#unorthodox approach to everything
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dipper & mabel are such such such good sibling rep and i love the fact that despite their differences theyre never truly pitted against each other, like so many shows (especially kids cartoons n such) will make the braniac/free-spirit dynamic so adversarial, but at the end of the day the pines fundamentally LIKE each other. dipper expresses some exasperation about mabel sometimes but most of the time he’s happy to be just as goofy as she is you know? and mabel’s creativity & emotional intelligence gives her plenty of opportunities to be the one to figure stuff out when dipper can’t, and she doesnt hold resentment against dipper for being the “smarter” twin (bc she knows he’s not really much smarter than her). its just a really refreshing dynamic . Also theyre codependent
#and we’re even shown that w the young stans like. they appreciate each other’s strengths#only as they age and have external issues do they become as adversarial to each other#there were just so many instances during my rewatch where my conditioning from othher media made me like Apprehensive#mabel would be her usual self and id think ‘aw man dipper’s gonna be mean to her.’ and it just never happened!!#especially after the trembley episode like before it he wasn’t ever really bad to her but after it he seems even MORE ready to accept her#unorthodox approach to everything#like i said its just refreshing & relaxing to watch. and also makes their times of tension more interesting and emotional!
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Jjk yanderes (gojo, choso, Nanami.. etc) with darling who just doesn’t give a damn about them being a yan. Like the yandere can kill someone or be extremely clingy, and the darling is just like 🤷♀️ cool who cares. Like they just accept it and continue, not rlly caring about how bad of a person their yandere is to other people, as long as they’re good to darling. If yan is extremely clingy, or “nicely” pressure darling to move in with them, darling is just like “ah okay 🤷♀️ free rent ig”
I live for willing darling supremacy
Yandere Satoru Gojo/Kento Nanami/Choso Kamo x Darling who dosen't care that they are Yandere
Genre: Headcanons
Reader: neutral
Warnings: Yandere behaviors, unhealty mindset, overbearing behavior, overprotection, darling is willing and is totally okay with Yandere being Yandere
Choso Kamo
• AWWWW CHOSO IS DEFINITELY THE BEST YADERE ON THE LIST.
• Not only is he a respectful Yandere who won't do anything Darling isn't comfortable with, but he's so damn sweet it's almost diabetic.
• In general, Choso is the most likely to have a willing Darling, because Choso probably doesn't even fall in love with a “normal person” in the first place.
• Most likely a curse user, for example, or with a strange ability that makes them socially rejected. Precisely generating a mutual empathy that evolves into something more.
• In Choso's case, he has never seen REAL romantic relationships before, he has no idea how to approach his romantic interest, so he ends up showing his affection in unorthodox ways.
• Like, for example: watching them in the middle of the night as they arrive home safely and without problems (if so, he will happily get rid of the problem).
• Give very personal gifts or bizarre gifts (that may or may not be stained with something red).
• Even going so far as to kidnap the reader if things get bad with the Curse users and he needs to “protect” them more closely.
• Choso genuinely doesn't realize how creepy and unhealthy all of this is, he rationalizes and justifies it with his own young mentality. He does not do it out of malice, it is genuine love, but tainted with misdirected actions.
• For the same reason, he doesn't even see anything strange in the fact that the reader is chill with the whole kidnapping. Just because it's the first time he's done this, was they supposed to react differently?
• Choso is so hungry for acceptance and affection that when the reader gives it to him without reservation, he simply melts and can't handle himself anymore. He had wanted this for so long and he didn't even know it.
• Choso is loving, he respects his Darling's wishes and tries to get them to act like his version of a “normal” couple.
• Probably the only Yandere on this list who would listen to the reader's recommendations and ideas, precisely because he knows that they have no malice. And like I said before, Choso prioritizes his partner's comfort above everything else, so he takes their opinion very seriously (LEARN SOMETHING GOJO)
• The most emotionally intelligent of the three, ironically. He is the oldest of ten children and is definitely good at comforting Darling. Always with open arms and dry shoulders.
• Protective at lethal levels, he will not blink to kill large numbers of people if they come between him and Darling.
• In general, he doesn't realize it at first, but it doesn't like it affects him in the long term. He knows reader is his and he is of reader. Forever.
Kento Nanami
• He is suspicious, A LOT.
• Nanami is one of the few self-conscientious Yandere in JJK, who at the same time takes a RIDICULOUS amount of time to finally take the next step in approaching his Darling and hitting it off.
• And when he does, it takes a STUPID amount of willpower and conviction for him not to simply push reader out of their life, even though reader is clearly miserable, Kento knows they would be even more so if they lived with a monster like him.
• But to his surprise, it is READER who keeps looking for him, it is READER who wants to talk to him and stay in touch. It's like they completely ignore all the red flags that Nanami shows every time they are together (overprotection, jealousy, even violence)
• By the same token, he finds it difficult to believe that anyone GENUINELY is okay with the kind of attitudes he has proven to have OVER AND OVER AGAIN.
• When Nanami demands (politely) that the reader move in with him, he expected to have to resort to some manipulation tactic, to have to make the reader feel OBLIGED to do it, but the only thing he encountered was a “Okay, free rent”
• I MEAN???
• You can't blame the man for feeling confused.
• Nanami tries to give his Darling more space than Gojo, but at the same time he is so overprotective that it almost seems the opposite. He is able to put cameras in the house, have the reader wear an ankle bracelet when he is traveling, do regular medical checkups to ensure they are not sick, etc.
• Also Kento will not allow any item that could be useful for the reader to harm themself, putting a lock on the knife cabinet, putting razors out of service, even not allowing shoes with strings (in more extreme cases)
• HE DOES ALL THAT AND THEY HOPE HE'S NOT SUSPICIUOS???
• However, when Darling tells him why, it puts it a little more into perspective.
• Reader is not with Nanami because he is harsh and demanding with everyone, reader is with him because of how delicate and sweet Kento is with them, how he is patient with them, how he tries to improve their day, whether by bringing them food or trying to be emotional, how he cares for them.
• The reader doesn't care about others, they only cares about KENTO. And Kento doesn't care about others, he only cares about Darling.
• From here on, things improve, Nanami is no longer so paranoid, the reader gains certain freedoms by showing that they is genuinely voluntary (like being able to go out with Nanami, go shopping together, etc.)
• It is a new domestic environment, much calmer and happier.
• Nanami's Yandere tendencies are even taken down a notch. After all, why be jealous of someone who is already yours? Obviously he will take good care of them, but he knows he can trust them and they can trust him.
• They are a mutually twisted couple. But they love each other, at the end of the day. That's what's important.
Satoru Gojo
• Oh, he's ENJOYING this like you have no idea.
• I think the ideal Darling for this scenario would be someone who has had a bad time in life, someone who has hardly experienced love. Quite the opposite, Satoru, for the same reason he felt as attracted to the reader as he did.
• Some of them did it out of obligation, saving the weak, no matter how exhausting it may be, however, the reader ended up finding it more and more… more interesting. More intoxicating.
• He expected fighting, screaming and crying. But instead he was simply met with acceptance, resignation, indifference to his advances. Like they didn't care how obviously HARMFUL he was.
•Although, Gojo is self-centered enough to believe that his Darling loves him even if they doesn't, so by acting on his expectations they is only inflating his massive ego.
• I think he would be the only Yandere that no matter if the reader is voluntary or not, he is still one of the worst to have.
• Although of course, it's not so bad for a reader who is okay with it.
• Gojo is a very affectionate Yandere who is very erratic and definitely likes to have his “partner” around to ensure that they are within reach. Under His protection and control.
• With a willing reader, Satoru would be slightly softer, as he doesn't even think that this could be a trick, he can see through them after all.
• That means, more gifts, more pampering, and after a certain time, more freedoms. It's not a big deal, it's just walks to the park or in the car. But this reader has many more privileges, such as internet access, more space, etc.
• even Satoru tends to listen to them more because he knows that they do not “play”, because he respects them more than if they were involuntary (in that case he would probably look down on them to determine dominance, but here it is not even necessary!)
• As time goes by, Gojo would even start bringing Reader to his workplaces, simply because he can't keep his hands to himself, he is just confident enough that Reader isn't going to run away, and what do you think? They don't!
• If Satoru ever hears the reasoning behind why the reader stays with him, he would partly laugh, he honestly thinks it's funny that they only does it for the rent and being alone.
• However, this can quickly evolve into anger at whoever has hurt the reader in the past. With Gojo, no one gets away with it.
• He's a jealous Yandere, even if he's sweet and cuddly, he's always VERY close to just killing the entire mall every time they go shopping for new clothes. It's the custom.
• Fortunately, it seems that the reader knows what they've gotten themselves into, so I wouldn't worry about them, I'd worry about anyone who has done something to them in the past, because now they have some kind of nuclear bomb for a boyfriend.
• Good luck!
Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!
I'll update a little later bc i'm with a new medication for the Anemia thingy, but not worry! I'll still take Requests until about 10 of febraury.
I'm kind of missing taking Request of forgoten fandoms in the blog(like Voltron, Slugterra, Dororo(Tahomaru My Child), ahhhhh, the good Old days)
#headcanons#neutral reader#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#yandere gojo#yandere nanami#yandere choso#yandere satoru x reader#yandere satoru gojo#yandere nanami kento#yandere nanamk kento x reader#yandere choso kamo#yandere choso kamo x reader#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jjk nanami#nanami kento#nanami x reader#choso kamo#choso x reader#jjk choso#choso#tw yandere
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LET ME TELL YOU THE SETUP FOR MY BEAUTIFUL COOKIE CLICKER LOVE STORY
it's not everything but it's a decent introduction to the characters. I've been writing this summary for weeks. I'm hoping that feeling like I can reference parts in the middle will give me more ideas......
why does it hate my images...ok fine no images. god
•••
0 Ascensions:
Cookie is always on the lookout for new ways to bake ungodly amounts of cookies, so she approaches Kirschtorte after reading about the doctor's experimental portal research having once resulted in the retreival of a small amount of alien matter.
The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she does not touch a single morsel of the extravagant cookie spread that Ms. Cliquer made to butter her up. The same thing happens the second, fourth, fifth time they meet and discuss business, no matter what variety of cookies Cookie makes. At last Cookie subjects herself to the mortifying ordeal of directly asking Dr. Kirschtorte what kind of cookies she likes-- only to be shocked and horrified when the doctor says that she does not eat any cookies whatsoever.
Despite her inexplicable distaste for cookies, Michelle Kirschtorte is receptive to Cookie's business offer, but she remains unmoved by Cookie's sickly-sweet commercial persona. Secretly at first, Kirschtorte is deeply cynical about the whole arrangement; she was screwed over by her previous colleagues, and progress on her portal research has been stagnating for some time now because of it. Although she doesn't admit it to Cookie at first, the doctor feels humiliated by the prospect of turning to a baked goods corporation for funding. Michelle ends up accepting the deal under the impression that she is taking advantage of Cookie's deep pockets and naive enthusiasm for unorthodox theoretical baking techniques.
When the cookie-focused research initiatives start yeilding mind-bogglingly impressive results, Kirschtorte reassesses her portal research priorities and her impressions of her oddball benefactor. Cookies are, for some reason, the key to understanding and exploiting the greatest secrets of the universe. Even more impressively, Ms. Cliquer seems intuitively in touch with the logic behind these shocking cookie truths. What other great scientific discoveries could cookie research yeild? How does Cliquer think of this stuff? Why DOES everyone like cookies so damn much? Kirschtorte finds herself irresistably drawn in by these exciting scientific possibilities, as well as the much less sweet and more insatiably driven person she starts getting to know behind Cookie's crowd-pleasing public persona.
Despite a stilted start to their relationship, Cookie and Michelle get along very well once they find even footing. Both are driven to prove themselves through their work, both have been underestimated and cast aside by peers and superiors in the past. Cookie's obsessive drive to make and market infinite perfect cookies matches Michelle's obsessive drive to understand everything there is to know about the nature of the universe; both are deeply passionate about their work and typically striving tirelessly towards the same goal. Both believe that their ends justify their means, and that ethical concerns are a waste of time and a thorn in the side of progress.
Cookie has a knack for PR that Michelle has always lacked the patience for; Michelle understands and appreciates the true, transcendent importance of cookies nearly as much as Cookie does-- Cookie's business partners usually don't care about that part.
Cookie eventually achieves enlightenment and realizes the Secret of the Heavenly Chips, granting her the ability to Ascend. Cookie should be overjoyed at the cosmic knowledge within her grasp; great new possibilities in cookie production await her!
Yet Cookie drags her feet. She keeps finding excuses to stay where she is, keeps setting goals even as her progress slows to a crawl, and reaching those goals in this lifetime seems less and less feasible...
Still, the stress of failure and stagnation chips away at Cookie's resolve to keep dragging out her first iteration. The knowledge of how much she could be doing with the power Ascension would grant her makes Cookie increasingly irritable and bitter about the work which she's made her entire life revolve around.
Kirschtorte is stressed and angry about the slowed progress, too. She is increasingly afraid that age and death will catch up with herself and Cookie before they can discover everything there is to know about reality (and cookies). Michelle is vexed by Cookie's comparative lack of urgency-- or is it a lack of hope for any solution? Cookie has always been the most driven person Michelle's known, yet now Cookie's detatchedness toes the line of seeming resigned to failure. Michelle feels like everything she thought she understood about Cookie is slipping through her fingers, and she feels powerless against the onward march of time (DESPITE having access to time machines!), and she doesn't know how to cope.
The temptation of exponentially greater cookie production and the crushing agony of stagnation eventually outweigh Cookie's sentimental attachment to this particular iteration of her life. Cookie Ascends.
(Michelle lives the rest of her life feeling emptier in Cookie's absence, and never knowing why Cookie vanished.)
1st iteration to reach the Grandmapocalypse:
The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she is offered a slice of Black Forest Cake, her favorite. Somewhat suspicious of the COOKIE Magnate offering her cake, Michelle still can't bring herself to resist. Cookie is clearly delighted.
Kirschtorte doesn't take Cookie seriously at first and Cookie knows it, and finds it funny. Kirschtorte has to be convinced of the omnipresence and significance of cookies thru material evidence. Cookie is more hands-on helping speed along her research, but only ever reveals information in bite-sized pieces on a need-to-know basis. It becomes increasingly clear to Kirschtorte that Cookie somehow knows a lot about the most far-fetched characteristics of cookies before they're scientifically proven...and that Cookie has a suspiciously good intuition for knowing things about Kirschtorte herself.
Cookie is delighted by her extra power and knowledge at first. She's entertained by using her extra experience to tease Kirschtorte. Cookie enjoys getting to spend more time with Michelle, despite how one-sided the relationship is early on. Michelle is drawn to Cookie even more from the get-go, because of her strange intuitive understanding of Michelle herself, as well as Cookie Theory.
During the first Grandmapocalypse, Cookie is overwhelmed and focuses on trying to feel in control rather than seeking help from Kirschtorte. When Dr. Kirschtorte approaches Cookie about it, Michelle is surprised by how stubbornly Cookie refuses to bend even slightly to the wishes of the Grandmatriarchs, no matter how logical and cost-effective that would be. Not fully understood by to Kirschtorte, this is motivated mostly by Cookie's resentment for her own grandmother (who is now a parf of the Grandma collective, of course). Cookie insists that any compliance or appeasement would only lead to Cookie and her company being trapped under the Grandmatriarchs' elderly thumb forever.
Instead, Cookie is dead set on overcoming the Grandmatriarchs' sabotage by outpacing them through brute force. Michelle sees this as a fight she is doomed to lose, but Cookie refuses to consider any alternatives.
Cookie's seemingly pointless uphill battle convinces Michelle that cooperating with the Grandmatriarchs is the only way to keep cookie production and research moving forward at a viable pace (she is objectively correct about this). Michelle wants to trust Cookie's leadership, but the two of them are getting older (this is especially visible on Michelle, who is effected by constant proximity to Cookieverse Portals), and Michelle is beginning to fear they might die before they uncover and exploit all the cookie-based secrets of the universe. After all the work they've done, the thought of not being able to see it through upsets Kirschtorte terribly. The Grandmatriarchs subconsciously whisper things to Michelle which exacerbate these fears-- something Michelle is susceptible to due to her proximity to the Cookieverse Portals.
Eventually, Kirschtorte caves. Against Cookie's wishes-- but in Kirschtorte's mind, for Cookie's sake as well as her own-- Kirschtorte convenes with the Grandmatriarchs anyways by using the Cookieverse Portals. She asks them for knowledge of how to lessen the Grandmatriarchs' wrath, and she asks for them to help her understand the true nature of the universe. In exchange, the Grandmatriarchs' ask Michelle to bond her mind with them just a little (still retaining most of her individuality), and vow that she will continue to proliferate portals to the cookieverse as long as she lives. That seems like an easy promise to Michelle, and it makes sense that they would want this. She already makes portals to the cookieverse all the time, so no big deal. Cookie was probably being stubborn and mistrusting for nothing!
Michelle performs the Elder Pledge ("a simple ritual involving anti-aging cream, cookie batter mixed in the moonlight, and a live chicken"), and the Grandmapocalypse is halted. The Wrinklers and Flesh Highways withdraw and cookie production returns to normal, with the Research Facility's grandma augmentation benefits still at work.
Cookie isn't sure what to make of the sudden withdraw of the Grandmatriarchs, but she has a bad feeling.
The way Michelle's deal works is that Kirschtorte will die normally someday, but then the Grandmatriarchs will carry her consciousness and memories to another iteration of Kirschtorte who asks for the same deal, and their knowledge will be combined into 1 continuous consciousness. This will repeat over and over, with more knowledge added to the collective each time, and each new Kirschtorte never knowing about her past selves or the secrets they've uncovered before she complies with the Grandmatriarchs.
Kirschtorte asks the Grandmatriarchs if they can do the same for Cookie, and is shocked to learn that Cookie was never going to run out of time, and never told her. Was Cookie willing to waste the rest of Kirschtorte's limited lifetime arguing with a grandma hivemind?! Did the work they do together matter so little to her?!!
When Michelle confronts her about it, Cookie learns in turn that Michelle is permanently cosmically bound to the Grandmatriarchs. Cookie feels betrayed, but she mostly blames Grandma-- ignoring Michelle's agency in the situation, thoughtlessly belittling her to keep her on a pedestal.
They continue to have problems in this and future iterations, with Kirschtorte always spending a large portion of their time together unaware of all their past lives until suddenly becoming aware when she inevitably goes against Cookie's wishes and speaks to the Grandmatriarchs. And yet, as much as they both claim to be ruthless utilitarians who put their work above all else, it is always quite obvious how much they admire each other and how badly they always want to be together, even at their worst. With all the time they spend building and destroying and rebuilding a cookie empire over and over again, they come to know and understand each other very intimately. They're both insufferably weird about each other when they both have all their memories.
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Kinknuary Day 14: Hate Sex
Pairing: IVE Gaeul x Male Reader
Word Count: 4,294
[Kinknuary Masterlist]
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Acquaintances, not even a dent but it’ll be hard to deal with but when you’re close with someone, you’re damn sure it won’t be ephemeral and will hold a grudge against you and that’s the last thing you want to see with someone you’re deeply close with.
Yet you eat your words and face that greatest fear of yours, on the verge of breaking apart and cutting connections yet you won’t let that happen even though everything’s falling apart, slowly…
“Gaeul—let me explain—”
“I fucking heard enough—get out of my place or I’ll do it myself!!” Gaeul’s grits her teeth as her words are laced with venom, aiming to faze you out yet it didn’t bother you to fight and to try and enlighten her with the right reasons and brush off the infuriating side that she involved herself into.
“Gaeul, please—it wasn’t much of a thing—we weren’t even close enough and it’s just a friendly approach—”
“Yeah I know, dumbass—it’s just a friendly approach but it’s not that what makes me furious…” Gaeul clicks her tongue, faces you as she drops her bag onto the floor, giving you a cold stare that sends shivers down your spine and then inching closer towards you with her intimidating glare still painted on her face. “It’s the fact that you kept ignoring me all the time until t-this moment—why?”
You can see Gaeul getting melancholic as the emotions inside her are finally rising up within her veins, making her shed a tear because of all of the grudgeful events that have been happening until this day.
You weren’t ignoring her completely and you never did—it was just her sensitive and manipulative personality that you made yourself to distance away from her but not completely and it’s also the fact that you’ve been showing an interest to a girl that you’ve been captivated right from the start you met her and wanted a better connection but of course, Gaeul will make a hindrance because of her intense anger and jealousy over you. You love Gaeul, but in a way that’s maybe unorthodox and platonic for others but you didn’t care—you love her and you love the relationship you have with her for years, even though it’s not going over the limit but sometimes, she’s just being over the limit and you’re not liking it.
“Gaeul—just please, it’s not about that fact—”
“Then what?” Gaeul inches closer towards you, her eyes are now gleaming with her own tears due to the weightful emotions she’s experiencing, as it streaks down her cheeks and makes her makeup start to become a ruined mess.
Your heart drops with her current gloomy state as you can feel the sincere sorrow in each of her words. In each word she expresses, it makes up for the poignant feelings she felt because of you and it’s breaking you slowly. You never wanted her to be like this, but here you are, locked with frustration and regret and there’s nowhere you can do to escape—technically, you can but you don’t want it to provoke her further and let this be the day to end your friendship with her.
You’d be with her until the end of time and you’ll let her know that yet this will be a challenge and you’re willing to endure and take it over.
“It’s about the fact of—” Silence ensues as she interrupts your further attempts of explanations as she latches her lips onto yours immediately and instantly, you became intoxicated with her scent that you fell under her spell, further reciprocating the kiss as she grips onto your collar tightly to further deepen the torrid kiss that she initiated. As much as you want to pull out and talk about the situation better, you can’t help but further need the taste of her luscious lips as your hands roamed around her back and played with her hair which tightens her grip onto your collar even more. Not so long after, the kiss came up to a close as she pushed you harshly and then glaring at you, starting daggers towards your heart.
“You know how much I hate you whenever you kiss me, right?”
“It w-wasn’t even—”
Gaeul chides you as she can sense the uneasiness in your eyes, and she took that as an opportunity to let you feel her wrath. Now pinned against the wall and frozen on the spot, Gaeul half-squinted her eyes as her voice tends to curse you and its tone is evidently made to faze you and all you can see is her small figure falling down on her knees, and gripping harshly onto the hem of your pants.
“Gaeul, c-can we just talk about this—”
“Shut the fuck up and just lean down on the wall.” Gaeul’s hands finds its way onto the buttons of your pants as she starts undressing your lower half and with that in mind, you know what Gaeul wants and further retaliation will just not work but rather put gasoline into the flames of anger. You just let her get what she wants as you will also derive pleasure from it but you know Gaeul’s going to put your life in misery within this given moment as you momentarily prepare for this.
“You know that I’ve been so fucking stressed lately and then you, added to that shit I’m going through—well, don’t worry, I’m going to use this delicious dick just for myself.”
Well, if this is how she’ll handle the situation, then so be it. With your defenses slowly becoming useless and deemed to be out of bounds, you take shallow breaths in order to prepare on what you’re about to tackle and ruthlessly, Gaeul yanks off your boxers out as she’s met with your erect length, constantly throbbing since the time she probably kissed you intimately. Unlike what you’ve fantasized or experienced with her, she eyes your cock like some sort of meal, not like something she’s been wanting for a long time as she spat all over your length, and stroked it starting from the base up to your engorged tip.
