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reiderwriter · 11 months

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The One Thing You Can't Have

Pairing: Spencer Reid × Female Reader (DBF! Spencer × Hotchner! Reader)

Summary: After five years away, you move back to your hometown. Reconnecting with many of your father's friends and coworkers, you start to get suspicious when you lose multiple pairs of panties. Or; Spencer risks it all by stealing Hotch's adult daughter's underwear. And maybe her heart, too.

Warnings: Day 15 of Kinktober - panties, mentions canon character death, age difference (ten years), panties, underwear kink, underwear stealing, masturbation, sexual fantasies discussed, PinV Sex, clitoral stimulation, partial creampie, mentions of emergency contraception

A/N: It is done! I shit you not the writing time on this is longer than most of the fics I've ever written, it took me so long that I don't have any other fics prewritten for Kinktober now and have to spend the day hastily writing them... But it was worth it. As always, you can find all my work in my masterlist and all my kinktober fics here. My requests are open until the end of the month, so if there's a specific fic you want, don't hesitate to let me know!

With your family the way it was, you'd dealt with a lot over the years. Aaron Hotchner loved his wife and kids, but that hadn't been enough to protect you from George Foyet. When your mom and kid brother had gone into protective custody, you'd been away at college, and apart from a protective detail, they'd not seen fit to move you anywhere special at all. Foyet was so caught up on your mom that he'd forgotten you existed.

When you got the call from your dad that Foyet was resurfacing, you'd known in your gut that you had to go back. You'd ditched your handlers and driven through the night but when you arrived at the house you'd grown up in, all you could see was police lights and caution tape.

You'd run as fast as you could into the house, but a pair of strong arms grabbed you and lifted you away as you screamed and sobbed. Derek Morgan held you firm as he tried to calm you, but you barely registered his words.

"My mom is in there, my dad too, and Jack, let me fucking go, Derek." You'd only stopped raging when they'd bought out the first body bag. And then the second.

The anguish that filled your lungs stole your breath and you didn't know it was you screaming until your throat was red and completely sore. Another set of hands led you away and into an ambulance, skillfully anticipating your needs.

"Y/N, look at me. Look at my eyes, we're going to breathe together, okay?" Staring up into his dark eyes you suddenly remembered that you needed the air to breathe, his calm voice bringing you back to life.

He was wearing an FBI vest but you'd never seen him before. Not a surprise since you'd avoided everything to do with your father's job for the last five years. You only really knew Derek from when he'd been sent to deliver the news to you about Foyet's initial targeting of you.

The Man in front of you was young, but still older than you. He was tall, but he'd shrunk himself down into the space, leaning over you so that he was the only thing you could see. He looked tired, but he was the only thing for miles around keeping you grounded and you clung to him in desperation.

"My Name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I work with your dad. You're Y/N, right?" His voice was soft and even, like he was taming a temperamental animal. Even though you knew what he was doing, trying to calm you so he could deliver a devastating blow, you let him do it, drinking in each word as total calm swept over you. You nodded at him and waited for him to continue.

"Your brother is fine, he's at your aunt's house, he didn't touch him. Your dad is in the hospital and they think he's going to pull through, but he was stabbed a few times so he's going to be weak for a while." You searched his eyes for the words he wasn't saying as panic rose in your body.

"My mom, where is my mom? Haley Hotchner, she's… She should have been with Jack, where is she?" The look in his eyes was enough to tell you what in your heart you already knew. Your mom was in that bag and your family was broken, again.

You don't know what happened next, but you knew you were bundled up in Spencer Reid's arms and clinging to him for dear life. You knew he'd somehow got you to your aunt's house, and you knew he'd stayed until you were ready to let him go. Even years later you don't know how long he'd held you. Maybe only minutes, maybe hours. He had let you sit and grieve, finding small comfort in the contours of his body.

After that, college wasn't a priority for you. Your brother was only a baby, and he needed you around, so even the three-hour drive upstate seemed too far to be away from him. You stuck around, taking your courses as remotely as they'd let you for the semester and struggling for it.

Your dad felt guilty, of course. For your mom, for the derailing of your life, and for the way he had to keep leaving because that was the job. In all honesty, you didn't mind being home more at that time.

There was Jack, who was great, and your Aunt was so much like your mom that sometimes it was like she was still with you, even a little bit. And there was Spencer, too.

After it had become evident that you were going to fail the only required course you were taking that semester (algebra was your enemy), your dad had sought out the only person he knew with a good grasp of mathematics and no weekend plans and roped them into tutoring you. Which meant that your weekends were suddenly fully booked by him.

He seemed a little different from the first time you’d met him, but that was a given considering the circumstances. He held himself a little taller, and more relaxed as he talked about the kinds of equations you were supposed to use and formulas you were supposed to memorize. He was attentive but not too close, and he’d shown up with shorter hair and now that you could see more of his face, more of his neck, you found yourself getting distracted by the oddest things. The stubborn but small stubble on his neck, the way sweat trailed down his face, the movement of his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed, the way the breeze from your open window tousled his hair.

It took you a distractingly long time to realize that you were physically attracted to him, but when you did realize, it was suddenly all you could think about. You spent most of your days working on math so you’d have some excuse to call or text him. The mornings before your lessons together you’d taken to hogging the bathroom long enough to shave, wash and dry your hair and apply a natural but still skilled amount of make-up. You were surprised that neither of the big bad profilers had caught onto the stench of your puppy love, because you were dripping with desperation.

He never budged of course, too oblivious or too noble to lay a hand on an eighteen-year-old. Or just smart enough to know not to lay a hand on his boss's daughter.

You certainly weren’t making it easy for him though.

“Spencer, what do you think of my outfit today? I’m going out with some friends from high school tonight for a meal, do I look okay?” You’d twirled for him innocently, knowing full well the speed of your spin would throw your already short skirt up past your panties for a split second.

“I don’t think I’m the best person to ask about clothes, Y/N. Maybe ask your dad.” His flush was evident enough that you knew it had worked but his hands were rigid by his sides and he carefully guided you back to the topic at hand.

It turned out that after a semester of tutoring, you’d become such a whizz at mathematics that you’d passed with flying colors. You’d been so excited to tell Spencer that you drove straight to Quantico, using the family pass your father had given you for emergencies to gain access. Spencer didn’t know what hit him when you launched yourself into his arms and wrapped your legs around him, but he’d somehow stayed upright as you buried your face once again in his neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Spencer! I got an A, the Professor was so shocked by my improvement that he asked me if I’d cheated. When I dropped your name, he freaked.” Spencer’s eyes were wide and blinking frantically as his hands struggled to find a place to hold you. You’d worn another scandalously low skirt and it seemed the only way to pry you off of him was to put a hand on or dangerously close to your ass.

You enjoyed watching his internal struggle, and so did quite the number of FBI agents, until your father spoiled the fun by walking out of his office to check the commotion.

“Y/N Hotchner, get down from there, now.” Your father rarely raised his voice at you, choosing a softer approach to parenting than many would expect. That meant that on the rare occasion that he did feel the need to speak up, you shut your mouth and listened. Detangling yourself from Spencer’s arms with an awkward smile, you tried your best to nonchalantly bounce over to your father and explain why you were there.

He motioned for you to follow him to his office, and you complied, letting one ear stay clear to focus on the sound of Reid being teased by all of his coworkers about the scene you’d just caused.

Your dad didn’t exactly scold you for the incident, so much as he tried to insinuate that you should head back home, and then head back to college, too. With months between you and the Foyet incident, he’d been hinting at letting you get back to your life for a while, but your stunt with Reid had him suddenly addressing it more overtly.

To say that your family dinner that night was a pain in the ass was an understatement.

“Y/N, Daddy said you went to his work today!” Jack had started the conversation, and you knew the tactical warfare was beginning.

“That’s right, buddy! I had to thank Spencer for helping me with my schoolwork.” You smiled at your brother before turning a suspicious glance toward your dad, who sat peacefully eating his dinner. The fact that you were even all eating together should’ve alerted you to something going on behind the scenes.

“Uncle Spencer is the best!” It wasn’t Jack’s fault he’d just given your father the best ammunition he could’ve asked for.

“Do you agree, Y/N? Do you think your Uncle Spencer is the best?” He was using his calm interrogation voice and you hated it.

“Dad, please, he’s not that much older than me, it’s weird for me to call him Uncle.”

“He’s ten years your senior, Y/N. You know that right?” You didn’t move as your eyes locked together with his, as he seemingly asked a more serious question in the subtext. You weren’t ready to answer it though, and so you buckled under the pressure, looking away first and eating the rest of your meal in silence.

Without saying much of a goodbye to any member of your father’s teammates, you decided that it was about time you continued with your life, not letting the actions of George Foyet hold you in a standstill any longer. You went back to college full-time, got your degree, and got a job in a city near your college town. You came back home regularly, but in the five years since your mother's death, you hadn’t talked to or heard from Spencer Reid.

Job opportunities were better in D.C. though, so after growing up and having some time away, you came right back to your childhood home, ready to start over. It was only temporary, of course, and you had a job lined up, but apartments were so hard to come by, especially ones that were actually livable, that you needed to do a lot of searching to find one that felt right.

So your dad’s home it was. With Jack a bit older and constantly away at school or clubs or friend’s houses, and your dad’s schedule the way it was, you’d practically got the house to yourself. And after living alone and with female roommates for half a decade, you’d almost grown too comfortable in your own skin. The summer between your move and the start of your new job was hot and sticky, and you found yourself taking more and more cold showers after your morning workouts.

Normally at 11 a.m., you had the house to yourself, and you’d happily stroll around in a small towel and dry yourself off. If your father or brother were home, you’d cover yourself up a bit more, sure, or just head to your room quicker, obviously.

So emerging from your shower, the last thing you expected was coming face to face with Doctor Spencer Reid sitting on your couch, the one that was directly on your path between the bathroom you’d just emerged from and the room you needed to be in. You cursed your father and his practically-sized apartment as you floundered your way through a greeting of the man you hadn’t seen in five years.

“Spencer, hi. What... What are you doing on my dad’s couch?” You clutched the towel close to your body, trying not to shiver as he trailed his eyes over your body, eyes just as big and wide as the last time you’d seen him.

“We were on our way to a local crime scene, he went to grab something from…” His voice trailed off as he pointed towards the master suite where you could now faintly hear the sound of your dad on the phone to someone.

“Right. Great. I should probably…” You gestured to the room and quickly started making your way toward it, trying not to visibly cringe at the most awkward post-shower interaction you’d ever had.

“What are you doing here?” His voice shot out quickly, and you whipped around so fast, that you almost panicked and dropped the towel completely.

“Oh, I… Did my dad not mention? I got a job at a company nearby, so I moved back. I’m staying here with Dad and Jack until I can find a decent apartment.”

“Oh, wow. Well, it’s nice to have you back. It’s been like five years since you left, right?” His tone was bright and he was nodding his head, but the words set fire to your nerve endings as you remembered that you’d practically run away from him. Even after half a decade, he was having a physical impact on you.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. You have a good memory.”

“You know, I get that a lot.” His grin ignited something in your chest, and you gathered the laundry you’d left on the sofa and quickly excused yourself before you could prove yourself more of a idiot than you could already make a case for.

Spencer watched you go, wondering just when Hotchner was going to emerge from his hiding place to attack him for so openly ogling his half-naked daughter. He stood on the spot staring at your door for a moment too long before dragging his eyes away. Unluckily for him, what he found on the floor had him panicking all over again.

“Y/N, your forgot…” He grabbed the lacy material in his fingers and went to open the door before stopping, realizing that you were probably completely bare behind that door now. The thought sent him into a tailspin, and he once again stood clueless for a beat too long with a pair of your freshly laundered panties in his hands.

He considered dropping them back on the floor, but he didn’t want them to get dirty again after you’d washed them so nicely. He should’ve just left them on the sofa for you to find later, but when Hotch’s voice grew louder and clearer behind him, fear took over and he shoved them into the closest hiding space he could find. His pocket.

“Callahan found something for us at the ME’s office, she’s meeting us at the precinct, let’s go.”

And just like that he was out the door, and he had officially signed his own death warrant.

You never noticed that the first pair went missing. When it became a pattern though, you did become suspicious. Three pairs of underwear in thirty days seemed a bit much, and unless your building's laundry machines were eating them, you had no clue where they could've been.

It's not that Spencer even meant to do it any of the times he did. But when he'd returned home that first day, overwhelmed with the caseload he'd been handed and found the offending item still right there in his coat pocket, the blood had rushed straight to his head.

He'd spent a half hour in agony staring at them, trying to smooth them out so they wouldn't get crumpled, his dick twitching at every slight movement he made. It had been quite a few months since he'd had sex, never really one for casual hook-ups. But if the result of several months of celibacy was stealing underwear then he thought maybe it would be best to have sex sooner rather than later.

He couldn't resist the temptation. Popping the button of his pants, he'd taken his cock in his hand and worked his way up and down his shaft imagining you dropping that towel. He imagined you wearing the panties and nothing else as you replaced his hand with your mouth, desperate to please. Taking the panties in his hand, he began directly masturbating into them, wishing so needily that you were still inside them.

When he shot his load, he soaked them through, and the shame that overcame him was intense and swift.

You never realized that he'd somewhat avoided you after that, doing his best to stay away for fear he'd let his perversions rule his actions. You had somehow made yourself unavoidable though.

The first time he saw you again it was at one of Rossi's family get-togethers. It had been years since you'd seen some of the members of the team, so you were really looking forward to it. Plus, Rossi had boasted of a recently installed pool and jacuzzi within his invitation, and you were excited to check them out with the fine summer weather actually staying fine.

You'd brought your bikini with you and changed in one of the ground-floor bathrooms, wrapping another towel around yourself before you finally made your way to the pool. But once again, wrapped in a towel, you'd come face to face with Spencer Reid.

"Y/N, I didn't know you were coming." He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and this time worked especially hard to not let his gaze travel all over your skin. He regretted his entire existence as he realized he'd have to hide his micro-expressions around countless profilers, some of whom were present and accounted for when you'd last been seen together.

Derek was going to give him hell.

"Yeah, Uncle David invited me! I'm so excited for the jacuzzi, I haven't been in one since college."

"You call Rossi 'Uncle David?'" The thought had tickled him, humor sparkling in his eyes as he finally smiled at you.

"Why yes I do, and if you're not careful, my dad is going to make me start calling you Uncle Spencer again." You skipped off merrily after that, leaving your spare clothes and your discarded ones in the bathroom Reid had obviously been waiting for.

His smile soured as he realized the impact of your words. Uncle Spencer. Huh. Some fucking "Uncle" he was. He washed his hands thoroughly, having spilled some kind of drink down himself before greeting you, as his eyes fell to the pile of clothes you'd left neatly in the corner.

He tried to tell himself he couldn't do it again, but curiosity and arousal lit up his entire body and carried him forward. Jeans, a t-shirt, socks, and shoes were left tidily discarded, but he couldn't obviously see any underwear. There was a second pile of neat clothes and he looked at that one thoroughly as well, but after a minute it was evident that you'd hidden your unmentionables from clear sight.

He heard the happy cheers and smiles from outside, and painstakingly attempted to pull away, but he couldn't. Rooting through your things, he found them. He found two of them, really. The used underwear you'd likely just taken off, and the fresh pair you were going to change into. Spoiled for choice he sat in a stasis, mentally cursing himself for being so stupidly horny.

It would be wrong to take another pair. And certainly wrong of him to take the clean pair which you'd instantly noticed were missing when you tried to put them on to wear them.

The used pair though. He held them delicately in both hands, the slip of material not as fancy as the ones he'd used before, but somehow more enticing.

Letting his cock rule his thoughts he brought them up to his face and inhaled deeply, and it was like a bomb going off in the back of his head. He had to have them.

Organizing the bathroom into the exact layout as he'd found it, making sure not even a hair was out of place. The panties were safely in his pocket, and he took a minute to get his body physically and mentally under control before exiting the bathroom and rejoining his friends.

The next time he'd taken some, they'd really been handed to him like a gift. One month back at home, and you felt slightly stifled by the overbearing presence of your father. You needed a nice, messy night out, and you sure got it.

The friends you'd reconnected with had taken you out to a slew of clubs, and by the end of the night, you were tripping and stumbling into anything and anyone in your path. It was as if you were magnetically drawn to every object in your way, unfortunately, one just happened to be tall and lean and caught you before you could tumble off again.

"Y/N?" He looked down at you, confused as he took in your intoxicated state.

"Uncle Spencie!" You relaunched yourself into his arms, reminiscent of that day in the bullpen. "Uncle Spencie I can't believe you're here!" You giggled into his neck as you buried yourself there, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck as you pulled away to grin at him again.

"Y/N, how drunk are you?"

"How you are drunk, huh? Why don't we ever ask that question?" You sent yourself into a fit of giggles as your friends watched the scene play out behind you.

"Girls, this is Doctor Spencer Reid. My daddy is his boss. Isn't he cute?" Your arms still wrapped territorially around Spencer, you introduced your friends who cackled approvingly at your drunk shenanigans.

"Y/N, you need to let me go, the others…"

"Others? Is daddy here? AARON!! AAAAROOOOOO-" He clamped a hand over your mouth and moved you to the side of the road to hail a taxi as fast as possible. Apologizing to your friends, he quickly stuffed you into the cab and gave the driver your address.

"Uncle Spencer, I just wanted to see my daddy and his other friends. Why are you being so mean?" The exaggerated pout on your face had him dragging a hand down over his face as he struggled to pull a seatbelt over you.

"If your dad had seen you wrapped around me like that, he'd have killed one of us."

"Both of us," you nodded and giggled. Your short dress was riding up your thighs, the leather seats of the car feeling unbearably hot and sticky under your skin. You shifted uncomfortably a few times, your underwear eating into your skin in an uncomfortable manner.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" He sternly whispered the words into your ears as he grabbed your wrists. It was too late though, you'd already worked your underwear down your thighs enough that they'd reached your knees and then fallen around your ankles.

"It felt bad, I didn't like it." You leaned your head back and let your legs hang open slightly, just enough that Spencer could see the taxi driver angling for a look.

He snapped a hand between your legs, closing off the view before snatching up the underwear from the floor and pocketing it. You didn't know nor care though, the motion of the car rocking you off into a deep sleep. He'd ended up having to carry you up to your apartment, getting you ready for bed, and leaving just fast enough for Hotch to not catch him hanging over his unconscious daughter.

And he had a third pair of your underwear.

He spent his days wondering just what the fuck was wrong with him, and his nights jerking off to your scent, wondering just how willing he'd be to climb into bed with you and if he'd have the strength to say no.

He was normal enough in your interactions with one another. You'd seen each other at various case celebrations, at parties hosted by the team members, which that summer were high in total. You couldn't resist the temptation to flirt with him, but it was only when the two of you were well out of earshot of anyone who might frown upon it. You didn't think he even noticed that's what you were doing anyway.

Spencer did notice. And he kept noticing and was disgusted by how much he wanted you. You were Hotch’s daughter. He’d seen pictures of you as a child, he’d held you while you cried over your mom and the stress of having to be a responsible adult after everything happened with Foyet, he’d known how much you hated having to grow up quickly when you had Hotch for a dad, and he felt gross that despite all of that he wanted to fuck you so badly that he’d resorted to petty thievery and letting you flirt with him under your father's nose.

It was towards the end of your summer at home when you finally noticed the missing pieces. You'd even almost mentioned it to your dad before thinking it through a bit more. If it wasn't some laundry mix-up, he was going to go full FBI on every man who came close to you, and that was a risk you weren't willing to take.

