#but I desperately do... so desperately do I want comments

[burrowdarling]

My MVP II (18+)

Summary: What happens after the NFL Honors, especially after your ride back to the hotel. Read part one here!

Pairings: boyfriend! Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: oral (fem receiving), light spanking, elevators, Joe praise, sex (p in v), MDNI

Note: Heyo! Here's part two: The Hotel Room from My MVP, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you all so much for the love on the first one, which has over 600 notes in 3 days (like what?!?) Happy Superbowl Sunday, wish we had our boys playing, but smut always help with that right?

Word Count: 2.8k

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 @hotburreaux @lilfreakjez Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

You tried your best to keep pace with Joe’s long legs as you trailed behind him, fingers knotted through his. He Handed his keys off to the valet, his face expressionless as he did so. You felt your cheeks flush at the knowledge of what you had just done, knowing some stranger was about to get into the same car. Trying to keep your face down, you mumbled a thank you to the man as you passed him by. The walk wasn’t long, but your short legs were no match for Joe's long strides. 

“Joey, can we slow down? It’s hard to walk in these damn things,” you pleaded, wishing you had taken them off and reaped the consequences later. 

He wordlessly obeyed your request, slowing his pace slightly so you could catch up. Joe took the opportunity to release your hand, slipping his own protectively around your waist to keep you close. You walked through the sliding doors of the hotel lobby, Joe making a beeline for the elevators. The wait was short, glad to have gotten an elevator all to yourselves. Joe pressed the ‘close doors’ button as fast as he could, making you giggle.

“Someone’s eager,” you said, trying to spin to face him. You were feigning for his touch, still riding the high from your first orgasm. It was nothing compared to what Joe could give you, him knowing your body better than you did.

Joe pulled you tightly into his front, the feel of his cock straining against his dress pants making your breath hitch in your throat. The thought that this could stop on any floor, anyone could walk in had your pulse thrumming. Joe leaned his head down to the crook of your neck, mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“Do you know how badly I want to fuck you right now?” Joe asked as more of a rhetorical question, “how badly I wanted to rip this dress off of you before we even got out of the car at the venue?”

He slipped the back of your dress up, keeping your front covered. You let out a gasp of surprise at the sudden breeze on your backside, feeling more exposed than you were in the car. You were shocked, unsure of what to do with this new side of Joe. He was always so reserved when it came to you, but tonight was like he had flipped a switch of his own.

“I’m regretting letting you put your excuse for fucking panties back on right now,” he groaned, giving your ass a smack and a squeeze. Joe took the chance to grind himself against you, a moan slipping from your lips at the feel of him, desperate to have him against your bare skin

You made it out of the elevator unscathed, in a desperate pursuit to find your room. You fumbled with the keycard, unsure as to why Joe entrusted you with the job considering his composure was much better than yours. He waited patiently though, large hands on your shoulders while you went through your bag to find it, slipping it out of your purse and only dropping it to the floor once before you both made it in the confines of your room. 

The moment you passed the threshold, Joe was on you. You had only taken a few steps in as your back was against the door as it closed. Joe’s mouth was everywhere on your skin, lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

He walked you backwards to the center of the room, mouth never leaving yours. When he was satisfied with your placement, he left one final kiss to your lips before parting from you. You groaned at the loss of contact, confusion over your features when he took a seat in the armchair. 

“I want you to strip for me, sweetheart,” Joe growled out, eyes heavy with desire. His eyes were so blown with lust, you’d give him anything he asked of you. 

You walked towards him silently as you spun around, needing help unzipping your dress. You felt his large warm hands move up your back before settling on the top of your back. Joe gave you a short stroke of his thumb as a way of saying he was there, using his other hand to move the zipper down to the base of your spine. You walked back towards the middle of the room, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves as you turned back to face your man.

You hesitated for a brief second, processing his request fully under his domineering gaze before he gently nodded towards you as a sign to go ahead. He dropped you a wink before giving you a small smile, reminding you that your Joey was still here, even if he was putting on this persona tonight. You wanted to please him, give him the proper celebration he deserved. 

You pulled your hair to one side, exposing your shoulder and the skimpy strap of your dress. You locked eyes with him, taking your hair and moving the strap to slip down your arm. His eyes never left yours, licking his lips as he was unable to settle into the chair fully. You could tell he was ready to jump your bones, holding himself back to preserve this moment for as long as possible. You moved to drop the strap from your other shoulder and watched as the fabric pooled around your ankles. You stepped out of it as Joe moved from his stop on the chair. He had you in his arms, tossing you like you weighed absolutely nothing back against the pillows on the bed. You erupted in laughter, feeling heat pool in your stomach at his sheer size and strength.

You were laid back on the bed, knees bent and your heels sticking into the duvet. You watched Joe as he started to rid himself of his clothes. You admired him, feeling a strong pull of lust and love for the man before you. A well of pride sat heavy on your chest that you were able to shower him with the love and affection he deserved, to treat him like the MVP you believed he was to you. You watched as he reached around his neck, getting ready to slip the chains off for the night.

“Keep them on,” you spoke softer than you meant to, breathless at the sight of him, “you never wear jewelry, I wanna enjoy it.”

Joe nodded at your request, beginning to remove his jacket while leaving the chains around his neck. His skin was taught, his muscled chest finally being within your reach after he wore that suit all night. You got up from your place on the bed, moving on your knees to meet Joe where he was standing. He took the last of his clothing off, tossing it to the side before turning towards you. You took your opportunity, slipping a delicate hand up his chest and settling on one of his chains, giving a soft pull towards you. Joe groaned at the feeling of the taught jewelry at the nape of his neck, nipping at your lips in praise. His hands settled on your ass, gripping your cheeks in both hands before giving them a tender squeeze. You gasped at the sudden touch, Joe capitalized on the moment to slip his tongue in your mouth. Moving one hand to the middle of your back to support your body. 

It was raw and full of passion, unfiltered and encompassing the pent up emotions of the day.  Your hands were lost in his hair, gripped whatever you could to keep your head from spinning. Joe laid you back on the mattress, getting to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed. Much like he did earlier, he took the time to take off each one of your heels

“As sexy as these are, I wanna be able to move you around freely and not risk taking a heel to the face,” Joe joked lightly, slipping off your heel as he kissed up your calf. You nodded in agreement knowing you weren’t the most coordinated person. Even in intense moments like this, he always knew how to keep you comfortable. He repeated the same on your other leg, taking the time to move slowly up your body. Joe didn’t leave an inch of skin untouched by his lips as he settled at the apex of your thighs. 

“God you’re fucking dripping for me, sweet girl. How do you want me first?” Joe asked as he toyed with you, stroking the area just above your pubic bone causing you to stir.

“What do you mean first?” you question him, you did already finish once tonight. Your mind went blank at the possibility of just how much he wanted to wear you out tonight.

“You heard me, I plan on getting you to cum multiple times tonight. How many times do you think I can make you finish him? Once, twice, maybe three times if I’m lucky” Joe said with such confidence in his voice that your body trembled with excitement. 

“Though I think we both know I don’t need luck for that. I know just what makes you tick, exactly what my girl likes” Joe said as he brought his hand down between your legs, swiping a finger through your slit before moving up to circle your clit with his thumb.

The simplicity of the touch already had your back arching off the bed, having been craving to have his hands on you for hours. He took his free hand and brought two fingers up to your lips, tapping them to get you to open. He slipped them inside, thoroughly wetting them like you did earlier. Your eyes stayed locked on his gaze as he slipped them past your lips with a pop. You could tell he was imagining his cock in your mouth, drawing a lazy smile to your lips as the later probability. 

He brought the wet digits down to your core, slipping them inside of you as he pumped them in and out slowly to start. You were already beginning to lose it, your  body wound so tightly, it wouldn’t take much to get you there. He increased his pace as he changed the angle of his fingers, moving them in the ‘come here’ motion as he kept hitting that certain spot inside of you. In perfect rhythm, you were on fire from his touch as you were seconds from losing it, his movements unrelenting. Your hands gripped the sheets, knuckles going white at the sheer pleasure he was causing your body. You felt electric, a simple spark could send you reeling. You tossed your head from side to side against the pillow, eyes clenched shut from the pleasure coursing through you. You were so close to the edge, fighting to get to the point of that sweet release.

“I'm so close, Joey. I wanna cum for you like a good girl,” you moaned, stirring something inside of Joe at your words. It was as if he took your words as his own motivation to get you there, feeling how close you were.

“That’s it, cum all over my fingers baby,” Joe praised as your high ripped through your body, feeling a bit sensitive from your previous orgasm. “Number two will be with my mouth, I gotta get a taste of you.”

Before your mind could uncloud from the high, Joe’s tongue was already slipping inside of you lapping at whatever he could get. Your hands settled into his hair, pulling him closer to your body as you possibly could. You were a moaning mess, earning a groan from Joe in response that only made things feel more intense from the vibrations. It didn’t take long for you to finish on his face, grinding down to ride out your high that came so fast out of left field. This one feeling more intense than the first, the realization dawning on you that you had just squirted all over Joe. A small pit formed in your stomach that he would be upset somehow, propping yourself up on your elbows to look down at him between your legs.

His gaze met yours, telling you everything you needed to know. His pupils were blown so wide with lust. A look that said ‘don’t you dare feel bad for that’ while he made no move to part from you. He tenderly licked as your breathing even out, lapping at your juices like he was deprived. He moved to make his way up your body, flipping you around and lifting your hips so you were on your knees. He climbed on the bed to settle behind you, leaning down to bring his mouth by your ear. 

“You have no idea how hot that was, watching you do that. I can’t wait for number three to be around my cock, I already know your cunt is so fucking wet for me,” Joe growled out as he brought his mouth down to you, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

You hadn’t spoken much, mumbling back an incoherent string of sounds that were meant to come out as words. Joe laughed behind you, pulling you up from your hands to rest back against him. You leaned your head on his shoulder, taking the time to breath before he would wreck you with his unrelenting thrusts. He gave your temple a kiss, gripping your breasts and toying with your nipples. He already had that knot in your stomach forming again, the pressure building in your center with an ache to have him inside of you.

“Need you inside me, Joe,” you whined against him, reaching your hands around to get any part of him in your grasp. 

“I can’t deny my baby what she wants, good to hear your voice still works for now,” Joe said as he moved you back to your hands and knees. You arched your back and wiggled your hips, ready to have him inside you. You pushed back against him, feeling his hands on your hips to stop your movements. A low whine slipped past your lips, ready to beg for his cock to be inside you already when he slipped in without warning.

You moaned loudly at the fullness of having him inside you, dropping your head in relief at the contact. Joe’s grip on your hips was firm as if he was taking out all of his pent up tension and the nerves from the night out on your body. You weren’t complaining, relishing in the thrusts and feel of his body coming into contact with yours after each one.

He pulled out quickly, flipping you onto your back before quickly finding his way back inside of you. He dropped to his forearms above you, caging you into his body as you locked eyes.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, i wanna see your face when I make you come undone on my cock,” Joe said as he deepened his thrust more than you thought was possible.

Your hands were clawing at his back, trying to ground yourself into the moment, every delicious stroke making you lose more and more of your sense of control. You felt yourself tightening around his cock, your release on the edge of tipping. It was as if Joe knew exactly where you were, dropping one of his hands between you and rolled your clit with his thumb and forefinger, the touch acting like a catalyst to your orgasm. You were a mess below him, arching up into his body as your nail raked down his toned back. 

Your release brought Joe to his own, painting your walls with his own cum shortly after you. He slowed his strokes, the both of you feeling sensitive to the slightest touch after your highs. You both laid there and caught your breath.You brough one of your hands to cup his cheek, Joe leaving into the gentle touch in the aftermath of everything.

“Congratulations, Joey. That was way better than any afterparty’” you said, giving him a peck to the nose as you giggled. Joe’s hand found their way to the sides of your face, still propped up on his forearms.

“Let’s get you cleaned up baby,” Joe said as he picked you up in his arms to bring you into the bathroom. Your body felt tired, but your desire was still high.

“Round two in the shower?” you questioned, wiggling your eyebrows at him making him let out a laugh and you to pout, “I didn't get to reward you properly. Someone was too caught up in my pussy to let me.”

“Let’s get in there first and go from there you minx, a man needs a moment to recover.”

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hey I hope you've having an amazing day/evening/night. This is my first time requesting something😅, and I was wondering if you could possibility write something like what you did with my type but the reader having natural auburn curly hair, with freckles thinking that she's not his type or something along those lines.

Gold in Snow

Summary: you and lando are in a relationship but you're reserving hate comments about you being a ginger, with freckles because the fans don't think you're his type

Song: Golden Hour · JVKE

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Another podium finish for Lando, another shower of champagne soaking his expensive suit. You watched from the relative calm of the garage, a small smile playing on your lips.

He looked genuinely happy, and that, more than anything, made the constant noise and pressure of Formula 1 palatable.

You’d been dating Lando Norris for almost a year now. A year of stolen moments, whispered secrets in hotel rooms, and navigating the chaotic whirlwind that was his life. A year of pure bliss…mostly.

The “mostly” came in the form of comment sections. Forums. Twitter threads dedicated to dissecting every pixel of your existence and comparing it to the accepted prototype of a WAG – Wives and Girlfriends – in the F1 world.

You were… different.

They’d say it with a thinly veiled, almost clinical detachment, but the message was always the same: you didn’t fit. You were too… ginger. Too freckled. Too… you.

The ginger part bothered them the most. Lando was a global superstar, practically sculpted from marble, with a smile that could melt glaciers. He was everything they wanted him to be: conventionally attractive, charming, and effortlessly cool.

And you? You were… well, very, very pale. Your hair was a fiery halo, and your skin was dotted with a constellation of freckles that bloomed fiercer in the summer sun.

“He likes the exotic look,” one comment had sniped. “She’s probably got a killer tan when she’s not hiding in the shade.”

You’d chuckled then, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach your heart. Exotic? You’d spent your life battling sunburns and jokes about having no soul.

And killer tan? Honey, you burned so fast, lifeguards would start applying sunscreen just by looking at you.

You tried to ignore it. Lando certainly seemed to. He showered you with affection, praised your quick wit and sharp mind, and constantly reminded you how beautiful he found you, flaws and all.

But the insidious comments burrowed under your skin, planting seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to weed out.

You saw him heading towards the garage now, adrenaline still buzzing through him. His eyes found yours, and that signature Lando grin spread across his face. Your heart did that familiar little flip.

“Hey!” he said, pulling you into a hug. He smelled of champagne and victory. “Did you see that last overtake? Unbelievable!”

You laughed, burying your face in his still-damp fire suit. “Yes, I saw it. You were amazing, as always. Just try not to spray me next time, okay?”

He pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You seem… quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. “Well, we’re flying back tomorrow morning. We can just chill in the hotel tonight. Order some room service, maybe watch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, meaning it. Just the two of you, away from the cameras and the judgment.

That night, as you lay in his arms in the dimly lit hotel room, the familiar ache in your chest returned. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were somehow… undeserving.

“Lando?” you whispered, the sound barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled into your hair.

“Do you… do you ever read the comments? About us?”

He stiffened slightly. “I try not to. You know how toxic that can be.”

“But you do read them, right? Sometimes?”

He sighed, a heavy sound that vibrated against your chest. “Okay, yeah, sometimes. But I don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just… noise.”

“Noise that says I’m not good enough for you.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours in the dimness. “What? That’s ridiculous. Who says that?”

“Everyone. Online, anyway. They don’t think I’m your type. They think I’m… too ginger. Too freckled. Too… plain.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. “Hey. Look at me. You are absolutely stunning. Inside and out. You are intelligent, funny, kind, and you have the most beautiful smile in the world. And yes,” he added with a mischievous grin, “I also happen to think your hair is gorgeous, and your freckles are like little constellations scattered across your skin. They’re unique, just like you.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “But they say…”

“They say a lot of things. People are always going to have opinions. But their opinions don’t matter. Only mine does. And I think you are perfect.”

He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, tender kiss that chased away the doubts, at least for a moment.

But even as you melted into him, a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of your mind: He’s just saying that. He has to say that.

The knot in your stomach tightened with each passing day, each new photo plastered across social media. You and Lando, laughing at a restaurant, holding hands at the airport, just being normal.

What shouldn't have been a cause for concern, was. It should have been a happy bubble of romance, but it was quickly becoming a breeding ground for anxiety, a place where your insecurities festered and grew.

Because under each picture, nestled amongst the supportive comments and heart emojis, they lurked. The whispers, the not-so-subtle digs.

"He could do so much better." "She's not even his type." "Another generic influencer." And the worst of it? "Ginger + Freckles = No."

You knew it was irrational. Lando loved you. He told you every day, showed you in a million little ways, from the way he held your hand to the way he looked at you with genuine adoration.

But the internet had a way of burrowing into your brain, planting seeds of doubt that blossomed into thorny vines. You found yourself scrutinizing your reflection, picking apart every freckle, every strand of your fiery hair.

Was it too much? Was it enough? Were you enough?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lando's voice startled you, pulling you back from the precipice of your spiral. He was standing in the doorway of your shared flat, his racing helmet tucked under his arm, a familiar mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Just thinking about this weekend," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Excited for the snow."

"Me too! Max and Steve are already counting down the hours. You're coming to the slopes tomorrow, right?"

You hesitated. "I… I have something I need to do in the morning. I'll meet you guys up there later, okay?"

Lando frowned, his blue eyes searching yours. "Everything alright, love? You seem a bit off."

"I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just… a doctor's appointment. Nothing serious. I'll explain later. Promise."

He didn't look convinced, but he knew better than to push. "Alright. Just text me when you're on your way. Drive safe.”

He kissed your forehead, the warmth of his touch a brief comfort against the chill that had settled within you and left.

The next morning, the drive to the snow mountains felt endless. Each mile was another step closer to the potential storm brewing in your head.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous, that you were letting faceless strangers dictate your feelings. But the seed of doubt had been planted, watered, and was now taking root.

When you finally arrived at the ski resort, the crisp mountain air did little to soothe your nerves. You walked into the reception area, the scent of pine and hot chocolate thick in the air.

"Name?" the receptionist asked, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

"It's… uh… Y/L/N, party of Lando Norris."

The receptionist's fingers clicked across the keyboard, and she looked up, a polite professional smile gracing her lips. "Ah, yes. Mr. Norris's party. You're all set. Here's your lift pass. Your equipment rental is just through those doors. Have a wonderful day."

You collected your ski boots and poles from the rental shop, the familiar weight grounding you slightly. You'd been skiing since you were a kid, practically born on the slopes.

It was one of the few places you felt truly free, truly yourself.

You strapped on your skis and headed towards the main lift, scanning the crowd for a flash of Lando's familiar McLaren Racing beanie or the boisterous laughter of Max and Steve.

The lift carried you higher and higher, the view expanding to reveal a breathtaking panorama of snow-covered peaks and pristine valleys.

For a moment, the internet, the comments, the doubts, all faded away. You breathed in the crisp air, feeling the thrill of anticipation course through you.

As you reached the top, you spotted them. Lando, grinning and waving, Max, already carving down the slope with reckless abandon, and Steve, carefully navigating the beginner trail.

You took a deep breath, pushed off, and let gravity do its work. The wind whipped through your hair, the sun glinted off the snow, and for the first time that day, you felt a genuine smile spread across your face.

You were good. Really good. You weaved and turned, carving graceful arcs in the powder, your ginger hair a vibrant streak against the white landscape. You glided past other skiers, feeling the rush of adrenaline as you navigated the slopes with practiced ease.

You found yourself on a black diamond run, moguls stretching out before you like frozen waves. This was where you belonged, where you felt alive. You took a deep breath and launched yourself into the challenge, navigating the bumps and dips with precision and skill.

Suddenly, you heard a whoop of excitement and a familiar voice. "Wow, check out the ginger ninja!"

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple of guys, clearly impressed by your skiing skills.

You grinned, threw them a wink, and continued your descent, the compliment a small spark of warmth against the doubt that still lingered.

The crisp mountain air bit at Lando’s cheeks, painting them a matching shade to the gaudy orange ski suit Max insisted he wear. He shifted his weight from one ski boot to the other, impatience radiating off him in visible waves.

He’d been waiting at the base of the slope for what felt like an eternity. Max was already halfway up the mountain for his third run. Steve was content to nurse a lukewarm hot chocolate and offer unsolicited advice on Lando’s form, despite the fact Lando hadn't even put his skis on yet.

"She's taking her time," Steve commented, taking another careful sip. "Probably intimidated by the black runs."

Lando rolled his eyes, though fondness softened the gesture. He knew you weren't intimidated by anything. This was more than likely your first time on the slopes, so you were probably taking it easy.

You were a natural athlete, thriving on competition, but you’d also confessed, with a sheepish grin, that skiing looked deceptively easy on TV.

He was about to tell Steve as much when Steve suddenly straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, there's your girl!"

Lando spun around, instantly forgetting the cold, the wait, and Steve’s irritating commentary. He searched the throng of skiers snaking down the slope, his heart doing a little skip. And then he saw you.

You moved with a surprising grace, your skis carving effortless arcs in the snow. Sunlight caught in your fiery red hair, turning it into a cascade of glittering copper. Each freckle seemed to dance on your skin, illuminated by the mountain sun.

He knew, objectively, that you were beautiful. He saw it every day. But seeing you now, flushed with exertion and radiant with joy, took his breath away.

