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[fizziedoodle]

dating moodboards! (anime, marvel, etc)

all x black fem reader :) [modern au if it's smthin like aot or stranger things!]

random realism moodboards (movies, anime recs, shows etc)

things to geek over with me

fic requests

requests are open !

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sanrio

halloween + christmas are otw!

[bitterrfruit]

southpaw

boxer!Ghost x reader, ghost is lefthanded and i won't argue about this cw: dubcon - 18+ mdni So this was supposed to be one long fic but then i got carried away, here's part one of two. forgive me. [read on ao3 if you want]

You met Simon at the pub, on a Wednesday. 

It had been an arduous day at work, and a long week, despite having only made it halfway through - and you were on a knife edge, exhausted and sour. It was visible at first sight of you, you wore it like a greasy, raggedy cloak when you leaned slump-shouldered over the bar. 

He had drawn your attention like a magnet the moment you spotted him, the towering buzzed-blond behemoth standing alone at a tall table, a half-empty pint glass in his thick fist. You’d shoot furtive little glances in his direction, and each time they were caught. 

Caught being the operative word - when you met his eye you were trapped there, forcibly hooked on him as he glowered at you like he was angry. His eyes were shadowed from where you were perched - requesting a gin and tonic, short - and you should have found that frightening. Instead the adrenaline in your belly fizzed like a pinger, a girlish buzz that made your hairs stand on end and your cunt all warm. 

You would not have begrudged any male attention, in fact you were long starved of it; but you felt guilty, in a way, subjecting a man to the state you were in. Short-fused and frazzled, thin knitted scarf wrapped tight around your neck, autumn coat slipping from your drooping shoulder. You dug around in your bag for your wallet when the bartender handed you the card reader, scooping frantically through the piles of receipts and hairclips and loose tampons. Offered sheepish apologies to him; so sorry, it’s definitely in there. I’m a mess! Long day, sorry. So sorry. Sorry. 

You jumped when you heard the thud of a light slap on the counter, the low huff of an exasperated man, sick and tired. Looking up from your bottomless satchel, you saw the tenner left beside the card reader, and the bartender nodded in thanks before taking it swiftly. 

“No problem,” came the gruff voice from above you, implicitly chastising your lack of thanks when you tilted your head upward to blink at him. 

He was pretty - your first thought - in a dirty, brutish sort of way. Heavy-browed and amber-eyed, with thick blond lashes and a deep golden stubble. He was adorned with freckles and little scars, slivers of pink and white, some fresh and some old. And when he smirked knowingly at your silence, a dimple pulled in his cheekbone, the crater of an injury once sustained. 

He had just been to the gym, you could smell it on him; ripe and heady, a musk you should have been more repulsed by than you were. Instead you savoured it like some little animal, turned your head at the raw pheromones as though a doe sniffing out her stag during the rut. You could also tell as much from his gym gear, grey marled wife-beater under his unzipped black hoodie, stained with dried sweat, navy blue sport shorts that sat high on his hefty thighs and strained over their magnitude. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” you said abashedly, giving him an awkward smile in the hopes of concealing your flustered embarrassment. 

“I didn’t,” he agreed, and he leaned on the bar by his elbow to get a shred closer to your height. Through a haughty growl, he insisted, “You gonna thank me?”

His brazen arrogance should have put you off. You quickly got the sense he was well used to these encounters - a presumption that you’d be grateful for his interest, a raffish ease that reeked of habitual sex. You wouldn’t have called him well-practised, nothing about him was suave or carefully preened. No, instead, he was viciously masculine in a primal sort of way, rugged and unkempt around the edges. A cold gaze and a serrated smile. The kind of man that oozed testosterone and potent virility without needing to utter a word in his own favour. The unashamed lack of effort was bait in itself. 

You might have dismissed him if it were a Saturday, and you had friends to discourage you and drunkenness to embolden you. But, worn-out and sober, you felt obliged to entertain the man that had paid for you. Besides, something about him gave you the impression his attention was non-negotiable. 

And once you had thanked him as requested, soon followed a superficially understated conversation, though every word felt laden with some lude prescience. A simple question, then a simple answer, each delivered with more weight than the last. I’m a mechanic. Was in the army. This one’s from a scrap, got hit with a chair. From Manchester. Don’t normally come here on Wednesdays, maybe I should more often. No, not married. Yourself?

Minutes bled quickly to hours, and you didn’t spend a cent on your own alcohol. Soon you had migrated to a booth, and your sticky table became the graveyard of three gin and tonics, tired lime slices floating in the melted ice as you mindlessly prodded at them with a soggy straw. You ogled him shamelessly from the other side of the table, resting your tilted head in your palm, elbow extended on the wooden tabletop. 

He was a gladiator. Broad shoulders, pure meat - every part of him was thick with muscle and padded with a warm layer of fat. Winter bulk. You imagined his mammoth arms would be soft and pillowy if you were to squish them with your hungry hands, but that they’d turn as solid as rock if he were to engage them more forcefully. 

You asked him if he normally did this, went to pubs on weekdays to prey on bored working women and got them drunk so he could fuck them. 

He shrugged, shook his head. “Don’t need to get ‘em drunk.”

His tone was cocksure but insincere, and you didn’t yet have a good enough read of him to determine whether or not he was joking. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he were something of a lothario, given how quickly you had been sucked into his orbit despite his astonishing apathy - and yet, something told you he was more of a prowling wolf than a peacock. The kind of man that sets his eyes on his quarry and is unsatisfied until he has her between his teeth. It made your heart shiver to imagine yourself that meal. 

“Just me, then?” You bit back, thanking the bartender when he brought over a fourth gin for you and a third pint for the Mancunian. 

He dropped his pint glass down hard after he took his hefty swig. “You’re putting up more of a fight than they usually do.”

“Fighting the inevitable, am I?” You teased, facetious but not entirely unserious. 

“You tell me.” Is all he said. 

When you checked the time and decided it was far past your bedtime, seeing four fuzzy hands on your watch, he offered to walk you home - never know who’s out this time o’ night. You decided to take him up on it, the plentiful alcohol pumping through your blood blurred your already dubious sense of self-preservation. 

His vast hand travelled boldly down your back while you walked, and in a more sober state you would have told him off. Instead you giggled demurely, flicked his hand away half-heartedly just to test how quickly he’d put it back. And when he took an audacious and greedy handful of your ass you yipped at him, falsely agog, but you did nothing more to stop him. He grinned as he did it, sharp teeth, kneading your soft flesh as though evaluating how it felt in his thick fingers. Determining its adequacy. 

Arriving at your door he stood behind you like a shadow, watching you key the lock and breathing down the back of your neck. Such a lecher, already so bold as to assume you’d welcome him inside, spread your legs for him after so little effort. When his hand slithered to your waist and took a presumptuous grip, so confident, you felt your fortitude begin to waver. Would it hurt? 

But as you spun on your heel you blocked him out with your body in the frame, and gave him a sweet and hazy smile. A chaste kiss on the cheek. 

“Not lettin’ me in?” He asked, a grumble, with just enough mirth for you to lower your hackles. 

You traced along the jamb with your fingernail. “Maybe next time.”

A test, you drunkenly thought, for if he were really an unashamed cunthound you’d expect him to sulk, or to get grouchy, or to call you a fucking bitch for leading him on. Maybe, you wondered, he might dismiss your refusal entirely, shove you into the apartment with an angry paw and make you fulfil your unspoken proposal. Not much of a fight you could put up, if he were such a beast. 

Instead, he merely gave you a rakish grin, and brushed your chin with his thumb. “Next time, then.”

Next time came unexpectedly on the Friday, shortly after you had come home from work; freshly showered and lotioned, you answered the knock on your door in only a blue towel wrapped around your torso. Confronted immediately by the gargantuan man on your doorstep, you stepped back in fright. 

There were smudges of oil on his ruddy cheeks, grime embedded deep into the fibres of his black work jacket. With his fists in his pockets, a cigarette jutting out of his pursed lips, he sniffed brashly in the cold. “You busy?”

Your eyes scanned him shrewdly for a short moment before the memory came speeding back to you, flew across your face like a slap, and he gave you a fleeting smirk when he saw your eyes widen and your cheeks go red. The stranger from the pub remembered your address. Not something you considered as you stupidly welcomed him to walk you all the way home. 

“I’m not inviting you in,” you murmured, adjusting your towel higher on your chest when you felt his gaze warm the cleavage it failed to conceal. 

“Come out, then.” 

His imperious persistence was another warning you should have heeded, bright red and clear as day. Not often a man so obstinate is worth pursuing. Better avoided. His resolute silence compelled you, though, made unspoken demands that you dared not refuse. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. 

You didn’t recall his name until he reminded you, after you had already gotten yourself dressed and met him out the front of your apartment; Simon. You smothered your more rational counterpart with a pillow, shutting her up when she warned you about going out with the man that showed up uninvited on your doorstep - particularly this one, who had your intuition screaming at you so ferociously. Play stupid games.

He hadn’t planned a date, no prior effort had gone in beyond the sudden compulsion to come and try his luck.

“Didn’t want you to forget me,” is what he told you when you asked. 

You went with him to get fried chicken - his choice, an option wasn’t given - and ate it together on a park bench. Unsophisticated and to the point, a din of crunching and sucking on toothpick bones, broken up occasionally by your coy laughter. He made no effort to conceal a potently authoritarian nature, one you had as yet only caught glimpses of, and you were ruefully drawn to it. Reared its head when he told you where to sit, how fast to walk, what not to talk about. When you had demurely requested a single small punnet of hot chips from the food truck, and he had snorted at you; “Don’t take the piss. More than that.”

You shared a cigarette with him, sat under the bare elm tree and observed the chipmunks that came to feed on the crumbs of fried batter. Talked about nothing until the sun had set and the frost began to settle. 

After returning you home he quickly had you trapped against the front door of your flat, laving your flushed neck with his ravenous mouth, tongue under your jaw like he was tasting you. Palmed your cunt through your jeans with a thick hand, uncaring of passersby, and you let him persist, just for a little bit - selfishly, you thought, because you weren’t going to let him sink his cock into you yet. 

It was simply an experiment, you told yourself. Some part of you was well aware of the fire you were playing with, warning you vociferously about what happened to the curious cat. And that you were - dangerously eager to know for how long he would pursue you if you abstained from presenting your cunt to him off the cuff. What might happen if you dangled your prizes in front of his nose and continued to withhold them. 

His hand was so big, warm, strong like he might lift you up by it. He knew exactly where to press the heel of his palm to push a needy whine from your throat, right at the throbbing crux of your heat. If you had let him continue kneading you unfettered you’d have pathetically come inside your jeans before you had even taken him inside. 

You clutched his wrist to thwart his efforts, flustered and out of breath. Sheepishly warned him; “I - I don’t put out until the third date.”

Not a conviction you’ve ever held firm on, but it has been a long while since the last time you had taken a man home. You were slightly fearful that the second you let him fuck you, he’d be satisfied and spent and move on to the next helpless woman at the pub who couldn’t find her wallet. And, in truth, you relished in starving him. Delighted in the appetite you could see swelling in his belly, frothing at his jaws when he glowered at you under dark lids. 

He huffed mournfully, patience waning, as he removed his hand from between your legs with a purposeful swipe. Grumbled huskily, “You’re really testing my strength o’ character.”

You chuckled breathily as you fondled the door handle behind you, letting out a puff of relief when it gave way to you and you stumbled onto your back foot into the foyer. You could guess what he implied from his crude remark - barely a veiled threat, and yet you were only more eager to peer under the shroud. 

“Mustn’t be very strong if you can’t wait a little longer,” you prodded, emboldened by the false safety of being indoors. 

He nodded, gritting teeth as he adjusted his jacket. “You make it weak.”

Your throat nearly closed at that, the air suddenly warm and acrid. “Well, I hope you can hold strong till then.” 

He let out a hoarse groan, rubbing his neck with stiff knuckles. Dints pulled in his temple as he clenched his jaw, exerted no effort to mask his frustrations. 

“Wednesday count as date one?” He asked stiffly. 

You pursed your lips as you thought of a response, conscious that if it were the first ‘date’ - in heavy quotes - he’d expect your cunt on the next. You would likely not have bemoaned that, given the thumping you felt already in the peak of your swollen bud, the slick that you felt soak into the gusset of your underwear after such moderate attention. But it was a bit of a game, now, wasn’t it? A creature within you, one whose nature was perhaps a cause for concern, wanted to see if he would crack. Wanted to know what he would do to you if he did. 

“No,” you told him. 

With a terse nod, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and left. 

Date two came to pass on the Sunday, as presumptuously as the first, but he had at least sent you a text from an unsaved contact beforehand; picking you up in 10. 

You didn’t recall giving him your number, but wistfully assumed you must have put it in his phone on the drunken night you met him. 

With nothing better to do, you replied, what am I wearing? 

Dress. 

Following his blunt text like it were an instruction from your manager, you dug through your closet for a dress that would suffice - nothing too dressy, you didn’t want to expend too much effort - and nothing too provocative, lest you provoke him. Settled on something plain and black, dense cotton with a bit of flow and sat low on your neckline, but not too low. Once you were dressed you snapped a photo of yourself in your floor-length mirror, concealing your face with your phone, and sent it to him for his approval. 

He replied after a few minutes; No stockings. 

You frowned as you typed out your answer. It’s cold though. 

He never followed up, and you took off the stockings. 

When he arrived to pick you up in his black off-roader pickup and you hopped inside - he didn’t open the door for you - you immediately spotted a big purple welt protruding from his cheekbone, fresh and throbbing and speckled with broken capillaries. You asked him if it was the result of another ‘scrap’, so he called it, and he shook his head.

“Match last night,” he told you, before shrugging it off. Then joked - or, intended to joke; “You should see the other lad.”

“Match?” You asked him to clarify, perhaps stupidly, as he revved the rumbling engine of the four-wheeler and drove off like he was in a hurry. 

The cab of his truck smelled like tobacco, and the redolence of old sweat embedded in his seat; from how often he’d hop in unshowered after working out, you guessed. There was a tired old Evian bottle in the cup-holder of the centre console, next to it a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a clear orange lighter. The passenger seat was stiff and dusty, you must have been one of very few people to have sat in it.

“Boxing,” he answered. 

A boxer, you thought to yourself, eyes clinging to his bulky arm as it gripped and shoved the gearshift; forearm turning stiff as you had imagined it would, where it peeked out from the rolled sleeve of his black crewneck. Thick veins ran in webs under his skin. Tendons bulged in the back of his hand. Now that you looked more closely, you could see the bruises on his knuckles - some turned ochre yellow with age, others fresh and plum and looked tender to the touch. He’d have to have been a heavyweight, given the fucking size of him. Built like a bear, wide set and heavy and so comically tall that he looked too large for the cab of his own truck. 

He took you out for dinner, a proper date, he called it - a hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant with four tables and a single waitress. Far more of a date than his last two attempts - you briefly considered counting this as date number one. He ordered himself two meals, an unsurprising quantity, and requested that both be as hot as the chef could make them. 

You asked him about his boxing, and he said that he made some money from it but not quite enough to live on. That you probably wouldn’t have seen him on the telly, because he usually fought in the undercards and didn’t like the cameras. 

Told you under his breath that he made more cash when the games were ‘under the table’. What that meant you weren’t certain, and he kept it thrillingly vague. “No gloves,” was how he explained it, “and no referee.” You told him that sounded illegal and he only gave you a shrug.

“Are you any good?” You asked with a kink in your brow. 

He smirked at you, mouth full of rendang. “I’m alright.”

Something in his tone told you he was being humble. You felt a little giddy. “You ever knocked someone out?” 

“Did last night,” he admitted indifferently. 

You questioned him a little more. “Are you a violent person?”

He tilted his head either way as though considering his answer, shovelling a hunk of beef folded in naan into his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. “Not all the time.”

A little shaken, you asked if you should be worried. 

“I can be gentle,” is what he answered, with a lidded glare and the faintest smirk that flickered in his lips. You didn’t believe him. 

After he paid for your meal - told you crudely to shut it when you offered to split the bill - he put you in his truck ostensibly to drive you back home. But when he missed the turn that he should have taken, you shuffled disquieted in your seat, lacking the bravery to mention it just yet. Perhaps he was simply taking an unfamiliar route. 

He must have noticed your unease, because he turned his head to look down at you, but he did little to assuage your discomfort. 

“Takin’ you to mine,” he declared bluntly, as though reminding you of a fact you already knew. 

You blinked at him, felt the prickles of adrenaline creep down your neck like a nettle sting, an alert from your primal subconscious to a looming threat. “This is only the second date,” you diffidently reminded him. 

“I know,” he said, through a toothy grin, apparently amused by your skittishness, “‘m not ready to let you go just yet.”

You nodded stiffly, chewing on the inside of your cheek and picking your nails in an anxious habit. You weren’t frightened of him - despite the awareness that you should be - if you truly were, you’d kick up much more of a fuss. But he was quite unreadable, purposefully so, and what could you possibly do if he decided he wasn’t interested in waiting any longer? Win stupid prizes.

“Don’t panic, love,” he asserted, reaching his burly arm over and taking hold of your knee, thigh dwarfed by his hand as he gave your meat a quick squeeze. “Not interested in takin’ what I haven’t earned.”

His terraced flat was modest and unadorned, a skinny three-storey house sandwiched between rows of similar boxes. Two windows per floor. A layer of tan stucco smeared over its brick. No garden, only some moss and a few sprouting weeds, and a wrought iron fence that lined the sidewalk out the front. 

He pulled his pickup to a stop on the side of the road, killed the engine and barked an order at you as he opened the door, “Out y’get.” 

The street was barren and dark, and every breath you let out echoed in the lifeless silence. Not even after nine in the evening and the neighbourhood seemed to be devoid of inhabitants, only one or two windows glowed from within - an indication of at least some life. You felt a chill as you stepped out onto the road, tightened your arms around your torso as you wandered bashfully behind him to his front step. He huffed impatiently as he jammed his keys in the lock, shoving and shimmying them loudly until the door reluctantly gave way to him. 

He marched into the depths of his flat, swallowed by the darkness within - didn’t bother to turn on the light. You only saw which direction he had headed once a yellow light flickered on in a distant room down the hall. Shutting his front door behind you, leaving it unlocked, you quietly walked in the direction of the light. 

His flat was painfully undecorated. Raw, messy with clutter and miscellaneous belongings, in stacks and piles, on tables and chairs. Torn open envelopes, old socks, misplaced boots. Jackets hung over the bannister and sweaters over the backs of his seats. You found yourself in an open kitchen and living room, bare save for the odd piece of secondhand furniture and empty bottles of beer dotted about the place. 

You found him leaning into an open fridge, illuminated by its dim bluish light. “Can I getcha somethin’?” 

 “Um,” you pondered, failing to conceal your unwelcome nerves, a shiver in your voice. “No - thank you, I’m okay.” 

He shrugged as he shut the fridge door with his elbow, a bottle of Carlsberg dwarfed in his hand. Stuck the top in his open mouth and popped off the cap with his teeth in a horrid crack, spat it aimlessly into the kitchen. “Suit yourself.”

He left you standing like a fool as he went to sit himself down on his sofa, landing in it with a gruff and satisfied sigh. Sunk into the cushions and spread his knees to make himself comfortable, big enough that he took up two seats of the three-seater. He reached for the remote and turned on the telly, volume low, but audibly some football game or other. 

