#still trying to work on it and ease back into it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sincerelybubbles · 1 day ago

Note

first time shy bay reader takes down a unsub like fighting wise and the team is all like that tiny soft thing just did that

soft hands, strong heart warnings: cannon-typical violence, child kidnapping, happy ending!!! paring: hotch x shy!reader wc: 6.9k

I really took this and RAN I hope u enjoy despite how long it took to finish <3

||||

It's been a long day. You woke up late after a night of restless sleep, already cranky, only to take the jet to help with a child kidnapping.

The jet hums low beneath your feet, a steady, thrumming vibration that does little to soothe the exhaustion creeping up your spine. Your fingers tighten around the file in your lap, eyes scanning over the unsub’s profile again and again, as if some new revelation might emerge if you look hard enough.

The case is grim. They always are, but something about children going missing twists a deeper, more painful knot in your stomach. A six-year-old girl, last seen playing in her own backyard before vanishing without a trace. The parents had been inside, only distracted for a few minutes. Just long enough.

Just long enough.

You shift in your seat, forcing yourself to unclench your jaw. Across from you, Spencer mumbles statistics about abduction timelines, but his voice fades into the background, white noise alongside the engine. Morgan and JJ are discussing the search grid, Emily nodding along, throwing in suggestions. Rossi and Hotch are quiet, deep in thought, but you can feel the weight of their presence.

You’re normally content to listen, to observe, but something sits uneasily in your chest. The tiredness, the frustration, the sheer helplessness that simmers every time a child is taken. You want to do something.

"Landing in twenty," the pilot calls back.

You swallow, fingers tightening around the case file one last time before closing it. Twenty minutes until you hit the ground running. Twenty minutes until you find the first real clue.

Twenty minutes until you bring her home.

As soon as the wheels touch down, the tension in your chest tightens like a coil, winding and waiting. You barely notice the shuffle of your teammates gathering their things, their quiet discussions about strategy and protocol. Your mind is elsewhere—on the little girl’s photo still burned into the back of your eyelids, on the parents who must be unraveling with fear, on the horrifying reality that she could already be lost.

You take a slow breath and try to shake the thought.

You’ve been doing this long enough to know that fear is useless if you let it swallow you whole. You need to focus. You need to trust the process.

The others move with ease, their routines carved into muscle memory. Morgan and Emily fall into step ahead, their hushed voices blending into the background noise. Reid flips through the file, lips moving soundlessly as he recites information under his breath. JJ is already on the phone, likely with the local PD, while Rossi speaks lowly with Hotch.

And then there’s you.

You feel the weight of your own presence—or lack thereof. You know you contribute, you know your skills are valuable, but you can’t shake the nagging feeling that you’re always just a few steps behind them. Not as seasoned as Rossi, not as commanding as Hotch, not as sharp as Spencer or as fearless as Morgan.

A breath. Then another.

You push forward, following them down the jet stairs into the thick summer heat. The moment the air hits you, heavy and humid, it cements something in your bones.

This isn’t about you.

It’s about the little girl who needs you to be better than your doubts.

You wipe your palms against your pants and fall in step beside Hotch, listening as he updates the team.

“The local PD has set up a command center near the family’s home,” he says, his voice steady, unshaken. “The father is cooperative. The mother is distraught, but JJ will work with her. We’ll split up—Reid, Morgan, and Emily will coordinate with local officers to rework the search grid. Rossi and I will speak to the parents.”

You wait, knowing your name is coming last.

Glancing down at you, Hotch says, “you’re with me.”

Something tightens in your chest. He doesn’t offer an explanation, but he doesn’t need to. You know he trusts you to handle difficult conversations, to read between the lines of grief and guilt.

You nod, and just like that, the team breaks apart, each of you moving toward the unknown.

You don’t know what’s waiting for you at that house.

But you know you’ll be ready.

||||

The car ride is quiet, the kind of silence that isn’t uncomfortable but sits thick between you and Hotch, filled with unspoken thoughts. The distant hum of the siren-free police escort ahead of you blends with the rhythmic tap of his fingers against the steering wheel—measured, thoughtful. You let the movement lull you for a moment, eyes blinking slowly as exhaustion presses against the backs of them.

He notices. Of course, he does.

“You didn’t sleep well last night,” he says, not a question, just a statement. His voice is softer than it was during the briefing, less BAU Unit Chief and more Aaron.

Your head tilts toward the window as if that will shield you from the knowing look you can feel on you. “I’m fine,” you say, though even to your own ears, it sounds weak.

Hotch doesn’t press immediately. He never does. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, lets the words settle between you before he tries again. “You’re running on empty.” His voice is even, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You swallow, unsure of what to say. Because he’s right. You’re running on the fumes of caffeine and resolve, and you know better than anyone that’s not sustainable. But what else are you supposed to do? Sleep through the knowledge that a child is missing? That time is slipping through your fingers with every second you waste on rest?

“I can handle it,” you say, quieter this time, as if that will make it more true.

Hotch sighs, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. His jaw is set, but there’s no frustration in his expression—just understanding.

“I know you can,” he says, because he does. He’s seen you push through exhaustion before, seen you carry the weight of cases without breaking. But that doesn’t mean he likes watching you do it. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”

His words settle somewhere deep, somewhere vulnerable you don’t often acknowledge. It’s been a long time since anyone has told you it’s okay to take a breath. That you don’t have to bear everything alone.

Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, but his voice drops just enough that it feels like a secret meant only for you. “You don’t have to be invincible.”

Something in your chest pulls tight at that. You open your mouth to respond, to deflect, but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say? That you don’t know how to let your guard down? That you’re afraid if you stop moving, even for a second, the weight of everything will catch up to you?

You don’t have to say anything.

Hotch already knows.

Without a word, his hand drifts from the gear shift to rest gently on your knee—brief, grounding, a quiet reassurance before he returns it to the wheel. It’s nothing, and it’s everything.

You don’t thank him, but he doesn’t need you to.

You just sit in the quiet, and for the first time all day, you let yourself breathe.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy. You let yourself sink into it, into the warmth of the car, into the soft hum of the tires against pavement. But reality is cruel, unwilling to let you drift too far, and Hotch is still the one beside you—ever watchful, ever focused. He lets you rest, but only for so long.

“We’re working against the clock.” His voice slices through the quiet, steady but firm. “Every hour that passes, the chances of recovery drop. The parents received the ransom demand at six this morning, which means the kidnapper has been in control for over twelve hours now.”

You blink against the haze clinging to your mind, forcing yourself to straighten. The exhaustion dulls, edged out by the weight of the case settling back onto your shoulders. You know all of this. The case was laid out in agonizing detail back at Quantico, in the rushed debrief on the jet, but hearing it again—like this, in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, with Hotch’s voice carving it into your mind—it makes the pressure feel suffocating.

“The demand was for two hundred thousand,” you murmur, rubbing at your temple. “It’s not about the money.”

“No,” Hotch agrees. “If it were, the amount would be higher. The parents could afford more, and the unsub knows that.”

The word tastes bitter on your tongue before you even say it. “Control.”

Hotch nods, gaze fixed on the road ahead. “They’re enjoying this. They want to watch the parents suffer, to dangle the possibility of return in front of them just to pull it away.” His fingers flex against the wheel, and something flickers across his face—anger, maybe, or something darker. “They won’t give her back. Even if they get the money.”

You don’t respond immediately. You don’t have to. He’s right, and you both know it.

Your stomach twists.

A missing girl. Eight years old. Her favorite color is purple. She was last seen wearing her school uniform, a plaid skirt and white blouse, her hair tied into two braids with lavender ribbons. The ribbons feel like a knife in your ribs, something small and innocent and so utterly helpless.

You could still be too late.

The thought makes your pulse spike, your fingers curling against your thigh. Your mind is still slow from exhaustion, sluggish with the weight of too little sleep, but the dread cuts through it like a blade.

Hotch notices. Of course, he does.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “We still have time.”

You nod, but it feels hollow.

Time. Such a fickle, cruel thing. Time only matters if you can use it right.

Hotch exhales sharply through his nose, reading your silence for exactly what it is. He slows the car just slightly as the road curves, voice lowering even further. “We’re going to find her.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, just for a second. The words are meant to reassure, and maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. But he says them with certainty, and right now, that’s enough to cling to.

The tension is suffocating, coiling tight in the space between you. The lull in the conversation feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. You shift in your seat, trying to shake the haze from your mind, trying to prepare yourself for whatever comes next.

The case isn’t going to get easier.

And neither of you have the luxury of slowing down.

||||

Another hour passes. Time ticks, a constant reminder, and the team gathers together near the parents after yours and Hotch's initial interview.

The house feels hollow.

It’s not empty—far from it. The parents sit on the couch, pressed together like they’re trying to hold each other up, faces drawn and pale. Rossi and Prentiss hover near the windows, speaking in hushed tones as they wait for Garcia to dig up more on the family’s history. Reid sifts through financial records at the dining table, eyes flicking between printed bank statements and his own notes.

And then there’s Hotch.

He stands near the fireplace, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that way that means he’s thinking—assessing, planning, pulling every thread of the case into something solid. You’re beside him, posture tense, exhaustion settled deep into your bones. The interview had been long, draining. Watching the parents crumble under the weight of their own grief, their own fear, had been like standing in the center of an emotional storm with nowhere to go.

You haven’t spoken in a while. Not since you wrapped up the last of your questions and let the silence stretch, heavy with unsaid things.

The mother sniffles, curling further into herself. Her hands tremble where they clutch a framed photo of her daughter, fingers ghosting over the glass. “She—she’s afraid of the dark,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “She can’t sleep without her nightlight.”

You swallow past the lump forming in your throat.

The father rubs a hand over his face, drawing in a shuddering breath. “You’ll find her,” he says, more to himself than to any of you. “You have to.”

Before anyone can respond, the phone rings.

The room freezes.

For half a second, no one moves. The shrill sound cuts through the air, deafening, slicing through the fragile quiet with cruel precision. The mother gasps, clutching the picture frame tighter, and the father lurches forward like he might reach for the phone himself.

Hotch reacts first.

He turns to you, gaze sharp, controlled. “Answer it.”

Your heart lurches.

There’s no time to hesitate. You push forward, crossing the room in three quick strides, and lift the receiver before the call can go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

A low chuckle hums through the line. Slow. Calculated. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“You picked up,” the voice drawls, smooth as glass. “I was hoping you would.”

The breath you take is slow, measured. You adjust your grip on the receiver, grounding yourself in the weight of it.

“You were hoping I would,” you repeat, voice steady, even. There’s a slight edge to it now, a sharpness lurking beneath the surface. “That’s an interesting way to phrase it.”

Another chuckle, this one richer, like he’s savoring something. “You don’t sound like her mother.”

Your eyes flick toward the woman on the couch, shoulders shaking, husband gripping her hand in a white-knuckled hold.

“I’m not.”

“Hm. And here I was expecting tears. Begging.” A pause, deliberate. “Disappointment doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

You don’t react. You won’t give him that satisfaction.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, mind working, peeling apart every word he says. He wanted the mother to answer. He wanted the display of fear, the helplessness. This is about control, about knowing he has the upper hand—not just over the little girl he stole, but over her parents, too.

But he didn’t get what he wanted. And that alone is a crack you can widen.

You exhale, slow, and when you speak, you lace your tone with something just shy of boredom. “Did you take her for attention?”

Silence. Then, “Excuse me?”

You lean against the desk, crossing one arm over your stomach, settling deeper into your stance. Your exhaustion fades, burned away by adrenaline, by the sharpness of your mind locking into place.

“I mean, the whole charade. Calling the parents, expecting tears—seems like you’re looking for something. Maybe validation? You want to feel powerful?” You hum, tapping your fingers against your arm. “Let me guess—you don’t get that very often.”

His breath sharpens.

You hit a nerve.

Good.

“I wouldn’t be so arrogant if I were you.” His voice darkens, but there’s something underneath it. Something unsettled. “You don’t know who you’re talking to.”

You let a beat of silence pass before responding, voice smooth. “You’re right. But I will.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. You imagine him, wherever he is, gripping the phone tighter, jaw clenching.

“You’re not as quiet as you think,” you continue, calm, firm. “Not as untouchable. You think you’re in control, but I promise you, this won’t end the way you expect it to.”

His breath catches, just barely.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You glance up. Hotch is watching you, unreadable, but there’s something behind his gaze—something steady, unwavering. Approval, maybe. A flicker of admiration.

The unsub exhales, long and slow, like he’s resetting himself. “I have to say,” he murmurs, voice smoother now, masking whatever crack you created. “You’re much more interesting than the mother. I might just keep you around.”

Your grip tightens slightly, but you don’t flinch.

Instead, you smile.

“Good,” you say, letting just a hint of a challenge seep in. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Silence stretches across the line, taut and expectant.

The unsub is recalibrating. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, the way his initial fantasy—the one where he controlled every step of this conversation—has been thrown off course. He thought he’d be speaking to a broken woman, pleading and desperate. Instead, he’s getting you.

And you aren’t playing his game.

You hold steady, spine straight, fingers firm around the receiver. The air in the room feels thick, but your mind is sharp. Clear.

He exhales through his nose, an amused scoff. “You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am.” The words slip out smoothly, unshaken.

A beat of silence. Then—

“That little girl is very polite,” he muses, shifting tactics. “Very quiet. She doesn’t cry as much as I expected.”

A test. A provocation.

Your stomach twists, but you don’t let it show.

Instead, you adjust your grip, tilting your head as if in casual conversation. “She’s smart, isn’t she?”

The unsub doesn’t answer right away.

“You wouldn’t know, would you?” you press, keeping your tone even, thoughtful. “Because you don’t really see her. She’s just an idea to you—a piece in your game. But she’s real. And she’s waiting for us to find her.”

His breath hitches—just for a fraction of a second, but you catch it.

He wasn’t expecting that.

“You like control,” you continue, relentless now, peeling back his layers with careful precision. “That’s why you called. You wanted to hear her mother break. But instead, you’re stuck with me. And the longer you stay on the phone, the more you’re giving me. I wonder if you’ve even noticed.”

A sharp inhale. You struck something deep this time.

“You think you’re clever,” he sneers, but there’s a shift in his voice—tension creeping in, subtle but unmistakable.

“I think you’re predictable.”

Silence.

It stretches so long, you think for a moment he might hang up.

Then, quietly, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

You press forward, voice steady, unwavering. “I know exactly what you’re capable of. And I also know this: you wouldn’t be calling if you didn’t want something.”

Another pause.

Then, softer, a low murmur, almost amused—almost admiring:

“I like you.”

Your pulse spikes, but you don’t let it show.

You force yourself to breathe slowly, evenly, like this is nothing more than an ordinary conversation. “Good,” you say simply. “Then maybe we can work something out.”

Another stretch of silence. Then:

“We’ll see.”

The line goes dead.

You lower the receiver slowly, pulse thrumming, the weight of what just happened settling over you like a heavy blanket.

“Garcia,” Hotch says immediately, voice cutting through the tense air as he brings his own phone to his ear.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m working on it!” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, high with urgency. “He’s using a burner—signal’s bouncing between towers. I’m trying to pin it down, but he’s slippery. Give me a sec.”

You exhale, pressing the phone to your sternum for a moment before setting it back on the receiver. The pressure of all the eyes in the room—Hotch’s, Morgan’s, Spencer’s—is suffocating. The energy, once hot and commanding while you had control of the conversation, shifts violently back to its usual state. Your shoulders curl inward before you even realize it, fingers fidgeting at the hem of your sleeve.

Morgan’s voice breaks through the thick tension first. “That was impressive, tiny.” His words are teasing, but his eyes are serious, scanning you in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

You duck your head slightly, heat creeping up your neck. “It—It’s just the work.”

“She did well,” Hotch interjects, voice firm but calm, cutting off any further attention on you. There’s something final in the way he says it, like it’s not up for discussion. It settles something in your chest, just a little.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s enough to find this guy,” Morgan mutters, hands settling on his hips as he shifts his focus back to Garcia. “Talk to me, baby girl. Tell me you got something.”

Garcia hums in frustration. “I’m working on it. He’s bouncing his signal like a kid on a trampoline. But, but, but—” she draws out, voice lilting, “he stayed on the line longer than last time. Which means he’s getting comfortable, which means he’ll do it again. And when he does…”

“We’ll be ready,” Hotch finishes, nodding.

Spencer, who’s been pacing subtly behind you, suddenly speaks up. “Did you hear the background noise?” He’s staring into the distance, gears turning, hand twitching slightly as he sorts through information at breakneck speed.

Morgan frowns. “What background noise?”

“There was a faint echo—small, but noticeable. It suggests he’s in a space with a lot of reflective surfaces. Could be a warehouse, a basement, maybe an abandoned building.”

“That narrows it down to about a hundred places,” Morgan replies dryly, crossing his arms.

“It’s something,” Spencer counters. “And if Garcia can get a radius from the signal—”

“Which I’m trying to do, but some of us aren’t literal human computers, Doctor Genius,” Garcia cuts in, voice full of affection despite the bite.

“We need him to call again,” Hotch says, shifting his attention back to the phone, back to you. “And when he does, we keep him talking even longer.”

You nod instinctively, but the weight of what just happened presses down harder now that the adrenaline is ebbing. You shrink back slightly, fingers twisting together, stepping just an inch closer to Hotch as the room moves around you.

On the other side of the room, Emily sits with the parents, her voice a steady murmur as she soothes the mother, who is shaking, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“We’re going to find her,” Emily tells her, voice sure, unwavering. “I know this is unbearable. But your daughter is smart. And she’s strong. We will bring her home.”

The mother nods, but she’s glassy-eyed, staring past Emily as though seeing something far away. The father is stock still, hands fisted on his knees, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

The weight in the room is thick, suffocating.

Hotch glances at you, just briefly. His hand lifts for half a second—like he might touch your shoulder, reassure you—but he stops himself. Instead, he steps just the smallest bit closer. You feel the warmth of him beside you, steady, grounding.

The phone is going to ring again.

And when it does, you’ll be ready.

||||

The hours bleed together, each one a tightening noose around the room.

It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since the girl was taken.

The parents sit stiffly on the couch, eyes hollowed by exhaustion and fear. The mother hasn’t moved from her spot in hours, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she’s holding herself together by sheer will. The father stares at the wall, jaw clenched, the muscle twitching every so often.

The team is quiet. Not still, not stagnant—but quiet.

Morgan paces, jaw tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. Spencer has a legal pad in his lap, the pages covered in scribbled notes and probabilities, but his pen has stilled. Emily leans against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room, though there’s no real focus behind them. Garcia is still working, rapid keystrokes and occasional murmurs filtering through the speaker on the table, but even she sounds subdued.

And Hotch.

Hotch stands near the window, arms crossed, staring out at the darkened street. He’s gone still in a way that unsettles you—like a coiled wire, all wound tension and too-sharp focus.

You sit on the edge of the armchair, hands folded in your lap, fingers pressing tightly together. You feel small, not in the way you usually do—but in the way that makes your chest ache, in the way that reminds you how big the world is, how cruel.

Because the clock is running out.

You know the statistics.

If a child isn’t found within the first twenty-four hours, the likelihood of their survival plummets.

And you know everyone in this room knows it, too.

The air is thick with it, with the unspoken, with the weight of reality pressing in around you.

And then—

The phone rings.

The sound shatters the heavy silence, sharp and shrill. The mother gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. The father lurches forward as if he might grab it himself, but Hotch is already moving.

He snatches the receiver up, pressing it to his ear. “This is Agent Hotchner.”

A pause. His expression hardens.

He turns, holding the phone out to you.

Your stomach lurches, but you don’t hesitate. You push to your feet, moving on autopilot, reaching out and taking the phone, pressing it against your ear.

“Hello?” Your voice is steady. Quiet.

And on the other end of the line—

A slow, ragged breath.

Then—

Laughter. Low. Amused.

“You again.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Me again.”

You grip the phone a little tighter, forcing yourself to stay steady. Every second that ticks by is precious—Garcia needs time to trace the call, and you need to pull as much information from him as possible.

The unsub breathes out another quiet laugh, like this is some kind of game.

“You’ve got a nice voice,” he muses, casual, unaffected. “Soft. Sweet. Not like the others.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. You don’t react—don’t let him hear the revulsion curling in your stomach. That’s what he wants. A reaction. Control.

Instead, you let out a small, careful breath. “And what about her?” you ask, voice even. “Is she sweet, too?”

From behind the phone, Hotch shifts. You don’t look at him, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, hear the near-silent hum of approval at your angle. Keep him talking. Make it about the victim.

The unsub inhales sharply through his nose.

“She cries too much,” he mutters, tone shifting. “Won’t stop. Won’t listen.”

Your fingers press tighter around the receiver. You push past the disgust, past the flare of anger clawing at your ribs. You don’t have the luxury of emotion right now.

“You don’t like that,” you say carefully. “You just want her to listen.”

Hotch nods once, subtle. Encouraging.

The unsub exhales, slow, considering. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

You risk a glance at Hotch. He holds your gaze, then mouths, Location. Push him on location.

You take a breath, then lean forward slightly, as if it will somehow ground you. “She can’t listen if she’s scared,” you say, keeping your tone gentle. “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know what you want from her.”

Silence.

Your pulse hammers in your ears.

“You don’t want to hurt her,” you press, voice just a little softer now. “If you did, you would’ve done it already.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpens.

The unsub hums. “Maybe I just like having someone who listens.”

Your stomach turns.

Morgan paces a few feet away, tense and impatient, but Spencer is watching you closely now, eyes narrowed in thought.

Behind you, Garcia’s voice comes through the speaker, urgent but quiet. “Almost there,” she murmurs.

You grip the phone a little tighter.

“You don’t have to be alone,” you say, and you mean it in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. “But you know this isn’t the way to fix that.”

Another long beat of silence.

Then—

“She’s quiet now,” he says, almost proud. “She finally stopped crying.”

Something in your chest goes cold.

Hotch steps forward, just a fraction, voice low as he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “Ask him why.”

Your fingers twitch. You swallow once, pushing past the ice curling around your lungs.

“What changed?” you ask, keeping your voice even. “Why is she quiet now?”

The unsub sighs, almost dreamily.

“I helped her,” he murmurs. “I made it better.”

A sharp knock of dread slams into your ribs.

And then—Garcia’s voice, suddenly louder, urgent—

“I’ve got him.”

Chaos erupts around you the moment Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker. The team is in motion—Morgan’s already halfway to the door, Spencer on his heels. Emily gives the parents one last firm reassurance before following.

Hotch doesn’t move. He stays close, his presence steady as a hand at the small of your back, silent but solid.

But you barely register any of it.

Your fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles aching.

“What do you mean, you helped her?” Your voice wavers, but you push forward, desperate. “Is she hurt?”

The unsub sighs again, like this is some slow, indulgent conversation instead of a nightmare. “You don’t listen very well,” he says, almost amused. “She was crying. I helped her stop.”

A cold dread drips down your spine, settling like lead in your stomach. Your breath hitches, throat tightening around panic.

Hotch takes a step closer, so near now that you can feel the quiet warmth of him, grounding. “Keep him talking,” he says, low and measured, though there’s an edge beneath it. “We’re almost there.”

Your pulse thrums loud in your ears, but you swallow, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Tell me how,” you say.

The unsub exhales, as if indulging you.

“I held her,” he murmurs. “Just for a little while. Let her cry it out. You’d be surprised how quickly they go quiet when they feel safe.”

Something about the way he says it—the ease, the fondness—makes your stomach churn.

“She’s safe, then?” you push, voice thin. “She’s still with you?”

A pause.

Then, the unsub chuckles. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

Your fingers tighten so hard against the receiver that they hurt.

Hotch is still watching you, reading every minute shift in your expression, every small tremor in your voice. His gaze sharpens, but he nods. Keep going.

“I just need to know,” you whisper. “If she’s okay.”

The unsub hums, something almost pleased threading through the sound. “I think you care too much.”

Maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you inhale, slow and shaky, and push out, “I just want to make sure she’s not alone.”

Another pause.

And then—soft, quiet—

“She’s sleeping now.”

The exhale you let out is almost staggering.

Your eyes squeeze shut for half a second, shoulders sagging just slightly.

Hotch watches the tension shift in you, something unreadable flickering through his expression before his voice cuts through the receiver, low and firm. “We’re on our way.”

And for the first time, the unsub hesitates.

You hear it in the way his breath catches, in the faintest rustle of movement.

Hotch tilts his head, eyes locked onto yours as he mouths, Now.

You straighten.

“You don’t want this to end badly,” you say, and this time, there’s no fear in your voice, no desperation—just quiet, steady certainty.

“You want her safe,” you continue. “You want to be heard. And I hear you. But if you don’t let us help, if you don’t let her go—” Your voice lowers, soft but firm. “This won’t end the way you want it to.”

The unsub doesn’t respond right away.

For the first time, you think he might actually be listening.

The unsub doesn’t say another word.

The silence stretches too long, each second stretching, coiling like a wire pulled too tight.

Then—click.

The line goes dead.

You barely register the sharp breath you pull in.

Hotch doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until the phone slips from your hand, caught swiftly by Hotch before it can hit the ground. He presses it into your palm, fingers briefly covering yours, grounding you.

The moment breaks as he turns, striding toward the door. You force yourself to follow, feet moving before your brain fully catches up.

The house blurs past you in streaks of warm light and worried whispers—Emily’s voice soft as she steadies the mother, Spencer murmuring something to Garcia through his headset. Morgan is already outside, loading his gun.

You climb into the passenger seat of Hotch’s SUV, heart pounding too fast, too hard. The door slams shut, and then—motion.

The car surges forward.

The headlights cut through the darkness, the road a rushing streak of black and gold. Streetlights blur past. You grip the edge of your seat to stop your hands from trembling.

Hotch doesn’t speak right away, but you feel his eyes flicker toward you between glances at the road.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah.” It’s not a lie. Not really.