“Don’t call my name or touch me, because if you do, I’m going to really punch you, I swear to fucking god.”
She can’t be bothered with anymore foreplay as the hunger inside her took over and planted small kisses within your tip, and then sucking half of your length with already a ridiculous pace that inevitably lets out a series of ethereal moans coming out of your mouth, voicing your satisfaction. It’s obvious how deprived she is with your taste as the constant slurps on your shaft and her greedy pace of bobbing is a strong evidence, concluding to a fact she definitely wanted you yet anger and jealousy took over her that she became a different person.
Now, taking your whole length is each bob she does, more broken moans escape your lips as it forms symphonies for Gaeul to hear yet she doesn't care—all she wants is the taste of your cock and to fulfill her own needs. She didn’t mind the gags she does whenever your head hits the back of her throat as she continues to suck every inch of you like she’s been starving for weeks and with her current pace, you can’t help but writhe as you hands unable to find a leverage to fight the sudden peak of pleasure. You can’t help yourself and Gaeul know you can’t handle her properly, as she increases the quality of her oral expertise all over the length of your shaft and the inevitable comes, your hands finds its way onto Gaeul’s dark locks in which, she didn’t like and immediately, she pulled out of your length as the multiple connections of her saliva onto your shaft makes up the mess that made your arousal skyrocket.
Gaeul’s furious at what you’ve done and won’t let you get away from it as she snarls at you, her anger streaming over her like a hot kettle. “What the fuck did I just say? Are you that fucking stubborn??”
Of course, the question is rhetorical and all you know is that you’ve fucked up with the wrong person. With Gaeul’s ice-cold glare towards you, it wasn’t going to long for a punishment to be ensued as her dainty fingers found its wall on your sensitive balls, and cups it gently. It was a rush of pleasure whenever she does that yet it was quickly changed when she wrapped her fingers around it, making it a makeshift cockring that definitely puts more salt onto the wounds—it’s a little painful yet it stimulates you even further as she continues her oral masterclass, slobbering all over your succulent shaft like there’s no tomorrow to see.
She maintains the ridiculous pace onto your whole length as her soft, warm cavern which is her mouth makes up for the constant pain she’s doing onto your sensitive balls, further unlocking your masochistic side. She shows no mercy and sympathy as she uses her mouth to further derive her wants as she can’t get enough and resist the taste of your length yet even with all of the great things that have been happening, it will all soon come to a halt as she pulls out and catches her breath desperately.
“God—you're glad your cock tastes fucking delicious and I can’t resist this—shit, be grateful because this could’ve ended worse.”
You’d want to argue with her on that scope, but you'd rather not, not when her rage is boiling hot and she wants not yet attended to its fullest. Further continuing her great expertise, she delivers such an incredible pace as her other hand grips onto your thighs for a leverage on a better job and sucking you off. Every thrust she does is genuinely making you brain being fried down into shambles and when forced herself onto deepthroating you, she crossed the line as you can’t help but cry on how great her throat feels, yourself getting weaker with her own spell. It didn’t take long before she ejected out due to her multiple gag reflexes and god, once you look down, you can’t help but feel more aroused with the sight of face sullied with her own makeup, saliva and her disheveled hair.
“I’m g-going to suck this dick until you cum deep down my throat, do you understand?” You nod eagerly as she smirks as strokes your saliva-sheathed length and mutters more commands, “Don’t you dare hold back and be a good boy for me.”
You won’t let her down and will deliver up to her finest desires as she latches her lips onto your engorged head, collecting the copious precum that has been leaking out and then eagerly shoved down your whole length for the umpteenth time in her throat and ensued with a rapid pace. It was breaknecking as the copious drool stained her hands still gripping onto your balls, onto your thighs and some dripping on the floor and it’s just a great element to further ignite the essence of an incredible oral session. She can sense how close you are due to you needy moans and the constant throbbing of your shaft and with profound knowledge, she further doubles her efforts as she needs to taste every drop of your succulent, creamy semen that she’s been addicted to and there’s no way you’re going to last long. Given the fact that she’s been giving you the euphoric experience you’ve had for an undeniably long time now, you’re not able to savor the moments you’d want to as you can feel your loins acting up and hell’s about to break loose for you.
“Gaeul—I’m g-gonna cum…”
Gaeul took this as an opportunity to show how she’s more deserving than anyone and how you could never find someone like her. She didn’t even bother responding by words, but rather, her own, frantic actions as she plunged her throat deep down as she gags and you finally, let out the pinnacle of paramount bliss—shooting streak of thick, creamy semen down her throat as she gags in every spurt, but fight through it because she wants to take it all and not waste a single drop. She successfully did it, given on how great she takes your cock and suddenly, your seed instantly disappeared and is now treasure down to her stomach as she hummed in satisfaction because of your delectable load.
“Can’t get enough of this cum of yours—fuck, it’s so delicious.” Gaeul shares her satisfaction with the flavorful taste of your semen as she averts her eyes towards you, still with a cold glare as she stands up and lets you know about something you’ll never forget. “I guess she can’t do it like I do, hm? Like I said, you’re not gonna find another one like me.” Gaeul, still fueled with her rage, stands up and commands you to lay down on the couch in which you find it puzzling as you’re genuinely confused on why she’s acting like this.
“Gaeul—please, can w-we just talk about this?” Your pleas doesn't let Gaeul distract herself onto her desired prize as she’s still not done with you and would rather hear your moans than your annoying voice pleading for something better.
“Maybe we’ll fucking talk if you dumped another load, now inside my cunt.” Gaeul retorts as she pushes you off the couch and you land with a thud, her not minding if you were alright or hurt because she’s feeling selfish due to her anger blinding her and her animalistic desires that unleashes the devilish side of her. With still your length being full-erect despite your already-impeding orgasmic trance, Gaeul eyes on it as she pounces on your lap like a bunny, hopping onto its favorite meal: your length, still wet with own saliva as she strokes it furiously in order to maintain the libido inside you.
“Ga—Gaeul, I c-can’t take it anymore—I’m too sensitive!”
Well, she completely ignored your pleas and with that, she completely uses this as her own advantage as she toys with you, further pumping your throbbing length with feverish strokes in which you respond with whimpers due to your sensitivity.
“I don’t care—don’t tell me you don’t want this, asshole! Bet she can’t make you whimper like I do, hm?”
As much as you want to retaliate and stop this madness, you can’t help but feel utter pleasure and pain whenever she strokes your entire length as her touch is your kryptonite, and it will always be that way. Having enough of giving your shaft such pleasurable strokes, she strips her clothing one by one while still pouncing on your lap and with the sight of Gaeul’s slender body on display, your shaft can’t help but twitch because of how hot she is. Given her graceful and quick movements, she removed all of her clothes in quick succession yet she needed to hop off on your lap to strip her lower half and after removing it all, she quickly pounced and teases her lower lips onto your tip. The both of you moaned in unison because of such a great feeling coursing down your veins with your bodies clashing against each other yet Gaeul is growing impatient, opting for the climactic prize as she eagerly plunges herself onto your entire length.
After she impales herself with your raging rod, such sultry and sexy moans escape her lips as she misses the feeling of your dick inside her tight, velvety walls. She ensued a moderate pace as she greedily grinds her hips onto your length, withdrawing with only the tip inside and then slamming her hips back, filling her up to the hilt which made her moaned incredibly loud and you, groaning your satisfaction out as your sensitivity slowly dissipates as time goes by and with her rapid thrusts on your shaft.
You know how incredible it feels everytime Gaeul rides you as she always brings her best, hopping and clashing her hips in contact with your body harshly as she brings the peak pleasure that you’ve always loved. Even though you know how she’s becoming selfish and using your body just for her own gratification and her needs to be fulfilled, you can’t still help but notice how she’s reconsidering your own pleasure as her movements laced with finesse and the peak-quality of her thrusts against you is a strong evidence.
“Yeah—see? You can’t think about her right now, don’t you? Yeah—because you can’t help but get so fucking turned on with my pussy, hah—that’s why, you prick!”
Gaeul growls at you as she uses your shirt as the leverage to further ensure a breakneck pace and to further fight the intense pleasure that’s been coursing down her veins since the start she rode you. You could feel her wetness in every thrust she does on your shaft as rivulets of her own nectar overflow around your shaft and stain the couch—and here comes another event where the both of you will literally stain and destroy another couch because of both your filthiness. The wet squelching of her shaft sends your brain into a stimulation that further makes everything better yet it’s becoming way too pleasurable that you’re starting to have your mind clouded with only the gripping walls of pussy that puts you into a hypnotic trance.
“Gaeul—p-please, if w-we can just talk—”
A smack resonates around the room as she slapped your face with anger still boiling within her as you feel a sting yet it didn’t really hurt you because she didn’t bring much power onto that smack. As how your previous attempts of persuading her onto talking to you in a better way possible concluding onto a major fail as everything was deemed useless against her, you’d just keep your mouth shut and relive and cherish the pleasure that she’s been delivering as you totally succumb onto your own needs too, groaning in pleasure and moaning to voice out how good she’s riding you even though she doesn't acknowledge your sincere compliments towards her—even with her holding a deep grudge, you know that deep inside, she’s deeply flustered because she knows how your compliments literally fuel her do more and makes it more endearing.
The sight of Gaeul’s cunt constantly engulfing your entire length as she creams all over it, her perky mounds jiggling in every time she gyrates her hips and her expressions and moans that contains pure lust and wants—even though she’s suppressing the sounds that’s coming out of her mouth and trying her absolute best to make up a stern and intimidating look, she can’t help but let her true self out as the pleasure is making her give in to her true feelings and putting her hypocritical demeanor into its demise—is so arousing that you’d literally want to take a picture or a video just to save it and possibly even jerk off to it on your free time but of course, you’d probably just conceal everything and let both of your eyes only be the ones to see this filthy masterpiece.
With her given pace, Gaeul can’t help but just lure in to her own carnal desires as she’s coming near to her own promised land, drawing herself closer onto her rewarding trance as the constant pulsations of her pussy and her juices spilling out of it as the evidence of her nearing high. Knowing about this, you thrust yourself upwards as surprisingly, she didn’t bother to stop you but even encouraged you to do so and with her final oscillations, she’s going over to the line and all will break loose.
“God—I’m going to fucking cum all over this stupid cock—shit, it f-feels so—ahh—good—gonna cum!!”
It just took a single scream from Gaeul as she creams all over your throbbing shaft, her juices spilling out and making everything on its vicinity wet and it’s further worsen when she pulled out of your length, spraying her liquid nectar all over your abdomen, your shaft and on the sofa. She falls limp on the sofa as she catches her breath, regaining herself some energy from the enervating orgasm that sends shockwaves throughout her body as euphoria takes over her. Still having some of her energy left, she chides towards you to do something as she complains on how your cock can always make her cum hard.
“Gosh—glad I can only feel this cock ‘cause—fuck, this cock makes me cum so fucking hard I fucking love it… Now will you fuck me? Be sure to finish in me ‘cause I want that load deep inside my cunt.”
Her sinful words makes up for the sudden loss of tempo as you stood up from the couch and without any question, Gaeul positions herself where her freshly-fucked cunt is all on display, all for you to take with no-return and to end what she started a while ago. Your hands then grabbed her hips as her flexibility was tested, her legs now rested onto your shoulders as you immediately plunged your length back into her wet folds and then mustered a ridiculous pace in which she always loved. There was no more foreplay as it was out of the equation as both your needs should be attended as soon as possible yet Gaeul isn’t a fan of what your hips are capable of doing.
“Come on—fuck me harder, come o-on—oh fuck!”
Gripping her hips harshly enough for a bruise to form, you ensued more power in each of your thrusts as she moaned in need with your utter harshness, treating her body like a ragdoll as every plummet your hips do meant to break her in half and turn herself into a mess, uttering such lifeless syllables full of lust and greed. Even with your breakneck pace, Gaeul can’t seem to be impressed with the way you’re treating her as she complains again, fury taking over her and making her boil.
“I s-said—fuck m-me harder—oh shit, just like-fucking-that you stupid asshole!!”
You then fuck her with a pace imaginable, your hips mustering up a velocity that no one can comprehend as you let your pent-up anger inside fuel the rapid thrusts that’s bound to break her apart and possibly, to fuck out the anger she’s feeling and to succumb onto her wanton needs.
It may seem impossible on this given moment but being derived to fulfill each other’s needs is the best way to end this even though her rage for you is still deep within her—you just hope you can fix this in a better way possible but for now, you’ll just dig yourself closer to the rabbit hole, a hole closer to your own lustful desires and to succumb onto it,
There’s no way Gaeul can’t tell how closer you are on reaching your own, long-awaited high as you gave her cunt the last, ruthless thrusts that made her cry due to the intense gratification she’s feeling as she close her eyes and lets her senses gave her the better stimulation than ever before. Without holding back, you announce your near orgasm to Gaeul and she took this as an opportunity to fulfill her needs as she sexily moans for you for further encouragement and it’s not going to be long before you reward both yourselves.
“Fuck—I’m gonna cum inside y-you, Gaeul—shit, g-gonna cum!!”
Now with her legs repositioning to hug your waist and to further lock your whole length to be buried deep inside her, you groan with the tightness her walls are making as you bury your shaft more, filling her up to hilt and shooting down multiple spurts of your treasured seed right onto her womb. Your thighs quiver when you deliver her your semen as at her end, she became enervated due to the exhaustive session of sex and the mind-boggling stimulation that made her brain go haywire. You kept buried in her until your orgasm impeded, and then, you pulled out to admire the mess you’ve made between her legs and as expected, the both of you fell limp onto the couch. With enough courage, you asked her something and anticipated a better approach yet you’re still met with something else you didn’t like.
“Now, can we talk?”
Gaeul rolls her eyes as frustration is still embedded within her, but you can see it being lifted by a little due to the faint smile she did after receiving a warm load deep in her cunt. “I’ll go and clean up first.”
Having a little faith, you let her do what she wanted to do as she stood up and a visible struggle was evident when her legs became a little wobbly due to the intensity of your pace and hers earlier. You ensued on helping but she brushed it off and said that she’s fine and she can help herself up.
But there’s maybe a single thing that Gaeul can’t withstand nor do against it as it’s inevitable for her to resist and put a sleep onto…
“Hey…” Gaeul stopped as she called you, and you were fazed by it but you brushed it off as responded to her.
“What, Gaeul?”
Gaeul sighs as her stern glare still shoots daggers at you, but her tone is now softer than what it was before, “Come and join me in the shower, then we’ll talk right after.”
Yes, her weakness is literally you as you’re insatiable for her. Guess what? There’s maybe another chance to clot what has been wounded and fix what has been broken but you could never be so sure but that? That’s a sign of mending and that alone gives you hope for the better…
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Be gentle, man!
Synopsis: You and the team go undercover to a dinner where high-profile guests are invited. You need to acquire vital information while acting posh at the same time. Good lord, help you all.
Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader, Task Force 141 x F!Reader
Word Count: 1,519 (approx. 6-7 min reading time)
Notes:
This is the second (and final) part of the story but you can read it as a oneshot. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.
No warnings; casual read with platonic relationships.
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The Athenian Palace: You’ve heard of the place a few times, mainly through the news, but never had the chance to visit. And why would you? Are you the president of a country? A diplomat? A wealthy businessperson with significant influence over government decision-makers? No, you are just a soldier among the many considered expendables. Your duty is to protect your country with your life—the same country that many attending the event have a vested financial interest in.
But today, everything is different. Today, you’re supposed to act like someone who comes from money.
For the past month, you and the rest of the team have undergone extensive training in formal dining, conversation, walking, and dancing. Everyone has adapted to their undercover personas somehow, except for Price, who couldn’t accompany you since he’s been undercover in a similar instance some years ago and poses a threat to the mission if he gets recognised.
Gaz required the least training among the four of you. You haven’t yet determined if he was naturally suited for this role or if his assigned persona was more straightforward than the rest. Nevertheless, he seemed comfortable conversing about the tech industry and acting like James Sinclair, the alleged tech entrepreneur.
On the other hand, Soap was the complete opposite of Gaz. Your etiquette instructor, Lady Theodora, struggled to mould him, but he always found a way to break free. Eventually, she found the tipping point to channel Soap’s extravagance to benefit the mission.
“What would you do if you were a trust fund child?” She asked, to which Soap replied that he would be “poised and all” but at the same time act “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.” And that’s how Maxwell Vanderbilt—or “you can call me Max,” according to Soap—was born: with a mohawk, a loose-fitting suit, and an unchallenged attitude. You hated to admit it, but he was the most authentic and convincing among the four of you.
As for you and your Lieutenant, you were still adjusting to your role as a couple, particularly with the required intimacy. Yet, with Lady Theodora’s help, you managed to get closer, even if that involved a few unorthodox ways of doing things. One day, for example, she duck-taped your hands together and ordered you to spend the entire day together. She taught you how to dance, touch each other in public, and show, without telling, how you and Ghost— or Sir Ethan K. Wood—would infiltrate the facility and gather vital information as a couple.
He hated the name. “Why should I pretend to be fucking Ethan?” He asked, but Lady Theodora explained that it was a name forged by Laswell and she could do nothing about it. And when you told him you were named “Constance”, he spitted out his drink and immediately became grateful to Sir Ethan K. Wood.
Arriving in a Maserati Levante, you were greeted by a team of three people, two opening your doors and one guiding your hand as you stepped out of the car.
You wrap your arm around Ghost and approach the entrance.
As you walk through the imposing double doors, the room reveals itself in all its glory—a high ceiling decorated with murals stretch towards the heavens. The ballroom’s walls are draped in exquisite fabrics of gold and burgundy while crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow, illuminating the space and creating an inviting and elegant atmosphere.
The ballroom’s focal point is a large dance floor. It invites guests to dance while a live orchestra, hidden in a corner, fills the room with melodies. Surrounding the dance floor, elegant tables decorated with crisp linens showcase elaborate floral centrepieces, while towering candelabras provide additional illumination.
You look at the guests; men wear tailored tuxedos, and women glide in flowing gowns and sparkling jewellery. Your gaze shifts to Ghost, who looks dashing in a three-piece navy suit, a matching tie, and a white handkerchief in his chest pocket.
“Are you ready, my dear?” You ask with fake confidence.
“Ah, my love,” Ghost replies, “in for a penny...”
“... in for a fucking pound.”
“Language, Constance.” He corrects you sternly.
“Apologies, darling.”
You enter the crowd, mingling with the elite. Ghost introduces you as his wife, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch on your back. Engaging in conversation, you discuss the land you supposedly own, the inflation—that most people in the room are the direct cause of—and collectively sorrow over the economy’s current state. All this while sipping champagne from crystal glassware that’s worth more than your annual salary.
Among the guests, you spot Soap conversing with a group of Wall Street figures. He appears relaxed, holding a glass of whiskey with an orange peel garnish.
“Ah, what can you do?” You hear his Scottish accent echoing in the room. “It’s a self-regulating market, after all.”
Lots of things baffle you in this world. Soap, talking about self-regulating markets with a bunch of Golden Boys who nod and agree with him just added another paradox to your list.
“Darling,” Ghost says, with his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, “dinner will be served shortly; let us find our table.”
You approach your seats, and Ghost pulls out a chair for you. As you settle in, you look around at the surrounding tables, searching for familiar faces. Gaz, sporting a suit with no tie and fake glasses, is seated at the table next to yours and talks with the people around him.
The evening unfolds with a symphony of courses served with artistic precision. Each dish arrives like a work of art—a culinary masterpiece. You apply Lady Theodora’s training and indulge in the exquisite feast while engaging polite conversations. You observe and listen closely to the guests’ discussions, hoping to obtain any valuable information that might aid your mission.
With dinner concluded, everyone moved to the ballroom for the entertainment segment. Ghost discreetly signals for you to follow him. Excusing yourselves, you navigate the corridors of the Athenian Palace, with the music and chatter fading as you reach the server room.
“This is it,” Ghost whispers as he approaches the servers. “The information we need should be here. You need to get to work.”
You nod and navigate the complex digital landscape, leveraging your technical expertise to penetrate the encrypted files. Meanwhile, Ghost maintains a vigilant watch and stands guard, ensuring no unexpected disruptions throw a wrench into your plans. Each creak or distant voice makes him reach for the gun in his inner jacket pocket.
Minutes pass like hours. Suddenly, your face lights up.
“Got it!” you shout, and Ghost brings a finger to his lips, urging you to keep quiet.
“Got it!” You repeat, this time in a whisper.
“Good girl,” he replies softly, “now let’s go find the others and get the fuck out of here.”
You begin your return to the ballroom, but things feel strange this time. The calm conversations surrounding the place have turned to screams, and the music sounds somewhat different than when you left the hall.
Ghost puts a hand in front of you and stops you.
“What’s going on, Constance?” he asks, concerned.
“Let’s find out, my love,” you reply, loading the pistol strapped to your thigh.
You run through the corridors, but there’s no one there—it sounds like everyone has gathered in the main hall.
Just before entering the ballroom, you compose yourself, adopting the poised stance Lady Theodora taught you. You enter the hall to uncover the reason behind the change in atmosphere.
Soap stands on a table in the centre of the ballroom, flipping his mohawk from left to right in sync with the rhythm of “Macarena”, played by the orchestra. Ties are now worn as headbands, and champagne glasses have become shots.
Dumbfounded by the spectacle unfolding right before your eyes, you approach Gaz.
“Ga-James, what’s the deal with all this?” You ask while looking at Soap dancing on the table.
Gaz chuckles, adjusts his fake glasses, and points towards Soap. “This fucking genius had a brilliant plan to create a diversion while you two were working your magic behind the scenes.”
Ghost raises an eyebrow. “So, this whole… thing is Soap’s way of keeping the spotlight off us?”
Gaz nods. “Exactly, mate. Soap figured throwing a wild party would divert the security’s focus from their employer’s safety.”
You look at Soap, who has now started a conga line. “If their employer is too drunk and occupied, they won’t care about outside threats,” you utter.
“Indeed,” Gaz says, “they have a whole other worry; their employer not getting any more shitfaced.”
“That audacious, brilliant motherfucker,” Ghost shakes his head in awe, “he just created the perfect cover for our mission.”
Soap notices you looking at him and raises his hands triumphantly. He looks so proud of his achievement. He brings his thumbs to his chest and mouths something.
“What is he saying?” You ask, confused.
Ghost’s lips curve up, and he leans towards you.
“He says,” he whispers in your ear, “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.”
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#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#cod x female reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#call of duty#simon riley x y/n#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#cod x reader#cod mw2#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#simon ghost riley x f!reader
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Unorthodox 2
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.
Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜
💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼
Adrenaline pumps behind your ears. You sit in the dirt, heart thumping, body tingling, you're breathless. You can't believe you just did that.
You tug on the strap of the chute as it digs into your shoulder. You steady you grip on your phone as you look up at the sky as you try to still your shaking. You just fucking jumped out of a plane and lived. Wow.
You hit send on the video. The girls aren't going to believe you without evidence. Besides, you feel bad for missing cocktails. You'll be there in spirit.
A sudden release has you feeling lighter as the chute detaches. You're lifted from behind by the empty back strapped onto you, "Iz, you good?" Sy asks.
"I'm... alive," you say as you lower your phone and steady your feet, "that was..."