He froze, utterly captivated, as you approached. You navigated the final stretch with smooth confidence. “Show off,” he muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You slowed to a stop, kicking up a spray of snow just inches from his boots.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, laughing. You pushed your goggles up onto your forehead, revealing eyes the color of warm honey. "Sorry! How long have you been waiting?"

Your cheeks were rosy, your breath misting in the cold air. Lando stared, speechless.

"Baby? What's wrong?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern. You reached out, your ungloved hand gently touching his cheek. The cold stung, but he barely noticed.

He swallowed, his voice a low rasp. "You're beautiful."

The words were a whisper, almost lost in the wind. He hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly, so…exposed. But the sight of you, framed by the snow-covered peaks, had rendered him incapable of coherent thought.

Your eyes widened slightly, and a blush bloomed on your cheeks, a delicate counterpoint to the healthy glow of the mountain air. "Lando," you said softly, "you okay? Are you coming down with something?"

He blinked, shaking himself slightly. "No, I'm fine. More than fine, actually. You just…you look incredible."

Steve coughed pointedly beside him. Max, having apparently teleported from the top of the mountain, snickered. Lando shot them both a warning glare. They knew how self-conscious you were, especially around his racing colleagues.

The comments section of his social media had been a cesspool ever since you two became public. Hateful words about your appearance, thinly veiled as concerned opinions that you weren’t “his type,” were a constant, ugly background noise.

He knew it bothered you, even though you tried to brush it off with a laugh and a casual, "Haters gonna hate." But he saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes when you thought no one was looking.

He hated those comments, hated the people who wrote them, and hated that they had the power to make you feel anything less than extraordinary.

He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Ignore them," he said, his voice firm, his gaze locked on yours.

You looked confused. "Ignore who? Max and Steve?"

"Everyone," he said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Anyone who makes you feel like you're anything less than perfect. Because you are. Perfect. Just the way you are."

The blush on your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head slightly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "You're sweet," you mumbled. "But I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

"Good," Lando said fiercely. "You're mine. And that's all that matters." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, ignoring Max's exaggerated gagging noises.

He pulled back and met your gaze, his expression serious. "Listen to me. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not beautiful, or that you're not good enough, or that you don't belong. Because they're wrong. They’re absolutely, unequivocally wrong. You’re amazing, inside and out. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re fiercely intelligent, and yes, you’re unbelievably beautiful. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you."

A tear, born of emotion and the biting wind, escaped your eye. "You're going to make me cry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Good," Lando said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Let them see you cry. Let them see how real and how beautiful you are. Don't hide anything. Don't let anyone dim your light."

He knew his words were bold, maybe even a little cheesy, but he meant every single one of them. He wanted you to know, deep down, that he saw you, truly saw you, and that nothing anyone said would ever change that.

Max, surprisingly, had stopped snickering. He clapped Lando on the shoulder. "Alright, mate, enough with the declarations of love. Let's hit the slopes. Before I get frostbite."

Steve nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Lando. You can gush later. Right now, let’s see if your girl’s got what it takes.” He winked at you. “No pressure.”

You smiled, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Pressure is my middle name," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's go."

Lando grinned, relieved to see the familiar spark back in your eyes. He squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.

He watched as you adjusted your goggles and clicked your poles into the snow. He felt a surge of pride watching you. He knew the comments would still be there, lurking in the shadows of the internet, waiting to pounce.

But he also knew that you were strong. You were resilient. And you had him.

He grabbed his own skis, a newfound confidence coursing through him. He would protect you, always. But more than that, he would celebrate you, every freckle, every fiery strand of hair, every brilliant facet of your being.

As you pushed off, gracefully navigating the gentle slope, Lando felt a lightness in his heart that had nothing to do with the altitude. He knew, without a doubt, that their love story was just beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

He followed you down the slope, his orange ski suit a beacon against the white snow. He caught up to you easily, skiing alongside you, matching your pace.

"So," he said, grinning mischievously. "Think you can keep up with me, ginger?"

You laughed, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the mountains. "Try me, Papaya boy."

And with that, you kicked it up a notch, leaving Lando in your snowy wake.

He laughed, his heart soaring.

He pushed off, determined to catch up, knowing that even if he never did, he would be perfectly content just to chase you, forever. . . .

The papaya coloured dress hung on you, a vibrant splash of sunshine in the sterile white bathroom. It was Lando’s favourite colour, or so he claimed. He said it reminded him of McLaren, of speed, of… you.

But all you could see in the mirror was a canvas of imperfections.

Your reflection stared back, a stranger dissected and judged. The fiery red hair, usually a source of pride, now felt like a neon sign screaming "OUT OF PLACE."

The constellation of freckles scattered across your nose and cheeks, tiny sun-kissed stars Lando often traced with his fingertip, seemed like blemishes, flaws magnified under the harsh bathroom light.

The original plan, a simple elegance of no-makeup and loose waves, lay discarded. You'd envisioned a carefree evening, a confident entrance with Lando by your side.

Now, the thought of facing the public, the prying eyes, the inevitable whispers, felt like climbing a mountain of anxiety.

Social media had been a minefield lately. Ever since your relationship with Lando Norris became public, the comment sections had become a breeding ground for toxicity. Most were overwhelmingly supportive, celebrating your love.

But a persistent undercurrent of negativity gnawed at your confidence. The "fans," or rather, the internet trolls masquerading as them, were relentless.

“She’s not his type.”

“He could do so much better.”

“Ginger? Really? He's lowering his standards.”

The worst were the comments picking apart your appearance. The freckles, the hair, the perceived lack of "glamour." They painted you as an anomaly, someone who didn't belong in Lando's world. It was absurd, of course.

Lando loved you for you. He told you every day. But the insidious nature of online hate was that it seeped in, whispering doubts in your ear when you were most vulnerable.

Tonight, facing a McLaren party filled with glamorous personalities and industry insiders, the doubts had reached a crescendo. You grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, dabbing at the corners of your eyes, fighting back the overwhelming urge to cry.

The reflection in the mirror blurred, the colours swam, and the vibrant papaya felt like a mocking reminder of everything you weren't.

That’s when you heard the familiar click of the front door.

“Y/n?” Lando’s voice echoed through the house, a warm, comforting sound that momentarily cut through the anxiety clouding your mind.

Panic seized you. You couldn't let him see you like this, a mess of insecurities and mascara-smeared cheeks. You needed to compose yourself, to build up a façade of confidence before facing him.

Quickly, you turned the small lock on the bathroom door. The click was loud in the sudden silence.

“Y/n?” he called again, his voice closer now. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just… just getting ready,” you managed, trying to inject a lightness into your tone that felt utterly fake. Your voice wavered, betraying your true state. “I’ll be out in a second.”

You heard him pause outside the door. “You sure? You sound… different.”

He knew you too well. He always did. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears away. “Just a bit of a headache. Nothing serious.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken concern. You could almost feel his presence on the other side of the door.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But don’t rush. I’m happy to wait. Do you want me to get you some water?”

His thoughtfulness, his unwavering care, only made the guilt swell inside you. He was so genuine, so supportive, and here you were, hiding from him, consumed by the petty insecurities fueled by strangers on the internet.

“No, I’m fine,” you insisted, a little too quickly. “Just… give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Alright,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. You heard him move away from the door. “I’ll be in the living room.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning against the cool porcelain of the sink. This couldn’t go on. You couldn't let these hateful comments dictate your life, dictate your relationship.

Lando deserved better. You deserved better.

Taking a deep breath, you turned on the cold tap, splashing water on your face. You grabbed a towel and gently patted your skin dry, removing the remnants of your almost-attempted makeup.

You looked at yourself again, really looked.

The fiery hair, the freckles, the flaws… they were all part of you. They were what made you unique, what made you you. And Lando loved you for it. He saw beauty where others saw imperfections.

He saw strength where others saw vulnerability. Why were you letting the opinions of anonymous strangers outweigh the love and adoration of the man you adored?

You let out a shaky sigh, a weight lifting from your shoulders. It wasn't a complete cure, the insecurities wouldn't vanish overnight, but it was a start.

With newfound resolve, you took another look at the papaya dress. It shimmered under the light, a vibrant symbol of sunshine and joy. You smoothed the fabric down, a small smile gracing your lips.

You unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out.

Lando was standing in the living room, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as you entered, his face immediately lighting up. He was wearing a simple dark suit, impeccably tailored, but it was the genuine warmth in his eyes that truly caught your attention.

He took a step towards you, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. The smile widened.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice laced with admiration. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You blushed, the compliment genuine and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

He closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, tracing the familiar pattern of your freckles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “You seemed a bit… off earlier.”

You hesitated, the urge to brush it off still lingering. But you knew you couldn't hide from him. He deserved the truth.

“I… I saw some comments online,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “About… about me. About not being ‘your type.’”

His expression darkened, his eyes hardening with anger. “Don’t you dare listen to those people, Y/n,” he said fiercely, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

“They don’t know anything. My ‘type’ is someone who is kind, intelligent, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. Someone who makes me laugh every single day. Someone who challenges me and supports me, even when I’m being an idiot. That’s you, Y/n. That's always been you."

He paused, his gaze searching yours, making sure you understood the sincerity of his words.

"And as for the… the physical stuff," he continued, his voice softening again. "Your hair is the most beautiful shade of red I've ever seen. Your freckles are like little constellations, guiding me through the darkness. And that little dimple you get when you smile? Drives me absolutely crazy."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough, Y/n. Because to me, you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude, of love.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I love you, Lando,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his jacket.

He held you tight, his arms a comforting embrace. “I love you too, Y/n. More than you know.”

After a long moment, you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you.

Lando was right. You couldn't let the negativity of others define you. You had his love, his support, and that was all that mattered.

You looked at him, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Ready to go to this party?"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. And just so you know, I'm planning on spending the entire night showing you off to everyone. They need to see how lucky I am."

He took your hand in his, his fingers interlacing with yours. As you walked out the door together, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The haters could say what they wanted. You had Lando, you had your love, and that was more than enough. The papaya dress suddenly felt like armour, not a target.

You were ready to face the world, hand in hand, imperfections and all. . . .

The party was exactly what you expected: loud music, flashing lights, and a sea of familiar faces from the F1 world – drivers, team principals, engineers, and their partners.

The sheer volume of people made your anxiety prickle, but Lando kept a firm grip on your hand, navigating you through the crowd.

He introduced you to what felt like a hundred people, his arm possessively around your waist, his smile beaming. You tried to focus on the conversations, to be witty and engaging, but the whispers seemed to follow you, phantom echoes of the comments haunting your mind.

“Lando’s with her?”

“She’s… different.”

“Not exactly what I expected.”

You squeezed Lando’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself. He seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, his attention solely focused on you.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the music.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s… great.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching. He knew you better than anyone, and he could see the forced cheerfulness masking your discomfort.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “If you want to leave, we can. We don’t have to stay here.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here. With you.”

He smiled, relieved. "Okay, but seriously, if you change your mind, just say the word."

Just then, a tall, lanky figure approached, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Lando! Mate, good to see you.”

“Oscar!” Lando clapped him on the back. “Good to see you too. Oscar, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar offered you his hand, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You shook his hand, trying to gauge his expression. Was there judgment there? Pity? You couldn’t tell. “Likewise, Oscar. Congratulations on your season so far.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile genuine. "It's been... interesting, to say the least." He paused, then gestured to a woman standing beside him. "And this is my girlfriend, Lily."

Lily stepped forward, her smile warm and inviting. She had kind eyes and a simple elegance that immediately put you at ease. "It's lovely to meet you, Y/N. Lando talks about you all the time."

You blushed, glancing at Lando, who just winked. "All good things, I hope?"

Lily laughed. "Of course! He's completely smitten."

The four of you fell into easy conversation, discussing the season, the pressures of being in the spotlight, and the challenges of maintaining relationships in such a demanding environment.

You found yourself relaxing, the tension slowly draining away. Lily was refreshingly down-to-earth, and Oscar, despite his reserved demeanour, had a dry wit that you found endearing.

As the conversation flowed, you noticed Lily subtly steer the topic towards your interests, asking about your work, your hobbies, and your passions.

She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, not just as Lando’s girlfriend, but as an individual.

“So, Y/N” Lily said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “Lando tells me you’re a writer? That’s fascinating! What kind of writing do you do?”

“I dabble in a bit of everything,” you replied, feeling your confidence grow. “Short stories, poetry, some freelance journalism. It depends on what sparks my interest, really.”

“That’s amazing,” she gushed. “I’ve always admired people who can write. It’s such a powerful way to express yourself.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “It is. I’m useless at it. Give me a steering wheel any day.”

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, your earlier anxieties fading into the background. You were having a genuine, enjoyable conversation, with people who seemed to genuinely care about you.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise. “Lando, darling! There you are!”

A woman, dripping in diamonds and designer clothes, glided towards you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe with blatant disapproval. You recognized her as the wife of a prominent team principal, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper judgment.

Lando’s smile faltered slightly as he turned to face her. “Genevieve, good to see you.”

She completely ignored Oscar and Lily, her gaze fixed on you. “And who is this, Lando? A new… acquaintance?”

You felt your cheeks flush, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. You knew what was coming.

Lando’s arm tightened around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “This is your girlfriend? How… interesting.” Her tone dripped with condescension. “Well, congratulations, darling. I’m sure you’re very happy.”

She turned back to Lando, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lando, darling, you really could do so much better. Don't you want to think about your image?”

You felt your heart sink. This was it. The moment of truth. You braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of negativity.

But then, something unexpected happened. Lando’s eyes flashed with anger, and his grip on your waist tightened protectively.

“I’m perfectly happy, thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “And Y/N is more than enough. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

He turned his back on the woman, effectively dismissing her. He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, still reeling from the encounter. “Yeah,” you mumbled. "I'm okay

Lily stepped forward, her expression fierce. “Honestly, some people are just ridiculous,” she said, her voice laced with scorn. “Don’t let her get to you, Y/N. She’s just jealous.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got nothing better to do than spread negativity. Ignore her.”

Lando squeezed your hand. “They’re right. Don’t let her ruin your night.”

You looked at them, at Lando, at Lily, at Oscar. You saw genuine support, genuine kindness, genuine acceptance. And suddenly, the weight on your chest lifted. The comments, the whispers, the judgment – they didn’t matter.

You had people who loved you, who supported you, who valued you for who you were, not for who the internet thought you should be.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not going to let her ruin my night.”

Lando grinned, relieved. “That’s the spirit. Now, how about we get out of here and go somewhere more… private?” He winked suggestively.

Lily laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Oscar, you’re driving, right? I’ve had one too many cocktails.”

As you walked away, hand in hand with Lando, you glanced back at Lily and Oscar, a warm feeling of gratitude washing over you. You had found unexpected allies, people who saw past the surface and appreciated you for who you were.

You were still an outsider, still a ginger with freckles, still not “his type” according to the internet. But tonight, surrounded by love and support, you didn’t care. You had Lando, you had friends, and you had the courage to be yourself.

And that, you realised, was more than enough. The papaya dress no longer felt like armour, but a symbol of your strength, your resilience, and your unwavering commitment to being true to yourself.

You were you and you were happy. . . .

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername and 867,879 others

landonorris

Happy anniversary to my beautiful girl. Two years. Two years of laughter, adventures, and learning to love you more fiercely every single day. I know the internet can be a dark place, especially for someone as radiant as you. Don't listen to anyone who talks about you bad, especially those whispering nonsense about "types." They see a snapshot; I see the whole damn masterpiece.

Your fiery hair is sunshine on a cloudy day, each freckle a tiny star mapping out the constellation of my heart. They don't see the intelligence that sparkles in your eyes, the quick wit that keeps me on my toes, or the unwavering kindness you show to everyone you meet. They don’t see you. You are everything I could ever want, and more than I ever deserve. So, happy anniversary, my love. Let's keep painting our world with joy, ignoring the noise, and celebrating the beautiful, unique you. I love you more than words can say. ❤️

comment has been restricted

[intoanotherworld23]

Our Secret Of Rome

Summary: You and general Marcus can’t hold back both your desire for one another, only problem is you’re the fiancé of emperor Geta

Warnings: explicit content, mature themes, smut, unprotected sex, cheating, reader having an affair with Marcus, mention of death and execution, submissive reader, dominant Marcus

A/N: hello my lovelies I hope that you enjoyed this one and if you did be sure to reblog so others may enjoy and leave comments I would greatly appreciate it! If you wish to be added to my Pedro tag list let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add you! Thanks everyone again for your continued support! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader

“Marcus someone could see us.” Whispering as he had you pinned your naked body up against the stone wall your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His large hands keeping a grip on the fat flesh of your cheeks.

“By the gods I do not care.” Growling as he lifted your hips before slamming you down on his length. A sharp gasp slipping past your lips as you bit down on his shoulder to quiet your cries. “No no my love let them hear you.”

“Marcus.” Pleading with him to stop now before you both get in trouble, but also wanting so desperately to scream his name so everyone throughout the whole of Rome could hear. Only problem is you are emperor Geta’s fiancé.

“I only wish to hear your screams of pleasure.” Rutting his hips up into you the sounds of your flesh smacking against his echoing through your room. Your skin already sticking to his noticing how warm and sweaty he was.

This was wrong all wrong. You both knew the consequences if someone were to catch you both like this. Geta would have both of you executed with no hesitation. It was a major risk to even be in a room alone with another man, but that for some reason didn’t stop either of you.

“Marcus we can’t do this.” Whispering out of breath already keeping your arms wrapped around his neck feeling the burning stretch of his cock started to go away. His touch and voice had you feeling weak that you couldn’t resist him anymore.

“Then why do you keep such a tight grip on me princess?” He mocked you with a smirk as he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck. “Is it because you desire to be fucked by a real man?”

“Yes by the gods yes.” Finally giving in as you felt yourself lifting your hips up slightly to meet his thrusts. Marcus saw immediately what you were going, and all he could do was groan as he turned around and carried you over to the bed. Your back landing on the bed his cock still inside you. Untangling your legs placing them on his shoulders.

“Even the emperor Geta couldn’t fuck you like me.” The new angle was stretching you even more. Not knowing how it was even possible to feel Marcus deeper inside of you. “Not even the gods themselves.”

Proceeding to rut himself roughly inside of you rocking the bed back and forth. Marcus looking down at your face noticing how it twisted and contorted with each thrust. Watching as your breasts bounced licking his lips noticing your erect nipples.

“You look better than the goddess Aphrodite herself.” Leaning forward on his elbows so his face was just inches from yours. Staring deep into your eyes it felt like it was just the two of you.

Drilling into your sweet spot over and over again you felt like you were up in the heavens. Marcus was a man with the mightiest touch. It could bring anyone to their knees. A little surprised that a man like him would want someone like you.

“Marcus please I’m close.” Informing as your body began to quiver a fire erupting in the pit of your stomach. Head tossed back in complete ecstasy unable to hold back anymore.

“Let go I am right here princess.” Marcus wasn’t far behind you either. Just wanting to see the look on your face as you come around him. His deep and seductive voice sending you over the edge. “That’s it my love let yourself go.”

He leaned forward his face pushed down between your neck and shoulder. The scruff of his beard tickling your skin. His lips pressed into the warmth of your flesh. Noticing the hint of rose and lavender coming from your skin soaking it in.

“Oh gods.” Feeling your body coming undone as your orgasm shook your entire core. Toes curling above his head as you closed your eyes, and felt yourself completely succumb to your pleasure. Your battered cunt was stretched and sore from his cock. His hands softly caressing your outer thighs as he stayed still inside of you.

Trying to catch your breath as your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. Your arm laid numbly by your side as your legs continued to slightly tremble. Marcus wanted to stay like this forever, but unfortunately that would be neither one of your fates.

Either this would be the last time you and Marcus could be together, or Geta would find out and have you both executed for treason. He was a cruel and evil man, and didn’t have the love and affection in him that Marcus has.

“I don’t want you to let me go Marcus.” Whispering to him as he lifted himself up to look at your face staring into your glazed over eyes.

“If that is what you desire then I shall never let you go.” Smiling hoping his words would comfort you, but he could still sense the worry on your face.

“You and I both know Geta would have us executed if he was to find out.” The thought of having to watch him die had your heart aching. Lip trembling hating to even say it out loud your eyes watering a tear falling down your cheek.

“Then we shall see each other in the after life.” Wiping the tear away as he held your cheek in the palm of his hand. “Where we can be together again.”

Marcus not waiting for your response as he rolled you both onto your sides facing each other. As he held you in his arms kissing your face until you smiled, and could sense your relief. Not knowing if this was your last night together. Until then he would just hold you as long as he could.

[avaredava]

I think we can all agree Satoru is so nice usually. But I think I NEED mean Satoru. He absolutely makes fun of you when you inevitably can't take all the dick he gives you, especially if you're folded up into like, mating press. Just calling you dirty names.

I'm fucking drooling holy lord

IM TWEAKING THAT IS SO YUMMY ISTG

I fucking love your ideas ilysm 😩 btw this one is kinda short i'm still sick but if you want a longer version just ask i'll make one ( ˘ ³˘)♥

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌ Sum

Mean Satoru Gojo (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

⯌ Wc

0.7k

it's really short but it's all mostly smut

⯌Warnings

Mean!Satoru, Fem!reader, Degradation, Humiliation. Overestimation, Edging, Bondage, Restraints, Impact Play (pussy spanking), Cervix bruising, bruising, brief mention of rope burn, Degradation & Humiliation, some aftercare, kinda kinky, breast playing, mating presses, eagle spread, vibrator that suctions, clit stim

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Satoru Gojo is one of the kindest and sweetest boyfriends you ever had. He would buy you everything you want and kiss you so gently it feels like an angel's kiss. One thing no one has ever expected was him to be so cruel when you both are having sex.

