“fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- FUCK!!!! YES!!!! FINALLY!!!!”

you’re momentarily shocked at the sudden outburst, beomgyu’s protests and the game’s chiming “you win!” quickly swept into the background as you’re suddenly being pulled up and tossed onto soobin’s bed before you can even blink.

his lips desperately find yours in an instant, clothes coming off in record time, and he’s moaning before he’s even touched you as he lines himself up with your already-soaked entrance - “please, please, please, need it so bad, need to come, fuck-“

“fuck me, baby. you earned it.”

without a moment’s hesitation he’s thrusting into you desperately, moaning and whimpering in relief, face buried in your neck as he fucks you into the mattress and through his own orgasm, still hard as he keeps going, so overstimulated but he just can’t bring himself to stop.

and of course neither of you pay any attention to the game’s background music still carrying on; and of course, neither of you pay any attention to the fact that in soobin’s lust-clouded rush, he forgot to end the call with his best friend, and beomgyu’s shock morphs to guilt before it turns quickly into something else.

laying back in his gaming chair desperately getting himself off to the sound of his best friend fucking his girl wasn’t a position that beomgyu ever thought he’d find himself in — but it’s a secret that he swears he’s gonna take to the grave.

…or is it?

[mioons]

꒰ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾 ꒱ ──── 她是我的

୨୧ 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 ੭ 𝗅𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗑 𝒻𝖾𝗆. 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ⟢ 𝑔 : 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝑤 : 523 𝑤𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 : 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝒞𝖠𝖳𝖠𝖫♡𝖴𝖦𝖤 | 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 ♥︎

⊹ 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 | This is for User Flwrstqr Only

he didn’t like it. not one bit. heeseung hates when you talk to another guy or rather he hates when your attention isn’t solely on him.

with one arm wrapped securely around your waist, he stood behind you as you engaged in a conversation with a guy from your class. was it biology or chemistry? he couldn’t bother to remember since nobody else really mattered to him except you, his family, and friends.

after your conversation with the other guy was over, you turned around to only be met with an annoyed looking heeseung.

“why the long face? did something happen?” you asked and tilted your head slightly in curiosity.

“oh nothing, just that i saw some random idiot get a little bit too close to my girlfriend. but y’know, it’s nothing.” he replied and rolled his eyes. he retracted his arm from your waist and dropped it to his side. the warmth of his hand left and you felt oddly cold.

“are you jealous?”

“no.”

“liar,” you tutted your tongue. you reached out to grab onto his arm and gently intertwined your fingers with his. though his words seem cold and harsh, his actions said otherwise about how he felt.

heeseung looked down at you, trying to fight back to urge to pepper tiny little kisses all over your face and neck. “what can i do to make it better hee?” you asked with that oh so sweet tone you always used whenever he was mad at you.

“a kiss,” was all he mumbled under his breath. suddenly his eyes darted away from you and he got all shy again. how cute you thought to yourself. only you ever got to see this side of him.

“that’s all you want?” you asked with a slight smirk in your voice. heeseung looked back at you for a split second before looking away once again, “is.. is there a problem?”

the way he went from looking like a angry bulldog to a small puppy almost made you cackle. you shook your head and sighed, “i thought you wanted me to like buy you ice cream or—“

heeseung grew a little impatient and you running your mouth irritated him a little bit, which made him crash his lips onto yours in a searing manner.

his hand slipped down to hold your waist while the other cupped one side of your cheek. your hands found themselves tangling in his hair, running your fingers through his red wine locks while locking your lips onto his.

you two pulled away after what felt like a century though it was only a minute or two. when you pulled away, you were breathless and lowered your hands down to wrap themselves around his neck loosely, holding onto heeseung for stability.

looking up at him, you could see a faint and smug smile plastered across his handsome face.

“are you… are you satisfied now?” you asked between breaths. he squeezed your hip gently and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“nope. not one bit.”

and the next thing you knew, his lips were back onto yours again.

ㅤ✿ — @won4kiss @dioll @en-gelic @flwrstqr @jakesangel @hoonored

[mydemimonde]

'Cherry Bomb' | Michael Gavey x Reader (Part 1)

a/n: this will have two parts, most likely! english is not my first language and i have no idea how oxford university works lol i just googled some things, also i suck at maths so any explanation here is just me googling shit. no beta reader. hope you enjoy!

Summary: You wake up with a pounding headache, the worst hangover you ever had. You don't even remember how you managed to get to your dorm, until you see a small note on your bedside table, signed by... Michael Gavey.

Words: 4490

Warnings: +18 (minors do not interact!), female reader, no use of y/n, not specific physical description, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, fingering, loss of virginity, masturbation (and more to come in the second part)

You wake up on a Saturday morning with a pounding headache, your mascara all smudged under your eyes. The sunlight coming from the blinds makes you squint your eyes. You bring a hand to your forehead, sighing. This was the worst hangover you had in a while.

The sound of the door opening and a sudden gasp make you groan and close your eyes shut.

“Oh, here you are!” a particularly high-pitched voice says, making your headache even worse.

“Fuck, Leigh” your voice comes out as croaky and hoarse. “Lower your voice” you ask as she mutters a ‘sorry’ and closes the door carefully. You manage to sit, your back resting against the headboard as Leigh approaches you.

“Next time, be sure to drink water as well. Too many tequilas and shots do this to you” it’s like she’s scolding you, which is fair because she’s two years older than you, she’s like your sister sometimes.

You rub your eyes, smearing more mascara and making you look like a raccoon. On the corner of your eye you notice a glass full of water and some aspirins. You frown.

“How did you get that so fast?” It’s Leigh’s turn to look at you completely puzzled. You point to the glass next to you.

“Uhm, it wasn’t me” she chuckles as you take some aspirins in your hand and drown them with water. Your brows lift in surprise and confusion, your eyes glancing towards a small note next to your lamp. You grab it and read the message in a rushed handwriting.

“What the fuck was Michael Gavey doing in my dorm?” you nearly scream with wide eyes as Leigh takes the note from your hands to read it. She throws her head back and cackles.

“Michael Gavey brought you here last night. You don’t remember?” she looks at your dumbfounded expression trying not to laugh again. “Jeez, you were so drunk you don’t even remember what happened…” she mutters and sits cross-legged in front of you. “Last night at the pub, we were chatting with Felix and his group and you wanted to go to the loo, so you left but on your way you bumped into Bradley and Sam” she wiggles her brows and you scoff.

You dated Bradley during half the second term, then you dated his friend Sam for a brief period of two weeks. You found them too boring, so you rejected any other advance on their part ever since.

“Anyways, I couldn’t see much but I think something nasty happened, because on the other side of the pub was Michael fucking Gavey looking at you. Babe, he was fuming” her lips curve into a devilish smile. “He strode towards you and grabbed your arm, telling them to fuck off. Which they surprisingly did, which is odd because, well… you know… he’s a scrawny awkward nerd and Bradley and Sam are pretty much tall like beasts” she shakes her head while you’re still confused, trying so hard to remember what happened. 

“Why the hell would he even approach me? He hates me” your brows lift and she places a manicured hand on your knee.

“Hmm, maybe they were annoying you. It seems Michael’s your knight in shining armour. I think it was hot, wet my panties a little bit not gonna lie” she sighs and fans her face with her hand, pretending to melt.

Now it is your turn to cackle. “You’ve always said you pictured him like one of those guys who compulsively jerks off to hentai every night in the dark of his room.” You look at her with a knowing look, pouting your lips.

Leigh shrugs. “Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I like nerds like Michael Gavey now. He looked really good with that shirt” she narrows her eyes and twirls her hair, making you laugh again. She grins and looks at you. “You should talk to him. Ask him what happened, and then you might want to thank him…” she wiggles her eyebrows and you roll your eyes, she slaps your shoulder in response. “You know you want to! I mean, I’ve seen the way you look at him sometimes, and a guy like him will never resist a bomb like you. Who knows, maybe he’s jerking off to the thought of you…”

“Leigh!” you slap her leg and she jumps. You shake your head. “Babe, she hates me. I know it. I’m pretty sure he’s part of that group of guys that slut-shames me in the hallways” Leigh presses her lips, knowing you might be right. Might.

