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fauustic · 1 year ago

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late night bubble bath

((oh yeah the brainrot has hit HARD!!! IM IN LOVE!!! please send me asks / requests about miguel o’hara i might just melt ...))

gender-nonconforming reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

comfort, fluff. a needy miguel who is just a big kitty.

warnings: mention of wounds, very little blood. taking care of him after a night of insomnia. use of spanish pet names, yet a translator helped me because my spanish isn’t the best. lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 3027

A sigh escapes your lips as you shakily grasp the cup of water along your bedside table. You weren't one to have intense insomnia, yet the anxiety bubbling within your gut served as a painful reminder that you haven't been blessed with a moment of shuteye.

Was it something you had forgotten? You ran through a mental checklist that consisted of taking after Miguel's late nights, and not a single chore was unfinished.

Leftovers for dinner could be found neatly packed away in the place he always checks in the fridge, so there was no need for your love returning from work hungry and tired. Today's laundry was already fluffed and ironed, which will make it easier to begin the upcoming morning. Miguel mentioned off-handedly to you how an important board meeting at his lab had been stressing him out, so you couldn't help but surprise him when he got back home even if it was just prepared outfits.

You leaned back against your pillow before rolling towards Miguel's side of your queen sized bed. You felt so jumpy, your hands itching to do anything. Nights like these you craved Miguel's presence tenfold, as he would be snuggled right in your arms, smoothing the stress out from the tips of your fingers through a careful massage. You could remember the sleepy rambles he'd murmur into the air over the ambience of the television, "Pasar tiempo contigo, brillante. Encantador. Mi pequeño amor. Could bask in your presence always, mi conejito." Miguel would whisper into your ears with a cute sleepiness, peppering your jaw with his lips. It's almost as if he was right beside you, brushing his thumb against your skin as he held your hands.

Thinking so fondly of your boyfriend's habits soothed the anxiety of your insomnia as you tried to remind yourself that he always stays safe and remembers you love him. Once coming home for the first time from work, he can't help but smother you in kisses and silly pet names, showering you in soft reminders of how much love and affection he has for you. And then the second time of the night, he'd do the same thing under different circumstances. It had happened the night before, and it'll happen again.

Miguel, soft groans escaping his bruised lips, would come through the balcony of your shared apartment that stored your little collection of flowers and greenery, slip through the door you always made sure to crack, and wake you up in the dead of the night to be bandaged and treated by your caring touch with hushed pleas. Whispering sweet things, neediness in every touch. "I missed you, cariño. Been waiting to see your pretty face all day, can I kiss you? P-please, let me kiss you."

And so you did, resting your fingers on his shoulders and slowly trailing up until they cupped his bloodied face by the jaw. Then, you'd painstakingly kiss him until his blood would mix with spit, his fangs desperately wanting to sink into your tongue.

Getting so caught up in your little dream, the blaring of a shrill beeping car down below your apartment startled you. Interrupting the glass upon your lips, it spilled onto your nightgown with a gasp.

"Fuck.." you mumbled to yourself, missing your boyfriend more than ever. Changing in a rush, you pulled over one of his flimsy lounge shirts over your head to bask in his smell as a reminder of his presence.

Nueva York was a city that didn't sleep, as the chatter of passersby rang through busy traffic. Bars down below thrived under the limelight, people not in their right mind hid in the shadows of skyscrapers.

You wondered what Miguel could be doing right now. Scouting the vibrant lights as his claws dug into the beam of a building? Knocking someone senseless under the conditions of justice? Saving a civilian as they fall from great heights?

Wondering made you sick, the anxiety bubbling in your stomach as if you were the one downing margaritas and cocktails in a scummy bar down below. You needed to distract yourself. So you did anything an adult on a late night would do.

So when you finally came to your senses, you slapped a flour dusted hand over your mouth and groaned.

Apron tied to your waist, hair in a loose bun– nothing too serious, in fact you appreciated how this style still kept your androgynous but still staying practical. Wisps of hair straying from the hold would cloud your vision every now and then, which you'd have to blow out of the way subconsciously while preparing the whipped frosting. The TV, distantly able to still be heard from the living room, echoed quietly through the apartment with an ambience that lulled you to a calm. It was the news, you couldn't help yourself due to late night paranoia, but your hands were busy and your attention was snatched away from your beloved creation.

You've truly outdone yourself this time, you decide as you watch the oven in front of you with an exhausted gaze and a yawn. The kitchen was messy with egg residue and splashes of water and vinegar oil, the clock on the microwave read "2:49" in the morning. It was a kind of chaos you normally wouldn't find yourself to, as Miguel loved a schedule, a routine. It wasn't as if he didn't want you to have your fun, far from that, he simply just loved doing whatever was eventful with you. And you couldn't help but find baking amusing as you observed the small cakes in the shaped pans inflate as time went on.

You found yourself in the middle of your small apartment kitchen floor, sleepily peering into the oven until that sleepiness shifted into fully dozing off. It couldn't be helped, crashing so hard after pulling off a mission to pump out more than a dozen cupcakes, half chocolate batter and the rest strawberry flavoring. Thankfully, you were able to stay awake long enough to take the cakes out to cool, but as soon as the oven made the beep to turn off– the couch was the closest thing to fall into a needed rest.

It's hard to know how long you had exactly fallen asleep for, yet the frantic arms encompassing your form must have been any kind of indicator. It was a startle to wake from, as your mouth couldn't keep quiet before your brain began working.

"Eeugh! I- God Miguel, you scared me so badly–" You heaved into his shoulder as he practically slumped on top of you, whispering his usual panicky tangents he'd spew after returning from his late nights.

"Lo siento, lo siento mucho." Miguel buried his face into your neck, nose pushing against your pulse. "Would never purposely scare you, mi lucero del alba. But not seeing you in bed, that made me feel… not like myself." Miguel confessed with a shaky breath and a pause, breathing in the floury smell and just you, swearing a purr erupted from his throat. "Would have fallen on the floor of our apartment if you weren't here, in my arms. "Te necesito más que al propio aire, baby."

A subtle smile peeked through his tone despite the desperation, the longing in his touch. His forearms pushed against your back ever so slightly, reminding himself that you're here. That you're safe. His hands met your sides, thumbs circling in a soothing motion. You knew it calmed him down to trace shapes within your skin, but you wouldn't be lying if you said you loved the burn of his touch when he isn't even truly doing anything on purpose. It was as if the warmth of his finger tips ignited into flames, searing his touch into you. You'll never be able to forget each circle, heart, or even a very rare star traced into your skin, accompanying every freckle or birthmark you have. Every part of you is adored, loved, cherished.

"I'm going to be here, waiting for you. No matter where you are or where I have to be."

"I hope so." Miguel hummed, "If anything happens to you," His claws found themselves underneath his shirt that you wore to bed that night, trailing your sides like handing a delicate doll. "Tengo miedo de lo que pueda hacerles. For you I'd do anything."

His body didn't feel suffocating to be lying beneath, as he cradled the both of you to be meeting halfway. It was heartwarming, being clung to like a teddy bear by a man who's trying to hold up an entire city with his own two hands.

You realized his suit was only partially off, head uncovered as well as part of his chest– the suit clung to his waist like a lifeline. Needing to see his soft little smile that he held so selfishly against your neck, you led his face to be held over yours. A soft whine escaped his lips, missing the warmth your neck provided, but a quick hush quieted himself easily.

"Don't act like a sad puppy, my love." You whispered into his lips, breath fanning an old cut just underneath. Inspecting the damage, Miguel's eyes fluttered shut as you smoothed over the stress lines between his eyebrows. Not too rough today, expect a few cuts and bruises. So in your terms and conditions, today may even be considered a great day. "Aww, look at you. You did so well today, didn't you?" Awarding him with a kiss, Miguel melted into you like a weighted blanket.

Both hands cupping his jaw, you held him there for a long while, relishing in the moments of peace and quiet with him. Peppering quick, feathery kisses over his lips and gliding over cheekbones and freckles upon the nose, kissing the stress line you smoothed out, before doing the routine all over again. You strayed, always did– couldn't resist his alluring features and soft pleas to continue kissing him.

Miguel isn't always so docile. Some nights he'd storm into your bedroom in a trance of pent-up frustration and stress with bruising kisses and bites that took home amongst hidden skin. But most nights, he could be handled like putty. It was an adorable sight to see, as his fangs peeked through his plush lips from the tension going slack in his jaw.

Your lips finally met his for the first time that night, yet it wasn't heated or filled with ulterior motives. Miguel's mouth met yours, and he lazily tasted every inch of your mouth, grazing his fangs against your tongue by accident. He needed to know every inch of you, and remind himself a hundred times over.

"Miggy.." you mumbled between his kisses, and happiness dripped from your voice as he barely let out a "mm?" Separating for just a moment, he decided to simply nuzzle your hand as a substitute.

"Let me run you a bath."

This sparked his attention, a quirk of the eyebrow and a stare of disbelief. "Eh?" Miguel chuckled stiffly, his nuzzles coming to an abrupt end. "¿Qué piensas de mí, un niño pequeño? I'm no toddler." By his response, he hasn't heard such things in ages. But as you slipped away from underneath his grasp, you padded towards your shared bathroom without a word. He was the one to bicker, but once the plan was in motion Miguel couldn't help but abide with a light begrudge in his step.

"The little cakes can wait, honey. Don't try to use those as an argument to get out of this." Your words would come out as a scold to anyone else, but as you turned to start the water it was clear you simply just cared. Too much for your own good. "Let me just do this for you, I missed you today." You admitted.

"It's too late for this still, cariño." He groaned with a tint of guilt as you started helping him undress. "I'll just shower, go on. Vete a dormir." Yet he did not swat away your advancements to prepare a towel, nor even the drop of bubble bath mix in the water. Miguel looked at you like a deer in headlights, mouth agape as you did so.

"I added the bubble bath formula only because you told me to sleep." You said deadpan, grabbing the suit that's fallen to the floor to hang it on the rack. Miguel's expressions contorted to annoyed, then shocked, to just downright amused of your antics that always had him guessing. He cackled as you kept yourself busy, until you finally signaled to get in.

It was as if you tried to get a cat in the water, as he stared at the mountain of bubbles that rivalled the skies. "I'm not getting in. I can't lose the rest of my dignity." This time, his tone was solid– nothing sounded as if it could get through to him. But you could read your boyfriend like a book, solve him like a puzzle in a matter of seconds.

"Miggy, my love. My other half. My everything." You cooed, dropping to your knees to poke at the bubbles. "You don't get in this forsaken bathtub with just the right warmth and the bubbles I made with my own blood, sweat and tears, you will sleep on the couch until I give you explicit permission to lay with me." His scarlet eyes glowed with genuine fear in his eyes. "And then, you will just lie with me. You would not be able to hold my hands or waist or twirl your finger around my hair– you will be in timeout. No bed, no holding–"

A splash interrupted your words, wetting your legs as his size struggled to stay in the tub. His arm hung out of the side as his feet kicked up on the tile walls, and he looked as flustered as ever. "No me lo puedo creer." Miguel blew at the bubbles that settled on his face. "I'm no dog who needs a bath, cariño."

Shaking your head at his rare childish antics, you leaned over the tub to kiss the bubbles upon his nose. It was a sweet, domestic little moment between the two of you.

Small little scars littered his form as you glided a soft wash cloth over the grime of the city that washed off onto him. When the fabric slid over a sensitive muscle or wound, he'd hiss a curse and a "be gentle with me, love." You only responded with a lick into his mouth, which earned you a bite to your lips. "I'm not trying to hurt you, just wanna take care of you, my angel." You whispered into the bubbles, shuffling your knees the closest you can to the tub without falling into it– and massaged the tension in his shoulders.

This elicited a groan to rip through the bathroom walls, a low rumble that he couldn't contain to himself following. Miguel was like a domesticated tiger, all bark and bite yet the rare moments of silly tenderness peeking through his rough exterior. "Ah, that feels–" Miguel hisses again in pleasure, his brain short circuiting under your graze. ".. increíble. Tú eres mi medicina."

His forearm hanging off the side of the tub twisted to bring his grasp to your face, locking the both of you into a heated kiss, one that stored the unspoken words of lonely nights as Miguel's shifts grew longer and more tiresome. "Missed you, baby. I need you, need you always with me. Wouldn't know what to do without you, I'd go crazy." He rambled as one of your soap filled hands snaked into his hair, to lather his curls and simultaneously scratch where he loves.

It was an endearing sight whenever Miguel openly expressed his adoration of you, both his thoughts and worries.

"I love you more, Miguel." You giggled as his nose scrunched together at the abrupt sensation of water cascading over his head, the bubbles falling from the softness of his hair and down the ridges of his jaw and nose.

Silence comfortably enveloped the two of you as you rinsed him off, scattering kisses on his skin whenever he mumbled declarations of affection.

As you wrapped his curls in a soft, small towel, his sleepy grumble of a question caught your attention. "What about your little sweets, mi amor? Do you need me to help you finish them?"

Laughing, you shook your head only to shush him softly. "No, no baby. Let's just do it together tomorrow once you get some rest." Leading him to stand, you began draining the tub.

Miguel didn't argue with the idea of that, purring softly as he imagined the two of you frosting little delicacies– something incredibly cozy and lovely. He loved that about you, the way you reminded him about his own humanity, the little hanging reminder that he needs his own time to help to heal and thrive.

"All done, baby." You slid your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest with a sigh. The towel hung around his waist was as soft as the fleece of a sheep, lulling you into the serene sleepiness your body craved to have. "How was your bubble bath?" The words tumbled from your lips as Miguel led the both of you to your shared bed, tucking you into the bundle of blankets scattering about.

Before long, he slid into the opposite side with his own sigh of relief. Your hands grabbed at his now clothed chest, peeking at his exhausted, but content expression staring right back at your own. "Perfect, mi conejito." Miguel whispered with honesty, bringing you closer than ever as his breath fanned the crook of your neck.

Sleep began to take you as the strong scent of bubblegum flooded your senses, the slightly damp curls of Miguel tickling your neck and cheek. He intertwined his soul with yours, purring with a calm he could only achieve with you.

"Cupcakes tomorrow?" You murmured into his shoulder, soft and sleepy.

"Cupcakes tomorrow, cariño." A kiss to your neck. "Dulces sueños, goodnight."

#miguel o'hara #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara comfort #miguel o'hara fluff #x gender neutral reader #x fluff #x comfort #comfort #fluff

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thewhumpening-thesequel · 6 months ago

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Whumpee silently patrols Whumper's property, a muzzle tight on their face. It itches underneath the straps but Whumpee isn't allowed to touch it. They've been stripped of their humanity, as if never human in the first place. Whumpee trotted like a well-trained dog, alert for intruders.

A thick shock collar encircles their neck, pinching the skin around the clip. Squeezing their throat like a consistent reminder of their entrapment. It took years for Whumpee to become like this, an aggressive guard dog that could be left unsupervised for weeks without any attempt to run.

Whumper would always tell they how well they did, even letting them inside for a couple of hours if they caught a trespasser. Early on, Whumpee wasn't appreciative of that. It took them being left tied to a stake in an uncovered part of the property for a whole year for them to learn that lesson.

They were not a pet, they were not an art piece, they were not meant to be loved or given luxury. Yet, Whumper would give them scratches on the top of their head, stroke their cheeks and praise them. They gave them sweets, once in a while, treated them like a thing to be cared for and not a tool.

Whumpee's feet are rough and cut up, freckles fleck their skin, and their hair bleached by the sun. Dirt clings to their skin, gravel dust colouring the ends of their limbs. Scars litter their skin like little reminders of their failures and slights.

They curl up under the house's porch, some nights. Right at the edge, so they can watch from someplace covered. Whumpee looks up at the stars. Those little lights, twinkling up in the sky, oh so free, call to them. And, yet, Whumpee knows they'll never reach the sky. They'll go with the ashy dust, settling into a random corner, trapped.

One day, there's a trespasser. However, this one seems... familiar. It bugs Whumpee but they push past it. It's not their job to think about things like that, it's their job to protect their master and their property. Whumpee growls, ignoring the person's worried and confused facial expression.

Caretaker didn't recognize Whumpee when they first saw them. It's like an animal had taken over Whumpee's body. The sounds they were making nothing short of animalistic. Caretaker stumbled back when the other lunged. Their eyes glance to the deck, where Whumper stands with a smug grin.

