#time to shower in mud (literally) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thriftedtchotchkes · 2 years ago

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come clean

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel comes home after a messy day on patrol, but you're already in the shower

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, language, getting together, slow buildup, jackson era, smut, handjob, f!masturbation, fingering, unprotected piv, rough sex, shower sex, size kink

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this one goes out to emotional support daydreams! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated. hope y'all enjoy 💕

Joel’s having a rough day. It’s late, and he’s bone-tired and covered in…well, he’s not really sure what he’s covered in. Mud and bits of dead grass, definitely, but there's splotches of red on his jeans, too. He couldn’t tell you whether it’s his blood or something else’s—the adrenaline still hasn’t completely worn off, so it’s entirely possible he’s not feeling the full extent of his injuries yet.

His day hadn’t started that badly, but it wasn’t a typical morning, either. Maria had stopped him and Tommy at the gate to ask if they'd mind checking out a situation at the dam instead of patrolling their usual route.

Apparently, some of the machinery was acting up and the only person she trusted to oversee the repairs was Tommy. She honestly hadn't given much thought to Joel's part in all of it—their relationship is still pretty tense, even after his return to Jackson, so he was just along for the ride.

Things went downhill fast after they arrived at their destination. No one's really sure how the infected got into the facility, but it was a lucky thing Joel was there after all. With the help of a few guards, they were able to dispatch everything in and around the building without any bites or serious injuries but, boy, did they make a serious mess. Of the facility and the machinery they were supposed to help fix, and of Joel.

So now here he is, exhausted and dirty, getting shit from his kid when all he wants to do is get clean and take a fucking nap.

“Ew, gross,” Ellie groans, clearly not giving two shits about how badly Joel’s day is going or how little she’s helping right now. She had the day off and is somehow still watching movies in the same spot he left her in this morning. “Stop touching things! You’re getting shit everywhere.”

He ignores her and shrugs off his coat, walking into the living room to toss it over the back of his recliner, but she throws him a dirty look that stops him in his tracks.

"Whatever, m'gettin’ in the shower," he grunts, dropping it on the doormat instead. He'll probably have to burn that coat anyway if the stains and…odor are anything to go by.

"Uhhhh, no, actually you're not," she says matter-of-factly, and he raises his eyebrows, eyeing her expectantly when she doesn't elaborate.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Did your hearing get worse or something? Shower's already on,” she nods toward the stairs. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice the sound of running water filtering down from the second floor earlier, but now he’s annoyed that he can’t shower and that she might actually be right about his hearing.

"Well then, I'm waitin' here," he sasses back, taking a seat on the recliner with zero regard to the upholstery.

"Dude!" She’s starting to look as exasperated as he feels. And her reaction isn’t unwarranted. If he touches literally anything in this living room, they’ll probably have to burn it, too.

"Fine, fine, m'not touchin' anythin'," he stands back up, holding his hands up in surrender. "How long's she been in there?"

"Like, five minutes. Probably gonna be a while, knowing her,” she replies with an amused grin. Oh, so she thinks this is funny.

"The fuck do ya expect me to do then, stand here ‘til she's out?" He asks as if it’s not exactly what he’s been doing the entire time they’ve been having this conversation.

"As long as you don't sit on any of the furniture, I don't really give a shit what you do," she shrugs.

He rolls his eyes at her, running a hand down his face in frustration. He’s just about to give up and hose himself down in the yard when she finally offers a solution.

"You could just knock and see if she'll swap out with you. She basically just got in, anyway."

“Y’know what, I think I will,” he grumbles, heading upstairs to the bathroom and leaving Ellie to her shitty 90s sci-fi thriller. She shakes her head, laughing as she slips on her headphones.

“Don’t be too loud up there!”

But with his bad ears, he doesn’t hear her.

God, you needed this shower so badly. It's been a rough day, to say the least, and it’s finally time to get the relaxation you deserve. You got saddled with an extra patrol shift because two of the usual guys had a last-minute change of assignment, and it turned a typical day into an unbelievably exhausting one.

But tonight you got lucky. There was no one around to use up all of the hot water besides Ellie, who’s been glued to the TV all day, and you miraculously got home before Joel. So tonight, you get to enjoy the expensive bottle of shampoo you found at some fancy store in some fancy mall last month, and let yourself forget for a while that there’s fucking fungus monsters out there eating people.

That is—until someone knocks on the door and ends your perfect evening before it begins. Now you’ve got soap in your eyes, and you’re slightly worried because Ellie either needs something from the bathroom or the house is on fire. There’s never an in-between with her.

“Ellie? Everything okay?” you call out, really hoping it’s not the latter.

The voice that responds is muffled and decidedly much deeper than Ellie’s, and you’re momentarily taken off guard before you realize it’s not a burglar. It’s Joel—of course, it’s Joel. He probably got off his shift late and wants to clean up, and now you feel bad for making him wait and using up all the hot water.

You can’t really hear what he’s saying over the shower, so you slide the curtain open to poke your head out. “What? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

He tries to answer you again, or at least you think he does, but you still can’t make him out, so you tell him to come inside. The door only opens a crack, but it's so quick that there's no time to duck behind the curtain before Joel's face appears and you're both staring at each other blankly.

“…Hi,” you breathe out, praying it’s just your head and not the rest of your body peeking out. “So, um, what were you saying?”

He looks a little embarrassed and it’s adorable, but the thought only crosses your mind for a split second before you notice the rest of him. He’s—there’s really no nice way to say this, but he looks revolting.

There’s dirt everywhere. Matted in his hair, under his fingernails, all over his clothes. It looks like he’s been rolling around on the ground all day, and honestly, maybe he has. He’s also got…gross, is that a chunk of…? Nope. It looks like someone exploded in his face, and he needs a shower. Badly.

The only problem is you’re covered head-to-toe in soap, and you’re pretty sure you’ve only got about 15 minutes of hot water left.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry to barge in on ya,” he mumbles, looking pointedly away from you. “I came up here to see if you wouldn’t mind pausin’ your shower for a bit, but I, uh…can see that’s gonna be a little difficult.”

You look down at yourself and, yeah, he’s right. You’re dripping water and soap all over the floor. Getting out now would be a pain in the ass, but he also really needs to get in.

“No, no. It’s totally fine! It makes way more sense for me to sit around soapy than for you to, um, stand around like that,” you reason. It’s his turn to look down at himself, and he grimaces. “Just turn around for a sec and we can swap.”

He nods, still looking sheepish, but grateful.

You duck back into the shower to shut the water off and gather up your toiletries to make room for his. You’ve already shoved half of your stuff to one side before you realize it was probably just a waste of time because there was already plenty of space—and that's when it dawns on you.

This stall is pretty big—as far as showers go, anyway. There's no reason you can't both fit in here at the same time. It's also not like he's never seen you naked before. You joined up with Joel and Ellie long before running water was in the picture, so you've had your fair share of awkward bathing encounters. Really, it's just a matter of whether or not he'll go for it.

You pop your head back out, taking a second to admire those strong, broad shoulders of his before getting his attention. Damn, he's a real catch. Hot and respectful. But seriously, he's so disgusting right now and it would be a shame to allow that to continue.

"Hey, Joel," you start, and he glances back carefully over his shoulder. You hesitate for a beat before continuing, “So, hear me out—what if we just…if we both showered…at the same time…”

He looks confused, and you realize how badly you botched that entire sentence. Okay, so talking around it didn't work. You take a deep breath to steady yourself before trying again.

"Just—just get in with me," you say softly. "We can shower together."

His brow furrows, eyes unreadable. He looks like he might be thinking it over, but his silence isn't exactly the most encouraging reaction in the world. Subconsciously, you hold your breath while you wait for an answer.

There’s no way he’s going to go for this, is there? It’s Joel. He can barely look at you in a tank top without blushing, let alone wet and naked. You’re not even sure why you bothered asking. It was clearly a dumb—

“Yeah, guess that makes sense,” he nods, turning back to you fully, and you swear he’s looking at you differently. That's…not what you were expecting. Not that you're complaining in the slightest. He's not even trying to hide his eagerness, and you're starting to think maybe he was waiting for you to ask all along.

"Well, come on in, cowboy."

Joel undresses slowly, eyeing what little of you he can see greedily, and it makes your cheeks burn. It’s like he can’t look away—from your eyes and lips, your collarbone. Even the tiny droplets of water that fall from your hair. It feels more intimate than any moment you’ve ever shared with Joel, and he hasn’t even touched you. Yet, hopefully.

You’re getting impatient. He's making a show of stripping down and it's taking everything you have not to get out of the shower and rip all of his clothes off yourself. His fingers are so thick, and more and more of his tanned, weather-worn skin is exposed to you as they work to unbutton his shirt.

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling at this point, imagining those fingers sinking deep inside you before you can stop yourself. Fuck, you're pent up. And should probably have a lot more shame, but now he's unzipping his jeans, and you feel like you're about to combust.

You let out a pained noise without meaning to and he chuckles, shaking his head as he picks up the pace. "I'm comin', I'm comin'," he teases, dropping his pants to the floor. "Why don't you get the water goin' for me?"

Now you're the one having trouble looking away. Damn, who even is this guy? He’s nothing like the Joel you’ve known for years, and definitely not the Joel who stepped into this bathroom ten minutes ago. If you'd known it would go like this, you would’ve invited him to shower with you a long time ago.

He’s down to just his boxers now, and maybe it's wishful thinking, but he looks like he’s already hard. Swallowing is suddenly extremely difficult, so you shoot him one last appreciative look before doing what he asked.

You turn the water back on and it’s still pleasurably warm as it rains down onto your tense shoulders. The steady pressure soothes some of the nerves while you wait for him to join you, but you’re so caught up in the moment that you don't notice the curtain opening.

"Scoot over," he murmurs behind you, his breath fanning out over the back of your neck. He’s close, so much closer than you expected him to be. You assumed you’d be dancing around each other for at least a little while longer, but it seems like Joel knows exactly what he wants, and it’s not just the shower.

He reaches around you to grab that expensive bottle of shampoo you’ve been looking forward to, his fingers grazing your bare skin, and you shiver despite the heat of the water.

“Or you could stay right here,” he says, even closer now, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “We could help each other out—with washin’ up, I mean.”

You inhale shakily, your reply getting caught in your throat. “Y-yes—yeah, yes…we should definitely do that,” you breathe out.

He chuckles and the sound is surprisingly affectionate. It gives you hope that this won’t just be a one-time thing. That after all this time, he wants you as much as you want him.

You’re the first to initiate physical contact, reaching back to bury your fingers in his hair which, in retrospect, turns out to be a terrible idea. He’s still filthy, and your fingers get caught in tangles and dirt and…probably a lot of other nasty shit you don’t want to think about.

You snort out a laugh, turning around to face him. “I think you’re up first, handsome.”

The corners of his mouth tip up as he nods, and you can’t resist the urge to reach up and trace his bottom lip with your thumb. He kisses the pad of your finger, and you wish so badly that it was your lips.

For the second time tonight, you’re feeling incredibly impatient. You want to feel more of him, let him press you up against the wall and kiss you, touch you the way you both want him to, but it’ll have to wait.

You pluck the bottle from his hands and squeeze a huge dollop into your palm, telling him to turn around with a small smile. His eyes drop to the quirk of your lips for a moment too long before he obliges, and you’re starting to realize he’s getting impatient, too.

You reach up to thread your fingers into his graying hair and, somehow, the strands still feel soft despite everything tangled up in them. It’s going to take a decent amount of scrubbing before it’s back to its normal, fluffy state of disarray, but you’ll make it feel good for him. A little taste of what's to come.

He tips his head back as you massage in the shampoo, letting out the softest groan when your fingernails scratch along his scalp, and you have to press your thighs together to relieve the growing ache in your core. You’re not going to make it through this shower if he keeps making noises like that. But, of course, he does, and they're getting louder.

You can feel his body starting to respond to yours, too. It’s a little cruel how you’re purposely working him up, sliding a washcloth over his shoulders and across his back, letting your fingers skim teasingly over his skin as you stretch your arms around him to reach his front.

His stomach flexes under your palm, and he inhales sharply as your hardened nipples graze across his back. You continue your path down, running your fingers through the coarse hair at the base of his cock, and his hips jerk forward, seeking the friction you so desperately want to provide. He's panting, and you're both having a difficult time holding yourselves back.

Brown and red swirl in the water around your feet and down the drain, and it's enough to tell you that he's finally clean. And that you can finally touch him the way you want to.

Pressing yourself firmly against his back, you reach down to wrap your fingers around his cock and he feels huge in your hand, rock hard and pulsing with his racing heartbeat. You pump him a few times, giving him a firm squeeze at the base, and he keens, already leaking all over himself.

He braces a hand on your hip to steady himself as you trail open-mouthed kisses down his spine, digging his fingers in roughly when you slowly start to jerk him off in earnest.

"T-that's it, pretty girl—,” he pants heavily, eyes dropping down to watch you work him, and you twist your wrist up on the next stroke, thumbing over his head. "Keep goin', just like that."

You whimper damply against his skin at the pet name, feeling a pleasurable whoosh in your belly as your cunt drips pathetically down your thighs. The throbbing between your legs is almost unbearable, but you don't want to let him go, not when his hips are meeting your fist so fucking desperately. You wedge a hand between your bodies, slipping it lower and lower until your fingers rub against your slick folds, gathering some of the wetness to rub soothing circles into your clit.

“I got you, I got you,” you moan at the sudden relief. Your caresses start to match his thrusts, and soon he's trembling in your arms, whimpering like he'll cum any second if you let him. You rub your cheek tenderly against his back, murmuring soft, encouraging words into his heated skin.

"You're doing so, so well," you tell him, and he seizes up at the praise, chest heaving as you focus your attention closer to the tip. "You wanna cum or are you gonna wait for me? Want you to fill me up…can you do that for me?"

For a second, you think your words might've thrown him over the edge, his hips stuttering against your palm even as you slow your movements. But he's still clearly fighting the urge to cum, and that has to mean he wants to fuck you badly.

His hand shakes as it lifts to wrap around yours, guiding you down to squeeze the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm, but you're not making it easy for him. You barely notice your other hand still working your pussy, too turned on to realize you've started pumping two fingers in and out of yourself.

Joel notices, though. Something that sounds almost animalistic tears its way out of his chest as he turns on you, snatching your hand out of your cunt and slamming it against the shower wall. Your fingers are shiny and glistening with your wetness and he leans forward to suck each of them into his mouth, groaning at your taste on his tongue.

The look on his face makes it seem like you're the best meal he's ever had, and you feel a strong, sudden urge to have his tongue in your mouth so you can taste yourself. He pulls off your middle finger with an audible pop, and then you're crashing your lips into his, immediately licking into him.

God, why do you taste so good in his mouth? It's salty and heady, and really shouldn't be as hot as it is, but you can't bring yourself to care as his tongue tangles with yours. You feel two—shit, no, it’s three—of his fingers slip into you, and, holy fuck, they're so much bigger than yours. You're already so full and they feel even thicker at the base, nudging a spot that makes you see stars.

There's no way his cock is going to fit inside you…right? But the thought of him trying anyway almost makes you cum on the spot. Another wave of heat crashes through you and your walls convulse around him, pussy gushing down his fingers, and he abruptly breaks away from your lips, groaning lowly, desperately.

"Fuck, I-I need—shit, I need to fuck you, pretty girl," he twitches against you, leaking a glob of precum as he ruts into your belly. “M'gonna fill ya up real good, just like you wanted—," and you gasp, clamping down on his fingers one more time before he's pulling them out and hauling you into his arms, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist as he shoves you higher up the wall.

His hands roam your skin hungrily before eventually settling under the soft swell of your ass, holding you up as he slicks up his cock between your folds. Every time the tip catches your clit, your hips buck clean off the wall and he presses into you harder to keep you in place. You bury your face in his neck, thighs squeezing into his sides.

"S'not gonna fit," you slur, a little drunk off how good he feels between your legs. The next time his hips buck forward, the blunt head of his cock catches your entrance. "J-Joel—ngh…Joel, s'too big, you have to make it fit, please."

And that's when his patience runs out.

He sheathes himself to the hilt in one harsh thrust, growling roughly into your hair, and the stretch is mind-numbing. He stays deep, letting you adjust to the feeling of being split open, and his head drops to your shoulder. His eyes are locked on where you're joined, your pussy stretched around him almost obscenely.

"Would'ja look at that," he mumbles to himself, rocking in and out slowly as he turns his head to suck a bruise into your collarbone. You reach a hand down curiously, wanting to feel yourself around him, and your jaw drops when your fingers brush where his thickness is forcing your cunt to yield to him. "Knew you could take me…pussy feels s-so fuckin' good, like you were made for me."

You whine pathetically as the ache starts to subside and the need for him to fuck you becomes overwhelming. Pleasure blooms where he's already grazing that heavenly spot again, and you tug his head back by his hair, bringing his attention back up to you.

Everything pauses, just for a moment. You kiss his lips delicately, so much more delicate than he's about to be with your body but, right now, you need him to know that it's more than this for you. More than the sex and the physical intimacy. And the way he kisses you back reassures you beyond a doubt that it's more than this for him, too.

Then, your patience runs out.

"Joel, move."

And suddenly, he's spearing up into that spot deep inside you with reckless abandon, bouncing you on his cock, and you're not entirely sure, but you might actually be screaming.

Your head lolls back, thudding dully against the wall, and he ducks down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue circling the nub as he continues you work you up and down his shaft. The sound your pussy's making around him should be humiliating, but it only spurs him on, the wet squelching echoing loudly over the running water.

"Hear that? That's all you, baby. So fuckin' wet, look at that," and he's watching himself again in awe as he fucks in and out of you. You follow his gaze and, holy shit, he's not kidding. You're absolutely soaking him. "You look so good like this, so goddamn pretty stretched around my cock."

You still haven't completely acclimated to how thick he is, not sure you ever actually will, and the syrupy-sweet pain of him has you clawing at his back. You use the wall as leverage, arching just enough so you can actively meet his thrusts, and the new angle sends you reeling.

"Feels so…full, so full," you gasp, your back inching higher up the wall with the force of his thrusts. "K-keep going…there, Joel, there."

It's not just that one spot he's hitting anymore—fuck, it feels like he's everywhere. The ridge of his cock is rubbing your walls just right and every other thrust fucks deep enough to graze your cervix. You sob at the onslaught of overpowering pleasure, burying your hands in his hair to tether yourself as your brain begins to fizzle.

Just a little more, you only need a little bit more. You can feel the lower half of your body locking down and, as if he can sense exactly what you need, he grinds his cock in as deep as it'll go.

"That's it, baby. C'mon, give it to me," he grits against your throat. "Squeezin' me so fuckin' tight, you're almost there."

The coarse hairs at the base of his cock scrape roughly and a little painfully against your swollen clit as you rock against him, but the slide is still so slick and raw that your thighs begin to quake around his waist, and it's—fuck, it's so…so…

"M'gonna fucking cum—gonna…oh fuck, fuck, Joel," your lips part around what you pray is a silent scream and your body goes rigid, cunt spasming violently around him.

He chokes out a moan as you clamp down impossibly tighter on his cock. "Fuckin' hell, there we go," he rasps out shakily as he fucks you into the wall blindingly hard, letting you ride him through your orgasm.

"So, s-so good. Feels so fuckin' good," he's starting to mumble to himself deliriously, squeezing your ass hard enough to bruise. You whimper helplessly as his thrusts get sloppier and more desperate, "Gonna fill you up 'til it's leakin' out…c-can I, pretty girl? Please…bet you'd look so fuckin' good with my cum spillin' out of you—"

Before you can even answer, you feel him throb and then his entire body stills, his cock visibly pulsing as he empties into you. He moans his way through it, his head dropping to your shoulder again to watch himself pump you full of cum just like he said he would.

If you thought you felt full before, it's nothing compared to how you feel right now. He's still so deep, twitching pathetically inside you as he lifts his head to nose at the underside of your jaw. He presses a soft kiss there and you sigh, wrapping your arms and legs around him tighter.

"Christ, Joel, where did that come from?" you rasp out. He chuckles, and his whole body shakes with it, jostling his hips into your sensitive clit. Your pussy flutters around him and his breath hitches, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs. He still hasn't pulled out and you have a feeling he doesn't want to.

"Been waitin' a long time for that," he murmurs, meeting your eyes. You smile softly, and your lips command his attention. "Waited a long time for you."

So full of surprises tonight. You’ve traveled with him for years, settled down with your kid, but you never expected this. For him to finally feel the same way you do, to fuck you like that. You’re suddenly extremely thankful he came home in dire need of a shower.

You run your hands up his chest, settling one on his shoulder and burying the other in his hair. The dirt, the grime—it's all gone now, replaced by your release and the sweat of your exertion. He smells so good, just like your fancy shampoo. Just like home.

You lean in to kiss him deeply and he melts into you, his lips soft and warm against yours. When you part, you're met with that look again. The one he gave you after you asked him to shower with you, and that he hasn't stopped giving you since. Like he's observing you, contemplating you.

You recognize it now—it's hope.

"I've been waiting a long time for you too, Joel."

He kisses you again, holding you close as the water goes ice cold.

thanks so much for reading! 🥰

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller

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kazekagevi · 8 months ago

Text

Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE -- PART TWO -- PART THREE

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Tags: dark themes, but this chapter is actually very fluffy and silly, Lo'ak and Kiri and Spider becoming reader's besties, many attempts at comedy, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam (and Lo'ak, Spider, and Kiri), reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, enemies-to-lovers, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies.

Summary: You're not allowed to join the community until Jake Sully decides you're ready. Spider, Lo'ak, and Kiri teach you Na'vi.

A/N and Disclaimer: I tried my best to use some Navi language translators and the LearnNavi website to write this chapter, but there are bound to be language errors. I also know time works differently there. Sorry for all the inconsistencies!

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work.

The science shack isn’t so bad.

Your initiation begins after your first sleep that night. The next morning, Max and Norm put their research projects on hold to give you an actual, legitimate tour of the facility. The place is full of bells and whistles. Tiny buttons, translucent screens, and telecommunications. Technology is abundant; but your knowledge of how to use it is not.

“Here is the airlock control panel,” Max explains. He hovers his palm over a sensor—when it flashes sage green, the user interface appears. “Once you’re ready to interact with the community, we’ll scan your handprints and give you full clearance,” he futhers.

You’re helplessly eager. “Do you know when that will be?” you inquire.

Max presses the controller in the center of the panel. The glass door to the inner chamber slides open. You peek your head inside the airlock space—there are respirator masks for both humans and Na’vi, as well as a broom in the corner.

“I put that there,” Max says, referring to the broom. He’s stealthily ignoring your previous question. “Told Spider he needs to sweep after himself. He refuses to use the doormat outside. I think the only person who’s touched that broom has been me.”