Still, you want to know what really happened last night, so you sigh and get out of bed, Leigh following your movements in the dimly lit dorm. “I’ll take a shower and think about how to talk to him, ask him what happened” your friend gets on her stomach on your bed, her feet up and her chin resting on her palm as you grab your towel, feeling the headache go away, but your empty stomach grumbled.

“Mind if I take a nap here? Kev fucked my brains out last night and I don’t feel like going to my dorm” she sounded quite tired, and you hum in response. She groans as she gets into the covers and you enter the small bathroom, closing the door slowly and undressing to get into the warm shower, letting the water fall all over your body. You close your eyes enjoying the feeling, and you start wondering how to talk to Michael.

You never saw him anywhere else rather than in the great hall of college, as he spent most of the time in the library. Besides, you know deep in your gut he hates you. Every time you walk into the library, he leaves, avoiding looking at you.

One time, you tried to talk to him. It was the beginning of the academic year, you were dating a history student named David, and you saw Michael all alone during lunch, too focused on his books and his crunchies. Feeling bad for him, you grabbed your purse and walked towards him, a smile across your face.

“Hi there” you introduce yourself, extending your hand. He looks up from his book, looking at you with a frown, sneering. He looks at your hand and then back at you. Awkwardly, you move that hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pressing your lips. “What’s your name?”

“Michael Gavey” he says sharply, clearly annoyed. You stand there, feeling heat creeping on your cheeks as he turns his attention to his book. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out so you leave, returning to your friends.

That was the first and last time you tried to talk to him, but he refused. You didn’t know why, but you assumed it was because of your reputation there. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your sexuality, and it’s definitely not your fault that most of the guys are horny douchebags who aren’t capable of being in a serious relationship. Plus, they’re too shallow for you, and you get bored easily. You don’t want them to get too attached.

But Michael’s different. He avoids interacting with people when he can, he doesn’t do parties -maybe you saw him once or twice at Felix’s-, he’s very vocal about what he thinks about popular people: he hates them. Vapid cunts, you heard him mutter once. And that’s why you feel attracted to him.

He’s nothing like Bradley, Sam or David. Or Luke. Or Peter. Or even Felix.

You finish showering and drying off your hair, Leigh sleeping soundly on your bed. You are careful not to make any loud noise as you try to dress. You put on a lace tank top and a pair of jeans, your favourite flats and the note he left on your bedside table and head out to the library, hoping to find him.

Bingo. You see Michael sitting on the other side of the library, fully immersed in his studies. Your flats make the slightest of noises against the floor, you feel your heartbeat get faster as you approach him. You pull the chair in front of him and take a seat, leaning over as you smile and say hi. Michael looks up and nearly chokes at the sight of your tits nearly spilling from your top.

“H-hi” he simply responds in a low voice. He clears his throat and frowns. “Why are you here?”

Ouch. Rude. “I was looking for you.”

“You were?” Silly old me?

“Yes, dummy. I woke up with the worst hangover of my life, and I found this on my bedside table.” You hand him the small note he left. Drink these with water. Hope you feel better. Michael Gavey. He presses his lips and nods, acknowledging the note he wrote.

“You were pretty hammered” he chuckles and you smile, showing your perfect teeth.

“I was. I can’t remember a thing, Michael. Would you help me to fill in the blanks?” you ask sweetly and bat your lashes at him, making him squirm. Michael Gavey squirms.

“Sure, uhm…” he puts the book aside, scratches the back of his neck and clears his throat once again. “You were heading towards the toilet at the pub and I heard you laugh when you bumped into those assholes” he sneers, remembering the events from last night. “The blonde one landed a hand on your ass and you tried to pull him away. You were clearly uncomfortable so just told them to fuck off” he shrugs.

Your heart flutters, he sounds so honest and worried about you. You extend your hand to place it on top of his, and he meets your eyes. “Thank you.”

He nods, looking at your hands. He slithers them away, making you frown. “No worries. Next time though, try not to throw up on my sneakers” your eyes widen in surprise and embarrassment.

“Oh fuck, did I do that?” He nods trying to hide a smirk. You cover your face with your hands, mortified. “Shit, I’m so sorry!” You move your hands away from your flushed face when you hear him chuckle.

“You had too many drinks, you could barely stand on your feet” he reassures you, his sudden kindness taking you by surprise. “I left you in your dorm and just when I was about to leave, you said you felt like throwing up, but you didn’t make it to the toilet and threw up on my sneakers. I washed the stain off the floor and helped you get off your shoes to lie down. I see you took the aspirins I left there.”

“I did, thank you again.” You don’t know how to thank him properly, so you start thinking. You take a moment to study his features. The glasses he wears frame his face and hide his blue eyes. His aquiline nose —oh God, his aquiline nose—, the pronounced cupid bow of his lips, his sharp jaw. You feel the need to run your fingers through his tousled blonde hair. You press your legs together. “How can I thank you?”

“No, it’s ok. No worries” he makes a gesture with his hands and sighs. “Uhm, I really need to study, so…” he trails off, subtly telling you to leave. You blink and nod, standing up.

“Sure, ok, I’ll leave you to it…” you accommodate the chair back and wave at him. “See you around?” He just nods and opens his book again. As you leave, a great idea crosses your mind, but before you open your mouth a pack of students enter the library. You curse internally and leave.

9:15 AM.

You fix your hair in the mirror, brushing it before going to the calculus lecture. You’re not studying anything related to maths actually, you’re a psychology student and according to the university program you can take a course to complement your studies, so you chose that one.

As you walk down the corridors, you see Michael carrying his notebook and entering the classroom. Your lips curve into a smile and speed up the pace to catch up.

“Michael!” You call him as you finally reach him. You swear you hear him mutter something under his breath, and you follow him as more students fill the room. He smiles at you with pressed lips, greeting you back.

“I didn’t know you were taking calculus” he sounds genuinely surprised. You decide to take a seat next to him, placing your bag on the floor as he opens his notebook and clicks his pen, everything ready to take notes.

“Yeah, I have to take an optional course to complement my studies” you lean down, giving him a clear view of your cleavage as you reach for your notebook and pencil case. You hear him gulp.

“How… dedicated” he replies, to which you smile, taking the end of your pencil in between your teeth.

Michael looks away, his eyes focusing on the board as the professor greets everyone and starts writing.

Half an hour later the lecture comes to an end. You sigh in relief, your brain has melted from all the numbers and formulas the professor explained. Honestly, you paid more attention to Michael’s large hands and long fingers gripping his pen as he took notes, thinking about how they would feel on your body.

You watch as he stands up quickly, nodding at you as a way to say goodbye. “See ya”

“Michael, wait!” You quickly put your notebook into your bag and rush after him. “Shall we study together? We can do the assignment due by next week together” you offer him your signature smile, tilting your head and thinking he wouldn’t say no. Most guys melted when you smiled at them like that.

However, your confidence vanishes when he grimaces and scratches his neck. “Actually, I… I don’t study in groups. Doesn’t work for me”.

Why are you surprised, it is obvious. You always see him alone in the libraries. You curse yourself internally. “Oh, well…”

“I’m sure you will do great though, you seem like a clever girl” the praise coming from his lips make you silently gasp.

“Yeah, you’re right…” Just as he’s about to leave, an idea pops in your head. “Actually, Michael… I’m struggling with this subject.”

Lies. You aren’t a genius like he is, but you can manage. You don’t like maths but you don’t suck at it either, you do good. Enough to pass the subject.

“I was wondering if you could help me” you do your best to sound helpless, knitting your brows and all. “Everyone says you’re a fucking genius, please, Mike?” He swallows hard at the way you practically beg him for help, placing a hand on his elbow.

He doubts only for a few seconds before agreeing. “Ok. I will help you” he yelps as you wrap your arms around him, your tits flash against his chest making him dizzy.

“Oh, thank you Michael!” you pull back, teeth biting down on your lower lip as you smile. “Can we start today? I would tell you to come to my dorm, but my friend Leigh is currently staying there because they found a rat clogging her toilet.” Another big lie.

Michael just nods, he doesn’t really have too many options. “Fine. Uhm, my dorm is on the second floor, 219. I’ll be there at 4pm, bring your notes and a calculator.”

You playfully salute him, like a good soldier. “Yes, Sir” he chuckles softly and shakes his head, turning on his heels to leave.

You can barely contain your joy as you walk towards your dorm, almost singing.

