#another thing I forgot: this game was too easy

[emdotcom]

My brain is so full of Bees about Post-Shift 2.

It's a fan game that was delayed for 4 years -- by the time it released, fnaf fangames as a whole were not as popular as they had been, & most people in the scene had forgotten about Post-Shift 1, so not a lot of people heard about it/played it.

Worse still is the people who did talk about the game. Pretty unanimously, the consensus was this: this game is the craziest, most insane fnaf fangame. It's overly difficult with mechanics that have no rhyme or reason to them & tutorials that are wordy, unhelpful, & sometimes actively mislead the player, meaning you need to comb through a lot of text only to be misinformed. It's not as infamous as some other fangames, but it definitely was talked about very poorly.

In general, I think most of these criticisms were blown up out of proportion, but I can't really disagree with most people's problems -- it is difficult & wordy, & rather hard to understand. I think, however, that the game is still 1. Really fun, 2. Not a bad game at all, &, most importantly, 3. Is a free fucking game that was clearly a passion project. Most damn fangames never get off the fucking ground when made in groups because the creators will never make a red cent off the thing -- this game was made by one dude for 4 years & delivered to people for free. It didn't ask anything of you except to accept it as a difficult game & to not go in with wild expectations. The dev just wanted to make a game that was rough, but he also wanted to make a game that felt unique & was fun. & It is fun, too, is the damn thing.

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Idia Shroud - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

Whew... Finally that pesky sun's gone down... Now, it's my turn to shine!

Summon: Fheeheehee, once I change into these clothes, I'm utterly invincible!! ...K, guess I'll go grab the birthday voice lines from my games, then.

Groovification: I wake up on my birthday with horrible bedhead and stiff joints everywhere after falling asleep during gaming... Ah, another wonderfully normal day!

Home: This is when my true form is unlocked...!

Swap Looks: I can fix my bedhead in a snap, so.

Home Transition 1: Haaah～ I need more soft things to cuddle... Maybe I'll buy a kitty-shaped cushion as a birthday gift for myself...

Home Transition 2: Cater-shi and the other guys in my class said to come by the classroom on my birthday and they'll celebrate with me... Well, unfortunately, I've got a stomachache planned for that day...

Home Transition 3: I snuck out to the Mystery Shop in the middle of the night and saw someone that looked just like Epel-shi covertly buying huge chunks of jerky. Or, was that a dream?

Home Transition - Login: Oh, a new high score! Looks like with the new memory upgrade, both me and my computer have gotten better! Fheeheehee!

Home Transition - Groovy: I can't believe he heard my mumbling to myself... A beastman's ーor ratherー Jack-shi's sense of hearing is something to be feared.

Home Tap 1: I may hate exercise, but I could dance and cheer to my fav idols for hours on hours... Never underestimate a fanboy's potential!

Home Tap 2: If I braided my hair like Jamil-shi does, maybe it'd look cool, like a flame whip... Nah, I'd definitely get teased for it. Nevermind.

Home Tap 3: Ah! Ortho's gonna get mad at me again that I left all my manga laying around. Guess I'll just have to clean it up with a bit of magic.

Home Tap 4: Why've there been waaaay too many good anime to watch recently!? I got not time to watch everything, there's still older masterpieces and movie adaptions I need to watch too!!

Home Tap 5: Since I'm just a shut-in pretty much all the time, it's not like I've set aside clothes for lounging and clothes for going out. I've even gone to town wearing this... You got a problem with that?

Home Tap - Groovy: Oh, this? It's a limited edition Premo shirt from one of their live performances. Hey, wait, you better not buy one from a reseller just 'cause they don't sell it anymore. Don't do it!

Duo: [IDIA]: I'm getting birthday wishes... from Jack-shi!? [JACK]: 'Cause it's your birthday, Idia-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: Hi... Need something from me? ...My birthday? Oh, well, now that you mention it! Th-Thanks... I completely forgot after Ortho wished me a happy birthday this morning... Did I get anything from anyone else? Wh-Wh-Why're you asking a loner like me that!? I p-pretty much just avoid everyone else, so. The most I did today was play with Azul-shi during our Boardgame Club time... Obviously I utterly crushed him!! ...Eh, you think he went easy on me 'cause it was my birthday? Uh-huh... If you really think that, how about a game, then? Don't come crying to me later after you lose, though, fheehee.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

“I’m really sorry,” Steve is saying before Eddie has the door fully open, but it makes Eddie smile. It feels like Steve has started saying ‘I’m sorry,’ instead of ‘hello’ as a matter of course.

It’s Sunday afternoon though, and Eddie isn’t cooking anything and Steve isn’t holding an empty plate, so Eddie has no clue what Steve could be sorry for this time.

“Could you come and help me with something? It’ll just take two moments.”

“Sure thing,” Eddie agrees easily, slipping on his adventure crocs and following Steve down the hall.

Eddie follows Steve into and then through his apartment into the small bedroom. It’s a two bed apartment, the same as Eddie’s. Eddie uses his spare room to store his guitars. He has a desk in there too; a place to write and paint his miniatures and do guitar maintenance.

It’s a nursery. It’s cute, animal themed. The ceiling is painted powder blue, which drops down onto the walls about a foot before ending in a neatly done scalloped edge. The walls are white, but have cloud shapes printed on them in the same blue. There are random tufts of painted grass popping up from the floor; some with flowers. The rocker and the other furniture, including crib and chest of drawers, are all painted the same green, and the blinds are green jungle, with elephants and big cats and monkeys hiding amongst the leaves. A lot of the soft things are yellow and white, and Eddie has not a fucking clue as to the sex of Steve’s pup, so he asks as much.

Steve smiles, “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. I like surprises.”

“Huh. Well. I’m always the one shaking the gifts at Christmas, but I do love a surprise too. What did you need?”

“We have the fixings for the mobile there ready, but I clean forgot about it until now, and I’m too big to stretch up there. Didn’t do it at the time because we were moving furniture and I was frightened I’d break it.”

“Okay sure,” Eddie takes the dangly parts of the mobile; cute little moons and stars and sun shapes, and fixes it to the bit already attached to the ceiling. It’s nice, and easy to figure out, but it does hang low so he gets what Steve means.

He also sees why Steve can’t reach; he seems to have suddenly gotten even bigger over the last week, and he's also only been wearing these sort of loose shift dresses, like a blouse, a button up, and a tent had a horrendous love child.

He looks gorgeous though. Eddie always thought pregnancy must be pretty fucking miserable; your body betraying you almost. Needing to pee all the time, unreasonable hormones. Cravings. Morning sickness. Odd shit happening all over the place. Eddie always figured telling pregnant people that they’re ‘glowing’ was just a nice thing people said to make them feel better during what must be a pretty shitty nine months.

Not with Steve though. Steve’s actually glowing. Not like literally glowing but...he’s beautiful, and Eddie suddenly understands what all the fuss is about.

Steve clears his throat. Right. Right okay, Eddie’s creepy staring, “so I was going to make chicken parm again tonight, since I know you like it and it’s been a bit...do you maybe want to get out the apartment and come to another, slightly different, apartment?”

Steve laughs a little, looking at where his hands cradle his bump, before looking back up, cheeks pink, “I think I’d like that.”

Eddie’s laid the table as nice as he can. He snagged a little bunch of daisy looking things out of the garden and shoved them in a mug, just because he remembered Steve’s little daffodil.

He doesn’t own place mats, but he does dig out a table cloth he usually only uses for games night; it’s black, but it’s clean.

Steve settles himself at the table and Eddie goes and gets dinner, he can’t help but notice Steve shift in his seat, wincing.

“You okay?”

Steve hums, “been getting funny back pain, but it’s all normal. Could be anything really, just the weight of the baby, or maybe they are leaning on my sciatic nerve. It’s all fine. Nearly done now.”

Steve takes the first bite of his dinner and hums appreciatively. It makes Eddie warm inside, a little tickle of his brain releasing happy chemicals. Omega is being fed. Omega is safe and happy.

Eddie tells it to fuck off.

“So you’re due soon?” Which feels like he;s stating the obvious, Steve is the size of a tiny moon.

“Tomorrow.”

Eddie makes a noise, startled, then nearly chokes on a string of spaghetti, “excuse me,” he manages to get out, before drinking half his water, Steve looking half concerned and more than a little amused from the other side of the table. “Tomorrow?” Eddie asks weakly.

Steve nods, chewing and swallowing before he answers, “the due date is tomorrow, but it’s the norm really for first pups to go over that, even more normal with male Omega, don’t worry, it’s fine. Although it should be soon, I passed the mucus plug yesterday.”

Eddie nearly chokes again, “the what?” he tries his best not to sound too horrified.

“Oh. Sorry, you probably don't want to hear about the uhm, the kind of gross stuff.”

“No, no, of course it’s fine what is...uhm...that?” And Eddie is fully prepared to regret acquiring this cursed knowledge. He doesn’t even know what it is and he’s already eyeing his spaghetti sauce dubiously. For Steve though...he will learn about the gross stuff.

“Oh, well, when you’re pregnant you get sort of this...lump of...gacky stuff and blood. You don’t have periods when you’re pregnant usually, so it kind of protects everything from infection getting in and stuff like that.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and lets it out, blowing up his bangs, and makes himself eat his dinner normally, “fair enough, but that means you’re...kinda’ close?”

“Well, kinda’. Robin’s spending this morning with her girlfriend and then this afternoon sorting her place out. She’ll be over later, she’s moving in until the pups a week old or so, just make sure I’m okay.”

“She’s...a really good friend, right?” It warms Eddie to know Steve has someone like that in his life.

“Yeah...she’s been there with me through everything. Every appointment, all the classes, everything. Even when I decided I wanted to do this it was...it was right after yet another crappy breakup, you know. She could have said all the sensible things about maybe it's not the right time yet, or that I should...think about it. You know, all that things that would have been totally reasonable for her to say but I'd just...I’d just had enough of waiting and she said she’d support me whatever, and that was that. She’s the best.”

Steve shifts again, putting down his cutlery to try and stretch his back out, hissing with pain, “you sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks, concerned.

“Yeah, fine I think,” Steve bends forward then, gripping the edge of the table and breathing out harshly through his nose, “oh that felt weird.”

Eddie’s up and coming around the table before he can stop himself, hovering his hands, not sure if it’s okay to touch, “Steve?”

“I...oh. Oh gosh I’m so sorry Eddie,” Steve stands cautiously revealing a very clear wet patch on the seat.

“I...that’s fine,” Eddie squeaks out, “are you...is this. Is that…?”

“Yeah, pretty sure my water just broke. And I really wanted that chicken parm,” Steve sighs.

“I can make it again,” Eddie says reflexively, “kind of feel like there’s bigger things to think about what should- like can I help? What do we do?”

Eddie finds himself, very strangely, not panicking. Like, well, maybe a little, but not an uncontrollable amount. Which now he’s here that’s a really nice surprise.

“I’ll just call Robbie, and then will you walk me home?”

And Eddie had maybe had inappropriate thoughts about walking Steve home so he could steal a kiss, not whatever this is. But. Still. “Of course.”

Steve smiles at him with his phone next to his ear, “it’s go time Birdie. Oh, what was I supposed to say? Code red? The eagle is...leaving? I can’t remember, you couldn’t make your mind up about the-” Steve hisses, bending to lean on the table, “yep, yep, see you soon.”

Steve hangs up, telling Eddie she’s on her way as they walk down the hall, dinner abandoned on the table. Steve chooses to stand, walking little laps back and forth along the back of the couch, “is there anything I can do?”

“My bag and car seat are in the nursery, if you don’t mind grabbing those?” Eddie does, putting Steve’s things right by the door, “oh, and a towel, from the bathroom? I don’t want to make a mess in Rob’s car.”

“Sure thing,” Eddie grabs a bath towel from there, and puts it on top, just as Steve’s phone starts ringing.

Eddie can practically feel it when Steve tenses up, his scent turning bitter with distress. Despite what’s going on, Steve’s scent hadn’t changed at all until now, “your car won’t start?”

He sounds terrified.

“I. Yeah. Okay. I can wait I’ll- okay.”

“Okay?” Steve shakes his head, eyes suddenly wet, he looks like he’s biting back tears and Eddie can’t stop himself from going to him.

“She’s got to wait for Chrissy to get to her place and pick her up, then they’ll come over,” Eddie has to make this better. He has to.

“Okay, how about this, me and you go now, I’ll take you, and they can meet you there? That’ll make it faster right?”

“I mean, I’m not...I mean labor can take hours and hours, I’m being silly I just- Eddie I’m a bit scared. She was supposed to be here, it’s a bit too soon.”

They end up holding hands, which Eddie’s kind of thrilled about even if Steve is squeezing the life out of him, “would you feel better if you were waiting at the hospital?”

Steve bites his lip, clearly torn, “are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’ll get my keys.”

Part Four

[adventuringblind]

The Thrill of It (1.8K Words)

LandOscar x Reader

Genre: Street Racer AU, Smut

Summary: Sometimes the boys come back from races a little riled up, it doesn't help tonight that they get a bit possessive when someone lays a hand on what's theirs.

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, public sex, exhibitionist Lando, Sub reader, Dom Oscar, Oral, face-fucking, Hair pulling (?), minor degradation, Oscar being stressed after because AFTERCARE IS IMPORTANT OKAY

Notes: I'm back! Did you miss me? I think this is the most lewd smut I've ever done... But reminder that comments and filling my inbox with nice things motivates me to write!!

Side Note: MINORS AVERT YOUR EYES!! ADULT CONTENT AHEAD!!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The lights amongst the crowd flitted about in shades of neon. The people are rowdy tonight on the sides of the street. All of them handing off their cash to each other to bet on which driver they think will win. 

It’s a dangerous game with no medic on scene. She supposes that’s the thrill of it. Knowing there may be no return once they put their foot on the pedal.

Lando and Oscar are practically swimming in the cash now. While she isn’t in the spotlight, they certainly are. These are their streets. They know Woking like the back of their hands now. 

Lando says he drives by feeling where Oscar has a map of the turns memorized. It speaks volumes about their character.  

You’d think these idiots would stop betting so much on other drivers. She’s been here enough times to know they never learn. Always lured into a false sense of hope. She doesn’t mind it, simply finds it funny. 

She finds herself entranced by the sounds of the engines, the people chanting their names. She sees other people oggle the two, hands becoming a bit more than friendly as the night progresses and alcohol is consumed.

A car pulls below her hiding spot. The second car driven, a truck she can sit in the bed of when things get overwhelming and the people too much. 

Those friendly hands tend to slip when they see a pretty stranger. Boundary lines are crossed. Another thing they should know by now: Oscar and Lando are the kings of these streets and it’s best not to mess with their queen. 

The bed of the truck shakes as they climb in with her. Their faces are half hidden in the dark. The other is illuminated by intermittent flashing lights. 

 Lando looks all too happy about the stunt he just pulled. A dangerous thing that could have killed him if not done right. The adrenaline has his pupils dilated. “Don’t think he’ll be coming back again. Gave him a run for his money… Liturgy!” 

“Literally-” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant - Literally!” 

She tilts her head back and laughs. Drunk off the atmosphere of the night and maybe the fumes of whatever people have been smoking all night. “Scared him off then?” 

“You know it baby!” Lando latches right onto her exposed neck with his teeth for all of two seconds before Oscar is dragging him off. It leaves them both whining. “Osc! I’m doing things!” 

“You’re doing our things.” The dehumanizing language should not have her this hot and bothered, in Woking, in October. She’s wearing a skirt with nothing aside from panties underneath and one of Oscar’s zip-ups with a tank top. Not the best choice of clothing all things considered, but she could care less. Not when it gives them easy access when they are all riled up like this.

Oscar drags her into his lap. The feeling of strong thighs underneath her in almost the right spot has her whimpering. “Didn’t realize you’re already so needy for us darling. Forgot how much seeing us drive turns you on.” 

She nearly cries when Oscar pulls her underwear to the side and slips a finger through her slit. “Look at this Lan! She’s a mess already!” Oscar’s free hand grips Lando by the collar and pulls him closer; nearly choking him out in the process. When his fingers are pulling obscene sounds from her, he brings them away. Up towards Lando’s mouth which unlatches to suck on them eagerly. 

The Brits eyes roll back as Oscar jams four fingers down the back of his throat just for the sake of it. “S’pose you’ve earned it tonight, Lan. You’re already a mess anyhow and I think you’ve been leaking since you got out of the car.” 

Lando mumbles something around Oscar’s fingers. It’s unintelligible - or she’s too lost in her haze to comprehend anything. Having slotted down on Oscar’s thigh to get some kind of friction. 

The sound of Lando’s belt buckle coming undone becomes louder than the engines. Then the wet sound of lips clashing together. The hand Oscar previously had in Lando’s mouth is now around his neck. 

The same story time and time again. Lando goes by feel where Oscar exudes superiority in how he has them memorized. 

She clocks the hand on her waist moving to the back of her head. Oscar switches to kiss her instead. The filthy kind - all tongue and teeth. It keeps her occupied long enough for Lando to shimmy his boxers just far enough down. 

“I knew you were leaking.” Lando makes a weak noise at that. Oscar’s words seem to have that effect on him. Both of them - really. “I bet you like showing off for all these people, huh? The possibility of us being caught like this. You get off on the thrill.”

The boys help her reposition her boy. Oscar gets two of his fingers in her, hovering just above Lando’s cock. Which - to Oscar’s credit - He’s not wrong. Lando is leaking like a faucet that has a consistent drip. It is mesmerizing and should be illegal. 

Oscar gets a third in her, dutifully stretching her open despite having to support her weight. Lando thrusts into the air out of impatience which earns a lovely smack to the side of his ass. “You should know better, Love, that all good things come with time.”

She feels empty for all of two seconds before her body is plunging down onto Lando’s cock. She can feel him twitching behind her - trying to remain still until given the go-ahead to move. His hands paw at the slope of her back and curve of her ass. 

In front of her, Oscar is undoing his own belt. She should’ve realized sooner how he had positioned them. How the truck bed is conveniently long enough to let Lando work out his residual energy by thrusting into her while Oscar makes use of her mouth. 

He’s always three moves ahead of them. 

She leans down, ready for him without him even having to ask. “Spit,” He commands. She does it without hesitation. 

Oscar makes use of the makeshift lube and gives himself a few strokes before motioning her forward. She unhinges her jaw and relaxes her throat and still - she gags. 

“See Lando, patience works wonders.” 

“Please Osc, please - I’m dying over here-” 

“Go ahead baby, you’ve earned it.” Oscar chuckles. 

They find a rhythm. When one is going in, the other is going out. She’s drooling all down the exposed skin Oscar is showing. 

“Best. Fucking. Reward. Ever~” Lando punctuates each word with a particularly hard thrust. The sounds are ridiculous and they are lucky that the sound of engines revving is drowning them out. If anyone is watching - well - they are certainly getting a show. 

Oscar’s voice cracks. “Fucking hell, you two look so good.” She concludes the walls of his resolve are starting to crumble. That the grip she has on his waist to ground herself is enough to make him snap and throw him over the edge. 

“You like the show, Osc.” 

“You could say that.” 

Lando likes to be seen and Oscar likes to watch. She likes everything in-between that. To be the object of their affections and an element of desire. Something they covet enough to lose themselves like this. 

Everything gets messier - if that was even possible. Oscar snaps his head back and grips the back of her head so he can hold her stead and fuck her throat. Lando grips her hips and sets an unrelenting pace. Each movement is sloppier than the last. Each moan is more pitched. 

She swallows. Her throat constricts enough for Oscar to growl from somewhere deep and sum without any warning. The tears are streaming down her face as she gags on the new and sudden change of consistency. 

