#because. because peach jam | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cevenths · 1 month ago

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somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known.

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres.

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves.

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless.

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin.

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

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The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer.

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

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Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head.

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice.

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles.

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act.

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper.

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like.

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead.

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology.

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips.

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.”

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.”

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation.

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder.

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.”

“G’night.”

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It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter.

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you.

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road.

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod.

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit.

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

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That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire.

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so.

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’.

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist.

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair.

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood.

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears.

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish.

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string.

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself.

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet.

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought.

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

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Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste.

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust.

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop.

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication.

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender.

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach.

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought.

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising.

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood.

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place.

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose.

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

#my works #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine x y/n #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfic #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine smut

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hotshotsxyz · 2 months ago

Note

“ just… be honest with me, do you hate me? “ for Buddie

(buddie) (869 words) this prompt screams angst, which is. the exact opposite of what i did with it. whoops!

“You asshole,” Eddie says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We agreed—”

“I know, I know,” Buck says, “But just—trust me?”

Eddie sighs. “I’m going to break up with you one of these days,” he threatens.

“No you won’t,” Buck replies with a sunny grin.

He’s right, obviously, but he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. Eddie makes a noncommittal noise and climbs into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“At least tell me where we’re going?” Eddie asks, not especially optimistic he’ll get an answer.

“Nope!”

Eddie groans. “I hate you, you know that?”

Buck snorts. “M’hm, sure, definitely seemed like you hated me this morning.”

“Yeah, well, see if I do that again any time soon,” Eddie snarks.

Buck laughs, loud and bright. It’s hard to summon even playful irritation in the face of Buck’s obvious joy, but Eddie’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it the ol’ college try.

They take a circuitous route out of LA and up through the canyons to Malibu. There’s a small farmers market on the way, one they’ve been to once or twice before, and Buck insists they stop for strawberries. Eddie insists on buying peach jam, mostly because he likes it and Buck doesn’t. Instead of rising to the bait, Buck swings by the bakery tent and grabs a loaf of sourdough to go with it. Dick.

“C’mon,” Buck says, once they’ve secured their purchases in a backpack that’s apparently been in the back the entire time. “We’re leaving the car here.”

“Oh, so you’re torturing me with physical activity for our anniversary, I guess that isn’t a gift after all,” Eddie says, just to be contrary. He loves hiking, and they both know it.

Buck rolls his eyes. “It’s a ten minute walk, fifteen tops. I won’t even make you carry anything.”

“My hero,” Eddie says, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest.

Buck locks the Jeep and bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s. “You coming?”

“Under duress,” he replies, but he’s pretty sure the grin on his face gives the game away.

True to Buck’s word, it takes just over ten minutes to reach their apparent destination. The path was entirely up hill, though, and Eddie makes sure to get some mileage out of that.

The view from the small overlook at the top, though, is pretty impossible to complain about. The ocean stretches out infinitely before them, brilliantly blue and glittering. It’s the kind of place where the rest of the world just… falls away.

Eddie loves it. Buck knows he loves it.

“Fine,” Eddie says, “You win. This is perfect.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks from behind him.

“You know it is,” Eddie says. He tears his eyes away from the horizon and—

Oh.

That’s—

Buck’s spread a large picnic blanket on the ground behind him, and it’s a ridiculous first thought to have, but sue him, Eddie’s feels like his brain is doing a hard reset, because—

Because—

Because Buck is on one knee and he’s got a small black ring box in his hand and his eyes are already shining and Eddie’s never loved someone the way he loves Buck.

��Eddie,” Buck says, and it’s just his name but the love and devotion in it takes away his breath.

“There’s not a lot I haven’t said to you,” Buck continues. “But you know me, I like to talk.”

Eddie nods vigorously, entirely incapable of forming words of his own.

“And there’s—there’s no one else in this world I want to spend the rest of my life talking to,” he says, huffing a small laugh at his own expense.

“Eds, you’re—you’re the sun,” he says, and Eddie doesn’t know how to tell him that can’t be true, because he’s already looking at the brightest light on the planet.

“You’ve been making everything better and brighter since the day we met. Getting to love you is—is the greatest privilege of my life, and I’m kind of hoping you’ll let me keep doing it forever.”

A small noise punches it’s way out of Eddie’s chest, and it’s only then that it occurs to him that he might need to breathe for the part he’s pretty sure is coming next.

“So, Eddie Diaz,” Buck says as the first of what Eddie’s sure will be many tears slips down his cheek, “will you marry me?”

Eddie drops to his knees and takes Buck’s face in his hands and brushes the tear away with his thumb. There are a hundred things he wants to say, but he still hasn’t managed to take that breath, and, really, only one of them is important right now.

A mischievous expression flashes across Buck’s face. “Just… be honest with me,” he says, a little smug, “do you hate me?”

“Yes,” Eddie finally gasps.

Buck jerks in surprise. “Yes?”

“No, not—yes I’ll marry you,” Eddie says in a rush.

“Oh,” Buck says with a grin. “Well, that’s a relief because—”

Eddie doesn’t let him finish. He crashes his lips against Buck’s. He kisses his fiancé. He’s not sure he knew it was possible to be this happy.

He can’t believe the asshole beat him to it. Eddie loves him so much.

#should i wait until the morning to post?#probably #will i?#no #thank you for the prompt anon i hope you like it!!#abbie answers #911 #buddie #fic #buddiefic #buddie fic #anon #abbie writes

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glow-in-the-dark-death · 11 months ago

Text

You Remind Me Of Her

"Jason wake up I want to go see the new store!"

He felt his blankets get tugged off of him. Groaning he scrunched his face into the bed.

" Let me sleep another hour or two, it was late when I got in bed."

" And who's fault is that?"

He grabbed the nearest pillow to him and flung it to where the voice was coming from, even with perfect aim he wasn't surprised when he heard it connect with his wall and not a body.

"Yours! If you hadn't dragged me with you to look for those old music disk with you I would have gotten to bed earlier."

"Liar you would still have gone to bed late for whatever other reason."

He sat up rubbing his eyes, hissing slightly when he opened them not expecting his lights to already be on.

"Okay, what store are you making me go to today Martha?"

He dodged a swat to the back of his head. Grinning he headed towards the kitchen hearing her huff and following him.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me grandma! Honestly, you're worse than a nipping dog"

"Well at least I'm not emotionally constipated like Bruce"

"True, but we're not speaking about my son right now we're speaking about you. Now hurry up! I saw the prettiest set of crystal glass cut tea set by the window when I was passing by!"

"Give me like 8 minutes to eat and get ready okay, will grampa be joining us?"

He turned to look at her in the eyes

Her green eyes, just barely glowing. The rest of her being transparent like fog in the early morning, her heels floating a few inches of the floor.

Martha Wayne his grandmother

His dead grandmother now a ghost

Just like he used to be

He walked into the small store the small bells jingling above his head.

"Look Jason they have such pretty things!"

His eyes followed her as she floated over to the display case. Quickly he took his phone and held it up to is ear.

"Which one's were the ones that caught your eye?'

He developed the habit of speaking into the phone when he was outside in public view while speaking with a ghost, that way nobody would give him a second glance looking like a normal phone call.

"The one with lilies and forget-me-not's."

His eyes quickly found the pieces and grabbed them. He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"Is this all you wanted from here?"

The 'Do you want to continue looking?' in his gaze. She gave a quick glance around before turning back to him.

"No just that for today, we can come back another day when you don't have plans."

Jason glanced at her while he quickly paid. Leaving the store he turned to fully look at her while still having his phone up to his ear.

"Plans? I don't have any plans for today?"