#whump #whumpblr #whump scenario #Bea's Whump Posts - Writing #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #guard dog whumpee #shock collar #not sure where I was going with this #may name these sillies and do something with them

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heirofnight · 2 months ago

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pendulum

an azriel x reader thought dump that may or may not become a series but is really just me needing to unload a bunch of thoughts and feelings that i have

ok enjoy <3

the late afternoon light cascaded through the chiffon curtains that billowed gently against the large windows.

your rooms at the house of wind had become a sanctuary - your safe place, secluded from the hustle and bustle of the main two floors below you.

you'd spent months curating your chambers, collecting pretty trinkets and beautiful art that were all now dutifully placed around the room. you'd made sure that each item had elicited emotions from deep within your chest each time your eyes happened to fall upon them - sadness, joy, longing, adoration - you'd been infatuated with simply allowing yourself to feel.

you'd acquired bookshelves lined with novels including the widest range of genres you could get your hands on. you loved to learn - aspired to fill your mind with as much knowledge as possible. your eyes snagged onto the spine of one of your favorite classics - a romance, of course. you were always drawn to romance. your heart was consistently perched right on your sleeve, dreaming of the day that a lover may pluck the beating organ right into their own hands - cradling it and worrying over it as if it were their own.

you sighed at the thought, gently sprawling your current read across your chest. layers of cloud-like bedding encompassed your frame - you were already curled into your mattress for the evening, body adorned in a silk pajama set comprised of a camisole and shorts. the smooth fabric boasted dainty embroidered roses - it was your favorite ensemble to wear to bed, airy and light.

you peered around your space, the fire lit in the hearth providing the coziest blanket of warmth. the bursting sunset allowed pools of golden, pink light to pool across your hardwood floor. you felt, just for a moment, like you were solely existing in a dream.

and, like in most of the dreams that nestled their way into your mind's eye while you were asleep, azriel's face made an appearance right at the forefront of your thoughts - uninvited, but never unwelcome.

your eyes fluttered shut as you allowed every part of you to succumb to every bit of him.

you adored being a romantic to your core, and often found a lovesick, drowsy feeling always trailing right behind any thought of the shadowsinger that resided right down the hall.

you'd pined for him, which came as no surprise to you at all. he was so kind, so gentle with you. and you longed to give every ounce of love that you'd been collecting, saving, nurturing, growing for the right moment - the right lover - over to him.

you knew he deserved it. and deep down, you knew he'd been longing to be loved just as much as you'd longed to love.

you curled your legs in tighter to yourself, opening your eyes to cast them to the tall ceiling above your head, but only momentarily.

you never allowed yourself to give into these lovelorn feelings for too long, lest you actually make yourself feel ill. your body would begin to itch with the urge to bound northward through the halls, until your bare feet found themselves right at the threshold of azriel's wooden door.

and then what?

then things - feelings - would become too real, and azriel struck you as the kind of male likely to bolt as opposed to stare down the barrel of that gun.

so, you clutched onto the book that was still spread across your chest, stretched your bare legs out before you, and continued to read. about love, and happy endings, and a male that loved the main character just as much as she loved him. if only.

azriel, on the other hand, decided that he loved you about fifteen minutes later. and by decided, it moreso felt like he had been hit in the chest by one of cassian's training shields at full-speed.

his shadows had been skittering about his large frame, following him up, up, up the stairs, and down the hallway towards his rooms.

he was lost in thought, momentarily attempting to work out the details of a mission he was set to embark on later in the week, and also contemplating if he should ask the house for a plate of chocolate cake to indulge in before sharpening truth teller.

he watched as a tendril of shadow darted ahead to unlock his door, and all it took was one absentminded craning of his neck to the left to stop him dead in his tracks, literally - his heavy boots almost making an audible screeching sound at the abruptness of it all.

the door to your rooms was ajar, just slightly. he wasn't even sure if you were aware of it.

but right in his line of sight, was you. laying atop soft bedding, bare legs in silk shorts, long hair undone and cascading around your shoulders like a halo. the evening glow through your windows mixed with the flames from the hearth and surrounded you in a haze that made you look like an angel - like you were a figment of his imagination that had conjured itself when he was in need of it the most.

you were so peaceful, reading a book with a dreamy-looking expression painted across your features. he couldn't have asked the most skilled artist in prythian to create a more beautiful piece of art.

now, of course azriel knew you. he'd conversed with you plenty of times. you were often around the rest of his family, present at most meals and gatherings. and he'd always thought you were beautiful - achingly so, at times.

however, he'd forced himself to place a mental barrier where you were concerned. you were too precious, too kind, too bright. so bright, in fact, that he'd always made sure to hide his shadows away from you.

but seeing you this way, right now - he felt those mental walls crumbling under the weight of your exquisite existence.

should he knock?

should he inquire about what you were reading?

should he honestly just skip all of that, and instead rip his heart from the confines of his chest and offer it over to you on the spot?

no, surely not. his shadows were lazily orbiting around him now, and his wings had relaxed to the point of lightly trailing along the stone floor. he was mesmerized, and you hadn't even noticed - hadn't even seen him.

which, he thought, was probably how it was always going to be.

his hand twitched, his fist clenched, and his shoulders drooped - all for only a moment. and then he continued forward, dejected and craving isolation.

back to the shadows, where he belonged. not worthy of your warm, bright light.

a/n: sad girl + sad hours = sad writing

lmk what u think PLS, this one feels a little pointless but i wanted to share it anyway <3

#azriel #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel drabble #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel angst

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chaethewriter · 2 years ago

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You're dead to me [2]

dad!Jake Sully x human!daughter!reader

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

warning: english isn't my first language, daddy issues, idk how one lives with zero gravity, barely proofread

Word count: 2,3k

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What actually took six years didn't feel like that to you at all. One moment you closed your eyes as you were put into cryosleep and after what felt like one second passed, you got woken up from your deep slumber. The claustrophobic space you are in makes something inside of you itch. Good thing you were into cryosleep, you couldn't have survived sleeping in this tube every night for six years in a row. Once your tube was pulled out of the wall, you immediately feel yourself floating. So this is what space felt like.

"Drink and eat lots, since you will feel very weak!", a loud voice echoes through the room as one by one everyone left their cryosleep. You float through the room with a smile on your face as you hold onto handles, lockers, anything to keep your balance. An excited scream could be heard from behind you, it was your friend Raja. "You are not dead I see," she jokes as she floats towards you, her arms wide open to invite you in a hug, "this is honestly insane, I can't believe that we are actually doing this!" You wrap your arms around you as you share her excitement, "I know right? We worked so hard for this, I can't believe this is happening." You met Raja on your first day being at the resistance base. She shared her passion for nature with pride and you always admired her for this. A cough is heard behind your back and Raja looks over your shoulder to see who it was, "Seb!" she squeals as she carefully gets out of your hug, floating towards their other friend to engulf him in a hug. You watch as Raja and Seb share their excitement with each other. They really didn't age at all while being in cryosleep, such an interestingly concept it was. You float towards them, holding onto Seb's shoulder to keep your balance and not pass out, because damn they were right. You feel so tired and weak. If you weren't in space right now you probably would have fallen to the floor. Your limbs felt like cooked noodles, you really needed to eat. "The trio is back at it again to cause havoc!!" Seb ruffles your head, your hair tangling in between his fingers as he did so. The three of you were the inseparable trio. While you had a group of friends you hung out with, you three always just stuck together like glue. It may have been the fact you bonded over being reckless warriors, thriving on the thrill and action, or the fact all three of you were top students, but that doesn't matter. Raja and Seb are your partners in crime til death do you all part. The two are engaged in a deep conversation, but you didn't bother to listen or chime in. You wanted to explore, and see what you worked your entire teenagehood for. Grabbing onto the handle against the walls, you made your way towards the huge window, were also most of the crew was floating around. You had to see this for yourself, you had to believe it with your own eyes. What if you were still dreaming?

"Excuse me, Pardon me!", still not used to not having any gravity, you keep bumping into other warriors. A 'watch where you're going!' was screamed your way, but you paid no mind to it as you had more important things to do. Floating past the last person that kept you from seeing outside, your eyes immediately widen at the beauty that lay in front of you. A planet, looking exactly like earth, right in front of you. It was beautiful, the true meaning behind mother nature. You bring your hand towards your cheek to pinch yourself, was this real? Were you truly experiencing this? When you pinched yourself so hard, leaving a red mark on your skin, and you didn't wake up you knew this was real. You were knocked out of your senses pretty quickly, as everyone was told to dress up, eat and get together in the common area. Where that was? No idea, but what you knew is that you were excited as hell. You basically swam through the air towards the lockers, where your supposed gear would be. The sight was probably incredibly silly, you thought, you probably looked like a swimming frog. Yet you didn't care about the stares that were given you. The only thing on your mind was to see Pandora with your own eyes— not out of books, notes you had to read, or drawings. You left without telling Seb or Raja, but you would probably find them, considering you're going to the same destination and those two definitely weren't to miss.

You float past all the lockers with nameplates, looking for your name. You were told that they were in alphabetic order. Last name. You could never escape him, could you? You proceed to float, using the lockers to pull yourself up and speed up towards the lockers that start with 'S'. Upon floating in front of the name that haunted you every day, you sigh and slam the locker open. Clothes sealed in recycled plastic, a pair of shoes, and an oxygen mask. Fortunately, it wasn't those old aquarium-like masks. When you learned about those you thought they were ugly as hell: a head in an aquarium. Those were designed like gas masks. Was that the best way to explain them? They only covered the mouth and nose part to breathe properly, it didn't cover the entire face anymore. You flash a skeptical expression towards the clothes in your arms. They were dark colors, dark colors in a hot amazon-like forest? If it were up to you, you wouldn't have chosen a little more, bare, clothes. For the sweat to at least dry up and not soak in the clothes. "Weird choice of clothes, right?", Raja appeared next to you, out of the blue, making you flinch. You quickly managed to cover it up and compose yourself, "I'm gonna end up looking like a crab while fighting a villain, kind of embarrassing." she laughs at your reply and grabs a hold of your forearm, "come on let's go change. Seb already went to change!" And with that, your friend pulls you with her. Changing your clothes was kind of awkward. The room was a big space where all women changed next to one another. It gave PE class vibes. You felt sticky and disgusting as you changed out of the clothes you wore for six years. Wearing fresh, clean clothes is always better than nothing. The material feels nice against your skin, and very cooling. As you look in the mirror, fixing every detail to look as neat as possible. You roll your sleeves up just a tad bit and tried to loosen the corset-like clothing piece around your upper body. It doesn't look exactly like a corset, but it's one of those clothing pieces that have a corset built into it. The mask is hanging against your hip, ready to be used 24/7 once you stepped foot on Pandora. The pants were a little wide thankfully, enough space to move into. "What is it with the corset though? Who wears a corset while fighting?" "Maybe it's bulletbroof or something?"

After this whole ordeal in the dressing room with some people whining about the clothes being too hot, while others were second guessing if the outfit was nice to fight in, you finally made your way towards this common area. There everyone was awkwardly sitting, what one could call sitting in space. Everyone was given a granola bar to snack on and a sealed bag with a sweet drink in it. You leaned against Seb, as you were too tired to use your strength to hold onto anything. Eating the bar and sipping from the overly-sweetened drink, you listened to the peptalk your superiors were giving you all. It was something about protecting Pandora, RDA and the forest Na'vi, but you really were too tired to listen. It was most likely the talk they did every time before you went into cryosleep. If you missed anything you could just ask Raja or Seb about it.

What almost felt like a decade to you, actually took just a few hours before you finally landed on Pandora. During the landing all, maybe twenty of you in total, were seated as you braced for impact. It wasn't too bad, it was like a plane landing. Before the doors opened, the duffel bags you took with you were placed on your laps. For your instance, the bag with the wrapped katana you got from your lieutenant was handed to you. You put your mask against your face, pressing it down and securing it as you breathe in the oxygen from the earth. Red lights flash through the area you're in with the others as the secured door lowers to the Pandorean ground, revealing the beauty of mother nature. You rise from your seat as your seat belt was already unclasped. Without waiting any longer, you rushed to the outside world in a heartbeat. Watching your surroundings, it seems like you landed on the resistance base. Unlike the RDA base, which you saw during your learning process, this one was more integrated with mother nature rather than destroying it to make space. It was so organic, so natural. A team was already waiting for your arrival, all standing in a row as you lock gazes with a Na'vi. Unlike the things you were taught about Na'vi clothing, this one was wearing human clothes. Could this be what one would call an avatar? The same situation your dad was also in? You start thinking he was your dad, but it didn't look like him at all. You knew avatars were supposed to look like their 'owners'. Even though it was supposed to be your dad's brother's avatar, they were twins. One would ask 'you don't know what your dad's avatar body looks like?', but honestly as you said many times you tried to pull away from the hauntings Jake Sully got you. The insecurities, and issues you got from his betrayal, his departure. It truly hit you like a truck. Questions would pop up like:

Were you enough?

Was there something wrong with you?

Why didn't he come back to you?

You couldn't take talking about your dad's new life. Selfish one may call it, then you were selfish in their eyes. You didn't care. Wanting your dad, is that selfish? Missing your dad, is that selfish? Angry because your dad wanted a new life without you, is that selfish? You yearned for him, yet despised talking about him. That's why you don't know what he looks like, what he is up to. You just know his history: put into the avatar body from his brother to follow military orders. From only caring about getting a paycheck to protecting the natives. He was crowned with the name Toruk Makto as you were taught. Mated to Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'Ite, daughter of the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik. When you first heard about this, you felt sick to your stomach. Reality hitting you even harder at age thirteen. It was already bad enough to know your dad left you, but also getting to know that he settled down while you spent your time waiting for him? You remember running out of the classroom when a superior taught you this information. This was also how you got in contact with Raja and Seb. They comforted you while everyone else thought of you as weird, weak. They were the first people, besides the superiors that came in contact with you, that came to know about your dad being Jake Sully, about the struggles you got after he left. Yet, they didn't laugh at what you thought was exaggerating. They listened carefully to your words as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

'We were attached to the hip, what went wrong?'

'Did I make him unhappy?'

'Was I too much for him?'

'Was he looking for something more rather than being a single dad?'

You spilled your insecurities to them and they never uttered a word about it to someone else. You will be forever grateful for them. You were so lost in thoughts, getting slightly emotional at all these thoughts about your dad, until a hand rested on your shoulder, "and last but not least, you must take her with you. She's our best warrior, Norm. She will need to stay on the battlefield, closest to the war." So Norm was his name. A pretty goofy one if you had to be honest. The avatar named Norm stood at least 10 feet tall as he looked down at you, literally. You just reached around his crotch area, which is kinda embarrassing because imagining running into his front. Hopefully, he likes to travel in his human body more. "Then that's settled, Oel Ngati Kameie." His hand rested against his forehead, slowly bringing it down to his chest. You flashed him a kind smile in return, ready for whatever adventure you will come across, "Oel Ngati Kameie."

But only if you knew.

"They have arrived, they will help us."

"They're sky demons! All the same!"

"I used to be one as well, yet I had a change of heart. Please accept the help they will offer us, for our people, for our family, our fortress." his hands grip hers, intertwining their fingers as he spoke to her in private, away from the children. He opened his mouth again, pressing his forehead against hers, "please, Ma Neytiri."

A/N: first of all, thank you all so much for the positive feedback. I honestly didn't expect it I'm gonna be fr😭 it gave me enough motivation to write part 2, so here it is, earlier than expected. I hope you enjoyed <3

also i hope no one noticed me accidentally posting the draft cause that was silly

Taglist (I couldn't find everyone):

@hoodiepandaninja16 @l0v3e1i @neteyamforlife @noname2246 @bunnyrose01 @littlelia007 @j0551 @navs-bhat @fyfy-world @hellok1ttycake @coterami @lwozy @erenjaegerwifee @n1ght5h4d3-24 @kahlowy @iloveavatar @farleyis @reguluscrystals @inomoikawa @bobojojoba69 @m3ll0n1xx @eternallyvenus @shyskybbb @imakms @keira7664 @alice121804 @aimsro @carollise @jjkclub @onlytays @wolfiealina @guska0 @yeosxxx @dakotali @destinylb @degenweeb @sunshinewwx @alohastitch0626

#jake sully #dad!jake sully x reader #dad!jake sully #dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad! jake sully #jake sully x human!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #jake sully x human!daughter!reader #jake sully x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #sully family x reader #spider sully

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sunaluv · 2 years ago

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I need more “come get your man” posts👏 it doesn’t matter when but they give me life🗣️🗣️

ask and you shall receive

part 1 part 2

pairings: bokuto, baji, sakusa

BOKUTO

“me and kotaro would look good, no?”

the table consisting of you, your best friend, the girl and her best friend turned to look at the girl who hasn’t felt the need to hide her infatuation with your boyfriend.