All your friends talked and gossiped about how "He'd just give you vanilla sex nothing that feels good.", "Orgasmless sex.", and "He's tall but probably a small dick." They chuckled and giggled about there own comments.

Little did you know when you joked about what they said about Satoru to him. He decided to prove them absolutely wrong.

_

"Toru! Fuck!" You whine as he slams his big cock inside you in the tightest mating press. His hips snapping wildly like he was so fucking desperate to make you and him cum he was about to cry from over stimulation but he doesn't fucking care.

You tried to move away from overstimulation since he's been edging you but his hips snapping and his hands gripping your shoulders making sure you can't move away.

All you can do is holler and squeal and beg for mercy. Obviously he doesn't. He pulled out for a second and you thought it was over so you let out a sigh of relief before you heard a buzz. Your eyes shot open and you squirm. He ties your wrists and legs bound to the bed post in a eagle spread.

Your nipples perked in the air with arousal your stomach moves up and down with harsh breaths. You let out a shaky breath as he puts the pink vibrator on your clit. It suctions with a click of a button and you yelp as the buzzing gets stronger and more stimulating.

"Your such a fucking slut. Talking about me with your friends, agreeing about these insults. One of those insults maybe being... orgasm-less sex hmm..?" He snarls at you raises the vibrations a notch.

"S-Satoru please I was joking!" You begged and hollered. You know there's no point. He's too pissed off to stop. "I don't fucking care Y/N. You're getting what you said I give you- or what i don't give you. Being a bad girl means no orgasms."

He shoves his fingers inside your pussy pushing against your sweet spot and you were on the brink before he takes the vibrator off while it was still suctioning so it caused a little sting and you whined.

He unties your legs but not your arms so you can't leave or stop him. Your legs shut close fast. "I swear to god Y/N stop closing your fucking legs. I undid them to put you in another position you slut. So keep your legs open." He snarls meanly at you but for some reason it got you more wet.

He put you into a mating press again, his dick hitting parts of you only he can hit. You holler and moan sweet music for his ears. He crushingly hits your cervix. It hurts so good you're at the brink of screaming. His hips snapped at this point both of your hips are bruised.

He grabs your tits aggressively. Tweaking your nipples. Your voice was hoarse from your screams so your moans were more quiet as fat tears dropped down your face. "Fucking slut."

He slapped your pussy, hard. He kept smacking as his thrusts got more bruising. Your cervix is at the point of bleeding. You do have a safe word but fuck it feels too good to stop.

"Y-Your so b-big 'Toru." You whine your eyes squeezed shut. "You can't take it? I thought you were my personal whore hm? My little slut can't even take my own dick." he grins meanly with an evil grin. He decides to take some mercy on you but with a price.

"I'll let you cum if you are a good girl and be quiet no moaning? Hm? Show how obedient you are?" He says wanting power over you. You nod frantically wanting him so bad you don't care what he says anymore.

His hips snap faster and you finally cum on his cock holding in your screams letting out cute noises as his hips don't stop moving crazy fast. He moves a hand down rubbing your clit prolonging your pain of trying to be quiet but the pleasure unknotting from your stomach your pussy feeling good with thrusts and rubs. It's so worth it.

He finally pulls out and unties your wrists kissing the rope burn marks gingerly pulling you close.

"Still gonna joke and make fun of me?"

Maybe you will, maybe just maybe, you want that all again.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Sorry ya'll it's kinda short 😖

[madridfangirl]

But what if?

(Plot: Jude's girlfriend mentioned a threesome as her fantasy during a couple intimacy quiz. He goes mad, loses his shit, and she makes up to him, in more ways than one.)

1.5k words. Mature language.

..................................................................................................

After a rambunctious session on the couch, Ananya laid in Jude’s arms. Exhausted. Like she’d fall apart if even a feather touched her right now.

Jude surveyed her spent form, with a half-satisfied and half-guilty look. Her body bore the signs of his emotional upheaval, more than usual this time. She was still panting a bit, still sweaty, despite him cleaning her as gently as he could.

Both were silent for different reasons. She was trying to regain coherence while he was partly lost in his head.

A few minutes later, she recovered enough to open her eyes and saw his faraway look. Her fingers traced his cheek softly, bringing him back.

‘Hey.’

She smiled lazily at him. Stretching her arms & legs tentatively & sighing at the soreness. His observant eyes watching every move.

‘Sorry.’

She snuggled closer, while continuing to smile knowingly.

‘Liar, you like making a mess of me.’

He did. A lot. It was a reminder of their passionate bouts. He liked her having to use make-up or dress smartly to hide his marks. Or walk funnily a bit. But just a bit. Not too much. Never too much. 

The sincerity & turmoil in his eyes tugged at her heart. She leaned in to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

‘Baby, I’m ok. More than ok actually. Really, don’t worry about it.’

He nodded. But didn’t kiss her back like he usually would have, something she noticed. Plus he was still avoiding her eyes.

She understood he was still not over the threesome comment. In hindsight, it was monumentally stupid of her to even mention it. Especially when it wasn’t so much a fantasy but a random idea she had thought of, just once or twice. For someone so measured with her thoughts & her words, who was supposed to be the smart one, she acted like a complete idiot here & made a royal mess of things. Jude would take it badly, it should have been clear as day to her!

But the damage was done, and she’d do whatever it takes to show him it didn’t mean anything.

Ananya held his cheek and turned him slowly to face her, gazing straight into the deep bottomless pool that were his eyes. 

‘I love you. So much. More than I can explain. You know that, right?’

He didn’t say anything, which turned her more desperate to get through to him.

‘Oh Jude. Have you ever felt anything else but absolute loyalty from me? You’re everything, honey. More than that. You’re so good to me. Just the best boyfriend, hands down. Pls don’t let one stupid mistake play on your mind.’

‘But you don’t make mistakes, not really. You say what’s in your heart, what you really, truly mean.’

And therein lied the problem. Jude always put her on a pedestal - to say the right thing, to do the right thing, to handle things the right way. To him, she was the personification of all things good, pure & real in the world. Something like this coming from her was more than a low-blow or a bodyblow. It nearly shattered him.

‘Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone. Some lesser than the others but no one is flawless. Today was my turn to fuck up. And man did I fuck up.’

‘You really did.’

‘I know. And I’m so so sorry.’

He didn’t acknowledge the apology, not because he wanted to tease her or get something in return (that would have been so much easier), but because he was still stuck on something. She could see that clearly.

‘Do you…think about this….when we….when we are…’

She cupped his face with both hands, mustering all her love in her voice.

‘Jude - I am barely coherent when we are together. When you touch me like that. Can’t think of my own address, how would I think of anyone or anything else?’

Now this assuaged him immediately. Because he knew this to be true. Once they were together in her room, indulging in each other, when Roma had walked in. Their door was unlocked, she heard her walk into the apartment but forgot her name and Jude had to prompt to understand what she was mumbling. So far gone was she with him so perfectly seated inside her. Later, she had begged Jude to never mention it to Roma, else her best friend here would get offended. Ananya had also added that if he does mention it, she’d flat out deny & call him a liar. Her word against his.

The hint of smile on his face was all the wiggle room she needed.

Ananya leaned closer, relishing his breath on her face, and covered his lips with hers. A soft, slow, lingering kiss, which he grew into, finally relaxing into her mouth.

‘My prince.’

When they parted, she rubbed her cheek against his, just the way he liked. Jude relaxed further.

‘It’s just that….the image…of that….can’t get it out of my head.’

She saw that coming.

‘I can help with that.’

‘How?’

‘How about a different image?’

He looked at her, confused, mouth partly open. So cute & adorable like that. She traced his plump lips with her fingers lovingly, slowly, then tapped on them.

‘What if instead of another guy, there’s another girl…’

Jude’s mouth fell open in real time. She could barely suppress her smile at how well she had predicted this. 

‘…another girl, touching me like that, our bodies squished together, naked…..’

It was his turn to pant & sweat now, with that deliciously open mouth. His hot breath fanning her face.

‘…but you can’t touch either of us…’

Jude felt like someone was murdering him & reviving him simultaneously. He was speechless, not even a half-sound out of him, just staring at her gobsmacked.

‘…you can watch though. As we, you know, do stuff. How’s that for an image?’

He was still silent. That sinful tongue of his had made an appearance between his lips, as he tried to process that, mouth still hung open.

She felt particularly playful, strangely powerful in that moment. Ananya leaned in and slowly touched his tongue with hers, then tugged on it lightly with her teeth, quickly breaking away.

That brought him back to reality.

He looked in awe at his girlfriend, who was slowly batting her eyes at him, cheeks flushed, a picture of innocence and demureness. If he hadn’t heard this himself, he would never believe she was capable of saying such things. Or thinking such things.

But the sly smile was giving her away. Fully aware of what she was doing to him.

‘Not such a good girl anymore, are you?’

Oh she was. 100%. Compared to him & everything he had done, she was a saint. But the playfulness from earlier was still brimming in her.

‘Never said I was. You just thought of me as one.’

‘You little vixen.’

Jude looked her up & down. And debated in his head how feasible it would be to show her right now who was in charge. She may have cracked a few levels of this game but Jude was the absolute undisputed king of this dynamic, something he would never let her forget. Something that she needed to be reminded of. Against a wall maybe. 

But unfortunately, she was in no state for such a teaching right now. Jude wasn’t going to miss the chance to make his point though.

He locked his eyes with her, then inserted two of his fingers into her mouth. She was surprised, but slowly got used to the intrusion, and swirled her tongue around them, making him groan gutturally, like a wounded animal.

He grabbed her face, fingers digging into her soft skin. But his voice was calm, even. 

‘Sweet girl, I’m gonna ruin you. I’ll take everything from you. Everything that a man can take from a woman. And you’re gonna want to give it to me. Heck you’re gonna beg. I’ll make you.’

She suddenly felt hot & bothered, like her skin was on fire, making her whimper as his grip tightened further.

‘No man will ever see you like that. Touch you like that. I won’t let them. No one but me. NO ONE. Is that clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘See - I know how to turn you into a good girl. Just like that.’

She wanted to push him away for that patronising tone but somehow it just made her feel even more hot.

‘You can play all you want. Till I let you. Coz when I take my turn, doll, you have no idea the things we’ll do. The things I’ll do to you. This sweet little mind of yours can’t even imagine what all I have planned for us.’

With that, he picked her up slowly, minding her cramps & soreness, and carried her to his bedroom. She clung to him, hiding in his neck to cover her fluster, while all the previous irritation in him was replaced with the thrill of this game he had just discovered her to be capable of.

......................................................

Continuation of Couple Intimacy Quiz and Intimacy Quiz gone Awry. Can be read separately as well.

As always, let me know what you thought of it :)

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change Of Heart - 5 (Edited ver.)

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky stood near the dock, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. The waves lapped gently against the wooden posts, a rhythmic sound that did little to soothe the restlessness inside him. The sky had begun to darken, shades of deep blue swallowing the last traces of daylight.

"Sir, it's getting dark," his secretary reminded him softly, standing a few steps behind.

Bucky didn't respond immediately. Instead, he exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Did your parents divorce?"

The secretary blinked at the sudden question. "No, sir. But my sister did. She divorced her first husband."

Bucky hummed, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly. "Was it the right choice?"

"I think so," the secretary admitted. "She smiles more with her second husband. He was divorced too. Somehow, they complete each other. It’s like they both learned from their past mistakes."

Bucky finally turned to look at him. "How long have they been together now?"

"Five years."

Silence settled between them. Bucky lowered his gaze, staring at the ground as if lost in thought. His parents divorced when he was young. His father changed wives like the seasons, to where Bucky had lost count of how many stepmothers he'd had. And his mother—she had become a well-known rich cougar, the kind who made headlines.

When two broken people come together, they begin to heal. But what happened between him and you... something still hurts deep down. Though both of you completed each other, seeing you leave felt like it wasn’t enough.

Bucky had spent years running from his past, avoiding the feelings he buried deep within himself. He'd been afraid of truly connecting, terrified that giving in to love would mean vulnerability—and he’d never allowed himself to be vulnerable. But with you, something changed.

He started to open up, piece by piece. He had found solace in your presence, a kind of comfort he never thought he’d experience. You made him feel like maybe it was okay to be human.

But even as the wounds began to heal, a part of him remained fractured. The scars weren’t completely gone. And as he watched you walk away, that deep-seated fear—of losing someone, of being left behind—came rushing back. He realized he wasn’t as whole as he thought he was.

Without another word, Bucky pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen momentarily before he made the call. He held the device to his ear and started walking, his steps slow and aimless as he paced along the dimly lit dock. A few streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the worn planks beneath his feet.

The therapist answered after a few rings.

"My advice?" The voice on the other end was calm. "Let her go. Don't stop her. If she wants to come back, she will."

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His grip on the phone tightened. He didn’t agree.

"Do you have any sexual desire toward her?"

"No," he answered without hesitation.

"Do you feel safe when you're around her?"

"...Yes."

"Do you want to come home faster when you know she's waiting there?"

Bucky exhaled through his nose. "Yes."

The therapist paused before asking the last question.

"Do you have feelings for her?"

This time, Bucky hesitated. His lips parted, but the words didn't come as easily. "...No." But his voice lacked conviction.

The therapist remained silent for a beat before finally speaking.

"It will grow on you. Just wait and see."

Bucky lowered the phone, staring at the dark waters ahead. The wind picked up, tousling his hair, but he barely noticed. His chest felt tight, the answer lingering in his mind.

Had he really meant it?

The Next Day

Bucky followed you.

He shouldn’t have, but he did.

He was already waiting by the dock when you returned from your scuba diving lesson. You looked different—lighter, freer. The usual quiet presence he was familiar with had been replaced by someone more expressive, more alive. You laughed while talking to strangers, engaging with them in a way he had never seen before. When you were with him, you spoke to his colleagues, sure, but never like this. With them, it was polite conversation, surface-level. But now? You were glowing.

And Bucky didn't know how to feel about that.

You spotted him standing near the railing, and your smile faltered for just a second before returning. Surprise flickered in your eyes, but there was something else too—relief, maybe.

"You're still here," you said, your voice carrying a mix of disbelief and quiet gladness.

Bucky was about to respond, but then his gaze caught on you peeling off your wetsuit.

He froze.

It wasn’t like you were undressing provocatively—you were simply taking off your gear. But in the two years you'd been together, neither of you had ever seen the other completely bare. You had shared a home, a bed even, but always with an unspoken distance.

His throat went dry, and he forced himself to turn away, his jaw tightening.

Bucky had seen countless women undress before, but this—this was different. This was you. And it was as if some part of his brain refused to process it. He waited in silence, staring at the dark water until he heard your footsteps approaching.

You had changed into dry clothes and now stood beside him, leaning against the dock railing.

“I guess Grandpa won’t allow you to come home,” you said.

Bucky let out a dry chuckle. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch.”

He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re right. But I guess… I failed. You don’t want to come back.”

“Not yet.”

Silence. The waves rolled in and out, filling the space between you.

You looked out at the sea, your expression unreadable. Then, as if speaking more to yourself than to him, you asked, “Do you ever wonder why we’re compatible?”

It was a good question. Because in truth, on paper, you shouldn’t be.

Most marriage contracts like yours didn’t last. Some couples couldn’t even stand each other for the duration of their agreement. They broke it off before the ink had dried.

You exhaled through your nose, then said with a smirk, “Because both of us are ambitious as fuck.”

Bucky scoffed. He almost laughed, but he held it in, shaking his head instead.

Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, “If you love me, why are you leaving?”

You turned your head to look at him. Your eyes were softer now, but firm, steady.

“Bucky, I know you’re not ready for this. And I won’t push you. You need to figure it out yourself.”

His chest tightened.

He had spent years figuring himself out. Years battling the demons that kept him tethered to his past. But had he actually moved forward?

“I used this marriage contract to get money,” you admitted. “To have a higher status than my father. Feeling superior to him gave me satisfaction.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He understood that. He understood it too well.

He had never wanted to be in a relationship—not out of fear, but as an act of rebellion. His parents' marriage had been a disaster, a revolving door of broken vows and replacements. His father cycled through wives like a man cycling through business investments. His mother had responded by becoming one of the most infamous rich cougars in town, collecting younger lovers as if to prove something to the world.

Love, as far as Bucky had seen, was nothing more than a transaction.

He had despised it.

But now, standing here, he wasn’t so sure.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So this is goodbye, then?”

“For now,” you said, your voice gentle. “I just want to do what I’ve been holding back. I want to grow up.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean? We’re already in our thirties.”

You smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was knowing, understanding.

“I mean growing up from the trauma.” Your voice softened. “Bucky, both of us were stuck as kids because of what happened to us. Our pasts kept us frozen in time. But I don’t want to stay stuck anymore. I want to move forward. I want to leave the trauma behind.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He couldn't.

“The reason I didn’t come back,” you continued, “is because I still love you. And that terrifies me. I’m running away because I can’t be near you without feeling everything too much.”

Bucky sucked in a slow breath.

This was the first time anyone had ever said those words to him like this—with honesty, with vulnerability. It was the first time he had ever received a love confession that wasn’t transactional, that wasn’t tied to expectations.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

You stepped back. “I hope that the next time we meet, everything will be different.”

Bucky watched as you walked away, disappearing into the crowd. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a long moment. Then, slowly, he let out a shaky exhale.

Something was shifting inside him, something he didn’t have a name for. It wasn’t just loss. It wasn’t just regret.

It was something deeper.

A few moments later, he pulled out his phone and dialed his therapist.

When the call connected, his voice came out rough, almost reluctant.

“I think I’m starting to have… sexual desires toward her.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then, finally, his therapist sighed.

“Well, Bucky,” they said, “it looks like you’re finally catching up to your emotions.”

He decided to leave you alone, but that didn’t mean he stopped caring. No matter what, you had been there for him for two years. Marriage contract or not, you left a lasting impression on his life.

When he returned, his grandfather was waiting for him, clearly hoping you would step off the plane with Bucky.

When he saw Bucky coming down alone, Tom clicked his tongue. “You’re an idiot.”

Bucky sighed. “Give her time. She’ll be back.” Even though he's not sure when you'll be back.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

One Year Later

The café inside the park was quiet, tucked away between tall trees and winding pathways. The morning sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light onto the wooden tables.

Bucky sat alone, a tablet in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. He scrolled through reports, half-reading, half-listening to the sounds around him—the soft chatter of other patrons, the occasional bark of a dog, the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Then, a voice behind him made him nearly drop his tablet.

“I see you’re still a workaholic.”

His heart clenched. He knew that voice.

Slowly, he turned around—and there you were.

You stood before him, looking different yet familiar. Your skin was sun-kissed, your hair slightly lighter, and your presence felt… freer. There was an ease in your posture, a confidence in your stance that hadn’t been there before.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, as if making sure you were real. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I don’t work as much as I used to,” he admitted.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Really? Who’s been keeping up with all your work, then?”

“My parents.”

That made you pause. “Your parents?”

He nodded, setting down his tablet. “Yeah. I finally faced it. The whole mess.”

And it had been a mess. For years, he had avoided confronting the real cause of his fears—his childhood. He thought that refusing to engage in relationships was an act of defiance, proof that he had broken free from his parents' toxic cycle. But in reality, he had been trapped just like them. Stuck in the same story, just playing a different role.

It wasn’t fair.

They had lived their lives—moving on, getting remarried, collecting younger lovers, burning through money—while he had been the one frozen in time, afraid to take a single step forward.

So he had done something drastic.

He had cut them off.

No more allowances, no more endless funds. Their luxurious lifestyles had been fueled by company profits, and Bucky had put an end to it.

“This company is not a charity,” he had told them. “You’ve used its assets to fund your lifestyles for too long. If I let this continue, we’ll go down in history as the first corporation to bankrupt itself paying alimony.”

His father had been furious. His mother had scoffed. But in the end, they had no choice. They had to start working.

They had been terrible parents. But, ironically, they turned out to be decent employees.

"Both of them have stopped acting childish," he said. His parents had also stopped playing the roles of sugar daddy and cougar. It turned out money was the solution.

Now, here he was, sitting across from the one person he had waited a year to see again.

"I fixed my relationship with my parents, especially my dad," you replied.

"That's good to hear," he responded.

After spending some time with your dad, you realized that without the rivalry, he's an easygoing person. You started contacting him daily.

“Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Does this mean you don’t love me anymore?”

Your gaze softened. “No. I never stopped loving you.” You smiled, almost shyly. “I just had a feeling this time would be different.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I see. So you’ve completed your self-discovery?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, lighter than it had ever been. You talked about your travels, the people you had met, and the experiences that had changed you. Bucky listened, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark or a teasing comment, making you laugh. It felt easy—natural.

Then, as if it were nothing, you casually said, “I broke my leg climbing down a mountain.”

“What?!” His eyes widened, panic flashing through them.

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Some nuns from a nearby chapel helped me. They took care of me for a month.”

Bucky frowned, his mind racing. So that’s why you didn’t post an update for a month.