A sly grin made its way on to her face

"Well I thought it's been a while since you visited Alfred and since we're in the area we might as well visit, no?"

Jason sighed, " Fine, only because it has been a while plus if I don't go you'll just keep naggin' me."

Martha gave a small huff of amusement

"That's my boy! Now! Let's get some nice tea for our visit, it would be rude to go empty handed, how about some nice cinnamon tea huh?"

"Your obsession with cinnamon tea has started to spread to me, especially the weird way you like it."

"Gasp! It's not that weird, honestly I started drinking it like that because of my cravings while I was pregnant and just never stopped. But don't lie to me, you like it just as much as I do even with the peach jam."

"Fine maybe I do."

He looked down at the time, "Let's hurry up a buy that before it gets too late."

He knocked at the door, shifting the bags in his hands as he waited for Alfred to open the door.

Martha waited outside with him even though she could easily phase her way inside.

Jason heard light footsteps before the door glided open.

"Master Jason what a wonderful surprise to see you here please do come in."

Alfred herded Jason inside taking note of the bags he held.

"Did you go shopping before coming here?"

"Uh yea, some of it is for you."

"For me master Jason?"

"I thought it would be rude to come empty handed so I bought tea."

"Very thoughtful of you, lets head to the kitchen to prepare a cup shall we."

Jason quickly looked towards Martha raising a brow

"You go enjoy your tea with Alfred I'm going to look for Thomas, I'll be back by the time you leave"

Jason gave a quick smile in return before quickly following Alfred into the kitchen.

"Hey Alfie we can use the new tea set I got today, let me just wash them real quick."

He turned around, not noticing Alfred's confused stare

"You bought a tea set master Jason?"

Jason turned around after quickly wiping them dry.

"Yeah look, they even have some lilies and forget-me-not's on them, saw them by the window of the shop and thought why not?" He half lied.

"I see, I haven't seen these two flowers paired up together in ...a very long time."

Jason turned towards the kitchen entrance as he heard two pairs of footsteps nearing. Both Bruce and Dick appearing in the doorway.

"Oh good you're both here, I'm about to prepare some tea master Jason brought over for us ,sit down please."

They walked over to the table, Dick quickly hugging him.

"You didn't tell me you were dropping by!"

"Get off, and yea it was impulsive decision."

"Hn, good to see you chum."

"Yeah, you too B."

Alfred walked over with the tea prepared, placing it on the table.

Dick leaned over to see the tray.

"What kind of tea is it?"

"Master Jason brought us cinnamon tea."

Dick looked over at Jason tilting his head, "Since when do you drink cinnamon tea?"

"Since none of your business."

Jason took a small sip before sighing, "Hey Alfred do you have any peach jam?"

Alfred hesitated before looking at him confused, "Peach jam? What for?"

"I like to mix it in with the cinnamon tea."

Alfred's eyes glazed over for a second before heading towards the refrigerator, "...I see, of course let me get some for you."

He quickly came back with a small jar and placed it on the table near Jason.

"Thanks Alf." He scooped up a spoonful and dipped it in his cup.

Bruce and Alfred glanced at each other.

Dick looked up from his own cup, "Does that actually taste good? Can I try some!"

He made a grab at Jason's cup, he quickly pulled it out of reach, "Don't touch mine! If you're really curious make it yourself."

Dick slumped on the table whining, "But what if I don't like it, I'll ruin my tea!"

"That's not my problem"

"Oh come oooon just a little sip!"

"No"

"Pleaseee!"

"Ugh you're worse than a nipping dog, fine!"

Before Dick could celebrate they heard twin startled noises. They turned around and Bruce was covered in tea in what seemed like he spit out his tea, both Alfred and Bruce were staring at Jason faces pale.

Jason glanced around confused, "What? Why are you looking at me like that."

Alfred straightened up clearing his throat, " Apologies master Jason you seem to have startled us a bit."

"With what?"

Bruce finally stopped coughing, "Nothing, you just...reminded us of someone."

Just an Idea

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alexsoenomel · 2 months ago

Text

Being two golden retrievers in love (Dean Winchester headcanons)

Note: I hate the whole black cat golden retriever theory and the whole "YOU NEED TO BE A BLACK CAT IN ORDER TO KEEP A MAN" like bitch I'm a romantic and a proud golden retriever you will never take that away from me. Anyways, enjoy this!

You kissing his nose whenever you can because you loved his nose and thought it was the most perfect nose in history of noses

"What is your obsession with my nose?"

"It's a work of art."

Dean always playing with your hand/kissing it whenever you ride shotgun

You two having movie nights

"TIME TO SLICE AND DICE!"

"DEAN, WE WATCHED ALL SAINTS' DAY TWO WEEKS AGO IT'S MY TURN NOW!"

Always arguing over what to watch next

"I want Batman!"

"Ugh fine!"

Junk food galore during movie nights

Always quoting someone

Always

Sam just rolling his eyes

"(Y/N), I am your father!"

"Well you are... sometimes."

"Oh..."

Sam just standing there feeling uncomfortable

Dean wasn't a reader but you got him hooked on smutty fantasy books

"What is it about?"

"Fae and fucking!

"Give it to me!"

Since you were both touch starved you couldn't get enough of each other

"Stop touching my ass! We're in public!"

"(Y/N), your ass is like a peach and I love peaches!"

You both loved cuddling and now you couldn't fall asleep without each other

Forehead kisses and nose kisses

Both having the same lame dad humour and always making lame jokes making Sam cringe

"Why did the rabbit skip school,Sammy?"

"Why, Dean?"

"It was having a bad hare day!"

"THAT IS GOOD!"

"I'm out!"

You loved buying Dean gifts whenever you see something you knew he would love. Dean was also the same with you. He would buy you junk food when you were on your period, "those books that make you wanna fuck my brains out" or something that would remind him of you

One time he got you a keychain with a small peach because: "Your ass is like a peach and I love peaches."

You would get him comic books, band shirts, food....

Cooking for each other

"I made pancakes for breakfast!"

"Will you marry me?"

Jamming on roundtrips in Baby

Dean letting you drive his beloved car and not panicking

Karaoke nights in the bunker

"Guys, you're making my ears bleed!"

Sam hating every minute of it

Sex sometimes being chaotic and clumsy

Especially when you're drunk

"Dean, you're not moving!"

"Wait, I think I see double!"

And sometimes being so passionate and intense making you cry

And Dean freaking out

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No I just love you so much."

He loved calling you his girl, sweetheart, babe, nerd

"Every time you call me sweetheart I wanna lick and bite every inch of you."

"Are you ovulating?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Horny jail!"

Always making each other laugh with stupid jokes

Rarely fighting

Well you fought sometimes on hunts

And afterwards you would fuck like rabbits

Having random burst of energy

"Dean I wanna do something stupid!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know but I feel like I'm on crack!"

"Calm down Skippy!"

"Can I suck your dick?"

"That's not doing something stupid that's doing God's work!"

"Shut up and take off your pants before I decide to go out and HIKE!"

"Not the hiking!"

#supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #supernatural #dean Winchester #dean Winchester headcanons #dean Winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean Winchester fluff #dean Winchester smut #dean x reader fluff #dean x reader smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #supernatural headcanon

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wheneclipsefalls · 10 months ago

Text

Little Gift- Feast

Dark Adult Neteyam x Fem Human Reader

Adult Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2 <3

Last Part Masterlist AO3

Summary: Your stubborn attitude isn't getting you much. Or perhaps...too much

Warnings: dubcon/noncon read at your own risk, MDNI, kidnapping, oral, jealousy, possessive behavior, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, swearing, aged up characters, etc.

Your one woman hunger strike is not going as planned.

Twenty six hours in and you are hungry.