"Come on," he meets your trembling disbelief with his stern intensity. "You know we still got stuff to do."
You clear your throat and let out a deep breath, "sure thing, Sy."
"Whatcha doin' anyway?" He taps your phone before you can tuck it away. "UberEats don't come out here."
"Pfft," you scoff, "girls are having drinks. Was just sending them my regards."
"Girls," he utters, "you tell them I'm sorry for keeping ya. Tequila Izzy must be a lot of fun."
"I told you, I don't drink Tequila," you counter.
"Sure, ya don't. You just never had good tequila."
"Please," you turn to walk in time with him across the sandy field, "you know good liquor? I'm the one who stocks your footlocker."
"Patron ain't too bad. I just don't like the price tag," he shrugs.
“You? Careful about money?” You shake your head.
“Eh? Last I checked, you were my money manager.”
“Well, it wasn’t in the job description but there wasn’t really one, was there?” You kid as you keep step with him. You look ahead and the last of the thrill slakes away. “So, what are we doing here, Captain?”
“Why ya callin’ me Captain for?” He nudges you with his elbow, “don’t sweat it.”
Your eyes pinpoint in the distance as you try to see more than sand. Your cheeks slacken and your lips straighten. Business. It isn’t like it used to be. It’s more than emails and Zoom calls. No, it’s life and death.
“Really, you don’t need to worry. He’s an old buddy. He’s just... livin’ off the grid right now.”
“You sure?” You ask.
“What happened to trust?” He challenges.
“When did I ever say that word,” you mutter and chew your dry lip.
He huffs, “don’t start. Come on. Won’t be no time.”
He’s right. You approach a compound behind a thick metal fence. The sun beats down so hotly that you can see a ripple in the air and it looks as if the bars are bending. Like Sy, you’ve wrapped a scarf around your head to sop up your sweat and protect your face.
You don’t miss the men perched on the posts or those just within. They have guns. They ready them at your approach. Sy shoots up a green flare that has them standing down. He stops you twenty feet from the gate.
“He’ll come to us before we can go in.”
You look at Sy. He’s calm, unbothered by the guns and the watching men and the burning sun. Out here, he’s in his elements. He’s confident in the matters of blood and violence, everything else is a mystery to him. His world is foreign to you. You live in the little nooks and cranny’s he doesn’t see; the business of living not killing. Bills, laundry, doctor’s appointments, deadlines, dishes...
The gate opens and you tense. He taps your wrist, “ease up.”
You do your best to obey. You don’t want to put any one else on edge. Didn’t you take this job to let go of all that? To stop being so damn uptight.
A man walks out, unarmed, though he wears an armoured vest. Sy goes forward to greet them and the chuckle as they embrace, slapping each other’s shoulders. You stay behind, wary of the shadows behind the fence.
“Syverson,” the man lilts, “you made it.”
“Didn’t make it easy, Conrad,” Sy snorts.
“Mm, but I thought you were coming alone,” the man looks past him and nods in your direction, “if you’d said a lady was accompanying you, I’d have sent the town car.”
“Don’t be fucking funny,” Sy reaches to muss the man’s hair. “I’m starving and tired and your jokes still aren’t amusing.”
“Come,” the man, Conrad beckons to you, “I’ve everything ready. Beds, food...” He draws out the last word with a wink, “wine.”
Sy tilts his head and cranes to look at you as he follows Conrad’s gaze. You cross the expanse and take Conrad’s hand as he offers it, introducing himself as ‘James’. You shake his hand and return your name in turn. Sy turns forward and squares his shoulders.
“Might I ask how you know each other?” Conrad turns to walk at your other shoulder as he points you onward.
“Mmm, she’s...” Sy mulls his answer with a grumble.
“Personal assistant,” you fill in for him.
“Oh? How amusing,” Conrad remarks, “and in this line of work.”
#captain syverson#dark captain syverson#dark!captain syverson#captain syverson x reader#sand castle#series#au#drabble#unorthodox#bad bosses
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Tì'eylan ✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!human!reader ✮ Trope: Friends to lovers ✮ Word Count: 16k ✮ Tags: mentions of sexual partners, talk of sex, size difference, fluff, Aonung's pov (kinda mega horny for her), jealously, lap sitting, accidental stimulation, masturbation (m), slight slight angst if you squint, kissing, biting, munchiness, coming untouched, p in v, nicknames (Aonung calls reader tsawksyul, which means sunlily) ✮ A/N: so I kinda went a little overboard with this one - idk what to tell you - i had a lot to say and ngl had a lot of daydreams during boring classes that i didnt have time to turn into writing till now (>﹏<) Also lol, I'm on holiday w my family rn so writing this at times was quite risky but anyway, HOPE YOU ENJOY MY DARLINGS, I REALLY LIKED WRITING THIS ONE <3
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Never in a million years would you have suspected that you’d end up close friends with Aonung.
When you met him, shielded by the somewhat brotherly protection of Neteyam and Lo’ak, Aonung had been indifferent to you at the very best, and taunting and infuriating for the first few weeks in Awa’atlu.
All it took was a few skirmishes, several unorthodox verbal arguments, and one fucked up altercation with other humans for Aonung to get off his high horse of hazing the newbies.
You weren’t sure if it was Neteyam’s near-death and your inconsolable distress over it, or the closeness of you getting nearly kidnapped by the Recoms (the “pretty traitor” as the had called you left little to imagination of what sort of fates you would have met with the RDA), but there on that empty beach, watching the sun set in the safety of the village bay, left alone or maybe even forgotton, you had found his ridiculously tall form approaching.
Aonung sat slowly and silently beside your smaller, disconcerted figure. After a wordless moment, in which you continued to absently stare out at the empty horizon, he had placed a soft, woven blanket over you.
It was a little rough, but of course he didn’t mean to be. Moreover, it had just been a wordless loan of something quite too large for your human figure – so much so you were practically drowning in it – but the weight was warm and reassuring, as, surprisingly, was his still, quiet presence hulking beside you.
“Thank you.”
Your whisper – feeble and weak even to your own ears – would have been lost in the breeze and lapping waves, but you later reminded yourself of na’vi’s superior senses, as he let out a small sound of acknowledgment, silently noting how shaken you still were.
“Are you alright?” he had asked, following your unspoken rule and also quietly watching the ocean, and more importantly, keeping his gaze from your pale, unnerved face.
“Yep.”
And that had been just that.
No more words had been spoken, not so much as a glance or gesture was offered, but something had changed as the unlikely pair of you sat in ponderous silence, watching the gilded horizon.
You never really discussed the hiccup at your initial meeting (and the period that had followed before friendship was forged), but you never needed to. Aonung had wordlessly conveyed his apology, as had you accepted it.
It is an uncomplicated friendship; time spent together is full of teasing and laughter and often petty argument, and time spent apart is to gather new material to discuss, to scheme up new ways to make the other’s life an amusing hell, and of course to just fuck around.
Which leads to one fact; Aonung is a slut.
You could tell it from the moment you saw him, even before knowing his desirable position in the clan or noting the lovesick-lustful looks the village girls couldn’t tear off their faces when he was within eyesight. It’s not just obvious through his physical appearance (although, admittedly, that is the work of the lord), but through his walk and talk and everything in between.
Even before your friendship, you knew Aonung was off with a different girl every few days, and said girl would always then labour under the deulusion she alone captured the lustful gaze of her future Olo’eyktan – something that always reminded you not to fall for your friend in his hopelessly infuriating slutiness.
It came as no surprise to you when your theory of you friend being Pandora’s biggest slut was proved to be quite true, so you aren’t entirely sure why the outlines of your love life came as quite the shock to the Metkayina man.
“Tell me,” he says with a small, ponderous frown, as though something had just occurred to him, though you knew this look perfectly well to guess what he was about to say was not some casual thought that slid nonchalantly into his mind. “How have you been taking care of yourself?”
You look wearily up from your beadings to squint at him – all stretched out and full of lazy curiousity on the woven mat of your marui. This is how you often spent the warm afternoons in Awa’atlu; you beading or mixing herbs or cooking or something actually useful, while your friend bothers you.
You were still too weary of actually swimming with people, surrounded by beautiful, tall, slim, lithe na’vi girls, and although Aonung had tried to convince you a million times, those bikinis you brought with you remained secretly stowed away deep in the darkest parts of your marui.
Sometimes at night, you would slip out the walkway of your marui into the cool ocean below, but careful that there’s no one around to see. At least it meant na’vi were absolutely shocked to say the least when they saw just how curvy human bodies could get without your flowy clothing.
“What are you on about?” you sigh. “I’m perfectly healt-”
“I meant physically,” Aonung says casually. “Maintaining yourself sexually.”
Oh.
Your friend did have a habit of being carelessly blunt in his manners, but that was one thing that managed to take you by surprise.
“What do you think?” you laugh, throwing off your disconcertion and far too used to your friend - and all na’vi really - disregard for topics very much taboo for humans to be thrown off by the quite personal question.
“Well…” he shifts closer to gage your expression, a small furrow creasing his brow. “You are the only tawtute here, and I’m sure even your kind have sexual needs that must be met. So how…”
“Do I cope when I get horny?” you finished, raising your brows and wrinkling your nose at him. Aonung nods, throat looking a little tight but otherwise unbothered by the delicacy a conversation like this should typically have. “What sort of answer are you looking for, Aonung?”
He blinks, then shakes his head in a puppyish way and you grin.
“I don’t just take care of me myself, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you answer elusively.
You never told Aonung the truth. The truth that you have no shortage of Metkayina men offering to deal with your sexual desires, lost in their own curiosity of human-na’vi sexual experimentation.
And you’d be lying if you pretended you weren’t attracted to them. How could you not be?
Na’vi were nine to ten feet of practically pure muscle, cloaked in beautiful, smooth blue skin and glimmering with pretty glowing tahnì. They were slim and wire, agile and graceful in their movements and talented beyond anything a human could ever possibly possess.
So, discreetly, you would indulge in all sorts of capers. It was, admittedly, a lot of fun.
Sometimes you’d be offered pretty little gifts, clumsily complimented on your human looks and talents, or even simply carried away in heated moments of pleasure and experimentation.
But here was Aonung, nearly your best friend at this point, who just heard your vague answer to his curious question.
You can physically see the moment the connotation of your words sinks into his thick skull, and his eyes widen large as Pandora and his lips part in shock.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you grin, flicking him on the shoulder. “You didn’t expect me to sit all tight and pretty and alone while practically stranded on an island of mega hot people, did you?”
Aonung looks as though he very much did expect that, or at least the thought of you fucking other members of his clan had certainly never crossed his mind. In fact, he looks nothing short of stupefied as he stares at you.
“Who?” he demands, an unmistakable scowl settling over his face.
“Really?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Like I’d tell you.”
“Why not?” he asks sullenly, muscles tense and jaw clenched.
“Because I know you, Aonung,” you smile. “And I know how you act around Tsireya with Lo’ak, and I don’t need your stupid ass scaring away my possible companions.”
“Companions,” he grunts with derisive amusement, before his scowl fixes once again and he furrows his brow once more. “You do know I do not see you as a sister, right?”
“Yeah well… don’t tell me that if I share who I’ve been with that you won’t get mad at them.”
Aonung pauses, and you can see he recognises your point; at the slightest mention of a name, Aonung would be up with the guy pinned up bruised and bloodied.
“So you like na’vi then?” Aonung questions. “Even though we’re double your height and could throw you twenty feet?”
“On the contrary,” you say with a sly, amusing grin, “that’s exactly what I like.”
When Aonung’s face slackens a little in shock, you laugh openly and shake your head.
“But who cares if I like na’vi- they’re hot and muscly, so it’s totally justified in my opinion!” you say with a wide, shameless grin. “The real question is why the guys were attracted to me – if humans are so small and weak looking or whatever else you giants think of us, then why would they want to fuck me?”
“That really is a whole other question,” Aonung sighs, rolling his eyes as though you’re being stupid. “But be honest, what do you think of me-”
He’s cut off by your pillow smacking him heavily in the face, and resurfaces to find your little frown a foot away from his.
“Hey, I was honest with you,” you scowl. Lie.
But you weren’t about to admit the truth – that your irritating friend is just about the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You try to put it from your mind; those ten feet of pure muscle sculpted to glorious perfection only masked his stupidity and secret superpower of infuriating you with the slightest of comments or even glances.
“And what do you keep in that little book of yours then?” Aonung grins, looking infuriatingly smug.
You set down your beading with slight annoyance now, and you frown at your friend. He’s sat up now, propped back on his hands, head tilted to stare at you with that dangerous gleam that makes you want to question everything, every tone and muscle in his body practically glowing in the afternoon light.
“What book?” you ask wearily, forcing your eyes away from his body.
“You know,” he snickers. “The one you quickly stash away when you see me coming, that you think no one knows about? The little one you hide somewhere in this-”
“If you ever read that Aonung,” you threaten, suddenly on your feet with your face flushed deep deep red. God, what were you thinking trying to keep a diary? You’re an adult! “I swear to bloody mary that I will castrate you and burn everything I chop off.”
Aonung just chuckles, and you scowl.
“If you don’t want me going back to thinking you’re an absolute dick again- leave it.”
And finally he does, reluctantly.
All afternoon you can see him itching to question you more about it, burning with the desire to find out who you had been with, still shocked by the revelation that you fucked around with people in his clan, and he never even knew.
But he knows better than to push you, so he stays quiet, watching you work quietly.
When the sun sets and Kiri drops by to offer you eat with her and Rotxo, you say a quick goodbye to Aonung, who nods and leaves.
“What’s up with him?” Kiri asks, raising her brows at Aonung’s fading back, which is unmistakably tense. “What did you do to him?”
“He just found out about my romping around,” you shrug. “And he-”
“He what?” Kiri gawks, freezing in her steps so you smack into her and instantly fall back onto the ground. “Oh sorry- but YOU TOLD HIM?”
“Yes…?” you say slowly, confused why she’s so shocked. “He’s my friend.”
“So is Lo’ak, so is Neteyam,” Kiri points out. “But you aren’t telling them that you’re going around with-”
“That’s different,” you say quickly. “Lo’ak and Tey are like my brothers, and Aonung… is not.”
“Right,” Kiri says unconvinced.
There’s an awkward moment of silence in which she’s clearly waiting for you to say more.
“He’s infuriating,” you finally burst out.
“Yes he is,” Kiri agrees. She continues in her pointed silence as you move into her marui, until you finally can’t take it anymore.
“Fine!” you snap, face flushed. “He’s absolutely irritating in every way, and now he’s suddenly all caring about what I do in my own time with other guys? WE AREN’T EVEN A THING-”
“Are you sure about that?” Rotxo grins from the other side. “Just think about the way he acts when you’re around.”
“Annoying and cocky?” you huff, but you know what he means.
“Come on,” Kiri sighs, shaking her head at you with affection, “don’t tell me you’re this oblivious all of a sudden. What happened to my friend who used to have half the Omatikaya wrapped around her little finger, who could charm even the coldest of warriors? Where did all your psychicness go?”
“That’s not a word,” you grumble, hiding your unease with semantics.
“Okay enough,” Kiri sighs, pulling you up from where you had just comfortably settled on the floor and dragging you out to the entrance. “No more obliviousness.”
“Where are you taking me?” you moan, lazily allowing her to drag you off through the village, Rotxo trailing contentedly and obediently behind his mate.
“To get you changed,” she says carelessly. “We’re going out.”
Aonung wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when he asked you that question. But he sure as fuck wasn’t prepared to hear that his little tawtute was getting her way around the clan.
You were his friend. Once even friend had been a loose term to describe your relationship, but he would be lying if he hadn’t know that from the moment he laid eyes of your small figure – barely even half the height of the Sullys as they landed in Awa’atlu with your curious eyes and strange clothing – that you were his.
But after some time when the two of you had warmed to one another, he had realised that he did not see you in a way that was even remotely platonic.
The reasoning for that was probably that he saw you everywhere; your face, your small hands, your little body.
On nights spent with various other girls, he found his eyes closing and his mind imagining it was you splayed out beneath him, your pretty little face twisted with the lewdest of moans. When, eventually, he gave up on trying to fuck these lustful profanities into other girls, cock in hand in the privacy of sheltered coves or his own marui, he would long for it to be your hand wrapped around his length, to feel your lips brushing over every inch of his body, sinking his fangs into your smooth, soft skin.
He tried to tell himself, all the rest of that afternoon which he spent fuming around his marui before the festivities of that night, that it wasn’t the fact that you were with other guys that was bothering him. You were a free woman, free to do what you liked, free to spend your time on other men.
But on the other hand, the men of his clan were of his clan.
They were Aonung’s people - not just in a metaphorical sense of belonging - they were not as free to do as they liked when Aonung would one day lead them. And they should damn well know better than to touch you.
They had no license to have you, touch you, even look at you.
Had Aonung not made it clear enough - even if you seemed completely oblivious to it - that you were his?
Sure, he made not have had you in that purely carnal aspect that you apparently had shared with worthless spineless skxawngs unfit to be in your very presence, but the way he acted around you, the gifts he brought to you, the way he protected you with all the ferocity boiling within him, even the way his scent lingers on your skin when he can’t be near you (even if your tawtute nose couldn’t smell it) marks you as if not his, then at least definitely untouchable.
So what were these shameless, perverted idiots playing at?
They, more than anyone, should know how Aonung can get when he sets his mind to something. And that one is you, and he’s not about to let anyone else dare lay so much a finger on your smaller body ever again. He’s already cursing himself for not realising all this sooner, letting you waste your time with men could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you. Which is why – when he sees you next, across the fire at a party – Aonung doesn’t take any chances.
It's a pretty typical Metkayina gathering, full of young warriors, hunters, village girls and other various clan members. Flasks of unilpay are being passed around and the air is rich with loud laughter, conversation, and other various drunken atrocities. The beach – cool in the clear night breeze – is basked in the balmy, warm glow of a bonfire. Sparks are flying gracefully up; flaming glimmers among the silver stars of the heavens.
“What were you thinking?” he demands in a low voice, striding straight up to Rotxo and grabbing his friend’s arm to face him. “Why is she here?”
“Kiri thought it would be good for her to come out for a bit,” Rotxo shrugs. Aonung scoffs, far too used to his best friend’s continual obedience to whatever Kiri does.
“I thought you were just going to have dinner, have a little chat, you know?” Aonung grumbles, looking away to scan the party, making sure you were far on the other side and alone with Kiri. “But now you bring her here?”
Rotxo settles back, looking slightly amused amidst his dawning understanding, and Aonung’s hand slowly falls from its tight grip around his arm.
“And what is so terrible about her being here?” Rotxo counters. “She’s been hanging around the village for ages, she’s been to these parties before. What’s your problem now?”
Aonung growls low under his breath. Frustration is starting to course through him. Rotxo knows what the answer is – what Aonung’s deal is, why he cares, why his gaze can’t seem to stop drifting towards you, but he’s waiting for the words to be spoken.
Instead, with a small huff of exasperation, Aonung pushes past Rotxo to approach you.
Through that short conversation that seemed an eternity, Aonung had not missed all the glances snuck covertly in your direction, shot from the corner of eyes and over shoulders and between the flickering flames separating you from most of the festivities.
You had changed since the afternoon, Aonung notices.
He didn’t quite understand tawtute customs, particularly your strange clothes that frustratingly covered so much of your body that na’vi clothing would usually be displaying with confidence and adoration, but he had spent enough time with you to know he had never seen you wear something like this.
He would have definitely remembered seeing you like this.
It’s hard to describe when the style is from a completely different species, but the thought that first crosses his mind is black. It was the first thing he notices after all, the black material cloaking over your body, brushing lightly over your soft skin.
You’ve worn things vaguely in this style before (dresh… cress… dress or something) but they had all been long and flowy and beautiful, yes, but this was so much more than that. It was stupid, actually, that only a change of outfit has Aonung’s heart seizing in his chest, throat bobbing and jaw clenched at the sight of you standing there, unilpay in one hand, the other moving to push your hair from your face.
It barely even covers your legs, and your arms and shoulders are left completely bare except for a wispy black strand that winds over your skin to vainly hold it up from your breasts. From Aonung’s view of you, he feels like just watching you is sinful. It’s wrong, to be seeing you like this, to be thinking these thoughts of you, but he can’t pull away from his view.
He had always known tawtute bodies were different to na’vi (all slim and muscular), and sometimes he found himself pleading that the next day your clothing would not be as flowy and coveraging as it always was, but he’d always beat back those sinful desires with the reminder of your positions.
But now, with the smooth skin of your thighs and slim shoulders and the ample curves of your body on full, glorious display, Aonung wonders how he ever managed to go without seeing you like this before.
You are always so small to him, but every curve of your body, in your thighs and hips and breasts and fuck.
Aonung stifles a low groan at all the thoughts flooding his filthy mind, and wrenches his gaze from the glorious glow of your soft skin under the dancing light of the fire.
And then, in several unconscious moments where Aonung has no clue what he’s doing, in several long strides to get him by your side without the pain of seconds apart from you, he’s beside you. You look up at him through your long dark lashes, and he also notices your lips look plumper and shinier than usual; the smooth rosiness gleaming tantalisingly up at him.
Not for the first time, he has to swallow a furious desire to sink his fangs lightly into your silky lips, and he immediately darts his gaze away – the method he always uses in vain attempts to stem those filthy, forbidden, longings.
“What are you doing here?” Aonung asks coldly, staring down at you from his metre above.
“Same as you,” you shrug. “I’m here to have fun.”
Aonung is not happy to hear that.
His glare moves straight to Kiri, who’s watching his displeased reaction with mingled interest and amusement. Obviously, her and Rotxo have some stupid ulterior motive or plot or something, but he won’t have any of it, not if it risks other guys getting anywhere near you.
But he can’t think of anything to do. If he tells you to leave then you’d doubtless shout at him and be in that pouty, pissed mood that you sometimes get into. And he can’t just flat out voice the truth, not with this many people standing around, not during one of the most unromantic settings he could imagine with tipsy warriors and a blazing fire.
From the moment he stood beside you though, the gazes moved away. Aonung’s pleased to find less and less eyes roving quickly over you, and the ones that do are quickly averted when he scowls at them.
Just as he thinks maybe it’ll be over – that no one will bother you anymore – people start to dance. Aonung had been friends with you long enough to know this was your favourite part of any festivity. You loved to watch the sway and undulation and grace of the na’vi in their movements, the beautiful delicacy of the clothing gleaming under the stars and tails coiling and moving in timely leisure.
And he also knows it will surely be a matter of time before you want to join in or worse, someone else asks you to dance.
So he sits gracelessly down next to you, on that log you’ve perched yourself on top of. The weight of his body suddenly seated beside you makes your little body jolt a little, but you grit your teeth with a small eye roll and discreetly dig your fingers into the bark. He spreads out a little, ensuring there is no more room on the log, with you seated between Kiri’s slim, tall figure and his own broad, muscular body.
Kiri certainly doesn’t miss this gesture (or the meaning behind it), but she hides her small smile with a sip from her coconut. You, on the other hand, are so entranced by the dancing that you don’t notice when Aonung spreads his legs a little wider so his muscular thigh is brushing against your small, soft, slightly squishy one he wordlessly loves so much.
You continue to watch with wordless awe, and Aonung sits, contented with the fact that no one has dared approach yet.