In the end, you were thankful you said nothing.

The BAU team had been out on a case for ten days, the largest amount of time they'd been away since you'd moved home, and you'd decided to greet them as soon as they returned, congratulate them on a job well done.

You knew they were already heading to their regular bar after they finished their paperwork, but you had some morale to boost in the meantime, so a donut delivery plus enough coffee to stay awake for hours was in order.

They'd practically thrown themselves off the jet and into the box of donuts, each of them thanking you for the happy greeting after what had to have been a hard time away.

"Y/N, you didn't have to do this, but thank you. The team really appreciates it." Your dad had looked at you with a proud look before showing you up to his office, letting you wait on his couch until everyone was finished.

You got bored quickly and asked if you could help with anything, which is how you became your dad's errand-runner. He sent you to the printer to pick up papers, you'd run to get him more coffee from the pot twice and he sent you to ask the others about their progress. Which was totally fine had they not looked like paperwork-writing zombies on the verge of collapse.

"Y/N, head down to Spencer's desk, he should have a file on the geographical profile I need." He hadn't even glanced up to ask you that, but he did shout a thank you out the door, so you suppose he could be forgiven for now.

Bouncing down the stairs you noticed Spencer was deep in the middle of reading some files, doing that speed reading thing you'd heard him talk about but never witnessed.

"Spencer." He didn't look up, too focused on the words in front of him. "Spencer, my dad needs a file."

"Go-bag. Reading, give me a minute." He still hadn't even glanced at you so you pulled yourself around his desk to search for his go-bag yourself. It was on the floor, and you pulled it towards you, settling down on the floor to open it up and look for the files you needed.

You probably should have had more reservations about rooting through Spencer's things because just as you pulled the zip fully open, it seemed like his eyes shot wide and he threw his head in your direction, finally distracted from his work.

"Wait, don't look in-" He whisper-screamed the words at you frantically, but it was too late. The first thing your hand had closed around in the bag was small and delicate and somewhat rumpled, and your hand had a mind of its own pulling it out into your lap so the two of you could see it.

Your panties. One of your missing pairs of panties was in Spencer Reid's go-bag.

Both of you sat there for a few moments, neither of you moving, the eye contact not breaking one second as you both stared at each other in fear and surprise.

He cleared his throat quietly and whispered down at you, "I can explain…" but he didn't get a chance as you swiftly grabbed the file you'd come for - helpfully pulled into plain view by your rustling about - hid your panties back in your own pocket, zipped his bag up and swiftly ran all the way back to your dad's office.

You sat on the couch for the rest of the afternoon, no longer eager to do chores. Spencer had your underwear. He'd stolen it. He'd taken it across the country with him. He'd…You didn't know what he was doing with it, really, but you knew that every image of him with them had the most dirty, exciting, disgusting thoughts running through your head.

You grabbed your things and quickly headed out after that. Penelope caught you by the elevator as you made to leave.

"No, sweetie, where are you going? I thought you were coming to celebrate with us after this, I was so looking forward to having the fun Hotchner around, not the grumpy, serious one."

"I'm just going home to freshen up. I smell like coffee and Quantico, which when you're not nose blind to it isn't the most optimal scent." You promised her you'd see her there, and with a quick glance back at the office, where Spencer was sat tense, looking like he wanted to either run after you or shout something across the room, you left.

By the time you'd arrived home, there were ten missed calls on your cell, and you didn't have to even speculate about who they might be from because there were texts too.

Spencer: I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, call me when you get this.

Spencer: I know it's weird and I'll understand if you hate me, but please talk to me.

Spencer: Please don't tell your dad.

You'd scoffed at that last one as if you'd ever have been that stupid. But you didn't reply or call him, letting him suffer in silence.

This entire time, you'd been operating on the basis that Spencer Reid didn't see you the way you saw him. That he didn't think of you as an adult but as your father's daughter. And now you were confronted with the truth that he was just as fucking lustful and horny as you'd been since you met him at 18? You weren't letting this opportunity pass you by.

Taking the panties out, you stared at them again, trying to figure out just what he'd been doing with them. You recognized them as the pair you'd lost on your night out, bright red and lacy, eye-catching, and definitely yours. He hadn't even tried to lie to you about that, but how willing would you have been to accept the fact that Spencer had stolen someone else's panties? Or been gifted them? Probably not very.

You'd assumed you'd left this pair in the taxi, not entirely sure how you'd ended up in the car in the first place or why you would decide they were uncomfortable right there. Now you had sudden recollections of Spencer also being there, and suddenly your actions made sense.

He'd not only taken your panties, he'd taken your used panties, and it looked as though he'd used them even more. You decided not to think too closely about how he had used them.

But he'd also got you home safe, making sure your things were stored neatly and tucked you into bed nice and tight. And then he'd stolen your panties.

Thinking about it was frustrating but there was nothing else in your mind at that moment. Spencer taking them out secretly to look at. Spencer smelling them. Spencer wrapping them around his big cock and stroking himself to the thought of you.

You wanted to know precisely what he'd done, and you intended to find out.

Penelope called you as soon as they'd left work, and sent you the location, too, and you decided it was time to get ready to mess with Spencer.

The dress you'd worn on the night he'd stolen your panties was freshly laundered. Usually, you wouldn't wear anything so risky in front of your father, but he'd likely only be there for an hour or two before leaving you be. You pulled out a fresh pair of red panties as well, hoping to jog Spencer's memory a little bit to entice him to talk.

With a quick make-up retouch, you climbed into your car, and within twenty minutes you were walking into O'Keefe's.

Miserably, Spencer couldn't come up with an excuse to stay home quick enough and was tumbled into the car by Derek and Penelope. He had a feeling, too, that he wouldn't be able to leave early, either, which was only confirmed when you walked in wearing that dress.

His hopes to sit and nurse his non-alcoholic cocktail peacefully at the edge of the booth are shattered as he watches you saunter over. It clings tight to your skin, twisting around every peak on your body, revealing every part that he'd spent the last few weeks dreaming about.

He was screwed.

"Hi, Dad! Hi everyone!" You smiled innocently enough, but your sickly sweet smile turned on Spencer was an omen, and he suddenly wanted to be down on his knees begging for forgiveness. Or something else.

Instead of sticking by your dad's side, you make your way to Spencer and force him to shuffle further into the booth so you can sit next to him. It's cramped and you're on the edge still, so you let your hand rest on his thigh for a beat too long as you join the conversation.

"What did I miss?"

"Just talking about the craziest things that have happened to us on cases."

"Reid was propositioned by a prostitute once," Derek chuckled.

"Please, Reid has been propositioned by multiple prostitutes, multiple times." Penelope and Derek continued to joke and giggle about the younger man's apparent cluelessness to flirting.

"I guess they just assumed you were a pervert, Spence. I wonder why they'd think that?" His eyes shot wide as you snuck your hand into his pocket under the table, watching to see if anyone else had noticed the bold actions.

But you looked away from him quickly and didn't let your hand spend too long there, sliding it out slowly, feeling up his leg as you went. He took another sip of his drink before shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His cock had been rudely awoken, and he didn't want it to stay awake, so he attempted to let it fall into a less obvious position.

But as he shifted he felt something else in his pants, and curiously he put his own hand into his pocket. You'd returned your stolen underwear to the thief.

He took in a shaky breath and held them inside his pants while he willed himself to calm down. Partly because you were in public and partly because your dad was present. He almost had himself under control when you decided it was time for your next move.

"I need to go get a drink, I'll be back soon." You stood and pushed away from the table, bouncing away swiftly. He watched you go from the corner of his eye and then had to do a double take as you pushed yourself up against the bar ordering your drink.

You stuck your ass out, not enough to make it look intentional to anybody but him, but just enough so he could see the red underwear you had on underneath your dress.

He downed his drink and made his excuses before making his way right to the bar where you stood.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, so close behind you that you felt his breath in you before you heard his voice.

"Buying a drink, what does it look like I'm doing?" You scooted your ass back until it was pressed up against his crotch and he groaned, hard and loud in your ear.

"Y/N, you can't do that, your dad is right fucking there."

"I sure hope my dad isn't fucking over there, that'd really be a sight I didn't want to see." He shut his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before he put his hands on you. Grabbing your hips, he walked you closer to the bar so that your ass was no longer on display, nor touching him in any way, then he moved to your side and left only one hand firmly touching your back so you knew not to immediately try something else again.

"This is your last warning. Now, you're going to order that drink and then you're going to walk back to that table like a good fucking girl, or so help me god, I will show your dad just how much of a slut you're being." His voice was a dark growl and you felt your panties growing more wet with each syllable, nodding instantly as the bartender came over.

For a minute, he'd genuinely thought that had worked. You'd ordered your drink without another word and then turned back to the table and walked nicely, having pulled your skirt back down a little bit. He'd thought he'd won until the second he'd sat down when Aaron Hotchner had grabbed his coat and stood up.

"Spencer, you're not drinking? Can you drive Y/N home tonight? I’m leaving now, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to leave so early.” You watched as his jaw twitched, taking only a second to compose himself before he agreed.

“Great, have a fun night sweetheart,” he said, kissing your head, before turning out and leaving with Rossi.

“Now, Spencer, what was that you were saying about good behavior at the bar? It was really so very interesting to me and I’d love to hear more.”

You spent the next half hour draining your drink and his self-control, stroking a hand down his chest as the others comfortably ignored your purring at him. He answered all your questions coldly, but every time your hand trailed a little bit too low he stopped it with a heavy hand and a warning look, letting you know that you were still getting to him.

Once you’d finished the first drink, you got up and moved to the bar once again, making sure that his eyes were on you completely as you swayed your hips on the way over. You pulled exactly the same move as you had earlier and made sure he knew you were going to be hard to handle the entire night.

When you returned, he was the only one left at the table, the others having scattered to the dance floor, the bathroom, and the bar. Taking the chance you climb directly into his lap.

“What’s wrong, Spence, you’re looking so lonely over here?” You rest your hands on his shoulders and let your ass fall to his lap, grinding down gently to feel him underneath you.

“How could I be lonely when you’re out here throwing yourself at me like a cheap whore?”

“Oh, we’ve already established how much cheap whores love you today, Spencer. Why would you be so surprised that I’m having the same reaction?”

The others slowly started returning so you pushed away from him for a second, straightening your clothes before they noticed anything amiss.

“Y/N, I need some youthful arm candy, come to the dancefloor with us!” Penelope pulled you from your seat and you laughed as you followed her, sending a wink back over your shoulder to Spencer.

He sat grinding his teeth as you continue your games on the dancefloor, swaying your hips suggestively, not sparing him a single glance as you practically exposed yourself on a dancefloor. He decided he’d let you have your fun and then march you out quickly. He moved his timeline up exponentially the minute he saw a man saunter up behind you, whispering in your ear before walking you over to the bar.

Downing his drink, he made his way to your side, pulling you away from the man quickly.

“We’re leaving now.” He said, leaning down to your ear as he grabbed your coat and pulled it around you.

“Man, what do you think you’re doing?” The man who had pulled you away was visually drunk, looking rough and dangerous as he leered down at you.

“She’s not interested and she’s too young for you anyway.” He said, very close to flashing his badge to get him to back off.

“What, you her dad or something?” He scoffed, but you turned on him with a wide smile as you leaned your head back against Spencer’s chest.

“He’s my daddy, actually.” With a wink, you left the bar, letting Spencer chase after you as you walked directly over to your car. Throwing him the keys, you jumped into the passenger seat.

“I’m taking you home now, you’re being reckless, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Reckless how? It’s not like I’m the one who has been stealing my boss' daughter's panties for the last month.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You jacked off into my panties and now you’re pissed I caught you…wow.”

“Can you just shut up? I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like me to tell him how you put them back in my pocket tonight, right?”

“Was that a threat, Spencer?”

“If I was going to threaten you, Y/N, you’d know.”

“You’ve changed, you know. Since I was a teenager. You’re different now.”

“No, I’m not. I’m very much the same.”

“You’re hotter now. I don’t know how that is possible because fuck did I want you back then, but now…” You let your eyes trail down his face as he continues to drive, jaw tense. His side profile had always been pretty, but with the bags under his eyes now more pronounced, you thought about what it’d be like to trail your mouth down his neck, what you would give to sit prettily on those lips of his.

Your tongue darts out to wet your own lips, as the fantasies grow to fill the car. Suddenly it’s his hands between your legs, making you moan like the whore he’d accused you of being earlier, it’s his tongue down your throat as he fucks his fingers into you, completely ruining you.

When you pull over, you’re certain that he’d heard your thoughts, because you didn’t recognize where you were at all.

“Spencer, this isn’t my dad’s house.”

“No, it’s mine. Get out of the car.” Suddenly obedient, you do exactly as he tells you, jumping out of the car as swiftly as you can and letting him march you up the stairs, right through his door and all the way to his bedroom. He pushes you forward gently but with a firm enough hand that you know he wants you on the bed. He doesn’t touch you any further as you prop yourself up on your elbows, but moves to another part of the room, grabbing something from a drawer before throwing it at you. Throwing them at you, you supposed, because when you looked down, you found your other pairs of missing underwear on your lap.

“I’m sorry for being so fucking dirty and disgusting, but you need to stop saying those things to me before I do something we both regret.”

You don’t reply, sitting and breathing heavily for a second before pushing your body further up the bed and reaching down. His eyes drink you in as he watches you hook two fingers underneath the underwear you’re wearing and drag them down your legs, not caring that he can see everything. You let go of them as soon as they’re hanging off your leg, holding them out to him.

“Peace offering?”

He’s on you in an instant, crawling on top of you so he can shut you up with his mouth, his hands, his whole being. You welcome him greedily, letting him take control as he pins your hips down underneath his.

“Little slut, you want me to fuck you so bad?” He says, a hand at your chest, pinching your nipple hard through your dress as you moan and writh underneath him. “Throwing yourself at your father’s friend like this, huh? Must be a little whore.”

He doesn’t let you respond, shoving two fingers into your mouth as you obediently wrap your lips around them and start sucking. Pushing your dress up, he groans at how wet you already are for him, swiping a finger over your clit carefully as you moan around his fingers, the vibrations shooting straight to his cock.

Lifting his hips, he unzips his pants in a second, not stopping to contemplate the consequences of his actions. His cock is pressed against you, gripped in his hand, but it’s hot and it’s heavy and fuck do you need it inside of you. He teases you with it as you whine around his fingers, trying to top from the bottom and grinding your hips up into him. He removes his fingers from your mouth reluctantly so he can hold your hips down.

“Spencer, don’t fucking tease me. Please just fuck me now.”

“Are all of you Hotchner’s this fucking bossy?” You roll your eyes, ignoring his question as you move to grab ahold of his cock, lining it up with your cunt and pushing it in slowly. A hand over yours stops you before it can get any deeper.

“Wait, I haven’t put a condom on yet.”

“Then you better make sure you pull out before I have to tell my dad exactly who it is that made him a grandaddy.” His hips snap up into yours then and with a few shallow pumps he’s fully sheathed inside of you as you scream at the feeling. You’d spent years thinking about this moment, but you’d never imagined he’d fill you so perfectly, stretching you out in all the best places.

His fingers return to your clit, working you up into a frenzy as you arch up into him, wrapping your legs around him to allow him better access. He growls into your ear with each thrust, before grabbing fistfuls of your ass and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

He pulls out quickly, repositioning you and holding your legs open wide as he stands between your legs, lining his cock up and pushing into you once again, immediately regaining his pace. He lifts one knee onto the bed, again pushing your legs down into the bed and opening you up further to him. The new angle hits deeper inside of you than you were sure anyone had ever been, momentarily leaving you breathless and soundless, listening only to the noises coming from your cunt.

Wet slaps of skin against skin, the arousal trickling down your leg to stain his sheets.

You regain your breath just as he knocks it out of you again, pushing you over the edge as you cum, hard, on his cock. Your head goes dizzy as you struggle to come down from the bliss he’d pulled you up into, legs twitching as he continues pounding into him.

You’re vaguely aware of some loud moans and screams, and it takes you an entire minute to realize the sinful noises are coming straight from your mouth.

“Fuck, Spencer, so fucking good for me, you made me feel so good, thank you.” His hips stutter inside you then, and you feel a heat flood you.

“Shit,” he pulls out quickly and sprays the rest of his load over your pretty black dress, falling down on top of you and reclaiming your lips passionately. You stay locked together in that embrace for god knows how long, rolling around back and forth in his bed until he finally detaches himself, pulling your clothes off and throwing a large old t-shirt over your head before grabbing you like an oversized stuffed toy and leading you into the depths of oblivion.

When you wake up in the morning, the pounding in your head is exaggerated considering you hadn’t really drank that much the night before. It takes you a shocking amount of time to realize that the pounding wasn’t in your head though, but instead a loud banging against Spencer’s door, ordering him to open up

You’re so comfortable though, you try to ignore it. Until your father’s voice is pouring through the paper-thin walls.

“Spencer, open the door, right now, or I’m kicking it down. You have five seconds.” The Spencer in question shoots out of bed immediately from beside you, scrambling to pull on pants and make his hair look like you hadn’t been tangled in it all night before running to the door.

You similarly panic around the room for a second, searching for a hiding place and grabbing your phone before settling on the absolutely genius position of under the bed.

You hear the confrontation like it’s happening right over you.

“Aaron, I really think you’re going to regret this.” David Rossi’s voice is calm, trying to talk some sense into your father, but he isn’t having any of it.

“Where is she? I told you to drop her off at home when she was finished drinking, but she wasn’t there when I woke up.”

“I can explain…” Spencer trailed off, and you cursed the man for being such a bad liar. That line hadn’t worked on you, either, so you doubted it’d work on your dad. Opening your phone, you check the time. 11:47. You quietly cursed yourself as you opened the multiple messages from your father.

You decide to help Spencer out by replying to one of them now.

“Hey, Dad. I ran into an old friend last night, and Spencer made sure we both got back to her’s safely. I’m still at her apartment, but I guess I forgot to text last night because I was so tired, sorry for worrying you!”

You heard his phone ping with the message, heard the tense silence as he read the message slowly, and heard the incredibly loud ping of your own phone, screaming from inside Spencer’s room as he replied.

Unfortunately, your dad hears it, too.

Pushing past Spencer, who in his defense is doing a great job of taking a stand by slowing down your father momentarily, Aaron Hotchner bursts into the room just as you poke your head up from the side of the bed.

“Morning, Daddy.” You try, hoping to sweet talk your way out of this whole situation.

“Living room, now.” He says, hesitating for only a moment. “You’re dressed, right?” You almost laugh at his pathetic tone before considering the situation, just nodding and walking out behind him as you try to make Spencer’s shirt cover more of your body than it originally did.

There’s a gleam in Rossi’s eye as you walk past him, head hung in embarrassment. You sit guiltily on the couch, and Spencer finds his way next to you, and you suddenly feel like two children about to get the scolding of a lifetime.

“What were you thinking?” He demands, and you grow suddenly angry at the indignant tone of his voice.

“Dad, I am 23 years old, I do not need a lecture for spending the night out.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, sit down. Spencer? Anything to say.” You slump back into your seat and wait for the answer just the same as your dad is, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel a blanket being thrown over your legs, and it isn’t until then that you notice how cold you’ve been. He takes the time to wrap the material around your body, making sure you’re comfortable before he even thinks about looking up at your dad.

“Hotch, what is it that you want to know?” He levels his stare with your father, and it seems to dampen his anger a little bit. They’re having a silent war right now, in some kind of expressive language that you’ve never been able to decode, and somehow, it seems that Spencer is winning.