His eyes fastened on you, though - narrow and pointed as though you had been caught in his crosshairs. He tipped his beer into a jutted jaw, took a noisy and insouciant sip. 

“All shy now?” He asked. 

A defensive no caught in your throat and it emerged as a quiet hiccup. You wanted to smack yourself. “I just - I’m not sure why I’m here.” 

He huffed testily. ”Want to go home, do you?” 

You knew you should say yes. “No - no it’s not that. I’m - I’m okay.” 

He cracked a grin, a flash of teeth before it vanished. “Do I make you that nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you retorted, voice higher-pitched than would otherwise be convincing. 

“C’mere, then.” He gestured a lazy hitherto with three fingers, an edge in his glare. 

Your feet were moving before you disputed. “What for.”

“Siddown,” he grunted.

Better judgement hammering at you, you hesitated before you obeyed, standing in front of him but just out of reach. 

“What’re you so afraid of, sweethear’,” he asked richly, and you blinked at him before looking down at your hands. 

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Just not - not really used to this sort of thing.” 

“No?” He questioned with aplomb, pride oozing from him like crude oil. “Been a while, has it?”

You fawningly shrugged. “Guess so.” 

“Am I taking you home, then?”

The second time he had offered it, though this time there was something discerning in his tone; cocksure yet challenging, a last call. Resolved, you sat down mousily in the cushion next to him. Shrivelled so that you took up as little space as possible, held your arms tight to your body. 

You shook your head, steadfast. “No, that’s okay.”

He let slip a grin at your answer, canines sharp and catching the glint of the dim television in front of him. You thought he might hang his mammoth arm over your shoulder, or rest a hand on your thigh; might test the waters with a noncommittal touch to see how you reacted to his crossing of the boundary. 

But he had no such subtlety nor restraint - instead he slipped his hand behind you and hooked you by the waist, hoisting you one-armed from your distant spot with the ease of picking up a house cat. You let out a sharp gasp as he plonked you on his left knee so that you straddled it, back firm against his side as he riveted you in place with his forearm.

You yelped as you were made to forcibly bestride his thigh, left tongue-tied in your shock and momentarily unable to utter a word of dispute. Heart set to panic, scarcely able to subdue your hurricane of thoughts, you exerted all effort wriggle out of his grip - bucked and twisted and pulled, all painfully futile. 

His strength was unfathomable and frightening, the muscles of his only restraining arm hardly even tensed to hold you in place. It was easy for him. He briefly leaned to the side to dump his beer on the side table. 

You barked;  “Simon - let go of-”

Me was muffled by the right hand that swiftly sealed over your mouth, fingertips burrowing into your cheeks, the top of his hand tucked under your nose and barely allowed you to suck in a breath. 

He shushed you quick and sharp, and you let out a defeated moan as you persisted in your attempts to writhe free. You clamped your legs closed around his thigh as if you might seal off your cunt from him, but he simply let out a breathy chuckle - lightly bounced his knee to remind you that he had you wedged open as he pleased, and the force beared down on your centre with each jolt had you squeaking like a mouse into his palm. 

“Settle down,” he chided, stern-toned, you felt the coarse stubble of his jaw scrape down the side of your face as he craned his head beside yours. “Don’t you kick up a fuss now.” 

His colossal paw raked up your thigh, hitching the forgiving fabric of your skirt along with it and leaving pointy gooseflesh in its wake. 

Still you squirmed, but your defensive tenacity was rapidly fizzling away - doused with the sobering knowledge that you had made the very bed he was now forcing you to lie in. 

“You knew what you were after when you came out, didn’t you,” he snarled, accusing, lifting the hem of your skirt up to your belly. 

You shook your head as ferociously as he allowed you to, his suffocating hand stifling both your movement and your breathing. You whined into his clammy palm, hoping he’d be able to translate the sounds you made in place of words; not yet. 

Whether or not he understood, he ignored you; his fingertips clawed over your mound, catching in the thin fabric of the plain underwear you wore under your dress - dug into the leg hole where the hem sat against your groin, before yanking it to the other side. He tugged at the elasticated cotton, shimmying the gusset so it was entirely out of his way; cunt bare and exposed, your vealy lips rubbed raw against the rough denim of his jeans. 

“Like a cat in heat, eh?” He grumbled, feeding his imperious hand between your legs where they were held open by his titanic thigh. Jammed his thick fingers into your folds without hesitation, indifferent to your whimpering. 

His solid nose buried under your ear, right into the underside of your jaw, and he took a deep and wolfish sniff.  “Can fuckin’ smell it on you.”

You winced as he pressed the pads of two fingers against your twitching opening, not yet slick; nudging at the precipice as though hoping to milk you of your nectar - but he didn’t puncture you. Instead, he languidly dragged them back up to your timid bud where it was hidden under its hood, used your scant fluid to barely lubricate his incursion. 

He bucked his knee, making you bounce into a better position for him. Began chafing circles with the tips of mean fingers, kneading out your clit with a steady pressure that made you sob into the palm of his restraining hand. 

He was deft, knew how to make quick work of you - you felt your watery blood turn viscous and hot, it flooded down the middle of you as though spiralling an open drain. Pumped warm right into the centre of your bud and made it shudder and swell, twitched with hypersensitivity.

Morally, you spurned it, fought against it viciously - the man so arrogant and cruel as to forcibly pleasure you despite vehement protest. But your feeble body spoke far louder, betrayed you with its carnal appetite. Your acrid resistance turned to pudding under his abrasive hand. 

No longer wrestling, your hips leaned into him, spine arching and curling, flesh so pathetically desperate for purchase that it begged implicitly in spite of your expressed dispute. 

He sensed your blossoming acquiescence, heard your grunts and moans of defiance melt into high-pitched, needy whines; you felt his wrenching grip of you soften and a rough smile curl against your cheek. 

“Tha’s it,” he purred, low voice thrummed directly into your skin. You could only mewl into his palm like a trapped animal, his hand growing wet against your mouth. “Tha’s what you were after, eh? All that whingeing.”

A wanton oh, fuck, was muted by his palm as he slowed and eased his pace, no longer toiling to subdue you. With two fingers flat against the crux of your folds, he ran them up and down your seam - uncovering your puffy clit with each upward stroke and making you flinch with the shock. 

You tightened your legs around his thigh on reflex, curling your pelvis away from his touch as you grew so sensitive it began to burn - but your range of motion was sorely limited, and relief you could not find. 

He removed his smothering hand from your mouth and smoothed it down your waist, finding the meat of your hip and taking a fastening grip. Anchored your pelvis still and held you down, exacerbating the pressure on your cunt; parting it like a butterfly and grinding his coarse denim against flushed lips, you felt your slick seep out of you and soak the fabric underneath it.

You rocked your head back against his collarbone, feeling its rigidity at the back of your skull, and your eyes fluttered shut; you felt his hot breathing on the side of your head, an airy chortle at your whimpering capitulation. He only slowed his infliction, gently grazing your yearning clit as though to tease it, to force you to debase yourself as you pleaded for his brutality. 

“F-fuck-” You mewled, face flustered, skin febrile - you were suddenly so infuriatingly close, wracked by a surging current that shuddered into your core and made you spasm and shiver. The dawning heat was abruptly overpowering, and you leaned desperately into his hand to chase it. “Simon - Please - I-”

Every attempt you made to speak or complain was bitten off by an indulgent sob, weak and pleading cries, begging him to release you. 

“Please, what?” He gloated deeply, you could hear his smug grin without having to see it. “Speak up.”

Your mind was frayed, and your tongue was fat and heavy in your mouth. You squeezed out your answer through a strained whine; “I’m - I’m going to-”

“Y’gonna come, are you?” He mocked, voice rumbling and cruel. Seemed to find immense satisfaction in your pathetic desperation. 

He pressed down on your scalding clit and forced a pained cry from your throat when you failed to answer him.

“Y-yes,” you bawled, driven close to pitiful tears.

He pinched your plump and angry bud between his fingers and made you jolt, before he let out a chuckle, and his hand glided out from between your legs. Left glossy trails of your syrup up your mound, your belly, as he abandoned you. 

An agonised groan lept from your chest as you buckled forward, wrecked with desperation, suddenly and brutally hollow. 

“Taste o’ your own medicine, eh?” He crooned, haughty, he smacked the side of your thigh with two firm pats as if to reassure you. “I don’t put out easy, either.”

You only sobbed, deafened by the thunder of your throbbing blood in your ears, cunt still so ravenous you were rendered a slave to it. You were unconsciously grinding your cunt on his thigh, rocking your hips, hissing at the abrasion of the denim on your clit - but it was better than nothing. 

“Look at you,” he snorted, leaning back on the sofa with his arms hung over the back, as if to enjoy the show. As he reached for his abandoned beer, he chided; “Fuckin’ needy slut, aren’t you?”

He glided a hand up your spine as you rode his leg like a little animal, and maybe you could finish yourself off like that, if you tried hard enough - but his claw settled at the back of your neck and took malicious hold. He yanked you back by it so that your head knocked against his shoulder, the angle he had you at starving your clit once more. 

“‘Nuff o’ that, sweethear’,” he muttered into your temple. “You can wait, like me.”

You whimpered, the humiliation finally having caught up to you - it rained over you cold and bitter, and you suddenly wanted to run and hide. 

He put both paws on your hips, then, and hoisted you up and off of him - dumped you into the sofa cushion beside him and you landed with a bounce. 

You grunted bitterly, still panting. “You’re such a-” you breathed, twitching. “Prick.”

“Careful,” he grumbled, scolding you, and you sealed your lips. 

After a short and breathless silence, you heard him chuckle to himself as he stuck his beer between his lips, swallowing a frothy sip as if he hadn’t just left you a wreck. 

You glanced at him, to see what was so funny - and you saw him swipe his thigh with his thumb, a mortifying patch darkened by your slick, more than you had thought, soaked through. 

“Fuckin’ mess you made,” he jeered, voice low and harsh as though distracted. He grunted out a tiresome sigh. “Gonna be tough to wait for date three, eh?”

You only nodded, mind blunt and blurry, suddenly remembering the rule you had set. 

“What’ve you got in mind,” you puffed, shimmying your dress back over your thighs to regain some of your stolen decency. 

He sucked his teeth, rocked his head as he took another sip of his Carlsberg. 

“Come watch me fight,” he said. 

[pin-k-ink]

cynosure // kageyama tobio

tw ⇢ needy!sub!kageyama, dom reader, begging, cunnilingus, squirting, praise kink (m! receiving), kageyama cums untouched, ruined orgasm, kinda body worship

wc ⇢ 2.3k

"I mean, what can I say?" Kageyama's deep baritone carried across the lively gathering with undisguised swagger. "It helps that my wife is so eager to please in the bedroom. She knows I'm in charge and that's just how it is."

You froze mid-conversation, drink halfway to your lips as his boastful declaration ricocheted through your consciousness like a thunderclap. Slowly, you turned to find your husband holding court among his former Karasuno teammates - chest puffed out and that signature smug grin plastered across his handsome features.

Despite the dull roar of the party surrounding him, Kageyama's navy gaze seemed to find yours through the crowd unerringly. Something deliciously wicked flashed behind those hooded depths as he appraised you from across the room with searing intensity.

As if sensing your rapidly mounting indignation, his smile turned molten - full lips curving into an artful sneer you knew so intimately. The one that said he was already formulating a full wind-up for the pitch guaranteed to send your temper blazing.

"Oi, oi Kageyama!" Tanaka's raucous laughter cut through the din next, jarring your focus. "You're full of it as always! There's no damn way [Y/N] just lets you call all the shots in the bedroom like that."

Nishinoya immediately chimed in with a loud cackle. "Sorry man, but I gotta agree with Ryuu on this one! Remember back in high school how [Y/N] used to keep your Kingly ass in line?"

You pursed your lips to suppress a smirk of your own as Kageyama visibly bristled at the friendly ribbing. Yamaguchi tried half-heartedly to defuse the mounting teasing, only to end up doubling over in wheezes as their loudmouth senpais kept the taunts rolling.

Throughout it all, Kageyama stared straight at you – a heated challenge simmering in that ravenous gaze you recognized all too intimately. You held his stare steadily, delicately grazing the rim of your glass with your tongue in a blatant show of defiance.

A visible shudder ripped through your husband at the deliberate taunt. You relished in the way his jaw clenched, throat bobbing convulsively even from this distance as you signalled your refusal to play along so docilely. Not in public, and certainly not back in the privacy of your own bedroom...where you both knew the delicious truth all too well.

So when the rager finally began winding down in the wee hours and pleasantries were exchanged, you made sure to slip out well ahead of Kageyama – already anticipating the blazing promise awaiting you both at home with heated inevitability.

Sure enough, you'd barely crossed the threshold before your husband's powerful bulk slammed the door shut behind you with a muted bang. Spinning on your heel, you took in the combustible sight of him looming there with those blown pupils smoldering with naked yearning.

"Feeling a little overconfident tonight, my King?" you murmured, keeping your tone light even as electricity fizzed down your spine.

Prowling forward with boneless grace, Kageyama crowded you back against the hallway wall without so much as a word. The rough plaster grated against your shoulders as he caged you in on both sides, but you refused to be cowed so easily.

"Don't..." he growled in that gravelly rasp you adored. "Unless you plan on actually putting me in my place, that is."

For a moment, he held you immobilized beneath the scorching weight of his ravenous study. You remained utterly defiant, licking your lips with delicate leisure just to watch his blown pupils dilate further in response. Then, unhurriedly, you skated your hands up the carved ridges of his abdomen until fingertips dug deliciously into chiseled pectorals.

"Well aren't you feeling rebellious tonight?" you husked out, sharp nails scraping over the stiff peaks of his nipples in wicked suggestion. "I'll admit, this new sense of misguided ego does suit you well, Tobio..."

Kageyama shuddered against you bodily, spine flexing as you angled your face closer until your lips brushed the strained tendon of his neck with every consonant.

"Though it will make taking you apart all the more...rewarding, I suspect," you finished, sealing your mouth over his thundering pulse in a slick glide.

A feral groan punched from your husband's chest as his arms sagged against the wall, fully surrendering himself over to your velvet possession already. You indulged in nipping and laving reverent patterns over every shuddering inch of silken flesh offered freely, relishing the crisp musk of Kageyama's arousal rapidly soaking the air between your twined forms.

Only once his lidded eyes finally fluttered shut in rapturous surrender did you pull back enough to rasp out the final blistering promise against his slack lips:

"Now...let's see how long that bravado holds up once I really put you through your paces, hm, my King?"

"Please...please [Y/N], I can't take it anymore..."

Kageyama's gravelly whine pitched higher as his big hands fisted in the bedding beside your thighs. You simply arched one sculpted brow, letting your gaze trail over his trembling form in a lazy sweep.

He knelt before you stripped bare, chest heaving with exertion and dark locks matted against his forehead from exquisite effort. A delicate sheen of sweat gleamed over the taut cords of his sculpted abdomen and those mouth-watering v-lines disappearing beneath...

You allowed yourself a slow, indulgent perusal of his thick cock straining against the scant fabric still clinging to his hips. No matter how many times you drank in the sight, it never failed to make your mouth water in fresh appreciation.

"Does my sweet little King need something?" you finally rumbled out, tone dripping with sugared condescension.

Kageyama whimpered again, those blown sapphire irises shining with desperate need as he searched your hooded expression pleadingly. In the dim bedroom light, you could make out the delicate glistening of tears streaking over his beautifully ruined features.

"Y-You..." he rasped out, lashes fluttering rapidly. "Please, I need you to touch me...kiss me...anything, [Y/N], I'm begging—"

His desperation broke off into a hitched cry as you simply tilted your head, keeping your folded arms and legs firmly crossed in a show of detached indifference. Despite the rapidly swelling ache pulsing between your own thighs, something primal and merciless reared within at holding this ultimate power over him.

"You're begging?" you echoed softly, letting the molten lull of your voice caress over each damning syllable. "The same King who was mouthing off so arrogantly about having control just hours ago?"

Kageyama's throat worked convulsively as you trailed one toe up the taut line of his inner thigh in a languorous glide. Despite his full-body shudder, you refused to halt the deliciously slow ministrations once you reached the apex of those rippling muscles bracketing his aching length.

"Perhaps this will remind my husband who truly holds the reins in our...intimate affairs, hm?" you crooned, skimming the very tip of your foot along the underside of his weeping cock in one branding caress.

Kageyama's ragged groan fractured into a high, needy whine as he dropped his head and rolled his hips into the honeyed torment helplessly. Wetness from the precum pearling at his flushed tip trailed down your arched instep in silken streaks, making you inhale sharply at the thrilling heat.

"Please..." he panted out in a wrecked rumble that seared straight through your already fraying restraint. "I'm yours, always yours...your good boy, I swear it..."

With maddening lethargy, you allowed your legs to finally unspool from their rigid posture and bracket his shuddering body with purposeful suggestion. Kageyama immediately angled forward to nuzzle his face into your pussy through your thin cotton panties, chasing the scent of your intoxicating musk with a starved whimper.

His beautiful mouth went slack against your damp heat as you threaded elegant fingers through his dark hair with deceptive gentleness – nails raking over his scalp hard enough to leave tingling crescents in their wake.

"That's right..." you whispered in a voice gone hoarse and brimming with possessive ardor. "My perfect, sweet boy knows his place now...at my feet with his King's mouth pressed to his Queen's altar."

Kageyama shattered with a broken wail against your slick folds, eager tongue lapping at your swollen clit, working in frantic reverence as his broad shoulders shook with the force of his rapturous worship. You rolled your hips forward with measured leisure, grinding against his sinfully plush lips in a languid glide, letting the wet rasp of fabric intensify the sensation.

Your husband groaned against your pussy with every breathless swipe of his tongue, lashes fluttering and cheeks glistening with a fresh wave of salty tears. His thick, aching cock bobbed between his thighs as he hastily tugs his boxers down - twitching in a steady beat with each stroke and suckle of his perfect lips.

You tightened your grip on his dark locks, tugging his head back until his throat flexed with a muted moan. He blinked up at you in a daze, those oceanic orbs nearly swallowed by the endless depths of his blackened pupils.

You looked down to see him staring up at you through thick, clumped lashes and the wet glimmer of tears staining his flushed cheeks. That sinful mouth - still gleaming with the slick remnants of your desire - hung open in a pant, revealing the crimson tip of his tongue resting there on offer.

Lower, you could see his cock weeping and twitching in earnest. The tip was dark, flushed, and throbbing - so painfully engorged that the veins crisscrossing the length stood out in stark relief. An obscene amount of precum glistened in a thin string, connecting the slit to a small puddle forming on the hardwood floor below.

"Oh my sweet King," you cooed, trailing the pad of your thumb over the swollen seam of his lower lip. "What a mess you're making already...you want me that badly?"

Kageyama's only response was another wrecked whimper as he surged forward, sucking the tip of your thumb into his mouth with a low, pleading whine. You allowed the intimate contact for several long moments, feeling his tongue swipe around the digit in a filthy pantomime of what you both so desperately craved.

Then, with aching deliberateness, you tugged the soft cotton fabric to the side and spread the puffy folds of your aching pussy. Your husband's eyes widened further, blown pupils zeroing in on your slick, exposed cunt as a low keen rumbled from deep within his chest.