Yet when some stupid warrior – Tsu’kae, Aonung thinks his name is – blantantly turns to stare at you with shameless, disgustingly lustful interest, Aonung decides he has to step it up. Has he not made it fucking clear enough that you are his?
Slowly so he doesn’t attract too much of your attention, Aonung leans back and slips his arm to rest on his hands on either side of his body. This way, you’re closed in between his firmly planted hand and his own body, without any space on the log for anyone else.
When you finally notice Aonung’s stretched out into your space, you grumble faintly about his stupid giant body and his lack of care for personal space, but you settle back to rest your head lightly against his arm behind you.
Aonung tries not to tense, completely unprepared for your comfort against him, thrown of by your soft hair cascading and your face resting gently against his arm, lips inches away from brushing his skin yet your breath ghosts warm and present against him.
“It’s beautiful,” you whisper faintly to him, and he tries to ignore the fact that each word is whispered nearly right against his veins, as though your voice is coursing straight to his heart. You shiver lightly beside him.
“Yeah,” he replies in a low voice, throat feeling quite tight and strained; it isn’t exactly easy to scare off any other guys when he’s already about to explode just having you this close.
He feels slightly stupid; you’re watching the dances with awe and appreciation and a distant melancholy, desirous longing, and of course, he’s watching you. With equal ferocity, just excelling past with unbearable, flaming tendrils of frustrated craving snaking through his veins, seizing his heart and freezing his mind.
It’s only when he finally manages to tear his gaze away from you, with the same effort it takes to fell an akula, that he notices Tsu’kae is no longer on the sand amidst the dancing Metkayina. In fact, he’s on the outskirts, conspicuously sliding closer with slimy, transparent steps to get closer to you.
With a fierce stab of selfishness for what is his, Aonung finds his arm – the one caging you beside him – sweeping closer and bringing you with it, so you’re gently slid along the long till you’re pressed against his solid side.
You squint up at him with slight suspicious confusion, and he almost misses that little tense, gleam in your eyes. He can also hear the gentle, warm beats of your heart pick up, but he puts all the possibilities of reasonings of that from his mind to watch with cold irritation as Tsu’kae finally makes his way besides you.
“May I sit here?” he asks, glancing dubiously at the log.
Aonung, with a sudden desire to kick himself for his carelessness, realises to late that in pulling you towards him, he mistakenly left space on the log for someone to sit.
Unfortunately, Tsu’kae misses Aonung’s glower, which was a clear dismissal of the inferior warrior. You, finally, seemed to have some tiny inkling of the situation, because you glance briefly up at Aonung as though asking if Tsu’kae can join you.
The clear answer was no, but Aonung knew you well enough to guess that your unfortunate habit of masterfully ignoring unspoken orders may be about to be practised. Instead, he settled himself on a much more enjoyable option.
“Sure,” he rumbles to Tsu’kae, who looks a little startled, as though he wasn’t expecting to get personally addressed by Aonung.
Before he can sit beside you on the log, Aonung’s reaching over to lift you up and settle you comfortably in his lap. You let out a small squeak of surprise to find yourself suddenly lifted as though you weigh nothing. Tsu’kae watches with mingled fascination and strange terror at Aonung’s plain message – you cannot have her.
Yet maybe Aonung didn’t completely think this plan through.
You’d never sat on his lap before, and although he’d often thought about it, how your squishy thighs and curvy hips would feel resting softly over his own would feel, how light and small and delicate you’d be against him, this was completely different.
He can feel everything about you. Your thighs – almost completely bare as the fabric of your clothing hitches all the way up to your ass – are pressed against his own, your skin all warm and soft and so velvety, deliciously smooth. Your body is still slightly tense despite your feigned nonchalance, and he can feel the tightness of your body resting on his.
And he can smell you. It’s warm, just a comforting, familiar scent that he spends all day breathing in, memorising and filing away into the back of his mind where, in the shelter and privacy of his own marui in those helplessly longing night, he can build up that image of you in your imagined lewd actions for him and to him. There’s something over the top of it, something new and flowery you must have just applied for tonight.
He has to fight a physical urge to just bury his entire face in the warm of your neck – your soft hair falling around him – and simply scenting you to the point everything else just completely ceases to exist and with his eyes closed and heart thumping, all that surrounds him is you and your warmth.
It takes Aonung a moment to remind himself where he is, surrounded by everyone, sitting beside the still-gaping Tsu’kae. To remind himself that it isn’t just the two of you alone, and especially that you are only friends, and it would probably be a little surprising if he finally just succumbed to all the filthy desires that suddenly seem a thousand times stronger than usual.
You’re finally relaxing on his lap, muscles untensing and breath coming in soft nature. The only downside is that when you loosen a little and stop sitting like there’s a splint to your spine, the soft curve of your ass, barely even covered by your clothing now, settles inches away from his crotch.
Aonung has a small surge of panic when his blood rushes south, but he just masks his soft groan as a hum of appreciation for the dance.
Eywa, he really didn’t think this through.
Never once had he taken the warnings of his mother, father, sister and basically the whole rest of the clan to heart – never once accepted that one day, his impulsivity might have consequences.
But the thought of what you might do when you realise how hard your so called “friend” is by you simply sitting on his lap is too much to bear.
What if you think he’s some crazy sort of desperate perv? What if you never see him the same, and everything is ruined and awkward and dangerous between the two of you? What if you tell Neteyam and Lo’ak and they beat the absolute shit out of him for acting like this?
Fuck.
From the corner of his eye – Aonung’s too scared to move enough to properly turn his head – he can see Tsu’kae all awkward and stupid and helpless. It should now be quite obvious his position in this situation; that he has no place here, anywhere near you.
Now getting over your surprise of being suddenly nestled in your friend’s lap, you’re starting to settle back. You’ve rested yourself against his chest, and he grits his teeth, jaw clenched and fangs sinking lightly into his lip.
Your hair is pillowing your head lightly where it rests, barely even at his chest and right below the fang of his necklace. Your back – nearly completely bare with the low cut of your soft clothing – is settled firmly against his abs, and the warmth your skin on his is oddly comforting, mollifying his slight ferocity.
The soft, sweet scent of you is closer now, more obvious below whatever that other flowery smell you’re wearing is, and Aonung tries his best to keep his breathing even so you won’t notice how he’s breathing in your scent.
But trying to act like just the proximity and scent and feel of you isn’t getting him hard is more difficult than it looks, and Aonung strains his brain to think of ways to delay the inevitable of when you finally notice the ever-growing tent in his tewng.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Tsu’kae offers after a moment of tense silence that you don’t seem to notice. Aonung wonders faintly if your human senses just don’t pick up this sort of tension, or maybe you really are just infuriatingly, endearingly oblivious.
“Yes, thank you,” you say, shifting to give him a little smile.
A fierce stab of strange jealously blossoms like fire inside of Aonung, suddenly scorching his veins and he has a sudden desire to smack that returned, almost-shy-to-hide-his horniness smirk off Tsu’kae’s face. He probably would have, had you not leaned back against him and shimmied your soft ass to lay right over the ridge of his hardened cock.
Aonung gives a sudden jolt, nearly tossing you unceremoniously from his lap and even more mortifyingly - accidentally grinding his tented, straining tewng against the curve of your ass.
There’s a moment in which Aonung thinks you are about to scream at him, turn and curse him out for his lewd state. He can hear your heart pick up suddenly, see the tips of your small, roundish ears go slightly pink, watch a flush creep along back of your neck.
“Do you mind?” you grumble. “If you’re going to try cockblocking me, at least don’t nearly throw me around. I was perfectly comfortable, you bumbling skxawng.”
Aonung blinks in sluggish silence, your words sinking into his brain till he realises with an overwhelming surge or relief that you didn’t notice. Eywa, he’s never been so thankful of the simplicity of human anatomical function.
“I’m not trying to cock block you,” he says instead, and you scoff.
“Please,” you say stoutly, and Aonung can just imagine you rolling your eyes in that amused way you always do. “You really have no idea how conspicuous you are, dumbass.”
“I am not,” Aonung says with a frown, ignoring the human name he doesn’t understand. “Besides, you could do much better than the likes of Tsu’kae.”
“Really?” you say coolly. Aonung suddenly can’t picture what your face looks like; your tone is completely unreadable as though you’re trying to make it even, hiding whatever you’re actually thinking right now. “And what is so terrible about Tsu’kae?”
“He’s dim-witted,” Aonung points out. “Slow, unreliable, terrible at spear throwing-”
“Ah yes,” you interrupt, “everything I look for in a hook-up; his spear throwing abilities.”
“And he’s obviously just horny,” Aonung adds, ignoring the now painful tent in his tewng and the heavy irony of his words. He looks pointedly across the party, and you follow his gaze to see Tsu’kae standing with his friends, drinking heavily from a flask, getting a few hyping smacks from his mates as they no doubt discuss you.
“So someone would just have to be horny to fuck me?” you huff, turning your neck to glare at him. Aonung bites down a small groan as you accidentally shift on his crotch. “There’s nothing else endearing about me, it would just depend on their arousal?”
“No,” Aonung says quickly, but your scowl is deepening the longer it takes for him to find the right words – ones that don’t give away his own… excitement. “There is nothing wrong with you-”
“Who said anything about there being something wrong with me?” you snap, brows furrowing and face now torn between fury and something he can’t quite make out.
“No one- nothing- what?” Aonung stammers, confused at why you’re suddenly so upset. “You are just far too good for Tsu’kae. He does not deserve your time.”
“Then who does?” you ask sullenly, slightly folding into yourself, yet you still don’t pull away from your seat in his lap. “What about Sokzu-”
“He is arrogant,” Aonung shoots the idea down.
“What about Ta’ru-”
“Incompetent,” Aonung interrupts again.
“Or Kayo-”
“Lazy-”
“Zäki?”
“Seriously,” Aonung says firmly, now frowning too. “Do you seriously think any of these skxawngs are worth your interest?”
Your mouth twitches at his words, though he still has no fucking clue what you’re thinking.
“What are you trying to say, Aonung?” you ask.
“I don’t know,” he says truthfully.
You’re still looking up at him, eyes large and shimmering in the light from the fire and scattered stars. Aonung swallows, gaze darting quickly down to your glossy lips before fixing back on your face. He can’t look away.
“I brought you unilpay,” a voice interrupts.
You both turn to see Tsu’kae standing there, looking a little rumpled and disorientated. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he’s drunk now, and Aonung doesn’t fail to notice your nose scrunch for an instant before you smooth out your face and take it with a small smile and a thank you.
Completely oblivious and obviously stupid, Tsu’kae continues to stand awkwardly, before he seems to gather enough courage to ask, “Would you like to come for a walk, tawtute?”
Instantly, Aonung’s blood has turned to ice. He doesn’t even look at you before snapping, “She’s good.”
Tsu’kae’s face falls in a small frown, and he, – stupidly – drops his own flask on the sand to clench his fists.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he slurs. “I was talking to her.”
“And I gave you an answer,” Aonung counters, eyes narrowing at the disrespect this meager warrior is displaying. “She’s not going to go anywhere with you.”
Again, Tsu’kae fails to pull himself together and show the proper respect. He steps closer, face pulled into a little frown as he raises his brows at Aonung.
“And what are you going to do to stop her?” he leers. “If she wants to come?”
“Do you want to go?” Aonung asks you, a small furrow between his brows as he looks down at you. You’re all wide-eyed and wordless, eyes darting between Aonung and Tsu’kae who scowls.
“Of course she want-”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Aonung hisses through gritted teeth. “Do you want to go with him?”
Your lips part. You don’t seem to have any answer to give, and you just stare blankly at Aonung, still seated in his lap. Finally, Tsu’kae’s drunken patience seems to have run out, and his hand closes around your tiny wrist.
“Come on taw-”
You’re no sooner pulled helplessly off Aonung than he’s on his feet, then finding his fist sinking satisfyingly into Tsu’ake’s jaw. The stupid warrior lets out a surprised grunt and stumbles back, dragging your little figure with his weight.
“Let her go,” Aonung says coolly, reaching to grab your other arm.
It’s a little awkward, and you’re wincing slightly at the grip of each arm clutched by the two men. People are starting to turn and stare now, and you’re struggling to free yourself.
“Now,” Aonung adds.
Reluctantly, Tsu’kae lets go of your wrist with a frustrated huff, and you flinch at the angry red mark on your skin from where he touched you. Aonung’s heart thuds irately at the mark, and he gently pushes you behind him.
“Touch her again,” Aonung hisses, stepping closer to hide your nervously watching figure, “and I kill you.”
Tsu’kae just laughs, before making to shove Aonung backwards. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t shift in the slightest, and Tsu’kae stumbles into Aonung, who grips the skxawng by the back of his neck. Instantly, Tsu’kae winces away, averting his eyes and vainly trying to get away.
“Pathetic,” Aonung says coolly, pulling him up to study him further. “You actually thought you’d get to have time with her.”
Tsu’kae lets out a small hiss and brings his fist up to smack into Aonung’s cheek. It isn’t particularly painful, but a blow is a blow and Aonung tosses him to the side. He slams unceremoniously into the sand, where he’s met with small stifled laughter and disapproving glances. You’re still gaping at Aonung, who gently kneels beside you.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly. You nod, eyes raking over his face before your fingertips reach out to trace lightly over the mark of Tsu’kae’s laughable punch. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
No one else makes a noise, but Aonung can feel all eyes on your retreating backs as he leads you away. He can still feel the burn of disbelieving attention on him as the party fades away and the woven walkways of the village come into view. More importantly, he can feel eyes on you, and, desperate to make sure you don’t feel uneasy, he places a wide hand on your back to lightly steer you in front, out of the way of prying eyes.
When he drops you off at your marui, it’s with a strange ache in his chest.
You look tired and the gloss of your lips is nearly completely gone now. You smile up at him at the entrance, but when he turns to leave, he can sense your drunkenness. Not for the first time, he curses how strong na’vi alcohol is to you, and before you know what’s happening, he’s turned back and steered you all the way into your marui and laid you down on the bed.
“Here,” he instructs, handing you a small flask of water. “Drink this before you sleep.”
“You’re looking after me,” you smile stupidly. Aonung wants to kick himself for not noticing how tipsy you had been in the distraction of everything, but he just rolls his eyes at your dopiness.
“Well, I didn’t go to all this trouble tonight to just leave you like this,” Aonung says wearily, reaching for one of those black stretchy things you use for your hair and clumsily tying it back for you. “Eywa, you’re just going to have to sleep in this.”
“I wanted to look pretty,” you mumble softly, a small furrow forming between your brows.
Aonung could have sworn those words could have punched the breath out of him – and he fights down a desire to tell you just how pretty you look, how you always look.
Instead, he just gently pats your forehead and whispers, “Just get some sleep.”
You nod obediently, never taking your eyes off his face as he fusses about, straightening your bed, making sure there’s water beside you. But when he turns to leave, you softly whisper out his name.
Aonung turns back. You don’t say anything, just continuing to stare at him. It’s a tense moment of silence, until you finally sigh.
“Goodnight,” you whisper. Aonung doesn’t reply, just giving you a soft smile.
It’s not until Aonung’s back in his own marui, flopping down onto his bed with a groan, does he remember exactly what had happened.
It’s filthy and humiliating, that the second he remembers the moment – the scent and the proximity and the feel of you seated in his lap – his tewng is growing stranglingly tight once more.
This has happens much more than Aonung would ever readily admit. He tries his utmost to not even think about it. But once more, he can’t help but palm himself lightly through the thin fabric of his tewng that has put up quite the struggle tonight.
Eywa, just the thought of you at that party – hair flowing over your bare back, the glow of your skin and the softness of your thighs, breathing in your warm sweet scent, the same one that’s now slowly fading from his skin that you had been so gloriously pressed against.
Fuck.
Really, who is this hurting? he justifies himself as he impatiently tears away his tewng. It’s just to take the edge off. It doesn’t mean anything.
Filthy. Lewd. Wrong.
But he can’t bring himself to process all the copious issues of what he’s doing when everything about you is fresh in his mind, stuck in his mind, and using that young horny man logic that dubiously validates each of these moments, he lets himself sink into those coarse imaginations.
There’s a million of them, layered on top of one another, flooding and racing through his mind.
Ones in which you’re squirming under him, ones in which your soft thighs are nestled tightly around his face. Ones with your head thrown back as you top him, ones where you’re arched against the floor, tears streaming down your sweet, pretty little face as his hips rut into your own.
When he accidentally tightens his grip around himself, he imagines just how much better your hand would feel around his length, all small and silky and smooth.
There’s something just so filthy about this.
You are his little friend - his - but what would you be thinking if you knew he did this?
Even so, he can’t help remembering just how right it felt to have the soft curve of your ass nestled right up against his crotch, and then he’s speeding up with helpless, lewd desperation.
Your lips, all glossed and plump and parted to glorious perfection swim in his mind as he fails to stifle a sharp groan. The thought of them brushing over his own, over his chest, wrapping light and tight and warm around his length does him in with searing speed.
His release, spilling hopelessly and copiously into his tightened fist, blazes with the hot shame of it.
Aonung has felt this familiar embarrassed self-disgust before, quite a familiar after effect of these nights filled with thoughts of you, but this just feels so much… more.
Your words come to cross his mind again; “Why would people be attracted to me?”
The real answer is how could anyone fucking not be.
But that wasn’t entirely satisfactory, because Aonung was fully prepared to murder anyone who had the foolish balls to pursue you.
His little friend.
That same blazing shame doesn’t go away after a restless nights’ sleep.
Aonung wakes up, amidst the unwelcome sunlight filtering into his marui, to find that he can’t bring himself to face you quite yet. Of course, it’s just his luck that when he drags himself up to deal with the impatient hammering at his entrance, he’s met with you.
“Morning!” you say chirpily, which tells him clearly that you’ve mostly forgotten the events of the night before. “Tsireya’s forcing me to come to the beach, and I refuse to go without you.”
Aonung’s about to make some lame excuse, based loosely of his clan duties and his tiredness, but then your words process.
“You will go swimming?” he asks dubiously.
“Yup.”
And that does it.
Aonung has been trying to get you to come swimming for months, and he has to fight that little twinge of jealousy that it’s Tsireya that finally managed to convince you. However, when you bound away to where Tsireya, Rotxo, and the Sullys are waiting, Aonung finds himself following thoughtlessly.
You’re chatting animatedly with Kiri and Neteyam, and Aonung allows his eyes to quickly wander over you as he trails behind the group.
You’ve changed out of your short black clothing, though Aonung is delighted to find that once again, you aren’t hiding as much of your body as you typically do.
The little shorts you are wearing are just that. Little. They barely stretch over the curve of your ass, and ties of bikini bottoms are poking up out of the low waist. The top you’re wearing – a simple white tank – is also perfectly tight enough that Aonung can see the faint outline of a triangular bikini top.
The part that nearly makes his knees buckle is the slim line of your stomach visible between your top and shorts, where he can see the perfect soft squidge of your figure, and the little jiggle of your thighs with every step you take.
When you make it down to the beach, sun warming your skin and the soft ocean lapping against the sand surrounding you, you manage to surprise him further.
You don’t follow the others immediately into the water. You unbutton those little shorts and shimmy them down your body, before reaching up to tug off your top.
Oh.
Fuck.
You really had been right; Aonung had no idea how conspicuous he was.
Suddenly, after all that training of mastering himself, he simply cannot wrench or drag or tear his gaze away from you. Instead, he stands awkward and gaping like an idiot at the sight of you almost completely bare.
After so long of needing his imagination to picture you like this, seeing your body this gloriously bare could damn well killed him. In fact, Aonung’s sure even with your tawtute senses, you would surely know his heart just stopped, his blood heating, his brain stalling.
But you just shoot him a cheeky, knowing grin before innocently asking, “What?”
“Nothing,” Aonung clears his throat, painfully aware of his flushed face. “Should- uh – should we get in?”
You just roll your eyes at him and race in. He doesn’t watch the sway of your body as you slowly go into the water. He doesn’t need to resist the urge to just pick you up again, maybe even help you with your breathing.
He supposes he should be impressed with your swimming, but your size and ill adjustment to swimming in the ocean – especially beside na’vi – slows you down, and eventually he ends up just offering you a hand. He highly suspects that you’re not even swimming, just allowing yourself to be pulled leisurely through the water, but he isn’t going to complain.
You have this adorable little look of awe on your face, as though you thoroughly regret only now coming swimming after months of being begged to. Aonung faintly wonders why you never did come.
After a while, you all swim back to the shallows. The Sully’s, Rotxo and Tsireya are all running and splashing around, and Aonung notices you struggling to tread water (he notices with a small smile that you can’t reach the bottom).
“You good there?” he grins, wading over to you.
“Yep,” you huff, kicking up to keep your head at least above the water.
“Need a hand?” he snickers. “You look like you’re having a little trouble. Do yo-”
“Just get over here skxawng,” you grumble.
The moment he’s in arms reach, you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck and straddled your legs tight around him. You huff a little for breath, resting your face in the crook of his neck, warm breath fanning across his sensitive skin.
Tsireya looks over, and she shoots her brother a small, knowing smile. Aonung just rolls his eyes back, but he finds himself shifting you around his body so he can somewhat cradle you – your body wrapped around his side, supported lightly by one of his arms.
“You know,” Kiri says with delicate mirth, “we should be heading back soon, right Ro?”
“Yeah,” Rotxo agrees, looking equally happy at the sight of you (even if unintentionally so) cuddled against Aonung. “You coming Neteyam?”
“We’ll come too,” Tsireya grins, tugging Lo’ak along behind her.
You watch them all go, still slightly breathless. Aonung has a small suspicion you know exactly why they’re leaving, but you make no effort to shift away from him, and you wave them off.
Tsireya has to give Lo’ak and extra hard tug to pull him away. The Sully boys’ brotherly protection has always been a reason Aonung kept the truth away from you, but he thinks at this point he really just is completely conspicuous.
“Are you alright?” Aonung asks, pulling back slightly to push your head from your face.
And suddenly, he notices something.
There’s none of that fierce, bantery spark that blazes between your eyes. Instead, you’re just staring at him with complete and utter… something.
Aonung has never wanted more that you had a tail and na’vi ears so he can better gage your thoughts, but you’re just completely unreadable.
Your eyes are raking over his face; he can feel their trail burning into his skin as though you were physically touching him. You’re inches away.
He clears his throat.
No no no.
Eventually, you tread out of the water to stretch in the soft sand cast into relieving shade, beneath the shelter of the tropical canopy. Aonung lies down beside you, throat feeling strangely tight.
There is something different. Something off.
And there’s a sinking feeling that tells him things just won’t go back to normal. Which is why he decides he needs to settle this out.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says quietly, staring up at the canopy above.
It’s green.
You give a little hum of acknowledgement.
“What for?” you reply quietly.
“For causing a little scene,” Aonung says quietly.
He counts seventeen little pink flowers in the tree above.
“Right.”
“And cutting you off,” he adds in a mumble.
He thinks there might be several birds hiding between the spindly, delicate fronds.
You don’t reply. He still doesn’t risk a glance at you.
“And for upsetting you.”
There’s another moment of silence. Aonung swears you must be able to hear his heartbeat. You exhale slowly.
“I’m not upset,” you say quietly.
Aonung turns to look at you. You’re also looking up at the canopy, wet hair spilling over the sand, body glittering with the droplets of water still shining on your skin. You swallow.
