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fear-is-truth · 4 months ago

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𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 – nicholas alexander chavez x fem!reader

summary — you’re a rising pop star and best friends with cooper koch. when you visit him on set of “monsters”, he introduces you to his co-star. / wc: 1.9k

tags — fluff. not proofread. english is not my first language

05/16/2024

The warm, late afternoon sun beat down on the set of Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story, where the buzz of production crews filled the air. You stepped out of your car, smoothing down your blouse as you made your way through the maze of trailers. You were here to see your friend Cooper Koch, who was playing Erik Menendez in the docuseries. He had invited you to visit him on set, and you hadn’t seen him in months. As you approached the craft services table, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Yo, there she is!” Cooper exclaimed happily, rushing over to scoop you into a bear hug. You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder.

“Hey!” you pull back slightly to get a good look at him. Even in character, with his hair styled in a very 1980s fashion and wearing the sharp suit of Eric Menendez, he still had the lighthearted energy that you adored.

“How’s it going, ‘Erik Menendez’?” He shrugged, letting out a playful sigh. “You know, just emotionally preparing for a murder trial.” He looked around, then nodded his head toward a nearby tent. “Come meet Nicholas. He’s playing my brother.” Following him across the set, you spotted Nicholas sitting alone, flipping through his script. Even off-camera, he looked striking: sharp jawline, dark, neatly styled curls, and an air of seriousness. The fitted suit he wore only added to the whole intense vibe, his features tight with focus.

“Hey Nic,” Cooper called out, breaking the actor’s concentration. “This is y/n l/n, pop sensation and my dear friend. y/n, meet Nicholas—my on-screen brother.”Nicholas stood up, a little stiff, offering you a polite smile and extending his hand. “Hey there, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but quick, his expression serious and distant, almost cold. You let go, your own smile faltering slightly as you glanced at Cooper. Nicholas excused himself almost immediately, returning to his script as if he was still lost in Lyle’s world. You raised an eyebrow at your best friend.

“He always this… serious?” Cooper chuckled. “He’s in serious actor mode right now. Give it time, he’s actually an unbelievable goof once he’s done being all ‘Lyle Menendez on trial.’” You shot him a skeptical look.

You ended up visiting the set a few more times that week. Cooper always made you feel welcome, but Nicholas? He was always in the zone—focused, methodical, brooding. There was something almost intimidating about his presence, even though you knew it was probably just him getting into character. But still, it didn’t make for easy conversation.

One afternoon, you sat beside Cooper during a break, watching as Nicholas sat a few feet away, quietly reviewing his lines again. You nudged Cooper. “Does Nicholas ever… like, smile? Or even talk off set?” He snorted. “Told you, once he’s out of character, he’s cool. He’s just locked in right now.” You leaned back. “Sure, but it’s been days, and I feel like I’ve barely heard him say more than ten sentences to him. I’m starting to think either he hates me, or he’s got a permanent serious face.” Cooper just grinned. “Give it time. He’ll warm up. Trust me.”

It wasn’t until later in the week that you finally got to see what Cooper had been talking about. It was late, and most of the cast and crew had already cleared out for the day. You were waiting for Cooper to finish up with a quick scene when you noticed Nicholas walking toward you, hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants. He plopped down on the bench next to you, and he looked worn out, his usually composed expression softening as he leaned back and let out a sigh.

“Long day?” You asked. He laughed dryly, a sound that was low and tired before replying. “You have no idea.” He looked over at you, and for the first time, his face softened. “I feel like I owe you an apology.” You blinked. “for what?”

“For being… distant. Weird. Cold, even,” he said, running a hand through his dark curls. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just… I needed to focus.” You frowned. “On the role?”

“Yeah, on the role… but also, I just went through a breakup,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to the ground as if saying it out loud made it harder to hold back. “I was kind of using that energy to dive into Lyle’s head. You know, put it all in the work. I didn’t want to get distracted. Especially not by… well, by a pretty girl on set.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a strange warmth creep into your chest. “A pretty girl?” Nicholas gave a small, sheepish smile, finally meeting your gaze. “Yeah. You.”

“Wow,” you said, pretending to be offended as you put on a mock-serious tone. “So what, you’re saying you don’t hate me? Or my music?”

His eyes widened, panic flashing in them. “No! God, no. I don’t hate you, and I definitely don’t hate your music.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s not it at all. I just… didn’t want to get in my own way, you know? Especially after the breakup. I thought if I let myself get distracted, I’d fuck everything up. But it’s been eating at me. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pushing you away.”

The honesty in his voice surprised you.“I get it. I really do. I’m just glad it wasn’t personal. I was starting to think maybe you thought I was annoying. That you hate me or my music.” He grinned, visibly relaxing for the first time. “Trust me, neither. I’ve actually been dying to talk to you, but I’m terrible at switching gears. It’s hard for me to get out of character when we’re filming.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you teased lightly, nudging him with your shoulder. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Being a distraction doesn’t sound too bad.”

