#there is probably a very obvious answer that i missed and this will just be useless. oh well.

[aaxzlyte]

please elaborate on the breast size thing

LMFAO OKAY, ANON – i will give you some of my headcanons on this with little to no explanation (only doing gender swapped characters so no characters that are already female and technically have canonical breast sizes since like... we see their breasts)

Light: generally considered to have conventionally attractive looks, but also is a very average person, therefore — C or D

L: definitely has smaller tits and i think she would forgo wearing bras (or any undergarments, though i think she'd prefer to wear boxers/briefs over traditional women's undergarments) whenever she can get away with it (which is always),,, and larger breasts do not allow for such careless behavior tsk tsk — low-scale B or A

Near: very 'petite' person, i think... i also hc Near, in general, to be consistently underweight and obv we already know she is pretty short — AAA maybe AA, if i'm being generous I will give her an A cup

Mello: also smaller than average tits, imo,,, partly bc there is no way she is shoving huge melons into that damn leather she wears all of the time — B

Matsuda: i love her, give her — D or DD

Aizawa: holy mama, this bitch is either flat-chested or huge when it comes to her tits let me be so honest — A or DDD

Ryuk: *taps mic and leans in* Z cups – okay but in all seriousness,,, human, female Ryuk is definitely pretty large, i imagine she'd be pretty tall though fairly slender? he and Rem's torso are suuuuuper wide at the top though — F

Mikami: honestly she definitely has some pretty decently sized tits bc like... c'mon... — DD or DDD

Soichiro: — DD

Mogi: (do you guys think she'd let me call her Mo–) — G

Raye: *sighs* — B or C

Watari: uhhhhh — D or C

Beyond: i hc that her breasts are larger than L, like at least a little noticeably larger,, and that she may have used binding as a way to seem more L-like during the LABB murders,, but she does still give me small tits energy – between a B and C (so basically... BB)

okay that's all hehe – let me know if i missed someone you want to know about bc i love coming up with shit off the top of my head and then letting it become canon in my brain (also i'm open to hearing your guys' opinions about this very serious topic of conversation within the DN fandom),,, also i'll answer questions asking me to elaborate on why i think a certain character is that big or whatever but keep in mind i'm going mostly off of vibes and not much else

also please keep in mind that i am a sucker for small breasts... i love small breasts... cue wistful sighing – this post is not exempt from extreme biases (they're literally my headcanons so that was probably obvious but i'm a chronic oversharer, i fear)

please keep in mind that this is all in good fun and just a headcanon,,, please don't start arguments over the size of a character's breast – it would be hilarious but exhausting !!

[doks-aux]

*raises hand* Okay, but if the FNAF1 animatronics were rebuilt from the Withereds and the Withereds were the ones that the missing kids were stuffed into... how did they not find the remains when they were scrapping/rebuilding them? Did they just work AROUND the obvious smell and swell of rot in the middle of those guys? Just averting their eyes to not see the child-sized skeletons wearing little party outfits inside them?

I guess I wouldn't be surprised, but damn.

[arorgripi]

So I have spent the first days of 2024 binging Link Click with covid kicking my ass, and it has consumed me worse than the damn disease.

Spoilers for season 2, if you haven't watched it yet go do that (or not. Don't suffer).

So.

These are some general facts that I hopefully didn't misunderstand while sick:

Cheng Xiaoshi inherits all the memories of the person he posesses when he dives, up until the moment the picture is taken.

Unless for the picture taken by Lu Guang in episode 7/8, the only way for Cheng Xiaoshi to know what happens next whilst diving is by combining his and Lu Guang abilities. In this case he knows what will happen because he was there.

I'm not 100% sure if Li Tianxi is actually dead, but it's fair to assume that when someone is dying they can transfer their powers to someone else.

About the last point, this would be the same situation that would allow Lu Guang to get Cheng Xiaoshi's ability.

So, going from here, the thing that I can't get out of my mind is: what type of time loop is Lu Guang in?

Because if it were a spiral kind of time loop (everything rewinds but Lu Guang remembers all the previous timelines) Cheng Xiaoshi should inherit those memories when he uses the picture to get to the riverside, even just because it seems to be one of the most important (haunting) memories that Lu Guang has.

And this would mean that Cheng Xiaoshi would know of his death too.

On the other hand, if it were a closed kind of time loop (everything rewinds, even Lu Guang's memories of the "interrupted" timeline that he abandons to dive back) that would explain why Cheng Xiaoshi didn't see his death while he was Lu Guang, and why Lu Guang is so adamant about not changing the past up until the last scene of S2. But it doesn't explain why his phone password is 091305, or the final scene of the season (if you interpret the thoughts of Lu Guang as something that happens when they return to the photo studio, and not as something he thinks before diving back).

In this instance, it would mean that every single time that Lu Guang goes back he thinks that it's the only time he dives to try and save Cheng Xiaoshi.

And in this case I don't think that it would be a completely repetitive loop, I still think that there would be small differences every timeline, but for Lu Guang it would be a blind try every time, and there would virtually be no changes from his point of view.

And these two kind of time loops offer so much.

In the first case you could have:

Cheng Xiaoshi does know, but he reads it as a nightmare or a fear that Lu Guang has, and not a memory, and he lets it go (as much as Cheng Xiaoshi can let go of things anyway).

He was admittedly pretty busy rushing to make sure a certain event happened, and so he didn't pay too much attention to Lu Guang's memories; he could have probably done that too out of respect for his privacy.

Cheng Xiaoshi knows, and is well aware, and he won't bring it up for fear of being alone again or because he doesn't want to risk messing with time again after Emma. In this season he only really considered changing the past before learning that Lu Guang wasn't dead. In his eyes it's fine if he dies, but he refuses to put anyone else's life or existence in danger.

While in the second case you could have:

Lu Guang keeps on trying to save Cheng Xiaoshi's life, and it doesn't really matter in the end how many times he starts over again, at the end it will always seem like a "first try" thing. He would mess up time beyond any limit and not know anything about it.

I imagine it would be something similar to the Doctor Who episode "Heaven sent" (s9ep11), with the slow change of the timeline occurring over an absurd amount of attempts.

I don't know, it was probably something that will be resolved next season or maybe it was a small incongruence and I'm overthinking it.

[eowynstwin]

Price x Reader. Age gap. Divorced Price. Older BF Price. Vaguely smutty. Follow-up to this.

Price realizes you’ve never had a reliable man in your life exactly the second time he discovers you looking up DIY home maintenance for very simple projects.

It missed him the first time because he was deployed. You’d mentioned offhand how you were figuring out how to rebalance a ceiling fan, and he’d just automatically assumed that you were doing it yourself because he wasn’t there, so he simply praised you for your resourcefulness and lived for the next three weeks off of the way you’d absolutely glowed at his words.

But then he gets home, and one evening on the couch he catches you googling “how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What’s that?” he asks you, tamping down on the sudden feeling of masculine inadequacy that reared up almost immediately at the discovery.

“Faucet handle’s leaking all over my counter when I turn it on,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “Landlord’s out of town and can’t fix it.”

“I’m in town, ain’t I?”

You look up at him then, brows raised. You hadn’t even considered asking him, then.

“Oh—I didn’t want to bother you, John, you only just got back, and you’re tired…”

You trail off at the droll expression on his face.

Price has learned a lot of lessons from his previous marriage. The foundational one: just because he hasn’t been asked to help doesn’t mean he is believed to be unreliable. Adding that lesson to his knowledge base about you—young, modern, independent—calculates out an obvious answer that curtails any sour mood that might have sprouted up over the issue.

He puts his hand over your phone screen and lowers it down to your lap. “I’m fixin’ the sink,” he says simply.

He enjoys the way your eyes dilate at the assertion.

The next day, he shows up at your flat wearing old work clothes and carrying his heavy toolbox in his hand.

(You don’t live together yet—something he’s keen to rectify—but he has a toothbrush in your bathroom and permanent space in your bedroom drawers. He can be content for now.)

And you—you answer the door in the filmiest of sundresses, the ribbon tie on one shoulder hanging at a loose angle.

“Heard you need some plumbing done,” he says in the gruffest of voices, already understanding the game.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” you say, barely able to hide your giggle, “I’ve been so worried.”

He steps in close to you, close enough to feel the heat of your body radiating off of your bare skin. He has half a mind to put the charade aside and lift your skirt here and now, but another lesson helpfully springs to mind: anticipation of the act makes the finale all the sweeter.

“I’ll show you to the kitchen,” you murmur, looking up at him with warm, dreamy eyes.

When he gets under the sink, he finds the problem easy enough to fix—the cold water supply line simple isn’t screwed in tight enough, and when he wiggles the whole contraption by the valves he finds that nothing has been tightened up to standard. A couple of years knocking the thing around had probably loosened up the locknut.

He elects to fix the whole problem in one go, while in the meantime you stand off to the side, watching him. He feels your eyes on his legs, trailing up to the hair on his belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I should’ve said before,” you simper, “but I’m not really sure how I’m gonna pay for this.”

His cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels your gaze move to it as if it’s a physical touch.

He levers himself out a little and meets your eyes, keeping a stern expression on his face.

“I’m sure you’re gonna figure it out,” he says. Looking down at his groin and then back up at your face might be a touch unsubtle, but clear communication had been the most important lesson of all.

He slides himself back under, and pretends he doesn’t feel you approach, or lower to your knees between his spread legs. He ignores your gentle hands falling on the closure of his jeans, the pop of the button coming undone, the parting of the zipper as you pull it down.

“Of course, sir,” you say, “I’m sure I will.”

The softness of your hand meets his growing erection, caressing the head of his cock with your thumb—followed very close behind by the wet, liquid heat of your mouth.

next

[ms-demeanor]

I've seen you say a few times that it's a good idea to have a password manager; could you explain why? I always feel like I'm missing something when it's mentioned because it's phrased as if there's an obvious danger that password managers protect you from, but I'm honestly not sure how they help keep passwords secure.

The obvious danger is human nature. Humans are bad at creating passwords; your passwords are almost certainly easy to guess, repeated across different accounts, or both, because that is just how the vast VAST majority of people create passwords, because humans are bad at creating passwords. Everybody knows "the rules" for creating passwords (don't use the same password on multiple websites, don't include personal details in your passwords, don't use very common words or letter or number sequences in your passwords, don't tell other people your password) and people break all of those rules anyway.

A standalone (not in-browser like firefox or chrome password manager, though those are better than nothing) password manager stores your passwords, generates complex passwords for you, and can also be used for things like storing notes on passwords (like "did I put my MFA on my email or my cellphone or an app for this password?" or "here are the made-up answers to the security questions I used for this website because I definitely didn't use real answers or answers I'd used on previous websites" or "these are the bills associated with this credit card").

With the way the current security landscape works, there are two things that are extremely important when you are creating a password:

Uniqueness

Complexity

The overwhelmingly prevalent way that people get "hacked" these days is through credential stuffing.

Let's say that your private data was revealed in the Experian breach a decade ago. It revealed your name, email address, and phone number. Now let's also say that your private data was revealed in one of the many breaches from social media sites; that one revealed your name, email address, phone number, password, and security questions.

If someone wants to try to gain access to one of your accounts - let's say your bank account - if they have your name and phone number (usually extremely easy to find online), they can cross-reference that information with data that has been revealed in previous breaches - now they've got your name and your email address (which you probably used to sign up for your online banking and have ABSOLUTELY used as your login for accounts all over the place) and at least one password that you've used somewhere.

But the thing is, they don't have one password. They have every password associated with that email address that has ever been revealed in a breach. If you go to the site haveibeenpwned.com you can enter your email and see how many times your email address has appeared in a breach. You can compare that with the number of passwords that were revealed in those breaches and you can ask yourself "what did those passwords have in common?"

Because I can tell you, my Tumblr password from 2013, my Kickstarter password from 2014, and my Disqus password from 2017 (all revealed in various breaches) probably had a lot in common.

So, now the hacker has: your name, your email (which is probably your username), and various passwords they can try to use to log in. Did you use the same password for Facebook and Twitter eight years ago? Did you use parts of that password for creating your bank password? If you heard that twitter passwords were exposed in a breach you probably changed that password, but did you change the bank password that you built on the same structure? Probably not.

So what people will do is gather up all of this information and guess. They'll try your 2017 Disqus password to see if it will get access to your bank account. They'll try your 2020 Gravatar password. They'll try your 2024 Internet Archive Password.

And the reason they do this is because it works.

And the reason that it works is because we are all fucking garbage at remembering unique, complex passwords so instead of creating actually unique, complex passwords most people pick one memorable word or phrase, one memorable number, one unusual character, and *MAYBE* one feature of the site they're creating the login for and they use that template forever (1988Tumblrmacabre!, 1988Facebookmacabre!, 1988Ticketmastermacabre!) OR they create one password that they think is complex enough and use it across multiple sites with minor tweaks ($n0h0mi$hRu13z, sn0h0mishRul13z!, $n0h0mi$hWA) as needed for the sites' password requirements.

So most of what password managers do that is a drastic security improvement over people creating and memorizing passwords is that they create passwords that are functionally impossible to guess and functionally impossible to memorize. The problem with memorizing passwords (which is what you're doing if you're creating a bunch of passwords that you type in all the time) is that you can't actually remember all that many passwords so you'll repeat those passwords. The problem with creating passwords on your own is that passwords that humans create are pretty guessable. Even if you're doing a passphrase that's a long string of words you're probably working with common words ("correct horse battery staple" as opposed to "truculent zygote onomatopoeia frangible") and your password is more guessable than you'd really want it to be. Password managers don't do that, they generate gibberish.

Perhaps you are that rare person who gets out a set of dice and a notepad and rolls up every character for your password and memorizes it and never repeats, and if that's you, you could still benefit from a password manager because a password manager makes it easier to change that unique complex password when it is inevitably revealed in a breach.

So, okay, let's check in with where we're at:

Password managers mean that you don't have to memorize your password, which means that you don't need a password that is easy to memorize, which means that they can create passwords that are extremely complex and are therefore very difficult to guess. This protects you from crackers who will try to brute force your password.

Password managers mean that you don't have to remember extremely complex passwords for every account, which means that you are less likely to repeat your password in whole or in part across multiple accounts. This protects you from credential stuffers, who will try to use your password from one account that was revealed in a breach to open other accounts that were not.

Because password managers can generate and store complex passwords essentially instantly, you can replace passwords nearly effortlessly when there is a breach (no need to 'come up with' a new password, no issues with learning or memorizing it).

There are, however, advantages beyond that.

One major, MAJOR advantage of a properly-used standalone password manager is that it makes you safer from various kinds of phishing attempts and link hijacking. When you are setting up a password in your password manager (PWM from here on), you should be on the website that you want to log in to. The PWM will give you the option to save the domain that you're logging in to. That means the PWM will remember the correct URL for your Tumblr login so when you go to the tumblr login screen in the future, it will offer to fill those fields. What it will NOT do is offer to fill those fields if someone sends you an email that spoofs tumblr support and wants you to log in at "tumblr.co" or "tumblr-support.com." Knowing this, and knowing that you should be putting your credentials in through the PWM fill option rather than copy/paste, is a GREAT way to protect against phishing that is often overlooked and definitely under-discussed.

Another advantage is that a standalone PWM will let you store secure notes with your passwords so that you can do things like keep track of recovery codes for the website, or generate gibberish answers to security questions. Security questions and answers are often revealed in breaches, can't be reset by the user as easily as a password, are repeated across websites MUCH more than passwords, and can be used to take over an account and reset the password. You shouldn't be giving real security answers, or even fake-but-repeated security answers; you should treat each of those like a password that needs to be complex and unique, which means that they need to be stored someplace (like a password manager).

I also personally use my password manager to store my car insurance information, my driver's license info, and payment details for easy entry, making it convenient for a lot of thing beyond password storage. (Bitwarden. My password manager is bitwarden. I recommend Bitwarden. go to ms-demeanor.com and search "bitwarden" to learn more.)

As to how they keep your passwords safe, aside from ensuring that you don't enter your credentials into a skimming site, a good password manager is well encrypted. Your password safe should be functionally impossible to crack and what people tend to not realize is that a proper password manager (like bitwarden) doesn't keep all your passwords in one encrypted safe, each one of your passwords is in its own encrypted safe. If someone hacks Bitwarden it's not like using a huge amount of effort breaking into a bank vault and finding a big pile of money, it's like using a huge amount of effort breaking into a bank vault and finding a big pile of bank vaults. Each password within your vault requires decryption that is functionally impossible to crack (at least with a good password manager, like bitwarden, the password manager I recommend and think that people should use).

Additionally, just as, like, a side note: password managers never accidentally leave caps lock on or forget which characters are capital or lower case and don't require the use of two hands and focused attention on the keyboard. You're never going to mistype your password if the password manager is filling it, and you would not believe the number of people we support at work who require password resets because they are typing their password wrong and don't realize it.

TL;DR:

Password managers make better passwords than you can and they make it possible to instantly create, store, and enter complex passwords, which prevents password cracking and makes people less likely to reuse passwords. They are heavily encrypted and should be functionally impossible to access, and each individual password within the manager should also be encrypted if you use a good password manager. Password managers also prevent people from entering their credentials on scam sites by only filling on matched domains. Standalone password managers (not browser password managers) also allow users to create and store unique security questions and account details to prevent bad actors from gaining access with stolen security answers. The password manager I recommend is Bitwarden.