“Did you use protection?” Your sharp intake of breath is about all the answers your father needs, and you realize how majorly you’d fucked up by letting the conversation get this far.

“Dad!” you shout indignantly. “That is frankly none of your business.” He doesn’t look at you though, not even sparing you a glance as his eyes stay focused on Spencer, trying to figure out something you’re not even sure of yourself.

“For god’s sake, Dad, I’ve been in love with him for five years.” All the eyes in the room snap to you then, and if you hadn’t been feeling shy before, you certainly were now.

“Y/N, you’re barely an adult.”

“I’m sorry that’s entirely rich coming from the guy who had a child straight out of high school. I’m an adult, which is why I’m allowed to make my own mistakes and decisions, and I’d really prefer your support instead of your judgment.” Your father tries to speak again, to protest some part of what you just said, but unlistening, you groan in frustration and just climb directly into Spencer’s lap.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Spencer panics below you for a second, before resting comfortably on your legs, far enough down that he is spared your father’s dirty looks.

“Aaron, I think you’d better hear the girl out. She reminds me a lot of someone I know, so hard-headed these youths of today are.” You are intensely thankful for Rossi’s presence then and you send a thankful smile his way, just as your dad grumbles.

“Uncle David is right, you should listen to Uncle David.”

“Until a few days ago, you were calling Spencer “Uncle Spencer” so I’d be quiet if I were you, Y/N.”

“Heard.” He pauses for a second to think, the years finally etching into his skin as he breathes out a sigh of relief. You suddenly feel bad for not being home when he woke up, and you can only imagine how it must’ve felt to not know where you were, or if you were safe after everything that he’d already been through.

“I’m not against this, I suppose. But I swear to god if you ever go missing on me again, I will have an entire agency out for you.”

“You know where I’ll be, Dad.” He nods then turns to Spencer.

“You’re going to take her to a pharmacy in the next three hours to get emergency contraception, and then the both of you are going to come - fully clothed - to my house. It’s been a while since we had a family dinner.” You smile brightly up at him, and within another minute, it is just you and Spencer in the apartment alone.

You looked back up at him shyly and tried to awkwardly climb out of his lap, but he pulled you right back into him.

“For the record, I think I’ve only been in love with you for 37 days. Is that okay with you?” All of the confidence drains from your body as you struggle to find the words.

“In my defense, it’s not that I didn’t love you back then, it’s just that you were so young, I think I never considered it. And when I realized that you had those feelings, I felt so guilty about it, I never stopped to let myself think about what else I was feeling. And then you were gone and I didn’t have to think about it again, and then you came back, and I’ve been doing a lot more thinking now, and I think that-”

“I think that you should shut up and kiss me, Spencer Reid.” You said.

“Heard.” You giggled as he pressed his lips up into your own, pulling you further down into him as he held you tight. You didn’t come up for air for a long while, drinking as much of him in as you could as he gave you his heart.

“You know what this means?” You said, finally pulling away with a gasp.

“What?”

“You don’t have to steal my panties anymore. I can just give them to you now.” He lit up red underneath you and groaned as you laughed at his pained expression.

“As long as you never mention that to your father, I think we’ll escape this job and lives intact.” He said, a faraway look telling you he was likely running probability on those ideas right at that second.

“Just remember, my dad has two weapons and the ability to move you halfway across the country should he choose to.” You pressed your forehead against his, chuckling once again at his pained expression. “But also remember, that I’d happily follow you anywhere, Reid.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Hotchner. Oh, no, that was weird. We’re going to have to get you a new name sooner rather than later.” You gasped as he lifted you in his arms, standing and carrying you back to the bedroom.

“Spencer! What are you doing?”

“We need to go brainstorm some new names, too weird to call you Hotchner. And I do all of my best thinking in bed.”

“Really? I do mine in the shower,” you teased, holding tight to his shoulders as he continued forward.

“We can definitely try that next.” He said, carrying you through the door, and closing it shut behind him, hoarding your attentions for the rest of the morning.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #aaron hotchner #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #kinktober 23

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

Mirror, Mirror | Two

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART ONE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda oscillates between crying and being overcome with confidence to confess. She barely has time to reflect when the devastating news arrives that you have a date, and Wanda needs to formulate a plan—quickly.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: cue the shenanigans of date stalking and taylor swift. Put your hands together for the real MVP of this chapter: Yelena.

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4.5k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

This week's philosophical question is: Is it gay to think about your best friend?

The short answer is no. The long, complicated answer is that it might be.

There's logic and reasoning behind this because don't most people think about their best friend? Don't most people plan to have their best friend in the future? If not, then why would they be best friends in the first place?

Sadly, there's a rude awakening in Wanda's wobbly defense. Natasha is the only person to blame for blowing down her defense made of straw when Wanda chats with her on the phone in the evening while you're out for a photoshoot.

"How's Maria doing?" Wanda asks.

"Good," Natasha answers, and Wanda can hear the tap water running and realizes the redhead is doing the dishes. "She'll be coming to visit during Christmas."

"Oh, you must be very excited!" Wanda beams. If it were her, she'd be ecstatic to be seeing you after so long.

"Yeah, it'll be good to see her. I think she's bringing her girlfriend, Sharon. They've been seeing each other for a few months, and she doesn't have anyone to spend Christmas with since her grand-aunt passed away.

"Oh," Wanda's voice is low, brows furrowing. "That seems very fast if she's coming to spend a holiday with Maria. How do you feel about it?"

Natasha hums. "Happy, I guess? I haven't met Sharon, but I've been hearing good things about her. She's able to keep up with Maria's busy life as she's got her own, but they make time for each other."

"But what if Sharon's wrong for Maria, or Maria ends up getting hurt."

"Then I'll break Sharon's legs, but Maria's a big girl. I'll be there for her, but she'll be okay," Natasha chuckles.

"But—"

"Wanda, what's with the questions about Maria?" Natasha cuts off. "Is it something with Bug? Are you worried about Raye? She's told me they haven't even gone on a first date yet; why are you so worried?"

"It's not about that!" Wanda said defensively. "I mean—I am worried, but I just don't want her getting hurt. She's my best friend; she deserves someone perfect. Don't you want someone perfect for Maria?"

Even as the words came out of Wanda's mouth, she grimaced because she was nowhere near perfect herself.

"Of course I do," Natasha sighs. "But unless Maria is hurting, I'm not going to get overly involved with her love life. She'll go at her own pace and update me as she goes."

"But how will you know if Maria is going to continue living away? If she gets serious with Sharon, will Maria still plan to move back here? How will you guys plan on having a wedding at the same time and picking a house in the same neighborhood?" Wanda asks seriously. Her tone is distraught because it feels like Natasha doesn't care about her best friend at all!

There's a moment of silence on the other line before Natasha says, "We don't plan for that. I mean, I'll be bummed for sure if Maria doesn't move back but we'll always be best friends. We'll visit each other and keep in contact as often as we need, but we don't need to physically be in the same place."

And another realization slides into place.

"How are you guys best friends?!" Wanda yells into the phone before she hangs up without another word.

Wanda knows that she'll have to call Natasha later and apologize and say she's on her period or something, but right now, with her eyes hot and wet, she digs her face into her pillow and cries instead.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Hey, I need to head out for another shoot today. Do you want me to pick up anything for you?"

Your voice muffles through Wanda's closed door. You've come in a few times, but Wanda had stayed in bed and pretended that she might've been under the weather.

"No," Wanda says loud enough so you can hear it. "Have fun, though."

"I'll be home soon and make you some paprikash, but there's some chicken soup in the fridge for you if you want some while I'm gone," you reply. Wanda momentarily hears your hand land on the doorknob, but you don't turn it and come in. "Feel better, brat."

You don't wait for Wanda's response even though it is a quiet, "Thanks, stinky."

Alone in the apartment once more, Wanda sighs. She's been all over the place emotionally since she last talked to Natasha on the phone. She later sent a voice memo through text apologizing and said her period just came, which explained all the craziness. Luckily, Natasha was kind enough to leave it be, but they haven't chatted much since then—mostly on Wanda's end.

Wanda's been caught between wanting to spend more time with you and distancing herself while sorting through her feelings. It was so easy at that moment to leave Vision and feel intense jealousy of Raye, but now in their own little bubble, everything was unraveling like a poorly wrapped present.

The only saving grace was that you and Raye couldn't align your schedules to go on a date anytime soon. Raye was out of state currently and was supposed to be traveling for work for the next few weeks, and you were confirming projects that were supposed to be for the entire month.

The extra time was sorely appreciated.

In short, Wanda has cried 8 times in the last week while equally getting the inspiration almost to confess 7 times.

There was a nagging fear, though. What if you didn't feel the same? What if Wanda was reading this one gigantic sign wrong, and you simply just liked brunettes with green eyes?

Or, what if you did feel the same and things didn't work out? What if the two of you date, and it goes wonderfully well before it ends? It doesn't matter what causes the end; just what if it did?

In either scenario, things would never be the same, and Wanda would lose her best friend of 10 years.

Although, Wanda reasons that even if she confessed and you didn't feel the same, she wouldn't actually lose you. Sure, things would never be quite the same, but the friendship would continue. They've endured much worse, and Wanda would probably get over her feelings.

Probably.

Because if she didn't, well, Wanda wouldn't know what to do. She's lived too long of her life with you; she can't think of what it'd be like without you. Logically, she knew she'd survive, but there'd always be a part of her missing.

Sometimes, Wanda thinks there was always a part of her missing until the day she met you. She can still remember 10 years ago like it was yesterday.

"Wanda, it'll be fine," Pietro's accent was thick and heavy, and Wanda refused to say anything out loud to acknowledge it.

The girls in her class were already making fun of her accent, and her attempts to talk to them were rebuffed with looks as if they couldn't believe she dared to speak to them.

It was too difficult, Wanda thought. It was too difficult to make friends when she transferred here mid-year, and everyone had already formed their cliques since elementary.

It was hard enough with the growing changes in her 14-year-old body, and she already felt awkward all the time—the giggling behind her back and to her face wasn't helping.

Wanda wanted to go back home to Sokovia, except there was nothing left to return to. The war had reduced everything to shambles, and everyone else in her family was happy to have been able to seek refuge in America—Rochester, specifically.

Wanda knew she should be grateful, especially since many of her aunts, uncles, cousins, and other extended family couldn't escape. She never really had too many friends, but the few she did went to Canada, and she knew she'd unlikely ever talk to them again.

It was a lot of change, and Pietro was the only person who understood her at this new school, but even he couldn't do much since they shared no classes together. Plus, Pietro had still managed to make a friend, and Wanda didn't have the heart to make him sit with her at lunch every day.

"Do you want me to eat lunch with you? I can ask Sam to sit with us," Pietro offered, but Wanda shook her head.

"Are you sure?" Pietro asked again, preparing to sit with Wanda anyway, but Wanda shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I'm just going to eat my lunch quick and head to the library to catch up on some assignments," Wanda mumbled quietly, waiting for some girls in her class to pass by before she said it.

"Okay," Pietro said, sighing since he was conflicted about staying with his sister or heading off to hang out with his friend. But at Wanda's insistence, he merely told her where she could find him if there was anything and took off with one last glance.

When Pietro was fully out of sight, Wanda took a seat alone at an empty table, pulling out her lunch reluctantly. She was quick to notice that the American kids typically brought a plain sandwich or bought food from the cafeteria, which usually consisted of the same foods like pizza or mac and cheese.

While the comments about the food she brought were also embarrassing, Wanda didn't have it in her to ask her mother to make something else. Money was tight, and asking to add other things to the grocery list just so she could fit in didn't seem worth it when it wouldn't do anything about the fact no one wanted to talk to her.

So, Wanda pulled out the finomfőzelék with her breaded chicken breast. She still didn't open it and let her containers sit on the table.

Wanda wasn't quite sure what was causing it. Maybe it was just this specific instance of sitting alone, or maybe it was the last week and a half of enduring this, but Wanda felt her eyes burn and water. She willed it with everything she had inside to not let it fall and took a deep breath.

"Hi."

The sudden sound made Wanda's head snap up, eyes wide with surprise. You stood there, and Wanda sort of recognized you from her classes. She thought she shared all but one with you. You've never contributed to the bullying but never stopped it or talked to her, either.

Wanda vaguely recalled you've been sick with a cold the last few days. Her eyes shifted to look behind you, and she could see your friends looking very confused and beckoning you to come back to their lunch table.

"Hi," Wanda quietly greeted you back, wincing at how the accent could even come out with one syllable.

You sat down suddenly, clearing your throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay," Wanda replied warily.

"Do you practice witchcraft?"

The question stumped Wanda.

"What?"

"Do you practice witchcraft?" You repeated, looking serious.

"No," Wanda frowned, so perplexed that she couldn't even be upset about her accent. "I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Well, Hela has been spreading rumors that you're a witch from Sokovia, and that's why Mr. Coulson passed away suddenly when you came."

Then, it's suddenly so clear why no one has been talking to her.

"But if you're not a witch cursing people to death, then that's cool," you said, interrupting Wanda's thoughts. "I wanted to ask you that earlier but then I got sick for a few days. So, do you want to hang out with me?"

Wanda just stared at you, her heart racing because finally, finally, she was going to have a friend. "Yes," Wanda replied quickly, smiling. "That'd be...cool," she repeated your slang.

"Cool," you smiled back before pointing at her food. "Noticed you bring different food every other day. Can I try some? I'll trade you some of my sandwich. Heads up, though, my mom has been experimenting with food. This week was Chinese food, so beef and broccoli might be between the bread."

Wanda smiled at the memory, the ends of it tapering off. You changed her life, and even when Hela made fun of you, you shut her up with a comment about how she stuffed her bra. It was devastating to a 14-year-old.

After that, the two of you were inseparable. You still occasionally hung out with your group of friends, but you definitely drifted to spend time with Wanda.

Wanda wonders if it was actually at that moment that she fell in love with you, but at 14, she didn't know how else to interpret it other than friendship.

You and Wanda didn't meet Nat, Steve, Bucky, and all the others until high school when the other districts were poured into one school. Since then, so much has happened.

Your parents divorced.

Wanda's mother passed away from cancer.

You dated Sam very briefly, giving him your first kiss and then shortly breaking up with him after.

You came out to her, scared, hesitant, and so happy when Wanda didn't care.

Wanda started to date Vision.

Wanda wanted to go to NYU, and you happily went there with her.

You confessed you had a crush on Natasha but didn't want to pursue it.

Wanda's first break-up with Vision.

You dated Jean Grey and cried when she left you for Scott.

When you wanted to stay in New York City, Wanda decided to stay here too, rooting her career here with you.

Wanda wonders if maybe actually she'd fallen in love with you several times over and over but didn't know how to interpret any of her strong feelings for you, categorizing them as friendship just as she did when she was 14.

"I'm home!"

Wanda hears the apartment door close and the shuffling of you taking off your shoes. She looks at the time and realizes two hours have already passed. Deciding that she's wallowed enough, Wanda decides to get out of bed and leave her room, running her fingers through her hair to tame it.

When she enters the kitchen, Wanda finds you starting the process of making paprikash. It's something you've always done for her when she's sick, feeling down, or homesick. Yet, in this moment, something swells inside Wanda's chest, and she wants to burst out crying again.

"Oh, hey," you turn around and smile as you see her, and Wanda clears her throat and blinks the tears quickly away.

"Hey," Wanda smiles back as she makes her way towards you. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I'm feeling better."

You open your arms for her to dive into a tight hug. You smell like clean laundry and mint, and Wanda wants to bottle your smell. The tension in Wanda lately starts to drain from her body as you rub her back comfortingly.

"Some paprikash never hurt nobody," you joke. "I'm glad you're feeling better, though, brat. Is it the break-up with Vis?"

"Huh?" Wanda's brows furrow. "No, not really. I haven't really thought about it."

"Homesickness?"

"Er," Wanda fiddles with the back of your shirt. "Kinda, I guess."

"Well, good thing Thanksgiving is in a few months. Your dad and brother are coming here this year, right?"

Wanda nods, brightening at the thought of seeing her family. "Yes, I hope papa and Tony don't get into it again this year."

"I think your dad gets a sick sense of joy of torturing the son of man responsible for all the weapons that destroyed Sokovia," you say dryly. "I think Tony's starting to catch on he's not serious, though."

Wanda chuckles, and you pat her shoulders before you pull away and take out a knife and chopping board. Watch sits on the bar stool, watching you cook, letting things fall into a comfortable silence.

This was everything, Wanda thought.

Nothing could ruin this moment, and Wanda thought long and hard, building up the courage to say something about her feelings. She wasn't sure what to say, so she might start with something flirtatious, but Wanda would say it more sensually instead of the usual joking tone.

"Oh!" You say without looking at Wanda, chopping the onion and garlic. "I forgot to tell you. Raye's flying back in a few days before heading out again, and we planned a date this weekend."

Everything is ruined, and Wanda can't tell if the onion or the devastating news is causing her eyes to water.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Why did you bring me here?" Yelena hisses.

"Because I can't bring Natasha!" Wanda hisses back. "And be quiet or else they're going to hear us!"

"Why not Natasha? She's your other closest friend," Yelena says, quieter as she grumbles. "You're making me miss movie night with Kate. We're supposed to watch Insidious and you're ruining my chances of making fun of her being scared."

"Because," Wanda exasperatedly says. "I've already had a meltdown with Natasha, and she's going to make all sorts of comments if she knows I'm doing this now. I can't be here alone since this is the type of restaurant only couples go to."

"You think I won't make comments?" Yelena raises her brow at Wanda, looking frighteningly similar to Natasha at that moment. "I thought you grew out of stalking Bug's dates in university."

Wanda doesn't reply, too busy staring at your table. Raye is making some kind of flirty comment, reaching across the table and lacing your fingers through hers. You're laughing—Wanda can tell with how your shoulders shake.

The restaurant you've chosen to take Raye to is a slightly upscale steak restaurant. You've ordered cocktails, a bottle of wine, and two appetizers to start.

Raye's biting her bottom lip suggestively before she takes a sip of her wine, her index finger is stroking the back of your hand, and Wanda's wondering if she can bribe a waiter to spill a glass of beer on Raye accidentally.

"Seriously, I know you're best friends, but this is out of hand. Just confess before Raye steals your girl and they get married."

Wanda whips her head back towards Yelena, eyes filled with indignation.

"THEY WOULD NEVER—"

"SHHH," Yelena hisses, and they both have to hide behind their menus when you turn around and look. "Jesus Christ, Maximoff."

"They would never get married," Wanda huffs before peeking outside her menu to see that you've returned to your conversation with Raye. But then she turns back to Yelena. "You know about my feelings? Did you always know? Did you—"

"Shut up," Yelena groans. "No, I was just fishing, and you're the sucker I caught. I mean, was there a time I thought you guys were too close? Yes, but it eventually became normal."

The two of them put their menu's down when it's safe, and Yelena seems to be carefully planning how to explain her thoughts.

"We've all accepted that you guys are very close, but you both kept dating different people—you specifically only dating boys and then Vision. It worked out that we were all going to NYU, but did you know that Bug had an offer to study abroad and do an internship that would've accelerated her graduation and then career?" Yelena carefully looks at Wanda's face.

"What?" Wanda frowns. She vaguely remembers you mentioning the program but recalled you dismissing it. You didn't tell her you were offered a spot in the program. "No, but I mean, she was building her online platform, and it was taking off. She didn't need to do an internship."