“what are you talking about?” your best friend.

“i don’t know,” she twirled her locks around her finger, looking upwards in thought. “we’ve known each other nearly all our lives, i feel like it’s inevitable.”

again, silence.

“is that not your boyfriend talking to bokuto right now?”

the girl sighed. “i don’t care about him, after all i just settled. the one i really want is right there.”

you didn’t need to follow her finger to know where it was pointed. the sound of your boyfriends boisterous laughter reached your ears, such an opposing atmosphere to the one you were sat in right now.

‘at least one of us is enjoying ourselves’ you thought.

“he doesn’t think of you that way.”

the tension was suffocating as all three heads turned towards your stern scowl.

her eyes widened. “damn i kinda forgot you were his…” she waved her hand, refusing to acknowledge the fact that the man she wants has already been claimed. “when you’re done with him, send him my way yeah,”

whether the smirk on her face was joking or serious, you didn’t know and quite frankly didn’t care.

before you could retort, a loud voice called over to you. “baby, come here a sec!”

like a flipped switch, the loving smile oh so familiar to your kotaro made an appearance on your face as you left the table, itching to get as far away from the girl as possible.

she nervously watched as you engaged in conversation with your boyfriend and ‘what she settled for’. hands fiddled with themselves under the table as she watched you whisper something to the two, causing bokutos smile to drop, and her boyfriends eyes to harden in disbelief.

three pairs of eyes stared her down, one angry, one disappointed and one challenging.

there was no point in defending herself, she had already known you relayed her message on to her soon to be ex boyfriend, but what hurt more than being caught was the disappointed look that pierced her heart, the look coming straight from the man she loved.

BAJI

"hey girlie can i give you some advice real quick?"

you were dreading this. a small get-together with your boyfriend and his friends suddenly turned into a side eye fest when baji's self-proclaimed 'bestie' showed up. ever since the stern look over she gave you when she greeted you, you could tell she was bursting at the seams to give some 'girl to girl' advice on your outfit choice.

now that baji reluctantly left your side to hover in the kitchen, she made her move.

"i love your sense of fashion and stuff, you know how you just don't care what anyone thinks of your outfit, buttttttt i just wanted to let you know thank kei isn't into that stuff, he's more into the innocent barbie kinda look, d'ya get what I'm saying?"

you gave a once over at her outfit: oversized, pink sunglasses sat atop her dead straight blonde hair, she wore a bralette miniskirt two-piece with an oversized hoodie covering her arms.

not to stereotype, but she's describing herself. maybe not so much the innocence, but the barbie look described her for sure.

"he's also into blondes," she snapped her gum. " since we've been friends forever, i can tell you now all the girls he dated, or showed interest in were blonde. not to tell you to not be yourself or whatever..."

"maybe that's why he went for something different this time," you shrugged. "the ones before me didn't work out."

she played off her surprise with a laugh. "that would make sense yeah..." she tucked her hair behind her ear awkwardly, leaving awkward silence between you.

"why are you guys sitting in silence." keisuke made his presence known, holding two solo cups.

as he walked past, the girl leaned forward ready to thank your boyfriend for the drink, but he walked past her without looking back, making her shrink in embarrassment.

"for you, my lady." he bowed dramatically.

"you're so silly kei," you chuckled, pulling him into you. "hey do you like blondes?"

he almost got whiplash from your sudden change of topic. "i like what i like."

"and what do you like,"

"i like you... i guess"

"what do you mean 'you guess'" you jokingly mocked, hitting him lightly after setting your drink down.

"nothing, nothing" he chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. "why ask anyways?"

you subtly glanced at the girl who watched the whole interaction in silence, shooting her a smug smirk.

"no reason."

SAKUSA

"your boyfriends so good looking," a voice so quiet, you were sure you weren't meant to hear it.

you turned your head towards the manager's daughter who had the audacity.

she jolted at your hostility "did I say that out loud? whoops, I meant the guy next to him."

the practice match had now ended, and sakusa began to make his way towards you as the team now had their break.

"sakusa!" she waved him over, thrusting a bottle towards him. "good work out there, have a drink!"

"no thanks."

he walked passed her and straight towards you, taking the bottle you had brought with you from your shared home.

"would you like a towel?"

damn she was persistent

"no thanks" his voice remained the same. "i'd rather use things i can trust, from my own home."

she watched enviously as he took the towel from your hands, wiping the sweat from his chiselled face. not a word was spoken between you, but the warm and loving smiles and the faint blush covering his cheeks said enough.

"you know i can do so much more for you than she can," she started. "does it not make more sense to be with me? you literally play for my team."

though her words were sharp and precise, they didn't hit the intended target. your face held the same expression, save for the daring look you shot her, challenging her to continue.

before you could speak up to her, kiyoomi spoke.

"you know its better to date someone you love, right?" his mocking words took the same format she used. "and i don't play for you, i play for your father, and I'm sure he would love to hear about his bothersome daughter whose uncomfortable advances are messing with my play." he basically threatened.

if heartbreak had one expression, she would be wearing it. whether it was the way he declared he didn't love her or the way he used her trump card against her, her expression was firm, then slack, then firm again.

her open mouth twitched, debating on whether or not to try to win him back. 'to win his heart or to leave him be, to win his heart or to leave him be?'

'leave him be' she came to the conclusion.

smart girl.

though the tension lingered in the air, she did not speak for the remainder of the day, to you or kiyoomi at least.

"didn't know you had such a mouth on you, kiyo," you smirked, liking this new side of your boyfriend.

his big palm pressed to your face, pushing you away before you could see the way the red on his cheeks deepened.

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youryanderedaddy · 8 months ago

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tw: female reader, non - con, humiliation, obsessive thoughts, victim - blaming, hinted kidnapping

I'm thinking about the type of man who can't decide if he loves you or hates you - forever lost between these two painful, opposing feelings.

It's not like he doesn't feel the pull - his heart clenching and aching at the mere sight of you, bloodshot eyes watering and cold lips trembling with need. He's not stupid, he knows he feels something towards you. You're sweet and kind and patient - you're the only person who turns to him when he tries to speak up. You smile and chuckle to ease the tension when his mind turns off abruptly, you gently brush your fingers against his as you hand him the documents and wish him a sweet little "Good luck!". You bring homemade cookies and fizzy lemonade to the office parties none of your colleagues care about.

You're a fucking bundle of sunshine and roses - so of course he feels something for you, and that something is hatred.

How dare you act so high and mighty, like you're so much better than everyone else - so much better than him? Do you think you're too good for this dead corporate job that seems to suck the life out of people? Do you think you're some type of Godsend to all the miserable overworked souls? He's sure you do, and it makes it hard to look at you.

It's hard to look at your smile that lights up any room you enter. It's hard to avert his eyes when you try to ask him about his day. It's hard to take in your form in those painfully long bright dresses - hanging just above the knee, teasing the mind with so many possibilities of what's underneath. It's hard to ignore the tightening inside his pants, the heat between his thighs - the way his throat dries up and his heartbeat speeds up when his gaze travels to your wet, glistening lips despite his best efforts. It's hard to be in the same space as you - so it must be hate, right?

Yes, he must hate you. He hates you so much he often fantasizes about pushing you to your knees right there in the office - in front of everyone, and just forcing his length down your eager little throat. He imagines you'd struggle weakly, but would eventually give in - thick wet tears running down your puffy cheeks, your mascara ruined and your red lickstick all messed up as he smears his pre - cum all over your open mouth. You'd sob, your fists shaking against his thighs before your new role as nothing more than his cumdump sinks in and you're made to endure any and all abuse he wants you to.

Other times the setting of his fantasies is a lot more personal - a lot more intimate. Sometimes you're laying in his own bed, sprayed open like a starfish - tied up with your eyes covered, completely unaware of your surroundings. The only similarity that remains consistent is his roughness - even in his hate-fueled dreams he's impatient to touch you, to have you, to ruin you. His strong hands itch to tear apart the only barrier between his fingers and your body, his teeth ache to rip into your soft, welcoming flesh. He's shaking all over, anticipating the sweet little moment when it will become too much for you - the pain, the fear, the unwanted pleasure - and you'd cry out in that adorable tiny voice you used to greet him with.

He hopes you'd feel betrayed. He hopes you'd be repelled, shocked, even disgusted when he pumps you full of sticky warm cum and finally takes off the mask covering your eyes. You'd meet his gaze just as he loses himself in the ecstasy of your vulnerable boy - sparkling eyelashes wet and matted to each other as the gasp dies at your parted lips. Then he'd kiss you - but not gently, not like a lover. He'd violate you with his lips and teeth and tongue, he'd explore every inch of your insides and make you feel defiled. Sullied. Unable to be loved by anyone else again.

Yes, he thinks, he would love to teach you a lesson. It's only fair, right? You drive him mad every single day - so maybe it's time for him to return the favour. And if your tea tastes just a bit off today - and if he's a bit too willing to drive you home, well, maybe you shouldn't have been so nice. You shouldn't have smiled so sweetly at him. You shouldn't have held his hand so tightly.

You only have yourself to blame, really.

#yandere #male yandere #yancore #yandere smut #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere drabble

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valeriele3 · 1 month ago

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Yellow Carnations

A Hanahaki disease + SAGAU/Cult AU

Notes: Wanderer will be called Wanderer, or you can imagine the name you gave him, and Traveler will be referred to as Traveler since no one knows their real name except their sibling (and maybe Paimon?). Sorry this is rushed

A story where ones hope to love another turns hopeless.

"Traveler, can I.. tell you something?"

"Hm? Of course!"

You whip your head around to make sure no one else but the traveler can hear and whisper to their ear, "I like Wanderer."

The Traveler's eyes widen at your sudden confession and excitedly say, or rather, exclaim, "You do!?" She laughs bubbly. "I knew it! Sooo, when are you planning to confess?" They ask, their eyes practically sparkling.

"C-Confess!? No, no, no. I can't do that. Or at least, not yet!"

"And why not?"

"I don't even know him that well; I doubt he even remembers me."

"As if. you're practically hovering around him 24/7. I'm sure he remembers you. I would even go as far as to say that he likes you back!"

"Really? You think so.?"

"Mhm! If he didn't like you, he would've told you so, harshly, or even ignored your entire existence."

"Then..do you think I have a chance? You're really, really~ close to him, right?"

"Hmm~..Yeah?"

"Wha, so I really don't have a chance..!"

"Kidding, kidding, I think you have a high chance."

You continue to panic inside and overthink the possible endings if you were to confess. The traveler, noticing this, tells you, "How about this? I ask him if he's currently into anyone and maybe even pry enough to get him to say the name, ahem, your name, ahem."

"Really? You would do that for me?"

"Of course, you're my best friend."

"Of course I like, no, I love them. That isn't even a question worth answering; it's a given." Wanderer rolls his eyes and walks away to who knows where.

After waiting until the man was gone, you slowly walk out of your hiding spot, bubbling with joy. You and the traveler share a look and high-five each other.

After finding out about Wanderer's feelings for you, you consistently hung around him more; he always acted annoyed, but it wasn't any different from past interactions you've had with him.

You figured that this truly is just how he shows affection, somehow, like a tsundere!

And so you bid your time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to confess.

And when the time came, you faced a great humiliation.

It turns out he wasn't in love with you at all. No, he could never fall in love with someone like you; he said it himself after all.

You felt sick in your stomach, like it was churning, your throat was aching, and it felt dry.

While it was true he loved a Y/N, the Y/N he loved was not you. He loved the Creator.

How did you not know about this Creator? They even have the same name as you.

Wait, no, something's weird. What's this about a creator? You don't remember Teyvat having anything like that.

But before you could ponder anymore, your train of thoughts was interrupted by a coughing fit, covering your mouth with your hands. You tried to stop coughing, but the itching feeling was too much to handle.

Cough

You pause, 'petals?', where did the petals come from? There's no flowers around you

Clutching your hand, you began to spiral in your thoughts.

D̵̢̟͔̱͕͑̍͒̋̔̊̽́͝ǫ̷̧̧̜͍͖͎͕͉́̓́̍͜ ̶̻̲͛̀͛͑̒̾̕͝y̵̹̮̖͊͊̍̄̔͠ơ̵͇̺̯͓̗̫̜̝̆̌̏͜͝ú̵̪͚̫̬͈̙̭͈̙̈́́̌͗̐̂͋̓̔̈́͑̓͠͝ ̷̨̧̩̠̱̘̳̜̝́̐̉̅̐͗͒̏͗͝r̵̛͉̃̂̎̾̋̎͆̎ę̴̧̧̛̛̪̱̜̞͚̦̘̳̙͙͉̄̇̋͋́͑̓̎̌͜͠͝͠ṁ̶̡̢̬̤͖͙̪̟̰̹͇͕̹̼̿͒̋̄̈̽̂̔̑͌̃̒̒͜͝e̵̖̻͚̝̦̘̤̓̒̉m̴̢̝̝͈̭͙̯͚͊̀͐̍̊̈́̚͘ḇ̶͉̬̖̅͒̂̽̔̆̊̆́͒͑ͅe̸͙̞̭̮̽͌̀̓̈́̎͂r̷̻͓̠̬̖̙̗̺̥̹̺̠͕̄͊̀̀̑̔͛̃̀͋͗̀͘͝ ̶͔͕̽͒̓̈́͋́̒̒̓̚í̶͍̺̣̞̟͐͐ͅt̴̹͐̎̾̃̚͝ͅ?̴̘̥̫̲͈͉̊͗̉̇̆͆͛͑̾͘͝ ̷̹̝̝̳͔̪̖̩̜͍͚͇̀̀͘H̶̫̺̿̅̍́̽̃̇͋͗a̸̧̢̢̢̛̯̮̫̩͙̠̫͔͙͔̔̀͊͒̾̆̽́n̴̨̞̬̾͜ą̶͙̥̥̻͎̼͂̓h̵̫̤͚͖̙̐á̷̧̧̪̥̭͖̂̂̐̔́̊̐͜͜ͅk̵̘̰̎̓̇͗͆͗́̿̈͛̀͠͝ͅi̶̛̳̍̈́̚ ̸̧̲̘̰̯͓̈́̓́͊͂́͊Ḑ̶̼̰̰͍̫̗͔̩̣̤̻̝̮̲͛̾̑͠i̶̧͖̪̋͌͌̒̔̉͐͋́́͗̿͆̅͠ş̶̲̬̦̺̖̀̒͒͂̆͛ę̴̡̝̳̩̝̹̥̯͇̮̻̪̟̬͑̑͐ằ̴̡̡͎͓̬̱͚͎͈̯̦̇͒̅͊ś̸̢̧̺̘̜͇̰̯͚̦̉̉e̵̡̡̤̙͖͉͍̝̭̞̝̓

"Y/N?"

The traveler spoke

"Are you alright..?"

Silence

The Traveler kept calling out to you but received no response.

'Ah..'

'My head..it hurts..throat..water..'

"Y/N?"

'Is someone calling me..?'

"He— Y/N!"

Thud

Opening your eyes, you see an unfamiliar ceiling above you.

Now on alert, you begin scanning your surroundings.

Creak

Surprised by the sudden sound of the door, as if by reflex, you quickly pretended to be asleep, just like the times you pretended to be asleep when you still stayed at your parents house when you were younger.

"Oh, you're awake."

They begin to move closer to you, and your breath hitches, but you remain unmoved.

"Chill Y/N. It's just me."

Now able to listen to the voice more clearly, you realize it's the Traveler.

Slowly opening your eyes, you're greeted by the sight of Traveler smiling at you beside your bed.

'I knew the traveler was good-looking, but damn. Imagine waking up to this sight.'

"Here, drink some water." The traveler offers, and you reach for the water in their hands, of course, saying thank you in the exchange.

"What happened?" you ask.

"You passed out out of nowhere; oh, don't worry, I made sure to get you checked out by a doctor, and they said that you probably just overworked yourself."

"I see.."

"Oh! The petals..! Did the doctor say anything about it?" You inquire.

"Petals? What petals?" the Traveler tilts their head in confusion.

"Before I passed out, I think I coughed up some flower petals."

"Ah..you must still be a bit dazed. Don't worry, you didn't cough up any petals. And if you did, well, that's a bit worrying. We can get you checked again if you want."

You shake your head, "No, its alright, I trust you. I probably just imagined it or something.."