You look at the ground. The floor of the airlock space isn’t as bad as you’d expect it to be. Admittedly, it’s filthy. There are mud stains of both human and Na’vi footprints on the vinyl floor. The size difference is jarring.

You have an idea. You smirk to yourself. “What if I cleaned this mess for him?” you offer. “I’ll sweep, then mop. I need to start pulling my weight, too.”

Max sighs. “What? So you can put on one of those masks and sneak out before the Olo'eyktan says you’re ready?”

Your expression sours. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you reply. “I wasn’t going to sneak out,” you admit aloud. “I was going to accidentally open the front door or something with a mask conveniently in place. It’s not as deceitful that way.”

Max sighs again. “Well, I have no say in when you’re ready,” he confesses. “That decision is only Jake’s to make.”

You have no choice but to yield. Max taps the censor again. The airlock door falls shut into place.

---

It takes an entire day to simply show you how everything works. It takes two more for you to demonstrate you were paying attention and know how to use everything. The only intuitive mechanisms are the knobs to the showers and the dials on the washer and dryer.

Like in any society, the science shack has its own set of rules, regulations, and norms—quite literally, since Norm transfers between his human body and Avatar frequently. The showers are closed once every twenty-five days for necessary maintenance. Humans aren’t to leave when the Na’vi are sleeping or on significant Omatikaya holidays. Don’t talk to Max before he’s had his first coffee. Spider is supposed to sweep after himself in the airlock room. You can’t use Mia’s handleless mug, but you’re allowed to wash it if you’re extra careful.

By the end of the week, your head hurts.

You know the only way to become proficient in something, like speaking a new language or utilizing advanced technology, is to thrust yourself into it. Take the plunge—don’t fear it. Embrace the nosedive. Freefall.

So, after dinner on your seventh day, you get as close to doing that as possible. You sit on a small perch by a tiny window, nestled in a corner of the science shack. You’re hungry; for one, Norm’s cooking tastes much worse when you’re not famished, so you couldn’t force yourself to go back for seconds, let alone finish everything on your plate.

But also, you’re hungry for something else. Now that you’re safe from the RDA, you can actually consider doing what you came to Pandora to do all along. You can practically taste it.

You know Jake Sully is right. Life in the science shack is complicated enough, and you need adequate time to acclimate. But you’re starting to feel like you’re trapped.

The window allows you to see a slice of life at High Camp. You come here around the same time after a meal, just like clockwork. You haven’t seen Jake Sully since your conversation, but you’ve seen many others.

Just right now, you see a group of young women shuffle past, laughing and gossiping about who knows what. You see two kids, presumably siblings, one chasing after the other, before they’re stopped by one of the village’s elders. You see injured warriors limp towards the tsahìk’s tent. You see a woman in her homestead, weaving a basket. You feel nothing but sonder; the profound sensibility that these people are all living complex lives of their own, and you’re simply witnessing these complexities unfold right before your eyes.

You begin to recognize a few faces, like that of the shaman healer, otherwise known as the tsahìk. You also take note of which warriors visit her tent most frequently.

You routinely see a Na’vi female with short, straight jet-black hair. She tends to pass by the science shack every evening of every day, stare at the door, frown, then leave. On two occasions, your eyes met before she wandered off.

You’ve learned a few more common phrases, which Norm, Max, Spider and Mia teach you at meal times. Kaltxì is a standard greeting. Rutxe means please, and irayo means thank you. Ngafkeyk pefya? means ‘how are you?’

You also learned that the lines you recited to the Na’vi in the forest, Neteyam, were of a standard dialect. They weren’t incorrect, just slightly different from that of the Omatikaya’s. And, allegedly, your pronunciation was off.

In your extensive travels on Earth, you learned quickest when you immersed yourself in a new, unfamiliar environment. It was the rush—the thrill, the trepidation—that drove you to adapt. It was as just as you told Jake Sully: so I will.

Immersion is the only way. Norm knows this too; as an exceptional xenolinguist, he learned more from interacting with the Na’vi for a few weeks than he did from reading any book. He really understands. He wishes he had more time to help with your studies, but he must return to his work. His newest botany project is time sensitive.

As you sit by the window, you use an electronic tablet programmed with a basic flashcard feature to get yourself acquainted with the Na’vi language. It’s not particularly helpful, since spoken practice is more beneficial than anything written. You’ve been skimming some of Jake’s old journals, too. But at the time of their conception, he wrote only in English, and misspelled many Na’vi words and phrases.

The flashcards do nothing besides test your aptitude for memorization. It doesn’t help that your attention span is elsewhere, like you left it on a far, distant planet.

Everytime someone passes by the window in your peripheral vision, you have no choice but to look up and see who’s there. It’s usually another Na’vi face you’ve never seen before. You don’t realize it initially, but the more you turn your head, you’re helplessly aware that you’re looking for someone. It never is, but you’re hopeful it might be Neteyam—you still owe him for saving your life. You have an inkling however, that he’s probably avoiding this place for one reason or another. That very reason might just be yourself.

It’s obvious that this method of study is inefficient. You power off the tablet and continue people-watching with your knees tucked against your chest.

Any moment now, you know you’ll see that girl with shoulder-length hair. You want to know why she frowns, but you don’t know how to ask ‘what’s upsetting you?’ in Na’vi.

Now that you think about it, though, you’re unsure if that’s a wise idea. Even when you are allowed into the community, you know that you will have to keep a distance. Know your place. Although the humans and Na’vi residing here coexist in apparent harmony, you don’t want your presence to disrupt the peace.

There’s a quiet knock on the other side of the airlock door across the main room—it’s so faint you almost miss it.

When you sit up, you hear footsteps thudding against the vinyl flooring. You see Spider look around then over his shoulder as he approaches the door.

He begrudgingly places his hand over the scanner. He presses a button and the front of the airlock opens.

He quietly shouts something in Na’vi—skxawng. You’re not sure what this word means yet.

From your window perch, you can’t see what’s going on, but Kiri and Lo’ak enter the space through the main door. They each grab a respirator.

Spider continues to say things you don’t understand. From his tone of voice, he seems slightly agitated.

“You can’t be here,” Spider says to both of them in Na’vi. “Not until the new girl gets introduced to the community.”

Lo’ak takes a deep breath—the respirator in his hand looks so small. He’s almost as tall as his father now. As the years pass, Lo’ak just gets bigger and bigger. It makes him feel like Spider is shrinking.

“C’mon man,” Lo’ak says. “Let us in. We’ll only take a minute,” he adds, wearing a devious smirk on his face. “I uh, forgot something when I was here last?” he tries.

“Yeah, right,” Spider replies.

“Lo’ak, you’re not helping my case,” Kiri says, glaring at her older brother.

Lo’ak’s jaw drops. He scoffs at her. “You told me to come with you!”

“Yes, and it turns out you’re not helping!” Kiri hisses.

Spider groans. “Can you two just leave? I don’t want to get any flak for this.”

Kiri grits her teeth. She places both of her hands on the glass separating them. “Please, Spider. I haven’t seen Mom in forever,” she says. Her eyes water. “It hasn’t been this long since the time we lived in Awa'atlu… I miss her.”

The crease between Spider’s brows disappears. From what you can see, he looks apologetic. “Oeru txoa livu,” he says to Kiri. “But I’m not supposed to let anyone in besides your dad.”

Lo’ak’s expression falters. He looks at his feet. His ears fall flat. “You know, I haven’t seen Tsireya since we left Awa'atlu,” he says just loud enough for Spider and Kiri to hear.

Spider rubs his nose bridge. Kiri sighs and flicks his temple with her fingers. Once Lo’ak starts talking about Tsireya, he can’t stop.

While this interaction continues to transpire, you stand from your perch and tiptoe over. Your footsteps are padded by thick, cotton socks. You advance slowly, like you’re approaching a crime scene covered with caution tape.

“Lo’ak, go home and go to bed,” Kiri says, poking his chest. She then spins back around. “Spider, let me in, please.”

“I’m sorry, Kiri,” Spider replies. “You know I would if I could.”

Kiri places her hands on her hips. “You can, very easily, actually. Just press the button,” Kiri says. She points to the spot where she knows it is on the other side of the door. “It’s right there.”

Spider sighs. The crease in his brow returns when he realizes Lo’ak is suddenly smiling. “Why are you doing that?”

Lo’ak waves to you from the other side of the airlock. “Hi!” He greets you in English. “What’s your name?”

Spider jolts when he realizes you’re standing there right behind him.

Kiri gasps. Her eyes go wide—they practically sparkle when she’s excited. “I told you, I saw her!” she says to Lo’ak in Na’vi.

You smile at the male and female Na’vi before you. They seem so friendly, and the male Na’vi’s English sounds great. “Hello there,” you reply. You formally introduce yourself.

Spider presses a palm to his temple. He knows he’s going to get in trouble.

“It’s nice to meet you!” the female Na’vi says, also in English. “I’m called Kiri. And this is my older brother, Lo’ak.”

That’s his cue—Lo’ak waves again, flashing his vibrant smile.

Spider scoffs.

“My good brother here, Spider,” says Lo’ak, “this skxawng,” he adds, more quietly, “was about to let us inside.”

“I was not,” Spider protests.

“C’mon,” you say. Spider rolls his eyes—you’ve just met Lo’ak but he’s already infected you with whatever ailment he has that makes him the way that he is. At the same time, however, Spider knows it’s one of the best things about him.

“Why can’t we let them in?” you ask. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in five days.

“Exactly,” says Lo’ak. “Let us in,” he chants quietly.

“The door isn’t broken, is it?” you further, keeping a serious demeanor. “I’ll just check to make sure it works,” you tell Spider.

“Wait–”

The airlock’s inner chamber door opens, allowing Lo’ak and Kiri entry.

“Would you look at that,” you profess. “I know how the door works.”

Lo’ak chuckles as he strolls inside like he owns the place. Kiri rushes past the three of you, making a beeline for the large container in the middle of the main room. She presses her palms against the glass and whispers to the Avatar stuck inside. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“You were right,” Lo’ak mutters to Spider in English. “She is short, even for a human.”

Your jaw goes slack. A surprised chuckle falls from your lips. “If you call Spider skxawng, then what are you?” you can’t help but retort.

He grins. “If there was a clan of a hundred skxawng’s,” Lo’ak says, “they would have no choice but to make me their leader.”

You laugh again—harder than you were expecting to. This Na’vi might be an ass, but at least he’s got a sense of humor.

Spider groans again. “If you two knuckleheads stay, you have to keep it down,” he says.

Lo’ak puts his hands up, defensively.

“Can I ask what she’s doing over there?” you say aloud.

Kiri now has her face pressed against the glass. It fogs from her breath.

Spider and Lo’ak look at each other. Lo’ak rubs the back of his neck before speaking: “it’s a long story, but that’s the Avatar of Kiri’s biological mother. Kiri is my adoptive sister.” Lo’ak then hums to himself. “Maybe it’s not such a long story, after all.”

That’s why she looked so sad. She simply missed her Mom.

You blink once. “Oh, alright.” You nod, looking at Spider. “All of that information about Mia’s coffee mug was really important, but this,” you say, gesturing to the tube in the center of the room. “Not so much.”

Spider shrugs. “It’s important,” he says. “But, this is just commonplace for all of us.”

“She’s been doing this since we were kids,” Lo’ak reaffirms.

“Maybe we’re blind to it,” Spider offers. “It’s always there, so we can’t even see it if it’s right in front of us.”

Lo’ak simpers. “Well said.”

“Thank you,” says Spider. He grins.

They nod together and rub their chins like idiots. You assume this must be a regular thing for them.

“Skxawngs,” you say.

Of course, they both look your way, as though you’ve called them by their birth name.

“Did I use that properly?” you ask in English.

They nod. You sigh woefully.

Lo’ak practically snatches such low-hanging fruit: “What’s got you all blue?”

You can’t help but glare at him. “They say you don’t know a language unless you know how to properly insult someone,” you say. “But I don’t actually know any useful Na’vi, and I haven’t had a conversation with anyone. Half of the words I know are just insults!”

“Simmer down,” says Spider. “You learned plenty today,” he says.

“And, last I heard, you did have a conversation with someone,” Lo’ak mutters.

Spider crosses his arms over his bare chest and looks you in the eye. “We’ll do our best to teach you.”

“Then teach me,” you reply, glaring daggers his way.

Spider’s eyes narrow. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A couple of hours ago, you were enthusiastic. Now, you’re starting to get on his nerves.

Spider then looks over at Kiri, and makes an almost silent whistling noise. In response, Kiri’s ears twitch and she peeks over her shoulder.

“What the hell did you just say to her?” you demand.

“Oh, that?” Spider chuckles dryly. “I didn’t say anything, yet.”

“What is it?” Kiri calls back to him.

When Spider responds, he speaks entirely in Na’vi. When Kiri replies to him, she does the same. Spider then turns to you, speaks only in Na’vi again, then laughs. He says something else. Laughter erupts. Kiri and Lo’ak follow suit.

You have no choice to presume they’re talking shit about you in their native language.

In reality, they’re saying things that make no sense just to get you riled up. The first thing Spider told Kiri was “let’s pretend like we’re making fun of her. Keep going along with it until I say stop.”

Needless to say, they play their roles with great conviction, like actors on a stage. They fool you.

“You guys are dickheads! That’s enough.”

They finally stop when you fold your arms over your chest and start pouting; but they don’t stop laughing until Norm yells from down the hall to, in his words, ‘tone that shit down.’ When they’re caught, Spider purses his lips, and Kiri and Lo’ak takes deep breaths from their respirator masks in unison.

“You’re incredibly impatient,” Spider admits, lowering his voice. Lo’ak nods in agreement. You’re all sitting around the tube that holds Grace’s Avatar. Kiri traces small shapes on its surface with her lithe fingertips.

“And you three,” you say, pointing at each of them, “are a bunch of jesters.”

“No, you’re a jester,” says Lo’ak. He doesn’t even know what that word means, not in English anyway.

“That’s exactly what a jester would say.” You groan in frustration. “I am impatient, but you don’t have to say it so directly,” you reply. Your expression is downcast and dejected.

You want to learn the language. You want to be able to talk to people. You want to carry out conversations, and learn, and laugh, and cry. You want to become a phoenix, rising from the ashes of an otherwise hopeless situation. You’re here, you’re alive, yet you don’t feel that way. Not at all.

You don’t want to feel like an outsider. You don’t want to live life from a bird’s eye view, on your little perch by the tiny window. You don’t want to feel like a canary in a cage. You don’t want to feel like a fish in a large, technologically-advanced bowl. Or like a beetle in a glass jar with holes poked in the top. You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want to be locked away in the science shack, just like how you were in the RDA’s basement.

Your eyes water. How could it be? Have you simply gone from one prison to another?

“You may be impatient, but I think you’ll fit in with us just fine,” Lo’ak interjects. He smiles genuinely. After a few moments, so do Spider and Kiri.

You wipe your eyes. Your face feels hot.

Kiri calls you by your first name, grasping hold of your attention. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you to speak Na’vi, and you’ll be just like the rest of us,” she says affectionately.

“I don’t know about that,” Lo’ak mutters.

There’s a pregnant pause. You, Spider, and Kiri expect him to say that you’ll never be a true Na’vi, or something of the sort. You weren’t raised as such, like the three of them.

“She won’t grow another foot overnight,” Lo’ak says finally. He looks right at you with a shit-eating grin. “You’ll never be as tall as we are.”

“Well said,” Spider remarks.

---

Kiri and Lo’ak can’t stay for much longer—they have to sneak back to their tent before Jake Sully finds out what they’ve been up to.

“They won’t get in trouble if he finds out, right?”

You and Spider are the last two awake. You’re sitting at the kitchen table.

Spider waves his hand around nonchalantly. “They never do,” he says. There’s a brief pause. “Okay, sometimes Lo’ak does,” Spider adds. “But never Kiri or Tuk. You’ll meet her eventually. She’s the youngest sibling.”

“Alright, so there’s the three of them. Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. And Neytiri is their mother, right?”

“Four of them,” Spider corrects you. “Neteyam is the oldest. One year older than Lo’ak.”

You blink. “Neteyam is the Olo'eyktan’s eldest son? The one who found me?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Spider retorts.

You glare at him. “Yes, that’s what you said, only a whole week late!” You whisper-shout at him. “Just like with Kiri’s biological mother.”

Spider throws his hands up. “I guess I thought someone already told you,” he says defensively. “You talked to Jake, right?”

“Right,” you reply. “But he didn’t mention anything about Neteyam being his son. Didn’t mention anything about his children actually.”

“With all that you went through with those fuckers, he may have thought it could be taken as insensitive,” Spider suggests.

You hum. Maybe, just maybe, Spider’s right.

“Kiri works in the tsahìk’s tent during the day. Lo’ak puts in the least amount of effort necessary to be considered one of the warriors,” Spider says. “He’s usually around, but oftentimes not. Either way, we will find time to help you learn Na’vi.”

“Is Neteyam one of the warriors?” you ask.

Spider nods. “These days, he’s become one of the best.”

Your thoughts drift back to when Neteyam found you. You were practically ambushed—he was so controlled, so swift with his movements. Spider’s words don’t surprise you.

“So, he’s busy all the time?”

Spider addresses you by name. “What are you getting at?”

“I still need to thank him,” you confide. “He can’t avoid me forever.”

Spider sighs. “He can try,” he mutters.

“So, he is avoiding me?” you ask. Your cheeks are turning red again.

“He’s…” Spider begins. He looks distraught. “He wasn’t always like this,” Spider says. “Neteyam and I are cool, but he never sets foot inside this place if he doesn’t have to. Ever since the Sully family returned from living with the Metkayina, the Reef People, he doesn’t get along with Norm and the others like Kiri and Lo’ak… He merely tolerates the scientists here.”

“You’re saying he hates humans,” you say bluntly.

“Hate is a strong word,” Spider replies. “But he has many reasons to dislike them…” Spider swallows. “To dislike our kind.”

The words fall from your lips: “you’re right.”

You begin to question whether or not you should follow through with thanking him for saving you. The interaction with Kiri and Lo’ak went so well—perhaps it gave you an ounce of hope, things might go smoothly with Neteyam too. He’s been on your mind constantly, replaying in your thoughts like a broken record. You’re certain there are other Na’vi who share similar sentiments. You have to be careful.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” says Spider. He stands from the table. “I’m going to sleep,” he says plainly. His footsteps fade as he walks to the barracks.

Spider’s sympathies do very little to ease your mind.

---

Spider kept his word. Kar is teach. Karyu is teacher, and Karyunay is apprentice teacher. Ayfo kar nga—they teach you.

In the days—and eventually, weeks—to come, you fall into a new routine.

You study Na’vi during the day-time hours. The science shack isn’t so bad. Sometimes, if he’s available, Norm works with you on your phonetics and grammar. But typically, it’s just you, your electronic tablet, and your perch by the windowsill.

When you learned other Earth languages in the past, it was easier to learn other languages in proximity to their language group with which you were familiar. Romance languages, such as Spanish, French, and Italian, bore many similarities. The same went for Germanic languages, and even some Sino-Tibetan languages.

Na’vi, however, is completely different from any language you’ve spoken, or even attempted to learn. But your dedication is unwavering.

Lo’ak and Kiri return to the science shack two days after your first encounter with them.

“Okay, Spider was right. At first, he was angry,” Kiri says. She takes a deep breath through her respirator. “But then, I suppose he thought about it more and decided it was a good idea after all.”

Jake Sully has given Lo’ak and Kiri his word of approval to help with your studies at nightfall, as long as they don’t slack off their usual duties.

“He thinks it’s a good ‘method of assimilation’ or some shit like that,” adds Lo’ak.

You nod. “He’s right,” you say.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lo’ak admits nonchalantly. “Sometimes.”

You all sit on the floor around Grace’s tube again.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Today, I studied grammatical structure and simple, common vocabulary. Maybe we could start with-”

“Nga za‘u ftu peseng?” Spider asks. He’s asking ‘where do you come from?’

You blink. It takes a moment for the cogs in your brain to rotate. But in due time, you register his question.

“I come from Earth,” you reply in English.

“If you really want to learn,” Spider says, “you should reply in Na’vi.”

You should. The only issue is, you’re not sure how. But you have no choice but to give it a try.

You fail the first time. The second time, you almost get it right—close enough to where Kiri pries her eyes away from her mother to give you a look of encouragement and a thumbs up.

“You’re almost there,” says Lo’ak. He straightens his posture, no longer slouching against the glass tube. “But if you don’t want to sound like a baby learning their first words, you need to change up the word order. For myself, I would reply with ‘za‘u oe ftu Eywa’eveng.’ Which means in English, ‘I come from Pandora.’ Your reply, obviously, is going to be a little different.”

Lo’ak pauses, takes a breath from his respirator, then mimics your higher-pitched voice, speaking as you would reply in Na’vi.

His impression of you is already spot on. “I don’t sound like that!” you protest.

They all laugh, and you can’t help but join them.

For the rest of the evening, the three of them ask you simple questions in Na’vi. All you have to do is reply, also in Na’vi. The longer you go, the easier it gets. You build upon the scaffolding of your day-time studies, as well as every question and response before the next.

---

This continues for many nights.

During the days when you’re sitting by the window and Lo’ak and Kiri pop into frame, you instinctively smile and wave to them. They always reciprocate.

They don’t say it outwardly, but the two of them look forward to these evenings with you. They get to spend more time with Spider. And, although they’re both fluent in English, the practice benefits them, too. Plus, they’ve taken a liking to you as well.

“Who the hell are you waving at, skxawng?” Neteyam asks Lo’ak one day. They’re about to head off on their ikrans to train. Lo’ak needs to learn a new hand-to-hand technique. Neteyam is conveniently out of your line of sight.

“I’m waving to the new girl!” Lo’ak exclaims. He continues waving. He’s practically beaming.

Neteyam huffs.

“Her pronunciation is getting much better,” Lo’ak says. His arm falls to his side again. “But it honestly wasn’t bad to begin with,” he adds. “Do you think you were, perhaps, exaggerating?”

“No,” Neteyam answers curtly. He looks agitated—his ears twitch and his tail swishes wildly. “She’s a distraction." You're proving Neteyam's point. Lo'ak won't stop waving. Neteyam groans. "Hurry up, Lo'ak. We have things to do,” he says. When they were younger, Neteyam would’ve slapped Lo’ak’s bicep or grabbed him by the ends of his hair, but he’s a man now. He can’t show his impatience or impulsivity.

Lo'ak disappears from your vantage point.

---

It’s already been a month. Your diligent practice is starting to pay off.

You can hold very basic conversations in Na’vi. You’re learning more about the language and culture every day.

They don't want to feed your ego, but your teachers have discovered you're a fast, proficient learner.