"No," Yelena agreed with a shrug, "but it wouldn't have hurt. I suspect she couldn't stand the idea of being away from you for a year. Just like how you turned down the job offer in LA at graduation when you knew she would stay in NYC."

"That wasn't—I just—" Wanda huffs. "I like where I am now. My work is flexible."

"Yeah, but being in public relations, you could've been making twice the amount you are now," Yelena raises her brow again. "Although, at this point, I suspect you both chose adaptable careers in case one of you wanted to move to another city."

"That's not true," Wanda protests.

"Do you even like being a PR?" Yelena asks. "At least Bug loves photography. You, on the other hand, have a talent for PR, but it'd be just as easy for you to do anything else."

"I do like it," Wanda stresses. "It's easy, and the clients I've got keep me busy enough. Just because I don't spend all my time on it or talk about it doesn't mean I don't like it."

"But—"

"Enough talking, our food is coming, and you better be ready to leave at a moment's notice," Wanda cuts Yelena off as the waiter arrives and sets their food down.

"Worst. Date. Ever," Yelena deadpans.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

As it turns out, Raye lives relatively close to the restaurant as you walk hand-in-hand back to her place.

And not too far behind, Wanda and a reluctant Yelena trail from a distance.

"She's not going to Raye's house, is she?" Wanda whispers with a frown.

"Why not?" Yelena grunts, adjusting her leather jacket. "She has casual flings all the time, and by the looks of their date earlier, it went very well."

"Not. Helping," Wanda glares at Yelena. They enter a street filled with apartments, and Wanda is careful about not following too close and walking under the streetlights.

"This is psychotic," Yelena groans. "Can't we go home? I feel like a literal serial killer out here."

Wanda doesn't respond, just staring ahead as they continue to walk. You're swinging your hand back and forth, interlaced with Raye's. There's giggling, and Raye keeps leaning closer to say something to you.

There's so much sexual tension that it's palpable from here, and Wanda wishes there was a serial killer out here.

How was Wanda going to stop this? How was Wanda going to prevent you from going home with someone else?

Wanda picks up a small rock and chucks it hard toward your general direction, hoping to spook the two of you apart. Except, her aim is so terrible that it flies completely left and hits the car beside you instead.

The car alarm goes off, setting off flashing lights and a very, very loud beeping noise.

"Wanda, what the fuck—" Yelena is cut off when Wanda suddenly shoves her down into a bush and dives next to her. "Ow, you fucking—" Wanda slaps her hand over Yelena's mouth.

You and Raye look behind, completely perplexed, when no one is there. You try to check out the vehicle, but other than a small dent, nothing is wrong with the car otherwise. Since neither you nor Raye caused it, you continued walking.

It turns out Raye lived in the building just a few steps ahead. You both stand at the door, holding hands before Raye throws her arms around your neck, smirking.

Wanda's about to pick up another rock when Raye moves in suddenly for a hot, searing kiss.

And when Wanda watches you kiss back, her hand goes slack. Something awful builds in the pit of her stomach, and there's nothing Wanda can do when she watches you go into the apartment.

Yelena watches Wanda's crestfallen face and sighs. "Wanda—"

"Let's just get back to the car and go home," Wanda mutters as she stands up, not bothering to brush off the dirt, leaves, or twigs from her hair.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The car ride home is sickeningly pathetic—a new low for Wanda.

"PLEASE DON'T BE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE. PLEASE DON'T HAVE SOMEBODY WAITING ON YOUUUU—" Wanda hoarsely cries out, tears streaming down her face. She's off-tune, and she's screaming more than she is singing.

"Oh, god," Yelena sighs, bringing her hand to her face in embarrassment in the passenger seat. They've stopped at a red light, and the car beside them is staring at them strangely. "This is sad for even you, Maximoff."

Wanda doesn't even acknowledge that she heard Yelena, only belting out, "I'LL SPEND FOREVER WONDERING IF YOU KNEW—"

"Just kill me, just kill me, just crash this car and kill us both," Yelena mutters to herself.

The house is dark when Wanda returns, not that it should be any surprise. Deep down, though, Wanda hoped you'd return home and somehow beat her to it.

Wanda's eyes feel tired and raw from crying the entire way home. Yelena gave her a reluctant hug, mustering all her kindness into rubbing Wanda's back and kissing the crown of her head when it was buried in her friend's shoulder.

Pulling out her phone, Wanda looks at her texts. One from work, a couple of Natasha, one from Vis, and one from Pietro. She stares at your name in her messages, but nothing comes even if she wills it.

Instead, she shoots you a quick "hey :)" and puts her phone away. You'd unlikely answer, but Wanda couldn't help herself.

Sighing, Wanda gets ready for the night, trying to not let her mind drift on what activities you and Raye could be doing.

Please let it be scrabble, please let it be scrabble, Wanda thinks as she finishes brushing her teeth.

As she walks towards her room, she pauses. It's unlikely you'd return until tomorrow morning, maybe even noon. Biting her lip, Wanda turns and walks into your room instead, crawling into your bed under the sheets. She pulls the blanket up to her chin, inhaling your scent slowly.

It both comforts her and makes her heart twinge.

After an hour, sleep falls upon Wanda easily, and she's nearly in a deep sleep when the lights suddenly turn on, and a yelp is heard.

Wanda wakes up suddenly, shooting up with her heart pounding that it's a robber, but it's just you standing at the door with your hand over your heart and chest heaving.

"Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me!" You scold Wanda. "I totally thought you were my sleep paralysis demon!"

Wanda rolls her eyes at the comment but frowns as you calm yourself and rummage through your closet for sleeping clothes. "What are you doing at home? I thought you were going to sleep over at Raye's."

"She got a call in the middle of everything. It was her sister or something having some kind of meltdown. Raye says her sister can be dramatic, and it happens once a month, but she couldn't really hang up. I got sleepy waiting, but I didn't wanna crash there to just sleep on a first date," you answer.

"I'm sure you would've gotten some in the morning," Wanda mutters.

"I guess, but feels weird since it'd definitely be rushed," you take off your jacket and socks before heading to the bathroom. "It's fine, we'll probably reschedule for another date."

"Perfect," Wanda sighs as she starts to get up.

"Stay there, brat," you tell her as you stand at the door. "If you're gonna sleep in my bed, you better commit to the sleepover."

Wanda sticks her tongue out at you, which you return before you leave.

Tapping her fingers against the sheets, Wanda smiles. Maybe the night wasn't so hopeless after all.

PART THREE

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x y/n #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #modern avengers au #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics

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netherfeildren · 8 months

Text

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation.

Word Count: 13.9K

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2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange.

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly.

Each other.

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps.

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at.

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you.

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost.

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way.

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed.

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words.

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do.

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that.

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no.

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too.

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead.

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before.

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks.

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand.

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows.

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea.

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you.

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know.

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing.

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong.

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest.

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here.

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath.

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment.

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already.

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot.

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating.

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.”

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign.

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint.

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed.

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging.

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here.

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so.

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–”

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion.

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you.

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake.

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child.

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it.

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger.

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too.

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin.

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him.

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be.

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box.

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not.

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by.

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is.

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts.

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable.

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you.

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you.

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on.

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive.

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge.

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge.

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks.

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so.

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now.

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears.

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him.

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within.

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give.

He takes it all regardless.

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided.

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line.

No, no.

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that.

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can.

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one. And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm.

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts.

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle.

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up.

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now.

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking.

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right.

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell.

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself.

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye.

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom.

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer.

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet.

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now.

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room.

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled.

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him.

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back.

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha.

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side.

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly.

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it.

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you.

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell.

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together.

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right.

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you.

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again.

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way.

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs.

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there.

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words.

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go.

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible.

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of.

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him.

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased.

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else.

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue.

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat.

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head.

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all.

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel.

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much.

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much.

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower.

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know.

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun.

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want.

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows.

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.”

Want, not need.

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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#vic fic #HSM fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us AU #pedro pascal characters

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spirkme915 · 1 year

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so i was visiting my aunt a few weeks back and we got on the subject of star trek (as it's one of the few commonalities we share anymore).

i asked her about what it was like when twok came out and *that* ending and the look on her face was sheer devastation. then she said,

“you probably don’t remember this, but your uncle and i got married the day ‘search for spock’ came out. we cut the reception short and took the entire wedding party to the theatre- well, MORE than just the wedding party. it became this big group of people that all bailed on the reception because we had to know if spock was going to be okay.”

yes, she went to sfs in her wedding dress.

#star trek #star trek the wrath of khan #star trek search for spock #spock #star trek tos #fandom old

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theblueflower05 · 1 year

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Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

(Part Three of the First Love/Late Spring series)

A/N: This is a monster of a part. I thought about splitting it into two but it just wouldn’t make sense to the story! I hope you babies like it.

Word Count: 10+ (holy fuck)

Warnings: This story is smut filled. All future installments of this story will be explicit.

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Oral(female & male receiving), fingerfucking. Penetrative sex. Breeding. Talks of anal. Spanking. Cum eating. Dirty talking. A bit of exhibitionism if ya squint. Pretty much all the sexy sexual things you can imagine.

Summary: You and Neteyam move into your new home and spend your first Fertility Season together. Neteyam x Metkayina Reader

Series Masterlist (all parts can be found here)

Previous:<Crawling Back to You

Next:> Part Four (currently unnamed)

Honey, I belong with you

And only you babe.

Only you my girl. Only you, babe.

Only you darling. Only you- Dark Red, Steve Lacy

You had never been good with change.

Your steadfast nature flourished in routine. You found happiness in the known. In your corner of the world, mixing tinctures and tending to your clan. You’d been well aware of your role from a young age, had thought you’d understood the great mother’s plan for your life-

And then the Sully’s had ridden in on the strong east wind.

There had been invisible strings at play.

Unbeknownst to you fate had threaded you to a future that you couldn't have foreseen even in your wildest dreams. Entangled your heartlines with the last person you ever would’ve expected-

You think about the fact as you stare out at the choppy sea. Your hands are busy collecting the last of your belongings, but your mind is far away. Distracted and restless as the storms that gather along the coastline. The sky is dark and rain already falls in a light misting.

Fertility Season is here, palpable as it rolls over the village of Awa’atlu.

You’ve never experienced it this way, always a spectator and never a participant. Normally at this time of year you’d be preparing to assist the other villagers through the week of haze induced mating. Being bogged down by wet weather and running from Mauri to Mauri had always been exhausting, but still. You knew how to do it, we’re accustomed to what was expected of you when a healer was needed.

What would be expected of you as a mate?

The thought excites you and terrifies you all the same.

You want to be with Neteyam. There is no question about the fact. You crave him in a way that you didn't know was possible. Carnal and inescapable. Being with him is as easy as breathing,

It’s everything else that’s harder.

You’re an adult now, have been for years, yet you still live in your family home. It’s not that you had been forced to stay. Ao’nung had taken his leave after his rite; his hut more of a bachelor pad than anything. He still came to his parents home daily to raid their food stores and have his mother touch up his braids- but still. He’d jumped fearlessly into independence and had been living on his own for over a year.

All you’d ever known lived inside these walls.

Your Uncle Tonowari and Aunt Ronal had taken you in at such a young age that you don’t really remember anything else. You’d slept in the same bed since you were a childling, in your secluded little corner. Decorated with all of your trinkets and shrouded in familiarity, you’d loved your space.

It was safety incarnate.

And you leaving was difficult, for everyone.

It would’ve happened one day, a necessary step towards adulthood that all had to take and yet as you took your turn you couldn't help but be a bit devastated. It felt like a shock to your system, gathering everything you’d accumulated and preparing to leave.

After Fertility Season, you wouldn't return. You’d never sleep under this roof again.

You and Neteyam would start to build your life together- and you’d do so in your own home.

It wasn't even as though you were going far, the vacated mauri that Tonowari had granted you permission to claim was mere meters away, still in the heart of the village. The move wasn't a major one, and would take no time at all. Nothing like the way the Sully’s had been forced to uproot and leave everything they’d ever known.

There was no reason for you to act like a baby about it. So don't allow yourself to.

Even with all of the swirling questions plaguing you, you put on a brave face. Kept it all smiles and reassuring nods. This was all going to be just fine.

Right?

Right.

It’s too busy a time of year for your Aunt and Uncle to be housebound. They tend to the people, attention occupied by assuring the good of the clan. Of course they had given you all of their love before leaving to fulfill their many duties as Olo’eyktan and Tsahik-

Ronal had been stony about your coming of age. Very helpful, sending you back and forth with arms full of supplies and many words of advice. Tonowari on the other hand had played at being unaffected- charitable as ever. Smiling the whole way, reminding you of how proud of you he is at every turn. You pretended not to see the mist in his eyes that he furiously wiped away when he thought you weren't looking.

Tsireya has tears, silent but steady, rolling down her face the entire time you prepare to leave.

She helps you pack and reassures you that she’s fine. She’s so happy for you, yet still. She sniffles paws at her nose every few moments, no matter how many reassuring words you give her.

“You’ll be fine” you hum, gathering the last of your herbs, the tiny vials clinking together as you toss them in with the rest of your things . “Aren't you excited that you get the bigger bed space now?”

She just shoots you a wet smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

Your baby.

Your sweetest girl.

It wouldn't be long before she was leaving the nest herself, but you don't remind her of that fact, you just embrace her tight instead.

Finally, with the large woven basket in your arms, full to the brim, you step out into the rain.

It's chillier then it usually gets on the island. The humidity and wind creating a cold that clings to your bones. You bound quickly down the buoyant netting. Everyone seems to be out, even with the weather- getting their affairs in order. It was going to be a long week- and the village was a buzz. Everyone flitting around, focused in on making sure their loved ones would be well taken care of.

It’s a bit embarrassing, the attention that you receive.

Well meaning clans members give you their blessings in spades. Tight hugs and words of well wishes. Whispered advice and wrapped parcels of food.

A group of Elders who you have known since birth stop you in your tracks. Their hands on your back, your chest, your arms, as they chant over you.

They ask the Great Mother to look over you during this season, to bless you with strong babies and healthy pregnancies. Their knowing smiles are both encouraging and mortifying.

“Your man sure is handsome” Ch’kal, a wrinkled woman with striking silver streaked into her long dark hair, starts “But do they not feed them in the forest? He’s so skinny, isn't he? I’ll give you our families recipe for Lomia-lok(cabbage like rice roll) Put some meat on his bones”

You want to argue that Neteyam’s not skinny, he’s lean. All muscle and sinew, he was stronger than he looked.

Instead you respond cordially “I will gladly take it, thank you for the offering”

“No worry, the skinny ones always have the biggest surprises under their twengs. My muntxa was a scrawny thing and look at how many little ones he gave me” She continues, a mischievous spark twinkling in her eye. Known for her unbridled, silver tongue. “You know what they say, you can’t judge the fruit by the tree”

You can feel the blush rise on your cheeks as images from the beach flash before your eyes.

She had no idea just how…well endowed your future mate truly is. His cock had felt so good in your hand, better than anything you had ever encountered. Huge and hard and all yours.

You keep that fact a secret, hold it tight to your chest as you break away from the crowds.

Lots of the homes of young couples have already been barred off. Their drapes pulled shut and wicker entry blinds secured tightly closed. A thin attempt of privacy. It does little to shelter the sounds of coupling coming from inside. Breathy moans and grunts could be heard, nearly drowned out by the whipping wind.

It was just the beginning. Fertility Season was known to be loud, your people not shy at all when it came to pleasure.

Eager to get out of the rain that only seems to get heavier as the hours pass, you duck down the netted pathway.

Your clan is lucky for the reefs, their protective cushion keeps the village from ever feeling the full fury of the storms.

Even still, by the time you’re at the mouth of your new home, you’re drenched. Your hair clinging to your back uncomfortably as you get to quick work.

The graciously given pod is something of a fixer upper.

Had been used for storage but cleared promptly when you and Neteyam formally announced your courtship. He wouldn't have to build a Mauri from nothing, but even then. It would be a while before the space felt your own. The bare walls unnerve you a bit.

A sturdy roof is all that's truly needed and it had been patched up just fine. The fire that Neteyam had started earlier crackles warmly, a pleasant welcoming as you dry yourself off.

The firepit in the center has been cleared of soot and debris and topped by sturdy rods that hold a ready to use skillet and hand-me-down stew pots. There’s baskets of fresh fruit and dried meat placed in rows near the jugs of fresh water, you suspect that neat work had been Neteyam’s mothers doing. Neytiri had been a great help in the relocation process. You still felt a bit awkward in her strong, silent presence but we’re no less grateful for the offered assistance.

A bed mat, thick and large enough for two sits in the back corner. Already piled with an accumulation of Metkayinan and Omaticayan woven bedding. You admire the foreign patterns that make up Neteyams quilts. They look cozy, so much thicker than your own thinner blankets.

You sink down, resting on your shins as you begin to arrange them. The need to nest is instinctual, deep rooted and you move on auto pilot as you straighten out the bedding. It had to be perfect, the home. Your bed. And it would be, had the potential to be.

Yes, it’s a little bit of a mess.

The collection of you and Neteyam’s things strewn out across most of the visible floorspace, not yet put carefully away and sorted. It’s also far smaller than what you’d grown up in. Kind of rickety and worn down-

But it’s yours. You would live an entire life here. You get lost in imagining it; raising children, growing old. Spending years cultivating endless memories- maybe you’d build onto the structure? Expand the pod, depending on how many children you have-

“Fucking hell” Neteyam curses in his fathers foreign tongue as he rushes through the entrance, quickly latching the canvas and wicker flap across the doorframe behind him. Securing your home against the stirring elements.

His arms are full and he’s soaked from the storm. Rivulets of rain water race down his sculpted body and you try not to be too obvious as you gawk at him.

He’s just so good looking, it really is unfair.

“It’s really starting to pour out there”

“Yes, I was worried you might of drowned” You grin back at him, loving the

“Ha, ha” Neteyam teases as he goes to drop the baskets full of food down by all of the others “It’s my mom. She wont stop. I keep trying to tell her that we will be fed for weeks but she just won't hear it. ”

“I think it's sweet” you hum as you watch the planes of his back, the muscles bunching as he bends down to arrange the fruit.

He’s so strong, holds it in his back and broad shoulders. You ache to run your fingers along his long spine.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip hard as you continue working at the bedding. Trying to get the blankets to lay just right. You don’t think it will truly be done until you and Neteyam’s scents are saturating every inch of fabric, but still. It’s good right?

All you want to do is drag him down, make him roll around in the bed mat. It’s too firm, not broken in yet. You need him to plow you into it, if only to soften it up a little.

Your thoughts had been horribly vulgar since that night at the beach. Vivid in a way that had you losing yourself to them often.

It had only been two eclipse’s since, but the days had been long and filled with rushed preparations. Neteyam had been preoccupied with making sure the Mauri was livable, that it was comfortable enough to house you, comfortably, for the duration of the coming week. Both of you would be lost to your hormones soon, it was best to get it all done while he still had his wits about him.

The spaces between intimacy make you anxious and antsy. You question yourself, every touch and word. He’d made it more than clear that he wanted to be with you but what exactly did that mean? Could you just touch him, however you wanted, whenever you wanted? You’d never shared that with a man and knew you had a while to go before the awkwardness of it all faded.

Neteyam’s presence breaks you out of your thoughts, a big hand coming to rest on your shoulder. Palm warm as he looms behind you “It looks good, yawne.”