Deciding to trust your friend, you try to move onto another subject, "By the way, where are we? I don't recognize this place."

"Oh! We're at my teapot."

"Hmm~ You decorated this place wel—I mean, what?! Teapot!?" Realizing that the Traveler might find it odd if you don't question how being inside a teapot works, you acted surprised in the middle, hoping that the Traveler would fall for your clumsy acting.

The Traveler stares at you for a second or two before answering. "Yup! I got this as a... gift of friendship. It uses adeptal energy to maintain the place, I guess? I don't really know the complexities about this place, so you can just ask Tubby about any questions regarding this place." The Traveler explains

"Hmm..Adeptal energy, huh? I've heard of that before..Liyue, right?"

"That's right!"

As you and the Traveler engage in casual conversation, you start to feel an itch in your throat, but you decide to ignore it. It's probably just a common cold about to come.

After resting for a few days in the teapot at the behest of the Traveler, you began engaging in your normal everyday life, or as normal as it could; you no longer hang around the Wanderer and try your absolute best to avoid ever running into him. Some people either look at you mockingly or with pity. But it's fine. You don't care about them; they won't have an effect on your life.

Another thing that's different from normal, though, is the fact that you're coughing up blood-stained flowers.

You didn't know the cause; you didn't want to worry other people, so you didn't tell anyone, but you did go see a doctor secretly, although not even they could provide the cause.

All you knew was that, upon looking back, it all started with a small cough, flower petals, and then as time went on, you started coughing up petals with blood.

You were worried that the next thing that might come out of your mouth might be full-grown flowers, but surely that's not possible, right?

A/N: SO..This was supposed to be an idea post like Live Stream, but the past me decided to write about it at the time with no planning whatsoever. Even the character chosen (Wanderer) was not planned. It was originally Xiao, but I couldn't do it since the dialogue didn't feel "Xiao," so I just swapped it with Wanderer since he has a very veryyy blunt personality.

So yes, this is technically unfinished, and I don't think I'll ever get back to it if I just continue to leave it inside my drafts.

Feel free to make a fic out of this, and if you do..PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TAG ME. I'VE BEEN CRAVING SAGAU + HANAHAKI DISEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Additional notes regarding this fic are in the comments

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fushic0re · 2 years ago

Text

─ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗥 𝘅 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗔!𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — a prophecy has tied you to the feathered serpent god before you had even existed. now, it’s time to come home.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. possessive behavior. near death experience. smut; penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie (lots of cum bc i'm disgusting), breeding kink.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — this has to be the most excited i've been for a fic in a long time 🥹 i had a blast including a little bit of my culture's superstitions and lore. my sincerest apologies for any inaccurate yucatec maya translations, i used a translator website. the song the reader sings is "daughter of the sea" by sharm. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 —

⁀➷ “anak” - child.

⁀➷ “po” - a respectful term with no direct translation used when talking to someone of higher rank than you such as elders or your boss.

⁀➷ “mag ingat ka” - “be careful.”

⁀➷ “ka’a suku’un u?” - “cousin?”

⁀➷ “ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.” - "come with me to find the king."

⁀➷ "in yakunaj" - "my love"

⁀➷ "in k'áaté" - my one and only.

⁀➷ "le ba'alo' leti'e" - that is her.

⁀➷ "bienvenido tin wotoch ti', in reina." - "welcome my queen."

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, the ocean was your safe haven.

While others strayed from its depths for fear of the unknown, of the creatures that could be lurking down there, you had always been curious to know. There had always been an itch that couldn’t quite be scratched when it came to your love for the water. You frequented your local beach nearly every day, wandering aimlessly until you grew tired. Unlike others your age, your life was one of solitude. To an extent, you were content with it, for the ocean was your companion. It never judged you and always welcomed you. It listened when you spoke, carrying your worries far from you never to be seen again.

Nowadays, to your heart’s discontent, the ocean was not enough.

You were lonely. Truly lonely and feeling what it was like to be so for the very first time in your life. There were nights you stared into the abyss; eyes watery as you wished to drown in it. To be embraced by the one thing that was consistent in your life. Would you feel less alone then?

─

From the deepest point of the very sea you gazed into, the heart of a God grew heavy. K’uk’ulkan loved his people, adored them with every fiber of his body. Each and every one of the faces of those he ruled, dead and alive, were imprinted in his soul permanently. Every step he took was taken with them in mind. He prided himself for being a good leader, for doing everything and anything possible to keep his nation safe. After the events leading up to the alliance with the Wakandans, however, he did not know if that pride was deserved. He had made mistakes; misplaced his trust and allowed two of his own to die right in their very home. Namora, as loyal as she was, began to question his decisions. He was alone in bearing this burden with no one to rest his head on at night from the heaviness of the day.

What pained him the most? He knew he shouldn’t be alone.

He recalled the day he and his mother had been read the prophecy when he was a child clearly. The emotions he felt upon hearing those words spoken into existence were still fresh. There was someone for him. Just for him, and him alone.

“For His fealty, the First Son of Talokan shall be given a gift from the Gods; a descendant from the Heavens, a child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress. For as long as He shall live, She shall rule the seas by His side.”

Years passed. Those years slowly faded into decades. After the passing of his beloved mother, it became difficult differentiating when those decades turned into centuries. Still, there were no signs of his soulmate. His people knew of the prophecy. K’uk’ulkan was all too aware of the anticipation his children felt as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their queen. Yet, she never came.

He grew angry at the so called Gods for turning on their promise – at her. Where was she? he’d hiss. My people, our people, have come dangerously close to being discovered. I have nearly died defending them all alone. My wings have been ripped from my flesh. Why isn’t she here? The prophecy meant nothing to him anymore. Just as he was naïve when he entrusted Princess Shuri with seeing his home, he was blindly foolish for believing in a fairytale.

Namor was without love in more ways than one.

─

You didn’t remember falling asleep. There was no explanation as to how you ended up perilously close to the edge of the water, the violent thrash of waves serving as a warning to you. Still, you remained completely still as fear immobilized you. You racked your brain for any recollections of your previous actions. Nothing came up. You couldn’t remember anything after you came home from the market.

Nothing, that is, aside from a single voice.

It cooed to you, whispered your name like it had waited a thousand millennia to taste it upon its tongue. Sang to you like you were its favorite person in the entire universe.

Come to me.

Come home.

In yakunaj.

In k’áate’.

Come home.

Taking a moment to steady your breathing, you slowly stepped away from the ledge before rushing back home. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you tried your best to bury what had just transpired. You sought out every possibility – rational and irrational – that could have resulted in your odd behavior. You always went to the beach, maybe you just wandered there after dinner out of habit. Perhaps something went wrong with the batch of your usual tea and an ingredient that causes cognitive dysfunction was accidentally added to it. Maybe tomorrow morning you will wake up to a news report about your batch being recalled from all stores.

The explanation you vied for never came.

As time persisted, so did the bouts of blacking out, regaining consciousness, and finding yourself near the ocean. Each time, you got closer and closer to its waters. Every day after the next, you would feel the fatigue in your muscles from all of the walking. And yet, it did not stop you. You always found your way back to the ocean. It didn’t matter if you walked into ongoing traffic or if a concerned neighbor physically restrained you, the pull was stronger. Shamefully, you began to avoid leaving your home altogether. You couldn’t bear to face the condemnatory looks you were bound to receive. Whatever those in your area thought of you, you didn’t want to know. You were afraid enough of what you were becoming.

When you wake up from the next spell, you were waist deep in the ocean. Shivering as your thin nightgown stuck to your skin. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you salvaged any and all body heat. The gravity of your circumstances hit you all at once. Biting your lip, you held back your tears as your turned around and began making your way out of the water hastily. Just as your bare feet touched the white sand, you caught the eyes of the elderly woman who lived closed by. The two of you had never spoken, but her presence as a resident was always acknowledged.

“Sorry, po,” You spoke sheepishly, a polite and apologetic smile on your face.

Her expression was grave as she stared at you wordlessly. Silence stretched between the both of you and just as you were about to walk away, she harshly spat one single word.

“Magindara.”

Before you could seek clarification, she was back inside her small hut, the door slamming behind her acrimoniously. The only proof that the interaction with her was even real was the residual sting of her hostility and rage. Her persecution was the straw to break the camel’s back. Unable to maintain your resolve any longer, you fell to your knees and began to you’re your hands clutching at your chest in hopes to alleviate the pain. Humiliation, terror, anxiousness, and frustration were just a few of the emotions you were feeling. Even then, they were just the tip of the iceberg. As you cried to yourself, sand sticking to your wet limbs uncomfortably, you longed for nothing but someone to wrap you up in their arms – for someone to tell you that for once, everything would be okay. Just this once, you craved a life outside of isolation.

Once your breathing evened out, you stood up and leisurely began to talk along the shore. Soothing yourself in the only way you knew how, you began to softly sing.

“Beware, beware the Daughter of the Sea. ‘Beware’ I heard him cry. His words carried upon the ocean breeze, as he sank beneath the tide.”

Namora watched acutely as the quill in her king’s hands abruptly dropped to the floor. The warrior waited for the moment he would pick it up off of the ground and continue with his painting, but it never came.

“K’uk’ulkan?”

She received no response. His eyes held an indecipherable expression, one far away from the present.

“Ka’a suku’un u?” Namora repeated, her tone now carrying concern.

The King of Talokan turned to her for a split second before he stormed out of the room with speed she had never witnessed from him before. Namora was hot on his feathered heels, but the second she dived into the water, her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Attuma!” She bellowed. “Ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.”

K’uk’ulkan was stunned when he first heard it – the most beautiful sound to grace his ears. He was livid with himself for being unable to find a better word to describe the voice, for “beautiful” was such an understatement that it was borderline insulting. Without hesitation, he followed it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where it was coming from or who it even belonged to, he needed to find it. It called to him, turned him into a man possessed as he soared through the waters restlessly to get to it.

His head broke the surface, and that’s when he saw its owner – her. His soulmate.

She was the most exquisite living being he had ever laid his eyes upon. A gift from the heavens she was. Her beauty made him dizzy, his knees growing weak as he took in his beloved’s features. He admired her as she outstretched her arms, cupping the moon in her delicate palms. It paled in comparison to her. Everything did. Nothing could possibly compare. He remained paralyzed as she continued to sing, a foreign feeling settling in his stomach.

“Why this? Why this, oh Daughter of the Sea? Why this? Why did you forget your seaside days? Always the pride of our nation’s eyes, how could she go astray?”

The words of her melody pierced his heart. They reflected their journey far too accurately to be a coincidence. Did she know that she had always been destined for him? To be loved by the entire nation of Talokan? His lids fell shut slowly as he basked in her harmonies, feeling tranquil at last.

“I heard, I heard, across the moonlit seas, the old voice warning me. Beware, beware, the Daughter of the Sea. Beware, beware…of me.”

Namor studied her face as her song ended. He noted her red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Her damp nightgown stuck to her body tantalizingly. The despair in her hypnotizing voice was palpable. All of the wrath and resentment he had once harbored dissipated. Oh, my love. I have longed for you too. He could do nothing as he watched you turn your back to him from above, only pray for another encounter. He rose entirely from the sea, the wings on his ankles fluttering in the air as he watched her in the sky until she was safe in her abode. A quiet splash could be heard from under him. Attuma and Namora stared up at him expectedly.

“Le ba’alo’ leti’e’.”

He nodded slowly, eyes burning holes in the spot where she once stood.

“A human?” Attuma questioned, his voice rigid.

Namor shook his head.

“’A child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress’.” Namor quoted the prophecy directly. “Bulan was a deity the heavens sent to the ocean to protect the moon from sea monsters. She is a siren; they are descendants of Bulan.”

“What is she doing on the surface?” Namora chimed in.

The king frowned, his fists clenching at his sides as he longed to feel her touch.

“She is lost.”

─

Returning to the beach after the unpleasant encounter with the elderly woman who lived on its grounds probably wasn’t the most sensible decision. In your defense, however, nothing in your life was sensible nowadays.

Magindara was what she called you. A whole day’s worth of research, hundreds of Google searches, and several life crises later, you found out what it meant – siren. A subspecies of mermaids that were known for being especially vicious. You wanted to badly to laugh it off, to chuck it up to her being a senile old woman, but that was not an option. To do so would be like ignoring statistics. The facts of your life were laid out clearly; there was a connection between you and the ocean. A connection so strong that it bewitched you – mind, body, and soul. There were no traceable origins you could use to refute the woman’s claims. Afterall, you had no family. There was nothing more to do than return to the very place that could give you answers.

Your eyes darted everywhere in search of the familiar head of silvery locks. Once identified, you ran to her.

“Excuse me, po?” You called desperately, your eyes begging her for something. Anything. “What…what am I?”

She stared at you with a severe expression on her aged features.

“The man from the sea with wings on his ankles. Mag ingat ka, anak. He’s coming for you.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Could you expla—”

“Do not come back here.” She warned. “He will drag you down with him.”

With that being said, she entered her home and slammed the door in your face for the second time. Vexation filled you as you were met with another dead end. A man from the sea with wings on his ankles. What the hell was that alluding to? Did the elderly have to always speak in riddles? Were you in danger? Why was he after you?

You dragged your feet as you trudged home dejectedly. You were already exhausted, not sleeping a wink once you returned home after your stint last night. Sleep was unfathomable considering you were haunted by unanswered questions. Once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, however, you could no longer ignore your body’s need for rest. Flopping down on your bed, you shut your eyes and instantaneously succumbed to a peaceful slumber.

That night was the last time you slept in your own bed.

The beach was eerily quiet, void of the usual sound of waves crashing against the shore. Seemingly, the ocean yielded to you, it’s queen, the second you stepped foot in its territory, entranced and guided by a single voice.

Come home. Come to me.

Your feet carried you to a cliff high above the sparkling midnight waters.

My love. My soulmate.

Home. You needed to come home. It was time.

Come home.

Just a couple of more steps.

Come home.

This is your destiny. Fulfill it. Fulfill the prophecy.

Come home.

With that, you took one final step off the cliff and prepared yourself to plunder into the deep waters. Your feet were only in the air for a brief moment before a pair of strong arms caught you midair. Upon physical contact, you snapped from your trance with a sharp gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to panic.

A deep, gentle voice lulled you. It was then that you finally registered who it belonged to. The being who had saved you was the epitome is beauty. Everything about him exuded regality from the air of confidence and ease he carried himself with, to the adornments on his muscular body. A large gold and jade neck plate took up the most space on his expansive chest. Ropes of auriferous shells and opalescent-like pearls hung around his neck. Gilded cuffs were locked around his biceps, wrists, and ankles. You quickly noted the alabaster wings fluttering away attached to them, the very wings responsible for suspending the both of you in the air. Your eyes trailed to his delicately pointed ears, embellished with jewels just like the rest of him. The only clothing he sported was a pair of emerald shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The walls of muscle that were his thighs were on full display, the muscles of a man built to withstand the brutality of the ocean.

This was the man the elderly woman was speaking about. The man from the sea with feathers on his ankles.

That revelation should have scared you. Every alarm in your body should have gone off.

Escaping him should have been the only thing occupying your mind. You should have kicked and screamed until your throat was raw and bloody.

But you did no such thing.

Instead, it was the way he looked at you, gazing at you with the most intense smolder in his eyes that occupied your attention. He gazed at you with pure wonder, and held you delicately yet fiercely in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. Instinctively, you placed your hands on his bare chest, mindlessly tracing the dew drops sticking to his golden skin. The beautiful man shivered beneath your touch.

“500 years I have waited for you.” He whispered reverently.

Your mouth opened, prepared for a response that never came. Instead, your vision went dark.

─

You woke up to hushed voices and heedful, diligent hands. One set of hands languidly brushed your hair away from your face. Another daintily shimmied clothing onto your body once they were finished drying you off with the velvetiest cloth to ever touch your skin. The last set secured what you assumed was jewelry onto your wrists, neck, and ears. Upon opening your eyes, your assumption was correct. The dress on your body was stunning, embroidered with hundreds of crystalline beads. The jewels on your wrists alone were probably worth more than what you had made in your entire life.

The women who stood above you were unlike you had ever seen before. Their skin was a brilliant shade of cerulean. Vibrant, yet pleasantly understated. Masks covered their mouths and noses, but you could still see the bright smiles behind them.

“Hello,” You greeted shyly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Each of them let out a small cry, their eyes welling up with tears as they bowed earnestly.