“Syep means 'to trap.' It’s a verb,” Lo’ak explains to you in English. He’s lying on the floor with his legs propped up on a chair from the dining table. Suddenly, he swings his feet from the chair, and stands to his feet.

You don't want to feed any of their egos either, but they're all smarter than they think. Especially Lo'ak.

“Spider, peseng lu syeprel?” Lo’ak asks.

You’re unsure what a syeprel is, but you know he’s asking where it’s located.

“I think it’s in the supply closet, over there,” Spider replies in Na’vi.

“What’s a syeprel?” you ask, also in Na’vi.

“Take a guess!” Lo’ak calls from down the hall.

You hum. You switch back to English: “Well, it must be a particular type of trap? Like a mouse trap or something?”

Kiri hums too. “It does technically trap something,” she says after a few moments. “But you’re thinking too literally,” she adds with a smirk.

You scratch your head. You’re dumbfounded.

“A-ha!’ Lo’ak says triumphantly. “I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” you call.

“Ask nicely,” says Kiri. “In Na’vi.”

You try again. “Rutxe,” you say, slightly embarrassed. You do as you’re told, and ask in Na’vi.

Lo’ak returns. He’s holding an ancient piece of technology—an extremely old hand-held digital camera with a slightly scratched lens. “Say cheese!”

He snaps a photo of you, Spider, and Kiri lounging around on the floor. None of you were prepared.

Kiri sighs and glowers at him. “Lo’ak!”

Lo’ak chuckles. “Alright, alright. We’ll take another one.”

The four of you stand around Lo’ak, the camera operator. “Kiri, crouch down a little bit,” he says, directing your places. “Spider, lean closer to Kiri.” You hear Spider sigh.

Lo’ak then glances at you over his shoulder. “Stand on your toes, tawtute. Or else you won’t be in frame,” he chides you with a sly smile.

You do just that and smile for the syeprel. “You’re an ass, Lo’ak,” you say through your teeth.

“Smile, everyone!” he sings in Na’vi. Lo’ak spins the camera around to take a photo of everyone while operating it at the same time. He smiles and snaps another photo. The flash is momentarily blinding.

You break free from your pose. “So, a camera is called syeprel?”

“Yes, it is.” replies Lo’ak in Na’vi. “It traps a moment in time, doesn’t it? Rel means like an image, or a picture,” he adds in English.

It’s clicking. Your jaw goes slack. Spider can’t help but chuckle at your expression.

“Language learning is so cool,” you gawk.

“You sound just like Norm,” says Kiri.

“Whatever,” you say in Na’vi. You switch back to English again. “There are lots of animal names in English like that. Anteaters eat ants. Junebugs come out in the month of June to find mates. Grasshoppers hop around in the grass. Centipedes are named after their one hundred legs.”

“Now you really sound like Norm,” Kiri teases you. “Don’t start talking about plants too, or I’ll have to go home.”

“What about bed bugs?” asks Spider. “I've only heard of them from the others. Never seen them here. I’m assuming they would be found in your bed?”

You nod.

Kiri hums, thinking. “What about butterflies then?” she asks. “I know that butter comes from milk and milk comes from Earth cows, but could they make butter too?”

You scrunch your nose at the mere thought of butterfly butter. “I don’t think so.”

Lo’ak can hardly contain his laughter. “What about cockroaches?”

Kiri smacks his chest. Lo’ak half-groans, half-cackles. Kiri scolds him in Na'vi, but it's not long before she starts laughing too.

You and Spider follow suit. From down the hall, Norm calls for you four to keep it down again.

But you can’t stop. In fact, Norm’s complaints make it worse. Joyous laughter fills the room. You’re having the time of your life. For the second time since your escape, you think this must be heaven. You’re briefly reminded of your imprisonment—you remember the few times you laughed with your cellmates. You remember those slivers of euphoria.

You also remember that you’re safe now. The science shack isn’t so bad. Not with Spider, and Kiri, and Lo’ak, and even Norm, and Max, and Mia, and all the others.

You laugh until your ribs hurt. You laugh until tears well in your eyes.

---

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write! I hope you guys had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Again, please forgive any language inconsistencies.

Don't worry my darlings! Neteyam is going to be all over the next chapter. Believe in the slow burn!

And thanks again for all the kind comments, reblogs, and notes. You guys are awesome!

Taglist: @m1tsu-ki @promnightbinbaby

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #self insert #self insert fanfiction #x reader #neteyam sully x reader #atwow

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whizzing-fizzbee · 2 months ago

Text

Death By A Thousand Freckles

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC Rating: Explicit 18+ (smut, profanity); all characters are 18+ Tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining and sexual tension

Summary: Emilia Bell accidentally sees her best friend and teammate, Sebastian Sallow, clad in only a towel after quidditch practice. Now, all she can think about are all those damn freckles.

Notes: This is literally just a handful of drabbles I morphed into one story. Characters are 18-year-old seventh years. Emilia Bell is MC.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

"If Imelda fell into a pit of dugbogs, I wouldn’t miss her,” Emilia Bell muttered to herself.

The cold rain had chilled her to the bone. Her quidditch robes clung to her skin and her hair was plastered to her face. Thick mud caked her shoes and splattered up her calves until it met her knees. She was the shining example of someone who was sure to catch pneumonia.

It’d been a particularly grueling quidditch practice that evening. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor match was a week away, and would be the last rivalry match of her Hogwarts career. The same could be said for Imelda Reyes, her team captain who was hell-bent on ending her seventh year with the quidditch cup. All their team had to do was beat Gryffindor, and then they’d have a spot in the championship match against Ravenclaw.

Imelda had become more maniacal than ever, scheduling five practices per week in rain or shine. Preventing a goblin rebellion had been more pleasant than this, Emilia decided.

Emilia sat on a bench in the locker room to tend to a particularly nasty scrape she’d received after a collision with one of her fellow Chasers. The impact had stripped her skin raw and she winced as she bandaged it, making a mental note to stop by Professor Sharp’s private potion cupboard before dinner.

The rest of the team trickled in and out of the locker room in a rush to get away from Imelda’s orders for the evening. Emilia took her time, savoring the peaceful silence that accompanied her to the shower without the interruption of her teammates.

The steam was intoxicating as she stepped inside, the hot water pelting her chilled skin until it adjusted to the stark difference in temperature. She closed her eyes and tried to force all thought to melt away, washing it down the drain with the remainder of her day.

She’d stay in there forever if she could, but Ominis Gaunt was counting on her for a study session in the Undercroft after practice.

Still, she leaned against the wall, the cool tile chilling the skin of her back as she willed herself to relax. It’d be a lot easier said than done if it hadn’t been for her idiot of a best friend.

Emilia thought she was going to make it through one quidditch practice without incident, but on the final round of training drills, a spare bludger got loose and she spent the last 15 minutes of practice trying to reign it in. It, of course, had been Sebastian Sallow’s fault. It always was.

And per usual, Emilia took it upon herself to help him. After nearly three years, she still couldn’t help herself, even if it was his fault because he’d been too busy talking about some book he read to properly secure all the equipment.

So she was the one to watch as Sebastian lunged at the bludger, forcing it to the ground until the two of them managed to wrestle it into its crate, leaving Emilia muddy, wet and bruised. It certainly wasn’t the first time Sebastian Sallow’s actions had left her in such a state.

She sighed to herself, scrubbing away the dirt and grime as if it would also rinse her clean of the filthy thoughts that plagued her head. And, like usual, Sebastian was to blame for those too.

Of course, he didn’t know she’d suppressed the urge to tackle him into that mud and straddle him. He didn’t know that the chill of the rain wasn’t the only reason for the shivers that coursed down her back. He didn’t know her quidditch uniform wasn’t the only thing that was soaking wet.

He didn’t know she was hopelessly in love with him. No one did.

So when the sight of Sebastian covered in mud made their teammates flinch in disgust, Emilia leaned in closer. She helped him secure that stupid bludger and smirked. He thought it was because she was teasing him for his incompetence. He had no idea she was eyeing the way his wet uniform adhered to the skin of his toned torso.

She had to exhale slowly, the heat of her body rising at no fault of the hot water and steam. But it was too late. Those shameful thoughts of Sebastian and his tight, drenched clothing were embedded, snaking into the deepest caverns of her brain.

Her hand immediately snapped to her core, two fingers sinking inside. She chewed at her bottom lip as they dipped deeper, pressing into the spongy spot of flesh that made her breath hitch. But it wasn’t quick enough. Her fingers were dissatisfactory compared to the fantasy that clung to her senses.

She wanted Sebastian and all the features only he could provide; that mop of messy hair that she wanted nothing more than to pull; that arrogant smirk that she wanted pressed against her neck; those tiny freckles that she wanted to count, one-by-one, until she’d examined every inch of his skin.

She was too impatient, too desperate and needy to prolong her fantasy. So instead her fingers swiped against her clit, pressing and pulling, begging for release.

Finally, her nerves complied, the familiar swell of tingling cresting within her until it broke, sending her cunt into a sharp shudder that made her whimper in an attempt to be discreet.

When it was over, she rested her head back against the wall, the water washing away her secret little sin, but not the dastardly thoughts of her best friend.

She sighed and finished her shower, the water faucet creaking to a halt before she wrapped a towel around herself. The scent of her vanilla soap lingered through the steam. The locker room was quiet, all of her teammates gone in search of dinner.

She exited the row of girls’ showers to the locker room, where her clothes were stashed away. With no one else around, she could dress comfortably rather than in the cramped confines of the damp showers.

Except she wasn’t alone. She froze at the sight of those familiar shoulders, broad and peppered in freckles that would outshine any constellation in the night skies. The temptation to reach out and touch them was suffocating. Like Emilia, he was wrapped in nothing but a towel, though he bore much more skin than her.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, praying her tone wasn’t betraying her.

He turned and smirked when his gaze fell on her. She stood, shivering in her towel, water still clinging to her skin in droplets with her wet hair slicked back.

“Didn’t realize anyone else was still here,” Sebastian said. She barely heard him. She was too focused on looking anywhere but the waistline where his towel hung tantalizingly low.

“Had to take some extra time in the shower,” she croaked as nonchalantly as her voice would allow. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her and her cheeks flushed. “Because of all that mud, thanks to you,” she added quickly.

Sebastian laughed through his nose. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” Sebastian frowned as he eyed the bandage on her forearm. “Was that from your collision with Jennings?”

“It’s fine,” Emilia said dismissively. “Just a shallow scrape.”

“He’s an idiot,” Sebastian muttered. He took a step closer to Emilia, reaching for her forearm to examine the bandages she had charmed to repel the shower water. “Keep a close eye on that,” Sebastian murmured. “Don’t want it to get infected.”

Emilia snorted. “Seb, I’ve suffered much, much worse,” she laughed softly. “Remember that Ashwinder in Cragcroftshire?”

“Just making sure,” Sebastian said simply, his hand maintaining its gentle grip on her wrist. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over her forearm as he searched her eyes, as if he was trying to confirm she was genuinely all right. It made Emilia shudder.

“I’m sure I’ll recover from a little collision,” she said as Sebastian released her arm.

“Yes, yes, I know, the hero of Hogwarts,” he sighed, his lips curving in a teasing smirk.

He clearly hadn’t showered yet. There was a swipe of mud across his right cheek and his legs were covered in it. His messy hair was wet from the rain and his cheeks were red from the chilly air.

She had never been more attracted to him.

But as his gaze lingered on her, still clutching her towel for dear life, she wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth. She was too bare, too naked, too vulnerable. She was certain Sebastian didn’t see her in that way, anyway. Nearly three years of closeness, of sharing all their secrets, thoughts and fears, and he had never so much as held her hand.

But he also had told her he needed her – couldn’t live without her, as he so kindly put it one day after they’d had a particularly nasty disagreement. She was his rock, his glue, his beating heart. She had Sebastian Sallow in every way except the one she wanted.

“If you stick around, I’ll walk you back to the castle after I shower,” Sebastian said, his eyes still on her.

Stick around? Merlin. If she stuck around, she was certain she’d end up embarrassing herself. Fainting in a towel in the middle of the quidditch locker room in front of Sebastian would be worse than losing any duel or falling asleep during class.

Still, Emilia’s thoughts inched closer to that fine line, teetering toward those maddening images of all the things she and Sebastian could do while alone in that locker room. Two towels, tossed haphazardly on the floor; skin pressed into the tile walls, the grout lines leaving divots in their flesh; the sounds of their moans echoing off the walls, drowned out by the rain outside.

But she didn’t want to wait for him. She wanted to join him.

He was going to be the death of her. Her heart hammered inside her chest and her palms began to sweat. Her body was betraying her. She needed to get out of that locker room sooner than later.

“I’ve got to get back,” she said as steadily as she could manage. “I’m already late for a study session with Ominis. You know how he is about punctuality.”

Sebastian tutted. “Another time then.”

And then she watched those broad shoulders turn and retreat toward the boys’ showers, each freckle growing smaller and more out of reach.

What she didn’t know was that Sebastian had to commit a similar act of sin in the showers the moment he was out of sight.

---

Emilia spent two days obsessing over what Sebastian had meant.

“Another time then?”

Another time for what? Surely she had simply misconstrued the context of it all, especially considering Sebastian behaved completely normal after that.

She chalked it up to a simple slip of the tongue. She went about her days, teasing and laughing with her best friend like she hadn’t had to touch herself to the thought of him in the shower. It wasn’t the first time she’d fantasized over him and it certainly wouldn’t be the last – not when amortentia was the topic of the day’s Potions class.

Emilia was relieved to be paired with Ominis, but glanced around the classroom nervously. Sebastian had been paired with Imelda.

Emilia smelled leather and cinnamon in her amortentia potion immediately; leather because of Sebastian’s favorite chair in the Slytherin Common Room, where he’d often sit and read before bed; cinnamon for the way he took his tea each morning – with more cinnamon than most people could stand.

“What do you smell?” Ominis asked her as they put the final touches on their potion.

She pursed her lips, unsure how to answer. If she declined, surely someone would deduce that the source of her favorite scent was in the classroom. If she answered honestly, Ominis would surely know who she was referring to.

“I smell… leather and citrus,” she half lied. “And just a touch of something sweet. Pear, I think.”

Ominis appeared deep in thought as he considered her words, and she was grateful he couldn’t see the way her cheeks were flushed.

“What do you smell?” she finally asked.

“Honey and hay,” Ominis answered. Emilia smiled to herself. He had just described Poppy Sweeting.

“Hay, you say,” Emilia mused. “Like someone who might spend quite a bit of time around creatures.”

Ominis scowled at her implications. Emilia had spent months trying to coax him to admit his feelings for her petite Hufflepuff friend. But Ominis remained silent on the matter, though she was certain the pair would be a perfect match.

“Maybe you should spend a little more time hanging around the Beasts classroom,” Emilia suggested with a soft smile. “Since you enjoy the scent of honey and hay so much.”

“Maybe you should keep your mouth shut about this unless you want me to rethink my stance on Unforgivable Curses,” Ominous hummed. Emilia cracked her bubblegum in delight.

“Oi, what if all I smell is the quidditch pitch?” they overheard Imelda ask.

Emilia snorted. “How typical,” she muttered.

“Sallow here won’t tell me what he smells!” Imelda continued. “I reckon it’s something embarrassing like sweaty socks.”

“Why the fuck would I enjoy sweaty socks?” Sebastian retorted. Emilia shot him an amused glance, to which he rolled his eyes. She blew a bubble with her gum and shook her head before returning her attention to her own potion.

But instead of stirring her brew, her focus was whisked away by more provocative daydreams. What did Sebastian smell in his amortentia? Which lucky witch was the object of his desires? Did he fantasize over anyone the way Emilia thought of him? Did he long to count the freckles on someone else’s skin?

Sebastian had engaged in his fair share of after-hours activities with Hogwarts’ female population. But he and Emilia rarely discussed their romances, at least not with much earnesty. Emilia herself had only recently ended things with Amit Thakkar after deciding they were better off as friends. She didn’t dare tell anyone that, even when her affections were supposed to belong to someone else, Sebastian was always her final thought before she fell asleep each night.

She wondered what occurred in Sebastian’s fantasies. Had he ever pictured someone while in the shower, visions of slick skin pressed against skin? Perhaps he was more into public displays, sneaking sinful acts that were hidden in plain view of passerby? Was he more of the dominant type? Surely he was, Emilia decided. Sebastian loved to be in control, a perfect contrast to her desire to be pinned down and put in her place.

A sudden gurgling stole Emilia from her reverie. Her cheeks were hot and she was grateful for the distraction happening on the other side of the classroom.

“Garreth!” Ominis groaned at the familiar sight of Garreth Weasley’s cauldron boiling over. Its contents hissed as they spilled over the brim, splashing over the table and floor.

“Weasley!” Professor Sharp barked. “See me after class, once you’ve cleaned your mess up. Class dismissed.”

Emilia nodded to Ominis and scooped up her books to hurry from the classroom. She didn’t want anyone to see her flushed face or jittery state as she made a beeline to the Slytherin Common Room.

She also didn’t hear Ominis and Sebastian discussing their amortentia potions on the way out.

“What did you smell in yours?” Ominis asked his best friend curiously.

Sebastian’s eyes swept the corridor before he ran a hand through his hair. “Vanilla,” he answered. “Vanilla and bubblegum.”

---

“Ow, Sebastian, you stepped on my foot!” Emilia hissed.

“Whoops, sorry.”

“Sorry? I ought to hex you. You’ve got to be more careful!”

“Yes, mum.”

“Ew, don’t call me that.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Shh! Here they come.”

Emilia and Sebastian were crouched beneath the bleachers of the quidditch pitch, disillusionment charms cast as their eyes peeked through the wooden tiers. Somehow, the pair had drawn the short straw from Imelda and was ordered to spy on the Gryffindor team during practice.

Emilia noted that what they were doing could be considered cheating, to which Sebastian shrugged and Imelda threatened to burn her house down. Not to mention she owed Imelda one for the time her captain covered for her to keep her out of detention. Imelda had only done it so Emilia wouldn’t miss quidditch practice, but Emilia was indebted to her all the same.

“This is ridiculous,” Emilia groaned as she crawled to a spot where she could see the entire pitch while remaining out of view, her disillusionment charm falling. She sat and pulled her knees to her chest as she watched the Gryffindor Chasers toss a quaffle back and forth.

“Could be worse,” Sebastian shrugged as he sat next to her. He fished through his pockets before he brandished a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. He offered the open container to Emilia, who shook her head and cracked her bubblegum in response.

They watched the Gryffindors start their training drills, the students darting patterns through the air on their broomsticks overhead.

“Think we can beat them?” Sebastian asked.

Emilia tilted her head to look at him pointedly. “I think we can demolish them,” she answered blankly. “They’re bigger than most of us, but we’re faster.”

“They’ll play physical, especially up top,” Sebastian murmured. “We’ll need to keep an eye on you. They’re bound to mark you with double-coverage.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Emilia mused. “I can handle my own.”

“Trust me, I know you can.”

They fell quiet again, making mental notes as they watched Gryffindor’s tactics. Sebastian’s attention span quickly subsided, his gaze falling closer and closer to the ground until he had clearly become lost in thought.

Emilia studied him from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up and his green tie loosely knotted around his neck. She wanted to grab that tie and pull him in closer. No one would see them. She could crawl into his lap, his hands inching beneath the hem of her skirt over her thighs as she kissed every fucking freckle on his face. As long as they remained quiet, no one would ever know.

She swallowed and forced her gaze to return to the Gryffindors zig-zagging above.

“Think their Beaters will take a more offensive approach?” Emilia wondered. “If they remain back on defense, I doubt their Chasers will be quick enough to dodge all of us.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement. They watched as Garreth Weasley smacked a bludger through a goal hoop.

“Not to mention Weasley has the attention span of a niffler,” he added. Emilia smirked.

“That too,” she agreed.

“What’s this I hear about Weasley asking you to Hogsmeade, by the way?” Sebastian suddenly asked. Emilia’s head snapped to look at him, her eyes narrowing.

“How’d you hear about that?” she demanded.

“Ominis.”

Emilia hissed a sigh. “Traitor,” she muttered.

“What, you didn’t want me to know Weasley asked you out?”

“I couldn’t care less if you or anyone else knows,” Emilia said. “But it really isn’t anyone’s business. Especially because I turned him down anyway.”

“Why’d you say no?”

“Because I didn’t want to go out with him,” Emilia answered simply.

“You still getting over Thakkar?”

Emilia blinked. “What?” she asked, not bothering to mask her dumbfounded expression. “Amit and I broke up weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but… I mean, are you okay about it now? You’ve seemed alright but you aren’t exactly the type to ask for help,” Sebastian said.

“I’m fine, Seb,” Emilia assured. “It was never that serious with Amit to begin with.”

“Why’d you break up?”

Emilia stirred, unsure why Sebastian was suddenly peppering her with questions about her love life. It wasn’t that she had assumed he didn’t care, but romance wasn’t quite his preferred topic of discussion.

“I don’t know,” Emilia sighed. “Amit’s wonderful. Very kind and romantic, but I’m not sure any of that sickly sweet romance is for me.”

Sebastian blinked at her. “What woman doesn’t want a kind and romantic partner?” he asked, thoroughly confused. “I thought that was all you birds wanted.”

Emilia rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so daft. Sure, I like kindness and romance, but I also like a little assertiveness.” The admission made her cheeks grow rosy and she averted her gaze from him.

“Assertiveness?” Sebastian repeated, his box of candy forgotten beside him. Emilia could feel his eyes drilling into her profile, but she determinedly remained positively enthralled by Gryffindor’s training drills.

“Sebastian,” she warned with a huff.

“No, tell me,” Sebastian pushed. “What do you mean by that?”

Emilia finally dropped her gaze to meet his. Sunlight was peeking through the bleachers, the lines of light casting a spotlight on Sebastian’s freckles. Emilia hugged her knees closer to her chest while she stared at those freckles, as if they carried an explanation that wouldn’t leave her embarrassed beyond ruin. She knew Sebastian would never judge her, but she also didn’t want to reveal the nature of her desires.

After all, Sebastian was the one asserting himself in all her fantasies.

“It means exactly as it sounds,” Emilia said flatly. “Think about it. Amit is a wonderful person but he’s not exactly the type to take charge or take control.”

Sebastian leaned back against a wood post, his arms folded across his chest as the realization dawned on him. “So you like to be dominated,” he murmured.

Emilia fidgeted with the bandage on her arm. “Something like that,” she tried to say casually as she avoided her gaze again.

“Guess that shouldn’t surprise me,” Sebastian hummed.

“What? Why?” Emilia asked sharply, her mouth suddenly going dry as her eyes met his again.

Sebastian shrugged as a bludger whizzed nearby. “Because you’re a control freak in every other aspect of your life,” he replied. “You’re a goddamn hero, for Merlin’s sake. You’ve had the world on your shoulders. You dissect every person dumb enough to duel you. You get top marks in every class. Group projects make your hair curl because you’d rather do everything on your own.”