A surge of pride runs through you, makes your fingertips tingle and tail swish slowly “Really? You don’t think it needs more blankets? I could hunt some down-”

His chuckle is low, deep. So gentle as he croutches down until he’s nuzzling your hair, speaking his next words so close to your ear that it flicks with the whisper of contact.

“There’s no need for that, it’s perfect. Such nice little nest for us to spend the season in”

How does he always know just what to say?

You lean into him heavily, your back meeting his chest. Stomach fluttering with excitement at the contact. You’ve wanted to be in his arms since leaving them and are pretty sure that this could become an addiction. Being so close to him was heady, you’re not sure if it’s the electric energy in the air- or if its just HIM.

His hands slide from your shoulder, skimming across your chest. Massaging your flesh with the pads of his fingers. Your heart flutters hummingbird fast as he thumbs at your collarbone and a small gasp leaves you as his fingers start to slip down into your skimpy top.

It’s been so hard, keeping your mind from sinking under the haze of Fertility Season. So many of your peers are gone to it. Completely to their hormones, tucked away together as the storms batter the shore.

His touches leave fire in their wake, warm you up from the inside out and melt what little control you have left. You’d been good, hadn’t you? Gotten everything in order, all of your responsibilities were squared away. You could just…have this. Have him, and your small home and the rising heat between you.

“Need you” you whisper as he begins to palm at your breast, rubbing a callused palm over the hardening bud of your nipple over and over again.

“Need me how?” Neteyam presses, not stoping his insistent groping “‘What do you need, yawntutsyip(darling)? My mouth, my hands? My cock?”

You choke on your own tongue, startled by both Neteyam’s raunchy words and the fact that he pinches your sensitive nipple hard as he speaks them.

In all reality, you want it all. Want to ride his fingers again, and feel his mouth all over you. You’d dreamt, so vividly, about his head between your thighs-

All of those pale in comparison to what you truly crave.

‘It’s the skinny ones that always have the biggest secrets under their twengs’

You maneuver in his hold, twisting until you come face to face with exactly what you desire.

With him standing, straightening out to his full height, and you still resting on your knees, your eye level with the prize. Saliva pools in your mouth as you lean in, sucking in deep lungfuls of his scent. Its so strong at his groin that even concealed by his tweng, it still fills your nostrils in fragrant plumes.

So virile and potent that your womb throbs sparply, empty and wanting.

You nuzzle between his legs, nosing eagerly at his covered bulge. When you begin wetting the cloth of with your open mouth kisses and wandering tongue, Neteyam winds his hands in your hair and tugs your gaze up to his-

He’s more than happy to let you explore and get your fill but the lack of skin to skin contact is driving him crazy. His amber eyes are low, his belly concaving with his quickening breath.

“Baby, you’re killing me” he whispers whinely and a feline like grin stretches across your face.

“We can't have my mighty warrior dying on me, now” you croon at him, your small hands running up his strong legs. His muscles bunch under your touch, his thighs firm up, tightening in anticipation “I just wanna...Can’t I have a little taste?”

When you cup where he’s chubbing up, he hisses warningly between his clenched teeth, his fingers tightening in your hair-a thinly veiled warning. You just continue to give him that innocent little look.

Neteyam reaches for the leather bound knots of his covering, tugging on them harshly to free himself from the increasingly tight constraints, its hard to wiggle out of it. Especially when you keep reaching for his swelling balls with deft fingers, your hand tucked in between his thighs-

“Y/N!”

You giggle at his tone, at the shrill warning as the tips of your nails scritch his delicate taint.

Neteyam is huge. His cock is as dark as the rest of his svelte body, but blooms rosy purple at the crown of his swollen head. Longer than it is thick, a bead of thin opaline precum oozes from his slit.

You hum in the back of your throat, swallowing thickly around the saliva that pools your mouth. You can smell his sex, smell his essence rolling off of him and it’s dizzying.

You’re absolutely overwhelmed by it. It triggers something deep and primal. You want to roll around in this smell, want him to cover your body in it.

“You smell really good” you whimper, face coming to rest in the crease of his groin “Eywa, Neteyam- I-I want-fuck“

He hums, the hand still in your hair turns comforting. Pats at your head like your a child. “You wanted to taste, didn’t you?”

“Mmhm” you squeak, inhaling deep lungful's of his rich aroma.

“Then taste, sevin(pretty girl). Here” he pulls you from his center, hold your head, guiding it until your lips hover his top “stick your tongue out-“

The grunt that leaves him sounds like it was punched right from his stomach.

You don’t stick your tongue out-it’s more you take as much of him as you can into your eager mouth. You want his taste down your throat, want to guzzle it straight from the source.

The sensations are exciting and new. Having something so big in your mouth is admittedly a bit awkward, but the flavor that your rewarded with more than up for it. His skin is musky and warm-cut only by the sharp tang of the precum pouring out of him.

“Slow down, damn it- don’t-” Neteyam calves burn, struggling to stay upright as you attack him. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

You’re so hungry for it, gagging yourself harshly on his member. The sounds that erupt from your chest are animalistic, needy and a bit pathetic. You whine for him, knowing somewhere deep that you need his come inside of you.

He’s trying to keep his wits about him, really he is. Trying to guide you through it

“Breathe through your nose, aht. Just like that”

“Not so much teeth, a little gentlier”

“Deep-too deep! Not so deep!”

Between the sounds of your gagging and the little bobs of your head, Neteyam’s losing it. His hips chasing the sweet suction of your hollowed lips, his tip hitting the back of your throat. The rhythm is sloppy and it only takes one odd, pointed thrust to make you choke raggedly..

You cough, pulling off him.

Your sucking had been messy and clumsy, you smear spit all over his groin. Your chin shiny slick when you pull away for a much needed breath.

Neteyam is panting harsley, his face screwed tight in concentration.

“Am I doing okay?”

You’ve never done this part, and that idea that you might be doing it wrong gnaws at you. It’s a familiar uncertainty, one that you’d been warring with since you’d met the darker Na’vi. Neteyam was so sure- so good at all things, and while his competency was part of his appeal, it made you worried that he might realize just how fucking unexperienced you are.

His eyes open, fingers unclenching from the fist in your hair and coming to cup your jaw. You kiss his thumb when it runs across your lips, chase it with the tip of your tongue.

“You’re being such a good girl for me, Y/N. You almost made me come, I was barely able to catch myself”

The sensations stirring in your belly makes you groan, hug his legs tighter, your head pressed against his lower belly. The praise makes you feel lightheaded. Very much like you aren't really in this moment-

He clocks the slight change, on the way you’re clinging to him. He suddenly doesn't want the power dynamic, he doesn't want to leer over you any longer. Not with the sweet little nest you’d made right there just waiting to be used

“Is that what you wanted?” Neteyam wonders as he herds you, gentle but sure, back into the tangle of blankets. You go willingly, back resting against the padding, “To make me come?”

He likes this so much better. You all burrowed into the covers. He wants to pur at the sight of you, wants to dig you deeper into the nest. Cover your body with his own and never let you out.

“Mhmm” you stare up at him with big eyes. “O-of course I did. I want to know that I can bring you pleasure”

At his strong body as he crouches, shuffling forward on his knees. He’s as naked as the day Eywa brought him into this world. He’s something out of an ancient song, so bewitchingly beautiful. All of those sharp, jagged angles-

And yet he smiles at you so tenderly.

“You’re so sweet” Neteyam’s voice is a honeyed croon “Always trying to make me feel good. But I need you to feel good too- I need you to be comfortable with me”

“I am comfortable with you-”

“Are you?” Neteyam inquires, his hands skimming up your legs that are spread round his waist. Starting near your ankles, his palms skim up the firm lines of your calves, trace your knees. So patient in his exploration of your turquoise skin.

You’re panting shallowly at his touch on your thighs.

His bony fingers play with the plush flesh, digging into where your blubber meets hip. Squeezing at curiously. You feel exposed, giddy and scared at letting him touch you.

It’s not like that night at the beach. Not rushed in the shadows.

He takes his time, his golden iris’ searing in the fire light as he appraises you. You’ve never felt…so seen. You’d never had anyone take the time to look at you, like this. Boys in the clan had shot you greedy glances as you matured and came of age and as the niece of the reigning Olo’eyktan, you’d become accustomed to having eyes watching your movements, judging- positively or negatively you never really knew.

It makes you want to run, that look on his face. All intense, focused in only on you. It’s too much, you want to curl into a ball. Away from all of this attention. Want to read his mind- try to understand what he’s seeing. What he wants.

So you can give it to him.

His fingers reach for your embroidered tweng, nimbly working the knots.

“Nete?” you breathe, your voice shaky with nerves.

Still, you raise your hips. Helping him slip the fabric from your body.

The inside of your thighs shine in the flickering glow. The juncture of your body sticky and ready for him. His nostrils flare, his thin tail shoots straight in the air. Stock still.

He’s breathing hard, gulping in lungful's of the air that's swimming with the scent of your pheromones. The scent of your wet cunt.

Emboldened by the sight you spread your legs, knees falling open. Revealing where you're hot and pulsing. The baby blue lips of your pussy are puffy, unfurling into a pretty rosy color as you bare your insides to him. Your hole twitches, pulses with your racing heart rate.

His gaze on the most hidden part of yourself makes you hot. It's secret, just for him. Just for his big honeyed eyes.

You reach down, spreading yourself with your fingers- your hard clit poking out of its little hood in a way that has Neteyam groaning. His shoulders shaking as he turns his head- like he just can't bare the view. You fingering your own cunt, spreading it wide for him would be burned into his corneas for the rest of his days.

Your fingers are soaked, barley dipped into yourself yet covered in your own arousal. You bring them up to Neteyams quivering lips-

He gasps, gaze snapping back to yours as you wipe your shiny slick over his cupids bow.

“Fuuuuuck” he hisses, grabbing your thin wrist bruisingly hard. Holding your feminine hand to his face, helping you to rub your wetness along his mouth.

You’re in love with him.

You have been for months. Your heart had pined for this moment. To share this with him, to be able to scent him. To hold him. To mate him.

You don't have it in you to wait any longer.

“Please” you gasp as his hot tongue delves between your fingers, tracing your knuckles.

“Please what?” he mumbles, his mouth busy collecting any and all of your essence that he could reach.

You’re overwhelmed, shaking. You think you may start crying- your eyes sting harshly. As harsh as the sting of your empty womb. “I-I-I don't know. Please. Just please-”

A flash of lightning strikes across the sky outside, so bright that the pod lights up for a moment with its vicious neon purple glow.

The two of you look at each other in a light that's new, foreign. His long dark braids look something like a halo.

Neteyam can see the tears gathering in your eyes. The desperation in the green orbs.

“Y/N” He breathes, lowering his head to yours. His forehead resting against your own as he clutches your hand from his mouth to his chest so that you can feel the way that it's racing. “oel ngati kameie. I’ve only ever seen you-”

You gasp, lips searching for his.

He repeats it into the pecking kisses. He wants you to know, to understand that this was all he’d ever wanted.

A woman, warm and loving and all his, in his bed.

He’d laid bruised and bloody on the battlefield dreaming of this. Thinking that it was too far out of his reach, that he could never have it. Though the woman in his fantasies face had always been blurry- he knew it had always only been you. Eywa had plucked him from the forest, from everything he knew, and plopped him in the middle of the ocean.

To bring him to you

You reach for your kuru, the thick braid easy to find in your loose hair. You need this, before he slips into your body you need to be connected to his soul. You’re gagging for it, shaking as you offer him everything you have to give.

Neteyam brings his own kuru over his shoulder and your stomach flops dangerously.

There’s a moment of stillness.

The storm rages steadily outside, the platter of rain on the canvas roof consistent. The howling of the wind strong- and yet all you can hear is your own heartbeat. Neteyams breathing. There are no more words to be spoken. No, they’d only get in the way. What the two of you are doing is ancient, older than Pandora itself. Its the base for all life, for all connection.

The tendrils at the end of your kuru glow, a lilac haze as they reach desperately for Neteyams own. Straining, writhing in a way that you’d never experienced.

Only calming as they connect with what they truly want. They bind together seamlessly, and the bond is sealed.

Tsaheylu is made.

The air is forced from your lungs in a breathless whimper at the contact. You can hear Neteyams own sounds too. But no, that's not really it.

You’re not hearing him, you’re feeling him.

His soul, his essence is bright and dancing. He’s stronger then anything you’ve ever felt, instantly seeping bone deep. He feels like the forest at dawn, like the last moment before the evening eclipse over the ocean.

You’d heard stories of the first time mates make Tsaheylu. Of course you had. Some had been dirty and scandalous, leaving you blushing. But most had been whispers of reverence.

There was nothing like it. Being connected to another Na’vi body, mind and soul was an experience that no one could truly put into words.

You get it now.

It's all consuming. Overwhelming. Euphoric in a way that you didn't know could exist.

You and Neteyam blur. You’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

His forehead grits against yours as he pants, lost to the sensation of you. Of him. Of the bond.

His arms twine around your middle, hauling you as close as possible. He wants to crawl into your skin, wants to dig so deep into you that he will never return to the outside world. He’s only yours, from now until the day he returns to the All Mother.

“I’m yours” you reply through the haze. The words spill through the neurological connection. He doesn't need to speak them out loud.

And neither do you. You needn't tell him what you want. He can feel it, can feel the hot pulsing of your desperate cunt. He grabs ahold of his hard cock and leads it to where you need him. He doesn't even need to look, though a part of him wants to watch you take it.

You cry out as you’re breached for the first time. Your virgnally tight body clinging to every inch of him as he sinks slowly into you. The sensations new and dizzying. Everything is too much, and at the same time not enough. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck as you choke on the stretch of it all.

“You have to relax for me, shh, it's okay. Don't tense up or else it will hurt more” He soothes you, because he can feel it all. Tsaheylu a feedback loop. It hurts, there’s no way for him to have completely eliminated the pain. But he works you slowly through it. Let's you take all the time you need as he carves out his place within your body.

His sharp hip bones meet yours and you shudder.

“You okay?” he worries as you shift against the large intrusion. Your hips shifting, testing. You just shake your head and bury it in his neck. Eyes screwed tightly shut as you try to adjust to him.

It takes a long moment for the burn to fade from pain…to something else. Something itchy and nagging.

“Mmm” your hips move in slow, restless, circles. Electric shocks racing up your spine, flowing through your kuru as his heavy length rubs a spot within you that feels so good “Move, ugh, move”

“Slowly” Neteyam starts to adhere to your plea’s. Trying not to give into his need to snap into you.

“Cant-ah. Feels so weird” you grunt, trying to nail that place inside of you again. Your gummy walls pulse around him, your body begging him to help. To make you feel good. “Move, move. Please, I need you to move faster”

“So fucking tight” he gasps as he pulls out, only able to get about halfway free, before your strong hole is sucking him right back in. “Never felt anything so tight”

He feels your flare of jealousy, uncomfortably hot, through the bond.

“Never- you can't be with anyone else again” you warn him through shuttered breath. Your nails digging into the smooth skin on the back of his neck, under his braids.

“My love-” his amused chuckle tickles your ear.

“No. You can never even look at anyone else again. You’re only mine” you seethe, your hips grinding into his dangerously. Encouraging him to take you. To pound into you the way you needed him to. “I’ll kill them”

Neteyam's groan echoes around the space of your newly shared home.

His thrusts grow strong, careless. Pulling out and then sinking back into your squelching heat, all the way to the hilt. Your body's jerk with the rhythm of his fucking. You hold on tightly for the ride, your knees hugging at his ribs as you give him all the room he needs to move inside of you.

His tip bully’s it’s way deep, too deep. You wail as it kisses your cervix. That sharp pain back, combined with the pleasure it was unbearable.

“Ah” you arch into the sensation, confused at the way your body welcomes it even though it stings, and feels scarily new. Neteyam grabs your left leg, raises it high until your calf rests on his shoulder.

Your eyes cross, your mouth falls open in a wordless gasp.

Everytime you try to suck in a breath, he fills you right back up. Hits that secretive, sensitive spot relentlessly. Its maddening, makes you shake all over-

“Neteyam” you warn, reaching for his hand. He just grabs your fingers, pins your arm over your head, hand held captive by his fingers as he starters down at you.

“Yeah? Are you there?” His thrusts turn very pointed, deliberate “Come for me, come all over me”

You’re tightening up quickly, screeching as you clench around his plowing cock. The waves of pleasure are almost too much, feels too good. Your stomach quivers, and it’s like you dove from the highest cliff as you’re struck by your first orgasm.

It’s so good you can taste it-

-You choke on it as Neteyam continues his relentless pace. Not slowing down even a little bit as you struggle. Left hypersensitive, still pulsing around him as your orgasm is drawn out. Never ending. You’re blubbering, trying to ground yourself, holding onto him as he pistons inside of you.

His panting breaths are damp as he hides in the skin of your neck.

Holds his body to yours as he works himself to his release. One of his hands still keeps your arm pinned above your head- the other works his way to your leg that’s loose around his hips. Props it up to join the other, so that both of your legs dangle over his broad shoulders. Bends you into a mating press that has you screaming. Truly unable to take in a breath as he displays all that strength of his- and holds you down. Makes you take what you’d wanted to much.

It doesn't take much at all- when his sharp canines graze your shoulder you’re gone for. You don't think you’d truly come down from the last orgasm when you fall into another. You can't even take in a breath to make sound, you just wheeze as you come.

Neteyam had wanted this to be special. Had wanted to do it right- to mate you the way that your ancestors had intended.

As he bites into your shoulder, his teeth breaking the skin- he seals the bond. Its painful, and the sharp metallic twang of your blood fills his mouth as he fills your pussy with his seed.

His groin presses against yours, holding you still. Keeping the rivers of his release inside of you. You're whimpering and twitching, yet still he pins you.

His warm, slippery tongue laves against the sluggishly bleeding wound.

He hopes that it sticks.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

The hours drone by and day turns to night, the dusk not bringing an end to the storms. If anything they get louder. The rain falling heavier, thunder roaring startlingly. You are so beyond fucking glad that you don't have to brave it, that you instead get to laze in bed. Wrapped up in warm, worn blankets.

Your body melts into Neteyam’s as he massages every inch of exposed skin. His strong fingers digging into your tired muscles as you lounge against him, cheek laid comfortably on his chest.

You feel boneless, but also more powerful than you ever have before. You’re a woman mated now. All of those seasons spent alone, all of the whispers. They don't matter now.

You have a mate.

You hug Neteyams waist a little tighter, hiding your smile in his dark skin.

He chuckles, can feel how proud you are of yourself through the bond. He hasn't bothered to disconnect your kuru’s after he’d slipped out of you, not ready to release the Tsaheylu. You we’re more then happy to be connected for him for as long as he liked.

You think you might enjoy this part as much as the sex. The afterwards is soft, he attendants to you diligently. You can feel his affection pour off of him in waves. It's thrilling, all of it. This whole day had been filled with fresh experiences. You feel brand new, a different side of yourself coming to the surface.

You’d never been anyone’s lover before.

It makes you all giddy and excited, being his. Having him be yours.

You tell him things you’d never told another soul, not even Tsireya. All your secrets come flowing out of you like a babbling brooke. You want him to know all of you, even the embarrassing scary parts.

“I can see it” He chuckles heartily at the story from your childhood. The one about a bet gone wrong, one where Roxto had been drug down the depths by an angry mother Kapapal(octopus). You’d jumped in after him even though you we’re smaller then a shell shocked Ao’nung, it had all ended in a cloud of black ink that had stained your skin for weeks “You’re my brave little warrior, aren't you?”