“Bienvenido tin wotoch ti’, in reina.” They spoke warmly in unison, forming a gesture with their hands at you respectfully. Their mother tongue was foreign to you, but not for long. As if you had spoken it your entire life, your mind made quick work of interpreting it.

Welcome home, my queen.

Once again, you were puzzled. You had no idea where you were or who exactly that man was and why he had taken you here. You obviously hadn’t a single inkling as to what he meant by “500 years I have waited for you”. Now, these women were calling you their queen in a language you had never heard your entire life but somehow had the ability to understand perfectly.

The sound of feet pattering lightly gradually got closer and closer until the man of the hour stood before you at the foot of the bed. The women attending to you immediately turned their attention to him, bowing and forming the same hand gesture you had seen moments ago. He looked just as regal still, now adorned in a cape tucked into golden plates of armor on his shoulders. He regarded them gratefully.

“Leave us, my children. Thank you.”

They bowed to you both once more before swiftly making themselves haste. You now had his undivided attention.

“I hope you slept well. The healers said showed signs of exhaustion.”

“I—” You cleared your throat nervously. “I did, thank you.”

The barest hint of a smile graced his features. With graceful and controlled movements, he poured water into a glass and handed it to you.

“Do not be nervous.” He spoke lowly. “Speak freely.”

“Thank you.” You squeaked out again, taking a generous gulp of water before speaking again. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan. To my enemies, I am Namor. You are in our kingdom – Talokan.”

The water got caught in your throat mid swallow, causing you to cough obnoxiously. The man who you now knew as K’uk’ulkan, discreetly smiled to himself as if this was a reaction he had anticipated. Before you could blurt out another string of questions, he held his hand out to you.

“Come. I will remedy all of your concerns.”

As if you had done so a million times, you placed your hand in his and stood by his side. Namor lead the both of you through a series of corridors. Your eyes took in your surroundings with pure astonishment. Cavern seemed to be a secluded corner for the king, crystal waters surrounding its premises. Bits of glittery minerals were embedded into the sediment walls. An air of serenity blanketed the entire area.

From the corner of his eye, Namor gaged your reactions, his heart so full of unfiltered adoration that it felt like it would explode in his chest. His hand was still tightly clutched in yours like it was second nature. Subconsciously, you had drawn your body closer to his. He was a meticulous man of control and strategy, but at that very moment, K’uk’ulkan wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms and kiss you breathlessly. The moment was cut short when you reached his study. He offered you a seat at his desk, drawing the door shut behind him for privacy. It didn’t take long for you to deduce that the murals painted on the walls were ones depicting the history of Talokan.

“Centuries ago, my people took an herb that allowed them to survive underwater. The herb was infused with vibranium. We are the only nation aside from Wakanda to possess it.” He began, his hands tracing over a painting of a beautiful woman cradling an infant. “My mother was pregnant with me when she ingested it. That is why I am the way I am – why I am the only one out of my people that can survive on both land and underwater, fly, and age slower than the rest. For this, they made me their king. Their god.”

You listened intently, fascinated by the discovery that they had remained a secret for this long.

“There was a prophecy made shortly after my birth. The gods promised me a soulmate.”

Turning around to face you, he bore his soul to yours through his eyes as he read the prophecy to you. With each word that fell from his lips, the world around you spun quicker and quicker. It made sense. It all made sense.

“I gave up on the idea of the prophecy coming true as time passed. In yakunaj, when you have lived as long as I have, seen as much as I have, happy endings are nothing but meaningless fallacies. But then, that night came…the night I heard you sing for the first time.”

He approached you slowly, cautiously like a wild animal that would take flight if startled by any sudden movements. What happened next made your eyes fill with tears; he knelt before you. This man – a king, a god – surrendered to you with no hesitation.

“I have finally found you…” He breathed, his orbs shining with devotion. “You are home. Why do you think you have no family? No one to trace your roots back to? You were made for me. Mine.”

Your face fell in between the palms of your hands as you wept. Quickly, your hands were replaced by his. He held your face in his hands like he was holding the entire world, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing away your tears.

“Why the tears, my love?”

You shook your head, placing your hands on top of his. The spark you felt every time the two of you touched could no longer be ignored.

“Why did they just now bring us together?” You cried. “We’ve both been alone for all this time, how could they not do something about it!”

“Shhh,” Namor cooed. “You think I have not been angry with them, my sweet? I have held myself back from tearing their skies and oceans apart just to find you. But what I feel for you right now in this very moment? That feeling will always win.”

The both of you said nothing more, for there was nothing that needed to be said. Your long lost love held you in his arms as you liberated yourself from what felt like decades of anguish. His grip never faltered even as you gripped his flesh hard enough to draw blood. Instead, he soothingly rocked you as he recounted the stories of his people’s origins. Talokan was a clandestine national treasure, one of the only things on the earth that had not been bastardized. That was all the doing of this wonderful being who had been promised to you.

“They were wrong about you. Your name.” You whispered. “You’re not without love, quite the opposite actually. The actions you have taken, the lengths you have gone to protect your people and your home, are ones of a man consumed with nothing but love. You can see it in how happy they are.”

With cautious hands, you caressed his cheeks. He preened against your touch, melting right into your palms. The world would never see the stoic warrior king falter, but already, you had him firmly wound around your finger. He could sit there for hours soaking in your ardor.

“Our home. Our people.” Namor corrected. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

Lovingly, he pressed his forehead to yours, nudging the tip of your nose with his.

“Are you ready to meet them?”

He observed endearingly as your eyes widened as large as flying saucers as you nodded overzealously, a giggle tumbling from your lips. K’uk’ulkan noted once more how full of love he felt. He wondered if this was what your lives together would consist of, overcome with all of the possibilities. Was adoring you more than he did in this moment even conceivable? When your smile faltered slightly, worry filled him.

“I’ve never seen…myself.”

“I am honored to be the first to see your true form.”

The two of you stood, walking hand in hand out of his personal study and to the outermost cove surrounded with the most water. Inhaling shakily, you eyed what awaited below you with apprehension. You were not human, far from it, and yet it felt as if you and your true form were worlds apart. Namor was silent. He knew this was something you needed to do alone. The only form of assurance offered to you was a look of encouragement.

Slowly, you dipped one foot into the water and allowed the other to follow. Keeping your eyes closed, you focused on your heart rate as your body adroitly descended into the abyss of the sea. You could have easily fallen asleep if it weren’t for a tingly sensation disrupting your peace. It started small, gradually winding around you until all at once, currents of electricity bolted through your limbs. Instinctively, your lungs expanded, and you took your first gulp of air underwater. You ripped your eyes open in bewilderment when you didn’t choke on water. The clear-cut view you had of your surroundings despite no sources of light being near further consolidated your shock. A noise akin to a squeak and gasp escaped your lips and before you knew it, you were cutting through the waters with newfound ease until your head broke the surface.

Namor would have given everything to his name to capture the sight before him. There you were, beaming at him with unrivaled radiance. He stopped breathing when you lifted your tail out of the water. Just when he thought you could not be any more magnificent than you already were, you defied his expectations. The scales covering the muscle were a range of shades of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold. Towards the tips of your forked fin, they all blended into a rich shade of dark indigo. Your torso was bare but hidden behind your locks as they cascaded over your breasts. Namor could have gawked at you for hours if it weren’t for you playfully flicking water at his face. He felt light and dream-like as your melodious laughter echoed through the cavern. He decided then and there that your laughter was his favorite song. The scowl permanently etched onto his face fell. In its place, a smile so wide it hurt spawned. For the first time in centuries, he laughed so hard his abdomen hurt.

Powerless to his desires, he dove into the water after you, finding shelter in your embrace once more. Intuitively, your tail curled around one of his legs. He submerged the two of you back into the water and before you knew it, his lips were pressed against yours. Skin to skin, naked chests were tightly pressed against each other, your arms locked around his neck as your mouths feverishly meshed against one another. A barely audible moan slipped from your mouth right into his as his tongue pushed passed your lips. Namor voiced his pleasure with a low rumble from his chest. Pathetically, you could cry again right then and there. How could you have gone without this your whole life?

A loud clearing of the throat caused you both to cease your ministrations. Namor was anything but sorry as he pulled away with the softest expression you had seen on his face thus far. He regarded the two individuals standing in front of you – a hulking man with long inky tresses and an ornate headpiece resembling the skull of a hammerhead shark and a fierce looking woman with a feathered lionfish-esque headdress. Though both clearly high up in the royal ranks with a cutthroat reputation to uphold, they studied you and Namor with mischief.

“K’uk’alkan, they are waiting for her.” The man spoke.

“You might want to put this on before you go.” Spoke the woman, pulling an opulent bra top from behind her back and extending it towards you.

The state of undress you were in hit you like a bus. Your face felt like it was on fire from embarrassment, your lover pressing a tender kiss to your heated cheek. Tactfully, he maneuvered you away from the eyes of the warrior you now knew was Attuma. The woman, his cousin and second in command named Namora, expertly laced you into the garment.

“That was so embarrassing,” You mumbled to yourself once your modesty was secured.

Namor cracked a hint of a smirk.

“Attuma and my cousin expected nothing less from us. Now, shall we?”

─

Talokan was a magnificent sight. The agriculture was impressive, the vibranium rich soil working wonders for the crops. Sea creatures from colossal sized sea turtles, lengthy luminescent jellyfish of different colors, lively fish, and enormous whales to start were one with the Talokanil, peacefully existing with one another. The treatment you received from everyone was something you would never get used to. Despite not knowing you, they acknowledged you as if they had known you their entire lives. K reina perdida they called you with earnest smiles and misty eyes. Our lost queen.

But you were no longer lost.

It was evident in the way the orcas sang with you as you glided through the waters, seemingly understanding you in a way no one else could. Namor’s soul was finally content after seeing you swim freely, laughing so hard your stomach hurt as a couple of toddlers crawled around on your tail. His people loved you. Just as he thought they would. And you fit right in just as you were meant to. With further exploration of your physiology, the two of you discovered that like Namor, you could survive both underwater and on the surface, donning a set of legs seamlessly upon contact with land. Your strength, speed, and agility matched up perfectly with his. For hours, he chased you through the ocean, the both of you weaving in and out between walls of coral and tall beds of seaweed with dexterity. You truly were made for him.

A week later, you were officially crowned their queen. You and Namor ended the celebration with an intimate wedding ceremony in the cavern. After years of going without each other, neither of you had the patience to wait for a union on a grander scale. You both were enough – you would always be enough. And as he laid your bare body across the bed he occupied by himself for half a millennium, he was confident in that conviction.

You felt dizzy as he pressed his hard bulge against your core. The most heavenly noise to grace your ears came out of your now husband when you raised your hips to grind against it. Your hands liberally roamed his chest, now stripped of his jewels, before slithering to his robust back. Your nails drew tiny half moons as they dug into his flesh when his lips made their way to the column of your neck. The decorum of countenance he upheld was nowhere to be found as he ravaged your breasts with his mouth, lightly tugging your erect nipple between his teeth before he began to suckle. You cried out pathetically. His lips twitched, umber orbs now staring up at you with lust.

“You are so noisy for me,” He purred. “I have not even touched the most sensitive parts of your body yet.”

“Please,” You breathed. “Please, I need you,”

Namor made his way down your body, leaving no part of you untouched by his lips. Deftly, he gripped your thighs and place both of your legs over his shoulders. Gently, he kissed your dripping core.

“You have me, my love. Always.”

His mouth took you straight to heaven. He devoured you like a man starved, tongue flicking your nub of nerves tirelessly with precision. Your thighs were already trembling, but he had just gotten started. Your orgasm crept up on you, the strongest one you had ever experienced. It left you heaving with your back arched off of the bed, unable to do anything besides chant his name like a mantra. But your beloved’s ministrations did not cease. He continued working at your core, now swollen and glistening from your juices and his spit. The second orgasm built up slowly, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each time he sucked your clit. The final straw was when you noticed his hips gyrating. He was pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. This time when you came on your lover’s tongue, no words or sounds were able to slip passed your mouth. You were quite literally speechless.

With a satisfied moan, he lapped up the rest of your arousal, cooing to you as you quivered and whimpered from hypersensitivity. His scorching body covered yours once more, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Namor held you tightly against him, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as you steadied your breathing. It wasn’t long before you felt the head of his cock prodding your entrance. Gripping your face firmly, he forced your eyes open. The frenzied look in his eyes as he languidly sunk into you alone could have made you come for the third time that night. But alas, the universe was on your side. Instead, you savored that moment – the feeling of him. Every inch, every vein, ingrained into your memories for as long as you shall live.

“You feel incredible.” Namor panted, now beginning to steadily thrust. “You truly were made for me.”

You could only respond with wanton cries, too consumed with desire. The king began to piston in and out of you until he was fully pounding you into your marital bed.

“Namor!”

He grunted into your ear, pulling out of you for a brief moment to flip you onto your stomach. He plunged back into you and picked up right where he left off. This time, however, he was brutal with the punctuality of his thrusts.

“Am I your enemy, wife?” He taunted. “Are you even worthy of any mercy I have to spare?”

At this point, you could not even recognize the sounds you were making. They were debauched. Depraved. Combined with rhythmic percussion of skin against skin and the squelch of your wet cunt each time Namor entered you, the song you two orchestrated was one only for the lecherous.

“K’uk’ulkan,” You barely managed to murmur. “I’m s-so close, you make me feel so good,”

He hummed satisfactorily, driving into you even faster.

“You are, aren’t you, my sweet? That’s it, sing for me. Take my seed. Carry my children.”

“Please!” You screamed as your walls convulsed around his cock. Please come in me,”

With a shout and one final thrust, he released in you. Rope after rope, he filled you with his cum with proclamations of everlasting love on the tip of his tongue. His cock remained nestled deep within you as you both descended from your highs, keeping his spent from spilling. He shuddered at the image of you round and radiant carrying his child and just like that, he was hardening inside you once more. As you lay there, thoroughly cock drunk, he began to pull out of you and slowly push back in. This time, he was tender and gentle, unhurriedly focused on taking you apart for one final time that night. The two of you had centuries left together. There was no need to rush. Then again, Namor could live another 500 years with you by his side and still feel like it was not enough. He needed you forever, and then some.

“I love you,” He whispered against the blade of your shoulder. “You are everything.”

The next morning you would wake to the sight of your husband painting a new mural. One of a beautiful woman with the upper body of a human, and the lower body of a fish. By her side, a man with ears that pointed to the skies and wings on his ankles, their eyes locked and hands intertwined.

The beginning of your story.

#namor x reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x poc!reader #namor x filipina!reader #namor the sub mariner #namor fanfiction #k'uk'ulkan #k'uk'ulkan x reader #tenoch huerta #tenoch huerta x reader #tenoch huerta smut #tenoch huerta mejia

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reddesires · 4 months ago

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Flirting With Them. (POTA Headcanons, Caesar, Noa, Blue Eyes)

Reference: This Imagine

As much as Caesar is most accustomed to human culture, he's very oblivious when it comes to the romantic aspect. (I mean be fr, Cornelia had to shoot her shot multiple times for him to notice) so when you openly flirt with him, with prolonged eye contact and a sultry tone of voice, he just figures that's just your personality and he shouldn't read too much into it.

This goes on for a long period of time and you sort of give up since your efforts are in no way awarded (felt like punishment with how bruised your ego is.) Caesar automatically notices the lack of batting your eyelashes at him and the seductive lilt in your voice has vanished instead you smile politely, you seem more reserved around him now.

He gives it time hoping that you'll resume your prior behavior but you don't so he'll have to take matters into his own hands, he begins talking to you in a sensual tone, his baritone inflect sending a shiver down your spine while refusing to break eye contact. It clicks for you right away.

"Are you flirting with me?" He leans back a flicker of confusion on his face,"flirting?" Your sultry tone reappears as you lean towards him."Do you like me?" He's stiff as a board looking away in an opposite direction, a huff exuding from him not willing to give an answer.

You flirt playfully with Noa, now you couldn't possibly blame him for being oblivious to your flirting, he just notches your behavior as friendship but to help on your case, your teasing was bordering dalliance and your touches felt more like a caress, primarily directed towards his arms or the tops of his shoulders.

He takes your advances in stride, treating you as he would treat his own friends and only sometimes would you contemplate if you should be more forward but you go against it deciding friendship should be enough for if he isn't receptive of your affections so you stop (it was a shame, he's such a stud after all pfftt)

Yeah, Noa catches on to that fairly quickly, he notices your no longer teasing him in that tone of voice instead the note is reminiscent to how Soona speaks to him, sisterly, also why aren't touching him? (he'll basically have an internal temper tantrum obsessing over that).