If people used password managers to create, store, and use unique and complex passwords, and if they did regular backups of their system I think that probably about half of the InfoSec field would be out of a job.

Please use a password manager!

[maiiuelle]

what if rafe and reader are more than friends but they didn’t really put a label on it and even top and kelce noticed but rafe still has the occasional hookup and one night when reader was js thinking abt stuff and then she realizes that shes inlove with rafe but when she came over to tannyhill to confess and rafe answered with his hair all messed up and him shirtless and he basically smelled like sex and when rafe asks why shes there she randomly just runs away and cries in her car while driving home so basically just angst (does that make sense idk)

you feel like your going crazy, standing at tannyhill’s front stoop twiddling your thumbs.

your relationship with rafe cameron is complicated; you’d almost call it a situationship, but you couldn’t put a label on it. you’d been going to all of his parties to serve as arm candy, posed with him at the golf course, and hooked up with him more than once. it’s beyond casual, but he has yet to pop the girlfriend question. even with his little commitment, you’d been finding it hard to keep your mind off of him — or rather, what the two of you had done together. you have to mean more to him than he’s letting on.

so, you knock on tannyhill’s giant glass front door again, biting your lip nervously as you look over the texts you’d already sent him to let him know you were coming.

“hey! just thinking ab u.. are u free tn? <3” you asked right after work, hopping in the shower in hopes you could head straight to his place after.

“busy. work shit. u free on friday?”

“oh idk. sucks we cant do tn, i miss u.” you followed your message with a picture of you sitting on your pink bedsheets, posing in the mirror to show off your silky pajamas. you thought he just needed a little convincing, but he didn’t respond.

“can u call me before bed? sorry, i know u said ur busy.”

by then it had been an hour or two, still no response from rafe. you were pacing around your room. all you wanted was to spend time with him, even if that meant lounging around while he works. anything would do, you just couldn’t stay away.

you came to the conclusion had to show him how much you care somehow, and what better way than to go to tannyhill and confess your love for him — it would be like a romance movie, he’d probably be exhausted from work and happy to see you by then!

“i’m sorry if this is sudden, i just feel like i really need to see you. i’ll just drop by for a second xoxo see u soon”

suddenly, the front door swings open, revealing a very disheveled rafe cameron. his bangs are a mess, sweaty and strewn across his forehead. his whole face is red, his lips swollen, and all he’s wearing are blue flannel pajama pants. you’d seen him like this before, pussy drunk and stumbling around a dark room. your heart deflates as he pushes open the front door, familiar blue eyes squinting at you through the night. “the fuck are you doing? you’re gonna wake up my fuckin’ dad.”

“work shit, huh? really, rafe?” you snap, looking him over completely disgusted. “what’re you d—”

“nah, nah. i told you i was busy — did i not?” he cuts you off, holding a finger in your face and grabbing your upper arm with the other hand, making you jump. “could’a kept yourself from all this if you just listened to me, right? right?” he jostles you, like he could shake a response out of you, but you’re frozen. he lets you go at the sight of your face, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “fuckin’ figures.”

“are you.. high?” you pull your knit cardigan tighter around your shoulders, tears already beginning to brim your waterline at the utter betrayal.

rafe recoils, acting overly offended to take the heat off his obvious cheating. “you’re gonna talk to me like that at my own goddamn house? do me a favor — go home, and i’ll think about callin’ you.”

“don’t bother. asshole.” you cry, turning away. the last glimmer of hope you have is snuffed out when you hear the glass door slam behind him, leaving you alone once again.

defeated, you retreat back to your car, wiping your tear stained cheeks pitifully. you should have known, rafe cameron is a player.

➺ do you…

⟡ hear out rafe’s apology

OR

⟡ tell jj what rafe did

[lavnderwonu]

the boy next door | jeon wonwoo

pairing: idol!boyfriend!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: secret relationship, established relationship, smut

summary: sneaking around with your secret boyfriend.

warnings: smut (!!!), little plot lol, wonwoo as your secret boyfriend, softdom! wonwoo, wonwoo is hot (yes that's a warning), mirror sex (kinda?), pet names (baby), praise kink, size kink AHEM, clitoral stimulation, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, reader has to be quiet, hint at another round.

word count: 1.9k

author’s note!: when i tell you this concept has been on my mind for weeks... i'm not lying. the wonwoo brainrot was hitting HARD when i was writing this. i was originally going to make it a secret situationship but im a #1 hater of that whole thing so relationship it is. plus i just think it'd be hot. who wouldn't want wonu as their secret boyfriend? anyway, let me know what you think, i appreciate feedback! 🩷

click here to join my taglist!

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand as you’re in your bathroom, going through your night time routine, just like any other night. As soon as you make it to your phone, it’s stopped ringing. Unlocking it, you see a notification.

Wonwoo

Missed Call

Your boyfriend. Well, only you knew he was your boyfriend, anyway. Although you’d be lying if you never posted any “soft launches” of you two, whether it was an extra iced americano on your counter, or a very obvious mystery man driving while you sat in the passenger seat.

Before you can even call him back, he’s already texting you.

Wonwoo: are you awake? Wonwoo: i saw your story earlier. you looked nice.

You went out earlier in the day to run your usual errands, which usually consisted of shopping of some sort, then wandering around a bookstore. You threw on a cute floral mini dress, and for good measure, you promptly decided to take a picture in your full-body mirror hoping a certain someone would see.

You laugh to yourself, typing out a reply.

you liked it? well you’re too late. i’m in my pajamas now.

It was only 11:30 pm, so maybe it was a tad early for pajamas for some. But for all you know he was probably in sweats playing some game on his phone or reading a book.

Wonwoo: i don’t care, you always look pretty baby Wonwoo: come over here

He lived down the hall from you, with his roommate and best friend, Mingyu. His apartment was easy access, but pretty risky if Mingyu was there, so usually Wonwoo would just come over to yours.

You're about to ask is mingyu there? until he answers the question before you even finish typing.

Wonwoo: mingyu’s gone

You bite your lip, typing a reply. Fuck, you can’t say no.

on my way

You toss your phone on your bed, quite literally, quickly getting yourself ready, you decide to put on your favorite lavender-colored bra and matching panties underneath your pajamas you already had on. Your favorite color; and a different variation of his.

Going down the hall from your apartment, you reach his door, quickly knocking a few times before he answers.

“I thought you were joking when you said you were in pajamas,” Wonwoo jokes, examining you as you walk in. “You were serious.”

“Shut up, it was getting late.” You blush, as you damn near fight the urge to jump him, cause damn. He looks too good, even in a hoodie and sweatpants.

“You look cute,” He pulls you close to him, his fingers sliding underneath your shirt to grip your waist. “Can’t wait to take them off…”

You lean into him, fingers lightly threading through his hair that’s gotten so much longer recently.

“How much time do we have?”

“Hours.” Wonwoo responds, confident. “Mingyu said he was going out with Jungkook, they’ll probably be out half the night drinking.”

His hands slowly slide up your back, sending your heart thrumming in your chest, you’re unable to deny the effect he has on you.

You both know you’d eventually have to go public with your relationship, but for now, you’d just enjoy the adrenaline rush you get everytime you’re alone together.

You make it to his bedroom, in a heated kiss, you back away to safely removing his glasses and placing them on his nightstand.

Kneeling on his bed in front of him, you quickly tug at the hoodie he has on. “Off.” You order him, and he obeys, pulling it over his head.

He tosses to the floor, before kissing you again, his hands slide up your shirt, groping your breasts lightly through your bra, making you softly moan against his lips. He breaks the kiss and his lips softly trail along the corner of your lips, to your jaw, and onward.

You begin working on unbuttoning your silky pajama shirt as Wonwoo trails wet kisses down your neck. His hands take over, effortlessly unbuttoning it. Your eyes glance over to the mirror on the wall, giving you a full view of you kneeling on his bed and him towering over you.

He slips your shirt off your shoulders, and his eyes briefly follow your gaze, realizing what you’re looking at.

“Are you watching yourself in the mirror?” Wonwoo says into your ear, giving you chills.

“Uh-huh.” Your breath shaky as you reply, nodding.

“Turn around.” He suddenly demands, kissing behind your ear before you turn around, your back now facing him.

Wonwoo wraps one arm around your torso, holding you against his sturdy chest. His hand lightly touches your chin, turning you to face the mirror again.

“Keep watching yourself, baby.”

You watch as his free hand slips underneath your pajama shorts, his fingers lightly ghosting over your clothed clit. You gasp as your hips jolt, desperately seeking out more friction.

“Wonwoo…” You gasp, gripping his arm tighter.

His hand slides underneath the elastic of your underwear, applying firm pressure as he circles your clit, before you feel his fingers slide down between your folds and he mutters a breathy fuck against your neck when he feels how wet you are already.

“You’re already dripping for me, baby.” Wonwoo says deeply, voice slightly muffled into your neck. “Couldn’t wait to see me, could you?”

He’s expecting an answer, and it’s impossibly hard now that he’s sliding two fingers inside you, expertly curling his fingers to find that special spot that you often couldn’t reach yourself.

“N-no, I couldn’t… thought about you all day.” You cry, nails digging into his forearm, and he’s seemingly unfazed by it. His fingers pound into your sweet spot, making your head fall back against his shoulder.

“Fuck, look at how pretty you look.” Wonwoo says, glancing at your reflection, your brows furrowed as you focus on the feeling of his fingers inside you.

“I’m so close…” You whine, turning to bury your face in his neck as you inhale the sweet scent of his cologne like you never want to forget it.

“I know, baby. You’re fucking squeezing my fingers.” Wonwoo grunts as your walls clench around his fingers. “Let it go, I got you.”

Your legs shake as you grip onto his forearm for dear life, desperate for something to hold onto. A cry of his name leaves your lips as you cum, your heart racing, panting trying to catch your breath.

“That’s my girl.” Wonwoo turns to kiss your forehead gently, his fingers slip from your dripping center, brushing your clit one last time and the friction is enough to make you wince.

He releases his hold on you, and you turn around to face him, kissing him needily. “Fuck me,” You whisper against his lips. “I need you.”

“So needy…” Wonwoo playfully mocks you, suddenly turning into his unintentionally adorable self, as if he didn’t just pull a powerful orgasm out of you moments ago. “Don’t I at least get to enjoy this cute little set you wore for me?” He pulls off your shirt, even though it was already damn near falling off anyway.

You blush, kissing him again.

“We don’t have time for that.” You chuckle, already feeling somewhat anxious that Mingyu is going to walk into the apartment at any second.

Wonwoo can read you like a book, and he notices right away. “Hey, there’s no rush.” He says gently, as his hands reach behind you to unhook your bra.

You slide it off the rest of the way, then toss it on the floor. “I know, I’m just enjoying this. I don’t want to be interrupted.” You drape your arms over his shoulders as you press your body against him, kissing him fervently. You moan against his lips as you feel his hard cock pressing against you.

You slide your hands down his chest, reaching to loop your fingertips into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Take these off, baby.” You whisper as you kiss his along jaw a few times, before you grope his length through them for emphasis. “Please.”

Wonwoo gently nudges you to fall back on his bed, and you sit up on your elbows, eagerly watching him as he obeys you, taking them off. “Better?” His gaze meets yours as you look him over.

You eagerly nod, lifting your hips for him as he rids you of your pajama shorts you still had on, along with your soaking wet underwear.

“How do you want it, baby?” Wonwoo huskily asks you, removing his underwear. He curses under his breath as he watches you bend your knees and spread your legs apart, allowing him full access to you.

You gasp as you feel him suddenly pull you further down on his bed, quickly followed by a whine as you feel the weight of his cock on your clit. You sit up on your elbows to see him dragging his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

Both of you can only watch, breathing heavily.

“Wonwoo…” You whine his name, gripping the sheets beneath you as the tip of his cock bumps you clit again. You both watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, finally pushing inside you.

“Look at that.” Wonwoo grunts, watching you take every inch, feeling your walls stretch to accommodate him.

“Fuck…” You throw your head back, a soft moan falling from your lips as you feel so full. “You’re too big…”

“You take me so well…look at you.” Wonwoo praises you, as his hands come up to gently stroke your inner thighs, and it’s enough to get you to relax. “You okay?”

You nod, “Yeah, you can move. Please.”

He starts to pound into you at a steady pace, making you grab onto his shoulders for something to hold onto. Your nails dig into his skin as he drives his cock into your sweet spot over and over.

You let out a sob of a moan, and Wonwoo thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

“God, you sound so pretty,” He moans, “Crying for me…”

“I’m not gonna last long.” You whine, your walls already clenching around him.

Your heart nearly stops in your chest when suddenly you hear the front door to the apartment open, then hear Mingyu enter.

You gasp, and Wonwoo quickly shushes you.

“Relax, he’s not going to come in here, he probably thinks I left.” He whispers, all the while he hasn’t stopped fucking you.

“Can you be quiet?”

You can barely find the words to speak, your brain too focused on the feeling of his cock inside you.

“Answer me.”

You frantically nod, and that’s about all you can muster the strength to do. Your walls clench around him and he knows you’re close.

“Shit, I’m gonna come…” You softly moan, as quiet as you can, then you feel his hand cover your mouth, muffling your cries as your walls squeeze his cock hard, but he keeps fucking you through your high.

He keeps going until he’s coming too, groaning into your neck as you feel his cock nearly throbbing as he releases inside of you.

“Fuck…” Wonwoo sighs, as you both are catching your breath. “That wasn’t how that was supposed to happen.” You both smile bashfully at each other.

You gently thread your fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehand.

“That’s okay, we can sneak over to my place… we won’t have to be quiet.”

tags: @dearlyjun @cosmojinyoung

some others i couldn’t tag! 💔

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version): Future V

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You bring home your girlfriend

It’s not often that Alexia finds herself pacing.

She used to do it a lot when she was still playing. She used to pace before big games, up and down the length of the locker room until finally being allowed out to warm up.

This isn’t like that in the slightest.

This is her meeting your girlfriend.

Your Real Madrid girlfriend.

Alexia had thought you were dating that English girl that plays for Chelsea but apparently that was ‘just a fling’ and ‘sleeping with a friend’ which is something Alexia wasn’t quite sure was allowed but apparently it was.

She knew she had never let you go off to Madrid for a girl’s trip with some of the girls you dance with.

Look what had happened.

You’re bringing home one of Alexia’s worst enemies.

It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth as she peaks out of the front windows to see a fancy car pull up. It’s certainly not yours but you’re the one sliding out of the passenger seat.

Alexia breathes out along sigh as she  pulls herself away, desperate to not let you see her lurking.

“Jaume!” She yells up the stairs,” You sister and her girlfriend is here!”

No answer.

“Jaume!” Alexia yells again,” Stop hiding in your room!”

She waits for a second and then Jaume’s desk chair scrapes against his floor and Alexia can move away from the stairs.

“Olg-“

“I’m already here,” Olga says, breezing into the room with a smile on her face,” Ale, you look like you’re about to pop a vessel.” Her finger smooths down the wrinkle in Alexia’s brow. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Our daughter is bringing home an enemy. I’m allowed to be angry.”

“You’re not angry,” Olga says, a soft smile on her face as Alexia glances back at the door,” You’re nervous. You just want y/n to be happy and you’ve not met this girl yet.”

“I just don’t get why she didn’t just stick with the English girl!”

“I thought you didn’t approve of Aggie?”

“I didn’t! I don’t! I don’t know.” Alexia huffs, glancing away. “I just want her to be happy.”

“And I’m sure she’s very happy with Olaya. Now, put a smile on your face and pretend you aren’t nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!”

The doorknocker goes and Alexia jolts in shock.

“Aren’t you going to get it?” Jaume asks from the top of the stairs and Alexia scoffs.

“I don’t want them to know that I’ve been waiting on them.”

“You’re so weird.”

Alexia ignores her son, waiting a few more seconds before opening the door, plastering an incredibly fake smile on her face when she looks at your girlfriend.

To her credit, Olaya Rodrigeuz doesn’t cower much outside of the usual ‘oh my god, Alexia Putellas is looking at me!’.

“Mami,” You say warmly and Alexia’s fake smile morphs into a real one.

“My bambi,” She coos, hands coming up to hold your face,” I missed you.”

“You saw me last weak.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t miss-“

Alexia freezes as something cold and wet brushes up against her hand and she shrieks.

“Oh, sorry,” You laugh,” This is Flower.”

“That’s a bear.”

“He’s a puppy.”

“Shit, y/n,” Jaume says, forcing his way through the door,” Where did you get a bear?!”

“A puppy.”

“Puppy, bear, same thing,” Jaume says dismissively,” Where’d you get him?”

“I bought him,” Olaya replies as the three of you squeeze into the entrance hall,” Y/n was talking about getting a dog and I saw an ad so I just bought him without thinking.”

It’s probably overreacting on Alexia’s part but she can’t help but notice all the little things as Olaya talks about buying you your dog (who apparently you’ve named Flower). Alexia’s eyes narrow as Olaya’s hand splays out against your hip, the way that she pulls you a little closer and they way you automatically tilt your neck towards her as she presses a soft kiss to just under your jaw.

Your girlfriend is a lot older than you. It’s obvious to everyone but causes the most worry in Alexia.