So fucking hungry you are ready to bite off the hand of the next Na’vi to come into your space. Not that you would need to with the delicately cut berry spread before you. The same one that Neteyam had meticulously prepared that morning. Others may think of it as a sweet gesture but you see it for what it really is- a temptation.

In the same way last night’s mysterious, but mouth watering, meat had been. The beast that Neteyam had hunted, cleaned, and prepared with his own hands. The aroma had been so intoxicating that you broke skin from biting your bottom lip as you stared down at your share.

The first time you refused a meal you expected the Olo’eyktan to throw a fit, flip you over his knee, or even jam the food down your throat but he has done nothing of the sort. Instead, he revels in this little competition the two of you have. Because that’s what it is to him.

A game.

Sitting beneath a low hanging tree as you watch him train warrior diligently, there is nothing to entertain yourself with but the food in front of you.

This strange purple fruit in front of you has been cut down into smaller pieces. The inside looks similar to the videos you have seen of peaches and the juice runs down onto the leaf below as if it’s trying to seduce you into finally taking a bite.

Your stomach grumbles as if it’s tearing itself apart.

Fuck, why did you choose to resist food of all things?

The meals at Bridgehead were the furthest thing from a proper meal but you had always enjoyed scavenging out into the forest for various fruits and vegetables to spice it up. It’s one of the best parts of your day. And now that you’ve had a taste of the wonders the Na’vi can create with them, it feels like locking yourself out of heaven.

Neteyam’s gaze is heavy upon you.

Sending him a fierce glare you make a show of nudging the fruit away from you, even as your body screams at you to shove it down your throat.

Neteyam tilts his head, glossy braids swingings over his shoulder as a crooked smirk twitches at his lips. He isn’t frustrated, and isn't deterred. If anything those lips curve as if they hide a secret you are not privy to. So confident he knows who will be winning this tug of war.

You exhale a breath when he finally turns around to correct one warrior’s footwork.

A thump sounds from your side and you almost let out a scream before you realize it is Lo’ak who has dropped down from a tree. With a sigh he comes to sit beside you.

“Looks like fun, doesn’t it?” He gestures to the group ahead of you, eyes rolling as he looks at them in pity.

“Go away, Lo’ak.”

“Jeez what’s crawled down your loincloth?”

You look at him in disbelief. You will never understand where Lo’ak find the audacity to poke fun at your imprisonment.

“Besides Neteyam that is.” He chuckles and your cheeks heat instantly.

“You pervert! Never in a million years-”

“It’s not like I have to take his word for it either. You’re quite loud.” Lo’ak ignore your heated ears and agape mouth as he notices the cut up fruit before you. He reaches forward and plucks a piece with a delighted ‘ooh”.

Shiny juice escapes the seam of his lips as he chews and it makes your own mouth water.

Suddenly a hand is yanking Lo’ak to stand with a fistful of braids.

“What the hell?!”

“You skxawng! Those are not for you.” Neteyam hisses, releasing his brother with a huff.

“Alright alright. Damn, I was just keeping her company.” Lo’ak mutters, arms crossing over his chest with a frown. “Besides, I hate to see food go to waste.”

Their eyes lock as a silent line of communication strums between them. Eventually Lo’ak lets out an irritated sigh before nodding and jogging off into the treeline. Neteyam’s shoulder’s visibly relax, hands casually placed on those sinful hips as he looks down at you.

“You should’ve let him eat it. I’m not hungry.” You lie confidently, jutting your chin up in pride.

“Is that so, tiyawn?”

His deep voice ripples through your body.

“Yes.”

You go to give him a sneer, maybe even the middle finger, but looking up at him from this angle proves to be problematic. His loincloth has a bulge and it lights your curiosity. Despite all the vulnerable and exposed positions Neteyam has put you in you have yet to see what lies beneath that scrap of clothing. Averting your eyes doesn’t save you from witnessing the smirk that dances over her lips.

Stupid observant bastard.

His shadow looms over you as you fiddle with the strings of your loincloth. And then his braids are tickling your neck.

“Perhaps it’s not fruit you are hungry for.” That simmering whisper blossoms a blush once more but nothing in comparison to the one that emerges when he grasps your small hand and places it along his inner thigh.

He doesn’t let you pull away, not before you can feel the corded muscle and smooth skin. Not before your eyes cave into temptation and sneak a glance at the increasing size of that bulge.

“I know your little body has been enjoying our time together but if you’re good, I’ll let you play with me too.”

And then your fingers are traveling over the exposed skin until the silk fabric is beneath your tips. You can’t even look at him. You pray that this aversion will read as nothing more than pure revulsion, because you don’t know what will happen if he senses your underlying lust.

You can feel him twitch under your palm.

Eyes forced closed and heart racketing at your rib cage, it takes all your power to control the rise and fall of your chest.

And then the heat is gone. Neteyam releases your wrists, stands up, and sends a dark smile over his shoulder before rejoining the group. You want nothing more than to hide your face in your hands and scream but that would only show him your hand.

You need to be strong. Keep your mouth shut, fry his patience, and get the hell out of here.

Lo’ak is right about the training. It’s undeniably brutal and strict. While you stare in awe at the rate the young warriors can scale trees and shoot a target, Neteyam shakes his head and sighs before correcting them. You’ve studied a bit of Na’vi throughout your life but there’s no desire to translate his strict reprimanding.

You do, however, find it hard to keep your interest away from the various rippling muscles and shifting loincloths. You’re ovulating. You must be and if you were only in your bedroom back at Bridgehead you would actually be able to take some medication to tamper down this insufferable flood of hormones.

Still, you are stuck here and a group of nine foot tall walls of muscle are fighting, wrestling, shooting, and inadvertently showing off their physical prowess with ease. You swallow a lump in your throat when one Na’vi male tackles another and you get a perfect view of his ass.

Pandora is so hot.

So so incredibly hot and that has to be why you feel the temperatures rising along your cheeks.

Neteyam’s back blocks the view, a stream of instruction flowing from his lips as the two struggle to get the upper hand. Your hungry eyes start to travel up his body instead but you tug them away.

You’ll be on your deathbed before ever admitting to ogling these men but you’ll drink acid before letting Neteyam catch you ogling him.

Another shorter male’s abdomen tightens as he pulls back an ax carefully. Sweat glimmers along his blue form as focused eyes narrow at the target. Within one powerful swing the ax is chucked from his grip and pins a leaf the size of your thumbnail to a tree.

He sighs before reaching back to tie his hair. The stretch accentuates the contrast between his narrow waist and broad shoulders. And yet you catch yourself sneaking a look at Neteyam’s form.

For comparison purposes only of course.

It’s too risky though to notice the slope of his back or the way one strap of his loincloth has shifted dangerously low along one hip. Or note the way his dark stripes smoothly curve over and accentuate his v line. Because that is something you would never do. You would never look. Would never think about him outside of plans to escape. Never dream of his deep voice with that heavy accent or even think about how it sounds in his native tongue. And you most certainly would never anticipate the view of Neteyam between your thighs nightly.

Suddenly the ax-throwing Na’vi has become boring so you veer the focus as far away from Neteyam as possible.

You shift your body to your left, letting your hair create a curtain to block the view of Neteyam pulling back a bow. It takes a bit longer this time to immerse yourself in these next two who spar with long sticks.

All at once your body is ripped from your spot, legs dangling and kicking as you are roughly set to stand. Neteyam’s arm snaps around your waist as he kneels behind you.

“Do I need to put you in time out?” It’s not a joke. Not when his teeth are skimming dangerously closer over your ear. “I would be able to smell you halfway across the forest.” He growls.

Your thighs press together subconsciously as embarrassment floods in.

So maybe you had forgotten about the Na’vi advanced sense of smell.