He drags her off and gives her no time to recover. Simply lunging forward and nearly sending her crashing backwards onto Lando. His hand goes back to the Brits throat while his tongue goes so deep into her mouth that there is no way he can’t taste himself. 

Lando is a mess of high pitched whines. “Please - please I’m close-” 

She inhales desperately as Oscar unlatches from her mouth only to find the sensitive spot on her exposed collarbone. “Osc-” 

“I could keep you two like this forever. Desperate and whiny. Leaking with the thought of how good it would feel to cum.” They are both letting out desperate sounds. “I bet that guy from earlier would have stayed away then. So consumed by us that he could smell it on you.” 

“Yesyesyes - please-” She’s going to lose her mind. Lando might be closer than she is and yet he won’t slow down. There is nothing but this until Oscar tells them yes. Because it feels better waiting for it. 

And Lando will always go by feel.

“You’ve earned it Lando, fill our girl up yeah? Make her cry harder.” 

Oscar has to cover her mouth as everything goes white. Her ears are ringing - swimming in the sounds of their voices and nothing else. It’s white hot blissful nothing. No thoughts or anxieties, no worries about some guy making passes at her. 

Here she knows the two men who want nothing but to see her smile and cry for their cocks. Which is a stark contrast considering - but she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Oscar recovers the quickest. Swiftly jumping out of the truck bed to grab their extra blanket and hoodies. “I can’t really clean you two up yet, but will this do for now?” He shifts his weight between feet. Normally more prepared, ready to meet the needs of physical pains and emotional needs that come with the aftermath. 

They both nod and excitedly wait for him to climb back up. “That… was amazing,” she laughs. Her voice broken and hoarse from her throat being used. 

Oscar winces. “I need to get you some water.” 

“Osc-”

“Yeah.” 

“Relax! It felt good! It was great and we’re okay.” Lando gestures to the two who can barely move. Bodies still twitching from the overwhelming sensations. “Now we shall bask in the glory that is the ridiculous amount of cash we made tonight!”

“What are you gonna spend it on?” 

“You, of course!” Oscar leans her into his side as Lando throws an arm around her shoulders for good measure. 

Cars begin to drive past. Leaving for the night either to wherever they are staying or another race. They wave off some of the familiar faces and flip off the annoying ones. Yeah - she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ariichive]

trial period

various haikyuu

in which he finds an opportunity in your boyfriend's errors. suna, osamu, iwaizumi, and akaashi fem reader | cursing | grumpy volleyball players | jealousy | they see their chance and take it | toxic relationships | akaashi's is a bit angsty but its still sweet, promise | i used kenji as a name for readers bf

suna

suna felt like shit; everything was pissing him off today. his coach was harder on him, he forgot his water bottle, and the heat was terrible. he was convinced nothing could make his day worse.

well that's what he thought until his phone went off.

'(name): is this a a good gift set for guys?'

image sent.

'(name): or should I get him a new video game??? thx for ur help rinnie :)'

yeah, his day could definitely get worse.

he stared at your text messages, not even wanting to respond. there was nothing more humiliating than his crush of almost a year texting him about another guy. in all honest, he didn't give a fuck about that sorry excuse of a man that you called your boyfriend.

maybe he was biased, but he honestly didn't care. how could perfect, beautiful you settle for a man who forgot your birthday 3 months ago?

shit just didn’t make sense; now here you are, gift shopping for his birthday. if it were up to suna, he’d make sure you didn’t spend a penny on the man’s birthday. but if things were so easy, he’d gave you in his arms after a long day.

shaking his head, suna typed up a quick, dry response. it wasn’t his intention to come off as an asshole, but at the same time, it kinda was. maybe you’d finally get the hint.

suna ignored the buzzing of his phone as he walked into his local grocery store, he'll answer after buying a few snacks for his apartment. he didn't like ignoring your messages, but he also didn't like your boyfriend.

he saw a familiar, hated haircut as he walked mindlessly through the aisles. squinting his eyes, he made sure his eyes weren't deceiving him; but why was he in the women's care section?

sure, there was a small possibility of him buying you something. however, from what he's heard, your boyfriend has never given you flowers. he walked a little closer, not worried about being recognized because the two had only ever briefly met.

suna decided to pull out his phone; he felt something in his gut screaming at him.

suna quickly skimmed over your texts of you asking which video game to buy him. he facetimed you, making sure his headphones were connected.

"you asshole, you're lucky i'm still at the store," your voice spoke beautifully into his ears (he was ignoring your rude remarks). "yeah yeah, lemme see the video game options."

suna heard you sigh before you flipped the facetime camera, showing the huge display of video games.

he didn't look back at his phone, instead looking at your boyfriend- well it wasn't just your boyfriend anymore, he had a girl looking at him with a big smile on her face.

looking a bit closer, he saw the cause of her happiness. in her hands, she was holding two packages of pregnancy tests, different brands.

now, suna didn't want to assume anything; that could be a sister or a cousin. but his suspicions were only confirmed when she gave a big kiss on his lips.

"you're not even looking- are you at the store?" you said after seeing the background of his facetime screen. you watched as he looked lost in thought, standing in front of a shelf of pads. "why are you in the women's section? actually, while you're there can you grab me more..." when you noticed he wasn't listening, you got a bit worried. "rin?"

"sorry, i'm here. hey, i actually have something to show you, don't get mad.. at least not at me, alright?" you stared confused as he flipped the camera to his back one. now everything he was seeing, you were too.

"oh is that kenji? he said he would be at the.." you lost your train of thought as you witnessed kenji wrap an arm around a girl he was with, placing a small kiss on her head.

you could only stay silent as you watched the two happily walk away.

suna felt like an asshole that he was the one to reveal this to you, but it would've been worse if he hadn't.

"o-oh," you were the first to break the silence. "want me to go say something to him? you know i will." suna's own heart broke a little as he heard the cracking of your voice. "no, it's fine. uhh," you took a quick pause in your sentence, contemplating your words carefully, "do you think, you could come over for a little?"

suna glanced down at his screen, seeing you were already out of the video game shack and into the freshness of the outside air.

"yeah, i'll be there soon. be careful going home okay?"

"okay, bye suna."

no nickname or first name, you were definitely upset.

suna sighed as he continued his grocery shopping; making sure not to get anything refrigerated as he didn't know how long he was going to be at your place.

(he grabbed a few of your favorite snacks and a weird-looking stuffed animal he had a feeling you'd like)

after paying and making a mental note to come back later for milk, he went on his way to your place.

he wasn't quite sure what he was expecting when he got to your apartment, but nothing prepared him for seeing you open your door with sad eyes and a twitching lip; sad but not wanting to show.

"hey," you greeted him with a nod which he reciprocated, holding up his grocery bags. "we can watch that stupid reality show you like," suna stretched as he got comfortable in your living room.

"it's not stupid you just don't understand it."

and when the show was just white noise in the background as he listened to you complain about your now ex-boyfriend was turned into you falling asleep, using the cheap plush he bought you as a pillow; he felt like he belonged there with you.

even as your phone blew up with messages from your ex, suna stayed focused on you.

(he blocked the number).

osamu

you stared at the delivered message you sent to your boyfriend 6 hours ago, only growing more irritated as time went by. the two of you had a date planned for later tonight at a fancy restaurant; one he insisted on going to and you agreed eagerly.

you had already gotten all dolled up, and even though you didn't want to go on the date originally, you did do your best to get ready, and it was a bit disappointing to not go out now.

time was only getting closer, and there was still no response from your boyfriend. over the past week, you felt distant from him, hence your quick agreement to this date.

now, he wasn't even answering his phone. even after ringing kenji multiple times and going straight to voicemail, you still had hope. there was still an hour left until the agreed meet-up time, still some time for him to answer.

you did a few small room chores to kill the time, only for your phone to not go off even once. there were still 20 minutes until 6pm, and you decided that this date wasn't going to happen.

now, you were sad and hungry. getting up, you looked through your fridge and cabinets only to find nothing.

about to give up all hope, your phone dinged from the counter. shooting up immediately, you grabbed your eagerly; only to feel slight disappointment when it was your friend sending you a recently opened food place, 'Onigiri Miya'.

something was pulling you towards the place (maybe your stomach); sending your friend a quick text back, you decided to stop by for dinner. putting on more comfortable clothes and deciding to head out, still no text from your boyfriend.

the place was located in a good area and it wasn't a far walk from your own home. you could see yourself coming here more often. the smell of freshly cooked meals could be smelled from outside the restaurant doors. the place was rather empty, considering it was a bit later in the evening.

you sat down at the counter, glancing over the menu. there was an older lady next to you, who had a big smile on her face as she enjoyed her food. the scene caused a small smile to grace your face. you looked around a little more, noticing everyone had a smile on their face as they enjoyed their food.

this place felt like home.

"welcome to onigiri miya. do ya need more time lookin' at the menu?"

a mans voice broke you out of your trance. looking up, you seen a broad male with dark hair in the, what you assumed, was the official uniform of the restaurant.

"hello," you give him a polite smile, "could i get a minced tuna and spring onion rice ball?" you watched the man’s eyes widen, before a small smile adorned his pretty face.

“gotcha, that’s what my brother orders,” he held a bit of fondness in his voice as he recalled his brother. you giggle slightly, “your brother must have good taste.”

“s’alright. my taste has always been better,” he said as he gave you a quick look over, making you sit up a bit straighter. “really? then what do you recommend?” you decided to play along a little, almost forgetting about the events from earlier.

"stop by tomorrow, we could talk about it more."

and when a number was jotted down on the receipt, you felt a new chapter unfolding in your life.

iwaizumi

iwaizumi stared at his client, whose phone was currently going off non-stop. usually, iwaizumi hated it when his clients were on their phones during his training sessions; but this was annoying at this point.

"can you answer that," iwaizumi didn't try to hide the irritation in his voice. his client, kenji, perked up from his sit-ups. "sorry about that, man." iwaizumi just nodded his head, waiting to get back to his training.

"it's my clingy ass girlfriend, she's scared i'm out cheating."

frankly, iwaizumi didn't care; he had another client coming in soon and he needed to get this guy out. "okay.. are you ready to continue?" with a rather embarrassed nod from kenji, they finally continued their workout; which consisted of a few more sets and then iwaizumi creating a dietary plan for kenji to follow.

once kenji was gone, iwaizumi finished up a few more clients for the day before he moved onto his own workout for the night. it was normal for him to stay late and the gym owner trusted him enough to close.

he was in the middle of his workout when he heard the front door open. sighing, he wiped his sweat off with a nearby towel and walked to the front. walking up, he saw a pretty girl who looked lost just as much pissed.

noticing the man coming out of the backroom with a confused look on his face, you decided to speak first.

"hey, sorry to interrupt but have you seen a male with brown hair, brown eyes, and about this tall?" iwaizumi watched as you held your hand a few inches above your own head. "oh and his name is kenji, if that helps?"

iwaizumi's eyes widened in realization; you must be the clingy girlfriend.

"we close in about half an hour, nobody's here but me." he answered truthfully as he watched your face fall. "oh, thank you for letting me know." iwaizumi watched as you were about to turn and leave, but oddly enough he wanted the conversation to continue.

"why does he have you out so late lookin' for him?" iwaizumi wasn't one to shy away from being protective; especially when it came to women and his loved ones.

you watched as he leaned over the reception desk, his biceps flexing as he did so. noticing you were staring, you snapped out of it. "we haven't spoken all day, and then i called him and he told me he was at the gym... thought i'd wait for him so we could go do something after."

haven't spoken all day? that was weird considering how much Kenji's phone was blowing up earlier from text messages from his "clingy girlfriend"/

"he's been gone for hours. i'm his personal trainer, iwaizumi." iwaizumi stuck his hand out which you shook immediately, "(name), nice to meet the man who's kept my boyfriend so busy these past few weeks."

"few weeks? today was his third day here." iwaizumi watched as the words registered into your mind. there was a twitch of your eyebrow, nails picking at the skin of your hands, and a quick bite of your lip.

it was a shitty situation; he felt bad that a pretty girl like you was getting played by a man that couldn't even bench press 22kg.

"if it makes you feel any better, he dropped a 3kg weight on his foot." iwaizumi tried his best to cheer you up, and it seemed to be working when a laugh fell from your lips.

"thank you for talking to me, sorry for taking up your time, iwaizumi. I should start to walk back before it gets too dark," you said noticing how late it was getting.

"let me close up and i'll walk you home, if that's okay with you?"

you looked shocked before a small smile took graced your face, "sure that'll be fine."

and as you waited for iwaizumi to close up the gym, you sent one last text to kenji; a breakup text.

it was against your moral conscience to do it over text, but he tested your limits. you weren't even sure if he'd see the text tonight, since he's out doing whatever, but your feelings still stood.

when you and iwaizumi started the walk back to your complex, it was full of natural conversations and laughter. the two of you hitting it off immediately and ended the night exchanging numbers.

when the next day arrived, kenji walked into the gym, iwaizumi made training incredibly challenging. he still did his job with integrity, but he added a few new workouts to kenji's routine, some of which even made the athletic trainer pause when he did them himself.

akaashi

you flopped around on your best friend's bed, burying your face in his pillows and letting out muffled complaints.

"he's so stupid, keiji! can you believe he ditched our date to go get drunk with his friends?!"

akaashi can actually believe it, but he doesn't think you'd want to hear that right now. "it is shocking, yes." the lie comes out smoothly, he knows how this'll go. you'll complain and shit talk your boyfriend, get immensely sad for a few minutes, and then fall asleep on his bed.

this always happens when another male does your heart incredibly wrong, and akaashi is always there to pick up the shattered pieces.

"it's not the first time this has happened either... we'll be going good, and then out of nowhere he just..."

akaashi heard the familiar cracking of your voice, which he hated to hear, and when he noticed you went completely quiet; he knew you were crying into his pillow.

he gently got up from his seat on his desk, taking a seat on the bed next to you. "(name), it has nothing to do with you, he's just a bottom-of-the-barrel kind of guy. you know this," akaashi picked your head up from his pillow and placed it into his lap.

"you need to stop letting below-average men sweep you off your feet," akaashi sighed. these men were lucky enough to have a chance with you. whereas he, who's known you for a long time, hasn't gotten the chance. akaashi is too careful, and he never wants to overstep any of his boundaries and make you uncomfortable.

you sniffle as akaashi wipes your tears and runs a soothing hand through your hair, which only makes you more sensitive. akaashi noticed as your frown deepened, causing his hand to stop his movements, an apology already on the tip of his tongue.

"sorry, (name) i-...."

"i go for these types of men because i don't know if i deserve better," you spoke truthfully, grabbing akaashi's hand and putting it back on your head.

"(name), you deserve the world. it's not good for you to self-sabotage like this." his hand continued its movements in your hair. this time, it's your turn to sigh.

"keiji, you're too nice to me... i don't deserve someone like you." akaashi is stunned into silence, his hand movements halting. this was new.

you use his silence to continue, "you're so nice to me. i can't find better because better doesn't exist when you're near me. i don't know what i did to deserve your kindness."

akaashi breaks out of the trance he's in a furrow in his brow at your belittling words. "(name), you have made me discover parts of myself i didn't even know existed. (name) you make me happy."

he sees as your eyes start to water once again, "but i don't deserve you. every time i start to date someone new, my brain always compares him to you." akaashi's heart starts to speed up. "i'm the one that doesn't deserve you," he starts, "you stay by my side when i'm stressed from deadlines, you know how to tell when i need to get out of my room. (name), you know me better than almost anyone."

it was a sweet moment shared between you and him; two people who have been silently pinning for each other for so long.

he sees an opportunity right now and he'd be a fool not to take it.

"(name), you don't need these terrible men when you have me," his words become more confident as he speaks, "i promise i can be enough for you, my feelings towards you are genuine. never would i even think about treating you as poorly as these other men."

your eyes widened as you looked up at his face, a pretty red hue blossoming over his face. "you.. do you actually like like me?"

akaashi chuckled at your words, "yes, (name) i like like you," he repeated your words back at you.

"good, because i like like you too."

both you and akaashi let a comfortable silence take over the two of you. a mutual feeling of love waiting to be explored lingers in the air.

this was fun to write! if you enjoyed it pls consider reblogging or following :)

[eyeritestuff]

Billy Kid x Reader Headcanons ☆

—X—

A/N: super into ZZZ right now (and billy.)

CW: nothing, maybe a few suggestive jokes but everything is generally SFW :3 i’m super sleepy and writing this at 1am so bare with me when it comes to spelling and grammar :’)

Reader: Gender Neutral [they/them]

—X—

Billy takes a lot of selfies, especially when on missions, and sends them to you. You don’t know what made him start doing this, but you save each and every one of them and you make sure to drop whatever you’re doing to ask him about it.

Billy is on the spectrum. Don’t ask me the logistics of it, yes he’s sophisticated AI, but hear me out! Though you like to indulge in some childhood nostalgia, you aren’t particularly fixated on watching just one media from your childhood. However, one of the medias you watched back in the day is called Starlight Knight. As soon as you told him you enjoyed that show, he would come to you to talk about it. It wasn’t all the time, of course, but whenever conservation went dry (in person or via DMs), he’d make it a thing to talk to you about it for hours. It didn’t annoy you, not in the slightest. It made you happy to see him so happy about the children’s show, and so you entertained it as much as you could.

When Billy texts, he uses old fashioned emoticons as punctuation. Think ‘ :3 , ^_^ , o_O ’ and then replace it everywhere a period, an exclamation point, or a question mark would be. So many emoticons…

Billy loves to play video games, especially at the arcade. He invites you, and usually you tag along. When you can’t, he sends a selfie of him making a sad face. He’d probably captions it something like ‘Missing my pookie.. 💔💔’

On that same note, Billy will pick up on vocabulary you use and steal it. So if you have a habit of saying ‘pookie’ ? That’s his now. He’s using it all the time.

Billy panics easy when it comes to you. not only when it comes to safety, but also when it comes to romantic scenarios. During times you hang out with Anby and Nicole, they spill all the details of how Billy went on a rampage to find the perfect flowers, or how Billy sat in a corner all morning whining about how he didn’t find the right color outfit for you. Things along those lines!

Sortve related, but Billy gets flustered easily. Especially when you make dirty jokes, most of which aren’t really directed at him. He doesn’t get the jokes at first, but when he does understand them, he reacts in such an over the top and dramatic manner. Flailing around, gasping really loud, whining, yknow the works! One time you made a joke about ‘whimpering audios’ and he didn’t understand it. For a while too! Once he asked enough people (Anby explained it to him), he went silent and locked himself in his room for a considerable amount of time. He wasn’t sad or anything, just… shocked.

Billy isn’t human, so he doesn’t necessarily get injured in the traditional sense. One time he came back from a commission with his arm all battered up. You never seen him so down in spirits! You were able to help him, luckily, because it was only one part on his arm that was damaged that really messed up the rest of it. You kissed his hand, and immediately after inspecting your handiwork, he stuck his hand out again. “I dunno.. my arm still feels wonky. How about another kiss for good measure?”

When you’re bored, you love to dress up as Billy. Well, you’re not really dressing like him, you’re just wearing his jacket. You also like to wear the jacket with certain outfits you think it would look best with. Since your boyfriend is so tall and broad in the arms, you mostly wore it as a shoulder drape in an odd anime fashion statement. Regardless, Billy loved to see you wear it.

Earlier I mentioned Billy loves to take selfies, but I forgot to mention how most of them include you, and despite having all of those selfies of himself, half of his camera roll is you. He likes to sneak pictures of you sometimes! It’s one of his more odder behaviors, but he takes such cinematic pictures of you, even when you’re wearing the worst outfits. You didn’t know how he did it, but it’s one of the things that made the random picture taking somewhat okay.