“You aren’t?” he asks, trying not to sound too relieved. You shake your head slightly, still not turning to meet his gaze.
“Nope,” you sigh, wearily popping the p. “It’s just- um… why did you do it?”
“Do what.”
“The whole thing,” you say, gesturing in front of you. “Of protecting me and making sure I didn’t make a mistake. Plus the… the um…”
Aonung stares in disbelief. He’s never seen you go this long without loudly and shamelessly voicing your opinions. The struggle to get out a single sentence is really quite unnerving for him.
“The whole kill him if he touches me thing,” you blurt in a quick breath, face flushed and eyes refusing to meet his.
It’s Aonung’s turn to blink. He does so in owlish silence, watching the light filtering contentedly through the canopy above while his mind works furiously to find a legitimate answer to your question.
“You are small,” Aonung says finally, carefully tiptoeing around the truth, but really, any more time to think is quite unacceptable given the length of his ponderous silence. “And delicate and sweet. I do not wish anyone-”
“I am not weak,” you interrupt, a small frown on your sweet little face. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
He swallows heavily. Those words feel suddenly painful in his chest.
That’s who he was – he protected you, even if you didn’t know it yet. He was the one that stood by you, stood over you, and that warmth and shade he cast over you meant so much more than you thought.
Eywa, how well he could protect you if you let him.
You must have noticed how those words hit him – how his ears drooped and tail swept dejectedly through the sand.
“Aonung?” you say quietly, propping yourself up on one arm and staring at him. “Is there something bothering you?”
“No,” he says, far too fast to be believable. Your mouth twitches in a wry smile, and you scoot closer.
“You always were a terrible liar,” you whisper. At Aonung’s bitter little huff, your smile widens slightly, before fading entirely. He wants to do anything to bring it back. “At least - you could never convince me.”
“Fine,” Aonung mumbles, resigning himself to the fact that there’s no going back.
He knows you know something’s wrong, and he can tell that this friendship is already crumbling away into something else – something unintelligible and unfathomable to him.
“They are not fit for you, tsawksyul.”
You flinch back, and Aonung wonders faintly if it’s because of the name, or his words, or the harsh desperation with which he spoke them, and he reaches slowly for you. You lean back from him, face twisted with confused hurt.
“Then who is?” you say dully.
“Not anyone here,” Aonung tells you.
Once again, he has no idea how to gage your feelings. It’s strange really, that he’s gone from how lustful and filthy he was last night to how just overwhelmingly… fluffy he feels right now.
But apparently you aren’t finding his words how he intended them, because your face is twisting in a very obvious scowl.
“So… I don’t get anyone,” you say.
Aonung isn’t stupid, he sees the way your eyes are narrowing to indicate the very clear correct answer to your trembly question, but then again, he is stupid when it comes to you.
“You don’t need anyone.”
Instantly he knows that was the wrong thing to say. Your chest seems to swell and your face flushes as you sit upright and glare at him.
“Right,” you snap.
“Have I upset you?” Aonung asks slowly, wondering what he did when his brain feels as though it’s made of jelly.
“Nice observation sherlock,” you huff. “You’d want me to end up all sad and alone with no one to love me, just so I don’t fuck some of your clan mates? What, are you jealous or something? Do you think that you’d be that much better?”
No sooner are the words from your mouth then Aonung’s body betrays him – reacting before his mind can process. But the way he flinches back and flushes makes you freeze, and your eyes widen.
“Well…” he stammers, trying to dig himself out of this stupid hole he got into. “Yes?”
“And why is that,” you huff, standing up on your little legs, barely at his height and fist balled with rage. “You really think you’re that much better than everyone else? I thought you got over your cocky entitlement phase but now here you are, desperate to show that you’re the biggest, hottest thing in the clan.”
Aonung’s brain is too muddled to think. This is all going so, so wrong.
“No!” he says quickly, so desperate to try and speak properly that his voice comes out as something of a shout. You look shocked for a moment, flinched back from him, and he instantly reaches towards you. “I’m sorry-”
“You know,” you say stiffly, stepping out of his reach, “I thought you weren’t like this anymore. God, I wasted so much time, and you only ever started noticing me in this way when you found out I – as an adult woman by the way – was not some little … celibate fucking nun!”
“In what way?” Aonung asks, confused.
You let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a furious growl, then let out an unnerving laugh.
“Are you fucking serious?” you snap. “You’re the most self-centered person I’ve ever met! I thought we grew up, that not everything would be a competition and we could have a mature friendship if we could never be… UGH! But you are genuinely the most infuriating, entitled, interfering, emulous ass I’ve ever had the misfortune to befriend! I mean what is wrong with me?”
“Nothing is wrong with you,” Aonung says, frowning.
“Well there obviously fucking is if I love you!”
You freeze. So does he.
Your words – irrevocable, irreversible and so gleamingly inescapable hang in the still, tense air.
The beach is completely empty albeit the faintly lapping waves and drifting shade of the trees, and of course those words. The ones that change everything, break everything, ruin the friendship you have spent years building.
Aonung just sits in dumbfounded, perplexed silence. Breath after breath. He seems to have forgotten how to breathe, and in the strange, almost reminiscently ironic moments he takes to try and figure it out, you’ve turned faintly green, flushed deeper than the flowers above you, then paled in blunt mortification.
“Oh god,” you whisper, covering your face when your brain kicks in and you remember to move. Aonung still hasn’t said anything, and even though he can see that’s breaking you, he just isn’t able to speak. “Please… say something skxawng.”
Silence.
“Oh god,” you say again, shaking your head, lip trembling slight. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything- I’m just going to-”
“I love you too.”
“Please just forget- wait what?”
There’s a moment when everything stops. The sea seems to stall, the wind dies and the canopy stiffens. Aonung notes that your hair is still being blown gently in some absent breeze.
Your eyes look slightly red and slightly wet and your lips are parted in surprise. The longer Aonung stares at you, the deeper that little frowning furrow between your brows grows. He’s vaguely aware of his heart thumping – so loud and fast that under different circumstances, he may have even been worried about it – but he can’t summon any thoughts into his brain.
“Since when,” you whisper. Your voice is nothing more than a trembly breath, and if Aonung hadn’t been na’vi, if he hadn’t been watching you so intently to gage that your lips moved, he would have still been trapped in this tense silence.
“Since fucking forever,” he groans, rubbing his face tiredly. “I thought you were supposed to be all smart and all-knowing when it came to romance and crushes and shit.”
“Just because you are completely and irrevocably stupidly oblivious,” you scoff, “does not make me a genius in comparison.”
“So we’re just two little lovestruck idiots, then?”
“Guess so.”
There’s a moment of silence before it really does process to both of you. Aonung’s head snaps up, eyes wide and lips stretched with a fat dopey smile only to find yourself already launching yourself into his arms.
When he catches you, he’s sure he’ll never be able to let you go. Your hands reach to cup his face, which seems comically large in comparison, smiling in delighted disbelief before you let out a small, wet laugh.
“God, I love you.”
Aonung doesn’t even respond- barely even processes your words beyond a surge of overwhelming ecstacy, and presses his lips to yours.
Fuck.
Eywa.
How had he managed to go this long without this.
All those moments staring at your lips meant nothing when compared to the actual feel of them; soft, warm, tentative at first as you brush them over his own. There’s something so sweet about you, and he has a blissful idea that you’re melting on his tongue.
Aonung can feel those last tenterhooks of your friendship splintering and tearing apart at the feeling of your lips against his.
Well, good riddance.
Aonung’s hand finds its way into your hair, hand resting steadily on the back of your neck. Your mouth is small, cushioned by those soft warm lips, but you open your mouth wide and eager, hungry and tentative and exploratory and everything in between.
You’re making all these little huffy noises, as though desperate for breath but unable to pull away from him. When your smooth, small body shifts to press itself closer against him, Aonung groans unrestrainedly into your mouth, and he swears to Eywa you could kill him.
When he’d imagined this – during those late nights hidden deep in his marui fisting his cock – you’d been different. Sometimes you’d be sweet and nervous and tentative, at others you’d be desperate and ravenous and impatient.
Nothing could have prepared you for this, not even his copious, overwhelming dreams and hopes and desires for this. Nothing could have readied him to have you here and now, lips against his, tongue pressed against his, bodies tight against one another.
He’s so hard he thinks he might actually die, but he’ll be damned to pull away to deal with his own needs. All that matters now, all that exists right now is you, your scent, your lips, your body all beside him and around him and so hungry for him.
When he’s worried you’re quite about to suffocate, he slides his lips sideways to press hungry kisses along your jaw. You let out small, breathy gasps, fingers tangling in his hair, arms clinging tight around his neck to steady yourself as his lips find their way steadily back to you.
As your lips smash onto his once more, Aonung marvels at the way his hand – splayed out to hold you up – spans across the whole damn length of your back. When his fingers lightly trace their way up your spine, you shiver against him, soothed by his hand carding gently through your hair.
Your tongue licks lightly over his fangs, and Aonung, surprised, jerks back at the strange sensitivity. That felt different, and he wonders faintly how in all the meaningless, irrelevant kisses he’s shared in his lifetime, that’s never happened before, or at least made him feel so sensitive.
“You good?” you smile against his lips, but he suspects it’s more of a smirk. You know exactly what you’re doing.
“Yeah,” he says, feeling breathless and completely inflamed. “Yeah… I’m good.”
Your tongue teases over his fangs again. When he moans shamelessly back into your mouth, you giggle and cuddle him closer. Aonung laughs with you. It’s an almost painful relief from the overwhelming heat of the moment.
You’re still breathing heavily with that wide smile on your face when you stop giggling, but when Aonung meets your gaze, he can’t read your expression. He thinks for a moment you’re going to push him back, tell him to slow down, but then your gaze darkens ominously.
“Let’s get back,” you breathe exultantly.
“Why-”
“Because I don’t really feel like fucking for the first time with you on the sand of an exposed beach,” you grin.
“So we’re going to fuck?” Aonung asks hopefully, the corners of his mouth curling with delight.
“Up to you,” you grin, standing up and backing away from him in the direction of the village. “I mean, you could stay here in the shade, listen to the pretty birdies and watch the ocean-”
You cut off with a delighted giggle as Aonung sweeps you up as though you weigh nothing and tears off towards the village.
He ignores the stares of the clan as he storms his way towards his marui, though he must admit you must be quite the sight – you nearly completely bare in your little swimsuit, bundled up in his arms and shifty smiles stretched wide across your faces.
He practically crashes into his marui, not bothering to slip his way through the woven entrance but bursting through it and kicking it carelessly back into place with his tail.
You laugh – sweet and clear and loud – as he tosses you against the bed and crawls over to you. There’s barely a thought in his brain than you, with your breathy little gasps and hands raking through his hair and soft, warm lips.
When he buries his nose in the soft, exposed crook between your shoulder and neck, you jolt in surprise. You smell so sweet. Aonung wonders vaguely if he’s in heaven, surrounded by your arms encircling him, buried and deluged in your warm, sweet scent.
He’s extremely pleased to note you’re already starting to smell like him – a faint trace of sea breeze and amber noticeable on you, but he isn’t about to stop until you smell of nothing but him, until every person in this clan can see his plain mark on you, know that you are his and his alone.
And then he can’t stop himself from sinking his fangs lightly into that warm exposed skin.
You instantly squirm underneath him, arching up against him with a surprised gasp. You are just so soft, and his teeth sink with impossible ease into your neck. No sooner has he done it then he’s lightly licking the small pearls of blood away and pressing a light kiss for good measure.
And then he does it again. And again – adorning you with a necklace of gleaming ruby bites, better than any jewellery he would make, prettier than any pearls or shells he would collect. He doesn’t know if you understand them, that claim and those marks, but he’ll make sure you know that you’re his.
“Aonung,” you gasp, gripping at his face to tug him away and force him to look at you. “Aonung!”
“Yes?” he asks, slightly irritated you stopped him from continuing.
“I want you to fuck me,” you breathe, pupils blown wide, chest heaving with the desperation of your gasps, face flushed in glorious exultation.
“Not yet tsawksyul,” he says. A small glare is forming in your eyes, and he nearly laughs at your ravenous impatience. “You are not ready yet.”
“Yes I am,” you snap, scowling at him. “I’ve taken na’vi men before, just-”
“Patience,” he whispers, hand reaching up to rest against your face, thumb brushing over your frowning lips.
You look like you’re about to shout at him when Aonung’s hand leaves your face and finds it’s way to the little knots on the side of your bikini.
“Is this alright?” he asks gently. No sooner are the words out of his mouth then you’re nodding with irritated fervour, and he pulls lightly on the strings and slides away your bottoms.
Fuck.
His eyes are glued to that paradise between your legs, the one he’s been dreaming about for months. Vaguely and almost unconsciously, he decides when he dies, he’d prefer this heaven over anything else. His eyes quickly flicks up to you, and you must see something in his darkened, suddenly insatiable gaze, because your face is quickly flushing and your legs are squeezing shut.
“Do you want this tsawksyul?” he asks in a low voice, retracting from your body slightly so you don’t feel uncomfortable.
“Ye- yes,” you mutter, face turning an adorable pink colour.
“Are you sure,” he presses gently, reaching out to direct your gaze back to his. “We can do something else- we don’t have to-”
“No!” you gasp, eyes widening at those words. “No- I want this.”
“You have to tell me,” Aonung whispers, pressing a kiss to the perfect plush of your inner thighs, “if you don’t like anything. You have to say if you want to stop.”
“Don’t you dare,” you breathe, and he grins.
When he finally dives between your legs, it’s without the intent of ever resurfacing. You let out a surprised little gasp as he muscles his way between your pretty thighs, forcing them further apart from that meager gap you thought would satiate him.
He licks a long, tantalising stripe up your puffy lips, eyes practically rolling back at the sweet, heady taste of you, exploding over his tongue just as he spent so long dreaming about. At your reaction – accidentally bucking your little hips into his face with a choked gasp – he can guess you hadn’t been expecting the rough texture of his tongue.
He looks experimentally up at you, and you glare straight back with an impatient, expectant look on your usually sweet little face.
Fuck yes.
He sucks lightly and you practically shriek, hands tearing for something to grab onto. Unfortunately, your fingers find purchase closing around his hair – curls and kuru and all – and you tug.
Neither of you expected that groan ripped from him, the sound vibrating against you in a way that has your eyes rolling and moaning in glorious response. Aonung, who had already thoughtlessly been rutting his own hips against the ground in search of any salvation from that insatiable ache in his core, does not miss that warning heat start to coil in his abdomen.
But ever set on pleasing you, he does not lapse for a moment and ignores his own unravelling as you continue to desperately tug at his kuru. You’re already squirming and gasping for breath – only making hungry little moans and letting slip little gasps of curses and don’t stops.
He, in fact, has no intention of stopping soon. Not when you’re making all these pretty little noises, not when your own pleasure – the sounds and taste and scent of it – is nearly tipping him over the edge.
He can tell you’re close, and that’s what prompts him to slowly slide a finger into your soaked heat. With a choked moan your hand fists tighter around his hair. Aonung marvels at just how tight you are, clenching around his fingers like a vice as you struggle to adjust to his finger.
He vaguely revels in the thought of how amazing you’d feel, wrapped all tight and warm against his cock, and he moans into you.
When he knows you’re about to tip over the edge, when your eyes are rolling and your moans are becoming less words and more desperate pleading noises, he circles his tongue around your clit and sucks.
You come undone with a cry, clenching around his finger so much he can feel your whole heat aching against his ravenously laving tongue.
It’s only when your thighs (no doubt of their own accord) shut tight around his face in a glorious squeeze of soft, perfect squidge.
He isn’t sure why that’s what does it – though it is paired with your tugs on his kuru and his mindlessly rutting hips – but then he’s also pushed over that brink with a snarl you hardly even notice, too high on your own cresting pleasure.
But he has no time for shame or mortification at his early release, never even touched by you, because really, it’s a marvel it hadn’t happened earlier.
You’ve barely come down from your high when you notice Aonung still buried contentedly between your closed thighs.
“A- Aonung,” you pant, left breathless by your orgasm and the glorious sight of your best friend, all perfect and pretty, having the goddamn time of his life.
His only reply is to lightly tap the side of your thighs and mumble against your aching cunt, “Open these a little wider for me, tsawksyul.”
He vaguely notes your mouth drop open in surprise before he’s diverting his full attention to that heaven between your thighs. Your little huff of impatient is batted with your own gasp, but you – stubborn as ever – continue the struggle of attempting speech, “You-”
“Just one more,” he coaxes, licking another long stripe so his tongue catches on your overstimulated clit. Your defeated little groan is music to his ears, and a wide grip is stretched over his face as he victoriously resubmerges.
Your first orgasm has barely abated before your second is hurtling nearer with haphazard enthusiasm.
You’re whining and squirming from the overstimulation, but your desperate moans are punctuated with little gasps of don’t stop and encouraging tugs on his hair.
Aonung’s moaning into you, enjoying this quite as much as you are. His hands are holding you close by your soft plush of your thighs, tail sweeping and thumping behind him as he inevitably grows rock hard again, spurred by your euphoria.
All that exists is you. You’re so fucking wet, practically soaking into his mouth. All he can see and hear and taste is you, hips rutting against his face, hands clawing at his hair, head thrown back and moans spilling out of your gleaming, parted lips.
His jaw is aching in delicious wearing. The pain is satisfying in a strange way, and he contents himself with the knowledge he’s working.
It isn’t exactly best-friendly; the thoughts he’s having. He sincerely doubts his brain has never been this filthy, flying through all the lewd possibilities while he has you here.
“Aonung!” you slur out, thighs twitching over his shoulders as you near your high. “you need- slow down - ‘s too much.”
“You’re doing so well,” he hums against you, still maintaining his steady (and somewhat overzealous) pace.
Again, when he notices how close you are, he sucks your whole cunt into his mouth, tongue lapping at your little swollen clit as he sucks hungrily at you.
Then once again, your thighs are tensing and your moans are slurring into unintelligible whines. Your grip on his hair is iron as you gasp your way through your second high, eyes wide and lips parted as you heave for shaky, desperate breath.
Once you come down, you push at his head, tugging his hair away from your overstimulated cunt and trying to pull him back up to you.
“God- Aonung!”
Finally he relents, sitting up with a delighted little grin. You are also wearing a stupid little smile, though you look distinctly dazed and ruffled. Aonung feels a little surge of pride.
“Oh my…” you gape, eyes wide in bewilderment as you scan over him. His face is all shiny and gleaming and slicked, and you let out a little giggle as you reach out to try and wipe some of it away. “Oh my god- I’m so sorry.”
Aonung laughs with you, not in the least bothered by the mess of his face. Instead, he takes your hands in his and peppers light kisses up your arms and back towards your neck, where he is pleased to see his various gleaming bites and hickeys ornamented into your soft skin. You giggle again.
“Aonung?” you ask gently, a small smile curling at the edge of your voice.
“Mm?” he grunts, nipping another ruby bite into your collar.
“Care to fuck me now?”
Aonung pulls away an inch, trying to hide his obvious arousal as he studies your rosy grinning face.
“Are you sure?” he questions gently. “I mean you just-”
His voice dies in his throat when you reach up lightly to – tortuously slowly – pull at the strings of your top. He watches the top slide away without breath, and only when you’ve impatiently tossed it aside and grinned at him does he dare to move.
A complete sense of unreality washes over him. After imagining this moment for so long, it seems strange he cannot think of anything to do but worshipfully admire you.
He is pleased to note that, in fact, your breasts are just as soft and plush as the rest of you. They are round and full and slightly squishy in a way completely unlike na’vi, and he’s never been gladder that your aren’t just muscle, that your small body is so perfectly squidgy.
With a nod of consent from you, Aonung reaches lifts you lightly up to place you over his lap. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest, still looking a little rumpled and dazed, but he doesn’t miss that dark, mischevious gleam in your eyes as you stare down at him.
The second you’re balanced, your hand is reaching out to the tent of his tewng. You study him with greed, drinking in the sight of his arousal as though it’s what you need to live. He’s a little mortified now, but he hopes that you think the slick of your hips slightly rocking against his is why his tewng is soaked.
Your hand reaches out to trace along the edge of his tewng, eyes dark with frustrated, hungry impatience.
“Oh baby,” you whisper, your mouth twisted in strange ecstasy as you meet his flushed gaze. “Was this all for me?”
Before he can answer – though he doesn’t think he’d even be able to speak with you settled so perfectly over him – your hips slide back a little so your little palm settles right over his hardened length.
“Take these off.”
“Are you su-” Aonung starts to say, before you rock right up against his pained length and his voice stumbles off.
“Yes,” you whisper impatiently. “It’s not fair that I’m here all naked and you still get clothes.”
“I’m basically already naked and you wear clothes that cover much more than mine every day,” he protests.
“What, do you want me to get you a hoodie too,” you snap, and he knows you’re growing more frustrated and impatient with the effort of grinding against him.
He laughs, and you scowl fiercely at him.
“Just take it off Ao, I wanna make you feel good too.”
Those words practically punch a whole in him, and he feels another surge of unbearable affection for you, which is promptly murdered as you stop your movements in protest.
“You already did, tsawksyul,” he whispers.
“Not properly,” you press. “I want to do it.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Your hips rock hard against his, your bare cunt against his cock covered by that ridiculous tewng, and he feels his self-control slipping away. You must sense it too, because you’re grinning and shifting up to help him pull the last restraint between the two of you away. The tewng is thrown away with careless abandon to lie somewhere far away; there are no clothes needed here.
The small gasp you let out when you finally see him all bare and desperate and hungry makes Aonung’s heart thud painfully in his chest.
“Fuck yes.”
Your words explode from you as though you didn’t mean to say them, and a moment later you’re flushing with hot embarrassment. Aonung laughs lightly and you smile bashfully with an adorable little nose scrunch, before he’s lifting you back onto him again.
It’s bare – skin on glorious skin.
He needs to breathe for a moment, ears flattening against his head and eyes falling shut in dark pleasure. You’re so soft – thighs either side of him, breasts bouncing at the slightest movement – but you’re also so wet and warm and slightly sticky that he thinks you’re killing him.
It becomes painfully evident to him that the moment his cock pushes inside you, he’ll be fighting for his life to not come instantly. Again.
He always knew patience wasn’t your strong suit, but you’re growing more and more frustrated and he finally pulls his babbling brain together enough to flip you over to lie beneath him and align himself to your entrance.
With a small, almost pleading cry from you, with his heart thudding loud enough for you to hear, he presses in.
You’re clenching around him so tight, barely even an inch in. You’re tighter than he ever imagined, and he feels like he’s being coddled in searing perfection, so much so that he can hardly breathe as he slowly starts to push in.
When you let out a hoarse whine – the stretch is evident even to him – Aonung winces. He doesn’t want to hurt you, and the thought of you in pain is too much for him to bear. He settles himself with pulling you against him, soothingly stroking your hair.
He can’t look away from where you’re swallowing him whole. It’s a fucking addiction, a new drug. Even the sight of you slowly struggling to take him would be enough to send him over the edge, and he grits his teeth so he doesn’t come instantly and mortifyingly. Again.
And then finally, Aonung’s pushing past that tight ring of resistance and into your velvety heat.
He’s dying. He has to be. Because there’s no damn way he didn’t just go to paradise.