Emilia blinked. She certainly couldn’t deny any of that. Sebastian knew her better than anyone.

“You’re always in control, Em,” Sebastian continued. “So I guess it makes sense you’d prefer to… let go of some of that control in the bedroom.

“Sebastian!” Emilia hissed. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her sexual preferences with the one person she wanted to indulge those desires.

Sebastian chuckled. “It’s rather cute when you’re flustered,” he noted. “Not so in control now, are you?”

Emilia was certain he could hear her heartbeat slamming in her chest, despite the whoosh of broomsticks and batting of bludgers above them. He was right, though. She’d always been the epitome of composure. He was the only person who managed to make her lose her cool. And Merlin, was she hot.

“My sex life is none of your business,” she finally chided.

“Oh, come on,” Sebastian laughed as he lifted his arms to rest them behind his head, his long legs stretching out. “We need to talk about something interesting while we pretend to give a damn about those Gryffindors.”

“Fine,” Emilia said simply. “What about you? I assume I already know the answer, but enlighten me anyway. Do you prefer to be in control or do you like your women to throw you around for a bit?”

Sebastian smirked, which only made Emilia’s stomach twist into a tighter knot.

“I wouldn’t turn my nose up at either of those scenarios,” he said with an air of smugness. “But if I had to choose, I always prefer to take control.”

Emilia swallowed. She had to be dying from dehydration given how parched she was. It was too bloody hot to be sitting outside, secluded with Sebastian and the topic of sex.

“Just as I figured,” Emilia said, hoping she sounded confident. She wanted so badly to match him, to challenge his arrogance. But she also wanted to be the submissive complement to his dominance. It was a maddening conflict.

“Oh? What makes you take me for the dominant type?”

Emilia snorted. “Oh, come on, Seb,” she said. “Everything about you screams dominant.”

“I like screaming.”

Emilia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Was there something in the air that was causing him to speak so flirtatiously? Sure, the pair flirted, teased and joked, but this felt much bolder than anything they’d previously discussed. Sebastian seemed to be pushing her buttons, testing her limits.

“You’re a downright pig,” Emilia said, though her laughing tone and smiling eyes stripped her of all seriousness. Sebastian merely grinned and shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re right, though,” he said. “There’s a lot to be said for the power that comes with taking control.”

“That’s not why you do it, though,” Emilia noted. “At least, it’s not the only reason.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Emilia rolled her eyes, her sweaty palms tucked beneath her legs as she spoke. “You’re also a very giving person, Seb. You give everything your all. You don’t do anything halfway… Which is why you like to take control. It allows you to ensure your… partner is fully satisfied.”

Sebastian let out a low whistle. “I knew you were perceptive, but now I’m starting to suspect you’re a Legilimens,” he said. “Almost as if you’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”

Oh, if only he knew. The heat in Emilia’s cheeks was surely giving her away.

“You could only be so lucky,” she shot back.

“Apparently,” Sebastian replied, his eyes glinting with amusement. They fell quiet and Emilia fidgeted with her skirt hem. When Sebastian noticed this, he nudged her gently in the side.

“No need to be so bashful about it, darling,” he said. “It’s just me.”

That was the problem. Emilia wasn’t the type to shy away from much of anything. Few things scared her, or even unsettled her. And even though she and Sebastian knew one another deeper than anyone, he was the one person who could unnerve her without even trying.

“You are distracting me from my scouting,” Emilia said, gesturing toward the quidditch pitch. Sebastian snorted.

“Please,” he drawled. “Like you’re worried about Gryffindor. Just flip your hair at Weasley or something and the game’s over.”

“Flip my hair? Sebastian, that’s awfully sexist of you.”

“Well, it’s true! I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’m Weasley’s type. He’s got it bad for you. Just do that thing where you draw your hair back with your hand and chew on your bottom lip. That’s enough to send anyone into a spiral.”

“ What thing?!”

“Nevermind.”

“No, what the hell are you talking about?” Emilia was sitting straight up, her body turned to face Sebastian with full attention.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, tell me right now.” Emilia shoved a hand against his shoulder for emphasis.

“Hey, no need for physical violence!”

“Tell me!”

Sebastian sighed and tilted his head backward, resting it against the post as he peered upward into the bleachers for a moment.

“You do this thing,” he started carefully. “Where you pull your back into a ponytail and hold it in your hand. And then you chew on your bottom lip. You do it when you’re deep in concentration, like your hair in your face is a distraction or something. It’s just very… very alluring.”

Emilia tensed. “Alluring,” she repeated blankly. She didn’t know Sebastian could ever think of her that way.

Sebastian nodded silently. “Perhaps even a bit provocative.”

Oh, Merlin. They were in for it now. Emilia could feel herself hurtling toward her demise, and Sebastian had been the one to push her from the ledge.

“Provocative,” she whispered.

It was Sebastian’s turn to shift uncomfortably. It was a rare act of vulnerability he couldn’t conceal. He had all but admitted outright to her that he’d envisioned her partaking in racy deeds that surely breached the boundaries of friendship.

But the way the hem of her skirt had snaked its way above her knees had turned his brain to dust. There wasn’t a single coherent thought behind his eyes as she continued to mull his words over.

He prayed she wouldn’t sense his discomfort; the beads of sweat that had settled along his hairline; the clench of his jaw that made his teeth ache; the stiffening inside his trousers that threatened to ruin everything.

It suddenly dawned on them that their faces were much closer than usual. Sebastian could smell the sweetness of her bubblegum. Emilia could see every freckle with clarity. A few more inches and their lips could solve all their problems.

But the shrill whistle that signaled the end of Gryffindor’s practice made them both jump and sent them scrambling to their feet.

“They’re going to come this way,” Emilia hissed as she recast her disillusionment charm. All thoughts of indulging in any fantasy were abandoned as the pair scurried back toward the castle.

---

The evening before the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match was met with tension. Imelda had been a downright tyrant during practice, screaming until she was hoarse. The team practiced for three hours in the rain, until Madam Kogawa showed up to bark orders at them to return to the castle.

“There won’t be a match tomorrow if you’ve all got pneumonia!” she scolded.

The remainder of the team showered and scampered back to the castle, eager to rest up for the evening. Emilia remained behind again, sitting quietly lost in thought on the locker room bench.

She wanted to claim her thoughts were focused on the next day’s match. She wished she could chalk it all up to nerves and her determination to win. She longed to be that dedicated to her team and sport.

In reality, her attempts at thinking about quidditch vanished the moment she realized she was alone. Those stupid, calamitous fantasies about those freckles surged through her brain again.

She and Sebastian hadn’t spoken in two days, not since the afternoon under the bleachers. Emilia had managed to avoid him at all costs, even slinking in late to their shared classes so he couldn’t sit by her.

It was all painfully immature, but Emilia had no other option. She was terrified by what her conversation with Sebastian meant – or didn’t mean. Was it shameless, silly flirting? It had to be, right? If Sebastian had ever been interested in her romantically, he would have said something or made a move by now, right?

Emilia was too cowardly to find out. She’d long ago come to terms with the conclusion that she and Sebastian would never venture beyond friendship, but it would splinter her heart to ever hear that confirmation out loud.

She’d rather suffer in silence than ever broach the subject that could dissolve her daydreams forever.

“Don’t tell me you got hurt again.”

Emilia’s head snapped up. “Sebastian,” she breathed. He leaned against an archway, still clad in his quidditch robes like her.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked. “You’ve missed dinner.”

“So have you,” Emilia pointed out.

“I was polishing my broomstick in the storage cupboard.” Emilia straightened in her seat, forcing Sebastian to bark a laugh. “Not like that,” he mused. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You said it, not me,” Emilia mumbled.

Sebastian chuckled and pushed himself off the archway, slowly approaching until he stood in front of her. Her fingers dug into the tops of her knees.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said gently as he peered down at her.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy scrambling to get away from me.”

“Nonsense,” Emilia said, praying Sebastian hadn’t noticed the way her voice increased by an octave. “Seb, I’ve had a lot going on.”

“Oh? With Eric Northcott?”

“What?”

“I heard he was trying to get you alone in the Potions storeroom yesterday.”

“And you believed that?” Emilia asked incredulously.

“I believe he was trying to get you alone,” Sebastian answered. “Didn’t say anything about thinking you’d actually join him.”

“Good,” Emilia said with indignation. “Because our little… conversation the other day doesn’t mean I’m rabid with lust for every male to walk the halls of Hogwarts.”

“Oh believe me, I know. We all do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emilia demanded.

“It means that we’ve all noticed you, but most of us are too terrified of you to do anything about it.”

Emilia narrowed her eyes. “Terrified of me,” she scoffed. “Sebastian, please. I haven’t hexed anyone in the school since last term, and we all know Puffskein Duncan deserved it.”

“Maybe so, but you’re still pretty intimidating,” Sebastian noted.

“How am I possibly intimidating?” Emilia breathed. “Just because I’m powerful with a wand doesn’t mean I’m some bloodthirsty killer.”

“We’re not scared of you because you can kick our arses. We’ve known that for years now,” Sebastian said. “We’re scared of you because you’re too damn beautiful and none of us know how to handle it.”

The air vacated Emilia’s lungs immediately. It made her woozy and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d slipped into one of her dreams. Perhaps she was sleepwalking, or maybe she’d been the victim of one of Garreth’s concoctions that made the drinker manic. She couldn’t fathom a lucid world where Sebastian Sallow thought she was beautiful. Sure, other boys fancied her dark hair and bright smile, but Sebastian had always appeared immune to her appearance. He never seemed to pay any mind to her softer, feminine side.

“Sebastian, did you take a bludger to the head?” Emilia asked. “You’re talking crazy.”

He let out a pitchy laugh and sat on the bench next to her, close enough so that their thighs touched.

“You can play coy as much as you want,” he said. “Especially if that’s your thing.”

“My thing?”

Sebastian smirked at her. “You said you like it when someone else takes control in these situations. I’m merely listening to what I’ve learned.”

Emilia’s stomach did somersaults. This couldn’t be happening. She sat, her shoulders tense as her nails pressed tiny divots into her legs.

“Sebastian,” she rasped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking control,” Sebastian said simply. “I’m tired of overhearing all these stupid little rumors about you and Northcott and Weasley. I’m claiming what’s mine.”

“What’s yours?”

“If you’ll have me.”

There were no words. Things like this didn’t happen to Emilia. Her life’s story was marred by tragedy – death, destruction, the fate of the wizarding world left within her hands. Wild, lustful romance was usually reserved for her imagination, far from reality.

“Sebastian, are you sure? Do you even know what you’re saying? Have you been meddling with dark relics again?”

Sebastian glowered at her and she couldn’t help but smile. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he said. “It’s the same thing I’ve wanted to say for nearly three years.”

“What?”

“Come on, Emilia,” Sebastian sighed. “I’m trying to be seductive here.”

Emilia snorted. “Sebastian, this is ridiculous.” His face fell, to Emilia’s horror. “Not because I’m not… interested, but because you don’t need to seduce me.”

“I don’t?”

“No, idiot,” Emilia breathed with a laugh. “You could’ve just straight up told me.”

“Oh. Well I wasn’t sure-”

“Well now you are.”

“I am?”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“For once in your life, stop talking. Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

He obliged.

Hands grasped hungrily at robes, pants and other articles of clothing as the pair refused to separate their lips. When they finally parted for a breath of air, Sebastian pulled away slightly to smile.

“Bubblegum,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Bubblegum. That’s what I smelled in my amortentia. Bubblegum and some sort of vanilla.”

“Oh,” Emilia smiled. “The vanilla is the soap I use in the shower.”

“Ah.”

“Care to see it?”

Within mere moments, Sebastian had her pinned against the wall of one of the girls’ showers. He kissed her hard, his tongue seeking more bubblegum flavor from hers as he peeled away the final bits of clothing that remained over her hips.

“Unreal,” he breathed as his eyes roamed her naked body. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He stepped closer to her, his bare cock pressing against the flesh of her stomach as he kissed her again. She arched her back off the wall at the sensation, desperate to find out how hard he could get.

Sebastian reached for the faucet as he kept his lips crushed against hers, the hiss of hot water showering them as their fingers familiarized themselves with the other’s flesh.

Emilia reached for his cock but his hand found hers, curling around her wrist. He swept his arm upward, pinning her arm against the tile above her head.

“Didn’t say you could have the privilege of touching me just yet,” he said in her ear. His voice was a low, husky grumble.

They were only getting started and Emilia was already melting beneath the authority Sebastian was asserting. She was never going to be the same after this.

Sebastian pressed a kiss to her neck, drawing a low moan from her. His mouth moved across the ridge of her collar bone to the top of her breasts.

“I can’t believe anyone was created so perfectly,” he mumbled against the swell of her right breast. He placed another kiss to it before his tongue slipped over her nipple. It made her breath hitch and core quiver.

Sebastian continued his trail of kisses downward as he sank to his own knees in front of her. He planted a kiss just below her belly button, then one on each hip bone before he flashed her a villainous smile.

He placed one more kiss to the skin just above her slit before his tongue sank inward toward her entrance. It made Emilia gasp with fervor. Sebastian’s tongue glided over her clit, pressing into her folds. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he tasted her arousal.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, her eyes falling shut as his tongue flattened and flicked against her clit. Her hips jutted forward and one hand tangled in his hair.

Sebastian’s hands gripped her thighs as he lapped at her, desperate to know how she sounded when she fell apart.

His mouth engulfed her entire entrance, sucking against her flesh as he savored her taste. Emilia whimpered at the heat that coursed through her. It settled in her nerve endings, searing in the form of a familiar ache Emilia never thought Sebastian would ever relieve.

“Sebastian, I-”

Her words died as Sebastian traced spell patterns across her clit, a trick he’d learned from listening to the older boys during his early Hogwarts days. He drove his tongue harder against her until he could feel her thighs start to quake. They jiggled in his hands and he hummed at the sensation.

The vibration made Emilia moan, her climax creeping to the surface. She grinded her hips against him, nudging her clit in quick, jerking motions against his tongue. The curtain of tension inside her fell and the swell of ecstasy started. It erupted through the bundle of nerves and made her toes curl as her back arched off the wall, a moan singing through the shower corridor.

She slumped over when it subsided, a fog clouding her thoughts as she recovered. Sebastian sat back on his heels as she caught her breath.

“My turn,” he said as he stood. He propped himself against the wall with one hand as he leaned in to kiss her. Steam surrounded them as Sebastian’s hands rested on Emilia’s hips.

She melted into his kiss, her head still hazy until Sebastian drew her closer by the waist with a rough pull. He kissed her harder, one hand tangling in her hair until he gave it a sharp tug. Emilia’s head snapped back and he kissed her neck before he guided her away from the wall by the hair.

“I said, my turn,” he said quietly. He pulled his arm downward, forcing Emilia to her knees by her hair. She eyed his erection and reached for it with one hand until Sebastian swatted it away.

“Use your mouth,” he ordered. Emilia obliged.

She took him into her mouth, her hands resting against his thighs as her head bobbed. Sebastian kept one hand fisted in her hair, pulling it away from her face in a ponytail. He smirked as the visions once confined to his daydreams came to life.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his eyes holding affection as he admired the way her lips wrapped around his cock.

When his tip hit the back of her throat, he grunted at the plush warmth. Emilia gurgled around him, holding him in her throat as she nodded her head. When she pulled away, her lips dragged over his shaft, tongue flat against the bottom. The cold, pebbled floor left raw and red dimples over her knees.

She hollowed her cheeks as her lips tightened and pulled repeatedly, the sounds of wet lips sucking against flesh resounding over the shower stalls.

Sebastian drove his hips forward, his cock gliding in and out of her mouth as the movements of her head clashed with his thrusts. When his cock began to twitch, Sebastian yanked her makeshift ponytail backward, her lips separating from his cock with a soft pop.

“Stand up,” he ordered as he released her hair.

Emilia rose to her feet and he pulled her into a long kiss. His hands explored her front, cupping her breasts until they drifted over the curve of her torso and squeezed her hips. His erection bobbed against her stomach, the hot water leaving him slick.

Sebastian eyed the bar of soap that sat on the tiny shelf of the shower, its scent so familiar and comforting. He swiped it over Emilia’s breasts, leaving a trail of milky vanilla. The sight of the soap suds cascading over her nipples made Sebastian chew at his lip in desire. He rubbed his soapy hands over her body, taking care to touch every inch of skin he possibly could. He watched with admiration as the shower streamed lines down her body, rinsing her clean.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” he murmured.

Sebastian pinned her against the wall again, one hand snaking between her thighs. His fingers dragged lazy lines over her clit, the moisture of her arousal combining with the shower water.

Emilia was growing impatient. She’d take anything Sebastian was willing to give her, but her focus was on convincing him to fill her with his cock. She whined as he sank a finger inside her, her core swollen from her previous orgasm.

“Sebastian,” she begged. “Please, I need more.”

Sebastian tutted in her ear and curled his finger. “You’re going to have to ask nicer than that, darling.”

“Please,” Emilia rasped. Sebastian’s eyes met hers. They were dark with devilry.

“No,” he said simply. “Not yet.”

Emilia gnawed on her bottom lip to withhold a scream of frustration. Sebastian added a second finger and pumped his hand hard. His fingers forced themselves against her front wall, plunging into her soft sweet spot. The sounds of water and arousal squelched with every motion, drowning out the tiny whimpers escaping Emilia’s throat.

Sebastian attacked her neck with forceful kisses as her breaths grew heavy and quick. They mounted in tandem with the wave inside her, her walls squeezing Sebastian’s fingers in search of release. Emilia’s hips beckoned it from his fingers, which Sebastian pulled upward at a merciless rate. He could feel her clamping tighter and tighter until her head snapped back and she released, her walls fluttering around his fingers as she cried out.

Sebastian smirked at how spent she looked, flushed and sweaty, her hair plastered to her face as the shower rained over her curves. The sight was so sinful, Sebastian’s cock began to throb.

He reached with one hand to shut the water off. The sound of water hitting the rough floor was replaced with the cool, quiet air of the still room. Emilia shivered.

Sebastian wrapped her in his arms, pressing his body against hers for warmth. But just as she started to relax into the heat of his skin, he scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder as he retreated to the locker room.

“Sebastian!” she laughed, her breasts flattening against his back. “Put me down!” Sebastian smirked at the sight of her ass, hoisted in the air as her legs dangled in front of him.

When they reached the benches at the center of the locker room, Sebastian set Emilia on her feet.

“I’ve had years to think about all the different ways I’d have you,” he murmured in her ear. “All the ways I’d make you moan. All the ways you’d take my cock. All the ways we’d both come. The possibilities are endless. But since you like me to be in control, I’ve decided there’s nothing I’d like more than to watch you fall apart beneath me. I want to take you on your knees.”

Emilia nodded in silent agreement, her eyes begging him to begin. Sebastian nudged her toward the bench, where she sank to her knees. Sebastian stood behind her and swiped at her entrance with one hand, the familiar warmth coating his fingers. His cock was so hard, it was damn near painful.

He lined himself against her entrance and pushed forward, the tip of his cock slipping into her folds until she stretched around him. He watched with heavy eyelids as her cunt swallowed his shaft until he was fully sheathed.

He paused for a moment, swallowing at the searing heat surrounding his cock.

“You’re too fucking tight,” he said through gritted teeth. He had no idea how he was meant to last when she was so taut, so warm beneath him, her skin still glistening and wet. It was far more erotic than anything Sebastian could have imagined. His cock was already twitching.

Emilia’s fingers gripped the side of the bench for stability as Sebastian rocked against her, his cock dipping inward until he pulled it back. Emilia held her breath as her core stretched to accommodate him, the increasing friction making her walls clench.

Sebastian reached for her hair again, tugging backward until Emilia moaned. He watched the ridge of her spine curve as her head snapped backward and grunted at the sight.

He leaned forward to cup her breasts, his hips snapping forward in a harsh thrust. It nearly knocked the wind from Emilia. As Sebastian bent forward to press a kiss to the back of her neck, he murmured, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“It’s not enough,” Emilia breathed.

The atmosphere shifted like changing winds. Sebastian’s final pillar of hesitation and restraint crumbled like weathered concrete at her words. She was more than he’d even dreamed of and right now, she was his.

Sebastian straightened up, his hands gripping Emilia’s hips as he slammed his cock into her with a resounding smack. The rhythm carried throughout the locker room repeatedly as Sebastian grit his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He didn’t care. Lightning could strike him down or the ground could collapse and swallow him whole at that moment. He’d die happily now that he knew how it felt to have her.

But if he was going to live, he decided he wasn’t going to do so unless he could have her again and again. He wanted the vision of her falling apart beneath him to be the last thing he saw each night, and he wanted the sound of her moans to fill his dreams until he could wake up and do it all over again.

He’d address that later. For now, he was content to simply have her in that moment, trusting him to take care of her and fulfill her.

The more her arousal coated his cock, the quicker Sebastian thrusted. His cock drove upward into her, driving into her sweet spot. It was rapid and hard, the pressure mounting within Emilia’s core until it felt like her body might ignite from the heat. Each connection of Sebastian’s thighs against Emilia’s ass made her skin ripple, the waves symbolic of the rising tide within her. Finally, the wave broke and she cried his name, her cunt shuddering around his cock.

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian groaned at the new sensation of her climax flooding around him. The sight of her spent body, now slack with satisfaction, was too much for him.

He pumped hard into her twice more before he let out a shout and his cock jerked and burst inside her. Emilia moaned at the warmth that coated her swollen core until Sebastian slumped over her back, panting breathlessly above her ear.

He didn’t want to separate from her. The warmth of her soft body felt like home to him. But as her arms shook from supporting her weight and the force of his thrusts, Sebastian pulled himself off of her, one arm tucked around her waist to pull her upright with him.

“All right?” he murmured softly in her ear. She nodded silently as she turned to face him, her hair wild and her eyelids heavy. Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at her sinful and disheveled appearance. “Come here,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. “Come sit.”

He guided her onto the bench where they sat, side by side. Sebastian draped an arm around Emilia, who cuddled up against him. Their bodies, still damp from the shower, seeped water onto the bench as they sat quietly.

Sebastian watched Emilia’s eyes fall shut as she rested against him. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over her arms as he held her. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled softly, her eyes studying his freckles. She couldn’t believe she was able to study them so close, each speckle marking something unique and special.

“Imelda’s going to kill us if she finds out this happened,” Emilia mumbled.

Sebastian breathed a gentle laugh. “If we beat Gryffindor, Imelda will let us do whatever the hell we want,” he said. “She’d probably encourage this.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to do this on the desk in the captain’s office next time,” Emilia suggested.

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow at her. “Next time, huh?”