Billy loves hugs. Don’t ask me how it works in terms of comfort. I would assume it’s the equivalent of sleeping in a car. However, Billy does have plenty of plushies thanks to you, and you use those to your advantage… so it’s not all bad :)

You asked Billy to teach you how to sling guns, and the entire tutorial sesh was just him feeling every inch of your body, memorizing and admiring how you looked. He loved you. All of you! He thought he was being sneaky, but you knew (and secretly loved it too).

Billy loves to carry you on his back and walk around. All I’m saying is, he’s got handlebars on that jacket for a reason… this has to be one of them……

Billy loves stickers. Self Explanatory!

Billy loves giving you gifts. He puts your needs over his more than he should, but luckily you’re not in this relationship to take advantage of his immaturity and inexperience. You give back as much as you can.

Billy is clingy. Needed to type it out despite it being loud as hell in this list.

Billy cant cook. Not like he needs to anyways, but he wants to learn for you! So when you’re cooking, he watches close behind you and asks you every question he can think of.

Billy likes to ask why… a lot. It gets frustrating sometimes, but he genuinely wants to learn.

—X—

A/N: thx for reading! idk might make a part 2 i’m gonna go fall asleep now :3

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI 

Labor of Love - Part I

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20) featuring Metkayina!Zu’té (29)

Warnings: this shit has zero smut, angst angst angst, did i say angst?, this is so dramatic i'm sorry, expletives, a bit of fluff, pregnancy, cliff hanger, let me know if i forgot anything

Word Count: 8k 

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: You are now entering angst town, please buckle your seatbelts and try to enjoy the ride. Jokes aside, GUYS. This chapter…is the most angsty thing I’ve ever written. I’m excited and nervous, and everything in between. There’s a lot going on in this chapter and I just hope to Eywa that I’ve written it in a way that flows and is easy to follow. I’ve had this idea brewing for months, it feels. Now…this shit was over 20,000 words long. That is a personal record and I will not be subjecting you guys to such a monstrosity. Therefore, this is part one of (at the moment) three. I apologise in advance for the cliffhanger, hehe. Also, welcome to my brain, because idk how I came up with this shit. 

Synopsis: You didn’t foresee this, Ralak kept you in the dark for the sake of you and your baby’s safety. But now the time has come, it’s all too overwhelming for you to process. 

<- Previous-> Next

Ralak never shared more than he needed to when it came to his duties with Tonowari. No matter how much you vowed to keep it confidential. He’s a man of few words, but when it came to his business he kept them fewer.

As much as you knew, his trips inland consisted of hunting and gathering bigger game that most warriors struggled to handle.

There's a few times you can count on one hand that he's come home a little more worn down. Each time you cursed Tonowari under your breath as you helped your mate unwind. You’d insist on knowing what the olo’eyktan had him doing to be so spent and why he had not entirely fulfilled his promise to lighten Ralak of his duties since the mating.

Ralak would be quick to shut you down in the most gentle way despite feeling irritable and sombre. It was always something along the lines of, ‘it keeps you safe, and that is my duty’, and that he’ll ‘discuss it when the time comes’.

It seems the time has come. 

Another gloomy night, rain and thunder tear through the sky. These storms are more frequent in this season, as it’s Ewyas way of keeping the balance with the freshwater and seawater ratio for the mangroves.

But tonight it’s torrential. You’re in full bloom, ready to step into your new chapter of motherhood at any moment. The babe sits low in your womb and you’re swollen from what feels like head to toe. The rain isn’t helping with the soreness in your joints. 

Ralak is seated next to the crackling firepit, stirring the bubbling stew with one hand and mindlessly rubbing your swollen ankles with the other. Meanwhile you lay snuggled in bed, wrapped comfortably in the thick shawl as you listen to the pitter-patter. It’s peaceful, despite the dull ache in your lower back. Maybe the rain isn’t so bad, after all. 

Ta-toom!

The low-pitched sound of the war horn has Ralak's full attention, shredding him of whatever serenity he had in his being. Moving hastily, he stands and darts over to the marui door, slipping into his gear and fixing his largest spear on his back.

The scene unfolding before your eyes is a rare one. You’d only seen him in full gear on the day you first laid eyes on him. The day you arrived here in Awa’atlu. And it brings a sinking feeling to your stomach.

“Ralak… what was that?” You ask nervously.

You watch him aggressively tighten the strap of his tstalsena [knife sheathe; carrier] and chuck a bucket of water in the fire—killing the flame. A precautionary measure. He knows the time has come. He hears your voice but he also hears Tonowari's...

'When the horn sounds… you come. And that…is an order.'

In his head, he’s going through an array of possible responses but there’s simply no time for any of them. Using the frame of the bed to pull yourself up, you slowly come to your feet and waddle towards him.

“Ralak. What is going on?” You ask a little louder, a hand gripping his wrist. 

Turning to face you, his hands fly to support your stomach as he looks you deeply in the eyes. Then he kisses you with purpose. Pressing his lips into yours like it would be the last time, forcing himself to pull away to briefly glance down at his unborn.

It catches you by surprise, leaving you looking up at him open mouthed. Now you’re really scared. It feels like he’s being plucked away from your fingers and there’s nothing you can do about it. “Ralak—”

“I will explain when I am back. All of it.” He already sounds out of breath, fixing the shawl over your shoulders. “You stay here. Stay warm. Do not leave. Do not answer to anyone. Understand?” 

Your forehead wrinkles as you try to process this all. 

Don’t answer to anyone? To whom? Why did he put out the fire? Why is he in full gear? What the fuck is going on right now? He said he’d be back…right?

“Y/n.” He booms your name, yet his tone remains steady and calm. “Understand?”

You nod hurriedly, “Yes. Yes.” 

“I will be back soon.” He fixes your shawl a last time before stepping back and bolting through the door.

You follow behind him, keeping the marui flap open to watch him click for his skimwing. He makes the bond and mounts the beast hastily, and is airborne soaring towards the mainland at full tilt. 

Befuddled, you waddle back inside, your back slamming into the marui stilt as you huff and puff to catch your breath. You nervously check the stew, and see that it’s almost done. The glowing charcoal should be enough to finish it off, so you opt to leave it covered and fidget with the prrsmung [baby carrier] you've weaving for the past couple days. 

Anything to keep you busy. 

——

Ralak effortlessly dismounts his tsurak, letting it glide past him in the water as he climbs up to the communal pod. This is a gathering place for important meetings and announcements to the clan. He watches as others assemble under the larger, woven marui, drenched with the water of the sea and sky. It’s clear that this was a signal for the warriors of the clan, from the elite, to the former. The young and the old. 

Even Zu’té is present, standing lone far off in the corner.

War horn in hand, the olo’eyktan makes his presence known as he stands on the highest part of the pod. His mate, the tsahìk, stands next to him with her chest high and their children next to her.

Jake and Neytiri, along with Lo’ak and Neteyam, group together behind them at the back of the pod, observing the unfolding scene. The warriors begin to chant, defensively positioned with their tongues on display. They’re all armed and ready to protect their own from whatever the impending threat is. Ralak takes his place next to Tonowari, standing tall and still. He observes the uproar before him, his mask of indifference fixed tightly to his face. 

“Mawey. Mawey. [Calm. Calm.]” Ronal speaks loudly over the heavy rain, hands splayed out in front of her. 

But it makes no difference. 

The uproar is growing even louder than the downpour. It was rare to hear this particular horn. It’s been years, ten, to be exact. And those who know exactly what it means are up in arms. Ralak knew this day would soon come, but he was hoping to Eywa that it would be after the birth of his son. Tonowari lets loose a throaty ‘gwah’, driving the butt of his spear into the ground. The crowd hushes down into a dead silence, acknowledging their leader.

“Warriors of Awa’atlu. I summon you for good reason. Ten years have passed and it is time to meet with the ash people once more.” Tonowari begins, only for the younger warriors to mumble among themselves, some of who are unaware of who the ash people are. 

“Tìfnu! [silence!]” Ralak snaps through his teeth, “…the olo’eyktan speaks.” Tonowari nods to Ralak. 

“The treaty has ended. We meet with them far inland to discuss the terms of a new treaty.” Tonowari’s eyes bounce among the sea of na’vi. “It will be no easy or short journey. We must make the trek by foot. Tonight.” 

A few male na’vi are unable to keep their excitement to a minimum and siren a few calls, smacking their strakes together. Neytiri snakes her arm around Jake's upper bicep, tucked under his wing. Neteyam and Lo’ak listen intently, their heads tilted down as they grip their bows firmly. 

“Not all will come. I have chosen a few to be at my side.” Tonowari glances at Ralak, and then the Sullys before continuing, “The rest must stay and protect the clan if needed.” 

Ronal interjects, speaking of the ash na’vi and their horrid way of living—from their occasionally cannibalistic diet to their view of Eywa and the balance. She further reminds the people of the treaty, and that its tenets include immunity from their ‘hunting practices’ in exchange for a resource only attainable on the reef. The treaty is valid for a decade and then the terms are subject to negotiation based on the two tribe’s needs. She commences it by announcing the names of those who have been chosen by Tonowari.

“I need you by my side, Ralak.”

It was a direct order, and Ralak knows that. He knows that no matter what he says, the olo’eyktan’s order must be obeyed. But it doesn’t mean he won’t try. 

“She is due any day now. You know that.” Ralak speaks crystal clear, stating exactly what his concerns are.

He doesn’t want to leave you alone, especially so heavy and full with his firstborn, who will come at any moment. Every bone in his body is telling him it’s the wrong move. But Tonowari glances at his own wife who is swollen with his fourth child.

“I know. I know, Tak. But we must do what we need. For the people.” 

Ralak holds a stare with his superior—his father figure. He’s gritting his teeth to keep himself together, to keep his composure. To keep his thoughts just as his thoughts. The two communicate through facial expressions, and a quick tilt to Tonowari’s head has Ralak looking away in frustration. 

It’s final. 

“No.” Jake butts in, sharp and quick with his disapproval. “He gave me his word.” 

Alas, a moment where father and son in law are in favour of the same thing. 

“You have the sky people and we have the ash people. They demand his (Ralak’s) presence. If we fail in this, we will be at war. He comes with us.” Tonowari is stern with his tone, leaving no room for an argument. 

“Ma’ Jake.” Neytiri chimes in, fright evident in her voice. She is tired of the war. 

As a last resort, Ralak’s gaze shifts over to Zu’té. He knew Zu’té would also be chosen despite his...'retirement'. He was undoubtedly one of the best warriors the clan has ever had, wielding great strength and skill. Zu’té returns the stare, crossing his arms over his chest as he cocks a brow. Their brothership had strengthened after Ralak sought help. 

Jake notices this, and shakes his head with his hands on his hips. “Nope. No. Who is that guy anyways?” 

“My brother.”  

“His brother.” 

The two taller na’vi speak at once. 

“Since when do you have a—You know what? I don’t care. Okay? You? I trust. Him? Not so much. I’d rather my boys stay with her.” Jake says sternly, glancing at Zu’té. “No offence, bud.” 

“Good thing I care not for your opinion, koaktan [old man].” 

“Zu’té.” Ralak whispers harshly, throwing a glare at his sibling. 

“Look, if you got a problem—”

“What about tuk?” Neytiri cuts her mate short, tugging at his arm to remind him of who is watching their youngest daughter. 

“Then they take turns or somethin’, I’m not havin’ one baby girl watched and not the other.” 

“Toruk makto.” Tonowari lays a heavy hand on the former olo’eyktan's shoulder, drawing him away to break the tension. “They cannot step foot on our land with the treaty. She will be safe. Trust me…” Their voices drown out from the pounding downpour. 

As they go back and forth, Ralak begins to process what Tonowari said.

‘They demand his presence’.

Tonowari had made this meeting the topic of conversation over the past few weeks, preparing him for this. But he never mentioned anything about them demanding his attendance in particular. The last meeting with the ash people happened when Ralak was a very young warrior, long before his iknimaya. 

Back then, Tonowari had a different warrior at his side—a different right hand. She was strong and well known for being patient with her students. It was a frequent story at family dinner when Tonowari and Ronal took Ralak under their wing. And as Ralak became Tonowari's right hand man, he was thrusted into enforcing the tenets of the treaty, going inland with Tonowari to uphold the clan's part.

Ralak has only caught a glimpse of them once after delivering the resource to the agreed spot. He had just started these excursions with Tonowari, and his curiosity got the best of him. He looked behind him for just a moment, and caught the sight of a curvy, grey woman hastily gathering and stuffing everything into a satchel of some sort. 

Her stripes were a deep, ashy blue, and her skin seemed almost scale-like. She was rid of any bioluminescence, as if the light within her was gone, and her hair was matted with what looked like burgundy clay. Tonowari then seized the back of Ralak’s neck and shoved him along, advising that he never looks. 

“It is decided. Neteyam, Lo’ak and Zu’té stay.” Tonowari announces as he and Jake rejoin the group, looking at those who are left—Tonowari, Neytiri and Ralak. “We leave soon, make your arrangements.” 

Ralak knew his last few words were directed to him. With that, Ralak strides towards Zu’té. “I know what I am asking of you, Zu’té—” 

“I will do this for you.” Zu’té turns to face Ralak, who’s undeniably uneasy and concerned. 

“Protect her.” 

“You protect her. Get in and get out of there, baby brother.” Zu’té speaks, extending his hand out to Ralak. Ralak nods firmly. He’s right, your safety, along with the rest of the clan’s, depends on how this all plays out. 

“Oe irayo si ngaru [I give thanks to you].” Ralak's hand meets Zu’té’s forearm with a smack. They tug back and forth a bit, silently wishing each other luck on their own endeavours before setting off on their skimwings. 

They arrive, walking with haste along the beach towards the stairs to Ralak’s marui pod in the pouring rain.

“That’s...interesting.” Zu’té makes a comment about the railings for the stairs. 

“She has a hard time without it.” Ralak responds, stopping at the bottom step, coming to the quick realisation that this man will essentially be replacing him for the next few eclipses. “She may need help using them.” 

Zu’té nods, understanding what he really means. “Do not fret, brother. I will take care of your mate.” 

Ralak releases a shaky breath as they make their way to the patio, finding shelter from the rain. 

“Wait here.” Ralak speaks with his back turned, “I must speak with her first.”  

——

A torturous hour has passed, and you’ve burned circles into your marui floor from pacing so much. He’s taking longer than you’d expected, and worry is really starting to set in now. 

What’s going on? What did that sound mean? Why did he leave in such a rush? With all his gear, too? 

You gnaw at the calloused piece of skin on your thumb, keeping a warm comforting hand on your bump to keep your kicking babe calm. Regardless, he continues doing somersaults in your womb.

Fuck it. 

You rush towards the marui door where your gear hangs, and fight with the strap of your chest piece to slip it on you. It won’t fasten and it’s simply too tight to fit your body right now, but you continue to grapple with the stupid strap with shaky hands. 

“Tanhì.” Ralak’s voice is rough and he sounds winded. “What are you doing?” He rushes over to you and quickly removes the piece off your chest. 

“Ralak—oh, thank Eywa.” Your voice is shaky, but thick with relief. “I’m sorry, I just got s-so worried.”

“We must speak. Time is going.” Ralak carefully ushers you over to the bed, and assists you in sitting down, holding your swollen belly along the way. He takes note of his active child, feeling his little kicks and pokes. He comforts his young with a few strokes to your stomach. “Shh-shh, little one. Alright.”

He knows this whole ordeal must be stressing you both, and he’s really regretting not telling you all of this sooner.

“What do you mean?” You ask, urgency thick in your voice.

Ralaks demeanour is nothing short of solemn, tensed jaw and tightened lips. It seems serious, and this man is no person to jest on such matters.

"Ralak...What is happening?"

He takes a moment to reply, his gaze fixed on his hand that still lays firmly on your stomach. He then looks up at you, concern etched into his features. “It is time to speak about… my duties with Tonowari.” 

You feel your heart thud against your ribcage, your eyes widen at the words. You’ve been eager to know, but now that he’s telling you, it implies that everything isn’t alright. It implies… the safety of your unborn is compromised. You nod slowly, trying to remain calm for the sake of your son. 

“We reef people hold a peace treaty with another clan…” the giant begins, slipping his hand from your stomach to clasp yours tightly. “…the ash people.” 

“Ash people?” Your voice is less than a whisper, tiny and croaky.

“They are a horrible people, tanhì. Truly wicked. Kawnglan [malicious; bad hearted]. Much like the sky people.” He shakes his head as he mutters the words, not even wanting to go into any more detail. He didn’t want to taint your innocence. To stress your mind. Especially now that you’re heavy with his child. “The treaty keeps them off this land. It keeps you safe.” 

“Kawnglan [malicious; bad hearted].” You repeat through a gasp. 

“To them, Eywa is nothing. Tsaheylu [the bond] is for control. Their diet…” Ralak catches himself, bringing his words to a halt.

“Their diet…?” Your bottom lip trembles. 

Ralak just shakes his head, taking your other hand with his. “The treaty will soon end. I must go. Tonight.”

“What?!” You shout, wrenching your hands from his grasp to quickly stand up. A shooting pain sears up the side of your stomach, and your hand flies to clutch it. Ralak rushes to steady you.

“Careful, y/n.” He snaps, high strung and tense. “I will be back in a few eclipses.” 

“What? No! No, no. It’s too dangerous.” You protest, gripping his wrists to stay standing.  

“It is the olo’eyktan’s orders. I must.” He’s quick to respond to you. 

This quietens you. Does Tonowari not know that you’re due any day? Or perhaps he doesn’t care. How could he rip your mate away from you at this time? Especially for something so…risky. You feel your fear bubble into something more hot. 

Anger. 

“Then I’m coming.” You announce, dropping your hands from his wrists to waddle over to your gear once more. Ralak stands in front of you, hands on your stomach to stop you. 

“No. You're staying here.” Ralak orders sternly, backing you up to sit back on the bed. 

“No. I’m coming. I’m safer with you.” You resist his pushes, trying to stand firm.

“You are heavy with child.” He grits his teeth, giving you another light push, “I cannot protect you there. You—agh—you are safer here.”

Ralak makes the confession, feeling like he’s failing at his duty as your mate. He shouldn’t even be leaving you, not when you're this far along. He should be by your side, tending to your every need. 

“What? By myself? What if—what if something happens? What if the baby—” You’re cut short by the sound of Zu’té’s not-so-reserved entrance. He yanks the marui flap to the side, ducking under it and standing tall behind Ralak, by just a couple inches. He, too, is fully equipped with his gear and weapons. 

“Brother. I can hear the war party.” Zu’té speaks with haste, keeping his eyes locked onto Ralak. 

'Brother?' Your eyes snap back to Ralak, beady and full of tears. “You didn’t.”

It quickly dawns on you that Ralak had planned this out. Made these arrangements in anticipation things went south and he had no say in the matter. To ensure your safety, and the safety of your unborn by going to the greatest length of rekindling a flame that had been extinct for twelve years. Ralak has spoken casually of his brother before, but never in any great detail. 

“Y/n. This is Zu’té, my brother. He will keep you safe.” Ralak speaks with shame in his voice, knowing this must be way too overwhelming for you. He hadn’t planned for it to go like this. 

Zu’té finally allows his eyes to wander over to you. They widen when they get their first proper look of you, darting all over your body to take in your foreign features.

He caught a glimpse when your family first arrived in Awa’atlu, but never this close. His eyes land on your bulging stomach, lingering a second too long to make even himself a bit uncomfortable. He clears his throat and looks back at Ralak.