Because you don’t have time to think about how your hands won’t stop shaking, how the adrenaline crashes over you in dizzying waves, because none of it matters—not when a little girl is out there, waiting.

Not when you’re this close.

Hotch presses down on the gas, jaw set, gaze fixed ahead.

Neither of you say another word.

Not when you’re this close.

The SUV screeches to a halt behind the others, tires kicking up dust from the abandoned lot. Before Hotch even shifts into park, you’re unbuckling, reaching for your gun, muscles tensed and ready. The second your feet hit the ground, the cold night air burns in your lungs, but you don’t stop moving.

The unsub’s hideout looms ahead—an old auto body shop, rusted-out cars littering the perimeter like grave markers.

Morgan and JJ are already at the front, weapons drawn, pressing against the wall beside the garage door. Spencer lingers near the back with Garcia still in his ear, voice clipped and urgent. Emily signals you and Hotch over with a sharp tilt of her head.

“He’s inside,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Garcia got a hit on the utility bill—only one active line. Place is condemned, but someone’s been paying to keep the power running.”

Hotch nods, eyes scanning the structure, piecing together the fastest way in, the safest route to the girl. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he speaks.

“Morgan, take the east side with Prentiss. JJ, cover the back with Reid.” His gaze cuts to you, unreadable in the dim light. “We take the front.”

Your fingers tighten around your gun. He doesn’t ask if you’re ready. He just knows.

You nod.

Morgan counts down on his fingers—three, two, one—

JJ and Reid disappear around the back. Morgan and Emily dart right.

Then—Hotch moves.

And you follow.

The door groans as he forces it open, but you barely register the sound before you’re inside. The air is thick with oil and rust, the scent clinging to the back of your throat. Somewhere deeper in the shop, a light swings, casting sharp shadows over the scattered tools and overturned furniture.

Then—movement.

A door slams. Footsteps, hurried.

Hotch is already moving toward the sound, gun raised. You cover his six, every nerve in your body firing at once. The walls are too close, the ceiling too low.

Then—a scream.

High. Frantic. Small.

You don’t think.

You move.

Hotch shouts your name, but you’re already sprinting, rounding the corner just as a metal door swings open. A blur of movement—a man, dragging the little girl with him, his grip bruising around her arm. She’s sobbing, twisting, trying to fight him off.

Rage lights through you like a match dropped in gasoline.

You raise your gun. “FBI! Let her go!”

The unsub whirls, yanking the girl in front of him like a human shield. “Stay back!” he barks, voice wild, desperate. His other hand dives for his belt—

A knife.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs.

You don’t give yourself time to think.

You move.

Your gun lowers.

Your feet propel you forward.

The unsub barely has time to register the shift before you’re on him.

You grab his wrist, twisting hard—he yells, grip loosening just enough for the girl to stumble free. Hotch is there in an instant, scooping her up, shielding her behind him.

The unsub snarls, wrenching his arm free, his other hand swinging with the blade—

You duck.

Pivot.

Your elbow slams into his ribs. He grunts, staggering, but he’s fast. He twists, knife flashing—

A sharp sting.

Pain lances across your shoulder.

You hiss, but don’t falter.

Instead, you use it.

You let him think he has the upper hand. Let him shift his weight just enough—

Then—

You strike.

Your knee slams into his stomach. He doubles over—another sharp twist, and his arm is wrenched behind his back. The knife clatters to the floor.

A second later, his body follows.

You plant a knee between his shoulder blades, chest heaving, wrist cuffs already in your hands.

He thrashes beneath you, but it’s useless. He’s done.

The adrenaline fades in sharp, ringing waves.

Then—Hotch’s voice, steady, sure.

“You okay?”

You finally look up.

The girl is clinging to him, small fingers curled tight into his shirt. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wide, lock onto yours.

You manage a nod. “Yeah.”

And for the first time in hours—maybe in days—

You believe it.

The ringing in your ears fades, replaced by the sharp sound of the unsub’s heavy breathing beneath you. His fight is gone, limbs slack against the cold concrete. You barely feel the sting in your shoulder now, too focused on the small, trembling girl clinging to Hotch’s side.

Her sobs have quieted, but her little body is still wracked with tiny, shuddering breaths. Her fingers stay twisted in the fabric of Hotch’s suit, white-knuckled, like if she lets go, she might disappear all over again.

You move before you can think, hands still shaking as you lift yourself off the unsub.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your voice is softer than you expect, almost drowned out by the distant sound of sirens. “You’re safe now.”

She blinks up at you, eyes glossy, bottom lip wobbling. The fear is still there, lingering, stitched into every muscle of her small frame. She doesn’t let go of Hotch, but she looks at you, really looks at you, as if trying to figure out whether she can believe you.

Hotch murmurs something low and reassuring, and after a few more rapid breaths, she hesitates—then releases his jacket, reaching for you instead.

The shift is instant. Your arms wrap around her tiny frame, her warmth pressing into you, her face burying into your shoulder. She still smells like the remnants of whatever cheap detergent clings to her pajamas, mixed with the salty traces of tears.

“You did so good,” you whisper, rubbing slow, gentle circles along her back. “You were so brave.”

Her small hands fist into the fabric of your shirt. You feel her exhale, a long, shaky breath against your collarbone. She’s exhausted, clinging to the safety of your arms like a lifeline.

Hotch’s presence lingers beside you, solid and steady. His hand brushes light against your back, grounding, a quiet reassurance that you did well, that she’s okay.

That you’re okay.

The sirens grow louder. But for now, you just hold her, murmuring soft reassurances into her hair, letting her feel safe, letting her know she’s not alone.

And as she finally relaxes, small body growing heavier with exhaustion, you know—

She believes you.

||||

The jet hums softly beneath you, a low, steady vibration that should lull you into sleep, but adrenaline still lingers in your veins. The weight of exhaustion is creeping in, though, settling in your limbs, making your muscles ache in a way that’s oddly satisfying.

Across from you, Morgan is still shaking his head, his arms crossed over his chest. “Nah, nah, nah. There’s no way. You’re messing with me.”

Emily grins, elbowing him in the ribs. “Oh, it happened. I was there. It was beautiful.”

Morgan points at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “I need a play-by-play. Right now.”

You shift uncomfortably, glancing at the others for help, but Spencer—Spencer of all people—looks offended.

“You took him down physically?” His brows are furrowed, arms crossed, and it’s the closest you’ve ever seen him to pouting. "I thought you me and Garcia were together as physical-dodgers."

“I—” You open your mouth to remind him of the plenty of times he's gotten into fights with unsubs, but Emily cuts you off.

“She did it so smoothly,” she says, eyes practically sparkling with pride. “Just wham, and he was down.” She claps her hands together for emphasis, making Morgan flinch.

Rossi chuckles, sipping from his ever-present glass of scotch. “Kid, I gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you.” His tone is warm, amused—proud. “That was some impressive work.”

Morgan groans dramatically, shaking his head again. “Man, I thought you didn’t even work out.”

You blink at him. “I—I do.”

He throws his hands up. “Since when?”

“I don’t know?” You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Always?”

Hotch hasn’t said much, but you can feel his gaze, steady and unreadable, watching the conversation unfold. When you risk a glance at him, his expression softens just enough for you to catch it—the quiet admiration, the almost-smile playing at the corner of his lips.

He’s proud.

That thought alone sends warmth creeping up your neck.

Morgan groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “This is ridiculous. I need to reevaluate everything I know about you.”

Emily leans back, smug. “Should we start placing bets on who she’s gonna take down next?”

Spencer mutters something about unfair advantages, and Rossi laughs into his drink. The conversation shifts, the teasing continues, and even as your body finally starts to relax, letting the exhaustion settle in, you can’t help but steal another glance at Hotch.

His eyes meet yours, and for just a second, there’s something unspoken between you. Something warm, something steady. Something good.

You look away before you can dwell on it, but the feeling lingers, settling somewhere deep in your chest.

Home.

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ddejavvu · 2 days ago

Note

Cockwarming mean Logan while he drink & smokes his cigar. Reader tries to get themselves off but Logan tells them to sit still. It’s torture because Logan is purposely teasing them (nipple play, cl!t play, etc) he loves teasing his girl 😉

"Cut it out." Logan grunts, eyes fixated on your breasts, trying to gauge which one is more swollen and which one needs extra attention. He settles on the left, raising rough fingers to pinch at your sensitive nipple. He treats it like a plaything, something to fiddle with as he knocks back another sip of the stinging, harsh liquor he's drinking straight from the bottle. His fingers tug and squeeze mercilessly, and you rock slightly on his lap, begging him for more stimulation than just against your nipple.

He's focused more on his drink, and then he swaps it for a cigar and you watch, nearly drooling, as his eyes shut. He takes a long, low, sensual drag, lips exuding a breath of smoke that threatens to clog your lungs if you get too close to him. You rock again, bolder this time, and his eyes snap open, fixing on your own harshly.

"Stop moving." He lands a firm hand on your hip, fingers digging into your flesh roughly, as if showcasing the strength of his metal-coated bones, "If you can't stay still, you can't have anything."

There's little he could do besides push you off of his lap; you've been slowly worked open and eased onto his cock where he's holding you hostage. Still, you feel the ghost of rugburn on your knees and decide that obedience is the wisest course of action. You slow to a stop where you'd been desperately grinding on his cock, feeling your cunt burn with anticipation for more that you can't have. You feel like crying, a sob building in your throat that you try to speak around.

"I need more. It's been- it's been a long time, Logan, please, please will you just fuck me?"

Your begging is met with a faceful of smoke, one that you actually do choke on. Your body is wracked with a coughing fit, and it only makes your hole clench sporadically around Logan, bringing you closer and closer to an edge you'll never make it off of.

"That's the stuff." He decides, voice gruff and approving, and you squint up at his face, eyeing the cigar still pinched between his teeth as his lips move around it.

"Please." You lower yourself to his chest, ducking down and slumping against him in hopes that he'll take pity on your pleading gesture. Your nose longs to bury itself within his neck as he fucks you deep and slow, but you keep yourself contained hoping that he'll have mercy.

"Wait." He sentences you, "If you can hold off until I'm done with this cigar, then I'll take you into the bedroom and give you what you want."

"Here." You beg, "I- I'll take it here, I don't care!"

"After the cigar." Logan grumbles, his chest humming against your face with the words, "If you can wait, I'll take you against the fuckin' kitchen counter, for all I care. All you're getting now is a face full of smoke."

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett blurb #logan howlett drabble #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut

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darksturnz · 11 hours ago

Text

── ⋮ ⌗ “FUCKIN’ TAKE IT. . .” ⟢ BF.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

CONTENTS: smut heavy-plot ・unprotected p n v・part two to THIS ・ this was requested!

His words replay in your mind, looping, sinking deep.

M’gonna make you the prettiest momma ever, ‘kay?

It’s filthy. It’s possessive. It’s exactly what you didn’t know you needed to hear.

A quiet whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. You try to suppress it, biting down on the inside of your cheek, but Matt catches it—of course he does. His smirk is slow, knowing, dripping with amusement as he dips his head to press a kiss just below your ear.

“Didn’t answer me, sweetheart.” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it now, something rougher, something hungry. His fingers press into your thighs, urging you forward, making you grind against him just a little harder. “Y’gotta tell me if that’s what you want.”

Your breath stutters. “Matt—”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t let you shy away from the heat between you. His lips ghost over your jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath it, where he knows you always melt for him. “Use your words, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, humiliated by how quickly you unraveled, by how easily he turned your ache into something entirely different. But Matt doesn’t let you drift too far into your own head—he never does. His hands are patient, coaxing, always knowing exactly what you need before you even realize it yourself.

One of them slides up your back, threading into your hair as he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. His gaze is heavy, burning into you, his pupils wide, dark, consuming.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” he murmurs, lips barely brushing against yours, teasing but not giving. “can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

Your body betrays you before your mouth can. Your hips shift instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him. His hold tightens in response, and the sharp inhale he takes tells you everything you need to know—he’s feeling it, too.

You swallow hard, embarrassment burning beneath the want. “I just—” Your voice is unsteady, barely a whisper. “I just need you.”

Matt hums in approval, his fingers flexing, pulling you flush against him. “Yeah?” His lips finally, finally press against yours, a slow, deep kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. “let me take care of you.”

His hands move with purpose, trailing lower, dipping beneath the hem of his shirt that swallows your frame, slipping past the last barrier between you.

His fingers push your panties to the side, barely brushing over your soaked cunt before pressing in deep, curling just right, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight through your core. His other hand grips your thigh, holding you still as he works you open, taking his time, watching the way you fall apart in his lap.

“Already so fuckin’ wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “Barely touched you.”

You whimper, your hips rolling against his hand, desperate for more. But before you can even reach for him, before you can beg, he groans low, frustrated.

His cock is straining against his sweats, the fabric damp where he’s leaking against it, and he exhales sharply before yanking them down just enough to free himself. The thick head of him presses against your entrance, rubbing against your clit for a moment before he lines up and sinks inside in one slow, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch has you gasping, nails digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t give you a moment to process it before—

“Matt! Where the fuck are you kid?”

His teammate’s voice from the headset he threw onto the desk startles you, breaking through the haze.

Your breath catches, your body tensing, but Matt barely reacts. He exhales through his nose, visibly annoyed, then reaches over, picking up the headset. His other hand remains firm on your waist, keeping you completely still with his cock buried deep inside you.

He un-mutes.

“Right here,” he says, completely level, voice smooth, steady, like he’s not currently splitting you open. “What’re you yellin’ for, told you my girl was sleeping”

Your nails dig deeper into his skin, your hips shifting instinctively, desperate for movement, for relief, but he doesn’t budge.

You whimper softly, barely able to think past the need clawing through you, but Matt—cruel, infuriatingly hot Matt—just picks up his controller and returns to his game.

You try again, grinding against him, but all it earns you is a sharp squeeze to your thigh—a silent warning.

His mic mutes.

“What?” His voice is lazy, rough, thick with something darker. “You wanted it, didn’t you? So fuckin’ take it.”

Your breath stutters.

You have no choice—he’s not going to move, not going to help you.

So you do as you’re told.

You start slow, rolling your hips, testing, adjusting to the thick stretch of him. The burn in your thighs is immediate, but it’s nothing compared to the ache between your legs, the desperate need for friction, for more.

You whimper, pressing closer, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Matt,” you plead, voice shaking. “Please—please move—”

His mic unmutes.

“Matt, cover me dipshit—fuck—”

“That’s on you dude, I’m hitting my shots” he mutters, completely indifferent, but his fingers flex on your hips, betraying his composure.

It’s unbearable—the slow build of pleasure, the strain in your legs, the torture of knowing he could so easily take control but won’t.

Eventually, your body gives out.

Your thighs tremble violently, burning with exertion, and you falter, collapsing against him with a frustrated whimper.

His mic mutes.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice is soft now, teasing, taunting.

You shake your head, fingers clutching at his shirt. “Can’t,” you whisper. “Need you—please.”

His hand slides up your back, pressing you close, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Yeah?” His breath is warm, thick with amusement. “You given up already?”

You nod frantically, too far gone for embarrassment. “Please, Matt—need you so bad.”

Matt groans, the sound low and wrecked, and that’s all it takes—his own patience snaps.

His hand flies to his headset, tearing it off. “Nate—I’m getting off.”

“What? We’re in the middle of—”

Matt doesn’t even wait for a full response before exiting the game entirely.

The screen goes dark for a moment before his PC background illuminates the room—a picture of you curled against his chest, tangled in his sheets, the soft glow casting light across his sharp features.

And then he moves.

The first thrust is brutal, knocking the breath from your lungs, and then he’s pounding into you, gripping your waist, pulling you down to meet each deep, punishing stroke.

“This what you need?” he growls against your ear, voice rough, breath ragged.

You nod frantically, moaning his name, nails dragging down his back.

His grip on your waist is tight, almost bruising, holding you in place as he drives into you. The wet, obscene sounds of it fill the dimly lit room, mixing with the soft whimpers spilling from your lips, with the ragged, uneven breaths against your ear.

He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t slow down—just takes you, hips snapping up into yours with a brutal rhythm, pulling you down every time you start to lift yourself off of him, making sure you feel every single inch.

You sob against his shoulder, overwhelmed, body shaking, thighs trembling from the sheer force of it. Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

And maybe he is.

“You feel that?” His voice is a low growl against your ear, rough, breath ragged, laced with something dark, something possessive. “Gonna let me put my baby in you?”

You nod frantically, barely able to form words, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. Your nails drag down his back, digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt, and he groans, sharp and guttural, his pace stuttering for just a second before he recovers.

“Fuck—” His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you down harder, making you take him deeper. “Wish I knew—knew you wanted this sooner.”

You whimper, pressing your forehead against his, nodding weakly. “Wanna have your baby,” you breathe, barely coherent, voice small and wrecked. “Want you, Matt—please.”

His jaw clenches, his breath hitching slightly. His hips slow for a fraction of a second, like he’s processing it—your desperation, your need for him—before he lets out a sharp exhale and picks up the pace again, fucking into you with a newfound urgency.

And at this point, you don’t even care how loud you are, how utterly wrecked you sound. You just hold onto him, sobbing his name, letting him take exactly what he wants—letting him give you exactly what you need.

Matt’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising force, guiding you, controlling every desperate shift of your body. The force of his thrusts sends you bouncing in his lap, each deep stroke shoving you further into the mattress of his chair, forcing you to take him exactly how he wants.

Your legs are trembling, thighs burning from the earlier effort, but it doesn’t matter—not when he’s finally giving you what you begged for, not when every sharp snap of his hips has you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Shiiiittt,” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, teeth scraping against your skin. “So fuckin’ tight—gripping me—”

You whimper in response, barely able to hold yourself up anymore. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as you cling to him.

Matt grunts, a sharp exhale against your skin, before he shifts slightly, planting his feet firmly against the floor.

Then he really starts to fuck you.

The rhythm turns relentless, deep and rough, his hips lifting off the chair to meet every downward roll of yours. The chair creaks beneath you, the obscene slap of skin-on-skin filling the space between your ragged breaths, between the filthy, low groans Matt presses into your throat.

“You takin’ it, sweet girl?” His voice is rough, nearly wrecked, but still teasing, still cruel. “This what you were cryin’ for?”

Your only response is a choked sob, your head falling back, eyes squeezing shut as heat builds low in your stomach, tightening, coiling, ready to snap.

Matt’s mouth is on you immediately—lips dragging down the column of your throat, teeth grazing over sensitive skin before he bites, sucking a mark into the dip of your shoulder, his own way of branding you, of making sure you feel him even after this.

The pressure is unbearable now, your body trembling, overstimulated and desperate, but you still want more.

“Matt,” you gasp, voice barely a whisper. “Close—gonna—”

He exhales sharply, his grip on you turning brutal. His hands move down, sliding to the backs of your thighs, spreading you open even more as he pounds into you, pushing you right to the edge, forcing you into it.

“Then come for me,” he mutters against your skin, his voice pure sin, pure need. “C’mon, baby—let me feel it.”

Your body locks up, the pressure finally snapping, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it nearly knocks you unconscious. You sob against his shoulder, every muscle in your body going taut as you clench around him, shaking, unraveling completely.

Matt curses beneath his breath, the sensation sending him straight into his own undoing. His thrusts turn frantic, messy, his breath hot against your skin.

Then you clarify it—

“Inside—please, Matt—inside,” you gasp, barely coherent, but completely, utterly serious.

His entire body tenses. He didn’t really think you’d actually let him, but he wasn’t complaining either.

His jaw clenches, his grip on you tightening to the point of pain, and then he slams deep one final time, burying himself inside you completely, holding you still as he fills you, groaning deep in his chest.

The only sound left is your heavy, uneven breaths, the soft hum of his PC still glowing behind him, the slight creak of the chair as he slumps forward, wrapping his arms around you.

His lips find your temple, soft, warm, pressing against your damp skin as he exhales, still catching his breath.

His voice is lower now, hoarse, rough, but serious.

“Y’know I mean it, right?” he murmurs against your skin. “Not just sayin’ shit, I will give you all the babies you want, sweetheart.”

authors note: spectacular gimme 14 of ‘em!

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carlosainzgf · 2 days ago

Note

Daeho x foreignerfem!reader and he teaches her a bit of Korean

I want this man to teach me everything he knowsss omg he's so beautiful

teach me

kang dae ho x foreigner!reader (fluff)

the first morning in the dorms was a cacophony of confusion and dread. rows of beds lined the stark room, and contestants murmured in hushed voices, trying to make sense of the situation. dae ho sat on his bed, his hands fidgeting nervously as his eyes darted around the room, assessing the other players. his gaze landed on you- a girl sitting alone, your eyes scanning the chaos. a foreigner, probably.

you were clearly out of place, not just because of your appearance but because of how lost you seemed. when a guard told them instructions earlier, you didn’t reacted like the others. instead, your face twisted in confusion.

dae ho hesitated, chewing his bottom lip, before finally working up the courage to approach you. standing in front of yout bed, he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "uh… 안녕하세요?" he tried, his voice soft but shaky.

you blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. "sorry, what?"

his heart sank. "ah… uh…" he searched his brain desperately for the right words. english wasn’t his strength, but he had to try. "you… okay?" he stammered, his accent thick.

your face lit up slightly with understanding. "oh- yeah. do you know what’s going on? where are we?"

he only understood "know" and "where," but the rest was too fast for him to catch. dae ho panicked for a moment, running a hand through his hair before trying to answer. "uh… we sleep. now wake…game?" his hands flailing to fill in what words couldn’t.

she squinted, trying to understand him. "game? what kind of game?"

"uh…" the words slipping through his mental grasp. "fun… maybe?" he winced at his own answer, knowing how unconvincing it sounded. “i no know," he admitted.

you gave a short laugh, her tension easing slightly. "you’re not very helpful, are you?"

he caught her tone and smiled nervously. "sorry… bad english," he said, tapping his chest. he straightens up, determined. he pointed at himself. "dae ho. you?"

you told him your name, he repeated, trying to commit your name to memory. it sounded nice to him. foreign to him but nice, making his lips twitched upward in a small smile.

"nice name. 예쁜(yeppeun)," he said.

you tried to repeat what he said but failed miserably. with a smile still lingering on his face, dae ho noticed your struggle with the pronunciation. "예쁜," he says slowly, his words clear and distinct.

your attempt was adorable to him, her efforts drawing a softer, more genuine smile from him. he gently corrected her, his voice patient, "예쁜. try.”

you repeated the word slowly, your tongue stumbling but improving with each try.

dae ho raised a brow, surprised at her quick learning. "good job," he praised, a hint of laughter in his voice. his smile grew as he held up a thumbs up.

“maybe you can teach me some korean?” you tried to speak slowly and clearly for him to understand. his eyes lit up at your suggestion. he nodded enthusiastically. "korean. yes, yes," he said, his voice excited. he thought for a moment, trying to find the simplest word to start with. “hello," he said with a confident grin. "안녕하세요.(annyeonghaseyo)”

your accent was thick, pronunciation shaky, but you had the essence right. he smiled. “good!" he praised, genuinely happy.

with a gentle smile, dae ho considered what simple phrase to teach you next. "ah!" he exclaimed, a thought occurring to him. he pointed at you. "어떻게 지내세요(eotteohge jinaeseyo). it mean ‘how are you’.”

he taught you enough korean to at least somewhat fit in throughout the games. he introduced you to his group and tried to translate what they were talking about if you didn’t understand it.

after the games had ended, your little bond didn’t. it grew into something else. something that led you both to rent an apartment together and build a life with the money you won. you helped each other to learn one another language to communicate easier. and dae ho had found an amazing way of teaching you.

you were sat on his lap as he asked you to translate the korean sentences to english and every true answer you gave, earned you a kiss. “what about…사랑해요(salanghaeyo)?”

“it means ‘i love you’.” you were quick to get pulled into a kiss. his soft lips meeting yours, kissing you slowly.

“you’re asking easy ones just to kiss me, aren’t you?” you asked teasingly. “maybe…and you love it.” and you really did love it.

#squid game fanfiction #kang dae ho x reader #fanfic #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #dae ho squid game #kang dae ho smut #dae ho fluff #dae ho imagine

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satellite-evans · 1 day ago

Note

Hi! Could I please request a one shot where Harry is sick maybe during tour and his gf has to take care of him? Thank you! I love your writing!

a/n: thank you so much for liking my work, it truly means a lot! it's a little short but I still hope you'll like it <3

sick on tour

The hotel room is quiet except for the noise of the air conditioning and the occasional sniffle from the lump of blankets curled up in the middle of the king-sized bed. The curtains are drawn, shielding the bright city lights outside from intruding on the peaceful, dimly lit space. Harry has always liked his hotel rooms cozy—candles on the nightstand, his favorite hoodie draped over the chair, and the softest pillows he could find. But tonight, none of it seems to bring him comfort.

You stand at the edge of the mattress, arms crossed, watching Harry sulk into his pillow. His curls are a mess, sticking to his slightly damp forehead, his nose a little pink from the fever, and yet—despite looking absolutely miserable—he’s still trying to convince you he’s fine.

“I can do the show,” he rasps, voice hoarse and scratchy. He attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, but the movement sends him into a fit of coughing. You sigh and press a hand to his chest, gently urging him back down.

“Baby, no. You can barely sit up.”

He frowns, brows knitting together like a petulant child. “S’just a little cold.”

“You have a fever, a sore throat, and you sound like you swallowed sandpaper,” you point out, smoothing your fingers over his clammy forehead. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Harry grumbles something incoherent and burrows further into the pillows. You can tell he hates this—hates being taken care of, hates being seen as anything less than strong. But the thing is, to you, he’s always strong. Even now, curled up in a nest of tissues and blankets, he’s still the man you love more than anything.

Tour has been brutal on him lately. Night after night of performing, giving his all to the crowds that adore him, leaving every ounce of himself on that stage. He never complains—not about the exhaustion, not about the jet lag, not about the toll it takes on his body. But you see it in the way his shoulders slump when he thinks no one is looking, the way his voice is a little more raw each morning, the way he clings to you just a little tighter when he finally collapses into bed at the end of the night.