3:40 PM.

You try on different outfits, grunting when you look at yourself in the mirror for the fifth time. You don’t like any fit, and you continue rummaging through the pile of clothes on your bed. You lift your brow as a red fabric catches your attention. It’s the mini skirt Leigh gave you a few weeks ago. You quickly put it on and look at yourself in the mirror once again, happy with the result. Your white baby tee with ‘cherry bomb’ in red letters written on it makes the perfect match.

You grab your notebook and head towards his dorm.

“Coming” you hear Michael’s voice behind the door. He will surely be coming today. He opens the door, breath hitching at the sight of you in that top, your nipples peeking through the fabric. Suddenly he feels his pants are too tight. “Please, come in” he gives you enough space to enter his dorm, which you do. As you walk past him the smell of your perfume fills his nostrils. Fuck.

You smile at him and as he closes the door behind you, you look around the room. It was just what you expected. Everything was perfectly neat, books organised in two bookshelves, more textbooks and notes scattered over the white desk.

“Take a seat over there” he points at the bed, and you gladly do it. “Do you want something to drink? Eat? I have some crunchies.”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” You flash him a sweet smile as you open your bag, looking for your notes and your pen.

Michael sits next to you, keeping a safe distance of course, but close enough you can hear his hard breathing. “Ok, we can start with the basics, and then I’ll help you with the exercises, sounds good?” When you nod, he continues. “Cool. So, think of limits as a way to understand what happens to a function as it gets closer and closer to a certain point without actually reaching it.”

“That sounds paradoxical” you cut him off, and he suppresses a smile.

“It does seem counterintuitive, but it's about observing the behaviour of a function as it gets infinitely close to a specific value.” He continues explaining, and you pay attention to every word that comes out from those beautiful lips.

Michael’s brows lift in surprise as you finish another task quickly, and he’s even more surprised when he checks it and there are no mistakes. He didn’t find any mistakes in the previous 5 exercises he provided for you either. You just look up at him, waiting for his correction.

He looks back at you. “You did perfectly well. Again.” You squeak and he takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t get it. Most students get the first ten exercises horribly wrong, but you solved all of them perfectly. H-how?”

You lean back on your arms, legs crossed. You tilt your head. “Maybe I’m just a quick study, learning from the best” you start moving your feet up his leg, slowly and carefully. He shakes his head as he puts on his glasses again, sighing.

“No. You’re just wasting my time.”

“What?” It’s actually the truth. You are wasting his time, you weren’t having any issues with the subject, you just wanted an excuse. “Ok, yes, I admit it” you lift your hands in defeat, and he curses.

“Why the fuck would you ask for my help if you don’t need it? Fuck, I have many important things to do and you’re here bothering me, leave please.”

You get on your feet quickly as he’s about to turn the doorknob, and you stop him. “No, Michael, please hear me out.” He glares at you, nostrils flaring as you take his wrist and guide him towards his bed, making him sit on the edge. He looks confused, you sit next to him, your knees touching.

“Look, I just wanted to thank you for what you did the other day. For being my knight in shining armour.” He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by placing your index finger there. “No, listen. I know it’s not a big deal for you, but it is for me. Michael, I want you.”

Michael’s eyes widen at your confession. “W-what?”

There’s no way you wanted him. You, out of all the people on the campus. Slowly, you lean in, wetting your lips with your tongue to press them against his mouth. You give him a soft peck before truly kissing him, your hands finding their way towards his tense shoulders. He doesn’t respond yet, but when you bite gently on his lower lip he whimpers, he fucking whimpers, and moves his lips against yours, trying to follow your rhythm. Your lips taste like cherries, and he loves it.

Kissing him feels good. You tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, feeling how he squirmed under your touch and kisses. You wonder how he would react when you have his cock in your mouth.

You slither your tongue inside his mouth, exploring it as he gets more excited, his hands finally touching you, placed on either side of your waist.

You pull back to catch your breath and he chases your lips. You giggle. “Easy there, lover boy. We have plenty of time.”

“Fuck, I- I… I’ve never done this” you frown, and he sighs. “I’ve never kissed anyone. Ever. That felt really good” he chuckles, and you smile.

“You liked it?” He just nods, and you start placing open mouthed kisses across his jaw, down his neck until you reach his ear and whisper. “Wait until I put my mouth on your cock.”

Michael gulps. “W-what?”

“You think I came here just because I wanted to kiss you? No, Michael” his eyes follow your movements, how you rise from his bed to kneel in front of him, hands undoing his jeans, looking for any sign of discomfort. When you find none, you continue, pulling down his jeans and boxers down to his knees, freeing his cock. “I came here because I really, really want this” you purr and lower your gaze to his weeping length, your cunt clenching around nothing already.

Michael’s big. At least, bigger than the ones you had. Curved upward with a protruding vein on the side. You bite your lip as you start stroking him, Michael closes his eyes shut and whimpers. You never heard someone whimper so beautifully. You study every reaction, every microexpression as you continue stroking him at a tantalising pace, as if you are torturing him.

“P-please…” he begs through bated breath, moving his hips as he tries to get some friction, anything.

“You look so beautiful begging, Michael. You’re making me so wet, baby” he cries out your name again, and you smirk. “Michael, open your eyes” you demand, and he does so, breath catching in his throat as he finds you there on your knees, looking at him like you were his predator. It was so fucking sexy.

“I want you to watch as I suck your cock. And you better last more than five minutes. I want you to enjoy it” he nods and swallows hard as you lick your lips before taking him into your mouth.

“Oh fuck” he curses, gripping the sheets beneath him until his knuckles are white. You lick the vein, going from the base upwards, and you hear him sigh. You lick him like you lick a lollipop, and then you take him into your mouth again, hollowing your cheeks as your right hand works its way around the base. He’s so big he doesn’t fit completely into your mouth.

You hum around his cock, your eyes closing as you bob your head up and down his shaft, making Michael squirm. He doesn’t know what to do, he just keeps looking at you, unable to tear his gaze from you.

The soft moans that escape his lips, the way he whimpers your name and bucks his hips ever so slightly, careful not to hurt you but eager to get more are enough to make you wet. Hell, you are sure your panties are soaked by now, leaking through the fabric.

His eyes widen as he catches the movement of your left hand that was on his inner thigh going in between your legs, under the skirt. Were you touching yourself?

You bob your head faster and moan around his cock as you tease your wet folds with your fingers. You push two fingers inside your pussy, the room filling with the most obscene sounds you ever heard.

“Are you… are you touching y-yourself?” asks Michael in a strangled moan, watching you intently. You release his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, your saliva coating it.

“Of course I am, Michael. I’m fucking wet. Here” you take off your fingers from your pussy to grab his hand, and guide it towards your entrance.

Michael almost passes out. You are, in fact, dripping wet on his fingers. You let him touch you for a moment, grinding your hips against his hand, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit so deliciously. “S-shit, Michael” you bite your lip and he grins, happy to earn that reaction from you. You feel him twitch in your hand, the tell tale sign that he was very close to cumming. You remove your hands from your cunt and he frowns.

“Did-did I hurt you?”

“No, baby. But tonight’s about you, ok? I can teach you how to eat my pussy later, yeah? Right now, I want you to cum in my mouth. Whenever you’re ready” you wink at him and he chokes on a sob as you take him into your mouth again, slowly until you feel him in the back of your throat. Some tears well up in your eyes, you moan around his cock and that pushes him.

He bucks his hips and shoots his load deep down your throat, you look at him through your lashes and see how hard he grips the sheets, his chest heaving as he moans your name. He stays still for a while, panting as you swallow his salty cum, wiping the corner of your mouth with your hand.

“Holy fuck” he mutters, still trying to catch his breath. You get on your feet and plant a kiss on his lips, letting him taste himself on your tongue. “Now… shall I… well, uhm” he’s unsure about what to ask.

“Eat my pussy?” you finish for him and he nods eagerly, you giggle. “Another day, baby.”

“But you… you were touching yourself and didn’t get to cum, right? I have to return the favour—”

“No, Michael. Don’t worry” you reassure him with a kind smile, stroking his cheek. You lean in to kiss him again, and then, you whisper in his ear: “I’ll just finger myself until I cum in my bedroom to the thought of you.”