It was never a secret that you preferred older women. For whatever reason, girls your age never really interested you.

But it always made Alexia wary, especially when said older woman spent money on things like a puppy and held you so close like you were some piece of arm candy.

But that might have just been Alexia’s own interpretation of it.

“Food?” Olga offers up from behind and you stand, clicking your tongue.

“I’ll help. Come on, Flower.”

Your puppy pads obediently over to you and Jaume trails behind, trying to be as close as possible to the bear-like puppy with the flowers on his collar.

Alexia holds her hand out.

Olaya takes it.

Alexia squeezes, her face a mask of indifference.

“So,” Alexia says,” You’re dating my daughter.”

“Yes.”

“And you bought her a puppy.”

“She wouldn’t have done it for herself. She really wanted one but she was nervous to take the last step.”

“So you just bought her a puppy.”

“Yes.”

Alexia stares, long and hard until Olaya visibly slumps, shoulders closing in on herself.

“And the puppy is hers, right? Like if you break up, she gets to keep him?”

Olaya nods. “Yes.”

“Good because she really looks like she loves that dog and I don’t want him taken from her.”

“I only want the best for her,” Olaya says, seemingly uncowed now.

Alexia allows the silence to grow stale for a moment before she finally drops Olaya’s hand.

It isn’t approval. Not yet. But it’s a truce. It’s a ‘I’m not going to throw you out of my house just yet’.

“Now,” Alexia says, leading your girlfriend into the kitchen,” Why don’t you introduce me to my new grandson?”

[sharkikive]

match made in heaven (ken sato x fem!reader)

Summary: You were Professor Sato’s research assistant and your apartment just got destroyed by Ultraman.

Somehow, this led to a matchmaking project between you and the infamous baseball player, Ken Sato.

Word count: 6,887

A/N: I yap a lot when it comes to writing. Just writing this because the Ken Sato brainrot is too damn strong. Just a bunch of gibberish. Not my best but currently too hung up on Kenji. Includes mention of Professor Sato, Mina and Emi (definitely having baby fever because of her).

Ken Sato.

His name was a staple in your daily life, yet you had never met the man face to face.

The moment you thought you had escaped from hearing the broken recording of his name, it was brought up once again as the news of him returning to Japan plastered the news.

You rolled your eyes at the screen, but were careful enough not to let the old man hunched over the table, poring over some papers on Kaiju, see you.

Well, you could not exactly tell the father that you were tired of hearing his son’s name everywhere, could you?

“Professor Sato,” you started. “I shall take my leave for today.”

“Ah yes, sure. Please have a safe journey back home. I’m sorry this old man can’t send you back safely,” he replied, to which you quickly dismissed.

“Professor, I’ll be fine.” You chuckled lightly, “In case you have forgotten, I’m already 26. I’m already an adult. No longer the wide-eyed, 17-year-old you first took under your wing.”

He gave out a breathy laugh, sniffling as you knew what’s going to come out of his mouth next. You resisted the urge to stop him, purely out of respect.

“Kenji is the same age as you. I wish you could meet him, but that child is very stubborn. He wouldn’t even answer my calls, let alone meet me.” He paused, as if thinking of the next sentence, but went against it.

You only smiled weakly, the only response you’d always given when he mentioned his son’s name. You took this as a sign to leave before bowing and setting off to your apartment.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were tired of listening to that man’s name every single time. Yes, you knew that it was Professor Sato’s guilt that kept him talking about his son, but the more you heard about him, the more you found him less likeable.

He came back to Japan, yet he did not even contact his father even once? Yet Professor Sato would talk about him every day.

You knew nothing about baseball, and did not care to find out, but the appearance of Ken Sato forced you to learn that he’s apparently about to be the saviour for the Giants.

You sighed, stopping under the night sky as you watched people milling about the streets.

You were an ambitious girl who had a deep interest in Kaiju and without shame, Ultraman. Ultraman was the first hero you knew and grew up with, so imagine the elation you felt when you found out that Professor Sato was affiliated with both. He agreed to take you under his wing with the condition that you finished your degree, so the moment you had gotten your scroll you showed up in front of him, eager to start.

He probably couldn’t turn you away considering how you seemed… pitiful. Yup, that’s probably the word.

You enjoyed working as his research assistant, but found out soon enough that he was a lonely man who missed his wife and son dearly. He was a father figure to you, considering that you were orphaned at a young age.

It was a peaceful night.

Well, if you consider the scene of Neronga choking Ultraman as a peaceful night.

Correction: It was supposed to be a peaceful night.

You stepped back as the gigantic hero got slammed into another building, destroying yet another public property. You winced as it was obvious that the hero was not upholding the principles and seemed more like he was trying to destroy as much as he could.

The thing that irritated you the most? You knew exactly who it was under that suit.

You shook your head, not even bothering to see how the fight would go. You were 100% sure the KDF would be gunning down the Kaiju in no time.

You set off again, mildly hoping that your apartment did not get obliterated in the chaos, or you would definitely hunt that baseball player down.

It was hard to ignore the fight when two giants were stomping around the city, and you dropped dramatically on your knees when you saw Ultraman being launched in the direction of your building.

“No-” you weakly said, knowing that your voice was merely a speck of hopelessness among the gasps of the crowd, Ultraman’s groan and Neronga’s roar. From behind your glasses, a tear rolled down your face as you saw your apartment building crumbling, all thanks to that stupid, cocky, asshole of a baseball player.

Now thanks to Professor Sato’s beloved son, you were homeless.

***

Maybe it was your lack of sleep from worrying about how the progress of rebuilding your house went, because you were dragged by Professor Sato at 2 in the morning to the secret base, facing a scene that you promptly found ridiculous.

Right, seeing the giant hero hunched over in front of you was no surprise because you knew exactly who it was. A little bit weird how he’s here considering his relationship with his father, but that wouldn’t be an issue.

But what was an issue was that the said giant was cradling an equally gigantic pink baby Kaiju and was- you took a step back.

Something must had happened because Ken Sato was crying in front of you. Not the scene you’d expect in the morning while being sleep-deprived.

Your mind was only registering the words ‘injured’, ‘need help’ and the rest was a blur as Professor Sato helped in correcting the fracture in the Kaiju’s arm. The Kaiju was calmed down, brought to sleep and you could not help but smile at the sleeping baby.

Part of the reason you were still there was because you found the baby Kaiju so adorable with her chubby cheeks and twitterings.

Another part was because you were curious to see (discreetly, of course, under the pretext of looking over the Kaiju) the dynamic between Ultradad and well, the son. You were facing the Kaiju but you were straining your ears to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Doing this-“ you picked up a sentence, -“doesn’t suddenly make you Ultradad.”

You felt slightly perturbed. Kenji came in here pleading while crying, Professor Sato helped him without any questions yet the son was barely grateful for it.

But you knew you’re no one to be meddling in their family affairs.

So you kept quiet, straining your ears with Mina - the robot - hovering nearby.

Your mind wandered to whether it would be plausible for you to chip in a request for Ken Sato’s autograph and sell it high to make up for the costs of your destroyed apartment.

That’s the least he could do after reducing your safe space into rubble.

You snapped back to the present as you heard your name being called, and was greeted with the sight of a smiling father and a son looking like he’d love to be anywhere but here.

Ken Sato was not smiling, but he didn’t look like he hated you either.

The next thing you knew was that you were left alone with Ken, and you couldn’t help but think Professor Sato had a hidden agenda because he left with a chuckle. Even Mina was nowhere in sight.

What could I possibly say to this man I’ve never met before?

The young man in front of you looked starkly different from the confident, boastful man you had seen in interviews. Instead, he seemed more like a sad excuse who looked so distraught you swore you could see him shrinking.

“So uh-” he started, scratching his head with an awkward smile. “Y/N… right?”

Your eyebrows lifted at the mention of your name.

“Dad told me about your apartment.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

You clicked your tongue. “Other than the fact that I became homeless, it’s no issue.”

You did not intend it to be a joke, but it seemed that the only immediate response he could give was to laugh awkwardly, before he buried his face in his hands. “God- I’m so- sorry.” He pried his fingers slightly to look at you, before continuing. “I came back to Japan because dad wanted me to continue this- I don’t know what you call this. Legacy?”

Your eyes trailed his movements; you got slightly startled as he suddenly sprang up and you pushed back your glasses.

“High hopes from everyone ever since I started playing for the Giants, dad wanting me to become Ultraman and-“ he sighed exasperatedly, “it was too much.”

You rubbed the tip of your nose before shrugging. “Well, you did seem confident while you were on TV. If you ask me, you gave them that confidence.”

He left his mouth slightly hanging open as he didn’t expect you to give it to him straight.

You continued, “Ultraman is a hero for some, if not all. Some of them may not care. But all,” your eyes collided with his as he plopped back down onto the sofa, “don’t know who is under that suit. All they know is Ultraman is supposed to be the hero protecting the city with-“ you pressed your lips into a thin line, “-minimal damage.”

He blinked. Did he look like he wanted to cry again?

The corner of your lips lifted up slightly, but you quickly switched it off as he looked at you imploringly.

You raised your hands shoulder-level, hiding a yawn before managing. “Don’t expect me to become your counsellor, but what I’m saying is, when you’re Ken Sato, the baseball player, of course they’d expect you to play well. When you’re Ultraman, people expect you to be the hero.” You interlinked your fingers. “They don’t see you becoming both at the same time. And now, you added another point to your resume. You became a single dad.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. He sucked in his lower lip and for the first time ever you thought that maybe Professor Sato’s son wasn’t that bad at all, both personality and lookwise.

“I can’t comment much about what you feel about your father. I won’t deny that my opinion on you was formed only based on what I saw, but I now know that you must have had a reason why you acted that way to your father.” You shrugged. “I saw a lonely father and a distant son. Because I spent almost all of my time with Professor Sato, please trust me, he talks about you every single day.” You spread your arms, “Your father talked about you, the TV was blaring news about you 24/7 and I was exhausted hearing your name all the time.”

He didn’t seem offended, but was merely focusing on the one sentence. “My father talks about me every day?”

”Every day,” you breathed. “You and your mother.” You smiled, “He never stopped thinking about both of you.”

”Huh.” It seemed like he didn’t know how to react.

This time, you couldn’t help but yawn so you got up quickly, intending to leave the base. If the conversation wasn’t finishing, you were sure you were about to finish it. Your eyelids couldn’t hold much longer.

It was nice having a talk with this infamous baseball player and it sure did change your perspective of him.

He looked on, confused, as you gave a slight nod before heading towards the exit.

”Hey-“ he started, doing a slight jog to catch up to you, who was almost asleep standing up. He gently grabbed the strap of your sling bag, and you snapped your eyes open. He retracted his hand, citing, “Sorry. But where do you think you’re going?”

It was your turn to look confused. “Home?” You said it as a question rather than a statement. “Wait,” you tracked back, “not home. My temporary home at the inn down the road because,” you giggled, clearly drunk from the lack of sleep, “Ultraman destroyed my home.”

”And because Ultraman destroyed your home, you’re staying with me,” he said smoothly, slightly nudging your back with his shoulder. Clearly he struggled as you were much shorter than him.

”With you?” You had no idea where the idea was going yet so you shook your head. “Why would I want to stay with you?”

He took a step back and tugged at the strap of your sling back, essentially dragging you with him. “Don’t misunderstand. Dad’s staying with me as well, we have Mina and you’re joining me because we need to train her.”

”Wait, wait, wait.” You slapped a hand on his shoulder, but he was still holding on strong to the strap. “We? Her? What are we even talking about?”

You were clearly guided by him as you found yourself standing underneath his gaze in front of the Kaiju’s enclosure.

”We as in you, me, dad and Mina.” He nodded, looking satisfied. “Her as in this baby.” He did a show of hands towards the sleeping Kaiju.

You grimaced. “Sir, I did say that my perspective on you has changed, but that doesn’t mean you’re dragging me with you.”

”You’re my dad’s research assistant, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yes…” You didn’t like where this is going.

”You don’t have a house… yet.”

”Yes…”

You took a step back, and what you could describe him now was as a puppy as he imitated your actions. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he leaned down to level his eyes with yours before saying, “Your boss is here, and you currently have no home to go back to. So why not? Take it as me being sorry for destroying your house as well. Deal?” He put out his hand to give you a shake.

You laughed nervously. “And what is it in for me…?”

”You… get to live in the same house as Ken Sato?”

”Nice, yay,” you said flatly. You rolled your eyes. “No.”

“Oh come on,” he groaned. “I feel bad.”

”There’s no need for you to feel bad, okay. I put that behind me, whatever.” You threw your hands in the air. “I’m going, bye.” You turned around, ready to leave.

”I’ll give you my autograph, as many as you’d like,” he quickly chipped in. “Signed possession, whatever you want.” He grinned in satisfaction as he saw you stop in your tracks and you quickly turned around. “It sells. A lot.”

”Hmm…” You seemed to consider it before you shook your head. “Your reputation lately isn’t the best so to sell them might be a bit hard…” You trailed off, clearly more of an effort to swat him away since you did think about it.

You couldn’t deny, it was a nice offer. But you were more worried about how you would cope, considering that you may have found him slightly attractive…

“I’m sure dad would be happy for you to stay here as well?”

You gritted your teeth. First time meeting him in real life and he already knew your weakness. He knew that using his father’s name would cause you to waver.

Still, you held on to your decision.

“No-”

He blinked slowly, and you heard the baby Kaiju stir in her sleep.

You ran your eyes towards the Kaiju before sighing. There was one thing you were interested in.

No, not the man in front of you.

You walked over to the enclosure. “How is she with strangers?”

Kenji popped up beside you before winking. “If I say the stranger is a friend, you’ll be glad to have her around.”

You took a moment to think, weighing the pros and cons. “Full privacy? Separate bathrooms?”

He scratched the nape of his neck. “Well, there is one separate bathroom for the guests but the shower’s faulty.” Something dawned on his face as he just realised this. “The only working shower is in, uh, my room.”

You stared back at him. “So there is a chance I might run into you naked?”

“I’ll preserve my dignity.” He paused. “You know what, take my room. I can use the guest room.”

You chuckled, taking his hand in a forced handshake. “Fine, deal.”

He looked surprised, but trailed after you as both of you took the ride up. “Wait, what was the dealbreaker? Because of the Kaiju? The room? The-” he looked at you almost accusingly. “-chance of seeing the Ken Sato naked-”

“Shh-” you clamped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to silence him just as the entrance pried open, revealing a smiling Professor Sato.

“Dad,” Ken said in a muffled voice, and you pulled back from covering his mouth. “Dad,” he tried again. “She agreed to staying here.”

You looked at the professor from the corner of your eyes. So it was his doing. You wondered what the father had held over his son’s head to make him obey.

“Can I retire for the night?” You did an exaggerated show of stretching. “I’m becoming delirious from the lack of sleep.”

“Room’s to your right,” Ken offered.

“Make sure to lock the door,” Mina reminded you.

“Mina,” Ken groaned. “What are you implying?”

“Just general safety measures. Ken-” she hovered near the baseball player, “-are you okay? Your heartbeat is increasing-”

He groaned. “I’m fine, Mina. I’ll be using the guest room.”

Both of you went separate ways, leaving Professor Sato and Mina in the living room.

Professor Sato whispered, “Mina, status report on the project.”

Mina obediently replied, “Matchmaking project is showing positive progress. We can expect to see rapid progress in the next few weeks.”

***

Training and taking care of the baby Kaiju - which the professor had named Emi - was no easy feat. Contributed by your almost non-existent stamina, you were left cheering from the sides as mostly Ken and Emi did all kinds of simulation to train her. Dealing with a 20-feet monster was not on your bucket list, but you had proudly ticked it off mentally.

You heard whooping from the two and you held onto your bottle as the ground shook when Emi jumped up and down. Subconsciously, you smiled as you saw Ken cheering for the baby, and he almost got crushed when Emi gave his human form a high-five.

You quietly went up the lift as Ken was fussing over Emi to make her go to sleep. You plopped down on the sofa, switched on the TV and to no surprise, his name decorated the evening news.

Ken Sato showing good progress…

Ken Sato showing a more mature side…

Ken Sato helping the Giants to pick themselves back up…

“I definitely look better in person,” Ken’s voice came from behind and you could feel his presence near you. “May I?” He asked for permission to sit beside you but both of you knew the answer as he plopped down right next to you.

You see, these are the small things that could make you wonder whether he’s doing it on purpose or he really had no idea how they affected you.

You gulped when you could feel his knee bumping against yours, or when he casually put his arm on the back of the sofa across your shoulders. There was no contact but there might as well be something because you felt like your heart would jump right out.

Your romantic encounter with a guy was only as far as a guy who called you a creep because you were following him. That day, you were navigating the world half-blind because you broke your glasses and it seemed that he was going to your destination. Sure, you admitted that it was your fault and you apologised profusely, but that made you avoid taking the train for at least two weeks.

You got startled when Ken pressed a cold can on your cheek. The corner of your eyes caught the words ‘COCONUT WATER’. Remembering how Mina had essentially pestered Ken to drink coconut water as a ‘healthy option’, you smiled. Mina had also reminded Ken multiple times that because you didn’t drink, never, ever offer you a can of beer.