“I can’t cancel, though,” he whispers after a long moment, his voice laced with guilt. “They’ve probably spent so much money—flights, hotels, tickets, clothes and waited months just to see me. I can’t let them down, I just can't.”

You soften, understanding where his frustration is coming from. Harry has always carried the weight of his fans' happiness on his shoulders, always put them first. It’s one of the many reasons you love him—but right now, he needs to put himself first.

You take his hand in yours, rubbing slow, comforting circles over his knuckles. “Harry, sweetheart, I already spoke to Jeff. He and the team handled everything. They put out a statement, rescheduled the show, and made sure the fans know how much you care about them Not that they need a statement anyway. They know how much you love them.”

His brows furrow. “You—”

“I took care of it,” you interrupt gently. “So you don’t have to worry, okay? The fans love you, but they love you healthy and not sticky. You can’t give them the show they deserve if you push yourself too hard now. That is not what they deserve.”

Harry lets out a slow breath, his tense shoulders easing just a fraction. He still looks guilty, but there’s also relief in his tired eyes. “You really talked to Jeff?”

You nod. “Of course. Your health comes first, baby. Now please let me take care of you."

You slip out of the room quietly and return with a damp cloth, gently dabbing it against his forehead. The coolness makes him sigh, his tense shoulders relaxing under your touch. Then, you hold up a spoonful of honey-laced tea to his lips. He scrunches his nose but accepts it, swallowing with a soft grimace.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice slightly clearer now.

You smile and brush your fingers over his cheek. “Of course, my love.”

After making sure he’s warm enough, you reach for the small bowl of soup on the nightstand that you kindly asked form the hotel staff. “Just a little, H. You need something in your stomach other than medicine.”

"The fans would've probably ask for me to sing medicine tonight but they can't because I need it. The irony." He said, trying to lighten the room up with a joke but cough wave that crushed him once again.

"Drink Harry." You said sternly.

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but he knows better. You lift the spoon to his lips, and after a moment’s hesitation, he leans forward and takes a bite. A small, content sigh escapes him, and you can’t help but grin.

“You’re good at this,” he mutters, sleep beginning to weigh heavy on him.

“I'm just good at loving you lovie,” you reply simply, brushing back his curls as he lets his eyes drift shut.

His fingers reach for yours under the blanket, giving them a weak squeeze. “Love you more.”

You sit beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his fever-warmed temple. “Just rest, my love. I’ve got you.”

And with the way he sighs, relaxing into your touch, you know he believes you.

Tomorrow, he’ll probably try to argue again. Try to tell you he feels fine, that he’s ready to get back out there, to put on another show. But for tonight, he’s yours to take care of. And you wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #fluff #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles x female reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles love on tour #harry styles fic rec #fic rec

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novascharms · 10 hours ago

Text

calming angry rafe down..... i NEEEEEED himmmm asdfghjkl

“wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, leaning toward him, your hopeful gaze searching his face.

he shakes his head faintly, eyes closing as he rests his head back against the seat. “nothing to talk about. just topper being topper—trying to get me to break his fucking kneecaps.” his tone is flat, but the undercurrent of frustration is unmistakable.

you blink at his casual mention of violence, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “he doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

at your words, rafe’s irritation flares visibly, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to punch something. “he just needs to piss off. fuck,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “and i know—i know—he can’t stand it. he hates that i get close to someone he can’t touch, someone who’s fucking mine. he’s a pissy little bitch, and the next time i see him—”

“rafe,” you interrupt softly, sensing the dangerous direction his thoughts are heading. “calm down…” you murmur, your voice soothing as you lean in to press a featherlight kiss to his cheek.

his breathing is still uneven, his chest rising and falling with controlled restraint. “you’re getting way too worked up,” you whisper, cradling his face with one hand, your thumb grazing along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

his lips remain tight, his gaze hard, but he doesn’t pull away. you take the opportunity to scatter soft kisses across his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips. your touch is gentle, alternating between quick pecks and lingering brushes. at first, he’s unresponsive, but slowly he starts kissing back, his lips yielding to yours in unspoken surrender.

you trail your kisses lower, down along the line of his jaw to his neck. you feel the tension in his shoulders begin to ease, the tightness in his posture softening under the warmth of your lips.

your hand glides down his chest, your fingertips barely grazing the ridges of his abs, tracing slow, soothing patterns. his breaths come slower now, steadier, the anger slowly ebbing away with each kiss you leave on his skin.

rafe remains still, his arms resting at his sides, his body still tense under your gentle touch and then your hands find the edge of his sweatpants.

your hand is halfway in when he tenses, "you don't have to do this—" he starts but you're cutting him off. "i want to." you whisper softly and he knows you want to, you've been trying and asking for days. he was the one to insist you go slower which was fair since you were the one who wanted to go slow in the very beginning. that all changed the moment you two made out for the first time. you'd quickly thrown 'slow' in the trash.

you kiss your way back to his lips, "will you tell me how?" you'd seen videos and could also imagine what to do but actually doing it was a lot different. rafe hums against your lips, "take it out first," he mutters with his lips inching yours.

you glance down and slowly take his semi-hard cock out of his pants. you stare at it for a couple of seconds. it's heavier than you'd imagined, fat and veiny with this glossy pink tip that makes your mouth water just a little. without a word from rafe, you're curiously running your hand along it.

you don't expect rafe to tense at your touch and you're immediately looking up at him in surprise when he does. "did that hurt? did i just hurt you?" you ask and his smile is genuine, "quite the opposite." he rasps and then his hand is covering yours gently. he guides your hands up and down along his fat cock and you're a little mesmerised watching it slowly grow in size.

rafe's heavy breathing tells you it's going good so far but you want to get it in your mouth. the nerd in you is trying to calculate how it would even be possible, how you could get such a big dick past your lips without choking on it.

you're lowering your head to get him into your mouth when he stops you gently, fingers on your chin. "no teeth." he explains and you're nodding before you're desperately trying to get down there again. he stops you, again. "just..take it easy, start with the tip and slowly take more." he continues, eyes boring into yours. you could see the lust in them, just pooling in his eyes as he watched you practically drool to get his cock in your mouth.

the moment he let go of you, your tongue was darting out just enough to slowly lick along his fat tip. rafe hissed and gripped the car handle, "fuck," he whispered lowly. you pulled back and looked at it. you weren't sure why you expected it to do something and when it didn't, you just gave it another experimental lick before slowly wrapping your lips around the tender head, suckling gently.

"that's it, baby..take it easy.." rafe is muttering as you suckle on his warm tip. you hesitate for only a second before you're taking more of him in your mouth and you don't expect the tears to come so quickly. they don't really bother you. you realize nothing really bothers you while he's in your mouth. your mind has gone completely empty, void of any noise or thought, he's all you can feel, all you can sense is him filling you up.

it doesn't take long before you're bopping your head up and down and drooling all over his cock. rafe is groaning and grunting every couple of seconds and his hands are in your hair but you can feel him resisting, can feel the moment he wants to push your head down but every time, he stops himself and just lets you go at your own pace.

you whimper when you attempt for the third time to get his entire lenght down your throat and almost want to cry in frustration that he just won't fit. rafe is holding your head back, trying to say something but continously getting cut off by his own moans. "p-perfect, baby, fuck, that's perfect.." he tilts his head back and holds onto you so you stop moving for five seconds. you were eager, so goddamn determined. "stop forcing..you'll hurt yourself." he grunts before he's letting you go and your mouth is right back on his cock, seeking that fuzzy feeling, that instant quietening of the mind.

you know he won't fit unless rafe bucks his hips up and fucks your mouth and you know he won't do that so you settle for using your hands for the part of him you can't reach. you stroke him up and down and your drool helps keep it all smooth and wet. "jesus..fuck, fuck.." rafe moans, voice low, and then you're speeding up, just a little. you just want more, want it to take you over, want to make rafe feel good.

something seems to snap in him because his hands fly to your hair and he's groaning, shoving your head down onto his fat cock. he forces you to take more and more of him and the noises you make are filthy and down-right obscene. you're whining, high, and desperate around his veiny cock as you try to keep up with how he's pushing your head down over and over.

you're choking around him, tears streaming down your cheeks and he's doing all the work now, gripping your hair and shoving your head down, pushing your mouth onto his cock. "g-god..that's it..!" his hips stutter, and then he's hurriedly pulling your mouth off of him as his cum squirts out and covers his cock and a bit of his shirt.

you stare at his tip, a little dazed while you catch your breath. you watch the creamy white lines cover it and without giving it much thought, you're licking the cum off his length and tip. rafe hisses at the feeling of your tongue on his sensitive tip, "if i knew you wanted it, i would've come in your mouth." he's mumbling, and only then do you look at him, "why didn't you?" you ask, mind still a little fuzzy.

"because a lot of people don't like it." he's got this lazy smile on his face as he runs his fingers through your hair. you blink at him and try to think of a reason someone wouldn't want it. all that hard work for nothing?

"did you like it?" you ask him as he sadly puts himself back in his sweats. he's chuckling, "did i like it? that has to be a rhetorical question." he pats his leg gently and you're on his lap in a matter of seconds. "i liked it." you mutter as he presses a couple of kisses to your lips. he pauses and cups your cheeks gently, "are you sure you liked it?" he's whispering softly, "you seem..out of it."

you were out of it; eyes still dilated, mind still fuzzy, brain still empty. you'd never ever felt like this. "i'm really sure i liked it." you nod and rest your head on his shoulder. "i wanna do it again." you confess which has him chuckling again. "you won't hear a complaint from me.

snippet from 'teach me' series

#nova talks #teach me #rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe smut #smut

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sammyluvr · 12 hours ago

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✶ safe now — sam & dean w.

cw : gn!winchester!reader, hurt/comfort, reader is the youngest sibling, blood, injury & pain, implied torture, nicknames (bud), poorly edited, no y/n, 1.4K words. requested !

summary : your brothers rescue you after you're kidnapped and tortured by demons.

there’s a moment where everything is quiet. maybe it’s minutes. hours, perhaps. you don’t really know, because nothing makes sense anymore. up and down don’t mean much to you. and you can’t tell if everything hurts, if it burns, or if you can’t feel anything at all.

then, it’s not quiet anymore. it’s loud, and yet, it’s muffled. you can’t distinguish one sound from another. a crash and a yell, maybe even a scream. more crashing, but it all sort of sounds the same, so you’re not the most reliable narrator.

but there’s something familiar in it all. the clamor, the fighting, you think it must be. the shout of a word that you know to be your own somehow, and the blurred shape in front of your barely open eyes. it’s your name, you realize. the shouted sound was your name, far away. it’s not far away anymore, murmured and panicked, and the face in front of you, going in and out of focus, is sam’s.

oh, sam. you hope it’s really him. that means this is all over.

and then you decide that you can feel and everything does hurt, because there are hands wrapping around you from behind. they frighten and confuse you at first, but before you can thrash away or cry for sam to help, dean’s voice is in your ears and you don’t fight it.

“i got you,” he says simply, soothing you without any effort at all. he’s holding you up so you don’t fall once sam unties you from where you’re strung up by the wrists, like the carcass of a slaughtered farm animal. you try not to whimper. it would embarrass you. it’s hard, though, because his strong hold is aggravating the cuts and bruises that litter your bore torso. you wonder if his hands are warm or cold, but you can’t really tell despite the fact that your skin there is exposed. you were stripped of your shirt, you think.

sam’s talking too, voice so gentle that the sound of it is the most calming part. you’re sure he’s saying comforting words, but it’s hard to focus on more than one thing at a time. his hands work quickly to free you, and then you’re slumped back against dean’s chest. your legs aren’t working all that well right now.

dean’s hold is awkward and you can sag forward, right into sam. dean lets him take you, his hands itching for his weapon. there could be more demons and he’s got to protect you. he’s the one with the demon knife.

you can imagine the dead bodies in the hallway, the vessels of all the demons who were guarding the place. but you don’t see them, your eyes having drifted closed and your head tucked away into sam’s neck. dean must be leading the way, ready to kill for you as many times as he must today, and forever.

but all the demons have been disposed of. no one gets in the way, and they carry you right out to the car. sam helps you into the back seat with him and it hurts like hell to move at all, but the smell of leather puts you at ease, finally. you’re still so out of it, oblivious to sam’s face that doesn’t bother to hide the worry and the pain of seeing you like this. you’re oblivious to the fact that dean can barely look at you, horrified by the thought that he could’ve prevented this, maybe. it wasn’t his fault that you were snatched away in the night, but both brothers will blame themselves.

you were hungry, so dean left for food. and then, the motel room felt stuffy, so you went to take a walk just around the parking lot. sam didn’t get into the shower like he planned to, waiting at the creaky table for you to come back. and when you were gone for more than five minutes—sam knew you’d get cold quickly because you ignored his advice to grab a jacket—he went out to look for you. you were gone, so he called dean, searched for you. dean got back and yelled at sam. how could you leave them alone? dean was asking himself the same question.

“hey, look at me,” sam says, voice pleading. you aren’t very responsive, and it terrifies him. the car is already moving, you realize. your eyes find his and you feel his fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling your arm through the sleeve of his jacket. everything hurts so much that you never realized that you’re cold. where there isn’t blood, sam can see goosebumps. he’s gentle as he pulls the fabric around you, trying to keep you warm without hurting you any further. “there you are,” he murmurs.

“you’re fine, bud,” dean says from the front seat, voice tense as he splits his attention between the road and checking on you through the rearview mirror. when he can’t look, he’s listening. you let out a sound, meant to acknowledge them both. your awareness sharpens, and so does your pain.

“i’m fine,” you mumble back, voice flat and quiet. even sam can barely hear it, but dean catches the words too. “it’s all fine. i– i didn’t say anything. i didn’t say anything.” dean glances back, and sam looks at you in confusion.

“you didn’t say anything?” he repeats softly, trying to understand what you mean.

you give a jerky nod of your head. then you shake it the other way. “didn’t say anything,” you say again, “about the tablet. they wanted to know, but i didn’t say anything.” your voice is breathy and tired, and you’re mumbling so much that sam can barely make out what you’re saying. but he understands now, why you were taken. the tablet; you mean the demon tablet. the demons took you to get information on the demon tablet, thinking they could break the youngest winchester.

of course, they couldn’t, but the thought boils his blood with fury. that anyone thinks they can use you for something like that. or that they think you’re a weak link, just because you’re the youngest. or maybe it was to cause the most chaos, the most panic. to mess with you is to raise hell. that’s what demons are for, of course, but they were stupid enough to think it wouldn’t just get them all killed.

“they took you for that?” dean growls, his voice dangerously vicious, “the fucking demon tablet?”

“the demon tablet,” you breathe out, your less bruised cheek finally falling to sam’s shoulder with exhaustion. he tucks you even closer into his side. “i didn’t say anything, though.”

“we know,” sam murmurs, wanting to ease your anxiety. his heart aches that you think the stupid tablet is the most imortant thing here. you’re bleeding all over his jacket and practically delirious from pain. you’re all that he and dean care about right now. “we know. we don’t have to worry about that now, okay?”

“mhmm,” you hum, “cuz they still don’t know where it is.” your voice is so hoarse. as if you’d been screaming. presumably, you had been, and that makes your brothers see red. dean’s grip on the wheel is knuckle-whitening, and sam is only able to be gentle for your sake. his shoulders hold all of the tension just like they hold up your trembling body. the car almost swerves before dean has to force his thoughts away from what you might’ve endured. he’s all too familiar with demon torture. he thinks about killing the demons who hurt you over again.

sam thinks about it too, but just for a moment. “yeah. and because you’re safe now,” he tells you firmly.

“safe now,” you echo softly. everything hurts. the pain is bone-deep, but you believe him when he tells you that you’re safe now. “i knew you’d come get me,” you mutter, eyes never staying open for longer than a moment or two. you look as tired as you sound. maybe that’s what got you through it; the knowledge that it would be over, one way or another. either your brothers would come to rescue you and kill your captors, or you’d die first. they certainly would’ve still killed all those demons if that were to happen, and probably many, many more. but no one likes to think about that.

because you’re safe now.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sibling!reader #dean winchester x gn!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sibling!reader #sam winchester x gn!reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural angst #supernatural fluff #supernatural hurt/comfort #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fluff

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kunareads · 1 day ago

Text

get it over with

sukuna x reader

you break down, and he holds you together, no questions asked.

masterlist

wc: 1.6k

love letter to the emotionally stunted girlies <3

content: established relationship (sort of), hurt/comfort, nothing explicit, reader breaking down, he loves you so bad, soft sukuna

+++

i’m wondering why it keeps thundering

it’s late.

sukuna expects to find you in his bed, buried in his clothes, curled up like you always are. his apartment doesn’t feel right when you’re not here—when he doesn’t see the shape of you sprawled across his mattress, dreaming in the space that somehow became yours without either of you saying it out loud.

if you are awake, you’re waiting for him. lights dim, a movie playing, stretched out on the couch like you own the place. you always greet him the same way—some lazy remark about how long he took, how you almost fell asleep waiting, how he should be grateful you stayed.

(he never says it, but he is.)

but the apartment feels wrong tonight, like it’s holding its breath.

he almost trips over your bag, your shoes, abandoned in the entryway. the lights are off, the city casting long shadows through the windows.

he pauses in the doorway, gaze sweeping over the space, something tugging at his chest. at first, he doesn’t see you.

then he finds you. on the living room floor.

small, curled in on yourself, arms around your knees, head bowed low. your jacket is still on, halfway down your shoulders, like you meant to take it off but didn’t get that far.

he watches.

you’re never like this. you hold things together better than anyone he knows. you walk through hell without flinching, without showing anything but that sharp, steady ease you wear like armor. he’s seen you pissed, triumphant, reckless. he’s seen you exhausted, on the edge of something dangerous, close to breaking but never quite there.

but this is different.

he stands there, his arms loose at his sides, breath even. it’s not hesitation, just unfamiliar ground. he doesn’t know what to do with the way your shoulders shake, the way your whole body folds into itself like something’s crushing you from the inside.

(you look like you’re trying to erase yourself. he hates it.)

something heavy settles in his chest. it’s not pity. not discomfort. some other nameless thing.

without a word, he moves. he crosses the space, lowers himself to the ground beside you, and pulls you in. his arms slip around you, steady and certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

won’t you just rain, and get it over with?

you don’t move.

your weight against him is hesitant at first, like you’re not sure if this is allowed. like you’re deciding if you can take this from him. he notices it in the way you hover, how your body stays tense, how you brace for something that never comes.

(you’ve never really asked sukuna for anything that matters. would you, if you knew he’d give you whatever you wanted?)

his arms stay firm around you, one hand resting at the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. it’s not cautious, not careful, just solid. like this is normal, even though it’s never happened before.

you smell like yourself, but also like the cold. like wind on skin, like you’ve been outside too long and the night air is still clinging to you. he knows you do that sometimes—wear yourself out on purpose, walking for hours, chasing exhaustion, outrunning whatever’s clawing at you.

it didn’t work.

because now you’re shaking, breath coming too fast, whole body trembling against him.

he feels it hit all at once. the sharp, shaky inhale you take before your body caves inward, the sudden weight of you collapsing against his chest, the way your fingers twist into his shirt, searching, clinging. like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

you’re sobbing. hard.

sukuna doesn’t know if you even realize it. he doesn’t know if you care. you never let yourself break like this, not in front of him, not in front of anyone.

he waits for it to pass. hoping it does.

when you exhale—shaky, uneven, tired—he presses you closer, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket like you might slip through his grip if he doesn’t.

something in his chest loosens when you don’t pull away.

he exhales too, slow and steady, trying to regulate you, trying to get you to follow. breathe with me. he doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. you always match each other this way.

you do now, too.

without thinking, he nudges his chin against your temple. a small touch. nothing, really.

but you feel it. he knows because you react—just barely, a fraction of a shift, but enough that he notices. enough that it does something to him.

he leans back against the couch, pulling you with him, guiding you down until your weight is fully against him, your head burrowed in his chest, his arms holding you steady, no space left between the two of you.

(anyone else seeing this would think they were hallucinating. you, breaking. sukuna, holding you together. sukuna doesn’t care.)

you need him. he knows, even if you never admit it.

i see you rolling it, let’s get it over with

your breathing slows first.

it’s not steady, not even—just less broken. the sharp, gasping sobs soften, unraveling into something quieter, tired, worn down by their own force. your tears still soak through his shirt, warm and damp, but they come slower now.

your body follows.

slowly, gradually, exhaustion dragging at your limbs, pulling you under like a tide. it’s like your bones have gone heavy, like you fought it as long as you could. you’re sinking further into him without even realizing it.

(you’ve been holding your breath for years. he remembers when you started. he should’ve seen this coming.)

sukuna stays still, patient in a way no one would expect from him. he doesn’t move, doesn’t risk disturbing the way you’ve practically melted into him. just lets you stay, lets you breathe. lets himself hold you like this.

the room is silent except for your breathing, the occasional hiccup from your chest.

your body loses its tension, but his mind won’t stop running. it won’t stop cataloging everything—how small you feel, how he should’ve known, how he should’ve done something before it got this bad.

this is the first time you’ve ever let him see you like this. the first time you’ve let anyone see you like this. he wonders if you’ve ever been like this at all.

eventually, you sag against him fully, exhausted, the last of your resistance slipping away.

sukuna exhales too, low and steady.

something about it feels like a truce.

he doesn’t let you go.

even though your sobs have quieted and your breathing has evened out, even though the room has settled into silence. he keeps his arms around you. not tight, not restraining. just there.

he’s not good at this kind of thing.

he doesn’t know what people are supposed to say in moments like this. doesn’t know how to string together the right words to make any of it better. doesn’t know what you need.

so he leans down, murmuring against your hair, lips brushing your temple.

“’m here.” it’s not meant to comfort you, not exactly. just to ground you. to remind you.

you shift slightly, your face still against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. when you finally move enough for him to see you, your face is flushed, eyes red and swollen, lips parted like you’re still catching your breath. his heart squeezes hard.

(he can see the wheels turning in your head. you’re already trying to stitch yourself back together. he wants to tell you not to bother.)

he doesn’t comment. doesn’t smirk, doesn’t mock. he just looks at you.

for once, he doesn’t have anything to say. for once, you don’t either.

it’s rare, this silence between you. he’s not sure if he likes it.

then, after a long moment, voice quiet—

”you done?”

a beat. room to say no.

it’s alright, we can roll in the clouds

you pull back first.

slowly, carefully, like you’re testing the movement. you sniff, avoiding his gaze, wiping your face with your sleeves.

sukuna lets you go, but not completely. his hands slide down your arms, slow and deliberate, settling at your wrists. his fingers don’t press, don’t hold. they just linger.

you clear your throat, shifting like you’re trying to find a normal that doesn’t exist here. “we can get up now.”

he doesn’t budge.

he just gives you this soft smile, looking way too comfortable, leaning back against the couch, watching you like he has all the time in the world.

“you first.”

silence.

neither of you move. you stare each other down for a moment.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away. instead, you settle back into him, easy, instinctive, like it’s nothing.

he feels it—the weight of you against him, the way your body relaxes back into place, the quiet trust in the way you let yourself stay.

it does something to him, the lack of hesitation.

you wouldn’t do this with anyone else. he knows that much.

(you let him hold you like this once. a lifetime ago. laughing against his throat, warm and careless and half-asleep, burrowing into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. he almost forgot what it felt like.)

he tilts his head down, presses a kiss to the top of yours and lingers there, breathing you in. he stays there longer than he means to. when he speaks, his voice is quiet, soft in a way he’d never admit.

“crybaby.”

“asshole.”

but you’re smiling now.

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lsunstreakerl · 2 days ago

Note

sunny i would die for seb and lewis’s reactions to finding out they neglected max in that a/b/o verse

maybe... maybe more on this later... I'm already at 1.6k words though so here you go!

"I mean, come on man, it can't be any worse than Max."

Lewis's voice is light as he laughs, and he's trying to ease the new rookies into the pack, make them feel at home, but Daniel's jaw clenches anyways, scent sharpening.

He's been butting heads with Lewis for the past year- hard enough convincing Max that his omega status didn't have anything to do with him leaving, even harder to actually leave him.

He'd been hoping with three new rookies maybe the pack would start to ease up- they're closer to Max's age, knew him as kids.

But here Lewis is, using him as some kind of scapegoat, and Daniel-

Hulk nudges him gently.

"Mate- you are going to stink up the whole room if you don't quit."

Daniel forces the feeling back down, gets control back over his scent. Still- when Lewis gets a taste of it, looks over at him with concern- Daniel meets his gaze head on, lip curling slightly in a snarl.

It's openly defiant, and he's lucky no one else notices, otherwise Lewis would be forced to confront it immediately, handle whatever challenge Daniel has for him publicly.

But Lewis doesn't like to lead like that, so he just narrows his eyes before he finishes the rookie tour.

Daniel means to forget about it, scrolling his phone in the lounge when the door swings back open. Lewis stalks back in, and his scent is both confused and agitated.

"What the fuck, Daniel?"

Daniel barely glances up from his phone. He hasn't done anything close to forgetting about it- he's spent the last forty five minutes remembering every slight against Max, getting progressively more worked up about it, and his scent is permeating the room, defensive and angry.

If he's finally going to blow his lid about the Max thing, he's going to make it worth it.

Seb slips in, and both Charles and Hulk follow- two people Daniel is likely to listen to if somehow the pack alpha and omega can't get through to him.

They'll probably have a whole crowd by the time Daniel is done.

"Can I help you?"

Seb's eyebrows shoot up as Lewis snarls softly.

"I don't know what your problem is Dan, but if we could talk about it, instead of you challenging me when I'm bringing in rookies-"

Daniel scoffs.

"What, like bringing in rookies is sacred? I'm not exactly sure when you two started giving a shit about that."

Seb looks startled at being included, but Daniel's certainly not letting him get out of it.