Emilia flushed. “Perhaps, if you want,” she said slowly. Was she naive for assuming this was meant to happen more than once? It wasn’t like she and Sebastian had spent any time discussing their intentions.

Sebastian laughed and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re mental if you think I’m letting you do this with anyone else, ever again,” he said.

When they finally gathered themselves up off the bench, they collected their clothes in silence. Sebastian kept his eyes on her the entire time, admiring her curves and their graceful movements once more before they became concealed by her uniform.

The only time he turned his back was to search for his belt. As he did so, Emilia memorized every freckle scattered across his back.

---

Perhaps the Slytherins slightly underestimated their Gryffindor rivals. Slytherin managed to nab a narrow victory over the lions, but not without a grueling fight.

The team gathered in a heap at the center of the quidditch pitch in celebration, the screams and cheers from their housemates ringing throughout the stadium. Sebastian, who was at the bottom of the pile, didn’t realize who was on top of him until he was met with the familiar scent of vanilla and bubblegum.

“Ow, Imelda!” Emilia squawked, well aware that she was facedown on top of Sebastian, who was on his back. “That was my head! Everyone get off, I’m getting crushed!”

“You’re getting crushed?” Sebastian exclaimed from beneath her. “What about me?”

“Sebastian, stop moving,” Emilia ordered. “Sebastian, that was my chest!”

“Oops, my mistake. Didn’t realize.”

“Liar.”

The bodies above them shifted until Sebastian and Emilia were the only ones left. The roar of activity around them faded to a background hum as Emilia remained sprawled on top of him, her face inches above his.

“We fucking won,” Sebastian murmured, dropping his voice so that only she could hear.

“Told you we would.”

“Told you Weasley would get distracted by you.”

He reached up and gently tugged her ponytail before she pressed a kiss to his freckled cheek.

#sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hl fanfic #hl #whizzing fizzbee fanfic

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inf3ct3dd · 2 years ago

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ellie headcanons ..!

warnings : literally none, perfectly sfw 😍😍

content: loser!ellie x reader, more ellie-focused than relationship focused (sorryyyy 😞😞)

authors note: i’ve literally never done headcanons omg 😓 this is js my random ramblings 🔥🔥🔥

pt. 2 ! taglist!!!! masterlist!!

- send you an excessive amount of reels. every 5 seconds. cute cats, random facts about space, stuff she thinks is funny, it all goes to you.

- definitely had a “rock collection” when she was little, but she was so ???? excessive with it??? like every time she saw a rock she picked it up. she walked so weird bc her pockets were just FULL OF ROCKS.

- also, was literally the grimiest kid ever. playing in ROLLING IN the mud, going snail hunting when it rained!!! she was the kid that would go in the bushes and mess w rolly pollies all the time for NO REASON.

- is weirdly good at fishing?? joel took her all the time, and shes a self proclaimed “fishing master”

- WAYYY clumsy. always running into a wall, tripping on air, or missing steps on the stairs (smh its cuz of that damn phone 😒😒)

- im so into the whole “adam sandler” fits cuz its so true. esp during the summer, its some stupid t shirt that says “master baiter” and a pair of old basketball shorts.

- speaking of t shirts, she’s def the type to own an absurd amount of dumb t shirts.

- gets all her clothes from like, walmart and goodwill. she does not CARE!!!

- cuts her own hair too 🤞🏽🤞🏽 shes soooo self sufficient 😍😍😍

- bites. she is such a biter.

- speaking of, i feel like she js has to have something in her mouth constantly. gum, random pieces of plastic, bottle caps, pens, anything 😞

- speaking of mouths (wow sierra so many connections!!!) she def had braces , but she hates wearing her retainer so her teeth are like ever-so-slightly fucked up

- is AMAZING at committing to the bit. she will drag it for DAYSSS if you don’t tell her to stop. once did a (awful) british accent for 4 days until you threw something at her and told her to shut the fuck up

- definitely not shy, just kind of…odd. she’ll talk to anyone that talks to her, she just doesn’t really approach people.

- weird obsession with pickles. has a pickle stuffed animal with a mustache and glasses that she bought from goodwill

- hangs up so much stuff on her walls!!!! tickets, old notes, cards, pictures of people, drawings, old tickets, literally anything she thinks looks cool

- obsessed with rollercoasters!!! she took you to the fair for your first date

- also like- very good at fair games. she’s so cocky about it too, you’ll go home with like 20 stuffed animals she won for you and she’ll carry ALL OF THEM with the stupidest smile on her face

- wears all of joels old contractor-workwear clothes during the colder months

- trys so hard to be “mysterious” but she’s never actually doing anything so she just does stuff like not telling you what movie she’s watching or what she’s eating

- also just texts you 24-7!!! like every time she’s doing something she’s like “i made a quesadilla” “i went to the store” “i took a shower” she just looooves keeping you updated

- tries to raise one eyebrow but ends up just squinting one eye. so funny 😞😞

- really good at solving rubix cubes???

- definitely had a fuck ass bob at one point

- GLASSES. that is all. glasses.

- listens to so much dad rock, midwest emo, indie, she LOVES male manipulator music!! but like she isn’t like thatttt shes so niceeee 😞😞

- mostly calls you babe/baby, she’ll call you really dumb pet names as a joke like “pookie” 😭😭

#loser!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie x y/n #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #modern au #lesbian

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miguel-owhora · 1 year ago

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back on my bullshit, but thinking about mreader who's so big and broad, so tall and muscular, you're an absolute tank of a unit compared to the other guys. but despite your size, you're rather friendly, if a little air-headed at time. the other guys, specifically soap, nicknames you 'Bull' and somehow manages to change your codename to that on the system. mostly bc 1. you're big, and 2., he's seen you bodyslam people before and knock down doors just like that.

anyways, timeskip bc idk, i guess you're all in the common shower just... showering or drying up. the other guys are joking around, well, gaz is egging soap to bother ghost and price is exasperated. they've seen each other's dicks far too often to not worry about covering up, and any glances are pointedly ignored. up until this moment, no one has seen your dick, as you like to take private showers. but after one too many slips into the mud, well, price haggled you into the showers.

but these are your friends, your teammates, and you're not exactly insecure - or rather self-aware around them. you don't bat an eye when you step out of the stalls, drying up your hair with your towel. and it's the only towel you have on your body, which means that the other guys have a full view to your cock and ass.

and lord do they stare, literally getting whiplash with how fast they turn to look. it seems there's another reason why you're called Bull, because jesus, you're hung like one. all soft but still thick and long, balls heavy and firm, your ass hidden in a soft layer of hair that spreads between the middle and down your thighs and all over the rest of your body, fuck.

question is, would they ride you like a bull?

#mr. o'whora's works !#hnghggn #hung!reader #save me hung!reader

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uncouth-the-fifth · 11 months ago

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here is my collection of sam and dean winchester reader-inserts 🧛‍♂️👻 enjoy!

Baby I'll Stay (Heaven Can Wait) (witch glamors, fluff, motel smut)

On a hunt with Sam and Dean, your childhood friends and long-term hunting partners, you choose to play bait in order to kill a powerful witch. Thing is, the witch uses a glamor that masks him as the seer's perfect partner—and to you, he looks exactly like Sam.

(You Are A) Natural, Baby (virgin Sam, pure impala sex lol)

part one (oral): You played your fingers on the wheel. Bent over it, squinting at the rain. Slumped back in your seat. All the while, Sam watched you go through the motions passively. He already knew what you knew: you'd have to camp here for the night. Just the two of you. Alone.

part two (oral, sex): “No wonder you’re so wet,” Sam rasps, “you’re already close, aren’t you?” You conceded with a pathetic nod, breathing hard. “All this just from blowing me…” Sam smirks.

Playing House (fake dating + couples cruise) for @daiziesssart

part one: You rolled around everything you wanted to explain to him in your head, but none of it sounded right. Somehow, you landed on: “You think it’s gonna be weird, pretending to be married?” Sam shrugged. “We did it all the time when we were kids, playin’ house.” He closed the zipper of his boot, flashing you an innocent smile. “Can’t be that different, right?"

part two: “My name is _____ Patton,” you introduce in your smoothest, surest voice, “and this is my amazing husband Sam. We’ve been married for…” “—three weeks now,” Sam finishes for you.

Click (first time + cozy winter cabin aesthetic) for @daffodil-mania

“I’m just wondering,” Sam winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…” He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…” Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat. Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.

Click, p.2 (angsty love confession sex + season five) for @daffodil-mania

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things. You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?” Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

Mandy Davis, you punk ass bitch (birthday fluff for the boy!!!)

You wake up early to make sure you're the first person to wish Sam a happy birthday—since he's basically never had one before.

One of These Nights (cheating-but-not actually angst + Impala makeup sex) for @lacilou

“S’ a good night,” Dean tells you, beaming, “we can do another round, right?” “Hell yeah,” you shrug, and raise your empty glass, “Here’s to alcohol poisoning, baby.” “Yeah,” Dean echoes, almost slurring. “Baby."

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader

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llamagoddessofficial · 1 year ago

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I love Farmtale Sans a lot. But also, living in the country isn't always sunshine cottagecore magicalness. It can suck. But... here's some unromantic country stuff that I think could actually be very romantic when you're with him.

As mentioned before, the two of you end up spending a lot of time in the car together. The nearest big store is a ways away, after all. On those long drives, the radio often cuts out for long periods of time... it can feel pretty lonely, especially at night. But when you're together, it's alright. You sleep with your head against the passenger window, your coat over you, holding his unoccupied hand through the quiet.

He gets a call in the middle of the night from someone else further into the village that there's a surprise rain shower coming through tomorrow, and they need to move a lot of kit indoors ASAP before it hits. He grumbles, but heads out anyway. ... An hour or so later, in the middle of a dark cold field, he sees your flashlight rushing over to him. You have a flask of steaming soup and a tupperware box with a slice of hot pie inside. Despite your fear of the dark and bugs, you made your way out to him. He feels himself fall in love even harder, and just like that, the task takes half the time.

When your home is as exposed as country houses can get, the wind can be really fucking loud. Especially if your room is on the windward side of the house. It can sound like a train is driving over your bedroom at night. You decide to sleep on the couch, both because you can't sleep and because you're nervous about how loud it is; it's difficult to rest when you can literally hear the roof rattling and the shingles jumping up and down. Sans, even though his room is absolutely fine, opts to join you. He lights the fire and gets comfy with you, then stays awake so you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. You wake up the next morning snuggled up to his chest.

The weather is horrendous pouring rain, cold and damp and treacherously muddy. But the animals have to be fed regardless of the weather. You both go out into the early morning darkness, feeding the chickens and cows, checking on the crops, making sure nothing is leaking, hands almost frozen. You come home absolutely drenched in a thick mixture of rain and mud. And as much as Papyrus complains, refusing to let either of you past the porch until you strip all your dirty items... he's got hot lunch waiting for you both, dry pyjamas and thick socks hanging up over the stove, warm blankets on the couch. There's nothing like the feeling of sheltering from a tempest in someplace cosy. Even if the power does keep going out.

#llamagines #you probably think he wants a cute sexy partner who lives & breathes the country life with a smile #but hes the most in love with you when youre complaining about it all but doing it anyway #hes most attracted to you when youre wrapped in 5 layers and pouting about the cold #you: The next time I see a spider I'm burning the house down #sans: [deeply and viscerally in love] ahhaha yeah

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getmeoutofhell · 8 months ago

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Clowns in the Slasher House

warnings: clowns, body parts & cussing!

a/n: i’ve been wanting to do this so i hope you enjoy this! leave comments and request.

they all have their own separate rooms and floor in house.

you guessed it, they live in the basement. the basement has to be cleaned every damn friday, because if not, it’s gonna smell like ass and dodo.

now, let’s talk about who’s in the slasher house that’s a clown:

art the clown

penny

pennywise

the little girl

art & the little girl are the messiest out of all of them, and i stand by that. i mean, penny is very, very questionable, but art is more questionable.

sometimes they all play hide and seek, and invite you the play as well. penny is the best at it, since he can literally disappear if he so chooses to. but you had to tell him not to because that’s cheating.

pennywise is usually gone so he doesn’t join often with you guys. but when he does, he’s not the best at the game, but definitely not the worst.

art sometimes uses his hands to cover his face, pretending that he’s hiding. you think it’s funny and adorable, and you sometimes play along with it, pretending you can’t see him.

“oh dangit, i have no idea where art could be. i guess i’ll go look upstairs.” you see him giggle like a school girl before going up stairs.

the little girl likes you, and she’s more comfortable around you & art than anyone else in the house. she likes to tug on your pants leg if she wants something. you still haven’t thought of a name for her yet, but you’re working on it.

another thing about art is that you have to remind him to take his dirty ass clown shoes off when he enters the house. they’re covered with mud and other shit (literally) so it’s a constant thing you have to do to protect the rugs and carpet in the house.

you don’t have to worry about the other adult clowns and their shoes because they can make the dirt disappear in a blink of an eye.

art & the little girl make a lot of weird gifts and passes them to everyone. sometimes it’s a dead persons liver, sometimes it’s someone’s big toe that art collected. you’ll never know what you may get with him.

weekly showers. i don’t care how much art fusses his stanky ass is getting in that damn shower. every time you make art get in the shower, the other clowns laugh at him. arts reaction is to just flip them off, so that’s entertaining to watch.

penny likes to scare the others all the time. you can never get used to it because it’s always something different with him all the time. pennywise sometimes joins in on pennys little pranks but often penny does it to pennywise.

water gun fights!! especially since it’s hot out, it’s the perfect time to have some fun outside in the sun. just don’t forget the sun screen. i don’t know if the clowns would wear swim trunks but maybe you can convince them.

how can i forget the board game nights!! well art…he doesn’t like the board games much. but when he does play, he cheats. well, try’s to at least.

let’s say you’re playing uno and you’re sitting by art. you see out the corner of your eye art peek over next to you at your cards. “art don’t you dare.” he smiles before looking away.

the little girl is smarter than most people realize. she knows a lot, and does a lot. she knows when you’re depressed and sometimes will sit next to you as a type of comfort.

they like to play tag and run around the house every damn where and tear up shit.

*glass shatters* “oh my god what broke now?” you say annoyed.

should i do a part 2?

#art the clown #slashers #slashers x reader #pennywise #pennywise x reader #art the clown x reader #x reader #clowncore #art the clown terrifier #pennywise x you

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junimosity · 1 month ago

Text

｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆Frostbitten｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

pairing: Harvey x F!Reader

summary: amidst a nasty winter storm, Harvey has to make a home visit on his birthday when his car breaks down. he finds his way from the highway to your farm where you take him in and warm him up

w.c: 7.8k

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), mentions of alcohol, friends to lovers, harvey is yearning, fluff, poorly written smut, missionary, oral sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), harvey’s glasses stay ON, some ooc harvey (he literally just has rizz) bc its my first fic for him (pls be gentle), first fic i've written in years,

divider by @uzmacchiato

Winter was never gentle in the valley. From the dry, frigid bite of the Calico Desert, to the wet and miserable state of Pelican Town, the race to springtime never failed to feel sluggish. As a farmer though, however miserable the lack of daylight may be, this was the perfect time of year to sit back and relax. With just some simple hay rounds, minimal mucking, and nary a crop in the field, this was the only time of year you truly were able to decompress. The little work available kept you going, and the time off prevented the heat of burnout from a successful summer. So despite the slush, frozen soil, and seasonal affective disorder, you put on your mud boots every morning and made do with many layers and a smile on your face.

Usually done with winter chores by the late morning, it wasn’t unusual for you to spend most of your days in town itself. The walk from your grandfather’s home to the town square wasn’t always ideal with the weather, but you never stayed out too late, especially with the consistent storms.

Today was no different, snow falling gently into your home as you barged in just after your chores for the day. With wisps of cold damp hair stuck on your face over your mouth, you eagerly removed your hay covered layers and rubber thermal boots. Your body relaxed immediately as heat radiated from the fireplace just across the room. As comforting as it was, you wasted no time basking in the resplendence of the antiquated living room, instead opting to head straight for the shower, where your clothes for the remainder of the day waited.

Patiently and folded, as if intentional, your outfit glared at you from the counter. Not that you’d admit it to yourself, but it was definitely serving a purpose. With all the time in the world on your hands, you finally put an effort into your appearance when venturing into town. The few clothes that never saw the field made their way out of the depths of your closet and straight into Pierre’s, the library, or, most often, the saloon for two cups of coffee, followed by a trip to the clinic. The thought of the warm cup of java in your hands fuelled a quick bathing session, and before you knew it, you were right back out your door once again.

The nip at your nose was unnoticeable over the mile and a half into town, boots scuffing with divine purpose on the snow-packed cobblestones of the square. Everything had its usual pale glow about it, magical and quiet. The bright blue panelling of the clinic suited it beautifully, with a warm yellow light gleaming from the top floor. No clients today, you noted. Averting your eyes from your final stop, you scurried into the saloon, the bell ringing at noon sharp.

“There she is!” Gus laughed, a clean rag thrown over his shoulder. “Same as usual?”

“Farmer’s special, we decided, right?” Emily chirped from the other side of the bar, cleaning an already polished spot. Staying busy was just as hard everywhere else in the valley, it seemed.

“One for here,”

“And one to go!” Gus and Emily sang together, your head shaking with a light laugh as you shoveled out 600 gold for two cups of coffee. Emily made quick work of the drip machine, finished just on time for your punctual arrival. Gus took your money gladly before making himself busy with his rag, wiping at nothing on his pristine glasses. Emily brought your coffee over quickly, one in a ceramic diner mug, the other in a cardboard to-go cup with a little winter themed thermal sleeve. You chuckled at it as you picked up the mug, bringing it to your face, finally thawing the redness on your nose.

“Is he expecting you today?” Emily asked, learning over the bar with crossed arms. “Or is this more of a walk-in appointment?”

“Hilarious, really,” you smiled into your cup.

“Yer lucky it’s cold out, sweetheart. Gives you an excuse for all that flushing.” Gus said over his shoulder. “Can feel those cheeks from over here.”

“That’s just your lunch special burning, Gus,” Emily laughed. Gus let out a little yelp before darting back into the kitchen, a few expletives following faintly behind.

“What would he do without you?” You asked, relaxing a bit as you heated back up.

“You just got a preview,” Emily sighed. “So, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Ah,” you placed down your cup, looking down into the black coffee, steam obscuring your reflection. “Walk-in, I suppose.”

“Flu season, right?” Emily winked. “Joking aside, I know he appreciates it. On the days he can actually get himself here for a cup, he’s usually past the point of exhaustion.”

“I hope that rings true today. He didn’t seem to have anyone in the clinic when I passed by.”

“All the better, if you’re not interrupting anything.” Emily pushed herself up, arms extending over the bar. “It’s his birthday, so you better not let it get cold.”

With that and a couple large swigs of your own cup, you headed right back out into the cold with the extra coffee in hand. No time to waste building up courage, you headed around the corner, and straight into the clinic.

The bell rang out, echoing off of the walls of the empty foyer. Not even Maru was in today.

You pushed the swinging doors back into the hall, eyeing the stairway that led up to that warm yellow glow you saw outside. You could hear it, faintly; his little bookshelf radio playing some seasonal jazz. Clinic tile turning into hardwood at his door, you knocked three times rhythmically, opening it yourself after the third.

“Harvey?” you called out, peeking into the studio apartment filled with low light. “I brought you some coffee-”

“Oh, thank yoba-” the familiar voice called, just as incandescent and cozy as his apartment. “Please, come in!”

You shuffled in slowly, closing the door behind you softly and peeling off your rubber boots once again so as not to ruin his floors. It was hard to attempt being delicate, but you couldn’t fathom being a disrespectful guest. Especially not for him.

And there he was, turning around the corner from his kitchen, where most of the light was coming from. His hair was shaggy today; disgruntled. His tie was half done, and two mismatched socks sat scrunched around his ankles.

“Y/N, you must be freezing!”

“I warmed up a fair bit at the stardrop, but thank you for your concern.” You responded politely.

“I should be thanking you!” Harvey walked hastily to his sofa, almost stubbing his toe on it. There laid a briefcase, papers and minor medical supplies strewn about. “I’ve got a last second countryside home call halfway to Calico. Pneumonia, it seems. I have to be there before dark but my stuff is all-”

“Hey, chill out!” You soothed, finally moving into the apartment. You handed Harvey the cup of coffee and pushed him aside, taking his files into your hands and straightening them out. “You go and warm up your car, and take that with you. I’ll get this sorted and you’ll be out of here in five.”

“But what about-”

“No buts, and change your socks!”

“Okay…” he submitted, heading right for the door.

“Keys, Harvey,”

“Right!”

He ran down the stairs of the clinic without hesitation, grabbing his keys off the wall in a rush. You smiled to yourself, happy you could get to him just before he made a mess of a stressful day. It was the exact reason you kept coming back. You loved to give him a hand, even with something minor. He always accepted it with open arms, though he’d never ask. It had become quite the routine.

Assorting his files quickly, you packed his briefcase tight, placing it by his boots that he’d run down without.

“Right, socks,” you said aloud, eyeing the pile of clean laundry on the chair next to his aerial radio station. It seemed he was perhaps the only person in town being kept busy. Grabbing a pair that you could notice easily, you stood by the window, looking down to see Harvey scrambling to scrape the ice off his windshield. With the socks already in hand, you grabbed his briefcase, coat, and boots, heading downstairs behind him.

“Need another hand?” You laughed, putting his belongings in the passenger seat.

“Darned defrost isn’t heating up," Harvey grunted as he scraped at the ice. “Could you spray some wiper fluid?”

“Sure thing,” you respond, reaching into his old sedan to spray the windshield. “It’ll take a minute to work.”

Harvey sighed shakily, forgetting his frosty situation. You threw his jacket at him from across the top of his car, watching him fumble and grab it.

“Seriously, thank you, Y/N,” he relaxed a bit, coming around his car to grab his new socks and boots. “You seem to always show up at the right time.”

“Winter gives me the time to do that, y’know. Just the season for it.”

“Sure,” Harvey replied as he changed out his footwear in the passenger seat. “It must be nice to not feel rushed in this kind of weather.”

“It’s a plus, for sure.” You sighed, leaning against his finally defrosting car. “You make sure to drive slow, even if you’re in a rush. Here,” you pulled him out of the car once he was laced up, straightening out his jacket and grabbing his tie. “Can’t care for others without caring for yourself, y’know.”

“You’re right. I’ve been extra clumsy lately.” Harvey admitted as you tightened his neckwear. You flattened it out, patting his chest, locking eyes with him for a quick, quiet second. Thank Yoba Gus was right, you did have an excuse to be so red. Reaching around your neck, you pulled off your velvet scarf, throwing it over his head.