The breath is punched out of him in a low, desperate growl, his hands clawing into the ground to steady himself, to let you adjust, to not just completely lose his mind and bury himself deep into you.
“Holy shit,” you breathe, your voice no more than a desperate, filthy whimper as you look down. The sight of the bulge in your stomach drives Aonung fucking crazy, and he has to physically grip himself back from just slamming straight into you. “You’re all the way here.”
“Taking me so well syulang,” Aonung praises, eyes hazy with the strain and face flushed in the euphoric pleasure of your body around his. “Doing so good for me.”
He doesn’t miss the way you clench around him at the praise, the way your cheeks blush and you bite back a small, helpless moan. A good thing to know for later, and he makes a mental note to shower you in so much praise you don’t know what to do with it.
But in the meantime, he can hardly breathe through the effort of holding himself back. You’re gripping him so damn tight he thinks you might actually strangle him, the overwhelming pleasure and anticipation practically choking the breath out of him.
Your face is all twisted and screwed up, and Aonung doesn’t need to be a genius to see you’re in pain. He holds you close, whispering endless praise of how well you’re doing while reaching down to rub gentle circles on your overstimulated clit as he continues the painstaking, tortuous ascent into the heaven between your legs.
“Oh god,” you whimper, resting your limp head against Aonung’s chest, heaving for breath as you try your utmost to adjust to him. “Oh god, Aonung.”
The sound of his name rumbled from deep within your chest, coarse and raw and desperate just tips him just over the edge of mastering his control. His muscles tense as your nails dig into his chest, hips flexing somewhat and accidentally knocking into you, and you let out a strangled cry.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, reaching to cuddle you in close, stroking your hair comfortingly. “You’re doing so well, tsawksyul.”
The words fall on practically deaf ears. You’re so flushed and radiant and ravenous that he doubts you’re even thinking straight, your face adorned with a somewhat manically exultant smile and rolling eyes as he slowly presses even further into you.
You’re clenching around him so impossibly tight, whimpering and moaning as he rocks several more inches into you. He doesn’t know what to make of your quiet sobs, whether they’re of pain or pleasure or just hungry impatience, but he comforts you nonetheless by settling his thumb gently over your clit.
Aonung couldn’t care less about how vocal he is, whispering endless praise, snarling out small curses, rumbling desperate groans against the skin of your bare neck, which is now adorned with gleaming hickeys and several smug little bites.
“Eywa, they didn’t do anything to deserve you tsawksyul,” Aonung groans, still rocking another inch into you. You give a weak, wet chuckle, and he presses a kiss to your shining forehead. “You don’t need any of them ever again, you got that? You won’t ever need anyone else.”
“Ye- yes.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he groans, hardly even aware of what he’s saying anymore. “Whatever you need, I’ll always be there with you.”
“Ao- Aonung?” you gasp, steadying yourself with a grip on his arms. “I wa- I want-”
“I know, I know,” Aonung soothes you, finally bottoming out inside you. There’s no way he would have fit all of himself in there, but he isn’t greedy, particularly when the part you could take is coddled so warm and wet and tight. “I’ve got you.”
It takes everything in him not to let loose immediately.
It’s with gentle words and a hand splayed out across your back to steady you that he pulls out an inch or so before rocking back in.
The effect is instant. You let out a strangled, lewd, filthy noise, eyes widening to round moons and mouth opening in almost dumbification. He makes a deep groan in response, pulling out again, pushing back in again, and the last pretences of friendship are shattered.
His lips find their way to your face, forehead clumsily pressed against your much smaller one, hands holding you gently – a softness at complete odds to the way he’s fucking you.
It feels sinful – the way this is so perfectly right, to have his best friend like this, all pretty and babbling and teary on his thick length.
He moans shamelessly every time his gaze passes over you – all stretched and beautiful – around him, taking everything he gives you.
The sounds you’re making are mingled pleading and sobbing, still shot through with greedy hunger. Each moan and whine and sob strike deep in him, hand in hand with the tears forming in your shining eyes.
Eywa, you’re so much tighter than he ever imagined – ever dreamed of. He’s pretty sure he tells you, but those words are lost in the stream of mingled praise and groaned curses pouring from him as he revels in the pleasure of you and you alone.
The sight of your tits bouncing at each thrust is hypnotic, and then finally his restraint is crumbling, and he dives eagerly forward to take one of them into his mouth.
You arch with a surprise cry as his mouth locks around your breast, tongue flicking over your peaked nipple, fangs trailing over your soft skin now slightly shining with the heat of his mouth. He ignores the contortion for him to do it – all discomfort is disregarded at the sounds of your pretty little whines.
He knew from the start he wasn’t going to last long, but he can see that you clearly aren’t going to either.
Your eyes are rolling, heaving for breath in the rare moments you aren’t cursing or babbling or moaning. Your hands and clutching for support, anything to cling to, something to anchor yourself so he doesn’t almost fuck you straight through the bed.
Aonung vaguely acknowledges (in some dimly functioning part of his brain), that perhaps he might be a little worked up. He’s wanted this for so long, thought about this so many times, imagined and replayed and perfected the vision of this moment, that there’s no slowing down now.
Nothing – not one of his filthiest imaginations, not one of his raunchiest desires – could compare to this. To you.
And then your mouth is opening in a hoarse, desperate cry, your fingers are clawing into the tensed muscles of his shoulders, your cunt is clenching so tight around him it’s bordering on sinful pain.
He reaches to rub circles on your poor, swollen, throbbing clit, and you practically scream.
“Fuck, fuck fuck- oh god-” you sob, shaking as he fucks you through your orgasm.
“I know, I got you,” Aonung whispers against your sweat-damp skin. He doubts you can even hear him, and he isn’t even sure he’s physically speaking all the words rushing through his brain.
It seems to almost go forever, and there isn’t a single second in which Aonung wants it to stop. You look so pretty writhing beneath him, clenching around him, panting for him, sobbing because of him, and when it finally seems to slow down, his own pleasure crests.
He’s grinning against your throat, so fucking pleased with himself. He’s so proud of the way you took him that he’s actually about to die, and when he moves to pull out, your nails dig into his arm and you shake your head furiously.
That’s that.
It all snaps in a final sort of conflagration, waves of pleasure and delight and ecstasy and overwhelming, unbearable euphoria rocking over him, over both of you, as he loses control and buries himself with a positive roar in your still clenching warmth.
He’s hardly aware of where he is, though he can vaguely hear moans and whines and curses he guesses may be his, though he can see himself filling you up to the point it’s spilling out the sides and onto your soft, shining thighs.
Aonung just allows himself a moment of selfish indulgence, of sinfully glorious exultation. Nothing matters, nothing even exists, beyond you.
When he flops onto you, shaking with heavy breaths, exultance coursing through his veins, he doesn’t bother to pull out.
You’re still so tight and strangely comforting all wrapped around him, pulsing in the glorious, tortuous aftershocks of your final climax. You don’t protest – though he’s careful to angle his body to not completely crush you.
You let him lie in delighted, satiated silence, tail sweeping happily behind him on the woven floor, head pillowed against the soft curve of your breasts, dimly admiring all the marks he left across your smooth skin.
You’re also trying to steady your breath, absently anchoring yourself to the present by fiddling with the woven cord of his necklace. Aonung notices the curved tooth is almost as large as your whole hand, and a stupid surge of affection wells in his heart.
Here you are, the prettiest little thing he’s ever seen, his best friend, seconds after the most lewd, intimate moment of your lives. What did he ever do to deserve even befriending you, let alone be your personal blanket after he may or may not have fucked you damn boneless?
“Are you alright?” he asks softly, when he’s regained enough breath to properly process your limp, heaving form.
You smile weakly and shake your head, saying, “I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
“Good,” Aonung grins, shifting to nuzzle closer against your soft skin. “You won’t need anyone else ever again.”
“Oh, really?” you roll your eyes, but he doesn’t miss the way you can’t stop smiling. A moment later your hands are moving to cup his face, and he smiles back at you.
“Can I kiss you, tsawksyul?”
You don’t respond to his question for a moment, staring at him with lips parted in absolute disbelief before a loud, delighted laugh is rocked out of your little body. He frowns, confused.
“What?”
“You just fucked me near boneless,” you laugh, stroking his face affectionately, “and now you’re asking if you can kiss me?”
“Yes…?” he replies, brows furrowed. Your laughter fades and a small smile is left on your small, rosy face.
“Yes,” you smile, cheeks crinkling and eyes bright with strangely overwhelmed joy. “Yes, you can kiss me.”
And he does.
Different to before, not just full of lust and hunger and deep-rooted desperation fuelled by months of desire and affection. This is gentle, sweet, and a soft embodiment of all the warm fluffiness he harbours for you, his little tsawksyul.
He can feel your lips smiling against his own, your little heartbeat thumping against his chest as he cuddles you closer, arm wrapping protectively over you and tail draping lightly over your legs.
Then you’re giggling against him and he’s laughing with you and all the heaviness of the moment before is fading.
He realises that there had been a small naggling part in the back of his brain, wondering what would happened when you finished, when the heat and desire was gone, worried that perhaps it was just the arousal or something that was attracting you to him.
But this is the same then ever – albeit you’re naked. And in love.
Aonung smiles.
“I love you.”
You whisper the words back against his lips, legs wrapping around him to snuggle closer. He faintly dreads the moment you’ll have to pull away, but contents himself to the fact that he can cuddle you again tomorrow and the day after.
So he settles back, peppering you with kisses and light praise. After a few moments, when your breath has properly returned, you exchange some happy prediction for everyone’s reaction to you and him. He finds he couldn’t care less.
Eywa, he’s so happy to have you here.
His little friend.
──────⊱⁜⊰──────
Tagging my darlings: @hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul @blue-slxt @neteyamssyulang @theunfortunateplace @lala-1516 @strongheartneteyam @kiskso @deadpool15 @vampirefilmlover @tysirya @universal-s1ut Please let me know if you'd also like to be added to the taglist :)
#aonung fanfiction#aonung x reader#avatar fanfiction#aonung fic#avatar smut#aonung x female reader#avatar#aonung#avatar the way of water#avatar fandom#aonung x human reader#aonung x human#avatar x human reader#friends to lovers
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The Artist's Eye
"Why does it look so strange?" Asked the noble, tilting his head one way, then the other.
"I believe it's wider than it should be. I have a summer home that has those buildings in the background there..." A scaled, clawed hand points at the backdrop of the portrait. "The buildings are far thinner in real life. Everything is wider than it should be." Claimed the second noble, another male whose tongue briefly flicked out from between his scaled lips and lapped at the blue liquid in his delicate glass.
The pair of them continued to observe the giant portrait painting of an ursidain general. It was unheard of, and completely novel. A painting! With oils and hand-crafted hues and paints. If one leaned in, and observed the collection from the side, one could even see the uneven strokes and application of the paints against a canvas. The subject didn't matter, the ursidain was practically unheard of, but his commissioned painted was on loan to the ssypno people for a gallery event, featuring a human artist.
His style was unknown, his methods unorthodox to the point of being unheard of outside of ancient texts that describe using chintian fur brushes.
"Wider? I would say this would be the wrong portrait to observe if we are wanting to check if the human's eye adds inches to the subjects girth!" Tittered the noble, gesturing at the rotund ursidain. Unbeknownst to them, the general had been delighted at his portrait and only at the promise he could have another done, did he relinquish possession of his painting.
The two nobles approached another painting, this one of a member of House Sa'vurn. 'The Promised Daughter', one 'Desh Sa'vurn', the people's favourite.
The two nobles joined a third, a female who was coiled directly in front of it.
"Her eyes are rather alive, don't you think?" The noble asked openly, drawing the two male's attention. It was true, Desh's eyes followed them. One of the males felt judged, as if the people's favourite Sa'vurn had found him wanting, whilst the other found them angry, as she were posed to strike him.
"If you observe each of his subjects, they are all observed in one fashion or another, but it is their eyes where he has put in more detail than other artists." The noble observed.
"Why? I would know more of the subject if her body posture made sense. Her shoulders are back, but her tail coiled? Her hood is flared yet not a dot of heat."
"Of course there's no heat, it is an oil painting." The lady sighed, pointing out the obvious. "We are observing what the human sees."
"No heat? Boring." Moaned the judged male.
"Fascinating I say. We are stripped down to our most basic parts. There is no lying when standing in in front of his easel. He ignores or is blind to our attempts to show our heat, to radiate what we want others to perceive." Extrapolated the lady noble, referencing how almost every single ssypno in the gallery was displaying as much heat as they could in their hoods, to show that they were successful and didn't need to conserve their heat. She frowned as she reached out, only to stop herself from touching the canvas.
"I do wonder why do many portions are left so dark?"
"I can answer that my lady." Came a lyrical voice from behind. The trio of ssypno turned at once and met the eye of an esquinine. He didn't flinch, or close one eyes, but met their gazes without fear in turn.
"I have been privy to the human's art from the beginning, he rented my loft when he arrived on our home world." Explained the long-faced empath. "The portions that are dark to you, are actually a sea of different colours, but more in the hues of purples and dark blues. I'm afraid these are colours outside of your visual range."
The trio of large serpants turned back to the art and squinted, as if trying to force their vision to focus and draw forth a colour they'd never seen.
"It is one thing to know one has limited visual colours, it is another to stand before what we know is there and be unable to see it." The female noble lamented.
"Ugh, annoying. Why would he paint a ssypno with colours a ssypno can't see? Insulting."
"He paints for his own enjoyment; it just so happens that others consider this art worth money. Amazing than an artist is more creative when they aren't starving." Noted the esquinine before bowing curtly and leaving the ssypno behind. The esquinine meandered through and over the tails that trailed behind the various gallery patrons before slipping into a side down and strutting down a quiet hallway.
He came to a door, pressed his thumb to the reader then stepped inside.
The human was sat watching the screens.
"How's it going?" He asked, nervously nibbling on a nail. The esquinine stepped over and gently slapped the top of the human's hand, reminding him to stop with the nervous habit.
"Well. They still don't quite 'get' it, but then they are the upper crust. Dry and tasteless." Observed the empath, who turned to watch the screens as a crowd of ssypno tried to force their own world view onto art made by a wholly different species with a very different life to them.
"It's fun seeing ignorance get exposed over and over though..." Considered the esqunine, resting his head against a finger.
"Just because I see the world differently..." Mumbled the human, mildly frustrated.
"Galaxy, and I would be quick to point out they love to remind you, that you are smell blind. I think its rather justified to remind them that they are blind to a whole world of colours, no matter how rich they are." Pointed out the alien with a cold tone to the nobles.
"Body mods are a thing." Supplied the young man, considering how they could choose to have different eyes with their money.
"And admit they aren't perfect? They'd have an ice bath first." Came the esquinine's reply, without missing a beat, taking the human by surprise.
The human grinned and couldn't help but smile at the curt and cutting remarks of his closest ally, cheering him up immediately.
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Messages for Reassurance + Songs
Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.
If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.
You are the ultimate authority over your life. I merely provide my perspective. Sometimes the Universe lines you up with something that doesn't resonate with your truth, so you have contrast to find out what does. Never give away your power.
Pile 1
Knight of Cups, High Priestess
youtube
The hope inside of you is not delusion. You are safe to go after the things that seem promising and enriching. The days where you couldn't hear your gut well enough to listen to it are gone. Serendipities of various sizes permeate your day to day life, and it feels almost to good to be true. Did you really make it? Yes, dear. You did. You embraced your shadows enough to bask in the sun again.
Of course this is no utopia, and the frights of the past have sharpened your foresight to real possibilities, but believe yourself when you can't feel any danger closeby. You are stronger, smarter, and in better company than ever before. Now all there is left to do is putting some weight in those timid steps towards your bliss. Don't worry about tripping - you'll land on your foundation and get up again, eyes forward, one foot in front of the other. You will get there as soon as you fully arrive internally, and you are so close to completion already. You will see it once you believe it.
Pile 2
6 of Wands, The Hanged Man
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You are exactly where you are supposed to be, in the exact context and circumstances you see at this very moment, inside and out. The conditions are perfect for you thrive in. You might have to get a little unorthodox in your approaches, and the shape of other people's successes sometimes clouds your inspiration, but let good be good enough for now. Think of past you - they prayed to have what you have now.
Okay, yes, they were a little misguided in a few details of their wishes (thankfully rejection is divine protection), and in thinking once you would be here, everything would be perfect - life is still life, you are still human - but the lessons that led you here widened your understanding of how everything had to happen this way. Guess what, future you will look back at this very moment with the exact same wisdom and compassion.
You can work with what you have at your disposal and rightfully expect the glory of tangible progress. Just keep doing what you are doing already, keep it simple and managable, and there will be nothing significant standing in your way. Those bouts of stagnation? That's where the depth of your skills comes from in the first place. Just like muscles, the soul and mind need their periods of liminal passivity to come back with full force to charge you ahead. You are on the right track. You are doing great. You can be proud of yourself.
Pile 3
Page of Swords, 10 of Wands
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Oh dear. It's okay to say you are tired. It's okay to break apart. It's okay to hurt and just want to quit it all. Why are you carrying all this by yourself, tasks and thoughts alike? Don't you know the relief once you put them both down? For the thoughts: Speak, write, scream. To somebody, or nobody. The most important part is admitting it. Then at least you are freed of the burden to act like everything is fine. I know you are scared, I know you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place if you knew for sure you could let go. But I trust in the magic of coincidences, and you reading this right now tells me you need to stop swimming against the current and let the flow carry you downstream.
Stop clinging to things that only stay if you wreck yourself. The tide will wash them out of your hands anyway, because soon you will reach your body's limits, and then the decision will be made for you. Let the dam break. Let nature take its course. You are so smart and truly believed the best, I can see that, and it's no lack of character that caused things to go this way. But this wasn't meant for you. I know it hurts. I hurt with you. But once you stop fighting gravity, you will be drawn to what is truly for you. Put the burden down. I know you had the best intentions, but it's over. You can rest now.
Pile 4
9 of Cups, Knight of Pentacles
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You already know this, but slow and steady does indeed win the race. Instead of doing a million things exhausting yourself, you are focusing on a handful of daily tasks, knowing they will lead you exactly where you want to be. Time and consistency are on your side. You know you don't have to be perfect and can always pick up where you left off. Appreciation from outside sources resonates with your own satisfaction about how things are playing out for you.
Your longterm goals seem closer than ever. You have your routine down pat, and trust in your ability of finding even better tweaks and spins for it in the future. This calm air of confidence looks so good on you! You have earned it. You can read the signs relative to your success, know which road to take, and which pitfalls to avoid. You feel incredibly rich and know how to pass the time until certain things come to fruition. It used to make you anxious when you were faced with slowpaced processes, and you fell back on less sustainable approaches to selfsoothe. Now you appreciate the journey itself, even welcome the delays, so you have ample time to smell the flowers on the side of the road.
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SMALL JAYVIK IDEA 4 THE HOLIDAYS ❄
Mistletoe (and the tradition of kissing under it) has Zaunite/Undercity origins
One day, Viktor decides to put one up in the lab in order to finally get Jayce to kiss him — they've been dancing around each other for ages at this point, and maybe he lent Timebomb his ear long enough for them to convince him of another, slightly more unorthodox way of pushing Jayce towards confessing his feelings
However, since Jayce was raised in Piltover, he is unaware of the tradition surrounding mistletoe, confused whenever they enter the lab together and Viktor stops him by the shoulder, blinking up at him with an expectant look on his pretty face
He awkwardly handles the situation each time it arises, stuttering his way through apologies and blushing while he gently pushes Viktor further away before he does something stupid like kiss him with how close their faces were a moment ago
Viktor only gets more and more frustrated the longer this goes on (over the course of about a week), but Jayce remains oblivious, until...
Caitlyn meets him for lunch to gush about Vi, who had finally made a move at the Last Drop a few days earlier
She talks about Vi kissing her for the first time under the mistletoe and how romantic it was... wait, mistletoe? Jayce has to stop her mid-story and ask her to elaborate on what that is, exactly, because it was starting to sound familiar
"It's an old Zaunite tradition. You've probably seen one before without knowing it — oval shaped leaves, white berries — but if you and another person end up standing together under it, you're supposed to kiss. Apparently, it's based on folklore—"
Jayce stopped listening a long time ago. Everything makes sense now, and he can't believe he didn't realize it sooner
He pays for lunch and rushes to the lab as quickly as possible. Viktor is there, tinkering away, but approaches him at the door after it becomes clear Jayce wished to converse across the room, for some reason—
His thoughts screech to a halt as Jayce then takes his face in his hands and kisses him as if his life depends on it, stealing his breath. His lips are warm and velvet, and all Viktor can do is stare once they part
Jayce only grins and points a finger above them, "Mistletoe."
Viktor lets out a surprised chuckle. "Mistletoe," he repeats.
#jayvik#jayce talis#jayce#arcane jayce#viktor#arcane viktor#arcane jayvik#arcane#league of legends#timebomb#caitvi#my writing
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The Knight and the Princess
Pairing:Eddie Munson x Reader
AU: Knight Eddie x Princess reader
Warnings: There is fighting in here, Eddie and the Princess flirting (I can’t think of anything else)
Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, I need Eddie so bad rn- I’m on my knees for this man fr fr
Word Count: 3k
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The kingdom of Avarath rarely saw tournaments of this magnitude. This year, the royal family had issued a unique challenge: the winner would earn not just glory but the title of the Princess’s champion. The kingdom’s best knights, nobles, and warriors flocked to the castle, ready to prove their worth.
Eddie Munson, however, was an outlier. A knight in name but not in rank, he was a scrappy underdog who had fought tooth and nail to get here. His armor, mismatched and dented, was salvaged over years of work. His sword had a chipped edge, though it was reliable enough to see him through battle. To him, this wasn’t about fame or riches.
It was about you.
The sun was high in the sky as the tournament field buzzed with activity. The air carried the metallic tang of swords clashing, the earthy scent of trampled grass, and the occasional waft of roasted meats from the vendor stalls. You sat on the royal dais, your seat elevated to provide a clear view of the matches below. Around you, noblemen and courtiers murmured their opinions on the day’s competitors, but your attention was fixed on the next challenger being announced.
“Sir Edward Munson of Avarath!”
Your eyes scanned the field as a lanky figure emerged from the competitors’ tent. Unlike the polished knights before him, Eddie’s appearance was unconventional. His armor was a patchwork of different styles and metals, dented in places and scuffed in others. His dark curls peeked out from beneath his helmet, and there was an almost mischievous energy to the way he carried himself.
Beside you, one of the courtiers scoffed. “A commoner. How quaint.”
You ignored the comment, leaning forward slightly as Eddie approached the center of the ring. His opponent, Sir Alaric, was everything Eddie was not—broad-shouldered, gleaming in freshly polished plate armor, and exuding the kind of arrogance that came from noble birth.
The horn sounded, signaling the start of the match.
At first, the fight seemed one-sided. Alaric charged forward, swinging his heavy sword in a series of powerful strikes. Eddie dodged, his movements quick and deliberate, as though he were playing a game of cat and mouse. Where Alaric relied on brute strength, Eddie fought with agility and precision, exploiting his opponent’s predictable rhythm.
You watched, transfixed, as Eddie darted out of the way of a particularly heavy swing, spinning behind Alaric and landing a sharp blow to the back of his armor. The crowd gasped, then erupted into cheers as Alaric stumbled.
“That’s unexpected,” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips.