“Which I wouldn’t mind were it not for your eyes being trained on other men” The ground slips beneath you and suddenly Neteyam is throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait! Let me go!” You’re not even sure why you try at this point. It’s not like he has ever listened before. The hope of being heard dims even lower when you see his thrashing tail and feel his heavy footsteps as you're carried further into the forest.

But dammit you are hungry and hot and your loincloth is stained with your arousal so you let your emotions bubble over.

“You fucking brute! Put me down right now!” You scream, nails scratching harshly over his back. It doesn’t draw blood but wow those fading marks look so pretty over his blue skin. Not to mention the beauty of his ass swaying with every step. “I’m so sick of this shit!”

Neteyam is quiet.

So very quiet and it doesn’t sit right with you.

“Open.” He commands but you remain still.

Body frozen as you stand before him, his massive member at eye level. It’s almost as if your brain simply can not process the sight before you. The way his cock is so different from the ones you have encountered with its purplish blue hue, speckled glowing dots, and even the precum that shimmers in the fading light. Curiosity sparks once more and for a moment you consider reaching out to touch it.

However, the real shock is the massive size difference. You are no virgin. Bridgehead does not have a plethora of great men but you’ve found partners in the past to satiate your needs. So standing here staring and blushing feels out of the norm but with the way Neteyam is hung, how can you not?

Even at peak arousal, or what you hope is peak, it’s unable to sprout fully, the sheer weight dragging it to hang lower by his thighs. You’ve always assumed the Na’vi would be…bigger but this….you’d never imagined something like this.

The idea of ever fitting it in your mouth let alone inside of you makes your stomach coil.

Are all Na’vi males this way or is this something specific to Neteyam?

Something tells you that thanks to the Olo’eyktan you will never find out.

“Open your mouth, tawtute.” His voice is sharp like a drawn dagger, slicing through the wind to threaten obedience.

“B-but it….it won’t fit.” You try not to think about your choice of complaint.

Not that you don’t want to.

Not that he shouldn’t make you.

No, you simply complain about the logistics.

“You’ll learn, pet. Now open.” The nickname is anything but endearing coming from his lips now, honey eyes darkening as he stares down at you. This is retribution.

Shaking like a leaf, your lips ever so slightly part. It appears Neteyam is tired of giving verbal commands when one large hand grips either side of your face, pressing to force your mouth open wider.

“You won’t let me get any food past those pretty lips, fine. You will take my cock instead.” That growl reverberates through your body until it swirls into a low seated passion and desperation. Neteyam’s nostrils flare, soaking in the scent of your betraying body.

To your surprise Neteyam doesn’t immediately choke you on it but instead guides your open mouth to his base. Prying your jaw open wider, your lips are smeared along the heated skin. Hesitantly your tongue flickers out.

“That’s it, pet. Don’t be shy.”

When your tongue smoothes out to drag along the length of him you remind yourself that this is something you are forced to do. For survival. For escape.

And you prepare yourself to later bury the memory of your desire and curiosity in this moment. To forget how salty sweet his precum tastes as it dances along your tongue. To forget the way his pupils dilate as he purposefully paints your pillow lips with that glowing substance like it’s your own personal lip gloss. To forget the way his abs flex when the head of his cock is finally enveloped by your hot wet mouth.

But most of all, you promise yourself that you will forget how gorgeous Neteyam looks from this angle with his silky braids hanging loosely and glowing eyes devouring you whole.

The back of your throat is reached within record time. Your gag reflex immediately kicks in and Neteyam pulls out while cooing at you.

“Poor little pet. Not used to taking such a big cock, are you?” You take the condescending words without fight, trying to clear your throat and prepare for more. “But then again I’m sure Jeremy has never made you cum until you cry.” Neteyam smirks and your breathing halts.

You look up at him with wide eyes.

Oh God, when did he find out about Jeremy? A dark twinkle shadows the Olo’eyktan’s demeanor, his upturned lips promising an evil fate to your old flame.

“What di-”

“Down you go again, pet.” Neteyam interrupts, prying your mouth open once more and shoving himself inside harder this time. He doesn’t let up this time when you sputter and choke around him. “Relax that throat for me, tiyawn. I know this isn’t your first time doing this.” He chuckles.

Reluctantly you force yourself to follow his instruction, urging your heart rate so slow as you breathe in through your nose. Inch by inch, he slides down your throat until all you can taste and feel is him. A tinge of soreness already sparks along your jaw but stern eyes whisper the consequences of letting your blunt teeth even close to him.

A part of you yearns to get lost in the moment, let your arousal that has shamefully not disappeared since Neteyam’s confession take the wheel and give your mind a break. However, that is not the Olo’eyktan’s design. He means to drive a lesson home.

“I was under the impression that you simply didn’t enjoy giving oral, not with the way your scent soured every time that pathetic man had you on your knees.”

Your whimper of distress only turns into a hum that vibrates along him. Neteyam’s grins, toes digging into the earth below.

“But now I see that is not the case.” His hips roll forward, hand crawling to cradle the back of your head. “Staining that little loincloth for me. You just needed the right man to fill that pretty mouth didn’t you?”

Your protests are nothing more than high pitched whines as he picks up rhythm, only half of his cock fitting inside yet still more than enough to fill your throat.

“No need to deny it, oeyӓ tiyawn. Your body has been loyal to me from the very beginning.” That hand fists into your hair, holding you down on his cock as tears gather over your eyes. “Even when your mind has a hard time catching up.” All sweetness dissipates from his voice, left only with a hard steel.

“Like today for instance.”

You suck in air as soon as your mouth is empty, coughing and crying as he keeps that grip in your hair. A firm yank has your neck straining to look up at him.

“I thought you would know better, little gift.”

You subconsciously grip his thighs in order to keep yourself standing upright.

“But it looks like I need to spell it out for you.”

Suddenly your mouth is filled again but instead of waiting to let you suckle and explore, Neteyam immediately sets pace spearing down your throat. Nails digging into his toned thighs, you focus on keeping your breathing steady and relaxed.

“Good pets do not stare at other men. They do not let them smell their arousal.” Neteyam grinds out, a groan lacing his words as you feel him twitch. Your throat convulses around him, the urge to breathe through your mouth ever increasing. “Because good pets know who they belong to.”

The trembling in your legs skyrockets as your knees threaten to buckle. Suddenly Neteyam’s grip in your hair is not just there to keep you swallowing him down but also as an extra support.

“Do you know who you belong to, little gift?” A shudder ripples over his toned body, balls drawing up tight. And yet he pauses, keeping you frozen but still stretched around him.

He wants a response.

Nodding doesn’t appear to cut it, not when he tacks on a “and who is that?”.

You go to scoff at his persistence but it’s only another choked cough around him, tears spilling down your cheeks. He hips slant forward pressing himself even further down your throat until you are gagging.

“Say it.” The Olo’eyktan demands. “Say my name.”

He pulls out and airs hiccups through your lungs so fast you almost swoon backwards. But his name is still the first gasp to escape your lips.

“Nete-..Neteyaaaam.” It’s come out as almost a complaint but the Olo’eyktan’s joy is not diminished. His tails coils and flickers at the sound of your wrecked voice.

“Good girl.” That praise wraps around you, head lulling to rest against his palm. “Now come here and let me fuck your throat.”

It shouldn’t turn you on. The crude words are the furthest thing from what you should want but Neteyam’s accented voice purrs them like a lullaby. So dark, smooth and alluring that you find your mouth opening on its own accord.

Neteyam’s grins wider than the night that he first saw you tied up with that pretty bow. You push the implications of what you have just done to the back of your head.

Despite his satisfaction, Neteyam doesn’t take it easy on you. The length of him can never fully make it down your throat but that doesn’t stop him from trying. An obscene wet sound is made every time he thrusts back in and you can feel him shiver.