“Just get some safely. I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You stepped aside, letting him move back to the driver's side before he took off, the wipers removing the now slush from his windshield. You smiled as he drove towards the bus stop and away from town, heeding your advice. Looking further up into the valley, and the mountains, your smile dropped a bit. That was one hell of a storm coming in. Your mind moved quickly to your animals, and you raced back home to get them settled for a rough night.

Ruminants tucked in, poultry packed tight, the farm was ready for the wintry tempest that billowed through in the early evening. You’d made it back just in time to take some extra steps in ensuring the insulation of the coops and barn, and without any worry on your mind, you were making yourself busy at home.

Well, without much worry. You hadn’t heard from Harvey since he’d set out into the valley towards the storm. It's not like he was obligated to; you were only there to lend a hand now and then. You hadn’t even asked him to reach out. Instead, you made yourself an evening of tasks; clean the farmhouse, do the laundry, open some of the blueberry wine you’d been aging in your cellar. Surely that would do a great job at taking your mind off of Harvey and his dangerous day-trip.

Night pressed on, and the storm furthered its temper. You couldn’t even see your barn’s light through your window, let alone the field beyond it. Still, you looked onto the path outside your door, as far as you could before the blizzard blurred its image. The howling wind did nothing to settle your stew and wine filled stomach, but you removed yourself from the window sill regardless. Just as you peeled back, however, you could’ve sworn you saw a figure within the flurry. Looking out once again, you could definitely see movement. Fearing the worst for the structural integrity of your barn, you grabbed your jacket and boots and threw open the door, walking slowly towards the movement in order not to scare off one of your animals. If they’d escaped in this storm, surely they’d be flighty.

As you walked further out, however, your vision became clearer. Animal turned to figure, and - that was no cow.

Walking slowly, trudging through the snow towards your home, was Harvey.

“Oh my Yoba!” you yelled, voice distorted by the violent winds. “Harvey, what the hell are you doing out here?”

You raced towards him, his hands wrapped around himself as he moved ever so slowly against the wind. You grabbed his side and guided him to your porch. He was soaking wet, his jacket and hair frozen, nose redder than a ripe salmonberry. Shivering and unresponsive, you lugged him inside your house and immediately grabbed his shoulders.

“Hey! Are you okay?” You yelled, making him look at you in the eyes. He nodded his head with a shiver, and you relaxed your shoulders slightly.

“J-jacket…” He shook, straightening his arms out at his sides in an attempt to get the ice encrusted coat off.

“Oh, yeah!” You walked behind him, shimmying the frozen fabric down. Even his shirt was wet and cold. “Harvey, what the hell happened?”

“Car… broke down… exit before the bus stop.” He sputtered, kicking off his soaked boots.

“Shit! Did you walk here?”

“Hmm…”

“Oh my god, that’s at least a mile from here…” You put your hand over your mouth, getting a better look at him. His shaking hands were reminiscent of a wild plum, tightened fists at his side. You stared at him - deer in headlights. This was significantly past what you were used to aiding him in. He was the one with the knowledge here, all of what to do was inside his icy mind. You took his frozen fists in hand, and with a furrowed brow met his daze. “Tell me what to do.”

“Clothes… warm…”

“Okay, I'll get you some warm clothes. Follow me,” you led him into your bedroom, stopping at your dresser. “Here’s some flannel pajamas - that's all I have for you. Towels are in the bathroom just right there - there are blankets by the fire in the living room when you’re done. I’ll put on some tea or something.”

“Th-thank you.”

“You can thank me when you’re warm,” you added sincerely, heading back into the living room.

In a daze of your own, you stepped out the front door, grabbing some wood from the shelter on your porch. Breath shaky and grip firm, you hoisted it under your arm and inhaled deeply. This was not how you expected his first night at your house to go. Then again, your first at his was after a brutal serpent attack in calico. How he found you, you hadn’t a clue, but you weren’t expecting to wake up in the clinic with a broken ankle and a concussion. This was far less of a professional experience, but there was no getting to the clinic in this blizzard.

Kicking the door open with your foot, you lugged in the extra wood, letting it fall from your grip by the strewn boots before kicking your own back off. You picked Harvey’s up, unlacing them as you walked back towards the fire to stuff them with some newspaper. You placed them a fair distance from the flames before heading to your bedroom. Harvey was in your bathroom still, and you approached with a knock.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Hmm,” Harvey called, the doorknob rattling as he let himself out. The large blue pajamas fit him perfectly, well, would, if he could’ve buttoned them up evenly. His hands, only a deep pink now, were still shaking as he tried to give you a thumbs up. You offered him a half smile of relief before reaching behind him, grabbing the towel he evidently neglected. You threw it over his head, rubbing it on his hair before bringing it back down to sit on his shoulders. His glasses skewed, and a little steamy, he let loose a small laugh. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Mhmm,” you responded, a soft smile on your lips contrary to the concern on your brow. “Let’s get your clothes washed. You should go sit by the fire.”

“Alright,” Harvey weakly breathed, grabbing at his soaking clothes from your sink.

“Uh uh, enough of that,” you patted at his cold hands. “You sit by the fire. You’ve done enough to help around today.”

“I could say the same of you,” he countered, although submitting to your efforts to grab his clothes away.

“I didn’t drive through a record breaking snow storm to ‘lend a hand’. Please, give yourself credit.” You continued as you turned around, Harvey following closely behind. You lead him back out into the living room, crossing into your kitchen and throwing the clothes into your washing machine. “Go sit!”

“You have a nice home,” He began, staring around half tired into your house.

“Harvey,” you sighed as you fumbled with the detergent and buttons. “You can admire all you want by the fire.”

Harvey hummed in response, shuffling towards the fireplace.

“Can I get you anything, warm water? Tea?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” he began to decline out of politeness, putting his hands by the fire.

“Wine?’

“Wine, please.”

You chuckled and grabbed a glass, relaxing a bit as he knelt by the hearth.

The sound of crackling wood took over as you brought the glass to Harvey, sitting next to him on the persian rug. You grabbed your own from the coffee table behind you and poured both glasses generously.

“I’m sorry your birthday’s been rough.”

Harvey’s back straightened slightly, pausing as he was about to take his first sip.

“I didn’t know you knew,” he breathed, facing the fire again. “I appreciate it,”

“Of course I knew, I’ve brought you coffee every year since I moved in.” You immediately took a much more generous gulp of your own glass as you heard yourself speak.

“Y-Yes! I guess so. I don’t know why I thought otherwise…” He fumbled with his words, readjusting his grip on the stemware a few times.

“Don’t sweat it, please,” you turned to him on one knee, “Are you feeling alright now?”

“Yeah, just fine, actually. Thank you,” he laid back on one arm, shakiness subsided with the sip of courage. “Yoba, I didn’t know if I was gonna make it. Or if you were awake, or if you were gonna come out with a shotgun-”

“A shotgun?” you guffawed, smile brightening. “Do I seem like that kind of farmer?”

“You’ve got a vague unregistered firearm aura to you,” Harvey jested with a smooth demeanour you only got to see ever so often. Usually after a glass of wine or two at the stardrop alongside Elliot or Maru, but rarely on your own.

“Do I really?” You played along, bringing your knees up to your chest as you faced him fully. “A healthy bit of ‘get off my property’?”

“As your doctor, yes, just the right amount.”

“Hmm,” you sang into your next sip of wine. “I guess I’m doing alright then.”

“Perfect.” Harvey responded quickly, taking his next swill. Your eyes caught as he said it, breaking away swiftly to look in the fire together. Cracking resumed, the burgundy walls closing in as you felt your face grow even warmer.

“You made the right call coming here. I don’t know what I-” you caught yourself, feigning a cough. “Yeah, you did the right thing.”

“Are you okay?” Harvey leaned forward, placing his glass on the table.

“Yeah, it’s just something caught in my throat.”

“Are you sure?” He moved quickly, one hand removing your wine glass and the other gently landing on the small of your back. After setting the glass down, he placed the back of his hand against your forehead, his brow furrowing. He moved it down to your cheek, plump and reddened by-

“I can’t tell if it’s the fire, but you don’t seem too bad. You didn’t overdo it today, did you?”

You couldn't respond soundly until he leaned back, your knees brushing one another.

“No,” you choked, “just some plain old winter chores. It’s probably just the fire.”

“Should we move to the couch?” He reached out his hand, beginning to stand.

“If you’re warm enough,” you grasped it and joined him, getting another glimpse of his mismatched buttons. With significantly less concern than earlier, you let out a stifled giggle, pointing to his torso. He looked down and gave a breathy laugh, shaking his head while tackling the befuddled buttons. You plopped yourself onto the couch as he walked over, taking his time with the task. He stood in front of you, undoing and redoing them one by one. Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, eyelids lazily pondering his busy hands. You reached for your wine promptly as he sat down, abandoning the bottom button in defeat and laying his hands across his stomach.

Harvey rolled his head back, letting it rest on the top of your couch with his eyes closed. You allowed yourself, just this once, to take him in. Jawline alight by your fire, auburn hair tousled against your sofa, broad shoulders beneath your pajamas. How many times had you wished for this exact situation? Imagining it seemed so impossible then; something in your mind wouldn’t let you quite grasp the unrefined details. It was hard not to imagine his green suit jacket and the pens in its pocket when you would daydream. You always wondered what he appeared like without his mustache trimmed or his shirt tucked in. Here he was in all his unkempt glory; you could feel your own heartbeat against your neck. This allure, the one you’d felt since your first appointment those years ago, felt unlike any attraction you’d had before. Maybe it was the professional relationship or the fact that he took very good care of his mustache, but something about the way you felt towards him seemed so grown. Evolved past anything you knew of desire, a tenderness so new yet intrinsically old. The way you brought him coffee on Sundays and Mondays like clockwork, it was as natural as your frontal lobe forming.

“(Y/N)?” Harvey snapped you out of your stupor, only his head facing you, the slightest of contortions between his brows. His lips parted ever so slightly as he awaited your response, firelit hazel eyes subtly squinting as they scanned yours. All you could do was pull your leg onto the cushion and rest your weight into the back of the couch while offering him an earnest, relieved smile. He returned it, chin slightly elevating in approval of your beam.

You stayed that way for a while, just gazing at one another, unable to say a word, until you let out a long sigh and once again placed your wine down.

“You must be exhausted. I have a guest room upstairs. The bed’s made, I can show you to it if you’d like.”

“I’m not quite, if you aren’t,” Harvey stopped you, hand reaching yours in an attempt to ease. “I, uh, want to make sure you aren’t sick.”

“I’m supposed to say that about you,” you smiled, eyes catching the jukebox in the corner of your living room. “Music?”

“What have you got?”

You made quick work of standing, stepping past Harvey’s legs to the corner on the right of the hearth, stopping to pull him along with you. It lit up as you approached, a bright yellow from beneath the two of you.

“Let’s see, it’s a lot of older things, as these usually are… you like jazz, right? I’ve got Charles Mingus, Chet Baker,”

“How’d you know that?” Harvey asked calmly, taking his eyes off the flipping records to observe you. You straightened your spine as you looked down, flipping through the genre.

“It’s always playing on your radio when I come by-”

“On Sundays. Yeah, it is.” He finished with you, adding his gentle affirmation. “Any Wes Montgomery?”

“Solo or Trio?” You softly asked, flipping to the options.

“Trio.”

“ ‘Round Midnight it is.” You selected the song, watching the machine place it on its side and begin the track.

Gentle guitar began playing amongst the fuzzy static of the old record, both you and Harvey taking a step back to gauge each other's reactions. You were searching him for an inch of affirmation, as if he hadn’t just given it to you. Something in his perspective shifted; he was scanning you with much more curiosity than on the couch. Well, maybe not curiosity. He knew you, and you knew that. It seemed more like he was acknowledging something.

“You sure know me.” He huffed, a relaxed grin spreading from beneath his well trimmed mustache.

“I like to think we’re, ah,” you caught yourself, suddenly aware of your choice of words. “Well acquainted by now.”

“Well acquainted?” Harvey quirked a brow and slid his hands to find the back pockets of your spare pajamas. “I would say so, yes.”

“You, uh, you missed a button,” you gestured to the base of his torso, a small sliver of skin with a trail of dark hair atop it peaking through the unbuttoned portion of the flannel set.

“Ah, I couldn’t quite-” Harvey lifted it up slightly, his very apparent happy trail greeting you in the combined glow of jukebox and fire. Your eyes widened in a flash before you jolted forward, grasping at his shirt to prevent him from pulling it to a territory from whence you’d lose composure. He broke his own hands away as you grasped the shirt firmly, staring up at him with a fierce embarrassment.

“Um, here,” you offered with a pathetic attempt to play it cool. You let go of the fabric and instead held the button, a loose thread wrapped around it connecting it to the one above. “I see.” You gently unwound it from the thread, looking up through your lashes to find Harvey staring down at you, an even greater part in his mouth. You almost pouted, focusing a little harder on the thread. In your periphery, you could see his hands floating just an inch from your sides, fingers almost brushing up against you. The thread gave way and you stepped back, standing up straight to see Harvey take a deep breath. Was this really happening?

“I’ll go grab some scissors to cut the thread,” you stated robotically before darting up to your craft room, leaving your doctor in your flushed wake.

Harvey was aghast at his lack of action. Pressing his fingers on the bridge of his nose, he turned back to your sofa, grabbing his glass of wine and topping it off before drinking it whole and filling it again. You ran out; darted, even. You took him in, warmed him up, served him his favorite drink and played one of his favorite songs; and then, you ran out. But before all that, you came outside. You found him, you met him out there before you even knew he was there. Yoba, you were clever. Unbelievably intuitive. What he had in booksmarts he lacked in your charisma and instinct. And by some stroke of faith, or maybe just your discernment, you found him just before he collapsed. He’d just managed to run you off.

His hand slipped down to wipe the wine off of his mustache as his gaze followed your steps to the dark stairway to the left of the hearth. He could hear you going through drawers and taking short steps. It was only a matter of time before you’d be back.

“Casual, cool,” Harvey muttered to himself, spreading his arms along the back of the couch and trying to kick up a foot onto his other knee. Emphasis on trying, as he knocked the table with his foot, causing your near empty glass to tumble over. He cursed to himself, wiping at it with the towel he’d forgotten on the couch before scrambling to fill it back up to the same amount as before, superseding it greatly just as you walked back into the room.

“I thought I’d go ahead and fix the button so the loose thread doesn’t just make it fall off- oh, thank you!” you chirped as Harvey poured your glass almost to the brim. Placing your sewing things down to take a sip, he handed the glass to you as if it were all part of his master plan.

“I just need to tie it off and cut it, really. No need to take it off.” You added quickly, a twinge in your brow Harvey couldn’t really identify.

“Okay,” he complied, holding the shirt out a little as you sat yourself on the coffee table to face him. “Is this alright?”

“Perfect,” you spread your legs beside his to get a little lower, resting your arms on your thighs. “Maybe come a little towards me.”

He scooted forward, his knee brushing your inner thigh. You didn’t budge, instead threading a needle you’d brought down and tying it off. You fed it through the buttonhole a few times before tying it around itself and grabbing the small scissors behind you, snipping it cleanly.

“Good as new.” You leaned back, smiling at him with closed eyes.

“That was fast,” Harvey noted, shrinking a little to get a closer look at the button.

“Had to make a repair or two in my time. Why don’t you keep those? I never wear them, really.”

“I- ah, sure, thank you!”

And there you were, sitting before him, almost in his lap. You turned around with your torso to grab your glass and his, handing it to him with a smile.

“To your birthday.”

“And my well acquainted.”

Your eyebrows raised as your glasses clinked; and you both sipped, eye contact unwavering.

Yoba, you were beautiful. Divinely backlit by the fire you created, keeping him warm in more ways than one. Your head tilted, letting some of the light shine through, reflecting off his glasses and back onto you.

“You’re something, you know?” Harvey stated, a little quieter than before. He watched your head flick back upwards, the light leaving his lens and showing you clearer.

The wine was settling in.

“Tell me about the coffee.”

“Oh, yeah,” you responded, looking down at your glass.This really was happening. “I was having a coffee at Gus’s when he wanted to finish a pot off, and he gave me two cups. I’d heard from him that you were his only other regular customer for coffee, so I thought I’d stop by.”

“And he just happened to need to finish a pot every time?” Harvey questioned further, leaning a little further back on the couch.

“Well, not exactly. But it seemed like that was a good time to drop in that day, so it worked out with my schedule…” You pushed on, leaning forward as you tried to explain.

“What a coincidence…” Harvey laughed light heartedly.

“What do you mean?” you feigned. “I mean it, it really did work out, and it was nice that I had someone to share it with.”

“I mean, what a coincidence that I happened to clear my schedule out after that.” Harvey stopped you, holding up his glass. He leaned forward, brushing past you as he placed it down and far out of reach. “At that time, each Sunday and Monday.” He pulled back, face coming awfully close to yours.

Your lips parted as you realized it; he’d been putting just as much intention into your visits as you had. Looked forward to it, ensured it.

“1:30 in the afternoon,” you finished, eyelids faltering. “Harvey…”

He’d had enough.

Years in the making of coffee and music, conversations that felt so effortless, yet he’d never even questioned if you were in it the way he was. It was never a possibility. He’d figured you’d been making friends that way- he’d seen you offering daffodils to Caroline and your forageables to Linus, even gemstones to Emily when he’d sit with you at the stardrop. You seemed to just know these things about people, where they were and when, what they liked and disliked. He never figured for a moment that you had any ulterior emotions attached, let alone for him. He was your doctor.

The doctor you saw at least twice a week by coming to his doorstep with one of his favorite things and spending an entire afternoon with him.

He took your glass and placed it near his, far, far away from where you sat. He brought his attention back to your hands, looking down at them from where your foreheads nearly grazed.

“Your hands get so soft in the winter,” he whispered, tracing a finger over where he knew your calluses to usually be. “I remember the calluses you had when you first brought me a cup.”

Your breath hitched as you remembered the day; a warm monday in your first summer after you’d finished harvesting. The calluses probably hadn’t even formed fully by then.

“They were more like blisters. You told me not to give you anything because you needed to build up the strength in your skin.”

“You looked mortified when I said it.” You added, relaxing your hands as he gently caressed his finger pads into your palm. He remembered exactly where they were.

“Five ounces of over-the-counter Bacitracin. Didn’t let you leave without it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Harvey slid his knee outwards, opening your legs a little more, making you sit up a little straighter and further forward. He sat straight as well, intertwining his fingers with yours. You could feel his breath on you, hitting your jawline and creeping down your neck. Looking up from your hands, you found him with a heavy lid and a little concern. He scanned quickly from your eyes to your lips, and when his gaze found them, it cemented.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t respond, opting to instead press forward, placing the gentlest kiss you’ve ever given upon his lips. You took a moment, furrowing your brow before leaning back and gauging his response.

His glasses were fogged, cheeks alight, lips slightly parted. Right where you’d always wanted him.

Caution thrown to the wind, he leaned in towards you, letting out a soft moan as he kissed you with more fervor, releasing your hands and softly placing one behind your head and the other on your back, leading you up and onto him. You left the table and allowed your weight to fall on his thighs, the two of you gliding onto the back of the couch. He controlled your movements as he opened his mouth and slid his tongue over your bottom lip. You gave in without hesitation and placed your arms on his chest for support. It was so much firmer than his usual clothing led you to believe, acting as a solid wall for you to paw at.

Your movements turned animalistic as his hands began to explore your upper body, up your back and down your arms, through your hair and on your jawline. Your kisses grew more frantic as he found and matched your pace, bodies beginning to ebb and flow like the gusts of snowy wind outside your front door.

“Harvey,” you beckoned against him, hips greeting him, both exuding more warmth than the fire behind you.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he cooed, his thumb finding solace on your jaw. “I’m yours.”

His kisses left your mouth, trailing to where his hand was, placing tender messages of affection on your jaw and neck, breathing in deeply where he could feel your pulse beneath his lips. You whimpered as he burrowed his face into you and arched your back, torso pressing up against the blue flannel.

You smelt of the fire and the same detergent he could smell on his clothes. His regular clothes would soon smell like you, too. Harvey’s grip on your waist tightened at the thought of carrying it home with him.

“Please,” you breathed into the open space above you. Your hands found his hair, gently pulling his head back to look up at you. “I-”

You were at a loss for words at his crooked glasses covering those lust-filled eyes.

“I need you,” you hummed, his head turning to place a kiss into your palm.

“As you wish.”

Your lips met again as your hands fell down to the buttons you knew so well, making clumsy work to undo them and expose his well haired chest. He found the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head and discarding it somewhere behind him. You both found your breath as your bare chests faced one another. You were already in your sleepwear, bra long since in your laundry hamper, nipples perking at the exposure to the dry air inside your home. Harvey didn’t question it for a moment, his hands sliding up your sides to place themselves atop your breasts. He found your neck again and you leant into him as he massaged you, his muscles memorizing the feeling of you against him.

Beneath you, Harvey was already rigid, the feeling making you groan back into the air. Your hips dug down, the weight of you grinding against his solidity with a slow and intentional tug. He let out a guttural groan, the rumble sending a shiver down your spine that made your nipples stiffen further and your core radiate with a wet warmth. His hands left your chest and slid down the small of your back, ducking underneath the hem of your sweatpants and tugging them down. You eased your ministrations and let him bring them as far down as he could before you realized you couldn’t from where you sat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the first proper expletive you’d heard from him. In a swift motion, he guided you onto your back beside him, towering over you as he worked your pants the rest of the way. His chest heaved at the sight of you bare beneath him, bringing his hands over your thighs. “Are you sure you want this?”

You couldn’t stomach a response at this change in demeanor from him. He’d never so much as commanded a patient, needing your help at times to place firmer instruction on his most stubborn clients. But he truly was towering over you, his pants pulled slightly down from the sudden change of positions. The happy trail you so deftly noted before darkened greatly, thickening into a bush above his- you nodded very quickly.

He relaxed his shoulders, situating himself lower and lower until he found himself level with your warmth. He looked up to you with a gaze of one more question of consent, but your permissive nodding and lazy smile sent his focus back into you. Hands cascading beneath your thighs, he worked them up gently and placed them over his shoulders before situating one arm over your pelvis. He placed a supple kiss to your inner thigh and trailed to your lower lips before finding your clit.

“Yoba,” he whispered against your most sensitive place, kissing it once, twice, thrice before licking from your entrance up to the nub.

“Oh, Harvey,” you whined, head falling back into the armrest. He furthered, making soft sounds of moisture sing above the fire. He licked firmly without the need for searching, as if he knew exactly where you needed him. Licking turned to sucking, and his free hand found its way beneath his mouth, a warm finger brushing against your folds in pursuit of your entrance. He circled it softly before testing the warm spring waters, wading inside you. His tongue quickened as he felt your hips try to move. He held you down over your pelvis, and you groaned out louder than before. His finger curled gently inside you, massaging the tender spot that truly yearned for his touch. He could feel you clench over him, sending in a partner finger to further your divine stimulation.