He laughed, the tension finally lifting between you both. “You’re more than a distraction. That’s why it’s been so hard to focus around you.”

Suddenly, the distance that had been between you two these past few days didn’t seem so far anymore.

“Friends?” you asked, extending your hand. He smiled, shaking your hand firmly but gently.

“Friends. For now.”

After that conversation, your dynamic with Nicholas shifted dramatically. What started as a tense, awkward distance between you two morphed into something much warmer. You found yourselves hanging out more, both on and off set. Cooper would tease the two of you endlessly, claiming he was the reason for your sudden ‘best friend’ status.

You quickly realized how sweet Nic was—thoughtful, always paying attention to the smallest details. Whenever you sat around with the cast, he’d ask if you wanted a snack or offer you his jacket when the set AC was too cold.

It became this easy, light friendship. But there was something else there. You knew it, and by the way his gaze would linger on you when you laughed or the casual touches that became more frequent, you had a feeling he knew it too.

Then one day, as you were scrolling mindlessly through social media, you saw your name trending—again. Your new album had just hit the charts a week ago, and it was all anyone could talk about. One song in particular, a love song that was a bit more sentimental than your usual style, had skyrocketed to number one on Billboard. Everyone was dissecting it, trying to figure out who it was about, but you’d stayed quiet. Part of you wasn’t even sure if you’d admit it, especially to the person it was written about.

That night, you were at Nicholas’s place at the hotel for a small get-together with some of the cast and crew. The two of you had slipped away to the balcony for some fresh air, away from the noise and chatter inside.

“So…” he started, leaning against the railing with a crooked smile. “I, uh, listened to your album. Pretty much the whole thing.” You looked up at him, grinning. “Oh? What’s the verdict?” “It’s incredible, honestly,” he said, sounding genuine. But then, he hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. “But there’s this one song—uh, the last one? ‘Silver Linings?’” He raised an eyebrow, clearly fishing for something. You felt your heart skip a beat. Of course he’d pick that song. “Yeah?” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your stomach was doing flips. You knew where this was going. “What about it?”

“Well… I might be totally off-base here, but… the lyrics…” He trailed off, his cheeks growing into five shades of pink. “I mean. Call me crazy but, was that song… about me?” Of course he would pick up on it. You hadn’t exactly been subtle in your songwriting, but you didn’t expect him to ask about it, especially like this. He had that hopeful, boyish grin on his face now, like he was waiting for you to admit it.

And honestly? You were tired of dancing around it.

Instead of answering, you closed the space between you, pressing your lips to his. Nicholas reacted instantly, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. His other hand rested on your waist, grounding you in the moment as your body melted into his. There was something so gentle yet eager about the way he kissed you—like he’d been holding back for so long and finally allowed himself to let go. His thumb brushed the nape of your neck, sending pleasant jolts of anticipation down your spine and warmth in your stomach. When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. You stared up at him, breathless, fingers still clutching his shirt. “Does that answer your question?”

present day

Nicholas was lying beside you, both of you in matching pink pyjamas, that he’d insisted on getting when you went shopping together. You were curled up in the crook of his arm, head resting on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His fingers absentmindedly traced shapes on your arm, the simple motion soothing.

“You know,” he began, his voice soft in the quiet, vast room, “I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to wear matching hello kitty pyjamas with my girlfriend.”

At this, you laughed, lifting your head to look at your boyfriend. “Don’t act like you didn’t pick these out.” “Fine,” he conceded, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “I did. But only because you look cute in them.”

“Right, because that’s why you’re wearing them too?”

“I wear them because I’m committed to the bit,” he joked, pulling you closer so he could press a kiss to the top of your head. Nestling back against his chest, you let out a soft sigh. “Do you ever think about when we can stop hiding this? Us?” his fingers stilled their movements and rested on your arm. “Yeah, I think about it a lot too,” he admitted. “But… we’ll get there. We’ll figure it out.”

“I know… It’s just so hard sometimes.” You whined. He must have sensed the frustration your tone because he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, “I know, baby.” His voice was soft, soothing. “But until then, I get to have you all to myself, like this.” Nicholas smirked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip. “Not the worst deal.”

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #jackie writes ⟢

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inkdrinkerworld · 26 days ago

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Happy birthday, darling

synopsis: James wakes you up for your birthday, with sticky kisses and an even stickier love

cw: fluffy fluff with a soft, tender love, like I said very self-indulgent, preschool teacher!reader

wc: 1.2k

James makes a big deal of your birthday. He doesn’t care that it’s an awkward time of year or month, he goes all out.

It had come about when you’d told him that you can’t remember the last time you’d had a birthday party let alone a cake on your birthday and you’d practically scarred your boyfriend.

Three years later, James makes it a point to celebrate your birthday hard.

You wake up to James kissing your face, his curls tickling your cheek as he nears your ear and murmurs, “Happy birthday, m’heart. S’time to wake up.”