You smirk as he looks at you with his jaw dropped. You blow him a kiss, open the door and leave.

let me know what you think! and if you'd like to be tagged as well 🫶🏻

[werepuppy-steve]

Robin has spent plenty of time watching Steve Harrington from the shadows. The way he continuously stayed on the sidelines of the rest of his friends’ bullying was interesting. He never said too much of anything when it happened, didn’t look all that interested in it, either. Just leaned against a locker and looked bored out of his mind.

Until a week before Thanksgiving break a couple years ago, when Tommy Hagan started bragging to anyone who’d listen about how Steve got his shit rocked by Jonathan Byers and promptly dumped him and Carol to the curb after. Sure, Tommy made sure to mention that Steve was the one to push until Jonathan finally snapped and punched him, but he didn’t say how Steve had gone limp after. Letting Byers rearrange his face until a teacher ran over to break them up.

She remembers how lost he’d looked in the aftermath. Like he was a shell of himself.

So yeah. Steve Harrington isn’t the same person he was in high school. Or at least he’s trying not to be, that much Robin has noticed since he started working at Scoops at the beginning of the summer. But she didn’t think he’d changed so much to be openly flirting with the Freak of Hawkins.

Well. Not exactly flirting, but there’s something there Robin can’t quite put her finger on.

Steve’s manning the counter, right where she’d left him twenty minutes ago, but instead of looking like the picture of boredom slinging ice cream to annoying kids, he’s leaned his elbows on the counter where Eddie Munson is doing the same on the other side. They’re too quiet for Robin to hear what they’re talking about but Steve’s fingers are hooked on Eddie’s watch, not pulling or tugging. Just resting.

Eddie’s hands are clasped in front of him but his pointer finger keeps reaching out to lightly stroke Steve’s arm, and that’s when it hits Robin like a slap in the face.

They’re domestic.

The lobby is empty, save for Eddie’s friends that now occupy one of the booths, loudly arguing over something but Robin could care less because at that moment, Steve says something that has Eddie letting out a cackle laugh, his nose scrunched up and his shoulders shaking as he laughs. Her eyes slide over to Steve and he’s.

Huh.

Gone is the usual smug smirk that graces his face when a girl laughs at one of his (awful) jokes, and is replaced by something… fond. His face is relaxed into a small smile and his round Bambi eyes are shining with mirth. Like he’d expected this reaction. Sometime during this, their fingers have tangled together in a subtle hand-hold across the counter and holy shit.

Steve Harrington is dating Eddie Munson.

One of Eddie’s friends (Jeff, she thinks. They had pre-calc together.) says something and Steve only rolls his eyes as he replies. Eddie’s grinning at them over his shoulder. Neither of their postures have changed. Robin feels like the room’s spinning.

She knows about Eddie. Eddie knows about her. It’s never been verbally said, but birds of a feather and all that. It doesn’t have to be. She must accidentally bump into something in her attempt to rebalance the world because Steve’s head is snapping toward her and panic flashes in his eyes as he tries to rip his hands away from Eddie’s.

Eddie only holds them tighter as he locks eyes with her.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he tells Steve in a hushed tone. In front of him, Steve’s visibly shaking like a leaf, mouth opening and closing but not making a sound. Robin’s heart breaks a little. He looks downright terrified. Eddie’s eyes haven’t left her. “She’s safe. Aren’t you, Birdie?”

The question is directed at her. She swallows and nods quickly. “Y-yeah!” She winces at the volume of it. Clearing her throat, she tries again, taking a step forward like she’s approaching a frightened animal. “You can trust me, Steve.” Uses his first name instead of the ‘dingus’ that’s grown affectionate. “I'm—” She glances over at the booth that’s gone quiet. She doesn’t want to out herself to the entire freak population of Hawkins High.

“I’m a friend,” she settles on.

It takes Steve a moment for it to sink in, and when it does, his eyes somehow grow bigger in understanding. “Oh,” he breathes out, like a sigh of relief. Eddie’s rubbing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.

“Yeah, dingus.” Robin’s close enough now to nudge his shoulder with hers. “Oh. Why don’t you go on break? I’ve got this.”

Steve gives her a grateful look and tugs Eddie to the booth to join Eddie’s —their— friends.

“It’s about damn time you guys remembered the rest of us,” the curly haired one complains as they both slide in on the same side. Eddie throws a straw wrapper at him and Robin stops paying attention after that.

permanent taglist: @yournowheregirl @judasofsuburbia @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy @scarcrossdlvrs @starrystevie @inairbinad @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual @theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie @corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero

🥐☕💕 buy me a coffee?

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 8

Part 7

Shockingly, it turns out Danny knows how to cook. He's good at it, even, and when Tucker expresses his disbelief at the practiced way Danny moves in the kitchen Danny snorts.

“You know what the Fenton kitchen was like. When I got out of there and had access to food and kitchens that weren't biohazards, I learned eventually. I have a very distinct appreciation for good food nowadays, and I like being able to make it myself.”

He puts music on through a little Bluetooth speaker on the counter, invites them to participate, and they cook.

It's fun. They dance, they drink, they sample ingredients as they put their pizzas together. There's a minor flour war that sets off rounds of giggling and shrieking - more importantly it makes Danny cackle in a way she used to love and hasn't gotten to hear since they were teens.

It's exactly the same, and she missed it. Pure impish delight and mischief.

For as many things that are the same, there are ones that have changed.

Danny has a grace to him now that he didn't used to, and he moves near silently. He sways easily and elegantly to the music without thinking about it as they talk and make mischief with each other.

The oven and the adjusted thermostat make it much more comfortable in the apartment after a while, but Danny doesn't shed the pullover sweater he wears at any point. He didn't even roll the sleeves up to cook.

Come to think of it, when they entered high school he started doing that too. He wore long sleeves even in the summer - Sam tries not to think about abusive households or self harm. She hopes it's not that, but…

She puts the thoughts aside as well as she can.

Tucker had mentioned it before to her, but with all the grinning and laughing tonight Sam can see that he was right and Danny's teeth are sharper than she remembers. All four canine teeth are almost startlingly pointy.

She doesn't mention it. What she does mention is the apartment.

“This is a really nice place, Danny. You got a secret sugar daddy you haven't told us about?”

Tucker gapes at her and smacks her arm. Danny bluescreens for a moment before he snorts an ugly laugh and descends into near hysterics.

“Oh my God! Ancients, no! No, no sugar daddy. Just a well paying engineering gig lately, and some money I saved up before I left Amity. Holy shit, Sam.”

She shrugs, some tension she didn't know she was carrying leaving her shoulders. “Had to ask. Would have had a shovel talk to deliver.”

Danny starts laughing again, and Tucker groans and puts his head in his hands.

“I cannot believe you actually just asked him that,” Tucker moans.

“I can,” Danny responds with a chipper grin, Tucker's answering snort overlaid by the ding of the oven timer.

Danny knocks back the rest of his drink and waves in the vague direction of the living room area.

“I'll take this out and cut it. Go sit and we can eat it around the coffee table in case we want to watch a movie or something?”

The sitting area is spacious and comfortable, couches black leather. There's a heavy, fluffy white throw over the back of one that looks soft as all get out, but she and Tuck quickly decide to settle on the floor.

The coffee table is low enough that it's more convenient for reaching food and drinks set on it.

Tucker whistles appreciatively at the TV, so it must be a cutting edge new model. Fucking nerd.

Danny trots over not long after with two serving boards balanced precariously on one arm, his refilled sangria in one hand, the pitcher of sangria in the other and another beer held against his side by an awkward elbow.

Tucker and Sam both shoot to their feet to try and mitigate a disaster, but miraculously it all makes it to the table unharmed.

“It's almost like you guys don't trust me,” Danny pouts, his grin ruining it. “Careful, it's hot.”

“You are a perpetual accident waiting to happen,” Sam tells him scathingly, and he snorts with a peculiar look on his face.

“You don't know the half of it.”

As they all reach for slices of pizza, Danny takes them by surprise by taking a piece of Sam's, not Tucker's.

Tucker gapes at him. “Dude. Tell me you haven't betrayed me like that.”

Danny snorts, shoulders shaking with quiet chuckles. “Nah, I still eat meat. It's just sometimes I have spells where it kind of bothers me and I feel a little sick about it? I'm in one of those lately, but usually I'm still a huge burger and steak guy. Don't worry.”