You look at Zu’té with anger in your eyes, and then back at Ralak as they begin to swell with hot tears. Zu’té tries to make himself smaller, feeling the thickness of the air now. He backs up into the marui flap, tempted to lift it and walk himself outside to relieve some of the pressure. 

“How long did you say this would be f-for? What if I go into labour? Will you really allow another man to deliver our son?” 

Zu’té quickly but silently excuses himself from the room, taking a spot on the patio with his arms crossed over his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Oh, Toto. What have you gotten yourself into?’

Angry, you shot the words like an arrow and they pierced your mate’s chest with ease. He grimaces, as if he were actually in pain.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I—” You sob the apology, burying your hot face into your hands. 

Ralak embraces you, wrapping his large arms around your body, hugging you close and tight. He sways a little with you, humming deep in his chest. “‘ts alright. You’re okay. Take a breath. I know this is frightening.” 

He understands—it is not uncommon for a navi pair to remain close during the final weeks of pregnancy. It’s an unconscious mechanism, keeping them together for the birth of their offspring. Ralak feels it just as much as you but in order to truly protect you he must go— another thing that he understands. 

“You c-come back to me, o-okay?” Your breath won’t stop hitching. “Come as s-soon as y-you can.” 

“I will, I will. ” He coos, pulling back enough to look down at you. “Mawey, tanhì. Strong heart. For our baby.” 

You nod, lifting your head to look up at him. He sees the terror in your eyes and his heart breaks with guilt. He gently presses his forehead against yours, slowly stroking your back. 

“Nga yawne lu oer, nga yawne lu oer. [I love you, I love you]” He whispers longingly as he closes the distance between your mouths. 

“Nga yawne lu oer [I love you]. S-So much.” You sputter, lips trembling against his.

He kisses you with force, pressing his lips into yours until it almost hurts. You both linger there, not wanting to part ways. But you feel him pulling away, knowing there wasn’t much time left. Instinctively, cling onto him when his lips leave yours. 

“Please don’t go.” You mumble into his chest, knowing that he has no choice.

“I have to, my tanhì.” He mutters as he begins to pull away before letting go completely. 

You follow behind him, thumb in your mouth as you nibble at the skin, hand resting on top of your bump. You watch him call for his tsurak for a second time tonight, and look back at you for a moment. He takes in the sight of you standing next to his older brother, trying to find comfort in knowing that you’re in safe hands. Ralak gives him a nod and mounts the beast, taking off towards the war party.

Leaving you in the presence of Zu’té. 

“Y/n, is it?” Zu’té asks, already knowing the answer.

It’s awkward and he doesn’t do well in these types of situations. He knows comfort is what you need right now, considering you’re now sobbing into your hands again. You’re worried sick. Literally. It’s all making you feel woozy and lightheaded. 

“Listen...” He goes to rest a hand on your upper back, but he hesitates, leaving his hand to hover. He retracts it completely, allowing it to fall back to his side. He sighs, droopy ears and tensed brows. “He will return soon.”

Among all the emotions that cloud you at once, anger still remains roaring at the forefront. You find yourself turning your heel and ignoring his presence, waddling away as fast as your swollen feet will allow it. 

“Leave m-me be.” You spit between hitched breaths, ensuring the flap of the marui door shuts harshly behind you. 

Despite feeling sympathy for you, Zu’té stands outside, finding solace in being alone. He chooses the driest spot, and sets himself up on the patio, getting ready for the stormy night ahead. 

You waddle in to bed, wrapping yourself in the thick shawl that smells like your mate, and lay next to the prrsmung [baby carrier] you still have yet to finish. Feeling defeated and empty, you lay on your side in bed as you process everything, letting silent tears crash onto your bed.

——

You’re not entirely sure at what point in the night that you drifted to sleep, but you wake up in a groggy state. Dried tears make it hard to open your eyes, and your hair sticks to your face. You look around in a daze and realise that it’s still dark outside. 

The pang in your bladder keeps you awake and forces you out of bed, making you wobble to the curtain. You pull it back and are met with the sight of Zu’té sleeping propped up against the marui wall with his spear tucked to his chest. 

Seeing him painfully reminds you of the heart wrenching events of last night. That even though you were hoping and praying to Eywa for it all to be a bad dream—it was all very real. 

An icy cold breeze gusts by, making you shiver under your shawl and Zu’té shift in his sleep. The rain had eased off into a light, continuous drizzle some time during the night. 

Your ears droop with guilt for leaving him out here in the cold, damp night. You let out a sigh and grip the railing to the marui stairs, turning your body sideways to take your first step down. The wood squeaks when it takes your weight, Ralaks usual tell tale sign that you’re sneaking out at night without his help. 

It seems to work for Zu’té too because by the time you reach the second step you hear a raspy voice.  

“I was told you need help with these.” Zu’té offers his hand. You let out a sigh and take his arm. 

 You’ll admit, his helping hand is actually helping, especially now that you’re so far along. 

“Irayo [thank you].” You mutter, holding on tightly as you make your way to the bottom step. Zu’té leans against the railing, waiting for you to finish your business. 

You don’t take long, most trips recently have been false alarms—just the baby pushing on your bladder because he’s so low down. As you make your way back to the stairs, your lower back begins to warm up. It radiates to your upper and inner thighs, making them ache as you walk. 

It’s nothing new, aches and pains are becoming more frequent as the days pass, and the cold certainly isn’t helping. Zu’té meets you at the bottom step with an extended elbow, and you take his arm without a second thought. 

It starts to rain again, hard. The temperature easily falls by a few degrees and all you want is to be inside the warmth of your bed right now. Your feet move at a quicker pace and as much as Zu’té tries to be gentle as he can, his grip tightens. 

“Take your time.” He says, keeping you steady as you reach the top step. 

Once you get to the door, he immediately lets go of you, stepping aside to take his spot on the patio for the remainder of the night. You pull back the marui flap but find yourself hesitating to step inside. You look over your shoulder, watching Zu’té tuck his spear close to his chest and prop himself against the wall.

“Zu’té.” You say. He looks at you, brows raised as he listens. “It’s cold out here. You should come—” 

“Don’t worry about me.” He cuts you short, closing his eyes. 

“I’m not.” Your words are quick and almost defensive. 

Zu’té chuckles a bit, if you could even call it that. “Sounds like you are.” 

You sigh, getting a little irritated. “Whatever.”

“I’ll be alright out here.” He says nonchalantly, opening his eyes to look directly at you. Your heart skips a beat and you feel the blood drain from your face. You thought Ralak was intimidating, but this guy is something else. 

“Sure.” It’s awkward, but a good awkward…if that were a thing. “Night.”

“Wake me if you need me. No more sneaky shit.” He’s muttering now, ready to go back to sleep. “And get some rest.”

You hold back your laugh, a little amused by the stark difference in his personality and Ralaks. How are they brothers? Or related, even? 

“Will do, sir.” You match his sarcastic tone, entering the marui and laying down in bed, hoping to Eywa that sleep will find you soon. 

——

Village life continues despite Ralak and the others' absence. You wake up earlier than usual, despite the exhausting circumstances. Your baby moves, letting you know he’s awake too. 

“Daddy will be home soon.” You reassure your babe, gently rubbing your stomach. 

Perhaps you were also reassuring yourself. 

You feel empty, and numb. And as much as you want to lay in bed all day and wait for your mates return, you still have a few things left to do before your son’s arrival. 

First thing being, getting some food in your system. 

You get ready, and walk outside, noticing that Zu’té is no longer in his spot. 

He wakes early. 

Looking out into the distance, you catch sight of Zu’té crouching next to a small flame, cooking what seems to be squid. It’s hard to be sure of what it is—the sun hasn’t fully bloomed, and though the rain has stopped it’s still a bit gloomy. You make your way over to him, taking extra care when going down the stairs.

“Morning.” You say nonchalantly. 

Zu’té’s ears spring up and he looks behind him—behind you—directly at the stairs. His brows lower and he sighs quickly, knowing there’s no point in making the comment. He looks back at his task, turning the slightly charred squid impaled by a sharpened branch. 

“You’re up early.” The giant states, back turned to you to reveal his insanely intricate tattoo. 

“Same to you.” You respond, staring at his back hard enough to burn holes into it. You see some scarring and thickened skin, presumably from his days as a warrior. That much you knew because of Ralak. 

“Squid. Help yourself.” Zu’té says, handing you a stick of burnt squid. 

Taking it from him, you hold it in front of your face, a little baffled at how he seemingly saw nothing wrong with it. 

“Hm…thanks. Looks…well done.” You try to force a smile, to no avail. 

You try to take a seat next to him, struggling to keep your balance as you lower yourself to your knees. His ears lay flat and he instinctively springs to his feet, helping you sit down. He didn’t think you’d join him here. 

It’s silent. Uncomfortably silent. And awkward. You keep your extremities close and your tail closer, curled up in on yourself to remain as small as you can. Although, in comparison to your mate's brother, you were tiny. 

He’s not taller by much, but still taller nonetheless. It really makes you wonder how their parents looked for them to turn out this way. 

Zu’té eats hastily, shovelling the squid in his mouth as if it had the ability to slither away. It makes you look back at your own serving and suddenly your nerves go haywire. You didn’t want to risk getting sick, your bedside bucket is too far away to fetch. But you didn’t want to be rude—he’d obviously woken up early to make this for you. 

You take an experimental bite and fight for your life to keep a straight face. You exaggerate a nod and cover your mouth with your hand, hiding the way you're smacking away at this blubbery piece of meat. 

“Mm. Mhm.” You grunt, forcing it down and clearing your throat. “It’s—uhm, it’s not—”

“I am no ‘emyu [cooker].” He says, chucking his cleared stick into the fire. 

“Ahem—yeah. Yup.” You twirl the stick between your pointer finger and thumb, bringing his attention to your five fingered hand. His eyes widen a bit before quickly looking away, and you tuck them back in between your thighs. 

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“Sleep well?” 

You both speak at the same time, unintentionally clearing the tension in the air. 

“I suppose, all things considered.” You try to speak lightheartedly. “And you? Did any part of you freeze?” 

Zu’té laughs and shakes his head. “No, not quite.” 

“Well, that’s good.” You say, looking out at sea to witness the sun's emergence. It casts an orange hue over the water, illuminating the ripples of the oncoming waves. 

He’s watching it too. 

“Your tattoo.” You speak softly, witnessing his ears flutter. “…on your back.” 

“Ah. What of it?” 

“What does it mean? I mean—” You stutter, still adapting to the idea of inking being a symbolic statement. “What’s the story behind that?” 

The story replays in his head—the death of the spirit brothers and family. It flashes before him, as if he were in that moment again. The guilt and pain inside him is eternal, something that’s never left him since. He’s never spoken of it, not even to the person he hurt the most through it all—Ralak. 

His ears pin back and his jaw tightens. He shrugs his shoulders and mutters, “Felt like it.” 

“So…you’re telling me you did that, for fun?” The surprise is evident in your voice as you look at the tattoo again. His skin is raised and it spans the entirety of his upper back. “That must have been really painful. Ralak did mine and it took days.” 

“Didn’t hurt.” Zu’té says, turning his body to you yet keeping his eyes on the sun. But it did. It hurt—a lot. Self inflicted pain, to symbolise the pain he inflicted on others, even if it weren’t his intention. 

Maybe they are brothers. You think.

“You going to eat that?” He asks, interrupting your train of thought, pointing at your squid on a stick. 

“Uhh—I’m going to pass.” You answer, offering it to him, “…sorry.” 

“Again. Not a ‘emyu [cooker]” He takes it gladly, biting off a decent chunk and chewing at it unbothered with a deadpan expression.

Nevermind. 

Now the silence isn’t as awkward. You choose to sit here a while longer, enjoying this moment as much as you can before coming back to reality. The reality that there may be a war brewing. That—

Ralak isn’t here. 

Well, that didn’t last long. 

Sadness washes over you, making your ears droop and your tail heavy. Your baby gives you a sudden, hard kick in the ribs, as if he were telling his mummy to cheer up. You uncross your legs and shift your weight to the one side, getting ready to get up and be productive.

 Zu’té seems to take note of that. 

“Need to get up?” He asks, chucking yet another stick into the fire. 

“I got it.” You grunt, shuffling to your knees.

Zu’té lets out a displeased grumble, understanding what his brother meant when he said you have a stubborn streak. He goes to help you anyways, supporting you by the elbow. 

You’re just about standing when you feel a sharp stabbing pain in your back. It makes you jolt and grab onto Zu’té, whose slight irritation instantly turns into concern. 

“Y/n.” 

“I’m good, I’m good.” You repeat out of breath, steadying yourself before letting go. He seemed unsure if you really were okay. “Really. Happens all the time now.” 

Zu’té nods, letting go and giving you a little more space. “Alright.” 

——

The meeting spot is no other than the ‘head quarters’ of the ash people. It is only on this occasion that another clan may step foot on their land and walk away with a beating heart. That is, if all goes well. Tonowari is confident, however, knowing that the resource they provide the ash people is sufficient enough to prolong the treaty for many decades to come. 

It is an ore that forms deep underwater, and can only be extracted by the most skilled divers. Divers that can hold their breath for up to half an hour. The use of this ore remains unknown to the reef people, but the ash people are quick to seize it almost instantaneously at the drop off point. The ore is plentiful among the reef, renewing itself as it is harvested—the act of the great mother restoring balance as needed.

Truth be told, although the reef people are a peaceful people, it is no secret that they hold some of the strongest warriors on Pandora. They are proud of their home, and will fight to protect it at all costs. Even the ash people know this. Which is the reason for their agreement on something as laughable as a ‘peace’ treaty.

Otherwise, what’s really to stop them from annihilating the reef people and taking the ore themselves?  

Ralak meets with the others—Tonowari, Jake, Neytiri, and Ronal. They all set off far inland to the place the two clans met ten years ago. The trek is long and tiresome, leaving Ronal winded and in need of a couple breaks along the way. She is, too, heavy with child, but as tsahìk, she perseveres. Tonowari had tried to convince her several times to stay home, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“We are here.” Tonowari announces as the group nears the settlement of their natural enemy. It’s a rocky environment, much like the reef but with plenty of soil and clay. “Heads straight. Ignore them.”

——

Zu’té stays nearby the marui as he tends to some of Ralak’s duties, keeping an eye on you from afar. You sit comfortably on the bottom step of the marui stairs, concentrating on finishing your baby’s sling. Your fingers are a little swollen, making it more difficult to weave. Frustrated, you plop the sling to your side and bury your face into your hands. 

Everything is just too overwhelming right now. 

“Your technique is poor.” Zu’té’s voice booms over you. 

You look up, seeing this tall man with his hands on his hips tower over you, shading you from the sun. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know that I have plenty of knowledge on—” 

“This is a prrsmung [baby carrier], yes?” Zu’té picks up the sling and sits himself next to you, searching for the point in which you left off.

You watch intently, intrigued to know his next move. He carefully unravels all the wefts you’ve managed to do since sitting on this damned step. 

“What are you doing? Stop!” 

Zu’té sighs and demonstrates a weaving technique you’ve never seen before, entwining and knitting the fabric until it comes together in an even neater fashion. You look at him in awe, dumbstruck that he was able to do that. Ralak dislikes weaving, in fact, he loathes it. 

“Try it.” He says, plucking the fabric away from itself to unravel it once more before handing it back to you. You hesitate to take it, caught off guard from his unexpected, skilled movements. 

“My fingers are swollen.” You say, feeling defeated and a little embarrassed. He looks down, noticing your five-fingered hand again, not nearly surprised as last time. 

“Not as big as mine.” He tries to hand you the sling again. “You got it.” 

Reluctantly, you take the sling and slowly mirror his movements, replicating the technique perfectly. 

“See?” Zu’té sounds pleased with himself. Looking down at the sling, it dawns on you.

“So, you’re a weaver?” You ask the question as if you had just struck gold. “Usually the women take on that role.” 

“Not here, forest girl.” Zu’té defends his role proudly, “But yes, I am.” 

“Nice. It is good to see that. My grandmother is a great weaver, she taught me all I know.” You begin. 

For as long as your body would allow it, you and Zu’té sat on that step and wove together. You wove the sling and he went to fetch his satchel to work on a piece of his own. Though you did most of the talking, and found yourself dodging one too many snarky remarks, a bond formed on that step. 

You told him about your past at hometree, your reason for seeking uturu to begin with. 

The sky people. 

The words wouldn’t stop flowing, especially when you got onto the topic of how you met his brother. You explained that Ralak was your karyu [teacher] and how that quickly morphed into something much more beautiful. How you broke past his walls—took off his mask of indifference. 

But then that awkward silence came again. The silence that reminded you why this stranger was in your home to begin with. That he was playing watchdog because your mate had to leave your side whilst being heavily pregnant. 

“I lied.” Zu’té fills the silence. It has your ears perked up and your full attention on him. Your heart picked up speed, almost expecting something bad. “About?”

“That tattoo hurt like a kalweyaveng [son of a bitch].” 

His confession has you bellowing out in laughter, clutching your stomach to keep you from shaking up your baby. 

“I knew it.” You finally say once you calm down from a much needed laugh. “No good comes from trying to pretend that things don’t hurt, you know.” 

Little did you know these words weighed heavy on him. Heavier than you meant for them to. He falls silent, contemplating if he should say what he’s about to. The real confession. The real reason behind the tattoo. 

“I killed our spirit brothers.” He blurts out, astonished by his own voice. 

Did I really just say that? Shit.

“What?” You exhale, your heart now galloping in your chest.

“It was twelve years ago. I was…seventeen. Sent out to war. I had to keep Ralak out of it. I went alone…lead a group of warriors to protect the tulkun.” His voice seizes up, as if his throat were closing. He looks away, fixing his gaze to his feet. “I was still learning. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. The sky people…they slaughtered them all.” 

“Hey, hey. That’s not your fault, Zu’té. You didn’t kill them. The sky people did.” You rest your hand on his back, feeling how raised and toughened the skin where his inking lay deep.

Zu’té just looks at you, eyes trembling with vulnerability. It’s the first someone outside of the family has ever told him that. It’s something that he needed to hear. 

“Is that why you fled? Ralak told me you left him.” 

Zu’té nods, looking away in shame once more. “I abandoned him.”

You shake your head, knowing now that Ralak has healed and no longer feels this way. “He has healed Zu’té. And now it is your turn.” 

Zu’té only nods, allowing the silence to fill the space again. This time it’s needed. 

Until it's broken by a familiar voice. 

“Sister.” Neteyam greets you at the bottom step, throwing a smile your way, then to your stomach. “Little one.” 

He’s checking on you per your fathers request. Of course he wanted to ensure you were okay, too. 

“Tey.” You smile big, happy to see such a familiar, comforting face. “I thought you went.”

You reach out for the railing to pull yourself up, and both Neteyam and Zu’té go to help you get up. You side-hug Neteyam, finding comfort in your brother. It’s been a hectic night. 

“No, someone’s got to watch Tuk…and you.” Neteyam chuckles. As you let go, your glances at Ralak’s brother. “Neteyam, this is Ralak’s brother. Zu’té.” You introduce the two properly. 

Taught manners from a young age, Neteyam gestures ‘I see you’ to the former warrior, and he returns the sign. 

“Uncle TeyTey’s got you guys for the day.” Neteyam coos at your tummy, and then offers you his arm. 

“Right...Dads orders?” You ask, happy to go with him. 

“Dads orders.” Neteyam nods firmly, looking at Zu’té to relay the message. Zu’té returns the nod, being present to hear your fathers concerns about the entire arrangement. Besides, it’ll give him time to hunt for something proper for dinner. 

“C’mon guys!” Lo’ak shouts from the ocean, mounted on his skimwing with Tuk behind him. 