You nodded. “Yeah. They prayed for me.” Then, after a pause, you admitted, “I’ve never prayed before. But I started to. Admitting my anger, my sins… it made the weight feel lighter. I guess I’m sharing my burdens with God now.” You studied his reaction carefully. “Do you think I’ve turned into a religious freak?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. As long as you found peace.”

Silence settled between you, but it was a comfortable one.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

“Caramel Macchiato, hot, less sugar… right?”

You blinked, then gave him a thumbs-up. He smirked before getting up and heading toward the cashier.

When he returned, he placed the coffee in front of you, watching as you took a small sip.

Then you said, “On my way here, I passed by a cinema playing Interstellar.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with interest. That was his favorite movie—the one he always watched when he had time alone.

“Really?”

“You interested?” You pulled out two tickets and held them up.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Let’s go.”

As you both walked side by side, he glanced at you.

“You know,” he said, “you could share your burdens with me too.”

You turned to him, your expression unreadable.

Was that… a proposal?

Bucky continued, his tone calm but firm. “We’ve known each other for two years. You left for one. And yet, you came back with the same feelings. And I waited a year for you to come back.”

Your heart pounded.

This time, it wasn’t just a contract. It wasn’t a transaction.

It was something real. Something earned.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of it.

This time, there was a difference between them.

Before, they had been trapped—chained to the past, repeating old patterns, clinging to wounds that refused to heal. They had mistaken their pain for identity, their fears for inevitability.

But now, they had changed.

Not because time had passed, but because they had made the choice to move forward.

They had faced their demons, made peace with their scars, and learned to let go. Bucky was no longer a man protesting love out of spite. And you were no longer someone running away to find yourself.

You had both found your own way—separately.

And yet, in the end, that path had led you back to each other.

-The End-

Epilogue:

Bucky suddenly remembered something. “I should call Grandpa to let him know you’re back.”

You chuckled. “Oh, I already met him when I landed. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

Bucky smiled and shook his head. Even after a year, you still cared about Tom.

After watching the movie, he will take you to meet Tom. His grandpa will welcome you with open arms and finally stop calling him an "idiot."

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[notlongtolove]

petals and frost

hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. an agent liaison from the nyc office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. a brief attachment, hotch had said. too bad spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst w no happy ending (sowie)

content: avoidant bau reader, non descriptive mentions of sex

word count: 2.8k words

note: written for @mggslover 1k event, congrats once again my love!!! yall can blame @esote-rika for that sadistic ending, i idea dumped that on her and said i didnt know if it wld be too angsty and she begged me to use it so... fuck yalls valentines ig (anyways spencer reid, just know that i, user notlongtolove, would neverrrr do that to you)

a line: You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again.

And some part of me came alive, the first time that you called me ‘baby’ The perfect genius of our hands and mouths. - Hozier, First Time

Hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. An agent liaison from the NYC office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. You were easy to like, easy to talk to, definitely easy on the eyes. A brief attachment, Hotch had said. The phrase seemed almost oxymoronic—Spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind. 

As it turns out, there are a lot of other things Spencer forgets around you. When you twist your hair into a haphazard ponytail mid briefing, he forgets the third personality trait of a classified sociopath. You don’t. Interpersonal offensiveness, Reid. That’s criminology 101. Emily makes a comment under her breath about his IQ being slashed in half. If you do hear her, you pretend not to. 

When you slide a beer across the table after your first case, he forgets that he doesn’t drink, masking a grimace as he takes a sip. You’re trying. He doesn’t want you to feel bad. By the time he’s on his second, his face is warm. Too fast, he tells himself. From the alcohol, definitely not from the way your thigh is pressed against his in the booth.

Later, when you’ve got him pinned against the wall under a dim lamppost kissing him breathless, he tries to forget the bureau’s policy on interoffice relationships. It’s after hours. You’re not really part of the team. You’re here contractually. A technicality. He can make an exception. 

You run your hands through his hair tugging faintly and he decides he will make an exception. 

The only thing Spencer doesn’t forget that night is the route from O’Keefe’s to his apartment though it’s a blur all the way from the cab to his apartment to his bed. He pulls you through his front door, fingers curled tight around your wrist. A tangle of limbs and lips pressed against lips feverishly, desperately—He’s certain he’s got that memorised. 

“I’m not…” you start, voice faltering between kisses, searching for the right words that just aren’t coming when you’re straddling him and he’s looking at you the way that he is, “not looking for anything… serious.”

Alarm bells go off in his head blaring amidst the euphoric haze he’s in. It’s a warning he registers but doesn’t heed. Caution. Danger ahead. He tells himself that if he squints hard enough, that if he really really tries—It’s a challenge. And Spencer Reid has never backed down from a challenge.

So he bites. Takes the bait. Plays along.

“What makes you think I am?”

You smirk like you don’t believe him but your fingers move to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt anyways. He tries to laugh when you joke about how you should definitely apply for a permanent spot on the team now, but it sticks in his throat. He distracts himself by closing his eyes.

“Spencer,” you say breathlessly, “you sure about this, baby?” 

His eyes snap open so fast it startles you, leaving you flustered, halfway to pulling back before his grip tightens at your waist, keeping you right where you are. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“W-what’d you just say?”

You blink back at him. “I asked if you’re sure about—”

“No, the—the other part. The last part.”

A pause. Then, deliberately, “Baby?”

Oh fuck. 

“Y-yeah. That.” He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s bracing for impact. “Say it again. Please.”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back a laugh as you lean down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down his bare chest, whispering against his skin, “whatever you want baby.” Spencer has to force his eyes shut again.

You mark him up in the shades of purple wildflowers. Spencer shivers at the sight of them. Theres not much talking when skin finally meets skin. Spencer’s starved, insatiable, burning hot and ice cold all at once. This okay, baby? Yes, yes, god, yes. Can I? Yes, please, please do. Sweat pools around your bodies and Spencer tries to forget how much he wants to remember this moment. The purple wildflowers bloom across his skin—deadnettle, henbit, african violets. 

Oh, he thinks, this one’s gonna hurt, isn’t it? 

When Spencer wakes the next morning, he’s only mildly afraid to open his eyes.

He’s never done this before—doesn’t know what to expect. But he knows enough to predict the possibilities. Regret. Yours, not his. Shame, embarrassment, maybe even anger. You’ll be gone. Nothing left behind but the imprint of your body on his sheets, marks of purple left in your wake. 

Spencer Reid does not like not knowing. 

So he braces himself, steels his nerves, and opens his eyes—only to be met with something far worse.

You. 

Still here.

Curled up beside him, peaceful, angel deep in sleep, gut wrenchingly soft. In sleep, you’re nothing like how you are on the field. Out there, you’re a good shot, a great one, you think quick on your feet, you’re confident, never stuttering or stumbling like he does. You’re heaven on earth, right in his bed—He’s utterly ruined for it. He doesn’t know what possesses him to move closer, to let newfound confidence guide his arm around your waist. But he does. You stir, just barely, waking to the feeling of his lips pressed into your hair.

The morning melts into something else entirely. An abandoned attempt at breakfast in bed, clothes forgotten in a scattered trail from the kitchen counter to the couch. Unsanitary, he’d think, if he weren’t already too far gone to care. The boy’s insatiable once again, chasing a thirst only you seem to have awakened in him. It’s fiery and passionate as drinks you in, icy cold hisses when you nip at his neck. But you’re neither summer nor winter. You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again. The way your nails claw at his back, marks of sinful desire turning into ivy that grows to cover you both. It’s entirely all encompassing.

God, you have him in the palm of your hand and you don’t even know it. 

Dancing around the team is its own kind of purgatory. Turtlenecks in sweltering Texas heat which you make up for with a fleeting kiss to his cheek in the break room when everyone else has their back turned. Spencer tells himself to keep his feelings in check, to keep his adoration at bay. But it’s hard to when you exist so seamlessly within the liminal spaces of the team. Always in Hotch’s good books. Cracking jokes just dirty enough to make Morgan laugh and Rossi raise a brow. Even JJ loves you.

Silently, Spencer thanks the BAU’s abysmal budget for the run-down motel they’ve stuck you in. It makes it that much easier to convince you to stay at his place—only for a night or two, maybe three, maybe four, eventually a Baby, Hotch is gonna call us in soon anyway, and the freeway near yours is a nightmare in the mornings. You might as well stay one more night. He seals with a look, a soft plea, and you cave every time.

5 months and a week is what you’ve built together. Your days are disgustingly domestic and Spencer just can’t seem to get enough. It’s not like the two of you go out much. Long days (and longer nights) in the field leave you both drained, running on fumes. Just enough energy left to call in takeout accompanied with something strong for you, water for him. Just enough left to trade lazy kisses between bites and fall into bed tangled together. This is it, isn’t it?

Waking to rushed mornings, shared showers, half-hearted protests when you insist on shampooing his hair for him. Bare feet on hardwood floors and the bumping of hips in the kitchen as he makes coffee for two. Rendezvous on a crappy motel mattress that creaks beneath the weight of both of you when you run out of clothes for the week. Baby, we shouldn’t really—swallowed by the press of lips.

Your laughter comes to him in little bursts of light. You’re his absolute heart in human form. 

The purple wildflowers haven’t made an appearance in awhile but spring blooms in his chest all the same. When you inevitably drift off to the sound of his voice reading Spencer makes a mental note to bring The Iliad when he comes to visit. You’ll probably be done with Dante’s inferno by then. The weak fistful you have of his shirt tightens ever so slightly in your sleep and he knows what you want. He turns to shut off the light and fits himself against you, tucking you closer to his chest. Spencer tries to distract himself from the fact that you’re set to leave in a month. He’d drink dry the River Lethe to forget it if he could. Instead, in the quiet, he allows himself to think about what the weather will be when he gets the chance to visit you. 

He’s always wanted to go to New York. He’s never been the best flyer and he doesn’t know how he’ll fare on a flight without the comfort of his team and the jet’s coffeemachine. It’ll have to make do, he thinks. It’s only a little over an hour’s flight. He tells himself it’s basically nothing. He can handle it. Besides, he can always make the eight hour drive, or the six hour train. The options are endless, much like his devotion to you—He’ll walk to you if he has to. 

“Do you think you’ll have time for a trip when I come visit?” Spencer asks one night, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. You’re too busy fumbling with the buttons of his pants to catch the lovelorn grin tugging at his lips. “I know there’s probably a lot to see in New York, but I’ve been saving my days off. And if I catch Hotch on a good day, I think I could carve out a few more.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know,” you murmur, distractedly, “I usually don’t get much time off when I’m back. Let me know if you are planning to come, though—I’d love to show you around for a day or two.”

The fuck? 

Show him around? A day or two?

It’s frosty. Ice cold. A slow caress of his cheek at arms length. Cruel in the way that kindness can be. He tenses beneath you, shifting upright so suddenly that you blink up at him, confused.

“Everything okay, baby?”

The frown on his face indicates he’s anything but okay. “Yeah,” Spencer lies. “I just… I just thought—I mean, you knew I was planning to come visit, right?”

You hesitate. “Spence, we didn’t really discuss that, I—”

“I know we didn’t.” He tries to keep his frustration subtle, but it slips through when he runs a hand through his hair sharply. “But this? Us? How could I not?”

You try again, gentler this time. “Oh, baby, you don’t have to. I know you’re really busy, and—”

“I want to.”

The realisation settles slowly into your features. And then, quietly—naively—he lets himself ask, “Don’t you want me to?” 

Silence.

Oh. 

Somewhere deep inside him the ivy shrivels and the purple wildflowers wither. It appears that spring has come to a close. 

“Spencer,” you say gravely, “I thought we talked about this—” He doesn’t hear the rest. It all dissolves into static, white noise humming in his skull. He hates that tone on you—the way it sounds so careful, so deliberate. Its how you talk to Hotch, to unsubs, to people that need to be managed. Never how you talk to him. Not how you talk to him when you share sly jokes and interlock pinkies at the back of the van, thighs touching when you share a blanket in the jet. Not how you talk when you whisper baby, stop, someones gonna see us when he insists on a chaste kiss to your nose and another to your forehead—Because how could he ever stop at one?

He blinks back into focus when you reach for his hand, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He should brace for the inevitable. He knows what’s coming, but he’s too far gone for it to matter, too far off the deep end for it to hurt now. What’s a stab to the heart when you make up for it with cotton-soft kisses and a feather light touch? I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t be sad. I wish I could stay too. Don’t be mad, okay? I don’t want you to be mad at me. As if he ever could be. Not when you’re kissing him the way that you are. Still, Spencer tries to tell himself that the wildflowers that bloom into rosettes beneath your touch are fragile things. He tries to carve it into his bones to remind himself that they won’t survive the winter of your absence.

It starts with the smallest frost, like soft snowflakes clinging to his lashes, signs he might have missed if he wasn’t already looking out for them. “Baby, you shouldn’t have,” you say when he comes home with a restock of your makeup remover. Spencer only shrugs, wordless. He knows you mean it. Not out of politeness, not out of gratitude, but because there won’t be any use for it soon.

Winter calls for shorter days, for less sunlight. It brings more cases, more exhaustion, more time spent apart. Nights where Spencer wakes up to an empty bed because you’d insisted on packing your suitcase, and insisted on doing it alone. As it turns out, the cold really does bite. 

It all couldn’t happen fast enough.

Nobody bats an eye when Spencer insists on tagging along to drop you off at the airport. It’s practical, really—an extra set of hands. Even Morgan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t call him lover boy with that knowing smirk. Maybe he would’ve if Spencer didn’t already look like he was on the brink of death. Hotch keeps his goodbye brief, a quiet nod, a quick squeeze of your shoulder after he helps unload your suitcase from the van. He mumbles something about keeping in touch, about how the door’s always open. 

Spencer is the one who walks you to your terminal. You walk briskly ahead of him, fingers curled loosely around the handle of your suitcase. You’d brushed off his offer to help—All the better because he has to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat just to keep them steady. He tries to count the steps between the check-in counter and security. All in all, both literally and ironically, too little too late. 

This is finality, signed, sealed, delivered. The clock has run out. Spencer Reid is out of time. And, for once, Spencer Reid is out of words. 

So, it’s you who takes his hand, pulling him closer. Drop me a call if you ever come visit okay? I will, I will. You’ll love it there. Take care. Call me whenever. This was amazing. You’re amazing. You’re so good. Too good. It’s you who tilts his chin and kisses him with such force he wants call it love. He would call it love. If you asked, he’d rip the wildflowers from his ribs and place them at your feet as proof disguised as an offering. You’re kissing like you’re trying to make him forget—where you both are, where you’re going, where he’s staying. You pull away, breathless, fingertips ghosting along his jaw when the intercom blares above you. He lets the last shreds of sunlight slip from his grasp when you walk through the gate. Spencer doesn’t stay to see if you turn back or not. He’s felt like an afterthought enough. 

The van is quiet when he climbs in.

Spencer ignores Hotch’s glances, keeps his head down, busies himself with the air conditioning. Granted, he rarely sits shotgun, but still, today, it feels colder than usual.

“She’s a great agent.”

“She is. She… worked great in the team.” Spencer’s fingers tighten around the vent. He nods, swallows around the lump in his throat. “You should’ve offered her a spot.”

Hotch’s eyes stay set on the road. “I did. JJ and I drafted a two-year contract for her.”

Spencer scoffs bitterly, “yeah? I’m sure Strauss took that well.” 

“Strauss had no issue with it.” 

That makes Spencer pause. His head turns, brows pulling together. “Then?”

A beat of silence before Hotch exhales, “she rejected it.”

The world stops. His stomach drops first, then his chest. Fragile stems and violet petals turn brittle, cracking as the frost works its way through him. Tiny pieces of petals and frost splinter his being. A brief attachment, no doubt. He should’ve known better. He should’ve noticed the subtlest change in the winds, distractions cloaked in tender touches as wandering hands made their way beneath clothes, apologies in a baby, I wish I could stay too. He really should’ve remembered to forget you. 

He feels the wildflowers inside him freeze over and with the gentlest shift of breath—They shatter.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

[little-diable]

Think I'm in love with you - Dean Winchester (smut)

Requested by lovely @foxyjwls007 for my birthday bash. The lyrics are from Chris Stapleton's song "Think I'm in love with you". Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Pwp, the reader confesses her love for Dean in the middle of a fight

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m), idiots in love

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (800 words)

“You don’t get it, do you? You don’t fucking get it!” Her voice filled the motel room, angry eyes set on Dean’s frowning features. He kept quiet, pondering over her words while caught up in a storm of emotions he had tried to run from ever since he had met (y/n) all those months ago. For a second, his eyes flickered towards the door, something she easily picked up on. “Don’t you dare run again, Dean. Not this time.”

“(Y/n),” he mumbled her name like a silent plea, begging her to stop rambling. But the damage was done, there was no way out of the grave she had dug for them, unable to forget the words she had tried to hold back for too long now. “What do you want from me?”

“What I want? Jesus, Dean. Everything, I want it all. And I am so sick and tired of you ignoring it. Don’t you see it? I wanna make your dreams come true, I think I'm in love with you, you fucking idiot.” It took Dean exactly three seconds to move, to cross the short distance between them. His lips were soft against hers, even though the kiss was anything but soft or sweet - no, it was fuelled by the desire both had tried to tame for the past months. 

Without breaking the kiss, Dean pushed her down on the old bed they had been sharing for two nights now. He pressed himself close, weight shifted onto his forearm while his tongue met hers over and over again. She didn’t give him a warning before shuffling around, set on straddling his waist. 

“Say something, please, Dean.” He cupped her warm cheeks, staring up at her with a gaze filled with adoration. Her trembling fingers clung to his shirt, tugging on the fabric but not moving it off his body just yet, desperately wanting to hear his raspy voice. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. Always have.” It was all she needed, a confession that made her heart skip a beat or two. Dean’s shirt was ripped from his frame, with (y/n)’s following moments later. His big hands felt all too unfamiliar on her skin, but she couldn’t worry about it now, all she could focus on was freeing his cock and getting her mouth on him just like she had dreamt of doing for years. 

Dean raised his hips for her, allowing (y/n) to pull his trousers and underwear down his strong legs before straddling his thighs. Just the sight alone drew heat down to her core, watching Dean lay below her, spread out and naked - all for her. A dream come true, something she had never dared to speak of until this very day.

Her lips kissed their way down his stomach, trying to ignore the numerous freckles she swore to eventually count, all until she reached his hardening cock. Their eyes met as she spat down on him, letting her saliva drip down his length to lube up her movements. For a second, (y/n) thought about teasing him and taking her sweet time, but the impatient jerks of his hips forced her to move faster.

“Christ, sweetheart, if you keep up this pace this will be over very soon.” She could only chuckle at his words, too mesmerized by the feeling of his skin pressed against her, by the short breaths leaving him over and over again, and the unmistaken love swimming in his pupils. (Y/n) brought her mouth down to his cock, licking at his tip to get a taste of him for the first time, before slowly taking more of him. 

The second she gagged around him, Dean let his head fall back against the pillow. The deep groan he let go of could have made her cum right at that moment, instantly spiralling from the way he exposed his every emotion to her, something she interpreted as a clear sign of trust. (Y/n) was fully mesmerized by Dean, staring at him with glassy eyes as she bobbed her head, set on making him cum with her mouth. 

“(Y/n),” he panted her name, eyes rolling back into his head to get swallowed by a blanket of darkness. He jerked against her tongue, about to cum down her throat with another raspy moan, something she found herself aching for. (Y/n) gagged around him again, letting her tears roll down her cheeks all while Dean was overpowered by his orgasm. 

He came down her throat, choking on his moan while she didn’t dare move away. She greedily swallowed every drop, parting with a pout as Dean pulled her away from his cock to kiss her. 

“Fuck, I love you, sweetheart.”

[sai-int]

doing some post-run yoga rn, and all i can think about is johnny as your pervy yoga instructor.

you signed up for his class months ago, completely new to yoga but desperate for some kind of stress relief. a quick google search led you to him, his name popping up in review after review, everyone raving about his classes (and, let’s be real, about him). so you went, and of course, the studio was packed with women all hoping for the chance to get a little extra attention from their instructor.

and johnny? he was a damn sculpture, all broad shoulders and easy smiles, walking around the room with that ridiculous confidence like he wasn’t the main event.

it was tough at first, but you gave it your best. johnny would make his rounds, adjusting postures, guiding limbs into place, his hands warm and firm when they landed on your skin.

then one day, he lingers. tilts his head at you and comments on how tense you are, how tight your muscles feel under his touch. you laugh it off, blaming your nightmare of a boss, telling him that’s exactly why you started yoga in the first place.

johnny, ever the gentleman, offers to help. some one-on-one time, free of charge. just to loosen you up a bit.

and you, naive and trusting, say yes, because how could you possibly say no?

johnny just smiles, knowing he’s finally got the cute little bird who always hides in the back of his class right where he wants her.

[star-suh]

Johnny, La Gente Está Muy Loca… WTF

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: protected sex to bareback (remember do NAWT use oil based lube when you're using a condom), some impregnation kink disguised as silly jokes 😭

an: this is the best title i could ever think of ngl, like this is peak star-suh idk.

—

yn was in line waiting for the doors to open so he can finally witness a party with DJ JohnnyBe, he heard that all his parties are fun.

when they opened yn went straight to the bar to order something to drink, while he was waiting for the show to start he made some friends her and there.