“Aww so pretty like this tiyawn. Wish you could see yourself right now.” His head throws back for a second when your airpipe contracts around him again. “Crying so sweetly for me.”

His gentle tone is a great contrast to the way his cock bullies itself into the tight space. So sweet in comparison to the way he fucks your throat like you’re his own personal fleshlight.

“Maybe we will have to steal a mirror from Bridgehead soon. Let you see what a wrecked masterpiece you are.”

Even as you struggle to breath and your throat aches, his dirty words burn the flames inside of you higher and higher. You will feel ashamed later, you know it, but for now you let him fill every crevice in your brain. It keeps the fear of Jeremy’s safety at bay. It keeps the reality of your situation from catching up with you. It keeps you as his pretty little pet that is doing oh such a good job.

“Fuck! You feel so good around me, tiyawn. Good fucking girl!” Neteyam’s groan is gravely, muscles along his abdomen erratically flexing and you know what is coming before his warning ever reaches your ears.

With a deep groan of your name, thick seed spurts down your throat. It’s too much to fully swallow but luckily Neteyam lets you off halfway through, the remnants painting your cheeks and lips. Your own thighs clench together as you watch him recover, his impressive physique inflating and deflating heavily with every breath.

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you collapse against him, head nuzzled against his hip as you cling to his right thigh. Neteyam’s fingers fondly stroke through your tangled hair as he congratulates you on learning your lesson.

You almost bite his finger when the next piece of meat passes your lips but this time it is by accident. Your habit of grinding your teeth together when nearing climax is becoming a problem. Three massive fingers tease and massage at that spongy spot inside of you as you drool around Neteyam’s fingers.

The Olo’eyktan chuckles and plucks another piece of meat to feed you.

“Remember to chew.” He says with a smirk when his thumb flicks over your clit and you almost choke.

Perched in his lap, smothering his fingers with your juices as he hand feeds you, there is surely not a better picture of obedience one could paint.

A picture that Neteyam cherishes.

But a memory you vow to forget.

I hope you enjoyed! Thank you all for your support and messages for this series especially! Hearing back from you all always makes me excited to write and update<3 Don't be afraid to let me know what you think

Taglist: @pandoraslxna @neteyamssyulang @tallulah477 @criticallybella @sullybrothersmate @lilghostiequinni @chershire23 @lala-1516 @teyamshuman @yawnetu @puddle-nerd @ratchetprime211 @avatargirly @chocolatechocobo91 @kariz-stark @bunnscoffe @avatarwifey @universal-s1ut @witchsprit @heart-an0n @riri-is-a-girlie @rivatar @minnory @ikeyniofthetayrangi @ilovehobi101 @spicymayyo @v4mp1rr3 @nilsavatar @bambithewriter @quicktosimp @itchaboi-itchyboy @thehoneymushroomhealer @ilytulipse @witchsprit @imwutim @crazy4books1 @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @danniackerman @dayyzlol @justabite7 @krispyjellyfishkitty

Please let me know if I missed you or if you'd like to be removed from the list<3

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housederiva · 1 month ago

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Fantasic yes thank you @mt07131 It should be noted I am taking the hottest bubble bath of my entire life while I'm typing this and my skin is the color of Mr Krabs. (these are all cheeses that I have had before so my opinion of each is extremely biased)

We're starting with Neve. I know what you're thinking 'our dear detective has a food pyramid made solely out of the menu of a back alley chippy, obviously she's Kraft cheese or cheese whiz' and you are incorrect. Sit on the floor beside me while I take my bubble bath, we're going on a cheese discovery hand in soapy hand

Neve is specifically a combination of the two cheeses that are in these bad boys that you can find at Walmart for $15. With enough coffee and distractions you can live off these for an entire week. Each piece of cheese is about the size of a quarter, they're powdery, they don't melt well, and the only reason it's in your fridge is that someone brought it to the potluck and no one else ate any of it. We're ignoring the rest of the platter this is only about cheese.

Harding is a fried halloumi stick. It's squeaky cheese that is sooo good when it's melted and somehow still in stick form. The first time an only time I’ve had it was when I lived in the UK. A little cheeky Nandos with Harding? Come on now she's the one suggesting it. This woman eats ham and jam slams, she's eating cold hallumi (bad salty brick ew ew nasty), Taash's first complaint if they ever lived together that would be that they could hear her eating the leftovers right out of the fridge at 3am cause it's squeaking so damn loud while she's chewing

Bellara is the giant babybel. Pictures don't do it justice and the absolute glee of taking off the little jacket before you bite into it like a peach? Undescribable. There's not a doubt in my mind that this woman would collect the wax and leave it in a clump on her bookshelf where she would repeatedly tell you she's gonna do something with it. And yet it grows ever larger with every giant babybel. She's the small ones too but those are somehow worse because she just eats the entire bag of them the second she gets home (not that I do that every time or anything haha dont look in my trash rn)

Davrin is, without a doubt, apple smoked cheddar either from Wisconsin or Lancashire, there's no in between. Once this cheese is in your life you will be fundamentally changed as a person and you can never go back to the way you were. No other cheese holds the same richness and warmth as apple smoked cheddar (either from Wisconsin or Lancashire) It has like this sweetness from the milk in it that's balanced out with the smokiness of paprika. Davrin's bringing this to the cookout and you're going to thank him for putting it on your burger at least four times

Lucanis is Fulvi Pecorino Romano (yes it is Italian why do you ask) This is some of the most expensive cheese I've ever had which is perfect for the man who's offering to pay Harding 6,000 gold to stand around while he kills somebody and then asks if that's too low of an amount when she's speechless. This Romano is made from milk taken from a single herd of sheep that live just outside the city of Rome. It's got this a grainy, crumbly texture that I don't think I'll have anything like again. (I had it at a preview night for this movie I worked on for redacted, I think there was caviar there too it was insane)

Emmrich my sweet vegetarian (and vegan? idk) is Climax Blue cheese. It's plant-based blue cheese, streaked with a natural and flavorful blue-green veining. It is well-rounded, with a creamy, fudgy texture, and with fruity and earthy notes balanced by a warm peppery finish. It's made out of coconut milk instead of animal milk and it's got pumpkin seeds in it somehow. I'm not vegan but my best friend is and she brought me this one time from her work and I ate it all in about 20 minutes. Excellent with wine and those really thin tiny crackers, makes you feel the good kind of fancy

Taash is ghost pepper and fried onion cheddar cheese. Never been hurt by food the way I was hurt the second this touched my tongue. And the cool thing about it is it's also dairy free, and substitutes milk with hemp. The heat from the ghost peppers builds and mingles with the burst from the fried onions and each wheel is aged in a cheese specific cave before it's packaged. It also has that good glowy classic melty cheese flow when it gets hot. If you're like me and you are white people spicy smelling this alone will hurt you

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #taash #emmrich volkarin #davrin #lucanis dellamorte #bellara lutare #lace harding #neve gallus #oh ive been in the bath for a while i feel like a hairless cat's armpit

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taylormarieee · 7 months ago

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Drunkenly Yours Drew Starkey

Summary: You and Drew go out and you get drunk and he confesses...

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: None, Just pure fluff, Mentions of Alcohol, Slightly Sober Drew, Drunk reader, Confessions, Kissing, Sweet ending.

A/N: This is a second fic dedicated to @ribbonprincess for her birthday! shhhh i'm a lil behind but love you beautiful<333

BIRTHDAY FIC 2/2

You and your cast members went out for drinks tonight. You are celebrating because you just finished filming season 3. You played as Rafe's love interest and supposed savior.