“See you. Think about what I said.” You say to Zu’té, prompting him to wave goodbye. Neteyam walks you to his tsurak, helping you to get on. You had retired your tsurak for the time being, finding it hard to ride with your back pain. 

“Hey Lo’. Tuk-Tuk.” You say with relief in your voice, finding comfort in the company of your family. 

——

The ash people are impudent to say the least. They follow behind the five na’vi weaving their way through the growing crowd, right on their tails as they try to get a better look at them. They are particularly interested in Jake and Neytiri, seeing the forest people for the first time. But most haven’t even gotten a look at the reef people yet, despite having the agreement with them for so many decades already. 

Some even dare to poke and prod, tugging at their tails and their hair to get a feel or whiff of their scents. Tonowari, Jake, Neytiri and Ralak walk in a formation that allows Ronal to be in the centre, safe guarded from any pointed fingernails or astray noses. Ralak is on edge, but one could never tell by a glance. His appearance is intimidating, a stature so tall he and Tonowari tower over the crowd. 

“I do the talking.” Tonowari says discreetly as they near the entrance of the hut. 

The room is made of some sort of red clay substance, seemingly burnt to a char until it has been hardened into what feels like rock. This one in particular is large, containing smaller sectioned off rooms, partitioned with thick leather curtains. It's all very bleak, rid of liveliness and colour. 

As they enter the hut, two bigger ash na’vi guard the door on either side, blocking and guarding the entrance behind them. Two more ash na’vi lead the group with spears to their backs to a large curtain, and shove them towards it with a few harsh jabs to Jake’s and Ralak’s spines. Jake snaps around, throwing them a dirty look. Whilst Ralak keeps his gaze fixed to his feet. He feels deep in his gut that something isn’t right. 

Whether it be here, or back home. 

With each step he takes, the sense of impending doom only worsens. He has no desire to be here but he recognizes that this is what is necessary. Yet, he can’t help the way he feels. And when he finally raises his head all the pieces link together. It all makes sense. 

Before them are five na’vi in total. Two women and three men. Four ash na’vi and one…reef na’vi. A female, reef na’vi. Her face is unmistakable—unforgettable. It’s been seared into his mind since he was a young boy.

And when Ralak sees it, he almost caves in on himself. His mask of indifference—of intimidation, cracks. Hell, it shatters. Into thousands of pieces, scattered at his feet. Tonowari’s previous right hand. The banished. 

His karyu.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A week passes in a tense slog. Barrett continues his pandering penance and you wallow in irritation. You want to put it behind you. You want to get past it but every time you do, it just happens again.

If this was the first time, it would be easy but you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve had this fight. 

Your menial office work does little to distract. It only allows you to think about all the bullshit. The way Barrett dismisses everything you do and has to list of everything you don’t. The way he can’t see his own flaws or how you’ve never once rubbed his nose in them like a dog.  

Is it passive or weak or just acceptance? You can’t say. You just always put up with it.  It’s just easier not to make an issue of every little thing. Problem is, now it’s a big thing. 

When you come home, you’re worn out but you still have work to do. Dishes, tidying, cooking. Even your weekends don’t allow you must rest. You need to sort through the bills and go get groceries. All along the way, he’s in the way. You’re not sure he’s trying to help, more so trying to force his way to forgiveness. 

You grab a bundle of reusable shopping bags from the cupboard overflowing with them. It only took about a hundred of the things to start remembering to take them with you.  

As you shut the cupboard, Barrett’s on the other side of the oven. Watching and waiting. He’d be a lot more help if you didn’t have to tell him what to do. You forgot a mug and to him, that’s high crime, but he can’t remember to pay the power bill without six texts on the due date. 

“So... what’s going on today?” He smiles. 

It used to be that that smile made you melt. It would make all your troubles flutter away like butterflies. Now it’s just another irk. 

“Groceries.” You wave the fistful of bags. 

“Oh, cool, want me to come?” 

You nearly scoff. Every weekend you ask and every weekend he’s too busy. His pals want him to jam in their garage band or go fishing down at some dirty river. Another tick on the wrong side of the Pros-Cons list. 

“Sure,” you shrug. It’s easier to just let him come along. You don’t need another argument and you could use the extra hands. 

You shove the bags into the folded shopping cart and put your shoes on. He toddles behind like a lost child. You’re repress a glare as you grab your keys and purse. You’re going to have to talk this out sooner than later our you’re really going to hate him. 

He follows you out to the bus stop and you wait in silence. You had a car but it broke down last year. Ever since, he gets a ride off his coworkers or friends and you flash your bus pass. It’s cheaper than leasing a car, even a used one. 

You don’t know what stresses you out more; thinking about all the stuff he does or just thinking about your life. You get on the bus and sit near the back. He reaches over to grab your hand. You wince but don’t pull away. 

“Nice day,” he says. 

“Mhmm,” you grumble. 

His attempt at small talk doesn’t go much further. You get off at your stop and walk the block to the grocery store. You unfold your shopping cart and pull out your list. Barrett grabs a bag of gummy bears and dumps them in the cart. 

“Those aren’t on the list,” you say. 

“I know but it’ll be a nice treat for later. We’ll have some tonight after dinner.” 

“Oh, alright.” 

You factor in the extra cost and mentally cross off the avocado from the list. You can go without. You roll through the produce section and work your way down the list. Barrett trails behind you. 

You stop in the cereal aisle to grab a bag of oatmeal. As you stand, you flinch and cry out at a surprise peck on your cheek. Barrett puts his arm around your shoulder as he presses his lips against you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

“Baby, giving you a kiss.” You look at him and he grins, “I miss you. I love you. I’m tryna be better, honey.” 

“In the grocery store?” You challenge. 

“It’s cute.” 

“Mm, it’s... let’s wait ‘til we get outta here. It’s starting to get busy.” You glance around at the other customers, hoping none of them noticed his little act. “How about you go grab some drumsticks? Flyer says they’re on sale.” 

“Oh, I can do that. Be right back!” He proclaims. 

He shuffles off and you shake your head and turn back to the shelves. The store brand on discount is all out. You hiss in disappointment. You search the rest of the selection. That’s the cheapest on the shelf and you really can’t stretch the extra dollar. 

You look up at the overstock along the top. It’s right up there but you’re just too short to reach. You give a poor attempt then stand flat on your feet. You peer up and down the aisle. You could find an employee. 

“Need some help?”  

You turn to face the stranger and give a start. They aren’t so strange after all. You know him. Well, not know-know him. Everyone in the city knows Steve Rogers, the Captain America. 

“Uhhh...” 

“What’s your brand?” He asks. “They don’t run restock until before closing. I usually come then, less busy but I got... ha, sorry, I’m rambling. What can I grab for you?” 

You lick your dry lips and glance at the shelf. You appreciate the help but telling Captain America that you need the cheapest bag on the shelf isn’t exactly dignified. You point to the price tag on the shelf and he reaches on his toes to grab the edge of the box on the top. He wiggles out a bag and stands flat. 

“Here,” he offers it with a handsome smile. “You know, it’s made at the same factory as the regular brand.” He taps the back of the bag, “exact same address. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re from the same lot.” 

“Oh, well, er... thanks,” you take the oats and put them in your cart. 

“No problem. Sometimes being a hero isn’t very glorious. Sometimes it’s just reaching the top shelf.” 

You force a chuckle. You’re sure the Cap’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Must be a real ego boost to help the little people. 

“Well, I appreciate it, Captain.” 

“Steve,” he smirks and stares. Your lower your brows and look behind you. Is he looking at someone else? 

“Oh, of course. I should go find my husband.” You roll around him and try to shake off the awkward encounter. You look down at your list as you stop at the end of the aisle. 

“Hope he’s not lost...” Steve calls after you. He says your name and you crane to look at him. You meet his gaze and blanch. He turns and struts off without another word. 

You turn back to your path and slowly leave the aisle. How did he know your name? You replay the interaction and try to recall giving it but you can’t. Well, you’re not exactly thinking straight right now. It’s nothing. You’re just stressed. 

[luvzshy]

can you do gf!billie and reader going on live together and its just cute and funny fluff💖

a/: awh i love this, so cutie 🙁💕

Drive-Thru Moments

The phone is propped up on the dashboard, the two of you waiting in a slow-moving drive-thru line for burgers and fries. Billie’s hand is resting on the gear shift, and your legs are casually stretched out as you scroll through comments on your phone.

“Alright, you ready?” you ask with a grin, already hovering over the button to start the live.

Billie glances over at you, smirking. “Let’s do it. But don’t roast me when I mess up the order.”

You hit the button, and in seconds, the comments start to flood in. “Hey, guys!” you greet, waving at the camera. Billie leans in slightly, adjusting her hair and giving a small wave. “We’re currently stuck in this drive-thru getting food because, well, we’re hungry.”

“And the line is insanely long,” Billie adds, drumming her fingers on the wheel. “So, we figured, why not hang out with you guys for a bit?”

The comments start flying in, some asking what you’re ordering, others hyped to see the two of you live together. Billie squints at the screen to read the comments. “Okay, someone asked what we ordered. Uh, burgers, fries, and milkshakes, right?”

“Yep,” you confirm with a laugh, pointing at Billie. “She went for the double cheeseburger, and I’m keeping it classic with the single.”

Billie nods. “And extra fries for you, of course.”

“As always,” you say, reaching over to snag a fry from the bag you’ve already half-eaten while waiting in line.

Another comment catches your attention. “Someone said we should do a ‘who knows each other better’ challenge,” you read aloud, glancing at Billie with a raised eyebrow. “Wanna test our knowledge?”

Billie chuckles, sitting up straighter. “Oh, I got this. I know you better than anyone.”

“Yeah, okay, we’ll see,” you tease, rolling your eyes playfully.

Billie looks at the screen, reading out the first question that pops up. “Alright, ‘What’s her favorite thing to do on a lazy day?’” She turns to you, confidently answering. “Easy. Movie marathon, snacks all day, and no interruptions.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, nodding in approval. “I’ll give you that one. Now, for you…” You pause, pretending to think it over. “Video games or lying in bed listening to music for hours.”

Billie points at you with a grin. “Spot on. Next question!”

The live continues with you two bouncing back and forth between questions, playfully teasing each other and reading out comments. The next question comes in: ‘Who’s more likely to forget something important?’

You immediately point at Billie. “Oh, 100% you! Do we need to talk about the time you forgot to bring your ID to the airport?”

Billie groans, her face scrunching up in embarrassment. “Ugh, that was one time! And I had to go all the way back home to get it while you just sat there eating snacks, not even stressing.”

“Because I know you!” you laugh. “I knew you’d figure it out, but still—definitely you.”

Billie waves her hand dismissively, but she’s laughing too. “Okay, okay, fine. I forget things. Your turn now.”

More questions come in, one asking who’s more likely to start an argument over something silly. You laugh before answering, “Probably me. I mean, have you met me? I get fired up over the smallest things sometimes.”

Billie nods, smirking. “Yep. But it’s cute, so it’s fine.”

As the live continues, the car moves up in line, and Billie starts getting ready to order. She’s about to roll down the window when you glance at the comments again. “Wait! Someone asked if we’ve ever had a disastrous cooking experience together.”

Billie bursts out laughing, almost forgetting she’s next in line. “Oh my God, do we tell them about the pancakes?”

You shake your head, already cringing. “Okay, so we thought we’d make breakfast together one morning, right? Easy, pancakes and bacon. But someone…” you give Billie a side-eye, “… decided to eyeball the measurements for the batter.”

“I thought I knew what I was doing!” Billie defends herself, still laughing. “I had no idea pancakes could come out that thin. Like, they were almost see-through.”

“They were basically crepes,” you add, laughing too. “And the bacon was burnt because we got distracted.”

“By playing with the dog,” Billie finishes, nodding. “So, yeah, don’t let us near a kitchen unless you want a breakfast disaster.”

Finally, it’s your turn to order, and Billie rolls down the window. She gets through the order perfectly, even remembering your extra fries, and as she pulls forward, you give her a dramatic round of applause.

“Redemption,” you say, grinning. “No mistakes this time.”

Billie leans over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Told you I got this.”

With the food in hand and the live still going, the two of you settle in to eat while chatting more casually about upcoming plans and reading random comments. At one point, someone asks if you have any plans for a road trip, and Billie smiles. “We’ve talked about it, maybe doing a little getaway soon. Nothing too far, but yeah, we’re thinking about it.”

“Probably somewhere with no distractions,” you add, popping a fry into your mouth. “Just us, good music, and a whole lot of snacks.”

As the live winds down, Billie glances at the screen and gives a little wave. “Alright, guys, we’re gonna head out and eat before everything gets cold, but thanks for hanging out with us!”

“Yeah, you guys are the best,” you add, blowing a quick kiss to the camera. “We’ll do this again soon. Maybe next time with less drive-thru and more… whatever this chaos is.”

With one last laugh, Billie ends the live, and the two of you sit back in the car, smiling at each other. You grab a fry, holding it up to her. “Not bad, huh?”

Billie bites the fry you’re holding and grins. “We’re kinda fun together, aren’t we?”

You laugh, leaning over to kiss her. “Totally.”

[patrophthia]

congrats for the 1K!! would love to read a fic where reader has been loosing her vaseline lip therapy boxes and she asks theo where it’s gone, he says he doesnt know abt them but he took some 2 see why reader likes it sm & now hes obsessed aswell 🥹 thx uu

hi omg thank you! i always see you on my notifs and am so glad you finally sent in an ask!!!

dirty little liar | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, shy theo and he’s so cute about it

part of my 1k celebration event !

Theodore Nott (your beloved boyfriend) is a dirty little liar. He wasn’t a good liar at the start of your relationship, and he sure as hell wasn’t one now; sitting pretty on the Slytherin’s common room sofa with his bag a few inches away from him, the flaps open after his attempts at pulling out a quill.

You’re slightly frustrated when you find him, brows furrowed as you scan your surroundings for the small tub you’ve grown so fond off. “Theo, have you seen my lip therapy?”

Theodore cocks his head at your words, feigning cluelessness as to what your ‘lip therapy’ was. “No?” He supplies, sounding unsure of himself.

You don’t really think too much of it though, this was the third time this week you’ve asked him this very question. Each time pretending as if he doesn’t know what it was you’re looking for.

“Are you sure?” You ask again with a slight disappoint glint in your eyes.

He hesitates, wanting to let up yet he’s played this game for too long to let loose of it so easily. “Mhmm,” he hums.

You sigh, taking a seat besides him on the sofa. Your thigh bumps into his bag slightly, knocking out the contents within its pocket. You frown a bit, picking up the items that spills out of it.

Gum. Quill. A few sickles. Eye drops. Another quill. Vaseline lip therapy.

Wait, Vaseline lip therapy?

You hold the small container in your hand, looking up at Theodore suspiciously to only find him looking back at you with a sheepish smile. You have half the mind to throw it at his face and call him a filthy liar while the other half of you want to shut down and take in the utter betrayal from your boyfriend’s actions. Instead, you stay calm and ask him to: “explain yourself.”

Theodore bites the corner of his cheeks, eyeing the tub in your hand carefully. “Uhm— you’ve always had it— it was always laying around, and I knew you used it so kept it for you.”

“You kept it for me?” You ask him, untrusting. Theodore nods. “Then why did you say no when I asked you if you’ve seen it.”

He’s dead. Not figuratively. He just really fucked up, didn’t he? “I forgot?” As if it couldn’t have gotten worse, he gives you the worst lie you’ve ever heard.

“Right.” You’re nodding, and he thinks he might actually get away with it. But things are never that easy, is it? “Tell me the truth or we’re through.”

Surely, you don’t mean— nope, your face is too stern for you to be bluffing. He’s shy when he answers you truthfully: “you’re always using it I just— I wanted to know why you liked it so much so I tried it and just forgot to place it back where I found it.”

“And the other two?”

“Malfoy and Zabini saw me using it and stole it for themselves,” he grunts, clearly annoyed by his friends behaviors. You laugh and he’s the one to frown now. “What?”

“Nothing,” you giggle, “you’re just cute.”

The tip of his ears singes red, cheeks heating at your words. “So you’re not mad at me?”

You laugh again, rolling your eyes playfully as you tossed the small container in his direction. He catches it with ease, eyes shifting between you and the tub. “Just mad enough to remind you that you owe me three of these little replacements.”

When you stand up, his dark eyes are still on yours; lips jutting out slightly as your warmth slips away from the sofa where you sat mere seconds ago. And when you lean down, placing a short kiss on his lips (one he was quick to return) out of pity, you can’t help but comment on how it: “seems like the stolen products were doing its job.”

— from bee: i need to apologize for long it took me to write this, im really sorry bae omg TT

[cherryswisherz]

secrets and failed plans

paige x azzi

warnings: sexual innuendos, suggestive, narrarated by lemony snicket himself

based on this req

"you're my little secret, and thats how we should keep it. we should never let them know, never let it show. if you know, like i know, we should never let it go"

your my little secret (xscape, 1998)

-

if you asked azzi fudd about her relationship with paige bueckers, she would tell you that they'd known each other since high school. that they'd started as rivals and became frenemies and later, in college, best friends. she'd say that she loves playing basketball with paige because she knows her game like the back of her hand. azzi would tell you that paige is her oldest and closest friend. 

if you asked paige bueckers about her relationship with azzi fudd, she wouldn't tell you that they'd known each other in the most biblical of terms. that a simple game of 2 truths and a lie had changed the trajectory of their lives. she wouldn't say that she sleeps the best in  azzi's arms. paige wouldn't tell you that azzi is her girlfriend and had been for seven years. 

paige and azzi were basketballs best kept secret. 

they didn't have the novelty of soft or hard launches. instead, they kept the photographic evidence of their love safe in the confines of their 'my eyes only' folder. 

they didn't get to make possessive gestures, like necklaces with eachother intials, or hidden tattoos. instead they wore rings that the other had gotten them, and when asked about it, they simply said 'i forgot where i got this from.' 

they didn't own the privilege of PDA. for them, there was no making out in bars, or holding hands as they walked down the street. instead, they made do with a subtle lean in the others direction or the occasional risky level of eye contact. 

was this an ideal situation for two young women in love? of course not. paige and azzi would love to suck face in front of the world, or tattoo each others initials on their ribcage, or something equally cheesy and romantic and vile to single people. 

but it was just too complicated and messy. the questions and politics that came with dating another college basketball player, let alone you teammate, wasn't something that the couple was willing to go through. they realized this as soon as paige had graduated high school and had a surprisingly mature conversation about the terms of their relationship. they knew they wanted to be together, but they didn't want the sanctity of their bond to be tarnished by the media.

so they made a deal. keep it a secret until azzi graduated college and when they'd both gotten drafted, they would announce their relationship and get engaged and live happily ever after. 

that was the plan. 

and they'd done a damn good job at following the plan if you asked me. no one knew about them, except their immediate families. no teammates, no coaches, no friends, no media team members, no anything. everyone thought the pair were merely close friends.

of course this wasn't an easy thing to facade to keep up with. there were plenty of incidents where the true nature of their relationship was revealed. 

aubrey griffin had once heard them through the wall separating her and paige's bedrooms and then next day, when she inquired about the moans and groans she'd heard coming from her teammates room, paige only shrugged and said she couldn't remember her one night stands name. 

one night, nika muhl, being the observant woman she is, notice paige's earrings in ahotel room that she and azzi shared and when she'd asked azzi about it, azzi lied through her teeth and explained that paige had let her borrow the earrings the night prior. 

through all of the trials and tribulations of maintaining the confidentiality of their relationship, paige and azzi had always maintained true to each other. they never got frustrated with each other when a slip up occurred, never placed blame or made the other feel bad. they simply focused on damage control and went about their lives. 

with all this being said, even the most careful people can't hide forever. 

as the twosome stared in paiges bathroom mirror, a pit formed in both of their stomachs. splayed across paige's collarbone was a bruise. 

well... 

not so much a bruise as it was a hickey. 

you see, the night before was the couples anniversary and apparently, ms. fudd had gotten carried away while expressing her undying affection for her lover. 

paige and azzi spent the next 30 minutes perfecting the color correcting/concealer routine needed to hide the mark. they'd done well, except they hadn't thought of the technicalities. 

today was uconn women's basketball teams exhibition game against fort hays, and of course the face of uconn wbb bound to play at 150%. leaving her sweaty and gross. 

in all honesty, paige thought nothing of it when she threw the towel around her neck and began aimlessly wiping her chest in an attempt to rid herself of that swampy feeling. no one really did. they knew this was routine for players after leaving their souls on the floor. 

it wasn't until after the team had returned to the locker room and celebrated their win that a certain curious sophomore noticed the blemish on paiges pale skin. 