”Nah,” you refuted. “You look better on screen.” You imitated taking a camera shot of his face before chiding. “Up near you’re just…” You trailed off.

”Just what?” He asked, prying open his can of coconut water. Without asking, he took yours before helping to open it up for you.

This. These small gestures were what convinced you that you were turning crazy.

”Ugly,” you supplemented.

”Hey, play nice,” he tapped the opened can on your cheek before shoving it into your hand.

You chuckled, taking a gulp of the drink before both of you basked in silence. To him, it was a comfortable silence but to you, you were currently hoping that your heartbeat would just… stop.

You thought that maybe spending time and living together with Ken Sato would further confirm that you hated his guts, but so far, you were only getting the opposite effect. You were sure there was some character development somewhere… from that first moment he destroyed your house to that moment you met him again as he was cradling Emi.

You hated this growing feeling you had towards him and it’s so painfully obvious what Professor Sato (and Mina) were planning on doing to both of you.

The worst part was it seemed like it’s either: 1. Ken was too oblivious, or 2. He knew, but didn’t want to entertain the thought.

Was it a better idea to just leave? They did say your house would be finished being rebuilt in a few days.

”So…” you croaked. “My house will be done in a few days so I think it’s better for me to start packing.” You stole a glance at him. Now… Why am I hoping that he would stop me?

A flicker of disappointment behind his eyes but he was quick to switch it off. “Sure,” he rubbed his nose. “If… that’s what you want.”

You pursed your lips. This stupid erratic heartbeat wouldn’t stop and you hated that you didn’t know what to do with it. “I’ll… start packing then.” You took another peek at him. He wasn’t looking at you.

You stood up, but he stopped you. Your heart was making its way out of your ribcage for beating too loud, but it slowed down when he uttered, “Hey, don’t forget your coconut water."

You looked at him with an ‘Are you serious?’ look before taking it, not once unlocking your stare from his and standing up, finished the drink in one gulp. You crushed the can, and threw it in one shot towards the dustbin.

”Oh, okay.” He looked surprised by your reaction.

You stalked your way to the bedroom and closed the door. Sighing exasperatedly, you pressed your back against the door and slid down. You buried your face in your hands before lightly hitting your head with a fist. You felt bad for reacting that way but you found it harder to deny the feeling when you were so confident that you would manage to resist.

Outside in the living area, Ken looked troubled, his forehead wrinkling when he tried backtracking what he did. He turned to look over his shoulder as the spherical robot hovered near him, and he threw his head back.

”What is it, Mina? Are you here to chide me again?”

”In these kinds of situations, the woman is usually hoping the man would stop her from leaving,” Mina said.

”Mina,” he pleaded.

”I believe a misunderstanding had happened,” she offered again, to which he appeared confused. “Please, do look at the screen.”

Ken’s eyes travelled to the projection Mina made. He looked even more confused as one of his solo interviews was displayed. He looked inquiringly at Mina, before the latter sweeped her robotic hands to ask him to focus on the interview.

It was an interview he did some time last week. His face changed when he started catching on what Mina was trying to show.

“So your name has become the talk of the town again for a good reason now.” The interviewer paused for effect. “This is a question that I’m sure everyone has thought of at least once when we’re talking about Ken Sato.” The interviewer looked at him. “Do you have anyone you’re interested in or at least, someone you have set your eyes on?”

Ken’s response was immediate as he laughed and shook his head. “No, no. Not right now.” He leaned back, a relaxed stance as he waved his hand in front of his face. “Right now I’m only focusing on my baseball career. Still got a long way to go. I don’t want to waste my time on something so unimportant.”

The interviewer turned back to the screen. “You’ve heard it directly from the man, folks. He’s-“

Mina switched off the replay while Ken looked regretful.

Exasperated, he said, “Mina, you know I don’t mean it that way.”

“I believe you should be clarifying that with Y/N herself and not me. She is the subject of your affection.”

“Affection-” he mulled over the word. “Do you really think so, Mina? Is this what this…” He put a hand over his chest. “Foreign feeling is?”

“From my observation,” Mina replied as she stayed close to Ken’s shoulder. “Your expression becomes livelier, your smile becomes wider and your eyes twinkle more whenever she is around. Now,” she paused, “you do have that same reaction whenever you’re with Emi. However, I do sense your heartbeat increasing every time you’re with Y/N. I believe this is what they would call a romantic attraction.”

“So in short,” he sighed, “I like her but I’m saying the opposite thing? But-” he almost grabbed Mina to ask her more, “how would I know if she feels the same way? I- I don’t think I can handle rejection from her. Do you sense anything from her?”

There was a silence as Mina backed up, making way towards her room. “I believe that is not a question for me to answer, Ken. Why don’t you sort it out with her?”

Ken looked at the door of the room you’re in, gathering the courage to make his way. He stopped in front of the door, he shook his hands, breathing in and out as his mind reeled with all sorts of apologies and words to offer to you.

He raised his hand to knock on the door, and at the same time you swung open the door, causing him to knock a fist on your forehead.

So much for Ultraman reflexes.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Ken shouted, automatically cupping your face to see the damage he’d done. “Are you- are you okay?”

You blinked, everything happening at once too much for you. He knocked on your door, you happened to open it at the same time and now he’s-

“I’m… fine. Can you…” you tapped your palm on his hand. “...let go?”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he let go as he laughed nervously. “Reflexes fail you at times like these, right?” His face fell as he saw you avoiding his gaze. “Hey. Can we talk?”

You looked up, finally looking at him. “Yeah?”

He exhaled. “Like, properly.”

“Have we not been communicating properly?”

Mina suddenly appeared beside both of you. “I apologise for having to interrupt but yes, I do observe some miscommunication going on. So if both of you may sort it out.”

Mina’s hands pushed both of you into the room and shut the door.

There were protests from both but they quickly died down before silence stretched. Both of you exchanged glances but not words, and neither had any idea what the other was thinking of.

All the apologies and words Ken was thinking of offering to you went up in a cloud of smoke. Instead, he asked the one thing he wished he could take back. “So when are you planning to leave?” Dang it, Ken.

Your face contorted, obviously offended. “As soon as I can. Don’t worry,” you walked over to the bed, shoved your clothes into your duffel bag and zipped it up. “I wanted to tell you that I finished packing.”

”You’re leaving tonight?” This time around, he didn’t hide his disappointment. Why, why is it so hard for him to ask you to stay? To tell you what he really feels?

Sure, he couldn’t deny that his attitude came from growing up mostly without his father around. He had grown up with this wall built around him as a defensive mechanism. He found it hard to communicate with others, to explain what he really was feeling.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. He figured it was best to let the feeling die down. You’d be better off with someone else anyway.

”Just tell me when you want to leave,” he finally uttered. “I’ll open the door for you.”

You gritted your teeth and only nodded.

He turned around and shut the door. Mina and his father were outside, the latter having a worried look on his face.

”Kenji,” Professor Sato uttered.

”I want to be alone, dad,” he mentioned. “Mina,” he turned to the supercomputer, “just make sure she gets to where she wants to go safely.”

As Ken shut the door, Professor Sato turned to Mina, to which he uttered, “I trust this is not the time to ask about the progress.”

Mina answered. “Yes, Professor. I believe we may have hit a wall.”

***

You decided to leave early in the morning and with only a note, saying that you’d like to have some time off. Mina was kind enough to open the door for you, but when she asked whether you’d like to have Ken and Professor Sato see you off, you shook your head vigorously.

”Mina, tell them I’m going somewhere nice for a vacation.” You winked, but it was obvious that you were trying to hide something from breaking. “They better not look for me.”

Mina paused, as if she’s using her electronic brain to figure a way to stop you. “Kenji has a reason for acting that way.” A pause. “Though I am merely a robot with little to no experience in romantic relationships.”

You chuckled. “Thank you, Mina. Really, all of you were so kind to me. It’s just that,” you sighed, “I understand why he’d act that way. He has a whole career to look forward to. Adoring fans. He can’t be wasting-“ you gulped, the words bitter on your mouth, “-time on something so insignificant. I shall take my leave.”

”Y/N,” she uttered. “If I may ask one last question before you leave?”

You tilted your head. “Sure, Mina. What is it?”

“Were my calculations wrong about what you’re feeling?”

”And that is?”

”You hated him at first, but that hate has turned into something more… lovely."

You couldn’t help but smile. “It’s so obvious isn’t it?” You crinkled your nose. “I better take my leave before the three of them wake up.”

That was the last you saw all four of them - Professor Sato, Ken, Mina and Emi. That was what… a week ago?

Now you’re sitting, slumped in your bean bag as you groaned, bored out of your mind. Nice vacation, my ass. If that means reading the same books over and over again, surfing the web and watching the same TV shows while being cooped up in your house, you’re definitely having a nice vacation.

Even then, you found it hard to avoid that person. He was literally everywhere.

You switched off the TV, stretched, before something gigantic shook the whole city. Your eyes went wide as you realised that there was a possibility of another attack. Without much thought, you pushed up your glasses and took a glance through your apartment window.

There they are.

You saw both Ultraman and Emi traversing the landscape. You turned around to leave your apartment, but stopped as you heard sharp chirpings.

Emi was hovering near your window and you laughed, amazed at the sight in front of you. “Emi, you grew wings! You can fly now!”

The baby Kaiju smiled at you, seemingly proud that she could finally set off from the ground.

”Emi, come on.” You heard the one voice that could shatter your resolve then and there.

You tried to close the window, had enough, but the hero stopped you from shutting the window.

“Ow,” he complained, flapping his hand. Ken quickly stopped you from leaving as he said, “Look, I’ve been a jerk and-“ a loud boom resonated through the whole city, “-I want to start over.”

You sucked in your lower lip, mulling over his sentence. You lifted up your eyebrows as if to say, ‘Really, right now?’

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I like you, okay? But I didn’t know how to say it. Or maybe I was just afraid of rejection.”

You tried to keep a straight face but failed; you didn’t expect to hear a confession from Ultraman. You cleared your throat as you looked away. “Become a hero, save the day and then say all of that again,” your voice dropped to a whisper, as if anyone could hear you, “as Ken Sato.”

You’re not sure whether it was possible, but his eyes lit up brighter as he nodded. He started a light jog to launch himself before shouting, “Wait for me!” He disappeared in a twinkle in the night sky.

With your best guess, you assumed the fight must be going on between them and the KDF. Knowing that you’d be anxious waiting to see the results of the fight, you grabbed your jacket, set off into the night and tried searching a vantage point where you’d be able to at least get a view of what’s happening.

You found a spot and narrowed your eyes as you tried to get an idea of where the two of them stood. Emi… Ultraman… Is that Gigantron?

You became confused as you remembered clearly Professor Sato claiming that the most magnificent creature on Earth had died. What the hell is going on?

You gripped the railing of the bridge you were on, the fight getting further and further away from you. You watched the fight unfold… breath battered as you were silently cheering them on. You gasped as another figure launched himself into the fight.

”Professor,” you muttered to yourself. “Please, please be safe.”

The fight was a distant chaos, you could barely see what was going on. You gritted your teeth as you waited for the final call, but dropped to your knees as you realised what was going on.

”No, no, no. Ken…"

You saw the shield. Ken underneath the shield, the explosion that should have been loud, but was muffled inside the enclosure Ken had made before blinding light filled the atmosphere.

Tears filled up your vision as you saw the giant hero collapse into the sea.

***

You stared blankly at the unmoving body in front of you, while another person was strategically standing near the exit. You looked over your shoulder as you felt a light, reassuring tap.

Professor Sato wanted to offer some words of reassurance, but you merely shook your head. He let out a heavy breath, saying, “I’ll leave the two of you alone. I'll continue working on restoring Mina.”

”Thanks,” you sniffled. “Professor.”

Apparently on the day the fight happened, Mina was caught in the frenzy and was almost shut down, while the secret base was partially destroyed. Now the Professor was working on recovering Mina, while Ken…

You sighed, looking at the patient in front of you.

Nothing to worry about, actually. Despite the quick thinking of Ultraman in front of you throwing himself over the bomb, he actually managed to escape with just a broken arm. He’s not dead, Ken Sato was still here, recovering.

But what annoyed you was that it seemed every time you came to visit, he would pretend to be asleep. Not even stirring, obviously faking sleep to avoid talking to you.

So what, all that confession was for naught? Just an adrenaline rush from becoming the hero?

This time around though, it did seem like he was fast asleep. His chest was rising and falling steadily. His hair was messy, and you resisted the urge to tidy it up.

”You jerk,” you grumbled. “I was so worried for you, but… you’re really planning on leaving me hanging like this?”

”Y/N…”

You stopped grumbling to yourself as you heard the man in front of you mumbling your name. You leaned forward, curious to hear what he got to say.

”You look so…” he continued, eyes still shut.

You strained your ears to catch more.

”I like you…”

You pressed your lips together before punching his unhurt shoulder, almost too hard.

He gasped, sat up straighter, taking in big gulps of air as his irises move frantically to search for the source of the punch.

”Who-“ he blinked. “Y/N?”

”In the flesh,” you deadpanned.

”What are you-“

”I told you,” you interjected. “Tell it to my face as Ken Sato.”

He looked guilty for a moment, and you leaned back in your chair.

”You’re going to say it was a mistake, aren’t you?” You asked, clearly exasperated.

”No, it wasn’t a mistake!” He quickly said, searching for your eyes. “After the fight that day I felt like being a hero means that there was a possibility I would just-” he imitated an explosion, “disappear.”

You grabbed his collar. “If you know that even any single day you have a possibility of disappearing, that your life is short, then-” the grip around his collar became tighter, “-it means that you have to grab every opportunity as soon as you can. That includes confessing to someone you like.” You threw your hands up in frustration and stood up, pacing back and forth. “God! Why are relationships so complicated? And why am I so, so, so stupid?”

You buried your face in your hands.

“I don’t know,” you said, tears pooling in your eyes. “When you said you didn’t have any interest in anyone, and that you didn’t want to waste your time on something so insignificant. Hearing that, I just-” you sighed. “-thought that the answer was so obvious. You have your priorities straight.”

“Y/N-” he stopped you by touching your arm lightly, pulling you over to sit beside him. “That was-” He winced as he felt pain shooting up his arm. He tried again, “That was what I’d usually say in interviews before this, because baseball was the only thing that put a smile on my face. But now…” He took your hand, caressing it. “You came and it was just one, big confusion for me. You are the only person who has managed to,” he chuckled, “cause the Ken Sato to waver. It was a foreign feeling for me."

“Idiot…” you mumbled.

He pulled you closer with his good arm, and obviously inexperienced, you shut your eyes tight as you felt him softly breathing against your cheek. Of course, you thought he’d go for a kiss on your lips, but you heard him chuckle before he pressed a light one on your cheek. You opened your eyes and he was grinning.

He thought you looked adorable.

“What was that?” you asked flatly.

“A kiss?” he said, unsure of what exactly you were implying.

“Uh-uh.”

You grabbed his face, and he looked surprised as you leaned in to kiss him on the lips. Your glasses were in the way so you took them off, and you felt his arm snaking around your waist to hold you firmly in place.

In the heat of the moment and flurry of emotions, you found yourself pinned under him, his good arm caging you. He kissed you again, but this time around you felt your heart beating so loud you had to place your palms against his chest to slightly push him away.

“Ken,” you warned him. “We’re in the hospital.”

He blinked, feigning innocence. “Really? I had no idea.” He traced a finger on your cheek, wiping away the traces of your tears. He pinched your cheek as he said, “The doctor told me that I’m good to be discharged tomorrow.”

Suddenly conscious of how you’re pinned under him, you looked away. “That’s good. You can go back home in no time.”

He tapped a finger on your chin, causing you to look back at him. “My house is still under repair, remember? I’m essentially homeless.”

“You can live with your dad-“

“Take the hint, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead before collapsing beside you, both of you cramped on the small hospital bed.

You thought about how you had never, ever brought a guy home. And now Ken wanted to…?

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

He smiled, squeezing your shoulders as you buried your face in his chest. “Can I ask just one… question?”

“Sure, shoot.”

“What was the dealbreaker, really? The one that made you agree to stay at the secret base?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course.”

This time, you didn’t even hesitate. “The chance to see the Ken Sato naked of course.”

“Damn it. I knew that was the reason.”

[dedalvs]

My brother and I absolutely cackled after that Aemond and Aegon Valyrian exchange!

I wanted to ask (and I'm terrible at conlangs, so forgive me) what grammar/syntax Aegon is stumbling over here and how to properly say what he intended to? Any why is he making thise mistakes (simply lacking the vocabulary, or rules of the language he hasn’t grasped)?

Let's take a look at it. This is what he said:

Nyke koston... Bēvilus... Sētegon bīlīvāzmi?

The subtitles say this:

"I can... Have to... Make a war?"

Prior to this Aemond is, essentially, showing off. He knows that Aegon has simply not put any time into studying Valyrian (or studying anything). At this stage, Valyrian is no longer spoken by the family on a day-to-day basis—especially as Alicent probably never learned it at all (or if she did, only in a few scattered lessons here and there; not to actually use). In order for either of the boys to gain any kind of fluency in the language, they have to study constantly and find ways to use it. There's simply no daily need for the language—and plenty of reasons not to use it, as very, very few people they'll encounter on a daily basis speak the language.