You groan and twist under him, a smile on your face as you lay on your back. “Jamie,”

He smiles the moment you open your eyes, his lips trailing along your jaw, sponging sweet kisses onto your skin.

“Happy birthday,” there’s a soft scent of citrus and cardamom that follows James as he meanders all over your face with his lips and it makes you feel all warm and gooey on the inside.

“I made breakfast but there’s also gifts.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you, “Thank you James.” you kiss beside his ear, happy to accept all of his weight but knowing James would never drop himself onto you.

“You’re perfectly welcome, angel.”

He rolls off of you and props himself up on an elbow, a soft smile on his face as he watches you stretch- as weird as he knows it may be, seeing you stretch really makes his chest all warm.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he says to you before he climbs off the bed, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before leaving.

You manage to brush your teeth in the time he’s gone, and when he comes back, tears spring to your eyes. James is walking in with a bouquet of yellow lilies, three wrapped boxes in pale yellow paper with colourful balloons on them, and breakfast waffles with lit candles in them.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” you blush as he continues. “Happy birthday my angel.”

“Jamie,” he blushes at the breathless way you call to him.

“S’not even everything, I’ve got a card too and something in the closet.”

James is a loverboy, he knows it and everyone who knows him knows this. He’s taught you a lot in learning to accept this kind of love, the love that reassures you you’re a priority and you’re taken care of without asking.

He’s a reflection of his parent’s love and you never fail to thank them for him when you visit.

He brings the gift from the closet first, it’s in a huge box, and when you open it you grin. It’s a yellow sun plushie you’d seen in the shopping center a while back- you don’t even know when James had picked it up.

“Thank you, James.” You kiss his cheek and then the plushie and put it on the chair with all your others.

“You’re welcome angel. Now sit, sit.”

“James I feel spoilt,” you giggle when he sets your plate of funfetti waffles in your lap with a little jug of Lyle’s Golden Syrup and a cup of tea on the bedside table.

James grins, his pretty dimples coming out. “M’heart, this is just half of it. I can spoil one gift,” he kisses your lips just as you cut a square of your waffle. “We’re going to dinner at that place you like.”

You gasp as he pulls away, James smiles even wider. “Jamie.”

He shakes his head, “S’your birthday and we agreed that I’d get to spoil you.”

You never outright agreed, James had seen an issue and sought to rectify it and he’s been doing it since year one. You concede because you know that’s a hard reservation to hold and you really do love their food. “Thank you.” You say instead, earnest and soft at his love for you.

“You’re welcome, now eat before it gets cold.”

You share with him, exchanging bites while you tell him about your planned day- you’ve got work, and a meeting at the end of the day, but after three you’re all his.

James has taken the day off, unbeknownst to you, to plan everything for tonight.

You shower before you open gifts, and when you change into your long jean skirt and white knitted ladybug sweater vest with a red long sleeve underneath James smiles.

“You look darling.”

You fluster, your face warming under his gaze and from his words. James pats the spot on the bed beside him, “Come open up everything.”

You practically skip over to him, “Can I take the flowers to work?”

James rolls his eyes as he passes the boxes to you. “They’re yours to do with as you please, angel.” Then as a second thought, “Do you think the kids will ask about them?”

You smile, the kids definitely will. “They always ask about them. They like the cellophane.”

James smiles, the kids are adorable, every time he comes into the school to see you, they all want to hang off his arm and they stumble through sentences about what he’s doing, ‘not at his work.’

You read the card first, chest tightening at how blatantly he expresses his love for you. “I love you Jamie.” He kisses you swiftly.

“I love you too, angel.”

You tear into the first gift carefully, and gasp when you see the first box. “James! No way did you get this.”

He simply shrugs, smiling as you open it to reveal a pair of black glossy kitten heels that you’d been eyeing for some time.

“James!” you throw your arms around him and he laughs, hugging you back. “Thank you, Jamie.”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

You open the other two, a smaller box that houses a thin tennis bracelet that has pomegranate shaped garnet stones in it. You hiccup as James clasps it on your wrist. “James,”

He shakes his head, “Open the last one baby, you don’t have to thank me.”

The tears fall freely as you open the last gift and find a perfume, specifically your favourite perfume ever to exist. There’s a bit of a backstory to the bottle you’re cradling, as you look up at James.

James has gifted you this perfume on your first anniversary, a perfume he’d been terribly nervous about gifting you because it’s an intimate thing to gift, but he’d told you softly while wringing his hands together, “It reminded me of you, warm and homey,” and you’d never worn another fragrance since.

“Look at the bottle.”

You look down and find engraved on the face of it, ‘For M’heart,’ and you rasp a quiet, “Thank you James.”

He nods, pulls your head to his chest and kisses your crown. “You’re welcome angel girl. I didn’t mean to make you cry though.”

“S’not your fault, I cry all the time for this.”