So there's only one thing to do, he'll have to just act that way towards you, lightly grazing you within your personal space and grabbing at your hair to direct your attention towards him and of course, tease you with that undertone unknowingly that he's trying to woo you and it's so unlike him that it clicks almost instantaneous of what he's trying to to do and your willing to give him what he wants.

"ooh, is there something you want to tell me, Noa?" The seductive lilt in your voice startles him "uh-uuuhh" he stampers out instinctively, scratching at a non-existent itch on his arm "I think you do~

the way that you flirt with blue eyes is with fleeting eye contact and shy smiles thrown from a distance, initially it started out that way. You were always drawn in by his azure eyes and his almost regal stance, he looked a lot like his father but so much like his mother.

Over time you grown close and your flirting consisted of compliments (Blue Eyes deserves a partner with a love language being words of affirmation) and the gifting of small trinkets, like a shiny stone you found in the coursing waters of the river or small figurine you craved from wood that took you ages to finish.

Blue Eyes is totally at a loss of how to respond to this behavior of yours, Apes don't feel the need to speak on things that are obvious translated into compliments and he accepts your trinkets and keeps them in a safe place but you were unaware of him doing so. Over time, you feel like you are being a pest and bothering him with human like qualities, so you cut back on the flirting.

At first he's slow to come to the realization that your behavior has changed, your grin lacks the radiance and your hands are empty of gifts instead you've resorted to smiling softly and gifting him space (I can imagine him being like noo, I want you close 🥺 AHHH)

So now he's on a mission of gifting you the shiniest stones he can find in the river and making adornments he spends hours at a time making while caring for Cornelius just so everytime you meet up he has a bestowal at ready and of course he's been practicing how to compliment you.

You are thrown off guard by this. This isn't a normal behavior amongst the apes, so you just know that he's mimicking your flirting behavior, so you just have to tease him. "Blue eyes! Another gift for me?" He signs that he knows you like traditional jewelry the female apes wear in the colony."Is this your way of showing you like me?" And he's hesitant to admit before relenting,"yes."

#caeser x human reader #noa x human reader #blue eyes x human reader #planet of apes x reader #planet of the apes #pota #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction

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headkiss · 11 months ago

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maybe this christmas time

pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader

summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.

word count: 9.5k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (he’s still a softie underneath it, i can’t help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steve’s mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.

And, in the middle of it all, Santa’s Workshop.

That’s where you are, where you’ve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.

“It’s really not so bad once you get past the itching,” you tell Steve.

“Great,” he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.

“Great,” you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.

He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.

It’s Steve Harrington’s first year at Santa’s Workshop, and you’ve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.

But unlike you, Steve didn’t volunteer for this.

“I can’t believe they picked me to do this,” he sighs. “Don’t even like elves.”

“Well they had to pick someone, Steve.” You shrug, “who knows, you might end up having fun!”

“Not likely.”

“At the very least, you’re getting paid, right?” You nudge him once with your elbow, “plus, if you’re extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.”

You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.

That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.

Now, Steve’s wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts you’ve had together so far, you’ve spoken more than ever. Even if it’s mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.

“Do I really have to wear these fucking shoes?” He asks, following you out of the staff room.

“Yes. It’s part of the uniform.” You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. “Don’t worry, you’ll tune out the jingling soon enough.”

“I’ll hear these jingles in my nightmares.”

“At least you look cute!”

You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.

Steve’s not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, he’s leaning a little more towards the first.

He didn’t know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.

And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in ‘holiday cheer.’

Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere he’s not quite ready to face yet, that he’s mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if you’re smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.

To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didn’t care enough to know he didn’t like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.

There’s a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. We’re visiting dad’s boss’ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.

So yeah, Steve’s never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, he’s not sure he ever will.

You lead him towards the area where Santa’s Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. There’s bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.

“Since we’re opening today I’ll show you the whole set-up routine.” You step over the rope with the sign that says ‘Gone to feed the reindeer!’ with Steve in tow. “Easy peasy.”

Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.

“First, we count the props,” you nod over at the bin that’s tucked away behind a small tree, “there should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.”

He stares at you—because why on earth would you have that memorized—and raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.

Then, he remembers what the outfit he’s got on looks like and shakes the thought away.

“Why would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?” He says.

“The red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.”

You say dummy with a smile, like it’s something to admire. Steve huffs.

“Rudolph’s a loser.”

“Aw, come on, he’s got his own song and everything! I’d say that makes him the opposite of a loser.”

“Of course you would,” he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’s next?”

“Right,” you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod that’s already set up. “Next is the camera. Here, I’ll show you.”

The only knowledge Steve’s got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasn’t been very much, considering the pair’s history on the topic despite them being friends now.

So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.

“You just have to switch it on and make sure the battery’s full, right there,” you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the camera’s charged or not. “And don’t forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...”

You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steve’s standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.

“Finally,” you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. “Set it up on the tripod, and you’re good to go.”

He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When you’re done, you turn around to face him, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how close he’s gotten.

Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like you’d been burned. Steve, however, doesn’t let go just yet and he’s got no idea why.

He doesn’t let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.

“Alright,” you say, trying to brush the moment off. “That sound means we’re open. You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!”

Your lunch breaks at Santa’s Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, it’s nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.

Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steve’s stuck with you.

The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying you’ll be back in an hour.

You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (“does driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?”), if he likes his job at Scoops (“I’m starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or something”), if he’d introduce you to Robin someday (“I’m afraid of what that might do to my sanity.”)

Today, you’re trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” You ask.

Steve doesn’t know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at him—which is often—but he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.

“Don’t have one.”

“Ugh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.” You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. “You can tell me.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. “They’re cheesy.”

“Aren’t you secretly a rom-com fan?”

“How did you-”

“So, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!”

“Okay, well you don’t have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.”

Steve wonders how you know that about him, how you’ve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.

Like, if maybe you’re in his life now for a reason.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Steve.” You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. “So, the cheesiness isn’t the root of the issue.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I’m gonna take a guess here,” you start, “and say that you’re not a fan of Christmas.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Steve, I’ve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.”

“We can’t all behave like we’ve been injected with sunshine.”

You don’t think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose he’s right, there’s always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.

“Thank you,” you give him a quick grin. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

He’s silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. “My parents never really did Christmas.”

Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.

Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing you’d ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didn’t want to. It’s not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much you’d like to give him a hug or something right about now.

It’s not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you.”

“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. “The Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.”

Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesn’t like scraping this wound open, doesn’t like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.

He especially doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s injured or something after this.

Surprisingly to Steve, you don’t. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like you’ve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.

“How about this: I’ll teach you how great Christmas can be.”

“I think it might be a little late for that.” Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, “this outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. “Whatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.”

Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when he’s snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.

So, even though he’s not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: “okay. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. “Oh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-”

“What did I get myself into?” Steve mutters, while you’re still rambling off ideas.

“-I’m gonna need to make a list.”

Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if that’s even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve can’t help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.

Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.

In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.

You treat everyone with an attitude that’s so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.

He won’t admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.

And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.

“It’s alright, cutie,” he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. “I bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.”

The girl nods, like she’s determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.

“What is it?” You ask her.

“Can you do it with me?”

You look over to the girl’s mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, “okay, then.”

Steve’s standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then you’re sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.

It takes him a second to realize you’re talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.

“Say cheese,” he says.

The click of the camera sounds, and then it’s done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.

Once they’re gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to ‘the North Pole.’

“I hope that family’s okay with my face in their picture,” you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. “I mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe they’ll cut me out of it.”

You’ve become more comfortable with Steve the more you’ve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.

You think he’s grown more comfortable with you, too, because he’s started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.

From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod he’d give you whenever he’d pick up the kids from a movie.

And now, there’s the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, “Steve Harrington are you smiling right now?”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head at you. “That was sweet. What you did for that girl.”

Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because there’s nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.

You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys you’ve ever met, because even with his attitude, he’ll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that it’s rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.

Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.

“Ruining her picture, you mean?” You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.

“You didn’t ruin that picture, sunshine.”

Sunshine. That’s new.

“Well I’m glad someone thinks so.”

Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and it’s back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.

You and Steve catching each other’s eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.

Steve can't say that he likes this job more than Scoops—Robin might call him traitorous—but he finds that you’d been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.

He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesn’t like the holidays, that they aren’t like this all the time.

At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.

“So, I made a list,” you say. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.”

“My standards are very low, so it wouldn’t take much.”

“Don’t care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-”

“Absolutely not.”

While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.

“Steeeve.”

“I am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.”

“But the gingerbread houses are a yes?” You ask, hopeful and smiling like it’ll persuade him.

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

That’s what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that he’d like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if you’re really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when he’s not dressed as a damn elf.

That’s what he decides to say because it’s easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.

“But you already agreed!” You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. “You can’t just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.”

“Oh no, not the glitter,” Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. “That makes it serious.”

You blink at him, giving him a blank look. “Don’t diss the list. By the end of it, you’re gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.”

“Jolly as fuck,” he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, sunshine.”

“Thank you.” You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. “I’m not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.”

“Well in that case…”

You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and he’s left standing in the break room wondering what you’ve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.

Huffing, he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

Steve definitely should not have told you that he’d never been ice skating before.

It all started when you’d been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t back out of it (did he really want to?).

“Hey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?” You’d asked him in between families.

“Um… yeah. Why?”

“Because, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!” You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. “I haven’t quite decided what we’re starting with yet.”

“I thought you had a list.”

“I do! But it’s not in order,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.”

“Of course you are,” he’d said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“So I’m thinking we go skating-”

“Nope.”

“You can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?”

“I won’t say no to everything.” You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, so, quietly, he added, “it’s just, I’ve never been skating before.”

“Steve, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. “All the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. I’m really not that great, myself.”

“If I hate it, we’re leaving.”

“Deal.”

And that’s how he’d ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.

Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat you’ve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.

He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.

Though he’s never said it, barely let himself think it, he’s always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.

His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.

“Thank you,” you say, grabbing both your and Steve’s pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, “ready to go?”

“As I'll ever be,” he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.

He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.

Like you can read his mind, you say, “it’s okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.”

“I feel like you’re lying to make me feel better.”

“Why don’t you just stand up and find out, then?”

He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.

“‘Kay, so it’s gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.” You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.”

“Sure you do,” he mutters, shaking his head.

The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, there’s a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. There’s a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.

There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” he’ll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, there’s the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.

Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.

You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.

You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you won’t be anything but patient.

Still, he doesn’t take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.

“See? It’s not so bad,” you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. “Now all you gotta do is push yourself forward.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“It’s called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!”

“Fine,” he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. “So what do I do?”

“Use one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.”

He gives it a go, and finds that it isn’t awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, he’s not an impressive skater at all.

Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. He’s always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.

He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.

You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, “look at you go!”

“I look like an idiot,” he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.

When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you don’t think he looks like an idiot at all.

“You look like you’re trying, and that’s a great look on you, Steve.”

This time, it isn’t only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.

He doesn’t have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.

Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.

“This way, if you fall, so do I,” you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesn’t scare you one bit.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Super sure.”

You hadn’t been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, “oop!”

On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.

“You okay, sunshine?”

The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.

Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steve—surrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hated—laughs along with you.

And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.

Steve’s in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.

It’s your first shift back together since you’d been skating only a couple of days ago, and you can’t help but worry that maybe it was too much, that you’d pushed him too far.

Even though, at the time, he’d been smiling more than you’ve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasn’t as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.

Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. He’s unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.

All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.

This morning, it wasn’t the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.

He wishes he didn’t.

“Hello?” His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.

“Steve, sweetie!” His mother’s voice made him squint his eyes shut further. “Why do you sound so tired?”

“‘Cause it’s six in the morning, mom.”

“Oh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,” she said, though she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She didn’t even care enough to know what time it was for her son. “Anyways, I’m calling to let you know your father and I won’t make it home for Christmas this year. There’s this banquet we just can’t miss. You understand, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t know why he’d been surprised, doesn’t know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.

“Yeah, okay,” he’d said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.

This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that they’re missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.

“That’s my boy,” she’d said, as if she knew him at all. She didn’t. Hasn’t known him—or cared to—for a long time. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Right.”

“Oh, there’s your father. Gotta go.”

And just like that, she hung up.

Steve almost wishes that they’d never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If they’d just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.

At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on ‘getting a real life,’ never about him.

So yeah, Steve’s in a bad mood today.

The two of you don’t talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steve’s angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.

You don’t talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.

Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say ‘cheese.’ To the side, the children’s mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.

With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.

Instead of approval, what you get is, “what the hell is that?”

You’ve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job you’ve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and that’s rare. “Sorry,” you say, “I can take a new one, no problem.”

“I better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,” she practically hisses at you.

Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.

“Um,” you start, voice small.

“You elves get worse every year,” she says to you. “I can’t believe people this incompetent even exist.”

Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isn’t good for you, you’re free to leave,” Steve’s voice doesn’t slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.

You’re overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you won’t let fall until you’re alone.

“You can’t speak to me like that!” The woman stomps her foot.

“I can, actually. She,” he points in the direction you’d gone, “is the kindest person I know, and you shouldn’t speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say ‘thank you.’”

Rather than respond, the woman takes her children’s hands and stomps off.

Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santa’s Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.

He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve can’t think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. “Don’t listen to any of that. She was a bitch.”

You’re both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because he’s kind, because he’s showing you that he cares. Unhappy because you’re embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you don’t feel like that right now.

It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he assures you. “She was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.”

“You’re being really nice,” your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.

“I can be nice. I should be nicer to you.” He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, it’s easy for him to be grouchy. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just,” you shrug, almost defeated. “I thought you were mad at me today.”

Steve’s heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light he’s somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he can’t stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.

“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.”

“Oh.”

His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.

“I, uh,” Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he can’t believe it’s there, like he doesn’t want to look into your eyes for the next part. “I got a call from my mom this morning. They’re not coming home this year. Again. I shouldn’t be surprised but… anyways. That’s why I’ve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.”

One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I don’t.”

You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.

“I’m gonna change that,” you say.

“Sure you will,” he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, he’s smiling, too.

Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that he’d take care of the few families left, and when you’d opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, he’d pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.

So, you did.

You’d thought it would be a day at least until you’d see Steve again, but it’s only a couple of hours after your shift ends.

There’s a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.

You’re surprised to find Steve on the other side—one, because you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didn’t think he’d want to see you more today than he already had—a bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. “I thought that maybe, after the day you’ve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.”

You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.

“Okay.” You smile, you can’t really help it, “come in, then.”

He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag he’s holding down.

“I thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,” he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. “Gingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?”

“Absolutely,” you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. “And you’re doing this… voluntarily?”

“I have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.”

“No! Don’t do that. I just mean- I thought you didn’t like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.”

“I might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,” he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, “you’re a good teacher, sunshine.”

You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who you’ve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like it’s nothing.

When you respond, you hope your voice doesn’t give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Shut up.” He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, “now will you come build this gingerbread house or what?”

“Mine’s gonna be way prettier than yours.”

Steve simply rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile there, too. He’s happy to see that your light is back, that you didn’t let what happened at work get to you too much.

You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. You’re sure it’ll leave a mess, but right now you don’t mind.

There’s a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thing—friendship, more, whatever it is—between the two of you is something that you’re both happy to bask in. It’s unspoken, and that doesn’t bother you.

You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.

“The fucking roof won’t stay on,” Steve says once you’ve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.

“Just put some more icing on it,” you say, “there’s no such thing as too much.”

“I don’t think icing will save me now, sunshine.”

You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steve’s. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and he’s staring at the thing with so much determination that you can’t help but giggle.

“You laughing at me?” Steve quirks a brow at you, but there’s a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously,” you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steve’s face, blooming like a flower. “It’s alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.”

“Woah, this isn’t over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, don’t you worry.”

“Whatever you say, Steve.”

“Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. “Don’t speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.”

You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steve’s roof. “Here, let me help.”

Steve—always reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest things—lets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.

“Oops,” you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasn’t a mistake at all.

Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, “Oh, looks like you’ve got something right there.” His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.

“You’re done for, Harrington.”

He only laughs, bright and quick.

Before you know it, you’re having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steve’s nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. It’s a mess, but all you can hear is Steve’s laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.

By the time it dies down, there’s stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steve’s got his own patches of icing to deal with.

“You better help me clean this, Harrington,” you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. “What are we gonna decorate these houses with now?”

“Mine’s a lost cause,” he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way they’d started.

“So I won, is what I’m hearing.”

Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks you’re completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.

His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.