Now, if we were talking about two random people in Westeros, this wouldn't mean anything. But these are the children of Viserys Targaryen, himself a descendant of Aegon the Conqueror. They brought their family line and their culture with them to Westeros—and, of course, their language. If someone like Alicent Hightower doesn't speak High Valyrian it means nothing. If a Targaryen doesn't speak High Valyrian, though… See, they're supposed to be able to speak Valyrian. Failing to do so carries with it a sense of shame that isn't present for a random person who doesn't speak Valyrian. Aemond knows this. Aegon is annoying him, so he goes poking at that wound.

Aemond could have fed him a short line with an obvious answer to help Aegon out, but instead he threw a whole mess of Valyrian at him. The longer it goes on, the more lost Aegon gets, desperately trying to catch up and figure out what was just said and thereby missing what is being said at that instant. From the whole speech, Aegon probably only figured out that he was being asked a question, and it was something having to do with planning.

So, back to what he says. The beginning student of a language is quite adept at doing a single verb in a present tense sentence. In a discussion like this, though, you're typically saying things like "I think that" or "We should" or "I suggest" or "Perhaps we might", etc. All that stuff that we need to offer opinions, make suggestions, hedge, etc. Much more than simple narration.

Aegon is attempting to do this without a sufficient command of the language. He knows some vocabulary, he knows some grammar, but he simply did not put in the work to actually speak this language. Thus, he has to overcome a lot of Common Tongue (i.e. English) interference.

There are many differences between Valyrian and English, but the biggest one by far is the major word order. In English, the verbs come before the rest of the junk; in Valyrian, they come at the end. And this is how things get all messed up.

In English, you start the sentence saying things like "I think" or "We should" or "It seems". In Valyrian, those things come at the end. If you start with the Valyrian equivalent of "I think", you will quickly realize (presuming you know enough of the grammar) that you're sunk, because once you've said it, the sentence should be done. Thus you get Aegon's false starts.

Starting at the beginning, Aegon says Nyke koston, which is kind of like saying, "I could". But there's nowhere to go. This is how a sentence ends. For example, if he wanted to say, "I could fly to Harrenhal", he would say Harenhalot sōvegon koston—literally "To Harrenhal fly I could". If you're thinking English-ly, you're essentially thinking backwards, and if you simply translate what you're thinking, you'll immediately have nowhere to go. You'll have to take a pause and think about how to get started again. And that's exactly what happens here.

Now, leaving aside that Valyrian is a pro-drop language and starting it off with nyke "I" is unnecessary and makes you look like a beginner, koston isn't bad (I mean, if used sentence-finally). Once he realizes he can't start there, though, he loses confidence. It's those old High Valyrian lessons all over again, and some maester suggesting he hasn't studied. That self-doubt makes his facility with Valyrian worse. This means his chances of recovery are severely hampered.

But onward he presses, and he decides to say "We have to" or "I have to". Now, the problem here is in Valyrian that requires the verb bēvilagon. This verb isn't used in the usual way. Literally it means "to lie on". If you wanted to say "We must mobilize our dragons", you'd say Īlvī zaldrīzī mazannagon īlo bēvilza. That's literally "Our dragons to mobilize us it lies upon". The one who must do something is placed in the genitive and put directly before the verb. If you start with the verb, well, you missed your chance to say who it is that must be doing something—let alone what they must do. Another false start.

It's also worth noting that he says bēvilus as opposed to bēvilza. Let's ignore that it's the aorist and focus on the fact that it's the subjunctive (just like koston). You use the subjunctive with your main verb when you're hedging—when you're suggesting. Not when you're commanding. Kind of an odd thing to say "We must do this" with the subjunctive. Kind of like saying "Maybe we might considering having to do this".

At this point, his confidence has completely evaporated. Everybody's staring at him like he has no idea what he's talking about; Aemond's eating it up. He knows he's cooked. He's got to say something, though, so he says sētegon which isn't even conjugated. It means "to make" or "to create", which might make sense in English (e.g. "to make war"), but doesn't make sense in Valyrian (a bit like saying "to construct a war" or even "to bake a war") and then tries to pronounce vīlībāzmi "war" (wrong case/number, wrong order) and fails, saying bīlīvāzmi, which means nothing (also he wanted vīlībāzme. Vīlībāzmi is "wars").

Long story short, he doesn't present himself very well—and we didn't even talk about his general pronunciation or intonation. It's kind of a great big mess in only five words. A true disaster.

But if there were no expectation that he should be able to speak Valyrian, none of this would matter! If there were no shame associated with him specifically not being able to speak Valyrian no one would expect it of him, and this challenge would mean as little as someone challenging him to speak the Old Tongue or Asshai'i. It'd be meaningless.

In short, this small portion of this scene is about being a heritage speaker of a language. It's the exact nightmare scenario all heritage speakers fear: To be put on stage and made to perform despite being unequal to the task while simultaneously feeling that they should be equal to it.

It'd be so cool if it was okay to be kind of good with a language—if that level of mastery was acceptable. In the real world, anyway.

[revasserium]

Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince

opla requests are: open

lips on every cross

opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not

summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.

a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".

01. when love arrives

(“Hey Princess —“)

The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.

The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.

“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.

Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.

“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”

Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.

“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”

Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.

He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.

Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.

Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.

(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)

Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.

Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.

He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.

And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.

02. a study of light and dark

The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.

“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“

Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.

“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.

“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.

“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”

Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”

Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.

When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.

You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.

As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.

“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.

The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.

(“Talk to me, Princess.”)

When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.

03. etymology

Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.

It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.

From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.

Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.

He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.

The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.

He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.

04. tip of the iceberg

It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.

Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.

You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.

Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.

“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.

Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.

You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.

“A drink for an answer,” he says.

You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.

“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.

You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.

“No lying.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”

He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”

This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.

“Got a question in there somewhere?”

Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”

You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”

Zoro hums, “Your turn.”

You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”

You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”

Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”

You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.

Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.

“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.

The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.

And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.

“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”

05. the secret history

It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.

The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.

“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.

Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”

Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.

You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.

Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.

It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.

“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”

“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.

And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.

Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.

“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.

You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.

If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.

Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”

Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.

“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”

06. eternal day

Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.

“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.

“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.

And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.

07. endless night

By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.

08. torn asunder

Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —

Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.

A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.

A flash of pale pink catches his eye.

Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.

He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.

His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.

And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.

It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.

“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.

Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.

Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.

“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”

At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”

Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

09. the tower and the throne

The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.

“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”

The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.

“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”

The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.

Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.

The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.

Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.

You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.

For the first time, you wince openly at her words.

10. waiting for the rain

The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.

You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.

There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.

“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”

You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.

“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.

“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.

“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”

You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.

“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”

At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.

“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”

You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.

Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.

“Insolence!”

“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”

And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.

You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.

“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”

Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.

It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.

11. to reap and to sow

You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.

“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”

Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”

Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.

“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit �� but — it wasn’t that bad!”

You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.

“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.

“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.

His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”

It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —

Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.

“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.

You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.

“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.

“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.

But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.

“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.

“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”

You bite your lips, “I think you did.”

Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.

“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”

12. lost stars

It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.

You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —

“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.

Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.

“Did he hurt you?”

Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”

Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”

Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.

“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.

Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”

“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”

“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.

There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.

“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”

You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.

“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”

Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.

“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.

“Oh?”

“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”

And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”

It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.

“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.

“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.

“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”

You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.

Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.

You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For coming after me.”

Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.

“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”

But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”

“Hn.”

Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.

“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”

“Hm?”

“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”

You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.

“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”

“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”

Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.

“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.

And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.

But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.

It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.

“Z-Zoro…”

“Yes Princess?”

You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.

“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”

“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.

Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.

“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”

[makoodles]

ミ the mightiest

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader

🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

It was just a fluke, you tell yourself. A moment of weirdness that had come about because… because…

Okay, so you can’t really explain it.

You don’t like Neteyam! You never have! The sight of him appearing while you’re mid-rendezvous with Txetyo (the same man he had interrupted you with only a few days before!) should have sent you into an angry tailspin. And yet, you can’t forget the pulse of excitement that had throbbed low in your belly when you realised that he was standing there watching you.

Really, you should have been the one to speak up. But it was like your brain had switched off, like all your rational thoughts had gone on a temporary leave of absence; why else would you have stayed silent instead of stopping Txetyo and drawing attention to Neteyam’s presence?

Just like after your last confusing encounter with Neteyam in the healing hut, you end up sticking close to the human outpost for the next week.

It’s probably a little cowardly to hide instead of facing your problems head on, but you don’t care. You avoid Neteyam, you avoid Txetyo, you avoid any of the guys you’ve had flings with before because even the sight of them reminds you of what had happened that night in the forest. Inevitably, that leads to you avoiding the village entirely.

The outpost is as boring as ever, but it’s better than facing the mortification that’s no doubt awaiting you in the village. But at the very least, it’s not lonely.

Spider is kind enough to keep you company in the outpost for the first few days, though you quickly wish he wouldn’t. There’s not much to do, and Spider never deals well with boredom.

“Quit that.” You grit out, your eyes sliding sideways.

Spider is sitting next to you, drumming his fingers insistently on his thighs. He sighs, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling and leaning back on the lumpy couch you’re both sprawled on.

“This is mind-numbing.” He complains, throwing his dirty bare feet over your thighs. “It’s so boring here. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time inside in my whole life.”

“You don’t have to be here.” You remind him, shoving his feet off you.

Spider sighs, swinging his legs back to the ground so he can sit up properly. “Right, sure. I could leave you here alone to mope all day by yourself in your dank little bedroom. Or you could tell me what’s going on with you.”

You grumble, and avert your eyes. Okay, so maybe your avoidance has been a little more obvious than you had intended. You’ve barely missed a day in the village your whole life, and yet in the last two weeks you’ve spent most of your time hiding out in the outpost.

“Nothing’s going on.” You say, and it rings hollow even to your own ears.

Spider purses his lips. He seems pointedly unconvinced, and stretches back on the couch with his arms across the back of the headrest.

“So it has nothing to do with whatever the hell happened when you went off with Txetyo during the hunt celebrations?”

You almost wince, but manage to keep your expression neutral as you stare at your knees. “Nope.”

Spider hums. “And I suppose the fact that Neteyam very conspicuously disappeared into the forest about ten seconds after you left is also unrelated.”

That cracks your composure, and you take a shaky breath as you glance sideways at Spider’s face. He doesn’t look like he’s judging you or anything; he’s just waiting patiently for your answer, a single eyebrow raised.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You mutter, avoiding his eyes.

There’s a long pause, and then Spider huffs out a sigh and tilts his head back to stare at the water-stained ceiling up above you. You feel a little bad about keeping secrets from him; usually you and Spider act as each other’s confidants by virtue of the fact that the two of you are humans the same age amongst all the Na’vi. But this whole mess with Neteyam is something that you’re struggling to wrap your own head around – you don’t want to start explaining the whole mortifying ordeal to someone who was as good as your brother.

“Lo’ak’ll get it out of you.” Spider says confidently.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please tell me he’s not coming over.”

“He’s worried.” Spider protests. “You’ve been acting super weird, dude.”

“He’s nosey.” You correct.

Spider shrugs, unable to argue that point. “Well, whatever.”

It’s as if speaking his name summons him, because the shoddy linoleum floor creaks behind you as a big nine-feet-tall body steps into the room. You catch a glimpse of bright blue skin out of the corner of your eye and groan, tipping your head back against the back of the couch and closing your eyes.

“Seriously, I am not in the mood to be interrogated by the Idiot Brigade today.” You complain. “Can’t you come back and bother me another time?”

There’s a pause. And then, a low voice filled with amusement says, “Am I a member of this “idiot brigade?”

That is not Lo’ak’s voice.

For a moment, you don’t even turn around. You just breathe slowly, your eyes shut tight. Maybe if you don’t turn and look, Neteyam will just vanish from your presence as if he had never spoken at all.

But instead of Neteyam’s spontaneous disappearance, you get Spider shifting on the lumpy couch beside you before climbing to his feet. Your eyes shoot open at that, and your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief.

“Where are you going?” You hiss, already reaching out after him.

Spider stops, hesitates, his eyes flicking between you and Neteyam. He looks as though he would rather be literally anywhere other than here; you know the feeling.

“Uh… I’m gonna go find Lo’ak.” Spider mutters, his eyes darting around cagily. “Seems like you two probably need time to talk some things out.”

Before you can even protest that, Neteyam is stepping forward, marching his way around the couch. You sit up, properly startled now, realising that your window for escape is rapidly narrowing.

“Tell Lo’ak not to come.” Neteyam says simply, stepping nimbly around the couch so that he’s in front of you. It’s like he knows that you were thinking of an escape, because he tilts his head as a subtle smile tugs at his mouth.

“Yeah. Got it.” Spider sounds a little strangled, sending you a look that you can’t quite decipher before turning and scampering out the door, letting it slide shut behind him with a quiet thud.

You stare at him for a long moment, your mouth hanging open like a moron. Neteyam just stares back, his expression even, as though he’s waiting for you to speak first.

You swallow thickly, then push yourself up so that you’re standing. It’s a weak attempt to put yourself on a more even level with him, but it fails as you find yourself eye-level with his damn belly button.

“What are you doing here?” You snap, though it comes out a little weaker than you had intended.

Neteyam doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he gingerly lowers himself down onto the ancient lumpy couch that you and Spider had commandeered for yourselves from the desolate wreckage of Bridgehead. He’s almost comically large for it, his knees bent awkwardly up as he settles back, the springs creaking ominously.

“You have been avoiding the village.” He says simply.

And… oh god, you can’t stop staring. It’s stupid, because you’ve known Neteyam your whole life, you know what he looks like. But it’s like your eyes are taking him in differently now. You hadn’t spent much time with him as kids; you were always chasing after Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider, and Neteyam usually maintained a distance as he trained under the guidance of his parents. And then he was gone, departed for the reef villages, only to return after the worst of the war years had passed.

But it’s different now. He’s a man, his shoulders broader than ever and his muscles more defined than is typical of the Omaticaya warriors – no doubt thanks to his time in the reefs with the bulkier Metkayina.

Your mouth is a little dry; it’s not a good time to be reminded that you find big, muscly Na’vi men really, really attractive.

“Yeah.” You say, your voice scratchy. “Uh… I’ve been busy.”

Neteyam’s hairless brow raises in an unspoken gesture of doubt as he leans back into the couch. Your eyes dart down nervously over his abdomen. Each sculpted abdominal muscle speaks of his physical prowess and the sheer discipline and dedication to his training, and his slim waist is accentuated by the woven battle band around his waist. Fuck, you want to touch his belly.

You can hardly believe that you had this man’s cock in your hand, or that he had been grunting and fucking your fist. Maybe you had hallucinated that. Looking at him like this, taking in his big amber eyes and strong jawline and high cheekbones, you’re reminded rather harshly of just why he’s one of the most sought-after men in the village by the unmated Omaticaya girls. It seems unlikely that he’d ever lower himself to allow himself to be touched by you.

And yet, you know you hadn’t hallucinated him standing only mere feet from you in the forest, watching intently as Txetyo had railed you into the mossy ground.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Neteyam speaks again. “Avoiding Txetyo? I do not blame you.

You almost choke at that. Good lord, the audacity of this man. He knows perfectly well that you’ve also been trying to avoid him, judging by the smug look on his face.

“No! He- he wasn’t so bad.” You protest, though the words ring unconvincingly in your own ears.

“Tawtute, you’re so tight!” Neteyam gasps mockingly, lowering his voice into a dude-bro register that decidedly does not sound like Txetyo. “Fuck, you’re so wet, I’m gonna cum—"

You squawk, hastily stepping forward to swat ineffectually at his shoulder. “Will you shut up, that’s not what–“

Neteyam grabs at your wrist when you smack his shoulders, his long fingers wrapping all the way around you before tugging. You stagger, pulled off balance as he tugs you onto the couch beside him. You end up with your limbs in an ungainly sprawl as you attempt to collect yourself beside him, flustered behind belief. He doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“And he– he made me finish, so.” You say lamely. You’re sitting next to him. Why are you sitting next to him? You should be trying to shove him up off the couch and shoo him out the door.

“I’m pretty sure you made yourself come.” Neteyam corrects, his head tilting. His glossy braids spill over his shoulders, colourful beads clicking together. “Which wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t there, by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just pointing out the obvious.” Neteyam’s smug little grin is growing, and he leans in a little closer. “I don’t think you were enjoying it at all until I showed up.”

You gape at him, stunned.

“I- you-!” You stammer, your breath catching from the sheer swell of your indignation. Who does he think he is, showing up here all muscled and gorgeous like this only to embarrass you?

“Speak for yourself!” You finally manage to splutter, trying to sit up on the couch; Neteyam’s grip on your wrist prevents you from going too far, so you give up and resign yourself to being stuck beside him until he grows bored of tormenting you. “Txetyo was– That was pretty much par for the course. I mean– it wasn’t unusual, sometimes that’s just how sex goes–“

Neteyam sits up straight, so suddenly that it startles you. His brow is furrowed, his eyes flicking rapidly over your face as though he’s trying to assess if you’re being honest.

He’s… he’s leaning in rather close to you. You blink at him, but don’t move back. It’s so rare for you to be around Neteyam without your respirator mask acting like a shield over your face, and you feel a little naked now without it.

“That was a standard experience for you?” He asks, and his voice has… changed a little. That smug amusement on his face has vanished, replaced with what looks like bewilderment.