Eddie’s unorthodox style was unlike anything you’d seen before. He used his smaller frame to his advantage, weaving around Alaric’s cumbersome movements and striking at opportune moments. Despite the disparity in their armor and weaponry, Eddie was winning—not through force, but through sheer wit and strategy.
When he finally disarmed Alaric with a deft twist of his sword, the crowd exploded into applause. Alaric fell to his knees, panting and glaring at Eddie, who stood over him with an almost sheepish grin.
Eddie extended a hand to his fallen opponent, helping him to his feet. The gesture earned a few chuckles from the crowd and, to your surprise, a faint smile from Alaric himself.
As Eddie turned to leave the field, his gaze flickered upward, and for the briefest moment, your eyes met. You saw the spark of surprise in his expression, followed by something softer, more vulnerable. He quickly averted his gaze, bowing deeply toward the dais before walking back to his corner.
“Interesting,” you said aloud, drawing curious glances from those around you.
“What is?” asked one of the noblewomen seated nearby.
You shook your head, smiling faintly. “Nothing. Just… unexpected talent.”
As the next match was announced, you found your thoughts drifting back to Eddie Munson and the cleverness with which he’d fought. Later that evening, as the courtiers discussed their favorite knights over dinner, you instructed your attendant to deliver a note to him.
The tournament had ended for the day, leaving behind an eerie quiet over the once-bustling grounds. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. You had dismissed your attendants for the evening, longing for solitude and a reprieve from the endless chatter of the court. Your steps led you to the castle’s gardens, where blooming flowers filled the air with their fragrance.
As you rounded a corner near the training grounds, you spotted Eddie Munson. He was seated beneath a sprawling oak tree, the shadows of its branches dancing across his battered armor, which he had set aside beside him. In his lap rested a well-worn sketchbook, the corners frayed from use, and in his hand, a piece of charcoal hovered over the page.
You paused, observing him for a moment. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his fingers smudged with charcoal. The way he tilted his head as he studied his work made you smile. For someone who fought with such ferocity, there was an unexpected gentleness in the way he handled the page.
The crunch of gravel underfoot gave you away, and Eddie’s head shot up, his dark eyes wide with surprise. He scrambled to stand, nearly dropping his sketchbook in the process.
“Your Highness,” he stammered, bowing awkwardly. His wild curls bobbed as he dipped low, and a nervous grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “I—uh—wasn’t expecting company.”
You chuckled softly, motioning for him to sit. “Please, don’t let me disturb you.”
Eddie hesitated, glancing at the guards who stood a respectful distance away, before settling back onto the ground. You lowered yourself to the grass across from him, smoothing your gown as you sat.
“Do you always sketch after a fight?” you asked, curiosity evident in your tone.
Eddie shrugged, his fingers tightening around the charcoal. “It helps me unwind, I guess. Clears my head after all the chaos.”
Your gaze drifted to the sketchbook. “May I see?”
He hesitated, biting his lower lip as though debating whether to say yes. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he handed it over.
The pages were filled with sketches—knights locked in battle, the castle’s towering spires, and fleeting glimpses of the crowd. Each drawing was rough but brimming with life and emotion. One sketch, in particular, caught your eye. It was of the royal dais, with a faint outline of a figure seated at its center. Though unfinished, it was unmistakably you.
“This is remarkable,” you said, your voice soft as you traced the lines with your gaze.
Eddie’s cheeks flushed. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some scribbles.”
You looked up, meeting his eyes. “It’s more than that. You’ve captured the heart of the moment. It’s a gift, Eddie.”
The sound of his name on your lips seemed to startle him. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”
You handed the sketchbook back to him, your fingers brushing briefly against his. “Have you ever painted?”
He tilted his head, intrigued by the question. “Once or twice. Why?”
“I’d like you to paint something for me,” you said, a playful smile gracing your lips. “If you win the tournament, of course.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “You want me to paint? What?”
“Something that shows me how you see the world,” you replied simply.
For a moment, he was silent, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. “Alright, Your Highness. If I win, I’ll paint you something. But only if you promise to tell me if it’s terrible.”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Deal.”
As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, painting the sky in twilight blues, you realized how natural it felt to sit here with Eddie, sharing quiet moments amidst the chaos of the tournament. For the first time in days, you felt at ease.
And for Eddie, the Princess was no longer an unattainable figure on a pedestal. You were real, tangible, and more captivating than he had ever imagined.
The sun burned high above the tournament grounds, the sky a vibrant blue streaked with faint wisps of white clouds. The crowd’s energy was electric, a sea of nobles, commoners, and courtiers packed into the stands. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for: the final match.
The announcer’s voice boomed across the grounds, silencing the chatter. “For the honor of being named the Princess’s champion, Sir Edward Munson of Avarath will face Sir Gareth of Highmoor!”
The crowd erupted into cheers as Sir Gareth strode onto the field. A towering figure clad in gleaming steel, Gareth carried himself with the confidence of someone who had never known defeat. His crimson cloak flowed dramatically behind him, and his massive broadsword reflected the sunlight, blinding anyone who dared look too long.
Eddie Munson followed shortly after, his armor a stark contrast to Gareth’s pristine regalia. Mismatched and battered, it told the story of a knight who fought his way to this stage, piece by piece, against the odds. His expression was focused, determined, though the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips as he surveyed the crowd. He turned briefly to glance at the royal dais. Your gaze met his, and you offered the smallest nod of encouragement.
The horn sounded, signaling the start of the match.
Gareth wasted no time, charging forward with the force of a battering ram. His broadsword came down in a wide arc, aiming to end the fight quickly. Eddie barely managed to sidestep, the ground shaking beneath Gareth’s strike.
The crowd gasped as Eddie spun out of reach, his lighter frame giving him the speed to evade Gareth’s relentless blows. He countered with swift strikes, his sword aiming for the gaps in Gareth’s armor. Each clash of metal against metal sent vibrations through the air, the sound echoing across the field.
“Fight like a real knight, boy!” Gareth taunted, his deep voice carrying over the din of the crowd.
Eddie grinned, dodging another swing. “Sorry, I left my shiny armor at home.”
The quip earned a few chuckles from the audience, but Gareth’s expression darkened. He lunged forward, attempting to overpower Eddie with sheer force. For a moment, it seemed as though Gareth’s strength might win out; Eddie staggered under the weight of Gareth’s blows, his footing faltering.
From the dais, you leaned forward in your seat, gripping the edge of your throne. Your heart raced with every near miss, every clash of swords.
Eddie recovered quickly, using Gareth’s momentum against him. With a quick sidestep and a twist of his blade, Eddie struck Gareth’s shoulder, the blow leaving a visible dent in the polished steel. Gareth stumbled, growling in frustration.
The match became a test of endurance. Sweat dripped down Eddie’s brow as he dodged another crushing strike, his movements becoming more deliberate as the fight wore on. Gareth’s heavy swings slowed, his breathing labored under the weight of his armor.
Eddie saw his opening.
As Gareth raised his sword for another powerful strike, Eddie lunged forward, using his smaller blade to hook the broadsword and twist it from Gareth’s grasp. The larger knight staggered back, stunned, as his weapon clattered to the ground.
The crowd erupted in cheers, the sound deafening.
Eddie didn’t stop there. He stepped forward, his sword leveled at Gareth’s chest. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Gareth glared at him, his pride wounded, but he raised his hands in surrender.
The match was over. Eddie Munson was victorious.
Eddie fell to one knee, his chest heaving as he planted his sword into the ground for support. His dark curls clung to his damp face, and his mismatched armor was scuffed and battered. Despite his exhaustion, a triumphant grin spread across his lips.
The announcer’s voice rang out once more. “The Princess’s champion: Sir Edward Munson of Avarath!”
The crowd roared, chanting Eddie’s name as he pushed himself to his feet.
You descended the steps from the royal dais, your gown flowing like water behind you. The noise of the crowd dimmed as all eyes turned to you.
Eddie’s grin faltered as you approached, replaced by an almost nervous expression. He dropped his gaze, lowering himself onto one knee in a gesture of respect. “Your Highness.”
You stopped before him, your voice steady despite the warmth rising in your chest. “Sir Munson, you have proven yourself worthy of this honor. You fought bravely and with great skill.”
Eddie glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Does this mean I get to paint for you?” he asked, his lips twitching into a smirk despite his exhaustion.
The question caught you off guard, and a laugh escaped your lips, ringing clear above the murmurs of the crowd.
“Yes,” you said, smiling warmly. “You’ve earned it.”
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the castle gardens. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, dappling the ground with patches of warm light and cool shadow. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the soft scents of blooming flowers. It was the perfect day, you had decided, for Eddie to begin the painting he had promised after his victory.
You had chosen a secluded corner of the garden for the session—a place far from the prying eyes of the court. Eddie was already there when you arrived, setting up his makeshift easel and unpacking a small satchel filled with paints and brushes. His back was turned to you, his movements careful and precise as he mixed pigments on a wooden palette.
He looked different without his armor. Clad in a loose linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and simple breeches tucked into scuffed boots, Eddie seemed more at ease, though his fingers betrayed his nervousness as they fidgeted with the palette knife.
When he noticed your approach, he straightened and turned, a smile spreading across his face. “Your Highness,” he said with a dramatic bow, his curls falling into his eyes. “Ready to be immortalized in paint?”
You laughed softly, smoothing your gown as you sat on the low stone bench he had set up for you. “As ready as I’ll ever be. But are you sure you’re up to the task?”
His grin widened, his confidence bubbling to the surface. “Doubt me already? You wound me, Princess.”
With a flourish, he gestured for you to sit however you liked. After some playful back-and-forth about whether you should appear regal or casual, you decided on something in between—sitting on the bench with one leg crossed over the other, your hands resting lightly in your lap.
Eddie stepped back, squinting at you like a true artist sizing up his subject. “Perfect,” he said after a moment, his tone softer.
Then, he got to work.
At first, there was a comfortable silence as Eddie focused on his task. The only sounds were the occasional chirping of birds and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. You watched him work, captivated by the intensity in his expression. His dark brows furrowed in concentration, and his tongue peeked out slightly as he dragged the brush across the canvas.
The tension in his shoulders eased as he fell into the rhythm of painting, and he began to hum a tune under his breath—a melody you didn’t recognize but found yourself liking.
“What are you humming?” you asked, breaking the silence.
Eddie glanced up, his brush pausing mid-stroke. “Oh, just something I made up. Helps me focus.”
You smiled, tilting your head. “I didn’t know knights were also musicians.”
“Knights?” he scoffed, dipping his brush into a vivid blue pigment. “I’m barely a knight. I’m just a guy who happens to be good with a sword—and, apparently, a paintbrush.”
“You’re far more than that,” you said softly, your gaze steady. “You’ve shown courage, skill, and heart. That’s what makes you worthy.”
The compliment caught him off guard. His hand faltered slightly, leaving a streak of paint on the canvas that made him grimace. “Careful, Your Highness. Keep saying things like that, and I’ll start thinking I belong here.”
“You do,” you said firmly.
Eddie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to still. There was something vulnerable in his expression, as though he wasn’t used to being seen—truly seen.
The hours slipped by as he painted, the canvas gradually coming to life. As the sun dipped lower, Eddie stood back, rubbing his chin with a smudge of green paint as he surveyed his work.
“Well?” you prompted, rising from your seat and stepping closer. “Do I get to see it?”
Eddie hesitated, shielding the canvas with his body. “It’s not finished yet,” he warned.
“I’ll take my chances,” you teased, peeking around him.
The painting took your breath away.
Eddie had captured not just your likeness but something deeper. The warmth of the light, the softness of your posture, and the spark in your eyes—all of it was there. The background was a swirl of vibrant colors, blending the golden glow of the sun with the lush greens of the garden. It wasn’t just a portrait; it was a celebration of the moment, alive with energy and emotion.
“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice almost reverent.
Eddie’s cheeks turned pink, and he scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not perfect. I still need to work on the details.”
“It’s perfect,” you insisted, turning to him with a smile.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The fading sunlight bathed you both in a soft, golden light, and the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you, standing together before the canvas.
“Thank you, Eddie,” you said finally, your voice filled with genuine warmth.
He grinned, his usual bravado returning. “Don’t thank me yet, Princess. You haven’t seen the one I’m painting for myself.”
“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “And what’s that one of?”
Eddie leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
You laughed, the sound echoing through the garden as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting. -Midnight💜
#x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie the freak munson#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#eddie munson fics#stranger things angst#stranger things fluff#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things
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Killing Time Excerpts #3
Kirk and Spock have a date take a walk in the ship's gardens (p 18-27)
(from a rare 1st edition Star Trek novel by Della van Hise that was yanked, censored and republished to remove excess Kirk/Spock vibes— this is the original version)
Context: The crew's been having nightmares. Kirk received a top secret transmission from Starfleet he had to decode by hand.
____
Kirk stared at the tri-level chessboard without really seeing it, and absently moved the white queen one level higher.
Eyebrow arching, Spock leaned back. "A most unwise move, Captain," he observed, easily detecting Kirk's uncharacteristic lack of concentration. Without trying, the Vulcan had won his third consecutive game.
Kirk shook his head with a sigh, remembering the slip of paper in the top drawer, the dreams. "Distracted, I guess," he ventured, meeting his first officer's eyes and forcing an unfelt smile.
He inhaled deeply, then leaned back in the chair and folded his hands neatly behind his head, stretching. "I don't mean to keep whipping a dead horse, Spock," he began, "but . . . from what I've found out— about the dreams— it's starting to give me the willies."
The Vulcan stared mutely at his captain. "What would it profit to administer punishment to a deceased lifeform, Captain?" he wondered, attempting to lighten the heavy mood which had settled on Kirk during the course of the day. "And precisely what are the . . . willies?"
Kirk's smile broadened. "The creeps, Mister Spock," he clarified. "The crawls. The shivers. The boogey-man blues."
The eyebrow slowly lowered. "Of course, Captain," Spock replied, as if the entire matter was suddenly explained.
With a shrug, Kirk rose from the chair, moving into the living area of his quarters. He looked at the dresser for a moment, then impulsively yanked open a drawer and seized a plaid flannel shirt. After hastily removing the gold command tunic and tossing it across the room into the laundry disposal, he slipped into the civilian attire and began buttoning the shirt. He had to put command temporarily aside, and the braid on his sleeve was a constant reminder that that was never easy to do.
"C'mon, Spock," he urged, walking toward the door and tipping the white chess king over onto its side. "Let's take a walk. Maybe I just need some distance from everything."
The Vulcan's head tilted in curiosity. The ship's patrol was so utterly routine that he wasn't particularly surprised to see Kirk's nature asserting itself. The captain was the type of man who was always on the move, always seeking new adventures—and usually involved in dangerous excitement. In a moment of admitted illogic, Spock questioned the mentality of Command for sending the Enterprise to patrol the Neutral Zone in the first place. Surely, he thought, it would have been more reasonable to assign such a mission to a Scout class vessel. The Enterprise was, after all, the most efficient ship in the Fleet; and the Vulcan couldn't help wondering if the reasoning behind their current patrol was more complicated than anyone had been led to believe.
And there was the matter of the manually coded transmission. But he rose from the chair and followed his friend. Kirk would tell him— when and if the time was right. But as he passed by the chessboard, he reached out and impulsively righted the white king.
"What's the matter, Spock?" Kirk asked, face suddenly alight with mischief as he stood waiting by the now open door. "Afraid I'll have you court-martialed for insubordination because you beat me in another game of chess?"
The Vulcan merely shook his head as he fell in step alongside his captain, and they ventured into the corridor. "Hardly," he replied. "I merely thought it inappropriate to abandon the match so early in the evening. Your unorthodox approach to chess will doubtlessly assert itself later and you will discover some method of defeating me with an illogical and unpredictable move." He squared broad shoulders, innocently looking straight ahead as they approached the lift. "I am merely offering you that opportunity, Captain."
Kirk grinned. "In other words, Spock," he surmised, "you're generously giving me one final chance to humiliate myself."
"Captain!" Spock replied indignantly.
Kirk suppressed a laugh as they reached the lift. He thumbed the button, waiting for the doors to open. "You know, Spock," he mused. "Sometimes I wonder about you. Sometimes I think you're the ship's resident guardian angel— and other times I'm convinced you're the devil in disguise."
The Vulcan stared straight ahead, face expressionless. "Folklore is sometimes based in fact, Captain," he replied enigmatically.
—•—
For a long time, they simply walked, visiting areas of the ship which were normally removed from the world of command. Finally as if by intuition, Kirk stopped in front of a large door, looked at it as if deciding whether or not to enter, then finally depressed the lock mechanism and urged the Vulcan along with a quick nod of his head. Spock followed, somewhat reticently.
"C'mon," Kirk prompted with a grin. "Stop acting like a cat who's afraid of getting his feet wet."
Spock remained stubbornly standing outside the door. "Captain," he protested, "it is a biological fact that Vulcans are sensitive to high humidity. The gardens—"
But before he could complete the sentence, Kirk seized him by one arm and dragged him forward with a laugh. "Live a little, Spock," he suggested. "And that's an order."
The Vulcan sighed, and slowly followed Kirk into the room. For a reason he couldn't pinpoint, Spock felt uneasy—as if this area of the ship was suddenly alien, dangerous. He lifted both brows at the illogical consideration, and took a moment to look around. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet the feeling persisted—as if ghostly eyes followed them. He swept the thought away. Illogical. Unacceptable behavior—particularly for a Vulcan. Reality seemed unstable. The brows rose higher, and though Kirk seemed oblivious to the sudden ethereal change, Spock couldn't deny its existence. Somehow, he felt himself altered, alien even to his own mind. But he continued following, nonetheless. Kirk's instincts were always good, he told himself.
Once inside the lush green gardens, Kirk felt some of the uneasiness leave him. He thought for a brief instant that he detected a hesitation in Spock, but when he turned to glance over his shoulder, it was to see the Vulcan standing close at his side. He dismissed the sensation, passing it off to mundane distractions and tedium as his eyes settled on the "world" before him.
The maze paths which ran throughout this Earthlike area of the ship gave the illusion of five miles of hiking trails in a natural environment. Kirk attempted to divorce himself from the fact that it was merely an impression--carefully designed by the builders of the Enterprise to promote a feeling of "home." The room itself was approximately a hundred yards deep and seventy-five yards wide, almost overgrown with thousands of plants—flowers and small trees from a thousand different worlds. It was always spring here, the air fresh and clean. Even the air-conditioning vents had been designed to provide the illusion of a gentle breeze; and the domed ceiling spoke of a clear blue Terran sky, complete with clouds and occasional rainbows. When ship's night began to fall, a pseudo-sunset adorned the high ceiling, its purples, pinks and oranges all but obliterating the reality that one was still aboard a starship at least five light-years from the nearest Class M planet.
Forcing himself to ignore his own tensions, Kirk slipped into the Earth fantasy as he began walking along the central maze path—which would, he recalled, eventually lead to the deepest portion of the garden. As he looked up to see the Vulcan at his side, he couldn't help noticing that the gardens were having their effect even on Spock. The first officer seemed so much more relaxed and at peace here—even if somewhat distracted, Kirk noticed. For a moment, the human could almost envision his second in command swinging from a tree limb as he'd done once before—but not without the influence of spores to erase the normal Vulcan restraints. It was a soothing image, despite the fact that it was impossible. For an instant, Kirk wondered what would eventually become of his friend—of the two of them, where they would be in another twenty years. For himself, he suspected he'd still find some way of manipulating the stars,chasing adventure through the dark regions of time and space. But for Spock . . . His mind traveled back in time—to Vulcan. To a day when Spock had been prepared to marry . . . and disaster had resulted. Unbonded now, the Vulcan was walking a tightrope between life and death; for without the deep mental rapport necessary to establish a bonding, Spock would die in the blood fever of pon farr.
Despite the heat of the gardens, Kirk shivered, walking a little faster toward the central portion of the room. Surely, he told himself, Spock wouldn't die. Surely, he told himself, there would be someone with whom the Vulcan could bond, someone who could walk the path with him, balance him, love him.
For a long time, Kirk considered that. He wondered if the Vulcan knew what he was thinking, decided that it didn't matter. He would have said it aloud—had said it aloud countless times. He smiled to himself. No secrets, he'd once told Spock. And the Vulcan had agreed. He closed his eyes, and attempted to put the frightening thought of the future in the back of his mind. It would take care of itself—somehow.
At last reaching the central portion of the gardens, Kirk took a moment to study his surroundings. Six large trees which vaguely resembled weeping willows grew in a circle approximately thirty yards in diameter. Branches like arms hung to the ground, sweeping against the grassy floor of the gardens.
Entering the circle of trees, Kirk took a deep breath of fresh air, and moved to one of the old stone benches which had begun to sport a healthy growth of mildew. He sat down slowly, then leaned back until he felt the cold moisture of the stone seep through his shirt and onto his shoulder blades. It was good in a way he couldn't describe—good in the same way a memory of childhood was good. It brought back recollections of sneaking off to the park on a warm May afternoon when he should have been in school. He closed his eyes, enjoying the fantasy, the memories . . . the illusions which existed only in the past. But when he opened his eyes again, it was to see Spock still standing, looking down at him questioningly. There was concern—and possibly Vulcan worry—written in the black eyes. Kirk held the penetrating gaze for a moment, then managed a smile when he saw the Vulcan soften. "Live a little, Spock," he said again, indicating a nearby bench with a nod of his head. "Didn't you ever go out and roll in the grass when you were a kid?"
The arched brow spoke volumes for the Vulcan's childhood. "No . . ." Kirk decided. "I guess not." He rolled into a sitting position, feeling the nervousness and depression return despite the momentary external facade. He knew the Vulcan could see through his masks. "Sit down," he said more seriously. "I need a wailing wall, Spock."
The Vulcan might have considered responding in the customary, teasing way, but the idea left him as he observed the unusual tension in the familiar hazel eyes. Perhaps Kirk had felt the difference, the ghostly quality of their surroundings. He settled for a neutral approach. "This mission should not last much longer, Jim," he ventured, feeling suddenly inadequate to deal with Kirk's frustrations as he searched for something positive to say. "We are scheduled for shore leave in less than a month." He paused as if hearing the clipped tone of his own voice; perhaps teasing with this human was the only solution. "And I believe Altair has always been one of your favorites, has it not?"
Kirk shook his head, then felt angry butterflies warring in his stomach again. "Altair . . ." he mused. He looked closely at the Vulcan, then impulsively reached into the pocket of the plaid shirt to withdraw the crumpled piece of paper he'd hidden there earlier. He unfolded it, handing it to the Vulcan. "The transcript," he explained. "All leaves have been indefinitely postponed."
The Vulcan studied the paper carefully, committing its sparse contents to memory.
KIRK: YOUR CURRENT MISSION EXTENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTIFICATION. THREE EAGLES LANDING ON THE BORDER MIGHT NEED FLIGHT INFORMATION. A TIMELY CONSIDERATION FOR ENTERPRISE—EAGLES FLY BY NIGHT.
Spock looked up, handed the paper back to Kirk. "Romulan activity," he surmised.