Yoba, you were soaking. He moved his fingers with ease against your pulsating walls, tongue ravaging your clit until you let out a whine he hadn’t been able to imagine, not even in his dreams. You found your climax, riding as much as you could onto his fingers and tongue, squirming up against his nose.

“Good girl,” he hummed against you as you clenched uncontrollably onto his fingers. Your chest rose and fell as the electricity wound its way through you, hands loosening their grip on the upholstery.

You rose your head, eyes foggy as you found him kissing your thighs once again. You didn’t have to ask as he sat up, working himself out of his pants and letting loose what you really wanted, his hardness springing up against his chest. Bringing your thighs up, he positioned himself in front of you, thighs meeting yours as he laid himself above your puffy pussy. Something inside him shifted, though. You could see it as he fixed his glasses and caressed your thigh.

You adjusted your arms behind you, lifting your torso to meet him halfway.

“Harvey?” you asked softly. He breathed for a moment as he held your gaze, licking you off of his lower lip.

“I don’t want to push you,” he spoke, running his thumb up and down from his grip over your leg. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your head relaxed to the side as you admired him, still so nurturing in his relations.

“You couldn’t if you tried.” You reached for him, pulling him down for a soft kiss before whispering against him. “I want this, if you want this. I want you. ”

He kissed you again, a smile breaking across his unsure expression. You held his gaze as you reached down to his cock, sliding it over your wetness before guiding it to your wanting entrance. He shuddered mildly at the feeling, eyelids fluttering and lips parting in awe. You let go of him and reached for his cheek, placing it there for reassurance. Without a break in your shared gaze, he pushed in slowly, both of your mouths reacting to the feeling of him filling you. He pulled out partially before sheathing fully again, breaking a hum out of your mouth as he found himself brushing up against the spot his fingers found.

“I-” Harvey’s breath hitched as his brows fluttered upwards. He was hesitating again.

“Don’t hold back, baby,” you cooed. The pet name sent his hips against yours, awakening him like a sleeper agent. “Oh, fuck,” your head fell back.

Harvey set a pace quickly, thrusting into you with zeal as you leaned back on your arms. His grip on your thighs tightened as he pulled you as close to him as possible, hips hammering into you with a force you didn’t know he was capable of.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he whimpered, eyes closing as his head reeled back. “I’m so sorry.”

His pace grew unfathomably, making your body shake with the sofa. You let out a groan as he had you, cock jackhammering with sharp intention. He repeated himself, fucking you and himself silly, as if he’d never had a taste of something so intoxicating in his life. No amount of your blueberry wine could make him as drunk as he was on your pussy, wrapped around him so tightly and rhythmically. You found yourself staring up at him in fascination as he pleased you greater than you’d ever dreamed of. Uncontrollable lust took over him as he found your gaze again, looking up to him with the expression he’d so desperately hoped to see on your face one day. He pushed your thighs back up against you as he knelt forward, finding himself somehow even deeper in you as he brought his face to tower over yours.

“You’re so fucking, ah,” he moaned, “feel so fucking good.”

“Baby, please don’t stop,” you beckoned further, “I’m so close.”

“Oh fuck, sweetheart, come for me,” Harvey begged, his pace unyielding as he brought one hand down to your clit, rubbing it in rough circles. You yelled out as he stimulated you, grinding your teeth down at the overwhelming sense of pleasure.

“I’m gonna,” you choked, needing to gasp for air.

“Come on my cock, baby,” he coaxed further, desire taking the reins.

“Fuck!” you groaned out as your core clenched, a wave of pleasure breaking so strongly over your shore that your ears almost began to ring. Harvey choked back a whine as you clamped on him repeatedly like a rip tide pulling him out to sea.

“Sweetheart I’m- I’m so fucking close,” he almost squeaked.

“Inside,” you gasped as you continued to ride out the swell.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his rhythm becoming rocky on the jagged coast of his release. Within a moment, the waters stilled, and he let out a low and slow inaudible string of expletives. You could feel him release inside you as you still convulsed, sending you back into the ocean of bliss one more time.

Your breathing hitched as Harvey’s slowed, his hands finding themselves over your chest as he steadied himself. Together you rode down from the tidal euphoria, breathing heavily and eyelids fluttering lazily. He slowly pulled himself out, placing his mouth over yours without the constraint of your bodies. Your hands found themselves in his hair once again as he pulled you up and onto his lap, straddling him like once before. He pushed your hair out of your face as you readjusted his glasses, an expression of pure adoration across both of your flushed faces.

“You are unbelievable,” he whispered, his head shaking slightly.

“How so?” you teased, resting your arms on the sofa behind his head.

“I just,” he lost himself in your eyes for a moment, a small smirk finding its way beneath his mustache. “I’ve known you for only a handful of years, yet I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Hopefully not freeze to death,” you poked leisurely. “I can’t have you getting frostbitten.”

“Not with you to keep me warm,” he placed his hands atop your hips, rubbing them softly. “Not a chance.”

“It’s warmer in my bedroom, you know.” You whispered into his ear, feeling him jolt slightly beneath your hips.

“Can we bring the wine?”

“I have a cellar full, you don’t have to ask.”

#harvey x reader #sdv harvey x reader #stardew fanfic #sdv harvey smut #i blushed so hard writing this #totally self indulgent #harvey whimpers and that's what matters most #harvey stardew valley

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heretyc · 1 month ago

Text

Cat and Mouse [Franco Barbi x Reader] [SMUT/NSFW] [18+]

Plot: You take far too many antipsychotics and suffer the consequences. Those consequences? Franco Barbi taking you for himself. [Female reader character.] This is porn with plot.

Warnings: 18+ content ahead. Obsessive Barbi. Lactation kink, mommy kink, breastfucking, missionary sex and MC death [you respawn anyway lol]. This shit is so filthy I had to take a shower. [Just kidding I was like a pig in mud lmfao]

TW: Somewhat dubious consent. You don't give verbal consent and you're high. You're...kinda not bothered, if that makes sense? Even through the drugs. You also get shot by Lupara. I kinda based this off of the hatefucking! AU where you were in Havana the day he started the shootout and you basically become enemies to lovers.

Also mentions of non-con birth control usage, as he rawdogs you. He is literally the embodiment of the "raw, next question" meme.

Setting: The docks map. [I can't find a good picture, but inside of the red room on the ship where Barbi shoots the glass and pursues you.]

It's doneeeee! Enjoy. I'm not exactly confident in my smut writing skills so I hope this is still enjoyable. Under the cut due to NSFW content ahead. Why do I always turn my fics poetic?? Ugh. This fic was a ROLLER COASTER.

A hiss, a cry, a grunt and a groan; that was the array of noises that escaped your throat as you tried to roam and plunder the shithole that was the docks, your nipples swollen and making you want to rip them off.

The nurse was nice enough to give you a maternity bra. Truly, she was; coming to her with your little issue, she was more than understanding.

"Oh dear," Barlow had clicked her tongue as a gloved hand squeezed at your breast, her expression showing concern, "I was afraid this would happen." She was gentle as she swabbed some milk from your nipple, shoving the soaked swab into a test tube.

Her smile was friendly yet forced, full of pity in typical Barlow, "I'll get you some maternity wear for the time being...for now. Refrain from taking those antipsychosis medications for a while, okay?"

As if that was easy; she was bullshitting you, this you knew. It wasn't like you could stop taking them, and therefore, you had to suffer the consequences.

"I'll make sure it isn't pus," she dawdled, getting up from her seat and gently taking your hand, her free one holding the tube. "From now on, please rest in the sleep room." She looked...mortified for you. "Just...rest for today. Easterman's a wonderful man, dear...I'm sure he'll let you."

Trials were hard enough as it was. Constant fear. Your brain was fried, no doubt. But now you had to worry about breast pain, of all things.

She then cursed under her breath, "You have that...Franco Barbi trial tomorrow, don't you?"

Oh.

Fuck.

She was hesitant to send you away, but off you went back into the room that was assigned to you.

And now you were here, after spending all day yesterday moping and dreading the day, and the maternity bra you were given had been ripped off, because the material was too. fucking. rough.

Why was that, you wondered as you roamed the docks, shoving the bags of poisoned medicine into your pockets. Why was the material so shit?

But then again, why did they have maternity bras.

You silenced your train of thought after that.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ ───

Fucking Franco Barbi. That was what you were doing. Literally, fucking Franco Barbi.

You didn't think you'd be fucking the man who started that little gunfight in Cuba that one faithful day. You remember it fondly, actually; you killed a man for trying to rob you, and minutes later, you heard gunfire, sirens, and "spider eye lamb". All of which lead to the events which are now occurring. Well...and the constant trials against this fucker, who became obsessed with you the moment he saw you shove a knife through a man's gullet.

Barbi's hands were rough on your breasts, the gloves' material rubbing against your nipples as his tongue invaded your mouth. His saliva, thick and tasting of amaretto and almond milk, was shoved down your throat, his slimy pink tentacle-like appendage rushing to call your mouth his own. It felt disgusting and yet so arousing.

"Fuck yes, sweetness," He slurred after he pulled away, your shirt and pants gone and your back against the hard mattress he shoved you onto. "FUCK you smell divine." Your feet were planted against the floor, your toes almost gripping the wood with urgency.

The baggies of poisoned medicine were null, now; not like they mattered anymore, your pants in the corner of the red room. Much like his own, as you heard his belt buckle be toyed with.

"Gonna fuck ya," Barbi licked his lips, Lupara laying beside your head. Almost like a silent threat. Move and you die. "Gonna fuck ya tits, ya cunt...fuck- everything. FUCK. I've always wanted to do this shit, ever since that fuckin' day in Cuba."

He was eager, this you could tell, even through the haze of the antipsychotic he shoved down your throat. All you could think is, "Sorry Nurse Barlow".

But knowing her, she wouldn't hold it against you. She never did. These past couple of days, her false care seemed to dwindle and she actually seemed more...human, instead of fake. Maybe this place was getting to her.

Your tits were squeezed together, making you hiss; small trails of white essence began to stream down into the valley of your breasts, and before you knew it, a pink cockhead poked through, looking blurry to your vision.

You had never thought you'd see this fucker naked, let alone have his tongue shoved so deep down your fucking throat you thought he'd lap up your stomach acid like a desperate mutt.

Knowing him? He would. Oh, he'd mix it with amaretto and drink it like it's the blood of Christ himself.

His strange obsession for you was not at all kept subtle. Just weeks ago, when you two had first come to Sinyala - like a package deal! - he made it clear he wanted to pursue his affections, if his kissy noises were any indicator. You've lost some hair since coming here; maybe he put that shit on his wall, smelling it every night before bed. Maybe he kept some of your blood on his suit from when he killed you last Friday.

You never know with him. One day he's crying about how "you're fuckin' up my suit!", and the next he's googly eyed, begging you to spit on him. Weirdo.

Barbi's head was thrown back in pleasure as he began to thrust, his precum and the milk making it easy as pie for him to use your tits as a fleshlight, the cockhead close to pressing against your lips every time he thrust. "Fuckin' slut...that's what you are," he panted, now looking down at you with a pleased smirk. Sweat dripped down his head, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. "My fuckin' slut..."

Mutt. Bambino. Dog. Lupara.

"Gonna...gonna fuckin' cum. You want that, mommy?" He leaned down slightly, his voice a murmur, "Want me to empty my fuckin' balls on these tits? That face? God, that tongue lickin' up my spunk...FUCK!"

His dirty talk did nothing but arouse him even more, as cum shot out of his eager cockhead and onto anything of yours that it could reach; your lips, your cheeks, your chest, your neck. Your body had more semen on it than it did clothing.

"Fucking...shit..." Barbi's voice was breathy, his cock retrieved from the valley between your tits. "You're a masterpiece, you know that? Fuckin' hell." He stroked the softening organ, clearly not intending to end this anytime soon; ohhh no, not when you're at his mercy, with your tits ballooned in size full of cream.

The presence of his cum didn't assauge him from forcefully pulling you up, now fully laying you back on the bed as opposed to just your bottom half hanging off. Now you, at least, had a pillow under your head.

It makes it harder to bash your head, though. To give yourself an exit, to avoid whatever the fuck he wants to do with you. Maybe you could smother yourself.

"I told ya sweetness," Barbi rasped, straddling your hips as he ground his hardening cock into your stomach. "You get caught with ya hand in the cookie jar..." He shed his trousers and shoes, now fully nude from the waist down. Lupara had fallen off after he positioned you, and his bandolier was on the floor, clearly abandoned in favour of making sure your fucking was unbothered.

"You get fucked sideways to Hell," he took your breasts into his gloved hands once more, leaning down to suckle on a swollen nipple; a banshee would be jealous, had she heard the screams that exited through your lips, your teeth gritting in pain. This didn't quell him — your screams rivaled his moans, his eyes clenched shut as his audible sucks were all that you heard. You wanted to kick him.

"Fucking shit," his voice was muffled around your breast one second, and within the next one, he was looking you in the face, his eyes lidded in pleasure.

"I knew you were fuckin' special...you know that? I knew you were," Barbi growled out, leaned down until your noses were close to touching, "Nobody's ever been able to handle me," he rasped, "they die too fuckin' quick. Where's the challenge in that?" He huffed a laugh, breathless as he tried to regain some control. "But you...fuck no, you just...you fuck everything up in my face, and you win. Fucking...insane, to me." He pushed himself up, pushing his hair back with a shaky hand; he was eager, his body didn't lie.

"I suppose this is both a reward...and a punishment, dollface," Barbi licked his lips, moving down to shove a gloved finger into your cunt; you were wet...wait, what?

Did this really arouse you? Maybe it did. Something in you liked being a little dominated, even if your dominator was a batshit insane mafia don who whined constantly about sluts, and whores, and drugs, and "wahhh be my mommy".

God, you were fucked in the head. But that's what Sinyala does to a mind...there's no denying that.

"You get fucked by a Barbi...and you get your shit fucked in for being a business ruining cunt," he sneered, pulling out of your pussy with roughness. If your traitorous cunt wasn't throbbing with need, you're sure it would have hurt. It throbbed even more as he began to lick at his slick fingers, purring like a maine coone drinking milk from its prized bowl.

"Try me," you found yourself able to force out; those stupid fucking drugs made your throat all fuzzy, but even rage itself can overpower anything. "I poisoned your drugs...nothing else you can do to me that's worse than being smacked around by the grunts outside."

Barbi and anger were often allied; he looked down at you with a glare, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. It took him a moment before he clenched his hand into a fist, a smirk slow to invade his lips. "Oh...you'll regret saying that, sweetness. I bet on that shit. But for now..."

He positioned himself between your legs, your calves sitting on his shoulders; his head turned to peck one of them as he lined his cock against your weeping folds, slowly thrusting his hips to get his organ wet and ready.

"Fuuuuck, you're a goddess...it's like we were made for each other," He muttered, his body quivering with glee, "You're mine, and I'm yours, it's meant to fuckin' be..." He gripped your knees, his gloves slightly warm against your skin as he thrust forward...

...completely missing your entrance.

You raised a brow, the drug slowly leaving your system, "Mmm...do all Barbi's miss?"

He looked flustered, maybe even embarrassed, but he barked a "Shaddup!" before he tried again.

And missed.

"Is this how you were made? Papa Barbi forgot to pull out? Are you all that fucking clumsy?"

The look on his face screamed "I'm gonna fuck you up", and the rage that followed your question seem to assist in his attempts to penetrate you; with a roar he thrust forward, finally sliding into your entrance until your skin smacked against each other, his cock hilted within your silken walls. Third time's the charm, they say.

It wasn't painful, you were much too slick for this to be painful, but a choked scream exited through your lips, "Fuck-"

He was surprisingly big. He didn't look like the type to be packing...but then again, why did you bet on his dick to be regular sized? Why were you thinking about his dick at all?

Oh, god. What has become of you?

"That's the fuckin' ticket!" He began to piston his hips, loud moans beginning to trail from him like a whore; god, he really was a whore, wasn't he? He sure sounded like one. You gripped onto the sheets below, his head thrown back in ecstacy as he refused to slow. The pace remained consistent, time feeling like it was just flying by. A social construct, your ass. Your body experienced pleasure like never before - why does he know what he's doing? Didn't his file say he's impotent? - but your mind began to wander. "Fuuuck, be my mommy...fuckfuckfuck, pleaseee..."

He has the hips of a rabbit. He calls you rabbit all the time. What does that make him? A mutt; you've already established this. Mutts usually eat rabbits.

Maybe he'll eat you, later. Maybe he'll tire of your little game of cat and mouse.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" He growled through his breathy moans, his balls slamming against your backside with each aggressively fast thrust, "That sight of you covered in blood, FUCK, that's all I can fuckin' think about, I love ya, fuck-"

Barbi leaned down, his lips smashing onto yours; teeth gnashed against teeth, the kiss being more violent than loving as he moaned into your mouth, his hips continuing their assault. Was he even capable of love? He loved bloodshed, and drugs, and Lupara. You were next on that list.

His teeth bit into your bottom lip, pulling it with him as he pulled away, his eyes clenching shut as he let his head fall, "Gonna fucking cum, you sexy bitch," He breathed, "Gonna paint that womb white, gonna...fuck," He cared not for your own pleasure - your clit would smack him right about now, poor thing - as his pace, almost scarily grew faster.

He was a true whore as he screamed in pleasure, his hips stuttering before hilting inside once more, his balls pulsing as they emptied his essence deep within you.

His pants were heavy as he let your calves fall from his shoulders. "Fucking hell, sweetness..."

"Back at ya," you forced out once more, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your head lolled to the side. Despite him being a selfish son of a bitch, it was still pleasurable for you. He just snickered at your comment.

"Oh, sweetness?"

"Yeah?" You turned to look, only to see a barrel.

Lupara.

"I told ya you'd regret sayin' things you surely don't mean."

And before you knew it, you heard it fire. Thankfully, you felt nothing. The world faded to black, and the last thing you felt was a kiss onto your cheek. Sloppy, and full of your milk.

Maybe pumping that antidote in you was a blessing more than it was a milk-fueled curse.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ ───

"She was found in the cabin," muttered a doctor to Nurse Barlow, his face full of disgust, "With Bambino's semen. He's been in his...chambers, since the shooting."

Barlow sighed, pinching the flesh between her brows, "I see."

"Put her on an indefinite dose of Levora immediately, Aviane if you see fit. God only knows this'll be a common occurence." He huffed, shaking his head, "Hendrick's an idiot for supporting that little shit's infatuation."

"...Understood," the blonde nurse muttered, clearly distressed; she knew Easterman sending you into that trial was a big mistake. He knows of Barbi's little...crush...on you, which had made his decision much more alarming.

She had scoffed when Easterman used the pathetically tame term. It was moreso an objectification. "An obsession," she had corrected within seconds after his declaration.

Barlow looked down at you with pity, your face peaceful. The doctor walked out, shaking in displeasure. With a sigh she turned around, grabbing a small cup of water, and two packets of pills.

Popping them from the package, she whistled lowly to herself, waiting on your awakened state to take the small batch of medication.

God help you, she thought.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ ───

Welp. You never thought Hell had floors to it. Aviane - or was it Levora? - was known for causing breast pain. Adding onto your lactation problem, you felt like shit.

You laid in bed, your breasts throbbing like mad as your hair wet the pillow below you. You were fresh out of a shower, feeling dirty after your little encounter.

Maybe, this time, you could take a break-

"Reagent [Name], please make your way to the shuttle."

Oh, great. With the roll of your eyes, you got up and made your way downstairs, the other Reagents participating in chess, arm wresltling, or simply standing, waiting for their demise.

Sinyala's effect on people was strange; Reagents either became obedient Murkoff-owned lap dogs, eager for every trial - sorry...therapy - or partythrowers who didn't let Big Bad Murkoff ruin their hedonistic lifestyles. Hell, one of them even made toilet wine and served it around the night you and Barbi were welcomed [how was that even possible?].

One nodded at you as you walked past, and looking up at the shuttle, it simply read;

Downtown.

...Here we go again.

#outlast #outlast trials #the outlast trials #outlast fanfiction #outlast x reader #franco barbi #franco barbi x reader #barbi x reader #franco barbi smut #barbi smut #TODAY'S THE DAYYYYYYY

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feinv · 9 months ago

Note

can i kindly req for a arthur morgan x hyperfem reader.... pov he is just so so so in live with her...

arthur morgan x hyperfem!reader.

a/n. introducing my other hyperfixation on this blog. hope this won’t flop. if you don’t wanna see this you can block these tags! hope you like this dolly <3

arthur morgan is a romantic.

spending the majority of his life being without a significant other, he kept repressing all those emotions. and repressing just made them stronger.

but lucky for him he has you!

he doesn’t understand why a sweet thing like you would even look at his direction. but you did. and he wasn’t a fool to let you go after that. he absolutely gives you princess treatment. will do like. literally anything just to see you smile.

arthur loves taking you to beautiful places he encountered while riding around. seeing your eyes sparkle and that pretty smile you flush him is enough for him to die a happy man right there next to you.

he is absolutely feral at how adorable you look. like all the time. we all know 1800s underwears were like just a plain white fabric. but you still managed to stitch them up in a certain way and add a few small bows to make them look cuter! he is honestly so amazed that nothing ever stops you from doing your girly things, and he is always there to tell you that you did a good job and it looks perfect <3

he loves showing you off, especially when he knows he has the pleasure of calling you his. he will do any dirty job and hard labor just to get money and buy you anything you want.

he knows it's hard feeling beautiful when you have limited resources in a camp. so he would buy you whatever clothes you want, whatever jewelry and accessories you look at for more than five seconds when he takes you to a town. (he might even steal some really expensive ones and tell you he traded for those)

of course he would think you look gorgeous even if your entire face was covered in dirt and mud. but it matters to him that you feel happy and confident in yourself. and it's his mission to fulfill that goal for as long as he alive.

every time he would bring back a little something that reminded him of you — a book, a small painting, perfumes that smell just like you, and everything else in between.

he would help you with chores however he can just to ease some of your work and have more alone time together. the boys would tease him for being "a housewife," but he wouldn't give a shit. he might as well do every single of your chores if it meant he would have you all to himself in the confines of his tent.

showers you in compliments. all day 24/7. he knows the words will eventually fail him because he physically cannot tell u how infatuated he is with you and how flawless you are to him. but he will try either way.