"Be a good boy and clean up your mess, Tobio..."

Without hesitation, Kageyama dove forward, pressing his mouth flush to your aching heat with a groan of relief. You shuddered as his sinful lips immediately sought out your clit, drawing the swollen nub between his teeth to graze with delicate pressure.

"Fuck..." you gasped out, head tipping back at the electric current ripping down your spine. Your hips stuttered forward, thighs flexing on either side of his head. His thick hands came up to grasp at the supple flesh there, fingers digging into the pliant give as he lapped and sucked and licked in a dazed frenzy.

Your husband's enthusiasm was no match for the molten desire burning through your own veins, and you soon found yourself tipping over the edge in a shuddering rush. Your orgasm crashed over you in a relentless wave, and you felt the hot, wet rush of slick gushing from your cunt as he drank it all down in fervent gulps.

He didn't stop his hungry assault until you shoved him back by his tangled hair, chest heaving and pussy trembling from overstimulation. A thick rivulet of cum and saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth, and you watched as Kageyama made no move to wipe it away – simply let it slide down the column of his throat in a filthy display.

"Please..." he slurred out, sounding drunk on pleasure and desperation. "Need you...please, I need you, I can't take it..."

He kept up the litany, a steady stream of half-coherent pleas and broken cries as he rocked his hips forward, searching for friction. His neglected cock bobbed and dripped between his thighs, still painfully swollen and aching for release.

"My poor boy," you crooned, reaching down to cup his jaw with aching tenderness. Kageyama's gaze remained glassy and unfocused, though he instinctively turned his cheek into the warm palm cradling his face. "Let's take care of this, hm?"

At once, your husband nodded eagerly – lips parted and eyes rolling back in bliss as you slid down to your knees to match him. With aching reverence, you cupped his face between both hands and leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

He groaned against your mouth, the heady scent and taste of your slick mixing between you both in a deliciously filthy exchange. His thick, calloused hands came up to frame your own jaw, holding you in place as he pressed forward – deepening the kiss with a ragged, animalistic growl.

You were so absorbed in your own spiraling ecstasy that you nearly missed the subtle cues at first. The way Kageyama's shoulders went rigid. How his desperate whimpers fractured into sharper, hitching gasps laced with fresh rapture blooming.

It wasn't until you felt the first spurt of his thick, wet seed splattering against your stomach and thigh did you pull back from the kiss, eyes widening in awe. You looked down to see his swollen cock pulsing, jerking and twitching as he shot rope after rope of cum across your naked flesh.

A punched-out groan tore from his chest as he succumbed, hips jerking in helpless rhythm as the last drops of his release trickled out in a weak stream. Then, as suddenly as the powerful rush had consumed him, Kageyama sagged – his muscular bulk slumping forward until his sweat-slicked forehead thudded against your shoulder.

A stunned laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you reached up to smooth one hand through his tangled locks with affection. He groaned into your collarbone, nuzzling deeper into your neck as his strong arms encircled your waist to hold you tight.

"M’ sorry. Wanted to hold out longer," he mumbled, the words vibrating against your heated skin. "Couldn't help it when you started kissing me, though."

[v6quewrlds]

Can you write a fic about Mat getting into a fight on the ice because an opponent said something about you

❝ guilty conscience, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: experimenting with how much i like posting in 3rd person. literally wrote this in my 2 hr philosophy lecture this morning because fuck thomas hobbes. somehow i write all day for my major and minors, yet somehow i still find the will to write these fics lmao.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: a little angsty. established couple argument. language warnings i think. mat is very mat in this one. short and sweet <3

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x fem!oc (malia).

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 3.6k.

Malia took a sip of her overpriced soda, the fizz tickling her nose as she surveyed the bustling arena. The smell of popcorn and the distant sound of skates slicing ice filled the air. It was her second time watching Mat play a home game for the New York Islanders, and she still felt like the new kid on the block. She wore her navy blue team jersey with "Barzal" emblazoned across the back, a gift from Mat for their two-month anniversary. She'd studied the rules and lingo, eager to fit in, but the pace of the sport still left her breathless.

Grace, the wife of the Islanders' captain Anders, leaned over and tapped her arm. "What do you think, so far?" she said with a knowing smile.

Malia smiled unconvincingly, trying to hide her nerves. Grace had been kind to her, but the other wives and girlfriends were a tougher nut to crack. They all had their own history, their own jokes, and Malia felt like she was trying to catch up on a TV show she'd started mid-season.

"Mat's really got his head in the game tonight," Malia said, hoping to steer the conversation away from her novice status. She watched as he zipped across the ice, stick handling the puck with ease, a blur of motion and concentration.

"Oh, absolutely," Grace agreed, her eyes glued to the action. "When he gets like that, it's like he's in a whole different world. They're all like that, really. Once they find their groove, it's like nothing else exists."

The game grew intense as the period neared its end. Malia felt the excitement of the crowd building like pressure in a pot. Mat's broke away down the ice, and Malia found herself leaning forward in her seat, heart racing. He was so fast, so graceful. It was easy to get lost in the flow of the game when he played. That's when it happened. The opponent, a burly player from the other team, had a smirk on his face as he checked Mat hard into the boards without warning. Malia's breath caught in her throat as Mat pushed himself back up, fists clenched. The smirk grew wider, and the other player opened his mouth to say something. Malia couldn't hear the words, but she saw Mat's face contort in anger.

Her eyes widened as she watched the scene unfold, a mix of horror and disbelief. The opponent had said something to set Mat off, something that made the usually disciplined player see red. Before she could even process what was happening, Mat had thrown his gloves to the ice and was throwing punches. The roar of the crowd grew to a crescendo as the two players grappled, their movements a violent shock. Malia's mind raced as she tried to understand why this was happening, why Mat was fighting.

It was all so raw, so primal.

Grace's grip on her arm tightened, her voice a low murmur. "It's okay, this is just part of the game."

But Malia felt anything but okay. Her heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat of fear and confusion. The other wives and girlfriends around her remained stoic, but she could see the concern flickering in their eyes. They knew the drill, had probably seen this a hundred times before, but for Malia, it was a jolting reality check.

Mat's fury was a living, breathing entity on the ice, a stark contrast to the loud, carefree persona he was around her. It was a complete shock to the system for Malia. The sight was both terrifying and mesmerizing. She couldn't look away as players from both teams swarmed around them, trying to separate the combatants.

The referees eventually stepped in, breaking up the fight with a flurry of whistles and gestures. Mat was escorted to the penalty box, his teammates patting him on the back in a strange display of support. Malia's eyes remained glued to the ice, her mind racing with questions and fears she didn't know how to voice.

"You okay?" Alexa, Noah Dobson's girlfriend, leaned over, her eyes filled with empathy.

Malia nodded, her eyes not leaving Mat's figure in the penalty box. "I just... I didn't expect that."

Alexa chuckled softly. "Welcome to the league, hon. It's all part of the show."

Malia forced a smile, not sure if she was ready for this kind of drama. As the game resumed, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just seen a side of Mat she didn't know or particularly like either. The atmosphere in the arena had shifted, the electric tension of the fight still palpable. Despite the Islanders' lead, the air was thick with unspoken concern.

When the buzzer finally rang, signaling the end of the period, Malia's nerves had her jumping out of her skin. The players skated off the ice, and she took the opportunity to excuse herself to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. The cold air greeted her as a departure from the sticky anxiousness of the rink. As she stared into the mirror, she wondered if she was cut out for this life, if the love she had for Mat was enough to handle the darker, more intense moments of his career.

Malia returned to her seat, the game still in progress, and found that Mat had been benched. She watched as he paced back and forth behind the glass, his eyes scanning the stands until they drifted to the Jumbotron after being nudged by a few guys Malia had not met yet.

Malia's focus on her boyfriend was broken as a few of the other girls tapped her on the shoulder, her wide eyes blasted onto the Jumbotron. She forced a smile, her eyes darting away from her face in embarrassment as she realized that the arena cameramen had noticed her #13 jersey. He offered a weak smile as she turned back to him, his eyes still watching her on the screen. She could see the apology in his eyes. He knew she was still trying her best to wrap her head around the culture and rules of the game she was learning to love for his sake.

The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the match. The Islanders had won despite the scuffle, and Malia felt an odd mix of relief and dread as the players started to make their way off the ice. The group of them gathered their things, and she watched as Mat skated over to the bench to exchange a few words with the coach before disappearing into the locker room.

Grace gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll get used to it," she said with a knowing smile. "It's part of the game. They get caught up in the moment."

Malia nodded, not entirely convinced. She knew that fights were a part of hockey, but seeing Mat so consumed by rage was unsettling, so unlike the boyfriend she knew. She sent Mat a short text, telling him she'd wait in the car for him instead of waiting with the others by the locker rooms. The coolness of the night air outside the arena brought air back into her lungs as she stepped into the parking lot. She leaned against the cold metal of the car, her heart still racing from the adrenaline rush of the fight.

When Mat emerged from the arena, his eyes searched the lot until they found her, his expression a completely devoid of any anger or self-awareness. He looked tired but victorious as he approached, his dark, fluffy hair beginning to dry from his shower. He opened the passenger door with his trademark crooked grin. "You didn't wait in the usual spot."

Malia looked at him, confusion evident on her face though she quickly pushed it aside. Maybe she was making too big a deal of it. "I just needed some air," she said, sliding into the car. "How are you feeling?"

Mat shrugged as he closed the door. "Fine. Why?" His tone was light, almost casual as he slid into the driver's seat. It was as if the fight had never happened. He threw his bag into the back and started the car, the engine rumbling to life.

"You know, the fight," Malia said, trying to keep her voice even. "You guys were really going at it."

Mat's eyes darted to her, then back to the road. "Oh, that. Just part of the game, babe. No big deal."

Malia's jaw tightened. "It looked pretty big to me." She couldn't ignore the fear that had gripped her during the fight.

Mat sighed, his eyes still on the road. "Look, it's just the heat of the moment. Sometimes things get intense out there."

Malia stared out the window, the city lights blurring together as they drove. "I guess," she muttered with a quiet sigh. She knew Mat was trying to downplay it, but she couldn't shake the image of his furious expression.

Mat's hand reached over and gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. "You okay?"

Malia took a deep breath and shifted in her seat, his calloused hand falling away from her skin. "Yeah, just tired I guess. Long day."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. The fight had left her emotionally drained. She'd seen Mat get competitive, sure, but never violent. It was a side of him she didn't know how to reconcile with the man who made her laugh and supported her studies so wholeheartedly.

The silence in the car grew thick as they approached Mat's apartment. Malia felt a knot in her stomach tighten. This wasn't the same playful tension they usually shared; it was heavier, denser, and less fun. When they pulled into the parking lot, Mat turned to her, his jaw set with tension as if he was bracing for something.

"What's up with you?" he asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and genuine concern.

Malia's eyes rolled before she turned to face him. "What's up with me? I don't know Mat, maybe I just didn't like seeing you like that." Her voice was a mix of anger and fear.

Mat looked at her with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Like what? It's just hockey. Shit like that happens all the time."

Malia's voice grew stronger as she turned to face him fully. "But you've never fought before, at least not since we've been together. What even was that?"

Mat's expression grew defensive. "It happened hours ago, Malia. Why are we even talking about this right now?"

Malia's eyes filled with frustration. "Because it's not just 'shit that happens' to me. That was you out there fighting for... what? Some kind of ego trip?" She knew she was being unfair, but she couldn't help the words from spilling out.

Mat's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "It's not like that, and you know it," he snapped. "It was a cheap hit..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. Malia remained silent, holding back her growing anger as Mat pulled into a parking spot in the garage. They exited the car, stubbornness palpable in the air between them as they rode the elevator to his floor.

Once inside the apartment, Mat tossed his keys onto the counter and turned to her, his eyes flashing with irritation. "You're overreacting. It's part of the game."

Malia threw her purse onto the couch, her voice rising with frustration. "Maybe for you it is, but I've never seen you like that!" She felt a tremor of fear and anger at his dismissiveness. "What if you had gotten seriously hurt?"

Mat stared at her, his eyes darting over her features as he took a step closer. "That's not going to happen. I know what I'm doing out there."

Malia stepped back, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. "It's not just about you knowing what you're doing. It's about the fact that I don't want to see you like that. It scared me, Mat."

Mat groaned, running a hand through his damp hair. "But I didn't get hurt," he said, his voice still holding on to its edge. "Can we just drop it?"

Malia's eyes narrowed, looking for a hint of understanding. "No, we can't just drop it," she said firmly. "You're not the only one affected by what happens on the ice. You're my boyfriend, and when you're out there fighting like that, it's not just about the game." She turned on her heels, huffing as she stalked off to Mat's bedroom.

Mat followed her, his frustration evident in the heavy thud of his feet on the floor. "What do you want me to say, Malia?" he called after her. "It's not like I was planning on fighting."

Malia spun around in the doorway to the bedroom, her eyes flashing. "I want you to say that you get it. That you understand that I don't want to see you hurt or risking your health over some stupid shit, Mathew." He took a deep breath, his eyes closing as his temper flared again.

Malia turned her back to him, her hands shaking slightly as she unbuttoned her coat. "And for the record," she added, her voice trembling, "The only thing that actually matters to me is that you're okay."

"And I'm completely fine," Mat said, his voice tight as he stepped closer to her. "It's not like it's the first time I've thrown a punch, Malia. I'm not some fragile porcelain doll you have to worry about."

Malia whipped around, her own anger rising to match his. "I don't give a fuck about what you're used to, or what the sport expects from you!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the hallway. "I care about you, and what you do out there affects me! You were a different person out there, and I didn't like it!"

Mat stopped in his tracks, his face a mask of shock. Malia had never raised her voice at him. In fact, the first time they met, he constantly had to ask her to repeat herself with her voice so shy. The sight of her fuming with emotion was enough to make his eyebrows furrow. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his own anger in check.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice low and tight. "I'm out there playing the game I love, trying to win for my team, and for you to sit here and act like it's all about you and what you want..."

"Do you think? Ever?" Malia's voice cracked, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. She didn't mean for it to come out so loud, so harsh, but the fear and frustration had been building up inside her like a pressure cooker. She couldn't stand there any longer, listening to Mat belittle her feelings. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the bedroom.

Mat followed her, his own anger bubbling to the surface. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice rising to match hers.

"I'm not doing this with you. If you don't want to talk about it, fine, but don't act like I'm some kind of drama queen," Malia retorted, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. She couldn't believe that he was making it sound like her fear was unreasonable. Her hands shook as she bit back tears, her straightened hair falling out of place from the stress of the evening.

Mat's face softened a little, and he took a step closer to her. "Malia, come on. You're really gonna leave because of this?"

But Malia was already halfway to the door, her heart racing with the need to get out of the apartment. "I don't know," she said, her voice tight with emotion. "I just can't be here right now."

Mat sighed, hesitating to speak for a moment before he reached out to grab her arm. His grip was firm but not painful. "Don't go. I'm being a dick, I know, I'm sorry. Let's just talk this out."

Malia paused, her hand on the doorknob. She took a deep breath, the cold metal feeling solid and reassuring under her fingertips. She turned to face him, her eyes still shiny with unshed tears. "Mat, I'm not trying to control you. I just want you to understand that it's hard to watch someone you care about lose it like that."

Mat let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay," he said, his voice calmer. "I get it. It's just... he said something about you."

Malia froze. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice low and cold.

Mat sighed heavily, his grip on her arm loosening. "He made a joke, some dumbass, weird joke about you. It pissed me off, and I couldn't just ignore it 'cause he kept goin’." His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of understanding.

Malia's heart skipped a beat. She had never thought that someone would say something so disrespectful about her, especially not to Mat's face. "What did he say?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mat's eyes grew dark with anger. "It doesn't matter. It was just a stupid comment, but it hit a nerve."

Malia felt a twist in her stomach. She didn't know what was worse: the fact that Mat had gotten into a fight for her or that someone had talked about her in such a way. "Mat, you can't fight every battle for me," she said softly, turning to face him. "I'm not on the ice, those guys will say whatever they think is gonna rile you up. They don’t know me. I’m just some girl to them. It’s not worth it.”

Mat's expression grew serious as he stepped closer to her, his hand dropping from her arm to cradle her face instead. "You're not just some girl, Malia. You're everything to me. And when someone disrespects you like that..." His voice trailed off, the intensity of his emotions clear in his eyes. "I couldn't just let it go. That's the least I can do for you."

Malia's gaze searched his, the anger in her heart slowly giving way to the love she had for him. She knew he didn't mean to downplay her strength, but the thought of him fighting over her hurt more than she cared to admit. She leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding her. "I love you," she whispered. "But I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

Mat's expression softened, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her cheek. "I love you too," he murmured. "And I'll do my best to keep my cool out there if that's what you want."

Malia took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the night's events start to lift. "Don't 'if you want' me Mathew Barzal, do it because it's the right thing to do," she said with a hint of a smile.

Mat chuckled, his own smile spreading across his face. "Okay, okay," he conceded, leaning in to kiss her forehead gently. "But you know how competitive I am."

Malia rolled her eyes but couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her at his touch. "I know," she said, her voice softer. "Just remember that I'm not just some prize to be won or lost out there. I'm your girlfriend, and I chose you."

Mat nodded, his thumb still caressing her cheek. "I know," he murmured. "And I'm sorry that I made it seem like that. It won't happen again." He spoke decisively before bending down to connect their lips.

Malia leaned into the kiss, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders melt away. "I just want you to be safe," she said, her voice muffled against his lips.

Mat pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "I know," he murmured. "And I promise, I'll keep that in mind. I don't want to scare you."

Malia's eyes met his, the fear and anger slowly receding as she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She took another deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

Mat's arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her chest. They stood there for a moment, the tension in the room slowly dissipating.

"I know this isn't easy for you," he murmured into her hair. "But you gotta trust me out there."

Malia leaned into his embrace, the smell of his post-game musk mixing with the faint scent of his cologne. It was a familiar scent, one that brought comfort amidst the chaos of her emotions. "I will," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

They stood there for a few moments longer before they both pulled away. Mat smiled down at her, the tension in his face slowly receding. "Now that that's over, do I get a reward for the win tonight?" he asked playfully, his eyes lightening.

Malia couldn't help but roll her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Maybe," she said, her voice teasing.

"Only maybe?" Malia heard the playful challenge in Mat's voice as she walked away from him. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look that was part glare, part smile.

"You're lucky you scored that winning goal." She brushed past her boyfriend with a swish of her hips, heading towards the bedroom. The bold 'Barzal' stuck out across her back, a symbol of her commitment to supporting him. Mat caught himself staring as Malia turned to him with a flourish of her hair.

"Are you coming?" Malia called over her shoulder, her voice a mix of tease and challenge.

Mat's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched her retreating form, his playfulness momentarily forgotten. He hurried after her, trying to match her pace as they entered the bedroom.

"I'm about to be," he quipped, his voice filled with affection, drawing a “Gross!” and a giggle from Malia.