Kirk nodded. "Romulan activity, Mister Spock." Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he rose and began to pace back and forth in the confines of the circle of trees. "From the sounds of that transmission, the upper echelons are getting more than a little worried," he continued. "But no one seems to be able to pinpoint what the Romulans are up to this time." He shrugged. "Command suspects it has something to do with an attempt to invade Federation planets bordering the Neutral Zone, but . . ." He stopped pacing long enough to rub his forehead as he sensed the prelude to another headache. "But that's nothing new," he realized, resuming the nervous pacing. "Besides, that's what battle cruisers were designed for. Starships are supposed to be for exploration and contact; battle cruisers were built to deal with invasions and attacks." He managed a smile, an uneasy laugh. "General rumor also has it that three additional starships are being sent to this sector as a precautionary measure. And if that doesn't mean somebody's got their rocks in a grinder, then I don't know what to think." He took a deep breath. "But as usual with Command, they aren't being very generous with their information."
Spock was silent for a long moment. "And you stated that Starfleet has no precise knowledge of what the Romulans are planning?"
Kirk shrugged, threw up his hands, then forced himself to sit by the Vulcan's side. "All they know is that the Romulan Fleet appears to be converging near the border of the Zone. Our intelligence forces inside the Empire got wind of something concerning a time travel experiment which has been going on over there for quite a while; but according to Admiral Komack's last general transmission, we lost contact with the agents before they could relay the specifics." He grimaced. "I don't think we have to ask what happened to them."
Spock glanced away, confirming Kirk's suspicions; but the Vulcan changed the subject. "Do you believe the dreams could have something to do with events inside the Romulan Empire?" he asked.
Kirk felt something stir in his stomach.
"Since certain Romulans are telepathic," Spock continued, "do you believe it possible that your dreams could have resulted from a temporary psychic link to someone inside the Empire?"
Kirk's brows narrowed thoughtfully. A possibility, sure. But random speculation—rom Spock? "I dunno," he admitted. "Maybe I'm just getting paranoid in my old age." He laughed gently, trying to chase away the cold, black thing which seemed to be lingering at his shoulder. It had his own eyes, his features, his mind. But it felt alien.
As if sensing the thought, the Vulcan reached out tentatively, placing one hand on his captain's shoulder. Kirk was the only person on board to whom Spock could open up, and he valued that freedom. "If there are answers, we will find them, Jim," he ventured, eyeing Kirk more closely. "But . . . I believe it can wait until morning. You appear somewhat . . . fatigued?"
Kirk sighed and reached out to cover the Vulcan's hand with his own. Men like Spock weren't standard issue. "Thanks, Spock," he murmured. "I don't know what the hell I'd do without you." He stood slowly, and turned to go.
The Vulcan rose to follow his captain, taking a moment to appreciate the easy rapport which was always there between them. "No doubt you would win at chess, Captain," he suggested as they began walking back toward the entrance of the gardens.
Kirk laughed, then turned to glance at the "sky" when he noticed that nightfall had begun. Muted colors melted into the domed sky, and he allowed himself the luxury of inhaling the cool fresh air into his lungs and holding it there.
"It's almost like being home, Spock," he said. "No Romulans except in Dad's exaggerated space-gtales; no nightmares other than algebra . . ." He gave in to the fantasy for just a moment, then, recognizing the lethal danger of homesickness and melancholy, opened his eyes once again. "You know," he continued, "my father used to tell me that childhood itself was the only home a man could ever have." He laughed— somewhat nervously—and continued to look at the domed ceiling. For the briefest instant, he could almost envision cloudy dragons and white-fluffed unicorns.
Spock's eyes closed for just a moment. "Your father was, no doubt, a remarkable man, Captain," he replied after a long silence. His own father had rarely spoken of such matters— and never of the stars. He started to speak again, but stopped abruptly when Kirk shook his head with a smile.
"Don't worry, Spock," the human replied. "I don't expect an answer." He took one last look at the dome; it was almost "night" now, and soon the stars would be visible through the transparent ceiling. He turned toward the door, determined to leave the melancholy behind. "I don't regret any of it," he said. "And who knows? Maybe we'll be laughing about this whole thing in some Altairian cafe in another month." He turned to look at the impassive expression on his friend's face as the double doors opened into the main corridor of the ship. "Well, at least I'll be laughing," he corrected.
An eyebrow climbed under sleek black bangs as they stepped into the hall and resumed the correct routine. The masks of captain and first officer fell into place.
"I would not be adverse to spending some time on Altair, Captain," Spock said unexpectedly. "I am told that the museums and library facilities are excellent."
Kirk laughed as he drew up to a halt in front of the turbolift doors. "I didn't know Altair had museums and libraries, Mister Spock!"
–•–
Next time:
Our star-crossed lovers totally just friends are separated across time and space, oh noes!
See tag Killing Time Excerpts for more!
#space boyfriends#kirk/spock#spirk#killing time#killing time excerpts#della van hise#star trek#star trek tos
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Recursive Maintenance (Boot.hill x Reader)
hi this is a fic idea i've had for a while that i'm obsessed with. contains the following: gt vore, male pred, soft vore, safe vore, object vore, reader insert w gender neutral terms
Ever since you went independent and started your own shop as a mechanic, you've seen all kinds of colorful characters with ships and vehicles that told a story. You've even serviced some Intellitrons and cyborgs...but one client in particular stuck out to you with how frequently he visited. For the same issue, every time... Here he sat right in front of you, wearing an innocent-looking smile as if this hasn't happened countless times before.
"So, doc..." He always called you that, much to your chagrin. "I've been feelin’ real out of sorts lately. I can hear somethin’ rattling around in here…” He gestures to his metallic stomach, lightly rapping his knuckles against it. “But it won't come up no matter what I do! Think you can be a peach and help a Ranger out?”
You knew full well what he meant by “something”. He couldn't help but chuckle at your expression; he had the strangest habit of…swallowing bullets. Whole. You scowled and crossed your arms at him- when was he going to stop doing this and getting bullets stuck in his gut! You asked him, and he got deathly serious for a moment.
“No forkin’ way! I never let myself go without some extra ammo! And even if those IPC clock-punchers shake me down for everything I’ve got…there’s just one place they’ll never think t’look!” He grinned, showing you his sharp sharklike teeth. “But they won’t do me any good in a fight if they’re stuck in there, right doc? Can you give me a hand?”
You sigh. You’ve been through this enough times to know exactly what was wrong, and exactly how you were supposed to do it. No need for scans- you knew the bullets were in his stomach, and you knew his stomach wasn’t able to be opened. (Not that you really wanted to do that, you were a mechanic not a surgeon!)
This meant an unorthodox and strange approach on your part: going inside of him and dislodging the bullets yourself. You weren’t worried about being hurt, as a cyborg he seemed to be able to control his rate of digestion so the bullets would be undamaged…though his fangs always gave you pause. He always seemed to be very careful with you when you shrunk yourself for it, at least.
Speaking of that, it was about time for you to get to work…which meant getting the shrink gun out. You used this when you wanted a more close view of some delicate machine’s insides…but now you were using it for a rough and tumble man’s insides. All the while the ranger had a pleased smile on his face, which only grew wider as your body shrunk down. He reached over and plucked you off the table, looking you over with amusement.
“I've gotta say…I'll never get over how neat that little gun of yours is. You oughta let me take it for a spin sometime, doc…”
As he spoke, he was already lifting you over his face. His sharp teeth were on full display, glinting in the light as he grinned up at you. “Be sure t’ be gentle with me~ I know I will with you.”
Opening his mouth, he lowered you inside without another word. His tongue gently tasted you to cover you in saliva for your impending trip downwards, but you swore you heard a hum that wasn't a part of his inner workings. With a swallow and a gentle tug at your body, you were pulled down his throat. Here you were surrounded by more familiar sounds- the whirrs and humming of machinery, and the clicking sounds of some of his internal parts around you. You found the experience comforting; but you’d never admit it to someone like him. You can already imagine the smug look on his face…
Splashing down in the ranger’s stomach, you were deposited in a very shallow pool of fluid. The surrounding chamber grumbled and rippled around you as if it was greeting you, and you briefly wondered why it still acted like an organic stomach. Maybe it was just to bother you specifically as the walls came in closer in an effort to gently press against you…but you simply shoved back against them, turning on your flashlight to search for the swallowed bullets.
They stood out easily against his black synthetic flesh, covered in fluid and shining in the light. They were undamaged, but…they weren’t stuck anywhere at all! Did he seriously just lie to you so he could eat you?! Your world suddenly shifted, and the bullets clicked against each other as you nearly lost your balance. Outside, the outlaw had leaned back and kicked his boots up on the table he was sitting in front of. Crossing his arms behind his head, he licked the remnants of your taste from his lips and got comfortable for a short rest.
That confirmed your suspicions, at least. He was getting an earful from you whenever you got out of here- you weren’t just some snack he could show up and munch on whenever he wanted! You were at his whims until he released you, though…and the white noise and gentle whirring of his inner workings did well to soothe your brief flare of anger.
#v0re#soft vore#safe vore#nonsexual vore#18+ nsx vore#gt vore#object vore#nomkai star rail#reader insert#insane about that ranger yeeeeeHAW#reader is fine just grumpy#boot.hill shows his fondness for people by eating them i know this in my heart#dont expect to see object vore outta me btw im not comfy with it#this case is different because i know theyll be dislodged and brought up safely w no harm to him
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warnings: yandere!twice, stalking, obsessive attitude
summary: when you go on a blind date with them, you are not interested but for them you are the love of their life and they start stalking you
N A Y E O N:
It had been two years since you dared to go out with anyone after your previous partner cheated on you. Your friend Yuna invited you to go on a blind date with a girl she knew. You accepted, thinking it would be interesting to meet someone new. But the date turned out to be disastrous, according to you. Nayeon and you had nothing in common, and she couldn't stop talking about herself, which you didn't like. However, for Nayeon, it was the best date of her life, and she thought she had never met anyone like you. That's when it all began. Despite your efforts to avoid Nayeon, she always found you "by chance." You tried to make it clear that you didn't want anything with her, but she couldn't accept that you didn't love her as she loved you. She kept insisting that you go out with her, as well as driving away your acquaintances and potential conquests. She wanted you to be hers alone, even if it meant pushing people away.
"YN, I just want to love you."
J E O N G Y E O N:
The first date you had with Jeongyeon wasn't great in your opinion, but you decided to give her a second chance. The second time didn't improve your opinion of her either. However, she thought it went well and started calling you every day to check on you. After days of constant calls, you decided not to answer them, which could be uncomfortable since she always asked where you were, with whom, and why you didn't pick up the phone. She demanded your attention even when you didn't want to be with her. One night, she showed up unannounced late at night just to hear your excuse for not answering her call. She continued doing this whenever you didn't answer, showing up where you were and confronting you in front of people.
"Why haven't you answered, darling?"
M O M O:
At the beginning of the date, everything was going well with Momo, but the evening took a turn due to certain thoughts and controlling behavior that didn't sit well with you. You didn't understand why you had to follow her little commands. At the end of the disastrous evening, you made it clear that you didn't like her and asked not to speak to each other again. Unfortunately, Momo decided on her own that you were her new partner. Days after the date, Momo showed up at your home without warning, even though you had never told her your address. She boldly tried to force you into a date with her but, seeing that you wouldn't yield, she entered your house and closed the door. She grabbed your shoulders and coldly threatened you, "You should listen to me if you don't want something bad to happen to your little sister."
S A N A:
The date with Sana didn't go well in your opinion, with minimal conversation topics due to a lack of common interests. In Sana's mind, the date was going perfectly, and she thought your silence meant she had left you speechless. After dinner, you rushed off, hoping to never see her again. However, Sana had other plans. She found your personal information within a few days and even more private details. She called you several times, but you never answered. Concerned, Sana took an unorthodox approach and entered your home, waiting for you all day until you arrived. She had prepared a romantic dinner. You were astonished and a bit scared, wondering how she had entered your home.
"YN, what are you doing standing there? Sit down, and let's start our date."
J I H Y O:
You liked Jihyo as a person, but her involvement in a dangerous line of work made you hesitant to continue seeing her. At the end of the night, with some regret, you declined to see her again, bidding her a small farewell. For Jihyo, it meant nothing. She's a tough and determined woman who works in a mafia. She's cunning and won't let you easily walk away from her. She initiated a plan she thought was romantic but could be seen as sinister. You received daily letters from her, talking about personal things you had never shared with anyone. Sometimes, these letters included photos of your home or even you sleeping. Jihyo wanted you to realize what she was capable of if you tried to leave her side.
"Have you liked the letters? They show how much I love you."
M I N A:
Mina was the only one who made it past the first date with you. She seemed like a responsible, intelligent person who had graduated from one of the best universities in the country. You were captivated by her charisma. Initially, everything went well, but over time, Mina displayed possessive and toxic behavior. You decided to end your relationship with her immediately. You thought you had gotten rid of her, but to your dismay, you encountered her "by chance" as your new boss at work. From that day on, the harassment became unbearable. Mina forced you to visit her office frequently and assigned you menial tasks just to see you.
"YN, what a pleasure to find you at my new job."
D A H Y U N:
Dahyun initially went on the date as part of her usual strategy to find new conquests. However, the date didn't go as she expected, and you noticed her big ego and behavior, which led you to reject her from the beginning. Dahyun was upset that her charms didn't work on you. She disappeared from your life for a while because she was busy investigating you. She's quite stubborn, so if she wants you to fall for her, she'll make it happen. If she can't, she'll try to make your life a bit harder. Dahyun started following you to your dates and clubs. Ultimately, you always ended up alone without a conquest, courtesy of Dahyun, who would disrupt your date and even lie about you to scare away your potential partners.
"Until you fall for me, I'll bother you day after day."
C H A E Y O U N G:
Chaeyoung is a successful businesswoman who worked hard to achieve her success, and she decided to indulge herself with a blind date recommendation. That's how she met you. It was love at first sight for her, even though you didn't share the same feelings. Since that day, Chaeyoung has been controlling you, claiming that you're her partner after just one date. Now that you're supposed to be her girlfriend, she expects you to be more careful with your actions. People are always watching you in her presence in case anything unexpected happens. The situation overwhelmed you because despite making it clear that you didn't like her, you were still under surveillance.
You tried to endure the situation until one day when you arrived at your apartment, you found that none of your belongings were there. Chaeyoung had decided on her own that it was a great idea to move your possessions to her house. According to her, if you were going to be her partner, you had to live in her house.
"YN, are you here already? Why so angry? Look at your new home."
T Z U Y U:
Tzuyu seemed like a normal person at first, but if she became obsessed with someone, her level of obsession would drive that person insane. Tzuyu became infatuated with you from the moment she saw you, as you were her
type. In your opinion, the date wasn't good, and Tzuyu didn't interest you as a partner. However, Tzuyu couldn't stop thinking about you, so she started following you everywhere you went. She took photos of you and sent them to you with small messages written on the back. You felt uneasy about receiving those photos from the start.
Things took a turn for the worse when Tzuyu began breaking into your house and taking many photos there. She left them on your bed, arranging them into a heart shape, with a letter in the center expressing her love for you.
"Darling, I love you more every day. I hope it's mutual."
#twice reactions#twice x reader#nayeon x reader#jeongyeon x reader#momo x reader#sana x reader#jihyo x reader#mina x reader#dahyun x reader#chaeyoung x reader#tzuyu x reader#twice smut#twice scenarios#twice imagines
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We fail alone, we excel together
Formations are a staple of effective drills, training, and practice in every military across the Galaxy. They are a showcase of unity, leadership, trust, and loyalty. And fancy outfits. Gotta go for a style victory when actual wars are quite uncommon.
Humans are pretty good at this sort of thing. Not the best, as there is always some inconsistency, somebody doing their own thing, or improvising a solution to a fumble. Honestly, theirs are one of the more interesting to watch. It takes a lot of effort for some to conform to a herd style behavior, and it shows.
One time, a soldier tripped and was about to drop their knife, but thinking quickly, they began to juggle it, along with an ammo magazine and a sidearm they quickly pulled out. Aside from surprising everyone with their juggling skills, the surrounding soldiers noticed immediately, and, without a word, began to juggle with the same items as well.
But it wasn't chaotic - first, once the first loop was done, the soldiers in front, behind and to the sides of the first one started juggling in sync, and with each completed loop it spread the same way, creating this beautiful expanding diamond effect.
Not everyone was equally skilled, of course, and some ripples started to appear. However, since they all knew how long until the current parade music ended, the soldier in the center of the formation, not the original one, stopped juggling, and with each loop the inner layers also stopped. When the final corner soldiers put all the items in their place, the song also came to an end and a new one took its place.
Afterwards, we heard the colonel of that battalion issued an official reprimand for not following the rehearsed performance. Unofficially he praised them, as he himself had been approached by a general about this "surprise addition" and admired his "unorthodox thinking" and "proactive decision making". The colonel obviously lied and gleefully (well, as gleeful as a gritty military veteran with lofty ambitions can get) accepted the praise and promised to deliver other surprises in the future when they would prove most effective.
Big nonsense exchange of words that simply meant the soldiers doing all the actual doings would now have to actually prepare some kind of new and impressive feat. If there is one thing you can rely on, is higher ups turning everything you do into more work...
#carionto#humanity fuck yeah#humans are deathworlders#humans are space orcs#humans are space australians#humans are space oddities#sometimes I don't know if all of these tags actually apply#but I'm now too reluctant to figure out what is more correct#so basically screw it#correct me if i'm wrong#like actually do correct me when I'm wrong about stuff#it helps
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UNRAVEL (m. bachira x reader)
━☆ (detective x detective, for day two of @phantasmaebg) ━☆ in which you grow to love your case partner in all his unconventionality. ━☆ wc: 1272 || tags/cw: gn!reader, bachira is off the walla crazy, lover boy x no. 1 hater || event m.list ━☆ i'm lowkey very proud of this!! bit long but whatever
you absolutely hated meguru bachira.
he had risen through the ranks of the organisation, making detective in just under five years. you, however, did not have as easy a time, so everything about him ended up grating on your nerves; his too-loud laugh, his tendency to skip over vital steps in the investigation process, and his penchant for inappropriate jokes at even more inappropriate timings, just to name a few.
you’ve always been serious about your job, focused, meticulous. and he was... well, a walking distraction. the way he’d spin around in his stupid swivel chair, mutter nonsense about "feeling the rhythm of the case," and throw out stupidly outlandish theories at task force meetings? it did nothing but made your blood boil.
but you’re stuck with him as your case partner now, and there’s nothing you can really do about it.
"hey, what do you think about this case? i'm sensing some kinda weird vibe here," bachira says mysteriously, a grin plastered across his face as he expertly spins his pen between his fingers. "maybe the suspect’s hiding in plain sight, right? you know, like a ninja!"
you stare at him, simultaneously annoyed and baffled. "a… a ninja? seriously?"
he tilts his head, the usual playful glint present in his eyes. "hey, don't knock it 'til you try it! you gotta think outside the box." he pauses, looking over at you with a grin that’s somehow both mischievous and... genuine? "you've got the serious part down, but if we don't play around a little, we're never gonna crack this."
you roll your eyes, but part of you can’t help but be intrigued. no one else on the team has been willing to entertain his unconventional methods, but somehow, his outlandish thoughts feel intuitive. right, almost.
and despite how chaotic he is, things start to come together. as the days pass, you find yourself drawn to the rhythm of his mind. he’s got this way of looking at things from every angle, as though solving a case is a game he’s not willing to lose. you can’t deny that his unorthodox approach is starting to make sense, especially when the results speak for themselves. it’s like his chaos brings clarity to your logic.
it all comes pouring out one night, when you find yourself alone in the office with him after hours, when everyone else has already gone home. he’s unusually silent, like he knows you need the silence for clarity of mind. you thank him - in your head, of course, because you’d rather die than admit you appreciate him.
"you know," you say finally, breaking the silence, "i thought you'd be the death of me when we started this case."
he looks up, and a knowing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"but now you’re kinda starting to like me, huh? and that scares you?"
you make a face, refusing to admit it to him, but you both know the truth. it’s obvious you’ve warmed up to him, grown to appreciate his bizarre brilliance. because there’s something almost beautiful about the way he sees the world, and you think you might be seeing it, too.
"maybe," you say quietly, and though you don’t dare to say it aloud, a small part of you is slowly beginning to fall for him - not just for his methods, but for who you now know him to be.
bachira grins toothily. "knew it."
“not the part about me being scared, though.” you glare at him, feeling your cheeks heat up. but there’s a warmth in your chest now, one that you think might have been missing before.
finally, after weeks of hard work, it all clicks. bachira’s wild theories, your steady persistence, and a little bit of luck - together, you had cracked the code and closed the case. it wasn’t the suspect’s usual behavior that had given them away, but something subtle, something hiding in plain sight, just as bachira had suggested from the beginning. a small detail, overlooked by everyone else, had been staring you in the face the whole time.
"told you," bachira says, flashing his signature confident grin as you both stare at the final piece of evidence, relief washing over you like a gentle coastal wave. "sometimes you just gotta let your natural instincts do the work."
you can’t suppress your smile even if you try. he’s right, irrevocably so. it hadn’t been about following the rules, or sticking to the traditional methods - it had been about seeing things differently. and, somehow, in the process, you’d come to appreciate his way of thinking. even if you didn’t fully identify with or understand it.
he plops down in the chair across from you when you get back from ego's office, completely unbothered by the chaos still lingering in the room. he looks over at you, a serious expression replacing his usual playfulness. you stare back, curious.
"hey," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual. "ego called me into his office today."
“oh? what did he tell you?”
“he told me about your application.”
oh, crap.
“i’m sorry,” you mutter. the feeling of his rejection stings just as much as the tears welling up in your eyes. “i shouldn’t have sent it in without asking you first.”
“i mean…” his voice trails off, and he looks at you almost tenderly. “i didn’t know you wanted me as your permanent investigation partner. it’s honestly a huge compliment.”
you let out a watery chuckle. “are you serious? rin itoshi wants to partner up with you. rin freaking itoshi.”
“but you’re the best,” he insists.
you swipe at your eyes quickly. “way to let me down easy, i guess. thanks for being nice about it, though.”
“who said i was declining?”
“wait - really?” you perk up, eyes widening. “you want to be my investigation partner?”
he nods silently, and you notice his hand is almost brushing yours. he hesitates, reaching out to take your hand. in a decision that horrifies you, you don’t stop him.
“i want to be a lot more than that.”
and you think you might just swoon with how undeniably serious he looks in this moment, and maybe laugh a little too. you raise an eyebrow in mock surprise, feigning ignorance. "whatever do you mean?"
he leans in a little closer, clearly amused. "how about dinner? jist you and me. i think it’s time i take you out - somewhere nice, y’know. somewhere with no crime scenes, no paperwork, just... us."
you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. he’s for real, isn’t he? and despite all your stubbornness, your initial reluctance to admit any kind of admiration for him, you realized you want this. you want him.
"bachira," you murmur, your voice a little softer than even you expected, "is this you asking me out on a date?"
he gasps dramatically, clutching his chest as though he’s been wounded. "what? i’m heartbroken! i thought we were already dating!"
you roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.
"fine, meguru. take me out to dinner. but only because you solved the case, genius."
he grins triumphantly, "yes!" and then, with a gleam in his eyes, he adds, "it’s a date then, detective. i’ll be on my very best behavior. maybe."
as you both stand, gathering your things, you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your heart at what is to come. tonight, and in the days ahead. maybe things aren’t as black-and-white as you once thought. and maybe, just maybe, you’ve discovered something between the two of you - worth more than solving any case.
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