“Huh. That's weird.”

Danny shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza despite his own warnings and cringing when it burns his mouth.

“Been like that since high school, actually. Used to be worse then,” he mumbles through his attempts to cool a mouthful of molten cheese.

Sam doesn't remember him ever having issues with it in middle school. She wonders what happened to change his outlook, but puts it aside. They're here to hang out and catch up. Have a good time. Not interrogate Danny.

They end up spending hours watching trashy TV and heckling the screen, making small talk and letting each other in on bits of their lives all the while. Everyone's well on their way to tipsy by the time they're done eating, though Danny a little more than Sam and Tuck.

He's loose-limbed and happy, sprawled across both of them in the haphazard pile they've ended up in. He seems incredibly content, and it does Sam's heart good to see him so relaxed.

She and Tucker are sitting with their backs against the couch, Danny's legs slung across Tucker's lap and head in Sam's. It's probably why he notices her shiver a little - it's still a little chilly in the apartment.

Lazily, he points up at the back of the couch. “You can pull that down and cover us if you want. It's really warm.”

Sam offers him a quiet thanks and reaches up to do just that, though she's startled to find that though the top is fluffy, the underside of what she'd thought was a throw is velvety and smooth. Like hide.

It's a real fur - hopefully ethically sourced. Decorated too, there are ornaments threaded into the corners and dangling that she can't pin the origin of. They're very pretty, shells and claws and beads.

As she pulls it down, she flips the edge up to peek at the underside and is startled to find the skin a distinct, familiar ectoplasmic green.

“Um. Danny. What kind of fur is this…?”

“Yeti,” Danny replies offhandedly, sipping his drink before freezing like the question and his own answer just caught up to him. “Uh.”

Masterpost

[cozage]

OP Boys and..."I like the way your hand fits in mine."

Gender neutral reader 

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Kid, Shanks

Luffy

He took off down the street, intrigued by the sudden commotion. You barely had time to grab his hand before he vanished in front of you. 

“Luffyyyy!” You attempt to stand your ground to pull him back, but he has too much momentum already, and you slingshot towards him. “Luffy, slow down!”

You crash into him, sending you both tumbling into a poor couple nearby. Luffy’s gleeful cackle breaks through the stunned silence of the crowd. You quickly stand up and brush yourself off, embarrassed that the two of you have brought so much attention to yourselves. 

Luffy is still laughing as he stands up again with you. “Aw man! I like the way your hand fits in mine!” He grabs your hand again, interlacing his fingers with yours and squeezing it tightly. “Don’t let it go again!” He bounds off again, unfazed by the commotion he’s created, pulling you alongside him. “Let’s go find adventure!”

Zoro

There was an uneasiness that hung in the air along with the thick fog, and you felt yourself pressing closer to Zoro as you nervously eyed your surroundings. A sudden crash behind you made you jump, and you instinctively grabbed Zoro’s free hand and held it tightly. 

You could feel his eyes shift towards you, but he didn’t object, and you didn’t let go. You felt better knowing he couldn’t wander away. His hand wasn’t tense, despite your intense grip. He looked and felt calm, even though you could tell he was constantly looking for the perpetrator that you both knew was watching you.

Before you could register what was happening, he dropped your hand and drew his blade, slashing out at the unseen man who was charging at you through the fog. The man instantly dropped to the ground, unconscious. As he fell, Zoro sheathed his sword and dropped his arm back to his side. “Thanks,” you whispered, still processing exactly what just happened. Zoro merely grunted in return.

After a few moments, his hand brushed against yours, twitching. You pulled away and muttered an apology for bumping into him, but his hand chased after your own and grabbed it firmly. “I like the way your hand fits in mine,” he mutters, looking away and scratching the back of his head with his free hand. You can see his cheeks have a rose hue dancing across them, and you squeeze his hand in return. 

“Me too.”

Kid

“What the hell are you doing?” Kidd demands, confusion dancing across his face. 

“Look, we’re in handcuffs. It’s just easier to hold hands, okay?” Your wrist hurt from being jerked around by Kid’s antics. Perhaps if he could remember that he couldn’t use his hand, he’d be less likely to throw you around while moving it. 

Kid groans, but doesn’t protest any further. “Let’s just find a way to get out of these damn cuffs. I’m tired of not being able to use my devil fruit powers.”

You all quietly sneak through the halls and into the Administrative Office that held the keys to the hand cuffs. After trying three keys, the lock finally releases, and the shackles fall to the ground. 

As you retreat back through where you came, you realize you’re still holding Kid’s hand. Embarrassed, you start to let go, but he grips your hand tighter, refusing to let your hand slip away from his. “Not yet.” He says, pulling you along with him through the maze of matching corridors. 

“But I thought-”

“Yeah, well, I like the way your hand fits in mine.” He grips it tighter, on the verge of being painful. You give him a light squeeze of reassurance, and continue following him without another word, a smile lingering on your face for the rest of the escape. 

Shanks

The bar was lively, which was commonplace whenever the red-haired pirates were around. Shanks twirled you around on the dance floor, the two of you pushing together and pulling apart in perfect harmony. He was a great dancer, and you complimented each other well. 

The music was cut off abruptly by the sounds of glass breaking and people screaming. Shanks grabbed your hand and pulled you behind him, shielding you from any harm while he addressed the situation that was unfolding.

A young pirate group, about 20 members strong, had entered the tavern and started causing a ruckus. “Listen, fellas,” Shanks tone was lighthearted on the surface but was laced with threats. “We’re all here to have a good time, now. You’re going to have to settle down or head outside.”

The pirate crew laughed maliciously. “Don’t you know who we are, old man?” The leader sneered. “Our crew has a combined bounty of 700 million berries. I think you’re the one who needs to step outside.” You could hear footsteps approaching, but Shank’s frame obscured your vision from seeing the perpetrator. 

“Hey, what the-” the man who was speaking falters, and you can hear fists beating on flesh, swords being drawn. The townspeople scream and flee the tavern, leaving only pirates and those looking for a fight to battle it out.

Shanks turns back to you, still holding your hand. “Sorry about the interruption. Should just be a moment.” He smiles and spins you in a circle again.

You raise an eyebrow at the red-haired pirate. “You don’t want to help?”

“You see, I would. But the thing is,” he pauses for a moment a chuckles softly to you. “I just really like the way your hand fits in mine.”

You blush at the sentiment, and you all resume your dance, this time to battle cries and sword fights. 

[matryosika]

Recording Sessions

Pairing — 3racha and Reader

Wordcount — 3,485 words

Genre — Smut

Warnings — Dom!Chan and Changbin, Switch(sub lean)!Jisung, consensual voice recording. Dirty talk, use of petnames (slut), mild humiliation, oral sex (m. receiving), brief spanking, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, mild cum play, sex in a recording booth.

Autor's note — Wrote this a while ago for a commission, but as I was lurking through my google drive I found this again. I think its fun and I've been meaning to post something for a while now, but I can't get anything done sadly. I think I wrote this back in may or june? I am not too sure, but I hope you like it! I've been writing for NCT these days and I have 2 wips for them. I'm also working on something with Lee Know as a character. I hope I can get any of that finished soon! Hope you enjoy this, and I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes in advance 🤍

“Do any of you even know what a real moan sounds like?”

The look on their faces is amusing. Hadn't you been inside the recording booth, you're sure Changbin would have already headlocked you in a playful manner for running your mouth. 

But you are inside the recording booth, the three of them sitting in the studio with frustration written all over their faces.

“This sounds so fake,” you continue, taking off the headset. “What did you type in youtube to get this sample? Women moaning ASMR?”

“You’re not being helpful at all, you know that?” Changbin asks, trying to keep a serious demeanor but failing almost miserably every time he remembers the audio samples that are currently as background vocals in their upcoming song. They do sound awful, but he isn't as straight-forward as you are.

“Well, you asked for my opinion and I’m giving it to you,” the smug look on your face pisses off Chan just a little, but it is nothing new —the endless bickering between the both of you has happened ever since you two met. It's always light-hearted and friendly, but it surely does bring some tension into your friendship with him.

“Any ideas on how we can improve this?” 