"oooouuu p boogers, who's been freakin on you?" kamorea teased, smacking the blonde with her towel. all eyes were now on #5

paiges willed her eyes to refrain from finding azzis, knowing that would be a dead giveaway. 

"man kk, chill!" she'd tried to laugh it off, play into the teams preconceived notion that paige was a player. "you know i don't kiss and tell." 

it was no use though, because kamorea was going to keep up her antics until she'd gotten the truth. 

but paige and azzi had worked to hard to protect their secret and paige wasn't about to let seven years go down the drain so easily. 

so she answered all of her younger teammates questions as vaguely as possible. simple yes/no replies and whatnot. 

finally, kamorea had gotten tired of paige's games and went to her next best source:

paiges oldest and closest friend.

"azzi poo! you have to tell me who was sucking on paige last night." in the process of asking her question, kamorea grabbed azzis bicep, eliciting a wince. 

of course, young kamorea noticed the reaction and looked down, only to see azzi had aqquired a few bruises of her own. two angry purple marks had formed on the girls bicep and shoulder. 

azzi didn't play in the game, so she couldn't have been fouled.... azzi and paige slept in the same room...

the gears began turning in kamoreas head and as the newfound detective put two and two together, paige's eyes had finally met azzis, knowing that they'd been found out. 

"OH MY GOSHHHH" kamorea began jumping around like a lunatic. "PAZZI IS REAL!" 

and just like that, five years of careful sneaking around had been undone by a nosy nineteen year old. 

the locker room erupted into cheers and the couple was swarmed with questions about how long this had been going on, why didn't they say anything, and so on, so forth. azzi followed paiges lead on being honest about the whole thing, but still being as vague as possible. 

after the chaos had settled, paige explained to her team that they had to keep it under wraps for the sake of their relationship. she broke down the plan they'd formed so many years ago and begged for their understanding, which of course, she received without the blink of an eye.

and at the end of that day, azzi and paige fell asleep in each others arms, like they'd done so many times. only this time, they were on the couch of the home they shared with their teammates. 

this time, they weren't worried about who would see what, they weren't worried about pictures being posted in an attempt to embarrass them. 

this time, they knew they were safe, and not alone in each others company. 

niyah speaks i hate this lol

taglist: @patscorner @riyahtheballer @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @janaelalfysblunt

@mrsengstler @kmoneymartini @sageworld @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @justliketoreadsowhat @authentic-girl03 @pb524830

[mingi-s-dimples]

Unscripted - San

KINKTOBER DAY 17 , REQ BY. 🤧 anon

~"okay so its me 🤧 but anyways so maybe a reader x streamer bf. It was a drunk stream like where like he would drink maybe invite friends over to drink and stream it this time he did but he included reader which is a rare occasion because he prefers to keep things more private because of his fans Reader was on his lap while like streaming and the camera was on 2 of his other friends yunho and woo were there too chatting with san and reader but because reader got a little drunk and bcs ofc reader doesnt get drunk normally but she was clingy asf a thing leading to another she slowly started grinding and like yes , but like no one to notice not this friends and the people watching it was pretty late at night so the friends went to sleep in another room because driving and drunk doesnt fit well together so reader took the opportunity even tho the stream was on she pretended to leave to fool the people watching and got under the desk and yes."

pairing: bf streamer!san x gf fem!reader

genre: 18+, filthish

summary: you get one hand too touchy with your boyfriend while he's streaming, which ends up being one of your best decisions.

wc: 2.3k

warnings: harsh dom!san, bratty!reader, oral (m receiving), oral while flaccid (yes reader was needy af), ingestion of alcohol, mentions of alcohol, slight exhibitionism (yunho and woo being in another room sleeping and the livestream going on in the bg on mute), degradation + praise (good slut and otjer similar to this), quickie on the desk ^^, helping from under the desk ifykwim, completely consensual, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!!), unedited, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: Tell me why tf did I just catch a cold 😞😞😞 Anyways this was hot hello... going insane as we speak? Exhibitionism will always be one of my faves (upsi). Enjoy. my love ! ❤️

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The flickering glow from San’s PC screen filled the room as he glanced over his setup one more time, making sure every angle was perfect, every light calibrated. Tonight was special. Usually, his streams consisted of just him, the screen, and thousands of viewers, who tuned in to watch him crack jokes, crush game after game, and occasionally just sit back and chat with everyone in that effortless, laid-back way he had. But tonight was a little different. Tonight, he wasn’t just inviting his fans into his space; he was bringing over his friends, Yunho and Wooyoung, for a spontaneous stream that had been brewing in the group chat for weeks.

You’d been excited the moment you heard the plan—finally, a stream that felt like a mix of San’s world and yours. You could almost hear the buzz of excitement from his fans as San tweeted a teaser about the night. He hadn’t told them yet that you’d be there, though. Usually, San liked to keep your relationship private. He was protective that way; he liked that what you two had felt like something separate from the stream, from the fans, something he could keep just for himself. But tonight, after some gentle coaxing and a lot of puppy eyes, he agreed to let you in on this rare, shared glimpse into his world.

As the clock ticked toward the start time, Yunho and Wooyoung arrived, their energy filling the room as they greeted you with easy laughter and hugs. Yunho brought along his usual playful banter, and Wooyoung had already started teasing San about having to “babysit” him through the stream. You couldn’t help but laugh; the whole setup felt like a group of friends just hanging out—only with the whole world watching.

San threw you a grin as he sat down, the screen lighting up with his chatroom. Thousands of fans flooded in, messages rolling in faster than the eye could track. You settled off to the side, sipping on a drink, watching San as he fell into his element, one hand on the controller, the other waving as he greeted his viewers. He was captivating, totally immersed, and you found yourself smiling at how natural he was at it all.

“Alright, alright! Everyone, say hi to Yunho and Wooyoung!” San said, pulling his friends into view. The chat exploded with excitement at the sight of the two familiar faces. Yunho waved, effortlessly charming, while Wooyoung leaned close to San, playfully invading his space until they were half-laughing, half-wrestling on camera.

You enjoyed watching them banter, the energy high and easygoing, the camaraderie between them infectious. San glanced over at you with a mischievous smile, and, feeling a surge of confidence, you edged closer to the camera’s view. You didn’t have to say anything; just being there was enough to set off a wave of messages in the chat, a blend of shock, excitement, and curiosity.

“Who’s that?” someone typed, followed by dozens of similar comments as people pieced together the implication of you being there.

San reached for his drink, laughing at the chat’s reaction, as if he’d just let everyone in on a private joke. He leaned closer to you, brushing his shoulder against yours, and in that brief touch, there was a warmth that reassured you. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was just the thrill of finally being part of his stream, but you felt yourself relax into the moment.

As the night wore on, laughter filled the room. The three of them were a perfect mix: Yunho’s easygoing wit, Wooyoung’s playful sarcasm, and San’s effortless charisma made the stream a blend of nonstop jokes, a few failed games, and moments of genuine connection with the fans. You joined in here and there, your own laughter mingling with theirs, and with each passing hour, the line between the screen and reality seemed to blur a little more.

You, a few drinks in, became noticeably more affectionate, your usual playful self replaced by something softer, gentler. Your hand found yours under the table at one point, a silent gesture that was both grounding and intimate. He shot you a look, one that seemed to carry a thousand words in it, his gaze lingering longer than usual. The camera still rolled, and the chat was oblivious, but you knew he was letting you in on a rare moment—this was the part of him he usually kept away from the camera, the side of him that was just yours.

After he gave you the slightest, softest, reassuring look, you unconsciously started to slowly grind on his thigh, as you were sitting on his lap.

"B-babe what are you doing?" he whispered in your ear, stuttering from surprise.

"N-nothing..?" you whispered back, smiling innocently at him. He knew exactly what you were doing but.. it was even more thrilling, as thousands of people could catch glimpses of what was happening.

As the night pushed into the early hours, Yunho and Wooyoung started to look like they were ready to crash, their laughter slower, their words slurred from the drinks. It didn’t take much convincing for them to decide to stay the night. After all, nobody wanted to drive home at this hour. So they threw their jackets in the living room, claimed the couches, and left you and San in his dorm alone to wrap up the stream.

As San turned back to the camera, you noticed he seemed even more relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his hand lazily finding its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. His fans kept chatting, mostly commenting on how unusual it was to see him this open and unguarded, and San smirked at their remarks.

And that’s when you felt it—a sudden, irresistible need to be closer to him. You shifted in your seat, inching toward him until your body pressed against his, your head leaning onto his shoulder. San glanced down at you, his smile softening, his hand moving to trace small circles on your back. The chat was still buzzing, but he seemed only half-aware of it now, his attention slowly focusing more on you than the screen.

The camera captured only part of the scene—the laughter, the playfulness, but missed the soft intensity in San’s eyes as he glanced your way, the way his hand gently tugged at your waist, urging you closer. You were barely aware of the camera now, your focus on him, on this shared warmth, the world beyond the screen fading into the background.

He looked your way, whispering something, “what are you trying to do!? I’m live, darling” he softly said, not letting the viewers hear any of his words. You leaned towards his ear and said, “I’m so fucking horny right now.. maybe it’s the drinks but, how I’d love to suck you off in this instant..”. His eyes widened at your words and he wasn’t able to say anything, as you instinctively got off his thigh and got on your knees under the desk, eyes looking sheepishly at him. He looked down in horror as you rode your hands up his thighs, finding your way to his pants. You hovered your hand over the slight bulge of his sweatpants, feeling his cock twitch at your touch. He was slowly getting hard, but you just couldn’t wait anymore. You slid them off to his ankles to which San gasped, looking surprised at the camera, not knowing what to do. He was still live, after all.

As you took his cock in your hand, still soft, only slightly hard, mainly at the base, you started stroking it. Slowly but surely, looking up at him. You spit one, two times in your hand to lube his cock up and pumped his length, getting is hard pump bt pump. You just couldn’t wait anymore and took his cock in your mouth, San's eyes widening and his mouth left agape. He was truly trying hard not to mimic anything, but was slowly losing control.

His leg was lightly bouncing near you, trying to get a hold of himself. He looked down for a moment at you, then at the camera and at the comments. No one realised yet.

“Guys, I-uh” he stopped for a moment, your mouth wrapping on the tip of his cock, sucking it harshly. You pressed your tongue to it, San's hand going for your hair as soon as you did that. He pulled you back for a second, then continued, “my network is not that good, should we take a break for a minute? I'll try to refresh everything and maybe ask Yunho to help me with the router.” his eyes then flew to the chat, everyone agreeing with him. He muted himself and moved the camera up a bit, only a small part of his forehead could be seen. Though, as soon as he slowly laid back into his gaming chair, his forehead disappeared from the view and the stream viewers could only see the curtains in the back and the dozens of plants you and him had together. He looked down at you, a smirk rising on his face.

“You're damn impatient, aren't you, my love?” he said and the hand in your hair tangled in it and pulled you to his cock. His cock was now half erected, but he absolutely didn't care. He started to softly thrust in your mouth, he threw his head back in pleasure. You could feel his length growing in your mouth, which turned you on even more. What could've been better than feeling your man getting hard because of you? and with that thought in mind, you took a deep breath and took his growing length down your throat, slightly choking on it.

“What a good girl… the heads you always give are fucking unreal…” he whined out, mouth-fucking you. “But.. what if the viewers find out, hm? Or is it your own little plan.. to let people know… just how much of a filthy, obedient little slut you really are?” he taunted, thrusting into your mouth deeper, his grip tightening as he kept you firmly in place. His low, rough voice sent shivers down your spine, each word designed to push you closer to that edge. “Or maybe... that’s what you want, isn’t it? To have them see how good you are for me?”

Your cheeks burned, but the thrill of his words ignited something fierce within you. His gaze darkened as he continued, voice dripping with desire, “Tell me, sweetheart. Do you want them to see? To know that this is exactly where you belong… right here, giving me exactly what I want?”

The intensity of his words and his rhythm brought you to a breaking point, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body, until you could barely think of anything else.

He kept his gaze locked on you, enjoying the way your eyes glazed over with pure need. His voice softened, almost taunting, as he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “That’s right… no hiding, no pretending. You want this as much as I do, don’t you?”

You nodded, your mind hazy, completely overtaken by him. Every touch, every word was calculated, designed to make you lose yourself in the moment. His hand found the back of your neck, guiding you as he continued, his rhythm relentless, making you feel as if every fiber of your being belonged to him.

"Say it," he demanded, his tone low and possessive. "Tell me you want them to see just how good you are for me."

As you pulled back, your lips parted, a breathless moan escaping before you whispered, "Yes… I want them to see.”

“Oh, is that so? Are you really… that eager?” he said and moved the camera away, facing the wardrobe. He got up and continued, “Well, it’s a shame, sweetie. I don't like sharing and you just made a serious mistake, turning me on like that when you knew I couldn't do anything. What are you gonna do now, huh?” he teasingly said.

“San, I-” but you didn't have time to answer as he pulled you up and pushed you on the desk, forcefully throwing away anything he had on it.. Some books, stickers, decorations, too. “Let's see how you're gonna handle this, my love” he said and pulled your pants down, squeezing your ass. He spread you out, two of his fingers slipping in your cunt, a grin appearing on his face. “You're so wet already.. you've been expecting this? What a little slut..” he said and pulled the fingers out, hand going for your mouth and covered it, then with his other hand he guided his cock to your entrance, fully thrusting in. “This is what you get for getting me hard while I was live…”

You gripped the table in pleasure and pain, head dizzy from the drinks you had and all the movement. “S-San-!”you moaned in his hand, tears forming in your eyes. It was either the drinks or the fact that you haven't been fucked by him this angry and powerful in so long, but as he hit all your sweet spots you came undone surprisingly fast, all over his cock. Your walls clenched onto him, his veiny, slightly curved cock switched inches deep inside you before he finished into you. He pounded into you through his orgasm. He slowly came down to a stop and pulled out, spreading your ass out and looking at his work, bodily fluids seeping out of your cunt.

He stepped back and pulled you up, turning you around to make you sit on the table. “See? this what happens when you act up. Go to the bathroom, I'm not done with you, yet.” I'll be there in 5, saying by to my viewers.”

“Hm? why, babe? why the bathroom?” you asked, confused but slightly anticipating.

“We're gonna shower together and no, you don't have any way out of this” he said and kissed your forehead, squeezing your ass and urging you to the door.

The night was just about to get started.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26 @memorabxlia

[ch4nb4ng]

Give it to me Straight

Pairing: Minho x afab!reader

Genre: Best friend's forbidden older brother

Word Count: 9.1 k (yeah we got carried away once again)

Warnings: Based off of inspo (here) and (here) that is also literally porn so dont click if u dont want to see you have been warned.

Also contains: smut, worshipping, angst, mentions of alcohol and intoxication, fingering (f receiving), kissing, penetration, lots and lots of praise, semi soft smut

Notes: HEY!! this is a fic i wrote hald of last year and just forgot about it and found and decided to finish it, hope oyu enjoy !!

Summary: You had enough of your best friend brother, Minho, giving you mixed signals as you grew up, but this. This was the night that you were finally going to do something about it

The night was pretty much over, or well, it should have been. But here you were, sitting on the floor of a random person’s apartment, giggling over and over as you looked at the other 8 people also sitting down in a circle next to you. There were your friends, Sana and Hyunjin, and there were the others. Actually, quite frankly, you did not know these people until tonight. There was one person that was there, that you did know, all too well.

Minho, Lee Minho. Friend, foe? You weren’t sure what to call him, but all you knew was that you were grinding on him in the club an hour ago, hands roaming across your body, lips, teeth on your neck. It was fun, one shot after another had your mind racing, thinking about the possibilities of what could happen after you went home, with him. What wasn’t helpful was the guilt that came with such excitement. 

“Fuck okay,” the stranger yelled, clapping his hands before swinging them, taking the empty vodka bottle off the kitchen bench, “let’s play a good ole fashion game of spin the bottle. Who’s in?”

“Me me me!”

The small crowd cheered in unison, but all you could do was stare at him. More guilt, more excitement, more adrenaline. The thought of kissing him did nothing but intensify the want, the need, the desire to. Wanting to hook up with your best friend’s older brother was the worst thing that you could want at this very moment.

The relationship with Minho was always strange and never straightforward. Even from the first time the two of you met. Your best friend of almost 10 years since you had been in elementary school, he was just different towards you. When you were younger, all he did was pick on you. The short scrawny boy, only a couple of years older than you. Would always chase you around the school yard, always until you fell over, or hurt yourself in some kind of way. You hated him, and had no idea why he always picked on you specifically. 

It changed in middle school, however, after puberty, well, more for him. His face changed, grew taller, much more attractive in your 14 year old eyes. You denied it though, remembering how cruel he was to you. Not much changed personality wise, he was still mean. Picking on you, your grades, his sister, her grades. He was ruthless, and it made you hate him even more. Minho’s looks were easy to overlook when everything that came out of his mouth was rubbish.

It wasn’t until he left for college, and came back for summer after finishing his first year, did things change. He had grown even taller, started working out, and had joined his college’s dance team. Holy fuck did things became different. His smile beamed as soon as he walked in and you in his house, sitting at the kitchen bench. 

***

“Y/n?”

You turned around, jaw dropping the moment you laid your eyes on him. He dropped everything, fast walking towards you as he picked you up, spinning you around with a large chuckle erupting from his chest. He put you down, eyes doing a quick check up and down your body before biting down on his bottom lip.

“Minho?”

“Wow, you look, really, really good.”

His stance was close, almost lingering over you, that was, until your best friend walked in, causing him to step away, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked to the fridge so nonchalantly. Your friend gave you a weird look, mouthing a ‘sorry,’ solely for his presence in the room. They never were that close.

“I forgot to tell you that he got back a few days ago and is going to be here for the summer.”

“That’s okay,” you scoffed, overexaggerated manner, “why would you need to tell me that.”

“Because I know how he can be,” she whispered, “rude, mean, very obnoxious and super, super arrogant.” 

The second half of her sentence was louder, looking straight at him to make sure she knew. You just laughed, nervously, unsure how to take in the interaction.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she sighed, “please don’t bully my only friend while I’m gone.”

The man rolled his eyes, laughing as he took a large gulp from his water bottle. He walked forward, waiting for her to leave before reassessing his position. His hands leaned against the bench, body pushing forward as he leaned towards you, a smirk appearing on his lips as he looked down at you.

“I have to go, meeting a friend at the gym, but it was really, really good to see you. We should hang out sometimes if you’re free, you know, without her?”

“We should?”

“Yes,” he smirked, biting down on his bottom lip, “definitely.”

***

“Okay,” the stranger announced to himself, “I’ll go first.”