You scoff at his surprise, rolling your eyes. “Shouldn’t you know what my standard experience is? You’ve interrupted enough of them.”

He doesn’t respond to your snarky remark. He just stares at you as if he’s examining you, and you shift awkwardly on the couch, unsure in the face of his scrutiny.

“What, you’re surprised that all men aren’t sex gods?” You ask a little testily. “They want to experiment with a Sky Person, and I like sex with Na’vi men, so… win-win.”

Neteyam just frowns, pulling back a little. “No, that’s not… I don’t understand. Why do you spend time with them if they are not successful in pleasuring you?”

Boy, is that a loaded question. You don’t want to explain to Neteyam that it’s not really about sex, that it’s more about a pathological need for physical connection and comfort, especially when you try your very hardest not to think about it yourself.

“Maybe I’m just hoping one of them will really impress me.” You mumble, a little sourly. “I guess I’ll keep holding out hope.”

Neteyam’s ears flatten, pressing low against his head as his eyes widen a little. He shifts, his body looming over you like a big blue behemoth as the couch springs squeal beneath his weight.

“I could.” He says. “Impress you, I mean.”

You snort, glancing up at him with a wry sort of smile that falls off your face almost immediately when you see the look on Neteyam’s face. His expression is perfectly earnest, his jaw set and his pupils dilated with an odd sort of urgency that you’ve never seen from him. He… he doesn’t look as though he’s making fun of you at all.

“What?” You croak, blinking.

And then you realise what all this about. Neteyam is always so determined to prove himself, to be the best at everything. He’s always pushed himself beyond his limits and worked himself to the bone to be stronger and faster and wiser, to be a better leader and a better hunter and a better fighter. You probably shouldn’t even be surprised that now he’s decided to prove that he’s better than his peers at fucking you, too.

“This is just a competition for you, isn’t it?” You scoff, yanking your wrist out of his hand. He shifts forward on the couch then as though preparing to catch you if you move to run, but you’re not making any move to leave.

“No. They are not worthy competitors.” Neteyam scoffs as if the question is absurd. “This is to prove to you that you have been wasting your time with men who are not capable of pleasing you.”

You scoff again, but it’s a much weaker sound this time. “I–”

“You have bad taste in men, paskalin.” Neteyam murmurs, shuffling closer on the ancient couch.

You stare up at him, your breath catching a little in your chest. God, he’s so much bigger than you. You hate that it’s making your body heat up, and you feel yourself growing wet as he leans in close, smelling like fresh water and the forest.

“Are you going to let me?” Neteyam whispers, reaching out to trace a finger along your jawline. “Let me prove myself.”

You should say no. You should tell him to leave, to get out. You should absolutely not feed into his own ego by fucking him.

“Yes,” You breathe stupidly. “Okay.”

You’re expecting him to grab you immediately and flip you around onto either your back or stomach; in all your previous experiences, you’ve gotten right down to it with your partners. But to your surprise, Neteyam leans in and holds your hips with his big hands as he presses his mouth to yours in a kiss.

Kissing is not something that you’re used to; the Na’vi you’ve hooked up with have stayed clear of the human outpost, unlike the Sully kids who had paid frequent visits, which means that all of your sexual encounters have occurred in the forest or in empty corners in the village with your respirator mask firmly attached to your face.

Now your face feels naked and vulnerable, and you gasp shakily against Neteyam’s mouth when he leans in and kisses you firmly.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body.

Neteyam doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. He kisses with his hands, his whole body. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backward, your body pressing into the raggedy couch cushions.

At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Neteyam’s hands running over you, stroking your sides and clutching your neck and squeezing your ass.

“Hah,” You gasp out when Neteyam’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you’re embarrassingly wet already, just from a little kissing.

Fuck, he’s a good kisser. That’s so annoying.

You run out of breath too fast, and you have to gasp. Neteyam breaks the kiss for barely even a second, and shifts some of his weight to his elbows as he follows you down onto the couch, nuzzling and nipping at your jaw before returning to your mouth.

There’s a hand on either side of your head during that blink-and-you-miss-it break in the kiss, but then he moves his big hands to hold onto your face like they’re afraid you’ll escape, and now they don’t want to let go at all. One of his hands cups your jaw, the other clasping around the back of your neck and tilting your head farther back, deeper into the couch, opening you up. You think about the fact that he can thread his fingers together behind your head with his palms pressed to your cheeks and nearly moan like a whore into his mouth.

Neteyam’s eagerness surprises you. The kiss is messy and graceless and airless and greedy, frantic and full of teeth, and you can only roll your hips in reflex, in mindless desperation, in a feeble attempt to buck, your mind repeating a refrain of yes holy shit holy shit YES. You can’t even squirm, because holy hot fuck Neteyam is heavy, and he’s got every inch of you covered and owned.

God, have you always been this easy? Just kiss you, feel you up a little and want you enough and you’ll end up happily whimpering under someone on the couch? Even someone like Neteyam, who you’ve been so resentful of for so long?

You spread your thighs, and Neteyam’s narrow hips slot into place like a damn puzzle piece. Neteyam hums a small laugh and pauses, pulls back an inch or so, gazing steadily at your lips and smoothing the tips of his thumbs back and forth over your cheekbones. He takes a moment to fumble with his respirator and takes a deep breath before dropping it and leaning down to kiss you again.

“Oh, fuck.” You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut when his hips roll fluidly against you.

You pull back from the kiss, just enough to get a look at his face. His eyes are a little clouded, his lips puffy and spit-slicked. He looks dazed, and there's a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths together. His brow scrunches in a frown, as though you pulling away from him is a personal offence.

Oh god, you think. I'm so fucked.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek releases you, slides down your body as well. Your breath hitches when he passes over your breasts, drags down the plush skin of your belly, before reaching in between your thighs to cup at your pussy over your clothes. His hand tightens, grabbing you. Cunt, pubic bone, the whole shebang, all of it right there in the palm of Neteyam’s shockingly big hand.

“Bedroom.” You gasp, your head spinning as he just holds your cunt over your denim shorts. “Bedroom now.”

Neteyam grins, and wraps his arms around your waist to haul you into his arms before he lifts you off the couch and practically staggers down the hall. His excitement surprises you, and you cling to his neck as he ducks his way through the corridor.

Mercifully the outpost is quiet today, with most of its human occupants out in the forest or in the village – that means there’s no one around the witness the sight of Neteyam’s enormous blue ass squeezing himself in through the small doorway of the closet-like bedroom you’d claimed for yourself, with you dangling from his arms like a doll.

You’re still breathing hard when Neteyam clumsily gets the door shut before placing you on your squeaky old bed, following you down on it. He’s careful not to crush you with the bulk of his body, instead resting his weight on his forearms where they’re planted on either side of your head.

The consideration makes something squirm in your belly, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers at the back of his head and pull him down to resume kissing him.

Neteyam rolls his hips into yours, and you can feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing into the seam of your shorts, right over your clit. The sound you make is absolutely humiliating, and you will deny ever making it until your last breath, but you twitch as you try to catch that exact same friction again.

And fuck, kissing like this may be new to you, but you never want to stop. You didn’t even know that kissing with tongue could feel so erotic; Neteyam’s hands are on your face again, angling you this way and that way and however the fuck Neteyam feels like angling you, and goddamn he must be doing it just because he can.

You try desperately to remember any little kissing tricks you’ve learned and draw a pathetic blank. Luckily, Neteyam seems intent on showing off. His creativity is more than enough to occupy you both, and you’re too busy being excruciatingly horny to really be self-conscious anyway.

Besides, your next exhale is a chest-rattling groan, and if Neteyam’s immediate grunt of approval and slow thirsty grind against your trapped body is any indication, then you're doing just fine by his standards.

But then, to your absolute distress, Neteyam pulls away.

“Hhh — Shit! Shit, hang on. Shit.” Neteyam hisses, turning his face away and levering himself up on his arms. He’s breathing hard, and the sound of the English curse words falling out of his mouth in that strained tone of voice has your thighs squeezing together pathetically.

“What?” You ask, your voice sounding dazed and stupid even to your own ears.

Neteyam huffs out a few centering breaths and then shakes out his head to clear it. He fumbles for the respirator, takes several deep gulps of air before dropping it again. He angles his hips away from you for a moment, breathing steadily.

“Why’d you stop?” You hate the way the words come out as a whine; you feel as though you’re losing your mind, as though you’re actually going to die if he doesn’t keep kissing you.

Neteyam breathes out a quiet laugh, sounding a little disbelieving as he drops his forehead down to rest on your shoulder.

“Fuck.” He whispers, but he doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he pushes himself down your body, sliding between your legs.

When he tugs your shorts, you lift your hips eagerly to help him shuck your pants off. As he’s tugging at your panties, you work on yanking your oversized pyjama shirt off you. It feels as though the two of you are descending into a frenzy, touching and kissing and tearing at each other like animals.

When you’re naked beneath him you shiver, staring up at him in eager anticipation. You wait for him to come back up and kiss you, to take his own loincloth off and stick his cock into you, but he doesn’t. Instead, his head bullies its way in between your thighs.

“No,” You whine, making a face. You don’t want him to waste time with eating you out when you’re ready now. “Just put it in.”

Neteyam shoots you a reproachful look as though he thinks you’re acting crazy. “You said you would let me please you.”

“But–” You frown, feeling a little ridiculous for having this conversation when his big head is blinking up at you from between the pudge of your thighs. “You don’t have to. I don’t enjoy getting head all that much anyway.”

But instead of changing his mind, that just makes him snort as though you’d told a damn joke.

“Let me show you, syulang.” He whispers, turning his head and brushing his lip over the soft skin of your inner thigh. He kisses you there, and then sucks a hickey-like bruise into the squidge there.

And damn, you can’t turn him down.

“Fine.” You sigh, a little irritated, and spread your legs wider so that Neteyam can muscle his way in.

He grins as if he knows something you don’t, grabs your legs and pulls them so your thighs are hanging off his big broad shoulders. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over you between your legs, and you prepare to lie back and let him lick you down there until he deems you’re wet enough to start fucking you properly.

But then he actually gets his mouth on you, and… oh. Oh.

You tilt your head back, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. That feels… better than you had expected, actually.

Each of Neteyam’s movements are calculated, precise. He laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks. You nearly yelp, but manage to tamp down on your reaction and merely wheeze instead. Neteyam points his tongue and presses inside of you, sucks and licks like he’s actually eating something. At one point, he even bites, and you jerk so hard that you accidentally grind against his face.

It’s not like any of the head you have ever received. You’ve enjoyed it before, sure, but it’s never felt like this, and it’s definitely never made you come. And yet, to your honest surprise, you can feel a familiar coil of tension beginning to build deep in your abdomen.

“Oh god.” You breathe, sounding a little bewildered.

You feel his tongue against your clit again, hardly noticing that his hands are gripping at your ass until he yanks you forward as he buries his whole damn face between your legs. His fingers return, delving into you, deep and searching. His mouth works against your clit and it feels like you’re being squeezed between the kinds of pleasure, worshipped and wrung out and attacked all at once.

“Neteyam,” You gasp like a fool. “Oh, what the fuck, it– Neteyam, hang on, it’s too–”

Neteyam is still devouring you, sucking hard and persistent until you cry out. You try to clench your thighs around his head as he laps at you like a man starved, but his hands are still on your thighs, locking you in an iron grip, keeping you spread wide for him, and you can hardly breath because every time you think to try and take a breath his tongue is moving over your clit again and he’s sucking against you.

Your head swims, and you wonder why on earth you had been so resistant to allow him to make you feel good like this. Fuck, have you just been getting really bad head this whole time? You didn’t even know it could feel like this.

Your heels are digging into his back, and the closer he brings you to the edge the harder your thighs clamp around his head. He barely seems to notice the force you’re exerting, merely groaning to himself everytime you squeeze tighter.

Your thoughts splinter and unravel, and you can do nothing but buck uselessly against his hold, desperately chasing more of his lips and his tongue.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” You chant, eyes squeezed shut tight as you whine.

He's just so good with his tongue, and you’ve never felt like this in your life. It feels as though you can't breathe properly, as though you’re melting from the inside out. None of those awkward, fumbling sexual encounters with those other Na’vi ever had you feeling like this.

Your breasts are heaving with the effort it takes just to breathe through the white hot pleasure crashing through you, and you stare down at him with wide eyes as he suckles again at your clit. When he sees you looking down at him, he throws you a cheeky wink as he laps at you.

You let out a helpless, gasping laugh at him, your hands clenching compulsively in his braids. Your giggle has him pulling back a little so he can look up at you properly; the grin he shoots you is extra shiny thanks to the fact that the lower half of his face is covered in his spit and your own slick, but he looks dopey and happy.

You manage one word, on a long and broken moan- “Please!”

Neteyam laughs quietly, the sound vibrating through his lips and into your pussy, but then his tongue is on your clit again, sucking you into his mouth, and you’re shattering around him as he finally pushed you over that edge you’ve been teetering on.

You keen and shake violently, spasming around Neteyam’s fingers and jerking into his mouth, coming so hard that you see black spots in your vision. Neteyam doesn’t let up, pulling broken moans out of you with tongue until you’re writhing.

You squirm and whimper until suddenly it’s too damn much, and then you’re reaching down to push at Neteyam’s neat braids to try to get away from his relentless tongue. Damn, he’s acting like he’s hungry for you, like he’d swallow you whole if he could. He doesn’t let up until you’re begging him to, albeit wordlessly — whimpering and shoving at his face, trying to arch away from the too-sensitive touch.

Finally, Neteyam relents. He lowers your legs from his shoulders and you practically crumple, going limp against your mattress. Neteyam’s face is wet and shiny, and he looks ridiculously smug. You’re still trembling, throbbing with the aftershocks.

“Mm, you sound so pretty.” Neteyam murmurs, his words coming out muffled and almost slurred as though he’s drunk.

“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes as you struggle to catch your breath.

Neteyam hums, pressing kisses all over your pubic mound and lower belly. He seems so damn pleased with himself, pushing himself up your body so that he can nuzzle into your neck, pressing sweet nipping kisses to your throat.

His breathing is a little strained, and you grab blindly at the respirator hanging around his neck before bringing the mask up to his face.

“Breathe, Neteyam.” You gasp out, still a little breathless yourself.

He grunts, as though irritated over something of secondary importance, and takes a couple of deep breaths before dropping the mask again. His pupils are blown so wide that his iris is barely visible, just a thin ring of gold around a pool of black.

You laugh, panting and overwhelmed at the sight of his shiny face, and reach up to wipe his slick face with the palms of your hands. He huffs a quiet laugh of his own, turning his face towards your hands and nuzzling against you like an oversized cat.

“That was… that was better than I expected.” You say, still struggling to collect yourself.

Neteyam’s smile turns a little sly, his teeth flashing as he kisses at your palms. “Impressed?”

And you can’t help but laugh at that, feeling as though this whole situation is spinning around far beyond your wildest imagination. Fuck, he’s really giving his all to this, just to prove to you that he’s superior to the other men of the clan.

“Not yet.” You whisper, biting your lip and hoping that he takes it as the challenge/invitation you mean it to be.

And luckily he does, his smile only growing.

“I should keep going then.” He murmurs, his hands stroking up your sides.

He gently caresses both breasts, a little knead of big, rough hands that can cover much more than just one tit and you love it. Your back arches as you shiver, revelling in how bizarrely gentle he’s being with you.

“Yes,” You whisper eagerly, your legs spreading further until the muscles of your inner thighs are burning with the strain of it. “You definitely should.”

You reach out to tug at the band of his loincloth, your fingers actually trembling a little as you try to unknot it at the sides. Neteyam’s own breath hitches, and his much more nimble fingers reach to help you untie it and draw it away.

And fuck, now he’s naked too. You sit up eagerly, peering down between your bodies to try and catch a look at him properly. You may have touched him that day in the healing hut, but it’s completely different seeing him.

He’s big. So big. All the Na’vi are big when compared to you, of course, but this just… it feels different, because this is Neteyam. His cock is the same pretty blue shade as the rest of him, decorated with darker stripes and pretty glowing tanhì. Your heart thumps recklessly at sight of it twitching towards his belly, and you reach out towards it eagerly.

Your small fingers wrap around the hard length of him — he’s too thick for you to comfortably hold in one hand, but that doesn’t seem to matter because he groans appreciatively anyway when you run your fingers down his length and then back up, feeling warm and sticky precome gushing from the tip to coat your fingers.

“Ah!” Neteyam groans breathily, his hips rocking as your hand slides up the long, velvety length of him. “Fuck… so good.”

You feel like you’re burning up, your skin sweat-slick and far too hot. The weight of his cock in your hand has your head spinning; you want him inside of you, stretching you wide and fucking you deep. If he fucks as good as he eats pussy, you feel like you’re in for a very good time.

“C’mon,” You breathe, writhing a little. “You– you promised me that you’d.. That you would…”

“Mm, I promised I’d make you feel better than Txetyo ever could,” Neteyam finishes for you, leaning in to kiss your neck. “You like ‘em big and stupid, huh? That’s why they can’t please you, syulang.”

You toss your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as his sharp canines drag over the sensitive skin at the side of your throat. Fuck, maybe he’s right. None of those guys have ever made you feel this good before; you don’t think you’ve ever been this slick and eager in your whole life.