“You are the brave one between the two of us. It’s not every tsamsiyu (warrior) that can pass two Iknimaya”

Neteyam shrugs, his hands working on a knot between your shoulder blades “Things like that have never been hard for me. It's simple when there's a task that I can see the end of. It’s like- that is the way my mind works. Anything can be done if you keep your head down and figure out a way whether through. Lo’ak calls me a bootlicker for it. Maybe he’s right, I do not know”

Your fingers dance along a raised, jagged scar. It's on his lower stomach, stretched out across his right hip. It had to have hurt, even now you can feel how deep the scar tissue runs. His body is littered with them. Little tokens from the war. It hurts you that his learned coping mechanism is essentially just sticking it out. Bracing himself against the pain and swallowing it down.

He’d never have to do that again. Not with you.

You cup his jaw “Your brothers not the brightest ilu in the pod, I wouldn't pay any mind to his opinions. It’s why I’m glad that him and Ao’nung are friends now- their voices cancel eachother out”

Neteyams laughter is ringing and contagious.

He’s beautiful when he’s given the opportunity to be vulnerable. When he’s not weighed down with the weight of all of his responsibilities. His eyes glitter when he talks about the forest, about his grandmother and the Omiticaya people. About the vast mountain ranges and dense, endless greenery.

Even when he speaks of the war and training, its not with the sadness that you know you’d be overcome with if you ever had to face such adversities. He was good at following orders and giving them, had an entire air fleet that was at his control.

He mentions a name a few times. A female name. You can help but notice it.

And its stupid. Really it is, but you recall how he'd said you were the tightest he’d ever been with. How many women had be been with, back home? You knew that he wasn't a virgin. He’d never put up that front with you but still-

You busy yourself with the still raw tattoo that sprawls over his right arm. Across his shoulder and down his bicep. It’s still hot and healing. Easy for you to focus on, your withdrawing nature flaring up protectively. You’d rather focus on tending to his wounds then being stupidly upset about his past romps.

You retreat from his arms with a small smile, gently breaking Tsaheylu-

“Hey!” Neteyam protests, reaching to pull you back, but you just giggle at his antics. Standing up and scurrying to the other side of the hut.

Your belongings were scattered all over the place- but still. You dig for the little jar. Giving a triumphant little “aha” when you find it.

He pouts as you plop back down next to him, demanding you give you his arm.

“It’ll get infected if you don't take care of it” you warn as you spread the viscous liquid over the slightly raised ink. Rubbing it into his skin, blowing on it when he hisses about the sting. Kelp Jelly tended to do that. Still, he leans into your touch.

“Let me put some on your shoulder” he requests when you’re finished nodding at the scabbing bite on the juncture where your shoulder met your neck. You allow him to dip his long fingers into the jar, to spread it over your own wound.

“Did I upset you?”

“No”

“Liar” he sighs, working the jelly in a thick layer “I felt it through Tsaheylu. Was it the war? I don't have to talk about that if you don't want me to”

“Of course it wasnt that…” your lips purse as you try to pick your words in a way that will least embarrass you. Try and fail. “Who’s Zeytawni?”

Neteyam gives you a long blank look before a smile cracks across his handsome face. His braids sway as he shakes his head, his thumb brushes soothingly at the skin around the bite.

“You are the most jealous woman I’ve ever met” He’s extremely amused, it makes your cheeks burn and a haughty protest raise in your throat.

“I am not! And if I was-am I not rightfully jealous? The two of you we’re obviously close” you splutter because it's not fair! That it’s all a joke to him. You’re always so flustered and he’s always so collected “I know that you have had…women. I get to be curious about that. I’ve never had partners the way that you have. I don't have anything to compare it to-”

“Stop” Neteyam’s voice is sage but demanding. He puts the jar of healing salve down beside him- before his fingers spread across your bare breast bone. Pressing his palm firmly against your heart.

“There’s nothing to compare. Nothing at all. Please do not ever break the bond again before you ask me about other women. You could’ve have felt for yourself what I feel about all of this.”

Your mouth quirks as you roll his words over in your head. You know he’s right- that you had a one way ticket into his head just moments ago. But maybe you’d been scared about what you’d find. Still naively clinging on to your insecurity.

“I'm just not very experienced. You know that. I’d barely done anything with anyone before you” You whisper, feeling smaller than you we’re.

“That’s…not a bad thing. Not for me. I don't like the idea of anyone else touching you” Neteyam reassures you, but his jaw smarts. Like even thinking about this makes him a little sick.

You get a little thrill out of it “Why? Are you…jealous?”

He snorts. His amber eyes boring into yours for a moment before he speaks “You know exactly how I feel about the attention you get from the men in the village”

You giggle, reaching out to press a peck of a kiss to his cheek “No one ever sparked my interest.”

“Really?” He argues, scoffing a bit as he pickles on a loose thread of the bed mat “None of them seemed to get that hint, huh? They all thought they had a chance.”

You shimmy as close to him as you can get, molding yourself into his side. His arm raises so that you can press right under his armpit, skin to skin. Your hardening nipples graze the side of his ribcage.

You love this. It may not be exactly healthy but you do.

You love feeling like you're not the only one losing your damn mind over the idea of ever having to share what the two of you had.

You smother the side of his face in kisses, your lips pecking all over his cheeks. His nose. The corner of his lips- which purse as he gives a halfhearted return.

“You’re the only one who ever had a chance” you promise as you begin to drag wet open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He’d shed his many chokers, and his bare throat is just so pretty.

“Ahuh” he grumbles, but his head lulls, giving you more room “Even today, I watched so many head’s turn to watch you. As you readied to move into my hut, to live with me. It’s maddening”

You heat up at his words. You feel your core begin to pulse again. You want him like this all of the time, and you know that the future is going to be littered with attempts at getting your man this riled up as much as possible.

“Mark me up some more?” you suggest, casually as ever. Grinning when your mate groans a little at the idea “Cover me in your cum. Make me smell so much like you that no one will ever question who I belong to.”

You yelp, shocked, when his hand claps loudly against your ass.

Swatting it once in warning, before his big paw begins to grope at the hot flesh. For a moment you’re so surprised, so scandalized, that you freeze.

That’s just for a moment though. You’re quickly resuming your assault on his neck, your tail wagging excitedly behind you.

“You like this?” He phrases it as a question, even though the bastard already knows. As though he can't tell, can't feel how wet you are for him when his fingers slip between your cheeks and circle your hole. Your pussy's already futtering for him.

“Mhmm” you whine as he presses into you, fingers disappearing knuckle deep. Not slow, no. He starts to fuck you with them almost automatically “Of course I like that you want me”

He pounds you with his hand and you gasp into his ear, jutting out your sweet behind. Wanting him harder, wanting all three of his long digits pressed as far into as they can go. It feels almost like a punishment…

You think you might like that, too.

“Silly girl” He chastises as he plays your body like a flute “I’ll always want you”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

The week passes by, although you truly wish it wouldn't- and slowly the rains start to clear. The storms fading into something docile, rainbows glittering as they catch on the many little windchimes you’d hung at the entrance of your home.

You and Neteyam don't leave the Mauri once. Completely enthralled with one and other. Intertwined too deeply to move far from the bed mat. He keeps you fed, cleaned and hydrated. Tends to any and all of your needs. Makes sure your greedy body is satiated-

“Ma Nete” you whine from your place among the blankets. The pout on your face is endearing, dramatic as anything though. "Don't go"

The two of you hadn't broken Tsaheylu in days. You could survive the separated bond for ten minutes.

“I have to go get more fresh water. We ran out last night- don’t look at me like that! I’ll be right back!” He’s refastening the leather straps of his tweng. He just has to go as far as the center of the village, to the well.

You’re not having it. You have no idea how he had wrestled his way out of your arms, but this wouldn't do. There we’re still women in the throws of Fertility Season. You could hear the caterwauling. He couldn't just go out there with all of his muscles-

“But paskalin(honey). We can go get water later. Together” you protest and he shakes his head, grabbing the water pail next to the fire pit.

“Or I can go get it now and get it over with” he sniggers, making a move for the doorway. He’s reaching for the flap, reading himself to leave.

When your pitiful moan rings through the air.

He should be strong, should be a dutiful mate. Needs to clear his head enough that he can take care of you-

Instead he turns back.

You’re a dirty cheat, he’s learned that fact during the last week. A sore loser. A little brat who couldn't take no for an answer. He’d spend the rest of his days spoiling you rotten and he blames Tonowari for it. He wonders if the older man had ever given you healthy boundaries;

You’d do just about anything to get your way. Resort to nasty tricks that you know he couldn't resist-

This being one of said tricks.

You’re on your hands and knees, your spine a perfect arch as you raise your ass into the air, and keep your head and shoulders pressed into the bedding. Your thighs parted wide as you reach back, tugging on your cheeks.

Presenting beautifully for him. The perfect picture of submission.

Your still wet holes wink at him hypnotically. Luring him back like a fish on a hook.

His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows, hard. Feet rooted in place as he battles with himself.

“Y/N…” He warns, even though he knows it’s futile. He can't resist you like this.

Can't resist you at all.

“Come taste” you purr, wiggling your hips as your delicate fingers trace the furl of your sphincter. “Tastes so good, huh, paskalin? It's cause I'm full of your cum. We taste so nice combined”

Neteyam groans, deep and gutted, and the pail clatters to the floor.

He dives back in, face first.

Not at all ashamed over the fact that his previously unswayable sense of duty deems to dissipate when it comes to you and your demands.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

The village is coming back to life. Couples rejoining the world after their week spent intimately tucked away. Slowly but surely Awa’atlu will return back to it’s everyday routine.

Jake maneuvers the walkways, smiling at people he passes. It had been much like this, in the forest. Fertility Season had been something he’d definitely had to get used to, a culture shock to the extreme, but once he realized how important it was to the Na’vi he’d got with the program pretty damn fast.

It's a sacred ritual, Neytiri had explained to him the first time he’d participated in the ritual. He had spent the week trying to keep up with his mate, completely surprised by the tantric, communal, act of sex.

It’s vital for their population, Norm and Max elucidated. They needed to have these seasons so that their tribes can stay afloat. If they don't, there weren't be enough babies born.

Whatever the true cause, it was an experience for sure. Back home in the forest as the Omiticayan Olo’eyktan, he’d been much more hands on. Running around like a chicken with his head cut off for weeks before the event. Organizing the hunt, making sure the coupling Na’vi were taken care of. Keeping the entire clan afloat.

It had been different this year, as most things we’re since the big move to the coast.

This year he was just another Metkayina clans member. He and his mate still had children under their care and didn't feel the lure of the heat as intensely. He wondered if after Tuk came of age, would Neytiri want to go back to being active participants?-

They Sully’s had been of service where they could, picking up any slack. Helping with odd jobs. Kiri had been a great help to Ronal, her quick healing hands had come in handy to the heavily pregnant Tsahik. Tuk beaded bracelets and delivered them, along with little prayers, to everyone's doorsteps. Neytiri had become quite the fisherman in her time on the Island and made sure to double up on her hunts, less anyone need a meal. Even Lo’ak had pitched in, an aid when needed. The kid bitched about it the whole time, but Jake had reminded him that it would be him in the mating couples’ place soon. Lo’ak had rolled his eyes and shrugged his dad off. Jake didn't miss the way his youngest son shot a very busy Tsireya a lingering look.

There was one very big presence missing though.

His eldest son had always been his right hand man, and especially during busy times of the year such as this, Neteyam was the always biggest help. Running around almost as much as Jake, taking on any and all responsibility. Completing even the most minute of errands.

Another change this year. His eldest had finally chosen a mate. And had been locked away in his own Mauri for the past week. Participating in Fertility Season for his first time.

It's why Jake was sent on this little task. Neytiri had filled a large woven basket with more food. Pitchers of well water, replacements of medicinal herbs.

“Isn't this a little much? We just got them all stocked up-”

Jake hadn't even bothered to finish his sentence, cut off by his wife’s withering glare. He’d just taken the basket and promised to deliver it safely.

He adores that she’s such a good mother to their children, he’d lacked that back on Earth. Him and Tommy had all but raised themselves. But did she have to be such a…hover mom? Neteyam had made it clear that he wanted some space to mate with Y/N. Private from his bustling family.

Jake couldn't deny that he’d missed his boy. Was a bit worried about him. Neteyam been so against mating back in the forest, rejected any and all proposals. Fertility Season could be…alot, to say the least. A marathon that even the most experienced had trouble running. Jake wasn't ashamed to say that he’d fainted his first time. Neytiri had almost killed him.

He’ll just check in quickly. Drop off the goods. Make sure no one is unconscious. It’ll be fine, most everyone has come out from the haze of the Season anyway. The two of you we’re probably just recovering from the week. Cleaning up-

As he reaches the Mauri, he realizes how wrong he was.

Your moans can be heard through the walls. Syrupy and raspy, you sound worn out. Yet nowhere near stopping.

“Neteyam- ugh-right there. Right there”

Jakes ears flatten against his head and his eyes go comically wide.

“Take it, Y/N. Fuck-”

Jake abandons the basket by the door and hightails it the fuck out of there before he hears anymore. Na’vi are different about sexuality. Far more open. There’s no stigma or shame, just love and acceptance. He’d grown to appreciate it during his years on Pandora.

That being said, Jake had no desire to hear his eldest son fucking his mate. Grown man or not. Call it the tawtute in him.

He’s still a little mortified, even when he makes it back to his own Mauri. Neytiri is sat by the firepit, slow roasting a recent catch. His other kids are nowhere to be found.

“What is it?” she questions as he plops down. Her husband looks a bit shell shocked.

Jake takes a beat, before turning to her. A peculiar look on his face “I’m pretty sure we’re going to be grandparents soon. Like, very soon. Like as soon as possible”

Ah. Her husband and his earthly modesty.

She can't help but laugh at it. After all these years, he still was so easy to fluster. Her sister and Tsu’tey had spent their first Fertility Season under the same roof as the rest of the family. It wasn't odd, or frowned upon.

A part of her wishes Neteyam had done the same so that she could take better care of him and Y/N.

“If the Great Mother wills it, yes” She pats his five fingered hand encouragingly.

“There is no way that girl isn't pregnant right now. Don't you think I’m too young to be a grandpa?”

“No. You are very old now, my love. Look at all of that gray in your hair” Neytiri jests, pointing out the silvery webbing that had started to sprout from Jakes dreads.

“Skxawng!” He swats at her and the two of them break into giggles as he takes out his knife and starts to cut the vegetables, helps her prepare dinner.

After all of the years, their rapport is easy. They move in harmony. She is very excited that her eldest son has finally found someone to build with. He had been so picky, she was worried he might end up an eternal bachelor, forever fated to take care of his siblings.

Neteyam deserved so much more than that.

“I miss having a prrnen(baby) around. Tuk has grown so fast. My time to birth children has come and gone, I am ready for grandchildren. Though I wish they could be raised in the forest” Neytiri shoots her husband a look “They will need us to guide them through it. To protect them. Family is our fortress, that is what you say. Our family is growing, Ma Jake”

Neytiri had been younger than her son is now when she birthed him.

She had no doubts that he was capable of raising a family. He’d helped them raise theirs. Always more of a parental figure than a sibling. She’s factual as she reminds her husband. He’ll be a fun grandpa, he decides. Paw Paw.

He gets a blank confused stare in response. Tuk comes running in, talking a mile a minute, before Neytiri can question Jake about what a “pah-pah” is.

Neytiri prays to the great mother before she goes to sleep that night. For healthy pregnancies and easy deliveries. For her eldest son and his mate’s happiness.

That Fertility Season had been good to them.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Welp, welp, welppppp. I finally finished it. I want you guys to know how hard it was to get this finished. The amount of WIPS that sit unfinished in my drafts is actually sad.

But this story feels special. The response I have gotten to it has made me happier than I can express.

I'm so grateful to be a part of this fandom. Really. Pandora is such a fin world to escape into and play in and the fact that you guys enjoy reading what I consider self therapy is fucking amazing.

Next chapter will be full of pregnancy and pregnancy talk!!! If that’s triggering at all please just be aware that it’s coming and you can skip it if you’d like.

Also thinking about who’s POV we want to see next. Lo’ak’s maybe?

Again I want to remind you that I write what I want to read. I know that Na’vi don’t really have beds or blankets buttttt- I want them to.

Is there rice on Pandora? I’m not sure. My readers gonna eat some rice though.

Was it necessary for Neteyam to bite the shit out of her to seal the deal? Yup. Cause I wanted him to.

Part Four should be out in the next couple weeks. Thanks for being patient with me!

The taglist for this story is closed buttttt I am really good at linking my posts so just keep an eye on my page/Masterlist for updates!

Til next time babies.

Leave me all the good comments- you may get a teaser faster if you do lol

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x reader #aged up neteyam #neteyam x metkayina!reader #mating

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daytaker · 8 months

Note

Hiiii! I’m the anon that asked for the MC’s family request and it was hilarious, 10/10 if you don’t mind May i possibly ask for a part 2 with the dateables? Thanks for reading!

(Part 1: The Brothers)

"Mom, Dad, these are my other four boyfriends and my son."

...is what you almost do say when there's a knock at the door a few weeks later while you're entertaining your parents, your sister, and teenage cousin who's stuck with your folks while your aunt is on a cruise. Your parents stare at you with faces that all but beg you to ignore the damn door. Is it that cult again?

"Open the door! Is it that cult again?" your sister asks with shining eyes. She's been discussing going backpacking across the country ever since she met those seven hot guys who apparently adore you now. Your parents are devastated.

"Cult?" asks your cousin, looking up from his Switch with dead eyes. Your sister starts explaining to him as you go to the door and look through the peephole.

Oh, Christ. Oh, fuck. Oh, son of Gardonus---it's the son of Gardonus.

Opening the door just partway, you see that it's not just Diavolo. No, he brought the whole crew with him. Barbatos, naturally, but also Solomon, Simeon, and even little Luke. Diavolo holds a bouquet of flowers and Luke has a covered platter that almost certainly contains some kind of cake.

"Hiiiii, guys..."

"MC! It's been too long!" laughs Diavolo in his booming voice.

"It's been...a month..." you concede. Why, just...why...do all these handsome men find you so alluring? This is just your cross to bear, apparently. "It isn't a great time though, so---"

"Is that them?" Your cousin is standing behind you, peering out the door.

"No, this is... Who the hell...? MC, don't tell me there are more of them?!" Your sister is clearly astounded, and also quite delighted. "Invite them in! Invite them in!"

So, soon you're standing in the middle of your tiny apartment again, surrounded by friends and family, holding flowers and a cake, and feeling like you'd love it if a chasm in the earth opened up and swallowed you.

"There were more?" Your mom sounds hurt, like you'd been intentionally hiding things from her. "How many more besides these?!"

"Arguably three, but I don't know them well enough for them to visit," you say, winking reassuringly to the nervous author.

"Oh my god, there's a kid?!" Your sister has noticed Luke now. "Holy shit! Whose is he?"

You point mutely to Simeon, who smiles uncomfortably and waves.

"I'm not a kid!" Luke protests. "I'm--"

"You're a pre-teen. We know, Luke. We know." Solomon laughs dangerously, and Luke doesn't put up any more arguments.

You clear your throat. God, this is even more uncomfortable than the last go-round.

"Um, so. Everyone, I'd like you to meet---"

(Individuals are below the cut!)

Diavolo

Diavolo, who was never good at standing by quietly while other people talked, steps forward before you have a time to do any introductions. He extends a hand to your father, who has been eyeing him resentfully all this time.