“Sprinkle,” he says.

You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when you’d been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he can’t help it.

And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.

Before either of you can say anything more, you’re leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and you’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.

It’s featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steve’s hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldn’t dream of doing anything but follow.

He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.

And while you’re not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things you’re too afraid to say out loud.

When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you might’ve dreamt it.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.

Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.

And that’s that.

December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santa’s Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.

You’ve always enjoyed the job, but this year’s been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but it’s completely different with Steve.

He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that it’s in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust he’s shown you.

But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.

Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like it’s natural, an instinct.

“Alright,” he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. “Everyone say ‘cheese’ on three. One, two-”

“Cheese!”

The camera clicks, and then it’s onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.

If someone told Steve when he’d started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that he’d grow to like it, that he’s realized he’ll miss it when it’s gone, he would’ve laughed in their faces.

Never in a million years did Steve think he’d come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.

It’s all because of you.

Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures they’d forgotten about until now.

You don’t get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.

The next time there’s an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if there’s a microphone in it. “So, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?”

“I feel like I should get an award, maybe,” he says into your fake microphone. “I’ve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And I’ll never hear jingle bells the same again.”

You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, “wow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.”

“No, they are not.”

Steve can’t help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like he’s known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.

“Now, will you be returning to Santa’s Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?”

“Well, that depends,” he says. “I think I’ll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Can’t survive it without my doses of sunshine.”

My doses of sunshine.

You’ve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.

That one makes you break character, “really?”

“Really.”

Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.

You haven’t spoken about it, but you haven’t felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touches—a squeeze of your hand, a palm on your back—he does, too.

“You make Christmas better,” he tells you.

He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.

It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his he’s only used when you’re alone, but you have to, so it’s back to work you go.

You don’t get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.

It’s bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santa’s Workshop. You’re excited for tomorrow, because it’s Christmas and it’s one of your favorite days of the year, but it’s hitting you now how much you’ll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.

You’ll still see him, of course you will. Whether it’s him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, you’re at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.

He’s the first to speak as you step into the staff room. “I have something for you,” he says.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s nervous, and it’s the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like he’d tied it himself.

You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter what’s in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and that’s what matters, that’s what you’ll hold onto.

“Really?”

“Open it, please.”

You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.

“Steve.” It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift you’ve ever received. He’s a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.

“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice soft. “If it’s too much I can-”

“It’s perfect,” you say, and you mean it. “Put it on for me?”

He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.

You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.

“There you go,” he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.

You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steve’s actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.

He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you don’t even try to hide. He’s been resisting the urge to kiss you since he’d done it the first time, but it’s stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.

Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesn’t intend on stopping.

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.

“I love it, Steve, really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sunshine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t expect-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, “you’ve given me so much.”

Steve doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. You’ve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesn’t think any present could repay you for that.

“Oh wait!” You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what you’d been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, “you should have this.”

As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s the bucket list you’d made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones you’d completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when you’re around.

Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.

‘Make next Christmas just as good.’

Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and you’re both certain it won’t be the last.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3

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jayflrt · 4 months ago

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 44. dangerous entanglements

content warnings: smut, dirty talk, lots of teasing, praise, fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving)

YOUR FATHER WAS A GREAT MAN.

You knew he had his faults, like any other parent, you supposed. Maybe sometimes you felt pressured by the expectations that weighed on your shoulders, but your dad deserved some credit for consistently making an effort for your sake.

For your fifth grade promotion, it was your dad in the very front row, beaming brightly with his camera even though your mother was nowhere to be seen. It was your dad that attended each and every single science fair and spelling bee that you participated in, and even if you didn’t win first place, he would celebrate each one. It was your dad that helped you pick out clothes for your first date, which you were extremely nervous about and ended up swatching three different eye shadow palettes on his arm.

It was perhaps the lack of effort from the parents around you that made you appreciate your father just a little more. You were well aware that Sunghoon’s parents weren’t the same; they hadn’t even sent flowers for his graduation. The only time they celebrated his accomplishments was for events where they could use publicity to their advantage.

So who were you to complain about your path being carved for you when it had been so generously laid out at your feet? How could you protest when you were promised realities that few could only dream of?

Maybe dreams were just dreams. Foolish idealizations that you were meant to bury under the sand and forget about. When it came to your purpose, a dream was worthless. That was why you pushed it down your whole life, suppressing every selfish desire until it curled around your ribs and made it hard to breathe.

And you supposed that Jay was the one who left you vulnerable enough to slip back into those dangerous dreams.

But things were different now. Sure, your dad hadn’t yet accepted the future you wanted for yourself, and you were far too scared to confront him about it, but he had already given you freedom for the summer. You just had to get him to warm up to the idea, that was all.

When he called you to his study, you weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe he would talk about the ceremony for Sungjin, or maybe he would tell you about how golfing went. Regardless, you were itching to ask him what he thought about Jay; it was his approval that you sought out the most, after all.

As soon as you walked inside, your dad glanced up and closed the folder he was reading from. You were greeted with a warm smile. You realized you were still by the door, twiddling with your fingers before walking over to his desk.

“Is Jay settled in the guest bedroom yet?” he asked. “You should bring him an extra blanket. I heard it gets cold in there.”

He was asking about Jay out of his own accord. That had to be a good thing, right? You were afraid that your dad wouldn’t think Jay met up to a certain socio-economic level that he expected, but you had hope that Jay’s personality would blow all of that out of the water.

“Yeah, he said it’s great. I’ll—”

“Did you bring your notebook?”

An all-too-familiar chill traveled down your spine. You placed the moleskine notebook on the desk, as he requested, and you sat at the chair across from him. None of your memories associated with this notebook were fond, and you attributed most of your bad memories with your father to the very object.

You were given the notebook at a very young age. The instructions were quite clear; all you had to do was jot down whatever your father asked you to, follow it religiously, and never lose the book.

It was a strange practice, but you never complained. Something about writing down information to remember it better, but you weren't quite convinced that was the whole reason. It felt more to do with your father wanting to feel as if he had some control over your life, like the notebook was his tool to set you on the right path.

Initially, it was simply a resource for you. At a young age, you often struggled with social anxiety whenever you were dragged along to some upper crust event. The notebook was a gift from your father after hours of being scolded by your mother for your shy behavior and awkward responses. He provided pages of generated responses for you to practice and certain important names you had to remember. It was helpful in the beginning.

Then, he added more to it. You suddenly had a section of people to avoid, people who were of no value to you. There were only a few names there at first—people who had gotten involved in scandals, people who had the intent to scam, people who had a bad reputation—but then your father had you write in a name that threw you for a loop.

Kim Sunoo.

It was around high school when you started feeling worse about the notebook. You were always encouraged to associate with Park Sunghoon, so your dad was naturally pleased by your growing friendship with him, but when he found out that Heeseung was part of your group, you had to walk around with the guilt of writing your dear friend down as someone who was meaningless to your future. Expendable.

“Now, I have some edits I’d like you to add in.” He paused to adjust the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a pen?”

You begrudgingly grabbed a ballpoint pen from his pencil holder. “Ready.”

The first few names mentioned were from the Order. (Stay close to Song Eunseok—his parents are government officials; be on good terms with Ning Yizhuo—her dad owns a steel company; be friendly but don’t worry much about Shin Ryujin—her dad’s a casino owner.) He always gave you some rundown about their families, how they’d prove to be useful connections, and then you would have to just trust your father’s judgment. There was never room for you to go against his words.

Then, he pushed a piece of paper in front of you.

Your heart sank.

Jay Park: Rebound from Sunghoon. Temporary fun. Won’t last past graduation.

There was something furious inside you, and it sank its icy jaws right into your heart. You felt your blood pumping, drumming in your ears so violently that you almost couldn’t catch him telling you to copy the words into your notebook.

You stared unblinkingly at the words, horrified. “I thought you liked Jay.”

“I do,” your dad insisted with an earnest nod. “He has a bright future ahead of him, and we had a great game—though I think he could practice his swing—but just because I like him doesn’t mean he’s anything more than a friend to you.”

You spluttered, outraged. “More than a—what?”

“Y/N, I don’t want this to upset you, but guys like Jay might seem fun and exciting at first, but you and him are from completely different worlds. He’s not gonna mesh well in our world.” He spoke to you in a gentle yet firm voice, but there was a condescending undertone that made your skin crawl. “You don’t see it now, but you’re gonna do great things in the future, and you need to be with someone who can match your standard.”

You knew he was hinting at Sunghoon. Your father took the news of your breakup strangely well, but you were certain that he thought you and your ex-boyfriend were simply on a break. Yours and Sunghoon’s family had constantly pushed for you two to get together from a young age; it was almost as if you two were destined to be together, but now it was clear to you that he just happened to be from an accomplished family.

But what on Earth was your dad spewing about Jay? He often spoke about your feelings on your behalf, but he never genuinely tried to understand how you were feeling.

“Dad, it’s not like that,” you tried, meeker than you had hoped. “I really want this to work out, like, I think I finally found someone who makes me feel the way you do about mom.”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you realized that it probably wasn’t the most ideal comparison. Your stomach only sank deeper when you saw your father’s eyes harden, clouding over with some unrecognizable emotion that made you falter.

“And look how that turned out,” he said sadly, hardly louder than your voice had been.

You overstepped.

It was as if that rage inside of you subdued at once. It shriveled back immediately, and you tried to reason with yourself.

It wasn’t anything to worry over. Your notebook was only for your eyes, so writing empty words wouldn’t do any harm. It wasn’t like your father’s mind couldn’t be swayed; you managed to convince him to take you off of the Mercy Health internship, so you could definitely get him to warm up to Jay. They seemed to get along well, after all, so it wouldn’t be an impossible feat.

So, you gritted your teeth and copied down his dreadful text word-for-word. This time, you weren’t quite sure if this was all worth your father’s smile of approval.

Your meeting with your father sapped all of the energy right out of you. You dragged your feet all the way up to your room before remembering that you were supposed to bring Jay an extra blanket.

And, never mind that, you were also supposed to have a very important talk with him. This was something you had actually been anticipating, too, because he was the one who offered to have a discussion. You felt like you were floating high up in the clouds throughout the day until you spoke with your father.

As you made your way down the hall, your heart raced. Deep down, you knew that nothing felt right about keeping this from him. You needed to tell Jay, but then wouldn’t he resent your father and steer clear from you? You couldn’t screw this up before it even started.

Jay opened the door only seconds after you knocked. He was wearing the suit he was planning to interview in, and you remembered him mentioning that he wanted to tailor the parts that didn’t fit as well himself. Immediately, the nonchalant façade you were trying to put up had shattered at your feet, and your throat felt thick with emotion. He gingerly took the blanket before gesturing for you to come inside.

“Your guest bedroom’s huge,” he started after closing the door. “This is bigger than my—” Jay stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed you wiping at the corners of your eyes. Sincerity dripped from his tongue, like honey. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You had been trying your hardest to bottle up how you felt, but you always happened to wear your emotions on your sleeve around him.

“Come on, what’s wrong?” he pressed again, this time craning his neck lower so that he could make eye contact with you. As much as you tried to avoid his gaze, Jay just took your forearms gently and turned you to face him. “You can talk to me.”

You weren’t going to tell him. You couldn’t. He would just pull away from you again, and you didn’t want him to slip from your fingers.

Somehow, you always felt so anxious about him leaving you. It almost felt like it would be inevitable; the closer you got to him, the harder you had to hold on to keep him by your side. The discussion with your father only cemented that fear—the kind of fear that got deep inside your skin and dug a grave.

“No, I’m always crying around you. It’s embarrassing.” You used your sleeve to wipe your eyes. “I was crying the first time we met, too.”

The corner of Jay’s mouth picked up in a grin, and he simply brought his hands to your face so that he could wipe away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “It’s not because of me, right?” When you didn’t respond, he pulled back to catch your expression, eyes wide with shock. “It’s because of me?”

“Not completely,” you tried, but Jay was already taking a seat at the edge of the mattress and letting his head hang, as if he was reflecting on his past actions. “I just”—you took a few steps closer to him until you were standing between his legs—“feel like you’re not really here sometimes.”

His calloused hands gently held the back of your knees as he looked up at you. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like we feel the same way about each other, and I feel like there’s something there, but you always pull me in and push me away whenever we get too close,” you said. It was honestly shocking that you were even able to frame the words that you couldn’t even string together in your head. “What is it about me that’s making you hesitate?”

Jay swallowed thickly. For a moment, he just stared at you, unblinking, and you were afraid that he was going to run away from you again. Then, he slid his hands up to the back of your thighs and pulled you down to straddle his lap. Your cheeks heated up when you remembered being in that exact position in your hotel room in Monaco.

“It’s not really something I can explain right now,” he murmured. “I just—the person I am right now isn’t ready to be the person you need me to be, but it feels impossible to stay away from you.”

“I don’t need you to be anyone but yourself,” you insisted. With a frustrated sigh, you went on, “I’ve basically been taken advantage by most of the people in my life, and you’re the first guy to make me feel like I’m worth more than my last name. I don’t want all of this”—you gestured to the space around you—“to make you feel like you have to live up to some expectation.”

“It’s not that, Y/N, I—”

“Then what is it?”

“I told you, I can’t explain it right now.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me, then what’re we even doing?” Exasperated, your voice broke. That was all it took for your tears to start spilling again, and even though you willed them to stop, you couldn’t keep them from pooling at your waterline. Jay simply looked agonized as he struggled to form coherent sentences. “What is it, am I—am I that hard to want?”

You couldn’t quite catch Jay’s outraged expression properly with the way your vision was blurring, but the tension between you two was unbearable. You could feel his grip tighten around your thighs upon hearing your words.

“No, it’s easier than breathing.”

You sucked in a breath and shook your head. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be talking about this before your—”

It all happened quicker than a flash of lightning. One second Jay’s thumb was rubbing circles on your tear-stained cheeks, and then his soft lips were pressed against yours.

Jay kissed you.

He kissed you.

There was a violent storm in your chest, and it left strong gusts of passion and a torrent of arousal in its wake. It appeared that Jay, too, only felt the weight of his actions after pulling back to look at you. His eyes were searching yours, a little helpless, but you could tell that they were clouding over with something fiercer.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered—a failed attempt at forced conviction. His lips were inches from yours, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. With little self-restraint, Jay leaned in once more, leaving gentle, chaste pecks that grew more and more fervent, his hesitancy ebbing away as he did. “No, no, no, no—I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

You couldn’t do this either. A voice in the back of your head kept telling you to backtrack, to tell Jay what being together would mean for him right now. But his interview with your father was tomorrow; you couldn’t unnerve him right before it. Despite your internal conflict, however, it was hard for you to focus on anything but the curve of his lips.

A bubble of fear dared to burst as your vulnerability bled through, but all you knew was that you wanted more—no, you needed more.

His gaze was still piercing, and you knew exactly what he was asking. Although your voice had been wavering up until now, you never sounded more sure of yourself when you said in a breath, “But I need you,” and something primal inside Jay snapped.

He sealed his mouth over yours again—hot and slow—and the way his hands roamed your body wasn’t pure in the slightest. He pulled you in by your waist, dragging your clothed core against his thigh, and then his bruising grip found its way to your hips.

You felt feverish.

There was something intoxicating about the way Jay kissed you. He was precise, like he had mapped out exactly what he wanted to do to you beforehand, and he saw to it that you were fully satisfied. Although you two had all the time in the world, there was a sense of urgency in the way you held the back of his neck. You wanted all of him before you couldn’t have him at all.

You heard a low rumble in the back of his throat. The sounds he made were so addicting that you grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, rousing another groan from Jay before he proceeded to slip his tongue past your lips.

Jay pulled away to kiss down to your jawline, leaving small pecks down the column of your neck and the expanse of your collarbone until he found that perfect spot that stole the breath from your lungs. He sank his teeth into your shoulder, inciting a yelp that he muffled with a chaste kiss.

Then, he was pulling down the front of your shirt, kissing as much exposed skin he could find. You moaned softly as you rolled your hips down against him, but Jay was still focused on ravaging your chest.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he rasped again, practically growling against your skin, “but I can’t think straight around you.”

Your nerves felt like they had been lit aflame. You had fantasized about this moment for a while, but you never anticipated that Jay would be so forward, so desperate. Despite that, though, he was still gentle in the way he kissed every inch of your skin as if he worshiped your body.

You drew back to hurriedly pull your shirt over your head. Jay eyed you with a hunger in his eyes that couldn’t be satiated, but he seemed to regain some of his conscience when he threw a nervous glance over his shoulder. The door was still unlocked, but you weren’t worried about anyone walking in.