[marymary-diva17]

A new friend means new adventures

Tuk x child reader

Childhood on pandora can be seen as something wonderful and fun, as they was always something new to be learned and see. There was something that all children had wanted a friend or friends to play with and grow up with, while they are living their lives on pandora. It was common to have good bonds with your clan members or others as well. What happens when a friendship it built between navi that are from two different places on Pandora, and during a time when everyone was going through good and bad times.

y/n " ......" you are playing with a wooden IIu toy that had been made for you in the water, when you heard a horn blown and soon look up to see a heard of ikran.

y/n " wow" you soon ran out of the water to see what was going on and to get a better look as well, so are the rest of you clan as well. As a crowd had began to form as everyone was looking at the new arrivals.

y/n " they are so beautiful and look very mighty as well"

???? " little sister" you soon felt someone place their hands on your shoulder making you soon looked up and see your older brothers.

y/n " rotxo ueyk did you see them did you see them"

rotox " yes we did little sister"

ueyk " why have they come here"

y/n " I want to know as well I have never seen a ikran up close until today ... where are babas they should see them as well"

rotxo " yes where are they today they will not wish to miss this that all"

ueky " they will see them soon" you are looking at the group of navi from the forest, but one of the members of the group a girl around your age looked at you. You had smiled and wave at her she did wave back as well to.

y/n " she seems nice" There was a convention held between the tonowari and ronal as they discussed with Jake and neytiri, in the end the new arrivals had been given permission to stay.

The next day

onsa " what the matter daughter" you are having morning meal with your family, but they all noticed you seem to be very serious about something.

y/n " nothing baba"

fizu " no something the matter with you we know it so tell us"

rotxo " it okay little sister you can tell us"

ueky " yes we are missing you in our morning meal talk"

y/n " well I plan to see if the youngest daughter of Jake sully will like to play with me today, tonowari did say we have to be helpful"

fizz " that a sweet idea sweetie you should do that you are always being so kind"

y/n " really"

onsa " yes and maybe you can help her learn the ways as well"

y/n" okay I'm going to ask her after meal time and see if she want to play today"

fizu " you are going to need to finish your meal before your leave all of you, I will not having anyone miss a meal in this home"

onsa " yes ma fizu we will make sure to eat the meal"

y/n " yes babas I will make sure to eat all my meal and no rushing" your brothers had laughed at your words. Once the meal was over and you clean up you soon ran off to find the girl from yesterday and it didn't take long when you saw her.

y/n " hello I'm y/n"

tuk " hello y/n I'm tuk"

y/n " hey tuk I saw you yesterday I wave to you if you remember"

tuk " oh yes I remember you now"

y/n " are you okay you seem sad"

tuk " I miss my home I wish we stayed and I feel alone"

y/n " I'm sorry tuk hey will you like to come play with me, so you will not feel alone"

tuk " you want to play with me"

y/n " yes if you wish to come and play"

tuk " I will love to play what do you all play here"

y/n " come on I will show you" you and tuk had ran off together as you showed her some of the games that had been played by the clan children, and it had gone very well you even join her lesson with her family as well helping tuk out when the older kids were busy. The two girls had formed a good friendship among each other.

days later

y/n " tuk" you had seen tuk and called her name getting her attention, she soon made her way towards you.

tuk " y/n"

y/n " hey do you want to learn how to ride you IIu better today it will be fun"

tuk " sure all the older kids had left"

y/n " yes they did but we can still have fun without them" tuk had nodded her head as the two of you had called your IIu and soon left together, swing in the territory of the clan.

????? " ahhh" you and tuk had heard someone screaming and loud splash sound, soon the both of you looked where it was coming a saw some come up from the surface.

tuk " that my dad let go see him"

y/n " okay" you and tuk on the IIu made your way towards Jake as he swam in the water.

tuk " dad"

Jake " hey sweetie did you see me mess up"

tuk " no but we heard it"

Jake " wait what do you mean we heard it"

tuk " i and y/n my new friend"

y/n " hello"

Jake " oh hello"

????? " y/n"

y/n " hey baba" onsa showed himself along with tonowari as they rode their strimwing looking at Jake.

Jake " oh so this is your daughter you were speaking about"

onsa " yes"

Jake " you are y/n tuk been telling me about you and so have my other kids, they said you and your brothers have been helping them"

y/n " yes it been fun to help them"

tonowari " what are you two doing today"

tuk " exploring"

y/n " along with having lesson as well"

tonowari " well ran along and have fun"

onsa " remember to stay in the territory of the clan without supervision"

y/n " we will come on tuk I will show you the sea otters here they are funny and cute"

tuk " really can I go dad"

Jake " sure you can but stay close to the village" the two girls had soon left together with bright smiles on their faces, as they rode off and soon dove into the water. They had found the sea otters and had a good time playing around in the water. Neytiri had come looking for tuk to bring her home but saw her with you having a good, time and decide to let tuk have some fun as it had been a long time since the youngest sully had smiled. It seems like you and tuk are having a great relationship that might strength the bond between both clans in the end.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 3 - Set up for failure

ESH AU LET'S GOOO

title: confinement

fandom: empires smp

cw: blood and injury

~

Jimmy bites his lip, sucks in a breath, then sidles into the vault.

It’s a tight squeeze—the Jingler had only opened the vault’s door the tiniest amount, and Jimmy hadn’t been brave enough to ask for him to open it any more. The pin holding his fishnet cape on almost pops free, and his mask gets stuck for a moment, but he manages to make it through and release his breath.

Behind the vault isn’t anything that he expects.

Behind the vault is a room that’s mostly empty, but for a pile of cardboard boxes and an old rocking chair. It looks more like a mostly-emptied storage unit than an actually vault; strange, for such a high-security building.

“What—what am I looking for?” he whispers into the walkie-talkie that the Jingler had given him.

A crackling voice speaks back to him. “Notebook.”

Jimmy glances around. His eyes land on the boxes in the corner and he heads toward them, digging through the boxes.

One of them has a worn yellow notebook, which he grabs, then heads back to the vault door.

The Jingler is waiting on the other side, hand outstretched. “Pass it through, Solidarity.”

“The Codfather,” Jimmy corrects, shoving his arm through the tiny gap. The Jingler takes the notebook, flips through a couple of pages.

“Yep,” he nods shortly. “Thanks.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

“Hey—hey, wait—”

As if by some stroke of bad luck (which, to be fair, Jimmy's used to), the door slams shut.

Come on.

Jimmy pounds on the inside of the door. “Wait! Let me out!” After no response, he frantically fumbles with the walkie-talkie. “Let me out! The door closed!”

“Hmm. We've been here too long.”

“Wh—?”

“But I'll call you an escort.”

Jimmy doesn't have time to ask what that means before sirens start blaring, the lights in the vault flashing red.

The walkie-talkie pops and fizzes out in his hand.

Jimmy groans, drops to sit on the ground and wait it out, abandoning the vault’s door. It won’t be long before this place is swarming with cops, and he’ll be the only person for them to find.

He really ought to get a frequent flier card for prison.

-

“Hope you like the new digs, Solidarity,” the prison warden says loudly, shoving Jimmy into a cell that seems more secure than normal. “We've been working on a specially-reinforced one, just for you.”

“It's the Codfather, now,” Jimmy tries.

“You've made a lot of people angry,” the warden continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. He locks the cell, grins at him through the barred window of the heavy door. “Some of the boys might come through to see you.”

“Oh. Oh, that's . . . great,” Jimmy says helplessly. “Maybe they could just . . . not?”

The warden doesn't dignify that with a response. He stalks away, leaving Jimmy alone in the cell.

Jimmy leans against the wall, slides down to the floor. He fidgets with the stiff navy jumpsuit they've given him, not quite long enough in the leg, then adjusts his Codfather mask.

This is going to be just wonderful. It’s not even been a month since he was last in this prison (they’d started building this very reinforced cell while he was here, that time), and he’d been hoping to avoid it for a little while longer.

Life always sucks significantly worse in prison.

He isn’t exactly separated from the other prisoners, but he isn’t exactly with them, either. His cell (reinforced and all) is in the same hall as the other cells. The difference between Jimmy and the others is that he’s in solitary confinement lite—he doesn’t get to leave for meals or exercise time, and his cell comes with a shower and a toilet in the corner. He isn’t meant to leave at any time.

The heavy metal door that never seems to be unlocked has a window at eye level, bars set into it a couple inches apart. There’s a little slot below it, just wide enough for a food tray. That window means that he can still interact with the other prisoners, unfortunately—or, rather, they can interact with him.

So the first day is a constant barrage of verbal abuse.

See, Jimmy may be a villain now, but he does his best to be kind about it. After all, none of this is his fault, not really. He can’t control his powers. He’s a villain because it’s convenient, not because he actually wants to be evil.

But everybody and their dog has a cousin’s friend who was injured by Solidarity’s powers, and Jimmy has to be yelled at about it.

“When they let you out of your little safehouse, I’ve got a couple friends waiting for you,” a big guy warns, his thick fingers wrapped around the bars of the window. “You won’t be able to walk when they’re done with you.”

“Creative,” Jimmy mutters.

“My mom lost her kneecap,” a redhead leers, spit flying from his cracked lips. “I think I oughta deliver her one of yours.”

That doesn’t sound very nice.

“My brother can’t eat tortilla chips anymore. I’ll spit in all your food.”

“Did you know I used to have two eyes? Wonder what you’d look like with zero.”

“I will break every one of your fingers and toes.”

And on and on and on.

It’s getting kind of boring, honestly. Every time he ends up in prison, he’s under fire from more and more prisoners, many with no real reason. He’s the cause that they unite over, because everybody has been inconvenienced by Solidarity in some way. They aren’t made to leave him alone, either—the guards may not participate in the harassment, but they don’t do anything to stop the threats. The guards don’t do much of anything when it comes to him, really.

He’s pretty sure he should be having solitary exercise time, but nobody lets him out. Whenever he asks (half-heartedly) to speak to a lawyer, nobody pays him any mind. His food is almost certainly contaminated, but when he speaks up about it, the guard tells him to eat it or starve.

Jimmy’s overly familiar with unsafe food, but he eats as much of it as he can. Food poisoning is unavoidable for him on a regular basis. It’s really not that different.

(Sometimes the guard sticks around to watch him eat, amusement in their eyes. At those times, Jimmy knows for sure that it’s contaminated, and he doesn’t want to know how.)

He’s supposed to go to his first hearing about a week after his arrest, but on his third day it gets postponed to a month away. The guards tell him so with unmistakable satisfaction, and Jimmy lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling.

Does it really matter? The courts will rule against him, no matter how good of a lawyer he gets. He’s Solidarity—er, the Codfather. He’s a villain. The villains never win.

Even when he was a hero, he knew he would be tried as a villain.

It’s the fourth day when his power decides to take action. It’s been in effect this whole time, of course—the shelf where his mattress is meant to lie has already collapsed, and the water will only run burning hot—but the fourth day changes things.

He just wishes it would have picked a better time.

It’s right when the last group is coming back from dinner that the hinges of his specially-reinforced metal door break. It makes a loud noise—the creak of the metal groans, then snap!

The steady stream of inmates slow to a stop, their chatter dying off.

There’s another long groan, slow-slow-slow—

The door shifts and clunks to the ground, hinges no longer holding it up.

Jimmy, sitting on his floor-mattress, lets his head tip against the wall as he lets out a long sigh.

It couldn’t have waited? A mere twenty minutes later and he would have been in the clear.

Jimmy doesn’t fight when they pull down the door and storm in.

He just lies on his bed and tries to cover his vital organs.

-

Despite their indifference, the guards manage to pull off the attackers and send them to their own cells before too much damage is done. Then they force Jimmy to his feet and frogmarch him to a normal barred cell in a different hallway. They toss him a bottle of water and a bucket and tell him to keep a low profile, and that he’ll be moved to a more secure prison in the morning.

Jimmy won’t need that.

He has a concussion, for sure. One man had kicked his head until his ears didn’t stop ringing. That makes his vision swim when he sits up, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to call out weakly for some first aid supplies.

The guards reluctantly provide, and Jimmy sets about taking care of his injuries. It’s really not too bad—he has the concussion, of course, and something that feels like his kidney is bruised internally, but the rest of it is your run-of-the-mill beating. Bruises and cuts all over, his entire body sore. The concussion is the worst of it, bad enough that he was barely able to walk when they brought him here. He should really get that checked by a doctor. Not that it’ll happen, but it should.

Jimmy knows well enough not to fall asleep with a head wound, so he kind of just rests on the floor of the cell, sitting up slumped against the wall, not confident enough to pull himself into the flat shelf-bed with the risk of falling. He presses a hand to his bruises whenever he starts to feel drowsy, and that wakes him right up.

The guards are on edge until around midnight, when they seem to relax a bit. The lights went out at ten, so most inmates have been asleep for a little while now. The two guards assigned to him start wandering away from Jimmy’s new cell now and then instead of constantly watching it, start laughing and joking a bit more.

“Hey! Solidarity!”

They poke a bit of fun at him in the early hours of the morning. Jimmy knows he must be a sight—covered in blood and shoddy bandages, his eyes unfocused and looking at nothing as he sits there on the floor.

He doesn’t respond.

“They hit his head pretty hard. Solidarity, you still alive?”

Jimmy blinks, very slowly. It hurts even just to blink.

“Hope they knocked the power out of him. Think he’ll be able to wash himself, or will they transport him like that?”

“Eckels said they’d take him in the morning. He probably won’t shower before then.”

“I’m not touching him.”

It doesn’t happen quite as slowly as it did with the reinforced door.

As the guards talk, one of the bars of the cell just . . . falls out. It clatters to the ground, making the three men jump, cursing.

Then another falls. And a third.

Well. That’s Jimmy’s cue.

Painfully, he pulls himself to his feet. He swallows back the taste of bile as his vision spins, rubs away some of the blood dripping from his split lip, and slowly, gingerly, limps out of the cell.

The guards stare at him. One of them, cautiously, reaches for his taser.

The weapon cracks apart, shards of plastic hitting the floor.

The guard lowers his hand back to his side. The other two don’t move, staring at Jimmy in some strange mixture of disbelief and irritation.

Jimmy sighs, winces when his whole body twinges. “Stuff still in the same place?” he rasps.

One of the guards nods.

Jimmy turns away and starts the long trek to the storage room. He doesn’t necessarily need any of it, but it would be nice to not be in the prison uniform.

He needs a really long nap after this one.

-

(Poultry Man shows up at his rented room and sighs at the sight of him, then shines a flashlight in his eyes and tells him not to get out of bed for the next five days. That’s about the extent of Poultry Man’s helpfulness, but he does buy him a loaf of bread and two jars of peanut butter.)

(It was a fairly average week, all told.)

[cassielovesdeadwizards]

The stars - Newt

Warnings: none, just pure fluff (Newt survived and made it to the safe haven #jamesdashnercountyourdays)

Author note: Most of what I write is to put my ideas down into words, i just don't have the creative capacity to write my own book, so I have to use characters invented by somebody else. If anyone sees this, you're more than welcome to request, I'll try my best.

Summary: You realise why the lack of stars in the glade was so significant to you, and why, even if you had no recollection of the fact, you always compared them to him <3

The day you came up in the box was one of the most terrifying things you had ever experienced. Actually, it was the only terrifying thing you remembered experiencing, but that's not the point. When the doors opened, you did what any scared little girl would do, and you searched for the loving salvation of a womans gaze but found nothing. Only the curious stares of boys.

You can't remember why that was so terrifying, feeling so different and so confused, not knowing a single thing about yourself. Maybe it's because those terrifying boys are now the only things in the world you would actually kill yourself to protect, but you would never dream of being scared of any one of them. Especially him.

You don't know what it was about him, but as soon as your eyes met, you felt safe. They were brown, but not the boring kind, the deep kind of brown that makes you feel warm and loved, the kind of eyes you can stare at for hours.

He jumped down into the box with you, but you didn't flinch. Even though you had no idea who the boy was, a part of you know that he was nothing to be afraid of. And when he spoke, it gave you a crippling sense of familiarity, as if you'd heard his voice a million times over but had no recollection of ever hearing it.

"It's okay, we're not going to hurt you." He spoke, and his voice drilled into your brain, as if you new it like you knew your own heart but a curtain had been draped over the memories, locking them away.

"I know." You whispered, looking into his eyes, refusing to tear your focus away from the only shred of familiarity you can't seem to remember.

That night you looked up into the sky, but saw nothing but a navy abyss. The stars were missing. For some reason you couldn't quite remember, this was your breaking point. All the stress and fear of the day bubbled up and you cried yourself silently to sleep.

That seems like decades ago, the glade. You'd been through so much since then. And throughout all of it your friends had been by your side. Minho was like a brother to you, caring and loving yet so humbling, always finding a way to show you up. And Thomas had become a symbol of hope, leading you through thick and thin and always finding a way to keep you safe.

Newt was different, the way you loved him was lightyears away from the way you loved your other boys.

You'd been in the safe haven for two weeks. Two weeks since W.C.K.D fell, since the foundations of the last city crumbled into ash. Two weeks since you'd lost your sister. It was unreal to think that you and Teresa had a whole history of loving each other before your memories had been stolen from you. A history that she dies knowing, like a secret only she was allowed to know.

There was a spot you could go to, when it all felt a bit to much. A small cliff, only twenty of so feet from the surface of the ocean, looking out into the sea. It was where you went to think.

Instead of looking out into the ocean, you looked up into the sky. Since leaving the glade, not once had you thought to check on the stars.

When you looked up at the stars, the only person you could think of was him; the way his smile made your stomach fizz like popping candy, the way his laugh could make any of your moods ten times lighter, the way his touch made you feel like nothing else in the world could touch you, the way his words drown everyone else out into white noise. But mostly you think about the way he looks at you. The way little specks of gold swim in the abyss of his eyes, shining back you. The way he looks at you as if your the only person he'll ever care to look at again.

As if you hung the stars in the sky.

"There was a time before the maze where you could tell me the name of every single constellation in the sky."

The accented voice snapped you from your day dreams, making you jump slightly. He sat down next to you, his shoulder pressed firmly against yours, as if not touching you would mean you'd slip away.

"When I woke up on the berg, my head hurt so bad I couldn't even think of my own name. I panicked at first, thinking those bloody shanks had dumped me into another one of there tests, that my whole life after the maze had been a dream,"

You kept your eyes on him, not daring to look away. He was staring at the stars, as if they were the only thing holding him together.

"Everything was so loud, I left like my brain was working as a millions miles an hour. Probably still bugged from the infection, I guess. But then you were there." He said, turning his head to look directly into your eyes.

"You leaned over me and told me everything was going to be alright, and suddenly I remember every single thing W.C.K.D had ever ripped from me. My only theory is that the infection worked like a reset button, bringing everything back."

He looked back towards the stars, and it was like he blended into them. As if he was meant to be up there, shining on everyone instead of living in this hell of an earth.

"I remember loving you, and I remember how hard you fought them when they took me away."

Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes still piercing into the side of his head.

"It doesn't surprise me, that even after my memories were taken away, I still found a way to fall in love with you. I don't think there's a single version of me out there that doesn't fall in love with you." He's looking at you now, but he's not scared, as if he knows something you don't.

He brought his hand up to your face, brushing you cheek and pushing his fingers through your hair, resting his hand on the back of your head. He tried to pull you in, but he didn't need to, you were already there.

Your hands where on either side of his face, holding him as if he's break. And the kiss was so gentle, so delicate it was almost as if you were both made of glass. He pulled you in deeper, stealing your breath away. When he pulled away, he placed his forehead onto yours, as if desperately trying to share the memories he longed for you to remember.