“For once, get rid of all the fake moaning and get something that actually sounds like a woman being pleasured,” you instruct them, and smile when you see the three of them paying attention to your words. They have such abilities when it comes to music and producing, but they often look for constructive criticism outside their small group of three just to see things from different perspectives. “We don’t sound like that, it’s more like gasping for air and deep sighs accompanied with mostly quiet moans. This sounds like someone shouting exaggeratedly”.

“I’ve tried,” Chan murmurs, leaning back on his studio chair that he spins slightly. “But nothing sounds right. It’s a bit too much, maybe”.

“No, I do think the song calls for background sounds like these,” you encourage the trio. “It’s just- you need something more raw and real”.

There’s a quick moment of silence in which the four of you exchange glances, without exactly saying anything in particular.

Changbin and Chan look too deep into their own thoughts, probably trying to come up with another idea or alternative for that sound sample you all hate so much. Jisung, on the other hand, is staring right into you through the glass barrier that separates you from them, with an idea in mind he’s not quite sure how to deliver, but that he ends up doing it anyway. 

“What if we record you?” Jisung asks, drawing the scowling glances of the other two. “I mean, you can obviously fake them since you're a woman, right?” 

The suggestion has you cackling quietly, but even Chan and Changbin are considering it —you can tell by how they're looking at you as if they're expecting your verdict.

“Right,” you scoff, crossing both of your arms in front of your chest, “because what better way to spend my Saturday afternoon than faking moans inside a recording booth”. 

“It’s not going to take you long,” It’s Chan who speaks this time. The one you thought was going to be the least to be on board with such a crazy idea. “We all know this isn’t going to be the first time you fake them”. 

Your mouth opens in awe and you curse them mentally when they all laugh under their breaths. It was just one time, with a guy you didn’t even like, and you told them about it because you wanted to get the embarrassing memory out of your system. You were too bored, and desperate to go, that you ended up faking a series of moans that tricked him into thinking you were finished. 

“Very funny, Christopher,” you spit, resentful. “I thought you promised not to bring that shit up, ever again”.

“And I thought you promised you’d help us,” Chan attacks, “so what is it going to be?”

You look at them for a couple of seconds, pondering the situation. You can help them, you really have nothing better to do —yet a better idea comes to mind. 

“Why faking it if you can have the real deal?” you ask, nibbling at the skin against your fingernails. You’re trying to appear collected, but even suggesting such a crazy idea it’s making you feel uneasy. Unless you've gotten the signals wrong, you know they won't turn down such a proposal. “You’re all just sitting there, when one of you could help me”.

It’s Jisung who leans down over the console, clicking a red button to open the microphone.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Well, you were the one who pinned this on me, Han,” judging by their facial expressions, you know they understood exactly what you meant. They just want to make sure you are all on the same page. “Why don’t you come here and help me, so we can get this over with?”

“Why him?” Changbin immediately asks, offended even because you didn't consider him as your first option.

“Do you want to help me too?” you chuckle, “because I wouldn’t mind if you joined”.

“Han,” Chan’s cold voice interrupts the silence, catching the attention of the younger. He doesn’t say anything else, but rather signals for him to get inside the recording booth with a tilt of his head.

Jisung doesn’t say anything either, but his eyes flutter between you and Chan, almost begging for further instructions. He hesitates, perplexed. Not because he doesn’t want this, but because he really can’t begin to comprehend this is really happening.

“If you don’t want to, Changbin can do it,” the older speaks again.

“N-no, I mean- I can do it,” Jisung stands up from his studio chair abruptly and hastily, like he is in a rush. To be honest, he kind of is —he has been daydreaming of this moment ever since he met you, so he isn't going to waste it. Even if that means there are going to be other people watching or involved. “I just- what do I do?”

Chan and Changbin scoff quietly, teasing him. “You should ask her that question,” the former replies, crossing both of his arms and leaning back on his chair, “not us”.

“Yeah, okay”. 

Jisung walks inside the booth, swallowing thickly. Is he really about to do this? Is he dreaming? Or is this some sort of a sick joke?

He can’t help but overthink the situation, but every single one of his thoughts goes away when you welcome him into your embrace, holding him tightly against your body with his half-hard cock pressing against your lower abdomen and your tits against his toned chest. The other two are watching, and that only riles him up a lot more.

“Have you ever been this shy?” You tease him, wrapping your arms around his neck and brushing your lips against his. “You’re always so cocky, always running your mouth. But right now you aren’t. I wonder why”. 

“We don’t have that much time,” Chan warns you through the speakers, and you can feel the despair in his voice. Like Changbin, he’s anticipating something and you’re edging them, just like you are to Jisung. 

“Then I’m going to need more help,” you hum, latching your fingers against Jisung’s dark hair while pulling him closer to the crook of your neck. He loses no time and starts kissing and licking the sensitive flesh, hiding his face there. You, on the other hand, look through the glass barrier proudly to the other two who are out. “From the both of you”. 

“One isn’t enough for you? Do you need the three of us?” Chan asks, poking his cheek with his tongue. Changbin, on the other hand, observes the scene in awe, with both excitement and impatience. You don't reply, but shoot an accomplice glance at the older. “I always knew you were some of a slut, I just didn’t think this much”.

“Well, now you know,” you smile, biting your lower lip when Jisung sucks on a sensitive spot a bit too harshly, “so start recording”. 

The following moments are blurry, perhaps because of how nervous you are. You try to act in control, like you're the one calling the shots. But when you feel the three of them near you, with their hands all over you, it's hard to. 

“You’re not that bold now, are you?” Chan whispers in your ear, pressing your arse against his crotch. To your sides, there’s Jisung and Changbin, who grope and kiss your body as much as the other allows them to.

“I’m doing this for you,” you sigh, kicking your head back until it meets Chan’s shoulder. 

“Right,” he scoffs, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to kneel in front of Changbin and Jisung. “We just wanted your advice, but somehow we ended up like this”.

“I wonder why,” you tease him looking up to him while your hands tease the men in front of you.

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s such a filthy slut,” Changbin murmurs, caressing your hair back. 

You can feel them through their sweatpants —you can feel how hard and ready they are for you, how desperate they are for your touch. You wish to take your sweet time with them, to suck the three of until they come in your mouth only to fuck you afterwards. 

You want more than just a quick fuck. But this will have to do for now.

“Suck them off,” Chan orders, pleased with the sight of you on your knees. 

Good thing you’re wearing such accessible clothes today —you’re making his job ten times easier.

“Get us nice and wet, baby,” Changbin proceeds, pulling your head against his crotch while he lowers his sweatpants just enough to release his throbbing cock. “We’re going to fuck you with it, so it’s up to you how easy you’re going to make this for yourself”.

“Don’t forget Jisung too,” the one behind you murmurs into your ear, practically kneeling right beside you while he pulls up your dress, revealing a shameful piece of clothing that he can barely name as underwear. The sight makes Chan’s cock throb even harder. “See how much he’s leaking? I know he has been dreaming of this for a while now”. 

“Fucker,” Jisung hisses through gritted teeth, feeling betrayed by his friend. Truth is, he isn’t telling any lies.

“Aw, you have?” He has been infatuated with you for quite some time now, and he is too awkward to be discreet about it. You have caught him checking you out shamelessly, and it has always been a turn on for you. 

“We all have,” Changbin says, nibbling at his lower lip when you wrap your hand around his cock. You squeeze both of them hard, staring up at them with a mischievous smile. “If only you knew what we talk about when you’re not around”. 

“Mh, I feel a little excluded now,” you pout. “Why don’t you guys just show me?”

You spent another ten minutes on your knees, being throat fucked by your dearest friends Changbin and Jisung. They take turns in burying their cocks inside your warm mouth, using your hair as leverage to let you know which one of them to suck next.

In the meantime, Chan just watches. 

You’re drooling all over yourself by now, your shirt ruined with a mixture of spit, precum and sweat. Your skin feels sticky, your mouth feels full and your pussy feels wet —you really wouldn’t be surprised if the floor was stained with your arousal.

“C’me here,” Chan tells you, grabbing you by your arm and helping you get in a different position. Your knees are bruised and red, but you don’t really care —tomorrow it will be a fun reminder of what happened today. “Now let’s really start recording”. 

You lay on the floor on all fours, with your ass up and your hands and knees supporting your body weight. It's an uncomfortable position, but you can only do much in a recording booth with no bed or couches.