“ladies and gentlemen please give it up for our guest DJ JohnnyBe” screams and claps of excitement flooded the room when the dj appeared. “hello everyone, i'm glad to be here and i hope i could make this night unforgettable for all of you” he winked, put on his dark glasses and blasted his first set of songs. the bass sounds make the floor vibrate. the music was intoxicating, DJ JohnnyBe indeed knows how to lit a party. during one of his last sets johnny removed his glasses, his gaze was adjusting to the bright colored flashing lights when he saw yn in the crowd. the guy was happy having the time of his life, something that made johnny smile and caught his attention too.

“excuse me, i’m going to the bathroom” yn whispered to one of his new friends and went there. “it was a magnificent night guys, thank you for coming here but i have to go now” everyone awwed, disappointed, wanting more of him, “but don't worry, tye part continues with the next dj”, everyone screamed in euphoria while johnny left and went to the bathroom.

yn was washing his face when someone entered the bathroom, “hey you're the happy boy that was on the crowd” johnny said with a happy tone. yn was stunned seeing him that close, his mouth was agap, thinking it was a dream caused by all the drinks he had tonight he said “fuck, you're so hot”. johnny was taken aback by this but then smirked, “well thanks” he replies.

yn realized it's not a dream, dj johnny fucking be was right there in front of him. his face became red like a tomato. “i-i'm sorry i think i-i d-drank a lot to-tonight haha” his flustered ass tried to brush it off. johnny places both hands on each side of tn cornering him against a counter. “you look so cute when you're flustered” both males made eye contact, one’s eyes showing how shy he was while the other's were fierce, as if a hunter had just hunted his prey.

“what's wrong party boy. what happened to that “fuck you're so hot” earlier comment, hmm?” at this point yn didn't know what to say he just closed his eyes but opened them again when he felt something poking at his bulge. it was johnny’s bulge. “see how horny i am, right now?, you should take responsibility for it” the low tone of his voice sending yn already to cloud 9, he moaned johnny’s name.

“hmm what was that?” johnny asked, his breath tickling yn’s neck. his lips ghosting his skin. he was desperate to feel johnny, he wanted him to touch him, obliterate him, rearrange his insides. “i’ve never felt this horny before for someone” yn confessed, feeling even more shy. johnny grabbed him by his chin so he can look directly at his eyes, “me neither” he said kissing the flustered boy…

johnny guided yn towards a bathroom stall while still kissing him, his tongue wxploring the other's mouth. “just put it in, i prep myself at home” yn said in between moans. “naughty” johnny heaved. he pulls out a condom from his pocket, unwrapped it and rolled it down his big thick shaft.

“wait” yn stopped johnny from putting in, “use this” he handed johnny a little bottle of lube that one of his new friends, conveniently, gave it to him as a ‘gift’ so he can have lots of fun tonight.

johnny applied and large amount of it on the latex and on yn's hole, he slapped it a few times on the entrance and slowly put it in, inch by inch. the sex was rough, with johnny using his hands to muffle yn's moans, something that was unnecessary due to the excessive loud music outside in the club. there were times were johnny instead made yn suck his fingers as if it was his dick. every time the dj thrusted deep a bulge formed on yn's tummy, “joh-johnny you're very deep”.

yn was pressed against the stall door with his eyes rolled back, johnny was stimulating his prostate continuosly and in return he was gripping hard on johnny's meat, “you're choking my little budy down there” he put his hand on the bottom's head pushing it even more harder against the door. a smile appeared on yn's face, he loved how rough johnny was treating him. “more. more. i need moree~”.

if someone were in the bathroom right now they would think that some rabid dog would be locked in the bathroom, with the loud strange sounds and the banging against the cold metal walls. but in reality johnny was there thrashing yn around the stall, there was not a pose left for them to try or a surface that they haven't touched with their sweaty bodies. missionary, against the wall, riding, with one leg up, johnny fucking him while still grabbing him. yn's hole was already obliterated but eager to receive more.

the smell of sweat, liquor and spit make them both feel dizzy, lost in the pleasure they both craved. hickeys littered all over their collarbones, necks and torso, hell even johnny made some on yn's thigh.

the euphoric feeling made them lost trace of time and their surroundings so much that yn didn't notice that johhny's dick felt warmer and warmer by time, he could feel every vein brushing against his walls. the same happened to johnny, he felt yn's insides warmer and how they hugged his little buddy even more than before. ‘woah, condoms nowadays make you feel like you're not wearing one’ they both said it in their minds. they didn't realize the condom broke and with every thrust it slowly went down johnny’s shaft sitting in the base of it.

johnny hugged yn tightly to impale his meat even more deep and harder, “fuck yeah please like that” yn whimpered, his body squirming in pleasure. “keep doing it like that. just a bit more. yes just right there” yn said to johnny who complied to the bottom’s demands. yn came, his torso being painted in white. his body spasm with every spurt of it. he was happy, he hasn't felt this way in years, this might be the best sex of his life.

“fuck i'm gonna cum” johnny grunted, he wanted to came on yn's face but he didn't wanted to stop feeling the warm insides of the guy so ge decided to just came inside the condom. little did he knew that he was, in fact, covering those insides with his white seed. “how does it feel to have a man's seed deep inside your hole?” johnny asked nibbling on yn's neck. “it feels sticky and so wet” yn slurred, coming back from his high.

the realization hit them both right there, “what do you mean sticky and wet?” johnny looked down seeing how the broken piece of latex was on the base of his shaft while the rest of it was inside of the other, bareback. “oh god i just bred you”, “oh my god you just breed me”, johnny and yn exclaimed in unison…

they both get out of the stall, yn walked awkwardly after all his hole suffered a lot tonight. staring at themselves in the mirror with a dumbfounded expression while fixing their looks and disheveled hair. “why are we acting as if you're gonna get pregnant” johnny joked, trying to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

“johnny, it … it was the first time someone came inside me” yn looked down feeling embarrassed but once again johnny grabbed his chin to make eye contact with him “then i guess i have to take responsibility for that baby on there” he caressed yn’s stomach. they looked at each other and then exploded in laugh, “dumbass” yn blurted out hitting johnny's shoulder lightly.

“you're way cool than it thought” yn confesses “and so wild in sex, my back side hurts a bit”.

“i also think you're cool” johnny replied politely too, “if you want, come to my hotel room. i know a home remedy to ease that pain” he gripped one of his ass cheeks, “the night is still young” he wiggled his eyebrows.

yn caught what he meant and said “oh yes of course, i would like to try it. besides i kinda want other of your babies inside me”. johnny kissed him in the lips and then in the forehead, “let's make a football team then”. they left the bathroom straight to the hotel room to chase that euphoric feeling again.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

Katsuki Bakugo X Reader

Summary: Bakugo has spent years bullying you, masking his true feelings behind insults and harsh words. But when he finds out you’re dating someone else, something inside him snaps. Fueled by jealousy and frustration, he finally confesses—his way. With heated words, desperate kisses, and a possessiveness he can’t control, he makes it clear: you were always his. And now, he’s never letting you go.

(This one bakugo is a bit possessive but please don’t mind that)

Bakugo had always been a problem in your life. Since the first year at U.A., he had made it his mission to push your buttons, belittle your victories, and scoff at your every move.

At first, you thought it was just his personality. He was an ass to everyone. But as time went on, you noticed things—how he only seemed to get truly pissed when you outshined him in training, how he always had a comment about your friends, how his teasing was relentless when it came to you.

You had no idea why he was like that, and frankly, you had stopped caring.

Which was why, when Daiki—one of the second-year students from another class—asked you out, you said yes. He was sweet, kind, and most importantly, nothing like Bakugo.

The moment Bakugo found out, everything changed.

You weren’t expecting the confrontation to happen so soon.

It had only been a few days since you started dating Daiki, and already, your phone was full of texts from Ashido and Kaminari.

Ashido: Girl, I just saw Bakugo nearly murder a training dummy. WTF did you do to him?

Kaminari: Bro’s been pacing like a damn tiger in the lounge. He’s gonna explode.

You ignored the texts. It wasn’t your problem. If Bakugo was being a moody asshole, what else was new?

But you weren’t expecting him to grab you right outside the training hall and shove you against the wall, his arms caging you in before you could react.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Excuse me?”

He scowled. “Don’t play dumb. You and that extra.”

Your stomach twisted. “Daiki?” You narrowed your eyes. “That’s what this is about?”

He let out a harsh scoff. “Of course it’s about that. The hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I finally found someone who isn’t an asshole to me,” you shot back, frustration bubbling up. “Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

His jaw clenched. “Like hell it isn’t.”

“Why do you even care, Bakugo?” You pushed harder against his chest, but he still didn’t move. His whole body was tense, his crimson eyes blazing. “You’ve spent years making my life miserable, so why the hell does it matter to you who I date?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fists clenching at his sides. “Because it should be me, damn it!”

The words hit you like a shockwave.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling like he was barely holding himself together. “You think I just fuck with you for fun?” His voice was lower now, rougher. “You think I spent all this time chasing after you just to piss you off?”

Your heart was pounding. “What—”

“I didn’t know how to fucking say it,” he snapped, his hands slamming against the wall on either side of you. “I didn’t know how to—fuck—I didn’t know how to deal with you!”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You make me insane, okay?” His voice was raw, like the words were being ripped straight from his chest. “Every time I see you, every time you smile at those idiots, every time some loser gets too close to you, I wanna—” He exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping against yours. “I wanna fucking destroy them.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, but it was so much more intense. “I should be the one with you. Not him. Me.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss.

It was desperate, messy, needy. The second your lips met his, Bakugo let out a low, guttural sound, his hands flying to your waist as he slammed you back against the wall. His grip was firm, possessive, his fingers digging into your skin as his mouth devoured yours.

You barely had time to process before his tongue slid past your lips, claiming you completely. Your head spun as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he was trying to burn himself into you.

One of his hands slid up your side, gripping your jaw as he tilted your head back, giving himself more access. You moaned against his mouth, and he growled, pressing his body even closer to yours.

“Mine,” he muttered against your lips, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Say it.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back in for another bruising kiss. “Yours,” you whispered breathlessly. “Only yours.”

His grip on you tightened, his breath hot against your skin. “Damn right,” he growled, before kissing you again, harder, deeper, like he never planned on letting go.

Bakugo’s breathing was ragged as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm like he was afraid you’d disappear. His crimson eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding.

“You’re not going back to him,” he said, voice hoarse but certain. “I won’t fucking let you.”

Your chest was rising and falling just as fast as his, your lips still tingling from the heat of his kisses. And the worst part? You didn’t want to go back.

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into his shirt. “Then what happens now?”

Bakugo let out a sharp exhale, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them like an anchor. “You’re mine,” he repeated, like he needed to hear it again. “And I’m gonna make damn sure you never doubt it again.”

His lips found yours once more—slower this time, but just as deep, just as needy. His hands moved over your body, memorizing every inch, every curve, like he was staking his claim. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair as he pressed you back against the wall, letting his kiss say everything his words couldn’t.

When he finally pulled away, his smirk was cocky, but his eyes were softer—warmer.

“You should’ve known, dumbass,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips. “You were always mine.”

And this time, you didn’t argue…

[cheynovak]

Fevered Confessions part 3

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N got hurt during a mission with Soldier boy, Ben feels guilty and tries to take care of her. But the fever makes her believe she is imagining it.

Warnings: Mentioning of fever/wounds/ fighting/... -> 18+ later on in the series.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

**Y/N’s POV**

Weeks passed, and Ben started to change. Or maybe… this was who he really was.

At first, he was patient with me. Attentive. He’d cook—nothing fancy, but he made sure I ate. He’d check my wound, sit with me on the porch when I felt too weak to do much else. Sometimes, I’d catch him watching me with something unreadable in his eyes, something that made my stomach flip.

But whenever Annie or M.M. visited, something in him shut down. He’d withdraw, get colder. Sometimes, he’d leave the room entirely. I didn’t understand why.

This morning, I woke up to raised voices, the unmistakable sharpness of an argument.

I sat up slowly, still groggy, and strained to listen.

Annie. And Ben.

“You need to stop lying to her, Ben!” Annie’s voice was angry, but there was something else—desperation? “Stop pretending this is her happy ending when *you’re* the reason she got hurt in the first place.”

Silence.

My breath caught in my throat.

Ben is the reason I got hurt

I swung my legs over the bed, my heart pounding. I didn’t understand. What had happened? I thought this—whatever this was—was real. But if he’d lied about something, if he’d done something…

I stood up too fast, dizziness washing over me. I steadied myself against the wall, then forced my feet forward, following the voices.

I needed answers.

I walked to the top of the stairs, lingering just out of sight, my fingers gripping the railing as their words sank in.

Ben’s voice was sharp, angry. “You weren’t there, Annie! You don’t get to tell me what the hell I should do.”

“I know enough,” she shot back, venom in her voice. “She hated you, Ben. Hated you. And now you’re letting her believe you two are a thing? Now you’re taking advantage of her situation?”

My breath caught in my throat.

I hated him?

My stomach twisted. This feeling, this… pull toward him, was that real? Or was I clinging to him because I had nothing else?

Ben let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Christ on a fucking cross, she sleeps in a different room, Annie. Back off.”

I took a step forward, the floorboard beneath my foot creaking softly.

Both heads snapped toward me.

Annie looked guilty, like she’d been caught saying something she shouldn’t. Ben just looked… furious. But when his eyes met mine, something else flickered there. Panic.

I swallowed hard.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm.

I needed to know the truth. Now.

**Ben’s POV**

Y/N stood there at the top of the stairs, watching us, her eyes sharp despite the confusion. She was almost fully recovered physically, but her memories were still a blank slate.

She’d been trying to figure out what we were for weeks. I felt her frustration every time she looked at me like she was searching for something—an answer, a feeling, a reason.

She saw me for a far better man than I was, and I didn't want to break that bubble. I’d been trying like hell to stay away. For her own good.

I knew she wanted me close. I saw it in the way she gravitated toward me, in the way her face had fallen when she realized the marriage thing was a lie—just something I made up so I could be with her in the hospital. That moment had broken something inside her. And maybe inside me, too.

I exhaled sharply, forcing the walls back up. This is for the best.

“Get back to bed,” I ordered, my voice firm. She crossed her arms. “I’m not a kid, Ben. If you two are talking about me, just say so.”

Annie stepped closer to her, softening her voice. “We’re just worried. You’ve… changed.”

Y/N’s brows pulled together. “How?”

Annie sighed and turned to face her fully. “You hated him,” she said carefully. “You and Ben—God, you two couldn’t be in the same room without fighting.”

Y/N lowered her gaze to the floor, her expression unreadable.

I tensed, waiting for her to run, to agree, to remember. But she didn’t. She just stood there. Silent. Thinking, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted her to remember the truth… or stay lost in the lie.

**Y/N’s POV**

I stood in the living room now, fully awake, fully aware of the tension in the air. Annie looked at me like I was some lost cause, and Ben… he was watching me with that same guarded expression he always had, like he was bracing for impact.

“Well,” I said finally, meeting Annie’s gaze. “Maybe that was the past. But I can’t say I feel the same way now.”

Annie’s eyes widened, and then she started rambling—about how dangerous he was, how he’d killed people, how I couldn’t just ignore that.

I knew. Or at least, I’d figured it out.

The way Ben carried himself, the anger simmering beneath the surface, the way he reacted to loud noises or sudden movements—it all made sense. I’d watched a movie a few nights ago, something about soldiers returning from war, and I saw it in him. The way they clenched their fists, the way their eyes darted to exits, how easily they snapped when pushed.

Ben had the same anger issues. The same haunted look.

I raised my hand, cutting Annie off. “I feel safe with him, Annie,” I said firmly. “I trust him.”

Annie’s jaw clenched. “Y/N—”

“And maybe,” I continued, “maybe losing my memories makes me see him for the first time.”

Annie scoffed, throwing her hands up. “Oh Jesus, Y/N. He has you rainwashed.” I frowned. Was that what this was? No a refused to believe that.

I turned to Ben, searching his face for some kind of answer. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Annie, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

He looked furious. But beneath that anger, there was something else. Guilt.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said, my voice steady as I looked at Ben.

“What?” Annie snapped. “No!”

Before I could respond, Ben stepped between us, his presence solid, unmovable. “You heard her,” he said coldly. “Go.”

Annie’s eyes darted between us, frustration clear on her face. But eventually, she moved toward the door.

She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, and turned back one last time.

“When your little house on the prairie dream collapses and you see him for what he really is, call me.” Her voice was softer now, like she truly believed I’d regret this.

I didn’t answer.

I just stood there, watching her look past Ben—past his broad shoulders, past his protective stance—to me.

Then she was gone. The door clicked shut.

The moment she left, the weight of it all hit me, and my head dropped forward, resting lightly against Ben’s back. I felt the tension in his muscles, the barely-contained anger still simmering beneath his skin.

Without thinking, my arm moved around him, my hand settling against his stomach. He was warm, solid. Safe.

He didn’t move. Didn’t push me away. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing, steady and deep.

I should be questioning everything. But standing there, my body leaning against his, all I could think was—

I didn’t regret this.

**Ben’s POV**

I let myself feel it for just a second—her warmth against my back, her small hand pressed against my stomach, the way she trusted me without question.

Then I did what I always did. I pulled away. I had to.

I carefully lifted her hand off my body, stepping forward, creating distance between us. I couldn’t let her touch me like that. Not when I knew the truth.

Annie was right, in a way.

I wasn’t honest with Y/N. Not entirely. But she hadn’t asked, and she seemed fine with the life I built for her.

And that made me selfish. I knew it. But I didn’t care.

She believed in the life I created because she didn’t know better. And I liked that. I liked having her close, waking up to her voice in the morning, the way she always reached for me when she was unsure.

She looked up at me with those doe eyes, and something in my chest ached when I stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her lashes fluttered, and I saw the tears gathering in her eyes.

“I just…” Her throat bobbed, like she was about to say something important. Something that could change everything.

But then she shook her head. “Never mind.” She turned and walked toward the porch, I had no idea whether to let her go… or stop her.

**Y/N’s POV**

I tried.

I tried to tell him what he meant to me, but the words felt stupid. Too big, too heavy. So I did what he always did.

I ran.

I sat outside for what felt like hours, wrapped in silence, staring at the wide-open field in front of me.

Eventually, I heard him. Ben sat down beside me, saying nothing, just watching the trees sway in the wind.

I let the silence hang for a moment before speaking.

“Even though I’m the one who supposedly hates you,” I said, still looking forward, “you sure as hell don’t seem to like me that much either.”

He didn’t answer.

So I kept going.

“I don’t get it. You stayed with me at the hospital, claiming to be my husband.” My voice was steady, but my chest ached. “Then you brought me here. And clearly, I’ve figured out this isn’t our original home.”

Ben remained silent.

“You keep things from me. I know it’s to protect me from my past, and I’m not even asking you to spill it all.” I turned to him now, searching his face. He still wouldn’t look at me.

“But whenever I try to be close to you, you push me away.”

Nothing.

My stomach tightened. I inhaled deeply and finally asked the question that had been clawing at me for weeks.

“What do you want from me, Ben?”

Silence.

I nodded, lips pressing together. I stood up, my body heavy with disappointment. I turned toward the door, ready to walk away—

And then I felt him.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, firm but not rough. I barely had time to react before he pulled me back, turning me into him, crashing me against his chest.

And then—

He kissed me.

**Ben’s POV**

I lost control.

I should’ve said something—anything. But instead, I kissed her.

And God—it felt like a goddamn crack addict giving in to his fix. She was my drug. Her lips, soft and warm, tasted sweeter than I ever imagined. And the way she moaned against my mouth? It set my whole body on fire.

She didn’t pull away. No—she pulled me in. Not soft. Not tentative. Needy.

Like she needed me as much as I needed her.

Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping me tight, like she was afraid I’d disappear. I pressed her back against the wall, caging her in, my hands greedy—trailing up her sides, her ribs, her waist.

She was mine.

At least in this moment.

And I wasn’t strong enough to stop.

--

Taglist:

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[c0llisiion]

★ smut, Taehyung + reader, insecurities, mirror

★ w/c : 923

As you got ready for your date night, you couldn’t help but notice the way your stomach stuck out of the tight bodycon dress. The skirt was riding up because of your thick thighs, and your shoulders looked huge under the thin spaghetti straps of the dress.

You were staring at your reflection for what felt like an eternity and were brought back to earth when Taehyung's familiar voice bounced off the bathroom walls.

"You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days, you know that?" He teases, his gaze never leaving her figure.

But the teasing expression was quickly replaced by a look of concern as he saw the look on your face.

“Babe? Are you okay?” He quickly approached you from behind, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror.

Watching you intently as you tried not to shed tears.

Taehyung hated it when you always talked down on yourself. He would get so infuriated and agitated when he watched and listened to you complain about your curves.

He hated the fact that you couldn’t see yourself through his POV. And he would do anything to prove that your body was absolutely perfect.

You quickly shook your head and looked away, avoiding his worrying gaze.

“It's nothing—it's nothing… I'm fine…” you say while going back to finishing up your makeup.

You could feel the way his face formed a frown. Taehyung knew you too well. He knew you were lying to just get over with it.

His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Look at me…” he said, slightly authoritatively.

And when you refused to do so, he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him through the mirror.