“Here? Are you sure?” he asked. He kept his eyes trained on you as you tossed your shirt to the side, then hooked your fingers in your waistband to slide your shorts down, then your thong (which he ended up tearing in half). His hands traveled up your sides, and then he moved to unhook your bra. “I told you we couldn’t do this.”

“We can’t, or you won’t?”

“We can’t,” he insisted, firmer this time, although his eyes were unfocused, “but I’ve never been good at standing my ground when it comes to you.”

“Good,” you started, slipping your bra off and letting it fall to the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, “you’re a dream.”

Despite your burning cheeks, you ignored his praise and continued, “I want you to stop caring about everyone else and just pay attention to me.”

His eyes were hard when he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I won’t be able to stop,” he said, “and you might not be able to sleep tonight.”

“Prove it.”

He stared at you, almost like he was enchanted, and his hand crept up your inner thigh. “C’mere.”

You thought Jay was going to pull you back on top of him when he took your hand, but he ran his hands up to your hips and left hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thigh. You gasped, pressing your legs together because your core burned with arousal, but Jay looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.

He stood up, making you take a few steps backward. Jay loosened his tie and unbuttoned his coat as he walked you back into the wall. You took that as your cue to push his coat off his shoulders and carefully undo the buttons of his white button-up.

“Careful,” he said in a low voice, “they’re hanging on by a thread.”

You weren’t sure how rough you were handling his clothing, but you swore you heard the sounds of fabric tearing while you were trying to undress Jay. He gave you a look of disapproval, but once you let it drop to the floor, neither of you cared about the state of your garments anymore.

And, oh, did he look heavenly; you hadn’t noticed it much before, but his broad shoulders and sculpted chest made you feel like you were going to be ruined. His body was truly something else. You were almost certain it belonged behind velvet ropes at a museum, not brazenly on display before you. You ran your hand down his abs, making him draw in shallow breaths because of your featherlight touch.

“Want me to make you feel good?” he asked in a low voice, lips at the shell of your ear. You short-circuited and let out a pathetic, breathless sound, which Jay only cooed at. The pad of his thumb ghosted your bottom lip. “You’ve been waiting, yeah?”

“Well, I’ve been waiting, too,” Jay continued, “and I’ve been waiting for so long that I’m scared I won’t hold back. Think I’d break you.”

You let out a whimper so pathetic that your cheeks burned with shame immediately after. Jay smirked at your reaction, pushing you further up against the wall. You two were now chest-to-chest, and he experimentally rolled your nipple between two fingers, watching how your face twisted in an attempt to keep quiet.

“I think you should just break me, then.”

“Should I?” He hummed, pausing to look you up and down. “Want my fingers or my mouth?”

“Both?”

You received a smug grin in response. “Good girl.”

He lowered himself to the ground until his lips were near the apex of your legs. You felt your heart hammering in your ribcage.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he observed, experimentally breaching your cunt with the tips of his fingers. “How often do you think about me, baby?”

His words ripped through your body like an inferno. “I… I don’t—”

“Don’t what? You don’t think about me?” he asked, and he didn't look like he believed you at all. You shook your head in protest and he grinned. “That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“I’m not telling.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just get it out of you.”

The Order member had a wicked side to him, you concluded. Jay stood up once more to look you in the eye. Despite his gentle tone, he slid his pointer and middle finger into your cunt with a suddenness that made you grab onto his shoulders. You inhaled sharply when his thumb found purchase on your clit, and his gentle murmurs of encouragement didn’t exactly match the unforgiving pace his fingers were pumping inside you at.

As if that wasn’t enough, Jay started kissing up your inner thighs again. He littered your skin with kisses and bruises, which you hardly noticed because you were too focused on the way his fingers curled inside of you.

Every mewl and whimper spilling from your lips only seemed to encourage Jay further, and it was only a matter of time before he experimentally dragged his tongue along the folds of your cunt. You let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself by gripping his hair. Coupled with the pace Jay fingered you at, you were almost worried that he would actually break you by the end of the night. He was so tedious and meticulous about the way he pleasured you, gauging your reactions and intensifying his ministrations whenever he noticed you were enjoying something.

A certain desperation clouded your eyes once you felt that familiar warmth blossoming under your skin. Your arousal was all but rushing in your ears, so loud that you couldn’t even think about anything but the undeniable pleasure.

Jay seemed to take notice that you were reaching your climax, so he slipped his fingers out of you. Before you could even let out a whine, he grabbed your hips and buried his face in your cunt. You gasped, but it quickly broke off into obscene moans as his tongue skillfully snaked its way past your slit. Your hips canted a little for more friction, but Jay had a formidable grip on you, keeping you pinned to the wall.

“Like that?” he purred, flattening his tongue and licking one long stripe to your clit. He laughed a little when you could only let out a helpless cry, begging for more. “No one’s made you feel this good, baby? Is that why you can’t get enough of me?”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to say, but whatever it was came out as an incoherent string of words. Jay pulled away to stand up, which frustrated you beyond belief because you needed his hands to be on you. A sheen of your arousal glistened on his chin and nose, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you pulled him close to connect your lips again.

Jay’s fingers buried themselves in your cunt again, and your breath hitched against his mouth as you readjusted to the sudden penetration. The pads of his fingers brushed against that perfect spot right under your cervix that made you see stars. You were so, so close to the edge of your release, and you could feel the corners of Jay’s mouth lift when he realized you were about to cum.

He pulled back to ask, “No?”

You shook your head, and Jay smiled, curling his fingers at the perfect angle to get you to come undone before him. Pleasure rippled through your body. You felt like your knees were going to give out from standing, and you ended up falling forward against Jay’s bare chest.

You felt him press a kiss to your temple, and it got a weak smile out of you. You tried to look him in the eye when you wrapped your arms around his neck, but he was licking off your arousal from his fingers in a way that immediately flustered you.

“Take these off,” you said shyly, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

“Uh-huh,” Jay replied absentmindedly, ghosting his hands down your sides. “I can’t believe you look this good.”

You pouted. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“Nah, I always am.” His hands found the back of your thighs, and you took that as your cue to hold onto his shoulders and jump. Jay hiked your legs up his waist and carried you to the bed, setting you down carefully at the edge. He was towering over you when he stood between your knees and asked, “Why don’t you take them off yourself?”

“M-me?” you stuttered out, but your fingers were already fumbling for his zipper.

You swallowed thickly. Jay’s cock was strained under the fabric, and you were already overwhelmed by his size. You tugged his pants down by the belt loops, and Jay assisted you by pushing the rest down his legs. His boxers were next, and you were especially nervous about this one. As you pulled them down, with Jay shuddering as you traced his v-line with your manicured nails, his erect cock sprung out and slapped the underside of his abdomen.

There was an alarming issue at hand: Jay was huge.

Not that you were one to compare dick sizes, but his was considerably thicker and heavier than any other ones you had seen before. You were almost worried that Jay wasn’t exaggerating when he told you he would break you.

You felt hot again when he cupped your cheek with his palm. “Hm? Keep going.”

“Keep going…” you echoed, distracted, and you pressed a gentle kiss to the head of his cock. Then, you looked up at him through your lashes. “Like this?”

Jay groaned. “Exactly like that, Y/N.”

He wasn’t yours. No, he wasn’t yours, but you needed to have him. You wrapped your lips around Jay’s cock and let your tongue glide against his slit, drawing a sharp breath from him. His hand gripped the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair as you dragged your tongue along the underside of his head.

Jay wasn’t one to be impatient, but you were getting excited at the thought of him getting frustrated with you. He hastily bucked his hips forward to chase the pleasure, but you continued to tease him with your kitten licks. He suppressed a moan at the back of his throat. You pulled your lips off of him to roll your tongue along the vein that ran down his shaft.

“Fuck, you’re such a damn tease,” he growled. His fingers curled until he had your hair in a fist. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know?”

You laughed, lips still pressed against his shaft. “I wanna be the only one who makes you feel this way, that’s why.”

“Oh,” Jay started with an odd expression dawning on his face, and he was dead serious when he said, “you’ve already ruined everyone else for me.”

Your face broke into a dreamy smile before taking his cock into your mouth. His moans were addicting, so you continued your torturous antics until Jay gripped your jaw tightly with his free hand. You let out a sound that was an attempt of a giggle which resulted in you choking on his length, and Jay tilted his head back and moaned.

Then, you took the rest of him in, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock that you couldn’t fit inside your mouth. His cock hit the back of your throat, and soon, Jay was thrusting his hips at a steady rhythm while you deepthroated him. Tears pooled at your eyes at the stretch, but you still hallowed your cheeks and sucked him off, unrelenting.

You knew he was close by his strangled groans and the way his cock twitched in your mouth, so it wasn’t long before Jay stuttered out a string of curses and came in your mouth. You felt his hot seed down your throat and swallowed. Jay just stared at you, dazed, drinking in your fucked-out appearance as his thumb grazed your bottom lip.

“So good for me,” he murmured, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He was barely audible, but nevertheless, his voice set you on fire.

You couldn’t even think straight anymore. Couldn’t think of anything but him.

“Jay.”

“Yeah?” He hummed the words, still relishing how you looked before him.

“Fuck me.”

You heard the way his breath hitched at your words. Saw the way his eyes went unfocused again. It was the same look he had given you several times in the past; you could never place your finger on what he was thinking, but now it was all too clear.

He wanted you—possibly even more than you expected.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, voice pitched an octave deeper. You crawled back on the mattress as Jay moved on top of you, using his strong arms to hover over you. “Want me to turn you into a mess.”

You grabbed his shoulders. “Yeah, need you to fuck me.”

“I don’t have a condom.”

You groaned. “Can we just buy Plan B tomorrow?”

“Do you know how expensive Plan B is? That’s, like, at least—”

You rolled your eyes and cut him off by sealing his lips with yours, cupping Jay’s face with your hands. After you pulled back, much to his displeasure, you asked, “You have me naked underneath you right now, and you’re worried about how much Plan B costs?”

He cocked his head to the side, as if the answer couldn’t be any more obvious. “Yes?”

“We can deal with that tomorrow,” you insisted, “just please.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Jay’s lips. “Never thought you’d be this needy.”

“I’ve never had sex like this,” you admitted in a breath, gripping onto his shoulders a little harder. It was true; you had never had all of your needs fully satisfied without any expectations of returning the favor.

“Never?”

You shook your head. “And… can you start slow for me? Please?”

“I plan on taking my time.” He moved your hair out of your face. “Hoon didn’t?”

Again, a hesitant shake of your head. Jay’s eyes narrowed.

His laugh was devoid of mirth. “Of course.”

This time, it was Jay who rolled his eyes. You thought he was frustrated with you, but then he pulled your hips forward so that you were flush against his pelvis. Something about the steely resolution in his eyes told you to prepare yourself.

“I’ve stretched you out enough, haven’t I? I’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on,” he murmured, low and matter-of-factly, “and I’m gonna make sure you forget how that idiot treated you. ‘Cause it’s just me now”—he pushed his fingers into your mouth, shivering at the way your tongue wrapped around his digits—“right?”

You let out a broken whimper, spurring Jay to press his fingers down against your tongue.

“Right, Y/N?” he repeated—gentler, this time.

All you could do was nod, and you grabbed ahold of his wrist to suck on his fingers once more before moving his hand lower. Jay gave you a bewildered stare as you guided his hand to the base of your neck. He quirked a brow at you before realization seemed to wash over him; he splayed out his fingers to wrap around your neck. His pointer and middle finger made a ‘v’ around your Adam’s apple, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

“You still have to tell me, you know,” Jay murmured, running his free hand down the curve of your hip. He moved it lower and lower before his thumb found your clit again. Before you could ask for clarification, he added, “How often you think about me.”

Your face felt hot—whether it was from his comment or the way he was looking at you so intently, you didn’t know. “All… all the time.”

“Huh. Is that so?”

You could hardly speak coherently as took his hand off your throat to rub the head of his cock against your cunt. You let a trembling sigh slip as he lazily ran it along your folds.

You whined. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“I’m here now, baby.”

Jay’s shifted forward a little, just enough for his tip to breach your entrance. You attempted to suppress your moans by biting your lip, but the next jerk of his hips had you crying out far too loud to go unnoticed. Jay waited for you to adjust before he went any further. He hadn’t bottomed out inside you yet, but the head of his cock was fully inside you by now, and fuck, did it feel good.

You ran your nails down his back, digging them in when Jay thrusted shallowly to work his shaft into you. He gripped the back of your thighs to stretch you out some more, groaning out loud whenever you clenched around his length. You felt like you were being split in half, drowning in a molten sea that pulled you back down each time you surfaced for air.

Your back arched off the bed, and Jay reached to hold the small of your back so that he could keep your body pressed against his. His other hand was pushing your hip up his waist. Right as he rocked his hips forward, you cried out as Jay bottomed out inside you. (He also clamped his hand over your mouth immediately after and said in an undertone, “You have to keep it down, princess.”) Through half-lidded eyes, you met his gaze that never once left your face.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, drunk off your reactions. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.”

You pulled Jay down into a searing kiss, and the butterflies in your stomach scattered. His lips melted over yours effortlessly. He moved his hand from your back to your cheek, rubbing small circles with his thumb. You dug your nails into his back when he started pistoning his hips into yours.

He started out with slow, languid thrusts. You were overwhelmed by a dizzying sort of pleasure that clouded all rhyme and reason. Despite his hips snapping into yours, the way Jay kissed you was so passionate that you nearly lost yourself in your haze.

Jay pulled away to litter kisses across your jaw and down your neck. You whimpered when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the conjunction between your neck and shoulder, but then you were squirming under him as he started sucking the supple skin.

“Wish I could have you like this forever,” he growled against your skin.

“I’m all yours.”

Jay pressed a sweet peck to your lips that grounded you momentarily.

Then, his pace sped up. If you were dizzy before, now you felt like your limbs had turned into jelly. Jay moved his hand to hold onto the headboard, pounding into you at a pace that made you feel like you were drowning in that sea of pleasure. If it wasn’t for Jay quieting you down each time, you two would’ve been caught already. You were gasping, moaning for more, and shuddering as Jay whispered praises against your skin.

This was the closest to heaven you had ever been in your life.

"F-fuck," you whimpered out, "that's it, Jay—please."

You were close. Fuck, you were so, so close. Each drag of Jay’s cock in your walls made you feel another torturous jolt of pleasure, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of your release. You screwed your eyes shut, ready to lose yourself to white-hot bliss, and Jay tenderly kissed your forehead.

Pinpricks of light exploded in your vision as your orgasm washed over you in full swing.

Too good. Way too good. You never felt anything like this; of course you had experienced orgasms before, but this was, by far, the most intense climax you ever reached. Jay let out a strangled groan shortly after, his eyes rolling back and his moans muffled against your neck, and pulled out so that he could cum on your stomach.

He sat up, panting and staring at where his cum trickled down your sides. For a moment, you were worried that the clouded expression on his face was out of regret and not lust, but you shook off the bad feeling and steeled your nerves.

He liked you. There was no doubt about it. After everything Jay did and said, there was no reason for you to be so insecure anymore.

You were both spent, panting and slipping in and out of consciousness in each other’s arms. Jay held you so tightly, like he never wanted to let go, and his head was tucked in the crook of your neck from how exhausted he was.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I ruined my only suit.”

“Oh,” you breathed out absent-mindedly. You rolled over to find wherever you had strewn your phone, and it took several minutes for you to peel Jay’s arms off of you so that you could retrieve it. While he sat up to run his hands through his sweat-matted hair, you dialed the number of your father’s go-to tailor. “Hi,” you chirped into the phone, “I know it’s late right now, but could you please do me a favor and open the showroom for my friend?”

Jay looked up at you with a questioning gaze, though he placed his hand on the small of your back and tugged you close so that he could pepper kisses on your hip.

After exchanging a few more words, you hung up and tilted your head to get a crick out of your neck, leaning in to Jay’s touch as he kept his lips pressed to your skin.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“We’re going out to get you a suit,” you said, grabbing his hand with a grin. “C’mon, put on some clothes.”

He raised a brow and laced his fingers with yours. “Now? But it’s already late.”

“Trust me.” You giggled when you caught him staring at your lips again. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

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SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ jay's cooked LOL also gta 6 is not plot relevant at all i just wanted to be a little shit and let it happen before jay/n 🙂‍↕️ and very random but if you wanna join my discord server feel free to check it out here! we're having a barbie movie night soon so <3

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