The first one to take a spot right behind you is Changbin. Out of the three, it’s the one who seems more desperate to get his release and you kind of understand him —you’re desperate to feel something too, anything.

“I don’t have-” his voice is strangled, almost panicking. You can feel his hands gripping your hips, and the tip of his cock brushing against your slit. 

“I don’t care,” you encourage him, whimpering when Chan forces your head to face his throbbing dick that he has his fist wrapped around. “Just fuck me”.

It’s the heat of the moment that's getting the best out of you, but you can’t begin to regret it when you feel Changbin’s cock burying itself little by little inside your aching pussy. You try to hold back your moans, worrying that someone outside the hall might hear you, but you know it’s practically impossible.

Plus, that’s the reason why you’re there, anyways.

 So you start enjoying the moment, being as vocal as possible. If anything, the lewd sounds escaping through your lips are only pushing Changbin towards the edge, hips snapping at yours roughly enough to get a series of strained moans immersed in both pleasure and pain.

“You sound so g-good,” Changbin grunts, biting his lower lip to stop himself from being too loud. “Had I known your moans were this pretty, I've would've fucked you before”.

“Fuck, Changbin”. The way his name falls from your lips boosts his ego, and he’s glad everything is being recorded. He makes a mental note to go back to the recording later today, just in case he needs to unwind.

“Jisung will fuck you after him,” Chan demands your attention yet again, brushing the tip of his cock against your lips. He’s kneeling in front of you while Changbin is pounding your pussy from behind. Jisung, on the other hand, is stroking himself while he witnesses the scene; too shy to actually make a move himself, like the rest of them. “And then I will go next, how does that sound?”

“How many seconds- of the sample do you even need?” you chuckle, but the laugh is soon muffled by another whimper caused by Changbin’s ministrations. 

“Just a couple,” he replies, smearing his precum along your lips. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to leave this studio without being fucked by Jisung and me, right?”

You love his cockiness, and how he is always almost right. So you nod frantically, clenching around Changbin at the idea of being filled with the both of them in just a couple of seconds.

It doesn’t take him long to come inside you, especially not with how much your pussy is clenching around him. He does so shamelessly, grunting your name and gripping your hips too harshly you’re sure it will leave a mark tomorrow.

When he pulls out, commanded by Jisung who is too desperate to wait another second, you feel his sticky arousal leaking out of you. It’s a weird sensation, and it makes you feel dirty, but you can’t deny you like it. 

And you like it even more when you feel the tip of Jisung’s cock gathering all of his friend’s cum, fucking it back into you little by little, making sure it doesn’t go to waste.

“Who would’ve thought, hm?” You whimper, feeling a bit sore from Changbin’s aggressive care. “You’re not as innocent as I thought, Jisungie”.

He doesn’t say anything, but gives you a sharp thrust in response. One that makes your whole body jolt and tremble, one that earns you one of the prettiest moans the three of them have ever heard.

Chan is sure the recording is good to be used by now, but he doesn’t want to stop just yet. Or at least not until he also gets his fun.

“S-so tight,” Jisung murmurs, holding you more delicately than Changbin did. You love the contrast, though, and they’re both a good fuck. “And warm, all filled up with cum”.

“You’re going to fill me up too, Jisungie?” On any other occasion, the nickname would’ve earned you a killer gaze and a couple of curses from him. But right now, Jisung doesn’t mind. In fact, he likes it. There’s something enticing about you acting like the one in control.

“Can- I?” He asks with a shakily breath. His sloppy movements tell you he is close, and you take it as a compliment. A minute is definitely a record, but you’re really not mad about it. 

“That depends,” you tease him, crying out loud when his cock starts hitting sensitive spots inside your walls. “Are you going to come a lot for me?” 

“Ngh, y-yes,” Jisung whimpers. “Please, I’m- close, just let- say yes, please”.

“Go on,” you order him, arching your ass even more for him. “Give it to me”. 

Not even a couple of seconds later, you feel a now familiar sensation warming up your lower tummy, leaking through your pussy and onto your thighs. 

“Shit,” Changbin scoffs, checking the scene out. “You made a fucking mess”. 

You want to look at what he did, know how much he came for you, but Chan reinforces your initial position yet again by arching your ass even more.

“Be a good slut for me,” he tells you, landing a sharp spank on one of your ass cheeks. The sudden action makes you cry out in pain, but you don’t hate the sensation completely. “And I’ll be good to you”.

You’re not quite sure what he means, and you don’t get time to ask before he’s bottoming out inside of you. 

“Fuck!” you moan, suddenly losing the strength on your arms and your upper body threatening to plop down onto the floor. “C-chan!”

“C’me here,” he groans, sneaking a hand underneath your tummy looking for your clit. Again, the position isn’t the best but he somehow makes it work. And when you feel his digits rubbing your nerves just at the same pace of his thrusts, you start clenching around him even harder.

“Oh my g-god,” that stimulation is exactly what you need to come undone. Jisung and Changbin did a hell of a job getting you closer to your orgasm, but this is exactly what you needed to reach your climax.

And a well deserved one.

“Come,” Chan grunts through gritted teeth, biting his lower lip while furrowing his eyebrows. The sight of your ass bouncing against his cock is enough to get him to come, but he needs you to come first. “I’ll come with you”.

“Ngh- Chan,” and just like some magic words, you’re coming right after his order. He can feel you tightening around him, trying to milk his cock just as badly as you did with the other two. And he can’t resist that feeling, so he sticks up to his word and comes inside you almost at the same time. 

“Such- a good- little fucking slut,” his words are strained and painful. But his voice only contributes more to your own orgasm, just like the feeling of his cum filling you up. 

It takes the two of you a few moments to actually stop —even after coming, he kept on fucking you slowly until he made sure to fuck all of their cum inside of you. The last thing he wanted was to make a mess inside the recording booth, but it was inevitable. 

The floor is stained with all sorts of fluids, ones that are dripping out of your swollen pussy and others that no one knows how they got there. 

“Jisung,” Chan sighs, caressing your hips while fixing his clothes. “Stay with her, I’ll go get something to clean her up. Make sure she’s alright, and take her to the sofa in the studio, ‘kay?”

Jisung nods, attentive, and he helps you get up off the floor with ease. He wraps his arm around you, and fixes the top part of your dress to which you mutter a quick and soft thank you. 

“Changbin’s going to get you something to eat or drink, and I’ll take care of this. Alright?” 

You nod, still supporting your whole weight on Jisung. Your sore legs can only do much.

“He’s going to be with you in the meantime, but we will all be right back,” Chan’s soft gaze is the opposite to what he showed inside the recording booth, but you absolutely adore the contrast. 

“Yeah, ‘s okay,” you smile. 

“You did good, yeah?” Chan smiles, caressing your hair, “sounded so pretty for us”.

You offer them a weak, yet satisfied smile, “my pleasure”. 

[mysticmunson]

buddy; steve harrington x f!reader

s.harrington x f.reader

a little blurb i wrote quickly about reader ditching the mushy nicknames they both love. no warnings, but blog is 18+ and special thanks to the loveliest girl ever, autumn, for entertaining this idea w me @lilacletter word count: 1k

The idea sprang into your brain through a conversation with Robin over frozen yogurt, a mountain of toppings on each of your treats. 

“The way you two fawn each other is weird!” Robin scolded, shoving her plastic spoon in her bowl.

“What! How?” You laughed, wiping a bit of vanilla from the corner of your lips.

Rolling her eyes, she huffed, “Baby? Sweetheart? Love? Don’t even get me started on darling or mama-And yes! I did hear when he called you mama and it made me gag. Use something less gross.”

Her tangent made your cheeks warm, covering your face in embarrassment. The names were cavity levels of sweet, both of you loved them, but it was silly to consider how often you indulged in them.

So sitting on your blue sofa, you watched TV with the volume a bit higher than you wanted it to be, too lazy to stand and turn it down. 

“Hey buddy, can you turn it down please?” You asked from the mountain of blankets as he walked into the room.

“Yeah- Wait what?” He froze, finger on the sound, pushing down for a few notches.

“Thank you.” You replied, ignoring his question and just relieved you could watch Family Ties in peace. 