He chuckles, “You do. Want me to drop you to work?”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “And we can listen to our playlist.”

James smiles, “Happy birthday, darling.”

You turn up to him, kissing his lips, once, twice and three times before pulling away and then getting a kiss right on the beauty mark under your jaw.

“Thanks for always making it special Jamie.”

He smiles, his dimples on display again. “I’ve got you forever, sweet girl. Till the galaxies collide.”

#jamespotter #james potter #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter blurb #james potter fic #james potter drabble #james potter x black reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n #james fleamont potter

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wheneclipsefalls · 1 year ago

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Little Gift- Introduction

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Beautiful Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Sumarry: The RDA are forced to negotiate with a certain Olo'eyktan. Luckily, there is only one thing he wants.

Warnings: dark, dubcon/noncon, suggestive, kidnapping, aged up Neteyam, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, humiliation, dark Neteyam, swearing, power imbalance, etc. (not exhaustive) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: I had this idea in the middle of the night two days ago. This will be the introduction of the mini series. It is dark content so read at your own risk.

tiyawn: love

mawey: be calm

oeyӓ: my (possessive)

Masterlist

The rope is coarse against your wrist and ankles, tied tight enough to leave squirming out of the question. However, it's the thick fabric gag that has you grinding your teeth together in discomfort. They leave you no opportunity to ask questions. No way to understand your fate before it unfolds.

Colonel Quaritch had been even more cold and distant as you were prepared for the mysterious treck. You had been in the middle of packing your stuff, preparing to return home with the rest of the RDA when you had been dragged away and dressed against your will.

Now kneeling here in the middle of Pandora’s forest wearing little more than sparkly scraps, you have never felt more exposed. The intricately beaded top does little to nothing to cover your hardening nipples and it’s easy to catch some of the Colonel’s brats sneaking a glance occasionally.

“Colonel,” Lyle calls to your left. “For a final touch.” He holds a large pink ribbon in one hand, eyes snapping over to your small form with a smirk.

“Be quick.” Quaritch grumbles but he doesn’t hide the amusement painted across his face.

You attempt to scoot away when Lyle approaches you but he wrangles you back into place one handed. Another recom keeps you still with hands on your shoulders and before you know it Lyle is using the ribbon to tie a big bow directly over your breasts.

You muster every hateful thought into your heated glare, not that it does much to kill his mood.

It’s obvious that you are the one left out of the joke everyone seems to revel in. Several times you wonder if all of this is some sick prank. Dressing you up only to drag you into the middle of the woods and leave you for dead. Perhaps even kill you themselves.

However, thirty minutes of kneeling in the mud with a small army on high alert around you proves plans to be otherwise. There is something ominous about that pink bow tied around you, something even more suspicious about the traditional Na’vi clothing that has somehow been made to fit you perfectly.

“That bastard sure likes to take his sweet time.” Mansk huffs.

“What more did you expect from one of Sully’s filthy half breeds?” Quaritch sneers, readjusting the heavy artillery into his shoulder.

“Makes a lot of demands too. Swear if we didn’t need these resources-” Lyle starts but is cut off.

“And yet we do. So shut your trap and pay attention.” The Colonel snips at him. It’s almost comical to see how fast Lyle straightens and goes back to scanning the terrain for movement.

Always the Colonel’s bitch.

You wish this ridiculous gag wouldn’t stop you from finally speaking your opinion freely. If you are about to meet your demise, the least they could let you do is get some long awaited satisfaction.

Tension bleeds into the atmosphere. The former marines snap to attention and guns are locked into place, the formation fanning them out to combat any potential threats.

It takes several dreadful seconds for you to see them but finally a pair of golden eyes just barely shines through the thick forest. They are in the trees, crouched to the ground, in bushes, some even swooping overhead on banshees.

You marvel at their ability to hide in the nooks and crannies of the forest. However, even now you recognize that they are choosing to be seen. They have decided to make their presence known.

Your heart thunders.

Tied and kneeling between the two juxtaposing crowds feels like being offered up as a human sacrifice.

Do the Na’vi believe in live sacrifice?

Perhaps they too put up dead to their deity as a sign of loyalty.

And you are pampered and primed for the taking.

“Signed, sealed and delivered as promised.” The Colonel grunts, boot clad toe nudging your vulnerable form.

Dread slinks through your veins.

What have you done to deserve this?

The Na’vi that steps out into the open is one that you can recognize instantly. Even a human of low status among the RDA knows what Jake Sully’s eldest son, and now Omatikaya Olo’eyktan, looks like. His face has become a focused target that the RDA have been working to exterminate for months. Now, it feels all for naught as they have been brought to their knees and forced to leave Pandora with little resources. The same reason you prepare yourself to say goodbye to this mysterious planet for good.

However, that was the idea before you were prepared like a trussed up main course for the taking.