"You all must be MC's relatives. What a delightful person you've brought into this world! I am Diavolo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"'Diavolo'?" your cousin mutters, looking at his Switch screen again. "Like from JoJo?"

Dia looks very confused, and as your father hasn't shaken his hand, he smiles awkwardly at you. "Perhaps I'm approaching this the wrong way? Are the customs here very different from...ahem. Where we are from?"

"You mean Italy?" your cousin says.

"Ah-- Yeah. Dia's Italian. People here are a lot less friendly," you tell him.

Your sister asks him how someone like him ended up in a cult.

You remind everyone that you were not in a cult.

"But you met my baby while they were away from home," Mom says accusingly, glaring at Diavolo. "When they were vulnerable and confused."

Diavolo has no idea what to say to that. Your dad is still glaring at him.

Solomon

"This is Solomon. He's---"

"I'm their mentor and closest companion," Solomon says helpfully, taking your hand. "We have a very special relationship."

You really wish that chasm would stop taking its sweet time and open up already.

"Mentor? Special relationship?" Dad finally speaks up, and his arms are crossed over his chest, his expression deadly serious.

"This must be your father," Solomon observes, still smiling. "Sir, it's an honor to finally meet you. I hope I have an opportunity to speak with you privately later. We have a lot to discuss."

Your mom is ready to throw hands with this guy. Your sister is enchanted. Your cousin is cursing under his breath at his Switch.

Solomon wraps an arm around your shoulders and you elbow him in the gut. He smiles through the pain but lets you go.

Simeon

"...Simeon. Simeon, these are my parents. This is my sister, and this is---"

"Is there some sort of attractiveness requirement to join this cult?" your sister asks, beaming at Simeon.

You remind her that there is no cult.

Surprisingly, your parents don't seem nearly as hostile to Simeon. Maybe it's that angelic charm at work. They both shake his hand, which is significantly more than they were willing to do with anyone else.

"Simeon, that's a good, decent name. What do you do for a living?"

"I own and operate a cafe."

Nice one, Simeon. Very smooth. And your parents look even more impressed.

"A business owner, eh? And at such a young age..."

No one points out to them that Simeon has probably been alive longer than humans have existed.

Luke

"...Luke!" He has a completely normal human name! High fives all around!

"And that's his father?" Mom points at Simeon. "He looks awfully young..."

"Oh, Luke's an orphan. Simeon's just his guardian. It's really sad actually. His parents died when their car careened off a cliff."

How did he end up living with a cult though, they want to know. That Simeon guy can't be a very responsible caregiver if he's living on the road.

You explain to your family (again) that they aren't in a cult, that Luke is a totally normal orphan child with a stable and loving home, and yes, Mom, he goes to school. Yes, Mom, he eats vegetables. No, Mom, you don't need to call DCFS.

"He's so cute," your sister coos.

"I am not!" Luke yaps.

"And he's shaking and everything! You know what he reminds me of?"

You rub your temples.

"A Chihuahua."

Barbatos

"This is, uh... This is..."

Barbatos smiles at you and offers not an iota of assistance. He finds this entire thing pretty funny.

"This is Barb... Barbados..."

"What, like the island?" your sister asks.

Yes.... Just like the island....

And yeah, he talks. Sometimes he talks a lot. I don't know why he isn't talking. Barbs, say something.

"It is an honor to finally meet your family, MC. What a charming collection of people."

"I like your hair," your cousin says, actually looking up for once. "And those are pretty sick beads."

You agree that Barbatos's human clothes are pretty sick.

Did you say human clothes? That was weird of you.

Your mother asks why everyone in the cult paints their nails besides Simeon and Luke. You tell her that there is no cult, but, uh, it's just a fashion thing. They just like it. Don't be judgmental.

Your cousin agrees. Don't be judgmental, Auntie. He paints his nails black. So, like, what, is he in a cult now?

You remind everyone that there is not and never was a cult.

Your cousin tries to give Barbatos his Tiktok and tumblr accounts, and Barbatos smiles very graciously but refuses on the grounds that he does not have a Tiktok or tumblr.

After you manage to get the group out of your apartment, shoving Solomon out as he farewells you as his adorable apprentice, you slam the door shut and lock it.

Your parents smile at each other, agreeing that you could do much worse than that nice Simeon boy. Your sister insists that she is going to backpack across the country with at least ten or eleven hot men, even if they do have a kid with them, and nobody is going to stop her. And your cousin has put down his Switch and is now designing a vampire OC that looks suspiciously like Barbatos.

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topguncortez · 1 year

Text

Jake & Y/N Seresin

Main Story:

✧ Part 1

✧ Part 2

✧ Part 3

MINI SERIES

✧ Are You With Me? it's been a whole year since Jake reluctantly signed the divorce papers from Y/N. A year of pretending like there wasn't a huge hole in their hearts. A year of pretending like everything is okay. But when one of their children faces the biggest fight of their life, Jake and Y/N must relearn to rely and trust one another. Can they do it? Or will this officially be the end of Jake and Y/N Seresin.

ANGST

✧ Forth times a Charm The three times Jake asked Y/N out, and the one time he didn't. AKA, the story of how Jake met Y/N

✧ Alternate Attraction What would’ve happened if Jake never came home from the Uranium Mission?

✧ You're Safe A break in at the house when Jake is working late. Only thing he cares about is that his family is safe

✧ Baby Blues Y/N has been struggling after the birth of her third baby, but Jake reminds her that its okay to not be okay

✧ All My Heart & All My Being Jake & Y/N are given devastating news on what was supposed to be a routine midwife visit. Jake navigates how to tell his kids about the circle of life.

✧ I Knew You Were Trouble things hadn't been great between the two of them for some time, but she never knew there was another woman involved

✧ Who’s the New Kid? Jake and Y/N start to look at when their relationship changed and drove them towards the arms of others

✧ I Still Love You Y/N goes out on her first date in. . . in a while. She struggles with her feelings as if it is time to start moving on, or if she wants to fight for things with Jake.

✧ Hold My Hand Y/N notices a change with her body, and Jake is there to give her the support she needs.

FLUFF

✧ First Kiss Jake doesn't kiss on the first date, but this time, he did

✧ Hold My Close based on this prompt: [close] sender reaches out and pulls receiver into their lap as they are walking by

✧ Moving In in which Jake asks Y/N to move in with him

✧ Monthly Visit Jake takes care of Y/N during her cycle

✧ Meet the Father Takes place before PART I, in which Jake meets Y/N’s dad for the first time.

✧ You're My Yellow Y/N & Jake take on the task of painting the nursery

✧ Time to Grovel Jake knows he messed up. . . and he also knows how to get out of it.

✧ You're Gorgeous Jake has the biggest crush on his wife, even when she’s covered in paint

✧ Adventures in Baby Sitting Uncle Rooster, Uncle Bob and Aunt Phoenix navigate a night with the Seresin kids.

✧ Brosectomy Jake decides its time to get the snip, and who better to join him than his best friend and wingman Coyote

SMUT

✧ First Time Y/N is ready to give herself over to Jake for the first time

✧ Period Sex Y/N tells Jake it’s the best way to help with the pain, and he’s all for helping her.

✧ Dog Fight Football Jake can't keep his hands to himself. . . again

✧ Turn On Jake can't help but be turned on at the sight of his pregnant wife

✧ Home Alone Jake and Y/N take advantage of having the house to themselves

✧ Bikinis & Tattoos Y/N has some new ink and Jake is all for it

✧ Nightly Interruptions Moments alone a few and far between

✧ Christmas Eve Jake wants to have some fun before bed

✧ Let's Talk About Sex headcannon about all things sex with Jake and Shy!Wifey

EXTRAS:

✧ Beach Day - Moodboard

✧ Opposites Attract - Moodboard

✧ Social Media pt 1

The Seresin Kids:

✧ Alex Seresin

✧ Ella Seresin

✧ Eli Seresin

✧ Japser & Maxwell Seresin

#g's masterlists #Jake Seresin x Shy!Wifey #opposites attract things!

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doberbutts · 10 months

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weird question, but is there a reason why humans with rabies don't become as mindlessly aggressive as animals with rabies? like, how come people with rabies aren't running around biting everyone?

If I'd hazard a guess, it probably cooks us before we progress that far. Additionally, it also likely has something to do with natural instinct- humans with rabies while they are still able to talk report feeling intense fear and pain while experiencing hallucinations.

Most humans actively don't want to hurt other people- I have a schizophrenic aunt and even in her worst delusions and hallucinations where she may be screaming threats, she's never actually followed through on any of them because she genuinely doesn't want to hurt anyone when she's capable of processing situations logically. Similarly, I have a friend-of-a-friend who is also severely mentally ill, and the only times he's ever hurt someone are when he gets grabbed while he's hallucinating that someone is trying to hurt him. Those he's lashed out at in this state get shoved or kicked or punched before he continues to try to get away from them (they also forgive him immediately because they are his caretakers and understand his mental state very well).

When we started using tools as a species, we also stopped reaching for "biting you" as a defensive response unless there is truly no other choice. Even in the grips of intense fear and panic and pain and delusion and hallucination and paranoia, humans are more likely to choose literally any other option than teeth unless that's their last line of defense. We probably did bite each other back when we were no different than our great ape cousins.

More or less, I'm not entirely convinced that rabies sends signals for "bite" specifically, and is more sending signals for "attack", and humans don't really reach for "bite" when attacking as a general rule unlike other animals. Humans who are restrained in their hospital beds are significantly more likely to bite their caregivers- shoving, kicking, and punching are out of the question when you're tied down. That is true regardless of if they have rabies or not.

Additionally, the virus seems to only progress so far before it stagnates at a specific stage in certain animals. Bats are significantly more likely to have "dumb rabies" than "furious rabies". This could be due to a number of things ranging from "dumb rabies makes them incapable of flight and fucks up their sonar [true!] and so they starve to death before symptoms can progress past that [theory!] since they have fast metabolisms and missing even a single night's meal is devastating to their health [true!]" to "bats show some resistance to rabies as a whole [true!] and thus it may take much longer for symptoms to progress in the usual manner and so the bat generally dies before it can go any further [theory!]" Bats CAN progress to the furious stage, but we don't tend to see it as often.

There has never been a recorded instance of rabies passing from human to human so my money's on a combo of the two theories. It's very possible that Grug The Caveman got rabies from the wolves he was trying to tame and then wiped out his entire society by zombie-biting the fuck out of everyone who tried to help him. But we weren't writing things down at that point, so we have no way of knowing.

Rabies' first documentation is 4000 years ago- but it's very possible it existed before that, since the writing just states that the owner of a rabid dog needs to take provisions against it biting anyone, meaning we knew by then what rabies was and that the bite was dangerous. It's very possible this disease has followed us around since before humans harnessed fire and invented the wheel. That's a decent amount of un-accounted-for time for humans to have hulked out and started zombie-biting.

We have so many folkstory monsters in nearly every culture on the planet that boil down to "had contact with an animal that was acting strangly, turned me into a savage monster that tries to kill everything I see less than a month later, btw my monster disease is super contagious and I spread it by biting the fuck out of you" that predate any modern science knowledge of how the virus works, which makes me think that it probably did happen back in the caveman days and it's ancestrial memory that has us clinging to these concepts to this day.

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nouies · 23 days

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hello and welcome to the august fic rec featuring my favourite works i read during the past weeks. as always, please check tags before reading. if you liked the fics please reblog their posts, leave kudos and write a nice comment. happy reading! rec tag | more rec lists

— harry/louis —

໑ Gotta Feeling by @allwaswell16 (T, 2k, strangers, mexico, tour guide louis, awakened flirting, accidental blind date) When Harry's life in Manchester isn't turning out the way he thought it would, he decides to visit his best friend in Mexico City. Maybe Niall can convince him to move halfway around the world.

໑ HOT TO GO! by @allwaswell16 (T, 2.3k, strangers, canon divergence, famous/not famous, concerts, oblivious harry, flirting) When Harry does something weird at the barricade, he leaves Louis’ show devastated and hoping he can somehow make things right.

Or the accidental pervert fic

໑ Consumed by All These Yesterdays by summerwine/ @smrwine (E, 10.1k, friends, exes, then and now, angst) “I love you too, by the way,” Louis said in his arms. “And I will love you next summer, and the summer after that, and for every summer we have together for the rest of our lives.”

“And I will love you more.”

Louis would leave Harry’s summer home two days later, and it would become the fifth consecutive year that they would drift apart through fall and winter, but Harry wasn’t afraid. They always had the summer time and without a doubt it would inevitably bring them back together.

໑ you are the sin of the earth that my body needs by puppyvirginloui (spanish, NR, 16k, exes to lovers, past relationships, secret relationship, fluff) Donde la novia del hijo de Louis es hija de su ex; Harry.

໑ I Ain’t Gonna Fence You In by dilfrry (M, 40.6k, strangers to lovers, ranch au, cowboy harry, summer, fluff, read tags and author’s note for triggering warnings) Louis Tomlinson is a 18 year old city boy who is forced to spend his summer before his senior year at his aunts farm. There, he meets Harry, a 19 year old country boy his aunt hired to help around the farm.

Maybe the farm isn't the worst place to fall in love?

— rare pairs —

໑ Did You Know I Fit In A Dryer? by @lululawrence (louis/jordan north, NR, 4k, strangers, canon divergence, crack, implied/reference drug use) “Oi, mate!”

There was some knocking and after the voice coming from right behind him when he had clearly just seen an empty room, Jordan didn’t think he could be faulted for jumping and screaming a bit.

“Mate, can you help me open the door?”

#28th appreciation #1dsource #1dsquad #hlcreators #hljournal #1dficvillage #artistsof1d #trackinghome #*#*rec #probably my last list since i haven’t been supporting the writing community lately

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vladajwrites · 1 year

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Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 5851

Notes; thank you to everyone who has shown their support so far and taken the time to read my work, you are the ones who truly keep me motivated to write. much much love <33

(Not Beta Read)

You woke the next morning in the same t-shirt you had worn the day before, clinging to your skin from cold sweat. Your pants had been kicked off at some unknown point during the restless night of sleep you had. It was hard to recall the exact time you had eventually passed out on top of your bed.

Your phone was ringing somewhere underneath your pillow, causing your entire head to buzz. You groaned, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Irina’s name flashed on the screen as the caller on the other line. You answered the call, pressing the speaker button before dropping your phone on your chest.

“Hi honey, just wanted to let you know my flight made it into Sacramento.” Irina spoke. The passersby’s in the busy airport nearly muffled her voice.

You picked up your phone again, looking at the time. How late had you slept in? The digital clock read 11:03 am.

“Okay, I’m glad you made it safely.” You were certain your aunt could hear the rasp of your morning voice.

Irina hummed on the other line. “Just give me a call if you need anything while I’m away.”

“Will do, love you.” You replied, clearing your throat before responding.

“I love you too.” Irina replied before ending the call.

You stared up at your ceiling for a moment, thinking over the events of last night.

You couldn’t help but feel horrible for Charlie. Were he and his father close? Was his mother around? Did he have any siblings, relatives he was close with? So many questions seemed to fill your thoughts. Though, you knew they were questions that would more than likely go unanswered. It would be an awful choice, you decided, to bring up this suspected trauma unprompted.

Maybe you could try to divulge more information from your aunt. Based upon her reaction, she must have been relatively close to his father at some point in time. Remembering back to the somber expression your aunt wore last night, you decided against that idea as well.

You thought back on the relationship you had with your own father. He was an objectively miserable man. How would you have reacted, though, if you had lost him under the same circumstances? It would have surely still been devastating to some degree.

You’d keep your newfound information to yourself for the time being. It was the only reasonable option you could think of. You were certain Charlie wouldn’t want you to treat him any differently after finding out about what had happened.

The familiar buzz of your phone’s ringer pulled you momentarily from your running thoughts. You grabbed your phone, pushing yourself up into a sitting position on your bed, your legs crossed closely in front of you.

A message from an unsaved number appeared on the screen. You recognized it almost immediately as being Charlie’s from the group chat the night before. Only he hadn’t messaged both you and Robbie. It was only sent to you.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you unlocked your phone. The message read, “Hey, Robbie wanted me to let you know he woke up feeling sick and won’t be able to make it tonight.”

Your face fell into a frown as you read over the message again, your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you thought up a response.

Another message from Charlie arrived moments later. “He said he’d take over any revisions if you and I would still be willing to finish the presentation tonight.”

The corner of your lips twitched up into a half smile. Now that you and Charlie were on seemingly good terms again, there shouldn’t be any issue with just the two of you working on this together.

Your fingers unknowingly found themselves twisted through your hair as you typed your response. “Works for me. Same time and place?”

Charlie sent his response almost instantly. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You had quite a bit of time to spare until 7pm rolled around. You went through your weekend routine as usual, cleaning up as you went throughout the home. By 6pm you had showered and pulled yourself mostly together. As you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, running your fingers through your drying hair, a new thought crept into your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through Charlie’s mess of hair.

Your skin burned hot as you dropped your hands at your sides. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back up at your own reflection.

You couldn’t shake the thought as you made your way into the kitchen downstairs. You stared blankly into the pantry, your thoughts elsewhere.

Of course, you had always believed there was something charming about Charlie’s character. He was objectively good looking, at least you had thought so. But, thinking back on those few moments you shared alone with him on the porch the night before, there was just something- something about him was strikingly beautiful.

You bit at your lip, squinting your eyes as you pulled your thoughts together. You reminded yourself that the last thing you wanted to do at the moment was become wrapped up in unrequited crushes and feelings similar to the sort. It was just easier on your own. You had come to this conclusion years ago. It was understandably difficult to trust others, impossible to let anybody in.

Just as you were about to shut the pantry door, your eyes caught a glint in the back of the pantry, just behind a bag of sugar. You reached forward, grabbing the bottle in your hands.

You turned over a bottle of red wine, scanning the label quickly.

You hummed to yourself, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter. You stared it down for a moment, tapping your foot against the hardwood flooring.

You had no clue how long it had been stuffed away back there. Surely your aunt wouldn’t miss it too terribly. You glanced up at the clock above the stove which read 6:44pm. A small glass wouldn’t hurt anything, just something to dispel your faltering nerve.

You dug through the kitchen drawers, searching for a bottle opener. Just as you popped the cork, a knock at the front door rang through the home. ‘Shit.’ You steadied yourself, nearly knocking the bottle off the counter.

You thought you would have had at least a few more minutes to yourself. You quickly made your way to the front door, taking a deep breath before turning the handle.

Charlie stood in front of you. One hand buried in his front pocket, the other holding the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. You held the frame of the door, following his line of sight to your bare legs. You felt your face grow hot. You hadn’t realized just how much of your oversized t-shirt covered the small shorts you wore underneath.

You quickly pulled your t-shirt up, holding it against your stomach. “Shorts, promise.” God, why were you acting like this?

Charlie swallowed, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, right.” There was a moment of quiet passed between the two of you. Charlie’s eyes drifted just past you into the entryway.

“Oh, right. Come in.” You pushed the door open further for him. He followed you inside, stepping beside you as you locked the door behind him.

He turned to head towards the living room. Without giving it much thought, you interjected. “We can go up to my room.” You motioned up the stairs, watching as Charlie stopped in his tracks.

“Your room? Your aunt won’t mind?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he kicked his shoes off.

“Oh no, she wouldn’t mind. She’s out of town this weekend, anyway.” You replied.

Charlie froze for a moment, looking up the stairs past you. He met your eyes again before responding. “Cool, yeah. Your room sounds great.”

You smile down at him, leading him up the staircase.

“Well, this is it,” you shrugged. “Just put your stuff anywhere you’d like.” You finished, motioning around the room.