You got really close with Drew more than anything given the amount of scenes you guys had together. Granted you grew close with everyone on the cast, Drew was your favorite but of course you would never admit that.

You guys went to a little mini bar by your apartment complex that you all lived in, (Seperate floors and rooms of course) and you guys got all dressed up.

You were met by some paparazzi and some fans on the way out of your hotel but you guys didn't mind as you guys weren't in any rush. You all took pictures and posed and even signed things if asked.

Once that was over you all got into the car and drove away. You guys listened to music and jammed the whole way there.

Once you guys arrived at your destination, you are so excited yet nervous at the same time.

You loved going out but it was always hard especially when the love of your life was always going to be there and always suggesting to go out.

"Drew! Put me down!" you scream out while laughing as your conversation with Madelyn about something was interrupted.

"Nope, no can do peaches, gotta make sure you don't get your princess shoes dirty." Drew whispered in your ear.

You nervously giggled holding on to him tighter. He holds you in his(Big, handsome, strong and sexy) arms for a little longer while Chase confirms the reservation for tonight.

Once you guys were in, Drew finally put's you down. "M'lady." he says as he bows in front of you to let you walk first. "Hm. Thank you kind sir." You say in the best british accent you can muster up.

He chuckles and you giggle as you walk closer to Chase and put your arms around Chase.

"Hey bunny." He says to you wrapping his hands around your waist and furrowing up your hair.

"Heyyy! I told you not to call me that anymore Chase!" you say puffing your bottom lip out and stomping your foot down.

"Ok fine, then should I call you thumper? You do know how much you act like a bunny right?" He says laughing.

You punch his arm and sit down in the booth that the waitress guided you guys too.

Your in front of Chase but next to you is Drew. You look up at him and admire him as he sits down and takes his order.

The waitress is going down the line of your cast mates before she finally get's to you.

You give her your order which is the same as Madelyn's. She was your best friend, you could talk to her about anything. She was like a sister to you.

She was the only one out of the entire cast that knew you liked Drew. You didn't exactly tell her she kind of figured it out on her own.

She was a bit of an observer and she would watch how much chemistry (as she likes to call it) you and Drew had on certain scenes, or just being together in general.

You loved Drew, you could say it a million times and it would never sound like a lie.

Drew was the best person in your life right now. Yes, you had Maddy but there was something about Drew that just made everyday a better day when you were with him. Everyday was never dull when you were with Drew. It was filled with happiness and fun.

"Alright guys. I don't know about yall but i'm trying to get hella wasted." You say and everyone starts laughing and aggreeing.

"Wait but someone needs to stay sober to get us all home." Madison says.

"1 2 3! NOT IT!" Everyone except Drew says. "You guys are doing this like i'm not the one that drove you all here in the first place." He says chuckling at everyones childish behaviour.

"Drinks on me?!" You yell going up to the bar while you guys are waiting on the food.

"Bet!" Jonathan and Rudy say at the same time before bursting out laughing. You laugh and scoot out of the booth after Drew gets up.

"Hey I'll come with you, can't hold all those drinks yourself girl." Madelyn says.

You smile at her as you both walk away to the bar to get 12 shots of tequila.

'So, when are you gonna tell him?" Madelyn asks. Your head immediately spins towards her and your eyes are wide.

"Uhmm ha, real funny Mads, i'm not doing that." You say turning back to all the dancing people.

"But this could be your only chance to tell him!" Madelyn says. You look back at her.

"Oh really, and how do you suppose I actually grow the balls to do it. Plus, this is supposed to be a fun, calm night with all of us together. Celebrating season 3 of Outer Banks. I don't wanna embarrass myself on this wonderful night in front of everyone." You say to her before the waiter comes around with your drinks.

"Hey, can we also get some beers please and thank you!" Madelyn says to prolong this conversation. The waiter nods and smiles at you both.

"But, what if I made a plan? Created like a diversion maybe? Like idk invite evryone to dance but then you keep Drew waiting and then you guys talk for a bit." She suggests with a smile on her face.

"Yea that could work, but you know how much drew loves to dance." You say already taking a shot or two.

It's as if a lightbulb appeared over Maddy's head the way her face lit up. "What if, you get so wasted that you confess to him. I'll still let everyone go dance once we get enough shots in us and then you can confess to him." She says taking two shots with you as well.

You face screws up but before you can say anything Madelyn speaks, "Yea that decision is final." She says with a smile on her face before bringing the shots towards the table.

You smirk and shake your head before grabbing the beers that the waiter passed towards you.

When you make it back to the table people are already taking shots and interacting. Everyone seems a lot more loose now and more livid.

"WHO WANTS BEER!" You yell over the music so they can hear you. They cheer and so does the crowd, but there cheering for a different reason.

You pass out some beers to everyone and then chug down some shots.

Your a lot more loose now that your tipsy and you feel like doing something spontaneous.

You walk over to the bar and stand on the table with the permission of the waiter and he helps you up since your in high heel black boots.

"I have an announcement to make my fellow partyers! ALL DRINKS ARE ON MEE!!!" You yell out and everyone starts cheering and you pop open a bottle of champagne filling everyone's cups.

You ask the waiter for a couple beers and tell him that everything is gonna be on your tab. He smiles at you and nods.

You hand beers to people in the crowd and your taking more shots. Your turnt now. Dancing on the table still and then hoping down to dance in the crowd.

Your dancing when you feel a hard chest behind you and hands on your hips. You don't even look to see who it is and you start grinfing and dancing on them with a shot glass in your hand.

You dance on this perosn for about five minutes before you turn around and put your arms around there neck. You open your eyes and realize it's Drew.

Your eyes widen and you lightly push off him muterring a sorry.

"Your hype aren't you?" He asks with a smirk on his face. Your face is hot now and you can't control the smile that appears o your face.

"Even though your drunk you still look so adorable." He says putting his hands back on your hips and bringignyou closer to him.

Drew has been teasing you like this all night. You just wanted to tell him how you feel. You wanted to say it so badly that your throat was burning and not just from the alcohol.

"Hey Drew!?" You say his name so lovely that he melts. "Yes princess?" He replies.

"I'm in love with you. I've loved you for a while now and I just never had the courage to say it. I know i'm like really fucking drunk right now but I'm so in love with you it makes my heart hurt! Everytime I see you I get butterflies in my stomach. I love you Drew Starkey, I always have." You say dancing slowly with him.

He stares at you with a goofy lopsided smile on his face.

"Hey, I'm still sober but i'm a bit tipsy and I heard everything you said and my input on that is I love you too. Not platonically but romantically. I've thought about you all the time. It was like love at first sight. I fell in love with you from day 1 and I wanna be the one that is in your life forever. Will you make me the happiest man on earth and be my girlfriend?" He confesses.

You smile so much that your cheeks hurt. You feel like crying! You shake your head yes and grab his face and kiss him. You kiss him so hard he's stumbling back a bit but he catches himself.

He slips his tongue between your lips and you both kiss passionately on the dance floor.

You hear cheering behind you and you see Chase and Madelyn and the rest of the cast cheering for you and Drew.

Some others who are most likely fans are recording the moment as well.

Today was a good night. You finally got your prince and you were going to make sure you guys had your happily ever after...

Taglist: (?)