You struggle fruitlessly in the binds once more and Neteyam’s eyes center on you. Peering up at him hurts your neck as you are once again reminded of how tall and muscular the Na’vi are. His shoulders give the illusion of spanning out even further with the traditional feathered mantle he wears.

His head slants to the side before he is prowling closer. You attempt to jerk away from his large hand coming to your face but that only ends in you falling back on your rear. His lips turn down as he inspects your tied wrists. There is nothing you can do as he holds both of them easily with one hand.

“I was told she would not be harmed.” He speaks lowly, voice thick with a Na’vi accent.

“She put up quite a fight. Even getting her to hold still during the shot was a pain in the ass.” Quaritch replies.

You remember all too well the fear that had overcome you when they brought out that long needle. The developed serum was a success naturally but it still racks your anxiety higher to fully breathe Pandoran air without your mask. Even more so, you feel strangely more exposed in front of this Na’vi legend without the glass to separate you from him.

“I don’t appreciate excuses.” His golden eyes flicker towards your face and a small smile appears. “But I am pleased to see it fits.” Long fingers trace the lines of your necklace top before toying with the ends of the pink boy.

You stiffen beneath his touch, eyeing the sheathed dagger across his chest.

Do sacrificial ceremonies require specific clothing?

Maybe dressing a sacrifice up in pretty ornaments and clothing proves to their deity its value.

Either way, you hope it’s fast. The Na’vi are trained killers, but at least they should know how to end a life swiftly.

“I would be pleased to see the resources you promised.” The Colonel bites back.

Neteyam sighs and purses her lips as if the small army around them is simply an annoyance instead of a threat.

“Trades are not historically present between the Omatikaya and your people. I am not opposed to taking instead. Remember that.”

You can hear the shifting guns behind you. The Colonel’s anger boils through the air and you are surprised to find no smart response coming from him. Neteyam leisurely tugs the ends of the bow, perfecting its shape and you are mortified to feel your nipples tighten beneath them. He nods his head and a few armed Na’vi step forward and hesitantly hand over a few tubes of minerals.

You recognize it as unobtanium, most likely the small amount left to mine from the last Home Tree. Your eyes widen. All of that for you?

It wouldn’t be enough to make the RDA’s trip a success but it would surely cut down the financial loss significantly. But why give it over? Just to kill you? Had their deity sent out a bounty on your head and if so, what had you done to piss Her off so immensely?

“As promised.” Neteyam rises back to full height, hands settling on his hips. “I trust you understand what is to come to those who do not honor this agreement.”

“Consider her a…peace offering. A special gift from the RDA.” You can hear the smirk in Quaritch’s tone, even the chuckle that Loyd fights to hold back. Your teeth dig into the fabric gag, praying more than ever that now would be the one time you would be able to rip him a new one.

Your own special gift before you leave this life.

“I tire of your presence, demon.”

Quaritch scoffs but you can already hear the shuffling of retreating boots as they slowly but surely exit the scene. The only home you have ever known and now it is nothing more than a memory. You’re left to the demise of the Na’vi like a shiny object to be collected.

And with the way Neteyam smiles and studies your form intently, you can’t have found a better analogy. Kneeling once more, large hands cup your cheeks, fingers encasing the whole side of your head.

“Oeyӓ tiyawn, you are shaking.” He tuts, features softening at breakneck speed. Eyebrows furrowing, you watch closely as he carefully parts the hair from your face. “So nice to meet you, properly that is.” He chuckles, as if telling a joke only he knows the context to.

Unease tightens your muscles and you’re sure that if your heart rate picks up anymore the organ will simply give out before they even have a chance to kill you.

He sends a look to the side and instantly the rest of the Na’vi party retreat back into the forest. Your forehead creases. What is a sacrifice without an audience?

Unless.

Neteyam’s fingers comb through your hair.

Unless the Olo’eyktan has decided to have his fun with you before you are offered up.

Tears spill from your eyes and you can’t stop yourself from trying to beg through the gag.

“Oh tiyawn,” His thumbs wipe away your tears. “You do not need to cry anymore. Not now that you are mine.”

A hiccup catches in your throat, wide eyes looking up at him.

“My sweet pet.” He husks, lips curved into a prideful smile.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Pet.

How does he even know what that word means? The Na’vi do not keep pets. Perhaps he misspoke.

But when one large hand circles around the back of your neck and you remember one thing: this man was raised by both Na’vi and Sky People.

Frantically shaking your head in protest you try to get out words that will convince him to release you. It’s a strained effort with the cloth gag and his giant hand grasping your neck.

“Mawey, little gift, before you hurt yourself.” He lingers over the cloth gag and for a moment you have hope that he will remove it, instead Neteyam gives you a sympathetic smile. “My poor tiyawn, I would love to remove it but I think we will need to go over some ground rules first. I’ll need you to listen without distraction for that part.”

Your thoughts tangle into a million knots as vast ideas of what these rules may entail generate frantically.