You picked your bag off the ground and climbed into your bed, moving close to the wall. Charlie placed his stuff on the desk beside your bed before dropping himself into the adjoining chair. You began pulling out your things, watching as he intently did the same. He seemed so incredibly focused on the things in front of him. Neither of you spoke.

As you opened your laptop to access the shared group presentation, Charlie spoke up.

“Okay, I actually went ahead and got everything finished up earlier today.” Your breath got stuck in your chest as you met his eyes. “I figured we could just work on any revisions together.” You could tell from just below your line of sight that he was nervously messing with the corner of a piece of his notebook paper.

“Oh,” you weren’t sure what to say. “Well, thank you. You totally didn’t have to-”

“No, I know. I wanted to.” Charlie interrupted.

You nodded, sucking in your bottom lip. You scanned through the presentation. It really had been finished. It must have taken him hours.

There was an uncomfortable silence, making the air thick and heavy around you. You wished you could think of something else to say. An image of the opened bottle of red wine in the kitchen flashed in your mind.

“Would you like something to drink?” You asked so softly, you couldn’t have been certain you had actually asked it aloud.

Charlie’s eyes snapped up to meet you. Relief almost played itself across his expression. “Yes, please. If it’s not any trouble.” He rubbed his palms flat against the denim against his thighs.

You shot up, crawling out of bed. “Not at all.” You gave him your most reassuring smile.

You rushed downstairs, throwing open the cabinet where you knew Irina kept her best glasses. You grabbed two by the stem and held the bottle in the other hand.

You made your way carefully up the stairs, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom.

Charlie peered behind himself, eyes falling to the bottle in your hand.

“Oh,” he began, “I didn’t realize…”

You suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Did he even drink?

“I’m sorry, I should’ve clarified. I can go and grab some water or something-” You began turning on your heel.

Charlie was quick to rise to his feet. “No, no, this is great.” He carefully took the glasses and bottle from your hands. You inhaled sharply and nodded as his fingers brushed against your own.

You climbed back into bed, watching him fill each glass, respectively. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hand slightly shook as he passed you your glass.

You took a long drink, watching him do the same. It felt so warm in your throat. You sighed, sinking further into the bed. Charlie seemed to relax a bit in his spot as well.

A few minutes passed by in a much more comfortable quietness.

You couldn’t help but become distracted by the man sitting beside you. He just felt so far away. You wished he’d have sat on the bed next to you instead. Every once in a while, you’d feel him glance over at you as you reread the same passage over and over again, still for some reason, unable to comprehend what it said.

You peered up from your notes, watching Charlie slide a scribbled over sticky note that sat stuck to the base of your lamp.

You recognized it immediately, feeling yourself shift awkwardly. It was one of the lists you kept from film club, filled almost entirely with movies that Charlie had mentioned in passing.

“Are these…?” Charlie asked, eyes widening as he made his way down the list.

You rolled over onto your stomach, reaching over to pull the list from Charlie’s hands.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “I’ve almost gotten myself caught up.” You tried your best to conceal the shyness you felt at being found out.

Your heart picked up quickly as he looked you over. There was something about his expression that felt so heavy, it was an unfamiliar sight.

“What’s next on your list?” He asked, picking up the glass you had set down and refilling it alongside his own.

You read over the scratched out mess of your handwriting. “Dawn of the Dead, but the 1978 version. Not the remake, of course.”

A smirk spread across Charlie’s lip, as if he’d taught you well. He held up your glass to take from him. You took it from him slowly, feigning to be worried about spilling a single drop. By this point, your head was already beginning to feel fuzzy. It was a comfortable warmth.

You slipped the note into your backpack, trying to focus once again on the presentation in front of you. It was useless.

Before giving it much thought, you spoke up, “You know, I’ve already rented it.”

Robbie could manage the revisions on his own, right?

“Oh yeah?” Charlie asked, turning in his chair to face you.

“Yeah,” you began, trying to convince yourself that this next question would actually be a good idea. “Would you want to watch it with me?”

“Tonight?” Charlie’s hands were back against the top of his thighs. His eyes flashed between you and the T.V. that was mounted above your dresser on the opposite side of your bedroom.

“If that would be okay with you, I’m honestly not getting much work done over here.” You replied, getting up from the bed.

Charlie cleared his throat before answering. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds cool.”

You smiled over your shoulder at him as you made your way over the DVD player that sat on top of your dresser.

You messed with the CD case, popping it open and inserting the disk. You picked up the remote, waiting until the title screen flashed on the T.V. above you. You noticed the top drawer of the dresser was pulled halfway open; you slid it closed, scolding yourself. It contained the clothing you’d dread any guest seeing. You swore you were always so careful about keeping these things in order.

You flipped your bedroom lights off, dimming the lamp that sat on the desk beside Charlie before finding your place back in bed.

You pressed play, finishing the last of the wine in your glass, before setting the remote and glass on the desk beside you.

A few moments passed by uninterrupted. You looked over at Charlie. He was sitting so unbelievably stiff in the chair, it just seemed so uncomfortable.

“Charlie,” you called out to him. He snapped his eyes to meet your own. “You don’t have to watch the entire movie from my desk.” You half laughed.

He stood quickly, nearly knocking things about your desk. You tried your best to hide your smile as he laid down on top of the mattress; the bed dipped under his weight.

You both kept a fair amount of distance between each other. The movie was well underway. However, you found yourself becoming increasingly more interested in the uneven way Charlie’s chest rose and fell with each breath than what was happening on the screen.

You wished you could just reach over and touch him, move the hair out of his eyes, trace your finger over the arch of his nose.

You could barely take notice of the way your vision had fixated on him as your head grew blurred and warm.

You wished he’d turn and face you, say something. He seemed to be frozen in place, legs and arms held in a way that’d rival a statue. His face was fixated on the T.V., as if he were too nervous to move even an inch. It was so warm. The room felt so warm.

You could barely catch the small glimpses he’d spare towards you from his peripherals. You wish he’d just reach over- your eyes trailed down to his hands resting on his stomach, watching the veins in them roll as his finger flexed and twitched.

You reached up, placing a hand against your face. Your skin was cold to the touch. Why did everything feel so warm?

Your clothing suddenly felt increasingly more suffocating. You were growing desperate for some form of relief. You pulled at the collar of your shirt. Your shorts felt so tight, nearly restricting. You couldn’t explain why you felt so hot. The t-shirt you had on could almost be a dress, anyway, right?

You climbed over Charlie, one hand on either side of his chest. You steadied yourself on the ground, your head thoroughly swimming. You tried your very best to focus forward on the movie. You unbuttoned the waist of your shorts, carefully stepping out of them.

You heard a heavy sigh from behind you; the sound made the hair on your skin raise.

“I’m sorry, moving out of the way. Promise.” You laughed, turning back to face Charlie.

You slid into the bed, finding your spot in the small space between Charlie and the edge of the mattress. Opting not to try to climb over him again in your current state.

Charlie froze in place beside you as you shifted on to your side, trying to find the most comfortable spot between him and the screen. He was warm, so warm. You had just felt as though you were burning up moments ago, but the thought of him moving any further away made your body ache. His warmth was soothing.

You could feel Charlie’s uncertainty as he began to shift away from you in the bed, providing you with more space presumably.

You couldn’t explain why you did what you did next. You reacted without giving it much thought at all. You reached behind you, pulling Charlie’s furthest hand towards you until it rested on top of your hair.

The new position forced him to shift in bed beside you until he was lying on his side as well. His hand flexed under your touch. You wished you could pull him closer.

His fingers stretched throughout your hair and you sighed, feeling your back sink closer to his chest. You could nearly feel his heart pounding against you. Your hand fell to rest on your side.

His other hand shifted, moving into a more comfortable position below your neck. “Is this okay?” He whispered right behind your ear. The feeling of his cool breath sent chills up your spine. You nodded, the words lost from you.

You reached up, tracing the veins wove through his forearm. His fist closed and flexed at your touch. The film, just as the presentation, was now lost on you.

It was just him beside you. The way he smelt, his fingers carefully sliding through your hair and across your cheek, the unsteady beat of his heart against your back. You found yourself sinking further and further into his arms. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as he pulled through the mess of your hair.

At the sound of your voice, Charlie shifted his weight, wrapping his arm under your neck further to pull you around to face him.

You both seemed surprised at his sudden movement. You were now face to face, just inches apart. The movie murmured faintly off somewhere in the distance.

Even in the dark, his blue eyes were so incredibly clear. You reached up, brushing the hair that had fallen in front of his face away. His eyes flitted between your own eyes and lips. You had never noticed before just how full his own lips were. His lips were tinted a deep red from the cherry wine you had shared. You couldn’t help but imagine how sweet he’d taste.

If you’d just move a bit closer-

Both of his large hands wrapped throughout your hair again in near desperation.

You returned the gesture, pushing your thigh through the middle of his own. Lips crashed against one another.

It was unlike anything you had experienced before. This brash kiss fell into a soft rhythm, gentle exploration as you rocked into one another.

It didn’t take long until the slow movements devolved into a harsh quick pace as you both grew more comfortable in each other’s arms. There was an air of near violence as your tongues wrapped around each other.

You needed more of him, needed to be impossibly closer in any way you could. Sensing this, Charlie wrapped his arms around you, pulling you on top to straddle his waist.

You sat back, smiling down at him as he unintentionally bucked his hips up closer to you. It was wonderful seeing the state he was in. You knew you were in just about the same shape.

You were quick to meet his lips again. He held you steadily against himself, continuing to rock himself against you.

Your hands hazily fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. You needed to feel more of his skin against you. The barrier of clothing that separated you from him made you miserable.

Once the last button was popped, he sat up in bed. Pulling you up with him, his arm clung around your waist. He shrugged the shirt off of himself, throwing it on the ground. You were quick to bring your lips to his again, running your hands up his now bare stomach. He was impossibly toned, felt hard to the touch.

“Fuck.” He groaned against your lips as your hips rolled against him. You could feel him getting hard below you. A blush crept up your skin. The sound of his voice like this built up an indiscernible feeling inside of you. You wanted to hear him make that sound again.

His hands were quick to find themselves under your t-shirt, his thumb brushed against the outer lace of your bra. He reached behind you, fumbling with the clasp. You leaned your head against his, smiling softly as he gazed at you in wonder.

You reached behind yourself, helping him with his work uncertain work. You slid the bra off yourself, throwing it next to Charlie’s discarded shirt. You grabbed the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it swiftly over your head.

You could hear Charlie’s breath audibly stuck in his throat as his eyes darted wildly across your body. The full weight of this situation nearly hit you at once. You brought your arms shyly across your chest. You had never been in front of a man this way.

You could barely meet his eyes. He was quick to pull you back in to kiss him. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered against you as he kissed your forehead. Your arms melted down to your side as his hands traced the curve of your waist.

You could feel his hands shake as he cupped your breasts, his fingers softly grazed against your nipples. You sighed, pulling him closer to you. That frenzied feeling returned in full force.

You needed impossibly more of him. He was quick to act, laying you back down on the bed. He hovered over you, eyes burning into your nearly naked body in front of him.

His right hand reached down, fumbling with his buckle. You watched intently as his hand slipped underneath the waistband of his boxers to adjust himself. Your eyes fluttered back as you traced your fingers mindlessly over the defined v-line that led further down his hips. He shook at your touch.

His lips found themselves trailing kisses down your neck and chest. He was so gentle with you. Painfully gentle. Your hands wove through his hair, arching up into him as his pace quickened. He slid further down the bed, wrapping his arms around both of your legs, holding them open to kiss down your thighs.

You were practically already coming undone below him. He’d come so close to the spot you wanted him to be. Every time he’d pull back away, you’d whine in frustration. He’d hum back against you in response.

You couldn’t handle the pressure building up inside you anymore. Your right hand traced slowly underneath the lace of your panties. You stopped just before slipping through your folds, looking up to meet Charlie’s eyes. His expression seemed nearly pained, completely desperate.

“I don’t know- I’ve never…” Charlie could barely get the words out from between his lips. Even in the dim lighting, you could tell he was flustered, embarrassed at his own lack of experience. It was reassuring to you though, you had practically no experience with all of this either. It was sweet, how shy he seemed at that moment.

“It’s okay. I’ll show you.” You gave him a reassuring smile before carefully intertwining your fingers with his own. He followed suit, hooking his free hand around your panties before sliding them off you. Your desperation for him drowned out any insecurity you could have possibly felt with him above you in that state you were in.

You brought his fingers against you, sighing into him as he carefully let you guide him in slow circles against your clit. The knot deep inside you only grew as he became increasingly comfortable. Your hands dropped to his shoulders as he became familiar with the pace and direction you wanted.

His free arm wrapped around your back, gripping your sides with bruising force as you started to writhe below him. His head dipped beside your ear, “Please, please let me taste you.” He practically begged.

You could only nod, sucking in a sharp breath as his fingers moved faster, losing their rhythm.

He was quick to shift his weight as he sat up for a moment, pulling off his constricting jeans and socks, leaving him nearly entirely exposed. You groaned at the sight of him in front of you. He was so damningly beautiful. Your vision flitted down to the large impression in his boxers, your eyes widened at the size of him.

Before you could process this discovery, he was kneeling on the bed in front of you again. One arm snaked around your thigh as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch him make his way through his.

He kissed just above your clit, eyes looking up at you for approval.

“Please Charlie,” you urged him on.

His lips were against your most sensitive spot immediately. You cried out, screwing your eyes shut. Nothing had ever been so perfect as this. He kissed against you a few more times before deciding to explore you with his tongue, “Fuck, it’s so good.” He groaned against you, speaking more to himself than you.

The vibration of his deepening voice sent shockwaves throughout your body. Your eyes and legs involuntarily worked to screw shut. Charlie acted quick, pushing your thighs back apart with a painful grip. You were sure you’d have his finger prints bruised into your skin the next morning. ‘Good’ you thought to yourself.

You could tell he was trying his best to emulate the motion you had shown him with your fingers with his tongue. It was maddening, completely perfect.

“Fuck baby, you’re doing so well.” The words spilled mindlessly out of you. He groaned as you rolled your hips against him. Your eyes trailed down his chest. His right hand found its way inside his boxers. He was palming at himself as if he were in pain. You wanted to be the one to relieve him.

The sight of him pleasing himself as he worked you over was enough to nearly send you crashing blindly over the edge. You could barely get the next words out of you, “Don’t, don’t touch yourself.” You were trying to keep it all together as he whined against you, following your demands.

“Fuck Charlie, I’m going to…” you said between broken moans.

He pulled away for a moment, his entire expression darkened. It could’ve easily been terrifying in any other context, you noted to yourself. The fingers that had just been wrapped around your thigh found themselves quickly against your entrance. Your eyes widened as you connected with his gaze, realizing his intentions. You’d do anything to have him inside of you.

He kissed your lips. You sucked the taste of yourself off of him, dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. His middle and ring dove forward inside of you. His other hand came up quickly to muffle your screams.

“Shit, you’re so tight.” His chest shuddered at his own words. A tear rolled down your face as he talked you through it. “So wet for me.”

His free hand pressed down against your lower stomach. The additional pressure was the last push you needed. Your whole nervous system seemed to snap as his fingers fucked you through your high. You could barely hear his praise as your ears rang out with incredulous force. You were sobbing out his name, vision white and spotted at the blinding pleasure.

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly letting you come back to yourself for a moment before diving his tongue back against you.

You writhed up against the footboard. It was too much, too overstimulating. Your hands pulled at his hair to push him away. He grabbed both your wrists with one hand, holding you in place below him. You were babbling, stuck between ‘It’s too much’ and ‘please don’t stop.’

Within a matter of moments, you were coming undone again against his face. Your mind was shattered, your body a wreck under his touch.

He fell back against the headboard, catching his breath as he watched you ride out your high.

As soon as you could partially catch your breath again, you sat up, watching him shift uncomfortably from his pressing erection.

It was his turn to be taken care of. You crawled your way up to rest between his thighs. His eyes darted across your face, as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

You couldn’t hide your smile as you leaned into him. You kissed him slowly, licking across his lips. Your lips slowly made their way down his chest as your fingers grazed across the fabric against his cock. He whimpered above you at the pressure. The sound made your stomach clench. You’d give anything to hear it again.

He slid further down the bed as your lips trailed kisses and shallow bites marks further down his stomach.

Once you could tell he was in a more comfortable position, you hooked your fingers into the waistline of boxers. He lifted his hips, helping you pull them down his thighs before discarding them on the ground below.

You sat back on your heels, mouth agape at the sight in front of you. You could do little to hide your shock at the uncovered size of him.

You glanced up at him, willing yourself to put on a face that feigned at least a hint of experience. He smirked down at you, as if he could tell exactly what thoughts were passing through your mind.

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, eyes still full of adoration for you.

Before giving him the opportunity to finish his sentence, you wrapped your fingers against the base of his cock. You could feel him pulse under your touch. His next words were stuck and gone in his chest.

You held his gaze as your hand carefully twisted its way up to the tip of his cock. You gathered his precum on your fingers and circled it around the length of him. His mouth fell open as his stomach flexed under you.

“Does that feel good?” You asked softly.

He bit his lip, nodding his head yes. You were quick to pick up your pace at his approval.

His hands were desperate, switching between grabbing at the bedsheets and headboard and any of your skin he could get ahold of. Stunning whimpers and pleas spilled out of him as you found the motion and speed he needed.

You pulled away for a moment, moving yourself further down the bed. You held him still in one hand again as you kissed a trail down from his navel. Your eyes met with his as your lips hovered above the tip of his cock. You gathered spit on the tip of your tongue and let it fall slowly onto him. He cursed a string of expletives, his eyes rolling back into his head as you took him into your mouth.

You thought carefully over each motion, keeping your teeth back, hollowing out your cheeks. The sensation was entirely new, but the way he began to convulse below you let you know you were doing something right. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel the same way he had made you.

His hands wrapped almost painfully through your hair as he bucked further and further down your throat. You tried your best to relax, allowing him to take the space he wanted.

Your throat burned, tears and spit covered your face and chest. You wouldn’t have possibly wanted it any other way.

You were both becoming increasingly sloppy and starved in your movements. His right hand grabbed at your throat, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. You stilled, letting him fuck your throat as he pleased. It didn’t take long before his movements stilled and stuttered.

You felt him pulse in your mouth; you were flooded with his release, warmth coated your throat and tongue. The taste and sight above you made your entire body shudder. It was heavenly. You felt truly blessed to be the cause of it all. You could vaguely make out your name being spilled from between his lips.

His chest heaved as you carefully pulled away from him, his cock falling against his stomach.

You caught his eyes again, making a show to swallow what he had given to you. He pulled you into himself, kissing all over your face until you were laughing in his arms.

You dropped into the bed beside him, watching him shift his weight and stand. He scanned the room before spotting the bath towel that hung beside your bedroom door. He made quick work of cleaning the two of you up, tracing kisses across you as he did so.

Your nerves were all shot. Your entire being was exhausted and heavy.

He dropped the towel next to the discarded pile of clothing that had accumulated on your bedroom floor. Charlie slid back in bed beside you, lifting the disheveled duvet over you both. He pulled you up onto his chest. You sighed as he swept the hair out of your face.

You were in a complete haze, halfway into a deep sleep.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered above you.

You hummed, reaching up to kiss under his jaw. “Thank you.” You replied, pulling a sore a leg over his thighs, resting your head back down against him.

The movie’s title screen music played on repeat in the background; you couldn’t be the least bit bothered to turn it off.

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