His eyes had that oh-so-familiar intensity. He leaned in closer and inhaled the back of your neck, your scent filling up his system.

You closed your eyes and sighed as you felt him press wet kisses down to your shoulders, greedy fingers rolling the straps down your shoulders. He always knew what to do when you were down without even asking.

“Taehyu-“ you tried protesting but were quickly cut off by his gruff words.

“You were scrutinizing yourself, weren’t you?”

You reluctantly nod. Feeling slightly embarrassed as it was a recurring and lingering thought.

Taehyung hummed before pushing the hem of your skirt up, exposing your soft bottom to his ravenous eyes.

His fingers splayed themselves out onto your thighs and hips, gently rubbing and massaging the flesh while kissing your shoulders and neck.

“Mm.. do you know how beautiful you look right now?” He mumbled. “Such a shame that I won’t be able to show off this beauty tonight."

You couldn’t help but blush at his comment. His words make you feel warm and fuzzy.

“Taehyung… please…” you pleaded to him with no clear intention. His hands were dangerously close to your aching core, not touching you yet.

“Please, what baby?… Do you want me to show you how stunning and perfect you are?”

You nod, and it was all he needed as an answer as he dips his eager fingers into your panties. The pads of his fingers find your slick folds immediately.

He hums softly at the feeling of your wetness coating his fingers. Your ass unwittingly pressing against his crotch, seeking more of his nervy touches.

Breathy curses left your lips as his fingers drew light circles on your clit. His other hand moving up your body to cup your breasts and pull your dress down. The fabric pooling at your waist.

You leaned over the bathroom counter slightly so you could feel his erection rub against your clothed core.

Taehyung's eyes immediately shoot up to watch you through the mirror. A smirk forms on his face, knowing that he is making you desperate for his cock.

He pulls his fingers out of your panties, earning a soft whine and pout from your side.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” He teased you, his hands already working to free his painfully hard cock from its restraints.

You watch in fascination as his erect member springs out and rests against the mound of your ass, making you bend over the edge of the counter even more.

Taehyung pushed your lacy underwear to the side, exposing your glistening folds, dripping with anticipation.

“Oh god, honey… You’re gorgeous…” he groaned, rubbing the flush pink tip against your slit.

You mewl and spread your legs wider as you feel him gently prod into your hole.

Desperate and needy eyes searching for its lover’s attention through the mirror, wanting him to fuck you silly already.

And the response was immediate as he made eye contact with you and understood your message.

He grabbed your hips tightly before pushing in and moving in a brutal pace, not giving you the opportunity to adjust to his size.

“Fuck-“ His breath comes out choked as he feels you clench around his length. He looks up at you and watches your expressions through the mirror.

He made sure to register every single expression you made. The way your lips were parted. Your tightly knit eyebrows. And the way your eyes were struggling to stay open and focused.

With a loud grunt and growl, he thrusted in you sharply before leaning over your shoulders, kissing behind your ears, and whispering incoherent words. “Fuck.. baby.. you look so… so so hot right now… fuck so sexy.. y-you’re so sexy.. mmm… i love you…. I lo-love you…”

Date night was definitely canceled.

A/N: im. Finally. Back. IM SO SORRY FOR GOING MIA I LITERALLY FELL SICK OUT OF NOWHERE 😭😭😭😭 anyways a lil taehyung Drabble as redemption, not rlly proud but eh

Also inbox is open SO PLEASE SEND ME A RQ tyyyyy

[shewrites02]

Deserve | Toji Fushiguro x Reader |

A/N: My first JJK Work on my page. It just a drabble, but if you follow me for a while this is how all my hype fixations start lol

Request : Open

Word Count : 500

Leave a comment if you enjoy ! :)

Toji knows he doesn’t deserve you. Is reminded with every sweet touch your delicate fingers place on his face. You are everything he is not. Soft. Fragile. Good. Everything the sorcerer hunter is too broken to be. Still, it never made a difference to Toji what he felt he deserved.

He made peace with the type of man he is a long time ago. The type to take with no regard for feelings or apologies. The type to leave a wake of devastation if it meant getting what he wanted.

Toji Fushiguro was not the type of man to let you go just because he knew you deserved better.

“Fuck you Toji- Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. .”

You hope to spit the words venomously, but they come off your tongue in a broken whisper. Dragging the back of your hand across your cheek to clear your tears, you take a sharp breath. An attempt to gather yourself, regain your composure. This bastard does not deserve the tears you shed on him.

“ ‘Superhuman' but can't even look me in the eyes as you reject me.”

“C’mon doll, don’t be like that. I told you I didn’t want anything serious from the beginning.”

Toji’s voice does not quiver or quake in the way yours does. Does not hold any hesitations, or uncertainties. His words are sure, certain.

Something in the conviction of his tone short circuits your brain, has you reacting before you can think. Cocking your shoulder back, you swiftly bring your palm to the sorcerer's cheek, smacking him as hard as you could.

And he lets you.

Toji has faced far tougher opponents than you, and walked away with far less wounds. It wouldn’t have taken him any effort to foil your attack. Instead his head snaps to the side, and that blank look on his face is replaced with a pained smirk. Then his eyes meet yours.

“But you acted like you did ! Begged me to open up to you- !” All composure you might have had is lost as anger and hurt bubbles over in your chest. “ Don’t act like this is my fault.”

It's difficult to breathe. Suddenly all the air so readily available is being sucked away by the presence of Toji Fushiguro. You need to get away from here. Away from him. You need air.

You turn on your heels to head in the opposite direction. Shove through the crowded racing track in search of an exit. You can’t remember where you parked, but that is okay. At this point you would walk home if it means getting away from here.

“Y/n!”

Toji’s voice echoes behind you.There’s a part of you that has to fight the instinct to stop, hearing him out, search for comfort in his words. There another part of you, a larger part that can’t be bothered to listen to any more lies from the lips of fushiguro. That part keeps your head forward, feet plowing into the pavement.

There’s a clasp on your wrist, drawing you back before you can fully cross the exit’s threshold. The grip is unyielding against your persistent attempts to escape. Fear would engulf your body if you weren’t so sure of the culprit, so knowing of the feeling of those fingers against your skin.

“Let me g-”

“It’s my fault-” He proclaims, interrupting any further protesting you had. “ Just mine.”

You hate listening to the words as you speak them. They taste bitter on your tongue. Though that doesn’t outweigh your heart’s need to know.

“Why are you doing this to me Toji- why am I not good enough?”

The soccer hunter’s eyes soften at your words. He even shrinks in on himself, as though trying to shrill up into something smaller. Something more kin to what he’s feeling inside.

“I can’t love you- not like you deserve.”

“No Toji. You just don’t love me enough to try to be what I deserve.”

If you enjoy my content or if you have $5 to spare , please consider donating it to Besan . she is a mother trying so desperately to get her family out of Gaza. She is still so far away from her go fund me goal!

Operation Olive Branch Spreadsheet

I know everyone may not have the means to donate, but if by some chance you have an extra $5 to spare please consider donating it to the families trying to rebuild their lives in the Gaza strip.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining, NSFW, human x Na'vi, size difference, needy Neteyam, oral sex (fem receiving)

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts,

Part 16: To want

This is my first time writing an explicit fic, and honestly, I never thought I’d venture into this kind of writing! It was both exciting and a little nerve-wracking to create something so intimate, so please be kind in the comments. I’m still learning and experimenting with this style, so I really appreciate any support, encouragement, or constructive feedback. Hope you enjoy! 💙✨

Part 17: To worship

You don’t know when Neteyam called for his ikran.

You don’t know when it landed next to you in the dense forest, its large wings stirring the night air, rustling the bioluminescent plants around you. You barely register the shift in the ground beneath you as Neteyam moves, guiding you effortlessly.

Because you’re clinging to him—desperate, breathless, lost in the heat of his touch.

Your arms wrap tight around his broad shoulders, your fingers pressing into the firm muscles beneath his skin. Your legs instinctively lock around his torso, holding onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you to the world. Maybe he is.

You don’t understand how or when you end up on the back of his ikran, only that somehow, you do. His warmth surrounds you, his scent thick in the cool night air as the wind rushes past. But all you can focus on is him—his heartbeat against yours, his steady hands gripping you firmly, keeping you pressed against him as the ikran carries you through the sky.

The flight is a blur.

The next thing you know, your back is against the woven walls of the hunter’s hut, and Neteyam is carrying you inside with an ease that makes your stomach tighten. His strong arms hold you effortlessly, his chest pressed flush against yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin.

Slow, reverent kisses.

Soft, teasing drags of his lips against your pulse.

Each touch sends a wave of heat through you, a slow-burning ache that coils deep in your stomach.

Your breath shudders as you grip his shoulders tighter, feeling the way he flexes beneath your touch. A soft whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Neteyam groans in response, his grip tightening, his body pressing against yours like he can’t get enough of you.

You want to be closer. Closer than before.

Neteyam must feel it too because he moves with purpose, stepping deeper into the hut, his pace unhurried but filled with intent.

Then—he lays you down on the pelts.

The woven pelts beneath you are soft, but the warmth of his body above you is intoxicating. He hovers over you, his golden eyes dark with want, his breath uneven as he takes you in. His tail flicks behind him, his body taut with restraint even as his hands explore, mapping every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

His weight presses against you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

The space between you is almost nonexistent.

Almost.

Because he’s still holding back.

But you don’t want distance.

You don’t want hesitation.

You just want him.

Now.

Neteyam’s hands are everywhere.  

Large, warm, and reverent as they skim over your sides, your waist, your hips—like he’s trying to learn you by touch alone. His breath is heavy, uneven, his golden eyes locked onto yours with something dark, something raw, something hungry.  

His fingers toy with the hem of your top, his thumb brushing against your bare skin, slow and deliberate. He watches you carefully, silently asking, silently waiting.  

You nod. A barely-there movement, but it’s all he needs.  

With one smooth pull, he lifts your shirt over your head and tosses it aside, leaving you beneath him in only your bra and shorts.  

Neteyam inhales sharply, his ears flicking back, his pupils dilating as he drinks you in.  

“Eywa…” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, like the sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs.  

You shift under his gaze, heat crawling up your spine, your fingers twitching against the pelts beneath you. His golden eyes trail down your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you squirm, suddenly feeling impossibly small under his intense stare. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, and his tail flicks behind him. He leans in, so close that his lips brush against your temple before moving lower, his nose ghosting along the side of your cheek next to the edge of the mask, the sharp inhale he takes sending shivers down your spine.  

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing.  

His fingers slide up your sides, teasing, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your ribs.  

“How many nights I’ve laid awake, picturing you like this? Beneath me, wanting me?”  

Your breath shudders. You can’t think. Can’t breathe.  

His lips hover over your pulse, the warmth of them barely there, just a whisper of sensation, and you feel like you might combust.  

“Neteyam…” You whisper his name, voice fragile, breaking.  

He groans softly, his grip on you tightening for just a second before he presses his forehead to the glass of your mask, eyes wild, burning.  

You don’t think.  

You just act.  

A deep breath. Hold it.  

Your fingers tremble as you reach up, pull the mask off—  

And then you kiss him.  

Fierce, desperate, needing.  

Your lips crash into his, and Neteyam growls against your mouth, his control snapping like a bowstring pulled too tight. His hand tangles into your hair, one sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you up against him, chest to chest, heat to heat.  

His lips move with an urgency that leaves you dizzy, his tongue parting your lips, claiming your breath, your body, your very soul. He kisses you like he’s been starving for you, like he needs you more than the air in his lungs.  

And you give him everything.  

Your hands roam over his shoulders, his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the way he shudders every time you touch him. Your nails dig into his skin, pulling him closer, closer, needing him like never before.  

Your lungs scream for air, but you don’t care. Not yet.  

Not when his mouth is on yours. Not when his hand is gripping your hips, sliding over your body like he owns it, like he’s claiming it.  

The burn in your chest becomes unbearable.  

You gasp, wrenching yourself away just long enough to fumble your mask back into place, sucking in a desperate breath, your body still thrumming with heat, with need.  

Neteyam is panting above you, his forehead pressing against your temple, his golden eyes dark, his lips kiss-swollen. His hands tremble where they hold you, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t want to let go.  

And neither do you.  

You want him.  

You need him.  

And from the way he looks at you—his jaw tight, his tail lashing, his body still caging you in—you know he feels the same.    

Neteyam’s breath is heavy, his body burning above you as his fingers explore every inch of your exposed skin. But when his hands reach your back, brushing against the fabric of your bra, he pauses.  

His brows furrow slightly, ears twitching as he fumbles with the clasp.  

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the soft giggle that threatens to slip out as his large fingers struggle with the tiny hooks. He huffs softly, clearly frustrated, pulling back just enough to glance down at where his hands are failing him.  

“'upe lu fì'u?”[What is this?] he mutters, his tail flicking sharply in irritation.  

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can, Neteyam growls under his breath. His patience snaps.  

With one firm tug, the clasp gives way—not because he figured it out, but because he simply ripped it open. The straps slide down your arms, the fabric falling away completely as he tosses the ruined garment aside without a second thought.  

Neteyam stills.  

His golden eyes, blown wide with hunger, drink in the sight of you, bare beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly as the cool night air brushes against your heated skin.  

You tremble.  

The sharp chill sends a ripple over your body, making your nipples harden under his intense gaze. His jaw clenches, his breathing uneven, his tail curling behind him. You swallow hard, shifting slightly beneath him, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable under his unwavering stare.  

But Eywa—the way he looks at you.  

Like you are his entire world.  

His voice is a hushed reverence when he finally speaks. “You are…” He trails off, shaking his head as if words are failing him. “…breathtaking.”  

Heat surges up your spine, spreading through your limbs. Your fingers twitch, restless, aching for him.  

But Neteyam… he waits.  

Tension coils tight in his muscles, his self-control an unyielding force. He wants you—gods, it’s painfully obvious from the way he hovers over you, the way his fingers twitch at your sides—but still, he waits.  

And that’s what undoes you.  

That restraint, that unshaken patience, when all you want is for him to break.  

You can’t take it.  

Your hand flies to his head, fingers tangling in his thick beaded braids as you pull him down, guiding his mouth where you need him.  

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest when his lips meet the soft swell of your breast. His mouth is hot, reverent, worshiping as he kisses over your sensitive skin. His tongue flicks over the hardened peak, teasing, tasting—learning you.  

Your breath shudders, a whimper slipping past your lips as your grip tightens in his hair.  

Neteyam feels that reaction—your nails scraping against his scalp, the way your back arches slightly beneath him—and it ruins him.  

A growl vibrates against your skin as his other hand slides lower, fingertips trailing down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts. You shiver beneath him, anticipation thick between you, the air crackling with want.  

He’s barely touched you—barely started—and yet you already feel like you might fall apart.  

And from the way his lips linger against your skin, the way his breath shudders against you…  

He’s just as lost.  

Neteyam’s fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, tugging them downward, slow, deliberate. The fabric slides over your hips, down your thighs, leaving you breathless beneath him. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, sending a ripple of shivers through your body.

He groans softly at the sight of you—now clad in nothing but the thin scrap of your panties, the last barrier between you and him. His golden eyes, dark with hunger, trace every inch of you, memorizing, devouring.

Your breath stutters when his hands—so large, so warm—grip your hips, steadying you as he begins his descent.

The first kiss lands just below your ribs.

Soft. Warm.

A whisper of reverence against your skin.

Your stomach tenses at the sensation, and Neteyam smirks against you, his lips curving into something purely mischievous.

He felt that.

His flat nose brushes lower, his breath hot against your skin as he plants another kiss, this one deeper, more deliberate.

A soft gasp escapes you.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His lips continue their slow, tortuous path downward, lingering over your stomach, his sharp canines grazing lightly against the sensitive skin there.

You squirm.

A quiet, needy sound slips past your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam chuckles—a low, satisfied rumble that vibrates against your skin.

“I like that,” he murmurs, his voice deep, rough with want.

He kisses lower.

Your breath hitches when his tongue flicks out, tasting you, tracing slow patterns along your skin. “Neteyam,” you whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra.

His sharp ears flick at the sound, his tail curling behind him.

He loves it. Loves hearing his name fall from your lips like that—soft, breathless, full of need.

Another kiss, just above the waistband of your panties, his teeth grazing teasingly against your hip bone.

You gasp, thighs twitching beneath his touch, your body arching slightly toward him, seeking more, more, more.

He hums approvingly, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you in place as his lips move to the other side of your stomach, repeating the same agonizingly slow worship.

“Sensitive here, hmm?” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another teasing kiss just below your navel.

You whimper, nodding, unable to form words, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

His mouth lingers there, reveling in the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body reacts so easily, so completely to his touch.

You swear you can feel his smirk, the way his lips curve against your skin, pleased—no, thrilled—by the way you unravel beneath him.

He wants you like this.

Helpless. Desperate.

He presses another slow, burning kiss just above the last scrap of fabric still keeping him from you, his breath hot against your skin.

And when you whisper his name again, your voice barely more than a breath—

He groans, his restraint hanging by a thread.

He wants more.

And you’re about to give it to him.

Neteyam’s fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, his grip firm but unbearably slow as he drags the thin fabric down your legs. You shiver as the cool air brushes over your newly exposed skin, heat pooling in your core as you feel the last barrier between you and him disappear.

The soft sound of fabric hitting the floor barely registers through the pounding of your heartbeat.

Your breath stutters as reality crashes over you. You’re bare beneath him now—nothing left to shield you from his heated, hungry gaze. Your boldness from before vanishes like mist beneath the sun. You press your thighs together instinctively, suddenly feeling shy, overwhelmed by the way he’s looking at you.

Golden eyes drink you in like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

His tail flicks behind him, the low, steady thumps against the hut floor betraying the barely-contained need simmering beneath his skin.

When you risk a glance up at him, your breath catches.

Neteyam is sitting back on his heels, legs spread, his gaze fixed entirely on you.

Predatory. Ravenous.

Like you’re prey trapped beneath him.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment, craving it, and now that he has you—finally has you—he’s going to take his time.

Heat burns up your neck, pooling in your cheeks as you turn your head away, unable to hold his gaze. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, rich and full of amusement, but when his hand brushes over your thigh, it’s reverent, patient.

He’s not going to let you hide from him.

Not now.

Not when you finally belong to him fully.

His large, warm hands trace the length of your legs, his touch slow, deliberate.

“Open for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need.

Your thighs tremble, hesitating, but his touch is firm, coaxing you apart with a gentle insistence.

One of his large hands moves down, curling beneath your calf almost engulfing it as he lifts your leg, his grip steady, secure.

Your breath hitches as his lips press against your skin.

A kiss.

Soft at first.

Right at the curve of your calf.

Then another.

And another.

His tongue flicks out, barely grazing your skin as he trails slow, burning kisses up your leg, inch by inch. Your breathing stutters, your hands gripping the furs beneath you, helpless beneath his worship. He reaches your knee, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin there, his lips lingering, his nose brushing against you as he breathes you in.

Then, lower.

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, closer, so dangerously close—

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam groans.

A deep, guttural sound that sends a tremor through his body.

His ears flick sharply, his tail curling and thumping behind him as his grip tightens around your leg.

“You sound so sweet, ma’syulang,” he whisper, voice thick with hunger.

The sound of his name spills from your lips in a breathy moan as his sharp teeth scrape gently against your thigh.

You gasp, as you try to press your hand against your mouth but the mask is in the way.

Neteyam shudders.

Your touch makes his whole body tremble.

His tail flicks wildly, his self-control almost over as he drags his tongue along your inner thigh, tasting you, marking you. His canines graze your skin again before he bites, sinking his teeth just enough to leave a mark—just enough to claim you. Your body jerks in response, a breathless moan spilling from your lips as your thighs threaten to close again.

But his hands—his strong, steady hands—keep you open for him.

And he’s not finished.

Neteyam growls, his breath hot against your skin as he laves his tongue over the fresh mark, soothing the sting before leaving another kiss right beside it.

You already know—you’re going to have to wear long pants for days just to hide the evidence of what he’s doing to you.

But you don’t care.

Not when his mouth is this warm, this desperate against your skin.

Not when his hands are holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Not when all you want is to be his.

Completely.

Finally.

And the way he’s trembling against you—his fingers digging into your thighs, his breath coming ragged and uneven—tells you that he’s barely holding himself together.

That every noise you make, every twitch of your body beneath him, is destroying him. And you’re about to ruin him completely.

Neteyam settles between your thighs, his body sinking lower, his breath ghosting over your skin.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven pulls, anticipation winding so tightly in your core that you feel like you might snap at any moment.

He’s so close.

So devastatingly close to where you need him, yet he doesn’t move forward.

He lingers.

His golden eyes roam over your body with unrestrained hunger, taking in everything now that there’s nothing left between you.

A slow, reverent inhale, as if breathing in the scent of you is enough to send him spiraling.

His hands, large and warm, trace slow, idle patterns along the side of your thighs, the contrast between his rough palms and your soft skin making you shiver. You twitch beneath him, your fingers curling into the pelts below, your breath stuttering when his lips graze so close, just next to where you ache for him most.

But he doesn’t go there.

Instead, he kisses your thighs again.

Slow.

Lingering.

His mouth trails along the softest parts of you, tongue flicking out just slightly between kisses, tasting you, savoring the way your body trembles beneath him.

A low, pleased rumble vibrates from deep within his chest when he feels you squirm, the need in your body so obvious that it makes his blood run hot.