It would be easier to believe that a Na’vi has no purpose for a Sky Person as a pet but it’s impossible to miss the lust swimming in his golden orbs. Nor the wandering hands that now come to squeeze your plush hips.

“You’re even more breathtaking up close.” He grins. When had he seen you from a distance? “Especially in proper clothing.”

You can barely see through the cloud of tears over your eyes so you miss when Neteyam unsheathes his knife. That is, until you feel the cold material against your ankles. Terror grips your heart but to your surprise the Olo’eyktan cuts the rope around your feet.

Foolishly you take advantage of this slight freedom only to be snatched around the waist and pulled onto his lap. Neteyam chuckles as if your escape attempt is the cutest thing he has ever seen. Your hips ache slightly at the stretch it takes to straddle one of his muscular thighs.

“Misbehaving already, hm?” He raises a hairless eyebrow at you, one hand slink down to settle over your rear. Luckily he seems more amused than angry. After all, you have to admit that there was no real chance of you outrunning him in the first place. And now that those muscular arms are locked around you, there is no hope of beating his strength.

Humiliation runs deep when you feel the first trickle of arousal stain your tiny loincloth. Neteyam’s thigh flexes and your pussy greedily takes the friction as an invitation. His nostrils flare, no doubt taking in your changing scent.

He doesn’t further your embarrassment, however. At least not yet.

“My father told me about these.” He muses, fingers playing with the bow once more. “It’s said to represent gifts. I always thought they were silly but now…” Heat runs straight to your core when his thumb dances over one escaped nipple. “I quite like the look of it on you, little gift.”

A whimper escapes your lips without permission, snagging his attention.

“Needy little pet, aren’t you?” A dark laugh rumbles his chest as his thumb casually slips underneath to bow to torment one nipple. “Do not worry, oeyӓ tiyawn. I’ll have you seeing stars before the night is through.”

Everything in your mind says no but Neteyam’s skin is warm and his hands are skilled as one teases your nipples while the other explores your backside. Your body preens into the touch, desperate for some semblance of comfort to hold onto. And in the dangerous atmosphere of Pandoran nights, your instincts tell you that this man is what separates you from death.

However, you are still held as prey under his gaze.

“But first I think it is time to get you home.” He leans forwards until your noses are touching.

“You will be more comfortable in my bed, pet.”

And so it begins! As always, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts! <3

unofficial taglist: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 (thought you might like it, baby) @itchaboi-itchyboy @zafrinaxyz @lilghostiequinni @criticallybella

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the official taglist for future parts

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noyzinerd · 5 months ago

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Sterek Rival Lawyers AU

It's A (Court) Date

Imagine, high-class, Ivy League, hot-shot, attorney Derek comes back from New York to the family firm to take over as partners with his sister after his parents decide to step down. He may not be on the level of his mother yet, but he's cut his teeth against Wall Street wolves and ruthless white-collar sharks. Derek's more than proved himself, so he just can't fathom these small criminal court cases his family is making him take "before he's truly ready" to be a part of the family business.

Enter in his first case. Right out the gate, the state assigned defense is, not only late to court, but also arrives in a flurry of limbs and papers, tripping all over himself, and profusely apologizing to the room as a whole. "Sorry! Sorry! Car trouble!"

The guy is out of breath, tie crooked and hair a mess. It makes Derek wrinkle his nose at the unprofessionalism and the blatant disrespect to everyone's valuable time.

The presiding judge, the Honorable Ms. Lydia Martin, only sighs a heavy sigh, as if this sight is nothing new, and says "Mr. Stilinski, I suggest you don't let it happen again."

Derek is honestly getting annoyed by how easy this is going to be. He could've been doing literally anything else right about now rather than being here going against a common rent-a-lawyer with some Podunk community-college degree. The opening statement for the defense is laughably inept. Full of nervous stuttering, backtracking, running tangents, and babbling. He's still apologizing, trying to assure the jury that he's just having an off-day today.

It's embarrassing to watch.

Nonetheless, Derek goes through the motions, practiced and poised. Examines all the evidence, presenting times and dates, prior arrest records, the works.

During this time, Mr. Stilinski is frantically (and VERY LOUDLY) flitting through a cartoonishly large stack of papers and whispering to his client. Derek has to fight to grit his teeth through his presentation.

Finally, it's time for Mr. Stilinski to cross-examine Derek's client and, unbeknownst to him, the beginning of Derek's long, long spiral of madness for the rest of his career.

"Judge Martin, I would like to move to have this case thrown out."

"Oh?" asks Judge Martin. For some reason, there's an amused smirk, almost fond, tugging at her lips "On what grounds?"

A giddy, almost manic, grin takes over the defense attorney's face just then. "On the grounds that the prosecution's client is full of bullshit."

The judge rolls her eyes and an exasperated "Stiles," slips from her lips, seemingly against her will. (Derek's not really surprised by the familiarity between the two of them. With how often state-assigned lawyers are called to the courtroom on small cases, it wouldn't be too big of a leap to suggest they might be chummy.)