“God, you have such a big head,” You huff, quivering. “Maybe you’re big and stupid too.”

He just laughs at that, a dark chuckle that has your nerves buzzing, and leans down to nip at your shoulder hard enough to make you jerk beneath him. “I am not like Txetyo, or Art’alak, or Pewalsku, or Urtiltey.”

You scoff, before reaching up to push hard at his shoulders. You’re not actually strong enough to shift him, but he pulls back obediently, falling back to lay on his back on the bed. You rise up on your knees then, looming over him as he lays flat.

The way Neteyam is looking up at you, it’s like he’s seeing god. If he could worship you with just a look alone, he is. It’s a little overwhelming, and you feel something deep in your stomach knot just at the sight of him looking at you like that.

“Prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.” Neteyam whispers, reaching out to grip at your hips, guiding you into straddling his lap.

You don’t think anyone has ever talked to you like this, or looked at you like this. You hardly know what to do in the face of his attention, so you revert to what you’re familiar with; you settle yourself against his lap and grind there, feeling the length of his cock glide along the seam of your cunt.

It feels as though your belly has been set alight, and you take a slow breath as you rock against him. His lips drag from the base of your throat up the length of your neck, then he nips gently at the hinge of your jaw. The softness of his breath against the sensitive skin of your throat elicits a shiver from you, and Neteyam’s hands pull you closer when he feels your reaction.

You make a soft sound against his mouth when his fingers clench tight around your hips. His hold on you encourages you to grind down against him. It's not as though you really need the encouragement, but the way his eyes darken as he stares up at you is enough motivation for you to tilt your hips and grind down just like he wants you to.

"Fuck." He breathes, his eyes going half-lidded as he tilts his head back against your bed to watch you move above him.

Heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over Neteyam as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system; it feels as though you just can't get close enough to him.

Your patience runs out, unable to keep up the teasing; Neteyam seems to feel much the same. When you raise yourself up, chest heaving, Neteyam grabs at his cock and holds it still to allow you to settle against it, the head notched against your entrance. He glides over the opening again, pressing in the barest amount. You can already tell it’s going to be a stretch. Neteyam is thick, and you want it in you, want to feel it pressing you open.

You clench around the head of his cock, trying to pull him in, and Neyeyam groans.

“You’re—” He starts to say, his big hands clutching at your hips. “Shit. You’re tighter than I even imagined, paskalin.”

The idea that he might have imagined this is almost more than you can take, and you surge forward to kiss him again, your mouths clashing clumsily.

“You—you thought about it?” You manage to say, your words coming out a little muffled as he sucks at your lower lip.

He just rumbles a laugh, as though your question is ridiculous, and doesn’t even bother answering. Instead he places one hand securely under your ass, the other adjusting himself—there’s a short, sharp burst of pain as you felt him start to push in, just the tip and your head is spinning. Your nails are digging into his shoulders but if he feels anything it doesn’t show.

He kisses your cheek and then pushes in a little deeper as his mouth falls to yours once more—swallowing up your sharp cry as another inch sinks into you, and you feel like you’re splitting open.

Fuck, you feel as though not grabbing lube was probably a mistake; you were too cocky, too confident in your ability to take him, so sure that he’d be as adequately satisfactory as the other Na’vi men you’ve been with.

He goes in and in and in, pressing farther into you than you even thought was possible. The stretch and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him. His mouth is open, each breath escaping him quickly, and you can see your own amazement reflected back to you on Neteyam’s face.

You dig your nails into his shoulders to offset the pain radiating through your core as he shoves himself deeper into you, chased by another wave of warmth as his free hand move between you, thumb settling gently over your clit.

“Ohmygod,” You gasp, pleasure mixing with that burning ache. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Ungh..” Neteyam groans into you shoulder as he rocks another inch into you, until you’re sobbing and moaning by turns. “Oh. Fuck. Txetyo didn’t deserve this, syulang. Didn’t know what to do with you.”

You whimper in his grip as he just holds you there, buried to the hilt, thumb still working at your clit and sending frissons of electricity up and down your spine.

“Feels good,” You slur. “You feel good.”

Neteyam pulls out half an inch and fucks back into you from below, making your breath hitch. “Yeah?”

“So big,” You gasp. “I-I want—"

“I know, I know. I’ve got you,” Neteyam rumbles, his full lips brushing gentle kisses over your temple, right in your hairline. “Take what you want, lovely girl.”

And you do, rocking your hips and taking one of his enormous hands to pull between your legs so he can continue to rub at your clit with his fingers, so he can feel all the ways you’re leaking onto him as you lean forward to run your own hungry mouth along his collarbone, his pecs, as your hands grip his shoulders to try and lift yourself up and onto him over and over again.

It doesn’t take long for that coil in your belly to swell, sweet and hot. It’s as if Neteyam is intimately familiar with the way you want him to rub your clit, how you want it pinched but only just so between two fingers, as if he’s been taking fucking notes all those times he had walked in and interrupted you. It doesn’t take long until you’re trembling and squeezing impossibly tight around him, taut like a violin string.

It’s like Neteyam is puncturing your lungs, and every time he fucks into you, you respond with stupid sounding little ‘ah’ sounds.

“Ah, ah, ah!” You gasp, teary-eyed and desperate. Neteyam’s mouth is parted, his eyes wide. They flick over you quickly, drinking you in as you ride him.

Your movements are slow to build, but gradually you establish a steady, desperate rocking. It doesn't take long for you to realise that grinding in his lap feels better than raising yourself all the way up and down. Distantly, you feel little guilty — you know that grinding and rocking in his lap in the way that you are feels better for you than it does for Neteyam, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's watching you with a rapturous expression, his arms urging you closer so that your sweat-slicked chests are pressed close together and your foreheads are resting against each other.

You find a rhythm that both satisfies and stokes you, riding him with abandon as your thighs clench tight around his narrow hips. Neteyam’s hands slide from your hips down over your lower back, worshipful as they drift lower to clutch at your ass and use his grip there to help lift you up and down.

You ride him with mindless intent. His fingers dig at the meat of your ass, his mouth dropped softly open as he fights to keep his own breaths even — it takes a long moment for you to realise that he's fighting to keep himself still and to stop himself from thrusting wildly into you. His restraint and the realisation that he's really allowing you to have all the power in the exchange strikes you hard. You’ve never felt any real sense of agency in sexual intimacy until now, and the realisation that he's being so considerate of how you’re feeling only contributes to the intensifying of those flutters in your belly.

The rush builds in you, relentless, mounting with every jerk of your hips. There would be no catching your breath until it broke.

You rock on him, hard, hard and fast and there, there it is, that’s it — that perfect deep unfurling. A moan rises from the depths of your chest as you gasp at it, your body trembling. Neteyam just stares up at you, mouth open, eyes gone wide and dark.

The wave crests, the world explodes around you, a kaleidoscope of sensation as you come undone in his arms, trembling even as he keeps sliding home into you. You keep moving over him through the ebb of it, through the helpless little sounds that break from his throat. You’re still shuddering when he reaches up to take a firm hold of your waist. As though he can't help himself, his hips thrust up into you.

“Yes,” Neteyam hisses, his flat nose all scrunched up in a feral sort of pleasure. “That’s my girl.”

You tremble, gasp-moaning as your joints turn to jelly. Your orgasm very slowly gives way to thunderous aftershocks that rocket through your body every few seconds, shuddering your whole frame in intervals.

"Fuck," He groans, his breathing gone ragged. "I'm going to-"

He doesn't even finish his sentence before he seems to lose some of that iron control he's been exerting; his hips jolt up into you, and then again, until he's thrusting up into you with a sense of urgency that's almost breath-taking. All you can do is cling onto his hair and bury your face into the crook of his neck, attempting to muffle the embarrassing little gasping sounds that you’re making into his skin as his fucking into you prolongs the breath-taking pleasure of your orgasm.

You don’t fuss when his big hands use his grip on your ass to lift you up himself, fucking up into you and letting loose. Then he's shaking, stilling, spilling himself inside you, and you watch eagerly as his face goes slack and relaxed.

You don't go still immediately. Your hips keep rolling slow and steady as you tremble against him, chasing that feeling of molten shivery pleasure that's still burning in your belly even as it starts to turn into almost unbearable oversensitivity. It's not a fully conscious movement, as you’re moving mostly on instinct, and after a few moments Neteyam takes a hold of your hips to slow you to a stop.

He stays inside you like this for what feels like an eternity, spent and nestled deep inside you as you sit in his lap, slumped against his large strong chest.

"Oh my god," You whisper eventually as another pleasant shudder jolts down your spine. It feels as though you’ve been kicked in the chest, as though the breath has been knocked out of you entirely to make room for the lovely floaty lightness that's beginning to fill the space between your ribcage”

"Mm." Neteyam hums quietly, his fingers tightening in the soft flesh of your hips as he tilts his chin up to brush his lips over your sweaty temple. "Alright?”

No, You think, with no small amount of panic. You’re absolutely not alright. Neteyam may have just been fucking you to prove a point, because it’s always been so important to him that he’s perfect at everything he tries his hand at, but it feels as though he’s just cracked you wide open. You don’t think anyone will ever make you feel as good as he just did.

When you don’t immediately answer, one of his big palms cups the back of your neck so he can tilt your head back, and he leans down to kiss you again. He sucks your swollen bottom lip into his mouth so he can worry at it while you whine, toes curled where you tucked them under your legs, balanced on his thighs.

"Impressed?” He murmurs into your ear, his warm, dry hands stroking soothingly over your sweat-dampened skin.

You laugh despite yourself, and it comes out breathless and broken. “Fuck. I—yeah. Yeah. I’m impressed. Asshole.”

Neteyam’s expression brightens, his ears twitch back as his smile grows. He leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, then three times in quick succession, and out of the corner of your eye you see his tail coiling lazily against your sheets.

“Feel like I need to lay down,” You say. “For a week maybe.”

Neteyam just chuckles as you slowly lift your hips; when Neteyam slides out of you a soft sound of loss escapes from his mouth. You sympathise — you feel uncomfortably empty now that he's no longer nestled inside of you, but Neteyam is already gathering you into his arms and flopping back onto your mattress with you all curled up ontop of his chest.

It all feels so natural — you’ve never cuddled after intimacy like this, and you never would have imagined that Neteyam would allow you to do this. But it seems like he craves physical touch as badly as you does, because it feels as though his hands are everywhere as he holds you.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself, dickhead." You grumble, though you’re already relaxing under the pleasant warm weight of his hands

Neteyam’s smile only grows. "Why shouldn't I be pleased with myself? Have I left you unsatisfied?

You groan loudly, before burying your face in the pillow. The worst part is that it's true — you’ve never felt so satisfied in your life. You think that you could close your eyes and cheerfully float away on a cloud, but you don't want to suffer the humiliation of admitting that.

“I’m satisfied.” You admit, mortified. “It— yeah. You won that stupid competition. Well done.”

That has exactly the effect you had expected it to have; Neteyam’s chest puffs up where you’re laying across it, his eyes crinkling up as he grins. God, he’s so fucking smug.

You manage to swallow down your embarrassment so that you can ask the question that’s been knocking around your head since the first time he had kissed you.

“Can we… do that again, sometime?” You mutter, keeping your face pressed into his chest so he can’t see the vulnerability on your face.

Neteyam’s chest rumbles in a deep laugh, and his large palm settles between your shoulderblades.

“Whenever you want, yawntutsyìp. We have all the time in the world.” He murmurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Where ever you want. Here, the forest, my hut in the village—”

You laugh, blinking in surprise at his eagerness. You guess he must be absolutely pussy-whipped right now, which is pretty sweet.

“Next time we mate, we’ll do it in the forest so Txetyo can find us.” He says, and you can feel his teeth against the top of your head when he grins. “Let him watch as I make you scream again.”

"I did not scream!" You snap, embarrassed, reaching to smack at his chest. But then his words actually parse in your head, and you push yourself up quickly on top of his chest so you can look down at him, wincing a little at the ache between your legs.

Neteyam obviously catches your wince because he frowns and one of his hands reaches for your thigh, but you grab at his wrist as you gape at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You blurt.

That must have been a slip of his tongue. Every man you’ve been with before has been so damn careful to avoid the term mating, obviously terrified of you somehow getting the wrong idea; they made it painfully clear that it was just fucking, with no strings attached, because you were small and exotic and apparently the tightest thing they’ve ever gotten to put their dicks into.

Neteyam blinks owlishly, as though confused by your response. “What?” He asks, before his face relaxes. “Ah, it’s only the thought of me watching that does it for you?”

“No, it—” You blink at him. “You said… you said next time we… we mate.”

“Yes.” He says, wrapping one big arm around your waist to tug you back to him, as though he doesn’t like the fact that you’re shifting away. “I enjoyed mating here, where I can kiss your face, but it is very...”

He pauses then, and glances around your room. For the first time, you see it through his eyes; it’s small and dingy, the electric lights buzzing and flickering as they run on the ancient generator that Norm and a couple of the other older scientists had dragged from Bridgehead. Even though he’s gotten comfortable cuddling you on your bed, it’s far too small for him; his legs are hanging off the end of it, his feet flat against the floor. Compared to the fantastical natural homes of the Na’vi, your little bedroom seems like a shithole.

“You will be more comfortable in my hut in the village.” Neteyam says decisively, using the arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to his chest again. “I wish to take you in the forest, at Vitrautral, as is tradition.”

“Mating.” You repeat, just to check if you had heard him right. “We—that was mating.”

“Mhmm.” Neteyam’s hum sounds casual enough, but you can see the ridiculously pleased wave of his tail in the air behind him. “I told you that you were wasting time with those skxawngs, but I did not mind waiting for you. I did not like hearing them talk about you, about how you felt and how they pleased you, but… I knew I could prove myself a better prospect than all of them.”

“But—” You’re still struggling with this, staring at him with a bewildered expression. “But it—that was sex. It wasn’t—”

“I will take you to Vitrautral tomorrow, and mate you properly,” Neteyam murmurs, and you feel his big chest rumble beneath you in a pleased purr at the idea. “You do not need any other now. Yes?”

It feels almost too good to be true. Almost. Because damn, you want that so badly that it actually aches. After so many years of craving intimacy of any kind, it seems shockingly unlikely that it’s being offered by Neteyam, the very personification of an Omaticayan golden child. How have you gone from getting fucking in empty corners and deep in the forest to having the Olo’eyktan’s son talk about mating you?

You think of the herbs and plants he always brings to the healing hut, the bones and fibres he forages, the food he brings you after hunts. You had always thought he was just shoving how great he was in your face, but now all of that is starting to rearrange itself inside your head. Was he seriously just trying to impress you?

You laugh a little disbelievingly, and Neteyam’s arm tightens around you.

“I have a necklace,” He murmurs, nuzzling against your forehead. “Made with freshwater pearls from the ocean. I was going to give it to you earlier but—we got distracted. It is in my tewng—”

“Get it later,” You whisper, clinging to his chest. You’re so comfortable, you don’t want to move, just in case the moment slips away forever. He made you a necklace. Fuck, he made you a necklace! You’ve only ever seen Na’vi mating gifts from a distance; the thought of receiving one is beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.

Neteyam’s chest seems to swell, his expression brightening the moment you cling to him. He hugs you close, his purr now reminiscent of a damn chainsaw as he curls his whole big body around you.

Taking a chance, you do something that you’ve always sort of wanted to do, ever since you found out what it was; you reach behind him and take his kuru in your hand, feeling the thick, glossy protective braid in your fingers.

Neteyam shudders under you, his rumbling purr stuttering a little as his eyelids flitter, his eyes going dark. He doesn’t stop you, watching you with lightly parted lips as your hand closes around the most sacred, sensitive part of him.

“This is okay?” You whisper, your vulnerability clear in your voice.

“Of course,” He whispers back, as though the moment is a soap bubble that could burst at a slightly raised voice. “It is yours, syulang.”

Emboldened, you drag your fist down the glossy braid until you reach the end, where the glowing tendrils that make up the exposed manifestation of his nervous system. The fleshy pink tendrils writhe in the air, and you watch in eager amazement. You’ve only ever seen diagrams of this part of the Na’vi anatomy, and you want so badly to touch it.

“You can play with it all you want,” Neteyam murmurs, and his voice is breathless.

You breathe a laugh, glancing up at him with a little grin. His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his chest heaving. You want to gnaw on his ribs, swallow him whole; he’s so cute.

“I’ll save that for tomorrow,” You whisper, the words ringing like a promise.

Neteyam looks briefly disappointed, before his mood is promptly buoyed at the thought of mating you again at the Tree of Souls, as he had promised you. He buries his face happily in your neck as you pet absently at the protective braid covering his kuru. It’s a non-sexual touch, and yet he goes entirely boneless, purring up a storm as you stroke your hand over it.

“Told you those others could not please you, paskalin,” He murmurs, his words slurring a little as his eyelids flutter with every soft touch to his kuru. “Told you they did not know what to do with you.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the fond smile pulling at your mouth.

“Mm. You did. Guess I needed someone like you, huh? A mighty warrior?” You say, teasing him with that silly little nickname he always called himself when you were a teenager. At the time you had thought he was so annoying, but now, looking back… you’re willing to admit it was pretty adorable.