"Daniel- bringing in rookies has always been important to us."

The snarl from his chest surprises even him, the result of years of watching Max, endlessly hopeful for approval and acknowledgment but never getting it, watching a pup- an omega pup- try and hide his heartbreak each time he's passed over-

Garages are not meant to be packs, but Redbull is, because the drivers pack has failed.

"Go ahead and tell that to Max, yeah? I'm sure he'll agree with you."

The scents in the room sour, and Lewis's face scrunches up.

"Okay- I know we dropped the ball on Max, but Daniel- he's a beta. And he's okay, clearly."

Daniel's scent is a thick cloud in the room, ozone and lightning, a near oppressive miasma.

"Alex is a beta. So was Sergey. That didn't stop either of them from being brought into the pack, did it?"

He abruptly stands up, and Seb takes a step back while Lewis snarls back at him, but Daniel's not backing down, not even to the pack alpha, not for this, not for Max.

"And don't fucking tell me that 'he's okay'. You aren't in that garage- you'd love to pretend he doesn't exist, wouldn't you?"

His accent has thickened, and Seb releases his scent a bit, tries to sooth the room.

"Daniel- I think we've had a miscommunication, yes? Max has not wanted to be in the pack."

"Oh don't- don't even start-"

Daniel's growling, low in his chest.

"You wouldn't know, because you never fucked asked- and if you had, maybe you would have realized that he did, he just doesn't know how to say it- and maybe that's because he's a fucking pup!"

He's right up and Lewis's face, and Lewis finally lets go on his scent- there's a brief moment where it's smothering, telling Daniel to stand down, but-

"Or maybe you could use your eyes, or your nose, or if you're feeling really generous, your brain- and you'll notice he's not a damn beta at all, you stupid cunts, he's an omega, and right now Redbull's picking up all the slack!"

Max had- Max had begged Daniel not to tell them, but Daniel can't keep it to himself anymore, can't bear to watch it- and Max feels betrayed enough already, it's not like he can make it worse.

There's a sharp scent change, horror from Seb and a deep note of surprise from Charles and Hulk, but Lewis-

Lewis makes a wounded noise, stepping back.

"No- no? No, we would have- we would have noticed."

Daniel feels the laugh bubble out of him.

"Well, great job on that front, cheers to the pack alpha, yeah? Wrap it up, Lewis Hamilton is soooo great he can decide dynamics now!"

"Daniel."

Seb's voice is sharp, the one he used when Daniel was younger, getting into things he shouldn't, toeing the line in press conferences. Daniel doesn't care- he's not the rookie anymore, he had his own rookie, and he's doing exactly what Seb taught him to do- protecting him.

Daniel doesn't want to hear whatever it is Seb has to say- something to smooth over the situation, to make it less than it is, and he doesn't-

He doesn't want to hear it.

"No, fuck that, I'm going out."

He stalks past Lewis, who takes a few steps after him.

"Hamilton, if you don't actually want to fight with me right now, stop following."

Daniel lets the door slam behind him, and some part of him feels the sting- he's treating pack like shit right now, but deeper, tucked underneath it-

He wants to go see Max. If only to sooth the ache in his own chest. Wants to curl up in the team nest and have Max doze off next to him, bury his nose in his hair and smell pine and tart blackberries, the slight edge of milky pup scent he hasn't quite managed to get rid of yet.

No one in Redbull has told Max- as far as Daniel is aware- that when he's curled up in a pack pile, deeply asleep, sometimes he'll purr.

It's a treasured memory, because Max straight up refuses to do it any other time. GP has the best luck in the team of drawing it out, but Daniel is a close second.

Was a close second.

He stops for a moment, realizing he can't. He can't go to back to Redbull and climb in the nest, can't curl up with Max and the others, and this is why garages aren't usually pack- it hurts too much when a driver leaves.

"Fuck."

------

It's Charles that breaks the silence, looking wide-eyed at Seb.

"Max? Max is an omega?"

Seb opens his mouth before shutting it again. He's not-

He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to make it better, hasn't even fully digested the implications of what Daniel had shouted at them.

Max Verstappen is a beta. He's an aggressive beta, cocky and arrogant, who wants nothing to do with them, and he's a danger to the pack on track.

Seb's head hurts. Trying to reframe it-

Max Verstappen is an omega. He's practically still a pup, has pack bonded with his garage, and-

And wanted to be part of the pack. As a driver. Because he is, he's a driver, and he's so young still, and he's-

"Seb,"

It's Lewis with his hand on his shoulder, soothing him, and Seb barely recognizes his own scent, drenched in shame and guilt and sorrow.

"We'll fix it- we can go talk to him."

An omega. They're few and far between as is- the loss of Nico to the grid had been rough, and even now as Seb is thinking about it, Nico had spent so much time with Max-

"Lewis- Lewis, Nico knew-"

He sees the moment it hits Lewis as well, jaw clenching as his squeezes his eyes shut briefly.

"Damn it."

Lewis turns to Charles and Hulk.

"You two- none of this leaves this room until Seb and I get it figured out, got it?"

Charles nods meekly, half hidden behind Hulk, and Seb is sure the two of them smell horrid at the moment, but they need to fix this-

Omega. A pup, and Seb had seen Jos, there's no way Max got what he needed, and he's-

He's relying on his garage for his needs, when garages aren't built for it, aren't designed to withstand pack dynamics. They can't function under the strain, and the chances of having a Team Principal who is also a pack alpha are slim. A Team Principal and separate pack alpha leads to issues within the pack, and he has no idea how Redbull has been managing for two years.

God. Max wasn't even an adult, and all Seb had seen was an arrogant kid, hadn't even taken a second to look further.

Maybe if he had they wouldn't have missed it.

Instead, they now have a deeply damaged pack bond with Daniel, a nonexistent pack bond with a grid omega, and potentially an entire team under packbond strain.

How this is only blowing up their faces now is a miracle.

#omegaverse #yes seb you fucked up #ficlet

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ihavesimpedovermanyfictionalmen · 2 days ago

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Quiet Mornings

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀᴜꜱᴛɪɴ ʙᴜᴛʟᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: fluff... i think that's it

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏ/ɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴜꜱᴛɪɴ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

A/N - been gone for a little too long, came up with this at literally 3 this morning so boom here ya go

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。

- The smell of fresh coffee fills the apartment as Y/N sits at the kitchen counter, her legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of Austin's oversized hoodies. She’s hunched over a notebook, scribbling ideas, but her eyes keep drifting toward the window, where soft sunlight spills into the room, making everything glow. There’s a peaceful silence in the air—just the soft hum of the coffee machine and the occasional rustle of pages.

Austin stands by the stove, flipping pancakes, humming a tune. She watches him with a small smile, the sight of him so domestic and natural it tugs at her heart.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she teases, resting her chin on her palm.

He smirks without looking up. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like what?”

He flips a pancake onto a plate, turning to lean on the counter across from her. “Like how I’m a terrible liar. I’ve burned pancakes twice already, but I’ll do anything to see you smile.”

Her laughter bubbles up, and he watches her, his grin softening. In that moment, he knows: this is everything he’s ever wanted.

Y/N takes a moment, her smile lingering, before she reaches for her cup of coffee. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she says with a playful wink, and he chuckles.

“Lucky?” Austin gives a feigned look of hurt. “I thought we were past calling me cute.”

Y/N snorts. “Okay, fine. You're charming then.”

“Better,” he says, his eyes sparkling. Y/N shakes her head, returning her attention to her notebook while Austin returns his to his attempt at cooking.

Every so often, though, his gaze drifts toward Y/N—he can’t help it. Seeing her like this, calm, at ease, makes his chest warm.

She catches him looking and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I didn’t know you could look so... I don’t know, cute, while being all serious and deep in thought.”

Y/N snorts again and rolls her eyes, but there’s a light in her gaze. “What’s so cute about me staring at a notebook?”

“Everything. You just—” He shrugs with a playful grin, “I don’t know, you make thinking look like a sport or something.”

Her lips twitch upward. “I can’t believe you,” she mutters, shaking her head, but it’s clear she’s holding back a smile.

Austin walks over to the counter with another plate of pancakes and sets it down in front of her. “Eat up. You’re probably going to need the energy if you’re planning on solving all of the world’s problems today.”

She eyes the stack, then looks back at him. “I should be working, not eating pancakes.”

“Trust me,” he says, nudging her gently, “world problems will wait. Pancakes won’t.”

She picks up a fork, cutting into the pancakes slowly, savoring each bite. They sit in comfortable silence, both of them enjoying the stillness, the unspoken connection between them stronger than ever.

After a few moments, Y/N looks up, her voice softer than before. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a morning like this. Where everything just feels... okay.”

Austin’s expression softens, and he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”

She nods. “My mornings are usually all chaos. Trying to get everything done, rushing through everything. But this... this is nice.”

He smiles, a little wistfully. “You deserve nice.”

Y/N looks at him for a long moment, her fork still in her hand. She’s not sure what to say, but the words come anyway. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Austin.”

His smile widens, and he walks around the counter to stand in front of her, taking her hand in his. He looks down at her, his eyes filled with quiet certainty. “You don’t have to do anything. Just be you.”

She’s quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. “I think I’m still learning how to just be me.”

Austin gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. “You’re doing great.”

They share a moment of quiet understanding, the soft hum of the world outside their little bubble blending with the sounds of their connection. Austin’s hand moves to gently caress her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin.

“Want me to make you more pancakes?” he asks, his tone playful, breaking the silence without disrupting the moment.

“Maybe later,” she replies, her voice soft. “I’m kind of enjoying just being here with you.”

Austin smiles, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

She looks up at him, her eyes bright. “I know.”

He goes back to the stove, humming as he cracks a couple of eggs into the pan. His gaze drifts off, completely lost in the quiet, peaceful moment between them.

Y/N notices the soft smile still lingering on his face and can’t help but laugh. “Hey, Austin?”

“Hm?” he hums back, completely distracted.

“Your eggs.”

He pauses, the smile faltering slightly, and then his eyes widen as he turns to the stove. “Oh shi—”

The eggs are burning, the pan letting out a faint sizzle as the smell of overcooked eggs fills the room. Y/N bursts out laughing, covering her mouth as she giggles.

Austin sighs dramatically but can’t hide the playful grin creeping onto his face. “I swear, I’ll get this cooking thing down one of these days.”

Y/N chuckles. “Well, I’m definitely enjoying the process... just not the burnt eggs.”

Austin shrugs, his grin softening as he walks over to her. “Guess I’ll have to try again. But at least I’ve still got you.”

She leans in and kisses his cheek, her eyes soft. “You’ve always had me, Austin. Even if the eggs don’t come out perfect.”

With that, they both laugh again, the kitchen filled with warmth, the perfect chaos of their quiet mornings.

#austin butler #austin butler fandom #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #female insert #x reader

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tomriddlehyperfixataion · 2 days ago

Text

One was enough- Diary, Ring, Locket, Cup, and Diadem! Tom Riddle x Reader -Smutshot

Request from @sweatymusictree; Can I request of Tom riddle x reader? Where his horcruxes turn to human when reader did something to make them human. This could be a fluff, smut, chaotic.

A mix of smut, humor, and fluff…I guess. Enjoyyy, age gaps included, I guess starts in chamber of secrets, starts same age as diary Tom.

warning; threesomes, foursomes, and fivesoms(kinda), lotta smut, breeding kink, Tom Riddle X4

Edit; it turned into angst/an actual story…idk, guess I can’t write without plot.

How she discovered it she really didn’t know, but she got her hands on a diary in her 6th year, and upon opening it, discovered it was so much more than a diary. She learned it held the trapped soul of a boy named Tom Riddle from the 40’s, so she helped release him-only to learn he…partially lied to her, but he liked her, so he ‘kept’ her.

“Could you let me go? I have to go to breakfast,” (y/n) murmured from within Tom’s arms, which were tight around her as he forced her to sleep in with him, he had no obligations-though he made her bring extra work back to her room so he could study-only having memories to the end of his 6th year, meaning he knew nothing beyond that.

“No,” Tom muttered against her neck, laying kisses on her warm skin-the blankets heavy on both of them, a tempting feeling to stay in bed with her boyfriend. Yes. He was her boyfriend-she didn’t decide it he did.

“But I’m hungryyy,” (y/n) groaned, trying to roll out of his arms but he held her tightly, keeping her still as he pressed kisses down her neck and arm, fingers hooking into her shorts. “Tom-“ she huffed, kicking at him and he pinned her leg, sucking the skin of her thigh into his mouth.

“I’m hungry too,” he chuckled, pulling her shorts and underwear down, his tongue connecting with her cunt that was still a bit swollen from the last night. She groaned, letting her thighs fall open as he licked at her, his tongue soft and warm against her-smoothing over her clit.

He brought her to a slow-burning orgasm that left her breathless, panting quietly as he crawled back up her body, leaning over her with his elbows resting next to her head. She shoved him off and he landed on the floor. “ow.” He grumbled, looking right at her as she stepped over him-still half naked-and went to get dressed and brush her teeth.

He grabbed her ankle as she stepped over him again and she huffed, looking down at him as he smirked up at her, blanket curled around his waist-topless. “Can I go?” She drawled, and Tom hummed in fake thought, and then shook his head. (y/n) groaned, throwing her hands up and smacking them against her thighs. “I’ll grab you pumpkin pasties.”

Tom let her ankle go.

After graduating from Hogwarts, she found a ring in an old shack, Tom recognized, or well had, the magic that kept it protected, and he was able to grab it for her and uncurse it. She could feel the same magic in the ring that she felt in the diary so-she freed the soul within and was met with an older Tom Riddle, around 20 years old.

He raised his brow at her, and then blinked as he was met with the, now 17, year-old version of himself-from the dairy Horcrux. “What?” he muttered and Diary Tom pointed at (y/n).

“She knows how to release the souls and give us bodies, don’t ask me I have no clue-but she’s mine-no touch.” Diary Tom said, grabbing (y/n) to hold her close as she sighed after Ring Tom had given her several lookovers, clearly interested in the random girl who could reverse horcrux creations and give them bodies with ease.

Ring Tom smirked, tilting his head. “oh, I wouldn't be so sure, after all-we’re the same person, just in different stages of life…I’ll teach you extra dark arts if you share.”

“Deal.”

(y/n) face palmed.

Her face was hot and her body felt feverish as Ring lapped at her cunt, smooth tongue against her clit and Diary kissed her, smoothing his hand over her belly and fondling her breasts, pinching her breasts. “She’s fucking delicious,” Ring groaned, spreading her thighs further to better bury his face between them.

“I’m gonna-“ (y/n) croaked, feeling her 3rd orgasm burning low in her belly, her shaking thighs squeezing Ring’s head as she arched, Diary scraping his teeth on her neck as she felt it roll over her, draining her of all energy as Ring kept smoothing his tongue through her folds. “okay okay-enough-“ (y/n) groaned, rolling her body over, Ring’s hair getting all tussled as her thigh brushed over his head.

Ring hummed, resting his chin on the back of her thigh, him and Diary(which she had started to mentally refer them as such since she couldn’t both call them Tom, it would get way too confusing too quickly.), glancing at each other before Diary tugged her into his arms-the two having known each other the longest and being the same age.

(y/n) huffed, letting him cuddle her, her thighs being massaged by ring. “This is my life now isn’t it? Being hoarded by split souls of the same guy.” She muttered to herself and Ring chuckled, Diary smirking against her neck.

“You did this to yourself, my dear. I hardly had to talk you into giving me a body; though I’m quite grateful, I much rather be linked to you than drain your life force to gain mine.” (y/n) huffed at Diary's words, ring sitting up a bit.

“Oh, is that how she pulled us out?” Ring asked, tilting his head and (y/n) nodded. “I reversed horcruxed you both, so now both your soul fractures are linked to my life force, I’m now your horcrux-to put it basically.” (y/n) mumbled and Ring smirked, climbing on top of her to suck a hickey into the back of her neck, Diary grunting at the extra weight but not shoving him off.

“Ah, so that was the instant connection I felt, and here I thought you were just attractive.” Ring purred into her ear, and she elbowed his head-just hard enough to make him flinch. “oi.”

“Get off me.” She groaned, she had enough on her hands babysitting diary, and now she had TWO of Tom. At least one of them was older.

Older, in no way meant more mature. They’d gone to Diagon alley to get supplies, food, clothes, and the whole time the Tom’s spent it bickering, (y/n) face palming half the time as they ‘discussed’ the best things for them to get, apparently only four years difference made a huge gap in fashion sense and preferences.

“She’d look good in this.”

“Oh yes.”

They were agreeing on something now? (y/n) thought to herself, turning to look at them, only to see them looking at lingerie, green in color and leaving nothing to the imagination if worn.

“No.” (y/n) said, pointing hard at them and Ring grinned at her, Diary pouting slightly-using his more, baby face, against her. “No.”

Diary huffed, putting the lingerie back and walking after her, Ring glancing back at the fabric-sneaking it into his pocket with no one seeing.

“You did not! You stole it?!” (y/n) yelped when Ring gave it to her when they were back at her apartment, her eyes wide as she held the flimsy green lace.

“I knew you wouldn’t buy it, and we wanted to see you in it.” Ring said with a smug smirk, leaning over her as Diary’s gaze flicked between her and the lingerie, swallowing harshly. “don’t we diary?”

Diary nodded, standing up from the couch, putting his hands on her hips and chin on her shoulder. “yes. Absolutely, I think you’d look stunning darling,” Diary purred, squeezing her hips.

(y/n) let out a long sigh, knowing they wouldn’t drop it until she did what they wanted. “fine. No touching for 10 minutes, you’re both suffering.” She ordered, heading into her bedroom the change, Diary tried to follow but Ring grabbed the back of his shirt-keeping him in the lounge.

When (y/n) emerged, Diary nearly tipped over-his eyes locked onto the way the lingerie hugged her curves, and just barely covered her breasts. “ten. Minutes. No touch.” (y/n) said, sternly pointing at both of them, punishment for stealing the lingerie. Ring and Diary both groaned, eyes following her every move as she went into the kitchen to make a snack.

“Oh, my merlin-look at that ass.” Diary muttered and Ring couldn’t help but just nod in agreement. (y/n)’s cheeks flushed, glaring over her shoulder at him. “Keep comments to yourself!” she snapped, and Diary groaned again, leaning on the dining table and sinking to his knees.

Him and Ring stared at her for the full 10 minutes, Ring keeping count on his watch and when the ten minutes were up-he beelined to (y/n) and scooped her up, (y/n) yelping as she was tossed over a shoulder. “Tom!” she squawked, feeling his hands roughly grip her thighs as he turned on his heel-heading straight for the bedroom with Diary close behind.

She was thrown onto her bed, which wasn’t as comfortable as she would’ve liked-letting out a grunt as Ring climbed on top of her, Diary quickly joining with an eager grin. (y/n) felt her face grow hot as Ring fondled her lace-covered breasts, his tongue slowly trailing from her collarbone to her breasts, Diary reaching between her and Ring to rub her clothed clit, her hips jumping.

Diary chuckled into her ear, resting his head on her shoulder as Ring undid her bra, tossing the lace to the side to take a breast in his mouth, circling his tongue around her hardening nipple.

“Honestly-you two are obsessed.” (y/n) groaned, reaching up to grip the pillows behind her head as Diary’s fingers dipped beneath her panties to rub directly against her clit in small circles.

“You’re our link darling, of course we’re obsessed.” Ring purred, spit connecting his tongue to her breast before he latched back on, his other hand fondling her breast as Diary’s fingers slipped inside her, slowly thrusting and curling his fingers gently, making (y/n) groan and turn her head to the side.

“Now, who gets what end?” Ring purred, sitting up, unzipping his trousers and Diary smirked, laying a wet hot kiss on (y/n)’s neck. “you got the lingerie; you get first pick.” Diary murmured, (y/n) obediently lifting her hips as Ring pulled off her lace panties.

“I know exactly what I want.” Ring groaned, reaching for the bedside drawer to grab a condom, Diary unzipped his trousers as well, moving to rest (y/n)’s head between his legs as Ring wrapped her legs around his waist.

(y/n) let out a low groan, her eyes fluttering as Ring pushed inside her, his hips slotted against hers as the tip of Diary’s cock tapped her lips. She opened her mouth, taking Diary’s cock into her mouth and he let out a groan, his head tipping back as both of them began to thrust into her, Diary slower and gentler while Ring quickly picked up speed and roughness.

Ring roughly gripped her hips, leaning over her as his hips smacked against her butt, sweat beading at his brow while (y/n) writhed and let out muffled groans as Diary tipped her head further back, allowing him deeper into her mouth, and into her throat.

“She’s so fucking warm.” Diary moaned, holding the back of her neck for support as he rolled his hips towards her. Ring groaned in agreement. “and so tight.” Ring said, Diary beginning to pant as he felt himself get close. He was younger, (y/n)’s age, so he didn’t last as long as Ring did.

Diary let out a half-choked moan, spilling himself into (y/n)’s throat, she swallowed around him, and he pulled out of her mouth as he felt it become too much for him, panting heavily as he leaned back, adjusting (y/n)’s head to lay in his lap as Ring continued to pound into her.

(y/n) breathed heavily as she felt Ring fuck her hard and deep-just like he always did, the two were insatiable, especially Ring, who had higher stamina than Diary. She groaned as Ring’s finger swirled her clit, pressing just hard enough to make the pit in her gut grow hotter.

“I’m-!” she gasped out, hips jolting as Ring rolled his hips just right and hit that spot inside her, making her crash. She moaned as her orgasm rolled over her, clenching tight around Ring’s cock and he groaned in turn-releasing inside the condom, pulling out slowly after a minute.

“All ours,” Diary hummed from above her, leaning down to kiss her cheek as Ring massaged her bruising hips. Ring grinned in agreement, watching their girl come down from her high, her body twitching as Diary rubbed her neck and jaw.

Ring had gone out for a walk, Diary sulking at home while (y/n) was at work. Diary being the first made horcrux and the first resurrected-was especially attached to (y/n), since they were also the same age, so any time (y/n) ignored him or went somewhere Diary couldn’t follow-he sulked, much like the teenager/young adult he was.

Ring paused as he passed by a set of apartments, looking up at the solid building. He could sense another apartment inbetween two apartments, hidden by an intricate spell. He also sense something else, another soul fracture.

He held his hand up, summoning his soul fracture to him. It was resistant for a moment, and then came crashing through a spell border, a locket-Slytherin’s locket-landing in his palm, the chain icy cold against his fingers. It was covered in dust.

Why would one of his horcruxes-Slytherin’s locket of all things-be in an abandoned apartment? The apartment of the Black family no less. Ring didn’t dwell on it, pocketing the locket and heading straight back to (y/n)’s apartment, polishing the locket and setting it on the dining table for her to see when she got home.

“What is that?” Diary asked-watching Ring polish the locket. Ring smirked, holding it up in the fluorescent light. “Another horcrux, our mother's locket.” Ring murmured and Diary was up on his feet, gently grasping the locket and taking it from Ring’s hands.

“Slytherin’s locket.” Diary whispered, looking giddy. Ring takes it back and sets it on the table, the two waiting for (y/n) to return, when she does, she takes one look at them and sighs, loudly.

“What happened now?” she drawls, walking further into her apartment, resting her hands on the back of Ring’s chair, he picks up the locket and hands it to her. She can instantly feel the same magic that the Ring and Diary had, and she sighs, letting her head fall back in exasperation. “Another one?!”

Ring shrugged with a smirk, Diary huffing slightly as (y/n) went off to her room to grab what she needed to resurrect this soul fracture. After an hour, there's a new Tom standing in her living room-this one the oldest by far, probably in his mid to late 30’s. He’s…well he’s for sure handsome, age definitely does Tom well.

His red-tinted gaze locks onto her and makes a move to draw his wand(which of course he doesn’t have, Ring and Diary had been sharing a wand that (y/n) had gotten soon after graduating.) but is interrupted by Ring and Diary-Locket quickly shocked being faced by two younger versions of himself.

“Relax, yes, we’re horcruxes as well, I was the ring, he was the diary-you, of course, were the locket, this is (y/n). She somehow knows how to resurrect us and give us bodies by linking our soul fractures to her own. Yes, the connection you feel for her is something we feel too and we’re all sharing her. It’s been fun.” Ring explained as Locket stared at them, and then at (y/n), who was staring right back, her arms crossed.

“Sharing her?” Locket drawls and (y/n) really likes his matured tone, slow and calculated. Diary and Ring nodded, locket pushing past them to study (y/n) up close, his gaze intense. He soon smirked, tilting his head. “I think I can agree with that,” he hummed, Ring and Diary grinning like wolves as (y/n) swallowed harshly.

Three Toms. Dear. Merlin.

She’s on top of Ring, Diary in front of her, and Locket behind her. Ring’s cock was inside her cunt, Locket stretching out her other hole while Diary made out with her, his hands massaging her breasts while Ring thrust up into her with short rolls of his hips, enjoying the way she was extra tight with all the extra attention.

“Mmm, I think you’re ready now,” Locket murmurs, his chest against her back as he leans up against her, cock pressing to her asshole. She let out a croaking moan as his rough hand wrapped around her neck, pulling her away from Diary and towards himself so she’s fully pressed up against him. She can feel every inch of Ring’s cock inside her, and the head of Locket's cock against her backside.

She groans again, clutching Locket’s arms as he pushes inside her, getting past the tight ring and then he’s in, him and Ring inside her at the same time. She feels short for breath, her vision fuzzy as Diary grumbles, being separated from her once again by his older selves. “Give her back.” Diary demands and Locket chuckles, deep and dark and (y/n) shivers, letting out a broken moan as he and Ring begin to thrust into her, one going in as the other pulls out.

“You’ve had her the longest, I’ve just gotten her.” Locket purrs, licking up the shell of (y/n)’s flushed ear and she shivers, hips jolting down towards Ring, he chokes a moan, gripping her hips tightly as Locket has his arms wrapped tight around her-hand around her neck and the other around her ribs.