"Respectfully, of course." Mr. Stilinski--er Stiles?--winks back at her.

"Objection. Your honor, this is ridiculous."

"Overruled. Make your point, Stilinski."

"Mr. Davis says he saw my client at 12:30 P.M., on August 4th, attempting to take his back-right hubcap outside his apartment. Mr. Davis' apartment complex at that time, on that particular day, would have cast a huge shadow over the back lot as evidenced by the gaudy sundial-art-installation outside the courthouse. Meanwhile, my client's picture, when taken in for questioning, has a sunburn on the entire right side of his face. This would corroborate Mr. Lyle's story of walking home alone, down the upper, unshaded side of Elmore Street, during one of the hottest days of the year, for an hour straight. Also, the fact that Mr. Davis has no realistic idea how long it would actually take a person to steal a hubcap should be evidence enough."

"Uh-huh. And this wouldn't happen to be something you've ever had any expertise in, would it, counsel?"

"I plead the 5th."

And just like that, Derek's case is thrown out so quick, he's still reeling about it all the way home.

For the next two years, this becomes Derek's life. This man, this Stiles Stilinski, keeps showing up like a whirlwind and absolutely puts him in his paces.

Stiles, as he insists Derek call him, is a powerhouse. Relentless and unstoppable. That mouth can filibuster for literal hours (which, for those unfamiliar, is when someone legally cannot be forced to give up their time on the floor as long as they can keep talking), that brain quick as a whip, with a hunger for research, a mastery of the English language svelte enough to trip up even the most well-rehearsed lie, and an attention to detail like nothing Derek has ever witnessed before. It's like he knows every law inside and out. Lives it. Breathes it. It's like he had been raised on the law his whole life. Not only that, it's like Stiles enjoys it. Every case is a new game to get excited about.

All of it makes Derek's blood boil.

However, it's not always about losing to Stiles all the time, because, honestly, that might be less humiliating.

In truth, when faced against Stiles, Derek's bound to win about 60% of the time. Out of that 60%, only 5% of those wins actually feel earned. As for the other 55%?

He knows Stiles is letting him win.

Derek can't prove it, but he knows the asshole is holding back on purpose nearly half the time. Knowing that Stiles could have beaten him if he wanted to, but didn't, is somehow more frustrating than just losing.

He hates Stiles.

He hates that the guy is so chipper and playful all the damn time. He hates that Stiles could probably work at any firm he wanted, could make enough money to get a decent car that doesn't shit out all the time, could buy a proper-fitting suit, but instead CHOOSES to stay here "watching out for the little guy", as he so put it.

He hates that facing Stiles in court is the most challenged, the most motivated he's ever felt in his entire life. He hates that Stiles brings out in him the spark of passion and drive Derek had long thought had died. He hates that Stiles always tries to banter with him during recess or whenever they have to exchange evidence.

He hates finding out that Stiles only loses cases on purpose when his endless amounts of research points to the defendant actually being guilty of horrendous crimes, because Stiles is a good fucking person.

He hates Stiles' constant teasing and he hates that Stiles is somehow able to bring Derek down to his childish level to tease back. He hates how much he looks forward to court-dates with Stiles now. He hates being invited out by Stiles over and over to grab a bite together after a long day, as if Stiles hasn't been wiping the floor with him on this case for the last month. He hates it even more that he always accepts and that now they have their own designated booth at the diner across the street. Derek's so unbelievably frustrated, it makes him want to bite Stiles at the neck just to hear that smartass mouth squeal.

"Hey, I ever tell you I was thinking of quitting before you arrived?" Stiles asks one night as they're walking to their cars.

Derek's head immediately snaps to him at that. "What?"

Stiles smiles distantly at the thought. "Oh, yeah. Things had started feeling like being trapped in a cubicle, y'know? There wasn't any challenge in it anymore."

"What made you stay?"

"Well...you did. You were the first, serious competition I'd faced in a while. It wasn't a matter of winning just to win, anymore. Going against you always reminded me of the reason why it was important for me to win. It gave me stakes, because now there was an actual chance I could lose and an innocent person could go to jail. You, I don't know, kinda reignited my passion for fighting the good fight, I guess."

Derek can feel his heart thumping hard in his chest. He wants to say 'You did the same for me!' He wants to tell Stiles that he didn't think his life could ever be this fun or happy or messy or chaotic or exhilarating or challenging or fulfilling before coming to Beacon Hills.

But just as Derek goes to open his mouth to sing Stiles' praises, he instead finds himself roughly shoving him up against the Camaro and biting hungrily at that mouth and tongue that's been the bane of his existence. There's a surprised little squeak that Derek quickly swallows up, but it isn't long before they're both tearing at each others' clothes and fucking each other dirty in the backseat of Derek's car.