Eywa, you’re so beautiful like this.

Laid bare before him, trembling, squirming, so soft beneath his hands, his to hold, his to worship.

How many nights has he dreamed of this?

How many times has he ached for you, touched himself to the thought of you, imagined how sweet you would taste, how you would fall apart beneath his tongue?

And now, you’re here.

Real.

Shaking.

Needing him.

His ears flick at the sound of your ragged breathing, his tail curling behind him as his hands squeeze your thighs, spreading you further, holding you open for him.

And yet—

He waits.

He watches.

He drinks in every inch of you, memorizing the way your body reacts, the way your breath hitches when he gets too close, the way your fingers twitch like you want to pull him in but don’t dare to move.

You let out a small, frustrated whimper, shifting beneath him, trying to get closer—but he doesn’t let you.

His lips brush over the skin just beside where you need him, deliberately avoiding the one place that aches for him most.

His control is ironclad, but only just.

His whole body is buzzing with restraint, fighting every instinct that urges him to take you now, to claim you, to bury himself in your softness and never come up for air.

But no—

Not yet.

Not until you’re begging for him.

His tongue flicks against the sensitive skin of your thigh, leaving a slow, open-mouthed kiss just next to where his head is resting between your legs.

Your back arches.

A soft, broken whimper tumbles from your lips.

And then, barely above a whisper—

"Please."

Neteyam groans.

A deep, needy sound that rumbles through his whole body, his tail curling tighter, his ears pinning back as his fingers tighten against your thighs.

His restraint snaps like a bowstring.

And then—

His mouth is on you.

And you shatter.

Neteyam’s mouth claims you in a slow, devastating slide of heat, his tongue pressing firmly against your most sensitive part in a way that makes your entire body jerk.

A strangled gasp escapes your lips, your back arching off the pelts as if a current of electricity just ripped through you.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your fingers fly into his hair on instinct, gripping at his thick braids as your thighs clamp around his head, but it doesn’t deter him.

Not even a little.

If anything, it makes him groan against you, the deep, guttural sound vibrating through your core, sending another shockwave of pleasure rippling up your spine. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you open as he moves with agonizing slowness, his tongue dragging over you in long, deliberate strokes.

Each movement is maddening, a slow, teasing exploration, like he’s savoring every second, every taste of you.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is breathless, a desperate plea as your head tilts back, fingers tugging at his braids, heels digging into his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

But he doesn’t rush.

No, he revels in the way your body twists beneath him, the way your hips roll, the way your thighs tremble, the way you chant his name like a desperate, breathless prayer.

"Eywa, please—" Your voice is breaking, a shameful mix of whimpers and gasps, of curses and incoherent pleading.

Neteyam growls against you, his large hands sliding up your trembling thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he holds you down.

"I have you." His voice is deep, muffled, vibrating straight into you before he sucks at your clit in a way that makes your whole body jolt.

A strangled cry rips from your throat.

Your grip on his hair tightens—desperate, clawing—your fingers curling against his scalp as you pull at him, as if you could somehow ground yourself against the force of the pleasure.

But there is no control now.

No grounding.

Just him.

His mouth.

His tongue works you open, devouring you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

The pressure in your core coils too fast, too sharp, a fiery tension snapping through your veins, your thighs trembling around his head.

His tongue presses harder, his lips sealing around your swollen, aching clit, and then he sucks.

"Neteyam—!"

Your entire body locks up, your back arching off the pelts, your breath shattering into a sharp, broken cry as pleasure crashes over you in an overwhelming wave.

Your thighs tremble violently as your body bucks against him, but he doesn’t stop.

He guides you through it, his hands strong and unyielding as he holds you down, his tongue still moving in slow, languid strokes, drawing out every last pulse, every last shudder.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your whole body trembling, your mind floating somewhere between bliss and disbelief.

Neteyam hums against you, a deep, satisfied sound as he drinks in the way you fall apart for him, his grip on your thighs tight, possessive, like he never wants to let go.

And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back just slightly, his lips glistening, his golden eyes blazing as he looks up at you.

A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips as he licks his mouth, his voice thick with hunger.

"That was only the beginning, ma’syulang."

Your chest rises and falls in rapid, uneven breaths, the aftershocks of your climax still coursing through your trembling body. Your muscles feel like liquid, heat pooling in your limbs, your fingers weakly clutching at the pelts beneath you. The air in the hut is thick—humid and heavy, wrapped in the scent of desire and him.

Your mind struggles to catch up. To understand what just happened.

That was the quickest and the most intense orgasm of your life.

Your body still hums with the afterglow, tiny tremors rippling through your thighs where Neteyam still holds you open. The cool night air kisses your flushed skin, sharp in contrast to the feverish warmth that lingers in your core.

You gasp, eyes unfocused as you stare at the thatched ceiling above you.

It’s almost hilarious, in some twisted way.

You had to travel four and a half light-years across space, sleeping in a cryostasis capsule for six years, leave behind everything you’d ever known, survive Pandora’s harsh wilderness, fall in love with a ten-foot-tall blue warrior—just to experience this.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh tumbles from your lips.

You can’t help it.

It bubbles up from your chest, soft at first, then growing until you’re giggling, completely hazed, utterly wrecked, staring up at the ceiling like the secrets of the universe have just been rewritten before your very eyes.

Neteyam huffs a quiet chuckle above you, his large hands still gripping your thighs, keeping them spread for him. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you know he smirks, the amused shake of his head as he watches you come undone beneath him.

"Something funny, ma’yawne?" His voice is deep, laced with satisfaction, but there’s a teasing edge to it, warm and indulgent.

You try to form a response, but your brain is still swimming in the aftermath of pleasure, still trying to grasp the sheer insanity of what just happened.

So instead, you just shake your head weakly, still breathless, still trying to process.

Neteyam shifts slightly, and before you can register what he’s doing, you feel it—

The hot, wet slide of his tongue against your still-sensitive core.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your entire body jerking, muscles tensing as a shock of pleasure rips through your oversensitive nerves.

Your hips twitch involuntarily as you try to squirm away—but his hands hold you firm, strong and unyielding.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is raw, breathless, shaking.

He groans against you, his lips pressing against your swollen, aching heat, devouring you all over again.

"Still so sweet," he murmurs, his voice a deep, husky purr against your most sensitive part. "I could stay here forever."

Another wave of sensation crashes over you, your body still so raw, so open to him. Your breath shudders as you try to form a coherent thought, but he’s already moving—his tongue lapping, slow and deliberate, savoring you with an almost devotional hunger.

You can feel the way he takes his time, savoring you, groaning against your heat like this is something he’s craved for longer than he’d ever admit.

And he has.

For so many nights, for so many years, Neteyam has imagined this—you laid out before him, trembling, gasping his name, your fingers tangled in his hair, your small body writhing beneath his tongue.

And now, he finally has you.

And he’s going to worship you.

"Let me have you, ma’syulang," he breathes against you, his voice thick with reverence. "Let me taste you again."

And then, with another slow, luxurious stroke of his tongue, he does.

Neteyam’s mouth is relentless.

The slow, maddening slide of his tongue sends another shudder through your body, his warmth against your most sensitive part making you tremble all over again. You should be too sensitive, should be unable to handle more—but somehow, it doesn’t matter.

It still feels so good.

Your body betrays you, pleasure building once more, deep and slow, coiling in your stomach like a rising tide.

Neteyam knows.

He feels it in the way your thighs tremble in his grip, in the way your breath hitches sharply every time his tongue moves just right. He can hear it in the soft, choked sounds escaping you, the way your hips instinctively arch against his mouth, desperate for more.

He groans, the sound vibrating against you, deep and reverent, like he’s lost in his own pleasure—like this is the most pleasurable thing he’s ever done.

“Eywa…” he murmurs between kisses, his voice thick and strained, full of awe. His fingers tighten around your thighs, spreading you open further, keeping you right where he wants you. “You taste like—", he groans again, voice cut off as he devours you once more.

The feeling is too much, but not enough.

Your hands fly to your mouth, instinctively trying to muffle the shameless, wanton sounds pouring from your lips. But—

The mask.

Your fingers hit the smooth glass instead, a clear barrier between you and your desperate attempt at containment.

And Neteyam sees it.

Sees the way your hands tremble against your mask, your eyes squeezed shut, your chest heaving.

His lips curl into a wicked, knowing smirk against your core, his golden eyes gleaming as he looks up at you.

“Don’t hide from me, ma’tanhi,” he murmurs, his voice dark, teasing.

And then—

His tongue slides deeper.

A sharp, high-pitched cry rips from your throat as his tongue pushes against your entrance, slick and firm, slipping just inside, teasing you.

Your body reacts instantly—your hips arch off the pelts, desperate for more, grinding against his mouth with raw, needy instinct. Neteyam groans loudly at that, a deep, almost pained sound that sends a violent shudder through your body.

"That’s it," he praises, his voice rough, guttural, his hands gripping you harder, keeping you right there. "Give yourself to me."

His tongue flicks against your clit, slow and purposeful, and he moans—a deep, shuddering sound that vibrates through you, that makes you tremble beneath him.

His pleasure is undeniable.

And when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue lapping, working you up again, you realize—

You’re going to break.

And he is the one who’s going to break you.

Your body shatters.

The heat in your core snaps, sharp and violent, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. A raw, broken scream tearing from your lips as you come undone on Neteyam’s tongue again. You chant his name, over and over, like a prayer, like a plea—like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. “Neteyam—Neteyam—oh, Eywa—Neteyam!”

Your hands tighten in his braids, your thighs trembling around his head, your entire body shaking as he works you through your orgasm, licking you like he can’t get enough.

You hear it—the low, wrecked moan he lets out against your core, the way his breath stutters like this is just as intense for him as it is for you. Like your pleasure is his own, like he’s lost in it, drowning in the way you come apart beneath him.

Your body slumps back against the pelts, gasping for air like you’ve just run miles, like you’ve been chased and finally caught.

Your limbs feel boneless, your chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. Your entire body tingles, still thrumming with aftershocks, still trembling from how hard he made you come.

And then—

Neteyam moves.

Slowly, purposefully, he crawls up your body, his golden eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry.

Your breath catches as you watch him prowl over you, his massive frame caging you in, his muscles shifting with effortless strength. His tail flicks lazily behind him, but his movements are anything but relaxed—he’s deliberate, controlled, like a predator savoring the moment before claiming his prey.

Your mask fogs up from how hard you’re panting, heat radiating from every inch of your overwhelmed body. But it doesn’t matter—

Because as soon as he’s close enough, you rip it off.

And kiss him.

Desperately.

Like there’s no tomorrow. Like the world is ending and he’s the only thing keeping you alive.

His lips are hot, wet with your taste, his breath mingling with yours as your tongues tangle, fighting, devouring each other. You taste yourself on him, and the realization sends another wave of arousal surging through you.

Neteyam groans into the kiss, his massive hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, like the space between you is unbearable. His chest rumbles, deep and needy, his entire body pressing you down into the pelts.

You kiss him until your lungs burn, until your chest aches for air.

And only then—only when your vision starts to blur—do you pull back, gasping as you fumble your mask back onto your face.

The moment it presses into place, you flop back onto the pelts, spent, limbs weak and trembling.

Neteyam chuckles, his voice low and amused, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you struggle to recover.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, smirking. “So weak. I barely touched you.”

You glare at him, lifting a shaky hand to smack his broad chest. “Fuck you.”

His smirk deepens, his ears flicking forward as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“That’s the plan.”

The heat between you lingers, even as the urgency fades into something slower, sweeter.

Neteyam’s massive form cages you in, his warm, powerful body wrapped around yours as he leans on his right elbow. His golden eyes drink you in, still dark with hunger, but softer now, filled with something deeper.

His fingers trace lazy, worshipful paths along your naked body—up and down, from the curve of your hip to the dip of your waist, then higher, until his palm spans across your ribs, pressing warm and firm over your racing heart.

He marvels at you.

How small you are beneath him.

How tiny your frame is compared to his—so soft, so delicate, yet still strong in a way that drives him insane.

One of his hands is enough to engulf both of your plump breasts, covering you completely. Marvel them how soft they felt under his palm. He squeezes, testing, teasing, watching in fascination as you squirm beneath him, your breath catching at the sensation.

But even with the stark difference in size, you are perfect to him.

You always have been.

Your breathing slowly evens out, but the moment you begin to relax, your fingers find his shoulders. You explore him, trailing the broad planes of muscle, feeling the strength beneath his skin. You grow bolder, your blunt nails raking gently over his deep blue striped skin, watching the way his muscles twitch in response.

Neteyam hums in approval, leaning down, pressing his lips softly against the lovebite he left on your neck.

Your heart swells with so much affection that you feel like you might burst. The words slip out before you can stop them, soft and reverent.

"I love you so much."

Neteyam stills for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. Then—he presses another slow, lingering kiss to the mark.

"Oel ngati kameie, ma’yawne."[I see you, my beloved.]

The words send a shiver through you, sinking deep into your bones. His voice is low, rich with meaning, with devotion, and your body trembles in response.

But then—you feel it.

The hard press of him against your thigh.

He’s achingly hard, the thick length of him pressed against your skin through the thin material of his loincloth, hot and undeniable. The realization sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core, making you ache all over again. Slowly, you reach down, sliding down on his chest, on his abs, your fingers trembling slightly as you try to touch him—to feel all of him for the first time.

But before you can, his large hand catches yours, pinning it effortlessly above your head.

You let out a soft gasp, blinking up at him in surprise as his lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Not today," he purrs into your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitches as you look up at him, your fingers flexing beneath his grip. “But I want to touch you,” you whisper, pleading, your voice desperate and needy.

Neteyam chuckles, low and dangerous. Instead of answering, he leans down, bites your earlobe—gentle but firm—then soothes it with his tongue, the teasing motion making your stomach flip.

Before you can protest, his other hand slides down, gripping your hips, pulling you closer against him.

And then—he grinds against you.

Slow. Deliberate.

The thick, solid length of him presses against your bare thigh, rolling against your feverish skin. The sensation is maddening, the friction sending a wave of pleasure surging through you.

A moan slips past your lips, high and needy, your body reacting instinctively to his.

You look up at him, your chest rising and falling, your pupils blown wide with desperation.

"Please..." your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "Oe tìkin nga, ma’Neteyam."[I need you, Neteyam.]

And that—that breaks him.

His golden eyes darken, his restraint shattering like glass.

His left hand trails down, slipping over your stomach, moving with purpose, with promise.

You hold your breath, waiting, wanting—

Then—

The first fluttering touch of his fingers between your thighs makes you whimper.

His calloused fingertips tease along your most sensitive part, deliberate, exploratory, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

You tremble beneath him, arching your hips against his touch, silently begging for more. Neteyam watches you, utterly captivated by how you react to him, how your body responds to every careful movement of his fingers.

Then, slowly—he enters you.

Just one finger.

Long and thick, stretching you in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. A soft, shocked moan slipping from your lips as your thighs tremble around him.

Eywa—

Just one of his fingers feels like when you use two of your own.

And the thought—

The thought of how much more of him there is to take—

It makes you shudder with anticipation.

You’re writhing beneath him, body caught in a relentless cycle of pleasure and want, teetering on the edge of something bigger, something deeper. You don’t even know how many times you’ve come just by his fingers.

It’s a blur—waves of ecstasy crashing over you again and again, each one leaving you shaken, your legs trembling around his broad shoulders as he works you apart with his expert fingers.

But you do feel when his second finger presses into you.

Your body stretches around him, and the sensation is so much, so deep, a desperate gasp ripping from your lips. "Fuck… yes," you whimper, your fingers clawing at his arms, grasping his armbands for a moment, your nails raking over his unbelievably strong shoulders. "So good—"

Neteyam groans deeply above you, his golden eyes hungry, his tail lashing behind him in raw need. His ears twitch at every sweet, gasping sound you make, drinking them in like they’re the only thing keeping him sane.

You can feel how much he’s trying to hold himself back.

How his hips stutter against your side, how he grinds himself slowly, as if trying to relieve some of his own unbearable ache.

He’s just as desperate as you are.

That thought alone sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you, your hips rolling frantically against his fingers, seeking more, needing more.

Your hands fly up, trembling fingers reaching for him—grasping, pulling.

And then—

You yank your mask down.

Before he can even register it, your lips crash against his, fierce and unrelenting.

It’s messy, desperate, filled with raw hunger as you pour everything—every ache, every longing thought—into the kiss.

Neteyam groans against your small lips, his grip on you tightening, his fingers curling inside you in a way that makes you cry out against his lips.

You don’t care.

You need him.

You need him now.

Your breath burns in your lungs, but before you pull away to put your mask back, you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, pleading.

"Please, Neteyam…" Your forehead rests against his, your breath mixing with his as your thighs quiver around his hips. “I  need you to…”

"...fuck me."

A deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest—a sound so primal, so filled with desperation, that it makes your whole body shudder.

You barely manage to secure your mask back into place before Neteyam moves.

Before he gives you exactly what you’re begging for.

Neteyam shifts, his movements slow, deliberate, as he settles back on his heels between your open legs. His golden eyes stay locked onto yours, filled with something heavy, something intense that makes your breath hitch before he even touches the knots at his hips.

Your heart pounds as his fingers move, untying the thin strips of fabric that hold up his loincloth. His hands are steady, but you see the way his chest rises and falls with each slow breath, see the way his muscles twitch slightly with anticipation.

And then—

The last piece of cloth falls away.

A sharp, unexpected surge of need crashes through you.

You barely realize you’re moving until your elbows prop you up, your eyes dropping to his body, the forest’s soft bioluminescent light from the outside through the gaps of the woven walls flickered over his deep blue skin, highlighting the smooth planes of his powerful body, all hard muscle and grace. The markings running down his chest and arms seemed to glow faintly, tracing the sculpted ridges of his defined torso, the shadows deepening where his muscles tensed.

He was massive, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, his form both elegant and commanding, honed by years of discipline and training. His thighs were powerful, thick with muscle, built for speed, for strength, for hunt. Yet, here in this quiet moment, he was simply a man before you, yours to admire.

And then… your gaze drifted lower.

A deep flush spread across your cheeks as you took him in. Hard. Heavy. Surprisingly human-looking, yet distinctly Na’vi.

Your breath wavered.

And—Eywa, he’s big.

It was thicker, longer, with a slight curve upward, the flushed tip a deep shade of blue, darker than the rest of him. It twitched under your gaze, as if aware of your attention, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from him. The base of it, where soft ridges ran subtly down the underside, was nestled against the apex of his thighs, right above the dip of his hip bones.

But somehow, seeing this, seeing all of him for the first time, makes reality set in in a way that makes your stomach twist with something dangerously close to uncertainty.

Neteyam notices.

His ears twitch, his breath catches—just for a moment—before his expression softens. You expect him to smirk, to tease you the way Lo’ak or Kiri would in any other circumstances, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, his tail flicking slowly behind him, his whole body trembling with restraint.

Not for himself.  

For you. 

Because you are the one making him like this.  

You are the one he’s been aching for, the one he’s been waiting for, the one he wants with such intensity that it’s practically vibrating through him.  

Your lips part, your chest tightens at the way he’s looking at you—like you’re everything.  

And just like that, the uncertainty vanishes.  

A small, knowing smile tugs at your lips.  

Because you make him feel this way.  

Because you have all of him, completely and utterly undone before you.  

And when you finally lift your gaze back to his face, Neteyam looks absolutely lost in you.

As you sit up before him, the warmth of the soft pelts beneath you is nothing compared to the heat radiating from Neteyam’s body. His massive frame is kneeling before you, yet even like this, he towers over you—his sheer presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

Your heart pounds as you crawl closer, moving toward him with slow, deliberate intent. The dim light of the hut flickers across his deep blue skin, highlighting every tense muscle, every careful breath as he watches your approach.

And then—your legs brace beneath you, and you rise to your feet.

Despite being on his knees, he is still tall enough that you are nearly eye-level with him now. The realization sends a small shiver through you. He is so big, so strong, and yet, the moment you stand, his long arms wrap instantly around your waist, pulling you to him, pressing you flush against his chest.

You gasp softly, his warmth seeping into you, his strength caging you in a way that only makes you want him more.

“Neteyam…” you whisper, your small fingers trailing down, brushing over the solid muscles  as you steady yourself. Your touch is featherlight, gliding over the ridges of his abs, feeling the hardness of his body beneath your fingertips, but carefully—deliberately—you avoid touching his aching length.

A sharp inhale hisses through his teeth at the teasing absence of your touch. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to warn you.

But you don’t stop.

Your hands travel upward, over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm before sliding over his powerful shoulders. You grip him there, needing to steady yourself—your legs are still weak, still trembling from the overwhelming pleasure he had given you earlier.

His golden eyes are burning as they lock onto yours, his breath shallow and controlled, but you can feel the way his muscles coil tight beneath your hands. The way his tail flicks in sharp, desperate movements behind him. Slowly, you pull off your mask, holding your breath just long enough to lean in—your lips brushing against the curve of his strangely shaped ear, pressing the softest, most delicate kiss against it.

A violent shudder runs through Neteyam, his grip on you tightening. His ears are so sensitive.

You smile against his skin, your voice barely above a breath as you whisper:

"Why are you holding back?"

And then, before he can answer, you press another kiss just beneath his ear, feeling the way his jaw tightens, how his hands twitch against your waist, how his entire body is practically vibrating beneath you.