Diary huffs, watching as his older selves thoroughly make (y/n) putty in their hands, Locket slowly rolling his hips into her while Ring roughly thrusts up, his hands bruising her hips again as she chokes on her breath and moans, her eyes rolled back and shuddering with each double thrust from Locket and Ring.

Diary moves forward, slicking up his hand with saliva and reaching to rub her clit, grinning as (y/n) gasped his(their) name out, her face flushed as her body rocked towards the pleasure. “That’s it, cum for us.” Locket groaned into her ear, scraping his teeth on her neck as his and Ring’s cocks rocked into her, Diary mouthing her breasts and rubbing her clit in quick circles.

(y/n) groaned, cumming hard from the three points of pleasure, feeling it through her whole body, clenching tight around Ring and Locket to where they came with her, filling the condoms with their release. “good girl,” Locket groaned from behind her-her ears ringing harshly in her head.

She was picked up and laid down on her side, Diary quickly gathering her into his arms to cuddle her close-since he had the largest soul fracture-he was always the most affectionate with her. She breathed heavily, leaning back into him, holding his arm as it wrapped around her. “that-was a lot.” She panted out, Diary huffing against her hair while Locket and Ring smirked at her, Locket smoothing his hands over her thighs while Ring admired the marks on her hips and neck.

“I can say, I’d never been much interested in sex, but that was quite-invigorating.” Locket purred and (y/n) huffed, letting Diary tug her further into his arms, glowering at the other two. “I suppose the soul connection she’s done to resurrect us has something to do with that?”

“That’s my theory, as doing so bounds us to her and her to us, soulmates practically.” Ring said, getting up to grab some cloths to clean (y/n) up with as Diary huffs again, he didn’t even get a turn this time and he didn’t want to push (y/n) further, she was already past her limit.

Locket hummed at Ring’s words, smirking. “interesting.”

After Locket gets comfortable in (y/n)s, slowly getting cramped, apartment-he reveals he’s actually the 4th horcrux, as ‘he’ made one more before the locket. Hufflepuffs Cup.

(y/n) doesn’t really want to look for the cup, she already had her hands full with just Diary! Now they wanted her to add another to the mix?? Four Toms?!

“How are you even going to find it? If the locket was hidden away, in a place you never expected, how the hell would you know where the cup is?” (y/n) asked, making dinner with Locket as Ring and Diary sat in the living room, having finished their chores.

“She makes a good point,” Diary hummed, resting his head back on the couch. Ring sighed, Locket pursing his lips slightly. (y/n) did have a point. She’d been slipped the Diary by someone, probably Malfoy or something since all three Toms’ did claim to be close friends with their era of the family, their closest friends actually. Then Diary had found Ring since she’d actually lived in Little Hangleton with her family; so Diary had easily found the ring in the old Gaunt shack, and Locket had been found by Ring by complete accident!

“Maybe we just, don’t look for it, after all, Locket was found by accident, Ring was found by accident, and Diary was just kinda-given to me, I also think on accident.” (y/n) muttered, the Tom’s looking at her as she addressed them by item names, not by their actual names. “look it’s the only way I can keep track of you, one Tom’s enough.” (y/n) said after catching Lockets side-eye.

“So, just-don’t look for a Horcrux and we’ll find one, good, great idea.” Ring drawled, yelping as he was smacked in the face with a wet hand towel, Diary snickering from his safe spot across the couch.

…

Two weeks later, Locket found the bloody cup. He’d been going to Gringotts to see if his bank account was still open, and while traveling through the caverns, he felt the presence of another Horcrux, and he knew it had to be the cup. While the goblins were distracted, he subtly held the shared wand out, and soon the cup was in his hands, ringing in his ears as he pocketed it.

He returned to the apartment, holding up the cup for all to see. Ring’s eyes went wide as (y/n) face palmed, sinking to the floor as Diary snorted from in front of the TV.

“…EVERY TIME?!” Ring bellowed as Locket handed the cup to (y/n) who had half a thought to throw it across the room, but didn’t, groaning to herself and standing, heading to her room. “every time we DON’T look for one, we just-find it?! We did not hide these well at all the fuck?”

Locket only shrugged, when he’d split himself into the locket-he’d kept all the Horcruxes on him, except his diary, which he’d given to abraxas for safe keeping.

Hufflepuffs Cup soul fracture was, in age, between Locket and Ring, so he was around 24-25, and just like locket-tried to draw his wand at her(again, which he didn’t have) to attack-considering everything it wasn’t the most unlocgical act-but Locket and Ring quickly talked him down, telling him the situation.

And hour later, she was on her bed, legs tight around Cup’s head as Diary cradled her in his lap, Ring and Locket on either side of her. “every time-“ (y/n) groaned, her hips jumping as Cup’s tongue smoothed over her clit, swirling it and then thrusting his tongue into her cunt.

“must be some sort of bond-sealing thing,” Locket chuckled, pulling away from her breast, spit connecting his lips to her nipple. Ring hummed, nodding slightly. “that makes the most sense.” He murmured, rolling (y/n)’s nipple between his fingers as Cup continued to smooth his tongue over her clit, making her jump again.

(y/n) just groaned in response, her face flushed as she clung to Diary’s pants, her head pressed against his stomach. She hated how it felt so good, to be surrounded by the four Tom’s, one eating her out, two playing with her boobs, and the very first-Diary-always grounding her, holding her the gentlest.

“Why does she taste so good?” Cup asked, his face flushed and he almost seemed drunk as he went right back between her thighs, his teeth grazing against her clit-making her jump and whine.

“Must be the soul connection, makes everything about her, delectable.” Locket purred, leaning down to kiss her, tongue intertwining with hers as she groaned, legs trembling as she felt her orgasm approach, the warm pit in her gut tightening.

She moaned against Locket’s lips, hips jumping and her legs closed around Cup’s head as she felt it crash over her, body jolting as she came on Cup’s tongue. He groaned, licking up every drop of her arousal, clinging tight to her thighs. He breathed heavily as he came up, lips slick and flushed.

“I wanna fuck her,” he said breathlessly and a moment later her thighs were being spread open again and Cup was given a condom. He pushed inside her and (y/n) groaned, panting heavily as he began to thrust into her, hips smacking against her thighs as he hooked her legs over his shoulders, allowing him deeper.

Diary held her closer, kissing her as Locket and Ring continued to fondle her breasts, Ring circling her swollen clit with his fingers as Cup continued to rut into her, panting heavily.

“Fuck.” Cup groaned, clenching his jaw tightly as he climaxed, slumping back. (y/n) huffed, panting heavily, her brow furrowed. She didn’t get to cum. Diary could tell and quickly grabbed her-scooting her back into his lap before Locket or Ring could grab her. “Mine.” Diary hissed, aimed at Ring and Locket but nonetheless making (y/n) shiver.

“Sh-“ (y/n) moaned as his talented fingers found her clit, circling it in the exact way she liked, his other hand slipping down further to slip inside her, finding her g-spot and massaging it. “Tom,” she breathed out, resting her head back against his shoulder, he chuckled, kissing her jaw and neck as he thrust his fingers into her, circling her clit just the way she liked-making quick work of her. “oh~!”

She felt her orgasm roll over her again and she trembled, holding tight to Diary’s knees as he kept fingering her through it under she pulled away. “I’m done-no more-“ she panted, smacking Ring’s hands away when he went to grab at her. “I mean it, I’m done. Three of you was enough,” she muttered, wobbling to her feet and leaving her room to take a shower.

“Perhaps, if we find any more horcruxes, we keep them in there for a while before giving it to her.” Diary said, glancing at Locket and Ring, who were staring hard at the bathroom door.

“That might be the best course of action,” Locket murmured, looking at Diary and he sighed-getting up from the bed and going into the bathroom. “Just me,” Diary said as (y/n) made a sound of objection to her shower being interrupted. “you know, you don’t have to indulge our every whim dear, you can say no to us.”

Tom said softly, leaning against the sink as (y/n) sighed, moving to sit down on the bathtub floor. “It just feels like that’s all you guys want from me.” (y/n) murmured, resting her head on her arms. Tom frowned, pulling back the curtain slightly, his brow furrowing tighter when he saw her on the floor. He got in behind her, not caring about his clothes getting wet, wrapping his arms around her.

“I know it feels that way, but we all care about you, I…apologize we all have a tough time showing it, none of us are exactly right in the brain. But we’ll all back off for while. Promise, no touching you till you say you’re ready again.” Tom said gently and (y/n) let out a soft hum, resting back against him, closing her eyes.

“Thanks…why are you the only one who actually comforts me?” (y/n) muttered and Tom shrugged. “Possibly because I have the biggest soul fracture of all the Hocruxes, being the first so I have half a soul while the rest are smaller fractures, so I have more…capability to realize when you need comfort.” Tom offered and (y/n) shrugged, it made sense.

“Are you feeling comforted?” Tom asked and (y/n) laughed gently, nodding, resting her head on his arm.

“Yeah, thank you, Tom.”

“You’re welcome darling.”

Two and a half years passed, the four Toms got comfortable living with one another, it was still strange for them, being around themselves-at points of their lives where they split their soul, but they got along easily enough and helped around the house that Locket helped buy.

Yep. House, (y/n) bought and moved into a whole house with four Tom Riddle’s, the realter was a bit confused-but (y/n) explained they were all family, Diary was her boyfriend, Ring was his brother-and Locket and cup were their uncles.

Still an odd dynamic but easier to explain that ‘oh these are all my lovers who are all the same person just soul fractures, and they’re bound to me for eternity :D’

Yeah, weird family dynamic was easier.

Just before summer, at the end of spring, all four Tom’s felt something shift within their souls, all four felt as if they’d had some sort of heart attack, Diary tumbling to the floor from the stairs as Locket collapsed in the kitchen, Ring and Cup both blacked out on the couch; all from the sheer pain they felt.

It felt like they were being reborn, painfully and slowly, bones being broken and realigned, blood vessels being stitched together, muscles tightening and straining to hold up their weights.

Diary was the first to recover, gasping for breath on the floor, twitching in agony. “He’s resurrected himself,” he groaned, wobbling to get onto his feet, catching himself on the couch. The others knew who Diary was talking about. Voldemort, essentially the ‘core’ version of them, had gotten someone to resurrect him after so many years.

“We have to tell (y/n), and find the last Horcrux.” Locket groaned, getting up from the kitchen floor, woozy and unstable. “How did you know there's only one more?” Diary asked, flopping down on the couch between Ring and Cup.

“Because I’d planned to make one out of the four founders items, the cup, the locket, the diadem, and the sword; I have a feeling he never got the sword-only a Gryffindor can, but I had located the diadem by the time I made-well-myself. I believe i wanted to hide it in Hogwarts as well.” Locket groaned, sitting down in the love seat, the three living Hocruxes listening intently.

“So, we find it, then what? (y/n) bonds with that one too? Then what?” Cup asked with a groan, rubbing his face. What was the plan? Did they want to foil Voldemort’s plans? Why? After they were Voldemort, wasn’t what he wanted, what they wanted?

“I think our goals have changed, haven’t they?” Cup murmured, the others glancing at him, and then around the apartment.

Yeah. They have.

“I just don’t see why I have to sneak into Hogwarts! I mean-it’s suspicious!” (y/n) said as Diary helped her put her coat on. “what am I supposed to even say to Dumbledore? Oh, hi Professor! I’ve resurrected the younger versions of the most dangerous dark wizard and now they want me to do it again to prevent him from using another Horcrux? I doubt he even knows what a Horcrux is!” (y/n) said, crossing her arms as the four Toms’ winced, realizing she was right.

How was she supposed to get into the castle? Much less try to get to wherever the Horcrux was hidden.

“Perhaps this time it would be prudent to wait and listen, see when to strike.” Locket murmured and (y/n) sighed, grabbing her keys.

“You guys can brainstorm, I’m going to get food.” She muttered, Diary grabbing his coat and following her out of the door.

It’s two years later that she gets the excusable chance to go to Hogwarts. Dumbledore had been murdered, by death eaters, the funeral was held at the isle in the middle of the black lake. (y/n) had arrived dressed in all black, a bouquet of colorful flowers in hand.

She set the vibrant flowers on his grave, closing her eyes as she rested her hand on the cold stone. “Goodbye professor, thank you.” she whispered, stepping back and sitting with the crowd, quietly listening as the funeral went on.

As soon as everyone was up and about-blending into one big crowd, she slipped away into the castle, quickly going through the empty corridors that seemed colder than ever before.

Finally, she arrived at the room of requirement, passing it three times before the door appeared. She pushed inside, greeted by a very large room that held…so many things. She went further into the room, looking all over for the Horcrux. Locket said it would be the diadem, a small silver tiara with sapphires.

She passed by several mirrors and knickknacks, furniture and cloaks. She spent about an hour looking, even shifting through things. He wouldn’t hide it too much-so he could find it again if need be, that’s what locket said. She looked around again, finding a flat velvet box that had snake latch on it.

She snatched the velvet box, opening it carefully. There it was, Ravenclaws Diadem-and possibly the final Horcrux. She took it out of the box, putting the box back down, and then set the horcrux on the floor, grabbing what she needed from her bag.

She’d have to do it here, feeling it was risky to bring the diadem home.

She took out her wand, a soul connection potion(very risky to make, but she’d made it so many times now that it was as easy as breathing), and cut her hand. She smeared her blood onto the diadem, and swallowed half of the potion, the rest being poured onto the diadem.

The jewel at the crest cracked and (y/n) was pushed back by a wave of magic. She held her ground, she knew the routine. From a swirl of dark magic-green in color-came forth the oldest Tom she’d seen, maybe mid to late 40s. silver fox if you will.

Tom’s scarlet eyes locked onto hers, he was confused-just as all the others(except diary) were, he looked around, recognizing the room. “how did you do this?” he asked, his voice slightly rough, but even and mature.

(y/n) took a deep breath, rubbing her face. “Okay, so-In my 6th year, which was-four years ago now? I was accidentally given the diary horcrux” Tom tensed at that but (y/n) continued regardless. “by Lucius Malfoy, I grew connected with that horcrux, yes I know what you guys are-I’ll get that in a second-and so I resurrected him, connecting his life to mine so I became his Horcrux really. Anyway, later we found the ring, I also resurrected him-so then there were two of you, Diary and Ring, Ring found Locket-I also resurrected him, and then Locket found the cup, who I also resurrected. Anyway, a year ago Voldemort formally resurrected himself as the dark lord and the others all told me to come get you so Voldemort couldn’t use you guys.”

(y/n) went quiet, looking at Diadem Tom, who was staring at her as if she was insane, which-honestly, by now she probably was. “Any questions?”

“…You linked yourself to, not just one, but” he counted on his fingers. “five Horcruxes? Are you okay? As in mentally?” Diadem Tom asked, his eyes narrowed at her and (y/n) shrugged.

“I dunno, probably not by now considering I’ve lived with four other versions of you for four years now, my sanity went down the drain when I met Diary Tom, anyway we should go. Dumbledore's funeral just ended and I bet there will be people in the halls any moment now.” (y/n) said, grabbing his hand and Diadem Tom jolted, stumbling after her as she tugged him out of the room of requirement-quickly finding a working floo fireplace and heading straight back home.

Diadem Tom was-quite…shocked to see four other versions of himself at the house, the youngest, Diary-who was the same age as (y/n), then Ring the 2nd youngest, Cup, Locket, and then himself.

Diadem took the longest to do the, hem, bonding session between him and (y/n), he was the oldest by far and had far more control over his desires, hardly even recognizing the feeling until the others told him about what really ‘sealed the deal’ for the link between them and (y/n).

“Really? Sex? How barbarian.” Diadem drawled, sipping at some tea while the youngest, Cup and Ring, blushed a bit-they were the quickest of the four, now five, to seal things between themselves and (y/n), Diary hardly even waited for her to explain what she’d done to resurrect him, he’d just launched himself at her with feral need.

“yeah, we don’t know why it’s that way either, but each time she’s linked one of our fractures souls to her, we just feel…intense towards her, we supposed it made us soulmates to her.” Locket said, gaze drifting over to (y/n) who was busying herself doing her laundry,

“Soulmates.” Diadem murmured, circling the rim of his teacup with the pads of his fingers, gaze locked onto (y/n). she was about 20-25 years younger than him, since he was in his mid to late 40s, but she was already lovers with his younger selves.

He let a slow smirk grow on his face. Perhaps it was time to show the younger versions of him how it’s done?

Diary was fully pouting, glaring at Diadem as he slowly rolled his hips into (y/n), who was practically drooling into the sheets of her bed, her fists clenched tight to the fabric as she moaned weakly, body jolting with each thrust of Diadem’s hips. “Atta girl,” Diadem purred with a smirk, his grin growing feeling her clench tight around him.

He looked up at his younger selves, who had all been…not allowed to be a part of the bonding this time, Diary was the grumpiest, glaring at him while he fucked (y/n) slow and deep. “See how jealous they are darling?” Didem purred above her, one hand pinning her down by her neck as his other hand held her hips still, hearing her moan and whimper with each shallow roll of his hips. “jealous of how well I fuck you? make you feel better than any of them ever had?”

(y/n) groaned, peering at Diary who sat directly across from her, both jealous and protective of her, hating the way his older self was actually cucking him. Well, and the others, but Diary didn’t care about them, only himself and (y/n). she gasped as Diadem slammed into her to regain her attention and she slumped forward, letting out a croaking moan as he did it twice more.

She reached out with her free hand towards Diary and he was quick to latch onto her, kneeling in front of her and she wrapped her arms around him-keeping him close. Didem huffed a bit but didn’t do anything against it, having quickly learned that (y/n) was the one who called the shots, she was their tether, what she wanted was most important.

It went against their core values-that they were the most important, but soul linking did something to them, and he could already feel his values shifting, even after only knowing (y/n) for a day.

(y/n) turned her head towards Diary, pressing her lips to his and he groaned, turning it into a heated opened mouthed kiss as he pressed back into her, one of his hands grazing down her stomach till he reached her clit, smoothing over it gently with the pads of his fingers as (y/n) moaned into his mouth, her hands tangled in his hair.

Diadem moved both his hands to (y/n)’s hips, rutting harder into her as he felt his orgasm approach, groaning under his breath as (y/n) moaned into Diary’s mouth, gasping and panting as she felt her orgasm tighten in her gut. “ah-Tom!” she moaned, feeling it crash over her and all the Tom’s groaned as she moaned their name, Diadem thrusting twice more into her as he came.

He smoothed his hands over her hips as he pulled out and she slumped towards Diary, breathing heavily as Diary gathered her into his arms, pulling her closer, peppering kisses along her jaw and corners of her lips. “Close to her is he?” Diadem hummed, his scarlet gaze locked onto his youngest Horcrux and (y/n).

Ring, Cup, and Locket nodded. “He’s the first she resurrected, and they’re closest in age; plus he has the largest soul fracture,” Locket said, reaching out to smooth his hand over (y/n)’s thigh but Diary smacked it away, glaring at him. “Ah-“ Locket snickered, smirking at Diary as he held (y/n) closer. “clingy today?”

“Fuck off. I never get to have her to myself-Actually! I haven’t had her to myself since we found Ring.” Diary snarked, having picked up (y/n)’s habit of calling the other Toms by their Horcrux item. Ring balked at him, Diary sticking out his tongue childishly, holding (y/n) closer to him.

“No shouting please,” (y/n) grumbled from within his hold, Diary looking at her and apologizing quietly before glaring at the Horcruxes again. Ring rolled his eyes and Diadem chuckled, Cup sighing while Locket smirked.

“Clingy~” Locket said with a slight sing-song tone-yelping as he was smacked in the face with a pillow going at Mach speed.

Hardly a year later, (y/n) was racing through the corridors of a battle-blasted Hogwarts, panting heavily and limping-blood staining her clothes and skin. She’d been paying attention to the secret radio channel, Potter watch, and the hosts had called for action at Hogwarts-a final battle of sorts.

The war would end today, and either Voldemort would win, or Potter would.

(y/n) was fighting for Potter, dodging and weaving deadly spells sent at her by Death eaters. She hadn’t told her Tom’s that she’d gone to fight, they didn’t even know this was happening today-she never included them when listening to the Potter watch channel.

She slid through the corridor, ending up at the room of requirement’s corridor-just as Harry, Hermione, and Ron flew through the doors with fire right behind them. The castle's magic closed the doors of the enchanted room before the fire could reach them. Malfoy and one of his two goons had been with him and they ran for it as soon as they could.

“Why wasn’t it there!” Harry gasped as he got to his feet, dropping the broom from his grip, running his hands through his hair in a panic. “there was supposed to be one in there! We’ve found-none of them! No Horcruxes!”

(y/n) froze, swallowing hard. They were hunting Horcruxes, to take down Voldemort-since with them, his soul was tethered to the land of the living, unable to be claimed by the Grim Reaper.

She’d found all the Horcruxes, she’d resurrected all of them.

She’d accidentally fucked up the plan to kill the dark lord, starting with the diary.

She stepped forward, wanting to help but unsure how, Harry’s eyes instantly snapped to her-wincing and holding his head. Then a look of realization came to his face, eyes widening. “you’re linked to him, somehow.” He murmured, standing up and rushing over to her-getting in her face. “Why are you linked to him!?”

(y/n) knew she had to tell the truth, there was no time to lie, or excuse herself. “I got his first Horcrux in my sixth year, your 2nd, it was a diary. We…grew close, he…convinced me to link his soul to mine, to resurrect him. Then it spiraled from there. He made several, the diary, a ring, a cup, a locket, and the diadem-I got the diadem last year-at Dumbledore’s funeral. But…they’re all alive, so they’re not horcruxes anymore, I guess. I’m more their Horcrux than anything else.”

(y/n) said, trying to explain everything from the last four-five years without it sounding absolutely insane. Harry seemed both disgusted and shocked. “you…linked yourself to him? Willingly? Multiple times? You put multiple versions of him into the world?” Harry yelled at her, and she stepped back, unsure of how to defend herself.

“Yell at her like that again and I'll kill you myself.” A familiar voice snarled behind her, and she whirled around, seeing Diary Tom-by himself, shared wand in hand and he stalked towards her, looking quite battle-worn himself.

“Tom?” (y/n) asked quietly as he moved to stand beside her, glaring at Harry who glared right back-recognizing Tom from the memories he’d seen of the past.

“what in the hell are you doing here? Helping yourself win the war?” Harry snarled-his wand drawn to Tom’s neck-Hermione and Ron following his lead-not sure what was happening but trusting their friend.

“My goals have changed, I don’t care about what he wants, not for a long time.” Tom said, staring right back at Harry. “I’m Tom Riddle, not Voldemort.”

Tom saying that made both (y/n) and Harry look at him, almost…astonished. “Then…why are you here?” Harry asked, drawing his wand back a bit. Tom turned to (y/n) smiling weakly.

“To protect what's important to me.” He said softly and (y/n) let out a soft coo, feeling a little teary-eyed, glancing around for the others.

“Softie…where…where’s the others?” (y/n) asked and Tom sighed, swallowing thickly.

“We listened in on that challenge you listen you every day…we knew a battle with…us was going down. We know he has to fall so…we found a way to combine our soul fractures again, since I had the largest one…it’s just me again.” Tom said, (y/n) now noticing the ring on his hand, and the locket around his neck. The cup and Diadem left at home.

“They’re gone?” she whispered, and Tom nodded, swallowing thickly again.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, but you didn’t tell us you were coming here, so we didn’t get the chance to tell you what we decided to do.” Tom murmured and she couldn’t exactly tell him off for that, since he was right. She nodded shallowly and Harry huffed, not pocketing his wand but lowering it completely.

“Okay…what do we do to defeat Voldemort then?” Harry asked and Tom’s brows furrowed.

“I could possibly absorb his soul fracture, but he might have made more Horcruxes, I planned to make 7, the magic number. So, two more possibly…I’m unsure.” Tom muttered and Harry groaned, running his hands through his hair, showing his scar. Tom’s eyes locked onto it.

“How did you get that scar?” Tom asked, his eyes suddenly intense and Harry groaned.

“You would know! You caused it!”

“I. didn’t. How did you get that scar.” Tom demanded, getting in Harry’s face-grabbing him, causing pain for Harry and Tom quickly let go. “You. You’re a Horcrux.” Tom breathed out, his eyes going wide with quick realization. Harry glared at him, rubbing his forehead.

(y/n) moved to stand with Hermione and Ron, watching Tom and Harry argued with each other-Tom trying to convince Harry that yes, he’s indeed a Horcrux (Hermione whispered to her that she already figured that out, Harry had an odd connection with Voldemort since she met him), and Harry argued that he wasn’t, if only because he didn’t want to be.

A blast that rocked the castle cut the argument short and Tom thrust a golden glowing potion into Harry’s hand. “Drink that, I can absorb your soul fragment, one less Horcrux to kill.” Harry glared but drank the potion, coughing as Tom then put his hand to Harry’s scar and blood poured from the new wound, Harry screamed as Tom pulled out a small shard of Voldemort’s, Tom’s, soul-it was nearly black in color but turned whiteish green as Tom absorbed it.

“That bloody hurt!” Harry hissed and Hermione rushed to heal the new open wound with Dittany, Tom sighing and turning to (y/n).

“Let’s end this, and go back home.” He murmured and she nodded. They intertwined hands, working together to help fight against Voldemort’s death eaters, blasting spells and protecting each other fiercely.

Reports of Tom must’ve got back to Voldemort; because he soon made an appearance, Tom full-on paling at the sight of the snake-like dark lord in the Hogwarts courtyard.

“Oh, merlin is that what seven Horcruxes turned me into?” he croaked, hiding (y/n) behind him as Voldemort’s nostril’s flared in anger. “yeesh.”

Voldemort’s thin lips curled with anger, showing his fangs. “an imposter dares to insult me?” he snarled, more hissed, drawing the elder wand in his hands. Tom’s eyes flicked to it before focusing back on his older self.