"I love you." You say.

"I know." he replied.

[names-for-alters]

Hello one and all, alters and headmates! I am Charlie! I like to make lists! I also hoard names! Are you looking for a name? GREAT! You can send an ask and request a specific aesthetic or origin of name, or you can look at my list!

With that said…

…Cracks knuckles…

Findo Tach Tails Flicker Tracer Kat Iris Blu Brick Arlo Sammy Artie Finn Stein Aleksandr Vora Olive Luna Nyx Cyrus Qrow Orian Cello Onyx Skye Grim Opal Dawn Azure Fish Bones Poppy Bronze Eggs Sparky Specs Snickers Trout Navi Bingo Chili Bandit Stripe Busker Socks Brandy Frisky Winston Lucky Chucky Bently Judo Rusty Max Honey Indie Calypso Striker Merle Moxxie Vex Ant Bugger Bee Spider Tails Hook Indigo Amber Coco Coral Scarlet Ivory Jade Ruby Emerald Chuck Loden Copper Hamelin Neo Shepard Cinnamon Visor Macalister Soul Hack Hiccup Flynn Rider Astrid Jay Raven Robyn Bolt Dagger Viper Tracer Cornwall Flock Sapphire Crystal Ghost Mochi Trick Catra Rose Raven Flip Chani Racket Red Crimson Dragon Runt Scotch Tellie Gator Croc Crow Goat Duck Creeper Kuma Jet Jeep Draco Poppy Sombra Raine Squish Spike Blaze Ender Drake Sandy MK PJ DJ CJ MJ King Creak Shadow Clay Dusty Miles Dart Willow Antonius Husk Moth Cypher Jin Yin Yang Daisy Gray / Grey Alistair Halo Angel Cake Fennec Fox Null Lull Bastion Lucky Sun Star Cosmo Tweety Vox Nerys Sonic Bark Birch Oak Cherry Blossom Peaches Velvet Shell Coffee Valley Fang Moot Redpath Pudding X V Jr Ether Fig Trunk Joy Frogger Snowflake Snowball Snow Jumper Racket Flare Vendetta Loonie Coin Six Eleven Tropica Stelina Mojave Ink Sud Fender Zero Pollen Wysteria Page Ozias Rex Tortch Buck Nickel Stripe Lynch Tramp Wolf Pup Tank Jhariah Kharma Zenith Sparrow Prism Lemon Mune Lamb Pyke Diamond Parker Graves Fizz Nugget Melody Tink Blight Fangless Ambress Vulture Eclipse Luka Bangle Constance Constantine Sommar Babble Clank Bobble Chipper Aidan Slate Tin Twire Zephyr Silver Misty Faunus Atlas Birdie Brook Cedar Chip Coal Daisy Ember Faye Fate Fern Flint Harmony Helios Ivy Junx Kit Lyria Phoebe Piper Lady Beacon Elos Rumble Ida Cross Zed Scootie Smidge Clauger Happy Sonny Hath Soldier River Song Clawtor Videl Legen Onen Chunk Reid Pop Cobra Cash Clover Saris Volante Donna Belladonna Gale Chopper Morphias Vidia Loft Kape Levi Licker Howl Dustin Newt Creek Breezy Polaris Blight Archer Sirius Warren Dream Goon Cookie Ranger Amity Jericho Viggo Besko Asra Alice Olaf Mossfeld Issic Missy Rascal Creasy Nonya Hex Pita Miguel Manuel Rayburn Daisy Dash Lucky Becky Steele Cylo Featherstone Kingston Netherfield Reacher Saltburn Quick Rubble Dust Brimstone Humble Ado Grover Norvanos Leshy Blade Cooper Calcium

Leo

Leonardo

Lebony

Silver

Linzier

Pearl

blackberry

Tatin

Bud

Raphael

Pebble

Mina

Linda

Oolong

Daeo/Dayo/Dao

Inco

Ketlyn

Risa

Ines

Lora

Flock

Lux

Rix

Reah

Destinty

Bet

Ange

Krixa

Lalien

Gloom

Bug

Rozy

Mars

Screech

Jenny

Robert

Patrick

Pierre Rosemary

Henderson

Mayfield

Sinclair

Sullivan

Hart

Solace

Daughtler

Stoll

Gatlin

Yearwood

Amos

Graves

Rothschild

Halley

Spektor

Presley

Redd

Blackwood

Notvletti

Valerie

Milo

Marian

Lychee

Aiden

Nova

Vel

Bel

Yuri

Puro

Pluto

Ramona

Angel

Nada

Shen

Mog

Hania

Udge

Kinetic

Kikos Wathel

Dupa

Sierre

Jimor

Teddy

coc

Scara

River

Shade

Foenem

Duck

Emily

Toast

Reunna

Ichigo

Rae

Sonic

MoonL

Lennus

cabaran

Marto

Leveer

Granite

Tongle

Gavril

Luella

Malachite

Leonard

[puddingyun]

lighthouse . ݁₊ ⊹ j.wy

wooyo x reader

: 1k words, roadtrip, "runaways", fluff, homesickness, getting together, alcohol :

requests open ♡

From where you sat on the pier you could see one star twinkling among the grey-blue clouds, far away in the navy blue blanket of the night sky. As a breeze blew against your face, smelling of sea water and coconutty suntan lotion, you kept your eyes on that one star; a lighthouse shining at the other end of the sky, signalling so that you wouldn't get lost in its vast expanse. 

"Here you go."

Wooyoung's voice startled you, drawing your attention away from the star keeping your feet on the ground. In one hand he held a bottle of cheap flavoured vodka (Vanilla, the label read in swoopy, curly letters) and in the other he held two glass bottles of Pepsi, clinking against each other as he set them down on the pier before sitting down next to you. You smiled at him, his dangling feet brushing against yours, and picked up a Pepsi. 

"Thanks, Woo."

The smell of cigarettes wafted off of Wooyoung from where he sat beside you, the way it had for months now. Specifically, the smell was that of L&M lights, which Wooyoung insisted didn't linger as much as other kinds. Your nose wasn't skilled enough to tell the difference though, and so the smell of Wooyoung merged with the vague smell of tobacco and burning.

"You think we'll be here long?" you asked, the fizz of Pepsi still fresh on your tongue. 

Wooyoung glanced at you with a little turn of the head that you nearly didn't notice, and then looked out back to the sea with his bottle of Pepsi between his thighs while he screwed off the cap on the vodka.

"I don't know. I like the ocean," he paused to take a swig from the bottle and grimaced. He let out a sharp, hot hiss of breath. "We could stay for years or leave tomorrow. Whatever you want. Nobody even knows our names here."

You smiled, putting some Pepsi into your mouth before you took the bottle of vodka from his hands and poured it in alongside the sticky soda. You gulped the mixture down, pretending it didn't taste foul. 

"I'm getting kind of tired of nobody knowing our names," you admitted quietly. You looked out into the sky and saw that one star gleaming in the sky still. "Even the stars have names."

"I never thought of it that way," Wooyoung sighed. He turned to look at you properly this time, a small smile appearing on his lips the longer he stared.  "You know... We can stay a while if you want."

"Really?" you asked, meeting his eyes. He nodded, keeping eye contact with you while you swallowed a mouthful of vodka straight. 

"We could find a room to rent instead of staying at the motel. I could get a job, and we'd meet on the beach every afternoon. Buy some swimsuits or swim in our underwear," he mused. You could picture him in his boxers, holding onto your hand and squealing as you both ran into the cold ocean. You pictured both of you drying beneath the sun, sand in your hair and between your toes. It looked a lot like a dream come true. 

"I could buy herbs to grow on the windowsill, and we could eat ice cream everyday until we got sick of it," you said, giggling after. 

"That'd take a while... You know what I've always wanted to try? Root beer floats," he said, voice trailing off into a wistful mumble. You could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking of the life you'd both left behind, full of dull but comforting constants. When you'd set off on this roadtrip you hadn't anticipated what it would be like not having anything to rely on except for each other. When Wooyoung's eyes turned soft and worried like they did now, you were the only one who could reassure him he hadn't made a mistake. 

You reached over and laid a hand on top of his, stroking your thumb back and forth against his skin. Slowly, his eyes focused more, staring out at that lone star just like you had been while you waited for him. 

"We could learn the names of all of the streets. Make friends with the neighbours," he murmured. "Rent movies and fall asleep watching them."

He glanced over at you, looking for your smile of approval. When he found it, he grinned. 

"It's not what we planned but... I'd be happy if I could build a little life with you," he said, his shy expression illuminated by blue moonlight and the orange glow that came from the street that seemed so far away from the end of the pier. "Anywhere you want would be fine with me."

You felt your stomach squeeze anxiously and took a sip of your Pepsi to quell your nerves. Tentatively, you leaned your forehead against Wooyoung's shoulder. He smelled like cheap detergent from the last motel you'd stayed at, ocean spray and cigarettes. Beneath those things, though, he smelled like himself: a little sweat, cologne that had worn off throughout the day, and the soft smell of his bedroom that lingered no matter how much time had passed since you'd been on the road. You inhaled deeply. He smelled like home.

You lifted your head and admired his profile. He was your home. 

"We could stay here a while," you whispered softly. He turned his face, your noses bumping together as he did so. You both giggled, soda and vodka breath in each other's faces. He was so close, you felt you could breathe him in if you inhaled deeply enough. Instead you leaned forward and sealed the space between you both with a kiss. He made a small noise of surprise but made no move to pull away.

He laced his fingers with yours and leaned into the kiss, deepening it so you could taste his last mouthful of vanilla vodka. Even miles away from where you'd grown up, you finally felt as though you were coming home, your heart slotting into place in your chest. Wooyoung's lips turned upward into a smile against  yours, excited for the life you were going to build.

In the sky, that lone star continued to twinkle its lighthouse glow, guiding you to where you belonged.

[newbienewness]

Thanks for tags @cuffmeinblack, @rypnami and @rednite-dork 💚😘

Tag nine who you want to get to know better.

Last song: Like a prayer - Madonna ( Deadpool & Wolverine soundtrack battle royale mix)

Favorite colour: emerald/burgundy/navy

Currently watching: my phone screen? ( Definitely not Love is blind UK)

Last movie: 7th HP

Sweet/salty/savoury: chips and dip 🤌🏼 doo slaty and savoury? And I LOOOVE jerky beef!!

Relationship status: engaged (mentally married and with +7 kids with Garreth)

Current obsession: pffff....obsessions? I don't have any....

Last thing you googled: Whyyyy you want to know that? You little pervs...I see you...

Taging:

@thesuperiorfeeling @annarielmidori @mspegasus17 @just-another-fanfiction-writer @fizzing-whizz-bee @eternalremorse @blueraineshadows @kukukha-sanctuary @underthenightskydreamsneverdie aaaaand anyone who sees this and wants to do this 😘😘

[fizziedoodle]

dating moodboard m.list !! ⤸

ꕤ mha

𓆉 jjk

ᥫ✦ attack on titan

෴ haikyuu

✶ stranger things

🜸 marvel [spiderverse]

𓆝 cod! modern warfare

© all moodboards have two parts and x black fem reader unless requested otherwise. all photos are mostly found on pinterest. I don't own anything but I'd appreciate if you reblogged! spread a black creators love ehehehehe :)

[stray-kaz]

Baby. On. Board. : a Bob Floyd x reader oneshot

Bob walked into the Hard Deck with a skip in his gait and a smile wide enough to reach his ears. Bradley was the first to notice him, raising his eyebrows first at Bob and then at you, trailing behind him with your hand in his.

“What’s up, Bobby?” he asked, half full glass poised in his hand. “You look like the cat who got the canary and the cream.”

The others turned to face you both, Natasha focusing on your face, the light in your eyes as you glanced from Bob to the group and then back. She folded her arms and waited.

“I’m having a - She’s having - We’re having a baby!” Bob announced.

Natasha leaned back against the edge of the pool table, smiling indulgently.

A collective whooping holler rose from the men in the group and Bradley clapped Bob so hard on the back his glasses almost flew off, and then leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Congratulations.”

You smiled up at him, a little giddy.

“Thank you.”

“Well, Bob, looks like you’ve done it at least once!” Jake called out, grinning.

Bob rolled his eyes and you flushed, but nothing could dim the excitement you were both fizzing with. Natasha cuffed Jake on the back of the head and called Penny over to order a fresh round in celebration.

“What are we celebrating?” she asked, curious.

“Young Robert is going to be a dad” Bradley told her, looping an arm around Bob’s neck and dragging him in for a one sided hug.

Penny looked at you and smiled, tipping her head to the side.

“I should have known” she mused. “You’re practically glowing. Congratulations, both of you.”

You thanked her, bouncing onto your toes, and Bob nodded, ducking to get out of Bradley’s tight hold. He sidled over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Our baby is going to have so many surrogate aunts and uncles, honey. Free babysitting for life” he muttered in your ear, but not quiet enough.

Jake popped his head up from where he had been bent, concentrating on the pool game against Natasha.

“Free?”

At six months along, Dagger Squad threw you a baby shower the likes of which the Navy base had never seen before. It was held inside due to the sudden downpour that darkened the usually calm sky and sent black clouds sailing across it.

You sat in the middle of the training room on a padded desk chair, decorated with colourful ribbons and prizewinner rosettes. Pete leaned against one wall, trying not to smile too hard at the sight of you on a makeshift throne, your hands smoothing down over your rounded belly.

Everyone knew it was tradition to only have women at baby showers, but there were so many men in your life and few women, so you kicked that tradition out the door and were therefore surrounded by Bob’s teammates, not just Penny and Natasha.

Jake was the biggest surprise: he gifted you a wooden rocking chair for night feeds that was almost too big to fit in the car but that you couldn’t stop looking at.

You were inundated with onesies, nappies, pacifiers and a subtly wrapped breast pump from Penny.

“Just in case” she murmured to you. “It’s not as easy as everyone tells you it is.”

You nodded and slipped it underneath the chair you were on, hiding it away for later.

Bob sat and watched you be waited on hand and foot, a slight half smile on his face. He took careful note of who gave what and how happy each gift made you. He saw how pleased you were with Jake’s gift in particular, and made a mental note to thank him especially for it later.

You caught him staring and raised an eyebrow; he just smiled back at you and shook his head slowly from side to side, scrunching his nose a little.

Bob saw you pull your phone out and hurriedly type something, and a few seconds later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He withdrew it and checked the message, already knowing it was from you.

I love you, Robbie. To the stars...

He smiled to himself and quickly replied.

...and back.

A week before your due date, you were having a checkup at the hospital when a hot, dull ache began in your lower back. It gradually travelled around to your stomach and then down into your groin. The midwife took one look at your face and passed you a hospital phone.

“Call your husband.”

Bob was just about to head up in a plane when he heard his name being called. He spun, trying to locate the owner of the voice, when Pete sprinted up to him, clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

“Get out of that gear and get your ass to the hospital” he ordered, eyes wide. “Your wife is in labour.”

He ran, dropping the heaviest parts of his flight gear on the way to the locker room. He undressed and threw on his civilian clothes as fast as he could, not even bothering with the buttons.

He made it to the hospital in twenty minutes flat, his heart pounding against his breastbone, an invisible tattoo.

You looked up and smiled when he entered the room you had been escorted to, his hair dishevelled and blue eyes wild.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

He rattled off a list of questions and you waited until he had exhausted it before you spoke.

“Everything is fine” you assured him. “Contractions started. I’m five centimetres dilated already. It’s moving fast.”

Just as you spoke the last word, another toe curling pain burrowed through you, and Bob watched anxiously as you disappeared inside yourself, riding out the pain. 

He watched it happen over and over again, unable to do anything but hold your hand and wait for the miracle.

And what a miracle it was. Ten hours later, Daniel Robert Floyd made his grand entrance, wailing at the top of his lungs until he was settled in your arms and he went suddenly quiet, blue eyes searching out your face.

Bob sat beside you, leaning over on the edge of the bed, wide eyed and gazing at his son, perfect and new.

And even when the silence was broken by Dagger Squad piling in the room with balloons and a sign, it didn’t bother him. The miracle was his to hold.

[toymangle224]

Something I love about Avatar fanfics is when writers have the Navi introduced into human things

Like watching them try Mac and cheese or chocolate and questioning the crazy amount of sweetness or soda and freaking out at the fizz to it

Hearing a human talk through a fan like a child and hearing their voice change and trying it for themselves and laughing at how strange they sound

Watching a human put in contacts to see and wincing and wondering what the fuck the human just put in their eyes and why

Seeing girls paint their nails and thinking though it's pretty is there a point to it and could they possibly paint their nails as well as smelling it and covering their nose at the powerful smell of it

Just Navi being introduced and interested in their human friends or s/o ❤️

[iwishiwas-anita]

My Baby pt 2

(Part 1)

Paz couldn’t let go.

She didn’t want to let him go. 

taglist - @yesthisismycurrenthyperfixation   @sarcastic-yami

Paz couldn’t let go.

She didn’t want to let him go. 

But she had to, things were still not over.

It all still feels like a dream, like she didn’t really come back and she’s still in this deep sleep where her brain has fizzed up what she missed.

But she knows it’s real, she knows because of the warmth seeping into her back and because she knows that if she lets herself be hit with those arrows, death will come for her.

It all happened so quick, she was holding him against her, her little Miles when all of a sudden an arrow came straight for Fike, digging deep into his chest. She could hear the loud thud his body made when it hit the ground, his gasping breaths and the loud shout Quaritch gave out and the mad scramble everyone made to take cover.

After that she didn’t think much, she just acted. Years of training and the built in instincts this body had kicked in. She shoved Miles behind her, covering his small body with hers, she scrambled for her gun as she hid them both of them behind some fallen log.

She could feel the fast puffs of breaths he was taking, with one hand she reached out behind her and squeezed his, wanting him to know that she was here, his Mama was here. 

She could hear Quaritch yelling into the trees, 

Sully.

Her eyes narrowed searching through the twisting roots and hanging branches, searching for him. If she caught him now and finished it they’d be done. She could take her son and won’t have to be back here, she could take him and get to make up for all the lost time.

Bullets and arrows were flying through the air, an explosion happened and she was knocked down. Groaning slightly she looked up and saw one of the Navi kids— the girl one pulling Miles away, 

Taking him with her.

Miles looks back at her, he stops and she sees the hesitation in his eyes the way they roam over her. She reaches a hand out, beckoning him back but the girl pulls him harder and then he’s  running. 

She’s off. 

She can hear her heart beating in her chest, there’s a ringing in her ears and her heart feels like it's being squeezed. 

“Miles!” 

She’s suddenly running atop trees, chasing after them, her feet slipping a few times but she fights to stay on. She’s almost upon them when a stray bullet hits her shoulder and she stumbles down knees smacking hard against the large trunk she had been running on, but she quickly pushes herself up and keeps on running

She knows a bullet wound hurts like a bitch, she’s had a couple of them to know that for a fact but it’s either this new body of hers or just the adrenaline that won’t let her feel it, the fear that if she stops for even a second he’ll disappear and this time she won’t see him again, that no second chances will happen.

She’s almost upon them, when another blue figure joins the girl and her boy, this one is clearly older, much more dangerous than the rest. She stops when her golden eyes connect with hers.

The woman hisses at her and something in her forces a snarling hiss to crawl up her throat and out her mouth. The woman’s eyes narrow, her hand grabs the girls an urgent word in her tongue. 