The game felt like torture. Simply watching the bottle, casting your eyes on what seemed to be an infinite amount of times, spinning on an axis. It didn’t help you at all. If anything, it intensified how dizzy you truly were feeling. Concentration was getting harder, but you refused. Refused to give up anything. You did not want to prove Minho’s point. That you would always be this little girl that is easy to pick on.

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin nudged you, “Y/n, psst, the bottle is on you.”

His knock cloaked you out of your drunken daze, bringing some sobriety back as he pointed towards the bottle, eyes opening when you saw it land on you. You looked up, seeing the stranger was already there. He was attractive, short black hair, hazel eyes, freckles. He was really cute, and your brain melted the longer he gazed at you.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you whispered, hand in front of your mouth as you giggled at his proximity. You didn’t have to look. The feeling of a pair of eyes burning into the side of your head was more than enough to know who had their eyes on you, and who didn’t. Chan did not, already ditching the game and sloppily making out with the person next to him. Hyunjin followed in pursuit, and Jisung and Sana, well, that was another story, a long time coming. The glance was brief, not long enough to focus on anybody, but well enough to know your surroundings. Enough to see the girl, who looked very familiar, but not enough to be identified by name, whisk her fingers across his inner thigh. He stayed still, not paying any mind to her as he fixated on you. The man joined in the staring contest, noticing Minho’s obviously unimpressed glare. 

He swung his head back in your direction, pushing his body weight on you in the slightest. You followed, back now adjacent to the floor as he leaned over, lips hovering over your own. You brought your index finger to his lips, curious to know more about the man before he kissed you.

“Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” His facial expression changed, unsure as to why or what made you hesitate.

“Oh, no,” you giggled, full of giddyness and intoxication, “your name. I just wanted to know your name before we, well, you know.”

The man smirked, cupping your face in adoration as he leaned closer, lips wisping across your ear as he spoke.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest?”

He pulled away, eyes back in level with your own as he spoke once more, “Felix. I’m Felix.”

That was all you needed, wrapping your arms around Felix’s neck as you pulled him in, eyes closing and mouth opening and lips attacking yours. The kiss in reality, from an outside perspective, would have looked very messy. Very sloppy as lips missed each other, teeth crashed together, and also the fact that you could feel Felix’s hips moving against your own in the slightest, already half hard member grinding against your thigh. It did feel good, you couldn’t fib to yourself. The gentle friction was delicious. It was enough to make you moan discreetly, the sound lost in Felix’s mouth as the two of you continued. 

You were enjoying yourself, but you also remembered not to lose yourself in the moment. Felix was fun, but he was just part of the plan. A simple pawn in a game of chess, of course being the queen and Minho the king. Sometimes you have to make some unnecessary moves to win in the long term. Even with your eyes closed, you could still feel his own burning into the back of your head. If sober, you most likely would have been feeling some kind of guilt. It wasn’t like you to rub things in other people’s faces. But you felt like it was only fitting. Yes, you wanted Minho, but after everything, your timeline with him, having a crush on him for the longest time regardless that he made your life hard, it only felt right to drag this out as much as possible. 

Your eyes fluttered open, empty lidded shooting daggers at him. Appraisal came to your mind when his daggers were returned, gaze still very much fixated on you, with Felix, making out with another man right in front of him. His blood was searing, reaching boiling point at a very rapid rate. He knew you were a lot of things. Sarcastic, blunt, ‘indifferent’ towards him as you got older, or so he thought. But he didn’t take you to be a tease. He was reaching the point of no return, and if you didn’t stop this act, this play scene just for him, he was going to do something he regretted.

“Hmm fuck,” Felix grumbled, pulling away from you, “has anyone ever told you that you’re a really good kisser?”

Your eyes flickered back to the man on top of you, quickly averting your gaze to avoid any deflections from Minho, Chan, or any of the others there that you knew.

“Hey man, what are you doing?”

You sat up immediately, looking up to see Minho’s friend, Jisung, standing over you. His tone was playful, but the adrenaline was kicking in. The several times you met Minho’s friends, they were decent enough to be nice to your face. Anytime you went over, you could hear them. Talking about how you look, always asking Minho about you. Just them teasing him about you. Maybe it was the reason as to why he had so much disdain for you. They were also protective, very protective of him, and probably the reason why they were standing over you right now.

“Oh hey man, you’re not her boyfriend are you?”

“Who, me?” Jisung laughed, hard, almost hysterically, bringing a hand to his chest to calm himself down, “no no, not me, but the guy over there might be a little mad that you’re making out with his girl.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing onto Felix’s arm, other hand tucking under his chin as you pressed another haste kiss to his lips. You gave Minho one more look, noticing his fists turned inwards, hard shaped as he watched your interactions with the new guy accelerating.

“Good,” He smirked, standing up, and reaching a hand out to you as an invitation, “Did you want to hang out in my room? It’s just down the hall.”

“Sure,” you replied bluntly as you took his invitation. You allowed Felix to guide you, taking one last look at Jisung. Before making your way, you were interrupted one more time. It made you scoff when Minho grabbed your wrist, finally able to do something himself, not his friends doing it for him.

“Y/n?”

“What do you want?”

“Where are you going?”

“What do you think?”

With a heavy grip, attempting to shake yourself out of his grip. There was no way you were giving up on this act yet.

“You just met the guy tonight?”

“Okay and? It’s not like that ever stopped you before. At least I’m not at home, forcing everyone else to hear you late at night.”

He looked down, knowing he had been beaten to the punch. You resisted once more, able to come out of his grip as you looked up and down at him once more, “Stop acting like you give a shit what I do.”

You watched him open his mouth, but missed out on whatever he was going to say. You laughed to yourself, the swift motion of the man from the other side, Felix, the one who was giving you the attention you needed right now. Without a word, he closed the door behind you, spare hand placed on your lower back as he lead you to what seemed to be his bed.You sat down first, Felix making quick work as he stood over you once more, index finger stuck on your shoulder as he effortlessly as he ‘pushed’ you over, torso hovering on top of yours, just like he did previously. You had to give it to him. This Felix guy was smooth. The way he looked down at you, raking your body with every single eye nerve, the gentle twitch when he noticed extra skin showing on your body for a slight moment. He definitely was contributing to your uprising arousal, but the thing that really turned you on was the mere possibility of Minho hearing this. Having his ear up to the door, curious to see what you would really do.

“Hey,” Felix whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, taking you out of your thoughts completely, “everything okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, where were we?”

You brought a hand to his arm, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion as his own came back to your chin, pinching it forward, lips doting to reconnect with his. His lips were smooth, not a crack or dry spot in sight or in feeling. The kiss was a lot more connected, a lot more teamwork and passion. His tongue lazily slipped inside of your mouth, picking up with much brute and force as his hips charged, recreating the prior friction against your core. Felix had one hand on the side of your jaw, the one on your chin snaking around and cascading down, in between your cleavage, past your navel, brimming on the edge of your undergarment line. You gasped, immediately, not expecting things to move so quickly. A stifled whimper escaped your lips, enjoying the friction his fingers created around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh,” you groaned, slightly high pitched and confused at first, but once his fingers dived past your dress, underneath your core, right in the center of your sweet spot, you groaned again, a deeper, more gratifying noise bellowing in response.

“Does that feel good?”

“Mhm,” you whispered, looking up at him, “feels so good already.”

Your hand felt dizzy again, a lightheaded texture adding. You weren’t sure if it was his fingers or the alcohol speaking, but it most likely was the loud bang that came from the east part of the room. You jumped immediately, bumping heads with Felix as you quickly covered yourself, given no time to fix your hair as you were being dragged out, Minho’s jaw clenched as he walked you out.

“Sorry, uh Felix, it was nice to meet you,” you yelled down the hallway, pushed all the way to the front door.

“Minho what the fuck?”

“Shut up and get in the car,” he growled, not putting up with any nonsense that you were about to spew at him, “Jisung’s taking us all home, your friends included.”

“Ugh, whatever,” you scoffed, the digging of his fingers becoming slightly painful. You opened the door, seeing Hyunjin’s smirk as soon as he saw you, hand in hand with Minho. He never had to say anything, he always knew how you felt about him, even when it wasn’t clear to you. 

The midnight breeze was very apparent, hitting you like a truck. The goosebumps on your skin raised in an instant, shiver running down your spine as you walked. Minho let go of your wrist, removing his jump over his head, and plopping it on top of yours. You wanted to turn, scream at him for ruining your hair, not even thinking about your makeup. But honestly, you were just tired. It was late. 

***

You pushed the button down in the backseat, letting the cool breeze smack you across the face as Jisung drove down the highway. It felt nice, distracting you from the imminent pressing of your best friend’s brother inconveniently pressing up against you, too big for the middle seat. Of course he had to sit next to you. Invade your personal space, your privacy. He was still overprotective of you, even when you were by yourselves. It was annoying, and you really didn’t know why he was always like this with you after the needless torture that was gorwing up with him around. 

You decided to put the window up, a sudden drowsiness coming over you as you leaned your head against the window. Your eyes were fluttering, half lidded when you felt someone whispering, right up to your ear. His lips were cold, roughly but incidentally lingering on your lobe.

“Y/n,” Minho hushed, patting your arm lightly, “y/n, baby.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows, “what is it?”

“We’re here, wake up.”

“Oh,” you sighed, releasing your weight on the window. Your eyes opened, turning from the window, which was a big mistake. You caught yourself, inches away from your face. Apart from the club, it was the closest you had been ever to him. You saw him, looking down at your lips, causing you to gulp loudly. You wanted to lean in, push away all the doubt you had in your mind, and follow your heart. To have him on your lips, around your body, caressing every crevice, every curve. It was something you had fantasized about in your head several times, whether you wanted to or not. Your hand flew to his chest, truly speechless and unsure what to say.

“Minho. I-”

He licked his lips, fingers latching onto your jaw, thumb against the subtlety of your lips. He flipped, lip bouncing back as he leaned even closer. His breath had never felt so imminent, not even the first time the two of you had shared a kiss.

***

“Did you need help?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest, about to lose balance on the stool. The tea bags were high in the cupboard, and you weren’t the tallest person going around. Minho put his arms out, helping you adjust yourself before stepping down and back onto the ground.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “you know me, never able to reach anything.”

“It’s okay, they’re stored pretty high up.”

Without giving you time to move, he reached over, torso pressed against your chest, half of his body weight leaning on you as he reached up to grab one for you. Your face rose in heat as he placed it on the bench behind you, keeping firm in his position.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, still not moving, “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh, uhm no, it’s okay” you mumbled back, pushing the hair behind your ear. He beat you to the other side, lifting his fingers, watching how delicately the fibers of your hair curved along your ear lobe. 

Faces inching closer, it felt like do or die, but you would rather get hit by a truck than make the first move. Minho was the type to flirt, hard. He knew he could get anyone he wanted. College really changed him. For the better though, even if it meant he became a mass fuckboy.

“You have a really, uhm, beautiful face.”

He had become nervous all of a sudden, and you couldn’t help but smile. Smile at both his nerves and slight awkwardness, as well as his proximity. 

“Uhm thanks,” you mumbled again, scared that if you attempted to speak at a normal volume, it would squeak, “you have a nice face as well.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, piercing eyes boring into yours.

“Make me.”

He hesitated for a brief moment, before bringing both hands to your face, pressing his lips to yours. It was soft at first, a series of gentle pecks you wrapped your hand palms around his neck, keeping him close. His body felt good, right when close to you.

It didn’t take long for things to heat up however, Minho’s tongue begging for access as you gave it to him willfully, a gentle hum as he simultaneously rolled his hips into yours once. A soft groan escaped your lips, causing him to pull away. The smirk on his face was priceless; you knew he was satisfied with himself. His hands snaked down to your waist, lifting you up and placing you on the kitchen bench. Minho nudged your leg with his left knee, spreading them wide, allowing himself to fit into the curve. He kept his digits across your fingertips, gently tapping as he leaned back in, skipping the innocent kisses and heading straight to a heavy, heavy makeout. The noises erupting were increasing in quantity, and it wasn’t until you heard footsteps running down the steps were you snapped back into reality. Hands on his chest, you pushed him off quickly, pushing your hair back in front of your face.

“Y/n what’s taking you so long?”

“Oh uhm, I was just trying to reach the teabags.”

“Yeah,” Minho joined in, helping you cover your ass, “I just grabbed it for her, seeing as she was already in my way to get to the glasses, annoying ass.”

“Okay whatever weirdo,” she replied to him, “stop annoying Y/n.”

***

The memory of the flashback playing in spurts, ones that your intoxicated mind was probably failing to accurately recall the event. It was, however, enough for you to pull away. Saying nothing, you turned away, opening the car door, semi-stumbling onto the ground as you jumped out the car, heading towards his front door. Luckily your best friend was out of town, away on a camping weekend with her boyfriend and her parents, because if she heard you walking in with Minho, it was game over.

“Y/n,” he whispered, tone harsh like he wanted to yell, “y/n.”

It was nothing but a faint noise in the distance. You stood there, in front of the door, impatiently waiting for it to be unlocked. It wasn’t until you could feel him. He grabbed your wrist, almost having to yank you back to stop you.

“What,” you whispered back, similar in tone, “what do you want?”

He waited. It looked like he was trying to put a thought together, knowing that he needed to say something very important. It could make or break: everything. He took a step closer, that familiar feeling of adrenaline, no, some other feeling that you couldn’t describe. Made your heart race, body sweat. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was. All you knew was that it only happened when he was around you.

“I’m, I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, adoration at how gentle his skin glowed in the moonlight. Fuck, this was annoying. Why did he have to be so hot? It would have been the easy way out to forgive him and let him do what you craved, yearned for. But it was simply too much to do so. This man had been toying with your heart for a long time. Whether he had a crush on you for the lingering amount of time that you had, you deserved better than someone who played with you for their own amusement.

“What are you sorry for?”

Your tone was calm, yet still firmly questioning him. It was easier to just deny the night events than argue about it.

***

The music was loud, deafening as Minho, dragging you by the delicacy of your poor wrist, locked in a spot right next to the speaker right beside the DJ of the club, aka pole position. At first the dancing was innocent, a bright smile of pure joy (and intoxication) plastered across your face, holding each other’s hands as you pushed and pulled them back and forth. It wasn’t until the motions of arms were not moving in the opposite directions, somehow were both pulling in his direction, right up against his waist. The music was much too loud to allow your rational cognitions to process the sequence of events. Facing him, not facing him. Appropriate distance, very much appreciate distance. It was hard to explain how you ended up with your back pressed against Minho’s chest, somehow in the monstrosity of alcoholic beverages and shots actually moving your hips in a synchronized way with his. Maybe it was the firm grip, thumb digging into the soft flesh that was hardly hidden under that dress, making sure that this was the only place you needed to be, that he wanted you to be. 

Your hands easily followed too, palms on top of this tendon illuminating the side of his hands as his lips rested on the outside of the cartilage that made up your ear. The second time you could feel the magic that was his lips. The crowd that was Minho’s friends and the new, yet very much fun strangers that would end up making the later house party were long gone at this very moment. The only thing you could remember was coming with Minho, and the last thing you wanted to do was leave with him.

“Mmmm,” was all that could be heard, well no, felt from the man behind you. The vibrations of his lips were the only indicator that he was trying to say something. His teeth soon followed. Gentle, almost kitten-like nibbles nipped at the heated flesh of the neck and shoulder, head falling limp against his own shoulder as he continued to chuckle inbetween. There seemed to be an innocence to his antics, almost like he didn’t want to hurt you. Yet knowing the downright filthy desires, things he wanted to do, for a numerous amount of time was very much ironic.

Turning around, you pulled away, eyes boring into yours and his face came closer and closer. Eyes fluttering shut like a butterfly's wings for a brief moment, desire had never been stronger.

“There he is, Jisung!”

And just like that, it was over. Reality came back and your Minho clouded fog dissipated in a matter of moments, and it must have for him. You had never seen someone take their hands of someone with such speed. The timely reaction of Minho brought you back to a realistic part of your life. The one where this was nothing but a dream, and Minho was once again out of reach, and the many barriers that were his friends, your friend being in the way, made you nothing but a pawn in his chess game.

***

You stood there in silence, the only sound that could be heard was the ringing in your ears from the loud music prior. The want for him to explain himself was one of such desperation. A sign, anything at this point. Yes, you were very much exhausted from the games but if it was all worth it for him to finally do something about it in the end, the fatigue would be easily wiped away.

“I don’t mean to be this way. So, uhm, aggressive? Or the opposite, I don’t know I-”

“Minho in the nicest way possible, I’m tired and we’ve both had a big night. We can talk about it in the morning.”

Using the spare key that your friend had so graciously given you as a symbol of how much time you truly spent at her house, his house, over the years, the door was unlocked, you ripping your shoes off and letting them laz sprawl against the living room carpet as your body heavily dragged up the stairs. Your feet automatically knew the way to her room, 4 paces straight and two to the left. To get to his it was 7 paces straight 2 to the right. The 4th step on the second floor felt unnatural at this moment, body wanting nothing more than to be pressed up against him in a deep slumber, you craved it; but you knew better at the same time.

“Y/n.”

Silence. You could feel him coming closer, but it’s honestly just too painful at this point to even wait for anything more.

“Y/n.”

Silence, again. It wasn’t until you could feel the unintentionally harsh pull at your wrist, once again pulling back and up against him.

“Y/n wait.”

“For fucks sake Minho,” you huffed, yanking your arm away from his grip, “leave me alone.”

“No, I want to talk about it now.”

Nothing but an eye roll followed, ignoring him and storming into her room. He followed in pursuit, the first time any kind of behavior like this from Minho had happened before. Sitting on the edge of the side of her bed, you turned away as you took off your jewelry, precious earring and delicate chain necklace lying on this decorative plate placed on the bedside table.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Can we please stop pretending like there isn’t something going on between us?”

He was not serious. His bold statement made you stop, turn around and face him.

“You have to be joking right now.”

“Why would I be joking?”

“Minho” you yelled, standing back up and right in front of him, “this is nothing but a fucking game to you! We don't have a problem, YOU do.”

“I don’t play games with you,” Minho scoffed, eyes wide in his own disbelief, “you play games with me.” His voice was also beginning to rise in volume.

“That’s such a fucking lie! You’ve been playing games with me for years. Three quarters of my life! I know that you hated me or couldn’t stand me for most of that but then all of a sudden you come back from college and you want to be around me and all over me?”

“That’s not true-”

“Yes it is! You couldn’t stand me!! Then the kiss in the kitchen? Tonight, you were all over me and I could tell, drunk or sober, that you were enjoying yourself. Until your friends come along and I’m nothing but a secret little game-”

“No Y/n, shut up, that's not true!”

“Explain yourself then!” 

Both of your chests were heaving simultaneously, the heated exchange taking the breath out of the two of you. There was no part of you that was wrong, and you knew better than to lack confidence, especially to someone who has kicked you around for what felt like your whole life.

“I never hated you,” he whispered, once again shifting the tense atmosphere in the room. He took a step closer, that goddamn palm resting on your cheek, fingertips pushing the baby hairs sticking to your forehead as you took him in, listening deeply to his words, “I could never hate somebody like you, Y/n.”

His tonality had become the softest you had ever heard someone speak. It was empowering to keep him on his toes, gaze fixated on him, but lips refusing to move. You could see it. The dip in his own gaze below your eye line, past the tip of your nose, and right to where you wanted his lips to be: your lips. The right thing, like your previous thoughts, was to pull away, save yourself the heartbreak.

“Let me take the time to show you how false that statement really is.” 