“Not an imposter. I’m the diary.” Tom drawled, Voldemort froze, scarlet eyes widening. “the rest were resurrected too, and then combined. I’m the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, and the diadem.” And the scar, but Voldemort didn’t know about that, so Tom didn’t say it. “and now, I need your fragment.”

Voldemort’s nostrils flared again, and he drew his wand-Tom pushed (y/n) back and drew his wand as well-magic met magic, blasts of spells and curses flying about the courtyard as Tom faced off with Voldemort. Both felt resistance, fighting one another-being the same soul.

In the background Harry went after the snake with Ron and Hermione, having figured out it was a horcrux due to Tom sensing the soul fragment within it.

Voldemort fought viciously, sending deadly curses and highly damaging spells, trying to wipe this-imposter-from the face of the earth. Tom fought just as hard, his teeth clenched tightly as he danced between the curses, sending them right back at the dark lord-determined to be the only ‘Tom Riddle’ in the world again.

Voldemort suddenly paused, pain clear on his face and Tom spared a glance to see that the snake had been beheaded by a chubby-faced boy with the sword of Gryffindor-with the distraction Tom launched himself forward, slamming his hands into Voldemort’s face-forcing the potion down his throat. “die.” Tom hissed in parseltongue, absorbing the very small soul fracture of Voldemort's soul into himself, the black piece turning grey as Tom took it.

Voldemort-without a soul-collapsed to the ground, eyes empty and lifeless.

Tom took a heaving breath, stumbling back from the body, turning to see the chaos of battle slowly settle, death eaters cowering after realizing their leader was dead, celebration from those who had fought against Voldemort.

And (y/n), still there, watching him, waiting for him. He smiled weakly, grabbing the elder wand from the dead man’s hand and walking over to her. “it’s over,” he murmured and (y/n) wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder and he held her just as tightly, sighing softly as he inhaled her scent.

He gave the elder wand to Harry, took (y/n)’s hand, and they went home.

The house felt empty without them, (y/n) realized. The house she’d bought with the help of Locket had been for six people, and now there were only two of them, her and Tom. “Is it strange I miss them?” she asked quietly while they made dinner one night, two months after Voldemort had been defeated.

Tom paused while cooking the rice, glancing over at her, before shaking his head. “it’s not, you were connected to all of us, not just by feeling but by your very soul, it’s…believable that it feels like somethings missing now.” Tom said softly, turning off the heat to comfort (y/n), who leaned into him. “they’re still here, just…it’s all me now.”

(y/n) sighed, tilting her head up to kiss his jaw and he smiled softly, turning his head to kiss her properly, cupping her jaw with his hand. “I did get all their memories, so I have different perspectives of the last five years, and the years before they were split into their items,” Tom murmured as they pulled away slightly, rubbing his thumb over her cheek.

“Wow…oh does that mean uh, you gained their…experience as well?” (y/n) asked shyly, blushing, and Tom grinned, leaning down and scooping her up, wrapping his arms around her thighs-turning off the stove before heading right to the bedroom.

(y/n) huffed as she was tossed onto her bed, looking up at Tom as he crawled over her, smirking like the devil. He leaned down-she met him halfway-their lips connecting in a soft slow kiss, his hand drawing down her body to undo her shirt as their tongues met.

“Still so delicious,” Tom hummed against her lips, moving to pepper his lips sideways to her ear, then down to her jaw, then her neck, licking and sucking at her skin, leaving small marks.

(y/n) moaned softly, her body arching to help him get her shirt off, then her bra, his warm hands smoothing over her breasts, his mouth joining them. She moaned again as his tongue swirled around her nipple, the other being tweaked by his fingers and then given the same attention with his tongue. “Is this okay?” Tom asked against just below her breasts, she heaved and nodded, her head falling back as his lips went lower, unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down with the help of her lifting her hips.

She let out a soft sigh as his hair brushed against her stomach as he kissed her lower stomach, fingers hooking under her panties and drawing them down, kissing the inside of her thighs before his tongue met her clit. “oh,” she whined, forcing her legs to stay apart as his hands held her hips, his tongue pressing hard to her clit, his fingers joining and pushing inside her, slowly thrusting into her and curling-making her heave for breath and gasp his name.

“I used to hate my name, but I love the way it sounds when you say it.” Tom murmured when he’d pulled away from her for a moment before diving back in like a man starved, moaning into her cunt as her arousal coated his tongue.

“Tom,” she moaned again, fingers curling into his hair as her knee hooked over his shoulder, bringing him impossibly closer. He groaned and pressed his tongue harder on her clit, adding a third finger to give her more pleasure.

“I’m gonna-“ she groaned, she could very much tell all the horcrux's knowledge of her and how she worked had combined into one for Tom, because he was taking her apart so quickly it was almost frightening, but it felt so good. “Tom!”

He groaned, pressing his fingers into her sweet spots as he fluttered his tongue against her clit, smirking as she came, body trembling as she gasped his name, curling forward to clutch at his head. “fuck-Tom!”

He pulled away when she tugged his head away from her, “too much-“ she choked out, breathing heavily as he licked his lips and chin, and then sucked on his fingers, groaning at the taste of her. She was blushing furiously as he undid his shirt and pants, his boxers joining the rest of the clothes.

Tom reached to grab a condom from the drawer but (y/n)’s hand on his shoulder stopped, he glanced back at her, confused. She gave him a long, almost begging, look and he blinked. “do you not want to?” he asked, thinking she didn’t want to go full on today but she shook her head, closing the drawer with her foot, bringing him closer to her, her hand ghosting over his uncovered cock-that was hard and leaking.

He groaned at the touch, his brows furrowing as she stroked him. “I want…I don’t want the condom, I want to feel you.” she whispered, looking up at him. His jaw clenched and he kissed her hard, pushing her back down on the bed, one hand around her throat-like Diadem always did-keeping her pinned as her legs locked around his waist.

He thrust his hips to smooth his cock over her cunt, the tip rutting against her swollen clit. “Don’t tease,” she whined, and Tom chuckled, angling his hips and slowly pushing inside her, jaw dropping open at the pure heat he felt. “Oh fuck.” Tom groaned, his eyes closing as he felt her clench around him, wet, tight, and hot.

“Shit, don’t know how long I’ll last-fuck.” Tom cursed, she felt so damn good. He never wanted to use a condom again. “can-can I come inside you?” he asked, shallowly thrusting his hips and (y/n)’s eyes fluttered, nodding.

“yes-yes.” She moaned, leaning into him as he pressed against her completely, hand still around her throat as he began to fuck her, slow and deep at first-the two just blissfully enjoying the feeling of absolutely no barriers. They knew the dangers of unprotected sex but, perhaps it was time to start a new chapter for them.

And repopulate the house.

His hand pushed a little tighter on her throat and she moaned, their lips meeting as he began to thrust faster into her, rougher, his other hand gripping her inner thigh tightly as he rut into her, groaning and huffing as his hips snapped against her thighs.

“So fucking good, I can never get enough of you.” Tom groaned and (y/n) gasped into his mouth, breathing heavily as his cock kept hitting that good spot inside her, he angled his hips a bit and hit it even better-making her jolt and let out a whine, her hands clawing down his back.

“So-so good-ah!” (y/n) moaned, biting his shoulder to muffle her moans and he pushed his grip on her throat down-away from his shoulder. “No no. I wanna hear how good I make you feel.” Tom growled and (y/n) whined at the sound of it, her legs trembling as she felt her climax grow hotter and hotter in her gut, Tom rutting into her hard and fast, echoing in her ears.

She came first when his other hand that wasn’t holding her throat circled her clit-her body arched and she tensed up, silent as she felt the band snap within her. Tom followed close behind, groaning heavily as he thrust twice more, slotting his hips directly against her, as deep as he could be, cumming inside.

“Fuck,” Tom said, lightly laughing as he slumped on top of her, wrapping his arms around her as they both heaved for breath. “never using a condom again,” he grumbled and (y/n) couldn't argue, it felt too good to use it again, she’d just get birth control.

(y/n) carefully polished the golden Hufflepuff cup, setting it gently back onto the well-tended shelf. The Horcruxes sat up on a shelf, polished to shine beautifully and the shelf they sat on was decorated with small gifts, like shimmery rocks and dried flowers.

She grabbed the diadem next, cleaning it of dust and making sure the silver metal shone before putting it back on the shelf, feeling familiar arms wrap around her, a chin resting on her shoulder. “Evening Mrs. Riddle,” Tom murmured into her shoulder and her heart fluttered, spinning the Gaunt ring around her ring finger as she turned her head into him.

“Evening Mr. Riddle,” she said softly, smiling as he kissed her cheek. “is dinner ready?”

“Yes, your favorite,” Tom said, taking her hands and drawing her away from the shelf, (y/n) glancing back at the Cup, Diadem, and Locket for a moment before following Tom into the kitchen, the Ring warm between their intertwined hands.

-end-

This got out of my hands lol, the plot just-appeared-It was meant to be just like smut with very little plot with fluff and like-funny? But it turned into plot…sorry for ‘killing’ four of the five Tom’s off, but they’re not technically dead! Technically, they just don’t got separate souls anymore….yeah this just turned into a whole thing lol.

Uh, hope you enjoyed??

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #fluff fic #diary tom riddle #smut fic #diadem Tom Riddle #Ring Tom Riddle #Locket Tom Riddle #Cup Tom Riddle #horcrux Tom Riddle #angst #voldemort #horcrux

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moriitis · 2 days ago

Note

This is my first time doing this, but—

A snow day Toby x reader scenario? Been thinking of my favorite hatchet-wielding proxy in snowy weather <3

Or alternatively a mission/outing during snowy weather, whether or not it’d affect his movement and sight (not to mention the temperature insensitivity from his CIPA likely playing a role).

so sorry this took me awhile. started off well, went sloppy. hope its okay nevertheless.

Toby Rogers x Reader. SHORT.

Word; 3.4k.

Content/Warnings; mild language, mentions of sex, mentions of kissing, mentions of suicide.

The heat blowing from the vents within the car didn't do much to ease the cold from your fingertips as you hastily rubbed your hands together in a desperate attempt to warm them, cupping your hands together and blowing some air between your thumbs. 'It was cold as fucking balls' Toby had said once and shit, he was sure right. It had to be below freezing at this point, the cold so bitter and sharp that you felt it stir the bones beneath your very flesh. Toby's truck, which felt more like a pile of junk, did little to preserve the heat within its' skeleton as you sat shivering in the passenger seat. The hood of the truck was up and blocking your vision as Toby meddled around with the trucks insides, trying to stir it to life but it seemed even the truck refused to budge from the cold itself. You huffed impatiently, your muscles ached and the lull of a campfire whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You wanted so desperately to get back to the cabin with the fire, some blankets and a good ass book. Only you were stuck with this brunette who claimed he 'knew how to work trucks' and the same brunette mumbling and cursing to himself outside. He was lucky he couldn't feel the cold though and a part of you couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern at how long he'd stood outside for. Craning your head, your forehead pressed against the pane of the window as you tried to catch a glance of Toby as your legs bounced restlessly.

Being stuck in the middle of these woods didn't help. It was getting dark and you knew you were both still quite far away from the cabin itself. Before you began to find yourself lost in thought, the hood of the truck slammed shut suddenly which honestly, made you jump. You could tell from the way it slammed shut that Toby was getting impatient, frustrated even as he came trudging back over to the drivers seat. The door swung open and he collapsed into the seat with a huff. His presence made the air feel thick with tension as you pursed your lips. His fingers, which were red from the cold, curled around and gripped the fabric of his trousers. The silence lingered for a beat until he spoke;

"Well, it's ff-fucked-" he shrugged, avoiding your gaze. You could tell a part of him couldn't bare to look at you because you knew deep down, he had no idea how to fix cars - let alone trucks. It was hard for you to conceal your smirk as he finally turned to gaze at you and you could only sigh. It was so cold, your breath was visible in the air and it lingered for a moment.

"What do we do?" you finally asked, brows knitting in concern. Toby couldn't help it, but being the man here in this situation, he knew he had to care for you and look after you somehow - it would be gentlemanly of him. Only, he wasn't particularly sure what to do and he glanced out the window for a moment to ponder. His heart knew that really the two of you should get to walking but his pride didn't want him to leave this truck behind. He sighed, moving a hand up to push the cap off his head and tussle his hair in irritation. His eyes squeezed shut as his fingers gingerly moved to his brows, rubbing his temple as he tried to think of a solution that could both benefit you and him.

"We'll have to walk," he practically groaned. As if this could get worse, you were freezing, cold, hungry and your muscles craved the soft touch of mattress beneath them. You sighed, mimicking his moments as you rubbed your face.

"Right," you croaked softly, reluctantly moving from the seat to open the passenger door. The cold was like a punch to the face as you stepped out. There was a gust here and there which really made the cold so bitter. Toby switched the car off, pulling the keys out the ignition and stuffing them into his pocket before following your lead.

The snow was thick off the road, at least knee deep as you took big steps off into the clearing of the forest. Toby lingered by the truck and as you turned to glance over your shoulder, you could see the annoyance on his face. Honestly, a part of you couldn't gather as to why he had such an attachment to this truck. It was rusting, it sounded like crap and seemed as if every bump he took it were about to fall apart. It must just be a Toby thing. Finally, he stepped away from the vehicle and jogged up beside you, motioning his head that all was good and the two of you could depart. With your hands stuffed as deep as they could into your pocket, you tucked your nose deep into your coat. The cold was unforgiving, unwelcoming as it attacked every exposed part of your body. Honestly, you wished you couldn't feel the cold either and as you glanced at Toby every now and again, you envied how comfortable and relaxed he seemed to be as he walked quietly beside you. It was obvious that he was annoyed or irritated, mostly because he would be chatting your ear off with utter bullshit. His silence always suggested something and you understood his emotions completely. It it weren't for the damned truck, you'd be home by now!

You could hear Toby fiddling with the keys in his pocket, an occasional jingle here and there as he toyed with the keychain. The forest was unwelcoming as you glanced up to take in your surroundings. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew every rock, tree and lake in these damned woods and you knew for certain that this walk was going to be a long one. Snow fell softly above the two of you. It wasn't rapid nor treacherous, just small, gentle flakes that would decorate the tops of your heads. The snow was deep however and each step was a battle you were both trying to tackle, taking big steps or having to face the cold and just walk straight through it. The problem was, the snow began to soak through the fabric of your clothing and now your legs were cold, wet and numb. A horrible combination. Then, from just the corner of your eye, you saw Toby stop and quickly you paused in your tracks too, glancing over your shoulder toward him.

He had a hand outstretched toward you and as soon as you made eye contact with him, his hand motioned you over. "C'mere." Was all he uttered and with a questioning look, you reluctantly stepped over toward him. Before you could question what his intentions were, he doubled over slightly with his back facing you. "I'll carry you." The sudden act surprised you and you remained motionless for a moment as you blinked away the confusion. Why on earth would you want to be carried? Well, it was a nice offer but you were more than capable of walking for yourself. You glanced down at your soaked through pants and a shiver ran up your spine. Well, the cold was starting to numb your legs and Toby was taller than you, which meant his strides would quicken the walk within minutes. Though, a part of you couldn't help but feel bad, like he had somehow tuned in on your shitty mood and had somehow noticed how unpleasant the cold was for you.

You couldn't help but scoff out a little laugh in disbelief, shaking your head softly. He looked so dumb too and your little chuckle alerted him, causing him to snap his head around to shoot you a little glare. "Hah.. no, no. It's okay. I'm okay," you persisted, throwing your hands up in the air to wave them dismissively. Now you just felt plain rude. It seemed he wasn't taking no for an answer and groaned softly under his breath.

"Just get on my b-bback before I ff-fforce you." You had to stifle your laughter for a moment, admitting defeat and trudging over behind him. You were unsure how to go about this admittedly, you didn't want to jump on him and then make him land face forward into a pile of cold snow. Shit, the idea made you want to kill yourself.

Slowly, you reached over and ran the palm of your hands over the roundness of his shoulders and it was there you slowly, and rather awkwardly, lifted your leg for him to grab it. It was painfully embarrassing and you were thankful his back was turned as you quickly hopped onto his back as softly as you could, wrapping your arms securely around his neck. With both of his hands secured around the plump of your thighs, he pulled your knees up to his hips and secured you with a little jump before turning back and continuing into the depth of the forest.

Being this close to Toby, feeling his brown hair tickle your nose and his scent linger so strongly was enough to make your heart pound softly. Honestly, a part of you was nervous. Nervous that you were too heavy, that you might fart or that you were just being a nuisance altogether but it seemed Toby was unfazed as he kept a secure grip on you.

"Thank you," you uttered sheepishly into his ear, feeling your cheeks grow hot despite the cold and beneath you, you could just feel Toby shrug.

"Kein Problem, schatz." It was there a silence loomed over the two of you again and softly, you rested your cheek against his back. The gentle sway, the touch on your thighs, it was nice and oddly enough, you felt comfortable. Your relationship with Toby always had moments like this, the soft moments that had you questioning what the hell the two of you were? Friends with benefits? Unlikely, you two hadn't fucked before - despite the lingering urges that was evident in the air sometimes. Sure, you had exchanged a kiss here or there and it was sloppy and unexperienced but you never saw that as anything more than friends just.. kissing? Were you friend-zoning Toby and you were just oblivious to it? Perhaps and now you couldn't help but take into consideration the amount of things he did for you, the times where he would step up for you, look out for you, protect you in more ways than one and the times his hand would linger atop of yours and then he would laugh anxiously and explain he had 'forgotten.' Oh, you were such a hopeless romantic and yet you couldn't see his advances or intentions because you were just, well, plain stupid. Your brows furrowed in frustration and you huffed softly.

"Sorry about your car," you finally uttered, apologising for something that wasn't your fault and yet you felt you took a part in it somehow.

"I'll get it in the mm-morning," he replied, voice gruff as he quickly took a moment to clear his throat. With a simple nod of acknowledgement, you took a moment to glance up at the sky above you. The unforgiving winter season meant that darkness was fast approaching and it was already beginning to loom over you in a dangerous sheet of black. Pursing your lips, you rested your head back down.

"It's getting dark, shouldn't we just call Tim or Brian?" It wasn't a bad idea in the long run but Toby suddenly scoffed which said otherwise. Clearly, he didn't want his pride getting hurt more than it already had today.

"Fuck no!" His reaction earned an honest laugh out of you as you shook your head softly, admitting defeat in that subject alone. Then that familiar silence again. Despite his kind gesture, the cold nipped at you even harder and you couldn't help but want to walk just to generate some heat. You shuffled once and then again in some attempt to warm up and Toby, feeling your shuffling, glanced over his shoulder questioningly toward you. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm just getting cold back here."

"You wanna get down?" he questioned, stopping and standing still. You nodded slowly, a part of you feeling guilty, though it seemed to not bother him as he slowly crouched down to let you slide off his back. Your feet reconnected with the floor, the snow crunching beneath your feet - ankles feeling soggy and wet.

"Thanks."

Then the two of you set off again, your hands stuffed back into the depths of your pockets as you nestled your chin closer to the collar of your coat. With each step, you knew that you were getting closer to the cabin and it brought reassurance knowing that soon you'd be nestled up close by the fire draped in nothing but blankets. Maybe if you closed your eyes for a moment and just thought about a nice, warm, crackling fire, it may just warm you up. Only, closing your eyes while walking in the forest didn't seem the brightest idea and as your foot connected with the ground, your shoe got caught around a branch and sent you falling face forward. With your hands nestled deep into your pockets, you had no time to react and catch yourself and as your face connected with the snow, it seemed Toby didn't have good reflexes either as he practically watched you face plant into the snow. Shit, you were thankful the snow was there to begin with because any ordinary fall like that could've resulted in you breaking a nose or losing a tooth! The sudden cold that attacked your face made you gasp, thus inhaling lumps of snow as you tried and failed to scurry to your feet.

All the while, Toby stood over you watching in amazement that somebody as stupid as you could be even more.. stupider and you could tell by his facial expressions that it was becoming harder to conceal his laughter that he ever so wanted to let out. As your attempts to jump up failed, you admitted defeat and simply rolled over in the snow, allowing you to look up at Toby with a face of displeasure. His lips pursed, a first sign of trying to not laugh and then quickly he adverted his gaze. You were glaring at him because you knew, just knew, that he wanted nothing more than to bark a heap of laughter at you and your luck. This wouldn't have happened if his junk ass truck didn't break down!

"Don't fucking laugh," you warned sternly and it was there he retrieved a hand from within his pocket, bawling it into a fist to cover his mouth as he tried to swallow away his chuckles that were already beginning to seep out. "Help me up, don't laugh!" You practically whined and it was there it sent Toby spiralling, you just knew he was replaying your fall on repeat inside his head right now and he had to double over for a moment to catch his breath. It was rare to hear him laugh so hard and begrudgingly, you tried to hide your own smile in the process.

"Okay, fuck, fuck!" he threw his hands up in the air, letting another fit of laugher escape from him as he tried to wave it away. His head shook and he had to hold his stomach, another hand on his knee as he doubled over. There was no point asking for anymore help, might as well let him laugh and get it over with.

"You done?" you asked after a moment, his laughter simmering down finally as he turned back around to face you. It seemed that seeing your face and seeing you on the floor only set him off again and as his laugher run out into an echo in the forest, which frankly mocked you more, you endured for a little while longer with a disapproving huff.

"Alright, alright-" he sucked a breath and wiped a tear from his eye before turning his attention back to you again. It seemed he got what needed to come out as a hand outstretched toward you. "I'm done, s-ssorry, that was just too funny." He was still chuckling a dry chuckle here and there.

"Glad that was so funny for you, Toby-"

"Oh god, here we go, ss-shut up and take my hand."

"No, no, I'm serious, you really enjoyed that, huh?" Toby only rolled his eyes and shook his head, motioning his hand out toward you.

"Stop having a hissy fit and take my hand, for fucks sake," he chuckled.

Too petty to take his hand, you made a motion to help yourself up, hands pushing you up off the floor and to your feet. Of course, as you helped yourself up, you scooped up some snow in your hand and as soon as you were to your feet, you quickly hurled the ball of snow at Toby. The aim was sloppy and the snow hadn't formed into a proper ball yet, so just lightly smacked him on his neck. Fearing for your life, you began running off in a fit of giggles, practically bunny hopping over the snow in a desperate attempt to flee him. Toby always took things too far, he'd either accidentally hurt you or not know when to stop and you knew you were in deep shit now as you heard his slew of Germanic cuss words behind you. Turning your head over your shoulder to catch wind on how close he was, a snowball unexpectedly came crashing into your face and quickly you threw a hand up to wipe away the snow, another snowball soon came hurling toward you. Thankfully, you reacted quickly and darted to the side, letting the snowball whizz past you and land on the wood of a tree nearby.

"This is your karma!" you called out in between laughs, quickly scooping up some more snow in your hands and bawling up into a proper ball. You took shelter behind a tree for a moment, to catch your breath and await for the brunette. Despite his outburst, you could hear his chuckles approaching and quickly you pounced, aiming the snowball and landing it on his torso. Then, you darted off into another sprint. You were unsure if you were even going the right way anymore but a part of you couldn't care as you weaved from each snowball and tree that both equally came toward you at lightning speed. Then just as you bent over to scoop up more snow, a hit on your ass promptly made you jump up and snap your head around to Toby.

Quickly, the brunette bit his lip and bit back a chuckle, throwing his hands up defensively. "That was an accident, I s-s-sswear!" You narrowed your gaze. "I'm serious!" Though he were chuckling, almost as if he had done it on purpose and quickly you threw the half-assed snowball in your hand toward him. He quickly turned, letting the snow hit him on the side of his torso as he chuckled.

"You asshole," you jested, a disapproving smirk flashing across your features as you shook your head. Toby shrugged, turning back to face you.

"You started it." You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Fuck, you hated him at times. After catching your breath, you attention turned back into the forest. It seemed the running had quickened your pace as you could see the smoke bellowing from the chimney in the distance. It was a sigh of relief, it seems maybe Tim or even Brian may have got the fire going. Turning back to Toby, you noticed him trudging over to your side. "Hey, not my fault your ass is so big," he sneered, which caused you to quickly scoff and push him softly. He laughed, an honest laugh which warmed your heart and it was there you couldn't help but chuckle alongside him.

"Looks like we're nearly there, that's a relief," you huffed softly. "I can't feel my toes.. or fingers," you uttered, glancing down at your hands before flexing your fingers out and in again. They were numb and red and you were certain your toes had to be the same. Toby peered down at your hands before glancing back up at you.

"Well, let's go then," he mumbled softly before heading off again, two strides ahead of you as you hurried to follow behind.

This whole evening wasn't really how you expected it to play out. It was obvious that his truck would up and die sooner than later, but it sucked that it happened when you were in the passenger seat!

Regardless, you didn't mind spending more time with Toby, even if it meant freezing your ass off.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #toby rogers #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby x y/n

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gardenladysworld · 3 days ago

Text

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

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

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

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

Part 16: To want

This is my first time writing an explicit fic, and honestly, I never thought I’d venture into this kind of writing! It was both exciting and a little nerve-wracking to create something so intimate, so please be kind in the comments. I’m still learning and experimenting with this style, so I really appreciate any support, encouragement, or constructive feedback. Hope you enjoy! 💙✨

Part 17: To worship

You don’t know when Neteyam called for his ikran.

You don’t know when it landed next to you in the dense forest, its large wings stirring the night air, rustling the bioluminescent plants around you. You barely register the shift in the ground beneath you as Neteyam moves, guiding you effortlessly.

Because you’re clinging to him—desperate, breathless, lost in the heat of his touch.

Your arms wrap tight around his broad shoulders, your fingers pressing into the firm muscles beneath his skin. Your legs instinctively lock around his torso, holding onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you to the world. Maybe he is.

You don’t understand how or when you end up on the back of his ikran, only that somehow, you do. His warmth surrounds you, his scent thick in the cool night air as the wind rushes past. But all you can focus on is him—his heartbeat against yours, his steady hands gripping you firmly, keeping you pressed against him as the ikran carries you through the sky.