The girl kept tugging at her hand, trying to wrench it free from hers, in the other she had Miles. Her heart broke for him, he looked so lost, so scared.

She tried to step closer but something snapped under her foot and the woman’s stare snapped to her, she hissed out a warning and Paz ignored it, eyes only on him, “Miles?” She quietly voices, his eyes sear into her.

Behind him the woman makes a strange noise, her eyes slowly move to her, noticing how they are now focused on her boy. 

She doesn’t like how she looks at him.

She doesn’t like it one bit, it makes her senses go haywire, her tail flickers impatiently and she accidentally pierces her lip when she clenched her teeth.

She gives her son, her beautiful son who looks so kind with a heart of gold, the look of something foul, the look as if he was a mistake, a bug that won’t go away no matter how hard you try. 

The woman’s eyes move to her and she sees, can practically feel the realization she’s made.

Yes, he’s mine. 

Shots ring out far behind her and the tension grows, a loud explosion happens behind her and it takes her focus for just one second but that’s all the woman needed. 

In just a fraction of a second she managed to pull the girls hard fast enough that her grip slipped off spiders, shoving her son away from them and off the branch they were standing in.

Paz didn’t waste a second.

She threw herself over the branch and followed after him, he was facing her as he fell, eyes wide and glossy, now Paz has only known betrayal one time, in first grade when her best friend traded the homemade brownie she gave her for a stupid tootsie roll, She never talked to her again and made tootsie rolls her sworn enemy. 

It didn’t compare to whatever Miles felt, it never could but she can recognize exactly how he feels at that moment, how her sweet baby felt. How these friends of his just threw him to the curb, she felt tears prick at her eyes.

She reached a hand out and snagged his wrist pulling him to her, she flipped them so she was below him, she pulled him into her arms hand, sneaking back into his hair.

She hit the ground hard.

So hard her ears rang, she stayed down, unfocused stare looking up into the canopy, she thought about falling asleep for a bit, to rest, her shoulder was killing her, a sharp stinging pain that throbs sometimes. It felt sticky, blood probably pooling around it.

In the distance she could hear something crackling and buzzing, it made her ears twitch as she tried to find it.

“—az!”

“—ere are you?!”

“Paz!”

Her eyes widened as she finally realized that it was Quaritch calling her through the comms. Her eyes focused and with a shaky hand reacted to her neck, fingers moving around trying to find the speaker, she finally found it and pressed on it,

Her voiced rasped out a weak “I’m here”

“I’m heading back”

Quaritch’s staticky voice came back, “you sure? I can just come and get you”

Fighting back a hiss as her shoulder throbbed she gritted out, “I’m fine. I’ll be there” 

She takes her hand off the button and lays there for a bit, staring unseeingly up again until the weight at her chest groans.

Miles.

Her hand shoots down and makes contact with warm skin, she breathes out when she realizes she did it, she had him back, twice in one day. She didn’t know how she did it but she had and  she needed to get back to base before her luck ran out. 

“Miles?” She whispered, she got no response but she could feel his chest rising and lowering, a deep steady thump coming from him she wondered what that was until she realized that it was his heartbeat, immediately she felt better.

With a groan she got up, Miles still in her hold. She bent her knees a bit and lifted him up fully, her shoulder throbbing as his arm grazed it.  His head tucked into her neck, her legs shook as she tried to take a step, knees buckling. She took a deep breath and pushed through the aches rolling through her body, she walked back to where the others were. 

After some time, light began to return to Pandora, she was almost at the pickup spot, she pushed through some bushes branches breaking on her step, and then she was with the others, her sudden appearance must have spooked them since some pointed their guns at her but after realizing who it was they lowered them. 

They all looked at her, but more importantly at who she brought with her, their eyes roamed over him and her arms tightened around him. 

From her right Quaritch came forward, her head swished to look at him, the frown he always used to cover up what he was actually feeling, but Paz knew better, she knew him better to know that he was freaking the fuck out. 

She began to walk towards him when suddenly he walked past her and began to walk towards a clearing, she stood there confused as to why he was being so strange. She snapped out of it when the others began to walk after him, she followed after the others.

She realized that the scorpion that brought them was now picking them up, it was hovering above the ground, rope retractors hanging from it.

With tired steps she went to the nearest rope and clipped herself in, she adjusted her grip on Miles, holding him tight before raising a thumbs up.

They were pulled up and soon she was stepping foot inside the aircraft. Her vision zeroed in on the available benches, her aching body slumping on one of them, she leaned her head back against the walls of the aircraft. She wanted to sleep, the adrenaline was wearing odd and the pain at her shoulder was killing her, she looked down at the sleeping figure of Miles nestled against her chest. 

God, she couldn't believe he was here, he was actually here with her, after that chase through the jungle she didn't think he would be back with her. She sighed and closed her eyes, the hum of the scorpion blades calming her down. She wasn't going to sleep, she was just resting her eyes, just until they got back. 

Just for a bit. 

It was more than a bit.

When she woke up, it wasn't to the sound of Quaritch telling them to head in, or the sounds of the others getting up and moving out, but to the sound of a door sliding shut. She opened her eyes and was immediately assaulted by the harsh fluorescent lights. 

With a groan she tried getting up from the bed she was laying in but that quickly turned to be a bad idea when a twinge of pain came from her injured shoulder. She looked down at it and found it to be bandaged up, no blood to be seen.

She yawned and tried to sit up slowly, her body ached, the hard tumble that she took when she jumped from the tree to save…

Miles.

She shot up from the bed, ignoring the now throbbing shoulder, but that didn’t matter because once again Miles was missing.

She tried not to panic since at least they were inside bridgehead but after she thought of that it only made her panic more. She rushed out of bed scrambling for the door, and walking past the flustered scientists she almost squashed. 

Maybe she was overreacting a bit, if he wasn't with her then Quaritch had him, surely quaritch won't let anything happen to him, he’ll do his best to keep him safe. 

But as she ran through the halfways opening and closing doors, and sometimes knocking over things, she began to think of what or who Quaritch was. 

They were sent out on a mission, to find and kill the leader of the Navi insurgency, but they didn't do that, their first time out and they’d failed, they lost their hostages and Quaritch… Quaritch will do anything, grasp at anything that could save the mission.

And she.. She just brought him the only person that could.

She stopped, her heart thumped against her chest, Quaritch wouldn't, he wouldn't. 

Miles, 

Miles was probably the only person that knew where Sully was hiding, and Quaritch knew that, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. 

Quaritch would protect him, keep him safe and away from Ardmore. 

“Miles?” she called out, a nervous tilt to it. 

She tried to reassure herself, but there was a sick feeling in her stomach, a sourness in her mouth and nervous shivers that she could hardly contain. Her search became more frantic, she could feel the wary stares of those that remained in the hallways, she probably looked insane, she felt insane. 

She reached a door that needed a key card, and swiped hers. 

She ran in, going through twists and turns that led nowhere. She stopped at a 2 way hallway, she looked to her left and then her right. Her mind was all jumbled, she couldn't think, she had tried to smell him out but couldn't all her body felt was panic and Bridgehead city was filled with artificial smells that told her nothing. 

She was about to turn right when a garbled scream stopped her, it was hard to decipher what it was but it tugged at her mind. She waited for a second until it happened again and she ran after it. 

The closer she got to it the worse she felt. 

The nervous flutter turned into fear. 

She ran further into the hallway, her steps echoing alongside her ragged breath, she could tell she was getting closer since now the screams were louder, before they just tickled in her ears now they rang like bells. 

“—-don't know!”

Her heart dropped to her stomach, 

“Miles!”

She shot down the hallways, shoulder aching but the terror she felt dulled it, now that she was closer to him, she could smell him, the citrus scent guiding her. 

She turned a corner and the scent was even stronger. She could hear a whooshing sound that grated her ears and worst of all she could hear her boy, yelling, screaming at some unknown person. 

She ran down where the metals walls turned to glass and light was spilling into the hallways, her boots thundering against the floor, she stopped at the opened doorway and she immediately wanted to curse Quaritch to the seven hells, because there trapped behind some kind of torture machine was her son struggling against the restraints, green lights spinning around him at lightning speed while  that cunt spews nonsense at him. 

At that moment she wanted to rip out her throat with her bare teeth. 

She never felt rage like this like no other, it ate her up from the inside, hot lava pooling in her eyes and burning up her throat. She clenched her fists and marched into the room, straight into Quaritch’s space.

“What are you doing?!” she hissed at him

At that moment Miles lets out a keening cry and she turns around seeing Miles trashing in the machine a drop of blood dripping down his nose and resting at his upper lip.

 “What are you doing to him?”  She whispers, gaze locked on the scene before her.

“Tell us now and it stops” 

Her eyes shoot to Ardmore standing in front of the machine seeming to conduct an interrogation ignoring her son's screams.

“I don’t know!”

Paz looks around the room trying to find a way to shut it off when a big red button catches her eye, she moves towards it, hand  coming down to press it when it’s suddenly grabbed from behind, raised above her head, She looks up not expecting to see Miles. He looks unsure, like he doesn't know what he’s doing, like he didn't understand who it was on the machine. 

The machine swirls, green lights flashing

Miles screams. She tries to break Quaritch’s hold on her arm. 

“You're gonna have to kill me!”

She can't take it anymore, she doesn't understand what’s wrong with Quaritch, why he’s being so careless with her son, with his son, why he’s allowing that woman to hurt him and treat him so brutally. 

She’s ripping Quiartich’s hand off her arm, hissing back at him, and lurches for the red button, the machine slowly comes to a stop, green lights stop flashing and Miles so little trapped inside that huge cage slumps forwards, gasping for breath, eyes fluttering shut. 

She ignores Ardmore’s glare and goes up to the machine, she unclasps the restraints and pulls him out of it, he shivers as she holds him in her arms, hand coming behind his head. She makes to step away from it when Ardmore is suddenly in her way, the woman is certainly too small and only comes up to her waist, so she’s forced to look up and make eye contact with her. She can see her trying to intimidate her but Paz wont let her, she levels her with a glare so cold that it could freeze the sun itself. 

The tension in the room becomes so thick, the sharpest knife wouldn't be able to cut through it, Paz has never felt the urge to hurt a superior of hers but at this moment she fears that if Ardmore doesn't move out of her way, she will give her a taste of her own medicine. She will shove her into that machine until her brain becomes mush. 

Ardmore squares her shoulders and doesn't show an inch of fear, despite being face to face with a being much stronger than her; savages. Savages that were bought by the RDA and if these savages go rogue well then it's her job to put them down. 

“Corporal, What is the meaning of this?” she grounds out

Paz doesn't answer her, just continues to stare her down, the yellow of her eyes glint under the fluorescent lights, her pupils become almost slit like. 

After a moment, Quaritch coughs and Ardmore turns around to face him. If Paz didn't know any better, she would say that Ardmore was afraid of what could happen if she gave her back to her. Quaritch bends forward a little almost as of he was sharing a secret with her, but Paz doesn't know why, if everyone can perfectly hear what he says next;

“General… Let me try the personal angle.”

Ardmore looks back to where she’s still standing, a calculating look in her eyes, Paz is prepared, she’s ready for whatever she says, she’s ready to strike her in the throat if she even thinks of taking him away. 

However she doesn't say anything to her, in fact she scoffs and turns to face Quaritch again, leaning in just like how he did, in an almost theatrical whisper she tells him, “He’s not your son.” She keeps on looking at him, and then walks off, leaving the room in silence. 

Paz looks at Quaritch, and internally scoffs. She begins to walk off but stops when she’s in front of him, looking straight into his eyes, willing him to understand this and never let him forget; “He is your son.”

Miles flinches at her chest. 

She sees Quaritch falter, but she doesnt stay to hear whatever he wants to say, she continues to walk away when a hand at her injured shoulder stops her, she hisses and shifts her shoulder back removing the hand that landed there, she looks back and sees Quaritch standing there, he looks down at Miles, and she follows his eyes, he’s awake but hasn't said anything, sweet thing just hangs on tight to her. 

She looks back up a question in her gaze, Quaritch looks everywhere but her eyes, “We got to put him in a cell—” her eyes widen and her eyebrows furrow, an incredulous look upon her face, “Just… Just for right now, Okay?”

Her hands tighten around Miles, “No.”

Quaritch frowns, “What do you mean ‘No’?”

Paz glares at him, “I'm not putting my son in a cell”

“That was an order, Corporal.” Hurt flashes through her face, but she chases it away with a frown, 

“No” she snarls out. 

He bends down a bit, getting closer to her face, “Paz, you gotta trust me here. I know what I'm doing. Ardmore’s going to be on my ass about this; A prisoner—”

“He’s not a prisoner!” 

“He’s your son!”

“Right now he is, Okay? Right now he is a prisoner and I'm working on that okay.” he reaches a hand up and holds her cheek there, “Im working on it, I promise.” He whispers to her. 

Paz thinks for a bit, looking down at Miles, head still resting on her chest, she looks back up at Quaritch and staring straight into his eyes, willing him to understand that she won't budge, she won't, last time she did as he said, last time she followed an order she had died. 

“No”

A frown overcomes his face, he sighs, teeth clenched. A shiver climbs up her back, Quaritch throws a look behind him and with a wave of his hand motions towards her and like a pack of coyotes, the others surround her. 

Her ears pull back and her tail slashes behind her, her hold on Miles, tightens to the point where it has to hurt, but she can't let her grip loosen. 

She’s too busy watching what’s in front of her that she doesn't notice, Z come up behind her, getting a hold of the long braid at her neck. She grits her teeth as pain shoots into her head, and that's all they need, one moment, one second for her to let her guard down and they pounced. 

Quaritch came forwards and tried to rip Miles from her arms but she held on tight, “Paz, Please” he grunted out while she just hissed at him. It was a game of tug of war at that point until Z gave a harsh tug at the braid and her grip slipped, Quaritch ripped Miles from her arms and his frightened face the last thing she saw before he was passed on to Lyle and Brown, dragging her son away. 

“Miles!”

She hissed and tried wrenching Z’s grip off her but the more she pulled the more pain raced around her head. 

“You Fucker!”

“Let go of me, you cunt!”

She thrashed until Miles was dragged out of the room when suddenly Z, let go of her braid, in a frenzy she drew back her fist and smashed it hard against her cheek. 

“Hey!” 

She went to draw back again, when her arm was caught in a tight grip, she turned around and Quaritch looked down at her, “Fuck You” she seethed out and tried to wrench her arm free but he held on, pulling her into some room.

Throwing her inside he locked the door behind him, he sighed and palmed his face, “Paz—“

She didn’t even let him start, she winded up her hand and slapped him so hard his neck turned to the side.

He opens his mouth but she cuts him off, “why are you doing this to me?, I didn’t do anything to you”

She feels tears building in her eyes, ”he’s our son, Miles, and you just fed him to the wolves.” 

“ I didn’t, I’m—“

“Yes, you did”

“No…”

“You did!” she screeched at him

“What were you thinking?  Allowing that woman to treat him like that. To.. to… to use him like some fucking gps.”

His ears draw back, a snarl in his lips ”Would you just fucking listen?”

She steps closer to him, “you are putting him in danger” she seethed 

An incredulous look crosses his face, “Me?!”

He scoffs, “I’m trying to protect him, protect you!”

“You just put our son in a cage, our son who we haven’t seen in years, who I  haven’t seen in years.”

A tear slips down her face, “And you took him from me.” 

“Again.” 

His ears draw back and he turns away, walking to the door and leaving her alone in the room. tears fall down her face, there’s an emptiness in her chest that eats her up as she stands there. 

_______________________________________________________________________

She hasn't seen him for three days. 

3 hours and….. 39 seconds. 

She kept count. 

She wants to see her son, she wants to talk to him, get to know him, but Quaritch has been avoiding her, Ardmore looks at her like she’s going to go ‘Sully’ any second and she’s all alone.

She never realized how painful motherhood can be, how knowing that your child is so close but being unable to touch them tears at her heart, how some days she wishes she never even got on that ship, never sighed her life away to some big men with pressed black suits and shiny shoes. She wishes she had stayed on earth, no matter how it was dying she wished she’d have stayed. She would have found a nice place for them. 

He looks like he loves the sea, she would have gotten a little house close to the beach just the two of them, they would go swimming every day and collect seashells, she would have taught him how to make bracelets with them, how to make the prettiest sand castles, the best way to body surf and then…

Then they would watch the sun set and make marshmallows, their toes buried under the sand. 

They would have had so much fun

Just the two of them, 

And maybe.. Maybe Quaritch could have come with them, and then they’d be a happy little family. 

But sadly that didn't happen and now she doesn't see how it could, Quaritch seems to be having an identity crisis, she doesn't have any control over her own life and her son is lost, he was thrown overboard to drown.

And she is to blame. 

______________________________________________________________________

It's day 5…

It's day 5 and they are given an assignment, another pointless mission to find Sully’s hiding place, another way of them trampling through their tombs waitting for Pandora to realize the imposters walking through her plains. 

Another chance for them to meet their end again. 

She’s strapping herself inside the scorpion, ignoring the side glances thrown her way, when a something clatters behind her, she ignores it assuming it to be someone dropping of more weapons when that same citrusy scent assaults her senses, she's too scared to turn around, she didn't think the universe could be so cruel, that this body would be so cruel. 

So she doesnt turn to look, no matter how hard her mind screams at her too, she can't, she won't do that to herself. 

She only peeks a glance once Quaritch joins them and this is the first time she has seen him since they argued, so it confuses her when she sees a bemused look on his face as he looks down at…

Miles.

Her hands tremble, she wants to go over there, but Quaricth chooses that moment to look at her, and she knows what that look means and she doesn't want to fight anymore, she didn't really mean what she said, she doesn't want to fight with him, so she listens, she grits her teeth and stays sitting down the whole ride. But that doesnt mean she doesn't look at him, because she does, she memorizes every line of his face, studies the strange blue lines on his skin, and the pretty looking beads in his hair and the bracelets in his arms. 

They reach their destination and zip line down the aircraft and she can't help the sting of jealousy when Quaritch carries him down, since when did they get so close. They reach the ground and the scorpion leaves, Quaritch debriefs them but she doesn't bother paying attention, she knows he’ll repeat the same thing a billion times throughout their trip. 

When Miles laughs, she knows it's ingrained in her heart, and she can already see herself playing it over and over whenever she feels the guilt creeping in. 

Soon they're on the move, they're going to the Hallelujah mountains, going to get some banshee’s, Miles says it’ll be a 2 day trip on foot and she loves how smart he is but then she remembers how he knows how long it is and the feeling of pride is gone. 

Miles takes the lead and Quarirch follows closely after him, and then they all fall into line, she’s tried to skip ahead but it's a tight knit line they follow, so she’s just stuck watching in awe as he climbs and jumps over tree roots and huge rocks, he’s like a little monkey, how troublesome he must have been she muses.

Night approaches and they settle down, Brown tries to light a fire but Miles stops him, tells him it’ll attract palulukans. After that everyone just settles onto the ground, pulling out sleeping bags and eating some food, she discards her own after one single bite, whatever it is, she hates it. She sees some hanging fruit from the trees above her and she goes to pick them out when a voice stops her, 

“Those are poisonous.”