#drew starkey #drew x reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #Drew starkey fluff

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sxfterhearts · 7 months ago

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convenience store comfort: a jongseob headcannon

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ non-idol!jongseob x angry + tired!y/n ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: just fluff, seob and y/n aren't together (yet), reader is angry (!!) and jongseob is there to comfort her + calm her down <3 mentions of alcohol and late night CU shenanigans

♡ word count: 1.8k words, all dotpoints, lowercase and no punctuation intended (+ weird formatting grrr)

♡ author's note: a lot of people requested for jongseob. idk whether its bc im perfectionistic but im not 100% happy with this, so i will defs do another one soon to do him and your requests justice (╥ ᴗ ╥)

♡ a song to listen to: just dont know it yet, new hope club

you and seobie were dance class partners since you were in kindergarten :))) omg imagine little seob and little you jamming to songs – so adorable

you had your regular weekly meetup with the dance crew to go over some new choreography and jam to some new songs recommended by your crew members

the moment you entered the dance studio and locked eyes with jongseob (who was doing his regular warmups on the floor) he could already tell something was up

your hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, glasses resting crookedly on your head, sleeves rolled up unevenly - as though you just emerged from a hurricane

as you approached jongseob’s corner he lowkey panicked

he could see your eyebrows were scrunched up and your lips formed in an adorable pout - too adorable for him to keep a straight face, so he just muttered softly under his breath, “long day?”

you plopped down onto the floor next to him, immediately collapsing into a heap. you laid down with your head resting close to his lap, and arms and legs spread out, staring up at the ceiling. “couldn’t be worse,” you replied irritatedly.

the rest of practice went by in a blur - you could barely keep up with the moves - instead opting to linger at the back next to jongseob

you were trying to subtly copy his moves, but was promptly called out by your leader for slacking off and forgetting the moves from last week

by the time everyone vacated the studio, it was safe to say that you were pissed. and so done with life.

“should we go to CU?” jongseob asked, careful, as though he was walking on eggshells around you - unsure when you were about to explode.

“let’s go” you replied without even looking at him, snatching your bag off the ground and turning promptly on your heels, already making your way out of the studio.

“hey!! wait up, y/n!”

it became a tradition to grab snacks from the CU downstairs after difficult dance practices

it all started in high school, when jongseob was devastated after losing a dance comp and you tried to cheer him up by buying him every single flavour of gummy candies on offer

(it didn’t really work, but when jongseob chewed on the pillowy soft bits of peachy goodness whilst staring at the funny faces you pulled to cheer him up, he could feel his tired heart begin to warm up)

“what do you- oh.” he was about to ask what you wanted, because it was his treat (by tradition: the person who is in charge of cheering the other up would pay), but the words caught in his throat when he followed you around the CU, leading him straight to the alcohol section – it mustve been pretty bad if you were reaching for the sojus

“are you having some?” you asked, without turning your head. you inspected the variety of alcohol on offer, and quickly settled on two bottles of unflavoured soju when he squeaked an affirmative yes in reply.

you quickly trotted over to the pouch drinks section and picked up the peach ade flavour without much deliberation, knowing that itwas jongseob’s favourite flavour, and two packs of peach gummy candies on the way to the counter (jongseob blushed because you remembered..)

he whipped out his card, paid for the drinks and snacks, and followed you like a little duckling to the bar seats by the windows

safe to say, after downing one whole bottle of soju (with barely any peach ade), you were a blubbering mess

“that.. that stupid, stupid, argh!!!” you munched furiously on the gummies, biting off their little heads first before chomping on their little bodies (jongseob almost felt bad for them) “why is he so incompetent?!”

you were referring to the new guy you were training at your workplace. initially jongseob was unsure how to feel about your newest colleague, especially after harbouring a silent, unrequited crush on you for the longest time. but his worries were quickly squashed after hearing you drunkenly curse out this guy’s name, followed by a string of… colourful words

“is it not common sense to… turn.. turn off the steamer after steaming the milk?? or to wipe spills, when you knock over,” you paused to hiccup, “a cup?” another hiccup

an adorable quirk of yours was that you started to hiccup if you drank or ate anything too quickly. jongseob handed you an opened bottle of green tea to slow down your drinking.

“i.. i mean! cmon! he’s so dumb!” you continued your little monologue, arms gesturing wildly - to the point that jongseob had to hold your hands steady and lead the bottle up to your mouth to make sure you were drinking something that was non-alcoholic.

“drink slowly,” he reminded you in an even tone. he kept trying to maintain a neutral expression but he had to admit that you were kinda funny in this drunken state, cute and frustrated

you hummed, listening to him as you stared at him with big eyes, gulping slowly. his adam apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed himself, feeling somewhat self-conscious now that your attention was completely on him

“why are you like this?” you asked after a few sips, suddenly looking like you were sober again

“like… like what?” jongseob asked nervously, like a deer caught in headlights - scared that he did something wrong.

“like this…” your pointer finger came up to poke his chest, and he felt his heart pound under your touch.

jongseob just stared at you, confused

“just.. just like, you always… you take care of me so good…” you mumbled, finding the prints on his big oversized t-shirt very fascinating all of a sudden

now it was jongseob’s turn to widen his eyes - was this just the alcohol talking? he forced out a nervous laugh. “yeah, you’re always getting in trouble, so i always have to be there for you”

“yeah but, why?”

“cos…” jongseob looked away. between your finger on his chest and your gaze on his face, he couldn’t possibly look at you anymore without blurting out something he might regret. “cos.. youre you, and i’m me, and i’ve known you forever, and we always look out for each other” he began to nervously toy with lid of the soju bottle, unknowingly shaping the metal bit into a heart… “plus im not doing anything, you’re just letting out some steam”

“i get…” another hiccup “i mean i get that.. b-but like…” you paused, raising your open palm in front of his face to steal his attention. “like…”

he understood what you meant immediately and wordlessly poured a few peach gummies into your hands, his own larger ones coming to hold yours tenderly while doing so scream!!

you chewed slowly while in deep thought “like..”

“finish chewing first, y/n..” jongseob reminded, half-teasingly and half-seriously, worried that you might choke

“like! like… ah…” you sighed exasperatedly, taking a big gulp of green tea. you looked like you were solving a math problem in your head, which was concerning, because jongseob knew how much you hated math

“what are you trying to say exactly?” he couldnt help but to laugh at you. there were only a handful of times where he’s seen you get this drunk and every single time it ended up like this - you trying to have a coherent conversation with jongseob and him just playing along with your drunk antics

“seriously? i have no clue.” you said, defeated. with a big exhale, you extended your arms on the table and rested your head on top of it, facing him. you pointed at him again, as he watched you intently. “jongseob.”

“hmm?”

“it’s a disaster”

“what is? your day? i know that already - you just spent the past hour explaining that to me”

“no, well, y-yes, but no…” you trailed off, fingers wiggling accusatively at him while you scrunched up your nose. adorable, he thought. “it’s a disaster.” another hiccup

“why??? y/n, maybe it’s time we get you home…”

“no seobie, dont want to.” you shook your head and body violently in response. “want to stay here with you!”

jongseob felt his entire body tingle with warmth and slight embarrassment, because no way you meant it like that… no way, this is unrequited love after all, right?

“seobie…” you looked at him, eyes filled with emotions jongseob can’t really figure out. was it a pleading expression? or were you asking for something? he wasnt sure - but one things for sure - he would give you anything you wanted

“...yeah?”

“can you… can we just stay here for a bit? im tired…” you reached out for him with grabby hands, and he complied easily - after all, he would give you the world

your hands gripped tightly to jongseobs, as you started another round of monologues, “you know, sometimes… sometimes i think i just need someone to listen to me. you do that really well. and its like when i tell you about what bothers me, the worries… they just…”

“...disappear?” he finished for you, squeezing your hand in response. he couldnt help it - his neutral facade broke. at the start of the night, he was a little scared and unsure of what to expect. you were hard to read when you were emotional. but now, sitting here next to you in the 24hr convenience store, one bottle of soju and two packets of peach gummies deep into the night, he felt the corner of his lips turn upwards. after all, he would always go along with whatever you wanted

“yeah.” you smiled at him, eyes blinking slowly, as though you were about to fall asleep. after a while, you felt the fatigue seep into your bones and overtake your entire body, and succumbed to its temptations.

you shifted in your seat to get comfortable and snuggled into jongseob’s arms like a body pillow, pulling him closer and closer to you. it was a slightly awkward position for jongseob, and he could feel the pins and needles starting to prickle on his limbs, but then, after a moment of silence, you muttered something under your breath.