The flight is a blur.

The next thing you know, your back is against the woven walls of the hunter’s hut, and Neteyam is carrying you inside with an ease that makes your stomach tighten. His strong arms hold you effortlessly, his chest pressed flush against yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin.

Slow, reverent kisses.

Soft, teasing drags of his lips against your pulse.

Each touch sends a wave of heat through you, a slow-burning ache that coils deep in your stomach.

Your breath shudders as you grip his shoulders tighter, feeling the way he flexes beneath your touch. A soft whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Neteyam groans in response, his grip tightening, his body pressing against yours like he can’t get enough of you.

You want to be closer. Closer than before.

Neteyam must feel it too because he moves with purpose, stepping deeper into the hut, his pace unhurried but filled with intent.

Then—he lays you down on the pelts.

The woven pelts beneath you are soft, but the warmth of his body above you is intoxicating. He hovers over you, his golden eyes dark with want, his breath uneven as he takes you in. His tail flicks behind him, his body taut with restraint even as his hands explore, mapping every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

His weight presses against you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

The space between you is almost nonexistent.

Almost.

Because he’s still holding back.

But you don’t want distance.

You don’t want hesitation.

You just want him.

Now.

Neteyam’s hands are everywhere.

Large, warm, and reverent as they skim over your sides, your waist, your hips—like he’s trying to learn you by touch alone. His breath is heavy, uneven, his golden eyes locked onto yours with something dark, something raw, something hungry.

His fingers toy with the hem of your top, his thumb brushing against your bare skin, slow and deliberate. He watches you carefully, silently asking, silently waiting.

You nod. A barely-there movement, but it’s all he needs.

With one smooth pull, he lifts your shirt over your head and tosses it aside, leaving you beneath him in only your bra and shorts.

Neteyam inhales sharply, his ears flicking back, his pupils dilating as he drinks you in.

“Eywa…” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, like the sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs.

You shift under his gaze, heat crawling up your spine, your fingers twitching against the pelts beneath you. His golden eyes trail down your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you squirm, suddenly feeling impossibly small under his intense stare. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, and his tail flicks behind him. He leans in, so close that his lips brush against your temple before moving lower, his nose ghosting along the side of your cheek next to the edge of the mask, the sharp inhale he takes sending shivers down your spine.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing.

His fingers slide up your sides, teasing, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your ribs.

“How many nights I’ve laid awake, picturing you like this? Beneath me, wanting me?”

Your breath shudders. You can’t think. Can’t breathe.

His lips hover over your pulse, the warmth of them barely there, just a whisper of sensation, and you feel like you might combust.

“Neteyam…” You whisper his name, voice fragile, breaking.

He groans softly, his grip on you tightening for just a second before he presses his forehead to the glass of your mask, eyes wild, burning.

You don’t think.

You just act.

A deep breath. Hold it.

Your fingers tremble as you reach up, pull the mask off—

And then you kiss him.

Fierce, desperate, needing.

Your lips crash into his, and Neteyam growls against your mouth, his control snapping like a bowstring pulled too tight. His hand tangles into your hair, one sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you up against him, chest to chest, heat to heat.

His lips move with an urgency that leaves you dizzy, his tongue parting your lips, claiming your breath, your body, your very soul. He kisses you like he’s been starving for you, like he needs you more than the air in his lungs.

And you give him everything.

Your hands roam over his shoulders, his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the way he shudders every time you touch him. Your nails dig into his skin, pulling him closer, closer, needing him like never before.

Your lungs scream for air, but you don’t care. Not yet.

Not when his mouth is on yours. Not when his hand is gripping your hips, sliding over your body like he owns it, like he’s claiming it.

The burn in your chest becomes unbearable.

You gasp, wrenching yourself away just long enough to fumble your mask back into place, sucking in a desperate breath, your body still thrumming with heat, with need.

Neteyam is panting above you, his forehead pressing against your temple, his golden eyes dark, his lips kiss-swollen. His hands tremble where they hold you, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t want to let go.

And neither do you.

You want him.

You need him.

And from the way he looks at you—his jaw tight, his tail lashing, his body still caging you in—you know he feels the same.

Neteyam’s breath is heavy, his body burning above you as his fingers explore every inch of your exposed skin. But when his hands reach your back, brushing against the fabric of your bra, he pauses.

His brows furrow slightly, ears twitching as he fumbles with the clasp.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the soft giggle that threatens to slip out as his large fingers struggle with the tiny hooks. He huffs softly, clearly frustrated, pulling back just enough to glance down at where his hands are failing him.

“'upe lu fì'u?”[What is this?] he mutters, his tail flicking sharply in irritation.

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can, Neteyam growls under his breath. His patience snaps.

With one firm tug, the clasp gives way—not because he figured it out, but because he simply ripped it open. The straps slide down your arms, the fabric falling away completely as he tosses the ruined garment aside without a second thought.

Neteyam stills.

His golden eyes, blown wide with hunger, drink in the sight of you, bare beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly as the cool night air brushes against your heated skin.

You tremble.

The sharp chill sends a ripple over your body, making your nipples harden under his intense gaze. His jaw clenches, his breathing uneven, his tail curling behind him. You swallow hard, shifting slightly beneath him, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable under his unwavering stare.

But Eywa—the way he looks at you.

Like you are his entire world.

His voice is a hushed reverence when he finally speaks. “You are…” He trails off, shaking his head as if words are failing him. “…breathtaking.”

Heat surges up your spine, spreading through your limbs. Your fingers twitch, restless, aching for him.

But Neteyam… he waits.

Tension coils tight in his muscles, his self-control an unyielding force. He wants you—gods, it’s painfully obvious from the way he hovers over you, the way his fingers twitch at your sides—but still, he waits.

And that’s what undoes you.

That restraint, that unshaken patience, when all you want is for him to break.

You can’t take it.

Your hand flies to his head, fingers tangling in his thick beaded braids as you pull him down, guiding his mouth where you need him.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest when his lips meet the soft swell of your breast. His mouth is hot, reverent, worshiping as he kisses over your sensitive skin. His tongue flicks over the hardened peak, teasing, tasting—learning you.

Your breath shudders, a whimper slipping past your lips as your grip tightens in his hair.

Neteyam feels that reaction—your nails scraping against his scalp, the way your back arches slightly beneath him—and it ruins him.

A growl vibrates against your skin as his other hand slides lower, fingertips trailing down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts. You shiver beneath him, anticipation thick between you, the air crackling with want.

He’s barely touched you—barely started—and yet you already feel like you might fall apart.

And from the way his lips linger against your skin, the way his breath shudders against you…

He’s just as lost.

Neteyam’s fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, tugging them downward, slow, deliberate. The fabric slides over your hips, down your thighs, leaving you breathless beneath him. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, sending a ripple of shivers through your body.

He groans softly at the sight of you—now clad in nothing but the thin scrap of your panties, the last barrier between you and him. His golden eyes, dark with hunger, trace every inch of you, memorizing, devouring.

Your breath stutters when his hands—so large, so warm—grip your hips, steadying you as he begins his descent.

The first kiss lands just below your ribs.

Soft. Warm.

A whisper of reverence against your skin.

Your stomach tenses at the sensation, and Neteyam smirks against you, his lips curving into something purely mischievous.

He felt that.

His flat nose brushes lower, his breath hot against your skin as he plants another kiss, this one deeper, more deliberate.

A soft gasp escapes you.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His lips continue their slow, tortuous path downward, lingering over your stomach, his sharp canines grazing lightly against the sensitive skin there.

You squirm.

A quiet, needy sound slips past your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam chuckles—a low, satisfied rumble that vibrates against your skin.

“I like that,” he murmurs, his voice deep, rough with want.

He kisses lower.

Your breath hitches when his tongue flicks out, tasting you, tracing slow patterns along your skin. “Neteyam,” you whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra.

His sharp ears flick at the sound, his tail curling behind him.

He loves it. Loves hearing his name fall from your lips like that—soft, breathless, full of need.

Another kiss, just above the waistband of your panties, his teeth grazing teasingly against your hip bone.

You gasp, thighs twitching beneath his touch, your body arching slightly toward him, seeking more, more, more.

He hums approvingly, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you in place as his lips move to the other side of your stomach, repeating the same agonizingly slow worship.

“Sensitive here, hmm?” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another teasing kiss just below your navel.

You whimper, nodding, unable to form words, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

His mouth lingers there, reveling in the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body reacts so easily, so completely to his touch.

You swear you can feel his smirk, the way his lips curve against your skin, pleased—no, thrilled—by the way you unravel beneath him.

He wants you like this.

Helpless. Desperate.

He presses another slow, burning kiss just above the last scrap of fabric still keeping him from you, his breath hot against your skin.

And when you whisper his name again, your voice barely more than a breath—

He groans, his restraint hanging by a thread.

He wants more.

And you’re about to give it to him.

Neteyam’s fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, his grip firm but unbearably slow as he drags the thin fabric down your legs. You shiver as the cool air brushes over your newly exposed skin, heat pooling in your core as you feel the last barrier between you and him disappear.

The soft sound of fabric hitting the floor barely registers through the pounding of your heartbeat.

Your breath stutters as reality crashes over you. You’re bare beneath him now—nothing left to shield you from his heated, hungry gaze. Your boldness from before vanishes like mist beneath the sun. You press your thighs together instinctively, suddenly feeling shy, overwhelmed by the way he’s looking at you.

Golden eyes drink you in like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

His tail flicks behind him, the low, steady thumps against the hut floor betraying the barely-contained need simmering beneath his skin.

When you risk a glance up at him, your breath catches.

Neteyam is sitting back on his heels, legs spread, his gaze fixed entirely on you.

Predatory. Ravenous.

Like you’re prey trapped beneath him.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment, craving it, and now that he has you—finally has you—he’s going to take his time.

Heat burns up your neck, pooling in your cheeks as you turn your head away, unable to hold his gaze. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, rich and full of amusement, but when his hand brushes over your thigh, it’s reverent, patient.

He’s not going to let you hide from him.

Not now.

Not when you finally belong to him fully.

His large, warm hands trace the length of your legs, his touch slow, deliberate.

“Open for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need.

Your thighs tremble, hesitating, but his touch is firm, coaxing you apart with a gentle insistence.

One of his large hands moves down, curling beneath your calf almost engulfing it as he lifts your leg, his grip steady, secure.

Your breath hitches as his lips press against your skin.

A kiss.

Soft at first.

Right at the curve of your calf.

Then another.

And another.

His tongue flicks out, barely grazing your skin as he trails slow, burning kisses up your leg, inch by inch. Your breathing stutters, your hands gripping the furs beneath you, helpless beneath his worship. He reaches your knee, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin there, his lips lingering, his nose brushing against you as he breathes you in.

Then, lower.

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, closer, so dangerously close—

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam groans.

A deep, guttural sound that sends a tremor through his body.

His ears flick sharply, his tail curling and thumping behind him as his grip tightens around your leg.

“You sound so sweet, ma’syulang,” he whisper, voice thick with hunger.

The sound of his name spills from your lips in a breathy moan as his sharp teeth scrape gently against your thigh.

You gasp, as you try to press your hand against your mouth but the mask is in the way.

Neteyam shudders.

Your touch makes his whole body tremble.

His tail flicks wildly, his self-control almost over as he drags his tongue along your inner thigh, tasting you, marking you. His canines graze your skin again before he bites, sinking his teeth just enough to leave a mark—just enough to claim you. Your body jerks in response, a breathless moan spilling from your lips as your thighs threaten to close again.

But his hands—his strong, steady hands—keep you open for him.

And he’s not finished.

Neteyam growls, his breath hot against your skin as he laves his tongue over the fresh mark, soothing the sting before leaving another kiss right beside it.

You already know—you’re going to have to wear long pants for days just to hide the evidence of what he’s doing to you.

But you don’t care.

Not when his mouth is this warm, this desperate against your skin.

Not when his hands are holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Not when all you want is to be his.

Completely.

Finally.

And the way he’s trembling against you—his fingers digging into your thighs, his breath coming ragged and uneven—tells you that he’s barely holding himself together.

That every noise you make, every twitch of your body beneath him, is destroying him. And you’re about to ruin him completely.

Neteyam settles between your thighs, his body sinking lower, his breath ghosting over your skin.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven pulls, anticipation winding so tightly in your core that you feel like you might snap at any moment.

He’s so close.

So devastatingly close to where you need him, yet he doesn’t move forward.

He lingers.

His golden eyes roam over your body with unrestrained hunger, taking in everything now that there’s nothing left between you.

A slow, reverent inhale, as if breathing in the scent of you is enough to send him spiraling.

His hands, large and warm, trace slow, idle patterns along the side of your thighs, the contrast between his rough palms and your soft skin making you shiver. You twitch beneath him, your fingers curling into the pelts below, your breath stuttering when his lips graze so close, just next to where you ache for him most.

But he doesn’t go there.

Instead, he kisses your thighs again.

Slow.

Lingering.

His mouth trails along the softest parts of you, tongue flicking out just slightly between kisses, tasting you, savoring the way your body trembles beneath him.

A low, pleased rumble vibrates from deep within his chest when he feels you squirm, the need in your body so obvious that it makes his blood run hot.

Eywa, you’re so beautiful like this.

Laid bare before him, trembling, squirming, so soft beneath his hands, his to hold, his to worship.

How many nights has he dreamed of this?

How many times has he ached for you, touched himself to the thought of you, imagined how sweet you would taste, how you would fall apart beneath his tongue?

And now, you’re here.

Real.

Shaking.

Needing him.

His ears flick at the sound of your ragged breathing, his tail curling behind him as his hands squeeze your thighs, spreading you further, holding you open for him.

And yet—

He waits.

He watches.

He drinks in every inch of you, memorizing the way your body reacts, the way your breath hitches when he gets too close, the way your fingers twitch like you want to pull him in but don’t dare to move.

You let out a small, frustrated whimper, shifting beneath him, trying to get closer—but he doesn’t let you.

His lips brush over the skin just beside where you need him, deliberately avoiding the one place that aches for him most.

His control is ironclad, but only just.

His whole body is buzzing with restraint, fighting every instinct that urges him to take you now, to claim you, to bury himself in your softness and never come up for air.

But no—

Not yet.

Not until you’re begging for him.

His tongue flicks against the sensitive skin of your thigh, leaving a slow, open-mouthed kiss just next to where his head is resting between your legs.

Your back arches.

A soft, broken whimper tumbles from your lips.

And then, barely above a whisper—

"Please."

Neteyam groans.

A deep, needy sound that rumbles through his whole body, his tail curling tighter, his ears pinning back as his fingers tighten against your thighs.

His restraint snaps like a bowstring.

And then—

His mouth is on you.

And you shatter.

Neteyam’s mouth claims you in a slow, devastating slide of heat, his tongue pressing firmly against your most sensitive part in a way that makes your entire body jerk.

A strangled gasp escapes your lips, your back arching off the pelts as if a current of electricity just ripped through you.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your fingers fly into his hair on instinct, gripping at his thick braids as your thighs clamp around his head, but it doesn’t deter him.

Not even a little.

If anything, it makes him groan against you, the deep, guttural sound vibrating through your core, sending another shockwave of pleasure rippling up your spine. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you open as he moves with agonizing slowness, his tongue dragging over you in long, deliberate strokes.

Each movement is maddening, a slow, teasing exploration, like he’s savoring every second, every taste of you.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is breathless, a desperate plea as your head tilts back, fingers tugging at his braids, heels digging into his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

But he doesn’t rush.

No, he revels in the way your body twists beneath him, the way your hips roll, the way your thighs tremble, the way you chant his name like a desperate, breathless prayer.

"Eywa, please—" Your voice is breaking, a shameful mix of whimpers and gasps, of curses and incoherent pleading.

Neteyam growls against you, his large hands sliding up your trembling thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he holds you down.

"I have you." His voice is deep, muffled, vibrating straight into you before he sucks at your clit in a way that makes your whole body jolt.

A strangled cry rips from your throat.

Your grip on his hair tightens—desperate, clawing—your fingers curling against his scalp as you pull at him, as if you could somehow ground yourself against the force of the pleasure.

But there is no control now.

No grounding.

Just him.

His mouth.

His tongue works you open, devouring you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

The pressure in your core coils too fast, too sharp, a fiery tension snapping through your veins, your thighs trembling around his head.

His tongue presses harder, his lips sealing around your swollen, aching clit, and then he sucks.

"Neteyam—!"

Your entire body locks up, your back arching off the pelts, your breath shattering into a sharp, broken cry as pleasure crashes over you in an overwhelming wave.

Your thighs tremble violently as your body bucks against him, but he doesn’t stop.

He guides you through it, his hands strong and unyielding as he holds you down, his tongue still moving in slow, languid strokes, drawing out every last pulse, every last shudder.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your whole body trembling, your mind floating somewhere between bliss and disbelief.

Neteyam hums against you, a deep, satisfied sound as he drinks in the way you fall apart for him, his grip on your thighs tight, possessive, like he never wants to let go.

And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back just slightly, his lips glistening, his golden eyes blazing as he looks up at you.

A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips as he licks his mouth, his voice thick with hunger.

"That was only the beginning, ma’syulang."

Your chest rises and falls in rapid, uneven breaths, the aftershocks of your climax still coursing through your trembling body. Your muscles feel like liquid, heat pooling in your limbs, your fingers weakly clutching at the pelts beneath you. The air in the hut is thick—humid and heavy, wrapped in the scent of desire and him.

Your mind struggles to catch up. To understand what just happened.

That was the quickest and the most intense orgasm of your life.

Your body still hums with the afterglow, tiny tremors rippling through your thighs where Neteyam still holds you open. The cool night air kisses your flushed skin, sharp in contrast to the feverish warmth that lingers in your core.

You gasp, eyes unfocused as you stare at the thatched ceiling above you.

It’s almost hilarious, in some twisted way.

You had to travel four and a half light-years across space, sleeping in a cryostasis capsule for six years, leave behind everything you’d ever known, survive Pandora’s harsh wilderness, fall in love with a ten-foot-tall blue warrior—just to experience this.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh tumbles from your lips.

You can’t help it.

It bubbles up from your chest, soft at first, then growing until you’re giggling, completely hazed, utterly wrecked, staring up at the ceiling like the secrets of the universe have just been rewritten before your very eyes.

Neteyam huffs a quiet chuckle above you, his large hands still gripping your thighs, keeping them spread for him. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you know he smirks, the amused shake of his head as he watches you come undone beneath him.

"Something funny, ma’yawne?" His voice is deep, laced with satisfaction, but there’s a teasing edge to it, warm and indulgent.

You try to form a response, but your brain is still swimming in the aftermath of pleasure, still trying to grasp the sheer insanity of what just happened.

So instead, you just shake your head weakly, still breathless, still trying to process.

Neteyam shifts slightly, and before you can register what he’s doing, you feel it—

The hot, wet slide of his tongue against your still-sensitive core.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your entire body jerking, muscles tensing as a shock of pleasure rips through your oversensitive nerves.

Your hips twitch involuntarily as you try to squirm away—but his hands hold you firm, strong and unyielding.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is raw, breathless, shaking.

He groans against you, his lips pressing against your swollen, aching heat, devouring you all over again.

"Still so sweet," he murmurs, his voice a deep, husky purr against your most sensitive part. "I could stay here forever."

Another wave of sensation crashes over you, your body still so raw, so open to him. Your breath shudders as you try to form a coherent thought, but he’s already moving—his tongue lapping, slow and deliberate, savoring you with an almost devotional hunger.

You can feel the way he takes his time, savoring you, groaning against your heat like this is something he’s craved for longer than he’d ever admit.

And he has.

For so many nights, for so many years, Neteyam has imagined this—you laid out before him, trembling, gasping his name, your fingers tangled in his hair, your small body writhing beneath his tongue.

And now, he finally has you.

And he’s going to worship you.

"Let me have you, ma’syulang," he breathes against you, his voice thick with reverence. "Let me taste you again."

And then, with another slow, luxurious stroke of his tongue, he does.

Neteyam’s mouth is relentless.

The slow, maddening slide of his tongue sends another shudder through your body, his warmth against your most sensitive part making you tremble all over again. You should be too sensitive, should be unable to handle more—but somehow, it doesn’t matter.

It still feels so good.

Your body betrays you, pleasure building once more, deep and slow, coiling in your stomach like a rising tide.

Neteyam knows.

He feels it in the way your thighs tremble in his grip, in the way your breath hitches sharply every time his tongue moves just right. He can hear it in the soft, choked sounds escaping you, the way your hips instinctively arch against his mouth, desperate for more.

He groans, the sound vibrating against you, deep and reverent, like he’s lost in his own pleasure—like this is the most pleasurable thing he’s ever done.

“Eywa…” he murmurs between kisses, his voice thick and strained, full of awe. His fingers tighten around your thighs, spreading you open further, keeping you right where he wants you. “You taste like—", he groans again, voice cut off as he devours you once more.

The feeling is too much, but not enough.

Your hands fly to your mouth, instinctively trying to muffle the shameless, wanton sounds pouring from your lips. But—

The mask.

Your fingers hit the smooth glass instead, a clear barrier between you and your desperate attempt at containment.

And Neteyam sees it.

Sees the way your hands tremble against your mask, your eyes squeezed shut, your chest heaving.

His lips curl into a wicked, knowing smirk against your core, his golden eyes gleaming as he looks up at you.

“Don’t hide from me, ma’tanhi,” he murmurs, his voice dark, teasing.

And then—

His tongue slides deeper.

A sharp, high-pitched cry rips from your throat as his tongue pushes against your entrance, slick and firm, slipping just inside, teasing you.

Your body reacts instantly—your hips arch off the pelts, desperate for more, grinding against his mouth with raw, needy instinct. Neteyam groans loudly at that, a deep, almost pained sound that sends a violent shudder through your body.

"That’s it," he praises, his voice rough, guttural, his hands gripping you harder, keeping you right there. "Give yourself to me."

His tongue flicks against your clit, slow and purposeful, and he moans—a deep, shuddering sound that vibrates through you, that makes you tremble beneath him.

His pleasure is undeniable.

And when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue lapping, working you up again, you realize—

You’re going to break.

And he is the one who’s going to break you.

Your body shatters.

The heat in your core snaps, sharp and violent, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. A raw, broken scream tearing from your lips as you come undone on Neteyam’s tongue again. You chant his name, over and over, like a prayer, like a plea—like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. “Neteyam—Neteyam—oh, Eywa—Neteyam!”

Your hands tighten in his braids, your thighs trembling around his head, your entire body shaking as he works you through your orgasm, licking you like he can’t get enough.

You hear it—the low, wrecked moan he lets out against your core, the way his breath stutters like this is just as intense for him as it is for you. Like your pleasure is his own, like he’s lost in it, drowning in the way you come apart beneath him.

Your body slumps back against the pelts, gasping for air like you’ve just run miles, like you’ve been chased and finally caught.

Your limbs feel boneless, your chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. Your entire body tingles, still thrumming with aftershocks, still trembling from how hard he made you come.

And then—

Neteyam moves.

Slowly, purposefully, he crawls up your body, his golden eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry.

Your breath catches as you watch him prowl over you, his massive frame caging you in, his muscles shifting with effortless strength. His tail flicks lazily behind him, but his movements are anything but relaxed—he’s deliberate, controlled, like a predator savoring the moment before claiming his prey.

Your mask fogs up from how hard you’re panting, heat radiating from every inch of your overwhelmed body. But it doesn’t matter—

Because as soon as he’s close enough, you rip it off.

And kiss him.

Desperately.

Like there’s no tomorrow. Like the world is ending and he’s the only thing keeping you alive.

His lips are hot, wet with your taste, his breath mingling with yours as your tongues tangle, fighting, devouring each other. You taste yourself on him, and the realization sends another wave of arousal surging through you.

Neteyam groans into the kiss, his massive hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, like the space between you is unbearable. His chest rumbles, deep and needy, his entire body pressing you down into the pelts.

You kiss him until your lungs burn, until your chest aches for air.

And only then—only when your vision starts to blur—do you pull back, gasping as you fumble your mask back onto your face.

The moment it presses into place, you flop back onto the pelts, spent, limbs weak and trembling.

Neteyam chuckles, his voice low and amused, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you struggle to recover.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, smirking. “So weak. I barely touched you.”

You glare at him, lifting a shaky hand to smack his broad chest. “Fuck you.”

His smirk deepens, his ears flicking forward as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“That’s the plan.”

The heat between you lingers, even as the urgency fades into something slower, sweeter.

Neteyam’s massive form cages you in, his warm, powerful body wrapped around yours as he leans on his right elbow. His golden eyes drink you in, still dark with hunger, but softer now, filled with something deeper.

His fingers trace lazy, worshipful paths along your naked body—up and down, from the curve of your hip to the dip of your waist, then higher, until his palm spans across your ribs, pressing warm and firm over your racing heart.

He marvels at you.

How small you are beneath him.

How tiny your frame is compared to his—so soft, so delicate, yet still strong in a way that drives him insane.

One of his hands is enough to engulf both of your plump breasts, covering you completely. Marvel them how soft they felt under his palm. He squeezes, testing, teasing, watching in fascination as you squirm beneath him, your breath catching at the sensation.

But even with the stark difference in size, you are perfect to him.

You always have been.

Your breathing slowly evens out, but the moment you begin to relax, your fingers find his shoulders. You explore him, trailing the broad planes of muscle, feeling the strength beneath his skin. You grow bolder, your blunt nails raking gently over his deep blue striped skin, watching the way his muscles twitch in response.

Neteyam hums in approval, leaning down, pressing his lips softly against the lovebite he left on your neck.

Your heart swells with so much affection that you feel like you might burst. The words slip out before you can stop them, soft and reverent.

"I love you so much."

Neteyam stills for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. Then—he presses another slow, lingering kiss to the mark.