But god, was it it easier to just give him. His approach was gentle, but the texture of his lips felt like the key to everything. The light weight of his lips were equivalent to a tuft of feathers falling from a clear sky. Your lips tussled in return, wanting to kiss the man you were in love with so much passion, yet so much reservation. His lips, unlike the first time, had so much admiration for you, somehow the feeling was communicated in the way his lips touched yours, the way his tongue slipped into your mouth, colliding with your own. The world stopped spinning, and the only thing that mattered was Minho’s lingering touch.

His hands scrambled to find an appropriate spot. His palms spread across your waist, the pressure of his weight pushing you to the edge of the bed, a small shriek escaping your lips as the sudden knock of balance leaves you lying against the material of the bed. His hands left your sides, one coming to your face as he broke away, taking a moment to admire you underneath him in all your beauty. He lifted his fingers to your forehead, brushing the baby hairs on your skin before smiling and leaning back in for another kiss. Hands around his neck, you brought him closer, gasping into his mouth when you felt the roughness of his knee conveniently sitting between your inner thigh, spreading to make room for his own. 

You decided to take the liberty of breaking the kiss back this time, Minho rising on his own as he pulled his shirt off in one swift motion. Even the way he moved his limbs was majestic. Eyes widening for a brief moment as the shock of Minho’s body that you had seen many times, especially post-college transformation, it still amazed you how attractive this man was. The proximity all these years amounting to this moment. All the teasing, ignoring, negative behavior came as the collateral of coming to this moment; and you would tolerate all of it again if this what it would lead to. Which is why you refused to rush things, savor the moment as much as you could.

“Minho, wait.”

“Yes?”

“Can we just,” you were hesitant to ask for what felt like a silly request, “I don’t want to rush anything. Can we just make out a little longer?”

His chuckle was one of the most adored. He nodded as he got up from the bed, sitting back down at the edge of the right side. As he turned to put his leg atop of the bed, he leant on his left elbow, patting the empty spot next to him, a very adorable invitation that you simply could not resist. You shooed over, facing Minho as he pinched your chin, bringing your lips to his again. The kisses, for the moment, stayed soft, sweet. He was allowing you to take your time because he was ready. Minho wanted you so bad, but he knew better than to rush. If anything, the anticipation made him fall for you more.

However, the heat was unconsciously beginning to turn up once bodies became involved. The subtle grind of his hips against yours was sending you into a frenzy, and the friction was something you needed to chase. At first you were holding back, only wanting the generosity of his tongue and lips, but now the selfish part of you was taking over, and there was nothing more that you wanted than to have sweet passionate sex with the man in front of you. Gently pushing his chest away, he looked up, confused as you turned away from him, standing up and undoing the zip on the back of your dress.

“Oh,” was all he could say, a smirk plastered on his face as he dragged your body back toward him, now covered in undergarments, back to the bed. His hands became a lot more adventurous, taking the signal of you undressing yourself as an acceleration of what you wanted. Still facing each other, Minho placed a gentle peck to your lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, bringing you much closer to him, and exactly where you wanted to be. 

Once the lack of space was established, Minho brought the tip of his digits just above your panty line. A small gasp elicited from your lips once his fingers dipped down to your clothing covering your core. Just above the center of the folds. Minho’s lips quiver at your body relaxing underneath his touch. The more vulnerable you became, the more in love he fell with you. Each second. Your eyes fluttering almost shut, hips gently bucking underneath the pressure of his fingers had his mind screaming with adoration. His gaze was making you shy, causing you to bury your head in his naked chest. You giggled with innocence at how good his fingers felt. The other times you reminisced, romanticized what this would be like was tenfold of what you actually expected. 

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered, a soft kiss to the tip of your forehead. Your head came out of his chest, a somewhat fucked out expression already coatign your face as his fingers traveled back to the top of your panties, fingers grasping the hem before asking, “Can I take this off?”

You nodded, this time without hesitance as you turned to your front, assisting Minho in letting the thin fabric subtracted from your body. Your bra soon followed, leaving you completely exposed. Minho still had his pants on which you felt to be a little unfair, but the tent that was beginning to form in his pants was a reason enough for him to keep them on longer. 

Turning back to your side, you reached him in another sensual kiss, bodies now as close as they had even been. Minho’s fingers had much more to travel, left palm already reaching for a gentle squeeze of your best breast. His touch was noticeable enough to break away, a small groan at the digits brushing your nipple. Another chuckle escaped his lips as he watched your nipples get harder under his touch.

“Wow,” Minho gasped, gently pinching the soft flesh his eyes couldn’t help but be glued to, “you look amazing.”

“Do I?”

“More than I could have ever  imagined.”

Your silence made him giggle, fingers snaking back down to where the two of you wanted them to be. It was almost embarrassing how easily his index and middle finger slipped between your folds, already coated in your arousal as his digits swirled around your pussy hole. It was evident that he wanted his fingers coated, so when he brought them up to his lips, tongue evidently out as he licked them clean, then slid them back down to your waist once more, spreading your folds apart and pushing on your clit like a button. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders for support, the sudden amount of sensation in comparison to before sending you into a frenzy. Your jaw had already become slick, the gentle whines and moans spilling out sound after sound. 

“Fuck,” He cursed under his breath, lips right in front of your tits, teeth grazing over the geneoristy of the skin, “you have the features of an angel.”

His shower of compliments caused a louder moan to slip from your lips. It really wasn’t something that you expected. The fantasy you had of Minho being a rough, man handling lover contrasted to the man that presented in front of you right now. But it was much better than anything you ever thought he was to be.

His fingers moved in delicate circular motions, Minho himself groaning at how pretty you looked under his fingers. He kept his curiosity peaked, fingers traveling back down to your hole before plunging them inside, tips instantly curling to bring his lips right up against his own.

“Minho oh my god,” you gasped, short breaths hinting at a rapid pace from your throat as he started to move them back and forth, “your fingers are so good.”

“Your welcome,” he smiled, wrapping his free arm around your chest to adjust for the way your torso squirmed against him. Your own hands soothing his arm that did all the work as he picked up his pace, a slight bump forming into your pussy. Minho’s pace became quickly unforgiven, a spill of curse words that made you feel extremely dirty coming from your mouth. The irony of feeling dirty from cussing and not from the two fingers being shoved into your whole was comedic. 

“Lift it,” Minho grunted, attempting to fix his position so he could get a better angle to finger you from, “lift your leg and put it on my hip.”

You did as he said, a gut wrenching moan that was bubbling in your throat bursting at the seams as your maneuver allowed his finger to enter deeper, stronger, harder. The combination of skin slapping and wetness could be heard by anyone in the house if there was anyone in there, the noise echoing the room as you watch his eyebrows furrow, bitten bottom lip in concentration. All this time, Minho wanted nothing more than to see you be happy, make you feel good. It was in half disbelief that he was present in this moment that he had dreamed of several times. And his perception of you, with his fingers inside of you, moaning his name over and over exceeded expectations to say the least. The temperature that began to rise on your cheeks was spreading to your limbs, muscles slowly coiling as the pleasure continued to build at your core. Minho’s jaw clenched, increasing his effort and strength in, with much effort, fucking you with his fingers. His pace became even quicker, desperate and motivated to make you shake under his fingers.

“Minho please,” you cried, suffocating his lips with yours to muffle the continuous noise that baffled the room, “so good.”

Your sentences, if you could even call them that, were not coherent in the slightest. Yet it did not matter. All Minho could focus on was how beautiful you looked with your lips pouted, the gentle teeth marks under your bottom lip from biting down on your precious skin too hard. The condensation beginning to cover the skin of your forehead as your eyebrows scrunched together, your facial expression could have been interpreted as anger. However, Minho failed to see it that way. He saw you as nothing but an angelic woman that he had the gratitude of being allowed to share a moment of vulnerability with. There was no judgment in his eyes as he felt your tight pussy clench around his knuckles, knowing how close to what you were, and what he wanted to achieve for your sake.

“It’s okay baby,” he whispered, wiping the moisture glistening on the nose, half of your face shimmering in the moonlight as he withdrew his fingers, rubbing the sensual juices all over your swollen clit as your legs began to shake in response to the overwhelming stimulation you were experiencing.

“Can you feel it?”

“Mhhm,” you whined, suppressing your lips together as you focused on him, analyzing to him the intricate details of your body. His lips moved with vigor, leaving a string of semi wet kisses along your shoulder, kissing every little skin contusion, beauty mark, scab, wrinkle, dimple. You name it, Minho was eager to use his lips to analyze you, analyze the way your skin felt against him. The idea increased your arousal to a level you thought would not be possible.

“I’m gonna cum Minho I-”

“It’s okay baby,” Minho hushed you, wanting to relive any pressures or expectations you may think you need to fulfill “even the way you speak such vulgar things is angelic to me.”

“I’m cumming,” was all you could cry out. You know that once this was over, you would be appreciative of how gentle and warm his presence was to you during this unguarded moment, but right now all you could focus on was the tight coil in the pit of your stomach that would give out at any second. Like your foreshadowed, your body was coming undone under him, Minho unable to give up the succulent ability that was your pussy as he reinserted his two fingers back into your hole, thumb almost ghosting over your clit in an attempt to not overwhelm your body in sensation.

Minho thought you couldn’t get any more fascinating. Even the way you orgasmed was angelic. Legs spread wide open as you let him have his way. The trust you developed in him in this intricate moment was such an attraction but mainly an appreciation. He knew that he had not been the most trustworthy person to you. His mixed signals and just overall treatment of you was simply a mind of confusion.

On the contrary, every negative moment that you shared with him melted away. The part of him having his fingers inside of you, bringing you to climax was not what you were focused on. You were focused on the attention. Solely the attention, his words held so much more weight than his actions to you in this moment, and all he did was mumble sweet nothings, adoring every single part of you that you wanted Minho to love.

“Fuck baby,” Minho groaned, finally withdrawing his fingers entirely from your core as he palmed his own arousal. But he merely wasted any time on that as he stood up and discarded his pants in an instant. A half lidded gasp came from your throat as you watched his length spring free from the suffocation of his previous undergarments. Minho laid back on the bed, back against the bed as you extended a hand in which you willingly took, enjoying the sudden rapture that Minho had tangled the two of you in. His fingertips came to your face once more, brushing those delicate strands away as he took his precious time. Willingly ignoring the fact that your very slicked up pussy was creating friction against his tip, he was more focused on your face. The crinkles underneath your eyes that came up when you smiled. The way your lips turned upwards in the slightest. The longer he looked up at you, on his lips, body pressed up against his, the more he fell in love. Both of your hands now came to his face. It felt like hours upon hours that the two of you had been looking at each other. Calmness fell over the room as you leant down to kiss him again. The taste of him was simply nor enough. You needed him. On you, next to you; it did not matter. His presence was something that you truly craved. Sexually, platonically, romantically, it did not matter. Any closeness with Minho was more than adequate. Deciding to lift your hips slightly, your hands followed, gripping him as you slowly slid onto him, a deep groan leaving his lips, a soft moan leaving yours as he stretched you out. Before you could even initiate any moment, Minho grabbed your arm lifting your palm to his face as he sent kisses up your arm, almost as if he was in complete disbelief of what was happening in this moment.

“I just want to worship you my god,” he whispered, making you giggle in the slightest.

His lips traveled just under your shoulder, arms wrapping around his torso to bring you into another embrace. It was that his strength was brute enough to lift you up, and put your back down. Hisbody almost moved with vigor, wanting to make sure the experience was an equal one. A sharp whine came from you as he established a gentle pace, your whole body being used in an attempt to pleasure the both of you. Someone may have seen this as selfish, Minho controlling the pace, but really, he just couldn’t get enough of how much he wanted you. The amount of times he had thought about this moment over the years almost derailed him. But nothing could be more perfect than the moment right now. 

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, then on his chest, across his face, you were too stimulated to be organized with your hand placements. It’s just what he did to you. Minho could tell that you were unsure, so instead he just put his head in your chest, almost wanting you to wrap your fingers though the bse of his scalp, the gentle texture of your fingers against his scalp could have honestly made his toes curl. Just like you, Minho craved your touch in any way shape or form, so the combined combainton of your closeness, tussling digits, and tight pussy was sending him into a headspin.

“Minho,” you hesitated, unsure, if he could hear you in the muffle of your chest, “Minho.”

You were desperate for him to hear you, yanking on his locks to pull him away from the darkness and back into your gaze. His eyes were glazed over for a moment, an innocent peaking on them as he looked up at you with intent.

“Yes my princess, my Y/n?”

“Yours?”

The skin slapping, volume of each time your ass landed on his hips was increasing, but no matter the crescendo, it was never loud enough to get in the way of the intimate looks the two of you had a silent agreement to fixate on.

“Mine,” he moaned, hands snaking back down to your hips, breaking this distance and once again guiding the speed of how fast he filled you up, “all mine.”

“You’re so gorgeous,” you mumbled, barely able to talk at this point, “I want you so bad you have no idea.”

“You have me,” he almost chanted, “you have me. I have you. Always.”

Your head rolled back, the intimacy of his words, rather than his cock, bringing you closer to the brink of pleasure. The attractiveness of finally putting his walls down, striking his fear of vulnerability was unmatchable. Even if things didn’t work out with Minho in the future, you knew that deep down, no one else could ever make you feel this way. Minho was a witch, and the spell he was casting on you was something that would be everlasting.

“I love you,” you cried, throwing your head back in somewhat embarrassment, “I love you Minho.”

“I love you too baby fuck,” he grunted, increasing the strength in which he filled your pussy. He couldn’t handle this anymore. Flipping you over, his body hovered, cock pressing your back into the mattress. On his knees, Minho trusted deeper and deeper, your eyes almost cloudy from how good he truly felt inside of you. Another sensuous kiss ensured, the combination of his deep moans and your vibrating whines slipped into each other 's, easily one of the most intimate things that could ever be done. 

“Mhhm,: You whined, breaking away and placing a hand on his face, “I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you, my Y/n.”

“Oh god,” you breathe heavily, free hand gripping on his shoulder, “I love when you call me that?”

“What? My Y/n?”

“Yes,” you hissed, piercing into his eyes, this time with vigor, “it makes me yearn for you.”

“You have me baby,” he smirked, eyebrows soon furrowing as he realized his hips were getting sloppy in motion, “I’m all yours.”

You could not stop kissing him. He was just too hard to resist. His words, actions, everything, you were so in love that your chest began to hurt. That pit was developing again, and all he had to do was say the words and you were there. Minho took your hand away from his face, pinning them on either side of you as he slid his fingers in between, allowing your hand to intertwine with yours. The affection was the icing on your cake, because as you felt the swirls of his finger prints trickle onto your palm, your hips were spasming.

“Minho I’m-”

“I know baby, it’s okay, he cooed, “I can feel your pussy clenching hard.”

A little giggle escaped your lips as your body raked itself of an orgasm. Back arching, the loudest noise you could have possibly made erupted from your mouth, the unintentionally new angle allowing Minho to plunge even deeper, keeping it slow as he allowed you to come down from the high. He pulled out right after, pumping himself a few times before finishing just above your core. He fell to your side, immediately lifting your body, wanting to feel that constant warmth as he placed your head against his chest, arms wrapped around your back as he kissed the mount of hair in front of his face. His heartbeat was warm, fast, but stil, a sense of comfort felt over your body as you listened to the organ pump in his chest. The moment was silent, yet comfortable, the both of you simultaneously soaking in that delicacy of affection that you both oh so craved, longed for.

Even after all of that, you still had the energy to do so. Minho read your mind, giving you a quick peck before quickly pacing out of the room. The ache in your heart had already reappeared at his absence. The craving would never stop. Luckily he was quick, grabbing a paper towel, cleaning you up, running back to the bin, the running back and jumping onto the bed, your body flying in the air as he caught you, snuggling up to your side with his head pressed into your chest. Your hand came to his hair, letting those fingertips frolic across his scalp. A silence fell over the room as the two of you simultaneously stared at the ceiling, the dim shine of the moonlight shining through the window, lingering across Minho’s side profile.

“I was being serious, you know.”

“About what?”

“Hating you.”

Minho turned onto his chest, wanting to make sure that you were staring at him when he said this.

“I could never hate you Y/N, my Y/N.”

He crawled up to your side, tall enough to press one more kiss, lips lingering across yours as your eyes fluttered shut from his touch. Lifting the cover, Minho invites you under after climbing in first, turning to the side to hover over your now very tired frame. Lips nudged behind your warm Minho kept mumbling, a combination of kissing you and whispering, the tiny vibrations from his voice tickling the bare skin.

“You’ll have to kill more before I ever let you go.”

[newkatzkafe2023]

Ahhhh I'm sorry if I already asked this but I forgot and got anxious about it (○.○)

Could you do one with the Wukongs x Selkie reader? If you don't know, selkies are seals who take a human form by shedding their sealskin, and if their sealskin gets stolen, they can't return to the sea and have to stay humans until their sealskin is returned (I don't think any of the Wukongs would do that tho)

Aghhhhg thank you so much sorry if I already asked this!!!!!!!

Yes I do know what a Selkie is and they are so adorable😍 also you don't know the Wukongs very well do you😑

(Lmk Wukong) OMG🤩🤩🤩 he saw you on the beach and never squealed so hard in his whole immortal life. God you are the cutest thing ever especially with how curious, Social and Friendly you are. He can't control himself at all, then one day he found that you have a half naked sea monkey form and well he was in no rush for you to leave. Oh you need your skin back??? but you just got here, It's totally not in his closet underlocking key or something that will be ridiculous😅.

(HIB Wukong) He found you sniffing Luier's face and bouncing with Silly girl. uhhh, ok???🤨🤨🤨 but what surprised him the most was your sea monkey form, and suddenly, he found himself blushing at your naked form. Although you clearly weren't a threat, so he couldn't really find a reason for you to leave oh you want him to hold your skin while you play with the kids. Ok but opps he totally misplaced Don't worry we'll find it soon in the meantime just go home with him😏😈

(MKR Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh a land monkey, so that's what one would look like you thought as you sniffed and frisk a Blushing annoyed Wukong, and Wukong thoughts were who is this chubby monkey with very dead skin And why does she smell like the ocean??? In otherwords your both very curious about one another, and it's kinda cute. Wukong can see you're clearly not a threat, to anyone not even yourself but he does get worried about your naive curiosity which is why he's holding on to your skin until further notice😤.

(NR Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh he Definitely thinks you're adorable, all innocent and chubby but in your sea monkey form your a thick bimbo. Now I see him as the only one who has some knowledge on what exactly you are and your fables and legends. I mean your not the most dangerous creatures but you are normally difficult to catch, but don't worry he'll make sure nobody takes advantage of you just as long as you give up your skin😇

(Netflix Wukong) He's baffled like what is he looking at here😧??? It has never seen anything like you before. Although you are an adorable squishy and it makes you non-threatening but your sea monkey body. Oh my that's something to get use too especially when your just as naked as he is, but your friendly and social nature makes you easy to get along with and he wants you to stay with him. He just has to figure out how to get your skin🤫

(BMW Wukong) Out of all the people you follow around it had to be him, seriously your luck your cute. Don't take anything to heart though he has totally knowledgeable about your Species and how he can keep you around him. He keeps your skin well taken care off and well hidden especially after seeing your thick sea monkey thighs he would be an idiot to let you slip from him😳

(Destined one) Cuddle parties 🥳 are mandatory when it comes to the two of you. With your big chubby body and his warm fur you guys are a match made in heaven, and he secretly makes fun games and puzzles for you to solve since you love spending time playing with him. Their were even times where you would get sad whenever you have to leave him and it breaks his heart too, until he found out about the value of your skin. To this day you keep misplacing your skin and whenever you ask him All he does is shrug his shoulders while hiding your folded skin neatly behind him.

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