Your warm smile made his own question fade, figuring he misheard you, and moving on with what he was walking towards. Which he forgot, so he went into the kitchen. 

It would be an hour or so later when you were getting ready to hang out with friends, standing in the bathroom and applying some concealer when it would happen again. The wand glided over your skin, gently patting it with your fingertips as he walked in behind you.

A hand firm on your waist to solidify his balance and keep you in place, he went over your head to reach your medicine cabinet, taking the pot of hair cream you bought him for Christmas.

At your side, he opened it and began applying it to his hair which was now scattered with shades of blonde due to the brutal summers of Indiana. After he finished, he wiped his hands on the towel hanging on the rack, turning around to put his cream back.

“You look so pretty.” He gawked, kissing your temple before looking at your concentrated face in the mirror as you applied mascara. The words made your heart flutter, a small ache in your tummy that could only be brought on by emotions from another person.

Recalling Robin’s words, you smiled, “Thanks, pal.”

A nearly disgusted look went onto his face, not remembering the last time someone called him a pal. But you looked unphased, so he assured himself it was a bit of a tease, settling for squeezing your hip assuringly and walking out of the confined space. 

However, the ride to Eddie’s new apartment was seamless with listening to Wham on the radio, stopping for candy, and walking in his front door with that and the movies in hand. Nancy and Robin were already there, and Jonathan and Argyle were ditching this week's movie night to go on a small road trip to buy certain plants in another state.

The pizza man had delivered dinner as you all sat on pillows on the living room floor, napkins and paper plates in hand. 

“Thanks, dude.” You quipped, taking a bite of the pizza your boyfriend had just set on your plate. 

Eddie’s loud cackle broke Steve’s distressed look into a more agitated one, Nancy smirking to herself as Robin joined the laughter.

“Harrington, how did you get friend-zoned by your own girlfriend!” Eddie barked, grabbing his own stomach. The use of ‘dude’ wouldn’t have caused such a fuss if they weren’t already aware of how overtly affectionate you two were in terms of endearment.

 “I’m not in the friend zone, you asshole! There’s nothing wrong with being friends with a woman- But we’re not friends- Wait! No! She is, but we have se- She is my best friend and girlfriend!”

Cutting off his rambling, you patted his shoulder, “I know what you mean, man.” You placed a kiss on his forehead, but that didn’t erase what you called him. 

Swallowing his pride, he pouted through the rest of movie night, even when you cuddled up next to him sweetly. Physically, your public displays of affection weren’t too egregious, so the normalcy felt pleasant.

As the night came to a close, both of you now in pajamas, the frustration had dissipated. Beneath the sheets, you curled and waited for Steve to turn off the light before joining you. Walking over while scratching his belly, he joined you, shuffling to be closer to your body.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He whispered, kissing your nose, followed by your forehead.

Putting a kiss on his collarbone, “Goodnight, buddy.” 

What you didn’t expect was his foghorn whine, dramatic as he sat up, yanking you with him, all to just hover over you with your wrists in his hands. It was embarrassingly easy how quickly he could overpower you like this, but this was probably due to how you didn’t fight back. 

Giggling with girlish lit, you looked up at him, “What?”

The creases between his brows doubled as the scowl on his lips grew, pressing his face to your cheek as you shrieked. 

“Stop calling me buddy!” He complained, resting his weight on top of you, “Or any of those other names either! Why do you hate me!”

“Stevie, I don’t hate you!” You cooed, nudging his head up with your cheek until he looked at you, “Robin mentioned how gooey our names are and I wanted to try to switch things up.”

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes, “Of course, Buckley had something to do with this.”

Slinking your hands free, you cupped his cheeks and kissed his lips. There was something so enticing about his skin that you were convinced you were reliant on it. 

“I love you, baby.” You murmured, his sigh of relief audible as he deflated to his side, pulling you in close to his chest.

“I love you too,” He began, speaking into your hair, “don’t call me dude like that again though or I will lose my mind. Absolutely bonkers. I will fight Robin at work-”

“Okay, sweetheart.” You cut him off, kissing his chest as it rises and falls.

“Much better.”

thank u for reading! check out my other fics in my masterlist :)

[butteronabun]

cw: drunk reader

Diluc’s strength is no joke.

You barely remember in your late teenage years when, for some reason, Kaeya mischievously put Diluc and a man in one room together to do an arm wrestling challenge.

At the time, you were worried, because his opponent was twice Diluc’s size. The man looked like he could crush a watermelon with only his fists.

As the crowd gathered around to spectate the competition between the former cavalry captain and the giant, you watched with bated breath as the countdown went down. You mulled over interrupting their business, there were a lot of grown men cheering and yelling making bets on who would be the victor, you decided not to, because there was also a part of you that was curious on what would happen.

When someone hollered for them to begin, everyone expected some kind of struggle. But there was only a curt and loud thud.

Diluc, in one swift motion, easily overpowered the bigger man’s arm by pining it firmly on the surface.

You underestimated him. Diluc really took his training seriously, and it would be more evident ( in his physical growth ) as he got older.

So now, in the present, your sober self will probably regret this proposition you just made with him once you wake up tomorrow.

“We don’t really have to do this, my love,” Diluc says, a worried frown plastered on his handsome face. “You’re not in the right state of mind – you ought to go to bed.”

Archons only know where you gained your confidence. After two pints of beer in his tavern ( in which he vehemently disapproved of but allowed you to indulged only this once ), you were immediately red and intoxicated.

( Thankfully, it was closing time when you started sputtering out unintelligible comments and murmurs. Diluc wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he enjoyed the way home to the manor because you kept on spoiling him with small kisses on the cheeks, and how he was so “strong” and “so great.” It was going to be a secret between the two of you.

Now that you both were finally inside your shared bedroom, Diluc’s plan was simple: to give your affections back tenfold by relishing on your adorable self’s clinginess and cuddling you before succumbing to slumber. But apparently, after changing into comfortable sleepwear, you had other plans. )

“Am not drunk!” you exclaim, before clumsily pulling him closer. Diluc assists you by easing himself right into your embrace. “How dare you say that, you—“

“I did not even say that you were inebriated,” Diluc retorts, and you catch the small smirk on his kissable lips. Wow. You really want to wipe the smugness in his face by kissing him. Or you want him to kiss you. Eh, both is good. “You are staring. Do you need anything? Maybe we should rest now and—“

“Nuh–uh.” You shake your head stubbornly. You tighten your hold around your beefy husband who looks down at you with obvious softness in his scarlet eyes. “Arm wrestle with me. Please?”

Diluc caresses your cheek with his thumb. “I do not think that is a good idea.”

You grin, “But that’s what you think. I, however think that it is a good idea!” Unaware, you start to roam your hands under his silky shirt. Diluc visibly stiffens, when you reach certain spots in his defined muscles. “Pleaaaasee?”

You wonder if Diluc has caught on, with the way he begins to blush from your insinuations. For a moment, he sighs in defeat, and then presses his lips on your forehead. He whispers, “Alright.”

You celebrate when he takes you to the dresser. He gently lets you sit on the plush stool, while he takes another chair to be beside you. You excitedly swing your arm, waiting for his own, and you cackle in delight when his warm fingers intertwines with yours.

“Don’ flirt with me. ‘s not a good a strategy,” you claim, and Diluc surprises you by kissing you promptly on the cheek. “Diluuuuc. . .”

“I cannot help it,” He confesses, looking a little timid and apologetic. But you know that he may do it again. “But if that is what you wish, then—“

“Later,” you pout. It’s not like you don’t like his kisses. There’s a more important thing to do here! “e’re gonna compete first.”

As you explain the rules of arm wrestling to him despite the basics already ingrained in your brains, you fail to notice how Diluc keeps on gazing at you with such fondness.

“Also, just because you do lifts and I don’t doesn’t mean you’ll go easy on me,” you boldly say. Diluc has as advantage, sure, but you believe that you can find a way in breaking his victory streak. You just can feel it in your bones. Trust.

But as always, Diluc keeps on defeating you. But the good thing about it is that your husband continues to dote on you even more, even if you grumble at him.

With the loving ( and supportive ) glances he sends you while you attempt to beat him and random kisses he gives you every time he wins “my reward” he says—you repeatedly tell him not to flirt with you, and he, in turn, answers again with “I just couldn’t help it.”