Neteyam lets out a low, deep groan, his voice strained as he finally answers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear in return:

"Because if I don’t… I will ruin you."

His words send a wave of heat down your spine, your whole body tightening at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his voice.

"Because if I give in now," he continues, his grip firming on your waist as his head dips lower, "I will not stop. Not until I have had all of you."

His lips graze your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Not until you are shaking beneath me again."

A soft, involuntary gasp escapes your lips.

Your grip tightens on his shoulders, your chest heaving as your breath catches in your throat. You smile at him—soft, tender, and so full of love that it makes Neteyam stiffen for an entirely different reason. Because despite the aching desire burning in his veins, despite the raw need that has him trembling in restraint, you still look at him like this. Like he is yours as much as you are his.

Even with the undeniable heat pressing between you, even as he can feel the way your body is eager for him, he still waits. Still holds back because he refuses to hurt you, refuses to be anything but careful with you.

And that makes you smile even more.

Your heart swells with something deep, something raw, something endless for the man in front of you. He is so good—so considerate, so perfect, even when he is barely holding himself together, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

You pull your mask back on, taking a few steady breaths, filling your lungs. And then, with deliberate slowness, you remove it again, holding it carefully in your hand as you lean in—your lips barely brushing against his as you whisper:

"What if I want to be yours, ma’Neteyam?"

His entire body freezes.

For a split second, his golden eyes darken with something almost primal, something wild, something so deeply possessive that your breath catches in your throat.

And then—he moves.

His hands grasp your waist, firm and unrelenting, as he pulls you against him. Before you can even gasp, he lifts you—effortlessly, easily—making you wrap your legs around his waist as you cling to him.

You let out a small, breathless noise as your hands fly around his broad shoulders, your body molding against his as he holds you up like you weigh nothing.

And then—you feel it.

His hard length, pressing against the curve of your butt, hot and heavy even through the thin barriers of warmth still between you.

A shudder runs through you at the sheer size of him, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you press closer, feeling the way his grip tightens in response.

"You test me, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, a growl of pleasure and restraint in your ear.

And then—he moves.

With deliberate ease, Neteyam lowers you onto the soft pelts, his body still caging yours as he hovers above you.

His golden eyes never leave yours, drinking in every inch of you—your heaving chest, the way your lips part slightly as you pant beneath him, the way your legs instinctively tighten around his waist before he gently pries them apart, making space for himself.

His hands glide down your body, slow and reverent, tracing the curves he has memorized in his dreams, the ones he has ached to worship properly for so long.

You quickly put your mask back on, gulping in the air you desperately need. But before you can say anything, before you can even think, Neteyam leans down, his warm lips brushing the shell of your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your very bones as he whispers:

"Then let me make you mine."

Your breath catches as you look up at him, golden eyes locked onto yours, his body poised above you like a force of nature. Your chest rises and falls, lips parted in anticipation, and there’s nothing else—no one else—but him.

"Yes... please," you whisper, voice trembling with longing, with need.

Neteyam’s ears flick at your words, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. His hands, so large, so warm, slide over your sides with gentle reverence, as if mapping you, memorizing every curve, every dip. Then, he leans down, his lips finding your collarbone, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

And then—you feel it.

A sharp gasp leaves you as his hand moves between your bodies, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingers against your skin sending a new wave of anticipation through you. Your legs instinctively tighten around his hips, urging him closer, and he obliges—pressing himself against you, hot and hard.

A shiver racks through your body as you feel the blunt, thick tip of him against your still-sensitive and soaked core, the sheer size of him making your stomach tighten. He’s so big, so intensely there, and yet—he doesn’t move, doesn’t push forward.

Because even now, when every muscle in his body is coiled tight, when he aches for you, he still waits.

Neteyam pulls back just enough to look down at you, his golden eyes burning with so many things at once—desire, need, but also hesitation.

You know what he’s thinking.

That you are so small beneath him. That you are fragile compared to his massive frame. That he wants this more than anything, but he refuses to hurt you.

Your heart swells at the love in his expression, at the silent plea in his gaze, the way his ears flatten slightly against his skull.

And so, you nod, fingers reaching up to brush his strong jaw, whispering again, softer this time.

"Rutxe."[Please.]

Neteyam exhales shakily, his resolve barely holding together, and then—slowly, agonizingly slowly—he begins to push in.

Your breath stutters at the sensation, your fingers digging into his shoulders as inch by inch, he fills you, his thick length stretching you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

Neteyam lets out a deep, shuddering groan, his forehead pressing into your hair as he buries his face against you, his breaths ragged. His ears twitch, his entire body trembling with restraint as he fights every primal urge screaming at him to move faster, to take, to claim.

But he doesn’t.

He waits, panting against your skin, pressing slow, reverent kisses to your temple as he gives you time—time to adjust, time to feel every inch of him, time to let your body mold to him like you were made for him.

His hands clutch your hips, his fingers trembling slightly as he forces himself to still, waiting for any sign, any word from you.

And then, finally, when you exhale a breathless "Neteyam...", he groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he shudders.

Because this—this moment, this feeling—is more than he ever dreamed of.

And he will give you everything.

A gasp leaves your lips as Neteyam finally sinks all the way in, his body pressing flush against yours, his warmth consuming you completely. The feeling is overwhelming—too much and yet not enough all at once—stretching you in a way that has your head spinning, your chest rising in sharp, shallow breaths.

A deep, ragged groan rumbles from Neteyam’s chest as he trembles above you, his muscles taut beneath your fingertips, his entire body coiled with restraint. His ears flatten against his skull, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the tension straining his neck. He looks almost pained, as if holding himself together is taking everything he has.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper, reaching up with shaky hands, fingers brushing over the taut lines of his arms, feeling the way they quiver slightly from the effort of not moving.

He is huge, overwhelming in every sense, and yet—he waits, his chest rising and falling in unsteady breaths, his golden eyes squeezed shut as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, to not lose himself in you completely.

Your heart aches at the sheer amount of control it takes for him to hold back, to not give in to the deep, primal need raging inside him.

Gently, you trail your hands up his arms, over his biceps, before cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. His skin is burning, feverish under your touch, and when his golden eyes flutter open, they are wild—blown wide with desperation, with so much unspoken need.

"You are so good..." you murmur softly, trying to soothe him, trying to ease the trembling in his body.

But just as the words leave your lips, Neteyam’s hips stutter against you, and the last syllable turns into a long, helpless moan as pleasure shoots up your spine.

Neteyam curses under his breath, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you feel like you might break apart beneath him. He drops his forehead against your mask’s glass, panting, his breath hot against the thin glass.

"You are—" he exhales, voice barely more than a growl, "going to be the death of me."

You let out a breathless laugh, but it quickly turns into a sharp gasp as he shifts, barely moving, and your entire body shudders in response.

You are so full of him, stretched beyond anything you’ve ever known, and yet—it feels right. Like you were meant to take him, like his body was made to fit yours.

And Eywa help you, but you need more.

Your fingers curl in his braids, your lips parting as you pant, pleading. "Neteyam..."

His answering growl rumbles against your skin, his restraint hanging by a thread, his body shaking as he fights every instinct to move, to claim you completely.

But when your small hands grip his shoulders, when your body arches against his, when you whimper his name like a prayer—

Neteyam exhales a shaky breath as he slowly pulls back, only to sink into you again—agonizingly slow, deliberate, as if he wants to savor every second, every inch.

A deep, guttural groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you once more, his larger hips pressing flush against yours, his right fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist like he needs to anchor himself, while his right arm is above your head and holding almost all of his body weight.

"Eywa..." he breathes, his voice rough, almost desperate. "You feel so—so good, ma’yawne. So tight around me... so perfect."

His praise sends a sharp wave of pleasure through you, your body clenching around him in response. The sound that leaves him is feral, his hips stuttering before he pulls back and thrusts in again, this time just a little deeper, a little stronger.

"Nete—ah!" you gasp, your hands flying to his arms, gripping onto his biceps like a lifeline. He is so big, so strong above you, his body dwarfing yours, surrounding you completely.

His movements are slow, almost reverent, each roll of his hips measured, precise—like he is learning you, learning how to make you fall apart for him. You moan with every thrust, your head falling back, eyes rolling as pleasure coils deep in your stomach.

"Fuck, Neteyam..." you whimper, your fingers digging into his arms, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Neteyam lets out a low, pleased growl at your words, his tail curling tightly around your thigh. He leans down, his lips brushing over your jaw as he murmurs against your skin.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that, syulang..."

His next thrust is deeper, the drag of him sending a sharp, blinding wave of pleasure through you. You cry out, your nails raking down his arms, your entire body arching into him.

"Tìyawn, you're so tight..." he groans, his voice strained as if he’s barely holding himself together. "You feel—Eywa, you feel like you were made for me."

A shudder wracks your body at his words, your breath catching, your thighs tightening around his waist. You feel the restraint in him, the way his muscles coil with every slow, controlled thrust, the way his hands tremble slightly as he grip your hips.

And Eywa help you—you want more.

"Neteyam..." you plead, breathless, your hands sliding up to tangle in his braids. "Please—"

Every roll of his hips sends a new wave of sensation through you, his length sliding in and out of you with such ease now, each thrust sending a tremor through your limbs. The friction, the way he stretches you so perfectly. Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, echoing through the small hut. Right now, there is only him, only the way he moves inside you, the way his body engulfs yours, the way he feels so impossibly perfect.

"Eywa—" Neteyam groans, his golden eyes flickering down to where your bodies are joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. His ears flick back, his jaw clenching as if he’s trying to hold himself together, but you can feel his restraint slipping. His movements are too careful, his muscles too tense, like he’s holding back more than he should.

That won’t do.

You tilt your head up, eyes locking onto his as you gasp, "You won’t break me, Neteyam."

His breath hitches at your words, his ears twitching sharply. His grip on your hips tightens just slightly, his movements stalling for just a fraction of a second.

And then you laugh—a breathless, hazy sound as you reach up, cupping his face between your trembling fingers. "I can take you," you whisper, your voice dripping with need, with urgency. "I want you to stop holding back."

For a moment, he just stares at you, his golden eyes dark with something primal, his nostrils flaring. His tail flicks once, twice—and then, with a low, guttural growl, his restraint snaps.

Before you can even take another breath, his arms wrap around you, circling your waist and pulling you flush against him. You gasp as your chest meets his, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist as he buries himself inside you all the way, his hips snapping forward with a newfound urgency.

"Eywa—" you choke out, your fingers digging into his back, your body rocking against his with every thrust.

"You can take me, huh?" Neteyam grits out, his voice strained, his breath warm against your temple. "Let’s see if you still say that when I make you come again, syulang."

And then he picks up his pace, his thrusts deeper, faster, sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you, making your breath hitch and your toes curl. You cling to him, your nails raking down his back, your moans spilling freely from your lips.

"Yes— Neteyam, yes!" you cry out, your head tilting back as pleasure overtakes every part of you.

His arms tighten around you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck as he loses himself in you, completely, entirely—just as you wanted. Just as you needed.

Neteyam groans as he finally lets go, his self-control snapping like a bowstring. His thrusts turn deep, urgent, each one stretching you completely, hitting every sensitive spot inside you with devastating precision. Your moans turn into desperate, wordless cries, your body arching helplessly beneath him as he drives into you with long, powerful strokes.

Your nails dig into his upper arms, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "Nete—" you gasp, your voice breaking as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the overwhelming sensation too much and yet not enough at the same time.

His breath is ragged, his golden eyes burning as he watches you—watches the way you writhe under him, the way your lips part with each moan, the way your body welcomes him so perfectly. "Eywa, syulang," he groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck, his body shaking from the effort of holding himself up. "Nga zir—nìftxan—tsìltsan."[You feel so good.]

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body reacting instantly. The pleasure in your core twists, tightens—and then, like a bursting star, it snaps.

"Neteyam!" You scream his name as you reach your peak, your back arching off the pelts, your head tilting back, your eyes rolling back as your release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body shudders, clenching down so tight around him that you feel his entire form tremble above you.

Neteyam groans, his rhythm stuttering as he feels you squeeze around him, the sensation too intense, too perfect. "Eywa—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked as he follows you, his hips jerking forward one last time as he buries himself deep inside you.

His whole body shakes, his muscles flexing, his ears flat as he releases a deep, throaty moan. His grip on you tightens, his hand pressing against the small of your back, holding you to him as he rides out his release.

If he weren’t bracing himself on his elbow, he might have collapsed entirely from the sheer force of it. Instead, his body trembles against yours, his breath hot and ragged in your ear, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he slowly comes back to himself.

You’re both shaking, panting, completely spent.

The only sound in the hut is your heavy breaths, the rapid thumping of your hearts pounding against each other. Your fingers, still buried in his arms, twitch as the aftershocks ripple through you.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper breathlessly, your body still trembling beneath him.

He exhales deeply, his lips pressing softly against the side of your neck, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you, in the reality of what just happened.

And Eywa—nothing has ever felt more right.

Neteyam lets out a long, slow breath, his body still pressed against yours, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming. His heart pounds against your chest, his skin still warm and slick with sweat, his breaths uneven as he comes down from the intensity of it all. His arms stay wrapped around you, as if he’s afraid to let go—as if this moment is something sacred that he wants to hold onto for as long as possible.

You’re still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, but as the haze of pleasure fades, a lazy, satisfied smile spreads across your lips. With a soft sigh, you lift your hands, running them gently over his shoulders, easing the tension from his taut muscles with slow, loving strokes.

Then, with a deep inhale, you pull down your mask, just for a moment, just long enough to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips. Neteyam hums into the kiss, his large hands still gripping your waist, holding you close as he lingers in the feeling of you. His lips move against yours deliberately, savoring every second, as if trying to memorize your taste.

When you finally pull away, gasping softly, you quickly secure your mask back into place, still smiling up at him, your body boneless beneath him.

A breathless giggle bubbles up from your chest as you look at him, eyes filled with warmth. "If I knew this would be so good with you..." You bite your lip, teasing, eyes gleaming with mischief, "Fuck, I would’ve been yours sooner."

Neteyam huffs a soft laugh, his golden eyes softening as he looks down at you, pure adoration shining in them. "You have always been mine, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, affectionate, full of certainty.

Your heart stutters at his words, your fingers trailing over his shoulders, down his arms, down to his chest, mapping every dip and ridge of his powerful form. Your touch is gentle, soothing, filled with love, easing the last remnants of tension from his body.

After a moment, Neteyam slowly pulls out of you, his movements careful, but still enough to make a deep, shuddering moan spill from your lips. Your breath catches as you feel the mess he left inside you, the warm, sticky evidence of just how much he ruined you.

"Fuck," you exhale, laughing breathlessly as you feel his release slowly drip out of you. Your head falls back onto the pelts, a hand loosely covering your face. "You really ruined me."

Neteyam’s ears twitch, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he murmurs, his voice full of smug satisfaction, his tail flicking happily behind him.

His hands caress your hips, his fingers tracing the marks he left on your skin, his touch soothing despite the intensity of what just happened. His golden eyes roam over you, taking in every detail, every mark of his claim, every lingering shiver that courses through you.

"Rest, ma’yawne," he whispers, his forehead pressing gently against the glass of your mask. "I will hold you."

And as you melt into him, wrapped in his warmth, surrounded by his scent, his presence, you realize—there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

The warmth of Neteyam’s body against yours is all-encompassing, his long arms wrapped securely around your much smaller form as you nestle against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing soothes you, his blue skin still warm from exertion, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your palm. You’re still hazy, still floating from everything that happened between you, but this—this—is just as intoxicating.

His tail lazily flicks behind him, brushing against your leg, his deep, steady breaths melting into something else entirely—a low, rumbling vibration, soft yet unmistakable. You blink, confused for a moment before the realization hits you.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle, but you fail. "Neteyam… are you purring?"

His ears twitch at your words, his brow furrowing slightly as he blinks down at you. "Purring?" he repeats, clearly confused.

But that only makes you laugh harder. The deep, continuous rumble in his chest sounds exactly like a big cat, and it’s so unbelievably adorable that you can’t help but let out another giggle. "Oh my Eywa, you sound like a huge cat."

Neteyam raises a single, unimpressed brow, his expression deadpan. "What is a cat?"

That only makes you laugh harder. "Ohh," you hum through your giggles. "I will show you one day."

He narrows his eyes slightly, clearly not amused at being compared to something he doesn’t even know, but when you nuzzle closer against his chest, the tension melts from his expression. His arms tighten around you, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over your back, his purring—because that’s definitely what it is—deepening.

A warmth spreads through you, something deeper than just affection, something so all-consuming that you can’t contain it. You shift slightly, pushing yourself up to sit beside him, your knees tucked beneath you as you gaze down at him.

Neteyam watches you curiously, his ears twitching slightly as you lean in and rest your chin on his broad chest, staring at him with the silliest, most adoring smile on your face.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice amused but affectionate, one hand lazily tracing the curve of your spine.

You exhale a soft breath, your eyes drinking in every perfect detail of him—the strong lines of his face, the soft glow of his bioluminescent freckles, the way his golden eyes hold you like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.

"Just watching," you murmur dreamily, "the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen."

His expression shifts, something soft and utterly devoted settling in his golden gaze. His ears twitch slightly, his tail flicking against the pelts in response. "Yawne…" he breathes, his voice so gentle, so full of love.

And you can only smile, because Eywa, how is it possible to love someone this much?

Part 18: (Soon)

[andre-and-cal]

MORE BOTTOM ANDRE HCS PLEASEEE🙏🙏🙏 THEY ARE SO YUMMY !!

YAY!! Sure thing pookie !! These r a little different, a little darker, but I hope you guys still like these :D

Top Cal, Bottom Andre

One time, shortly after hooking up, Calvin sauntered up behind a clearly sore Andre, slithered an arm around his torso, and buried his face into his neck, mumbling an offhanded comment into his shoulder. Andre had grown rigid, briefly startled by the affectionate gesture that strongly juxtaposed both his words and the condescending smile present on his face. He was quiet for a moment, then called Calvin an asshole… for which the other teen bounced back with an empty threat, “You wouldn’t talk to me like that if I had a knife to your throat, Andre.”

Andre didn’t expect Cal to be speaking to his comrade with such violence. Because after a beat of silence, the teen mentioned about how easily he could kill him… how he could just make such a messy, uneven line extending across his throat, as if engraving the x-axis of Andre’s cervical vertebra with the tip of his switchblade. It wasn’t a threat, though. It was just reminding Andre of what Cal could do if he was really that insane. If he really despised the prospect of emotional infidelity within the Army of Two. Andre isn’t normal, though. And Cal isn’t normal either. But it’s just a hypothetical scenario, just a thought. Andre pushed him away, told him to chill the fuck out, but Cal squeezed his hip before pulling back, a sense of pseudo-innocence emanating from his demeanor, breathing into the air.

There was a time that Andre did joke about letting Cal mess with his body if he was dead. He was being half-serious at the time, as intrusive questions popped up in his head from time to time, curious to know what Cal would do if he somehow died before him. Which— he’s fully prepared to live for Zero Day, so his playful question wasn’t meant to sound as though it meant deeper than it actually did. However, he somewhat noticed Cal’s enthusiasm toward the wholly natural, and sometimes brutal, process of death. While Andre never judges him— well, he can’t judge him, as he’d be a hypocrite if he did— the way Cal had seemingly joked back to him with an almost hesitant agreement now prompts Andre to believe Cal might not have been fooling around.

Calvin is quite sarcastic and likes making Andre feel humiliated during sex, even when he’s treating him sweeter. But Andre does quite enjoy when Cal “shows him his teeth”. To elaborate, sometimes he’ll make Andre squirm with discomfort, like if he’s got his hand on his throat and blocking his intake of oxygen. Sometimes he’ll evoke desperate gasps and groans out of his comrade, if he’s thrusting painfully slow, giggling down at his pathetic form. Sometimes he’ll stimulate and provoke Andre into softly yelping and grunting with pleasure. Sometimes he’ll forcibly remove Andre’s control of the situation, albeit temporarily. Sometimes he’ll treat him harshly, like a lieutenant colonel demanding his army soldier to get up, get up, be a man. Andre never can, especially when Cal’s got three fingers in his ass, clumsily nudging his sensitive prostate gland with shaky fingers.

Calvin has tried to be a little handsy with Andre out in public, even if he was attempting to be subtle… or so he’d say. However, Andre always pulled away from Cal, pushing his hand off and yanking his hand out of his pants, mumbling to him about how they’re in public, and to stop doing that. Because chances are, someone they know could be around— New Stratford isn’t exactly a big city. Neither boy wants their peers to find out about their amorous arrangement, despite the infrequent riskiness.

From what the public saw on Andre and Cal’s tapes following Zero Day and their suicides, they were evidently different people when they were alone together, compared to when they were with others. While some people— like their family and friends— saw a different boy when they were with them, a different underlying persona, Andre and Cal were truly the only ones who really knew how each other acted. For example, a few times Cal had wanted to record he and Andre having sex— engaging in the intimacy that people around them believed they lacked. While Andre was initially opposed, he was able to be convinced into agreeing. And god, Cal came multiple times, nearly dropping the camcorder as his legs trembled, with Andre convulsing underneath him. Andre had groaned out a, “Don’— Don’t break my fucking camcorder…”

Andre is so sensitive when he’s “beaten down” and “crumpling like paper”… Calvin likes to abuse that.