“you are so beautiful, darlin'. my pretty girl,” while his fingers gently tuck hair away from your face, his thumb soothing your soft skin. and you would blush and avert his gaze because like :< but he would simply pepper feather light kisses all over your face before connecting your lips in such a tender kiss you would forget that’s a 6 feet tall ripped cowboy.

his side bag and some of his clothes in general would have small hearts or bows engraved in them with pink thread. every time he looks at them he gets reminded there is someone waiting for him to come back. and his heart just swells at that thought.

would also sneak you away from the camp to a pretty field where the two of you could just stargaze together or lay on the grass for hours. you would ramble about your day while he sketches you, your sweet voice literally making him float in the clouds.

arthur morgan loves being around you, being with you. you don't even have to be doing anything together, he just loves having you near him, close and safe :3

©️feinv, 2024.

#what a man #chat where do i find one irl #—🎀#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan drabble #arthur morgan fluff #rdr #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x female reader #feinv—am #—arthursdoll

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spidermans-l-o-v-e-r · 8 months ago

Text

Encanto

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Daughter!Reader

Word count: Like two okay

Notes: This is going to be 1 of 2 “child centered” fics on my blog. I will literally not be doing this again. Catch me doing Swipers “Oh man!!” Because you both technically got these requests in before I updated my rules *Hyena laughing gif* also uhhh sorry it’s unedited I don’t have my laptop 🤣🤣🤣

Eddie didn’t have time for this, he should have had extra clothes at the station but he’d forgotten to pack them the day before and everything just freaking sucked. He pulls up to the driveway, caked in mud and hops out of his truck. He’s just thankful Buck had a spare towel for his seat. The house is deadly silent, as it should be at two in the morning, he grabs a change of clothes and heads straight for the shower, he’s using his break for this

He walks out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel and peeks into Chris’s room. He comes in and covers him back up, placing a kiss on his forehead and shuts the door

He makes his way over to your room next, finishing buttoning up his new pants and tosses his towel into your hamper

“Y/N?” He focuses on your bed for a second before coming in and flipping on the lights. Your covers are tossed around, and your pillow is missing

“Y/N?” He says it a little louder, checking the hallway bathroom before coming back, his heart is racing as he yanks open your closet door to see if you took your overnight bag, maybe he forgot a sleepover!?

He almost steps on you as he turns on the light in there, you’re curled up in a little ball in the corner with your pillow tucked under you and an old blanket he’d given to you when you were a kid

“Mija?? What are you doing in here??” He gets on his knees, down to your level as you sit up and rub at your eyes

“Oh..hey dad” you mumble and he cups your face immediately, checking you over frantically

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine” you push his hands away and sit crisscross in front of him and he sighs, rubbing his hand over his face

“You can tell me anything kiddo, you know that. Have I made you feel like you can’t?”

“N-no…I know I can” you say quietly and he sits next to you, squeezing into your closet and pulling you into his lap

“Alright come on, tell your old man what happened. You haven’t done this since you were a kid”

“I had a bad dream” you hold your head in your hands and groan and he chuckles

“Alright, a bad dream. What was it about?”

“This is childish as hell” you pout and he leans back against the wall, letting his body relax

“You are a child first of all. And second of all, nothing is childish if it scares you like this. It’s okay to have feelings kiddo”

“You have so much audacity saying that to me”

“Just shut up and tell me the dream before I ground your ass” you scrunch your nose at him and he boops it

“It was about you”

“Me? Now that’s just hurtful” he pokes your sides playfully and you roll your eyes, falling against this chest

“Dad!! Be serious!”

“Alright alright I’m sorry, okay. Bad dream about me. Go.”

“You…y-you”

He rubs your back soothingly as your heart rate starts to pick up a little again

“I?”

“You got trapped… I-in a building? A-and they couldn’t get to you… you-you were-“ your voice wavers and he holds you tightly against him

“You were burned alive”

Eddie takes a minute, because truly he’s drawing the biggest blank in the entire world. It was stupid of him not to realize how much you worry about him. You’re always so on par with everything, getting to school on time, getting good grades, watching Chris.

And maybe he was accidentally ignoring the little things. The way you’d hug him just a little longer lately when he needed to drop you off somewhere, when you’d asked him to just check in with you every few hours, when he’d come home last week with a concussion from being knocked out by a belligerent civilian who’d had one too many and wouldn’t leave the literal gas filled bar

“D-do you have these dreams often?”

You shake your head, because No, you don’t honestly. But every time you had, it was always worse than the last.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner Mija?” His voice is softer now, every ounce of concern for you dripping from his words

“I-I didn’t. Ugh see! I didn’t want to worry you!! You don’t- you don’t have time for this… you don’t have time to be worried about me”

“Hey… hey no. Absolutely not, you’re my daughter. It’s in the job description hon” he chuckles as he kisses your forehead

“I’m okay. I’m here.” He cuddles you and your cheek blush in embarrassment as he squishes you

“Dad! Quit it!” You whine trying to shove him away and he hugs you even tighter

“I’ve got a whole team taking care of me… your Uncle Buck? Uncle Chimney? They’ve got my back and especially Grandpa Bobby. I will always be here for you and I will always love you okay? If you ever have another nightmare you tell me right away“

You smile softly, trying to hold back your giggles “You know he hates when you call him that”

“And it’s literally funny as hell and you know it. Now come on-“ He dumps you from his lap and you punch his leg as he gets up. He kicks at you playfully and helps you up.

“Back into bed you go” He pulls you against him, making you stand on his feet as he walks you like a robot

“Dad! I’m not a kid anymore!”

He laughs as you let him walk you back anyway and climb into bed, he covers you up and leans forward, kissing your forehead softly

“You and Chris are the reason I live, Y/N. I’m going to be okay babygirl, I promise. I’ll even start sending you snaps all day! And I’ll parental lock your phone so you can’t block me”

“Oh come on! That’s not even a thing!”

“Wanna bet?”

#words by rhys #911 x reader #eddie diaz #rhys writes #911 fox #eddie diaz x reader #911 show #Rhys requests #daughter!reader

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your-highnessmarvel · 1 year ago

Text

Repairs

Requested by @talesofreading : Would you write something where you're a close friend of Steve and one time as your Bike needs some repair, he tells you to bring it to Bucky as he's good in fixing it. You're hesitant first as you have a bad crush on him but you decide to do it. So when you get there he's wearing a muscle Shirt, is all dirty and Looks pretty hot with his metal arm. So after you watch him fix your bike you can't resist the way he also Looks at you, so it happens that you end up in his shower together with some passionate smut. Later then he asks you for a proper date? 🤭

AN: omg this was sooooo good to write omg

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, piv, oral (f receiving), fingering, language

*gif not mine

MASTERLIST

"Yep, totally busted," Steve said, looking back up at you from where he knelt next to your smoking bike.

You put a hand to your sweaty forehead. Both of you had been at this for the better part of the afternoon, trying to figure out what was wrong with your motorcycle. Steve was in his white wifebeater, stained black from oil and grim, nails coated in dirt. He'd sweated right through his shirt and even his jeans were full of mud and dirt.

You'd sweated your fair share as well, competing with dirt under your nails and sweat right into your hairline. you didn't look any better, but you didn't care; this was your best friend, after all, and you had no reason to try to impress him.

"You know what?" Steve said, putting his tools back into his box. "You should go see Bucky."

You immediately rolled your eyes.

"He's good with bikes, y/n," he commended, seeing the way you shook your head.

"Is this another ploy to set me up with your grumpy best friend?" you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

Steve got to his feet, dirt-stained hands going right into his pockets. "I mean it, y/n," he said, almost scolded. "I'm not as savvy with bikes as he is. He'd do it if you said I sent you."

"Then come with me!" you said. "Every time I'm alone with him, there's this awkward silence and all he does is grunt as a response."

Steve smiled. "I wish I could come, but I've got a date," he answered.

"Yeah, right," you grumbled. You watched him carefully, your best friend and mentor, and something along the edges of his eyes was curious.

He was shy.

"Who is she?" you asked.

He shrugged. "A girl that I saw at the library." He cut that off pretty short, picking up his tools, his towel, and throwing the keys back at you. "Now, get to Bucky's before it's nightfall."

Bucky lived way out of the city, into the utopian suburbs. You found it funny that this was the life that Bucky chose. After everything you'd heard from him, you'd pictured him in a dingy, half-lit, half-crumbling one-bedroom in Manhattan. Not in the outskirts of the city.

Thank God your car could pull a trailer, or else you'd have had to ask Bucky to meet you at your place, and that just wasn't happening. The thousand-year-old soviet asset was known to be a judger of literally everything.

You pulled into Bucky's parking space, the garage to his tiny little house open, like a black mouth ready to swallow you in. By this time, it was nearing four in the afternoon, and the sun was searing, hot and humid, and with just a foot out of your car, you were already sweating.

You closed the door loudly, maybe trying to announce your presence so you didn't have to knock on the door.

"Hey." It was Bucky, coming out of the shadows of his garage. It took you a second to get the hinges in your jaw to work because, damn.

You'd always thought of Bucky as a man who passed as good looking. Well, when you met him, he was still in heavy therapy and on government surveillance. He still had long, matted brown hair and a face dragged down by sorrow.

But now. Now he'd taken to cleanly shave his hair, leaving a few inches of thick, curling locks on top of his hair, not totally covering his ears. And even though he was slimmer than the last time you'd seen him - he hadn't been working out as much - he still looked... better. Real better.

"Hey," you said, awkwardly waving at him. He was carrying a white rag, cleaning his hands from oil or dirt or whatever else he'd been doing. "Steve said I could come to you if I had problems with my bike?"

He pursed his lips. He came closer, out of the shadows and into the mid-afternoon sun, and you got a good glimpse at him. Golden skin, scars matting his hand, his knuckles. He was wearing a muscle shirt, the kind that was maybe a bit too small for him, molding to his muscles, straining across his metal bicep.

You'd never really seen the arm before. Only flickers of his hands or fingers, but never the entire machine.

You licked your lips, something squeezing in your lower belly.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked.

you shrugged. "Dunno."

He glazed his eyes, rolled them. "Alright, take it down and bring it into the garage."

With a tiny sigh of resentment - he wasn't helping you - you unlatched the ties of your bike and rolled it into the garage. it was darker, a little cooler, inside. As you settled your bike in the dead center of the room, Bucky brought two stools, effortlessly carrying them around.

He sat on his and motioned with a wrench for you to sit beside him. Even though you'd sweated all day in your black t-shirt, and God knows whatever he'd down today, there was something terrific about sitting this close to Bucky.

His tanned fingers worked to open up the bike, his metal hand working the wrench.

"Ah," he said, poking around the engine. "I see what's wrong."

"Is it fixable?" you asked.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, darling," he whispered.

You swallowed the heat climbing up your throat, watching him get to work in silence. Unlike Steve, Bucky didn't tell you what he was doing or why; he just did it.

It took longer than expected. And the more he worked, straining against your bike, the sweatier he got, the more figetting you did.

His flesh arm was glistening with a thin layer of sweat. His hand was veined, strained against the metal piece he was holding aside. His fingers were dirty with grime and dust. Even that God damned muscle shirt was stained with dirt and sweat and grime.

By the time he was done, a light sheet of rain was coating the ground outside. It was pitter-pattering against the cement, a slow drone of rain against the tin roof. Almost comforting.

"You can't take your bike out in the rain," he said, putting everything back in its place, stowing his tools and his rags.

You gulped. "Yeah, I'm sure the rain will let off soon." You dragged your sweaty palms onto your jeans nervously. It caught Bucky's eye.

He stood, dragging your eyes up to his figure. He was so tall, so wide at the shoulders, sweating in his shirt, hair a mess.

"I've got beer inside," he said, throwing the rag in the corner of the garage, placing his tools on his self-made wooden desk. Then he turned to you and gestured to the front door. "Come on."

You followed him out into the rain, walking quickly up the steps and into his home, which smelled of him, something woodsy, and air freshener.

You were humid, rain dotting your skin as you took off your sneakers and followed him into the kitchen. The air conditioning was making you cold.

his home was cozy but so boyish. No decorations but a huge TV. A grey couch with not pillows or blankets. Empty liquor bottles as props over the refrigerator, which droned on and on. There was only one magnet on his fridge, and it read "I love NY!" Which was ironic because Bucky didn't love anything.

"Here," he said, offering you an ice cold beer, but it did nothing to warm you up. You leaned back against his kitchen counter, sipping on your beer, watching him poke around the inside of his fridge. The yellow light cast on his face like a glow, and he hummed when he found what he wanted.

By the time he took out the rolled up cheese, he saw you shivering by the sink.

"I'm sorry," you said, settling the beer down. "I'm just a bit cold from the rain."

He hummed, slamming the cheese rolls on the kitchen table.

"We ought to warm you up," he said, diving back into the fridge to get a beer, which he opened and took a five good gulps before he wiped his wet mouth.

"Yeah," you chuckled, pressing your hands against your arms, searching for heat.

The super soldier, immune to any heat or cold or anything really, stood before you with his sticky muscle shirt molding to every nook in his muscles. His arms, his chest, down to his abs. Water had made it almost see-through, and you felt like a perv watching as he breathed, watching his muscles contract beneath the fabric.

"You should take a shower, y/n," he said, tone low.

You startled, eyes dragging from his abs to his face in a split second. Did you smell? Was that why he'd said that?

"You're shivering, poor thing," he said, clucking his tongue, taking another wild swing of his beer. And you noticed that he was eyeing you took, at your jeans sticking to your thighs, your hips. At your wet shirt glueing to the curve of your waist and breasts.

He set his beer down and offered his hand. "Come."

On some instinct you'd never registered before, you took his hand, flesh fingers warm and calloused.

He led you into a small bathroom with no windows. where various male paraphernalia was strewn across the sink. He pulled the shower curtian back and started the shower and you just stood there like a fish out of water; mouth slightly agape, your hand still loosely holding on to his.

"Bucky?"

He hummed.

"I don't get it," you said.

He returned his gaze to yours, satisfied with the steam rising from the shower. He gave you a small, tight smile. "Get undressed," he said, gesturing his chin at you, dropping your hand.

You stood there like a statue, examining him; from the hard jawline, the seriousness in his eyes, the way his skin pulled back when he moved his mouth.

Then, harder this time, "Get undressed or freeze, sweetheart."

The nickname, the pet name, sent a wave of fresh heat right into your face.

He watched, then slowly, he smiled. Like a rpedator trying to win its prey without having to sink teeth into flesh.

He took a tiny step towards you, watching your breath hitch, and he slid metal fingers under your shirt, pulling it up until it came right off your head. Your hair flopped back down over your shoulders, covering your bra.

He bit his lip. You watched, entranced as he moved to unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs. He was agile because he took your panties off with it.

He came back to his full towering height, and he brushed your hair behidn your shoulders, exposing your chest, your full flesh to him.

He snaked an arm around your waist, and you gulped, the feel of his hands, burning metal fingers, was like a lightning bolt had erupted under your skin.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, close to your ear, his breath in your hair. "So fucking gorgeous." He slid his metal hand up and then your bra was sliding off your arms.

"Let me touch you, y/n," he whispered in your ear. You gulped, nodded. "Use your words, sweetheart," and his voice was rugged, wretched, as both his hands slid careful fingertips up on your ribcage.

"Yes, Bucky," you whispered.

He huffed against you. And then his metal hand engulfed your breast, knead it the way he wanted, and his lips found your neck. You whimpered, taken by surprise by his sudden act of devotion. His tender fingers pulling your nipple, drumming against your ribs, lips leaving a wet trail of kisses up your jugular.

When he kissed you, his mouth was warm and wet, and he molded his lips to yours carefully, like he didn't want to scare you off.

You kissed him back just as carefully, confused and distraught, unaware that for years, Bucky had been yearning for this opportunity. For this moment where he finally had you alone.

Quickly, the kiss became rougher. Your hands pulled at the soft, thick strands of his hair and he pulled you aainst his with his metal arm around your waist. He nipped at you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, groaning as his flesh finger felt you.

He skimmed along your navel, until he could cup you in his palm. You squeaked, taken by surprise. "Easy there, princess," he whispered against your mouth. "Just wanna make you feel good."

He dove right back for a kiss, delving his tongue behidn your teeth while his fingers started working circles around your clit.

You had realized how riled up he'd gotten you, like a hardwire ready to snap.

You bent like a bow in his arms, moaning against his mouth as his fingers continued to circle your clit in slow, languid circles. And when he prodded farther, where you most ached for him, he moaned against your mouth when he felt just how soaked you were.

"Fuck, y/n," he groaned, pulling his mouth from yours.

You almost whimpered at the lost of contact, but he picked you up so effortlessly, so quickly, that you hadn't registered that you were now sitting on the edge of the sink until you couldn't see him anymore. All you could see was the steam rising from the shower, clogging the bathroom, settling on your skin in dotted water drops.

And Bucky, on his knees, pulling your knees apart. His eyes, hooded and so blue, looked up at you as he kissed the inside of your thigh.

"One leg on my shoulder, baby," he ordered, his metal hand under your thigh, helped you move until you were almost straddling his face. "That's it, good girl," he groaned, biting into the plush of your thighs.

The angle sent you backward, back against the cold mirror, and one hand hanging onto the edge. Ready to plummet or fly, you couldn't tell.

His mouth teetered around your pussy, kissing along your thighs, until he settled over your clit and gave you one long swipe of his tongue.

Your head fell backwards, eyes closing, hips searching for his mouth.

"You taste so sweet," he cooed, pressing another long lick from your hole to your clit.

A strangled moan escaped your clenched teeth when he sucked on your clit, one of your hands digging into his hair and pulling him where you wanted him.

The room was filled with the filthy sound of Bucky getting his fill, lapping you up and sucking in your clit like a man starved. Both hands leaving ink-blue marks in your hips.

He worshipped your clit, flicking and sucking to a rhythm that had your thighs shaking against his face, with you pulling his hair by the roots. He sucked and fucked your hole with his tongue until a knot formed right under your belly button and exploded in white hot lightning.

As your orgasm washed through you in waves, rocking against his face, a moan hitched in your throat.

Bucky held your thighs open, refusing to let them close, and lapped up his fill.

When you were but a trembling, babbling mess, Bucky it into your thigh, kissing up your knee until he was standing between your legs. His eyes were hooded, pupils blown, mouth red and glittering, swollen from the kisses he'd lain on your clit.

"Come 'ere," he groaned, grabbing you by the back of the neck, bringing you upright on the counter. He brought his mouth to yours in a feverish, harsh kiss that left you dizzy and scrambling to keep up with him.

You pushed him away, grappling at his shirt, pulling it over his head. You gorged on the sight, on the tanned skin exposed, the scar where his metal shoulder meshed with his flesh. You touched the tips of your fingers to his metal shoulder, skimming down to his hand.

He took your mouth again, pressing you back into the mirror, hands in your hair, on your breast, skimming down back to your dripping hole.

He entered one flesh finger, pressing against your walls, so slippery and warm. He hummed, feeling your breasts against his chest as you bowed your back at the sensation.

You patted him through his pants, feeling him warm and hard against your touch. He hissed at the sensation, nipping at your mouth.

He continued to move his digit in and out of you, pressing his palm to your clit. You continued palming him, pressing against the impressive length of him until he groaned and took himself out of his pants, dropping them at his ankles and kicking them away.

Your mouth opened in a small 'o' at the sight of him, hard and thick, tip dripping precum.

"Too much for you sweetheart?" he asked, pressing his forehead to yours, thumbs on each side of your jaw.

You shook your head, gulped, saw the faint smile that crossed his face. He watched you with keen eyes as he lined himself with your soaked heat.

He pressed his thumb against your mouth, kissing you, as he slowly inched in. He watched you take it, watched as your mouth opened, brows curving upward.

"Don't give up on me baby," he whispered, nipping at your mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your jaw.

He slid himself to the hilt, grabbing your hip in a bruising grip, metal hand pressed against the foggy mirror over your head.

You gasped, latching onto his shoulders for dear life as he pulled back and thrust back into you, feeling you clench and flitter around him.

You whimpered, body pressing up against the mirror with one harsh thrust from his hips.

"That feel good, huh?" he asked, boring his eyes into yours, keeping a slow, languid pace with his hips. "Tell me, y/n, that feel good when I fuck you?"

You nodded, feeling him slick, sliding into you with ease, stretching your walls and hitting that spot deep in you that made you writhe.

"Yes, Bucky," you answered, breathlessly, scratching at his flesh shoulder.

He groaned, taking your mouth with his, speeding up his thrusts, making your head catch on the mirror. You moaned against his mouth, giving up full control of your body to his, at the mercy of every thrust, every change in rhythm.

"Taking me so well," he grunted, hiding his face in your shoulder, bruising grip on your hip helping him thrust himself deeper into you. Then he pulled himself up, face hovering over yours, searching your gaze wildly. "You like it when I fucked this tight little hole?" he asked, and again, his tone was scratching the surface of something wilder.

You nodded, feeling a knot form in your belly, your thighs closing around his hips. His mouth stretched into a smile, pounding deeper and faster into you. "Yeah, you do," he said, almost mockingly, pressing a sweaty forehead to yours. "I see the way you always look at me," he grunted, kissing your mouth, humming at the moan that left your lips.

"Bucky, please," you whispered, eyes falling shut, your orgasm on the brink of breaking.

"I feel you, y/n, come on," he grunted, keeping a harsh, pounding pace until your legs shook and your orgasm broke through you in waves. "Fuck, that's so tight," he breathed, chasing his own end, pounding into your tightening hole.

A stuttered moan left your lips as you clung to Bucky, rocking into your orgasm with every thrust, feeling the wave of pleasure reach your toes. His metal hand came slamming onto the mirror beside your ear, cracking into the glass as he pounded into you, breathless and wordless until he gave you a few sloppy thrusts and he was spending himself in you.

He stayed there a few moments, breathing with you, kissing you softly until he pulled out of you. You stuttered, a breath hitched in your throat, as you felt him leaking out of you.

He met your gaze, leaning back to examine his work, and then he slowly helped you to your feet. You giggled at your loss of coordination, hearing Bucky chuckle too as he helped you into the shower.

You let the warm spray wash his seed from the inside of your thighs, soak into your hair.

"Warm enough?" he asked, chin on your shoulder.

You chuckled. "I've been warm enough for a little while."

He hummed, placing both hands along your waist. He helped you wash up, lathering your skin and hair, helping you wash out the suds.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pressing tender kisses to your shoulder. "You're quiet."

"Yes," you answered, looking over your shoulder at him. "Are you?"

He smiled, eyes low. He raised his brows. "I am now," he whispered.

When you were done with the shower and you were both drying up, Bucky tied his towel around his waist and watched you put your hair up in a towel.

"What?" you asked.

He snorted. "It isn't like me to do...this," he said, leaning against the sink. His chest was wet, glistening spots lingering down to his abs. It was enough to make you want to do this again.

You smiled but didn't answer, focused on getting your towel around your torso.

"Do you want to go out to dinner sometime?" he asked, and you looked up, met his eyes across the steamy bathroom, and smiled.

"Yeah, of course."

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky smut #bucky x you #bucky x yn #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #smut #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier

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