Her arms falls and she turns to look behind her, her ears shoot up and her tail swishes back and forth, Her boy is standing there, a banana looking fruit in his hands,

“Here, these are better” he says as he hands her one

She smiles at him, holding back and only grabbing the fruit and not pulling him in her arms, “Thank you” she says, a small smile grows on his lips. 

She peels the fruit and bites into it, sweet nectar spilling onto her tongue, she hums appreciatively as she chews on it,  she looks up from her and sees him biting into his, “It's good.”

She finishes wiping her hand on her clothes, she swallows and tries to calm down her racing heart, “Im Paz” she says with a quip to her lips, offering him her hand. 

He looks down at it, and she thinks of pulling it back but then he wraps his small fingers around her hand, “I know” he says. 

And she feels dumb, of course he knows, he probably knows all about her while she knows nothing, she chuckles, “Right”

An awkward silence falls and she looks around trying to grasp at any topic, when she notices him playing with the beads that hang at his waist, “I like your…. Waistbeads?”

He looks startled by her comment and looks at her with wide eyes, he looks down at the string of beads, “Thanks”

And…. silence once more, god she’s so bad at this, she doesn't know what to tell him now that the emotions have settled, she goes to say something, anything but at the same time he opens his mouth, 

“Where w—”

“My—”

They both stop and laugh softly, “I'm so bad at this” she groans into her hands.

He laughs at her, and she wants him to keep doing that, never wanting him to stop.

“That’s okay.” he huffs out.

It’s really not, this should be easy, he’s her kid, this should come easy to her, but every time she looks at him her tongue gets all tangled and makes her say stupid things. 

She takes a breath and sits down on a fallen long, she has her face in her hands so she doesn't see him sit next to her but she can feel his warmth as it settles in. She peeks over at thim and sees him looking at Quaritch, a frown on his face, “Why did you name me after him?” he suddenly asks. 

And that… that stumps her, she didn't think they would be talking about… that, but after all, he is his son and Quaritch was never the one to beat around the bush. She thinks for a moment and that must have been a moment too long since he turns to look at her, “Well I don't really know, I guess cause everyone thought I wouldn't dare.”

His eyes widened, “Really?”

She chuckles, “Well yeah, I mean Miles is Miles, he’s a dick— oops—” He laughs, “Sorry”

“He’s…. Well he’s an asshole, really but me and him weren't supposed to happen you know?, it was against the rules and when it did, Well everyone assumed it was going to be some big secret but i thought it was just dumb since it already happened. I didn't want to keep you a secret.”

“I wasn't ashamed of you.”

She turns to look at him, seeing how quiet he got, a pensive look on his face, she nudged his shoulder with her arm “Do… Do you not like it?”

That seems to wake him up and he looks up at her, “No… it's not that, it's just that… no one really ever calls me that anymore.”

Something sour curls in her tongue, “Oh”

Well, what did she think, he was raised by other people, probably has other adoptive parents and of course they would have changed his name or something, she tries not to let it show how much it bothers her, “Then, what do they call you?”

He looks down at the floor, and then back up at her “Spider”

And.. 

She wasn't expecting that, maybe something like Michael, or Joshua, or even Zack, but what kind of name is Spider?

She notices the apprehensive look in his eyes and the hunched shoulders. He really cares for that name, or cares for what she thinks about it, so she doesn't really want to hurt his feelings, “Oh, that’s cool. Why Spider?”

He beams, “When I was a kid, I used to climb over everything and Norm said I was like a spider, so it kinda stuck.”

Norm. 

She remembers him, sort of, Quaritch thought he was an idiot which is kinda dumb in itself since he was a scientist and you can't really be an idiot and a scientist. 

“Well, it is true, but I think you're more like a monkey, eh, Monkey boy?”

Uh oh, she expected laugh out of him or even a chuckles but a glum look comes over his face, and she immediately feels like a failure, it was going so well and she said something stupid, “i'm sorry”

He snaps his head towards her and starts to shake his head no, “It's okay… that just reminded me of someone.”

Yeah, that's right, he has people, people who cared for him, and loved him when she couldn't. 

“Do… Would you like me to call you Spider?”

There's a frown in his face, and he doesn't say anything for a while, then he looks up into her eyes, and she feels as if he’s once again the size of a kidney bean, and he;s staring up at her with those big brown eyes of his, he blinks once and then shakes his head, “I like it when you call me Miles. It feels mine, like when you say it you think of me and not him.”

She feels how her heart tightens, and god she wants to cry for him, she nods trying to not let tears fall down her face. 

It's dark now, and when she looks around the others are already asleep, Quaritch is the only one awake and he’s taking guard, staring off into the distance, but she knows he’s been listening in to them, she misses him, the idiot. 

She looks back at Miles and sees his eyes drooping, “You should get some rest now, I'm sure he’s going to want us up early.”

He hums, and walks over to curl up at the base of a tree, she watches as he huddles closer to himself. She gets up from the root and goes to look in her bag, finding what she’s looking for, she lays the RDA blanket over him, she bends down and tucks him in, swiping a hand over his forehead and into his hair, she looks down into his half closed eyes, “Good night Miles.” she whispers. 

His eyes flutter and then they fall shut, his breathing evens out and he falls asleep. 

She moves away from him and stands up, looking to where Quaritch is standing guard at, she walks over to him, standing right behind him, she steps closer to him and thumps her head against his back, breathing him in. 

“I'm sorry” she breaths

He huffs but doesnt turn around to face her, she wraps her arms around him hugging him from behind, he sighs and leans back into her, she squeezes him one more time and steps back, going back to where Miles is all curled up and lays down next to him, letting his soft breath lull her to sleep. 

The next morning they are all back in motion but this time, she walks right beside Miles, he points out every plant they see and tells her all about it. It makes her heart burst, listening to him talk, telling her little facts about the strange looking plants they pass. 

Eventually they reach the beginning of the floating mountains, she looks out into the expanse of floating rocks. It's so strange seeing something so heavy and large being held up by nothing.

When Miles says that they have to climb up, there are squawks from everyone but a quick look from Quaritch and everyone is off. 

There's a reason why she became a pilot, and the reason is that being a pilot is just 10% of the time doing drills and the other 90% is flying the goddamn plane. But see she’s not afraid of heights, her job is basically being in the air, but when she is in the air she’s in an enclosed space and has total control of everything. Here out in Pandora trying to balance herself on floating rocks so she doesnt fall to her doom, well it's hard and very embarrassing. Here she is, a seasoned soldier scrambling to hold onto a vine so she doesn't fall to her death. 

Her feet keep on sliding against the rocky surface and her palms sweat as the sun beats against her face, she reaches a hand out to hold onto a vine and uses it to pull herself up, when the rock she’s stepping on breaks off causing her knees to buckle. With a gasp she scrambles for purchase but she can't get a good grip on the vines so she starts to fall back, a hand grabs a hold of her wrist and holds her steady, she looks to the owner's hand and Quaritch’s face stares back at hers. 

His fingers tighten on her wrist and then he pulls her up, feet slamming down on the ground, “Thanks” he nods, her wrist still in his hold 

Up ahead Miles shouts, “Come on losers!”

She smiles looking up at him, she turns to look at Quaricth who is already looking at her, he squeezes his wrist once and then lets go of it, beginning to walk away. She smiles amusedly at his back, and follows after him. 

They finally reach the top, “the nest” as Miles calls it, and she can hear the loud screeches from the banshees. They go past a waterfall and when they emerge they are faced with hundreds, maybe thousands of mountain banshees all from different colors and sizes. Some lounge about ignoring them while others hiss and spit at them. They hide behind rocks and watch them, Someone passes a tranq gun to Quaritch and he starts prepping it. 

Beside him, Miles laughs, Quaritch glances at him, “What?”

Miles has a smug look on his face, a twinkle in his eyes, “Navi kids younger than me do this with their bare hands.”

Quaritch looks down at the Tranq and then at Miles, he grumbles to himself for a bit but then he grinds his teeth and drops the weapon, he jumps over the rock and slowly approaches the banshees. 

A banshee with yellow and orange splotches jumps down and lands in front of him, it hisses at him and snaps its teeth at him. 

“Careful, Colonel!” she teases him

She expects him to flip her off but he surprises her when he actually hisses back at the winged beast and decks it across the snout. She cackles a laugh as the thing looks almost in shock around itself and Quaritch takes this opportunity to climb behind it. It buckles trying to throw him off but he stays on. 

“Yeah, Colonel!” Lyle shouts behind her, as quaritch manages to connect his queque to the animal’s. The creature shakes his head some more and twists from side to side. Miles, hoots and runs off the rock and next to Quaritch, “Hurry, you have to fly now” he urges him. 

Quaritch looks down at him, with wide eyes, “Great! How do I do that?”

“You just think it.”

The beast buckles again, Quaritch tightens its grip on one of the tendrils, “Think it?”

“Yes!”

Quaritch frowns, “That makes no sense!, How can i just think it an—” He doesn't get a chance to finish because at that moment Miles just slaps the beast's behind. It gives out a loud screech and runs off the edge of the cliff taking Quaritch with it. 

Miles rushes to the edge, cupping his hands around his mouth he yells, “Think ‘Fly’!”

And Quaritch flies, he twirls and loops around the floating mountains, dips under them and flies as high as he can on his banshee. And she hears the shouts he lets out, brimmed with joy, and she laughs. She laughs and screams and shouts with him, his happiness rubbing off on them. He loops back around and lands, the biggest grin on his face. 

A smile breaks onto her face and a relieved laugh spills from her lips,  before jumping into Quaritch arms and kissing him. He presses into her mouth and squeals as he spins them around. 

They stop at a disgusted sound Miles makes and a loud whistle Lyle lets out. They smile at each other, Quaritch reaches a hand towards Miles  and ruffles his hair, a chuckle slipping past his lips, and she nearly jumps him again, because this is the first time he has touched Miles without an ulterior motive, and that's enough to ease her heart, melt away the remaining fears that he somehow doesn't accept Miles, does not see him as his son despite the amount of times she has told him.

With a smile on his face, his eyes still on hers, “You're going to love that”  he breathes out. 

And she did. 

She’s suddenly on air without the restraints of a scorpion’s skeleton and it's wondrous, she never wants to get off. She tamed a greenish–yellow winged beast that gave her such a fight she feared she would have to tranq it, but in the end it gave in and now she rode it.

She has much more control now, they are one now, each breath she takes is in sync with the banshee’s, she’s never felt as close to someone as she is with the creature. 

She twirls and loops around Quaritch and Miles, hair blowing in the wind as the beast chitters under her. When she settles in next to them it feels like a dream, Miles laughter echoing in her ears, the sea is underneath them and it feels like their a family, a small little family, a little rough around the edges but good nonetheless. 

It’s all she’s ever wanted.

But good things never last, they don't. No matter how much people like to say they do, they just don't, her little dream is interrupted by the crackle of a radio, and a demon’s voice pours from it; “Colonel this is General Ardmore. We’ve got a rogue aircraft, 200 clicks out west.”

Everything goes to shit after that. 

______________________________________________________________________

They leave their little dream island and are thrust into the real world, Ardmore sends them to terrorize another clan, gives them weapons and a poisonous look that promises if they fail this time god knows what’ll happen. 

They board a ship and have to deal with an idiot that doesn't understand what ‘Quotas’ mean and then destroy homes and lives. 

She can barely remember that one time their family felt like a family, but now all that runs through her head are the cries of water Navi, pleading with them and the smell of smoke, the crackling of fire burning away homes. 

And she knows their following orders, all of them are, but it's not fair. She feels disgusting, she destroys families and when she’s done she goes back to hers.  

Miles wont look at her anymore, he’s angry at her, angry at Quaritch and she guesses probably at himself, because she just knows that he hates that he let her in, that he trusted her and let her touch him and play mom to him. 

And she can't bear that, she doesn't want their feeble relationship to end, So she defies orders, she ignores Quaritch when he orders the burning of their homes, helps calm down the folk and in return he yells and rages at her. Screams at her if she’s forgotten what she’s fighting for and in that moment she pities him, pities him because he has forgotten what he is supposed to be fighting for and so she lets him storm off. 

He has forgotten himself and she doesn't know how to make him see. 

She’s laying in bed when Miles comes looking for her, and she can tell by his face that Quaritch did something to him, she opens her arms to him and he climbs in, they lay together staring up at the metal ceiling, the ship swaying back and forth. She presses her lips to his forehead and breathes him in. 

Promises that she’ll fix things, that she’ll try to make things better, that she won't leave him when things go wrong because they are bound to go wrong. 

She seeks Quaritch out, finds him in his rooms locked away, and the moment he sees her he crumbles. She goes to sit next to him and she simply says, “We need to leave” he goes to object but she beats him to it, “Im done, this is not what i signed up for. I'm done, I'm not doing this anymore.”

“Miles..” she looks at him, reaching over for his hand. “We got a second chance, I am not wasting it on a lost cause.”

“Pandora will not bend, she is a fortress and we can either join her or perish.”

She leaves him with that, goes back to her rooms to prepare,  she will leave, she will take Miles with her and Quaritch has the choice to either destroy himself or come with them. 

It really is incredible how much the universe likes to fuck with them, or is it Quaritch that antagonizes it and it just delivers.  She’ll never know.

The ship sinks, there's fire and gunshots and arrows flying around and it all fills her with a sense of deja vu that she wishes she wouldn't get anymore. She knows it's her duty to run straight into the fire and attack but she’s not doing that anymore, she won't be a part of it. She made a promise and she doesn't intend to break it. 

She runs through the ship, dragging Miles behind her trying to find a way out. She doesn't know where Quaritch is, but all she knows is that she needs to leave, and leave now. The water is rising, pulling the ship under it. She eventually has to swim her way out, holding Miles’s hand in a tight grip. 

She finally makes it outside, the sky is dark and Miles clings to her back, she can feel him shiver

From the cold breeze of the night sky. She swims closer to the ship wreck, and when she does,  bodies. 

Bodies all around her with blood pouring from everywhere, arrows sticking out of them, their eyes empty staring into nothing. 

Her bare feet slap against the metal of the ship, she walks around looking for… anything, anyone. As she walks she sees Z laying on the ground, a crumpled body with blood seeping from a gunshot, tears prick at her eyes but she blinks them away. 

She finds a gun laying around and grabs it, strapping it to her waist; she doesn't want to have to use it, but she will if she has to. 

She needs to find Quaritch.

She needs to make sure he’s alive or dead before she moves on, because she can't keep doing this anymore. She can't stay in a place where their lives don't matter, where they just wait for something to explode so they can go and “fix” it. 

There’s an eerie silence as she walks, she feels like something is watching her, from behind her Miles tenses, arms tightening around her neck. She hears a scream, and bolts. She gets to the back of the ship, and finds a girl, a navi girl, the same one from the forest that day, tied up against the railings, behind her Miles gasps and wiggles down. He runs to her and envelops her in a hug as the girl cries out, “Spider!”

She carefully looks around as she gets closer to the girl. Miles is talking to her in her native tongue, so she doesn't understand much, but she can catch a few words; Cut, Safe, Swim, Mom.

Miles turns to her, “Can you cut this?” he asks motioning to the handcuffs at the girls wrists. She pulls out her knife and begins to cut at them. She’s almost done with them when out of nowhere Quaritch slinks out from behind her, ripping her away from the girl. She looks up at him, her eyes filled with a questioning gaze. Seeing the bloodlust lurking within him, she immediately shuts him down.

“No.”

“This isn't up for discussion.” he grunts out

“Quaritch, No”

She shakes her head at him, trying to wrench his hand off and when he doesn't budge she explodes, “Are you out of your mind?!”

“I told you I was done, I'm not doing this shit with you anymore. These are Kids, you are chasing after.”

“Don't you think I want that too!?” his shout rings out, she can hear it echoing

She stares at him in confusion, “Then why are you doing this? Just let it go.”

“I need to finish this, Paz. I need to put it to bed, be done with this for good.”

She steps closer to him, “No, You won't”

“You won't be done with this for good, because it will just keep happening. Remember last time, last time I fucking died, Miles we all did. And now it's going to happen again. Can't you see? We can't keep doing this…. This cycle of dying for a stupid rock light years away. It’s not worth it.”

“We were given another chance, I don't want to throw it away.” she whispers.

She doesn't get to see if it all clicks in his head now, if he understands the stupidity he has been feeding on, because in the next second, there's a clatter from behind her, she just gets to see Quaritsch eyes widen, before turning into slits, a snarl on his lips. He bends down, ripping the girl’s handcuffs off and holding a knife against her throat. 

“Kiri!”

There's a hiss behind her and she doesn't hesitate, she pulls the gun from her holster and aims, finger hovering over the trigger and…

She feels her heart get caught in her throat, nearly choking her. 

That Navi woman from before has her son, her beautiful boy, pressed against her, a knife to his neck a mirror of quaritch’s own actions. There's something different about her, something has changed, the way she holds Miles, knife scraping against his skin, there's no doubt about it, she’s going to kill him.

Beside her Sully appears, and he has this haggard look about him and she thinks god let her boy make it. 

“Mom, Don't kill him!” the girl shouts at the same time Miles begs, “Please let her go.”

Paz feels like she’s watching from someone else's eyes, she stands beside Quaritch, a chill seizing her heart. Her gaze is trained on the woman’s hands, so close to Mile’s heart, the blade glows under the fire, a death waiting to happen. 

The woman’s eyes narrowed, “Release. Or I cut” she seethed

Paz’s ears are drawn up, her tail flicks, she doesn't let her eyes waver, doesn't let the panic that has her heart hostage distract her.

Paz glances at him, “Quaritch.”

The woman seems to grow impatient, hissing at quaritch. Her eyes move between Quaritch and her but they hover on the gun aimed at her face, she can see where her fingers dig into Miles’s arm. 

“Quaritch.” she hisses.

“Let. Her. Go.” she grounds out

And he… he does nothing, he tightens his grip on the girl, and stays his ground, and for god’s sake Quaritch out of all the times to be so stubborn. 

The girl hisses and the woman doesn't like that, she doesn't like it one bit, she hisses and snarls and in one movement swipes her blade across Miles’s chest. 

A growl rips out of her throat and  her finger comes down on the trigger,  the bullet flies past her and lands near Sully’s feet, he flinches and moves back, another girl is behind him, much smaller. 

She spits and hisses back at the woman, “Try it again and I won't miss.”

“Release” she breathes out, her eyes like lava.

Tensions are rising, and that bullet she let loose did not help, she can see the blood pouring from the cut the knife made on Mile’s chest, and she burns, she burns to just empty the barrel, to just put pressure on the trigger and bask in the vibrating pops and the swish of bullets flying through the air. 

The woman turns to her, staring straight at her, almost as if she’s trying to see into her. There’s a shift in her eyes, something dangerous, something deadly, it makes fear grow in her tummy, to grow and grow until it's gripping her heart. The woman’s gaze locks  right into her and it's almost as if she’s staring at the face of her demise, the woman presses the blade closer to Mile’s neck and snarls out “A son for a son.”

And suddenly she understands.

“Quaritch” she growls.

Understands what happened, realizes that the boy is missing and realizes that if that woman doesn't get her child, she will take the spider away from her, and she didn't come back just to watch her son be killed. She won't allow it, she already has a place in hell, she's been there already, but if that woman takes her son, she’ll drag her with her. 