What's crazy is, after they get together, nothing in their careers really changes. The only difference is now they get to fuck each others' brains out after an intense battle in court (and the sound Stiles makes when Derek bites him is exactly what he always imagined it would sound like). They still face against each other on opposite sides in court. They still give it everything they got, no conceding even if they are dating now. Not to mention, Derek wouldn't dream of tempting Stiles over to his firm. Not when he knows Stiles is at his best staying where he's at.

The day Derek's family finally decides it's time for him to take over the firm with Laura is the best day of his and Stiles' lives.

Not only does Derek tell them he's declining, he hires Stiles as his attorney to negotiate terms against his entire family of well-seasoned lawyers.

The entire month-long negotiation results in Derek, not saying a single word, but absolutely beaming as he watches his boyfriend run circles around his mother, his father, his uncle, and both of his sisters on contracts. It's so unbelievably hot, they're banging on whatever flat surface they can get their hands on every time they leave the boardroom. There's even one very memorable blowjob in the empty hall outside the boardroom when Stiles somehow manages to get Peter to agree to a (most likely illegal) clause dictating the firm will pay Stiles a finder's fee for any pro-bono case Stiles takes on outside of Beacon Hills that strikes his fancy.

And, no one says it, but they all know Derek definitely, 100%, dragged his own firm through this negotiation just to show off how incredible Stiles is to his family and preen about it.

Fast-forward, Derek is going to be in the audience for the first time for one of Stiles' cases.

While waiting in the hall, Derek sees a familiar face from his New York days. The prosecution has hired the eighth best lawyer money can get, Jackson Whittemore. He's sporting a Rolex, sunglasses indoors, and the face of someone who thinks he's above literally every other person in town.

Well, at least until he sees Derek.

For some reason, Jackson seems to think Derek is all the way out in the middle of nowhere to 'watch a master at work' (which...well...is technically true...).

As Derek goes to sit in the audience, Jackson tells him in passing, "This'll be over so fast, probably won't even get a chance to learn the other guy's name."

Derek chuckles and says back, "Ooh, buddy, you have no idea."

Before Jackson can think more on that, a whirlwind of limbs and papers suddenly hurls through the doors.

Derek sits back, gets comfy, and waits eagerly for the show to begin.

My first moodboard. Hope you enjoy. AU based on a discussion with @casually-eat-my-soul (I suggest checking out their version). This was kind of like a divergence from that (the brain juices just started flowing).

#sterek #lawyer au #negotiating terms as a form of foreplay #Derek might have a competency kink #Stiles' contract states the firm will pay his salary without influencing his decisions as a shadow employee and his clients pay nothing #He's also allowed to travel anywhere he wants for a case on company dime #Unbeknownst to Derek most of the Hales had at one point in time all faced off against Stiles in court before #The only reason Derek was called back from New York in the first place was because they consider a 'Stiles Case' a rite of passage #“Getting Stiles'd” is something all Hales must go through to be humbled #The Hales call Stiles The Reaper in private behind closed doors #No one thought Derek would end up marrying the Boogeyman the insatiable nightmare creature that haunts the Hale name #And now they have to live with this court goblin as their new inlaw #For those who don't know pleading the 5th is enacting your right to not reveal information that could get you in trouble with the law #meaning Stiles has definitely stolen a hubcap off a car before which may or may not have been a police cruiser #Also pro-bono means a lawyer choosing to represent a client free of charge as a form of charity #They absolutely fucked nasty after Derek got to witness Stiles smear Jackson's smug career across the pavement #teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #tyler hoechlin #dylan o'brien #mieczysław stiles stilinski #minific

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fungimoth · 5 months ago

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TAZ ABNIMALS!

some design notes:

Roger has an udder because they made some gags about it so he’s officially a trans icon now I think.

Lyle has scars from all of the times he’s regenerated, and also traces of cosmic iodine in his neck where he was injected by a careless redditor.

Navy’s armor is similar to that of a sailor boy… for Griffin McElroys stolen valor kink of course.

#TAZ #taz abnimals #abnimals #the adventure zone #the mcelroys #the mcelroy family #Roger moo re #axe o Lyle #navy seal #the adventure zone abnimals #mcelroy

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phobiaexists · 3 months ago

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Contrary to popular belief gay people are not new to me and don’t worry I’ve evidence with me here’s my Procreate.

I would like to apologize to my non-shipper friend because I'm filling their notifications with gay people

#anyway yeah im just chilling.#i know what you are.#im amused to be known to you as the guy who doesnt do ships but also lyle i assure you i think i do have ships LMAO #all the jokes about pairings involving my take on subject two and the fellflower are all well jokes but i know somewhere out there #is an actual subject two x fellflower enthusiast who stumbled across my blog and honestly good for them i dont mind feeding them WJXJDHXHDR #anyway yeah though a ship that comes to mind for me is template x pale but ive not indulged in undertaleau for a long time now.#still adore template and pale as individual characters and as a pairing though.

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marstonsboy · 27 days ago

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had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.

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