"Oel ngati kameie, ma’yawne."[I see you, my beloved.]

The words send a shiver through you, sinking deep into your bones. His voice is low, rich with meaning, with devotion, and your body trembles in response.

But then—you feel it.

The hard press of him against your thigh.

He’s achingly hard, the thick length of him pressed against your skin through the thin material of his loincloth, hot and undeniable. The realization sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core, making you ache all over again. Slowly, you reach down, sliding down on his chest, on his abs, your fingers trembling slightly as you try to touch him—to feel all of him for the first time.

But before you can, his large hand catches yours, pinning it effortlessly above your head.

You let out a soft gasp, blinking up at him in surprise as his lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Not today," he purrs into your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitches as you look up at him, your fingers flexing beneath his grip. “But I want to touch you,” you whisper, pleading, your voice desperate and needy.

Neteyam chuckles, low and dangerous. Instead of answering, he leans down, bites your earlobe—gentle but firm—then soothes it with his tongue, the teasing motion making your stomach flip.

Before you can protest, his other hand slides down, gripping your hips, pulling you closer against him.

And then—he grinds against you.

Slow. Deliberate.

The thick, solid length of him presses against your bare thigh, rolling against your feverish skin. The sensation is maddening, the friction sending a wave of pleasure surging through you.

A moan slips past your lips, high and needy, your body reacting instinctively to his.

You look up at him, your chest rising and falling, your pupils blown wide with desperation.

"Please..." your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "Oe tìkin nga, ma’Neteyam."[I need you, Neteyam.]

And that—that breaks him.

His golden eyes darken, his restraint shattering like glass.

His left hand trails down, slipping over your stomach, moving with purpose, with promise.

You hold your breath, waiting, wanting—

Then—

The first fluttering touch of his fingers between your thighs makes you whimper.

His calloused fingertips tease along your most sensitive part, deliberate, exploratory, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

You tremble beneath him, arching your hips against his touch, silently begging for more. Neteyam watches you, utterly captivated by how you react to him, how your body responds to every careful movement of his fingers.

Then, slowly—he enters you.

Just one finger.

Long and thick, stretching you in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. A soft, shocked moan slipping from your lips as your thighs tremble around him.

Eywa—

Just one of his fingers feels like when you use two of your own.

And the thought—

The thought of how much more of him there is to take—

It makes you shudder with anticipation.

You’re writhing beneath him, body caught in a relentless cycle of pleasure and want, teetering on the edge of something bigger, something deeper. You don’t even know how many times you’ve come just by his fingers.

It’s a blur—waves of ecstasy crashing over you again and again, each one leaving you shaken, your legs trembling around his broad shoulders as he works you apart with his expert fingers.

But you do feel when his second finger presses into you.

Your body stretches around him, and the sensation is so much, so deep, a desperate gasp ripping from your lips. "Fuck… yes," you whimper, your fingers clawing at his arms, grasping his armbands for a moment, your nails raking over his unbelievably strong shoulders. "So good—"

Neteyam groans deeply above you, his golden eyes hungry, his tail lashing behind him in raw need. His ears twitch at every sweet, gasping sound you make, drinking them in like they’re the only thing keeping him sane.

You can feel how much he’s trying to hold himself back.

How his hips stutter against your side, how he grinds himself slowly, as if trying to relieve some of his own unbearable ache.

He’s just as desperate as you are.

That thought alone sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you, your hips rolling frantically against his fingers, seeking more, needing more.

Your hands fly up, trembling fingers reaching for him—grasping, pulling.

And then—

You yank your mask down.

Before he can even register it, your lips crash against his, fierce and unrelenting.

It’s messy, desperate, filled with raw hunger as you pour everything—every ache, every longing thought—into the kiss.

Neteyam groans against your small lips, his grip on you tightening, his fingers curling inside you in a way that makes you cry out against his lips.

You don’t care.

You need him.

You need him now.

Your breath burns in your lungs, but before you pull away to put your mask back, you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, pleading.

"Please, Neteyam…" Your forehead rests against his, your breath mixing with his as your thighs quiver around his hips. “I need you to…”

"...fuck me."

A deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest—a sound so primal, so filled with desperation, that it makes your whole body shudder.

You barely manage to secure your mask back into place before Neteyam moves.

Before he gives you exactly what you’re begging for.

Neteyam shifts, his movements slow, deliberate, as he settles back on his heels between your open legs. His golden eyes stay locked onto yours, filled with something heavy, something intense that makes your breath hitch before he even touches the knots at his hips.

Your heart pounds as his fingers move, untying the thin strips of fabric that hold up his loincloth. His hands are steady, but you see the way his chest rises and falls with each slow breath, see the way his muscles twitch slightly with anticipation.

And then—

The last piece of cloth falls away.

A sharp, unexpected surge of need crashes through you.

You barely realize you’re moving until your elbows prop you up, your eyes dropping to his body, the forest’s soft bioluminescent light from the outside through the gaps of the woven walls flickered over his deep blue skin, highlighting the smooth planes of his powerful body, all hard muscle and grace. The markings running down his chest and arms seemed to glow faintly, tracing the sculpted ridges of his defined torso, the shadows deepening where his muscles tensed.

He was massive, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, his form both elegant and commanding, honed by years of discipline and training. His thighs were powerful, thick with muscle, built for speed, for strength, for hunt. Yet, here in this quiet moment, he was simply a man before you, yours to admire.

And then… your gaze drifted lower.

A deep flush spread across your cheeks as you took him in. Hard. Heavy. Surprisingly human-looking, yet distinctly Na’vi.

Your breath wavered.

And—Eywa, he’s big.

It was thicker, longer, with a slight curve upward, the flushed tip a deep shade of blue, darker than the rest of him. It twitched under your gaze, as if aware of your attention, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from him. The base of it, where soft ridges ran subtly down the underside, was nestled against the apex of his thighs, right above the dip of his hip bones.

But somehow, seeing this, seeing all of him for the first time, makes reality set in in a way that makes your stomach twist with something dangerously close to uncertainty.

Neteyam notices.

His ears twitch, his breath catches—just for a moment—before his expression softens. You expect him to smirk, to tease you the way Lo’ak or Kiri would in any other circumstances, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, his tail flicking slowly behind him, his whole body trembling with restraint.

Not for himself.

For you.

Because you are the one making him like this.

You are the one he’s been aching for, the one he’s been waiting for, the one he wants with such intensity that it’s practically vibrating through him.

Your lips part, your chest tightens at the way he’s looking at you—like you’re everything.

And just like that, the uncertainty vanishes.

A small, knowing smile tugs at your lips.

Because you make him feel this way.

Because you have all of him, completely and utterly undone before you.

And when you finally lift your gaze back to his face, Neteyam looks absolutely lost in you.

As you sit up before him, the warmth of the soft pelts beneath you is nothing compared to the heat radiating from Neteyam’s body. His massive frame is kneeling before you, yet even like this, he towers over you—his sheer presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

Your heart pounds as you crawl closer, moving toward him with slow, deliberate intent. The dim light of the hut flickers across his deep blue skin, highlighting every tense muscle, every careful breath as he watches your approach.

And then—your legs brace beneath you, and you rise to your feet.

Despite being on his knees, he is still tall enough that you are nearly eye-level with him now. The realization sends a small shiver through you. He is so big, so strong, and yet, the moment you stand, his long arms wrap instantly around your waist, pulling you to him, pressing you flush against his chest.

You gasp softly, his warmth seeping into you, his strength caging you in a way that only makes you want him more.

“Neteyam…” you whisper, your small fingers trailing down, brushing over the solid muscles as you steady yourself. Your touch is featherlight, gliding over the ridges of his abs, feeling the hardness of his body beneath your fingertips, but carefully—deliberately—you avoid touching his aching length.

A sharp inhale hisses through his teeth at the teasing absence of your touch. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to warn you.

But you don’t stop.

Your hands travel upward, over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm before sliding over his powerful shoulders. You grip him there, needing to steady yourself—your legs are still weak, still trembling from the overwhelming pleasure he had given you earlier.

His golden eyes are burning as they lock onto yours, his breath shallow and controlled, but you can feel the way his muscles coil tight beneath your hands. The way his tail flicks in sharp, desperate movements behind him. Slowly, you pull off your mask, holding your breath just long enough to lean in—your lips brushing against the curve of his strangely shaped ear, pressing the softest, most delicate kiss against it.

A violent shudder runs through Neteyam, his grip on you tightening. His ears are so sensitive.

You smile against his skin, your voice barely above a breath as you whisper:

"Why are you holding back?"

And then, before he can answer, you press another kiss just beneath his ear, feeling the way his jaw tightens, how his hands twitch against your waist, how his entire body is practically vibrating beneath you.

Neteyam lets out a low, deep groan, his voice strained as he finally answers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear in return:

"Because if I don’t… I will ruin you."

His words send a wave of heat down your spine, your whole body tightening at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his voice.

"Because if I give in now," he continues, his grip firming on your waist as his head dips lower, "I will not stop. Not until I have had all of you."

His lips graze your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Not until you are shaking beneath me again."

A soft, involuntary gasp escapes your lips.

Your grip tightens on his shoulders, your chest heaving as your breath catches in your throat. You smile at him—soft, tender, and so full of love that it makes Neteyam stiffen for an entirely different reason. Because despite the aching desire burning in his veins, despite the raw need that has him trembling in restraint, you still look at him like this. Like he is yours as much as you are his.

Even with the undeniable heat pressing between you, even as he can feel the way your body is eager for him, he still waits. Still holds back because he refuses to hurt you, refuses to be anything but careful with you.

And that makes you smile even more.

Your heart swells with something deep, something raw, something endless for the man in front of you. He is so good—so considerate, so perfect, even when he is barely holding himself together, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

You pull your mask back on, taking a few steady breaths, filling your lungs. And then, with deliberate slowness, you remove it again, holding it carefully in your hand as you lean in—your lips barely brushing against his as you whisper:

"What if I want to be yours, ma’Neteyam?"

His entire body freezes.

For a split second, his golden eyes darken with something almost primal, something wild, something so deeply possessive that your breath catches in your throat.

And then—he moves.

His hands grasp your waist, firm and unrelenting, as he pulls you against him. Before you can even gasp, he lifts you—effortlessly, easily—making you wrap your legs around his waist as you cling to him.

You let out a small, breathless noise as your hands fly around his broad shoulders, your body molding against his as he holds you up like you weigh nothing.

And then—you feel it.

His hard length, pressing against the curve of your butt, hot and heavy even through the thin barriers of warmth still between you.

A shudder runs through you at the sheer size of him, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you press closer, feeling the way his grip tightens in response.

"You test me, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, a growl of pleasure and restraint in your ear.

And then—he moves.

With deliberate ease, Neteyam lowers you onto the soft pelts, his body still caging yours as he hovers above you.

His golden eyes never leave yours, drinking in every inch of you—your heaving chest, the way your lips part slightly as you pant beneath him, the way your legs instinctively tighten around his waist before he gently pries them apart, making space for himself.

His hands glide down your body, slow and reverent, tracing the curves he has memorized in his dreams, the ones he has ached to worship properly for so long.

You quickly put your mask back on, gulping in the air you desperately need. But before you can say anything, before you can even think, Neteyam leans down, his warm lips brushing the shell of your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your very bones as he whispers:

"Then let me make you mine."

Your breath catches as you look up at him, golden eyes locked onto yours, his body poised above you like a force of nature. Your chest rises and falls, lips parted in anticipation, and there’s nothing else—no one else—but him.

"Yes... please," you whisper, voice trembling with longing, with need.

Neteyam’s ears flick at your words, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. His hands, so large, so warm, slide over your sides with gentle reverence, as if mapping you, memorizing every curve, every dip. Then, he leans down, his lips finding your collarbone, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

And then—you feel it.

A sharp gasp leaves you as his hand moves between your bodies, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingers against your skin sending a new wave of anticipation through you. Your legs instinctively tighten around his hips, urging him closer, and he obliges—pressing himself against you, hot and hard.

A shiver racks through your body as you feel the blunt, thick tip of him against your still-sensitive and soaked core, the sheer size of him making your stomach tighten. He’s so big, so intensely there, and yet—he doesn’t move, doesn’t push forward.

Because even now, when every muscle in his body is coiled tight, when he aches for you, he still waits.

Neteyam pulls back just enough to look down at you, his golden eyes burning with so many things at once—desire, need, but also hesitation.

You know what he’s thinking.

That you are so small beneath him. That you are fragile compared to his massive frame. That he wants this more than anything, but he refuses to hurt you.

Your heart swells at the love in his expression, at the silent plea in his gaze, the way his ears flatten slightly against his skull.

And so, you nod, fingers reaching up to brush his strong jaw, whispering again, softer this time.

"Rutxe."[Please.]

Neteyam exhales shakily, his resolve barely holding together, and then—slowly, agonizingly slowly—he begins to push in.

Your breath stutters at the sensation, your fingers digging into his shoulders as inch by inch, he fills you, his thick length stretching you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

Neteyam lets out a deep, shuddering groan, his forehead pressing into your hair as he buries his face against you, his breaths ragged. His ears twitch, his entire body trembling with restraint as he fights every primal urge screaming at him to move faster, to take, to claim.

But he doesn’t.

He waits, panting against your skin, pressing slow, reverent kisses to your temple as he gives you time—time to adjust, time to feel every inch of him, time to let your body mold to him like you were made for him.

His hands clutch your hips, his fingers trembling slightly as he forces himself to still, waiting for any sign, any word from you.

And then, finally, when you exhale a breathless "Neteyam...", he groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he shudders.

Because this—this moment, this feeling—is more than he ever dreamed of.

And he will give you everything.

A gasp leaves your lips as Neteyam finally sinks all the way in, his body pressing flush against yours, his warmth consuming you completely. The feeling is overwhelming—too much and yet not enough all at once—stretching you in a way that has your head spinning, your chest rising in sharp, shallow breaths.

A deep, ragged groan rumbles from Neteyam’s chest as he trembles above you, his muscles taut beneath your fingertips, his entire body coiled with restraint. His ears flatten against his skull, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the tension straining his neck. He looks almost pained, as if holding himself together is taking everything he has.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper, reaching up with shaky hands, fingers brushing over the taut lines of his arms, feeling the way they quiver slightly from the effort of not moving.

He is huge, overwhelming in every sense, and yet—he waits, his chest rising and falling in unsteady breaths, his golden eyes squeezed shut as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, to not lose himself in you completely.

Your heart aches at the sheer amount of control it takes for him to hold back, to not give in to the deep, primal need raging inside him.

Gently, you trail your hands up his arms, over his biceps, before cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. His skin is burning, feverish under your touch, and when his golden eyes flutter open, they are wild—blown wide with desperation, with so much unspoken need.

"You are so good..." you murmur softly, trying to soothe him, trying to ease the trembling in his body.

But just as the words leave your lips, Neteyam’s hips stutter against you, and the last syllable turns into a long, helpless moan as pleasure shoots up your spine.

Neteyam curses under his breath, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you feel like you might break apart beneath him. He drops his forehead against your mask’s glass, panting, his breath hot against the thin glass.

"You are—" he exhales, voice barely more than a growl, "going to be the death of me."

You let out a breathless laugh, but it quickly turns into a sharp gasp as he shifts, barely moving, and your entire body shudders in response.

You are so full of him, stretched beyond anything you’ve ever known, and yet—it feels right. Like you were meant to take him, like his body was made to fit yours.

And Eywa help you, but you need more.

Your fingers curl in his braids, your lips parting as you pant, pleading. "Neteyam..."

His answering growl rumbles against your skin, his restraint hanging by a thread, his body shaking as he fights every instinct to move, to claim you completely.

But when your small hands grip his shoulders, when your body arches against his, when you whimper his name like a prayer—

Neteyam exhales a shaky breath as he slowly pulls back, only to sink into you again—agonizingly slow, deliberate, as if he wants to savor every second, every inch.

A deep, guttural groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you once more, his larger hips pressing flush against yours, his right fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist like he needs to anchor himself, while his right arm is above your head and holding almost all of his body weight.

"Eywa..." he breathes, his voice rough, almost desperate. "You feel so—so good, ma’yawne. So tight around me... so perfect."

His praise sends a sharp wave of pleasure through you, your body clenching around him in response. The sound that leaves him is feral, his hips stuttering before he pulls back and thrusts in again, this time just a little deeper, a little stronger.

"Nete—ah!" you gasp, your hands flying to his arms, gripping onto his biceps like a lifeline. He is so big, so strong above you, his body dwarfing yours, surrounding you completely.

His movements are slow, almost reverent, each roll of his hips measured, precise—like he is learning you, learning how to make you fall apart for him. You moan with every thrust, your head falling back, eyes rolling as pleasure coils deep in your stomach.

"Fuck, Neteyam..." you whimper, your fingers digging into his arms, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Neteyam lets out a low, pleased growl at your words, his tail curling tightly around your thigh. He leans down, his lips brushing over your jaw as he murmurs against your skin.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that, syulang..."

His next thrust is deeper, the drag of him sending a sharp, blinding wave of pleasure through you. You cry out, your nails raking down his arms, your entire body arching into him.

"Tìyawn, you're so tight..." he groans, his voice strained as if he’s barely holding himself together. "You feel—Eywa, you feel like you were made for me."

A shudder wracks your body at his words, your breath catching, your thighs tightening around his waist. You feel the restraint in him, the way his muscles coil with every slow, controlled thrust, the way his hands tremble slightly as he grip your hips.

And Eywa help you—you want more.

"Neteyam..." you plead, breathless, your hands sliding up to tangle in his braids. "Please—"

Every roll of his hips sends a new wave of sensation through you, his length sliding in and out of you with such ease now, each thrust sending a tremor through your limbs. The friction, the way he stretches you so perfectly. Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, echoing through the small hut. Right now, there is only him, only the way he moves inside you, the way his body engulfs yours, the way he feels so impossibly perfect.

"Eywa—" Neteyam groans, his golden eyes flickering down to where your bodies are joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. His ears flick back, his jaw clenching as if he’s trying to hold himself together, but you can feel his restraint slipping. His movements are too careful, his muscles too tense, like he’s holding back more than he should.

That won’t do.

You tilt your head up, eyes locking onto his as you gasp, "You won’t break me, Neteyam."

His breath hitches at your words, his ears twitching sharply. His grip on your hips tightens just slightly, his movements stalling for just a fraction of a second.

And then you laugh—a breathless, hazy sound as you reach up, cupping his face between your trembling fingers. "I can take you," you whisper, your voice dripping with need, with urgency. "I want you to stop holding back."

For a moment, he just stares at you, his golden eyes dark with something primal, his nostrils flaring. His tail flicks once, twice—and then, with a low, guttural growl, his restraint snaps.

Before you can even take another breath, his arms wrap around you, circling your waist and pulling you flush against him. You gasp as your chest meets his, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist as he buries himself inside you all the way, his hips snapping forward with a newfound urgency.

"Eywa—" you choke out, your fingers digging into his back, your body rocking against his with every thrust.

"You can take me, huh?" Neteyam grits out, his voice strained, his breath warm against your temple. "Let’s see if you still say that when I make you come again, syulang."

And then he picks up his pace, his thrusts deeper, faster, sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you, making your breath hitch and your toes curl. You cling to him, your nails raking down his back, your moans spilling freely from your lips.

"Yes— Neteyam, yes!" you cry out, your head tilting back as pleasure overtakes every part of you.

His arms tighten around you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck as he loses himself in you, completely, entirely—just as you wanted. Just as you needed.

Neteyam groans as he finally lets go, his self-control snapping like a bowstring. His thrusts turn deep, urgent, each one stretching you completely, hitting every sensitive spot inside you with devastating precision. Your moans turn into desperate, wordless cries, your body arching helplessly beneath him as he drives into you with long, powerful strokes.

Your nails dig into his upper arms, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "Nete—" you gasp, your voice breaking as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the overwhelming sensation too much and yet not enough at the same time.

His breath is ragged, his golden eyes burning as he watches you—watches the way you writhe under him, the way your lips part with each moan, the way your body welcomes him so perfectly. "Eywa, syulang," he groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck, his body shaking from the effort of holding himself up. "Nga zir—nìftxan—tsìltsan."[You feel so good.]

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body reacting instantly. The pleasure in your core twists, tightens—and then, like a bursting star, it snaps.

"Neteyam!" You scream his name as you reach your peak, your back arching off the pelts, your head tilting back, your eyes rolling back as your release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body shudders, clenching down so tight around him that you feel his entire form tremble above you.

Neteyam groans, his rhythm stuttering as he feels you squeeze around him, the sensation too intense, too perfect. "Eywa—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked as he follows you, his hips jerking forward one last time as he buries himself deep inside you.

His whole body shakes, his muscles flexing, his ears flat as he releases a deep, throaty moan. His grip on you tightens, his hand pressing against the small of your back, holding you to him as he rides out his release.

If he weren’t bracing himself on his elbow, he might have collapsed entirely from the sheer force of it. Instead, his body trembles against yours, his breath hot and ragged in your ear, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he slowly comes back to himself.

You’re both shaking, panting, completely spent.

The only sound in the hut is your heavy breaths, the rapid thumping of your hearts pounding against each other. Your fingers, still buried in his arms, twitch as the aftershocks ripple through you.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper breathlessly, your body still trembling beneath him.

He exhales deeply, his lips pressing softly against the side of your neck, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you, in the reality of what just happened.

And Eywa—nothing has ever felt more right.

Neteyam lets out a long, slow breath, his body still pressed against yours, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming. His heart pounds against your chest, his skin still warm and slick with sweat, his breaths uneven as he comes down from the intensity of it all. His arms stay wrapped around you, as if he’s afraid to let go—as if this moment is something sacred that he wants to hold onto for as long as possible.

You’re still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, but as the haze of pleasure fades, a lazy, satisfied smile spreads across your lips. With a soft sigh, you lift your hands, running them gently over his shoulders, easing the tension from his taut muscles with slow, loving strokes.

Then, with a deep inhale, you pull down your mask, just for a moment, just long enough to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips. Neteyam hums into the kiss, his large hands still gripping your waist, holding you close as he lingers in the feeling of you. His lips move against yours deliberately, savoring every second, as if trying to memorize your taste.

When you finally pull away, gasping softly, you quickly secure your mask back into place, still smiling up at him, your body boneless beneath him.

A breathless giggle bubbles up from your chest as you look at him, eyes filled with warmth. "If I knew this would be so good with you..." You bite your lip, teasing, eyes gleaming with mischief, "Fuck, I would’ve been yours sooner."

Neteyam huffs a soft laugh, his golden eyes softening as he looks down at you, pure adoration shining in them. "You have always been mine, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, affectionate, full of certainty.

Your heart stutters at his words, your fingers trailing over his shoulders, down his arms, down to his chest, mapping every dip and ridge of his powerful form. Your touch is gentle, soothing, filled with love, easing the last remnants of tension from his body.

After a moment, Neteyam slowly pulls out of you, his movements careful, but still enough to make a deep, shuddering moan spill from your lips. Your breath catches as you feel the mess he left inside you, the warm, sticky evidence of just how much he ruined you.

"Fuck," you exhale, laughing breathlessly as you feel his release slowly drip out of you. Your head falls back onto the pelts, a hand loosely covering your face. "You really ruined me."

Neteyam’s ears twitch, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he murmurs, his voice full of smug satisfaction, his tail flicking happily behind him.

His hands caress your hips, his fingers tracing the marks he left on your skin, his touch soothing despite the intensity of what just happened. His golden eyes roam over you, taking in every detail, every mark of his claim, every lingering shiver that courses through you.

"Rest, ma’yawne," he whispers, his forehead pressing gently against the glass of your mask. "I will hold you."

And as you melt into him, wrapped in his warmth, surrounded by his scent, his presence, you realize—there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

The warmth of Neteyam’s body against yours is all-encompassing, his long arms wrapped securely around your much smaller form as you nestle against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing soothes you, his blue skin still warm from exertion, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your palm. You’re still hazy, still floating from everything that happened between you, but this—this—is just as intoxicating.

His tail lazily flicks behind him, brushing against your leg, his deep, steady breaths melting into something else entirely—a low, rumbling vibration, soft yet unmistakable. You blink, confused for a moment before the realization hits you.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle, but you fail. "Neteyam… are you purring?"

His ears twitch at your words, his brow furrowing slightly as he blinks down at you. "Purring?" he repeats, clearly confused.

But that only makes you laugh harder. The deep, continuous rumble in his chest sounds exactly like a big cat, and it’s so unbelievably adorable that you can’t help but let out another giggle. "Oh my Eywa, you sound like a huge cat."

Neteyam raises a single, unimpressed brow, his expression deadpan. "What is a cat?"

That only makes you laugh harder. "Ohh," you hum through your giggles. "I will show you one day."

He narrows his eyes slightly, clearly not amused at being compared to something he doesn’t even know, but when you nuzzle closer against his chest, the tension melts from his expression. His arms tighten around you, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over your back, his purring—because that’s definitely what it is—deepening.

A warmth spreads through you, something deeper than just affection, something so all-consuming that you can’t contain it. You shift slightly, pushing yourself up to sit beside him, your knees tucked beneath you as you gaze down at him.

Neteyam watches you curiously, his ears twitching slightly as you lean in and rest your chin on his broad chest, staring at him with the silliest, most adoring smile on your face.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice amused but affectionate, one hand lazily tracing the curve of your spine.

You exhale a soft breath, your eyes drinking in every perfect detail of him—the strong lines of his face, the soft glow of his bioluminescent freckles, the way his golden eyes hold you like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.

"Just watching," you murmur dreamily, "the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen."

His expression shifts, something soft and utterly devoted settling in his golden gaze. His ears twitch slightly, his tail flicking against the pelts in response. "Yawne…" he breathes, his voice so gentle, so full of love.

And you can only smile, because Eywa, how is it possible to love someone this much?

Part 18: (Soon)

#avatar 2022 #avatar the way of water #neteyam #avatar twow #james cameron avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you

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