The woman’s eyes widen and she lets out a screech, knife raised above her head, poised to sink right into Miles’s neck, 

She feels breath leave her lungs, knees weak, her vision zeroes in on that knife and she gulps down some air  and screams out, “Miles, you fucker, let her go!”

And Quaritch snaps, 

He shoves the girl away from him, knife dropping to the ground and in the same moment she rushes to Miles, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the woman. She brings him in closer, wrapping an arm around her while the other has her gun aimed at her. Miles shudders against her, hot breath on her stomach, face pressed in. 

“I got you, I got you, It's okay, baby” she mumbles to him.

She finds that her eyes are still glued to the other family, and the woman does the same, Sully, gathering the little girl in his arms and pulling the woman away from the scene, slowly walking back into the water. Her gun is still aimed towards them and it’s only moved when Quaritch pushes it down, she turns to face him and doesn't know whether to kiss him or hit him. 

She does both.

Miles is squished between them when she falls into his arms, giving him a lingering but chaste kiss on the lips. Hers tingle for a bit and she almost forgets to be pissed at him but then the squawk from between them returns her focus and she pulls back, pulling her hand back a sharp slap echoes around them. 

Silence settles and they find themselves staring at each other, she looks down at Miles and caresses his cheeks, pressing a kiss onto his forehead, “My sweet boy” she whispers against it. 

“I'm never letting you out of my sight again, You blessed boy.”

She pulls back and looks at Quaritch, the sun is rising bathing everything in a golden glow, a crackle of a radio shatters the hopeful picture and satan herself pours from it, 

“Colonel, if you can hear me, please respond.”

Her eyes settle onto him, watching his next move.

There's a pause, before Ardmore continues, “Colonel, this is General Ardmore, do you read me?”

He stares into hers,  hand hovering over the comms device at his neck, the radio crackles again but in one swift movement he rips the device off and crumbles it into his fist, pieces of it falling onto the ground. 

She looks down at the broken bits of the comms device, relief fluttering in her chest, she looks up at him, a question in her eyes. His eyes soften and he raises one hand, pressing it to her cheek, “We’re done” he whispers

And she feels the sting of tears, “Done?” she whispers back.

And with a smile so bright that the sun itself could turn jealous he says, “We’re done, Paz” 

A smile breaks onto her face and a relieved laugh spills from her lips, she looks down at Miles and picks up, spinning him round and round, whooping in delight. Quaritch’s chuckle joins in as he lifts the both of them and spins them. They must look like fools, whooping in joy in the carcass of a fallen ship, their own little family, two huge blue aliens and a human boy, what a sight they must make. 

She’d never thought motherhood would be filled with so many ups and downs, that no matter how hard she tries there’s always that feeling that she’s not doing enough, that her very best is not enough and it will never be, that she has failed him and there's never getting back from that. But now when she sees those big brown eyes and that golden smile beam so bright at her she feels like the luckiest person in the world.

[clockmax]

"Behave."

: ̗̀➛ Summary: You wanted to test how far you could drive your mate, turns out yiu shouldn’t have fucked around to find out.

Pairing: Slightlymean!Jake sully x Fem!Navi reader.

Based on this ask

A/N; I know I said I was gonna post this on Friday but I lied. I might split it up into two parts if y’all want. It’s not long cause I’m tired but hey I’ll make another part that’s longer. ! Requests open !

Warnings: Slightly mean jake, slightly bratty reader, spanking(like 4-5 times), fingering, pure filth. 18+ content. MINORS DNI. Slight degrading, small mentions of pet names, use of the word sir, uhh idk I think that’s all.

18+ CONENT AHEAD. MINORS DNI.

You could feel the pair of eyes nearly burning holes into your back. Perhaps it was your flirtatious moves with the other men of your clan, or the attitude you’ve been giving Jake. Whatever it was, it pissed him off big time. No matter how many times he told you to behave, you never listened. To you, it was just a elaborate game you were played, a game to get on his nerves.

Perhaps that’s how you ended up in this situation. Bent over the bed with your loincloth removed, bare for your mate. The sheer excitement and anticipation heating your core. Tension filled the room, your body beginning to feel hot and heavy over Jake's knee. It was so swift how he was able to bend you over, exposing even your most sensitive parts. All this because you simply decided to ‘fuck around and find out’.

“Told you multiple times sweet girl, can't behave yourself now can you,” His voice was stern, almost as if he was going to scold you.

“And what are you going to do?” You almost hissed back at him. You were firing up another insult when you were suddenly Interrupted by a hard smack on your ass.

Your hands looked for something to grasp onto, a gasp leaving your mouth before a hiss. The stinging on your ass providing a painful yet almost pleasurable burn. The feeling had your insides all worked up, your sweetness almost dripping for the man.

“Never thought I’d have to punish a beauty like you,” his eyes glared down at you, scanning over your body.

“ ‘M not sorry-“ you mumbled out, the burning sensation itching your skin.

“I���ll make you sorry,” The assertive way he spoke out just stirred you up more. Maybe you were lucky to play this game. Only thinking you would get spanked, but there was much more in store for you.

Before you can relax from the spank, you felt two fingers immediately enter your core. Velvety walls expanded and contracted on his fingers. Coarse pads hitting that gummy, sweet spot inside of you. The pleasure was overwhelming, overstimulating you almost.

“Jake-! Slower please, oh eywa-“ The voice of yours moaning out his name seamlessly, legs kicking up for just a moment before settling back down.

“No cumming until I say so, ya hear? Whores like you don’t deserve to cum.” There was another slap on your ass, pain mixing in with pleasure.

“Yes sir-“ You whimper as your body is filled with a fizzing sensation, lust clouding over your mind.

The pace found itself rough, almost harsh. Your sweet walls clenching Jake’s fingers, body responding to him in such a sexual way. You could feel heat burning up your cheeks, tip of your ears going a reddish hue of blue.

Your fingers clawed at the floor, looking for some stability as your cunt was fingered ruthlessly. The feeling of his fingers pumping in and out was enough to have you apologizing. The sensations were all too much for you, brain overriding with lust.

“What’s wrong? Dumb on my fingers?” Jake teased you, making you feel only slightly embarrassed at how you were a ting right now.

The attack on your core was ongoing, the knot in your stomach almost threatening to snap any second now. You could feel the moans come one after another, your mates name falling from your mate every so often.

“Sir please-! ‘M sorry I didn’t mean it-“ You whined, fearing that you wouldn’t be able to hold back your impending orgasm anymore.

“If you’re so sorry, tell me who owns this pussy.” There it was, there was another slap.

Your body jerked forward, your bottom turning to a red hue. For sure you wouldn’t be able to sit tomorrow without a stinging pain. Maybe that would signal the men to back off.

“Yours sir! Only yours! M’ sorry! Please-“ You pleaded, once weak from your sweet noises.

“Don’t let it happen again, cum on my fingers.” His voice was stern, pace picking up as he fucked you near stars.

The waves of pleasure washed over you as your orgasm crashed down hard. Legs shaking and you let out a silent scream, moans bubbling and flooding your throat. You swore you could see stars, eyes rolling back with half lidded eyes.

Before you knew it the sensation was over, body going limp over his knee. Chest heaving as your fucked out body recovered from the events. You thought it was all over, just until yiu could feel his hands grip tightly at your waist.

“Stay with me girl, you’re not done yet~” Jake spoke you, flipping you over onto your back.

[celestialspecial]

Expanding Galaxies - (Pt 6)

You stood on the balcony to your room, admiring the clusters of stars that painted the night sky. The sun had already set, painting the horizon in a wide array of purples, oranges, and pinks before fading into the deepest navy.

A far off sound of calling birds and various ambient noises from the waterfalls around you sang out in a brilliant chorus.

A cool breeze blew through the air making you shudder, rubbing your shoulders for a hint of warmth. To be fair your outfit wasn’t quite suited for a nighttime stroll.

The gala to celebrate successful exchanges and encourage new ones was tonight and a fanciful dress had found it’s way to your bed. It was never something you’d have ever picked for yourself and yet wearing it tonight felt right.

Gossamer tulle in the palest blue spread over your shoulders, spilling forward to gather at your waist, held by delicate braided silver ropes that reminded you of tree branches reaching outward.

Little was left to the imagination as your chest was nearly exposed save the tender fabric barely concealing your breasts. A slit cut gracefully up one leg, the rest hidden by the waterfall of fabric pooling to the floor.

But your favorite part had to be the rivulets of crystals dotting along swaths of the material, catching the light this way and that. The night sky made manifest on your gown.

A section of your hair gathered in the teeth of an opalescent comb, just enough to keep stray hairs from your face.

Another gust of wind had you shivering and backing away from the balcony just when a firm single knock sounded on your door.

Closing the entrance to your balcony, hoping to stave off the chill and gather as much warmth into your room before nights end, you slowly made your way to the noise.

The wind was no longer chilling you but the tingling running through your body at the sight before you was prominent nonetheless.

Billy stood before you, cloaked in the deepest navy. Like the sky, you thought. Lush velvet with satin black piping and two opal cuff links, similar to your hair comb.

His dark hair appeared almost an inky black as it was slicked back, matching dark scruff hugged his jaw appearing a little less ‘clean shaven’ than you were used to.

His dark eyes roamed your body hungrily. Pupils lost in a sea of inky blackness and you swore you could feel each body part light up as his gaze traveled over it.

“You look…” his eyes finally returned back to your face to hold your attention, “transcendent.” 

The heat rose in your cheeks and surely you could feel the warmth extend to the front of your very exposed chest. Hoping he didn’t notice, you smiled up at him, fiddling with a piece of the silver rope before accepting his outstretched arm.

“Shall we?”

You’d never been to a gala on earth but you were sure they couldn’t compare to this. 

Packed to the brim with xiadians and humans all clothed in fine fabrics and covering every hue of the rainbow, even a few others that toyed with your eyes in a downright alien way.

Tables of fresh cut fruits glistening under candlelight, baked goods with their sweet aroma wafting into the air. Meats and seafoods, some recognizable and others completely foreign.

Chalices of dark sour smelling liquid and flutes of bright pink bubbling mixtures were passed around. You noticed only the xiadians seemed to be gravitating towards the foul smelling drink.

Music rang out and a large dance floor was filled with groups walking, chatting and dancing. The music you recognized, songs you had heard in earth, orchestral tunes that made your heart ache thinking of home.

As a servant passed by Billy grabbed two glasses of the sparkling pink flutes and handed one to you. It felt like an icy cloud soaring over your tongue, fizzing in the back of your throat.

“So what is-“ you inclined your head towards the goblets a few more xiadians grabbed and tossed back heartily. “That?”

Billy swallowed the rest of his own drink, his dark eyes returning to yours.

“It’s zhelaris ale. Incredibly strong and incredibly terrible.” He winked at you. “But xiads…well let’s just say it takes a lot to get us drunk.”

Your eyes drifted back and forth to the beautiful gowns and the dance floor. You’d never been a skilled dancer but something inside your cells seemed to hum with the tune being played.

This wasn’t missed by Billy, who set his glass onto a passing tray. Gently taking your own empty flute and placing it on a nearby table.

“Would you like to dance?” 

Heat rose in your face, first excitement soared through your veins then a telltale bashfulness at the chance of potentially looking like a fool.

“I would, but…”

His one eyebrow rose, gaze encouraging you to continue. 

“But, I’m afraid. I haven’t dance, at least not like this…in a very long time.” 

“Well the good news is it’s a lead dance. So all you need to do is follow me and my steps.” The worry must not have completely left your eyes because his thumb was there at the side of your mouth, brushing your skin softly.

“If you should not enjoy it or wish to continue we don’t have to.” 

He held his hand out to you, letting your own fingers drift against his, his warm skin tingling against your own.

Slowly guided out to the dance floor, the fabric of your dress skating along the marbled surface behind. A firm hand resting against your waist. The soft touch of his thumb resting against your bare skin where the dress cut off. 

The music struck up a melodic tone, and then you were moving. It resembled enough of a waltz for you to catch on. Thankfully Billy was enough of a good dance partner that following his lead came naturally.

Whirling and twirling past other couples, the swell of the music capturing you both in a vivid haze. The candlelight danced across his face, you could’ve sworn you saw blue sparkle in dark eyes as the next cascade of shadow fell over you.

How your feet kept pace you didn’t know but the notes sped up then reached a crescendoed peak before a final dulcet tone rang out to signify the songs end. 

Laughter and clapping actually spread through the onlooking crowd and dancers. You smiled up at Billy, his own expression one of pure enjoyment. 

Playfulness danced in his eyes, and you noticed his hand hadn’t left your waist. A moment later another song began, one much more different.

Slower, thicker, deeper. A rolling melody with the steady undertone of drumming. The beat seemed to coalesce with your own heart.

You felt your partners hand grip yours tighter. More xiadians took to the floor, it was clearly a song that they knew. 

Eyes widened and heat rising to your face as you glanced around.

“Billy, I-I don’t know this song.” How to dance to it, how to move…there was a roiling in your stomach. 

The tempo was all consuming, ancient. It reminded you of Billy. Feeling the weight of his stare on you before he leaned in close to whisper, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Just follow my lead.” Trust me. An unspoken phrase. 

Your chin dipped with a quick nod and then you were off. The rhythm would grow and fade in a sensual flare.

The movements were much more fluid, there was an indescribable feeling that prickled over your skin with each new motion and gesture.

Did the other humans feel it too? You wanted to look at them but your eyes couldn’t be torn from the face before you.

A being carved of rock and energy and shadow and power. Smooth, calculated, a predator stalking its all too willing prey.

And his eyes…his eyes no longer black but an unearthly blue. The thunderous muscle in your chest beat a rapid tattoo as the music began to pick up.

Spinning, the room around you blurring, fingertips digging into the soft velvet on his shoulders. 

Was it the drums or the blood pounding in your ears? Ritualistic- a carnal beat. This dance unlike anything you’d ever seen or felt before. 

Peaking higher and higher, the trill of singing notes whistled in your mind as your head felt like it was filled with the fizzing pink liquid.

His grip on you remained tight, guiding you through each new loop, swirl and dip. Gliding and you could swear your feet hadn’t touched the ground. 

The song reached its climax and in a rush of movement, hands hoisting you skyward as you leapt up in a final display. 

In that weightless moment you could see others also being lifted as part of the dance in your periphery. 

Then held aloft for another second before Billy lowered you steadily and slowly. Your body pressing and grazing against the entire length of his own. 

It sent ripples of pleasure tingling through your body. His forehead rested against yours, strands of his hair tickled your skin as you could breathe deep the scent of him. 

When you looked once more his eyes were again their original deep brown. 

Realizing the both of you were panting Billy lead you from the dance floor and off to a less busy alcove by the drinks. Your chest seemed to buzz with frantic energy. Had it been the deepest parts of your soul those drumbeats had reached or something else?

It was dim in the hidden corner you two had retired to, yet your eyes didn’t dare drift open fully. Letting your hand skim along the side of his suit jacket, then shifting it underneath.

You feel Billy tense under your fingertips, hard muscle, a breath stopped short in his throat. It felt good, having just a moment of power over him.

Your other hand reached up to join underneath his coat. Splaying against the silk of his shirt. It rippled and cascaded in colors reminiscent of an oil slick. 

Pulling him deeper into your hiding place. Music played on, close but also so far away. You needed his mouth against your own. To taste him after that dance, had it affected him as it had you?

Feeling your tug Billy leaned in closer, legs coming in close as you pressed yourself further away from the crowd beyond.

His mouth against yours made your head feel dizzy. Light and heavy all at once. 

Maybe it was the dancing, maybe it was the drinking maybe it was everything but you couldn’t suppress the giggle building in your chest as his stubble brushed against your own jaw.

“What’s so funny?” The delicious scrape of his trimmed beard pressed to your flushed skin.

The way his brown eyes glimmered in the lowered light of the evening. Soft and wicked.

“Do you ever not feel weird about this?” He always seemed so confident, like he was destined to be here and you were a laughable mistake. 

“I mean, to me you’re a spaceman.” The laughter rippled through your body at the awkward statement. 

“A man of the stars?” His own mouth was pulled into a grin as he placed another kiss along your neck, tongue darting out to tickle the shell of your ear.

“Starman.” Your fists gripped into his jacket, knuckles going white. If you held onto him tight enough perhaps you wouldn’t topple over the side of the planet and its weak sense of gravity. 

“I suppose that is what I am.” Your lips met again, his hot mouth working against yours until you didn’t need to open your eyes to see stars.

When he pulled away and you could breathe once more a memory crossed your mind.

“My dad used to love a movie called Starman. It was very old, even to him, but I remember watching it. Thinking how when it was made it was considered outlandish and sci-if.” 

Billy watched you recall this moment, eyes scanning your face as if he could read each thought from the minuscule muscle changes .

“It was about aliens?” 

“Yes. An alien, well- he comes to earth and has to figure out how to get home.” The heat in your cheeks wasn’t just from the kiss now.

How he watched you, intently listening as if hanging on every word. You’d never had this much undivided attention before in your life. Maybe that’s why you felt so uncertain to continue.

“And does he…get home?” His hand had moved to press against your wrist now. Pulse fluttering under his thumb. The digit soothingly caressing against your skin.

“Yes.” Your lips parted, tongue licking the bottom one before continuing. “But not before he falls in love.”

You didn’t know it was possible, but his dark eyes grew brighter. A flash of blue then that familiar blackish brown, lit up from something within.

“With a woman from earth.” 

All you could do was nod your head. The marble column pressed into your back, you could feel a film of sweat along your spine. 

If you had blinked you would’ve missed the faint twitch of his lips into a subtle smirk. Quick, but not teasing. No. More telling if anything.

“It seems the writers were ahead of their time with that one.” His hand unpinned your wrist, grazing along the fabric of your skirt, skimming tauntingly against your bare thigh. 

You made a noise from the back of your throat and his hand ceased all movement. Any sign of light in his eyes was replaced with a darkness that gobbled up all the remaining brightness.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words died in your throat. The heaviness of his hand, warm and present against your thigh. Fingers just brushing the inside enough to make you want to squirm. 

“And this Star man, he goes home. And never sees her again?” You swallowed thickly. In truth, yes that is exactly what happens. Why did it make your chest feel tight? 

Billy was on top of you now, your chests bumping against one another with each breath. Agonizing how you could smell him, his taste still on your lips. How were you to form a coherent thought when all you wanted was for him to tear this dress off of you?

“He does. But he-“ 

“He?” 

“Gives her a gift.” His lips parted in a gentle “ah”. Waiting. He knew. You KNEW he knew. But he was waiting for you to say it. “A baby.”

“Is that so.” 

With that you surged forward, fingers clasping into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp pulling him into you. Lips devouring each other like it truly was your last night here. 

He groaned as your nails grazed down his neck, tugging at his collar. He stepped forward pinning you firmly against the column and you could feel his excitement pressed to your thigh.

His fingers drew up and parted your skirt, until they found their mark. You moaned, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Hand fisting into his dress shirt as his fingers delved between your legs.

“Billy” 

“Do you want me to do that?”

Your reply was a garbled nonsense of words and noise.

“Do you want me to give you a baby?”

Your mind wanted to battle, to say no- not yet. To remind him it wouldn’t be yours. Not to keep. That as soon as that happened he’d be gone.

That it was all moving so fast and yet not fast enough. The blood was pounding in your ears. You were helpless and hopeless in the worst way. 

And yet you knew resistance was futile.

“Yes.”