“what is it? do you need something? is it uncomfortable?”

you giggled, his response so characteristic of him. he was always doting on you, always making sure you were alright, always ready at your beck and call. it gave you more confidence to repeat your words: “jongseob, i think im in love with you”

the poor boy nearly choked on air - but held it in so as to not compromise your position. “you… you what? what?”

“i love you, jongseob.” you said, cracking one eyelid open. just to prove your point, you brought his hand to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand, and then with the accuracy of a tipsy person, you pushed his hand towards his lips.

“there. we kissed, indirectly.” you said, satisfied with yourself, bursting into another round of giggles.

jongseob, ohmygosh, he didnt know what to do. his brain shortcircuited and he just sat there, letting you laugh at him while the tips of his ears turned bright red

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itsabouttimex2 · 5 months ago

Text

Heavenly Refuge

(Made to pair with one of my Ne Zha bots!)

This is not where you belong. This is a paved land of gold and white, stark and sparkling. What little life there is that’s been allowed to grow is stifled, under thick restriction. Koi fish in opulent fountains. Peach trees in a rigid row. Sacred flowers in little silver pots. But there is no true freedom for these little living things- each one is under strict maintenance.

Like yourself, then.

So short a time ago had you been plucked from the mortal realm by a Celestial Prince, his appearance heralded by a blushing fire divine. The soft light raged high, and fervent footsteps beat against the fertile ground, and the air filled with the scent of… lotus.

Ne Zha, as you would come to know him.

Marshal of the Central Altar. Third Lotus Prince.

“Y/N! Get down from there!”

Sometimes you wondered if maybe it wasn’t a spear that the warrior wielded, but instead a stick with which to constantly jam up his own-

“Y/N!” He repeats, pink fire racing around him in anger. “I will not say it again! Come down from that peach tree this instant!”

No doubt that the stern prince wished to bestow upon you another lesson of manners and dignity, to teach you the way of the Celestial Realm. Perhaps this time it would be on the matter of properly conveying respect to the elder members of the Court. Perhaps he would lecture about the food that was or wasn’t acceptable to eat in a realm of Gods.

Peering down from the sacred tree reveals a sight you have become quite familiar with- your “guardian”, decked in crimson and pink and gold, fuming.

At this point, he seems ready to explode.

You slowly peer over the edge of the tree, shaking.

Ne Zha freezes.

There are hot tears spilling over your cheeks and down the smooth tree bark, drenching the sacred peaches on the branches beneath you. You’ve overgorged on fruit, cheeks stained with the sweet juice of the holy drupes. From the scent of several saccharine puddles of bile on the ground, you’ve vomited at least twice.

“By the Realms…”

The words are barely a mumble, caught under his breath, his pink fire dimming as he catches sight of the tears on your cheeks. He’s angry at you, yes. But… you look so miserable. The prince cannot help but be taken by a wave of concern for your wellbeing.

Sun Wukong had done this before, once. Eaten a near tree’s worth of sacred peaches and chaos an outright uproar in the Celestial Realm… but he had not been a child (not by the Celestial Realm’s standards, at least) and he had not been a trembling, vomiting mess.

“…Y/N. You will come down from that tree, and you will do so now.”

There’s a hollow look in your eyes, one he’s grown used to- it’s the same look you get when you “know” what’s waiting for you.

You’ve known harsh backhands and hanger strikes. You’ve known folded-over belts and crescent scars born of manicured keratin. You’ve known hot iron and water buckets.

But the Li family are not the guardians you knew. Teaching you this seemed to be going down the route of pulling teeth, unfortunately.

The Third Lotus Prince holds out his arms, and forces a trembling smile. It’s hard to bear a grin when what he wants; more than anything, is to bolt you by steel into place and never again risk you slipping away.

When you stand up and jump, it’s with far too much ease. The plummet comes almost naturally, like you’d been thinking on it for hours.

‘Are you used to risking your life’, Ne Zha wants to ask. But you won’t answer. He already knows that. ‘Do you like risking your life?’

It almost relieves him that you were sure to keep mum instead of answering. Because…

…because he’s scared (and certain) that you would say yes.

Ne Zha catches you with a measure of grace, your ragged form landing bridal style in his arms. And… Gods, you look even worse up close. Dark bags under your tear-swollen eyes, puffy patches of red around your cheeks, irritated by the cling of sticky juice and the bare-nail scraping of your trembling hands.

“…a-are you… are you m-mad…?”

“No,” he half-lies, patting your quivering back. “Let’s get you home.” Ne Zha shifts you to a more comfortable position, then tightens his hold. Anything to not look directly at your miserable, worn face. Gods, when was the last time you actually slept through the night?

“…Mis… M-Mister Jing…?” Is the trembling question on your lips, barely audible. “Are we going to your father?” is the little section left unspoken. Not that the prince wouldn’t understand.

Ne Zha is already walking along the path back to Li family’s palace.

“Yes, little witch. He’ll be…”

Gods, he was never any good at lying. Then, the last time the prince tried was centuries ago. His own condition at the time had been rather similar to yours, a little trembling mess of tears and bile. Ne Zha had sworn to his father with big wet eyes that he was most certainly not sick, just very excited to start training. It hadn’t worked for him then, obviously, and even now he can barely manage a somewhat believable:

“He’ll be, ah, pleased to see you unharmed.”

And on his way the prince goes.

On any other day, there would be chatter amongst the other deities, servants, and guards. Today, though, the only sound in the air is the click of Ne Zha’s boots against the paved way, punctured by your shaky breathing.

They don’t even have to enter the palace to find Li Jing- the man is waiting, stern and frowning, under an opulent ivory arch. His polished boot taps unhappily against the tile.

“Let me have them,” Li Jing says, tempering his voice to only mild unhappiness,” and then prepare their chambers- this time, add those “precautions” we previously discussed.”

He’s… working on his flaws. Slowly. Having your realm nearly dissolve in a fit of rumbling chaos struck Jing hard enough to inspire an honest attempt to improve himself.

So Li Jing was making slow strides to be kinder, and gentler, and Ne Zha was adjusting in turn be more open to the man his father was becoming.

And they had decided to expand their family with the newest addition to the Celestial Realm, a little witch who had strange powers and an unhappy past. Maybe, through “fixing” you, the improvement of their fractured family tree would come sooner.

“Yes, Father,” the prince obediently replies. He keeps his voice calm and neutral- though there is clearly worry bubbling under the surface. He carefully sets you into his father’s arms, then watches you for a moment to ensure that all is well. Then he bows to Li Jing, before preparing to take his leave.

“And, ah, son?”

“Yes, Father?” The prince asks, pausing. His back is turned, but Ne Zha tilts his head a fraction- listening to hear more from Li Jing.

“…good work."

Those two words send a chill through the prince’s blood. Praise was not entirely foreign to Ne Zha’s ears- but it was rare. Few and far between were the times when his father would compliment him. He’s silent for several long moments, letting the words sink in. It’s odd, the way they set his gut rolling like a stone in a river.

Finally, the prince swallows, and dips his head in reply.

“Thank you, Father.”

From here on, things would be better between them- even if your potential “betterment” was the vehicle they used to drag themselves across the finish line.

So be it.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Ne Zha #Yandere Nezha #Yandere Li Jing #Lotusfam #TW: Emetophobia #TW: Eating Disorder #TW: Abuse #Great Witch of Gloom

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