Neteyam’s drowsy face pulls up in a sweet smile, his flat nose brushing against your collarbones. It seems like he’s pleased you remembered, or maybe he’s pleased that you’re impressed with him.

He kisses your neck, then mumbles sleepily, “The mightiest.”

[robo-writing]

Kinktober Day Ten: Old Man! Logan - Clothed Sex

| Kinktober Masterlist |

You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex—can’t remember the last time you felt his breath on your skin, touched his beautifully scarred body. You can feel it sometimes, the tension that lingers between the both of you when you leave in the morning. A kiss goodbye that lasts a bit too long to be just a kiss—more like a question shared between two lovers.

Do you want to stay home? 

And yet the answer is always the same; the sound of his keys between his fingers taunting you. 

I want to, but I can’t.

You’re tired from working at your job, he’s tired from working at his. It’s an unfortunate cycle, but it’s become commonplace, so routine that neither of you bats an eye. Still, you’re both human—you have needs, it’s just that those needs are playing second fiddle to a paycheck. 

There’s only so many nights where you can sneak off into the bathroom to relieve yourself, hoping that he doesn’t wake up—It’s why you’re surprised when you hear the sound of his car pulling into the driveway. 

The door opens, and he immediately makes himself comfortable by your side, pressing into your back. There’s no fanfare to be had, no foreplay, no words needed. You’re tired, he’s tired—it’s a win-win scenario. 

His beard scratches at your neck, a feeling that reminds your body of what it’s been missing this whole time. When you lean into him he sighs, a sound somewhere between relief and satisfaction. His touch paints a story across your torso, one that tells you just how much he’s always wanted to answer yes.

“Come here baby,” he rasps. “Get on top of me, that’s it—“

He lifts you with ease, your legs straddling his larger one as you grind against it, disorganized thrusts that probably wouldn’t do much for you if you weren’t already worked up. He watches you mesmerized, awe-struck at the beauty he’s denied himself of for so long.

Impatience leaks from your very core, greedy hands searching for the object of your desire, groping the obvious bulge in his work pants, your breath fanning across his cheek. 

“Pull it out, please—“

His agreement is wordless, arm around your back as the other busies itself with his throbbing cock. The clink of a belt buckle, a button popping open, the metal teeth of a zipper separating and the shuffle of your panties down your legs. It’s a four step plan that leaves the both of you satisfied, tight walls fluttering around his length. He moves you with ease, head falling forward to rest in your chest.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he groans, hands pawing at your shirt. It’s a sentiment you know well enough. It’s only when he starts moving do you realize how much you needed this—needed him. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex but it’s coming back to you slowly, bit by bit; desperation leaking through every move you make. Hands anchored on his shoulders, hips grinding against him as he holds you tight, just as desperate from the way his hips follow yours. It’s like standing near the shore unaware that it’s high tide, unaware of your impending orgasm until it’s forced from you, whimpering into the side of his neck as you shake.

“You came already?” His rough voice hisses in pleasure, lips at your temple. “Must’ve been real pent up huh?”

You can only nod, fingers clinging to the dark jacket that hangs a bit crooked off his shoulders. Suddenly your lips are captured in his, full of hunger as his tongue explores past your teeth, the taste of smoke overtaking your senses. “I’m sorry for neglecting you, should’ve been fuckin’ you properly,” he moans, thumb brushing against your sensitive clit. He laughs into your mouth when you jump, delighted in the way your pussy grips him. “Lemme make it up to you.”

[asksonicverse]

You dont need to answer but I just wanted to tell you I adore Paradox being like "I hate all of them except" and then listing everyone except like 2 guys, honey you don't hate *all* of them you expressly don't hate *most of them*

Extremely charming characterization i adore it

[Creator Special number 2!]

So glad someone noticed that, I was originally going to have him name EVERYONE except Boost but then I was like “nah, Mania is just too annoying for Paradox to tolerate him”

And thanks! I’m trying to be… consistent with my characterization of each of them and stay in line with canon but like… URGH sometimes I want to deviate so bad just to indulge but I resist!

Needless to say tho, prism is probably going to get more affectionate later on. Rewatched Sonic Prime again and bro is a cutie patootie!

Headcanons… headcanons… hmm

Well, starting with the obvious, Paradox goes to therapy as I’ve mentioned which I think is hilarious. He and Lance are the only Shadows who really have their shit together which is why I think Sonadow works well for them? (we stan healthy relationships guys)

I do head canon that Eight doesn’t like being touched really at all anymore. After the metal virus, he grew so used to the fact that he couldn’t touch anyone that it sorta just stuck. He does it to save people, but not anything more. :(

And while I’m a sucker for the Trans Sonic HC I decided not to implement it in this particular AU!

I really want to include Captain Sonic and Shadow, but I haven’t played nor watched a serious play through of the game. (I’ve only really listened to a bit of the Snapcube dub..)

can someone tell me if Shadow is a Barista or a Mechanic in that game btw?? I google it, nothing pops up. I could’ve sworn there was something about a mechanic.

Uhh I LOVE Sonic Frontiers, fire game. If I include that one, it’ll ALSO be Sonamy since I’m pretty sure that game takes place before SA2 in canon?

I’m trying to keep the Sonics and Shadows balanced but I’d love to add Generations Shadow and Sonic. Just thinking of names already I get “Doom” for Shadow and “Emerald” for Sonic. (Referencing the fake emerald from their interaction in the shadow story)

Unfortunately I haven’t seen the Archie comics or Sonic Underground so I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Someone also asked about if I’d ever include different AU’s: maybe if those AU creators gave me permission I’d be down to do a collab for a few asks or something!

Nope!

I dunno I just..! … how do I do? I’m fast. And you’re slow. That’s how I did it. /ref

Ahahah just kidding! But I am very fast. A few years ago I convinced myself I was a “slow drawer” because I was in a discord server with someone I looked up to (and holy cheese they could draw out fully articulate sketches in like 30 seconds!)

So I got insecure and taught myself to draw really fast. So now I just.. zoom! This does have a terrible draw back where I will very frequently forget smaller details.

Like if you look at half the posts, Shadow is missing his eyeliner and other markings frequently.

THIS IS JUST HILARIOUS TO ME YOU GUYS. PLEASE—

I’ve gotten SO many asks in my box about using Maria to calm the Shadows down or trying to give Shadows “Maria plushies”

Imagine you’re having a bad day and you get a plushie of your dead sibling thrown at you??? LMFAOOOO

I CANT I CANT I CANT PUT THEM THROUGH THAT 💔 Also I see every single ask.

“Do you all like Latinas” and “sonic which shadow is the hottest/shadow which sonic is the hottest” have all been engraved in my brain

Was joking with a friend on how that second question would come out LMFAOO

Previous | Next

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Chapter 103: Peace and Family

How nice it was to see the Forgers go on an outing again!

A few things to notice...

I'll start with Twiyor hehehe:

This is easily my favorite panel in the chapter. They're getting closer and closer!! Loid sits first, Yor follows. She's not shy about siting next to him. Good for you, Yor! 👏

See how comfortable they are with each other? She has a soft smile and he's not pretending anything; he's just there, existing. By the way, observe their body language: Both of Yor's knees are pointing at her husband, she's also leaning slightly towards him. Twilight, on the other hand, sits at a more neutral position, still it's an open position. Notice how one of his knees is pointing at her too. And their hands are mirroring each other.

It's worth mentioning that Yor is such a good influence on Twilight. This man suffers from anxiety and it's hard for him to turn his brain off and just relax. Yor reminds him of this. She is his peace 😌

And look at Twilight being honest with his wife and admitting something very true about himself (that it's hard for him to stay still). I believe that every time Twilight is honest with Yor, they get closer. In this chapter there wasn't even a fake twiyor moment for this to happen. We're making progress!

Also, did you notice Yor teased Loid?

It is the sacred duty of a wife to tease her husband and call him old every once in a while 🤣 I'm glad Yor is finally fulfilling this fun wifely obligation 😆

All joking aside, it's pretty obvious Yor feels much more comfortable with Loid now. When they are with other people, she still gets nervous, probably because she thinks she could mess up and blow their cover. However, when they are alone, she seems much more relaxed and able to make comments like this that show that she trusts Loid enough to joke with him, to tell him in between lines that she notices things about him (just as he notices everything about her) and that she worries about him too.

Endo is a master of "show, don't tell" and he's been showing us how Twilight and Yor are getting closer little by little. It's in every detail: their body language, the way they talk to each other, the words they use, how they see each other.

Another example in this chapter? Twilight is incapable of saying "no" to his wife hehehe.

Yup, he still has that shoujo filter attached to his eyes when it comes to Yor.

Now that we have overanalyzed Twiyor, it's time for some crazy theories.

This could be important!

Don't you find it funny that each gave a different answer according to their experience?

Yor feels lonely, because she doesn't feel like she's normal enough to belong to society and it's hard for her to make friends.

Twilight got separated from his his herd. His family and friends died and he had to go to a different country, where he is scared and feels in constant danger just like Belle.

AND ANYA?! I'm wondering if this is a clue. I'm wondering if Anya is a missing person, meaning someone is looking for her, whether it's Project Apple or her biological family.

Talking about Project Apple, we seem to get crumbs every once in a while. I believe it's still too early to get an arc that will actually involve Anya and Project Apple together, but we'll know more as the story moves forward. It's a good sign that Project Apple is in Twilight's mind; he has good instincts for this. We may see him or Yor get involved with it in one of their missions before we learn Anya's past. OR either of her parents may discover what Project Apple is really about without knowing one of the test subjects is their own daughter.

Something that Anya has said several times is that her parents are dangerous people. It's easy to forget about this, but it's true. Twilight and Yor are very dangerous, but not for Anya. The day they find out someone hurt their little girl, it'll be a very bad day for all the people who participated in Project Apple.

[uchinagai]

Echoes of Us - winter

𝜗𝜚 idol!Winter x producer!reader

𝜗𝜚 synopsis : Winter just wanted a peaceful global solo debut with the help of another company, 88rising, but of course, the universe had to nerf her with worse luck, or not…

𝜗𝜚 contains : idol! winter, producer ex !reader, fem!reader, wlw, mentions of a messy break-up, kind of angsty but gets better!! um yeah idk what else to say

𝜗𝜚 w/k : 1.5k+

𝜗𝜚 a/n : English is not my first OR second language so please, ignore anything incorrect. js a random idea I wanted to write about nothing too big >.<

The conference room felt suffocating despite its size. She tapped her pen against the table—a small, futile attempt to keep calm as the 88rising team finalized her debut plans.

How long has she been wishing on this? God knows. One might say she has wanted to be solo since her debut. So having her artist name—Winter—without Aespa attached to it made her feel funny and giggly inside.

Well not for long, because not only was the producer she was assigned to unknown and hid their artist name, not even taking credit sometimes, but they were late too.

Very late.

The conference was about to end when the staff, who was sent in instead of the producer attending, got a message and looked down at the phone letting out probably the biggest sigh of relief.

“She’s gonna be in here 5 minutes, can we manage to stretch it?”

She?

Winter's manager looked down at the clock and nodded.

“We have a full day today, Minjeong has no schedules,”

It was obvious, that the person they sent in to replace her, was clueless about most of the things. She couldn’t answer anything related to the producer's working ethic and how long it would take her to finish up the project.

It was when Winter glanced towards the door when it opened, revealing a beautiful figure of a woman, in her 20s entering the room causing Winter the forget how to breathe.

Not only was the woman beautiful but also… familiar, way too familiar to her liking.

As she sat down next to her replacement, also across from Winter, the girl almost felt nauseous.

The familiar scent hitting her nose brought back many memories, such as holding and kissing a person with this scent.

As the person across her settled down on the chair, taking off the cap, Minjeong heard a small *click* in her head, putting everything together.

She wasn’t just gonna work with anybody, she was gonna work with y/n l/n.

The ex.

Well, how did this all begin??

Let’s divide winter's 4 years of training into three parts.

Two years of being friends with y/n

Almost dating y/n for two years

y/n l/n vanishing from her life without a word.

y/n managed to erase herself from Minjeongs life like she never existed, if the rest of the Aespa didn’t know y/n personally they would think Minjeong was crazy and making up lies about her imaginary girlfriend that made her life worth it all.

It’s been 4 years now, and has the younger one moved on? She thought she did before seeing the girl appear right in front of her like they spoke just yesterday, all chill and relaxed. 

Did she plan this all out? Just reappearing into her life as her producer four years later after being ghosted?

Blonde felt sick to her stomach, everything was coming back to her and all she could do was stare at the girl in front of her, frozen.

As the staff finally managed to give y/n all the information she missed, she looked across her table, seeing the stunned girl in front of her.

“Minjeong?”

The same sweetness filled with worry rang Winter back to reality as she shook her head a little, maybe she was imagining it all, but no. The girl in front of her stayed at the same spot, looking at her with worry.

As much as she was happy seeing her, she felt just as sick and disgusted.

“I-i can’t–” is all she could mutter out before storming out of that room where barely any natural light setting in.

Older watched her storm off as she sighed and excused herself calmly getting up from the chair.

Y/n knew the SM building well enough to know where the shorter girl would run off, so calmly, she approached the bathrooms on the 4th floor, which in winter's words were the cleanest ones.

Knock once. Twice. No response.

The door was unlocked so y/n let herself into a sight of winter leaning onto the sink, water on. Face visibly wet which meant she splashed herself with it.

“No hello?”

“Don’t bullshit me y/n”

“Woah sorry me, trying to lighten the mood up”

“Lighten the mood? You’re four years late for that.”

“Still sassy as ever, hm?”

“What do you want? Did you take onto this job on purpose to make it a living hell y/n?”

“I took on a job offer from SM ent. For Winter of Aespa because I missed Minjeong.”

She shorter one bit on her lower lip, suppressing a smile, why was she folding so easily to someone that ghosted her for four years? She didn’t know. 

Winter removed her hands from the sink and approached the taller one, keeping a distance.

“Missed Minjeong so bad that you couldn’t think of a reply to her countless messages for four fucking years, l/n?”

“Guess you can say that,” Producer shrugged leaning against the door frame with a smirk as the idol scoffed at her audacity.

“Don’t bullshit me”

“Fine, then let’s say your company knew our little relationship, didn’t want me to debut with you guys and I didn’t wanna debut either so we came to a mutual agreement.”

Winter couldn’t believe her ears. She knew y/n like the back of her hand and she could always tell if she was lying by the way she avoided eye contact, or how she fidgeted with her hair or body part, but this time it was none.

“So that’s it then? I was just a ‘mutual agreement’ for you?”

y/n reached out her hand, trying to run her hand through blonde hair, like she would when Winter needed comfort after a long day of training. But she was four years late to comfort her, four years late to tell her ‘you can do this’, so of course, the idol refused and slapped her hand away.

“Hey now,”

“No, y/n. You can’t just show up in my life that I worked so hard to build and keep it after you just..-” she was tearing up, the lump in her throat was holding her back. y/n always knew how to crumble the walls she built. Like when y/n just effortlessly got a confession out of her and started dating just like that. Her wall was long crumbled when she breathed her scent after four years.

“I get it Minjeong, I do, why do you think I kept my name hidden all this time? Because I wanted to be ‘mysterious’? Bullshit. It was the only way SM would take me, not knowing me. The 88rising team has been going feral, trying to secretly set up a collab with you for me.-”

All Minjeong could do was watch the way y/n moved her lips up to her eyes, searching for a small bit of lie for her to point out and call her a liar but she couldn’t, older was sincere, which broke her even more.

“--I’m sorry for leaving you in this cruel industry, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me the most!”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Wha-”

And she felt the familiar cherry-flavored lips mixed with salty tears land on hers, shutting her instantly.

Winter’s lips moved against hers with an urgency that wasn’t just longing—it was pain, anger, and frustration all tangled together. It didn’t feel like out of love to y/n, but it didn’t matter her Minjeong was kissing her.

But as much as she wanted to melt into the kiss, into her, Y/n pulled back gently, resting her forehead against Winter’s. Her breath came out shaky as she whispered, “Jeongie…”

The younger girl opened her eyes, her gaze locking with Y/n’s. They were glassy and red, but there was still fire in them. “Don’t. Don’t say my name like that. Like you still care.”

Older wrapped her arm around her, resting her head now onto her shoulder, snuggling to her like a leach as younger didn’t pull her away, and going as far as wrapping her arms around her neck securing her.

“You know I do, Jeongie… I always cared,” she mumbled against the singer's neck.

“You wouldn’t leave me like that if you did, y/n…”

“Jeongie, you had your dreams and I was gonna hold you back, you know it. I was gonna hold back the star that shines on the stage today and I didn’t want that,”

Winter couldn’t think of anything. She was too drunk to hold her close, so she closed her eyes. So they stayed like this for a while, enjoying each other's embrace after four years of longing.

“You missed me, hm?”

“Missing you doesn’t mean I forgive you, y/n l/n,” Said the shorter one and pulled away from her, while keeping her hands on her shoulders.

“Tomorrow, don’t forget, we still have music to make,”

She said with a giggle and just ran out of the bathroom, causing y/n to laugh at her childish behavior.

“Jeongie!!” the producer chased after her as their running and laughter filled the SM ent building hallways, just like the old days.

Maybe there was still hope…